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straylightdream · 5 months ago

Text

heaven knows

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: jeon wonwoo x f.reader x kim mingyu

who knew being roommates could turn into so much more.

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞(𝐬): romance, roommates to lovers, angst, smut, fluff

𝐚𝐮(𝐬): non idol

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 16.7k

𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: nightmares from a past car accident mingyu had, anxiety, depression, body image issues, lots and lots of emotions, pregnancy, implied mxm (not really sexually but they hold hands and cuddle, the boys care deeply for each other)

𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: unprotected sex, creampie, oral (both rec), hand job, fingering, pussy stretching, big dick wonwoo, mingyu’s dick is even bigger, anal play, threesome, spit roasting, anal, double penetration, voyurism (both boys like to watch), needy reader, soft dom wonwoo (like he’s very soft, he just good a being in charge), nicknamed: baby, baby girl, princess (hers)

𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: mature, nsfw, 18+

𝐚𝐧: thank you so much to @gyubakeries for helping me out and beta reading this story. This is an older story that I really have been wanting to edit and rewrite. This just really made sense as a minwon story. I have fully reworked it and only some of the plot is the some and a couple scenes.

𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬.

Laying in your full-size bed, your soft body was curled up against the muscular body of Wonwoo. Your leg was thrown over his waist as your head used his chest as a pillow. Your body couldn’t be any physically closer to his. Curled up behind you, Mingyu was nuzzled up tightly against you. Mingyu has always had a thing for having your ass pressed against him as he slept.

It’s been two years since you moved in with the boys. Originally you moved into the city for a new job. You packed up your life and moved in with your childhood best friend Jeonghan for a little while. Once you were situated fully at work you knew it was time to find somewhere to permanently live. You loved Jeonghan but living with him and his girlfriend made you feel like you were intruding on them. Even though they both constantly told otherwise. You worked for a publishing house and were lucky enough to be able to work from home most days. You were lucky Jeonghan had two friends who had a three bedroom apartment looking for another roommate.

As soon as you met your future roommates Wonwoo and Mingyu, you instantly clicked. They were both extremely easy to live with. They were both kind, extremely neat and tidy. Mingyu was even an amazing cook who adores cooking for his roommates.

Mingyu radiates golden retriever energy. He’s tall and beautiful with tan skin. He works as a freelance videographer. He frequently goes on work trips. A perks of his job is how much he gets to travel.

Wonwoo is the black cat to his roommate's golden retriever. He’s more quiet and reserved with people he doesn’t know. Once he opens up with someone you can see how funny and, at the same time, serious he can be. He works from home like you do. He works at a big tech company, and also does streaming on the side. He also has to travel quite frequently for his job.

Things with the three of you started out platonic. Sure from the very beginning there were lingering touches and longing looks shared between you and the boys, but it was nothing romantic. Cuddling in bed was the closest you got to romance. You had fallen into this cycle of all of you sleeping in bed together.

It all started one night when you had a really bad nightmare and went to the kitchen to get water, and found Mingyu sitting on the barstool at the counter. He also couldn’t sleep himself. He told you about the nightmares he’s had since he was in college. You learned about the bad car crash he was in that almost killed him. He said he doesn’t really talk about it often. You were the only person he opened up to about that night other than Wonwoo.

“I don’t like sleeping alone,” he sighs.

“You don’t have to. I can lay with you if you want.” Part of you felt like you were crossing a boundary that you probably shouldn’t. But there was something about Mingyu that always gave you a sense of comfort.

Following Mingyu to his bedroom, you each take a side of the bed. For a while you just lay there staring at each other. After a while Mingyu reaches out to take your hand.

“Could I possibly hold you?” He asked barely above a whisper.

“Of course.” He pulls you close to him and ask you to roll over. Laying on his side, he moves so he presses up snug against you with his hand holding your soft stomach.

That was the first night you and Mingyu innocently shared a bed together.

It became a frequent habit of both of you sleeping together just to cuddle after Mingyu would have nightmares. Wonwoo joined in one night about a month in when he walked into Mingyu’s room to check on him and found him curled up next to you. You were both wide awake and spooning while talking. You both looked over at Wonwoo with the look of a child who got caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

“What’s going on here?” He asked, leaning against the door frame.

“I had a nightmare again and asked if she would lay with me.”

“Gyu, why didn’t you tell me?” Wonwoo’s face drops a little and he looks sad. Mingyu had mentioned that in the past, especially during college after his accident, Wonwoo was always by his side. He had said in the beginning that he couldn’t even sleep alone and Wonwoo would lay in his bed, holding his hand.

“I’ve been sleeping like this with (Y/N) for about a month.”

“Oh.” Part of you feels guilty that Wonwoo seems hurt.

“Did you want to join us?” Mingyu asked, tugging you closer to him.

“Would you mind?” Wonwoo sounds nervous. You both just shake your head. Slowly he crawls into Mingyu’s bed and curls up onto the other side of the bed in front of you. From that night on you rarely ever slept alone.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

You nuzzled against Wonwoo’s chest as you started to slowly wake up. Mingyu’s strong hand gently rubbed your thigh letting you know he was awake. Gently, you rolled off of Wonwoo, trying not to wake him up. Looking over at Mingyu who had moved back a little to give you room.

He laid on his back and signaled for you to cuddle up against him. You moved back into the position you had just been laying on Wonwoo. Your leg once again was tossed over Mingyu’s waist as your head nuzzled against Mingyu’s strong chest.

His hand grips your thigh and pulls you even closer to him. A soft moan passes your lips unexpectedly. This was the first time your cuddling had even gotten close to sexual. There was suddenly a thick sexual tension between you as you let out another low moan when your pajama covered cored rutted against his hip. Your eyes went wide as you bit your lip. You didn’t mean to moan, but the way he was pulling you closer to him was intoxicating.

His warm eyes locked onto yours, as if he was trying to figure out what was going on in your mind. You suddenly felt embarrassed at the fact you moaned as your body moved against him. Your eyes quickly moved away from his dark ones.

“Should I sleep somewhere else?” You rasped lightly, finally breaking the silence.

He shook his head quickly. The last thing he wanted was for you to sleep somewhere else, at this point he didn’t know if he was able to actually sleep all night without you or Wonwoo.

“What’s going on?” Wonwoo said, sitting up. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and looked over at the two of you confused about what was going on.

You rolled off of Mingyu quickly and laid on your back staring at the ceiling. You wondered if maybe it was time for you to start sleeping alone again. You couldn’t lie to yourself anymore. You were starting to develop feelings for both of the men you were sharing a bed with.

“I think I need to sleep alone,” you continued to stare at the ceiling. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at either of them. The embarrassment creeping across your face.

“What? Why?” Wonwoo his voice sounds raspy and sounds sleepy. He had just woken up to you suddenly saying that you didn’t want to sleep with them anymore.

“Because I can’t keep telling myself I don’t have feelings for you,” you felt embarrassed that you had to confess the feelings you had for them. You never planned on telling them. You felt as if your feelings might be one sided. Your cheeks burned bright as your eyes looked over slowly at Wonwoo and then at Mingyu who both had the same wide-eyed look as they stared at each other. Maybe if the bed would open and swallow you whole you could escape this.

“I mean I like you too,” Wonwoo said, speaking up as he looked down at you. He pushes his fingers through his messy hair.

Mingyu nodded his head, “I like you too.”

“Oh,” you were completely caught off guard. Mingyu was a man who had no issue with skinship. You hadn’t even thought about the possibility he would like you as more than a friend. Wonwoo had always been more closed off, almost afraid to put himself out there. The thought of him like you wasn’t something you could picture.

Leaning down, Wonwoo gently presses his lips to yours like he’s testing the water. Pulling back for a moment he gives you a smile. Without even thinking you lean forward pressing your lips to his.

Mingyu sits up and lets out a little laugh. “Why did I always know Wonwoo was going to be the first to kiss you.” The whole situation feels like a dream. Looking over at Mingyu, you stare at him, knitting your brows together.

Gently he reaches out resting his hand on your cheek. His thumb drags across your bottom lip. “I’ve never minded sharing with Wonwoo,” he whispers.

The moment your lips touch Mingyu’s you relax. Kissing both the boys just feels so right. Pulling away, Mingyu rests his nose against yours and smiles.

“Can we maybe talk more about this later? I’m exhausted and still want to cuddle,” Wonwoo asked as he laid back down.

“Okay we can talk about details later,” you said, still attempting to process everything.

Wonwoo moved so he was laying on his side and pulled your soft body so you were curled up against him. Mingyu smiled as he watched you curl up against Wonwoo.

“Are you going to join?” You asked.

He nodded his head as he slowly moved to become the little spoon in front of you. His strong body pressed against your soft one. Your hand was over his waist and he reached up and laced his fingers with yours and gave your hand a little squeeze.

Wonwoo gently pressed his lips to your bare shoulder and whispered, “I’m glad you moved in with us.”

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

It’s a rare day when yours and Jeonghan’s schedules fully line up, and you find yourself itting in a coffee shop, where he’s telling you about his latest promotion at work.

“I feel like I haven't seen you in ages. I have seen Wonwoo or Mingyu either,” Jeonghan says before taking a drink of his coffee.

“They’re both really busy with work, and work has been stressing me out. I really only see the boys at night now.”

“Are you sleeping better now?” Jeonghan knows about your nightmares and how sometimes you can barely find sleep because you can’t turn your mind off.

A heavy sigh passes your lips. How do you explain to Jeonghan that the only way you can really sleep now is curled up against your roommates? You aren’t even sure how to define your relationship with the boys. Are they technically both your boyfriends?

“Yeah, I am.”

Jeonghan studies you by knitting his eyebrows together. “How is it living with the boys? Are you still liking it like you used to?”

“Yeah, they’re great.”

A smile forms on his face. “So which one of the boys do you have a crush on?” Your face instantly burns with embarrassment and you don’t even know how to respond. “My original thought was Mingyu, but I think Wonwoo’s black cat gamer tech boy thing might get you.”

”Hannie.”

“Oh it’s definitely Wonwoo,” he perks up at the fact he thinks he figures you out. There is no point in correcting him, and maybe it’s best if he just thinks you like one of your roommates.

“Enough about who I may or may not be crushing on.” Reaching out you grab your cup of coffee. “How is your girlfriend? Have you proposed yet?”

His smile instantly drops now that you have turned the tables on him. “You know, before her, I never wanted to get married, and don’t get me wrong—I want to marry her. I just don’t know if this is the right time.”

“When do you think the right time will be?”

“I think I’m just scared, but probably now,” His girlfriend has brought up getting married a bunch. Jeonghan was her first serious relationship after her college boyfriend cheated on her and she fell hard for your best friend.

“Hannie, I think you need to stop being scared. She’s literally perfect for you.”

“I like that you turned the tables on me. Instead of just talking about your crush you brought this up,” he shakes his head taking another drink of his coffee.

“I learned from the best.” He can’t help but smile at your response.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Mingyu was away for a video shoot in Japan he was filming. This was your first time alone with Wonwoo since you confessed your feelings and shared your first kiss with each boy. You’ve fooled around quite a bit together. Each boy can’t seem to keep their hands off you and Wonwoo has his head between your legs any chance he gets. The man is very passionate about eating you out any chance he gets.

Mingyu was supposed to be arriving home any time soon. As Mingyu was leaving, he had asked Wonwoo to look after you. He called you “their girl”—the sweet nickname that left you wanting to giggle like a schoolgirl.

Wonwoo and you were curled up on the couch. You leaned into his side as the movie you were watching played on the tv in front of you. His strong hand rested on your thigh as he aimlessly drew circles onto the skin. His touch caught your attention. You glanced up at him as you were attempting to watch the movie. How were you supposed to focus on a movie when the man that was always capturing your attention was touching you?

His focus was on the tv in front of him, but he could feel you looking at him. He looked down at you with a smile playing across his lips.

“Yes, Princess?”

Your eyes narrowed, “you can’t just touch me and expect me to actually watch the movie playing.”

He bit his bottom lip and held back a smile.

“Did you want it to be more than an innocent touch?” he asks as his hand moved towards the inside of your thigh. Slowly, you nod. Over your leggings, he gropes your core with his large hand. You close your eyes as you take in the feeling.

A soft moan passes your lips. Without warning, he pulls his hand away from you. He doesn’t give you a chance to think before he moves you so you were facing each other. He reaches forward and connects his lips to yours in a passionate kiss. His fingers tangled in your hair pulls you closer to him as your lips danced together. His strong hands grab your soft hips, moving you so you were straddling his waist. His hands roam your back as your lips continue to move against each other. The way you were kissing, you would have sworn that you needed each other to breathe. The sound of the door opening caused you to pull apart. With wide eyes you both looked up to see Mingyu standing by the tv.

“I see you took care of our girl,” Mingyu smiled as he stared at the pair of you who look like you got caught doing something you shouldn’t.

“Hey Gyu,” Wonwoo awkwardly said as you crawled off of him, and moved back to your spot on the couch you had been sitting on.

“Why are you two acting like I just walked in on you cheating on me?” Mingyu was confused on why you were suddenly acting guilty.

You shrugged your shoulders, “I don’t know.” This was all new to you. It felt strange that Mingyu would be okay with you openly kissing his best friend.

“(Y/N), you’re allowed to kiss Wonwoo and do whatever you want with him. You don’t ever need to ask for my permission,” he smiled as he walked towards you and sat on the coffee table that was sat in front of the couch. He reached over and placed his hand under your chin and gently tilted your head up so you were looking into his warm eyes. “I could have walked in on you two fucking on the couch and I wouldn’t have cared. The ball is in your court at all times, Princess. Whatever you want from all this is what you get. If you want to be with both of us, you can. If you only want to be with only one of us, we both understand.”

Both Wonwoo and Mingyu wanted you to be happy, and they both had agreed that no matter what happened, your happiness was what mattered the most.

“I want both of you guys,” you whisper, still almost unsure that all of this was real. How could both of these men possibly be okay with openly sharing your affection?

“Then you have both of us Princess,” Wonwoo said from beside you.

“Did you want me to leave so you guys can go back to making out on the couch?” Mingyu asked with a soft laugh as he released your chin. “Things seemed to be heating up. Maybe Wonwoo could lay you down the couch and eat you out.” He earns a laugh from Wonwoo.

“No, did you want to cuddle and watch the movie with us?” You asked.

“I would love that.”

You moved back into Wonwoo’s side and Mingyu sat down on the couch next to you and rested his hand on your thigh.

“I missed you guys,” Mingyu smiled gently, massaging your thighs, earning a soft sigh from you.

“We missed you too,” Wonwoo said before leaning over and pressing his lips to the top of his favorite girl's head.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Sitting in the kitchen you’re working on a project that is due soon. Mingyu is making breakfast and Wonwoo is on his phone intently reading something.

“I need you two not to judge me, but I need to ask something?”

Mingyu continues to whisk his pancake batter, “shoot.”

“I don’t exactly want to assume, but assuming we were to start having sex. How would that work with the three of us?”

“Didn’t Mingyu eat you out earlier this morning?” Wonwoo chimes in.

“I think she means fully having sex. I don’t think she means what we have been doing.” Mingyu responds.

“Well, we can do it however you want. You can have one on one sex with each of us. You can have all both of us in the room. Hell, you can have both of us at the same time,” Wonwoo’s final sentence earns a smirk from Mingyu.

The thought of a threesome before this all started never even crossed your mind. Yet now you can’t stop thinking about what it would be like to be with both of them at the same time.

“I’ve never done any kind of butt stuff.” You nervously say.

“Do you ever want to?” Something tells you Wonwoo is familiar with what you would need to do to enjoy anal.

“I’m intrigued by it. I would definitely want to try it out separately. I don’t think I’m prepared to try it while taking one of you at the same time.”

Mingyu barks out a laugh, “baby the first time you try anal it won’t be while I’m inside you.” You almost find it funny. It's assumed that Wonwoo is the first person you will try anal with. It probably has something to do with Mingyu’s size. You’ve given him head quite a few times and you can’t even fit half of him in your mouth. You’re quite familiar with Wonwoo’s cock now as well and he’s large but much more manageable.

“Do you think maybe I could have a solo first time with each of you?”

“Of course. Do you have a preference on who you would like first?” Wonwoo asked.

There is a nasty thought eating away at you that you’ll hurt one of their feelings if you pick one of them.

“I don’t want to hurt either of your feelings. I don't want you to think I have a favorite.”

Wonwoo sets his phone down, raising his eyebrow, “nobody thinks you have favorites.”

“If you want Wonwoo to be first I won’t be upset,” Mingyu says as he starts pouring the batter into the hot skillet.

“How about I make this easy for you. Joshua asked me to go to the gym this afternoon and meet up with Seungcheol. Why don’t you and Mingyu spend some quality time together. Maybe you can take your clothes off.”

Mingyu smiles as he focuses on making breakfast. Your cheeks burn a little at the thought of what is going to unfold when Wonwoo leaves. “That works for me.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Mingyu smiles.

Your first time with Mingyu was everything you imagined it would be. He was gentle and took his time to fully explore your body.

Laying on his bed in his room he used to sleep in, your legs are spread. He’s laying between them with his hard cock pressed against your core. He just finished eating you out until you cried. He decided now he needed to focus on other parts of your body. His lips are attached to your perk nipple. One hand groped the other as his lips were focused on your nipple. The way he’s using his mouth made you feel like you might cum just like this. Your eyes are closed and your fingers are tangled in his hair, holding him close to your chest. Ever so often he’ll grind his cock against your mound, giving you the friction you desperately crave.

“Mingyu- please-” you’re not even ashamed to beg for more.

Releasing your nipple with a pop, some of his saliva is attached to your puffy nipple. “Yes princess?”

“Please just I need you inside of me.”

Pulling his body up onto his knees. “Do I need to use a condom?”

“Um, we didn't discuss that with Wonwoo.” You feel stupid this is definitely something the three of you should have discussed.

“Are you on birth control?” Silently you nod. “Did you want to go bare?” You’ve never done it before and the thought of Mingyu’s huge dick being inside of you bare is almost enough in itself to make you cum. “I want our first time to be completely bare, but we need to ask Wonwoo if he’s okay with that as well.”

“Do you have to call Wonwoo?”

A heavy sigh passes his lips as he crawls off the bed. He walks over to the dresser where he left his phone. You take this time to admire his beautiful naked body that’s on display. Opening his phone he goes into his favorites and hits Wonwoo’s contact. He presses the speaker and sets his phone on the bed next to you where you’re laying in the same position. It rings all of four times before Wonwoo answers.

“Gyu what’s up?”

“Please tell me I’m not on speaker?” Mingyu asked, crawling back onto the bed.

“No, what's up?”

“Can you take this call in a private place? The boys don’t need to hear any of this conversation.” Mingyu sits on his knees in between your spread legs.

“Is everything okay with (Y/N)?” You can hear the background noise on Wonwoo’s side getting quieter and quieter.

“I’m okay,” you finally speak up.

“Hi baby,” Wonwoo responds.

“Hi Wonu.”

“What’s going on that I have to make sure the boys can’t hear?”

A smile forms on Mingyu’s lips as he rubs your knee, “well, me and princess were about ready to fuck and we realized that we never discussed what the rule is with condoms.”

“Mingyu, it's more of her call on if she wants us to wear them.” Wonwoo responded immediately.

“Shouldn’t you both agree on if we decide to go bare?” You speak up.

“Baby I would prefer we don’t use them, but that’s if you’re on birth control and Mingyu is also okay with it.”

“She on birth control and fuck, I desperately want to feel her raw.”

“So, no condoms?” You ask.

“We don’t have to use them. I’m clean. I got tested the month after you moved in and I haven’t been with anyone since.” Wonwoo says.

“I’m also clean.” Mingyu chimes in.

“Same here. I haven’t had sex in like four years.” You still feel a little embarrassed admitting that.

“Have fun you two,” You can picture him smiling on the other end. “Princess, when I get home, how about I steal you away for a while?”

“Okay.”

“Bye guys.”

“Bye Wonwoo,” You both say.

Mingyu ends the call and tosses his phone away from you. “Princess, where were we?” He gets back into the same position hovering over you. He reaches between you taking his length in his hand. “It might hurt a little. If it’s too much just tell me.”

Leaning up, you press your lips to his for a gentle kiss. “I’m ready.”

It wasn’t a lie. The feeling of him stretching you out did hurt. A gasp passes your lips as you attempt to adjust to the feeling of him. Leaning down, his nose rests against yours.

A soft whimper passes your lips.

“Baby I’m sorry.” He sounds distraught.

“Please just go slow.”

He treats you like you’re made of glass. His thrust is slow but deep. Connecting his lips to yours, he helps take your mind away from the aching feeling below. With each thrust the painful feeling starts to disappear.

“You feel so good,” he moans against your lips.

Your hands crawl across his back, wanting to desperately touch every part of him.

The coil in your stomach tightens as you get closer and closer to finding your release. Every muscle feels as if it’s tightening when your high washes over you. Your walls contract, pulling on his large length.

His own high has him moaning against your lips. He fills you with thick white ropes of his release. Dropping down to his elbows, he lays some of his weight on your soft body. Your fingers run through his hair, enjoying the feeling of him being so close. “I love you,” he softly whispers against the delicate skin on your chest. Almost as if he doesn’t want you to hear.

“I love you too,” you whisper back. This is the first time these words have been exchanged, but you truly love them both.

After a little while, Mingyu removed himself from you and cleaned up his release before crawling into bed with you. An afternoon nap felt like the perfect post sex aftercare.

Slowly your eyes opened up at the feeling of the bed moving. The room was dim, letting you know the sun was setting. Silently you watched as Mingyu was trying his hardest to be quiet.

“Where are you going?” Your voice is soft.

Looking back at you he steps closer to the bed. Leaning down he kisses your lips gently. “I just got a text asking to check some emails and seeing if I could help Vernon with some editing for a shoot he did.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Baby don’t worry I’m not leaving you alone. Wonwoo just got home and is in the bathroom.”

“Oh.”

A smile pulls on his lips, “I think he’s showering and you joining him might be the perfect surprise. He’s using his old bathroom with the walk-in shower.” The bathroom connected to the main room you all sleep in is a pretty big shower bath combo.

Another quick kiss is pressed to your lips before he leaves you alone in bed.

Slowly crawling out of bed you are debating on getting dressed. Deciding to be brave you walk down the small hallway to the bathroom naked.

Opening the bathroom door as silently as possible, you step inside. The sight of Wonwoo’s very naked body through the glass is practically mouth watering.

The door clicking shut catches his attention. He looks at you smiling.

“Are you going to join me?” He speaks a little louder to hear him over the water.

Stepping into the shower, he wasted no time pulling you close to him. Pressing his lips to yours for a heated kiss.

“Did Gyu take care of you?”

Your nose rests against his as you say, “yes he did. Are you going to take care of me now?”

“Let me wash your hair.”

Stepping under the warm water Wonwoo takes his time massaging your favorite strawberry shampoo into your scalp. Reaching back, your hand runs across his wet skin.

“Are you trying to seduce me?”

“Maybe?” You smile.

“Baby let me wash your hair and take care of you, and then I will take my time exploring your beautiful body fully.”

He keeps his word. He washes your hair and then takes his time washing your body with your favorite body wash. Once out of the shower he wraps a towel around you before he blow dries your hair.

With lust filled eyes you watch as he dries his own body. Holding his hand out he takes your towel from you leaving you both fully naked.

Stepping into the hallway, you get one step away from him before he wraps his around you pulling you back against him. His hard cock pressing against your lower back. He helps you walk towards the living room holding you close.

You don’t even make it your bedroom. He takes you down to the living room floor. Luckily on top of the soft rug Mingyu made a big deal about buying.

“Baby our first time should be on our comfy bed,” he sighs as you kiss his neck.

“Wonwoo, I want you. You’re the one who dragged me down here.” You say with a soft laugh.

Pulling away from you he stands up. Holding his hand out he helps you stand up. “You can have me. But let me take care of you in bed.” Pulling away from you, he stands up. Holding his hand out, he helps you stand.

Walking into your shared room you crawl on to your unmade bed. Wonwoo joins you, taking his time to kiss his way across your body while he takes his time fingering you. Pulling his finger from your core he smiles at the sight of some of Mingyu’s cum.

“I see Mingyu took advantage of not wearing a condom.” You feel instantly red with embarrassment. Your attempts to close your legs are instantly stopped by him. “Baby, don’t be embarrassed. I like it,” He chuckles. He holds his fingers close to you. Deciding to be brave, you wrap your lips around his finger, taking Mingyu’s release into your mouth. “I see you like it too.”

He takes his time kissing everywhere his mouth can reach. His lips focused on pebbles nipples as his fingers start pumping in and out of you. For your first orgasm, you fall apart moaning his name.

“Baby lay on your side.”

He comes up behind you, rubbing his cock through your folds, gathering your release. He takes your leg, helping you rest your foot on his leg to give him more access to your core.

The hand under your body massages your heavy breast. Ever so slowly he pushes his length into you. He’s definitely larger then the average man, but not as big as Mingyu. The stretch feels absolutely intoxicating.

His hips move into you at a slow but deep pace. The echoing sounds of his low groans, and your moans fill the room.

“Baby can you play with your clit?” He moans in your ear.

Your hand immediately goes to your puffy clit,making quick circles on your sensitive nub. The orgasm that hits you feels like a white wave. Everything feels fuzzy. His thrust pick up, chasing his own release as your walls contract.

His hand grips your hip, pulling you back on him. Tilting your head back he crashes his lips into yours. You moan into his mouth as he kisses you like he needs you to breathe.

He doesn’t pull out, he just holds your body close. Your heart is telling you to say those three words you told Mingyu. Without thinking you say, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“I love both of you.”

You don’t have to look back to know he’s smiling. “Did Gyu say he loved you?”

“He whispered it to me.”

“He's been holding back saying that for a month.” He presses his lips to your shoulder. “I need to clean you up but right now I just want to stay inside you.”

“We can stay like this.”

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Seungcheol decided to throw a little get-together at his place. Wonwoo drove the two of you and Mingyu was coming later.

Wonwoo was in the kitchen talking to Joshua and Seungcheol while you were sitting on the small balcony with Jeonghan drinking a glass of wine.

“Where is your girlfriend?” You asked him.

“She had to work a late shift at the bar.” Jeonghan’s girlfriend works as a bartender at the bar you all frequently meet at downtown.

“I feel like I haven’t seen her in forever. Tell her we should have another wine night.”

Jeonghan smiles before taking a drink of his beer, “I will definitely let her know.”

The sound of laughter through the sliding glass door catches your attention. Looking back you see Wonwoo and Seungcheol laughing about something.

“So did you figure out your crush on Wonwoo?”

“You could say that,” you hadn’t actually told anything about what was going on with the boys. “I’ve kinda started something with him.”

“I think Wonwoo would be good for you.” Jeonghan truly only wants what’s best for you.

The sound of the sliding glass door opening catches your attention. Mingyu is standing over you, smiling.

“Hey Hannie,” he waves to your best friend. “Hi baby,” he leans down pressing his lips to yours for a quick kiss. “Did you need anything to drink?”

“No, I'm good. Thank you though.” You say, holding up your glass of wine.

“I’m gonna chat with the boys inside.”

Jeonghan’s eyes are about bulging out of his head as Mingyu leaves the porch. “Does Wonwoo know you’re kissing Mingyu?”

A heavy sigh passes your lips. Leaning further back into your seat, “yes Wonwoo knows, and before you ask, Mingyu knows about Wonwoo.”

“Are you trying a poly situation?”

“Yeah I guess you could call it that. It started out innocent. We originally used to just cuddle because I can’t sleep and Mingyu gets nightmares.”

A smile forms on Jeonghan’s face, “is it no longer innocent?”

“Hannie,” instantly you roll your eyes.

“Are you fucking both of them now?” He sounds so excited asking you this.

“Yes.”

“Are you having threesomes?”

“Yoon Jeonghan, I’m giving you no details about my sex life.”

The sliding glass door opens and Wonwoo peaks his head out, “come inside, the pizza here is here.”

Standing up you walk inside and Wonwoo instantly pulls you into his chest. He presses his lips to yours for a soft kiss. “The boys know about us and Mingyu.”

“Hannie knows too.”

“That’s good. We have nothing to hide,” he presses his lips to yours for another kiss.

“Baby do you want pizza?” Mingyu asked over at the counter.

“Yes, please.”

Wonwoo stands behind you and wraps his arms around your waist. Leaning back against him you instantly relax.

The night with your friends is nice. It’s rare that everyone gets a chance to hang out. Mingyu takes your hand, leading you out of Seungcheol house. He’s been yawning nonstop for the last hour.

Walking into the apartment, Mingyu heads off to take a shower while Wonwoo heads off to the kitchen. You join Wonwoo in the kitchen. He making a cup of tea.

“Princess, would you like a cup?”

“Yes please.”

“Mingyu seems extra tired tonight,” Wonwoo sighs.

“I think he needs to get some sleep. I think his shoot today was draining.”

After drinking your cup of tea you find Mingyu already curled up in bed and sound asleep. It’s not long before you fall asleep curled up between the boys.

Waking up in the middle of the night the first thing you notice is the room is empty. You’re confused on where both the boys went. Slowly getting up, you walk into the living room and find Wonwoo and Mingyu on the couch together. Mingyu is lying on the couch with his head resting in Wonwoo's lap. Wonwoo is gently brushing his fingers through Mingyu’s dark curls. Mingyu is clearly sleeping fully relaxed resting on Wonwoo.

“Is everything okay?” You whisper walking towards him.

“Gyu had a bad nightmare and I just got him to calm down.” Before you started living with them Mingyu told you that Wonwoo would take care of him after having nightmares. It’s very sweet seeing Mingyu curled up against Wonwoo relaxing.

“Sorry if we woke you up,” Wonwoo says just above a whisper.

“You’re fine. How bad was his nightmare?”

“He woke up crying for the first time in a while. Back in college, they were like this constantly. It got so bad that I had to put a mattress on the floor by his bed. Eventually I would just lay in bed holding his hand while he slept.”

“You both have a special connection.” You aren’t sure if they ever shared a romantic connection before you came around, but it’s clear they both love and deeply care for each other.

“Gyu is my best friend and I would do anything to make him feel better.” Wonwoo continues running his fingers through Mingyu’s hair.

“Do you think we should get him to go back to bed? This can’t be comfortable for you to sleep.” You ask.

Gently Wonwoo rubs Mingyu’s arm. “Gyu, let’s go to bed. Our baby wants to cuddle with you.”

Mingyu’s eyes slowly open. “Can I lay in the middle please?” He sounds as if he’s barely awake.

“Of course.”

Laying in bed Mingyu stares at the ceiling. His breathing is uneven. “Gyu, what’s wrong?” Wonwoo asked, lying on his side facing Mingyu.

“Can you hold me Wonwoo?” A gentle smile tugs at your lips. You love seeing how much they mean to each other.

“Of course. Did you wanna hold princess while I hold you?”

“Yeah.”

Mingyu moves to his side so he’s facing you. Wonwoo curls up behind Mingyu, spooning him. Mingyu let out a soft hum as Wonwoo gently rested his hand on his stomach.

Curling up in front of Mingyu he holds you close. “This is nice,” Mingyu whispers.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Both of your boys were away for the weekend. They both decided to go home to see their families together and you couldn’t help but get lost in your own thoughts as you laid in your bed alone for the first time in forever. You were starting to doubt yourself, you didn’t understand why two men would want to be with you. Let alone two men who looked like them. Glancing over at the clock you saw the time read two in the morning. You weren’t even close to tired anymore.

Lifting the covers, you crawled out of bed and walked off towards your bathroom starting the warm water. You slowly stripped off your clothes and stepped into the water. The warm water engulfed your body, you couldn’t help it as tears started to slide down your cheeks. You were over thinking everything and you knew it. You had a really rough day at work. It was a rare day when you had to go into the office and just anything that could go wrong did go wrong. Your shitty day at work probably wasn’t helping at all. Another thing was you were supposed to start your period any day and that always made you emotional. You ran your hands across your tear stained face and washed away your tears.

You stayed in the shower for what felt like forever before you finally got out. You shut the water off and wrapped a towel around you. As you turned around, you heard the bathroom door open and turned to find Mingyu walking inside looking exhausted.

Suddenly you felt embarrassed by the fact that Mingyu walked into the bathroom to find you crying in the middle of the night.

His soft eyes roamed your face attempting to figure out what was wrong with you. “Baby, what's wrong?” he stepped towards you and wrapped his arms around your basically naked body, pulling you into his chest.

“I just had a rough day, and started over thinking about everything,” you sighed as the tears continued to slide down her cheeks. You felt stupid that you let little things get you down, but you couldn’t help it.

His strong hand gently rubbed your back as he pressed his lips to the top of your head. You closed your eyes and held on to him. You knew you didn’t need to be crying, but you couldn’t help it.

“Where’s Wonwoo?” You murmured, still holding on to him.

He pulled away from you and gave you a small smile, “he’s exhausted. The second we got back, he stripped down to his boxers and got into bed.”

“Oh, okay,” you whispered.

“Baby, what aren’t you telling me?” he had both his hands on your arms, staring at you to figure out what was going on in your head.

“Why do you guys want to be with me? I’m literally nothing special,” you sighed. “Half the time I feel like I’m an emotional wreck.”

He moved his strong hand and gently rested it under your chin and tilted your head up so you were looking at him, “you are so beautiful inside and out. I can’t imagine my life without you, and I’m pretty sure Wonwoo feels the same way.”

“I don’t feel like I’m worthy of the feelings you guys have for me,” you sighed.

“Don’t ever say that,” he leaned forward and pressed his lips gently to your tear stained cheek. “Stop doubting yourself.”

“Why do you put some pajamas on and we’ll crawl into bed with Wonwoo?” He gave you a simple smile. “or if you want you can just take that towel off and crawl into bed,” he smirked slightly.

“I’ll get dressed for bed,” you reached over and picked up your oversized shirt that was on the sink next to where you were standing. Mingyu watched you as you slowly got dressed for bed. He wasted no time lacing his fingers with yours and led you towards your bed. As you got close to the bed you found Wonwoo sound asleep on the far end of the bed. You crawled onto the bed and moved over closer to Wonwoo. His eyes slowly opened and saw you giving him a sad smile.

“Princess, what’s wrong?” he asked, sitting up noticing something was wrong. He looked over at Mingyu who had a concerned look on his face. “Mingyu what's going on?”

“Our girl had a rough day and needs some love.”

Wonwoo didn’t bother responding, he leaned forward and gently connected his lips to yours. His hand rested on your cheek as he stared at you for a moment.

“Why do you guys like me so much?” you whispered.

“I can list a million reasons if you want me to,” he leaned forward and rested his forehead against yours. His hand was resting on your cheek.

Mingyu moved onto the bed and rubbed your back gently before pressing his lips gently to your shirt-covered shoulder.

“Why don’t we all get some sleep princess?” he whispered.

“I think Mingyu has a good idea,” Wonwoo whispered.

Wonwoo laid back down and you curled up against him and he pressed his lips to the top of your head. Mingyu curled up behind you and whispered, “baby we love you so much.”

“Mingyu is right, we love you,” Wonwoo chimed in.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Wonwoo gripped your hips as his own hips thrust into you over and over again. You couldn’t help but moan his name over and over again. Your hands moved to grip the sheets next to your hips. Mingyu had gone to workout, leaving you and Wonwoo alone for a little while, and it didn’t take long before Wonwoo had you naked and on your back.

He sat back on his haunches as his hips thrust into yours over and over again. Your back arched as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

“Wonwoo,” your high pitched moan echoed off the walls.

“Babygirl, let go,” he rasped as he leaned forward. He pressed his lips to your soft stomach as he rolled his hips against yours. You wanted every piece of the man thrusting into you. Everything about him was absolutely intoxicating to you. His skin glistened with sweat as he looked down at you like you were his world.

It only took a few more thrust before he pushed you over the edge. Your walls pulled him in, and he thrust a few more times before he hit his own high. He laid down on the bed next to you and stared at the ceiling as he panted. He looked over at you to see you with a huge smile on your face. If you looked up word bliss in the dictionary, this moment would be found.

“Did you enjoy that?” he asked, reaching over and lacing his fingers with yours.

Silently you nod as you look over at him.

“I hate that I have to leave for a business trip soon. I wish I could just stay here with you and Mingyu.” You hate when the boys have to travel for work, but you never tell them. You always tell them they’ll be back before they know it. “I’m going to miss you baby.”

“I always miss you.”

Leaning over he presses his lips to your. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” He pulls away smiling at you.

“Man, Mingyu missed out by going and working out,” he laughed softly.

Before you could respond the door to your room opened and Mingyu walked inside to see you and Wonwoo naked lying in bed. Mingyu pushed his eyebrows together and smiled at the sight in front of him.

“I see I missed the fun,” he walked over and sat down on the bed.

“I got my own workout in,” Wonwoo teased.

“I guess I should stop going to the gym,” Mingyu jokes.”I’m sure Seungcheol would understand if I told him I got a new work plan going. I could tell him all about my new personal trainer who can’t keep her clothes on.” Wonwoo chuckles softly at Mingyu's statement.

“Well if you’re not too tired I’m sure (Y/N) would let you get another workout in,” Wonwoo lifted your hand up and pressed a light kiss to the top of delicate skin on top.

You bit your lip and smiled. You couldn’t believe you were so lucky that two beautiful men seemed to be absolutely in love with you and both wanted to sleep with you.

“Princess, could you go for another round?” Mingyu asked, looking at you.

“I guess,” you joke. Even if you were absolutely exhausted you couldn’t turn down the chance to be with Mingyu. Sex with him is always intense and he like for you to be a pillow princess so he can worship you.

“I’ll give you guys some alone time. I’m in need of a shower,” Wonwoo released your hand and got out of bed.

Mingyu pulled off his shirt and watched as you sat up and leaned against the headboard. Wonwoo walked over and patted Mingyu on the back before heading off to the bathroom. Mingyu reached down and pushed off his sweatpants and his boxers. Hungry eyes traveled up and down his toned body. The sight of his naked body was absolutely mouthwatering. Crawling onto the bed he watched as you laid back down and smiled at him. He moved so he was hovering over you and connected his lips to yours for a passionate kiss.

“I need to stop leaving you and Wonwoo alone,” he rasped with his lips brushing against yours.

“At least he is also giving you alone time with me,” you reached up and rested your hand on his cheek.

“Remind me to thank him for that,” he smiled before pressing his lips to yours again.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

As the clock struck four am Wonwoo pulled himself away from your sleeping form that was curled up next to him. He was attempting to not wake you up, but you were a light sleeper and the second he moved your eyes opened.

“Is it time for you to leave?” You whispered, attempting to not wake Mingyu who was sound asleep next to you. He has a very early flight to catch. He hates that he’s been going on business trips more often recently.

“Yeah baby, my flight is super early. I’ll be back in three days,” he leaned down and pressed his lips to yours for a kiss goodbye. “I love you.”

“I love you too. Please come back safe,” you said as you watched him walk out of your bedroom.

You rolled over and curled up next to Mingyu who hadn’t even woken up. Since you’ve been constantly sharing a bed, Mingyu’s nightmares barely seem to happen now.

Closing your eyes you only got a little more sleep before you woke up again. Laying in bed you curled up close to Mingyu. He had his arm wrapped around you holding your close. You had a big day ahead of you today. While Wonwoo was away and your mother was coming into town. The three of you had talked it out and agreed that you would say you were only dating Mingyu for the time being. You still couldn’t help but be nervous. You hadn’t ever had many of your past partners meet your mother.

Your head was resting on his strong chest as you attempted to go to sleep.

“Baby, are you awake?” he asked as his strong hand gently rubbed your side.

“I can’t sleep,” You whispered.

“Do you maybe wanna take a bubble bath?” he asked, knowing that was one of your favorite ways to relax.

“Mingyu it’s five in the morning,” you glanced over at the alarm clock on the bedside table.

“So,” he didn’t see a problem in you taking a bubble bath.

“Alright let’s take a bubble bath,” you said softly.

Pulling away from Mingyu’s body you slowly got out of bed and followed Mingyu off to the bathroom. Mingyu walked over to the bathtub and started feeling it up with warm water. You reached under the sink and pulled out one of your favorite bath bombs and dropped it into the warm water.

As the water started to rise Mingyu stripped away his boxers and stepped into the warm water. You removed your undies and oversized shirt and stepped in the tub in front of him. You leaned against his bare body and instantly relaxed against his touch. His strong hand rested on your thigh and aimlessly drew circles on your skin.

It was moments like this you were happy that you had Mingyu in your life. He always knew the best ways to calm you down.

“I miss Wonwoo,” you whispered. When this all first started you worried about stating your feelings for the other man, but they both constantly informed you they weren’t competing for your love. You were allowed to love both of them equally.

“I miss Wonwoo too, baby.” Wonwoo was truly Mingyu's other half. They shared a bond like you have never seen before. You feel as if they’re soulmates and we’re always supposed to be in each other's lives.

Leaning your head back you rested your head against Mingyu’s shoulder. You were exhausted but so nervous about tomorrow you couldn't sleep.

You knew you don’t need to be nervous. You weren’t telling your mother that you were involved with both Wonwoo and Mingyu, you were only telling her about Mingyu.

“If Wonwoo was here would all of us fit in this tub?” His words caused you to smile.

“I guess it would have been a relaxing night time shower then,” you lightly laughed.

He pressed his lips to the side of your neck for a gentle kiss and you couldn’t help but smile. His touch was so relaxing to you.

“Are you worried your mom isn’t going to like me?” Mingyu couldn’t lie, he was nervous your mother wasn’t going to like him. When they agreed that you would tell your family you were only dating one of them,he had originally thought Wonwoo would be the one saying he was the boyfriend. Everyone always seemed to be drawn to Wonwoo, he was charming and people loved him. Wonwoo and you both agreed that it should be Mingyu though for some reason.

“I know my mom is gonna love you. I just don’t like the idea of not telling her about Wonwoo, but she wouldn’t understand,” you reached down and laced your fingers with Mingyu’s hand that was under the water.

“Maybe after we have been together for a while, we can tell her about Wonwoo,” he said, knowing eventually you would need to tell your family about Wonwoo. Neither of you wanted to hide Wonwoo. He wasn’t a dirty little secret or anything like that. You love him just as much as you love Mingyu.

“Yeah I like that idea,” you said with a smile.

You sat in the warm bath for probably half an hour, talking about little things. When you got out you were barely awake. Mingyu helped dry you off then he took your handed leading you to bed, curled up under the covers soon you both quickly fell asleep.

When your mother met Mingyu she couldn’t help but be charmed by the man with curly hair and golden skin. When she first arrived, Mingyu was so nervous he didn’t even know what to say. It didn’t take long before you and your mother were laughing at one of his stories from his childhood. Your mother seemed to love Mingyu and when you walked her out to her car she kissed Mingyu on the cheek and told him to take care of her daughter.

You sat in the kitchen waiting for Wonwoo to come home. His business trip was over and he was supposed to be walking through that door at any moment. You missed him dearly and couldn’t wait for him to come home. Mingyu was off taking a shower, he had asked you to join him, but you told him you didn’t want to be in the shower when Wonwoo walked through the door.

It was pretty early in the morning and you let out a yawn. You walked over to the coffee pot and started to make some coffee for you and the boys. As you turned the coffee pot on you heard the front door open. Turning around you found Wonwoo walking in, limping. Your eyes went wide and suddenly you panicked,rushing over to Wonwoo who seemed to be moving slower than normal. He dropped his duffle bag and wrapped his arms around you as you buried your face in his chest. Leaning down he pressed his lips to the top of your head.

“Wonwoo are you alright?” You asked, worried about him.

“Yeah babygirl I’m fine. I’m just a little sore, I definitely overworked myself when I was working out last night at the hotel with Joshua.”

“You had me really worried for a moment,” you sighed.

“I’m fine you don’t have to worry about me,” he leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours for a soft kiss. “How did Mingyu meeting your mother go?”

“It went great, my mom loved him,” you couldn’t help but smile thinking about how great things went with your mom. “Maybe after we’ve been together a while longer we can introduce you to her as well.”

Leaning up once again you pressed your lips to his. Wrapping your arms around him, you deepen the kiss. You had missed Wonwoo so much. You grabbed his hand and led him off to your that has now become the shared bedroom for all of you.

You walked him over to your bed and reached down for the bottom of your shirt and pulled it off. Wonwoo had truly missed you, but he didn’t expect this greeting when he arrived home. He reached to pull off his own shirt and groaned at the soreness.

“Wonwoo, are you okay?” You asked worried about how hurt he actually was.

“Yeah baby, I’m fine,” he pulled his shirt off the rest of the way and worked on getting his shoes off. “Me and Joshua did a boxing match at the hotel gym I forgot that Shua is stronger than he looks.”

You took this as your chance to remove your pale blue pajama bottoms. He pushed his sweat pants down and boxers and he stood there naked in front of you. Taking his glasses off, he sits them on the dresser. You reached up and softly connected your lips to his for a gentle kiss. You missed him so much, you hated when you had to spend time apart.

Lancing your fingers with his you led him towards the bed. Wonwoo laid down on your unmade bed and you reached over and pumped his hardened length a few times. You had desperately missed the feeling of his skin. Slowly you crawled into the bed, and lined his erection up with your entrance. There is no time for foreplay. You’ve missed him too much. After the first few thrusts, you’ll adjust to his size. You slowly sank down on his length.

You gasped as you bottomed out on his length and Wonwoo let out a breathy moan. He had missed you so much and he loved you so much he couldn’t get enough of you. Slowly you moved yourself against him.

Mingyu walked out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. He couldn’t help but smile at the sight of you on top of Wonwoo. Both Wonwoo and you looked over at Mingyu and gave him a small smile. You continued to ride Wonwoo as Mingyu acted like nothing was going on and worked on grabbing some boxers out of the dresser. It didn’t take long before Wonwoo and you both hit your highs. Wonwoo paints your walls white as he grips your hips.

Crawling off him, you laid down next to him. Mingyu leaned against the wall and smiled at the two of you who were both trying to catch your breath. Mingyu walks into the bathroom and comes back holding a washcloth. Tapping your thigh he signals for you to open your legs. Ever so gently he cleans up his best friend's release that is already dropping out of you.

“Thank you,” Wonwoo sighs.

“Wonwoo what’s up with the bruise?” Mingyu asked, noticing Wonwoo’s bruised skin.

“Me and Shau did a practice boxing match at the hotel gym last night.”

Mingyu let out a soft laugh, “she’s the best kind of medicine.” He walked over and crawled into bed next to you and curled up next to you.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

“You know, when I pictured going on a double date with you and your future boyfriend I never imagined it would be with my dorky gamer friend,” Jeonghan teases sitting across from the table. Wonwoo lets out a laugh as his hand rest on your thighs.

“Hannie,” his girlfriend says, slapping his arm.

“Where is your guy’s other boyfriend?” It’s not unusual for Jeonghan to refer to Mingyu as both of your boyfriends. Wonwoo never corrects anyone. Neither does Mingyu when people call Wonwoo his. That might be because they're in a relationship together as much as they are with you. They’ve never done anything really romantic except cuddle and hold hands from what you know. But even if they had it wouldn’t change anything. You would fully embrace it if they wanted to be intimate together.

“He’s in Japan for a video shoot,” Wonwoo says.

“What have you two been up to?” You're attempting to change the subject of your relationship.

“So we asked you guys if you wanted to meet up because I’m moving,” Jeonghan’s girlfriend statement catches you off guard.

“Are you moving too Jeonghan?”

“No, she is moving to England.”

The table is suddenly silent as you process what you’re being told. They’ve been together for a really long time. It’s insane that now they would do long distance.

“Are you going to do long distance?” Wonwoo asked exactly what you were thinking.

“No, we actually broke up two weeks ago. I’m going to stay with Jeonghan for another week before I move.”

Looking up at your best friend you can see the sadness in his eyes. He’s no longer smiling as he stares at the table.

“Hannie, are you okay?” You wish you didn’t find out right now. You wish he would have told you sooner so you could be there for him.

“I’ll be okay.”

The whole dinner felt like a blur. You all made small talk and you couldn’t help but focus on Jeonghan who seemed like he was trying to be happy.

Standing in the parking lot you say goodbye to Lana before she walks off to Jeonghan’s car. Wonwoo gives you a kiss before he says he’ll meet you in the car. He knows you need a moment with your best friend.

Jeonghan puts his hands in his pocket and sighs.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know. We haven’t told anyone. I wasn’t really sure how to process this. Hell, I was just getting ready to buy her a ring.”

Stepping forward you pull him into a hug. He’s stiff for a moment before he relaxes resting his cheek on top of your head. “I’ll be okay. Once she moves I’ll be able to fully process this.”

“If you need anything you can call me, any time of the day or night.”

He pulls away from you and smiles. “I’ll be okay. How about once she’s gone we can get dinner and ice cream.”

“Ice cream to heal your heart?”

“Yes, to heal my heart.”

“Please call me,” you step back.

“I will. Now go spend time with your gamer boyfriend. Something tells me he’s looking forward to one on one time.”

Walking over to Wonwoo’s car you can’t help but feel sad for your best friend. Sliding into the passenger seat, Wonwoo watches you.

“I had no clue they broke up. I had been pushing him to take the next step with her.”

“I know he’s sad, but Jeonghan is a good guy and he’ll find the perfect person for him.” He rests his large hand on your thigh before giving it a squeeze. “How about we go back to our place and cuddle on the couch and watch a movie?”

Walking into the house Wonwoo and you head off to the master bedroom. You both decided to get dressed for bed. Wonwoo puts on a pair of lounge pants that sit low on his hips and you opt to only wear a baggy shirt and a pair of panties.

Curled up on the couch you just want to be close to Wonwoo. His arm is wrapped around you. His large hand rests on your soft stomach.

You can barely focus on the movie. You’re only focused on his hand that has started gently kneading the flesh on your stomach.

“Wonwoo?”

“Yeah baby?”

“Thank you for loving me.”

“You were so incredibly easy to fall in love with.”

Gently he presses his lips to your shoulder.

“You were the missing piece in both me and Mingyu’s life.”

There is a long moment of silence. “You two truly made me so comfortable in my own skin again.”

“Baby you’re beautiful inside and out.” His hand that is resting on your stomach gently squeezes your flesh.

“I feel so much more confident in myself.” This didn’t happen overnight and being with the boys didn’t suddenly give you confidence. It took baby steps to get here but you finally feel so comfortable and happy in your own skin. For the first time in your life, you truly feel sexy.

You also finally feel happy and there isn’t a sadness lingering over you. That’s because of a healthy and loving relationship and the help of therapy along the way.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

You, and the boys glided through the crowded party. Your hand was holding Mingyu’s strong hand tightly. He led you away from the party to his old room at Seungcheol’s house. At one point in time both your boys lived with Seungcheol here. Wonwoo followed right behind. You snuck off upstairs away from the crowd as everyone was ringing in the new year. The moment the door was opened he pressed you against the wall and moved his lips down your neck. Wonwoo slowly walked in behind you. Mingyu seemed to be way more eager than Wonwoo was. Wonwoo walked over and sat down on the bed and watched as Mingyu’s hungry lips moved down the base of your neck as his hands worked on getting your dress off. Mingyu groaned at the fact that you weren’t wearing a bra. He removed your dress leaving you only in undies and your black high heels, your soft body on full display. He stepped away and worked on getting his own clothes off.

You looked over Mingyu’s shoulder to find Wonwoo sitting on the bed watching with a smile on his face. He seemed amused by what was playing out in front of him. Wonwoo tended to watch and direct you both from the sidelines before taking his turn or joining in.

You reached down and removed your heels and undies as Mingyu stripped off the rest of his clothing. The second he was naked he gave himself a few strokes, he connected his lips to yours and dipped his fingers into your core to give you some foreplay as his lips moved against yours in a hungry kiss. You moaned into the kiss at the feeling of his fingers circling your sensitive nub. You pulled your lips away from his and moaned his name loudly. He took this as his cue and lifted your soft body up like you weighed nothing. He thrust into you in one quick motion. Your hands gripped his back as he pressed you against the wall as he slid into you over and over again. The angle he was hit with each thrust had you seeing stars.

You couldn’t help but moan with every thrust. You held on to him tightly as he worked at a quick pace. Looking over at the bed you found Wonwoo biting his bottom lip as he palmed himself through his dress pants.

Mingyu’s lips moved to the side of your neck where he left a trail of wet kisses. He groaned against your skin as he was getting close to his high. It only took two more thrust before he pushed you over the edge. You rode out your high as he thrust a few more times before finishing inside you.

“Wonwoo,” you whispered as Mingyu sat you back down on your feet. Pushing your legs together you feel his cum start to slowly drip out if you. He stood up and started unbuttoning his shirt. He could tell by your tone what you wanted. With your legs slightly wobbly you walked over to Wonwoo who was standing next to the bed removing his dress shirt. You stood in front of him for a second before you leaned up and pressed your lips to his.

Mingyu walked over and sat down on the chair by the window still coming down from his own high. Despite how much he wanted to get in on the action, he wanted to give you and Wonwoo some time to yourselves. There were times that you would have sex all together, but they also liked to give each other their alone time with you.

You reached between Wonwoo and you and undid his belt and buttons on his pants. He was the only one in the room still wearing clothes. It didn’t take long before Wonwoo’s clothes were on the floor and he moved to the bed.

Your soft body was sitting on his hips as he lay underneath you. Your hands rested on his chest and you moved your body slowly up and down his length. Mingyu sat silently on the chair for a little while, before he got up and moved over to the bed. He leaned over and started placing wet kisses across your shoulder as you rode Wonwoo like your life depended on it. You tilted your head back and moaned.

“Gyu play with her clit,” Wonwoo was good at giving Mingyu directions in bed. Mingyu will always fully listen to whatever his best friend asks him to do.

Mingyu pressed himself against you rubbing his already hardening length against your ass as his hand dipped between your folds. Rubbing your clit as Wonwoo raises his hips to meet you. Mingyu can’t take his lips off the side of your neck.

“Fuck-“ you brain feels like it’s filled with static. With zero coherent thoughts.

“I think we need a new position. Princess is short circuiting,” Wonwoo teases below you.

“What position do you want?” Mingyu asked, still toying with your sensitive clit.

“We don’t have lube so I don’t think she can take me in her ass right now without it and she definitely can’t take you.” He’s not wrong, both of your boyfriends are big, but Mingyu is absolutely huge. Wonwoo dick is the perfect size for you, and sometimes it takes a little extra work to make it comfortable for you to be able to take Mingyu. When it comes to anal, most the time Wonwoo is the only one allowed to fuck your ass. You’ve taken Mingyu a few times but it stresses him out and you're definitely in pain the next day. Even though the man is obsessed with your ass. He knows when it comes to anal that Wonwoo is the best option.

“Baby how do you feel about sucking off Mingyu while I take you from behind?”

“Please.”

Wonwoo helps you get on your hands and knees. His hands massage the flesh of your ass as he runs his length through your folds.

Taking Mingyu large cock in your hand you start working your hand up and down his length.

“Baby spit on it,” Wonwoo moans.

Opening your mouth you spit onto his length just like Wonwoo asked.

Wonwoo pushes into your quickly earning a moan. One hand rests on Mingyu thigh helping to support yourself while you lean down to take him hard cock in your mouth. With his size you can’t fully take him but he’s okay with that. His hand is holding your hair back from your face as you bob your head, taking him past your gag reflex. Wonwoo’s hands are gripping your hips as he snaps his hips into yours over and over again.

“You’re so fucking tight,” Wonwoo groans.

“Baby-” Mingyu whimpers.

You aren’t sure how long you can last like this. Wonwoo’s pace is fast and he’s brushing just the right spot that has you seeing stars. Pulling off Mingyu’s dick, you whimper, looking back at Wonwoo who seems completely lost in the moment.

“You’re doing so good baby, taking care of me and Gyu.”

Leaning back down, you take Mingyu’s cock in your mouth again. He groans, leaning his head back. His body feels tense under your touch. His whimpers let you know he’s close.

“Gyu if you’re going to come in her mouth, ask princess for permission.” Wonwoo sometime like to be in charge in the bedroom and you and your other boyfriend won’t ever complain.

“Baby where can I finish?” Mingyu practically whines.

Popping off him, some saliva is attached from his cock to your mouth. “In my mouth.”

“I’m close.” He whines.

Leaning back down you start sucking him off like your life depends on it. Wonwoo makes you moan when he reaches in between your legs and starts playing with your sensitive clit.

Your orgasm hits you like a train. Moaning around Mingyu length he fills your mouth with his cum. Pulling off of him with a pop, you fall forward resting your head on his thigh as Wonwoo pace gets quicker.

“Fuck-” you moan.

“Fuck-” Wonwoo’s hips still as his finds his own release. Filling you to the brim with milky white release.

Wonwoo slowly removes himself from you. He crawls off the bed as Mingyu sets you up in his lap. He runs his fingers through your hair as he presses his lips to yours for a gentle kiss. He could care less that he can taste himself on your lips.

Both the boys have left you fucked out and exhausted.

“I love you both,” you smiled, feeling dazed in pure bliss. Wonwoo crawled back onto the bed lying down next to you and Mingyu.

“We love you too, babygirl,” Mingyu leaned down and kissed your cheek.

Wonwoo silently laid there with a huge smile on his face.

“I think we wore Wonwoo out,” Mingyu jokes.

He closed his eyes and nodded his head with a huge smile on his face.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Your first anniversary was a major milestone you were looking forward to. Initially,you wanted to plan something for the boys. Before you could even think of anything, Wonwoo informed you to just let them plan something.

Your night started at a romantic dinner at a fancy sushi place you have always wanted to try. Mingyu even picked out a dress and lingerie he wanted you to wear. When you walked out of the bedroom in the skin tight dress Mingyu picked out, you weren’t even sure you would leave the house at the way both the boys were eye fucking you. Hell if they wanted to spend the whole night having sex you wouldn’t complain.

The dinner was absolutely perfect and when you got home they took their time undressing you before worshiping every ounce of your body.

Laying on top of Mingyu, your pussy rubs against his hardened length. His fingers are tangled in your hair as he kisses you. Wonwoo is behind you watching as he’s getting the stuff he needs to prep you to take him in your ass.

A cold dollop of lube lands on your tight ring of muscle. Pulling your lips away from Mingyu you look over you shoulder to find Wonwoo smirking at you as his thumb applies some pressure to your asshole.

“Oh-” you moan.

“Does princess want to take both of us at the same time tonight?” His thumb fully slips into your ass.

“Please-” this is a rare treat taking them both at the same time. You’ve done it a handful of times and you want to do it more, it just takes more prep than normal.

“Gyu can you put it in and just let her cockwarm you while I finger her? She needs extra prep tonight.” Wonwoo isn’t necessarily bossy in the bedroom, and doesn’t try to dom either of you. But he’s really good at being in charge and giving you both directions.

“Baby can you slowly take me in?” Mingyu asked.

Silently you lift your hips. Mingyu helps, holding his length at your entrance. Ever so slowly you slide down his huge length. You already feel full, and you don’t have anything in your ass yet.

Wonwoo’s finger slides into your ass slowly. “Mingyu keep her relaxed. Kiss her, do whatever you need to do to make sure our princess is relaxed.” This isn’t the norm in the bedroom. When you do take both of them at the same time it takes some patience from everyone.

Tangling his fingers in your hair he pulls your lips down to his. The kiss is sloppy, filled with lots of tongue. Your brain feels scrambled trying to focus on the second finger Wonwoo has in your ass, and the feeling of Mingyu snug inside you.

“You’re such a good girl,” Wonwoo’s large hand massages your fleshy butt cheek. “Are you ready for me?”

“Yes.” You pull away from Mingyu mouth.

Wonwoo grabs the bottle of lube and takes his time coating his erection. Mingyu’s lips are on your breast, helping distract you.

The initial feeling of Wonwoo pushing into your ass is always a little uncomfortable. The stretching feeling takes some time to get used to. A soft whimper passes your lips, capturing Mingyu’s attention. He takes your face with both hands. His thumb drags across your bottom lip, earning a smile.

“You’re doing so good,” he whispers, almost as if you’re alone in the room.

“It feels intense.”

Wonwoo bottoms out and stills, giving you time to adjust. “Baby do you need me to stop?” Wonwoo snaps you out of the little haze you were in.

“No, I just need a moment.”

His hand rubs up and down the small of your back helping you relax. “You’re so good at this baby. You’re absolutely perfect.”

“You’re just saying that because I like to let you both double team me.” You can’t help but tease.

Mingyu smiles instantly at your words. “That’s just a bonus baby.”

“You both can move. Just please go slow.”

Mingyu stays completely still, letting Wonwoo get in a few shallow thrust. Wonwoo’s large hands grip your sides, helping steady himself.

“Gyu move-“ You whine.

Mingyu thrust up into you the best he can from below you. You try to help, but Wonwoo is holding you in place. The feeling of both them filling you up fully isn’t something you can fully comprehend.

Your brain feels like mush and you can’t think of anything other to say than moans and whine a mix of their names, and curse words.

Wonwoo bends over, completely plastered against your back. His lips are your shoulder sucking marks into your skin. One of his hands reaches around you and starts rubbing quick circles against your clit.

You’ve been teetering on the edge for what feels like hours. Every muscle in your body feels tense. There is a pressure building inside you that you can’t quite explain.

The moment your orgasm hits you, it feels like an explosion. You cry out as all the tension releases and your body releases a liquid all over Mingyu below you. This is a first for all of you.

Your arms give out and you collapse on Mingyu. He moans your name before he fills you with milky white cum. Wonwoo hasn’t stopped thrusting into you. He’s changed his position slightly. He’s still thrusting into you over and over again, pushing you against Mingyu who is still snug inside you. His softening cock is plugging up his cum from leaking out.

Wonwoo gives you three firm thrusts before filling your ass with his own release.

Pulling out slowly he rolls onto the bed next to you and Mingyu. Mingyu has done nothing to try and remove himself from you. His hand brushes your hair away from your face.

No one says anything for a long moment. Mingyu is the first to speak. “Did you squirt on me?” Your body burns with embarrassment suddenly.

“She did, it turns out taking both of us and playing with her clit will make her.” Wonwoo says.

“That’s so embarrassing.” You sigh.

“That was the exact opposite of embarrassing. That was fucking hot.” Mingyu smiles.

“We’re gonna need to clean the sheets before we go to bed.” Wonwoo says. Of course your neat freak boyfriend is thinking about changing the cheats after he’s made you squirt on Mingyu.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Sitting on the floor in the bathroom you mind raced. Your emotions were all over the place and your brain fought with the feeling of sadness, happiness and guilt. The dinging on your phone let you know that five minutes had passed letting you know that it was time.

Reaching up on the counter you looked at the two pink stripes on the stick that let you know that you were indeed pregnant. Most women would be over the moon to find out they were pregnant, but you couldn’t help but feel guilty. You had never discussed having children with Wonwoo and Mingyu and you honestly had no clue who the father was. You were on birth control and neither of the boys used condoms anymore.

The sound of knocking on the bathroom door caught your attention. Before you could even dispose of the pregnancy test Wonwoo walked into the bathroom. His mouth opened to say something but immediately shut as he looked at the pregnancy test that was in your hands.

“Princess are you okay?” He asked, sitting down on the floor next to you.

Quietly you shook your head and looked into his warm eyes. You wonder if the baby is his if they’ll get his beautiful lips or warm eyes.

“What does it say?” He rested his hand on your thigh and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“I’m pregnant,” your voice shook as admitted it out loud for the first time.

“Why are you sad about that?”

You took a deep breath wondering what exactly you should say, “we never talked about having children and I don’t know which one of you is the father.”

A look of confusion crossed his face as he reached for your soft body. Without a second thought he pulled you into his lap. You sat on his lap and rested your head on his strong chest. A sigh pasted your lips as your eyes brimmed with tears. His hand rubbed your side and his lips pressed to the top of your head. He took a long moment just holding you. He wanted to comfort you, but he knew you were mentally going through a lot processing the fact that you knew you were pregnant.

“It doesn’t matter who the father is. We both love you and no matter what, and we’ll raise this child together with you,” he murmured as his hand continued to rub your side. “If the baby is mine I’ll love it with all my heart, and if it’s Mingyu I’m still going to love it the same way. No matter who the father is, Mingyu and I will be that baby’s dads together.”

Glancing up at him you found him smiling. He seemed to be happy about the fact that you were pregnant. A small sense of relief started to wash over you at the fact that he wasn’t worried about the fact you didn’t know who the father was.

Sniffling back tears, you asked, “do you think Mingyu is going to be okay with me being pregnant?”

Wonwoo and Mingyu were in very different places in their lives mentally. Wonwoo was pretty well adapted to what he wanted in life, and Mingyu was still trying to figure out what he fully wanted with his life. His dream of pursuing directing was something that always stopped him from settling down before you.

“Mingyu’s always longed for a family in the city, and the sense of having a home here, and starting a family with you is something that he needs.”

A warm feeling in your chest let you know that everything was going to be alright. That things between you and the two boys weren’t exactly normal in the eyes of society, but what you had was perfect to them.

“Mingyu should be home from working out anytime, do you want to tell him?” Wonwoo asked.

You gently nodded your head and crawled out his lap. He stood up and reached his hand out to help you stand up. The moment you were standing he leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours for a sweet kiss. Pulling his lips away from yours he wrapped his arms around your curvy torso and hugged you. His hand rubbed your back and he whispered, “there is no other woman I would rather have a child with, and there is no other person I would rather share being a father with than my best friend.”

Pulling away you looked up at him and couldn’t help smiling. The sound of the bedroom door opening caught your attention. Wonwoo reached down and grabbed the pregnancy test and handed it to you and smiled.

You walked out of the bathroom to find a shirtless Mingyu looking through his drawer in one of the dressers. He turned around and his eyes immediately went to you and noticed your eyes were puffy in the aftermath of your tears.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Mingyu asked.

Without a word you held out the pregnancy test. Silently he stepped forward and grabbed the pregnancy test, his wide eyes stayed locked on the pregnancy test. You couldn’t help but be worried about the look on Mingyu’s face. His dark eyes were wild for a long moment before he looked up at you and instantly his expression softened.

Wonwoo stood next to you holding your hand, he knew that all of this was scary for you.

“You’re pregnant?” Mingyu asked, finally breaking the silence that had grown so loud between all of you.

Slowly you nodded not sure what to say.

“I’m assuming we don’t know who the dad is?” He asked not actually caring who the father was.

Shaking your head, you tried not to cry. “The way I see it, it doesn’t matter who the father is. We’re both fathers to this baby,” Mingyu reached out resting his hand on your stomach. His response warmed your heart and you smiled.

“Told you he would be happy,” Wonwoo leaned down and pressed his lips to the top of your head.

“I’m finally going to have a little family of my own,” he walked towards you and wrapped his arms around your soft torso pulling you into a tight hug. “I love you so much babygirl.”

Stepping back you looked over at Wonwoo who had a really big smile on his face. Both boys seemed genuinely happy that they were going to have a child. You had gone from feeling sad and guilty to suddenly overjoyed that you were going to be starting a family with the two boys who you loved and adored.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Your hand rested on your growing stomach. As you sat on the large couch that was in the middle of your living room. You leaned against Wonwoo while your feet were resting in Mingyu’s lap. Strong hands massage your feet as your eyes are held closed enjoying the closeness with the boys.

Without saying a word you reached for the pillow on the floor and laid it down in Wonwoo’s lap. He couldn’t help but smile as you moved to lay your head down in his lap while Mingyu massaged your feet.

From the moment they discovered you were pregnant both the boys had gone out of their way to make sure you were treated like a princess. Both them were over the moon that you were expecting a child.

Recently your hormones have been all over the place. You went from wanting to cry to wanting to tear the boy’s clothing off with your teeth.

“Baby, are you tired?” Wonwoo asked as he rubbed your arm gently.

“I’m exhausted every moment of my life right now,” you let out a soft laugh. “Carrying this baby takes all my energy.”

Reached up, Wonwoo gently rested his hand on your round stomach. It still amazes him that either Mingyu or him had created a life with you. He couldn’t wait to see if the baby was going to look like you or either him or his best friend.

“You look so beautiful carrying our baby.”

“You two are lucky you’re charming and good looking because this baby takes all my energy,” you teased.

“We’re sorry the baby is making you tired,” Mingyu said, speaking up.

Leaning over Mingyu placed a sweet kiss on your knee.

“I’m supposed to be cooking dinner for your birthday Mingyu.”

Wonwoo looked down at you shaking his head smiling, “It’s cute you think that you’re cooking dinner.”

In the last two months as you crossed over from your second trimester to your third. The boys were letting you do less and less. You had originally planned to cook the boys an amazing dinner for Mingyu’s birthday but both the boys kept shutting you down.

“If I don’t cook, who is going to cook?”

“We are more than capable of cooking dinner for us,” Mingyu gently squeezed your foot. You looked at him and tried not to laugh at his comment. “Don’t be rude,” he gently squeezed your foot one last time.

“So Princess, have you figured out if you want to find out if we’re having a boy or a girl?” Wonwoo asked, attempting to change the subject.

You were still trying to decide if you wanted to know if you were having a boy or a girl. Since finding out you were pregnant you had gone back and forth on if you wanted to find out.

“I mean I still don’t know. Maybe the gender can be a surprise along with figuring out who the dad is,” you tried to joke about the situation that still made you feel guilty.

Wonwoo leaned down and pressed his lips to your forehead. His touch was gentle as if he was trying to calm you.

“We both have told you over and over it doesn’t matter who the father is. This is both of our baby,” Wonwoo's voice was warm and calming.

“He’s right,” Mingyu said, speaking up.

“I know I just feel…” you paused trying to gather your words. You slowly sat up and took your feet off of Mingyu’s lap and sat in between both the boys. “It’s just an odd feeling. I feel like I’m breaking one of your hearts.”

“Hey,” Mingyu reaches over and rested his hand on your cheek and gently twisting your head so you’re looking at him. “No one is upset here or hurt. You mean the world to both of us and we both love you and the baby equally. It doesn’t matter who the biological father is. We don’t even have to ever find out if you don’t want to.”

Your eyes were locked on his kind dark colored eyes. Slowly you blinked for a moment before you leaned forward for a sweet kiss.

“I don’t think I want to find out,” you whispered, feeling a sense of relief wash over you.

“Then we don’t find out,” Wonwoo answered.

“If you want, maybe after this one grows up a little bit we can try to have another one. Say this little you’re carrying now is mine, we have to focus on making the next baby Mingyu’s if they makes you happy.”

“Does that mean one of you boys would have to wear a condom every time?”

“Yeah and we would be fine with that,” Mingyu chimes in.

“Thank you boys.”

You put your feet up on the coffee table and reached over and took both of their hands. You knew nothing about their lives were normal but wouldn’t change your life for the world. You would never know how you ended up lucky enough to have two wonderful men in your life. Or how you were lucky enough to start a family with them.

~&~

Standing in the living room you watched as Mingyu held your daughter. He gently swayed side to side singing softly to the little girl who stole his heart. It was very clear early on into her life that Wonwoo was the father to your little girl. She looked so much like him it was hard to deny.

You and Wonwoo had just returned from the store and hadn’t expected to find Mingyu dancing with his daughter. You couldn’t help the smile that is plastered on your face as you watch them.

“Is that how Mingyu calms her down?”you asked looking up at Wonwoo.

“When I dance she doesn’t giggle like that,” Wonwoo acted as if he was offended even though he wasn’t. Wonwoo absolutely adores how much his daughter loves Mingyu. He couldn’t be happier that he’s getting to experience fatherhood with his best friend.

“Look mommy and daddy are home,” Mingyu says walking over towards you.

“Did she behave?” You asked as you walked closer to Mingyu and your daughter.

“This little girl was a complete angel while you were away,” he winked before he pressed his lips to the top of his daughter's head.

Your daughter says, “dada,” clinging to her other father. Mingyu lights up every time his daughter calls him that.

In all the time you had been with Mingyu and Wonwoo things between the three of you just kept getting better. The addition of your daughter seemed to bring all of you closer than you had ever been before and none of you thought that was possible.

Wonwoo heads off to the kitchen to put some of the groceries away. You stood in the living room staring at Mingyu for a moment before he handed you your daughter. You’ll never get over how completely perfect your little girl is. Holding your daughter close, you press your lips to the top of her head. Swaying to the beat of the music you hummed along to the song. It’s not long before your little girl is sound asleep in your arms.

“I should probably put her down for a nap,” you say quietly.

Walking off to her nursery you lays her down in her crib and press your lips to her forehead before slowly leaving her room.

Walking back into the living room you find Wonwoo and Mingyu sitting down on the couch. You smile as you sit down between them.

“I don’t want to brag but I personally think we made the perfect baby,” you state proudly.

Mingyu shrugs and lets out a chuckle, “I mean you aren’t wrong. I think our next one will be just as perfect.” It still stings a little that Mingyu is gonna to have to wait a little while to have a child that is biologically his.

You both look at Wonwoo who is smiling. He lets out a soft laugh of his own before saying, “I’m aware our daughter is beautiful. She looks like her mother. She was bound to be stunning.”

Biting your bottom lip you hold back a smile as blush crept across your cheeks. You’ll never get over the fact that both boys are so attracted to you, and how much you love your life with them.

“I love you both,” you beams.

“And we love you,” Mingyu says as he leans over and presses his lips to your shoulder.

It’s moments like this that make you feel like your life is perfect, and you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

FOUR YEARS LATER -

Jeonghan’s birthday party is always an event. His house is filled with friends celebrating. Things have changed since you’ve had kids. House parties have now become family friendly events.

Jeonghan’s girlfriend of two years Honey looks like she has a serious case of baby fever as she holds your son. At only six months old he’s just as charming as Mingyu.

Mingyu is with Wonwoo in the kitchen helping your daughter get something to eat.

“My godson just looks like a mini version of Mingyu,”

Jeonghan laughs.

“I sure made some cute kids.”

“I would usually joke being like, are you sure you know who the dads are, but your daughter is the perfect mix of you and Wonwoo. And that little one is just a mini Gyu.” He’s not wrong, your daughter definitely looks like both you and Wonwoo and you aren’t sure if you just didn’t clone Mingyu at this point. There was absolutely no denying he’s the father of your son.

“So does Honey want kids?”

“About that-“ Jeonghan watches his girlfriend with a smile on his face. “We think she might be pregnant.”

“Does that mean I finally get to be a godmother?”

He rolls his eyes, “yes you get to be a godmother.”

“Mommy,” your daughter screams running towards you holding an ice cream bar.

Wonwoo is hot on her trail. He picks her up before she can launch herself into your arms. “Dada gave me ice cream,” she looks over her shoulder at Mingyu who is smiling walking towards you.

“I said wait for dinner but Mingyu out voted me.” Wonwoo says. Mingyu is an absolute softie when it comes to his daughter. She has him wrapped around her tiny little finger.

“Daddy said no.” Your daughter pouts.

“Gyu,” you can’t help but laugh.

“It's Hannie’s birthday. I said since it’s her godfather's birthday she could have a treat.”

“I say let the kid have ice cream,” Jeonghan chimes in.

“Fine,” Wonwoo rolls his eyes.

There is something special about seeing the boys be amazing fathers. They love their kids so much, they also love you just as much.

Wonwoo leans in, pressing lips to his daughter's forehead. She pulls back giggling before pressing her lips to her father’s nose. Holding her arms out she reaches for her other father. Mingyu wasted no time taking her from his arms. Mingyu walks her back towards the kitchen to get a napkin.

Wonwoo walks closer to you. He smiles before pressing his lips to your.

“So is there a third one coming at any point? Are we going to play another guessing game of ‘guess who the father is’?” Jeonghan always likes to tease you about the fact you weren’t sure when you were pregnant with your daughter about who the father was.

“Right now we’re good with two? But who knows maybe one day me and Mingyu will play a game called, Who-Can-Knock-Up-Our-Wife-First.” Wonwoo says, earning a laugh from Jeonghan.

“We’re good with two right now.” You respond.

Life has a strange way of working out. Who would have known taking that taking that new job all those years and go to live near Jeonghan would lead you to this perfect life you’re now living.

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dearlenore · 5 months ago

Text

PARTNER IN CRIME • S.REID

SUMMARY: Spencer Reid is your partner in crime—though the BAU might call you a liability. With powerful connections, effortless charm, and a knack for bending the rules just enough, you always get what you want. Spencer should know better than to get involved, but he trusts you more than he should. When a case tests that trust, he starts to wonder—has he been enabling you, or have you been pulling the strings all along?

PAIRING: rich!fem!reader x spencer

TAGS: reader is kinda mean, season2!spencer, reader buys & wears makeup, use of y/n, heavy flirting, criminal activity.., manipulation, use of my love, angel and spence, non established relationship between reader and spencer

a/n: incredibly rushed + editor is occupied for the foreseeable future</3

w/c: 1.1k

SPENCER’S PHONE BUZZED relentlessly on the table, the sharp vibration cutting through the quiet hum of the BAU’s workspace. He sighed, hurriedly drying his hands on a paper towel, only then noticing the excessive amount of hand sanitizer he’d used in his absentminded daze. As he reached for his phone, he became acutely aware of the team’s eyes on him.

He cleared his throat and answered, tucking the phone between his shoulder and chin.

“I bet you were thinking about me,” you purred, your voice dripping with amusement. You twirled a strand of hair lazily, lounging on the edge of your daybed as the golden morning sun spilled through your window.

“How’d you know?” Spencer murmured, his lips twitching into a faint smile before he caught himself. The response earned a raised brow from Morgan, while Emily exchanged a knowing glance with JJ.

“You’re gross,” you laughed, pushing yourself up from the bed and making your way toward your desk.

Spencer ignored the heat creeping up his neck. “Do you have what I asked for?” he asked, shifting his focus to the case board littered with evidence.

A pause. Then, teasingly, “Depends… you gotta ask nicely.”

Spencer exhaled sharply, glancing at his team as if hoping they weren’t listening too closely. No such luck—Morgan was already smirking.

“Please? Come on, you know I need your help angel,” he murmured, his voice dipping into something dangerously close to a whine.

You bit your lip, thoroughly enjoying the moment as you spun idly in your chair. “Mmm… how tempting,” you mused, dragging out the words just to make him squirm. “Fine.”

Spencer sighed in relief and, with a swift motion, put you on speaker. “What do you have?”

Before you could answer, Morgan raised an eyebrow. “Who is that, kid?” He teased, knowing the answer.

“Why does she talk to you like she’s your dom?” Emily added with a sly grin.

A sharp burst of laughter erupted from your end of the line, the sound echoing through the room.

Spencer groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “That’s… not important.” He shot a glare at Emily, who only grinned wider. “Just tell them what you know.”

Despite the teasing, Spencer couldn’t help but smirk to himself. The team might have questions, but for now, the case—and you—were his only focus.

Alright, fun’s over—for now,” you said, your voice still tinged with laughter. The sound sent a familiar warmth through Spencer, though he masked it well.

Hotch, ever the professional, folded his arms. “What do you have for us?”

You hummed as if debating how much to reveal. “Well, first things first—I found your guy.” A few clicks echoed through the phone as you pulled up the information. “His name’s Alex Monroe. Mid-thirties, bounced between foster homes as a kid, started running with a crew out of Chicago in his late teens. Blah blah blah, your tech girl told you the boring stuff. What she doesn’t know is that he bought a lot of fun stuff, like drugs type of fun. Cash of course, and he left a motel a day ago which he also paid in cash.”

Spencer nodded, already scribbling notes, while Rossi leaned back in his chair. “That’s impressive. Almost too impressive,” he mused.

Derek smirked. “Yeah, real question is, how’d you get this information?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?” you shot back playfully.

“No,” Hotch and Spencer said in unison.

Emily chuckled, shaking her head. “Of course not.”

You exhaled dramatically. “Anyway, I was able to track his movements based on the— let me not lie I had someone find and follow him. He’s currently in Miami, I’ll send you the casino address. My guys have eyes on him now.”

JJ furrowed her brows. “You have someone stalking him?.”

“Yep. It’s almost like I’m good at this.”

Spencer could hear the grin in your voice, but before anyone could respond, you continued. “But before you run off to make the arrest, I have a small request.”

Hotch’s expression hardened slightly. “What kind of request?”

“Well…” you started, dragging out the word. “There’s this guy—Benji Carter. Low-level drug dealer, nothing too serious. Problem is, he owes me money, and I’d really like to see him in handcuffs. I’d like to see my 35K more but you know, beggars can’t be choosers.”

The room fell silent.

“You want us to arrest someone over your personal vendetta?” Rossi asked, rubbing his temple.

“Vendetta is such a strong word,” you mused. “I prefer financial justice.”

Spencer sighed. “Y/N…”

“Oh, come on,” you interrupted, tone light and coaxing. “I just gave you a literal criminal mastermind on a silver platter. All I’m asking is that you do what you do best—throw someone in jail. It’s not that outrageous.”

Morgan chuckled. “I hate that she makes a solid argument.”

Emily smirked. “It’s almost like she’s too good at this.”

Hotch exhaled sharply, clearly weighing the situation. “We’re not mercenaries, and we don’t operate on favors.”

“Of course not,” you replied smoothly. “But if Carter just so happened to be caught distributing in the wrong place at the wrong time, well… that wouldn’t be my fault, would it?”

Spencer pinched the bridge of his nose, but despite himself, he felt the corner of his mouth twitch. You were impossible.

JJ sighed. “What did he do to you, exactly?”

“Other than refusing to pay me back?” You scoffed. “He tried to sell to my high paying clients. And we really don’t like that, do we, Spence?”

Spencer groaned. “Stop making me complicit in this.”

Morgan let out a laugh. “You’ve been complicit for years, kid.”

Hotch looked at the team, then at Spencer, then back at the phone. “We’ll see what we can do.”

You let out a satisfied hum. “That’s all I ask. Pleasure doing business with you, BAU. Bye my love~”

With that, the line went dead.

Spencer ran a hand down his face as his team erupted into laughter.

“You really know how to pick ‘em, pretty boy,” Morgan teased, clapping him on the back.

Emily smirked. “You do realize we’re all going to be questioned by Internal Affairs one day because of her, right?”

Spencer exhaled. “I’m very aware.”

JJ shook her head, still amused. “And yet, you’re still going to see her tonight, aren’t you?”

Spencer hesitated before grabbing his coffee and muttering, “Let’s just go arrest Monroe.”

“Yep, he’s whipped alright…”

#x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid #fanfic #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fluff #fluff #cm

658 notes · View notes

dollfacefantasy · 5 months ago

Text

THE LUCKY ONES ♡

pairing: satoru gojo x fem!reader x naoya zen'in

summary: after he disrespects you at a party, you and satoru teach naoya a little lesson in manners.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, threesome, p in v, oral sex (m + f receiving), misogyny, humiliation kink, orgasm delay/denial

a/n: comm for @nexysworld!! reblogs & comments are always appreciated <3

Lanterns lined the stone pathway leading to the main hall of Jujutsu High. The decorated lights dangled from the trees and swayed in the light wind blowing across Jujutsu Tech’s courtyard. Naoya had never been to the Tokyo campus. His eyes scanned the decorations before taking in the large building before him. Swaths of people hovered around the entrance. He supposed the higher-ups wanted to make a big deal out of this event. It wasn’t every day that the three families struck a deal like they had last week.

Despite the joy plastered on the faces of everyone around him, his expression remained neutral. He walked in silence next to his father. In a way, he was excited. This was the first event he would be attending not as the son of Naobito, but instead, as the future leader of the Zen’in Clan. And future leaders didn’t walk around with goofy smiles or a lot of pep in their step. They stayed cool and calm, projected their strength through their presence alone. Naobito had done as much for Naoya’s entire life, so that was how the younger man planned on acting tonight.

The delicate hum of string music drifted through the air from the building ahead. It grew louder as they approached, though the chatter of sorcerers sprinkled all around drowned it out a decent amount.

A small group of students lingered near the main doors of the place. Naoya kept his golden eyes straight ahead. He hoped that because they were already outside that meant they would be leaving soon. That way he wouldn’t have to talk to his useless cousins. While he’d normally relish a chance to taunt the twins, soon-to-be clan heads didn’t engage in petty squabbles like that.

Naobito crossed the threshold into the party first, and Naoya followed right after. The lights inside burned brighter than the muted ones outdoors. Gatherings of people circled around tables set up throughout the place. They laughed and talked over plates of lavish food and glasses of expensive drinks.

There was also a bar set up to the side of the room. Even though it wasn’t the main attraction by any means, Naobito locked onto it after only a few seconds.

“If you need anything, you know where I’ll be,” he said with a grin, not even looking in Naoya’s direction before taking off the other way.

Grimacing at his father’s pathetic display, he crossed his arms. Not that he would admit it, but Naoya felt a little lost standing all by himself at the front of this event. He recognized a lot of these people, but he’d never spoken to them. His father was the one who was supposed to help weave him into the social fabric of this place. Everyone knew Naobito, and there was always something to talk about with the reigning head of the clan.

Naoya, on the other hand, took a few steps forward and honestly felt like he might be invisible. At home, people looked when he entered a room. They stood at attention and recognized the greatness that was their future patriarch.

Here no one spared him a glance.

He scratched at his elbow and continued on into the main part of the room where most of the people had conglomerated. At the very least, he could grab some food and figure out what to do from there. He slithered around statuesque men and women with cold eyes.

The glare on his face grew more severe as all of them failed to acknowledge him. He was above every last one, and he knew it. They just couldn’t see that yet.

When he finally reached a clear spot near the railing of a large staircase, he heard a laugh that rang familiar to him. Turning his head, he spotted the source standing a few feet up on the landing. He wasn’t hard to find. Standing at six foot three put Satoru Gojo above most of the other heads in the crowd. And even though he hadn’t seen him in nearly a decade, Naoya recognized those snowy white locks right away.

A small smile bloomed across his face despite himself. Finally, he’d found someone here on his level. He stifled the look of happiness before rounding the bannister and making his way up the couple steps that separated them.

“Satoru,” he called out.

The other man paused his conversation to find who wanted his attention. A dark scrap of cloth covered his eyes now. Even with it there, Naoya could still picture the cerulean irises that lie beneath. They were impossible to forget. He didn’t think he’d ever seen anything so pure in color before or since.

He couldn’t see Satoru’s pupils either, but he felt them fixate on his form when the other man finally stopped the search for who had spoken his name. A second went by before his lips quirked up another inch.

“Naoya, right?” he asked in return.

Now the smile was truly gone from the younger sorcerer’s face.

Right?

Why was he asking ‘right’ like he wasn’t sure? Like he didn’t remember Naoya. He was the future head of the fucking Zen’in Clan for Heaven’s sake. He’d spoken to Satoru before. He’d asked him questions about leading a clan and holding that kind of power. He wasn’t just someone you let slip from your memory like a background actor you still didn’t know the name of after seeing them over and over again in movies.

He’d admired Satoru, but clearly, the sentiment had been one-sided.

Instead of pitching a fit though, he maintained his composure like a clan head should.

“Of course,” he scoffed.

Satoru didn’t seem to take offense to the irritation in his tone. He just chuckled and shrugged.

“Sorry. Took me a second. You look pretty different,” he said.

A plume of heat rose to Naoya’s cheeks. He could only hope it didn’t show through his skin in a light tint of pink. While he wanted to continue to ruminate over this perceived injustice, he realized Satoru was right. Back when they’d seen each other last during his early days as head of the Gojo Clan, Naoya didn’t have all the piercings he now wore. His hair had been its natural inky black rather than the harsh blonde that covered his locks now. In the same way that he took a moment to recognize himself in old photos, Satoru needed a second to recall the man he probably hadn’t thought of in almost ten years.

However, the more irrational part of Naoya still felt like he should’ve known anyways.

“So do you,” he huffed. “You look older.”

That brought a laugh from Satoru. “Right,” he responded, clearly nothing but amused at the quip.

In truth, Naoya meant what he said. He just didn’t mean it as an insult. Satoru didn’t look old at all. He just looked older. Over the eight or nine years since he used to stop by the estate for talks with Naobito, he’d grown into his features. Back then, he appeared gangly, like his body had been made a size too big. He walked around on his skinny legs with exaggerated confidence. His large hands always seemed like they didn’t know whether to droop by his sides or stay shoved in his pockets.

Naoya remembered watching him strut by from the edges of the gardens. He couldn’t believe that was who everyone called the strongest. A guy whose pants didn’t even seem to fit him right. There was no way someone wearing trousers that left their deathly pale ankles in full view was considered king of the Jujutsu world.

But as he stood before him now, Satoru looked like the god everyone described him to be. His giant stature was accentuated by healthy amounts of muscle mass. Instead of lingering around with an awkward hunch, he kept his shoulders back. His chest puffed outwards, and his arms rested naturally by his hips. The violet suit he wore hung on his body without an imperfection in sight. It covered everything it should. Maybe even covered a little too much.

“Well how are you? I didn’t know you were coming tonight. What’s it been? Ten years?” Satoru asked, pulling the younger man from his thoughts.

“Something like that… I’m great, actually. You probably already know, but I’m head of the Hei. And I’m going to be head of the clan soon,” Naoya said.

Satoru’s brows rose a bit, but not with genuine surprise. “Soon, huh? Does Naobito know that?” he teased.

Naoya sneered, curling his lip like a provoked dog. “Of course he does. I’m his heir. That’s why he brought me here tonight. To learn how to associate with all of you,” he spat. “What is it that you do now? You’re a teacher, right?”

“Something like that,” Satoru answered, his own expression cocky as ever. He took a few seconds to just stare at the Zen’in before him. “You look different, Naoya, but you really haven’t changed.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he snapped. He had changed. He’d changed a lot in the years since he was eighteen. Back then he was an adult by age, but now he was a man in the truest sense of the word.

Before Satoru could explain his comment, a smaller hand wrapped around his bicep. The faint touch pulled his attention away from the conversation, and his body shifted to reveal who he’d been talking to previously.

You came into Naoya’s view. Some woman he’d never seen. Like everyone else in this place, you were shorter than the head of the Gojo Clan. Your eyes gazed up at the honored one with a bright twinkle of admiration.

Naoya watched, expecting Satoru to dismiss you or even reprimand you for interrupting a conversation you had no place in. But that didn’t happen. Instead, the taller man smiled at you. He took your hand and pulled you closer, tucking you under his long arm against his side. The deep purple of his suit jacket complemented the lilac silk of your dress. For a moment, it almost looked as though the two of you were a couple…

“Naoya, there’s someone I should introduce you to,” he started.

“Is this your wife?” he interrupted immediately. He didn’t see any rings, but that would explain why Satoru was being so lenient with you. He thought better of the strongest sorcerer, yet to Naoya’s absolute dismay, he knew that most non-Zen’in men didn’t make an effort to control their women.

Satoru laughed at that assumption while you gave a timid smile and stood up a little straighter.

“No, not my wife. She may keep me in line like one, but officially, she’s my assistant. She just started working at the school. Yaga thought I needed some help with organization and that she needed a little extra instruction on her cursed energy,” he explained before shrugging. “Marriage or not, I guess we are kind of a match made in heaven.”

Naoya rolled his eyes at that. “Please. I doubt any divine being would pair you with a woman. Let alone one so below your status.”

Your features scrunched with indignation, and for the first time since arriving, Naoya felt in his element. Though he still couldn’t believe you actually worked at the school. You didn’t look like a sorcerer. You looked like a piece of arm-candy. Your shiny dress was too tight and revealing for an employee of the school. Your hair was too styled and pretty for anyone who wanted to be taken seriously. Really, your face was just too cute for a life of combat.

Despite your reaction to the words, Satoru remained composed. “The rest of the world doesn’t live by the Zen’in Clan’s backward rules, Naoya. While you’re here, you’ll speak about everyone with respect,” he said, cool as could be.

And that really lit Naoya’s fire. Not only was Satoru going to let you interrupt and masquerade as someone worth anything, he was going to defend you? He gritted his teeth and stared down the two of you.

“She hasn’t done anything to earn my respect,” he seethed, fist clenched.

“You’re not giving her the chance to. How is she supposed to earn your respect when you’ve already decided she doesn’t deserve it?” he asked.

The question left Naoya without an answer. Humiliation began to cloud his mind as he scrambled for a defense. He knew he was right. You didn’t deserve his respect by virtue of the very way you were acting. You could earn it by behaving how you were meant to, subservient and deferential. AKA looking pretty while standing silently by Satoru’s side.

However, he knew saying that would only worsen Satoru’s opinion of him, and as much as he disagreed with him on his treatment of the opposite sex, he still wanted his fellow clan head’s favor.

Luckily, Satoru saved him from stewing in his embarrassment any longer. “How about you try starting over?” he offered.

It was a gesture of compromise, but it only mortified Naoya further. Satoru was only one year older than him, yet he was speaking like he would to a misbehaving child. There was no other way out though, so he reluctantly nodded.

“There we go,” Satoru praised. He then spoke your name and title like it was the true beginning of the conversation. Naoya had been right. He’d never heard of you before.

You stuck out your hand with a cordial smile. “Pleased to meet you,” you said as if he hadn’t insulted you only a minute ago.

Seeing your outstretched limb nearly sent a wave of nausea through Naoya. The two of you really expected him to shake a woman’s hand. To act as though you were his equal.

He paused and hesitated, but the weight of the six eyes compelled him to grasp your palm and give it a shake.

“I’m sure you are,” he said.

He gripped your hand as hard as he could, wishing he could break every bone beneath the smooth flesh. The smallest semblance of pain flickered in your eye, but you continued the shake just as long as he did. Part of him wished for you to cry out. To look towards Satoru for help, desperation swirling in your eyes as you realized you needed someone superior to save you.

But instead, the only subject of Satoru’s attention was Naoya. He watched as the younger man loosened his grip on you and allowed the interaction to end.

“Good boy,” he teased, “See how much better things are when you play nice?”

Obviously, it was meant to be a joke, but the words stoked the flames inside Naoya in a totally different way than before. Now the heat radiating in his chest didn’t come from anger, but rather something less ugly. The warmth that crawled up his neck and spread across his cheeks felt less harsh. It was something much sweeter.

“Whatever,” he grumbled and looked away in an effort to conceal his blush.

From the lofted walkway nearby, a deep voice called out for Satoru. The three of you looked toward it in sync, finding Masamichi Yaga waving for the white-haired sorcerer.

“Looks like I’m needed elsewhere. You two behave yourselves. I don’t want to be breaking up any fights later,” Satoru teased, patting you on the head before walking away.

Naoya stared at you so hard it seemed as though he was trying to burrow a hole in your head with his gaze alone. Why did YOU get the parting inside joke? Why did you get the friendly end of the warning while Naoya was left excluded? You were an assistant. Barely even a sorcerer, yet Satoru acted as though he respected you more. Ridiculous.

Once he had departed and begun his ascent to Yaga, you returned your focus to Naoya.

“So now that Naobito plans on working with the other families in a larger capacity, do you think you’ll be involved with the schools more? Maybe not here but in Kyoto?” you asked.

The question wasn’t backhanded or manipulative. Your eyes didn’t reflect with condescension or arrogance. It seemed as though you were genuinely trying to start over. To give Naoya the benefit of the doubt. To believe he could overcome the attitude that had been instilled in him since he learned to read. You spoke with a genuine effort to connect with this man who had so disregarded you.

Unfortunately, it was an effort he had no interest in.

Brushing you off with a wave of his hand, he started after Satoru. “Don’t speak to me unless it’s to ask if I want a drink,” he spat in parting, leaving you staring at his back in disbelief.

He kept his distance, taking the steps at an even pace to project the image of nonchalance. Satoru’s back was to him now, so it wasn’t like he would see. But he still wanted to avoid anyone thinking he was clingy. Or needy. Or desperate.

By the time he reached the top of the stairs, Satoru had already integrated with the group of higher-ups who summoned him. Naoya wondered what they could be talking about. It couldn’t be anything too important or else they would have asked for him too. But it didn’t look like anything fun either as Satoru’s plush pink lips rested in a bored line.

The blonde sorcerer stuck to walking along the railing that overlooked the lower level of the party. He played it off like he was just wandering, getting a better view of everything that was happening. But his peripheral kept Satoru in his line of sight at all times.

He wanted so badly to interject and be included in whatever matters all of them were discussing. These were the leaders of the Jujutsu world. The people who made all the decisions. It was a conversation he deserved to be a part of.

They probably wrote the Zen’ins off on instinct, and he couldn’t really blame them with how Naobito was currently downstairs drinking himself blind. But he could show them that would all be changing soon if only they’d give him the chance. The Zen’ins would be strong once again. With him at the head, they’d have power and influence. Under his rule, they’d be a part of this world along with the other families. Him and Satoru, side by side could lead their clans into this new generation of Jujutsu and leave his father and company in the dust where they belonged.

In the midst of outlining this mental manifesto, he caught the end of the nearby conversation. Satoru turned away from the gaggle of old men, his shoulders relaxing slightly with the freedom. Naoya turned too. He faced the opposite direction and grabbed onto the wooden bannister. Hopefully Satoru wouldn’t suspect he’d been doing exactly what he had been, watching in envy.

Only a couple of seconds passed before he felt a hand clap over his shoulder. Satoru then followed, sliding into his left field of vision.

“You stalking me or something?” he quipped. “Thought I left you downstairs with my right hand.”

Naoya rolled his eyes, but he kept his tone neutral. “I got bored. I’ve never been here before. I thought I’d look around a bit and get to know the place better.”

“And you planned on doing that by lingering around me?” he smirked.

“No, I- I’m not lingering around you. I just-” he defended, shooting a glare towards Satoru.

Oh, how Naoya hated this. How was it so easy for this man to twist things around and tie people into knots using only his words? It was horrible, like constantly walking into verbal traps he didn’t even know were set. Talking with Satoru meant accepting this constant feeling of embarrassment in his belly, coming to terms with the fact that every word he spoke amused the strongest sorcerer.

“It’s ok. It’s kind of funny. Reminds me of when we were younger. You used to trail after me when I’d visit the estate, ask me tons of questions and watch my every move. Felt like I was being studied,” he laughed.

“I did not ‘trail after you.’ You make me sound like a dog or something. I just wanted to talk to you because I knew we’d be rulers of our clans at the same time one day,” he responded, calming down a little at Satoru’s lenience with him.

“Heh. Yeah. Even back then you made it sound like Naobito was only days away from keeling over and leaving the whole thing to you,” he said.

That brought a slight frown to Naoya’s lips. He had been pining for leadership for all that time. For a second it made sense to him why he was left out. Why would the higher-ups take him seriously when it seemed like Naobito would never actually die? Why would they bother wasting their time with a potential leader who may never even come to fruition?

His grip around the railing tightened as his jaw clenched. “It doesn’t hurt to be prepared. Not all of us were lucky like you. Born with enough power to be seen as the leader even as a child,” Naoya huffed.

“Really? Lucky? That’s what you think of me?” Satoru chuckled, a hint of bitterness lacing the sound.

Naoya’s golden eyes looked him over from the side. “Yes. You are lucky. You get to do whatever you want-”

Now it was Satoru’s turn to interject.

“You get to do whatever you want. Do you think anybody could just waltz in here and insult a grade one sorcerer with no consequences? Could they follow me around like a pouty kid because no one else will pay any attention to them?” he asked. “You’re lucky, Naoya. You get the promise of power without any of the responsibility.”

None of the words came out with true anger, and that might have been the worst part. Satoru wasn’t passionate about this. He wasn’t enraged or furious. He couldn’t even work up a scowl for Naoya. It was like he was stating simple facts.

“Like you have so much responsibility. You have an assistant! You’re supposed to be the strongest of us all, but you need a woman to help you with your work. Pathetic,” he spat.

Satoru looked unimpressed by his assessment, but before he could respond, his phone rang. Retrieving it from his jacket’s interior pocket, he glanced at the screen and scanned the caller ID.

“Ah, no fun. I have to take this. I guess we’ll have to finish our conversation later,” he said, not waiting for Naoya’s response to turn away.

He headed over to the other side of the hallway and slipped through a sliding door. Naoya remained in place, hands still locked onto the wooden rail in front of him. Waves of heated anger rolled off of him. His mood didn’t cool off any in the face of Satoru’s dismissal.

He stared down at the rest of the party in disgust. The other guests galavanted around, talking and laughing like they didn’t have a care in the world. He hated them all.

One day there wouldn’t be a person in this room who didn’t know the name Naoya Zen’in. One day they’d vie for a chance to have his attention. He may never garner enough power to surpass Satoru, but he’d wield enough influence to provide some healthy competition.

Now, he realized Naobito probably had the right idea in keeping the other families at arm’s length.

As he thought of his father, he wondered if the old man was still working his way through the party’s liquor supply. He glanced towards the bar, expecting to see Naobito throwing another glass back by himself, but instead, he found you sitting near his father.

It might have been ok if you didn’t look so pleasant. The sight of you resigned to numbing the sting of his demeaning words with booze probably would’ve made him happy. Your misery could have alleviated him of the humiliation Satoru had just inflicted upon him. But no. You sat one stool away from Naobito with a pretty smile spread across your face, nodding along to whatever bullshit he was feeding you.

In that moment so much fucking rage filled Naoya, he thought actual flames might erupt from his head.

He let go of the structure in front of him and started towards the stairs without a second thought. Going down he took them two at a time, bumping shoulders and brushing past everyone else without so much as a nod. None of them deserved an apology anyway.

As he crossed the floor, his mind operated on autopilot, motivated by nothing but the urge to destroy. All he wanted right now was to wound you. To tear you apart and leave you tattered in humiliated shreds.

“If your plan is to sleep your way to the top of a clan, you’d be much better off trying to get into bed with me,” he called when he was finally in range. He walked up to the bar, standing only a couple feet from you and his father.

The pair of you turned upon hearing the words. Confusion etched across your face. Obviously, you didn’t think he could be talking to you, but with the way Naoya stared into your eyes like they were mini-bullseyes, it was hard to believe he was speaking to anyone else.

“What? What are you talking about?” you asked.

“You can act innocent all you want to, but I know what you’re doing. Playing ‘assistant’ for Satoru, acting like you really care at all about anything my father has to say-” he began his list of accusations.

Naobito rolled his eyes at the display. He didn’t look confused at all. Simply unamused. “Will you give it a rest? For God’s sake, you always gotta bitch about something…” he grumbled before taking another swig of his drink.

“I wasn’t-” you tried to defend yourself simultaneously. But Naoya didn’t give you the time to say more.

“You were. And I can’t fault you. What are you to do? It’s not like you can get an advantage over any of us with actual skill,” he continued. “I’m just pointing out that your aim is off. I’m the one who will rule the Zen’in Clan in the long run. You shouldn’t bother with my drunken father who won’t remember your name come sunrise.”

“Shut yer trap already, Naoya. If she was getting into bed with anyone, she’d pick the guy she works for. The one already in power,” Naobito cut in again, attempting to silence his son.

“I’m not trying to sleep with anyone!” you finally declared. Swiveling around on your stool, you stand up to face Naoya. “I was being polite, which is what you’re supposed to do at things like these. Not sulk around and throw a fit cause people don’t wanna kiss your ass just for existing.”

“Liar. You don’t fool me. Unlike my father, batting your eyes won’t work on me. Showing yourself off in this thing won’t either,” he said, hooking his fingers beneath one of the straps of your dress and giving the thin material a tug.

Fury blazed through your eyes at the contact. You smacked his wrist away hard, the clap of skin on skin slashing through the background noise of happy chatter and pleasant music. Naobito had turned back to his drink again in irritation, but the attention of people nearby began to drift to the both of you.

“Don’t touch me,” you told him without any room for argument.

But he only smirked at you. This was helping him feel better; as if he was siphoning all of his own anger into you instead. He couldn’t work up any true passion from Satoru. Maybe you could be the next best thing.

Ignoring your command, he reached for your face and swept the bow of his index finger down your jawline.

“Women, such emotional creatures,” he tutted.

You slapped his hand away again. “What is your problem? We were just talking, and it had nothing to do with you.”

“It’s my clan, so it’s my business,” he retorted and stepped closer to you, letting the height difference between your frames show. He wasn’t as tall as Satoru, but he was still taller than you and that was enough for him.

To your credit, you didn’t back down. You continued to glare at him without letting his physical advantage intimidate you. “It’s not your clan. You don’t actually control anything.”

“I have more power now than you ever will,” he replied. “You’re Satoru’s little lap dog. You sit behind him and make sure he can do all the things you wish they’d let you try for yourself.”

“Are you really this desperate for attention? Or is it jealousy or something?” you snapped. “Someone actually wants my help. Satoru likes having me around. He chooses to teach me things. No one has ever chosen to be around you in your entire life. Everything you have is because your daddy gave it to you.”

That actually stung a little bit. Naoya suppressed his wince, and instead pursed his lips. A small part of him was exhilarated by the challenge your words brought, but he couldn’t let you win.

“Deflection, deflection, deflection. You know the only way for a woman to get anywhere in this world is to spread her legs. And you clearly lack the training to be a proper wife, so you’re trying the next best thing. I mean, being a slut comes so naturally to you, doesn’t it?”

Unlike him, you didn’t hide the sneer that came to your face. “You don’t even know me! How can you-” you started on the brink of exploding.

“I don’t have to know you to know the truth,” he spoke over you. “I’m just saying that if you plan on whoring yourself out, you should make sure you’re getting on your knees for the right man.”

You raised your hand for some kind of attack - maybe something with your technique, maybe a simple slap. Either way, he put a stop to it by grabbing your wrist with the force he wanted to use earlier. A hiss of pain slid from between your lips, and a surge of heat flooded the pit of his belly.

“You’re actually kind of pretty looking up at me like this. I wouldn’t mind being the one to show you how to behave,” he said in a lower tone.

“That’s enough.”

The cool sound of Satoru’s voice brought everything to a screeching halt. Not only did any other words die in Naoya’s throat, but the entire party seemed quieter, commanded into order by Satoru’s firm statement. His words came out even more monotonous than they’d been upstairs. A rare occasion where he spoke without any teasing or affection in his tone.

The assist from the other sorcerer didn’t pull your eyes out of your hateful stare, but Naoya’s head whipped around to look at him. There Satoru stood, arms folded across his chest like a disappointed parent.

Naoya blinked at him, unsure of what to do. He didn’t want to back down. Not with a small crowd onlooking this confrontation. But he didn’t want to cause more of a scene either. He was never one to start fights he knew he would lose.

“Let go of her,” Satoru spoke again at the lack of response. He walked closer to the pair of you, tightening the scope of the drama so less people would feel inclined to watch. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”

“Me?” Naoya sputtered, maintaining his tight grip on you. His full focus landed on Satoru now. “This entire thing is an embarrassment. What are we even celebrating? A deal that I’ll be sure to undo as soon as I’m head of the clan?”

“That’s what you’re pretending to be upset about? You hate that people are… having fun at a party? You’re mad that they’re not already planning for the hypothetical day where you undo it all?” Satoru asked. A hint of mocking returned to his words as another bid to get people less interested.

“It’s not a hypothetical. It’s going to happen whether you or anyone here likes it or not,” he seethed.

“Sure, sure. But my assistant has nothing to do with that, so like I said, take your hands off of her,” he said.

“She was disrespecting me,” Naoya defended. “I said one thing to her, and she talked back.”

“Isn’t that how a conversation’s supposed to work? One person speaks, and then the other talks back…” Satoru said, his mocking no longer hidden.

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it! She was out of line. Trying to tell me how I should act.”

“Well when you’re insulting her, I would say that’s within her right.”

Naoya narrowed his eyes. While he knew he was exaggerating a bit, he didn’t expect Satoru to accuse him so readily. He thought he hadn’t heard most of the conversation, if any. But you hadn’t piped up to deny his words either, almost as if you knew Satoru would take your side no matter what.

“I wasn’t insulting her. I was correcting her behavior. I was offering her some advice. That’s within my right,” he said coolly. “If you were any good at training her, I wouldn’t have to. She would know not to talk to her betters like that.”

“Her better?” Satoru laughed. He shook his head and took a couple steps closer. “You two are the same rank. You have basically the same position. What gives you the idea that you’re in any way her superior?”

It was a challenge. A dare for him to say what he truly meant, what Satoru had already told him to let go. Naoya ground his teeth together while glaring at that smug smile. Either option felt like losing. One was backing down, the other was walking into a trap. But he supposed there was no honor in giving up, so he kept going in pursuit of an honorable demise.

“I’m the heir to the Zen’in Clan. I’m better than some mouthy little bitch who thinks she knows everything because she sucks the strongest sorcerer’s cock for a living,” he spat.

That seemed to be your breaking point. This time around you didn’t wait for Satoru to handle it. Instead, you stomped on Naoya’s foot with your pointy heel. Hard.

He cried out at the sudden burst of pain and dropped your wrist in an instant. He stumbled back, giving you the opportunity to swing at him with your elbow. Even off balance, he managed to block the attack. It didn’t dissuade you any though. You lunged at him like a feral animal, only stopped by one of Satoru’s arms slipping around your waist.

“Mouthy? I’m mouthy? You’re the one who’s been yapping the whole night!” you snapped.

Satoru didn’t use much force with you. Truthfully, he had no interest in protecting Naoya from violence at your hands. His only interest was in minimizing the scuffle. He didn’t want to get any shit for this later.

He kept his hold around your waist, waiting until you settled enough to nudge you to his side.

“Keep your cool. Don’t do something that’ll get you in trouble with the higher-ups,” he instructed.

Naoya watched on with a scowl on his face. “Finally, you put a leash on her.”

“Only so I can deal with you myself. Figure you’ll go easier this way,” he shrugged.

Before Naoya could even get out a question to clarify what that meant, Satoru reached forward and cupped the back of his neck, leading him away like one would a disobedient puppy. While it was probably easier than if you had tried, he still struggled. His feet floundered against the floor as his arms flailed to try and peel the other man’s hand off. Naoya was strong, but it didn’t matter. Even with a forceful tug, Satoru’s hand stayed firmly clasped around him.

“What are you doing? Let go,” he said, trying to sound as masculine as he could while pleading for mercy.

“So you don’t like it when people grab you to show you your place, huh? Funny,” Satoru said.

Naoya’s cheeks burned a furious shade of crimson. How many times did he have to point out that comparisons between you and himself were moot because of one stark difference?

It seemed as though every set of eyes in the building were on the pair of them as Satoru forced him towards the exit. To make it look even a degree less humiliating, he tried to take a swipe at the other sorcerer like you had to him, but Satoru dodged it with ease, only adding to the frustration.

As they approached the door, he attempted one final time to get the advantage. He stuck his leg out to the side, hoping to trip the other man. If he could bring him to the ground, he could gain the upperhand. Satoru possessed more strength, but Naoya could counteract that with speed.

But all of that was irrelevant because he only slightly stumbled. The move did seem to actually irritate him though. His jaw clenched and he jerked Naoya by the neck before shoving the side exit door open with his shoulder.

The night air cooled Naoya’s flushed skin the second he was dragged out onto the stone. It seemed easier to breathe out here. The music and chatter alike had become muffled behind the walls and shutting doors. But to his dismay, as those sounds became more distant, another followed behind him and Satoru.

A pair of heels clicked against the hard ground in rapid succession. He tried spinning around to get at you. Without a crowd, he didn’t have to hide behind the veneer of civility. He didn’t have to grab and insult. He could go after you like he wanted.

“You really are like a fucking pet, following your master wherever he goes,” he snapped.

Unfortunately for him, he didn’t get anywhere close to striking you. And also without the surveillance of onlookers, Satoru didn’t have to be polite. He flung Naoya forward, sending him crashing to the ground and into some stone fencing a few feet away.

“You’ve humiliated yourself enough for one night, don’t you think?” he asked.

Naoya winced against the sturdy structure, rubbing the back of his neck as if to get any remnants of Satoru off. He glared up at the other man who now towered above him like this. The sight sent a weird rush through him. A twisted, nausea-infused version of the heat that boiled inside him when he grabbed you.

“I gave you a warning. I thought I showed you that your night would be easier if you played nice,” Satoru said coolly. “You think anyone in there wants to deal with your shit? Your own fucking father couldn’t be bothered to take a break from the booze to tell you to cool it.”

“Because he knew I was right-”

“Because he knew you were acting like a spoiled brat and that other people could shut you up just as easy,” Satoru corrected. “I mean really. Your sixteen year old cousin has more maturity than you.”

The mention of Maki inflamed him more than anything else. He launched off the fence behind him, seeking to grab the skinny leg in front of him and wrangle the other man onto the pavement. But before he could, Satoru raised his foot and knocked it into Naoya’s shoulder. The contact sent him back into the rock with a thud.

Shaking his head, Satoru crouched so he was at Naoya’s level. “You’re lucky all I did was take you out of there. I could have done so much worse, taught you a real lesson.”

Naoya rolled his eyes and turned his head away. He refused to accept defeat even with no path to victory remaining. But only seconds later, those long, pale fingers grab his jaw, tugging his face back in line.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” Satoru said. As if to make that easier, his other fingers rose to the blindfold on his face. A digit hooked beneath the scrap of cloth and tugged it up to rest on his head. The purple fabric pressed against his silky locks of hair, pushing them back out of his face.

A chill went through Naoya’s entire body at the sight of those piercing eyes. The bright blue irises glowed in the moonlight casting down from above. They completed Satoru’s face. They made him look human. But they also made him seem that much more terrifying. With his eyes exposed, his emotions became so much more accessible. That little blindfold’s adjustment exposed the frustration that had been building.

“You were struggling back there. You wanted to fight, yeah?” Satoru continued as the pads of his fingers dug into Naoya’s fleshy cheeks. “I should’ve let you. I should have let you think you had a chance at proving any kind of point, only to put you on the ground in front of everyone. I should’ve let you hear how tough that shit sounded coming from someone pinned underneath me.”

“You wouldn’t have won so easily. You think I’m the arrogant one, but-” he started to defend himself before being cut short.

“But look at you,” he replied, tightening his grasp. It felt as though he was mimicking the strength Naoya used on your wrist. “You think you’d have a shot? Look how easily I got you out here. You’re pitching a fit about this, but I could’ve done worse than that. I should have. I should’ve made you really apologize. To her. In front of everyone.”

“Satoru…” you said, your own voice much softer than before. It almost sounded like a gentle plea. Like you were telling him he didn’t need to ruin the rest of the night with something so dire. Like you didn’t want him to go too far. You stepped a few paces closer, your leg now inches from his side.

But he didn’t ease up any.

The hard stare. The uncompromising tone. The dull pain radiating in his cheeks. All while you watched on in pity. It was all starting to increase that sickening warmth in his stomach.

“I would never apologize to a woman,” he maintained.

Now you rolled your eyes, clearly regretting that you’d tried to intervene at all. You folded your arms across the satin material of your dress and looked at Naoya with distaste.

“Oh, you think so?” Satoru said, a faint smirk pulling at his lips. “You don’t think I could make you?”

And for a second, it felt like everything stopped. All the nearby crickets went silent. The breeze didn’t blow. Naoya’s heart stopped beating. He knew it was meant as a threat. A warning of violence if he didn’t comply. But with Satoru’s mouth so close, with his breath fanning onto his face, with his eyes looking into his very soul, it came across as a much more convincing method of persuasion.

As much as he tried to fight it, heat pooled in his belly and clustered in his lap. He could feel the appendage between his legs stiffening up a little.

Satoru caught the slightly widening eyes and hitched breath. His own brows furrowed in confusion for a moment.

“What? What’s that look for?” he asked. “You know I could.”

Naoya didn’t answer. Instead, he tried to think of the words that would make up one. In the bout of silence, your hand drifted forward and tugged Satoru’s blindfold the rest of the way off. You twisted the piece of material, wrapping it around your own wrist before running your fingers through his now loose strands of ghostly hair.

It made it worse in a way. Your touch looked so soft, so caring. Adoring and reverent. Almost loving but definitely familiar. It was a touch he craved.

“Nothing…” he said, swallowing to mask the dryness of his throat. “I’m just tired of your lecturing.”

“Really? You’ve been so desperate for attention the whole night, but now that you have it, it’s not good enough?” Satoru mocked. His voice came out a little lower than before, slightly breathier. It also didn’t help at all.

Suddenly you laughed. Both of the men’s heads snapped in your direction.

“He likes the attention,” you giggled, biting your lip as you grinned down at Satoru.

Both men remained bewildered for a few moments more, but Naoya caught onto your meaning first. He’d hoped it wasn’t visible or noticeable; though, that was proven unrealistic. You nodded towards his lap, guiding Satoru’s vision to the semi-hard bulge straining against his pants.

His brows raised for a second, and then a chuckle came from his lips. Naoya’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. From the way it felt, he’d bet the red tint glowed like a night light out here.

“You really like the idea of me forcing you, huh?” Satoru teased.

“Shut up,” Naoya said, though it came out closer to a plea.

“This is why you’re so miserable, you know. Maybe if you dropped the attitude, you could get a pretty girl to help you relax,” he mocked. You continued to snicker along to his words in the background, only making them sting all the more.

“I don’t need a girl. Women bring nothing but weakness,” he said. But his words came out less confident than earlier.

“I don’t think you could be any weaker than you are right now,” you simpered. “You’d probably cum in your pants from just this.”

You reached forward with your other hand to touch his hair as you’d done to Satoru. Your soft fingertips just barely grazed his scalp before he wrenched away like they were coated in acid. It only made you laugh more.

He glared at you, but his attention soon snapped back to the man in front of him. Satoru loosened his grip on Naoya’s jaw before skimming his thumb over his bottom lip. It felt soothing. A small method of quelling his anger.

“If you needed help with women, you could’ve just called me up. I would’ve helped you,” he taunted.

“Yeah, right,” Naoya scoffed on instinct before correcting himself. “I don’t need any help with that.”

“Mmmm, you definitely do. The stuff you say, all that anger you have towards them for just existing… those aren’t real panty-droppers,” he continued. “But you’re good looking. You’re sharp. You’re rich. It wouldn’t be so hard for you if you put in some real effort, Naoya.”

Satoru finally let go of his face, but not without patting his cheek. He then stood up again next to you. His arm swooped behind you, wrapping around the curve in your waist and pulling you to stand in front of him.

“It’s really not that hard. All it takes is some soft touches, sweet eyes, some sappy words,” he crooned while lowering his lips to your neck. “Isn’t that right, honey?”

His hands swept up and down your sides and settled on your hips while his mouth parted to lay some warm kisses on your skin. The only answer that came out of you was a delicate little moan. You took your bottom lip between your teeth again as your eyes fluttered.

Confusion slapped itself across Naoya’s face before angry realization dawned on him. He peeled himself off the ground, dusting some dirt off his clothes.

“So she is sleeping with you,” he hissed.

“Well… we don’t do much sleeping when we’re alone,” Satoru joked, his blue eyes flitting up from your neck. “It’s a good way to blow off steam after missions. Like I’m saying, you should give it a try.”

“I was right!” he seethed. “That’s the only reason you’re putting on this whole show. You gotta show your little whore that she’s more than that. She won’t keep spreading her legs if she knows you don’t respect her.”

Smooth as could be, Satoru slid around so that you were tucked to his side rather than pressed against his front.

“You know, it’s really hard to take you seriously when you still have a boner poking through your pants,” Satoru mocked.

That was all the humiliation Naoya could stomach.

“I’m leaving,” he muttered, stomping past the pair of you with his eyes cast down and his face hot as a glowing ember.

But before he could get far, Satoru’s hand grabbed his wrist. He pulled him back in front of you two.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he dismissed. Even with his firm grip, his voice wasn’t menacing.

His fingertips trailed up Naoya’s arm, making the flesh break out into tiny bumps. They dragged up to his shoulder, coasted across his collarbone, before wrapping around his throat. With a little tug, he inched him closer.

“You think I’m putting on a show, right? Well I should at least get you to apologize then,” Satoru hummed.

He stared into Naoya’s golden eyes. His thumb smoothed back and forth across his neck, ghosting over the strong thump of his pulse.

“I’m not apologizing,” Naoya maintained.

“You really want me to force you?” he grinned.

“Satoru, I’m not-” he started, attempting to brush off the hand around his neck.

But Satoru kept his hold tight and pulled their faces even closer together. Naoya’s eyes widened as he felt an eruption of butterflies in his belly.

“Not even if I offer a little reward for it?” he purred.

Naoya nearly choked at the implication. His pupils scanned over Satoru’s face, trying to detect any signs of a joke or a trap. But he couldn’t find any. He then looked to you, to see if you would recoil at the suggestion. Only, there you stood, gazing up at Satoru like he was a statue to worship. Your fingers ran up and down the hem of his suit jacket.

“Don’t look at her. She’s not gonna help you,” Satoru teased. “She already doesn’t like you, and she can be just as bad as me. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

“Mhm,” you nodded, resting your cheek against his chest as you watched. Your voice oozed out smoother than before, almost a little dreamy. You were getting turned on too.

Satoru’s smile only spread further. “She’s like a cat sometimes, loves playing with mice.”

“I’m not a mouse,” Naoya denied.

“No? Then be a man and admit you were wrong. That’s the price of entry. Otherwise, you can try your luck in there again. See if anyone else will throw you out,” he said, letting go of the other man’s face.

His lips pursed. The very idea went against his entire being. “I wasn’t wrong.”

“No? Then at least say you’re sorry for being a dick and causing a scene,” Satoru said.

A few seconds passed. He folded his arms over his chest as his face settled into more of a pout. He really, really did not want to claim to be wrong. But he also didn’t want to be left at this stuffy party while you and Satoru went off together to who-knows-where to do who-knows-what.

“I didn’t mean for you to get so… angry at what I said…” he tried.

“That’s not an apology,” you frowned.

He rolled his eyes, about to grumble some words about how ungrateful you were, but Satoru stepped in.

“Be patient, baby. It’s a start, yeah? You can pull some more out of him in a little while,” Satoru teased, ducking down to peck your cheek.

You squirmed at the sudden smack of affection, but it did ease you up. “Whatever,” you huffed as you nestled back into his side.

“Don’t expect any more. I’m not gonna say it again,” Naoya corrected.

“Sure you won’t,” Satoru said.

“I won’t.”

“Mhm, mhm. I believe you,” he nodded, his canines sparkling under the moonlight. “But you are gonna come with us, right?”

“I guess…” he said, looking away. He tried his best to act casual, like he could take this or leave it. Like he wasn’t gonna have to jerk off behind some bushes if he ended up being left behind.

But neither of you did anything so cruel. Instead Satoru gave the collar of his shirt a little tug. “Good boy. Just follow along, and we’ll get you that reward I was talking about,” he praised.

With that, the two of you turned around and started walking away from the main building. Swallowing hard, Naoya followed as instructed and trudged along a few paces behind you.

By the time the three of you had made it back to Satoru’s quarter’s, Naoya felt his heart beating like it wanted to leap from his throat. What had been awkward reservation had morphed into full on anxiety.

Especially now that he sat at the end of the king sized bed, watching you and Satoru make out.

The two of you stood a few feet away. Your hands cupped his cheeks while he worked on sliding the straps of your dress down. He could hear the puffs of your breath, the ragged sighs as your body grew hotter and the pressure between your hips began to make you squirm.

Your mouth glided down onto Satoru’s throat, coaxing a groan from his lips. His head fell back and rolled to the side so that his lidded eyes landed on Naoya’s bored form. A lazy smile spread across his face.

“What’re you pouting for? You had no problem inserting yourself before,” he said.

In contrast to his previous attitude, Naoya didn’t snap or snarl. He didn’t even roll his eyes or huff. Now that you and Satoru had let loose, things were different. There was no mask to hide feelings behind. In this room, everything was laid bare. He didn’t know how to reconcile with that.

“I…” he tried to think of something sharp to say, but nothing was coming out.

“Get over here,” Satoru said with a wave of his hand, saving him from his own failing vocabulary.

As if possessed, Naoya found himself rising off the luxurious mattress. He stepped towards the pair of you. His legs felt as though they might dissolve and leave him crumpled up on the floor in a pathetic heap. A small puddle that would remain dormant while you and Satoru simply stepped over him and got on with things as usual.

But nothing so dramatic happened. He made it to your sides and stood there for a moment. Satoru chuckled lowly before grabbing a fistful of his shirt.

“See? You do need my help,” he teased.

Before Naoya could even think of replying, the hand latched onto his top tugged hard, yanking him closer. His eyes widened as his lips crashed into Satoru. It was weird, almost unsettling at first. He was too cognizant of how wet his lips were, probably with your saliva. They were too squishy too. Too soft on his own.

After a few seconds though, the initial shock wore off. Satoru’s mouth moved, parting against his own. He sucked on Naoya’s lips. His tongue swiped over the skin in a small teasing stroke. Just like that, Naoya was melting into the sensation. He was stepping closer and leaning in, looking for more.

In no time, his nose was bumping Satoru’s and soft moans were trickling from his lips. His hand came up to hook over Satoru’s bicep. It was a way to get more contact, but it was also a method of balance to ensure he wasn’t going to faint.

It was as if all the repressed need that had shrouded him for so long was blossoming into a beautiful meadow of desire. The ache for attention, the desperation for care; it didn’t feel so ugly anymore. It felt vibrant and sweet. Like if the warmth he felt earlier on the balcony was given a doubled dosage of steroids.

Satoru reciprocated the enthusiasm while still managing to hold you close and encourage your efforts on his neck. After a few kisses more, he pulled back. His lips gleamed now. A soft dusky pink coated his cheeks while the black of his pupils blew so wide it nearly masked the blue of his irises.

His fingers came up, wiping a fleck of drool off Naoya’s chin.

“You know, I always liked you. Back then… you had so much potential. I thought you’d leave the rest of that clan in the dust. Shame you turned out to be such a brat,” he panted.

A surge of something close to panic washed over Naoya. Right now, he wanted- no, he needed Satoru to like him.

“But you said I hadn’t changed,” he said.

Satoru smirked at the clear yearning written all over his face. “You haven’t. But being a brat isn’t as cute as it was all those years ago.”

“It’s annoying now,” you mumbled as you pulled off Satoru’s neck and looked up at the both of them.

Naoya’s expression instantly soured. His hand came up to shove your head, but Satoru grabbed his wrist, flexing his fingers around the limb as a reminder of his strength.

“Be nice,” he said. “You’re running out of warnings.”

Naoya sputtered almost petulantly. “She’s the one who said it. You didn’t say anything to her-”

“Quiet,” Satoru commanded softly. “You’re gonna try to behave yourself right now, or you won’t get anything, alright?”

“Alright,” Naoya agreed quietly. He looked down. Accepting defeat was easier if he didn’t have to look at you as he did it.

“Atta boy,” Satoru praised. “Now I want you to kiss her.”

Naoya’s head rose back up, eyes wary. With a quiet chuckle and gentle nudge, Satoru guided him to stand behind you. Looking over your shoulder, your eyes met with his golden ones. For the first time, he didn’t feel automatic disdain. He took a second to look at you. Really look at you. His eyes ran over the curve of your nose and the fullness of your cheeks down to your silken lips.

“Are you gonna stare all-” you started to ask, but he cut you off. Not with an insult this time. Instead he used his own lips.

The kisses weren’t rough or mean. He actually put in a little effort. His hands settled on your waist while your free one came up to tangle in his bleached locks.

Satoru looked on. The approval in his eyes was palpable. “Look at you two…” he cooed playfully. “Getting along so well for me.”

He ducked back in to attach his lips to your neck. Naoya could feel your body relax backwards against him. As you moaned into his mouth, he groaned at your fingers twisting and playing with the dark ends of his hair.

His lips fell from your own and pecked over your jaw to the opposite side of your neck. With each man laving over one side of your throat, the three of you stumbled over towards Satoru’s king sized bed. On the way there, you kicked your heels off, leaving them discarded on the plush gray rug covering the floor.

Both of them sat down first. You stood before them, chest puffing with heavy breaths and eyes lidded with your desire. Naoya still held your waist while Satoru finished removing your dress.

The thin lavender straps descended your arms before the entire garment pooled around your ankles. Naoya sucked in a quiet breath as his eyes drank in every detail of your figure. He tried to look ambivalent, as if he’d possibly seen better. But the one girl he had fumbled through sex with a few years ago didn’t make him feel anything like this. His cock swelled to full hardness in his trousers as his hands gripped your hips with a little extra firmness.

Satoru didn’t have such a reaction, obviously having seen your body more than a few times. He was more focused on the now-exposed lacy lingerie. His fingertips dragged over the frilled material lining your breasts. Your nipple pebbled beneath the fabric in response, practically calling out for his digit to venture further.

“You know these are my favorite,” he murmured, skimming his hands along the border of the bralette.

You nodded, shifting on the balls of your feet slightly. “Wanted to give you a little surprise.”

He chuckled at the coy nature with which you spoke and then leaned in to plant a kiss on your sternum.

“Lucky for you, I think Naoya likes it too. Don’t you?” he asked and glanced over at the other man.

Words of praise tangled into knots in his throat. Only a weird sound of agreement made it out before he managed a nod of his own and then a quiet “Yeah, it’s nice.”

“Nice?” Satoru repeated, scooting closer. “Is this what nice does to you?”

His palm slid into Naoya’s lap, cupping his bulge with a firm squeeze. An embarrassing whine burst from his lips, his pelvis bucking up into the sensation on instinct.

Satoru laughed softly as he leaned in. He pecked Naoya’s soft lips, planting a few gentle kisses on his pout. His mouth moved to the corner of those lips, then onto his sharp jawline.

“You know, maybe your problem isn’t getting girls… maybe the trouble starts once you already got ‘em hooked,” Satoru teased. “Is that why you’re so angry all the time? Did you cum too early with the first one? Blow your load before she could even get you outta your pants?”

A shaky breath left Naoya. That burning inside was making it hard to register or respond to anything. He pulled back, giving his best shot at a glare.

“No. I didn’t. My first time was fine. We-”

Satoru, not interested in the actual story, ground the heel of his palm down onto the rigid length. A symphony of needy whimpers from Naoya cut his own words short. His head fell onto Satoru’s shoulder while he thumbed at the tip of the shaft through the material of his pants.

“You sure about that? Maybe she made fun of you for all these cute noises then, huh?” he murmured.

Before Naoya could offer up another legitimate answer, he kissed him again. He swallowed up all logic and reason, replacing it with the pure passion blazing between them.

Meanwhile, you unhooked your bra and let it fall to the ground with your party dress. Your panties went next, kicked to the side as well. Both men could see in their peripheral vision that you were now fully nude.

Naoya reached out for your wrist, his greed becoming more pronounced amidst the fog of his lust. He tugged you forward and then gave another yank in the direction of the floor, clearly expecting you would drop to your knees. But Satoru put a stop to it by grabbing your other forearm.

Retreating from the other man’s mouth, he grinned. “You’re crazy if you think she’s getting on her knees for you,” he breathed.

“Wha-what?” he stuttered.

“You’re still making it up to her. You wouldn’t even say sorry, but you expect her to suck your dick? Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Satoru tutted.

He guided you to sit at his other side while placing a hand on Naoya’s shoulder.

“You’re gonna be the one on your knees for now,” he said with a solid pull.

Naoya toppled from the edge of the mattress onto the wooden planks at Satoru’s feet. They were hard against his knees, but the sight of Satoru above him softened the blow. You were already lifting his shirt, peeling it from his toned form. Once the garment was discarded, Naoya truly felt like the heavens had opened. Like he’d seen God himself gazing down at him.

Of course, Satoru’s physique was as expected - muscular, fit, sculpted. But knowing something and bearing witness to it are two separate things. Seeing Satoru’s smooth skin and ripped torso stole the breath from Naoya’s lungs. He had to remember to keep his mouth closed so he wouldn’t drool.

And to make matters worse, your nimble fingers went to his fly next. You tugged the zipper on his pants open, and he boosted his hips, giving the clearance for you to shove the fabric down his legs. His v-line came into view first. That sparse happy trail starting at his navel thickened up the farther South it went, leading to a swath of snowy white hair at the base of his thick cock.

Satoru’s long fingers came to wrap around the veiny shaft. The digits curled around his length and gave it a few good strokes, beckoning it to fill out completely. He relished the way Naoya’s pupils bounced in sync with each motion.

“I’ve been putting up with your shit all night too. Think you should suck my dick as a real apology while I get her warmed up for yours,” he said.

“You want me to-”

“Suck it,” Satoru finished with a smirk. “C’mon. You got a big mouth. I’m sure you can take it.”

He gawked at it for a few more seconds but then tentatively scooted in. There was really no point in resisting now. His lust overpowered his pride, and he wrapped his fingers around Satoru’s cock, feeling the pulsating warmth in his grasp. He stroked it a couple times, almost in an exploratory way, like he couldn’t believe it was real.

Without having to be told, he took the tip into his mouth. His tongue gently flicked at the silken head. Satoru sighed up above. His posture relaxed, and you leaned in closer. Your hand smoothed over Naoya’s hair as he took more into his mouth. This time he didn’t pull away. He let you pet him while he tasted the essence of Satoru’s skin.

His hand stayed wrapped around what wouldn’t fit in his mouth so far. He bobbed back and forth, letting his saliva coat the length.

“Fuck…” Satoru breathed, his white lashes fluttering. “You look so much better like this, with your mouth full instead of doing all that bitching and moaning.”

The words didn’t get to him this time, not while his brain was fully focused on the task of pleasuring the strongest sorcerer. He shut his eyes and kept sucking on him. His lips caressed over the ridge, across the veins towards the base. He wanted to take more, to go all the way, but the urge to gag was already tickling the back of his throat.

Maybe you could see that ambition on his face. Or maybe you still held a grudge from earlier. Either way, your hand slid to the back of his head and pushed. You didn’t shove, but you were firm with your move to get him to take more of Satoru’s cock down his throat.

Some words came garbled out around the length, totally incoherent to you or Satoru. But it didn’t matter because they were then replaced by a whine. You smiled at the little noises, tugging on his hair. His head slid nearly all the way till his nose nestled against those coarse white hairs. A gag rolled through his body. Strings of saliva seeped from his mouth.

You giggled at the sight, dragging him back and then sliding him down till he was bracing himself on Satoru’s thighs.

“Be nice,” he chastised affectionately, guiding your hand off Naoya’s hair.

The two of you kissed while the man between his legs came up for air again. He receded onto his haunches and sucked in a few breaths. His head had nearly begun to spin from the reduced amount of oxygen.

“He was the one being mean to me earlier,” you said softly against Satoru’s lips.

“Hmmm… I guess he was… Are you saying you deserve a little reward for putting up with that?” he asked.

“Maybe…” you said, brushing a lock of white hair out of his face.

He broke out into a smile at the affectionate touch. “I think I can manage that,” he said.

His hand reached out for Naoya’s hair and tugged his face against his cock again. “I didn’t tell you to stop,” he teased.

He laid back on the bed, patting your hip for you to climb up. You swung your leg over his abdomen to straddle his chest. But he didn’t wait for you to readjust yourself. Grabbing the backs of your thighs, he dragged you up so that your cunt hovered above his face.

“You know what to do, princess,” he said.

And you did. While Satoru taught you tons of tricks about Jujutsu, he’d also trained you in a few other arenas as well. You lowered yourself and let your head fall back in bliss as his tongue swiped over your pussy.

Naoya’s eyes widened as he suckled on the head of Satoru’s cock. He’d never seen anything like this spare some cheesy pornos, but those always looked fake. This was real. The way you rocked your hips on his mouth, the sounds of sucking and slurping from between your legs, the sight of your flesh dimpling under Satoru’s strong fingers - all of that was very much real.

He sucked at a much more leisurely pace now that the both of you weren’t watching his every move. It gave him the added awareness he needed to observe the action in front of him.

You yelped as Satoru sucked on your clit nice and hard. Your hips jerked, and your hands flew to his hair to grip the soft tresses. He groaned against your cunt at the sensation, his own hips bucking into Naoya’s mouth a bit.

With all of you connected like this, it was easy to get lost in the hazy atmosphere of euphoria. Nothing had to exist right now besides the three people in this room. There was nothing to worry about, nothing to do except make each other feel good.

In no time at all, you’re ready to cum. Satoru had seemingly inhuman stamina and discipline that meant he was faring ok, but you, on the other hand, were getting ready to burst. Both men could tell from how pitchy your moans were getting and how erratic your movements became.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. ‘Toru, ‘Toruuuu,” you whined. “I’m gonna- I’m gonna cum.”

“Mhm, that’s right, pretty girl. Let it all out for me. Be a good girl and cum,” he coaxed lazily between laps at your entrance. His tongue worked its way inside, fucking into you as you started to reach the high.

You squeaked and basically doubled over, your body spasming with the ecstasy his tongue brought you.

Naoya let his mouth slip off of Satoru’s length so he could just watch. He sat there in awe as your body shuddered atop the head below. It was like a flame dancing in a strong gust of wind. He couldn’t remember ever seeing something so raw. When he’d been with that girl a couple years ago, nothing like that happened. She moaned off and on until he came and then they laid there in silence.

She certainly didn’t squeal when overstimulation started to set in like you did. She didn’t leap off to the safety of the headboard with a big goofy smile on her face either. He didn’t follow, crawling over her and peppering her face with kisses like he saw Satoru do just now.

He could feel himself leaking inside his pants as he watched the two of you. He wanted that. If only to prove to himself that he was capable of it, he wanted to experience something like that.

Rising from the ground, he made quick work of his shirt and tossed it to the side with your discarded clothes. He then pulled his pants off, letting his cock spring free.

“Eager for your turn, huh?” Satoru asked, a knowing look on his face.

“I’m just tired of kneeling,” he said with a shrug.

Neither of you believed that, but you didn’t press. Instead, Satoru patted the open space next to him on the mattress.

“Come lie down,” he instructed.

His brows furrowed, yet he didn’t risk the path of resistance. Instead, he followed Satoru’s instructions and rolled over onto his back.

“Why does she get to be on top?” he grumbled.

Satoru laughed. “You’re about to get laid, and you’re still complaining?”

At the same time, you made your way to Naoya and straddled him just as you’d done to the other man before. Only this time, your pussy sat a few inches up from his flushed, leaky cock.

“I get to be on top cause I wanna be. You’ll do this my way or not at all,” you told him simply.

Normally, he would have objected to your attitude or tried to flip you over anyways, but right now he was laser focused on the tiny gap between you two. His chest shuddered with every rise and fall. All of his muscles tingled in anticipation. He swore he felt actual electricity when you planted your hands on the firm muscles in his chest.

He expected you to get to work. A quick slide inside and then some bouncing. But you didn’t do that. You brought your hips down and dragged your soaked folds over his length at an agonizingly slow pace.

A strangled groan fell from his lips as his head tilted back against the pillows. You worked your cunt back and forth on him, coating his cock with your slick. His eyes drooped while your velvety flesh brushed against him over and over and over.

He had to bite his lip to stay composed. The last thing he wanted to do was finish before you’d really started. He grabbed your hips hard, but despite his hold, you maintained control of the pace. Every time you’d boost yourself up, he thought you’d finally let him in. But every single time, you slid right back down and left him out in the cold.

“Fuck, stop teasing,” he pleaded.

“I’m not. I’m warming up,” you defended. But the expression on your face clued him in to the fact that your innocence was feigned.

“It’s not nice to rush a lady, Naoya,” Satoru added from where he laid propped on his elbow next to the both of you.

Naoya shot him a look, but it lost all malice when he saw how Satoru lazily jerked his cock to the show in front of him. Heat flared inside him. He had to shut his eyes to keep a handle on himself.

And it was then that you lifted yourself up and sunk down on him.

He moaned, his back arching off the bed. You giggled as your ass made contact with his thighs. Time stood still as you did. Both of you just got used to the feeling of him inside your pussy. You swiveled your hips slightly, bringing some whimpers out of him.

Leaning forward, you stroked his cheek. “You don’t seem to have a problem with me being above you anymore,” you cooed.

His eyes opened again before rolling back. You looked like a fucking angel above him. The dim light of Satoru’s room cast shadows over your body that contoured you like a work of art. Your eyes, nowhere near as bright as Satoru’s, struck him all the same. Even your voice sounded like that of a siren’s.

Naoya remembered the last and only time he had sex as mediocre. It felt good. Definitely not bad. Something he would do to pass the time for sure. But he never understood the pull it seemed to have over other men. The way they would let themselves be ruled by it.

Now he did. With every twitch of your tight, warm walls around his shaft, he became increasingly convinced that he would let you ruin his life to feel like this for only a few minutes more.

“Please-” he begged, his voice cracking, “Please move. Fuck, I can’t take it…”

“Awww, you said please all on your own. I think he’s learning, Satoru,” you crooned. But you did indulge him by beginning to ride, and that was all he could ask for.

“I knew he’d come around. You make a pretty convincing case,” Satoru agreed, still languidly stroking himself.

While you started off slow, you began picking up speed pretty fast. You moved like you were on a mission. With every bounce, you had a goal in mind.

It felt good to you, sure. You’d moan or let out a little mewl every so often. But for Naoya, if his noises were anything to go off of, he was in some version of paradise. His face looked almost dazed. He couldn’t get one syllable out without his voice breaking, and everything he did manage to say was some incoherent whine or an expletive. His fingers stayed locked onto your waist, holding on for dear life as you rode him with everything you had.

“I think you like being beneath me,” you purred, placing one of your hands on his throat. “You talk a big game, but that’s only cause you’re so desperate for someone to prove you wrong, huh?”

He nodded without even thinking about it. At the moment, he’d agree to damn near anything you said if it meant you would just keep going.

You had him.

Shifting around, you repositioned so that your feet were planted on the mattress next to each of his hips. You kept rising and falling, taking his cock to the hilt. But at this angle, you could get him so much deeper. You felt it right away, but so did he. His hips bucked up as he whimpered again.

His hands actually started to offer some help now. They kept you stable and balanced while making sure you maintained a steady pace. You continued to thrust yourself on him while accepting the assist.

“Fuck. Oh fuck. Fuck me, fuck me, keep fucking me,” he babbled.

“Yeah? Are you getting close, baby?” you asked.

From the side, Satoru couldn’t take just watching anymore. He swooped in to kiss at Naoya’s neck. “Look at you. So fucking pussydrunk. Are you gonna cum, pretty boy?” he asked lowly.

The added attention shot him so much closer to release. He nodded, teeth digging into his bottom lip so hard he thought he might draw blood.

“Gonna cum, gonna cum, gonna cum,” he whimpered like a broken record.

His cock kicked inside you. His balls drew up. His muscles tensed. Every part of him was ready for that sweet relief.

But then you pulled off.

You rose up just a little too high and popped his dick right out of you.

He cried out like he was in pain, his hips bucking and thrusting into the air fruitlessly. His eyes snapped open. The golden irises swirled like vicious tornadoes of anger and humiliation and raw need.

“You little fucking-”

“What’s that?” you asked, cocking your head to the side playfully.

He stopped himself short, his features contorting into a look of frustration before melting down to desperation instead. “Why?” he whimpered.

“Cause I want you to say sorry,” you said.

His eyes widened as if you were insane. Inside, his pride clawed at him, telling him to push you right off of him and storm out. But on his stomach, his cock wept for release. It glowed red and shimmered with a combination of your juices.

In the end, the tangible option won out.

“I’m sorry, ok? There,” he said.

“For what?” you prodded.

“For everything,” he answered, practically pouting.

“Not good enough. Say it like you mean it, say exactly what you’re sorry for,” you ordered.

“Fuck, ok. I’m sorry for calling you a whore. And a slut. And a bitch. And anything else. I’m sorry for saying you sucked Satoru’s dick. I’m sorry for grabbing you. I’m sorry for saying you should get me a drink or whatever. I’m just sorry, ok? Please, I’m so sorry. I… I was wrong,” he whimpered.

Reaching down, you grabbed his length and guided it back to your entrance. You slowly sank down as you had before.

“Keep going,” you said.

Instant relief flooded him as your cunt embraced him yet again. Release would have to build up again, but at least it wasn’t unattainable. And he’d do anything to keep it that way.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he whimpered as you bounced up and down on him.

You went hard and fast now. Relentless in your pursuit of pleasure. Satoru kept kissing his neck, bringing more noises out amongst the slew of apologies.

Your legs started to wobble as you hit the high yourself, but somehow you managed to keep yourself upright. You threw your head back and screwed your eyes shut, letting that intense pleasure wash over you for the second time.

Naoya was much in the same boat. His heels dug into the mattress as release finally overtook him. No longer did his hands just serve to balance you. They actively pulled you down, gave him the leverage he needed to slam up into your cunt.

You both rode out the waves together until melting down into a boneless heap. You slid off of him and rolled to the side, resting your head on his bicep. He laid there, completely still for a moment. His chest heaved as he caught his breath.

“You two did so good. I’m so proud,” Satoru crooned mockingly from the same spot.

Each of your heads lazily turned in that direction to find the strongest sorcerer smiling at the two of you with his cock, still fully-hard, in his hand.

“But don’t you think you’re forgetting about something?” he asked teasingly.

The two of you were absolutely spent by this point, but in both of you, the adoration for Satoru ran deeper than physical exhaustion. You dragged your body to lie between his thighs first, and then Naoya came behind you.

Your fingers curled around the shaft before you planted a lazy kiss on the head. You began tracing the veins with your tongue from base to tip.

Naoya watched you for a moment before bringing his lips to the top. He suckled on the head for a moment, letting the precum smear on his lips. His golden eyes gazed up at Satoru. He watched as he softly moaned.

Both of Satoru’s hands came to pet your heads. “See what happens when you behave, Naoya?” he teased. “You two make such a good team.”

Naoya rolled his eyes, but he didn’t disagree. He kept at work on the shiny tip of Satoru’s length. After a few more laps of your tongue, you drifted up there too. Your lips brushed his own. The soft skin grazed by as each of you lavished attention upon the cock between you.

It felt good.

So Naoya went for it again. He kissed you with Satoru at the site of your connection. And then he did it again and again.

The sight of you two making out around a piece of him was what drove him to the edge. He couldn’t hold on after seeing that. His fingers clutched the bedding beneath him while his head lolled back between his shoulders.

Pearly ropes of cum fired from Satoru. Some spurted onto your hand, more landed on Naoya’s cheek. Satoru let out a groan as he drained himself. He wasn’t as reactive as the two of you, but the look on his face made his enjoyment undisputed.

When he seemingly finished, you reached over to the bedside table to grab some kleenex. You wiped the mess from your hand and Satoru’s belly, and then with a fresh one, tended to Naoya’s face. For a second, you would have sworn his eyes looked a little softer, less harsh than they usually were.

After the three of you were taken care of, you curled up to Satoru’s side. Naoya observed the closeness between the two of you. The unspoken intimacy that he had no part in.

He made his way towards the end of the bed, planning on putting himself back together and then hightailing it out of here. But before he could, Satoru’s fingers wrapped around his wrist again.

“Where are you going? Now that you’re not acting like a total jackass, you wanna leave?” he asked.

Naoya paused. He still hadn’t returned to his normal self. He didn’t have a snappy reply or an insult to hurl at the two of you.

“Oh… I thought… I thought you would want me to leave,” he said.

“Please, what do you take me for? I’m not the hit it and quit it type,” Satoru teased.

It was a stupid joke, but it made things less tense between everyone. Hesitantly, Naoya eased back up towards the top of the bed, taking up the side of Satoru you didn’t occupy.

You watched him as he did. He half-expected you to protest him staying. He’d probably do that if he was in your place. Wouldn’t the ultimate satisfaction come from demeaning the person who’d tried to do exactly that to you?

But you didn’t. You didn’t utter a mean word as he let his body rest against Satoru’s. Instead, you reached over and tucked a piece of two-toned hair behind his ear.

And he let you.

#jjk x reader #jjk imagines #jjk smut #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo smut #satoru gojo imagine #naoya zenin x reader #naoya zenin smut #naoya zenin x you #jujustu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #ch: satoru gojo 💌#ch: naoya zenin 💌

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miainbetween · 28 days ago

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MODERN HOGWARTS DR

(ngl this is actually my script)

MARIA OLLIVANDER. seventeen. ravenclaw. 5th year. halfblood. prefect. future wandmaker. potions prodigy. herbology and astronomy lover. n1 broom avoider. hopeless romantic. sucker for muggle romance & fantasy books + slowburn playlists. schoolgirl / ballerina / princesscore aesthetic. griffindor supporter. might be seen blushing around blonde flirts who end scentences with “love”.

MAX TAYLOR. eighteen. griffindor. 6th year. halfblood. chaser. hogwarts’ resident charmer. harmless flirt (unless you count heart rates). defense against the dark arts ace. second gen musician. lover boy. heart-throb with a golden retriever vibe. gentleman. lowkey a poet. lives for sunset broom rides, secret midnight walks, and a certain ravenclaw who smells like lavender and parchment.

THE YEAR IS… FLEXIBLE.

1990s-inspired. 2020s-influenced. hogwarts. there’s tech. but no wi-fi, no signal, no social media. but students get creative.

AESTHETICS. the 90s meet the 2020s. flip phones + vinyl. fairy lights in dorms. lo-fi playing through bewitched speakers in the common rooms. handwritten notes passed in class. cottagecore meets soft grunge. glossy lips, linen skirts, chunky sweaters. jeans and hoodies or preppy dresses worn on weekends.

TECHNOLOGY. modern gear. those raised in the muggle world sneak in bluetooth speakers, wired headphones, mp3 players, cameras, old flip phones, and even sleek iPhones. no internet. just downloaded music, movies, ebooks, journals. charging is solved via crystals and clever charmwork. homework is drafted on laptops and copied on parchment. voice notes are passed around like secret letters.

MUSIC. you’ll hear Taylor Swift echoing from the astronomy tower. Frank Ocean in the greenhouses. Lana Del Rey in the bath. lo-fi in the dorm is bonding. sharing earphones in the library is a love language. slow dancing in common rooms past curfew.

LIFESTYLE & PLANET. no pollution. no global warming. no climate anxiety. nature is protected, not profited from. no GMOs or unnaturally grown food. more farmer’s markets than fast food.

VALUES. no social clout chasing. no internet obsession. world peace, emotional safety, deep friendships. gender freedom. queer love. body kindness. equality. romanticizing the now.

VIBE CHECK. slow world. long stares. quills + glossy lip gloss. digital cameras + handwritten letters. love that unfolds like spells.

tags: @rumitome @easyboyrecliner @floreils @avelineshifts @shiftesque

A/N: planing to post about background and friend groups soon :D

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yoonieper · 6 months ago

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For the Birds— Part 6 | JJK

I want you to stay even though you don’t want me.

♡ Pairing: Jungkook x Reader (feat. Yuri)

♡ Genre: angst, smut, future fluff!, this chapter is pretty much pWITHp (can be read alone, however you will be a tiny bit confused)~

♡ Rated: I for Indulge

♡ Series Warnings: Lots of smut (not always healthy), cheating, discussions of depression, this series includes Jk in a pretty toxic environment, degradation (not the sexy kind), manipulation, and overall Jk being in an emotionally abusive situation!

♡ Chapter Warnings: smoking, alcohol, vague mentions of su*cidal thoughts, discussions about depression, vague allusions to substance abuse (alcohol), a few emotional breakdowns, a drop of subby Jk (truly a drop), handjob, slight dom Jk makes an appearance, oral (m + f), a hand goes over a mouth (;D), a hint of voyeurism, protected and unprotected sex

♡ Word Count: 19.7k

♡ Summary: As the son of the CEO at Golden Tech, a marriage was arranged in the name of business. Jungkook really tried to make the most of his situation and be the best husband he could be, but no matter how much he tried, his wife just doesn’t seem to want him. Then you… you came into his life and his eyes couldn’t help but wander.

♡ Now Playing: goosebumps by Travis Scott— see masterlist for playlist!

♡ Beta: Thank you so much to @mellowladyanchor @iutint @pearinwords for reading this part for me! If you’re interested in betaing a future part, dm me! If you're interested in becoming a permanent beta for this series please first click here and refer to 'details about the job' section for more details and dm for any questions you might have! Betas get early access to chapters, so if you're free to help out and can't wait for next chapter, consider joining the team!!!

♡ Author’s Note: Office Sexcapades Part 2! First series shift coming next chapter~ Just a fair warning, this series is about to take a dip, specifically regarding mental health— once again a reminder that if that is a sensitive subject for you please be cautious when reading the following chapters! And sorry to everyone once again for the extreme delay trying to get this out! Life happens :')

No reposting, modifying. Translating is not allowed unless given explicit permission. Thank you so much : D

previous chapter « main masterlist ✩ series masterlist » coming...?

Jungkook’s days had a tendency to go badly the very minute he opened his eyes. It was either Yuri, work, himself, or the most miniscule obstacle that even Jungkook could have never predicted. At this point, it was a curse he deserved considering everything about his shameful existence. Simply waking up was all it took for the world to start throwing shit at him for its sick pleasure just to see if he’d make it through the day. It was exhausting and today proved to be no exception to the torture.

Jungkook woke up, made himself a little coffee, went to the gym, came back to shower, got dressed, then headed to work. Dae-Jung dropped him off in the garage, which had been something his dad always told him was the quickest way to go instead of through the main lobby. He’d skipped too many workouts, so in turn he asked his driver to let him out towards the back for the opportunity to get in his much needed extra steps. He bid farewell to Dae-Jung and then he steadily weaved his way through the sea of cars, mindlessly heading toward the door thinking about what he needed to do today, when bam— you were standing right in front of him getting out of the passenger seat of some random vehicle.

It only took a second for his confusion and amusement at the situation to turn into something even he didn’t understand. With his luck with the universe, he should have known it wasn’t just going to be a funny coincidence you two could laugh about later.

Jungkook watched, unbeknownst to you both, as you got out of the car first before Kim Taehyung emerged from the driver's seat. You were smiling, so was he, and Jungkook noticed as you started making your way inside a certain look in both of your eyes, an uneasy comfortability, that made him remember the fact that you two had dated before.

The minute the door closed behind the both of you, Jungkook felt his blood boil to a temperature he was sure rivaled the sun. His relatively moderate mood at the time transformed into something monstrous and hideous. He had practically stormed in soon after you made it inside. He had no idea why he was so upset. Nothing had happened— nothing had happened, so why the fuck were you with Taehyung?

Jungkook was never the best at hiding his emotions, so the minute Jimin walked in his office later that day, it was apparent by the pout on his face that he had an attitude.

“What’s wrong with you?” Jimin tried to be lighthearted, but considering the situation Jungkook was in, it was hard to know how serious the issue might be. What if this was about Yuri?

Jungkook looked up at him and then went back to staring off into space. “Hyung, is it normal for a guy to drive a girl to work?” It was the first thing he said to him, and it was certainly not what Jimin had expected to come out of his mouth. He stopped in his tracks, feeling uneasy about the question.

“Ummm… what’s their relationship?” Jimin asked, rolling with it. He came in here with a work question originally, but it seemed it could wait for the moment.

“They say they’re friends.” Jungkook mumbled shamefully. He couldn’t even look his hyung in the eye confidently. It sounded nonsensical even to his own ears.

Jimin almost wanted to laugh, but then he grew more worried wondering where this question was coming from.

“Why are you asking? Don’t tell me, Yuri—” Jimin’s mind was always quick to go there. It had every reason to.

“No— no, I just watched this movie and saw people debating about it.” Jungkook quickly came up with the lame excuse on the spot. He didn’t know what to feel— better that it wasn’t about Yuri, or worse because it wasn’t about Yuri. He felt pathetic.

“Oh… well, in that case, probably not. Someone definitely has feelings, maybe one or both of them,” Jimin giggled at that. He had a lot more experience in the romantic department, so Jungkook really took his advice to heart. It was a little ironic considering he was the man who had been married for nearly four years.

Jungkook tried his best to stay calm. He didn’t want to jump to any conclusions, but you had literally told him with your own mouth that you and Taehyung had dated before. He’d seen too many movies and dramas depicting exes rekindling their relationships after previously complicated circumstances in their lives had prevented them from being together at the time. Maybe you two have matured and are finally ready to embrace each other again in the way you couldn’t beforehand. Just because you both did date in the past doesn’t mean things needed to end between you two. But that very thought made a weird wave of emotion wash over him— sadness, anger? He wasn’t quite sure, and he was even more unsure why he was having a reaction in the first place. You might be embroiled with him in an affair, but your life was your business, not his, and he had no right to care. Right? Right…?

He kept trying to reassure himself, but the minute he came out of a meeting and saw the two of you together smiling and laughing as you always did, he couldn’t get the thought out of his head for some reason.

He just didn’t like Taehyung— Taehyung just… Why was he always there?! He was a problem, and Jungkook was confused why you didn’t see it. His own conflicted feelings pissed him off even more and just seeing you— you— why were you doing this to him?

When the meeting ended, he got out of there as fast as he could. The minute he made it back to his office, Jungkook sent you a text asking to meet him in the storage room, but not before grabbing what he needed out of his desk first.

It hadn’t been too long after Jungkook had arrived when you knocked twice and he opened the door. You had been in relatively good spirits before you walked in, that was until you saw the slightly dazed, but pouty look on Jungkook’s face when he guided you inside.

“You ok?” you asked hesitantly when he closed the door behind you. You honestly weren’t in the mood to fight with him today.

Jungkook didn’t say anything, but slowly nodded his head.

He was fine? Yep, you didn’t believe that for one second, but if he didn’t want to talk about it, you didn’t either.

“Well, in that case, I wanted to say I was actually a little glad you called me in here. All these meetings, graphs, spreadsheets, Excel— I’m honestly done with it all. I’m frazzled. It was so bad yesterday that I overslept and Taehyung had to pick me up this morning or else I would have been late,” you sighed, rubbing your temples to quell the stress.

You unintentionally had given Jungkook a rationale for what he saw this morning, but it hadn’t really solved the problem. Because why did you need to ask Taehyung when the route he takes to work isn’t too far from your apartment? You could have easily asked him to take you. For some reason, Jungkook’s brain didn’t take into account that you didn’t know that and instead focused on the fact that Taehyung had been your knight in shining armor, saving you from dealing with public transportation when you were already late. The thought just didn’t sit right with him for some reason.

“Anyway, I’ve been stressed, and I know this arrangement is mainly about you, but I was hoping you might be able to help me take the edge off,” you sighed, feeling a little embarrassed asking.

Jungkook had no idea what that meant and was too distracted by the fact that you wanted him for something to even try to figure it out. He tried his best to keep his cool. You wanted him!

When Jungkook didn’t say anything back and continued to have this dopey look on his face, you wondered if he understood what you said.

“Jungkook?” you questioned.

“Hmm—” it managed to snap him out of it a little bit.

“You do know what I meant, right?” you finally asked when he still hadn’t done anything.

“Oh— ummmm…” He was a bit clueless it seemed. You were far too prideful to ask him outright, so instead you took initiative and made your way over to the table.

You didn’t turn around as you started undoing your pants— it was extra cold today, so you went with pants instead of the skirts you’d usually wear. In hindsight, if you had known he was going to call you in here today, you probably wouldn’t have worn them. Your cheeks burned as you pulled them down, set them on the table beside you, and kicked off your heels. You put on your best straight face, not wanting him to know how embarrassed you felt, before hopping up on the table.

Even in the dark, you could see Jungkook’s bewildered gaze, his eyes wide, and you wondered if he was blushing like he always did.

“You get what I mean now?” The lilt in your voice made it obvious that you were teasing him, but you also couldn’t deny that you were a little impatient. You smiled at him as you spread your legs a little, hoping that would entice him enough to beckon him more quickly.

It was hard to see anything in the dark, but the glimmer of light that seeped in from underneath the door outlined your body in a way that had him practically drooling as he stared at you. Sometimes it was hard to believe how pretty you were, even when he could hardly see you.

Jungkook made his way over quickly and once he got close, it dawned on him what exactly you were asking from him.

“So, are you just going to stand there?” you asked softly, your eyes staring up at him innocently, yet the way your leg began to rake up his own made tingles spread through his whole body in a flurry.

Jungkook was quick to close the distance between you two. The longer he kissed you, the more and more it dawned on him that you had asked him to do this for you, not Taehyung— fuck Taehyung. You had gone to him in a time of need and suddenly that thought made the flame grow all-consuming.

He wanted to have you. Jungkook was down on his knees soon after, lightly kissing and sucking along the expanse of your thighs. With the extra skin exposed, so soft, so warm, he didn’t know how to act.

Jungkook treated you well. He always did, when he wasn’t cursing your very existence, and as he drew orgasm after orgasm from you just like you wanted, you felt the stress wash away the longer he was between your legs. He seemed especially focused on you despite his needs being the reason he called you in here, and in between the moments he was a major dick, you had to admit he was actually very sweet. He was so attentive, and in the short time you’d been doing this, you felt like he already knew your body so well.

Moments like this made you wonder how ten months could have passed without his wife doing something, anything with him. You didn’t want to speculate too much— that wasn’t really your business and you didn’t know their relationship enough to make any type of accusations. But unless Jungkook was leaving a big part of the story out, you just couldn’t understand her.

Your mind grew fuzzy at some point, you ended up losing count of how many times he made you cum when you hit your limit— you still had to be able to walk out of here after all. You finally pulled him away, and you could see his face glistening despite the darkness in the room. It was a sinful sight that made a wave of electricity run right through you.

When Jungkook finally lifted himself to his feet once again, you saw the quick way he glanced down before looking into your eyes. Right, of course you couldn’t forget about him.

“Mmmm, just go slow. I have to make it back to my desk somehow.” It was sort of a joke, but you also legitimately feared that if you did anything more, Jungkook might need to help you to your desk, and you were sure people would ask questions.

Jungkook quickly nodded before fishing out the condom he grabbed from his desk earlier. Truth be told, he had to go slow or he probably wouldn’t even last a minute. He had wanted to focus on you, and he relished in the pretty sounds you made as you ran your fingers through his hair. However, it got him so worked up that when you tugged on his strands particularly hard while you came on his tongue again, he nearly finished right along with you. Somehow he had held it off, but at this point, he felt like he was only a trigger hair away from losing it.

Slow and steady was definitely the way to go. The minute Jungkook wrangled the condom on, he was inside you moving at a nice, comfortable, steady pace. His strokes were languid, seemingly trying to pay close attention to the way he moved; deep, gentle, and lazily rhythmic, each glide made your toes curl. He filled you up in all the right places and it was so soft how all his attention was on your gaze. If you didn’t know any better, you would have said it was incredibly romantic. But alas, in reality you were getting fucked at your workplace by your superior who was a married man. Nothing screams romance more than that.

Despite his efforts to try to go at a steady pace, he still wasn’t able to last long with the way you squeezed around him. You were so slick from your previous activities, and your warmth made it frustratingly easy to give in. Suddenly, Jungkook came, nearly knocking the wind out of himself in the process as he worked his way through it.

By the end, you both were just trying to catch your breath. You knew you had to leave soon. You had been gone far too long and you knew someone would start looking for you soon.

Jungkook moved away to throw away the condom while you worked on getting your pants on again. Suddenly, his voice cut through the growing silence. “By the way, my way to work isn’t too far from your apartment. If you ever need a ride in the morning, you can just text and ask.” You didn’t notice the blush that had spread across his cheeks.

You laughed. “And what would people think if they saw us getting out of the same car together? Just to save us the trouble of being bombarded with questions, I’ll only come to you if Taehyung isn’t available— but hopefully that won’t even happen anyway because, crossing my fingers, by New Year’s I’ll have my own car and I won’t have to worry about that anymore,” you tried to smile.

“Right… I almost forgot,” he laughed, nervously fluffing his hair.

“You were the one who helped me, remember…?” You were a little surprised you needed to remind him considering it had only been a few days ago.

“Right… right, I’m sorry,” he was always so quick to apologize.

“There’s no need to apologize,” you mumbled.

It hadn’t been long since that meeting where you had ended up being a tiny bit late due to being stuck in traffic for what felt like forever. Luckily for you, unlike the times you’d gone on your own, the fact that Jungkook hadn’t arrived meant that nothing could start without him there, so by the time you burst through the doors, you really hadn’t missed anything.

On the way back, you had asked Jungkook about all the car stuff that had been bouncing around in your head since you started your research. You first made sure to remind him that unlike him, you weren’t the son of a trillion-won tech company’s CEO and you couldn’t get just anything. Surprisingly, Jungkook gave you some pretty insightful advice about what to look for and possible features you might be able to add within your budget. He even recommended a few brands to research further. It had definitely helped refine your search and now you were close to having something picked out and ready to move on to the next stage.

It was odd that he apparently forgot this had happened, but you didn’t want to get on him too much considering everything that was going on. Everyone was busy moving toward the end of the last quarter, and you could only imagine what other things he was dealing with that would cause the memory to leave his mind so easily.

•────•──────────•────•

“Mom?” You questioned as you answered the call.

“Oh? So my daughter finally decided to pick up the phone.” Her tone was so deadpan you knew you were one of the only people who could’ve picked up on the sarcasm and humor in her voice.

“I’m sorry…” You sighed, but a smile still remained on your face.

“You decide to move to Seoul and ever since then it’s almost impossible to get a hold of you anymore,” she mumbled, and in the background you could hear the faint sound of something hitting up against the metal bowl she would always cook in.

“We just talked last week.” You reminded her.

“Last week…” you heard her scoff. “I should be able to talk to my daughter whenever I please!”

At this point, you couldn’t stop the laughter knowing how dramatic your mom could be at times. “I’m sorry, mom.”

She scoffed again. “Where even are you right now?”

You pulled your jacket a little closer to your body as the cool breeze seeped even further into your skin. “I’m walking to the subway station. You called me as soon as I left the office.”

“At this time of night?!” She exclaimed scoldingly. You couldn’t blame her considering it was almost nine o’clock.

“I’ve been busy these days…” You simply settled not wanting to get into the details. Your mom knew about your work troubles to a certain extent. She knew about your frustrating boss and how that situation arose because you spilled coffee on him on your first day, but you kept the more painful details to yourself. She worries about you enough as it is and the last thing you wanted to tell her was how much you were suffering because of a mistake. You had been so eager to let her know about the improvement in your relationship following your promotion, you hadn’t found the heart to tell her things had gone south again.

Of course she also doesn’t know about the affair either, how you were now sleeping with the Jeon Jungkook you used to rant to her about until the early morning hours. It was still hard to admit to yourself that it was happening, and even though you knew your mom wouldn’t say anything to anyone about it, you couldn’t bear the humiliation you’d inevitably feel if you told her.

“Is that why you never answer my calls anymore?”

“I’m sorry I’ve been so busy…” You sighed.

“You’ve always been busy. All you ever do is work; you’ve been like this since you were young. Most parents have to pester their kids to do their homework, but you’d already have it done before me or your dad made it home. You’d always be sitting at your desk with your head in your books already looking into the next week’s material.” She absentmindedly reminisced. You couldn’t help but laugh, your mom’s words hitting you with a wave of nostalgia you weren’t prepared for. You could never forget your nights working at your little green desk in the corner of your room. It sat right beside your window that provided a comforting view of the Busan cityscape, and if you squinted hard enough, you could even see the water despite how far inland your house resided.

It was typically just you in the house for a few hours after you’d get home from school, both of your parents still out and busy hard at work. As soon as you made it home you were dropping your things off, taking a seat at your desk, and getting straight into work. Even while you were younger you didn’t want your grades to be another worry your parents would have to constantly think about, so you always felt the need to take initiative and work hard. It always made you so happy to see your parent’s shocked faces when they would get back from their second or third jobs and you would tell them you had finished all your homework and you were getting a head start on looking into what your teacher said you’d be covering in the following week. You lived for their pleasantly surprised faces, and from an early age, you made it your mission for them to continue to be proud of you.

“I have to be busy so I can earn a lot of money.” You reminded her.

“It’s always money with you… you’re just like your dad. Will you ever forget work and visit your family again?”

“You know I’ll be going back a month from now. Plus, how else am I supposed to get you guys really nice Christmas presents?”

“But that’s too far away. Who cares about Christmas presents when I haven’t seen my daughter since you came home for my birthday, and that was three months ago at this point.”

“I know…” The guilt creeping in made your cheeks burn. You all were really close and even though it's been years since you’ve moved away from your little house in Busan, you used to always try and make time to visit home whenever you could, no matter how busy you were sometimes…

“Your dad’s been sad you’re not visiting this year for his birthday. We’ve been having all his favorite dishes this week just to try and cheer him up.” You giggled at your mom’s words. Your dad could be even more dramatic than your mom sometimes, especially when it came to you.

“Is that what you’re working on right now?”

“Mhmmm. We’re having agujjim (spicy braised monkfish) today,” she said absentmindedly, likely focused on the next step in her internal recipe book. Just the mention of it had your mouth watering, and for a split second you debated if you could somehow take the train back home and make it back in time for work in the morning.

“Tell him I’ll be sure to call him on Friday to try and make up for it.”

“You should call me back when you make it home. I’m sure your dad would like to hear that from you himself.” Your mom mentioned.

You were immediately about to object, but the longer you thought about it, the more you realized there was no reason why you couldn’t besides being exhausted from your work day. Plus, you really had been busy lately so your phone calls home were few and far between.

“I’ll try and see if I can, but no promises.”

“I talked to your dad right before I called you, and he said he will be here in about thirty minutes. I’m expecting your call sometime after that.” Your mom was serious once again, but you knew there would be no hard feelings if you didn’t end up calling.

Your parents know you best in how much you consume yourself with work (though in more recent years that hasn’t been on your own volition), so situations like this weren't exactly new. They were always your biggest cheerleaders in your life, and you could never forget how proud they were of you when you told them you got your job Golden Tech, and they nearly fainted when you mentioned your promotion a few months ago.

“Tell dad I love him if you don’t hear from me in the next hour.”

“Mmmm, and what are your plans after work tomorrow?”

You thought about it. “I’m actually leaving a little early to get my nails done after work.”

“I see. I’m still expecting your call later, but if not, call us afterward tomorrow and make sure I get a picture of your nails.” Your mom added. She always loved to see them whenever you’d mention you got them done.

“Will do.”

“Alright then. Be careful on your way home. It’s late, so if you’re not calling, be sure to text me when you make it back home.”

You grinned. “Alright, mom. I’ll talk to you later. Any longer and I might miss the next train.”

“You better,” her seriousness was back, making your smile grow wider.

“I will, don’t worry… Bye mom~”

“Bye.”

And with that you clicked off and picked up your pace. You were only a block away, but you still found yourself hurrying. The last thing you wanted to do was have to wait for the next train, it was already late.

It just had your mind traveling back to Jeon Jungkook and how it was all his fault that you were at work for so long. He just made your blood boil, yet at the same time…

You shook your head hurriedly. No Jungkook thoughts after work.

It was easy to say that, but as you hurried your way for some reason his face continued to follow you even as you sped down the stairs of the subway station. He pissed you off, he really did. Why was he always in your head?

•────•──────────•────•

You were on your way back to your desk when you spotted Jungkook by the meeting room. At first you were going to speed right past, coming to the quick conclusion that he was preparing for the upcoming meeting later on, but something just seemed… off. He was pacing in front of the doorway and the look in his eyes, even from far away, made your passing gaze linger on him with concern.

Just as you were about to walk by the hallway, your feet stopped you entirely. The longer you looked the more worried you became. Even still, the panic didn’t set in until you got a little closer.

“Director Jeon?” you called out hesitantly.

The minute Jungkook turned around, you could truly process the fear in his eyes. You had never seen him look so distressed, only rivaling that first night you shared in his office. His eyes were looking at you, but it was like he was staring right through your very being. What was going on?

“Jungkook, what’s wrong?” you said, far more seriously, grabbing him so he’d look at you. Your stomach dropped when you felt him shaking in your grasp.

“Uhhh— this— um— this presentation, I—” Jungkook stumbled over his words and seeing how disheveled he was, you knew you had to get him out of there. You looked around worriedly at all the people passing by.

You quickly told him to meet you in the storage room and said you’d be in a few minutes after. Jungkook didn’t fight you on it, instead he just steadily headed over in that direction while you walked in the other. You both knew you couldn’t be seen with each other, so the extra time allowed you to quickly show your face to your team and drop something off in your office before heading out to join Jungkook.

You knocked twice, waited a second, then knocked twice again— something you’d easily gotten into the habit of doing by now. When Jungkook opened the door, he still seemed just as distraught as he had when you parted ways. You hastily made your way inside to figure out what was going on.

Before you could really even get in the room, you saw Jungkook fall back against the door and sink to the floor. His breathing was shallow, so shallow you were worried he was moments away from passing out. His fingers quickly threaded into his hair and even in the dark, you could see how tight his grip was. You didn’t say anything at first, instead moving to take a seat right next to him.

“Deep breaths,” you said as you looked at him worriedly.

Jungkook quickly reached for your hand and you let him squeeze it tightly. He wasn’t looking at you and you were worried he didn’t hear your words before, so you called his name again and started taking slow, deep breaths to get him to follow along.

Jungkook’s eyes darted towards yours, and after a little while, he attempted to join you. It was like he had run a marathon with how out of breath he seemed.

“I can’t— Y/n— I can’t,” he cried, and you held onto him tightly as you tried to calm him down a little. You rubbed reassuring circles on his hand as he tried to slow his breathing down. It took some time, but eventually you both got in sync. You didn’t stop, scared that the minute you did, Jungkook would go back to square one.

It was Jungkook who finally halted doing the breathing exercises and pulled away before bringing his knees close and resting his head in his arms. You placed your hand on his back, feeling him shaking slightly still.

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” Your voice was calm as you looked over at him. “We have a little bit of time before the meeting starts. We could just sit in silence if that’s what you prefer.”

Jungkook leaned his head back.

“I used to not be like this— I don’t know what’s happening to me. I’ve given countless presentations in the past and I was fine. But these days, I don’t know— when I see their eyes it feels like they can see through everything and—” Jungkook was teary as he spoke, and things just grew worse.

“How am I ever going to run this company if I can’t even stand in front of people to give this stupid presentation?!” It was a thought he had never told anyone, his growing fear about becoming the CEO one day. He didn’t want to say anything because he was embarrassed. He wanted people to have high expectations of him, but he wasn’t even meeting his own these days.

This wasn’t even a big presentation. It was just a review of what the teams had already accomplished and what everyone needed to get done before the holidays. It wasn’t major, but there were going to be a lot of people there, representatives from all the departments and a few higher-up executives to check in and see how things were going. It should be simple, he’d done this presentation a countless number of times, but this year for some reason, just the thought of everyone sitting there and staring at him, only him—

It felt like that nightmare all over again; the executives judgingly peering at him, degrading him as he shamelessly took you on the table.

It had already been bad the last time he just had to go up there and say a few things when you did your presentation together. In that case, however, Jungkook only needed to chime in occasionally and give a little extra insight while you did almost everything. This time you weren’t going to be up there for him to hide behind. He had to stand there all alone, everyone’s eyes would be on him and—

The feeling of your hand moving on top of his tore him away from his rushing thoughts. Jungkook looked down at them, then back up to meet your smiling eyes.

Instead of saying anything, he threaded his fingers between yours.

“Their— their eyes are so scary. I know they’ll see everything,” his tears finally spilled over. You noticed the little light seeping in and reflecting off the wetness that began to stain his cheeks.

He was shaking really, really badly. It reminded you of the fateful day your affair had started. His sad, watery eyes were peering into your own, practically pleading for help. It contrasted with the Jungkook you had begun to grow familiar with, the one who would get mad at you for no reason other than the fact that you existed. But this felt like the real Jungkook. Behind all the anger was someone so broken, it was almost hard to watch.

You had seen his presentations in the past. Most of the time it was just executives who would be present, so for a while it was only on rare occasions had you’d seen Jungkook actually having to lead meetings. You had hated Jungkook at the time, but it was one of the few moments your hatred would dim and be replaced by a sliver of admiration. He was good. He would always be cool, calm, and concise when he talked, elaborating his points well whenever needed, and answering questions with just as much care and attention. It made his panic today seem even crazier when you thought back on what he was like just a year ago. It made you want to ask what had happened. You tried not to ask him too many questions, allowing him to tell you things only if he wanted to. After a little bit of thinking, you ultimately decided against it, figuring that if he wanted to tell you, he would.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do. I know I’ll get up there and will be shaking so much, everyone will hear it in my voice, just like last time— I’m so fucking pathetic.” And his fear just got worse. He couldn’t hide. They’d see him, they’d see everything— how incapable he was. He was a fucking mess and all his coworkers would see it.

“Don’t say you’re pathetic,” you finally interjected, hating how much he said that sometimes.

“I am, I can’t—!”

“Shhhh!” you squeezed his hand tightly. “Don’t say you can’t, because you can. I’ve seen you up there before.”

Jungkook sadly laughed at that. “That was before, but now I can’t—”

“No— I’m not going to sit here and let you continue to say these bad things about yourself. Nothing good will come from doing that. You can do this, okay?” You were stern, yet reassuring all at the same time.

Jungkook just stared at you wide-eyed for a second before he leaned his head back against the door. “It just looks so easy for you. You’re always so amazing when you’re up there. How do you do it?” he sighed, staring off into the darkness of the storage room.

It was now your turn to get a little flustered, but you quickly pushed the feeling aside to get back to the point. “Well, it just took a lot of practice. Presentations used to be a daunting task back when I was in school, but I picked up a lot of tips, tricks, and advice over the years that really helped me. I’m not a professional or anything, but I know that anxiety with public speaking can sometimes stem from other problems and stressors you might be dealing with. Considering you said you didn’t used to be like this, I would say that might be your issue.”

Jungkook sat back and thought about it. That would make a lot of sense actually. “You’re probably right. I haven’t felt good in years, but this year in particular… things have gotten considerably worse.” His voice wavered at the end at the mere thought of it.

“We could talk about it if you like?” you mentioned softly.

Jungkook slowly shook his head. “Not enough time, and just…” He shook his head again.

“That’s fine. We could sit here and continue to take deep breaths together. Maybe it’ll help you calm down.” You would sometimes do a little meditation whenever you had a big presentation coming up and you were particularly nervous. Though what Jungkook was going through went beyond just the jitters, it couldn’t hurt to try it out.

Jungkook steadily nodded, closed his eyes, and turned his attention to focus on slowing his breathing.

He really had needed this. From the very minute he woke up this morning, the shaking had already started. He had so badly wanted Yuri to do something to take away the anxiety; even simply being a listening ear to his nervous ranting would have helped.

Yuri had been around at the apartment that morning. Maybe she had no work plans and none of her friends were pulling her to hang out so early in the morning like they usually would on her free days. He wasn’t sure the exact reason, but he was happy she was home.

Jungkook’s hands had been shaking so badly, he nearly spilled his cereal trying to bring the spoon up to his mouth. Yuri had asked what was wrong with him because of how jumpy he was, but the minute he mentioned the presentation, she had simply rolled her eyes at him.

“Isn’t that your job? Why in the world would you be so nervous?” She sounded so disappointed. She had every right to be, and it wasn’t even like she was wrong. It was his job; presentations weren’t new to him. Why was he so nervous?

Jungkook couldn’t muster up the courage to say anything else after that, knowing all too well that if he continued, things might get so bad he wouldn’t even be able to leave his apartment. Instead, he tried his best to steady his increasingly shaky hand while he ate.

Honestly, Jungkook feared what might have happened if you hadn't pulled him into the storage room. He didn’t know why he had been outside of the meeting room. His racing mind had grown more and more anxious as time grew closer to the meeting. Somehow, his feet had carried him to the room where it would all be going down, not even to prepare, but to pace and pace because the shaking just wouldn’t stop and it was getting overwhelming.

Jungkook probably would have broken down right there, causing a horrible scene in front of anyone who passed by, but thankfully you had pulled him out of his daze and helped him plant his feet on the ground again.

“Inhale,” you said softly. Jungkook took a deep breath in, letting his lungs fill with as much air as they could hold.

A few seconds passed before you continued. “And exhale.” It was just as soft as before and Jungkook finally released the breath he had been holding. The air escaped shakily, but it still felt like a weight was being lifted off of his shoulders.

Inhale…

…

Exhale…

…

Inhale…

…

Exhale…

…

Inhale…

…

Exhale…

…

Along the way, Jungkook started paying more attention to the way you breathed. He tried his best to follow along with your calm, deep breaths in, followed by a long exhale. He was shaking, but gradually he was able to calm himself enough to follow your steady breathing a little more easily.

Breathing should have been his sole focus, but he realized his worried thoughts were also growing calmer as he thought about you beside him. You were too nice, far too nice for someone like him. He didn’t deserve it, he knew that’s what Yuri would say, yet for some reason you were down here with him on the floor trying to help him meditate.

At some point, he just had to open his eyes again to look over at you. Your eyes were closed as you calmly breathed in and out. You looked so relaxed and… wow, you were so pretty. Even in the dark your beauty managed to pierce through the black you both sat in, and your bewitching presence relaxed him even further. His face warmed at the sight and an overwhelming emotion filled his heart and squeezed it so tight he almost couldn’t breathe. It was a feeling he’d never experienced before, one so consuming that for once, Jungkook put overthinking aside and acted on impulse before he could stop himself.

It completely caught you by surprise, the feeling of his hand on your chin. You nearly jumped, but you quickly relaxed when you opened your eyes and saw it was just Jungkook. You glanced down at his hand before staring back up into his eyes. A new look had settled behind his gaze, one you were completely unfamiliar with.

Jungkook let his hand cup your cheek before he moved a little closer so there was hardly any distance in between you two. His gaze wasn’t meeting your own anymore. Instead, he was peering down at your lips.

His thumb brushed lightly against your cheek, so soft, as he always was. You hated the way your heart tightened.

“Is this ok?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

Your body didn’t even give you the chance to think about it before you nodded. It was all Jungkook needed to finally close the gap between you two. This time was different. It reminded you of the very first time he kissed you— it wasn’t lustful, it wasn’t out of anger or frustration— it was… it was…

You loved the way his lips moved against yours. He was so gentle, and his soft sighs anytime he’d pull away to breathe were addicting. You loved the way he held you, so tenderly— no, this wasn’t right. What was going on?

You kissed him a little harder, picking up the pace a little to bring things back into more familiar territory. Jungkook didn’t stop you, instead welcoming the way you kissed him more passionately. You normally never took the time to just make out like this, always quick to get to the main event. But Jungkook was a really good kisser. He let you take the lead, allowing your tongue to eagerly explore his mouth. He was always so skilled and receptive.

You grew hot pretty quickly and you could imagine Jungkook was the same way as one hand flew to your waist and the one that rested on your cheek pulled you even closer. It gave you an idea. As much as you didn’t want to, you finally pulled away.

“Jungkook…” you said, your breath labored.

Jungkook hated each second you spent apart and pressed light kisses across your cheek. “Mhmmm…” he practically moaned into your skin.

You had to resist just completely melting in his grasp.

“I can’t help with your nerves directly, but maybe there’s something I can do to better take your mind off things if you’ll let me,” you mentioned in between the kisses he kept planting on your cheek and lips. At this, Jungkook finally pulled away, seemingly interested.

You let the silence pass for a little while.

“Orgasms always helped me de-stress,” you smiled shyly at him, maybe a little too innocently considering what you had just proposed. You saw the way he steadily processed your words in his mind.

“Maybe.” He was beating himself up for somehow finding himself here with you once again, but you always did relax him. “I didn’t bring a condom though. I didn’t—”

You shook your head. “I don’t think we have enough time to go all the way anyway.” You glanced at your watch and once it lit up you saw that there were only twenty minutes before the meeting was about to start.

Jungkook looked up at you, worry painted all over his features again.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you,” you reassured, placing your hand against his cheek.

Jungkook seemed dazed as he stared into your eyes, before he quickly nodded his head. You smiled and shakily got up to your feet.

“Stand up,” you lightly commanded, not really wanting to suck him off on the floor. He did as you asked and before anything more could be said, you moved him toward the side of the wall so he wouldn’t bang against the door. With something a little more solid behind him now, you finally took the opportunity to pin him against the wall.

Your height difference wasn’t much when you had your heels on, but even then, he was still a little taller than you. You doubted you looked that intimidating, but you nearly giggled when you saw the look on his face as you stepped closer.

You made quick work of sliding your hand onto his waist and settling the other on his cheek. You smiled before planting light kisses across his warm skin and eventually guided yourself up to his meet ear. You brushed away his hair and being this close it only then dawned on you that Jungkook had not one, but two sets of shiny hoops in his ears that you had never really noticed before.

“I promise to make this quick,” you whispered softly before planting a kiss right on his ear.

“Fuck,” Jungkook moaned as he quickly pulled you back to meet his lips. The position was hot, and you weren’t the only one who thought so. He’d never been pinned like this before and he certainly couldn’t say he hated it. No, if anything—

“F-fuck!” he panted as you moved down to suck on his neck. You were always careful about not leaving any marks. Jungkook was clumsy sometimes, but you knew the right balance of giving pleasure without going too far. It had Jungkook mewling as he embarrassingly started grinding into you slightly. He was subtle, but the friction combined with your mouth was enough to get him hard in no time.

The minute you noticed him chasing his hips into yours was when you figured it was time to move on to the next stage.

You kissed his lips one more time before dropping down to your knees. First, you checked the time again— fifteen more minutes. You really needed to be fast.

His belt and zipper came undone in a flash. Since he was standing this time, you tried to pull his pants down to make it a little easier for you to work, but Jungkook stopped you and mumbled something about it being quicker like this.

Even if you were trying to be conscious of the time, you didn’t think it would take that long to pull his pants up when you were done. But that’s what he wanted and there really wasn’t any time to question him on it. Instead, you finally took him out. You were drooling at how pretty the outline was even in the darkness and how it felt in your hand.

“Y/n…” Jungkook whined as you stared. Right, it was not a good time.

You slowly began pumping his length. You made sure to be extra attentive in your movements, steadily increasing your pace, and focusing on the tip since you knew how sensitive he was.

Your eyes also were trained on his expression. It was hard to see exactly, but you noticed the way he leaned his head back and the tight grip he had on the shelf that sat beside you both. He was trying so hard to be quiet, you could tell by the soft whines that would sometimes manage to slip out of his mouth. He really was so pretty. What you would have given for more time to tease him further.

You finally took him into your mouth, apparently a little unexpectedly by the way he nearly jumped out of skin. You hated to admit it was kinda cute.

Jungkook’s hand quickly moved from the shelf to rest on top of your head. He was careful to not hurt you as his fingers lightly threaded into your hair. He tried his best to keep steady, but his legs shook with each swipe of your tongue. The warmth and wetness of your mouth was overwhelming in the best way possible. Just the view alone of you on your knees for him… god.

Occasionally, you would look up at him and tease the tip between your lips. Sometimes Jungkook would try to watch as you took down as much as you could, but the sight was so good that he would need to quickly look away, flushed, knowing that the end would come all too quickly if he kept watching.

Before long, Jungkook was close and had to put his other hand over his mouth to stop himself from crying out. Somehow, he was still able to warn you of his impending release.

This prompted you to speed things up a little, knowing by now that time was probably not on your side. It didn’t take much more work before Jungkook was suddenly spilling into your mouth. His moans were muffled, but you watched in delight as you saw the tension leave all his features and his cum continued to paint your tongue.

You wanted to stay there and let him bask in his post-orgasmic bliss, but you figured he probably needed to leave soon to go set up for the meeting. You stood up and from the new angle you could see how relaxed he was; his eyes were closed while he leaned against the wall, his breath steady unlike when you first walked in. You really didn’t want to ruin this serene moment.

“Hope that helped a little bit, but it’s probably best not to sit here too much longer,” you mentioned after some time had passed.

Jungkook hummed and his eyes fluttered open to look at you before staring off into the distance. “I really don’t want to do this,” he sighed.

“I know it sucks, but once it’s over, it’s over. Do you have any other presentations coming up?” you asked, and Jungkook eventually nodded.

“One more right before the holidays start. It’s mainly to the higher-up executives, giving them a formal look into our plans for next quarter and the next year as well. Not as many people are going to be there as today, but it’s a little more important,” Jungkook groaned, running his fingers through his hair.

“We'll take it one day at a time. At least this one will be over shortly, and you can look back and—” but before you could finish, you felt a hand on your wrist and then suddenly you were pulled into something warm.

It took you a second to realize it was a hug. Your cheeks burned and you hated the way your heart skipped a beat at the way Jungkook nuzzled into your shoulder. He was so warm that you couldn’t help but melt into his embrace.

“Thank you… thank you for being here,” he sighed, and then all of a sudden you felt tingly everywhere. “Without you, I’m almost sure I would have had a breakdown right outside the meeting room, so thank you for just being here and… for helping out.” Your relationship was complicated for sure, but you weren’t the type of person to leave someone when they were clearly struggling. You may not exactly like Jungkook, but you didn’t hate him either. Sometimes, in moments like this, all he really needed was a helping hand.

“It was no trouble at all,” you tried to laugh, but it was hard keeping your voice steady when your heart was nearly beating out of your chest.

You stayed just like that for a second, wishing that you didn’t leave so soon.

“I guess I should go now. I still need to get my laptop from my office,” Jungkook sighed, and you quickly pulled away, remembering the time.

“Alright, you can head out first. I’ll see you in a few minutes,” you smiled at him, but right then you suddenly remembered something. You reached over to where the light switch was and quickly turned on the lights. You both cried out, then laughed at the sudden brightness in the room, but you tried your best to ignore it and do what you had wanted.

Suddenly, you were very close and your hands were back in his hair as you tried to fix the disheveled strands a little after his fingers had been running through it too many times. Once he realized what you were doing, he relaxed, and Jungkook’s gaze steadily fell to your lips. The pretty color that had stained them earlier was now smeared from your activities and he couldn’t stop himself from thinking it was one of the hottest things he had ever seen.

His hands came up to rest on your waist, but you paid no mind as you worked. The position made him realize just how much he didn’t want to leave you. You always needed to be quick whenever you met up here, but today you had no time whatsoever to spare. It really sucked.

Jungkook tried his best to ignore how much he wanted to kiss you again.

“Alright. I couldn’t help much, but I was able to get things relatively in the right spot. You look great and I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

It was then that you realized Jungkook’s gaze had drifted down towards your lips. With the lights on, you were able to see things clearly, his pretty lashes and all the cute moles on his face. He really was breathtaking. You were tempted to kiss him again, one last token of good luck before his presentation, but something about that felt… it felt like it wasn’t your place to do that. Instead, you smiled at him before pulling away again.

“How about this… if you have some time later, maybe I’ll give you a reward for finishing your presentation,” you mentioned as you watched Jungkook zip up his pants and redo his belt.

Jungkook smiled at the thought. The presentation was the main thing he had to do today, but he also had a few documents he knew he needed to look through. He would possibly have time a little later to potentially sneak off with you again. Plus, by that time, no one would really even be around to notice he was gone.

“Secretary Yu is leaving early today, it wouldn’t be too hard to sneak off later, but I’ll let you know.” He was certainly planning on it. After the presentation, he knew he would need something to wash away the nerves again.

You nodded at that. “Alright… Make sure to take deep breaths, and if things become too much, just look at me and pretend everyone else isn’t in the room.” You had heard that tip somewhere and figured it would be a good last-minute suggestion.

Jungkook looked up at you again. “Thank you…” he smiled once again, still unable to believe you were even there. Why would anyone care for him like this?

“Again, no trouble at all. I’ll fix myself up, then I’ll be heading to the meeting room.” You could only imagine what your makeup looked like right now.

Jungkook smiled. “Alright, I’ll see you then.”

“See you then~” you waved as Jungkook hurried out the door.

…

The presentation didn’t go perfectly. It never could have, considering all the anxiety he was dealing with these days, but he’s sure that without your help, it would have probably been a complete disaster. He hit all the talking points that he wanted to, even if he was a little shaky, but hopefully it hadn’t been too obvious.

You were a big help, and just your presence in the meeting made things a little easier as he tried the trick you suggested and fixated on you a couple of times to maintain his cool.

It went better than expected, and that was enough for him at the moment. As everyone started leaving the meeting room, it was good to feel the relief of it all being over. But now that things were done, all Jungkook could think about as he made his way back to his office was when he could meet up with you again.

•────•──────────•────•

Ever since the day Jungkook had left Yoongi’s office after breaking down in front of him about the affair, they had been texting off and on. It wasn’t much, mostly just Yoongi occasionally asking Jungkook if he was doing alright or if he had yet made an appointment with Dr. Kim yet. He had not.

Earlier today, the doctor randomly texted him to ask if he would like to meet up and have dinner since he apparently didn’t have any late night appointments that day. Jungkook wasn’t normally the type to say yes to something like that, not really enjoying other people’s company these days, but despite not technically being his therapist anymore, Dr. Min was still a professional and he knew he probably needed to talk to someone.

That was how Jungkook found himself leaving work a little earlier than he normally would and cruising down the streets of Seoul with Dae-Jung. A lot of people had already begun putting up decorations for the approaching holidays. Pretty lights twinkled in people’s windows and they came across frequent sightings of late night workers beginning to decorate small Christmas trees.

Yoongi hadn’t texted him an exact address, instead giving him the details of the place across the street from where they were meant to meet. At first, Jungkook was a little confused by it, until they made it onto the road and he saw the pojangmacha (tent bar) at the end of the street. It wasn’t long before he saw Yoongi right outside. Jungkook hopped out of the car into the freezing cold, telling Dae-Jung he’d text him when to pick him up, and made his way over to Yoongi.

They both greeted one another, exchanging slightly awkward hellos before walking in together. It had been quite some time since Jungkook had been to a pojangmacha— maybe since college? It was nice. The cozy warmth from the heaters and the grill easily cut through the chill November air, providing a little oasis for the people coming in. Lucky for them, a table was already available so they were quickly able to get a seat. As soon as they sat down, Jungkook realized he’d forgotten to eat again today and his stomach growled as they both looked over the menu.

The minute his eyes landed on Korean dumplings, he nearly started drooling as memories of them invaded his senses. He could practically taste them on his tongue. Jungkook eagerly pointed to them on the menu and then Yoongi ordered for the both of them, getting Korean dumplings for himself as well along with two sojus to go with their meal.

“I saw this place on my way to work today. They’ve come to this area before and they always have really good food,” Yoongi mentioned with a smile.

“I’m excited to try it. It smells really good here. I forgot to eat all day, so I’m starving!” Jungkook tried to laugh as he looked longingly at the food of the other customers. Hopefully their food would be served quickly…

Yoongi, however, was focused on something else. “Good food wasn’t the only reason I brought you here though. It’s been a little while since we’ve seen each other and I just wanted to check in on how you were doing. Have you managed to speak with Nam— Dr. Kim yet?” Yoongi asked, as a lady came over with their bottles of soju and some shot glasses.

Jungkook steadily shook his head. “I’ve been really busy at work. I was just going to try and schedule an appointment after New Year’s when I’ll be a little more free again.” Like a proper dongsaeng should, Jungkook was already opening Yoongi’s bottle and pouring it for him. Yoongi tried to do the same for Jungkook, but he insisted he’d do it on his own.

“I see… Things are usually hectic during the holidays. I’m still a little worried, considering how you were doing the last time you came to my office, but I understand. How are things going with that by the way?”

Jungkook took his first shot. It was bitter today, of course.

“With what?” Jungkook had to clear his throat as the clear liquid burned going down his throat.

“The affair. Did you ever manage to tell Yuri about it?” Yoongi took his own first shot. He didn’t mean to be so blunt, but there was no use beating around the bush.

Jungkook stared at the doctor for a second before he hurriedly filled his shot glass once again, the clear liquid quickly rising to the top and nearly brimming in the process. He downed his next shot speedily and finished it with ease before finally managing to shake his head no. He still hadn’t told Yuri about what happened that day… and all that happened afterward. Frankly, he didn’t really want to.

Silence passed for a little while as Yoongi continued to stare at Jungkook.

“Are you still seeing the coworker?” Yoongi eventually asked.

At this, Jungkook hastily went for his third shot.

“Woah… no need to rush—” Yoongi mumbled in an attempt to tell him to slow down, but Jungkook shooed him away as he easily downed his third. As soon as he set the glass back on the table, Jungkook’s hands were threaded into his hair again, his grip tighter than ever. Eventually, he nodded.

“Jungkook, look at me.” Yoongi softly commanded. Jungkook put his hands down and Yoongi was able to see that his eyes had grown a little watery. He took a deep breath before continuing.

“I tried to push her away, or maybe I didn’t. I probably didn’t try hard enough.” Something about confessing out loud that things were still happening between you two made the reality sink in even more. How horrible was he?

“She was the one who tried to tell me it was a bad idea to continue, but I practically begged her to be with me again.” Just the thought of it was sickening. Pathetic. What would Yuri say if she saw this?

“I tried to focus on Yuri, she’s my wife for fuck’s sake. But she keeps pushing me away, and now… I just feel like I’m digging myself into an even deeper hole than I was in in the first place,” Jungkook's voice wavered. He didn’t know what was worse at this point— betraying Yuri’s trust over and over again, or the fact that he was enjoying his time with you so much.

Yoongi stared at Jungkook for a little while before he went for his second shot. Jungkook tried to pour it for him, but Yoongi shooed him away. He downed the shot easily before rising to his feet.

“Follow me,” Yoongi said as he started putting his coat back on. Jungkook was confused, but quickly rose to his feet and put on his coat as well.

“We’ll be standing just right outside, could you call us in when our food is ready?” Yoongi asked the ajumma who was working hard behind the grill.

“Did you get that?” she called out to the younger woman who was sitting behind her scrolling on her phone. She had been the one who served them their drinks. Jungkook assumed she might be the older woman’s daughter. They had the same face, time being the only differential. The young lady nodded and with that, Yoongi pulled Jungkook out of the tent into the cold and over to a bench that sat in front of a big art sculpture that wasn’t too far from them.

Yoongi sighed, a foggy puff of air slipping past his lips, proving just how cold it was to anyone standing outside in this unfortunate weather. Jungkook was about to ask what was going on when Yoongi started rummaging around in his pockets, pulling out a box in one hand and something shiny in the other. It took him a second to realize it was a box of cigarettes and a bright purple lighter.

Yoongi smiled as he held up the lighter. “My daughter’s name is Bora. I got this color because of her, but funnily enough, I don’t really use it much anymore,” he laughed.

It took Jungkook a second to realize that he had never really considered that the doctor… had a life? He felt guilty for not asking Yoongi about himself, but of course the couples therapist has a whole life and a daughter. Jungkook also imagined he was married as well. Oddly enough, Yoongi had started to take on the role of a big brother in Jungkook’s eyes, but it still shocked him a little. Sometimes he seemed years ahead of him in life experience, but other times he really didn’t feel any different in age. Yoongi didn’t even look that much older than Jungkook was, making it harder to remember there was a bit of an age gap— seven years to be exact.

As Jungkook was lost in thought, he completely missed when Yoongi opened the box, took out a cigarette, put it between his lips, and handed the box over to Jungkook.

“Only if you want to,” Yoongi mentioned, as he tried his best to light it. It took a couple of tries, but eventually the end managed to catch.

Jungkook didn’t really think too much about it as he took one before handing the box back over to Yoongi and exchanging it for the lighter.

He didn’t really smoke, at least not anymore. College Jungkook, however, was a very different Jungkook. It wouldn’t have been an unusual sight to walk into his apartment and see him on the balcony with his feet kicked up and a cigarette between his lips, strumming along on his guitar to his favorite songs as he procrastinated doing homework. He never stopped for any reason in particular, it was just one of those habits that never stuck, and especially once he started his new life as a married man, he never really went back to it.

That didn’t stop him this time, though. Jungkook took the bright purple lighter and easily lit the cigarette. He took a long inhale before steadily blowing out the smoke, all while Yoongi observed him closely. Jungkook wasn’t prepared to hear the man chuckle beside him.

“Guess you weren’t lying then…,” he giggled to himself, taking another puff.

“You thought I was?” Jungkook asked, a little confused why he would think that.

Yoongi just shrugged, not really having an answer.

“Anyway, I brought you out here to talk about how you’re doing. We’re not in my office anymore, so be as unfiltered as you’d like. Tell me anything you’re comfortable with sharing— about Yuri, the affair, yourself…” Yoongi looked over at him.

The proposition made Jungkook’s eyes glisten and he hoped Yoongi would just think it was because of the cold. He quickly took another hit of the cigarette. Silence passed for a while, just the sounds of a few passersby and the wind steadily blowing as it made the night even colder.

“I don’t feel good,” Jungkook laid out plainly, not really having the energy to put up a front for the doctor and pretend things were fine. They weren’t— he needed help, he knew that. “I don’t really feel anything anymore,” Jungkook added a little more quietly.

“Anything?” Yoongi repeated, and Jungkook nodded.

“Every day is a fucking nightmare. It hurts just to get out of bed each day and go to work. It hurts to see Yuri. Our marriage is getting worse every single day and I still don’t feel guilty about what I did to her— what I keep doing to her for some reason. The only time I feel anything anymore is when I’m with Y/n…” His eyes were watering so much now, it was hard to pretend it was still just the cold.

“Is Y/n your coworker?” Yoongi asked, and Jungkook nodded once again. “What does she make you feel?”

Jungkook shrugged. “It just feels good when we’re together. For a moment, I feel something again. For a second, my life isn’t shit and my problems disappear. Maybe that’s why I keep going back to her for more.”

Yoongi wanted to comment on that, but ultimately chose to stay quiet. He didn’t want to label anything prematurely, but as a couples therapist and a married man, what Jungkook described didn’t sound unfamiliar.

“But even when I do, I still treat her like shit, just like I do with Yuri. I can’t do anything right,” Jungkook laughed as he wiped his eyes and took another puff from his cigarette.

“And what makes you say that?” Yoongi inquired further.

“I keep giving her more work when we’re already really busy as it is. We argue pretty much every time we’re alone together. She doesn’t deserve it. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Jungkook was crying just thinking about how you were probably still at the office working because of him.

“I just feel so hopeless every day, every fucking day and I just want it to end.” Jungkook sobbed, using his coat sleeve to wipe his eyes.

“Before, I held onto this glimmer of hope that one day I’d get my shit together and finally understand how to make Yuri happy, how to love her, how to at least get her to a place where she’d try and work things out with me.” Just an attempt, that was all he needed. “But now I feel like I fucked things up beyond repair, I’ve fucked everything up so badly— nothing will ever get better and I’m just so tired.”

Yoongi didn’t want to interrupt but this was beyond heartbreaking to listen to and watch as the tears started streaming down his cheeks.

“And I’m so ashamed— Y/n— I think I’m just running off of what she gives me at this point, it’s the only time anything feels like something anymore— I want things to be ok, but I just keep messing everything up— I’m so tired, I feel like giving up at this point.” It was vague, but Yoongi was paying close attention to his wording and his heart sank hearing the words ‘give up.’ He honestly thought the worst.

“It’s just gray no matter where I look and I don’t know how much longer I can go on like this, hyung. I just want it to end.” Jungkook sighed.

It might have been a slip of the tongue, maybe it was the alcohol flowing through his system, but the endearing honorific, one Jungkook didn’t seem to notice in the moment, was easily heard by Yoongi.

At this, Yoongi finally had to say something. “Jungkook, I'm really, really worried about you. I know I’m a couples therapist so this isn’t exactly my specialty, but the way you speak about your depression is concerning. The sentiments you’re describing are treading into dangerous territories that I’m honestly a little worried about leaving you alone.” The label wasn’t really a surprise. Jungkook had figured he’d veered into depression land a long time ago.

“Do you think you can hold out till the New Year’s when you’ll be able to meet Dr. Kim?” Yoongi asked seriously.

Jungkook nodded, wanting to believe he could. He hated to say he wasn’t confident in his affirmation.

“Things were bad before, but it was very recently where I don’t know… like I didn’t feel good for years if I’m being honest, but it I felt like I was on a hill and then all of a sudden I reached a cliff. I’m trying hard to climb out, or at least find the other side, but it just keeps getting lower and lower and now I’m stuck— the end’s nowhere in sight and—” Jungkook could ramble for hours about this. It truly felt there would be no end to this madness. He was tired, tired of going on and on and on with the same bullshit…

He was making people suffer, his wife, his employees, his friends, you, the list goes on.

“I know things might feel hopeless now, but trust when I say there is an end somewhere. Just hang in there a little longer, Jungkook,” this conversation had grown very serious. They both were dancing around the actual topic at hand, but they certainly knew what was being discussed.

They both sat in silence for a little while, letting it speak louder than words could in the moment, steadily smoking away their woes. Jungkook’s soft cries gradually grew quieter.

“Jungkook… I don’t really know the type of people you have in your life, but like I mentioned the last time you were at the office, I really recommend leaning on whatever support system you have. Friends, family, and I want you to know I’ll always be here if you need someone to rant to. If things ever feel like they’re getting too much, you can always call or stop by the office with a little heads up. You’re not alone and I don’t want you to feel that way.” Yoongi added after a particularly long puff from his cigarette.

The sentiment was nice and even though Jungkook was a mess right now, he still appreciated it. It was enough that for a moment it pushed away that terrible thought of him not being worthy of help anymore— for a second he wanted to believe somehow everything would work out as it should. It’ll be a tough battle and if worse comes to worse, at least maybe Yoongi will be there to lean on.

“Thank you…” Jungkook’s voice was soft as he spoke.

It was only a moment though, and bringing up all these emotions he tried his best to keep at bay made his head feel like a mess. It was so much, too much, and he really was so tired at this point. His eyes grew watery all over again, but his cheeks burned as he realized they were in fact in public. He could only imagine what the people passing by would think of him…

“But it still hurts, it hurts so much.” Jungkook was trying his hardest to keep the tears at bay. Yoongi was probably tired of all the crying, but they just kept rolling down his cheeks. “I don’t want to li—”

“Boys!” A sudden voice called out.

Yoongi and Jungkook looked back over to the tent and saw the lady who was sitting on the stool earlier had her head poking out.

“Your food’s ready!” She added once she saw that she got their attention. Yoongi flashed her a quick thumbs up and she sent one back before heading inside.

“What were you saying?” Yoongi tried to steer things back on topic, but Jungkook shook his head.

“Doesn’t matter—” He said, still wiping the tears off his face. “I haven’t eaten all day, I’m starving.” He was quick at getting up and heading over to the trash can to put out his cigarette and throw it away.

Yoongi wanted to stop him, but just decided they could discuss things a little more as they ate. Maybe things would go better with some food in their systems, especially for Jungkook.

Yoongi caught up to him. “By the way, I don’t mind you calling me hyung.” He mentioned with a smile. Suddenly Jungkook looked even more embarrassed.

“You said it earlier and I didn’t mind. I’m not your therapist anymore, no need to keep the formalities. Making things casual seems like the way to go.” He smiled.

“I’m sorry about earlier, I—” But Yoongi shushed him.

“No apologies, it’s fine. Let me hear you say it~” He slightly teased.

Jungkook’s cheeks flushed. “Hyung? Yoongi hyung?” Jungkook tested how it sounded and they both chuckled.

“Sounds right to me. Now let’s go eat.” They hurriedly rushed back inside to the warmth and were greeted with the mouthwatering sight of the dumplings sitting on their table. Yoongi ordered two more bottles of soju, and once they got their coats off they immediately grabbed their chopsticks and started to dig in.

The place was fantastic— Yoongi was one hundred percent right and Jungkook wished this place would stay here so he could visit more often. He made sure to tell Yoongi hyung that when the place was back in this area to let him know so they could eat here again together.

Now things were in much better spirits considering the difficult conversation they just had outside. Jungkook even asked for more food after he managed to finish so quickly. Nonetheless, something Yoongi tried not to bring up at first was how awfully fast Jungkook was drinking. He easily downed shot after shot, and the bottles quickly came and went over at his side of the table.

“Are you trying to get drunk or something?” Yoongi eventually asked. Even he had lost count of what bottle he was on. Yoongi was still on his third. He had made the decision to just leave his car and take a taxi to work or something in the morning once Jungkook agreed to meet up, but he still wasn’t trying to get hammered. He had a seven-month-old at home he still needed to take care of when he got back. Buzzed, maybe even a little tipsy was the most he was going for tonight. Jungkook though seemed to have different plans.

“I’m fine…” Jungkook sighed as he downed another shot.

Yoongi didn’t want to refute it, this was their first time drinking together, so it’s not like they knew each other’s limits. But he should have trusted the very fact he had eyes and knew that he was drinking way beyond just getting buzzed or even tipsy.

Jungkook could hardly keep his eyes open by the time they were leaving. Yoongi had to be the one to put his coat on, and he practically had to carry him outside back over to the bench they were sitting at earlier. It was also Yoongi who texted Dae-Jung to come pick him up after Jungkook mumbled something about texting him when he asked if he had any plans on getting home.

Dae-Jung was here not too long after, but by then Jungkook was pretty much passed out on the bench. He seemed to notice Jungkook was incapacitated and came jogging out of the car over to the two of them. He didn’t look much older than Jungkook— he had sharp eyes and a short haircut that Yoongi thought only added more to the “professional image” of an employee to the CEO’s son. He was also wearing a suit with a white turtleneck underneath.

“What happened?�� Dae-Jung asked concerningly.

“He had way too many. I should have stopped him, I’m sorry.” Yoongi said remorsefully.

“You’re fine… this was his choice and unfortunately this happens too many times these days. Thank you so much for looking after him.” Dae-Jung sighed before heading over to pick Jungkook up.

Yoongi was just going to bid them both farewell, but Jungkook must have woken up a little because as they passed by, Jungkook grabbed onto Yoongi’s sleeve.

“We— we should take him home.” Jungkook slurred lazily to Dae-Jung as he weakly pointed at Yoongi. Yoongi and Dae-Jung both looked at each other before back at Jungkook.

“You really don’t—”

“I don’t mind, unless you planned on driving back.” Dae-Jung huffed, as he repositioned Jungkook on his shoulder so he wouldn’t fall over.

Yoongi shook his head.

“Hop in then.” And that’s how Yoongi ended up riding home with them. Jungkook passed out again as soon as they managed to get him in the car. Jungkook’s head rested against the window and his light snores were more than amusing in Yoongi’s buzzed state.

Luckily, Yoongi didn’t live too far away, and it felt like in no time they were pulling up right outside Yoongi’s apartment building.

Yoongi thanked Dae-Jung and said goodbye to Jungkook even though he was completely gone.

Dae-Jung took charge from that point forward. Jungkook and Yuri lived a little further away, fortunately it was late and there wasn’t much traffic, so they managed to make it within thirty minutes. Dae-Jung helped Jungkook out of the car as they stumbled their way up to the apartment. With his aid, Jungkook was able to take off his coat and suit jacket, before they stumbled toward the other bedroom— Jungkook always preferred staying there when he was this drunk.

Yuri hadn’t been there to urge him to stay in their own room anyway. He doubted she would have.

Jungkook was out once again, sleeping far past his alarm, and unsurprisingly he was late to work the next day. He was a mess, his head hurt with every move he made, and all he could think about was how much of a disappointment he turned out to be. He’d messed up everything in his life, and there was no way out at this point.

Every day was a waking nightmare, and he just wanted it to end.

•────•──────────•────•

You both were normally so careful when it came to sneaking off to the storage room. You would always wait a few minutes in between before heading inside, and you even had to do the special knock in order to verify it was each other. This time though, you were in a rush.

Jungkook wasn’t too far ahead of you as you walked swiftly behind him, making sure to keep enough distance between you both, but he wanted you to be quick. With how fast he was moving, you could hardly keep up by the time he was turning the corner to the hallway where the storage room was. You waited a few seconds, then as inconspicuously as you could, you made your way down the same hallway. You didn’t even manage to get the full knock in when the door swung open, and you felt a hand grab your wrist to hastily pull you inside.

Before you even realized, your back was suddenly up against the wall and you were staring right into Jungkook’s eyes. He was close, his hands were right by your sides against the wall. You watched his eyes drift down and scan over your form before they returned to meet your own once again. Even in the dark, his pained expression was obvious.

Jungkook couldn’t stand another moment apart from you so he moved his hands to rest on your waist as he pulled you close to finally meet your lips. You could instantly taste the beer on his tongue as things quickly grew more intense.

That was new. Is that what this was?

You really had no idea how things had moved so fast. You were leading a meeting only a few minutes prior; a rare one Jungkook needed to attend. He’d been making eyes at you as he sat at the head of the table, and while a part of you couldn’t lie it made you a little hot, this was a meeting; a meeting with a lot of other people around. Maybe the beer was the missing piece to this puzzle, it explained why he was so shamelessly eyeing you in front of everyone. It’s a bit strange though— it was only the afternoon, why was he drinking that early?

As soon as the meeting finished, Jungkook stayed behind and just as you were picking up your laptop to leave, Jungkook stopped you in your tracks.

“Wait!” His bright, round eyes stared up at you, pleading almost with his gaze.

You quickly looked around. It’s not like this meeting room really had walls; the ones that faced the office were made up of thick panes of glass organized in a horizontally striped pattern, alternating between clear and frosted glass. The parts that were frosted were larger, but anyone who looked hard enough in between could see you both. You had no idea what he wanted, but you were a little worried.

“Yes?” You clutched your laptop tight to your chest.

Jungkook’s eyes trailed down his lap before he looked back up at you. “Would you have time to go to the storage room quickly?” His voice was soft, but he seemed desperate.

You looked at him a little confused. Usually there would be some type of heads up. “Right now?”

“It’s ummm… it’s an emergency…” His eyes glanced down again before looking back at you.

And that’s how you learned Jungkook should be forced to wear sunglasses all the time because why, why did all it take was him looking at you like that to make you so easily agree? You thought you were stronger than that, but apparently you were a lot easier than you wanted to admit since that was all you needed to give into his pleas. Your legs practically acted all on their own as you speedily ran back to your office to put your laptop back before you somehow caught up to Jungkook making his way to the storage room.

In short, that’s how you ended up here.

His hands eagerly raked up your sides, tugging at your blouse and skirt as they sensually traversed along the fabric. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he practically stuffed his tongue down your throat before you could even process the situation you were in. His kisses were full of more and more desperation and wanting each time his lips met your own. You were never going to get used to how passionately he’d kiss you. It hastily took your breath away, and the heat you felt from the meeting earlier exploded into an even greater fury the longer you were in his arms.

Jungkook suddenly hiked your leg up to his waist, and at this angle you could feel the very reason why he was moving so fast.

“Wh-what’s got you so worked up?” You moaned lightly, your body on fire from the tingles that surged through you.

“You.” Jungkook hurried out in between kisses. “Your existence,” a callback to a running problem in your relationship, this time spun a little more sweetly. The stark answer made your cheeks burn in a way you weren’t prepared for. You tried to brush it off with a smile.

“I’m serious… something’s up with you today.” Something was clearly up— Jungkook’s kisses trailed off your cheek and down your neck where he lightly sucked across your skin. You definitely knew he wasn’t being careful about not leaving any marks.

Jungkook wasn’t really in a talking mood, much preferring to enjoy your whines as his mouth worked on your neck and eager his hips met your own. You always made such pretty sounds. Then when your hands moved to thread in his hair, now he really wasn’t in a talking mood. He couldn’t help but think this wasn’t going fast enough.

“Jungkook?” You questioned the longer the silence went on, gripping his hair tight to get his attention, making him moan into your skin.

Oh.

“Your meeting was hot.” He groaned just thinking back to it, adding to the fact that he really liked it when you played with his hair.

You laughed at that. “And what about spreadsheets, pie charts, and Excel made you this hot and bothered?” It was a funny thought. You were somewhat joking, but you weren’t one hundred percent sure what he was into. Maybe that was actually his thing.

You weren’t expecting the soft, but noticeable bite on the nape of your neck. It didn’t hurt, and you could practically feel his smile across your skin. You yelped slightly at the sensation.

“It’s not that—” Jungkook ground into you a little harder and you could easily feel him right where you wanted. “You feel that? This is your fault.” Jungkook’s voice was a little shaky and his words slurred together from how much he was pushing into you.

You couldn’t stop the moan falling from your lips at his words. This was new. Jungkook was normally so shy, he never was this blunt and you weren’t prepared at all for this new side. What was going on?

It was probably the beer. That was the only explanation.

“I kept— kept thinking about how much I wanted to fuck you on the meeting table.” Jungkook groaned into your skin. It was a dirty thought, one that made his cheeks burn because he was in public and he was supposed to be focusing on your words. He could hardly pay attention as his mind bounced back and forth between admiring your presentation skills to thinking about what it’d be like to take you right there on the table in front of everyone.

At this point, you feared he was drunk. This was completely unlike him.

You tried to ignore how on fire your cheeks were. “Does that mean you didn’t pay attention to anything I said?”

“If I say yes will you do the whole thing again, just the two of us?” He was normally never this bold. He was already making work of getting your shirt loose, managing to get a few buttons undone with his shaky hands, enough to see your black bra come into view. Jungkook couldn’t take his eyes off you and wished so much he could see you a little better. He kissed your neck and steadily made his way down your chest.

“Oh— wha—” He could probably sense you were about to say something, so instead of letting you continue the banter, he moved back up to kiss you.

It was brief but enough to quickly take your breath away before he pulled away and buried himself in your shoulder.

“Y/n— I don’t, fuck, I don’t think I can wait— could you take me now?” Jungkook would never normally ask this. Yuri would be so disappointed if she knew he did. He always liked to take care of you in some shape or form before he did anything to you, but today… today…

And you could feel his impatience. No wonder he called it an emergency in the meeting room. And if that wasn’t enough, clearly something must be in the air today because Jungkook was showing you a completely new side to him.

“I’m really sorry— I can try and do more if you need it, I just—”

“Jungkook, please just fuck me.” This little talk was honestly all you needed to get going.

You didn’t need to tell him twice. Jungkook was already kissing you once again as he tried his best to guide you both to the table. It took a bit of work, Jungkook was more than distracted, but eventually he could feel the plastic surface behind you. He wasted no time flipping you over so your hands were planted on the table and your ass was pressed right where he needed you.

“I’ll try and make this quick.” But that wouldn’t be too much of a challenge. He needed you and today things were even worse than usual.

You nodded as you heard the swift sounds of his belt coming undone. He normally was uncoordinated, the need always clouding his senses making even the simplest tasks seem impossible, but today it was even worse. The alcohol surely didn’t help in his struggle.

You could hear him growing frustrated as he wrangled with his belt while lightly grinding into you. He was subtle, but his cute whines were still evident.

“Cmon, please, please, please—” He cried. His eyes were a little watery. Yes, it was this serious for him, he was so close to feeling you, but once again the hurdle of the belt and pants got in the way.

Eventually, things were finally going his way. The belt came undone, his pants unzipped, and finally he was free to feel you. Jungkook was on you in a haste, his hands working fast at pulling up your skirt— even in the dark the view nearly made him lose it; from your thigh highs coming up your legs to your black panties, and the position you were in… Fuck, the arch in your back made you look so ready for him. He was so weak.

Jungkook quickly tangled himself around you. While one hand was on your waist to keep you steady, his other hand was in your panties before you knew it; his fingers were eagerly running through your slit.

“Shit!” You gasped, already failing at keeping yourself quiet.

Jungkook was more than surprised to find you were already wet.

“Fuck—” He groaned, as he buried his head in your shoulder, growing more desperate by the second, already imagining what it would be like to be inside you.

“I’ll be quick— I’m sorry…” He sighed as he started lining up behind you, rubbing himself along the dampness of your panties. Only then did he remember something he had completely forgotten till now.

“Jungkook, please—”

His eyes quickly grew teary realizing how bad this was. “Wait— wait, I don’t have a condom.” He quietly cried.

This got you to pause. “Wait, what?”

“I forgot to buy more…” He didn’t have any left whatsoever. Not even a brief, awkward pause to run back to his office would save him. The last time you were together was when you both made it through the last of the box he bought a few weeks ago. Jungkook had made the note to get more after work, but Yuri had texted him that day saying she was home and he completely forgot about anything else.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Jungkook continued to lightly rub his achy cock along the damp fabric between your thighs. You were so wet.

Shit.

He wasn’t thinking straight at all. You both really should be careful. He thought you two would never be in a situation like this again after he bought condoms, but he wasn’t used to buying them regularly; it wasn’t surprising how easily it slipped his mind. The smart thing to do in this situation would be handling both your needs in some other fashion than being inside you. There were a million ways to get off, it wasn’t the end of the world, but—

“Are you still—”

“Yes! We don’t need one if you’re fine with that.” You hurried out, not even needing him to finish the question. It was disappointing how that confirmation was all that he needed to keep going. No more questions, talking, banter, anything, he just had to feel you.

Jungkook swiftly moved your panties to the side and shakily rubbed his length across your soaked folds. A choked moan fell from his lips at the sensation. He couldn’t take it anymore, the need grew too much to even attempt to tease you further. He hurriedly lined himself up and finally pushed his cock inside you. Jungkook was in such a rush, he was completely unprepared to be reminded how good you felt bare like this.

“Oh fu—” A few tears slipped from his eyes as he basked in your warmth, amazed at how tightly you were wrapped around him.

“Jungkook, oh my g—” You whined as his hand snaked back down into your panties and lightly started rubbing circles around your bud. He wanted to treat you well still, the guilt he felt rushing things was impossible to ignore.

Jungkook nearly cried, savoring the way you tightened around him. It was grueling to try and keep still. He wanted to go slow for both your sakes, but mainly for you so you’d have that opportunity to get adjusted; he would hate to hurt you due to his own selfish desires.

“Please, Jungkook!” You cried, clamping hard onto the table. Tears had even started to prick your eyes.

“You think you can take me?” He groaned, even though you were practically squeezing him to give you more.

“What about ‘Jungkook, please fuck me’ is so hard to understand?” Your bratty tone was the last straw in snapping his reserve. He roughly pulled out and thrusted back into you, making you both moan out at the sensation. He didn’t mean to be so forceful, but—

“Quiet,” a simple one-word command that Jungkook practically growled into your ear. “You always talk too much.” He sighed as he began his steady pace of rocking into you, never once moving his hand away from your clit.

You nearly screamed at the sensation and quickly had to remind yourself that you were in a storage room at your job, and people weren’t that far away. You had to control yourself, but fucking Jungkook…

Instead of saying anything more, you obeyed like he wanted. It wasn’t like you necessarily wanted to, but as he started increasing his pace, you knew anything that would come out of your mouth at that point would only get you in trouble.

It was almost mind-boggling that this was the same man you’ve argued, consoled, and talked with over the last month. What was going on?

You kept quiet trying your best to keep yourself under control as he pounded into you from the back. One hand on your waist, pulling you back to meet his hips, the other working tirelessly on bringing you closer and closer to the end. It felt good— more than good, but you didn’t want to admit that. You honestly hated thinking about how good the sex was with him sometimes.

It was only temporary, this would end someday, hopefully soon. This spelled disaster before anything had even happened yet, but deep down, you knew this path would only get more complicated the longer you both kept this going.

This was bad news, this was bad news, this was bad new— But your warnings were being drowned out by the surge of pleasure running through your body by his hand and his cock that always managed to fill you so well.

Suddenly his pace slightly faltered and his grip on your waist grew tighter. “C-Close—” He fumbled out, trying to steady himself once more.

He knew going into this it wouldn’t last long. That meeting had worked him up in ways that he wasn’t prepared for, he couldn’t even pretend he was better than this. His daydreams were more vivid than anything he used to experience. They were memories. They were dangerous, powerful memories that he couldn’t run from even with his employees all around him. It was pathetic.

Now that he had you to himself, he couldn’t even fake composure. The scene was phenomenal, your skirt bunched up around your waist, your panties clumsily pushed to the side, your thigh-highs he wondered if were getting stained with your juices, and the way your ass would jiggle with each thrust he made. Jungkook could have cum just from his thoughts alone. You felt so fucking good around him, he couldn’t keep it together no matter how slow he tried to move. It was too much, and it wasn’t too long after that he felt himself starting to speed towards his release.

You both were prepared for things to end soon as they always do, but for the first time in the few weeks you both have been sneaking away to the meeting room, you heard footsteps.

These weren’t the typical footsteps that you both would hear whenever someone would pass by this pretty destitute hallway, no, these footsteps were loud. Instead of just fading as they walked off, they only got louder and louder with each second that passed letting you both know that they simply weren’t going along through the outside hallway, they were getting closer.

You both instantly froze the longer you realized what that meant. The possibilities quickly ran through your heads. Best case scenario, this was someone who simply took a wrong turn and would be going back pretty soon after they realized that the only thing down here was a storage room. Worst case scenario, the only other people who have access to the room— it was a janitor innocently coming over to get more supplies.

There wouldn’t be enough time to try and cover yourselves to pretend like nothing perverse had been happening only moments prior. It would simply be the end and the beginning to the hell that would await you.

Luckily, your question was answered before they even made it to the door and your mind wandered too far. It wasn’t one, but definitely multiple people who were laughing and joking with each other as they got closer.

“What’s down here, hyung?” A younger voice filled the hallway quite clearly.

“I’ve never been down this hallway before.” Another voice said.

They were newbies— new people who joined the office and were receiving an in-depth tour of the building by their senior. There should be no reason to panic anymore besides the minor inconvenience, but things were never that simple.

The minute Jungkook heard voices, his first instinct was to pull you close so you were flush against his chest. His hand went over your mouth to keep you quiet, shushing you right in your ear while he was still buried deep inside you. The position, maybe it was the situation, you weren’t exactly sure yourself, but apparently Jungkook hit a button you had that you didn’t know existed.

As the group grew closer you were trying your best to keep calm, but you found it extremely—

“Oh—” Jungkook quickly had to bury himself in your shoulder. You were tightening around him so much, so fucking much.

“Ok, so what’s down here?” Another person in the group said. You were hardly paying attention anymore, but they were standing right outside the door.

They were right outside, but no matter what, you just wouldn’t relax around him. Jungkook tried his best to control himself and take steady, deep breaths just until the group left. But they weren’t moving, for whatever reason, this little hallway they found was the best place to be a great hang out spot and get into some random conversation about who knows what.

“Fuck…” Jungkook cried out as quietly as he could into your shoulder. He wasn’t strong enough at all to do this. You were squeezing him so much, and he had already been close, trying to keep still was—

His hips almost had a mind of their own as they steadily began to pump into your sopping heat. He tried his best to keep his movements small, not to make too much noise, but when he moved that only made it so much worse—

“Sto— please— Y/n!” He was forcing himself to whisper, but it almost felt like he was yelling in the moment. He had to keep calm, but you were making this difficult. Why was this happening?! And somehow, as if things couldn’t get any worse… None of you were listening to what the group outside were saying, not until the point where one distinct voice questioned— “Ok, so the only thing down here pretty much is this storage room?”

“What do you think is in there?” Someone else said.

“I don’t know. I’ve never been in there before, but I can’t imagine it’s anything that interesting.”

“Let’s seem,” it was the one who sounded a little younger— curious, oh he was so fucking curious because who suggests that? But the distinct sound of the doorknob turning only made Jungkook that much more desperate, his thrusts growing far too hurried for someone who was trying to keep quiet.

Click- click- click— no matter what way they turned, the door wouldn’t open, but the adrenaline you both were running on was unlike anything else.

“Huh… guess it’s locked.”

“Yeah, look, you need to use your badge to get access.”

“We don’t have access?”

It sounded like someone tried, the familiar game-like failure buzz sounded and the sounds of disappointed sighs filled the hallway.

But you both heard it, and it was a sound of relief as Jungkook felt like he was two seconds away from derailing. They had to leave soon— they had to leave soon— please—

“Anyway, time to move on to the other parts of the tour, no reason to get stuck here.” Someone sounded, probably the senior who was guiding everyone around. Then, the sounds of footsteps steadily grew quieter and quieter.

Your muffled moans, as Jungkook instantly hurried his pace, grew louder and more desperate right along with Jungkook as his hand went faster and faster. You were so tight…

Their footsteps were still going down the hallway when Jungkook couldn’t stop himself anymore from spilling into your warmth. A muffled cry went into your shoulder as he hastily pumped you full of his cum. It felt like this giant wave crashed over him, it knocked him down and he couldn’t even think about getting back up. He was shaking, hushed cries and curses filling the room, because what the fuck just happened?

But Jungkook was not in the mood to question it now. In his post-bliss haze, all he could focus on was getting you over the edge as well. Jungkook didn’t waste another second and picked his pace up once again on your clit.

“Want to see you cum for me…” He lazily whispered in your ear, and all the while his hand was still over your mouth, so all you could respond with was your muffled cries into his hand. You really do talk too much sometimes.

You had no idea where this was coming from, and your body didn’t either. You had tears in your eyes at how good he felt, and Jungkook could feel them running down onto his hand.

It didn’t take much until that knot finally snapped and you finished hard around him. You tightened so much around his spent length that as Jungkook was fighting the overstimulation, somehow you were able to easily have him cumming into you again while he worked you both through it like the pathetic man he was.

It was intense, and out of the month this affair had been happening, you hadn't experienced anything like this. You don’t think you ever have.

You both were rendered messes as slowly but surely you started to come back down. Jungkook nearly collapsed onto you. Your knees felt weak, but you could only imagine what he was feeling having cum so fast right after his first orgasm.

For a little while, you just listened to your labored breaths. It was like the disastrous calm after a storm. The sun was out, but all that did was highlight the devastating damage left in its wake.

Jungkook was slouched over you, and as time passed your breathing grew more in sync. You honestly didn’t want to move. Something about this moment made your heart hammer painfully in your chest; you figured it was the adrenaline. But eventually, Jungkook found the strength to pull away from you and you hated how you already missed his warmth. To distract yourself, you made quick work at trying to get yourself as presentable as you could again— pulling your skirt down, buttoning up your blouse, smoothing down your hair, and you’d touch up your makeup a little later.

Jungkook barely managed to get his pants back up and was leaning against the wall, looking more spaced out than ever. In the silence, it made you think about something that you both had unintentionally avoided over the last month.

“Do you think it might be a good idea to not keep doing this at our job…?” You laughed weakly. “I know they couldn’t get in, but what if that was a janitor.”

Jungkook opened his eyes and looked at you.

Oddly enough, this affair had never left the office besides that one time you gave him a handjob before a meeting at another company. It was never something you both discussed, it just kinda happened this way. There was this unspoken line that for some reason none of you decided to cross since this started— inviting each other home.

Jungkook might have had his own reasons, but at least for you the office made it less real. Just like the very day you found yourself on Jungkook’s desk, it was almost like there was this haze in the air that made the reality of what you were doing easier to bear. At home— that felt personal— too personal for something that needed to have ended weeks ago, something that should have never started in the first place. Things just seemed easier here, risky yes, but convenient and made it a lot less difficult to convince yourself that you weren’t having an affair with a married man.

But again, it was risky, and you were bound to get caught one day if this kept going. Maybe you hoped that the last time would really be the last, no need to bring him over, but for some reason you just couldn’t see that happening anymore. It felt more likely one day you both were going to get caught with your pants down by the janitor than you were to end things right now.

That brush with the possibility, while exhilarating, you knew it was a warning sign from the universe that the next time you both might not be so lucky.

“You’re probably right…” He sighed.

“Your place probably isn’t a good idea considering… well, you know… it’s just me at my apartment, no roommates whatsoever, so we could finally have some privacy.” You suggested.

Jungkook slowly nodded, his silence lingered for a while.

“Unless maybe you’re not comfortab—”

“No, no, sorry. Your place is fine. It’s probably best to continue things from there then. Next time I guess we’ll meet there.” Jungkook rushed out, but you could tell something was a little off about him. He normally got quiet after things were done, but this was just unlike him.

“Alright, my place it is then.” You sighed. It was weird, you literally just had some of the best sex you ever had, yet Jungkook’s low mood was so easily sucking the new found energy right out of you.

Silence passed for a little while before you couldn’t take it any longer. “Are you doing ok? I could practically taste the alcohol you drank earlier. Did you go somewhere? Everything alright?” You finally asked, more than a little concerned.

Your eyes bared into him as you waited for his answer.

Jungkook weakly smiled into the darkness. “Just trying to make it through the day.”

His answer did nothing but make you more worried, it just confirmed your worst fears. It’s not like he went maybe to some fancy brunch with friends, he was simply day drinking for no other reason than to drown out whatever sorrows he was dealing with.

“Are you drunk, you seem a little…” Off, he’s seemed off all day and that says something, because everything about him was off on a daily basis— today strayed even further from the ordinary.

“Not drunk… just maybe buzzed… no— just a little more than that. I think tipsy, feeling a little…” His voice trailed off as he shook his hand, “Not all there, but not completely gone.”

His answer didn’t surprise you there.

“Maybe you should stay here or head back to your office for a little while and sober up.” You suggested, trying your best to help out. It wasn’t like he was drunk drunk, but it was definitely obvious there was something off about him— you knew that before you had your tongue in his mouth. You worried someone else might realize.

Jungkook sighed. “You’re right… things just feel easier like this…”

You walked a little closer, beckoning him to continue.

“It’s just getting harder and harder to make it through… I’m trying, but I’m just so weak. I wish I was stronger.” Jungkook tried to laugh, but his eyes were watery. He was glad you couldn’t see.

But even in the darkness, he noticed your concerned eyes staring up at him. Suddenly you were wrapping your arms around his frame. It wasn’t something he expected as your warmth embraced him in a whole new way, his eyes were wide and for a second the haze of the alcohol dissipated.

“You are strong… You managed to get out of your cozy bed today and brave going through this awful fucking weather to get to work.” You were trying to be funny, and it made you happy hearing Jungkook chuckle. “I’m serious though, just getting out of bed is worth celebrating— don’t say you’re weak because it’ll only make it more true the more you say it.” You said while gently rubbing his back.

Jungkook didn’t say anything for a while, he was just enjoying the feeling of you this close a little too much. “Thank you.” He smiled. He couldn’t say he believed that entirely yet, but it still felt nice hearing someone like you say that.

“No problem… and sorry—” You pulled back and it took everything in Jungkook not to try and go for another. “You just looked like you needed a hug.”

It probably only took away a hair off of the mountain that was all his problems, but still it helped. “Thank you, really.”

You smiled at him and Jungkook couldn’t stop the weird way his heart twisted in his chest as he stared at you.

“Anyway, I have a Christmas tree I need to go decorate.” You sighed, stretching your tired limbs.

Jungkook looked at you curiously.

“Apparently, all the teams on the floor are competing this year on who can decorate the best Christmas tree. Director Son is really passionate about it and beating the other teams, so we’re having an unofficial meeting to start working on it.”

As you spoke, Jungkook’s eyes widened as he remembered that the holidays were approaching fast, tomorrow was the first already. At this, Jungkook’s face fell.

“What, you think it’s stupid?” You questioned and Jungkook quickly shook his head.

“It’s not that—”

“Maybe the fact we aren’t working, because—”

“No… you guys are fine. December is just busy for me, and I don’t know— this year I’m not really too excited.” He sighed. He normally never was, but he knew exactly why this year felt so off. December meant he would have to face his and Yuri’s family again, and as if he couldn’t get any more pathetic, he needed to face them with the knowledge he was cheating on his wife. The “cheery” holiday spirit was just the cherry on top to bring him down. While everyone else was going to be out celebrating, he would be wallowing in his self misery, reflecting and thinking back to what a horrible year this turned out to be.

“Well, if you want to, you could always join our team in the competition if you need a little holiday cheer.” You were both joking and being incredibly serious. It was evident he wasn’t lying, and you were honestly worried about him. Maybe a little fun is what he needed.

Jungkook laughed. “I’ll think about it.” He wouldn’t, he wasn’t in the mood at all— he’d just bring everyone down with him.

“I hope so.”

You stretched again. “Anyway, were you heading out?” You questioned when he still hadn’t moved.

“Yeah, I think I’ll head back to the office like you suggested,” he couldn’t deny and say he wasn’t going to try and go for another beer. He recently bought a new pack to restock his fridge, but that was how he ended up tipsy today. He hoped he would get a grip and avoid it though, to actually heed your advice. He had work to do later. “But you can leave first and head out to get tangled in tinsel.”

You both laughed. “No, that’s not me, but I definitely know a few coworkers who I might need to detangle— Taehyung will somehow goof his way into getting wrapped up in decorations, then he’ll end up asking me to unravel him.” You laughed at the thought because, honestly, that would be something that he would do.

You didn’t notice Jungkook slightly frown at the mention of his name.

“Anyway, thank you for being here— sorry for pulling you here so suddenly.” He apologized.

“You’re fine, it won’t matter anymore. We shouldn’t have to worry about getting caught next time.” You smiled.

“Right… till then.” He weakly smiled back.

Another moment of silence passed, it was almost like you both wanted to say something, but none of you worked up the courage to spit out.

“Till next time then. Take care of yourself, okay?” You pointed a finger at him.

Jungkook just nodded.

“Oh, and don’t forget to eat lunch!” You were saying anything you could think of to keep yourself around just a little longer in case he wanted to spill what he had on his mind. You really were concerned.

Jungkook just nodded again.

You glanced at him worriedly before you started heading to leave. Your eyes maintained their gaze, but you finally broke away and opened the door. With the click of it closing, you were gone.

Jungkook was alone.

In an instant, his eyes crinkled while tears poured out and slipped onto his cheeks. Jungkook quietly clasped a hand over his mouth to muffle the sounds of his abrupt sobs.

Why does it hurt so much?

He just wanted it to end. Peace, he can’t go on like this much longer. All he wanted was a break from this hellish storm. Does it ever end? Everlasting, boundless, a harsh, brutal storm for the wicked. He couldn’t think of a more fitting punishment for people like him.

previous chapter « main masterlist ✩ series masterlist » coming...?

#bts smut #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #for the birds #bts #jungkook #bts fluff #bts angst #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts fanfic #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bangtan boys #bangtan sonyeondan #bts fan fiction #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst

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ganondoodle · 6 months ago

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botw2 (totk rewritten) ganondorf design post 2.0

(the better, less rambly one, bc i shouldnt be allowed to write when its past midnight- not deleting the other one bc i am a little whimp and am getting so bad decision paralysis over it its made me cry, this one is more heavy on design and the basic plot of the game)

Basic plot summary (shorter version- longer version at the end):

sheikah in service of the ancient queen discover remnants of the past while excavating for luminous stones, these remnants were being defended/kept safe by the sonau (engl. zonai) little shy cave dwellers who have kept these last ruins save but secret bc they thought it could lead to disaster seemingly aware of the ever repeating cycle and believing it to be not divine but a self perpetuated one built on the one sided history of the past, which is a threat to hyrule and its golden legacy; these ruins speak of a world threatening evil being born as the king of the gerudo, the ancient queen thus plans to lure him into a trap to seal him away before he can realize his destiny, he learns of it however and is forced to confront the queen through breaking into the castle, she sees that as a confirmation of her fears and it escalates into a battle between them that kills everyone that was in the throne room except the young princess- the queen sealing ganondorf as the room and parts of the castle is destroyed and buried beneath the ground. (the game largely revolves around finding clues about it, especially in sealed off caves of the now long extinct sonau)

except for the scene in the throne room nothing is clearly shown of the past, but it is the background behind everything

(zeldas main struggle in this game will be having to come to terms with her families legacy, what she thought and was taught not being true, the dark secrets buried everywhere, and perhaps trying to be better, now that all of hyrules been destroyed and the lands and people yet survived)

Mummy version:

what you discover beneath hyrule castle after going to investigate the failing of shiekah tech all around, it is a clearly shiekah made system all around, though the chamber you find him in was built around him after the sealing, it being implied they used his spiritual power as the main energy source for all future tech, once disturbed the seal breaks and fuses to zelda (similar to the og trailer with link) he wakes up, the shock of suddendly being back in this broken body leading him to rather viciously attack them, the mastersword breaks and link loses his arm, the cave crumbles and zelda flees as she drags link behind her- the cataclysm happens and links gets his shiekah tech arm.

(in the little sketch there is a very roughly approximation to where ganondorf is located at the start and mid game fight, the arena you fought calamity ganon in is in reality a sphere with the lower half being an energy reserve for the royal family and further down the mechanism for the rising pillars from botw, its located between the castle and ganondorfs chamber, to quickly react when the malice build up has reached a critical point to detect immediately and start the defense programm- its all broken but still explorable after the mid point)

ganondorfs body is very damanged, the hole in his chest from the seal leads into an empty cavity, the ribs broken and bent in a swirling pattern like a gravitational pull, his right arm was desolved over time as he defensively grabbed the queens arm in his last moments; the face is more bone and there are no eyes, he does not move his jaw to speak, his hair is more like smoke after a certain amount of progression in the game the castle that fell into the underground (current hyrule castle) bc of the cataclysm is made accessible, as you venture in link is grabbed and pulled further in, seperated from zelda, she later rejoins you in the dungeon, acting all normal unless you are observant and see her using her left arm only and walking past things she normally wouldnt- at a certain point once the camera is not watching her, she suddendly starts to attack you viciously, as it was ganondorf in disguise- after the second half the real zelda breaks into the room with your friends in tow (yunobo, teba+tulin, riju, sidon) and he drops the disguise, the rest of the fight is against his mummy form, at the end of which is the cutscene of the confrontation with the queen, it is the only time you are given a direct window into the past. (plus its shown in that cutscene he has the ability to disguise himself as others, but only AFTER you have encountered it as to not ruin that moment..)

post revival/restored: this is how he appears at the end of the game, the last dungeon is within the forgotten plateau, there is a longer cutscene of zelda and him talking while tension builds until the fight begins once your friends arrive (sidenote, this is also only unlocked with more progression, including the koga and deku dungeon and the master sword restoration quest)

this design isnt fully how he was in the past but fit to the circumstances now, but restored to the best of his abilities; he is older (50+) with greying hair; i wanted to make him look both strong and a little worn out, but with a vibe of incredible power he is well aware of as well as warmth the outfit is elaborate but mostly aimed to be practical, its easy to see he used to be a proud king, and still is, even if no one remembers him anymore; he wears a little armguard on the left to for deflecting purposes, his belt is also switched around to how it was originally to make drawing his sword easier with the left arm; a little wooden boar figurine carved from the wood of long extinct trees hangs on his belt, a gift from one of his daughters perhaps he wields magic with ease and his moveset makes it clear just how good of a fighter he is, even after thousands and thousands of years without motion, his moves are controlled and practiced- the magic is also NOT just based on malice, malice might be what keeps him alive now but its not all he is, he wields lightning and simpler moves with other elements, perhaps implying that magic was more widely spread back in his day .. or he has learned to wield it in part to the repeated interactions with the other races (both in the past, and as calamity ganon- it is made clear that whatever the malice eyes saw he saw as well, (also explaining how he can speak their languages) though it is also implied that the calamity as such is not fully his own making, but something familiar reaching out to try and help him break free -NOT anythign demise related, leave the guy alone- but going with the idea of the calamity having been what remained of oot ganondorf after degrading over all this time- a kindred spirit reaching out to take revenge together in a way

Beast Ganon(dorf), normal

Beast Ganon(dorf), charging magic

phase 3 of the end fight, after phase two he takes out all your friends and tranforms, chasing you (link and zelda) through the ground until breaking through to the surface of the plateau where this battle takes place.

his design is loosely inspired by the smoke version of calamity ganon and twilight princess beast ganon, his face and teeth mostly from the calamity- his back is split open with a shiekah tech spine, given his connection to it via being its power source as well as overtaking it in botw, reddish smoke eminating from it, hes has 5 limbs as he is still missing his right arm, the big dark arms are made of malice and in phase 2 he takes one of those big arms to 'rebuild' his missing one, though it is not as well usable like a real one, his braids carry over thoguh now dark black, when charging magic it lights up in waves; the tail is flat and he moves not all that beast like, more draconic really, able to float for short periods of time and 'swim' through the ground reminiscent of moldoras his attack pattern is changed to fit this appearance, but he still uses magic in varying ways, thouhg swiping and biting after you as well, he will sometimes go for zelda directly but she will usually protect herself in a bubble of light- typical weak point is within the mouth though he makes sure to not give you alot of opportunities, typical staggers migth include destroying a front leg (since those are all made of goo)

my aim with this was to create a beast version both familiar and very different, with the vibe of, this is still him, just another appearance, though angered and more agressive he has not lost himself, perhaps even enjoying it a little, feeling a little more alive again, though he does not care for this world, he is a stranger here, this isnt his time and all that ever mattered to him is long gone, destroyed or forgotten, now all that matters to him is to end zeldas rotten family

Phase 2 and Phase 4 (out of order bc big boar lad wouldnt fit on here)

in phase 2 he 'rebuilds' his missing arm with one taken from the boar form, as it appears afterwards, he changes his sword into a larger one during the second half and can change its hilt length on the fly, making it both a big sword and a spear- the malice arm will be used to mimic some of links abilities, like the hookshot, grabbing onto you from afar, pulling you closer or flinging you around, while still being largely a swordfight with magic- he can aim lightning directly at you just as you can via the shiekah arm and rijus ability, if you are quick enough you can activate it at the same time as he does and catch the charge instead, either refilling your magic meter or deflecting it back at him (like the god ol back and forth)

phase 4 is the final phase after beast (phase 3) his design is a mix of all forms, he is larger than in 1 and 2, furry all over and although much more human again his hair is all smoke like, the armguard fused to his arm like golden scales and the wound in the chest now broken open again with malice eyes staring from within

after phase 3 it seems like the battle is over and zelda steps up to do just as she did at botw end, but before she can finish it a swordslash cuts off half her right hand, as ganondorf isnt done yet and changed from phase 3 to 4; zelda is then disabled for this last fight (no fighting support and repairing weapons), shes been taken to safety by your friends, who finally managed to follow you up here, and you, link, are now the last one standing- his moveset is a mix of it all, quickly changing between swordplay and swipes, magical abilities and grab attacks, it is faster than the previous ones and he dodges much more as well, its meant to really be a challenge

(also heres a sketch of his swords?)

Long plot summary: the shiekah in the service of the ancient queen of hyrule discovered ancient remnants of times long past (aka the old titles, long forgotten) while excavating for luminous stones (as they were developing their tech and needed something to fuel it) that speak of a world threatening evil born as the king of the gerudo, which the queen takes as a warning of the past, and as there currently is a ganondorf as the gerudos king who refuse to unite under her banner but are otherwise on neutral terms she plans to imprison him in a stasis between life and death before he can become that world threatening evil she now believes he is destined to be in order to save everyone and delay it from returning as long as possible (assuming there will be no other male gerudo born while the current one is technically still alive)

(the discovery of said remnants of the past also involves the shiekah persecuting the sonau (zonai), little shy cave dwellers who keep their distance from everyone and have kept these last ruins save but secret bc they thought it could lead to disaster seemingly aware of the ever repeating cycle and believing it to be not divine but a self perpetuated one built on the one sided history of the past, self fullfilling prophecies, which is a threat to hyrule and its golden legacy)

its a plan enacted over years, including secretly manipulating things to make the gerudo farmlands wield bad harvests (NOT in a 'desert was green and lush uwu' way, but they have had their techniques to thrive), forcing them to trade with hyrule and starting to depend on it- the goal being to put ganondorf under so much pressure until he is willing to let go of their sovereignity for the sake of his people or otherwise willing to talk, the meeting with the queen however would be to lure him into a trap and enact the seal

ganondorf here is a new one, he is named so in honor of old myths and legends, he is older (50+) and has two daughters, a proud king and firm in his stance to not bow to anyone yet wanting to avoid conflict for the sake of his people and family; he learns of the scheme before its fully realized, including that the many years of failing crops and dying animals might not be a play of nature after all (through hyrule soldiers talking too much after a having a few too many drinks? something something about their view of the gerudo, since thats always in the games, lets make use of it no?) he sends messengers and messages to the queen, requesting an audience, but she rejects all of it and refuses to talk with him, as the plan isnt fully prepared yet and she has become fearful of him over the years of obsessing over the warnings of the past and the worlds fate, as she sees it, depending on her and the success of it

at some point he has had enough of it and disguises himself and his two most trusted advisors/warriors (potentially his mothers?) as the shiekahs leader and two underlings to finally get to the queen, aiming to confront her about everything- it works and they are let into the castle, overwhelm the guards locking the doors so its only him, his advisors and the royal family with a few taken out guards etc. the queen sees this as a confirmation of his true nature coming through though- he can see there is nothing he could do to convince her he is not what she thinks he is, he attempts to be diplomatic but she is unwavering in her faith

she gives him a choice, to be sealed willingly so he can be remembered as a noble king who gave his life for the world before he became the beast that would threaten to destroy it all, or refuse and risk war and defamation. he refuses of course and a fight ensues, escalating to the point of the throne room itself being send below the earth and the death of everyone within it, with the exception of the young princess of hyrule (who will go on to keep this secret safe and spin the story her way)

it is implied that ganondorf had not told alot of people about hyrules schemes, wanting to deescalate the situation and it ending in a way no one anticipated, but theres remnants of old gerudo villages hidden away as some stayed loyal to him, likely of one of his daughters, as the world turned his legacy into a frightful tale and the gerudo falling under hyrules rule, one chose to resist as the other chose to bow

( .. i hoped to strike a balance between what i like and what zelda stories usually amount to while leaning much more clearly into a hyrule critical lense .. without, hopefully, being too overtly so)

(i thought about making the mid game cutscene into a rough comic or storyboard but im honestly very unsure about it all again q-q)

(i hope this version is better, i will never post these drawing again i swear im done with this part ..)

#ganondoodles #zelda #art #tloz #ganondoodles rewrites totk #botw2 #ganondorf #i feel so dumb about it all #writing really isnt my strength is it #either way i should have at least given a little plot summary on the other post #i cant really talk about his design without going in the whys and hows of it #so uhm ... sorry for posting another one #im leaving my decision paralysis at the door by writing a new post but keeping the old one #idk why but this makes me so nervous #i feel like im taking a test in school that will determine if im allowed in or not aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah #the designs are starting to grow old as well even ...........#i almost want to redo it all #but i also feel so tired of it #next thing i will post is gonna be soemthing different i promise

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gardenladysworld · 13 days ago

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Starbound hearts

Status: I'm working on it

Pairings: Neteyam x human!f!reader

Aged up characters!

Genre/Warnings: fluff, slow burn, oblivious characters, light angst, hurt/comfort, pining

Summary: In the breathtaking, untamed beauty of Pandora, two souls from different worlds find themselves drawn together against all odds. Neteyam, the dutiful future olo'eyktan of the Omaticaya clan, is bound by the expectations of his people and the traditions of his ancestors. She, a human scientist with a love for Pandora’s wonders, sees herself as an outsider, unworthy of the connection she craves.

Tags: @fanchonfallen, @nerdylawyerbanditprofessor-blog, @ratchetprime211, @poppyseed1031, @redflashoftheleaf, @nikipuppeteer@eliankm, @quintessences0posts, @minjianhyung, @bkell2929, @erenjaegerwifee, @angelita-uchiha, @wherethefuckiskathmandu, @cutmyeyepurple, @420slvtt, @zimerycuellat @k-s-tumbler

Here we are the part that tell us who is Dr. Veyren and what he did to our precious reader. He could help, but maybe it has a price... Thank you for you patience! Love ya!

Part 25: To thread

Part 26: To change

A loud bang shattered the dream. You jerked awake, heart slamming against your ribs, the vision of Neteyam still clinging to the inside of your eyes. His touch. His voice. His panic. You gasped—sharp and dry—and sat bolt upright in the narrow bed, chest heaving, vision swimming from the sudden movement.

A muffled curse echoed from somewhere outside your room. “Fuck,” came the low voice again, rough and unmistakably human.

You blinked.

The sterile white walls were back. The humming machines. The steady IV drip tethered to your arm. No glowing tendrils, no warm moss beneath your feet, no golden eyes searching your face like you were salvation.

Just the cold reality of the underground.

You sagged back against the bed, exhaling a long, slow breath, staring up at the ceiling as your pulse slowly settled. The afterimage of the Tree of Souls still pulsed behind your eyes. The feel of Neteyam’s hand on your face… that had been so real.

But it was gone now. Another soft, frustrated “fuck” floated down the corridor, breaking through your thoughts.

You turned your head toward the door—it was still ajar, just as Veyren had left it the night before. The low hum of power systems ran beneath the silence, accompanied now by the occasional clink of metal, the quiet whine of something mechanical starting up, stopping, then starting again.

You sat up slowly this time, wincing as your sore muscles protested. You swung your legs over the edge of the bed and gingerly shifted upright, gripping the IV stand with your good hand. It rattled faintly as you pulled it closer, wrapping your fingers around the cold steel, steadying yourself. The wound on your head still hummed and the cut on your palm is still stinged, but it was surely better then days ago.

The hallway beyond the door stretched long, lined with doors on either side—sealed and windowless. The walls were reinforced, thick, stained in places where damp or time had crept in. This place was old. Older than the outpost. But it was still running. Still alive in its own quiet way.

You followed the noise slowly, one step at a time, the IV stand wheeling reluctantly behind you. Each footstep echoed faintly in the metal corridor. The lights overhead buzzed with a dull flicker, like they hadn't been replaced in years.

Another curse. Louder this time. “Stupid piece of—” You rounded the end of the hallway. And stopped.

The lab opened up before you—a large, circular chamber with high ceilings and walls bristling with equipment. The space was more advanced than you expected. Some of the tech was outdated—relics from the early RDA era—but a lot of it wasn’t. In fact, a lot of it was… new. The latest generations of biochemistry workstations, sequencing stations, neural simulators. Tools that even your outpost didn’t have access to yet.

Your brow furrowed.

How? How had Veyren gotten his hands on this stuff? This equipment was classified, regulated. The only places authorized to house them were the Bridgehead, a few main outposts on the other side of the moon—labs that had long since abandoned people like him.

Your eyes caught on something large to the right.

A pod. Not a stasis chamber. An avatar link bed. You froze.

Your breath caught in your throat as you stepped closer, wheels of the IV stand clicking softly across the floor. It was unmistakable—curved steel frame, gel cushioned interior, neural ports built into the crown.

You stared at it. Sleek, pristine white, quietly humming under a cluster of low-mounted monitors.

Your breath caught in your throat. Only a few of those were still active—most were at the outpost. Some still at Bridgehead, locked down under military oversight. Only certified drivers were assigned Avatars now, and everyone knew who they were.

But this one? Here? No registry tag. No oversight panel as you can see. Just here, in a secret underground lab.

Your thoughts spun—hard. This wasn’t just a hideout. This was a full-scale, unauthorized research facility. And then you saw him.

He was hunched at a worktable in the center of the room, his back to you, sleeves rolled to his elbows. He moved with slow precision, carefully inserting a glowing vial of sap into a cylindrical analyzer. Before him sat a narrow tray of tiny green stalks—roots curled like knotted hair, their surface bristling with fine, hair-thin tendrils.

He muttered something under his breath and jabbed at the controls again. The machine hissed softly.

You stepped closer and cleared your throat. Then lifted your voice. “…Good morning.”

Veyren jerked upright so fast he nearly knocked the stool behind him over. He turned sharply, eyes wide—and then narrowed when he saw you standing there, pale and hollow-eyed, gripping your IV pole like a staff. “You’re supposed to be in bed,” he said immediately, tone clipped but not unkind.

You shrugged one shoulder, weak but steady. “You made a lot of noise.”

He blinked at you. Then sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Old machine,” he muttered. “Reactor’s running hot. I told myself I’d recalibrate it days ago.”

You stepped into the room fully now, dragging the IV stand beside you, eyes scanning everything.

The lab smelled like earth and ozone. Like sterilized steel and rich, loamy rot—the scent of life being dissected, bottled, recorded. Your fingers brushed a nearby counter. Dusty. But not untouched. Used.

Lived in.

There were hundreds of notes here. Scribbled margins. Holo-maps. Cross-sections of brain tissues. Charts comparing human and Na’vi neural function. And plants. So many plants. Drying racks, hydro domes, live samples under glass.

Your fingers hovered over the closest datapad. “Your notes?” you asked.

He grunted. “Some of them. Others… well. Let’s just say I’ve been busy.”

You turned back to look at him—really look. His sleeves were rolled up. His hair was swiped back hastily. His face was lined with a kind of exhaustion you couldn’t name. Not from lack of sleep. From years. From silence.

Silence settled for a moment between you, thick with the smell of warmed metal and plant oils. Your eyes drifted again to the tray on the table. “What are you working on?”

He looked at you, and for a second, you thought he might deflect. But then something changed in his posture. His shoulders lifted. Not in pride. But in that subtle, automatic way people do when they are, however reluctantly, letting someone in.

“The same thing I’ve been working on for thirty years,” he said. “Trying to understand what this planet does that we can’t.”

You stared at the roots. They looked small. Ordinary. The ones that saved you. “You found me alive because of these?” you asked.

He didn’t answer immediately.

His hand stilled above the console, fingers curling slightly as though remembering the texture of the roots, the way they’d clung to your blood, as if… sensing it.

For a moment, he didn’t look at you. His gaze dropped to the tray, then flicked to the vial of sap, now slowly stabilizing in the analyzer.

When he finally met your eyes again, something behind them had shifted. Not fear. Not reverence, exactly. But something close to awe—the wary kind that a man like him would never admit aloud.

“That species shouldn’t be capable of clotting human blood,” he said slowly, voice lower now. “Its chemistry doesn’t match ours. It shouldn’t even register us. But it did. It found you.” A pause. “And it responded.”

His tone softened then, almost against his will. “It only grows in places sacred to Eywa. And you lived. When you shouldn’t have.”

You swallowed, the weight of it hitting harder than you expected.

You were still staring at the tray of roots when the discomfort crept in—quiet, creeping, sharp at the edges.

The hospital gown.

It wasn’t just uncomfortable, it felt… wrong. Exposed. Like wearing someone else’s skin. You crossed your arms tighter over your chest, the fabric thin and cold against your back, the IV line tugging lightly at your elbow with every movement.

And then the thought struck you.

Your satchel. Your field kit. Your data pad. Your clothes. The plant samples you gathered. All the things that had been on you—when he found you.

Your stomach twisted. Your jaw clenched. You tried to keep your voice steady as you turned toward him, arms crossed. “Where are my things?”

Dr. Veyren didn’t look up from the machine. “They’re in the secondary storage room,” he said evenly. “To the right, just past the greenhouse chamber.”

“Everything?” you pressed. “My satchel, samples, notes—clothes?”

At that, he paused. His hand stilled over the console. Then he glanced at you, just briefly, as if catching the edge of something in your tone.

“Yes,” he said. “Everything.” A beat. “I washed the clothing,” he added. “They were… beyond filthy. You’ll find them in a clean storage wrap on the shelf.”

You tried not to let your face show anything. You tried not to flinch.

But your mind flashed—unbidden—to the moment he’d found you. Unconscious. Bleeding. Collapsed in the mud, soaked in rain and grime and probably god knows what else. And then—

He must have removed everything.

Your hands tightened slightly where they were folded across your chest. Your skin crawled with unease, a cold shiver rising up the back of your neck.

Don’t think about it. Don’t go there.

You reminded yourself: you were alive. He’d saved your life. Cleaned your wounds. Hooked you to an IV. And for all his strange, quiet eccentricities, nothing about him had felt threatening. Not once. Still—You shuddered. And not in the good way.

Veyren didn’t miss it.

He didn’t say anything, but you caught it—the faint tightening of his jaw, the flick of guilt that passed over his features like a shadow under glass. He didn’t apologize.

You weren’t sure if you wanted him to. You shifted your weight, trying to re-center yourself. Your eyes drifted back to the link pod in the corner, still humming gently behind the sealed glass. A single green status light blinked at its crown.

Something else itched at your mind now.

Your voice was careful when you spoke again. “Why is there a functional link pod in your lab?”

That got a reaction.

He didn’t look up. Didn’t speak for several seconds. But his shoulders tensed—just enough for you to notice. Just enough to confirm what you already knew: he didn’t want to answer.

You waited.

He adjusted the temperature control on the analyzer, typed something into a secondary console, let the hum of machines stretch between you like a wall. You almost thought he wouldn’t respond.

But then— He sighed. Long. Heavy. The kind of exhale that sounded like it had been sitting in his lungs for years. Still, he didn’t turn to face you. “Get your things,” he said finally. “Go back to your room.”

You opened your mouth—to protest, to demand more—but he raised a hand slightly, forestalling the interruption.

“I’ll come remove the IV once you’re dressed.” He finally glanced at your arm—just briefly. Then, softer, he added, “And I’ll bring you something to eat first.”

The silence that followed was too heavy to argue with.

You looked at him for another long moment, watching the faint flicker of monitor light dance across the sharp lines of his profile. His jaw was clenched. His eyes stayed fixed on his work. And you knew then—it wasn’t that he didn’t have an answer.

It was that the answer cost him something. You nodded once. Quietly.

Then turned toward the hall, dragging the IV behind you as you walked, the metal pole clicking softly over the floor.

The unanswered questions stacked behind your eyes like stormclouds. But for now, you would get dressed. You would feel human again.

And then, you would start digging for the truth.

You found the storage room exactly where he’d said.

Past the greenhouse chamber—now overgrown and humid with silent life—you stepped into a narrow, temperature-stable space lined with sealed containers and storage racks. The lighting flickered gently overhead, motion sensors humming softly as the room came alive to your presence.

You moved on instinct. Your body already knew what to look for.

Your satchel was on the third shelf, tucked inside a clean polymer wrap, carefully sealed. You peeled it open slowly, your fingers numb, almost afraid of what you’d find.

Inside, everything was exactly where it should be. Clothes. Samples. Data pad. Field kit. Knife, tucked in its sheath. Everything except… you.

You pulled out your data pad last. And stopped cold. The screen was completely shattered.

Fractures spread out like a spiderweb across the display, catching the light like broken glass. The edges were warped. The chassis bent—only slightly, but unmistakably.

You stared at it, heart sinking. Turned it over. Pressed the power key anyway. Nothing. No charge light. No response.

Dead.

And not the kind of dead that could be fixed with a charge cable. You must’ve fallen on it when you hit the ground. Back in the forest. When the earth had collapsed beneath you and the world went black.

You sat down slowly on the edge of the room’s lone bench, the satchel still in your lap, the broken device cradled in your hands like a corpse.

You wanted to blame something—anything—but the truth was too simple. You’d fallen. And it had been under you. Stupid. So fucking stupid.

You swallowed the bitter taste in your mouth and placed the datapad back in your bag. Quietly. Carefully. Like handling grief. Then your hand brushed fabric. Clothing. Folded, cleaned. Still warm from the climate seal.

Your old shirt. The cargo trousers with the torn seam at the ankle. The underlayers that had once stuck to your body with sweat and blood, now stripped of scent and memory. They smelled faintly of soap. Just… plain soap. No preservatives, no synthetic floral additives—just something clean and chemical and forgettable.

But it was still better than the filth you’d been living in. Better than the cold, clinical gown clinging to your skin like a borrowed identity.

You undressed slowly.

The air touched your skin like a stranger. You kept your back to the door even though you were alone. Habit.

You pulled on your pants first, wincing at the tightness across your knees—your body hadn’t fully stopped trembling. Your shirt next. Familiar fabric. Familiar stretch across the shoulders. You had to roll the sleeves up twice, the way you always did.

The motions were muscle memory. But they didn’t feel like yours.

The clothes fit. They still held the shape of you. But you—the version of you who had packed these things into a field bag, who had kissed Neteyam goodbye with a lazy smile and a "don’t worry, I’ll be back by nightfall"—she was gone.

And the person putting them back on? She didn’t know where she was. She didn’t know what she was. She ran a hand over her face and exhaled slowly, grounding herself in the steady feel of clean cotton against skin, the creak of boots as she rolled her ankles.

And for the first time since waking in that sterile white room, you felt like a person again. Not a patient. Not a specimen. Not a broken body under someone else’s care.

You rolled your shoulders. Let your hands curl into fists. Let your breath settle in your lungs with something close to control. But that feeling didn’t last. Because the questions were still waiting.

Heavy. Sharp-edged. Coiled beneath your skin like wire.

Where were you? Not a vague location. Not somewhere in Omatikaya territory. You wanted coordinates. Maps. Context. You wanted to know what the hell kind of lab had functioning link pods and top-tier biosynthetic tech buried beneath the forest floor without anyone knowing.

You wanted to know how Dr. Elias Veyren had ended up here—alive, after decades of presumed death—his name erased from every channel you’d ever searched, his research pulled from syndicate archives, his work spoken of only in past tense by the best minds in your field.

You wanted to ask him why he vanished. Why no one had ever come looking for him. Why you’d looked up to a ghost for half your academic life only to find him living in the shadows with more tech than the outpost had access to and more secrets than he was willing to say aloud.

And maybe most of all—you wanted to know what he saw when he looked at you.

Not physically. Not medically. Not even professionally. But in those rare, flickering moments when his eyes lingered too long and his voice dropped lower. He knew something. You were sure of it. But what were you allowed to ask? What right did you even have?

He had saved your life. That wasn’t up for debate. He’d found you in a den of monsters, dying, broken, alone. And he’d carried you here. Cleaned you. Kept you alive. Treated your wounds with precision and care, fed you real food, let you walk free through a hidden lab built on silence and ghosts.

What kind of questions did you get to ask a man who’d done all that? What answers would you even believe?

You leaned forward, gripping the table edge. Your thoughts were a knot—tangled, tight, half-formed. You didn’t know if he was your captor or your savior.

You didn’t know if he was hiding something dark—or simply protecting a truth that hurt too much to speak.

But one thing you did know: You couldn’t stay in the dark.

Not anymore.

You returned to the room slowly, the IV pole clicking behind you like a reluctant shadow. The bed looked smaller now that you were standing in your own clothes again. Less like a refuge. More like a cage you’d briefly forgotten you were in.

You sat at the edge of it and waited. The silence was heavier than it had any right to be.

Eventually, the door opened. Veyren stepped in, a metal tray balanced in one hand, a small sealed medkit in the other. He glanced at you, then at your arm.

“Ready?” he asked.

You nodded, watching as he set the tray down on the nearby table, then moved toward you without hesitation. The IV came out smoothly—deft hands, practiced motion. He applied a fresh seal strip over the insertion site, pressing it down with clinical precision.

Neither of you spoke for several seconds.

Then, you broke the silence. “Thank you,” you said quietly.

He didn’t answer at first. Just gave a tight nod. His eyes flicked up to yours—just once—and then away again.

You tried again, voice lighter, as though you could trick both of you into a real conversation. Only then did he speak. “You’re healing faster than I expected.”

You arched a brow. “Should I apologize?”

His mouth twitched. Just slightly. “No. But if you feel compelled to say thank you, I won’t stop you.”

You didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, you tried something softer. “You know, most people introduce themselves when they meet someone.”

“I’m not most people.”

“Yeah,” you muttered, “I figured that part out.”

Silence again. You didn’t want to push—but you were so tired of silence. Of feeling like you were trespassing in your own life. So you tried again. “You know, our scientists would kill for half the tech you’ve got in that lab.”

That earned a slight lift of one eyebrow. “Most scientists don’t know what to do with what they already have.”

You gave a soft exhale, part amused, part tired.

“I take it you’re not a fan of the outpost researchers?”

He finally looked at you again—really looked, this time. Something behind his eyes sharp and unreadable. Calculating, maybe. Or just… disappointed.

“I know about your outpost,” he said.

You froze, barely managing to keep your expression neutral. “You… do?”

He nodded once. “I’ve known since it was built.”

That landed in your chest like a stone. All this time.

All these years you’d been working and cataloguing and running patrols—and he’d been here. Watching? Listening? You weren’t sure which idea made your skin crawl more. “And no one ever noticed you?”

“Clearly,” he said, voice dry.

You stared at him. “But… how?” you asked. “Why would you stay hidden? Why not reach out?”

He didn’t respond. Of course he didn’t. You watched him as he picked up a datapad from the table and typed something. His posture was rigid, careful. He wasn’t shutting you out—he just wasn’t letting you in. And that made the next question harder to ask. “…Why did you save me?”

The keys on his pad clicked once more. Then stopped. He didn’t lift his eyes. “I don’t know.”

Bullshit.

You didn’t say it aloud. But it sat there between you. Instead, he turned back toward you and nudged the sealed meal tray your way. “Eat.”

You opened it. Something with rice. Fungi. It was warm, clean, tasted like nutrients and fatigue. You didn’t complain. You ate in silence. He did too—leaning against the far console, sipping something from a metal cup, still half-watching his holopad.

And when you finished, you stood. He didn’t stop you. You walked.

He looked up. Brow furrowed slightly. “You should be focused on healing.”

“I am,” you replied. “And walking helps.”

He didn’t argue. He just nodded toward the corridor. “Don’t go into the west wing. It’s sealed for a reason.” You didn’t push. Not yet. Instead, you wandered.

Lunch came later. A tray left at your door—rice, something leafy, a broth that smelled faintly medicinal but tasted okay. You ate it slowly, stomach unsure of what to do with real food again.

Then you walked. Carefully.

The hallway outside the room was long, quiet. You moved with caution, one hand trailing along the wall, the other clutching the edge of your satchel. You passed the sealed doors again—the ones he hadn’t explained. You didn’t try to open them. Not yet.

Back in the lab, the machines buzzed softly. Screens flickered with data, unreadable from a distance. You recognized some neural graphs. Hemoglobin markers. Oxygen tolerance levels. Half a dozen plant species under observation—roots curled in sterile soil, some glowing faintly under UV.

He wasn’t in sight, but you could hear him nearby. Typing. A rhythmic click, broken only by occasional swipes on a holo-surface.

You wandered carefully. Not snooping, exactly—but your eyes took everything in.

Every datapad. Every console. Every blinking sensor light.

You didn’t know what you were looking for—proof? Danger? Escape routes?—but you needed to feel like you were doing something. Not just waiting.

You passed the link pod again, the green indicator still pulsed softly at its crown. You stared at it.

Who had used it? Did he? Was he still using it?

You didn’t ask. Not yet. Your head throbbed at the base of your skull—dull, persistent. The place you’d hit when you fell still ached like something cracked under the surface. And your palm… you checked the bandage. Still weeping. Still too deep to close without proper sealant.

You wouldn’t survive another trek through the forest. Not with your head spinning like this. Not with one good hand. Not without knowing where you even were.

You needed to get your shit together. But first… you needed answers.You circled the lab again, slower now. The shelves near the far wall were full.

Old-fashioned books—actual paper, bound and labeled in Veyren’s careful, straight-line handwriting—lined the metal racks in neat, obsessive rows. Dozens of notebooks. Manual logs. Field journals. Half-cracked spines held together with tape and time.

You traced your fingers along the edge of one, feeling the dust, the texture, the years etched into it.

It was like stepping back into your teenage bedroom.

Back when you used to stay up too late reading his archived research under the covers, lit by a dim handheld torch. When your walls were plastered with data maps and Na’vi anatomical sketches—some of them printed straight from his old published papers, others copied lovingly by hand. You’d wanted to understand this world the way he did. You wanted to see it with the same quiet intensity he’d written with.

Even now, seeing his work again—here, real, tangible, arranged like sacred scripture—made something ache in your chest.

His notes were obsessive, yes. But never cold.

Unlike the others who came here chasing grants and prestige, Veyren's voice had always been different. More reverent. More intentional. Every journal entry you’d ever read, every recording he’d made, hummed with the same quiet belief: that Eywa wasn’t just biology. She was something beyond that. Something that wanted to be understood—if only you learned to listen.

He didn’t just study Pandora. He followed it. Like a song you only heard in dreams.

Your fingers tightened on the spine of one field notebook. You felt like that teenager again—hungry, starry-eyed, full of wonder.

But the wonder didn’t last.

Because you could feel him.

Always.

Watching.

Somewhere behind you, across the lab’s gentle hum of machinery and filtered air, you knew exactly where he was. Maybe you couldn’t see him, but you felt the weight of his gaze as if it were another layer of skin.

He always knew where you were in this place.

Every time you paused, every time your hand hovered over something, you heard the faint tap of keys. A new line added. Another data point entered. You didn’t know what he was writing—but you knew it was about you.

You turned your head slightly, caught a reflection in a dusty monitor screen.

He was at the far station—half in shadow, eyes flicking from his holopad to you, then back again. Like he was trying not to be caught watching.

But not really trying that hard. Your heart beat faster. You turned back to the shelves, gripping the notebook tighter. You weren’t a girl anymore. Not a fan. Not a student.

And yet, standing here in a room full of his life’s work, you felt… observed. Like a subject, not a guest. Like something under a behavioral trial. An experiment waiting for a shift in pattern.

You didn’t know if that scared you more than it hurt. You swallowed.

Why? Why was he watching you like this? Why was he tracking everything you did—the way you walked, the way you spoke, the things you noticed first when you entered a room? What was he looking for?

You glanced back at him again. He didn’t flinch this time.

Just met your eyes. Calm. Quiet. That strange, unreadable expression resting like a mask. The tap-tap-tap of keys resumed. And you knew, deep in your gut, that he was logging the look you’d just given him.

You let the notebook slide back onto the shelf and you stepped back from it.

The warmth from moments ago—the joy, the awe, the quiet thrill of standing in the presence of your greatest idol—began to cool.

Because no matter how brilliant he’d been, no matter how much you’d admired him— You didn’t know this man. Not really. Not yet. But if he was watching you? Then you were going to watch him, too.

Eventually, you returned to your room.

The hallway was dimmer now—motion lights flickering on ahead of your steps, casting long shadows that bent and stretched along the walls like reaching limbs. You walked slowly, boots soft against the metal flooring, your eyes scanning the labeled doors as you passed them.

Storage Room. Greenhouse. Specimen Lab 2. Archive. Sterilization Chamber.

Each one sealed, blinking passively behind reinforced panels. Neat. Clinical. Unwelcoming.

Your room was marked only by a small light above the doorway, blinking green. Across from it, another door—unlabeled. Probably his.

East wing. He’d said that’s where you were allowed to roam. East side only.

“Don’t go into the western wing.”

You remembered the way he’d said it—calm, but deliberate. Like someone setting a boundary not just for protection, but for containment. And now, walking alone in the corridor, you passed a sharp corner where a closed security door marked the boundary. A solid bulkhead. A different lock.

Nothing moved on the other side. No sound. No lights. You didn’t step closer. You didn’t want to.

Your hand hovered, for a moment—just above the edge of the wall. Just long enough to feel the cold that radiated from the metal there. But every hair on your body stood up as you stared into that dark corridor. It wasn’t just the lighting.

It was the feel of the air there. Stale. Heavier. A subtle pressure, like something was sleeping behind those walls and didn’t want to be disturbed.

You stepped away from it. Slowly. And then you turned away. Back to your room. You don’t remember lying down.

It was sometime in the afternoon, you thought. Hard to tell. There were no windows here. No sunrises or birdsong. No forest sounds to anchor your body to time.

You slept.

The kind of sleep that isn’t rest—just blackout. The world blinked out in one moment and didn’t come back until you heard footsteps again.

The door creaked open softly. Veyren stepped in, placed a tray on the small shelf beside the bed. Dinner. Warm. Something stewed with root vegetables and rice again.

He didn’t speak.

You watched him through heavy eyelids, and he met your gaze only once—brief, unreadable—before stepping back through the door and disappearing down the hall again.

You sat up, slowly, and ate. Then lay back down. Slept again. You weren’t sure how long you were out. Could’ve been an hour. Could’ve been five.

But something woke you. Not a sound. The lack of one. The silence was total.

No footsteps. No typing. No rustle of clothing. No movement from Veyren’s part of the lab.

Even the soft hum of the machines around you—the ones you’d grown used to, like the low static of a sleeping city—felt fainter now. Muted. Like they were holding their breath.

You sat up, heart thumping harder than it should. It was cold.

You could feel it in your fingers. In the air. Somewhere outside your door, one of the systems had shifted into a lower cycle—perhaps a night mode. And that meant Veyren had gone to sleep.

If he slept. The silence had changed.

It wasn’t peace. It was vacuum. A kind of void where the machines still hummed faintly, but your brain had tuned them out so completely that now their presence felt like static—like noise with meaning pulled out of it. Just that constant, white background thrum of systems that should always be there.

But he wasn’t. You felt it. The difference.

Veyren wasn’t typing. He wasn’t moving in the lab. No low murmurs into the comm, no shifting instruments, no soft clangs of glass or metal.

And even though you were alone in your room, and safe, and warm, and fed… something about it felt wrong.

Too still.

Like the facility itself had paused to listen. You sat with that feeling for a long while. In the dark. Legs pulled to your chest. Staring at nothing. Listening to the hum.

And thinking, not for the first time—What was in the western wing? And how much longer could you pretend you didn’t want to find out?

Your head still throbbed faintly at the nape, a dull, dragging ache like a bruise pressed against your skull.

Veyren hadn’t said much throughout the day. Hadn’t explained what he was working on. Or what this place was. Or what that link pod was for. He answered questions like he was allergic to them—dodging some, flat-out ignoring others. And when he did speak, it was always half-sentences, a man unraveling threads you didn’t have a name for.

You were grateful he saved you.

But you were starting to hate how he did it.

You clenched your jaw, rubbing your hands over your face. It felt like being buried alive.

No signal. No window. No sky.

Your outpost could be right above you for all you knew—and you’d never know it. You could be a five-minute walk from the nearest trail and still be invisible to every tracking beacon on the planet.

And the worst part? You weren’t even sure if he was lying.

That was what made it worse. If he was a monster, it would be easy to hate him. If he was cruel, or controlling, or manipulative, you could fight it. But Veyren was… none of those things.

He was calm. Detached. And absolutely certain you couldn’t leave yet. And unfortunately—he was right. Your head ached. Your body felt hollow. Just getting to the door left your legs shaking, like you were made of paper and willpower alone.

You closed your eyes. You didn’t want to stay here. But you couldn’t leave. And that quiet, gnawing helplessness boiled behind your ribs like acid.

The silence pressed in again. Not even the hum of machines from the lab. Not the occasional muttered curse or clink of tools like you’d heard the night before. Wherever he was now—Veyren had disappeared.

You stood slowly, quietly, pulling your jacket tighter around yourself. You moved toward the door, gripping the edge for balance as you stepped into the hall. The corridor was dim now—only a few overhead lights still flickering, half the bulbs faded or dead entirely.

No sound.

No motion.

The hallway was long, sterile, and quiet enough to hear your own heartbeat in your ears.

You walked toward the lab, dragging your fingertips along the cold wall as you went. You weren’t sure what you were looking for—answers, maybe. Or a reason to trust him. Or just something to do before your sanity splintered completely.

Maybe all three.

When you reached the entrance to the lab, you paused just outside the threshold.

It was empty. No Veyren. No movement. He went really to sleep.

But the equipment still glowed faintly, machines on standby. The root samples still lay beneath bio-shielded trays. The link pod sat silent in the corner, its green status light blinking in an even rhythm. Waiting. Like it had been for years.

You stepped inside.

The smell was the same. Clean. Earthy. A place that had seen life dissected and studied a thousand different ways.

You settled into the desk chair slowly, the squeak of the worn frame louder than expected in the silence. The main workstation looked lived-in—scratched and smudged, cluttered but clearly functional. A chaos of purpose.

The dim blue of the holoscreen still hovered above the table’s surface, flickering softly with layers of plant diagnostics and neural conductivity charts. You recognized the layout immediately—standard scientific interface, customized, yes, but nothing foreign to your trained eyes. In fact, it was eerily similar to your own desk setup back at the outpost. Files labeled in truncated codes. Specimen logs cross-referenced against planetary cycles. Field images looped into folders by date, strain, and cellular behavior.

There was order here.

Not the rigid, sterile order of RDA labs, but the kind born from obsession. Familiar. Intimate. You felt something strange settle in your chest—comfort, maybe. A whisper of normalcy.

Dozens of plant samples were suspended in different containment units, many mid-analysis. You noted the familiar hum of thermal cultures at work, the faint scent of ethanol and synthetic agar. This lab was alive. Still researching. Still discovering. Which meant he wasn’t hiding from science—just from everyone else.

Your gaze fell to a cluster of datapads stacked haphazardly beside the main console. You picked one up, wiping the smudge from its surface. It blinked awake immediately, unlocked. No password. Either he didn’t care, or he hadn’t expected you to be curious enough—or strong enough—to come snooping.

Bad assumption.

You navigated quickly, pulling up the file structure. He had decades of archives—video entries, annotated logs, raw field footage. All of it arranged meticulously by date. Not compressed. Not hidden.

Accessible.

You scrolled back—past the 2170s… 2160s… further.

2140.

The folder marked simply: ARRIVAL.

Your heart stuttered. You tapped it.

A list of log entries appeared, each stamped with a time, a personal note, some tagged with “transferred to Grace,” others left without description. You selected the first—log 1.0—and cast it to the main holoscreen.

A second later, the screen above the desk brightened, then flickered.

And there he was.

A younger Dr. Elias Veyren.

You exhaled sharply, surprised by the jolt in your chest. He couldn’t have been older than thirty—maybe thirty-two, if that. Still lean and angular, but without the hollows time would carve into his face. His jaw was clean-shaven, his hair still dark and wild, curling a little at the temples. His eyes were just as pale—but back then, they shimmered with energy, not exhaustion.

He sat in front of a background you recognized immediately—the classic modular labs from Hell’s Gate, back when they were new. You could see the orange stripes on the steel walls behind him, the old-school terminals blinking faintly at the edge of the frame.

“Day twenty-nine,” he said, breathless and grinning. “God, I don’t even know where to start.”

His voice was younger, too. Not just in pitch, but in tone—brighter, quicker. Eager.

“I’m still trying to catch my breath. I think I’ve slept five hours total in the past three days, but it’s worth it. Every second here feels like—I don’t know—like I’m stepping into someone else’s dream. The jungle, the energy of it, it’s alive in a way I can’t explain to the board without sounding like I’ve lost my mind.”

He laughed, and it was so earnest you couldn’t help but smile faintly.

“Grace said that’d wear off in a few months, but I don’t think it will. I feel like a kid again. Everything I studied back on Earth��everything I thought I knew—it doesn’t compare to seeing Pandora breathe beneath your feet.”

He looked off-camera for a second, probably toward someone—maybe Grace herself—and then back.

“I’m not just running data. I’m part of something real. Something big. I keep waiting for someone to wake me up and tell me the launch never happened, that I’m still back in the dome at Stanford with a stack of grant rejections and a half-burnt paper on cortical plant memory.”

Another laugh.

“Anyway. First week in the field with Augustine tomorrow—God, she’s everything they said. Brilliant. Intimidating. Completely allergic to bullshit. And she likes me. I think. She keeps calling me ‘the eager one.’ I’m taking that as a win.”

You felt your throat tighten.

The joy in his voice. The wonder.

“God, I wish everyone could see it like this,” he laughed softly, glancing off-screen as if someone else were in the room. “Not with scanners. Not with meters. Just... with their own eyes. This world wants to be seen. And we’re only scratching the surface.”

He paused.

Then turned back to the recorder.

“This isn’t just a new biosphere. This is a conversation. And I think Eywa—whatever Eywa is—she’s trying to talk to us.”

The entry ended there. No formal sign-off. Just that sudden end, like he’d rushed off to go catalogue something else that couldn’t wait.

Your breath caught a little in your chest.

This… this was the man you’d idolized as a teenager. The prodigy biologist who broke barriers in comparative xenoneurology before his thirtieth birthday. The one whose name was whispered beside Augustine’s like an echo—her protégé, her colleague. Until his name disappeared from the logs. Until he vanished.

You leaned forward, elbows on your knees, watching the flickering ghost of him speak with a kind of reverence you hadn’t felt in years.

God, you’d loved these vids.

When you were sixteen, you’d memorized his face. Quoted his lectures in arguments with your instructors. You had downloaded, illegally, a holovid of a symposium where he spoke about plant neuro-signaling across the planetary neural web. You watched it more times than you could count.

And now here you were. Sitting in his chair. Beneath his ceiling. Surrounded by his unfinished work, in a place no one even knew existed.

And the man himself—forty years older, quieter, broken in ways you hadn’t yet mapped—was sleeping somewhere in the dark halls behind you.

You paused the recording.

The silence that followed was almost painful.

You sat there for a long time, holding the data pad against your knees, the flickering image of his younger self frozen mid-smile on the screen. It felt… wrong. To see that man, so vibrant, so hopeful, and know what he would eventually become. What this place would eventually do to him.

And you couldn’t help but wonder— What had happened to him? What had broken the man on this screen?

Your fingers hovered over the screen, scrolling past log after log—each with its own cryptic header, some titled with research notes, others simple timestamped files. There were dozens. No—hundreds.

2141.

The year his first major publication hit Earth’s xenobotany community like a solar flare. The year he co-authored with Grace Augustine. The year he became the Elias Veyren.

Your pulse picked up.

You tapped one at random, heart thudding, skin buzzing like static beneath your clothes. This was like opening a time capsule—except the time capsule was filled with someone’s soul. These weren’t press conference reels. These weren’t the tight, polished symposium sound bites you’d memorized as a teenager. These were raw.

Unfiltered. You hesitated—for a breath. Just one. Because suddenly this didn’t feel academic. This felt personal.

A part of you whispered: This is wrong. You shouldn’t be watching this. These are his private logs. His thoughts, not yours. But then again—he’d locked nothing. Hidden nothing. And if he’d just told you what the hell was going on, maybe you wouldn’t have been drawn to this quiet hunt for the truth.

So you tapped the file. The holoscreen blinked—and he appeared again.

Still young, still bright-eyed, the lighting now slightly better—His hair was longer now, messier, curling around his ears in chaotic waves. His lab coat was open, half-slipped off one shoulder like he’d forgotten it was there.

“Alright, alright,” he said, nearly buzzing, “so here’s the thing. The masks. The goddamn masks.”

You smiled, despite yourself.

“I hate them. I hate the sound they make when the filter cycles, I hate how they fog when you breathe too fast, I hate the pressure line against your temples when you wear them for more than six hours.” “Which, by the way, I’ve done. Sixteen hours today. Jungle mapping in Sector E. No breeze. Sixty percent humidity. If I pass out from oxygen starvation, someone tell Grace she was technically right.”

He laughed under his breath and rolled his eyes.

“Anyway, we ran new density scans today, and—yeah, no surprise, the air’s still a death trap. But that’s not the point. The point is—Pandora is too big for twenty avatars.” “The program’s great. We all love it. Yay, diplomacy. Yay, bridge-building. But you want to map this moon? Study it properly? We need hundreds of bodies. We need integration. Real integration.”

He was talking faster now, hands gesturing wildly.

“One Na’vi tribe alone covers more ground in a week than the entire avatar program can chart in a year. And that’s not even getting into the spiritual structures we’re missing—the way they navigate by Eywa, by memory, not maps.”

You leaned closer, heart pounding.

That intensity. That wild conviction. This was the Veyren who wrote ten books in one year. The Veyren whose name appeared in your first teenage research essay no fewer than twelve times, underlined and footnoted and quoted with breathless reverence. You inhaled his work like air that summer—one book after another, sitting by your window, scribbling thoughts in the margins like they might summon him to your desk.

And now here he was.

Still glowing with the same fire.

He ran his hand through his hair, exasperated but buzzing with thought. You saw the moment it hit him—a little shift in his shoulders, a brightness in his expression.

“But what if—” he murmured, voice dropping into something quieter, more charged. “What if there’s a way to adapt us? Not just borrow Na’vi bodies. What if we could—”

“Elias,” came a voice from offscreen.

Your breath caught. You knew that voice.

Grace Augustine.

She stepped briefly into frame, holding a thermal mug and wearing a face like she’d seen this particular brand of idealism too many times before. Her eyebrows arched, mug hovering near her lips.

“You know there’s no way a human can breathe this air, right?”

Veyren grinned, eyes wide and slightly defiant. “Yet.”

Grace groaned audibly and took a long sip of her drink. “You’re gonna get yourself exiled from this program if you keep chasing impossible biology.”

“Only if I fail,” he muttered, almost under his breath. Veyren didn’t even turn. “I’m just saying the masks are outdated tech.”

“Yeah,” she snorted. “So is your skull, and that’s why you still need it.”

“Thank you, Grace. Always a comfort.”

She raised the mug like a toast and vanished back out of frame, leaving behind only a faint chuckle and the echo of her sarcasm.

Veyren was smiling, but when he turned back to the camera, something in his face changed.

Not gone. Just quieter. More certain.

“I know she’s right,” he said softly. “Biochemically, she’s right. Pandora’s air kills humans in two minutes, maybe three if you hyperventilate on pure oxygen first.” “But still…”

He leaned in.

And for a second, his voice dropped to something almost reverent.

“I know Eywa would let us breathe. If we listened. If we proved we wanted it.” The silence that followed wasn’t empty—it felt like prayer. “I don’t think we’re meant to stay behind glass forever. I think she’s waiting for us to catch up.”

The screen blinked.

And then the feed cut. End of entry.

You sat frozen, the screen still glowing in the dim lab, casting shifting light across your face. That version of him—restless, clever, brimming with vision—he had never been satisfied with the limits placed on science. Not even biological ones.

The weight of what you’d just seen pressed heavy against your chest. You leaned back slowly, exhaling through your nose. He hadn’t wanted to escape the forest like the rest of the scientists. He wanted to belong to it. And now… now he was buried under it.

You tapped the next log.

Late 2142.

The screen flickered again—this time catching Veyren mid-bite, chewing something off a metal fork, clearly trying to eat while recording. A tin of stew sat next to a stack of unfiled notes, his sleeves rolled halfway up, neck damp with sweat. He looked tired—but not in the way he did now. Not the weariness that came from years of isolation. This was the kind of exhaustion born from life—too much of it, all at once.

“Okay, log 1066.” he mumbled around the bite, grinning faintly, “Grace says if I don’t stop eating on camera, she’s gonna start muting my logs.” He swallowed, lifted his eyes to the recorder. “Anyway. Long day. Big one.”

He shifted slightly, something in his posture relaxing.

“The school’s finally open.” Your breath hitched.

“Grace is calling it a ‘learning exchange initiative,’ because apparently we’re not supposed to use the word ‘school’ around the kids yet. She thinks it’ll scare them off. Hell, maybe she’s right.” He let out a soft laugh. “But it’s real. It’s happening. We’re a few clicks from Hell’s Gate—remote enough that the clan elders don’t feel like we’re intruding, but close enough that we can run supply lines.” “Today was our first trial day. No curriculum yet, no real structure. Just a few hours. Grace brought books, some holodiscs, a few artifacts she thought they might like. I didn’t bring anything. I just... watched.”

His voice went quiet for a second.

Then—gentler: “I’ve never seen Na’vi children before.”

He rubbed at the back of his neck, then shook his head like he couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth.

“They’re just... kids. Running, shouting, half-covered in paint. Most of them were too nervous to come close. Some of them didn’t even want to look at us. I don’t blame them. We’ve done nothing to earn their trust. Not as a species.”

He paused, staring past the screen for a long moment, his face softer than you’d ever seen it.

“Grace says the avatars make it a little easier. That the kids can read the body language better—less of a divide than staring up at a human face through a mask. Most of the adults hate us. The Omatikaya are—what’s the polite word? Resistant. But the kids…” He smiled, slow and small. “They’re curious. They were watching her the whole time. Like she was some weird hybrid forest aunt who brought too many gifts and asked too many questions.”

A fond breath of laughter.

“You should’ve seen Grace. God, when she’s in the lab, she’s a machine. Unstoppable. All edge and sharp corners and pressure. But when she’s with those kids? She melts. She gets so soft. Her voice lowers. She crouches down, draws in the dirt, listens to their stories. She’s not trying to impress them. She’s trying to know them. It’s the only time I’ve ever seen her completely still.”

He set his fork down then, hands coming together in front of him.

“I wish I could be there like that. I wish I had an avatar body. But no.” He scoffed. “Too expensive. Too valuable. And I’m not ‘field-essential,’ apparently. Grace argued for me, but the board denied it. Said the budget’s locked and my clearance doesn’t meet the threshold.”

His jaw twitched.

“You know what they cost?” he muttered, voice souring for the first time in the log. “Five billion credits. Five. Fucking. Billion. And that’s not even accounting for neural grafting and recombinant gene conditioning. You want a body on this moon? You better have a military rank or an investor dad.”

Then, quieter—almost to himself: “But I know Eywa would want to see us. Know us. Our thoughts. Not just our scans.”

The log ended. Just like that.

You stared at the now-blank holoscreen. The empty lab around you seemed even quieter in its absence. The flicker of data across the consoles was rhythmic, steady—utterly unaffected by the ache curling behind your ribs.

Because you knew that feeling. You had lived that feeling. You set the datapad in your lap, thumbs brushing the smooth edges.

When you were younger—just starting your apprenticeship under Norm—you’d watch the drivers at the outpost with a kind of hunger you never talked about. Their tall, graceful forms. The freedom of walking the forest barefoot. Of breathing Pandoran air without masks or suits. Of belonging in a way you never would.

You never said it aloud. Not once.

Your family supported you, yes. Encouraged the science, encouraged the travel, encouraged the dream. But no one you knew had five billion credits in their back pocket. Not even your most well-connected mentors could get you a body of your own.

So you did the next best thing.

You buried yourself in your work. Let the longing rot in the dark while you chased answers, devoured data, published research like it could make you feel whole. And for a while… it worked.

You forgot how badly you wanted to belong.

Until him. Until Neteyam. And then it all came back. The ache. The envy. The guilt.

It would all be so much easier if you were Na’vi. If you looked like him. Moved like him. If he didn’t have to explain you. If he didn’t have to hide you. If he didn’t have to carry you like a weight every time his parents looked through you instead of at you.

You curled your hands tighter around the datapad. You never told him you wanted a body. You never told anyone. Not even yourself, not really. Because it felt shameful. Selfish. Delusional. You weren’t a soldier. You weren’t Grace Augustine. You weren’t Elias Veyren. You were just you. A scientist. A human. Stuck on the surface of a moon that would never truly be yours.

You looked down at the blank screen again, the afterimage of Veyren’s younger self burned into your mind. And you whispered, not sure who you were saying it to: “I just wanted to be part of it.”

You scrolled.

Dozens of entries filled the feed now, the screen blurring slightly as you flicked through them too fast. Each log was titled in shorthand—some with dry technical codes, others with personal notes:

Map Update – River Delta S3 Root Nerve Pairing / Biolume response test Specimen 8-5 neural drift patterns Grace (re: school closure) Second Contact (informal, west quadrant) Syeha.

Your thumb paused.

Log 2380: Syeha.

Your chest tightened. You knew that word.

Years ago, tucked away in the most obscure corner of a decommissioned academic server, you’d found it: “Project: Syeha – A Transgenic Pathway to Independent Respiration in Non-Native Genomes.” By Dr. Elias Veyren.

You had read it twice. Then three more times. The ideas had stunned you—breathtaking in both ambition and sheer madness. It wasn’t just fringe science. It was heresy to most xenobiologists. It had fascinated you then—wild, brave science. The idea that humans could be altered, changed at the cellular level, to breathe Pandora’s air.

It was dismissed in every official commentary.

Mad science. Delusional. Impossible.

But even back then, you remembered thinking—

What if it’s not? You tapped the entry.

Dated early 2146. The screen came to life. Veyren looked different now—older now, maybe in his late thirties—appeared.

His hair was longer, unkempt. His face worn thinner, the shadows under his eyes deeper. This wasn’t the eager newcomer anymore. He looked like someone who had stopped asking for permission a long time ago.

“Log two-three-eighty,” he said. No smile. No preamble. “Project Syeha.”

He was pacing the lab—this very lab, you realized. It looked less cluttered in the recording, less lived-in, but the bones of it were the same. The same consoles. The same pod humming faintly in the background.

He ran a hand through his hair and stopped in front of the camera. He was angry. That much was clear from the moment he spoke.

“They won’t even let me present the model,” he said, pacing just barely in frame, one hand raking through his hair, the other waving a half-folded holopad. “I showed the numbers. I showed the genetic match rate. I proved that certain plants on this moon produce a biochemical compound that binds to oxygen and transports it the same way hemoglobin does. It’s there. It’s right there.”

He slammed the holopad down on the counter.

“The avatar program laughed at it. Said it was fantasy. Said we’re not built for that kind of shift. Of course we’re not. That’s the point.”

He turned to the camera, face twisted—not rage exactly. Something more wounded. Something betrayed.

“Every goddamn paper they published about adaptation stops at the lung barrier. Like it’s sacred. Like the human body is this perfect, immutable thing. Like evolution stops with us.”

He shook his head. His voice cracked just slightly.

“But Eywa doesn’t think that way. She never has. This moon isn’t just watching us. She’s offering something. And nobody listens.” He exhaled sharply and leaned on the desk with both hands, breath shaking. “I could do it. I know I could. All I need is the serum vector. One compound. One seed protein to trigger the binding cascade and rewrite the respiratory interaction on a cellular level. A full-body breath conversion.”

He stared at the screen.

And for the first time, his eyes looked… haunted.

“I’ve sequenced seventy-nine plant families. Most fail. Some bond. A few… a few do something different. Last night, when I ran a sequence from a neural-reactive vine cluster, I swear I heard something. A frequency. Not auditory. Not measurable. Just—something. Like a voice.”

You froze.

“Not words. Not language. But I know it was her. Eywa. I know she was watching me. I felt it. She wants this.”

His hand hovered just offscreen now, grabbing something—probably another sample tray, maybe another datapad—but his gaze never left the camera.

“They think I’m dangerous. Delusional. But I’m right. They’re so scared of what it means to be changed. But change is the only way to survive here. It’s the only way we ever belong.”

He began pacing again, shoulders tight with fury. “They didn’t listen. Not even Grace. She said it was dangerous, arrogant. That ‘wanting to be Na’vi doesn’t mean you can be.’”

He stopped and faced the camera again, eyes burning.

“But she was wrong. They’re all wrong. If we can grow hybrid bodies from DNA samples in a vat, why not find a way to change ours?”

He picked up a tablet and gestured to a set of charts you couldn’t fully see.

“This isn’t theoretical anymore. I have models. I have baselines. I could start serum trials with controlled tissue samples and neurostimulant exposure within six months. It’s not just possible—it’s inevitable. If someone has the spine to try.”

He slammed the tablet down. “And no one does.”

The room buzzed for a second with the sharp ring of silence. He stepped closer to the lens now. His face filled the screen. “The human genome’s more flexible than they want to admit. The limits aren’t biological. They’re political.”

He ran a hand through his hair again, breath shaky now. Less rage. More desperation. He whispered the last part, voice almost breaking.

“And I don’t care if they say it’s impossible. I’m doing it anyway.”

The holovid ended. Just—cut off. No sign-off. No fading to black. Just a silence that bloomed in the lab like a stormcloud ready to split open.

You sat back.

The datapad trembled faintly in your hands. Because you knew what you just watched. This wasn’t a theory anymore. This was obsession. Raw. Growing. Dangerous.

He was talking about rewriting the human genome with Pandoran biology. About experimenting. About hearing Eywa in the middle of the night while sequencing alien plant matter. About knowing she approved of him. About doing it anyway.

Even if it meant testing on humans. Your blood ran cold. Was this what happened to him? Was this the moment he went off the grid—for good?

You didn’t know. But suddenly, the silence in the lab didn’t feel peaceful anymore. It felt watchful.

You leaned forward, eyes burning, and pressed your fingers into your temples, exhaling a long, quiet breath. The ache behind your eyes throbbed in rhythm with your pulse. You were dizzy with information—like your body couldn’t keep up with what your mind was absorbing.

Still, your hand moved. Still, you scrolled.

2148 - 00:47 AM.

A midnight log. You tapped it.

The screen lit up with a low, uneven glow. The recording was dim—clearly shot from the fixed terminal inside his quarters. A grainy, fixed angle. Personal.

Veyren sat on the edge of his bed. Shoulders hunched. Elbows on knees. He wasn’t wearing a lab coat—just a long-sleeved shirt rolled at the forearms, stained with something dark around the cuff. His hair was longer now. Unkempt. His face leaner, eyes sharper. Almost hollow.

Not the inspired, wide-eyed prodigy you had watched hours ago.

This Veyren looked like a man with nowhere left to go. “Grace called me arrogant,” he said, teeth gritted around the words. “Reckless. Self-righteous. That’s what she thinks now.”

He didn’t look at the camera. He stared down—at the floor maybe, or at his hands.

Then laughed. Bitter. Fractured.

“Reckless. Because I dissected a viperwolf corpse. Because I’m mapping their alveolar networks. Because I want to understand how they can process this atmosphere without burning their lungs out in two minutes flat.”

He looked up now—eyes bloodshot, voice rising. “Why does that make me insane? Why does that make me wrong?”

The camera shook faintly as he stood, began to pace in the frame. You could see his quarters in the background—books stacked high, notes scattered in messy piles, old logs blinking softly from half-lit data pads. The room looked lived in, but also unwell. The kind of space that absorbed a man instead of holding him.

“I told her—Grace—I told her this is my purpose. I told her Eywa wants this. Wants me to finish it. But she just—She said it doesn’t matter what I believe. That no matter how much I want to belong here, as a human, I never will.”

He stopped walking. Stared at the wall.

“She didn’t say it to be cruel. I know that. She meant it as a warning.” A long pause.

Then—quieter, like a confession: “But she’s wrong.”

He turned back toward the bed and sat down heavily. He looked at the camera now—directly, this time. And in his gaze… something new. Something unhinged. A glint like broken glass catching firelight. Hope, maybe. Or madness. “I’ve stabilized the compound. The serum. It works. The delivery system holds. No cellular collapse in the early stages.”

His hand reached off-screen. You heard a quiet clink. A data pad? A tray?

“The rabbits the RDA provided—slaughterhouse breed, synthetic genome baselines. Fragile things. Barely anything natural left in them. But they were perfect test subjects. I dosed six. Four showed no symptoms. Two entered respiratory distress within minutes—but the others… they adapted.”

He inhaled through his nose. “They breathed Pandora’s air.”

A pause.

Then, lower: “They survived for hours. Some for days.”

But his face didn’t reflect triumph.

It darkened. “And then they died.”

His voice splintered over the words.

“Every time. Always in the end. Lungs collapsed. Tissue breakdown. Neurological bleed in one. Organ decay in another. The serum works—but not long enough. Not right.”

His hand clenched into a fist.

“But I hear her. Every night. When the machines go quiet. When I’m alone in sequencing, and the lights flicker just before sunrise. I hear her. Not words. Not sounds. But—direction.”

He leaned forward, face now too close to the camera. Eyes wild. Desperate.

“She’s guiding me. I know she is. I feel it when I touch the vines. When I sequence the roots. Eywa is showing me the way, but—I can’t get it right.”

He slammed his fist into the desk just out of frame. The sound echoed sharp and metallic.

“I don’t know what she wants me to change.”

Silence followed. And then, barely audible— “But I’ll keep trying.”

The screen went dark.And you just sat there. Frozen.

This wasn’t just science anymore. It wasn’t even obsession. This was faith. Twisted, raw, undiluted belief—the kind you couldn’t argue with, the kind that didn’t care what logic said.

Veyren wasn’t just experimenting.

He thought Eywa was guiding him. That she wanted him to rewrite the human genome. That every death—every failure—was just another step on the path toward some divine approval.

You stared at the blank screen, stomach churning, heart tight in your chest. He was alone when he recorded that. But he didn’t feel alone. And now? Now he had you.

You scrolled again, slower this time.

There were fewer logs now. The tidy consistency of his earlier years had thinned into erratic entries—long gaps, inconsistent times, random filenames. But one stood out.

2149– Log: 3892 “Break”

You stilled. The name hit like a stone in your chest. You knew that year. It was the same year he vanished.

On paper, it was all business as usual. You remembered watching his final public interview from a sterile, RDA-approved broadcast. You had it saved back on Earth in an old archive folder—Veyren in a crisp shirt, standing in front of the Hell’s Gate labs, smiling into the camera like nothing was wrong.

He’d spoken of progress.

Of understanding between species. Of a breakthrough in mutual communication. You’d believed every word.

As a teenager, you’d clung to it—to him—like a guiding star. You’d built your future around the idea that someone like him had done it. Had gone to Pandora, belonged there, and survived with his ideals intact.

But now… Now you knew. The man in that video had been reading a script. You tapped the log.

It opened with a harsh, unfocused image of a cluttered lab—Hell’s Gate, unmistakably. You recognized the orange glow of the corridor lights, the older consoles flickering in the background, the faint buzz of outdated systems cycling through diagnostics.

Veyren sat at a desk. He wasn’t centered in frame. He hadn’t even bothered to clean the lens. His hair was disheveled. Face drawn. Eyes bloodshot. “Grace pulled me,” he said. No intro. No context. Just the sentence, dropped like stone. “She removed me from the avatar program.”

He was breathing heavily, like he’d been pacing for hours. Or screaming.

“She says I’ve become a liability. That my work’s too aggressive. That I’ve compromised protocols, that I’ve crossed some line she doesn’t even understand herself.”

He laughed, but it was joyless—dry and sharp.

“She says I have to go back to Earth. Earth.”

He finally turned to the camera, and his face was different. Not just older. Harder. Split down the middle with rage and disbelief.

“This is my life. This moon. This planet. I gave everything to this. I believed in what we were doing—what we could do. But no. Because I don’t want to live inside a mask anymore. Because I want to give humanity a future here—a real future—they say I’ve lost it.”

His hands trembled slightly as he pressed his palms to the desk, grounding himself.

“The sentiment scientists. That’s what Grace called them. The ones who cry when a plant dies, but don’t lift a finger when a dream collapses. They said I’m unstable. That I’ve become obsessed. That I’m hearing voices.”

He smiled now. That wrong kind of smile. “Maybe I am. Maybe that’s what this place does to people who listen.”

He exhaled roughly, fingers curling against the desk’s edge. “They’re not sending me back to Earth. I’m not going. I won’t leave her.” And you knew he wasn’t talking about Grace. “I won’t leave Eywa behind. She’s not done with me.”

He sat back slowly, the shadows gathering in his eyes like dusk.

“If they won’t let me work with the avatars, then I’ll build something better. If they won’t let me help humanity evolve, I’ll do it myself. And if they think they can erase me…”

He leaned into the camera.

Voice soft. Frighteningly calm.

“They’re wrong.”

The log cut out.

No fade. No sign-off.

Just gone. You sat motionless, heart hammering in your chest. This was it.

The break.

Not the day he vanished from broadcasts. But the day he stopped being the man you had worshipped. He wasn’t fighting for understanding anymore. He wasn’t debating theories or seeking connection. He was done asking for permission. He was done waiting for the world to catch up.

And somewhere between the labs of Hell’s Gate and this hidden bunker in the forest… he followed a voice no one else could hear.

He chose Eywa over humanity. Or maybe over himself.

You stared down at the dark screen, your throat tight. You had wanted to be like him. You had wanted to walk where he walked, breathe what he breathed, follow in his footsteps across a planet you barely dared to dream of.

And now you were here. Right where he fell.

You didn’t hesitate this time.

You tapped the next log entry—dated two weeks after break. Your fingers moved without thought, like some deeper instinct had taken control now, needing to see this through, needing to know what came after the fall.

The screen came alive again.

And you blinked, startled. He wasn’t in Hell’s Gate anymore.

No clean RDA-branded walls. No polished consoles. This facility was different—still built with RDA materials, yes, but the architecture was smaller. Modular. More stripped-down. The lighting was dimmer, more natural. You caught the edge of a thick jungle canopy through a window behind him, the light filtered through layers of green. This was still Pandora. But not the Hell’s Gate you knew.

Veyren sat in front of the camera, a cup of something steaming in his hand. His hair was pulled back messily, and he looked… tired, yes, but not defeated. Not hollow like in the last log.

He looked like a man who’d lost everything—only to realize it had never been worth holding onto in the first place.

He laughed.

Not the bitter, broken kind this time. Just—wry. Dry.

“You know what’s funny?” he said, looking directly into the camera, a gleam in his eyes. “When the scientists say you’re the problem—but the corporation says you’re the solution.”

He sipped his drink, the mug steaming near his mouth, and leaned back with a sigh.

“I’ve been removed from the Avatar Program, officially. My name’s off the clearance rolls, the access lists, the genetic logs. I’m blacklisted from half the scientific networks I helped build. Grace called me a threat to the balance. Said I needed to leave.” He lifted a finger.

He grinned now, wide and wicked. “But I didn’t.” He gestured vaguely around him.

“They told everyone I was being sent back to Earth. That I’d be debriefed and retired. Grace believed it. Most of the board believed it. But that wasn’t the plan.”

He leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms loosely over his chest. There was an odd ease to his posture now—relaxed in a way you hadn’t seen in any of the logs before.

“Someone up top saw the logs. The serum models. The projections. Maybe a general. I don’t know. Doesn’t matter. All I know is I got pulled into a sealed meeting and told, word-for-word: ‘Maybe this one. Maybe he makes something.’”

He grinned wider, almost boyish for a flicker of a second.

“So they gave me a lab.” His fingers tapped against his thigh. “I’ve been removed from the Avatar Program, sure. They had to make that gesture for optics. But I’m not out. I’m not gone. I’m free.”

He paused there, as if tasting the word.

“Free.”

He tilted his head back and let out a breath.

“No more ethics boards. No more meetings. No more explaining the same goddamn hypothesis to people who think masks are a noble sacrifice.” His voice grew harder. “They didn’t even ask me for a formal proposal. They just said: Show us what you can do.”

He looked back into the lens, eyes sharp now—burning again with that conviction. That same storm you’d seen building log after log.

And suddenly you realized something chilling.

This wasn’t his exile. This was his permission.

“I’m going to finish Syeha,” he said. “And this time, no one will stop me. I can thrive here. Away from the noise. With tech that wasn’t even authorized for field work.” “They think they can keep me focused. Think they’re controlling the direction.”

He sat back down. Folded his hands. Quiet for a long beat.

“But they don’t hear her.”

His voice dropped to a whisper. The same one you’d started to fear.

“Eywa wants me here. She pulled me from their grasp. And now… I’m finally free to do it right.”

The screen went black.

You sat still, your thoughts a storm of movement and silence.

So this was how it happened.

Grace had tried to stop him. The scientific community cast him out. But the RDA—greedy, calculating, always looking for a return on investment—they saw in him not danger, but potential.

He was a rogue to one side and a tool to the other.

And so they let him work. Alone. Far enough to be disavowed if it went wrong. But close enough to capitalize on if it went right.

He wasn’t just buried in a cave.

He was planted.

And the worst part? He thrived. Your pulse thundered in your ears. You set the datapad down slowly on the desk, staring at the now-blank screen. They let him off the leash. And he never looked back.

You stood up, the chair groaning softly beneath you, and scrubbed your hands down your face—slow and deliberate, like you were trying to wipe away the last forty years along with the sweat clinging to your skin.

So that’s why he was here. Not a fugitive. Not a hermit.

The RDA let him stay.

They saw in him not madness, but opportunity. The serum. The promise of breath without masks. Of humans walking freely on Pandora without the exo-gear. It wasn’t about unity. It wasn’t about coexistence. It was colonization. A new kind. Quiet. Insidious.

Make the air ours.

And they backed him. Let him disappear into the wild with the best tech on the moon and no oversight. Gave him solitude and silence to build whatever he wanted.

And he had.

The logs were almost four decades old now.

Since then, the world had burned.

The war came. The clans united. Hometree fell. Grace died. Jake Sully turned the tide. Most humans were sent home, packed into cold metal coffins and shipped back across the stars like the failed virus they were. The survivors—those trusted few—stayed behind, kept alive by Na’vi grace and ghost-thin trust.

And then, after fifteen years of peace, the sky people returned.

Still masked. Still cautious. Still dangling carrots of peace and diplomacy with one hand while carving the ground beneath them with the other.

Nothing had changed.

So what happened to Veyren’s work?

You turned back to the datapad, now dimmed in sleep mode. With a flick, you reactivated it and scrolled through the folders. The dates rolled by like gravestones.

2149… 2150…

You tapped into the next year’s logs.

File names flooded the screen—cryptic, cold, clinical. But one stood out among them, plain as a blinking warning light:

Log 3496 – theory

You tapped it.

The video loaded slower than the others—longer file, maybe. When it finally appeared, it was Veyren again, now nearing forty. He sat hunched at his workstation, face gaunt, unshaven, hair half-pulled back. The bags under his eyes were deep enough to cast shadows. He looked worn—frayed at the edges, like a man who hadn’t left the walls of this place in weeks.

His voice was flat. “Log thirteen-eighty,” he said. “Update on Syeha trial batches.”

He lifted a small vial toward the camera. The liquid inside shimmered faintly with a soft greenish hue. “Form twenty-seven survived synthetic circulation for eight days,” he said. “That’s a new record. But that’s where the success ends.”

He dropped the vial into a rack with a soft clink and leaned forward, both hands gripping the edge of the desk like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

“I’ve been running these trials for six years now. Six years. Countless permutations of the serum. Changed the compound ratios. Replaced the protein anchors. Increased the resistance to Pandoran atmospheric interference.”

He slammed a palm against the desk suddenly, the sound making you flinch.

“And still they die.” His breath hitched, just slightly. “The rabbits. The rats. Even the genetically reinforced mice from the Bridgehead shipment—they all die. Within a week. It doesn’t matter how strong they are. Something in the serum always breaks them down. A day of stability, maybe three, then pulmonary collapse. Total metabolic failure. Neurological degradation.”

He paused, rubbing both hands through his hair like he wanted to rip it out.

“They’re too weak,” he spat. “Too fragile. The serum adapts the respiratory system, yes, but the host organism can’t support the change. They aren’t built for it. And no matter what I do, no matter how I adjust the dosage or delivery, I hit the same wall.”

He looked up into the camera then—and this time, there was nothing left of the man who used to smile through his experiments.

“I need stronger subjects.”

His voice was low.

Human.

He didn’t say it. But he didn’t have to. He let the silence drag for a long, suffocating beat before continuing.

“How do you convince a human to become an experiment?” he asked. “How do you ask someone to let you rewrite their body—knowing they could be dead in a day? In an hour? Who volunteers for that?”

He leaned back slowly, rubbing at his jaw, eyes haunted.

“I’ve considered testing it on myself. God knows I’ve thought about it. But there’s no reversal serum. No antibody. No fallback. If it fails, I die.”

He chuckled, but there was no humor in it.

“And then what? The last version of this dies with me.” He was quiet for a while. When he spoke again, his voice was calm. Controlled. “I need the RDA to send me stronger test subjects. Not rabbits. Not animals. Something… more viable. More resilient. Something with a will to survive. They said they’d give me what I needed. Now it’s time to prove it.”

The video ended. You sat motionless.

The datapad rested in your lap, the glow from the screen dimming again like a breath held too long.

Your gaze slowly lifted—toward the hallway. The long, dimly lit corridor.

A dozen doors on each side. You’d walked it before. Felt the sterile quiet. The silence thick like it didn’t want to be disturbed.

What was behind those doors?

You didn’t know. But the thought crept in like cold water slipping beneath your skin.

What if they weren’t all just storage? You swallowed hard, suddenly aware of the sound of your own breath. What if the RDA had sent him what he asked for? What if he had used them? And what if some of them never left?

Your arms prickled with goosebumps. Suddenly, the stillness of this place didn’t feel like peace. It felt like something watching you from the other side of every door.

Waiting.

You tapped the next file with a trembling thumb.

You had scrolled to the year of the school massacre. 2152. The year the fragile trust between human and Na’vi shattered. The year Grace Augustine’s school—her dream, her bridge—collapsed in blood and fire. You knew the story from reports, from whispers traded in sorrowful tones among senior researchers. But you had never seen it through this lens.

And you hadn’t expected to find him still recording. The video crackled to life.

Veyren sat in his lab again. The camera was angled slightly off, but it was clear—he hadn’t slept. His hair was a mess, his collar stained, dark patches blooming under his eyes. But behind the weariness, there was something else.

Satisfaction.

He wasn’t pacing this time. He was sitting calmly at his workstation, hands folded in front of him.

“Log four-two-thirty-seven,” he said. His voice was quiet. Measured. Too calm. “I got what I needed.”

He smiled—not wide, but it was there. Tight. Controlled.

“For two years I begged. Asked. Filed requisitions, sent encrypted requests to every RDA contact who hadn’t already disavowed me. I asked for human subjects. For something—anything—I could use to make Syeha real.”

He leaned back in his chair, exhaling softly.

“And then… they just showed up.”

He gestured behind the camera, as if the memory still lingered in the room.

“Three of them. Dragged in by soldiers—actual RDA troopers. Two unconscious. One barely clinging to life. Half-burnt, lungs shredded by smoke, eyes blind from gas exposure. They said it was a failed skirmish. Ambushed on the outer ridge.”

He paused.

“But I knew.”

He looked directly into the lens.

“I knew what happened.”

His voice lowered, almost a whisper.

“The school fell. Grace’s dream, her little human-Navi fairytale—it’s over. A Na’vi and her friends attacked a bulldozer. And the troopers didn’t hesitate. They chased the kids into the school. Shot them in front of the others. In front of Grace.”

You flinched. That name hit like a shard of ice through your spine.

“They called it a tragedy,” Veyren continued. “A miscommunication. Protocol failure.” His mouth twisted. “But we know what it was. A message. To the clans. To Grace.”

He tilted his head slightly.

“That same day, they brought me soldiers.”

He didn’t need to explain further. You understood. They had traded blood for silence. Guilt for opportunity. “They left them here,” he said, his voice growing steadier. “Didn’t ask questions. Didn’t take records. Just said, ‘See what you can do with them.’”

He stood then, moving just off-frame. The camera stayed fixed, but you could hear soft beeps. The familiar whir of medical systems booting. And then the sound of something organic—wet, irregular—breathing through a vented respirator.

“They weren’t supposed to live long,” he said. “But that’s what makes them perfect. Damaged lungs. Weakened tissue. The serum isn’t just for the strong. It’s for us. For the broken. The desperate. The ones who have no other way to stay.”

He stepped back into view.

“They’ll die either way,” he said, almost gently. “But if the serum works—then they’ll be the first to adapt.”

And then he smiled again. Not unkindly. Not cruelly. But with the kind of conviction that made your skin crawl.

“This is for the greater good,” he said. “No more rabbits. No more excuses. This is what the serum was always meant for.”

He sat back down, folding his hands again. Waiting.

“I start trials tomorrow.”

The screen flickered.

Log end.

You tapped forward.

The list scrolled quickly—dates ticking past with grim regularity. You barely skimmed the titles. One by one, they made your heart sink further into your chest.

Subject A: Terminal pulmonary collapse (2 days) Subject B: Metabolic failure (6 days) Subject C: Neurological shutdown—cognitive nullification (14 days)

All three logs, summarized. Three human beings. All ended the same: death.

Your hand hovered over a file labeled simply:

Summary (Log 3571).

You hesitated. Your pulse thudded loud in your ears, the lab’s quiet hum sharpening your anxiety. But you tapped the file anyway.

Veyren appeared once again. He sat slumped at his workstation, hair tangled, eyes sunken. Pale, trembling fingers drummed restlessly on the surface of the desk, his other hand pinched at the bridge of his nose as though fighting a migraine. He looked gaunt—more hollowed-out than any previous log entry.

He didn’t speak immediately. He stared downward, breathing slowly through clenched teeth. When he finally looked up, the lines of his face had hardened into frustration.

“I lost them,” he said simply.

His voice was hollow.

“Subject A went immediately. Body too damaged. He was never going to make it. He died the same day. Complete pulmonary failure. The serum couldn’t repair the damage.”

He closed his eyes briefly, rubbing them like he wanted to scrub the memory away.

“Subject B… I put him in the sealed chamber. He breathed Pandoran atmosphere fine at first—lungs adapted, metabolic systems stable. But on day five, something changed.” He hesitated, his mouth pressing into a tight line. “One second he breathed the air with perfect stability. The next, it was like a switch flipped. He suffocated. As though Eywa herself reached into his lungs and squeezed them shut. No warning. No reason.”

He exhaled, fingers tightening again into fists on the desk.

“Subject C lasted two weeks,” he said quietly. “Two weeks. I kept him comatose for the first days, gave the serum time to stabilize. I really thought—” His voice cracked faintly, but he steadied it again quickly. “I thought I’d done it.”

A bitter laugh broke free, strained and dry.

“But then he woke up. And when he did… there was nothing left. He was like an empty shell. A living corpse—breathing, blinking, heart beating—but no cognitive function. No speech, no reaction, no recognition. Nothing. Just a vacant stare and silence.”

He looked into the camera, eyes wide with frustration.

“I checked the scans. His neural activity was virtually null. As if the serum rewrote something it wasn’t supposed to. But that’s impossible—I calibrated for neurological tolerance. It shouldn’t have reached his cognition.”

He leaned forward, resting his forehead in his hands. The silence stretched until it felt oppressive.

“I don’t understand,” he whispered finally, voice trembling. “It was working. It should have worked. And yet…”

He straightened, glaring bitterly upward.

“Every time, I come close. Every time, I hear Her. I feel Eywa guiding my hand—she shows me exactly what steps to take. Exactly what plant enzyme to combine. Exactly which gene cluster to sequence. I’ve seen it in dreams, heard whispers while I’m awake.”

He paused, swallowing hard.

“But the moment the serum stabilizes, the moment it becomes viable… she rips it away again. Like she’s mocking me. Like she’s testing me.”

He clenched his jaw, breathing hard.

“Maybe…” He paused again, the words dragging themselves from his throat like a confession. “Maybe Eywa sees the truth. Maybe she senses what I’m trying to do and denies it deliberately. Maybe humans aren’t meant to change this drastically. Maybe she doesn’t want us here—not truly. Not breathing her air. Not becoming part of her.”

He stared blankly into the camera, the fire gone from his eyes.

“But why lead me this far, then? Why offer glimpses, hints, whispers, only to snatch it away at the last second? What does She want from me if not this?”

The recording ended abruptly. Your chest felt tight.

The man in that log entry was nothing like the scientist you’d idolized. The passionate young researcher you’d admired was gone, swallowed by obsession and frustration. Now only a hollow, haunted shell remained.

He spoke of Eywa as though She were a partner—then an adversary. Guiding his hands, whispering her secrets, only to deny him. To punish him. It was disturbing—this disjointed, feverish logic. You shivered, chilled by more than the clinical coldness of the lab.

Slowly, you turned your head.

You glanced down the hallway, at those silent, unmarked doors stretching in neat rows.

How many failed subjects were behind those doors? How many more logs would tell the same tragic, desperate tale?

Your mind spun relentlessly, anxiety curling tighter with each heartbeat. You’d stepped willingly into this man’s shadow. You’d built your career around his once-brilliant work. You’d quoted him, admired him, aspired to match his brilliance someday. But now…

Now you understood why he was here, hidden away in secrecy, forgotten by history.

He wasn’t brilliant anymore. He was lost. And maybe, just maybe, dangerously insane.

You tapped the next log, breath held as the date on the screen burned in your vision.

2154, August 25.

Two days after the war ended.

Two days after Jake Sully, the Toruk Makto, led the clans to victory and drove the humans out. You knew the history intimately. Everyone did. That moment had become legend.

But you had never seen it through his eyes. The holoscreen blinked to life.

Veyren was seated exactly where you were now—at the very same desk, his reflection like a ghost echoing through time. But he looked… wrecked. Thinner. Gaunt. His hair was longer, falling loose over his shoulders, and his face was pale beneath the screen’s flickering light. The lab behind him was a mess—papers scattered, wires unspooled like veins across the floor. Half the room was in disarray, as though he’d stopped trying to maintain the order that once defined his work.

And yet—he smiled.

A strange, defeated kind of smile.

“Log 5009,” he said, voice rasped, frayed at the edges. “It’s over. We lost.”

He leaned back slowly in the chair, arms crossing over his chest, eyes fixed somewhere just above the lens.

“The humans were exiled. All of them. Only the select few remained. Scientists with clean records. Trusted avatar drivers. No one like me.”

He laughed softly. A bitter, thin sound.

“I suppose that’s why Eywa never let my serum work,” he muttered. “Maybe she always knew this would happen. Maybe she saw the future and thought—‘Why bother?’” He smiled again, distant. “We were never meant to stay here. Not really. We were meant to burn out. To die. On Earth, and here too.”

He turned, grabbing a datapad just out of frame, tapping through it with trembling fingers.

“I got a message from the RDA this morning,” he said after a pause. “Encrypted, direct-line, pre-exile clearance. Last one I’ll ever get, probably.”

His voice dropped an octave. Became a mocking echo of command authority.

‘The Avatar Program’s tech systems will be transferred back to your facility. Final delivery inbound before colony shutdown. You are to safeguard the remaining equipment. This is not the end, Dr. Veyren. We will return. And when we do—we’ll need options.’

He looked into the camera, lips twitching into something like a smirk.

“They meant me.”

He leaned in slightly, voice sharpening, full of irony.

“Isn’t that something? They exiled their own, blew up the forest, and called it defeat—but they still need me. When the next wave comes, they want a backup plan. They want to own their bodies this time.”

He ran both hands through his hair, pacing his breath.

“They’ve realized the flaw in the system. Avatars are slow. Expensive. Clunky. One body takes six years to grow—fully calibrated, gene-sequenced, neural-synced. We didn’t come here with enough time, and we never will.”

He tilted his head.

“So they asked me—without saying it directly. Fix it.” His eyes lit, faintly. Not with joy. But with the quiet madness of purpose rediscovered. “And maybe they’re right. Maybe altering the human body was always the chaotic solution. Maybe it’s not about rewriting our genome—it’s about perfecting the Na’vi’s.”

He turned back to the datapad.

“Jake Sully… he didn’t just survive. He transcended.”

His voice softened, reverent in a way you’d never heard before.

“Every step he took was like a hymn. Eywa blessed him. She didn’t reject his presence—she welcomed it. He was permitted. A transfer. From flesh to flesh. His human body was shed like a skin, and the Na’vi body became him. Fully. Permanently.”

He looked into the camera, the fire starting to return to his gaze.

“So maybe that’s the answer. Not transgenic adaptation. Not serum. Not air. Transfer. Acceptance.”

He stood then, restless now, gesturing with sharp movements as he paced across the screen.

“Grace died before hers completed. But Jake—his was whole. His bond with the Omatikaya. His connection to their people. To Eywa. He was chosen.”

He stopped short, pressing his palms flat to the edge of the desk.

“I need to replicate that. Mass produce that. A system. A model. A base Na’vi shell—grown faster, cheaper, configurable to human neural templates within weeks, not years.”

He rubbed at his temple, thoughtful.

“I don’t just want a new species. I want a vessel. A bridge. A body that passes beneath Eywa’s gaze without rejection. Something she sees not as an abomination, but as… acceptable.”

A long silence passed. Then his voice softened.

“Maybe then I’ll understand Her. Maybe if I build it right… She’ll speak to me again.”

The log ended.

You staring at the blank holo-screen. This was no longer about science. It hadn’t been for years. This wasn’t a project. It was a crusade.

Veyren wasn’t trying to help humanity survive anymore.

He was trying to be accepted by something ancient. Something sacred. Something that had never once spoken directly to a human.

And maybe—just maybe—he believed if he built the right vessel… he could finally belong. You leaned back slowly, your spine prickling. The silence of the lab pressed in again, too heavy now to ignore. Somewhere in this place, Veyren was sleeping—or pretending to. And behind the quiet hum of machines, the real question clawed deeper into your thoughts:

What had he built in all these years? And had Eywa ever really listened?

You stayed in the chair. The logs blurred together. Hours passed unnoticed.

You didn’t eat. You didn’t drink. You barely moved—except to swipe your thumb over the datapad again and again, each motion more reluctant, more compelled than the last. Each tap like peeling back another page of someone’s unraveling.

Veyren’s unraveling.

Log from 2158. Location: Corridor Lab 3A

The holoscreen snapped on to a sterile, dimly lit chamber you’d never seen before. It had the same modular walls, the same flickering lights—but this room was colder. Narrow. Filled with a deep, bioluminescent blue glow.

And at the center—four amnio tanks.

They stood like pillars, each filled with translucent fluid, each connected by humming cables and silent vitals monitors. Within the softly lit liquid, figures floated. Humanoid, yet still unfinished. Limbs long but not yet filled out. Their skin tinted that unmistakable blue, their features gently alien—Na’vi.

But not grown. Not yet.

Children. Or the beginnings of them. Your stomach clenched.

You’d seen only one avatar body suspended in a tank before—Grace’s. Back in the ruins of Hell’s Gate. It had hovered in its chamber like something sacred. Untouchable. Even dead, it had felt alive.

But this… this was different. Four of them. Small. Quiet. Fragile. Veyren stood beside them, half in shadow.

“Log 5748,” he said, voice low. “Subject group Two. Delta and Beta were failures. Alpha and Gamma too. Tissue instability. Neurovascular collapse. But these…”

He placed a hand on the thick glass of one tank, staring into it like it might blink back.

“DNA is identical across all four shells. Human neural templates normalized, Avatar cortex adjusted for rapid sequencing. Same base code. Same markers. But… different growth rates. This one,”—he tapped the glass gently—“is twelve percent behind. Why?”

His voice wasn’t angry. Just puzzled. Frustrated.

He stepped toward the tank farthest on the right.

Inside floated a young Na’vi girl. Her body was still childlike—her tail barely developed, her hands curled close to her chest—but you could already see her features forming. Delicate. Uncluttered by time.

“I named her Epsilon,” he said, smiling faintly. “She’s the first of this series to reach viable stage two growth without mutation. No human DNA in her baseline. She’s a clean shell.”

He placed a hand gently on the glass. The fluid shimmered faintly.

“She’s perfect.” You couldn’t look away.

Veyren was speaking to her like she could hear him. Like she might respond. And he meant it. This wasn’t observation. It was affection. Quiet. Measured. But there.

“She grows slowly. Slower than the others. But she endures.” He didn’t smile. Not anymore.

He just turned away, and the log cut.

You jumped ahead—Log 6105, dated 2160.

Veyren again. Older. Thinner. His beard patchy, eyes bloodshot. The lighting in the lab was always dim now, his quarters barely lit at all. Most logs weren’t even addressed to anyone anymore. They were murmurs. Private rambles. Fragmented thoughts muttered into the air.

You watched as he soldered a control circuit with shaking hands. He didn’t speak for the first two minutes—just the sound of his breathing, the buzz of the welding pen, the occasional grunt.

Then, softly: “Omikron died today.”

He didn’t look up.

“The tank failed. Oxygen leak. I knew the protein bonds were wrong, I should’ve aborted the development last cycle. Should’ve started over.”

He set the tool down, ran both hands over his face. “I buried him in the nutrient trench. Said a few words.”

You blinked.

Buried. He was burying them. Like children.ó He turned, angled the camera without speaking. A slow pan across the tanks. Two were empty. One was dark.

Only one still glowed—faintly. Epsilon.

“She’s still with me,” he whispered. “She always is. No neural degradation. No vascular deformation. Every check shows she’s still viable.”

He leaned closer to the tank, the image blurry.

“I don’t think she’s just lucky. I think… she’s listening.”

You stared at the screen, pulse thudding in your neck. What was this man doing?

In another log from April, he walked the corridor alone, murmuring to himself.

“They’re talking again. Whispering when I sleep. Not voices. Not really. Just… pressure. Like something behind my ears. Like she’s here. Watching.”

He didn’t explain who she was anymore. You didn’t need him to.

Log 9720. 2170.

A ten-year jump.

You knew the moment you saw him, this was nearing the end of something. Veyren looked hollowed. His cheekbones sharp. His voice so soft you had to raise the volume. He was seated beside one of the tanks, a hand resting gently on the steel.

The tank held a male avatar. Larger now—almost full-grown. The body twitched once, a reflexive, unconscious movement.

Like a baby rolling in a womb.

Veyren barely reacted.

“I’ve always wanted to drive one,” he said, not looking at the camera. “Always thought that if I could feel what they felt—walk through the forest without a mask—maybe I’d understand Eywa.” His voice cracked slightly. “Maybe I’d hear Her.”

He sat there, for a long while.

"Maybe I was always meant to watch. Never join. Never belong."

Then he reached up and turned the recording off. You sat back slowly, heart heavy, breath uneven. His words echoed, twisting through your mind like ghosts, leaving behind more questions than they'd answered.

Had Eywa ever truly guided him—or had he been chasing an echo, a delusion formed from isolation?

And why… Why had he kept going, alone, through all those empty decades?

You sat numb.

Years ago, Veyren had been obsessed with survival. Then with adaptation. Then… with becoming something more. But now? Now you saw the truth.

He was chasing Her.

Eywa.

Every cell grown. Every serum mixed. Every body named and buried and replaced. It was all for Her. And as you stared at the screen, your throat dry, your hands clenched— You wondered if Epsilon was still in that tank. Still floating. Still listening. Still waiting.

You scrolled through the logs, your throat tightening as you tapped the next video.

The holoscreen flickered to life again.

Log 10025 — 2171.

It was dark, the dim glow barely illuminating the room. Veyren sat slumped against the wall, knees drawn up, staring blankly ahead. You shivered, leaning closer to the holoscreen instinctively.

He didn’t speak at first. Didn’t move. Just stared. Then, softly, barely audible: “She’s a fortress. A perfect, beautiful fortress.”

He tilted his head back against the cold wall, eyes vacant and rimmed dark with exhaustion. “How do you understand something that perfect? How can something mortal—flawed, like us—ever comprehend something so complete?”

He closed his eyes briefly. “I just wanted to see Her,” he whispered. “Just once. To feel what She feels.”

A slow exhale.

“It’s not fair,” he murmured, voice cracking. “She speaks through every leaf, every root, every breath. But never to me. Why not to me?”

The log ended abruptly, plunging the room back into silence.

You kept watching, heart hammering now, unable to stop yourself from tapping the next log.

Log 10684 — 2173.

Veyren stood silently before an amnio tank, face pressed gently against the glass, one hand touching its surface reverently. “I lost Theta today,” he said, voice distant, as though reporting to someone. “Her vitals crashed so quickly. Like she was summoned. Maybe Eywa called her child back home.”

He looked down, eyes hollow. “Maybe… maybe she always calls them back.” He stayed there, pressed to the glass, breathing slowly, eyes fixed on the still form of the avatar inside.

Time blurred as you continued, each log increasingly fragmented. Sometimes he talked. Sometimes he just stared. Sometimes he laughed softly at nothing, muttering to shadows. Your skin prickled with each entry, watching the slow, inevitable descent of a brilliant mind into isolation-fueled madness.

You forced yourself onward.

Log 11207 — 2175.

This time, Veyren appeared more alert. Still thin, haunted—but focused. He stood before two large amnio tanks, both fully illuminated.

“I figured it out,” he said simply, pride creeping back into his voice. “I can grow them now. Less than a year. Ten months, maybe less. Genome streamlined. Growth hormones perfected. Neural compatibility almost instantaneous.”

His eyes shone brighter as he gestured to the tank on the left. Inside floated a male avatar, features faintly familiar. You leaned closer, pulse quickening—it looked like him. The same angular lines, the same shape to the brow. Altered, yes, softened slightly to Na’vi proportions—but undeniably him.

“This one was mine,” he murmured quietly. “I used my own base sequence, modified by 40%. But you can still see it. It’s still me, somewhere in there.”

He turned slowly to the second tank—and your breath hitched again.

Inside floated Epsilon.

You’d seen her before—smaller, childlike. But now she was fully matured. Her long, raven-black hair floated gently in the fluid, framing features smooth and serene, graceful limbs suspended effortlessly. Her bioluminescent markings shimmered faintly beneath the blue liquid.

Veyren stepped closer, hand hovering lovingly over the glass.

“She is my miracle,” he whispered. “Seventeen years and she still thrives. Other prototypes die—within days, sometimes months. But not her.”

He looked up, eyes shining softly. “I think… I think she’s Eywa’s favorite. Her chosen. Waiting for something I can’t yet understand. But I’ll wait too. However long it takes.”

His voice lowered, almost reverent. “Whatever she’s waiting for… I want to be here when it happens.”

The log flickered out.

You sat frozen, staring at the now-black holoscreen. Every muscle felt locked in place.

Seventeen years. A body, waiting patiently in fluid and silence, for nearly two decades.

How many bodies had he made? How many lay behind those doors? How many secrets were buried here beneath Pandora’s lush forests, hidden from both Na’vi and human eyes alike?

And most importantly, your mind whispered fiercely—

Was Epsilon still alive?

And if so, what exactly was she waiting for?

Log 11478 – 2176 The screen flickered on, dimmer than usual. Just blackness at first. Then a slow light—pale, cold—and Veyren came into view.

He was sitting on the floor of his quarters again, knees drawn up, back pressed against the wall beneath a flickering panel. The overhead light barely touched him. He looked thinner than ever, sunken-eyed, the ghost of the man you once idolized. The room around him was shadowed, a hollow cave of quiet machines.

His voice came slowly. Dry. Stripped raw.

“I died,” he whispered.

He didn’t look at the camera. Just stared forward, eyes unfocused, as if trying to remember how it felt.

“I decanted him—the body,” he said. “The one with my genome. The closest thing I’ve ever made to… me. Seventeen years of research. Generations of failure. But he was ready.”

A pause.

“I checked every system. Calibrated the pod. Neural pairing showed 97.8% sync. I climbed in, initiated transfer.”

You leaned closer, barely breathing.

“I remember it clearly,” he murmured. “The link pulled me in. There was light. A weightlessness. I felt the jungle in the back of my mind. I opened my eyes—his eyes.”

He swallowed. “And then… nothing.” He lifted his trembling hands in front of the camera.

“I was ripped back. Woke gasping in the pod. Heart racing. Body shaking. I thought—I thought I’d had a seizure. But no. He was gone. The avatar collapsed. Brain dead. Total shutdown.”

He lowered his hands. Pressed them to his face. “It was like dying.” Silence. “I think Eywa hates me,” he said, finally. “I must be cursed.”

He laughed, short and sharp—no humor in it.

“Everything I’ve done… it’s all been for nothing. All the years. All the logs. The theories. The grief. I will never belong to this place. Never be one of them. She doesn’t want me.”

He leaned his head back against the wall with a soft thud, exhaling through his teeth.

“I’ve started shutting them down,” he said quietly. “The other tanks. Delta, Gamma, Zeta… even Omikron. It’s time.”

His gaze dropped.

“They don’t have minds. Not without drivers. Just sleeping flesh. But I can’t leave them like this. They were never meant to be prisoners.”

Another breath.

“I’m letting them go back to Her. To the roots. Even if She never sees them.”

The screen flickered faintly as he shifted, the image shaking slightly.

“But not Epsilon.” His tone changed—gentler now. Softer. Almost reverent. “She’s still here. Still breathing. Seventeen years. She never failed. Never twitched wrong. Never sickened.”

He turned his face slightly toward the camera now, the light catching in the wet gleam of his eyes.

“She’s waiting,” he whispered. “I know it. For what—I don’t understand. Maybe not for me. Maybe not for anyone. But she’s constant. Still.”

He looked away, toward something you couldn’t see—maybe the tank just outside the frame.

“I talk to her sometimes. I think she hears me. Or maybe I’m losing my mind. Doesn’t matter.”

He smiled faintly, eyes distant.

“She’s not just a specimen. She’s… peace. The one thing I haven’t broken.” His voice dipped almost to silence. “I can’t let her go.”

The screen froze there. His hunched form, shadows stretching around him like the ribs of some sleeping beast. Then—

End of log.

You sat in that stillness a long time, your chest hollow.

So that was it. The great Dr. Elias Veyren. The prodigy. The pioneer. The man who tried to outwit a goddess. And now, after all these years, the only thing he had left… was a sleeping avatar floating in a tank. Waiting. And maybe—just maybe—not for him.

Log 13001 — 2180

You tapped it. The screen came alive again, and this time, you blinked in surprise. He looked… better.

Veyren sat at the desk—not hunched, not hollowed out, but composed. His hair was clean, pulled back in a low tie. His beard had been trimmed and shaped, and for the first time in dozens of recordings, he wore a fresh lab coat. The lighting was even. The room around him was tidied, as if scrubbed back to its original state.

For a second, you thought it might be an old log. But then he spoke. And his voice was older. Clear. Steady.

“They came back.”

He looked into the lens, eyes sharper than you'd seen in years of footage.

“The RDA.”

A slow, bitter smile crept over his face—not triumphant. Not even surprised. Just tired.

“They landed last week. I got the message six months before, of course. They wanted to know what I’ve been doing these past thirty years. Thirty years.” He shook his head. “They used to call me reckless. Dangerous. Now they call me an asset.”

He leaned forward.

“They want Syeha. The full genome progression. The delivery sequences. They want the blueprint for mass-producing avatars—my streamlining protocols, my acceleration serum. They want the ‘recipe.’” His fingers curled into fists atop the desk. “And they don’t care what it cost.”

He paused.

“I used to hope for this,” he admitted, softly. “Back in the first decade, when the logs still felt like letters to someone. I used to hope I’d see people again. Be part of something. But now?”

He leaned back, breath catching.

“They’re strangers to me.” His voice dropped. “They’re aliens.”

He stared ahead for a long moment. The screen caught the subtle shift in his expression—something like grief, but older than that. Worn thin with time.

“They walk in here like they understand what I’ve done. What I’ve lost. They talk in numbers. In payloads. In scalability. They bring me samples like bribes. Viperwolf specimens. Rare orchids. A whole fucking cluster of carnivorous spores from the mist biomes.”

He laughed. Sharp. Exhausted.

“They even brought me a new exo-mask. Said I could walk outside again if I wanted. ‘Get fresh air, Doctor.’”

His voice turned cold.

“I don’t want your air.” He stood, the frame adjusting slightly as he paced. “I don’t want your masks or your plants or your bribes. I don’t want your desperation disguised as hope. You think because I worked alone, I must want your company?”

He turned back, face dark now.

“No. I want you to leave.”

His voice hardened.

“There is no world where humanity belongs here. No future where we root ourselves into this land without rot following behind us.”

He placed both palms on the desk, leaning forward again.

“This planet does not want us. Eywa does not want us.”

He looked past the camera then—his eyes drifting toward something unseen, something beyond the screen.

“Except maybe… her.”

You knew who he meant.

Epsilon.

He sat slowly, the mask of composure cracking around the edges.

“They don’t understand. All these years, all these failures—because she knows. Eywa knows. Every time I tried to force the path, to shape it with my own hands, she broke it. She stopped me. Like a parent slapping a match out of a child’s hand before it sets the whole forest on fire.”

He exhaled. Long. Quiet.

“I’m tired of being the child.”

The silence stretched, filled only by the low hum of the machines. “I won’t give them the serum,” he said finally. “And I won’t give them the bodies.”

He looked back into the lens—into you, without knowing it.

“This world belongs to the Na’vi. It always did.” His eyes softened. “And if they won’t listen to that truth, then let them choke on the air like we did at the beginning.”

End of log.

You sat there for a long time, hands tight around the edge of the datapad. In that moment, Elias Veyren didn’t sound mad. He sounded right. More than any scientist, more than any outsider who had stepped foot on this moon— He understood.

And maybe that was the real curse. He understood it too late.

You scrolled quickly toward the last log entries, eyes scanning the dates anxiously until one caught your attention.

Log 13178 – 2180/06/14

You stopped. Breath tight in your chest. The exact date when you’d stood at that mining pit. The same night you’d stumbled, fallen, gotten lost, alone, injured.

Heart racing now, you tapped the log entry, dread pooling slowly in your stomach as the screen flickered to life again.

The scene unfolded before you.

Veyren sat at his workstation—his face drawn tight with anger, shoulders tense beneath his rumpled coat. It looked like he’d just come out of some confrontation, some conflict, his eyes still smoldering with cold fury.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low, clipped, barely contained.

“They came again today,” he said, fingers tightening sharply around the edge of the table. “The RDA. They came here like they owned the forest, with heli and dragon.”

He spat the word as if it tasted bitter on his tongue.

“They wanted to ‘check in.’ To monitor progress—as if I’m still their property, still their damned asset. After everything.”

He exhaled roughly, jaw clenching tightly as he looked up.

“But this time… this time they wanted something else.”

He lifted his gaze directly toward the camera.

“They wanted Epsilon.”

Your heart clenched at his words. Even now, after all you’d learned, the mention of her sent a strange ache through your chest.

“They said they needed her,” he continued. “Needed her to ‘verify stability.’ They wanted to take her, to run their own experiments, to dissect her—to take her apart piece by piece, like some goddamned lab rat.”

He let out a breathless, cold laugh, hollow and devoid of any humor.

“As if I would let them touch her.” His voice dropped dangerously low, the edge razor-sharp. “I pointed a gun at them. First time in thirty years I held a gun, but god help me—I was ready to fire. They left quickly after that.”

He paused, silence stretching. Then, slowly, the hardness in his expression softened slightly. His voice shifted—no longer sharp-edged anger, but thoughtful, quiet, almost distant.

“You know… dreams are strange things.” His gaze drifted toward the floor, brow creasing slightly. “It’s been decades since I’ve had one. Not a real dream—not anything I’d remember in the morning.”

His voice was lower now, softer. “But last night… last night, I dreamed.”

He leaned forward, elbows resting on the table, eyes glazed with distant memory.

“I was standing in the forest. Not this cold lab, not these sterile walls—real earth beneath my feet. Trees stretching to the sky above me, bioluminescence brighter than stars. I could feel wind. I could smell soil.”

He hesitated, swallowing carefully.

“And then I heard it… my name. Soft, repeated, whispered through leaves, through roots, like the forest itself was chanting—calling to me. Elias. Elias. Elias.”

He shook his head slowly, a bitter, tired smile tugging faintly at his lips.

“But when I turned around, no one was there. Just empty woods and whispers.” He chuckled once, softly, the sound humorless, broken. “I’ve clearly lost it. Truly, completely insane.”

He lifted his gaze back to the lens—eyes sad, tired, full of quiet resignation.

“Perhaps this is how it ends, then. A madman alone in a hidden lab beneath a foreign moon, dreaming that the trees are calling his name.”

He let out a slow, weary breath.

“Maybe it’s just Eywa mocking me. Or maybe I’ve finally cracked.”

He stared into the lens one last moment, eyes flickering with something fragile and lost. “Either way… I’m tired of fighting. Whatever happens now… I’ll wait for her call again. Even if it’s only in dreams.”

End of log.

The screen faded back into darkness, leaving you alone again, heart beating heavily in your chest.

So, he’d dreamed—he’d dreamed the very night you’d fallen into the pit. The same night you had lost yourself, wandering blindly in the forest.

You shivered, a strange feeling crawling up your spine. Your pulse echoed in your ears, louder in the absolute silence of the lab. It felt like coincidence—but a part of you, deep down, didn’t believe in those anymore. Not after Pandora.

You swallowed thickly, staring blankly at the dark screen. Something had shifted. Something had changed. You didn’t know what it meant—not yet—but you knew it mattered.

And for the first time, sitting alone in this strange place, you felt certain of one thing:

You weren’t here by accident.

Your eyes drifted slowly over the screen, catching on a file titled simply: 'Lost Girl'

Your breath stilled. The date was unmistakable—it was the very day you'd woken here, underground. The day your life had shifted forever. With trembling fingers, you tapped the file open.

The screen flickered, then filled with the familiar room. The sterile white walls, the quiet hum of machinery. And there—right behind Veyren, lying unconscious in the hospital bed—was you.

Your breath hitched sharply, hand flying to your mouth as you watched yourself—pale, fragile, barely breathing, your chest rising and falling in shallow rhythms. Tubes and IV lines snaked over your limbs, the bandage around your head stark against your dark hair. It felt wrong to see yourself this way, so exposed, so vulnerable.

Veyren appeared closer to the camera, his face tired, his eyes wary and uncertain. He looked back at your sleeping form for a brief second, before exhaling slowly and turning fully to the lens.

"I never imagined I'd step outside again," he began softly, voice heavy with disbelief and exhaustion. "Three decades underground. Three decades I haven't set foot above, haven’t breathed real air. But last night…" he shook his head, eyes distant with memory. "Something called to me. Something drew me out there. A voice, a whisper. I thought—" He sighed roughly. "I thought I'd gone insane. Completely. But then—I found her."

He glanced back at your sleeping body, expression unreadable.

"She was in a thanator den. Half-dead. Barely breathing. Bleeding out from a wound at the back of her head, deep enough to see bone. There’s no way she should have survived that."

His voice softened, gaze narrowing slightly in thought.

"I almost didn't notice at first… but when I moved her, I saw them." He hesitated briefly, then rose, the camera shaking slightly as he carried it back to his lab, away from the room where you'd slept.

The view changed to his cluttered desk, and there—spread out across the surface—were delicate, silvery mycelia, like fine threads of silk. Roots. Fragile tendrils.

"These were wrapped around her neck and head when I found her," he murmured, fingers brushing lightly over the thin, shimmering filaments. "They came up out of the earth beneath her, like they’d grown directly into her. Like they were a part of her."

His eyes glittered sharply, curiosity and confusion warring behind them.

"Almost like a neural queue," he whispered, voice catching slightly. "Like a connection. To Eywa. But how—how could Eywa form that connection with a human? What is she? Why would the Great Mother save her? Maybe I’ve gone mad. But these are real. These tendrils grew into her. The sensors confirmed partial neural resonance.” His eyes darted, his mind clearly spiraling through thoughts. “She was unconscious. But something down there—something—tethered to her.”

His gaze turned inward, jaw tight with thought.

"Her condition was… unstable. Critically unstable. Last night, on her first night here, she crashed completely. Cardiac arrest. Circulation collapsed. I had to revive her. More than once." His voice trailed into quiet uncertainty. "I didn't think she’d make it."

He paused, a heavy silence stretching as he sat slowly into the chair before the desk, head bowed into his hands for a moment. When he finally lifted his gaze again, it was filled with a quiet desperation.

"I didn’t know what else to do," he confessed slowly, his voice rough. "I had nothing left. So, I injected her with Syeha. My final version. The last vial."

Your heart seized sharply, a gasp escaping your mouth involuntarily. His voice grew quieter still, almost a whisper now.

"I fully expected her to die," he admitted, exhaustion etched deep in his face. "Just like everyone else before her. But she didn't. Her vitals stabilized. Got stronger. She survived the night."

He looked directly into the camera, pale eyes wide, almost haunted, but hopeful in a way you hadn't yet seen.

"I feel… I feel like she’ll survive this."

The recording ended.

You sat frozen, trembling, eyes fixed blankly on the darkened holoscreen.

He injected you. Without your consent. Without your knowledge. With a serum that had killed, destroyed, broken everyone and everything it had touched before you. You swallowed harshly, throat tight with nausea.

Your mind raced, wild and frantic. What had he done? What had he made you?

Your gaze flicked numbly down to the files again, barely registering another entry marked yesterday, afternoon, timestamped just hours earlier, while you'd slept unaware.

Hands trembling violently now, you tapped it open.

The screen flashed awake, Veyren appearing clearer, sharper, more vibrant than you'd ever seen him—his eyes sparkling with the kind of wonder and energy you'd watched fade from him across decades of logs.

"She woke up," he began immediately, his voice breathless with awe, with genuine astonishment. "She woke up, and she spoke. She ate food, drank water. She moves. She thinks. She's… she's normal."

He let out a shaky breath, leaning forward eagerly toward the camera.

"She’s alive. She’s really alive. After the serum—after everything—she survived. I don't understand how. Maybe… maybe it was those mycelia. Maybe Eywa herself protected her, stabilized her somehow. Maybe she’s chosen."

He laughed softly, joyless and startled, eyes alight with frantic hope and confusion. "I spent three decades buried here, thinking I'd failed—thinking Eywa had cursed me. But what if—" His voice broke, trembled slightly. "What if this was why I was here? What if she is why I am here?"

The log flickered closed.

The room pressed in around you, crushingly silent, your pulse thundered loudly in your ears.

You’d been experimented on—changed. The serum that had killed countless others coursed through your veins even now. And you’d never known it.

Yet somehow… you were still breathing. Still conscious. Still you. You sat back slowly in the chair, chest heaving with shallow breaths, panic, confusion, anger, and awe swirling violently inside your chest.

Who—or what—were you now? And why had Eywa spared you?

You sat numbly, your eyes locked blankly on the darkened holoscreen. The realization—the weight of it—pressed heavy in your chest, suffocating.

Modified.

You were no longer simply human. The serum—the same serum that had killed countless others, that had left them hollow, lifeless shells—now coursed silently through your veins. If Veyren was to be believed, if the logs you’d just watched were true, you could breathe the toxic Pandoran air without an exomask.

A shuddering breath filled your lungs, half terror, half cautious excitement. The idea was thrilling and terrifying. Impossible and intoxicating.

And suddenly, sharply, your mind flashed to Neteyam.

Your breath caught sharply in your throat.

The thought seized you fiercely—if this were true, if you truly could breathe the air of Pandora, it meant—

You could kiss him. You could kiss Neteyam without worry, without the barrier of the mask, without the fear of suffocation clawing at the edges of your awareness. For just one moment, joy surged wild and uncontrolled within you, your heart thundering at the thought of finally feeling his lips against yours, unguarded, unhindered.

A quiet sound, the soft shuffle of footsteps, broke sharply through your thoughts.

Your heart jolted violently in your chest.

You spun instinctively, gripping the datapad like a shield.

Veyren stood at the entrance to the lab, silent, unmoving, his pale gaze fixed steadily on you. Shadows clung heavily beneath his eyes, lines of exhaustion etched deep into his face. Yet there was a calmness there, a steadiness, as if he'd already anticipated this moment, had prepared himself for it.

Your voice came out rough, thin, trembling violently with barely contained fear and disbelief.

"What did you do to me?"

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he stepped slowly into the room, movements careful, measured, as if wary of spooking you further.

"I didn't think you would find it this early," he murmured softly, voice weary, almost resigned.

You stared at him, your knuckles white where you gripped the datapad, chest heaving shallowly.

“What did you do?” you whispered again, desperation and fear woven tightly through your voice.

His gaze met yours fully now—steady, unapologetic, yet edged with something softer, something more conflicted.

“I saved you,” he said quietly, calmly, as though stating a simple fact.

Thank you for your unwavering patience! Q_Q

Part 27: (Soon)

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creature-wizard · 10 months ago

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Scams, Hoaxes, Conspiracy Theories, & Cults Everyone Should Know About

Jilly Juice: Jillian Mai Thi Epperly claimed drinking sixteen cups of her super salty cabbage concoction each day could regrow missing limbs and cure everything from cancer to homosexuality. In reality, overdosing on so much salt caused followers a host of health issues that Epperley dismissed as "healing symptoms."

Nonhuman Body Hoax: Jaime Maussan attempted to pass off mummified human remains as nonhuman beings to the Mexican government. (This isn't even Maussan's first hoax, by the way. He has a history.)

Love Has Won: Amy Carlson, a woman who'd walked out on her own children, started a New Age cult in which she presented herself as "Mother God," the creator of the universe. She claimed to be in contact with dead celebrities and alien beings, and taught a conspiratorial worldview. As her health declined, she attempted to treat herself with colloidal silver and alcohol, and her behavior became increasingly abusive. When she finally died, her followers sincerely believed she would return to life and kept her body in a sleeping bag. (She did not return to life.)

Seed Faith Offerings: Reverend Gene Ewing came up with the perfect get-rich-quick scheme to prey on desperate Christian believers: tell believers that if they "sowed seed" by giving money to him, God would bless them with even more money in the future. He made millions of dollars from these donations, while most of his followers never saw the miraculous returns they were promised.

William Walker Atkinson: In the early 20th century, William Walker Atkinson wrote around one hundred books, many of which he wrote under various pseudonyms. Some of these pseudonyms included alleged Hindu mystics. That's right - this guy was practicing literary brownface to sell his mystical ideas.

The LDS Church: In the 19th century, a man named Joseph Smith claimed that an angel had told him where to dig up a set of golden plates that were supposedly written by ancient Hebrews who'd come to North America. Smith even had eleven close associates who vouched for the plates' existence. Yet the script they were allegedly written in bore no relation to actual ancient scripts of the Near East, and the the names the locations in the books he "translated" were very obviously derived from placenames he would have been familiar with. (For example, Oneida/Onidah.) Oh, and actual archaeology and DNA studies have discredited pretty much everything from this guy's weird racist narrative.

Fake Cancer, Fake Cure: Wellness entrepreneur Belle Gibson claimed that she'd cured her brain cancer with natural remedies. Gibson never actually had cancer in the first place.

Medbeds: Back in 2020, QAnons and QAnon-adjacent people started circulating claims that a new form of healing technology was about to become available to the public within the next several months or so. Depending on who you asked, Donald Trump, Elon Musk, and even the Galactic Federation of Light were involved. The time of their supposed unveiling came and went, and what do you know, there are still no functioning medbeds used in actual medicine.

COVID Vaccine Zombies: Conspiracy theorists have been claiming the government practices high-tech mind control for ages now. One recent iteration of this is a conspiracy theory claiming that people who'd received COVID vaccinations would have malicious DNA code activated by 5G on October 4, 2023, turn into zombies, and riot. The time came and went, and no zombie outbreak happened.

Ms.Scribe: In the early 2000s, a Harry Potter fan known as "msscribe" or "Ms.Scribe" faked her own harassment through a number of sockpuppets, with the apparent goal of becoming friends with some Harry Potter fandom bigwigs. She manipulated the fandom for a few years until the deception was finally uncovered.

#scams #hoaxes #cults #conspiracy theories #pseudoscience #quackery #history

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goldenfutureittech34 · 4 months ago

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sweetflanfiction · 7 months ago

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Asymetrical Symphony - Part 15

Universe: Arcane (LOL)

Pairing: Viktor x reader

Summary: You had been on the rooftop with Jayce and the Herald and somehow you were sent to a place where things can be different with your help

Disclaimers and Warnings: If you want me to tag you on the chapters let me know! Also leave a comment with your thoughts :D Not finished, not proofread. English isn't my 1st language. All I know about LOL is from google and all I know about Arcane is taken from the show, so inacuracies will be plenty. I have a sort of idea on how to I'm gonna go with magic and runes, so bear with me. The reader will be written as GN (going by they/them) to get everyone involved, but if you see any discrepancies let me know.

A.N: I've made some cute headers for the thing!!! What do you guys think??

Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4 • Part 5 • Part 6 • Part 7 • Part 8 • Part 9 • Part 10 • Part 11 • Part 12 • Part 13 • Part 14

• ··········· • ············ •

It was fascinating how quickly he realized that, for hextech to go astray, one of them had to die. There was no doubt in his mind that if his tech had been deviated to another path, one of its creators had to disappear.

“That’s a complicated question to answer.” looked back at him, smiling sadly. “If it helps us keep the tech away from her, I need to know.” “It’s not that I don’t want to tell you…It’s just that complicated… The answer is both, neither, and I don’t know.”

He leaned back in his chair and ran a hand over his hair, frustration written on his handsome features.

“Maybe… if we could try the rune in a safe environment…” Viktor made his way back towards you, placing his tray on the table you had placed yours on, and sat down. “...we can figure out what it is.”

The taller man gently placed a plate on the piano bench next to your thigh. It contained two of the same creamy strawberry pastries he had given you before. You looked at him and smiled as he mentioned them to you with a tilt of his head.

Jayce immediately grabbed the mug with coffee and took a swig. Viktor, however, had a mug filled with something that was topped with heavy cream and what looked like chocolate powder. If it tasted like it looked, it must just be a sugary bomb to his palate. He grabbed a spoon and took a small piece of cream, bringing it to his mouth, closing his eyes as the sweetness hit his tongue.

It was strange watching him bring any food to his lips since his counterpart almost had to be force-fed. It was even stranger when he actually made a little approval sound of whatever he was eating.

“Councilor Tallis.” A familiar voice came from the entrance, and the clicking of heels followed it.

Jayce immediately looked back at Mel’s approach, straightening up and pushing a hand through his hair, trying to comb it back in place.

The beautiful woman walked towards the piano, the golden lines on her skin shimmering and reflecting light. You had to admit, Mel Medarda was perfection. Add that to her cunning and her smarts, and it shouldn't surprise anyone that she became a sorceress herself.

“Ah, the troupe is all here.” She said, jokingly, her smile not reaching her eyes but seemingly honest nonetheless. She looked at you and extended a hand. “I don’t believe we have been formally introduced. Mel Medarda, Head Councilor.”

You got up from your seat at the piano and shook her hand, wanting to add “universe hopper” at the end but deciding not to.

“That was quite the first impression.” She kept smiling at you, placing a hand on Jayce’s shoulder, and the inventor smiled up at her. “Not my usual MO, but unfortunately it couldn't be helped.” You answered, smiling back at her, sitting back down. “I look forward to speaking with you in the future. I do need to steal Councilor Tallis away for a moment. Governing body business and all that.” She rolled her eyes as she squeezed Jayce’s shoulders, and the man stood up.

If you had to hazard a guess, the 'governing body business' involved Jayce recounting what had happened in the lab with her mother and Salo on their little impromptu inspection.

“No need for stealing council Medarda,” Viktor said, not looking up at her from his sugary delight. “We gladly offer him over…”

Jayce looked back at his partner with an unamused expression.

“We’ll finish this later.” He looked at Viktor and then back at you.

As they both walked away, you resumed your playing, your fingers drifting over the keys spontaneously. You saw Viktor’s head snap up as he scooped the last drop of cream into his mug, leaving only a beige-looking liquid in it.

“I take it you don’t know how to play.” You looked back at the keys, gently swaying with the melody. “I write numbers on a blackboard, and I tinker with things that more often than not explode in my face. Much like writing music, playing music escapes me.” He pointed the spoon to the keys. “Wanna try?”

You suggestively raised your eyebrows and tilted your head to the keys, enticing the poor scientist. Sliding over to one side of the bench, you patted the space, taking the small pink pastry and eating it in one bite. He looked confused at first, but his curiosity got the better of him. The need to know things and try things were always qualities that didn't seem to waver in any iteration of Viktor—the passion for learning never ceasing or decreasing.

He sat next to you, adjusting his leg and leaning his cane on the side of the piano. Viktor cleaned his palms on his pant legs and cleared his throat. You heard the barista groan.

“Oh Gods. Not the scientist at the piano...” he mumbled loud enough for both of you to hear. “I do believe our friend Loriel is not happy about this turn of events…” Viktor announced just as loudly as the bartender, and Loriel took a very deep breath. “He is going to love what comes next then.” You added turning back to the ivories. “Maybe the Academy's cafe isn’t exactly the best place for piano lessons.” Viktor whispered, turning his back to the bar, some doubts in his voice. “Then they shouldn’t have placed the piano in the cafe.” “Why is the piano in here anyway?”

Viktor looked back at Loriel, who shrugged and mouthed something to the tune of 'to torment me.' You laughed, and Viktor followed with a snicker. He straightened up, as best as he could, squared his shoulders, and placed his hands on the keys. You mimicked his stance and realized that all of your right side was touching all of his left. From shoulder to knee, and yet there were no feelings of panic bubbling in your stomach.

“Why are we so stiff?” You whispered to him, moving your head slightly to look at him. “Is this not how professional piano players play?” “Not unless they want to look like a douchebag.” You shook your shoulders a bit and relaxed; he did the same. “May I?” You pointed to his hand, asking permission to touch and move them. He nodded, and you placed his two index fingers on two specific keys. “Now you do this.”

(Chopstick piano)

You placed your own index fingers on the ivories, slightly away from his, and moved them in sync, both fingers reflecting what the other was doing. The melody was simple and repetitive, and the movements were pretty mechanical. Easy to learn.

Viktor caught on quickly, the movements coming out slowly and clumsily at first but becoming familiar with every try.

“Please play something else!” Loriel half shouted exasperatedly, and you looked back at him, about to give him an angry look but noticing he was half joking.

“Remember when I told you magic is just like music?” You whispered to him, and he nodded, excitedly looking at you. His golden eyes were bright and joyful. “Yes, once you’ve played a note the first time, the next time it becomes easier.” “And what we did in the closet.” You looked down onto your side of the keys, missing the red tint that appeared on his cheeks.

Nudging his knee gently, you made a gesture for him to start playing his little tune. At some point, you started to add another melody, a rhythmic thumping that intertwined with the simple notes he was playing. You heard rather than saw Viktor's little gasp of excitement.

“Thank goodness.” You heard Loriel say. “Now keep moving along the playlist.”

When you ended the music, he followed your lead and stopped his actions but did not take his fingers from the keys.

“You know what? Let’s switch it up.” You slid from your side of the bench and nudged his shoulders to the side where you sat, him clumsily going and readjusting his leg.

You sat where he had been before and showed him the repetitious keystrokes you had added previously to his beginner lesson. His long fingers easily managed to touch the keys as you started to tap your foot on a steady tempo. Slowly but surely, the scientist managed to accompany your foot-tapping with his playing.

Letting him go over the chords a couple of times, you jumped in. First doing the same simple two-finger melody and then jumping to a more complicated part, completely changing the melody.

You felt Viktor slowly swinging to the melody, his shoulder bumping into yours as he enjoyed the music. You followed his movements, and the two of you went on playing. He would stop whenever you played a more complicated part, a little laugh coming out of him,

With a final pressing of the keys, the song ended, and you smiled triumphantly at the scientist beside you. He looked down at you; it was noticeable that his cheeks were becoming a pretty shade of red, while his eyes looked at his fingers and then shifted back to you.

Even though you had noticed how you had been closed before, now it dawned on you just how close you two were. You could see the brown flecks in his eyes, the small scar he had on his forehead from the goggles digging into his skin, and his pulse quickly beating on his neck.

You felt a small touch on your little finger and glanced at it, surprised at the sudden contact. His hands had moved, and he was brushing your pinky with his, slowly as if not to scare you. You felt your heart quicken and turned back to face him, eyes wide.

“Should I have asked?” He mumbled slowly, tilting his head down, his brown hair falling from behind his ear. “About?” you let out in a breathy whisper, doing the best you could to keep your eyes from wandering around his face.

He moved his finger to interlock with yours, the corners of his lips tilting up.

“It’s fine…” And it was. There was no panic or anxiety. There were no urgent or nightmarish visions of hexangels.

Gently he pulled your little fingers towards his hand, adding your ring finger to the weave of hands. You managed to breathe and blink, your eyes unfocusing on his face, waiting for anything to happen. When it didn't, you went back to those golden pools of his.

Viktor looked at you waiting for a protest, but you said nothing. No constructs, no golden enemies. In a moment of boldness, you moved your hand under his and turned your palm up, him giving you the space you needed to do it. When you were comfortable, you slotted your fingers in his. You didn’t squeeze or grab his hand, just letting the weight of him become familiar.

Much like in your universe, his hands were long and bony, with callouses from using every tool at his disposal. They had a tepid warmth to it, the playing of the piano letting the blood flow to his extremities.

“My hands are always cold.” He noted, scratching the back of his neck, and you looked at his long fingers on yours. “Should wear some gloves.” You joked, nudging him and squeezing his hand tentatively. “I like this better.” He raised an eyebrow smugly, and you snorted, looking away in fake annoyance. You felt his hand squeeze back and looked back at him. The expression on his face was far from embarrassed; if anything, he knew exactly what he was doing, a loopy side smile plastered on his face. You shook your head, a smile on your own face. “You’re a sneaky one…” “Heh…I do hail from the Undercity." He joked, and you laughed out loud, placing your forehead on his shoulder, feeling him laugh too.

“Viktor!!!” A smooth, hurried voice came from the corridor, and a bouncy Sky Young walked into the cafeteria. “Miss Young!” He half-shouted back, making his assistant's head snap to him.

He moved your still intertwined hands away from the keys and in between both your bodies. He gave you one last squeeze before letting go.

“Oh…I have been looking for you.” “I have been here for the last two hours,” he said, stretching in front of you, reaching for his cane. “Sorry. Jayce is with Councillor Medarda, and the door is locked, and Councillor Salo took my key from me and…” She looked at you, her exasperated ramble coming to a halt. “Oh. Hello. Sky Young, a pleasure to meet you!” “Hello.” You told the younger woman, smiling, and answered with your name. “I thought you two knew each other…” Viktor said, getting up carefully and moving to stand next to his assistant. “I said I’ve seen her around…I never said we had been introduced.” You quickly retorted. “Also, do I need to reschedule the appointment for this morning?” “Ye—” she started, but Viktor interrupted. “No need; we can do it now.” “But their name is on the morning slot.” Young noted, grabbing a small planner. “It’s not their fault we had an inspection on their fault. If anything, the council should be the one to schedule their appointments.” He said with finality and turned around. “Come now, you two. Time to get to work.”

You and Young stared at each other and both shrugged, smiling at each other.

“Thank you, Loriel.” You shouted and waved back at the barista as you walked away from the cafe. “You’re welcome! Come back any time... Seriously!”

• ············ •

“So, you can now combine runes?” Viktor asked, sitting at his table at the lab, writing furiously in his little notebook. “And I’m also starting to…not need to push them out…like…physically.”

The scientist looked at you. You've been sitting here for 40 minutes; 20 of those had been Viktor trying to shoo Sky out of the room.

“Example,” he prompted, and you nodded.

You faced him, the big front doors behind you. You cleared your throat and drew the known string of runes in front of you. Waiting for a second, with your hands by your side, you blinked, and the runes disappeared. The door behind you whooshed open.

“That’s new.” Viktor’s eyebrows shot up. “Can you reverse it?” “I can close the door, but not lock it.”

His eyebrows furrowed and his jaw clenched. He started to go back through the notebook, getting to the pages where you were both annotating the runes and suffixes.

You walked towards him and leaned into his table, looking at the notebook. You had feared that after the little moment at the piano, the rest of the evening would be awkward, but no. He hadn’t mentioned it, but he wasn’t tiptoeing around you. It was just good old Viktor.

“You’ve never shown me this rune.” He pointed to the mend rune with his pencil and looked up at you. “Technically, you've seen it. But I can show you again. May I?”

You pointed to his purple-colored pencil, and he gave it to you with a doubtful expression. With a bit of force, you snapped the pencil in two, and he groaned.

“Please do not break my writing utensils. I really don’t want to explain to the council why I need to buy more colored pencils…It’s already a hassle as it is.” He swiveled the stool to turn to the table where you placed the pencil. “They apparently don’t understand the concept of color coding.”

You snorted while drawing the rune. The small tendrils that came out of it searched the pencil for where it was broken and joined it, making it whole again. The only trace of something happening was the shimmering blue vein where it was snapped.

“Fascinating…” He grabbed the pencil and inspected it from every angle. “Have you tried this with a bone?”

Blinking slowly at him, you squinted your eyes and furrowed your eyebrows, the doubt he had previously now written on your face.

“What?” “A bone.” He shook his arm to demonstrate. “You want to break some for me to try?” You retorted sarcastically, but the thoughtful look on his face made you shake your head. “No…I have not tried it in a bone. I haven't encountered a broken bone to try it on, and you will not provide me with some.” “Oh no…not mine.” He made a few swirls with the pencil on the notebook, finding out it worked just like before. “Whose bones are you gonna break, stick bug? You’re all length and sharp corners…”

You crossed your arms, raised one eyebrow, and leaned into the table with your hip, your face bearing a mask of doubt. His expression shifted to unamused, his lip pinched and his eyebrows knotted.

“First of all…stick bug?” He spat the word out comically, and you laughed, nodding. “Second of all, some bones can be easily broken by applying pressure in certain key points. No need for brute strength.”

“Yeah? And how many bones have you broken, Mr. Applied Pressure… you joked, shifting to sit on the table. “Several, actually…” “Yours don’t count…”

Viktor opened his mouth to argue but closed it with a humph, turning away from you. You snorted at his spoiled expression.

“How many have you broken? all talk, I bet..." He mumbled, turning the stool fully towards the table. “Several, actually... and not mine either.”

You thought of those last few hours on your timeline, grunting and fighting. Violet had given you some sort of lesson on what she called ‘blocking with your face’ that somehow involved not just that but also punching, kicking, and general shit talk.

You missed Vi. The one that chuckled when you talked back to her. The Vi that had looked at you weirdly when you asked her to punch you because you needed to know how it felt and not be scared of it. The undercity fighter, who looked impressed when you managed to punch her after dodging a blow.

“The music schools where you come from are very competitive…” Viktor’s voice snapped you back to the lab. He frowned when he looked at you, his expression shifting from annoyance to concern. “Are you alright?” “Yes… Sorry…” You cleared your throat. “If we find someone with a broken bone and willing, we’ll try it on them.” “I guess we can do that…” He flipped the book back to the page where he had taken notes. “You should use that rune to lock the door.” “The lock is not broken, though.” “True…but I think we may need to go in a more…symbolic route. The pencil, after you mended it, reverted to its original form. In if core, that’s what the mend rune does when spoken.” “So I'd be reverting the unlocked door back to its original state." You mused, and he nodded. He patted your knee and pointed to the door, encouraging you to try it.

Still sitting on the desk, you spoke the runes: wind, coda, mend, unlock. In a second the door drifted closed, the door locking with a click.

You looked at Viktor, who had a winning smile on his face.

“This stick bug seems to be pretty good at this magic thing.” He swiveled his stool back around to turn to write his findings.

With a swish of your finger, his little wheeled bench rolled back away from its original location, while he made a squeaky surprised sound with his throat.

“That is not fair.” He said, pushing the stool back with his feet. "I thought you hailed from the Undercity." You joked, getting up from your sitting place and going behind him to gently push back to the table. "Yes, I do." He said proudly.

You squeezed his shoulders and turned to walk away, unlocking the door with a flick of your finger.

“Where are you going?” He inquired, turning to watch you walk away. “Mother is expecting me.” You walked backward, looking at him and smiling. “Some sort of dinner celebration, event…I don’t know…I just know that I am now obliged to be there, but here…”

With another flick of the wrist, the ceiling above his head became filled with little shimmering stars.

“To keep you company…” You finished with a wink and walked out the door.

You didn’t hear the happy sigh Viktor gave as he looked up at the soft, shimmering lights. And you didn’t see him placing his notebook on the table, walking to the couch, and just staring contently at the little starlight you manifested in the ceiling while gently stroking his palm, remembering how it felt against yours.

• ············ •

The smile on your face as you made your way to the elevator was cut short when the thing pinged open.

Rictus stood, eyebrow raised, staring at you from inside the empty elevator.

• ············ • ············ •

@marshy-moo @victormydarling @blueesmiski @th3stup1dcat @22carolina08 @httpstes @that-one-shitty-blog @disa-pointment @sseleniaa @moons-lighttrail @aysluxe @fae-doodle @kitewa @local-mr-frog @bakusquadobsessed @cherry-cola-100 @optimistic-but-very-realistic @seeksrsnn @thecordelialetters @notsaelty @lansy-4 @ayupfrogg @sammypotato @wnbrw @lucycarlisleswife @noxturnalmoth @ren-ren23 @furblrwurblr @kapitankarate @mynicknameisgasoline @octo-octopie @birbwithhat @kneelarmhstrung @dedicated2viktor @elvishstudies

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stewpidcheescatarinabluu · 2 months ago

Text

“This is our Exit Music.”

Synopsis: In a city divided by power and legacy, Y/N and Eunchae were never meant to meet—let alone fall in love. One born from the shadows of an underground tech empire, the other raised under the spotlight of Korea’s most prestigious company. But when love blooms between rival heirs, secrets unravel, families intervene, and rebellion ignites. With nothing but each other, they run—no plan, no future—just the hope that love might be enough.

Word Count: 4,730

Eunchae X Male Reader

Status, money, and connections—this is what makes your world spin. You’re the son of one of the biggest underground tech syndicates in Korea, a shadow empire built in neon-lit alleyways and secret deals. Your family’s company would already be the largest if not for one rival—the prestigious Daehan Tech.

Daehan Tech is run by the revered Dae-han couple, their name shining above the sun, displayed on every screen, etched into every skyline. Their world is glass towers and flashing cameras; yours is grit and whispered transactions.

Two companies, two worlds, standing side by side—but never at peace. Between them, prejudice and hidden curses pass down like heirlooms, poisoning every generation.

And then you meet her.

Eunchae Dae-han, the youngest heiress to Daehan Tech, born of glass and gold. Perfect posture, a smile trained by the press, eyes that seem to hold a secret restlessness—like she’s waiting for something real beyond the polished surface.

You cross paths unexpectedly at a tech summit neither of you wanted to attend. You’re slipping in through a side door, chasing a lead on a secret project. She’s escaping the suffocating cameras, desperate for a moment of freedom.

You nearly collide in a dim, quiet hallway.

“Watch where you’re going,” she snaps, steadying herself and glaring.

You grin, stepping back but holding her gaze. “Funny. I was about to say the same to you. Didn’t expect Daehan’s golden girl sneaking around like that.”

Her lips twitch with the barest hint of amusement. “I’m not ‘golden girl.’ I’m just tired of pretending.”

You study her for a moment. “Pretending’s exhausting. I get it.”

She looks at you like you’re the first person who’s really seen her. You look at her like she’s the only thing that makes sense in your chaotic world.

“You don’t have to be who they want you to be,” you say quietly.

She hesitates, then whispers, “And what if I don’t even know who I am?”

You smile, sadness edging your voice. “Then maybe we’re not so different after all.”

For a moment, the names, the families, the feud—all of it fades away. There’s only the quiet between you, heavy with unspoken understanding and a dangerous kind of hope.

You almost forget where you are—until a sharp knock at the door breaks the spell. Both your heads snap toward the sound, reminding you that this meeting is forbidden, dangerous.

“You should go,” Eunchae says, voice low but urgent.

“Yeah,” you agree, though neither of you moves. “But… I’m glad we met.”

Her eyes soften. “Me too.”

Without another word, you slip away into the shadows, carrying with you a spark that neither family’s war can burn out.

After that night, you can’t stop thinking about her.

It starts with a message.

You don’t know how she got your number—maybe she’s better with tech than she lets on. Maybe she wanted to know more about the boy who saw her, not just the name she carries.

All you know is that, one night, your screen lights up:

Unknown:

“Pretending’s exhausting. I get it.” Thought I’d return the favor.

You:

So the golden girl does have a phone.

Unknown:

You’ve really got to let that nickname go.

That’s how it begins. Short texts that turn into long conversations. You start calling, always late—when the city is asleep and the weight of your last names can’t reach you. You don’t talk about your families. Not at first.

Instead, it’s the little things.

She tells you how she hates elevators, how she likes the rain but not when it touches her skin. You tell her about the way your dad used to test you with encrypted puzzles instead of bedtime stories.

“I always wondered what it was like,” she says one night. “To not be expected to shine.”

“And I always wondered what it was like to not be invisible,” you admit.

She’s quiet for a moment. Then—

“You’re not invisible. Not to me.”

You don’t say anything after that. You just stay on the line until the silence feels like a shared room, warm and full.

Your second meeting isn’t planned.

She sends you a photo—grainy, black and white, no text. It’s a bridge near Hangang Park, empty at night except for a single bench beneath a flickering light.

You know exactly where it is.

You get there first, waiting with your hood up and nerves coiled tight in your chest. But when she appears, walking through the dark like she belongs to it, something in you stills.

“You came,” she says, almost like she didn’t believe you would.

“I thought you’d be smarter than this,” you say, but there’s a smile tugging at your mouth. “Meeting someone like me. Here.”

She shrugs. “Maybe I wanted to be reckless for once.”

You sit side by side, not touching, but close enough to feel the space between you hum with something new. The city breathes around you—cars in the distance, the river lapping against stone, the buzz of that broken streetlight flickering above your heads.

“Do you ever think about how stupid this is?” she asks quietly. “Us.”

“All the time,” you reply.

“And yet…”

“And yet here we are.”

She turns to look at you. “Do you ever think it’s worth it?”

You meet her eyes. You don’t blink.

“Yes.”

She doesn’t smile—but her shoulders ease, and her hand brushes lightly against yours on the bench. And neither of you pulls away.

You meet her again. And again.

Always in the quiet corners of the city—the rooftop of an abandoned mall, the underpass near Hapjeong, the coffee shop that closes at midnight but never locks its back door. The world doesn’t know you’re seeing her. You don’t post. You don’t tell. You don’t even speak her name out loud unless it’s just the two of you.

But each time you meet, it gets harder to leave. Harder to pretend like you're just killing time, like she isn’t becoming the one thing that makes the rest of your world unbearable.

Sometimes she brings you snacks her mother still packs for her, like she’s twelve and not the next in line for a tech dynasty.

Other times, she listens while you rant about your father’s latest “test”—a corrupted AI model you had to decode in under six minutes.

“You know,” she says once, curled up beside you on the mall rooftop, “we could just run away. Live off gimbap and WiFi theft.”

You laugh. “We wouldn’t last two weeks.”

“We’d last two weeks and one day,” she counters.

You look at her. “And that one day would be the best.”

She smiles, but her eyes don’t hold it fully. There’s worry in her now, too—because secrets this good don’t stay secrets forever.

You start to notice it first. The way your father lingers a beat too long when he sees you on your phone. How one of his men suddenly starts driving you to school, “for your safety.”

Then she calls you one night—whispers only, terrified.

“My mom found one of our texts. I told her it was an old classmate. I think she believed me.”

“You sure?”

A long pause. Then:

“No.”

A week later, you spot one of your family’s informants parked outside the convenience store where you sometimes wait for her. They’re not trying to be discreet. It’s a warning.

You delete your call logs. She switches SIM cards.

Still, you meet.

You both know it’s reckless now. That every step you take toward each other is another step toward war. But you keep walking anyway.

Because the way she looks at you like you’re not broken. Because when she laughs, you forget the weight of your last name. Because when she whispers “Don’t leave,” you stay.

One night, she tells you her father brought up your name.

“He said you’re dangerous. That your family can’t be trusted. He said you’d ruin me.”

You swallow hard. “What did you say?”

She shrugs, then looks at you with steady eyes. “I said too late.”

And in that moment, the fear twists into something stronger. Not rebellion. Not love.

Defiance.

It happens sooner than you both expect.

A text goes unseen. A whisper overheard by someone who reports to someone who reports to her father. One broken link in the chain of secrecy—and everything shatters.

You don’t see it happen, but she tells you after. Voice shaking. You can hear the echo of the argument in the way she breathes, uneven, like she’s still in the room with him.

The house was silent before it wasn’t.

Eunchae steps into the study and sees her father at his desk, your name glowing on his screen—call logs, photos, footage. You. Her. Together. Talking. Smiling.

He doesn’t yell. Not at first.

“Do you know what this will do to our name?” His voice is cold, deliberate. “You’re talking to him? To that… thing from beneath the city?”

Her voice is quiet but firm. “He has a name.”

He slams a file shut. “He carries filth on his blood. That company of his? His family has spent decades undermining everything we built with sweat and discipline. They deal in shadows, Eunchae. Blackmail. Data theft. God knows what else.”

“You don’t know him,” she says, stepping forward. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough to know what’s poison.” His eyes narrow. “And that boy—he is poison. His father is a thug with a keyboard. A glorified hacker who got lucky. They didn’t build an empire—they built a weapon. And you want to sleep beside the barrel.”

She swallows hard. “He’s not like them.”

“Oh?” His voice sharpens. “Then why is he hiding you? Why doesn’t he walk through the front door like a man?”

“Because he knows you’d try to ruin him!” she snaps. “He knows exactly how far you’ll go to protect your reputation.”

For a moment, the room is still. Cold.

And then her father speaks again—quieter, darker.

“You will never see him again. If you do, I will destroy his family. His company. I will make him nothing.”

Her chest tightens. “You already did that to me.”

She tells you this from behind the corner of a payphone booth. Her voice trembles, but not from fear. From fury.

“I’m not going to stop,” she says. “I don’t care what he says. I don’t care if he ruins everything. He already ruined us a long time ago.”

You don’t know what to say. Part of you wants to scream. The other part just wants to pull her away from all of it.

You grip the phone tighter. “We’ll find a way. He won’t decide what we are.”

“Promise me,” she whispers.

“I promise.”

And you mean it.

Even if it costs everything.

2 Days Later

It starts with a call.

You don’t hear the words, but you hear the weight. The silence in your father's study turns heavier than anything you've ever coded your way through. And when he finally calls you in, there’s no warning. Just that look.

The one that says he already knows.

You step into the room and close the door behind you.

He doesn’t look up from his desk. “I received a call from Daehan.”

Your chest tightens. “Right.”

He leans back in his chair, slow, like he’s giving you the chance to confess. “Is it true?”

You stay quiet.

“You and that girl. The heiress.”

Still nothing.

“I asked you a question.”

You clench your jaw. “It’s true.”

He stares at you, hard. “Do you even understand what you’ve done?”

“I fell in love,” you snap. “I fell in love with someone who sees me—not as your son, not as some tool in this empire you’re building, but as me.”

“That ‘someone’,” he says through gritted teeth, “is the daughter of the people who have been trying to tear this family down for decades. They’ve sold our secrets, sabotaged our projects, tried to paint us as criminals in every boardroom they could touch—”

“They don’t define her!” Your voice cracks. “And your war with them doesn’t define me.”

He stands up now, slamming a folder shut. “You think love justifies betrayal?”

You step forward. “No. I think love undoes it.”

His eyes narrow. “You sound like a fool.”

“And you sound like a man who’s forgotten what it means to care about anything beyond control.”

There’s a beat of silence between you.

You’re breathing hard. So is he.

“I won’t let you burn this family’s legacy for a girl,” he says.

And you take a shaky breath.

“Then I’ll build a new legacy with her.”

That’s when the anger breaks.

He slams his hand on the desk. “You walk away from this, and you’re no longer my son.”

But you’re already turning away.

“No,” you say quietly, hand on the doorknob. “I walk away because I finally am your son—but I refuse to become you.”

You leave the room before he can answer. Not because you’re afraid of what he’ll say.

But because for once, your heart is louder than his empire.

Some Days Later.

It starts with a text from her mother: “Dinner at 7. Just us. Wear something nice.”

There’s no mention of yelling. No cold glares across the room. No stiff posture or quiet disappointment.

It’s worse than that.

It’s gentle.

Too gentle.

So Eunchae puts on the soft beige cardigan her mother likes. Brushes her hair the way she used to when she was younger, when she still tried. When she still thought she could earn their warmth.

She sits at the table and waits, hands folded neatly in her lap. There are candles. Braised short ribs. Side dishes laid out in perfect symmetry. And for a moment, it almost feels like they’re pretending to be a family.

Then her mother reaches across the table and touches her hand.

“You’ve always wanted to be loved, haven’t you?”

Eunchae blinks. The air shifts.

“You’ve always asked for our time. Our attention. You’ve always wanted to be heard. To feel… seen.”

Her father sets his spoon down, the sound unnaturally loud in the quiet. “And we’re listening now.”

A pause.

“We should’ve done this sooner.”

Her mother’s smile is soft, too soft. “So if it’s love you want… we’ll give it to you.”

Eunchae’s breath stills. Her body knows something her mind hasn’t caught up to yet.

“There’s someone we want you to meet,” her father says.

The spell breaks.

“No,” she answers, without hesitation.

“You haven’t even heard—”

“I don’t need to,” she snaps, her voice sharper now. “You’re trying to erase him.”

“Erase a mistake,” her father corrects. “A phase. That boy—he’s not your future. He’s a threat to it.”

“I love him.”

“Love,” he repeats, as if it’s a dirty word.

Her mother exhales slowly. “You said you wanted to be loved. We’re giving you a chance to have a partner who understands your world. Someone who can protect you. Someone… safer.”

Eunchae laughs under her breath—hollow. “Safer for you.”

Her father’s eyes harden. “We’re not asking.”

“No,” she says, standing now, the chair legs scraping loudly against the polished floor. “You’re never asking. You just expect me to live the life you wrote for me.”

She looks between them, at the people who raised her but never really knew her.

“I love him,” she repeats, voice trembling. “And if that ruins everything, then let it burn.”

Her mother flinches, just barely.

It starts with a text from her mother: “Dinner at 7. Just us. Wear something nice.”

There’s no mention of yelling. No cold glares across the room. No stiff posture or quiet disappointment.

It’s worse than that.

It’s gentle.

Too gentle.

So Eunchae puts on the soft beige cardigan her mother likes. Brushes her hair the way she used to when she was younger, when she still tried. When she still thought she could earn their warmth.

Then her mother reaches across the table and touches her hand.

“You’ve always wanted to be loved, haven’t you?”

Eunchae blinks. The air shifts.

“You’ve always asked for our time. Our attention. You’ve always wanted to be heard. To feel… seen.”

Her father sets his spoon down, the sound unnaturally loud in the quiet. “And we’re listening now.”

A pause.

“We should’ve done this sooner.”

Her mother’s smile is soft, too soft. “So if it’s love you want… we’ll give it to you.”

Eunchae’s breath stills. Her body knows something her mind hasn’t caught up to yet.

“There’s someone we want you to meet,” her father says.

The spell breaks.

“No,” she answers, without hesitation.

“You haven’t even heard—”

“I don’t need to,” she snaps, her voice sharper now. “You’re trying to erase him.”

“Erase a mistake,” her father corrects. “A phase. That boy—he’s not your future. He’s a threat to it.”

“I love him.”

“Love,” he repeats, as if it’s a dirty word.

Her mother exhales slowly. “You said you wanted to be loved. We’re giving you a chance to have a partner who understands your world. Someone who can protect you. Someone… safer.”

Eunchae laughs under her breath—hollow. “Safer for you.”

Her father’s eyes harden. “We’re not asking.”

“No,” she says, standing now, the chair legs scraping loudly against the polished floor. “You’re never asking. You just expect me to live the life you wrote for me.”

She looks between them, at the people who raised her but never really knew her.

“I love him,” she repeats, voice trembling. “And if that ruins everything, then let it burn.”

Her mother flinches, just barely.

And Eunchae leaves, walking into the night with only one name in her mouth:

Y/N.

The Next Night.

The air in the house still felt heavy from the night before.

Eunchae hadn’t spoken much after storming out, her heart still bruised from the words her parents threw like weapons. But she should’ve known—it was never about convincing her. It was about control. And people like her father didn’t yell when they were truly angry.

They planned.

So the next day, she was told to get dressed. Told to wear something respectful. Told it was just a lunch.

It wasn’t.

They took her to a restaurant perched high over Gangnam, where the world looked small and quiet, like problems couldn’t touch the sky. The Seos were already seated when they arrived. Her mother’s hand stayed firm on her back, guiding her like a porcelain doll to a table she never agreed to.

The boy was handsome in the way wealth often is—clean lines, perfect teeth, nothing out of place. He bowed low, introduced himself as Seo Jaemin, and said, “It’s an honor to meet you, Eunchae.”

She smiled.

Not because she meant it. But because she knew someone was watching.

The entire meal was stiff with politics disguised as warmth. Her father praised Jaemin’s lineage. Her mother spoke of shared values. Jaemin’s parents laughed, nodded, lifted glasses of wine like they’d already merged empires. Eunchae didn’t speak unless spoken to. She barely touched the food. Her phone buzzed in her bag twice, but she ignored it.

She didn’t want to lie to you.

And she couldn’t tell you the truth—not while trapped at a table where her future was being bartered like stock shares.

You were in your room when you got the message.

Not from her. She hadn’t answered all day.

It was a photo—low quality, taken from across the room, grainy like it was captured by someone who wasn’t supposed to be there. But you knew her.

Even with her back straight, hair tucked neatly behind her ear, and that fake corporate smile on her lips… you knew her.

And she was sitting across from another guy.

He had the look of someone bred for meetings like that. Buttoned-up suit. Hands that never touched anything real. The kind of guy your father would approve of.

Probably already has, you thought bitterly.

You stared at the picture for a long time.

Then you texted her:

"I saw it."

She didn’t reply.

And that silence hurt more than the photo.

Because it sounded like surrender.

You sat on the edge of your bed, staring at the floor, your mind spinning with things you wanted to scream, to ask, to demand.

But all you could whisper into the silence was—

“Don’t let them take you from me.”

You don’t wait for another text.

You don’t wait for an explanation.

You take your keys and leave.

It’s already late. The streetlights flicker like they’re hesitating too. Your chest burns from everything you haven’t said. You keep hearing your father’s voice in your head—how love was a distraction, how legacy mattered more, how she would always belong to the other side.

But none of that matters now.

Not when she sat across from someone else.

Not when she stayed silent.

You ring her doorbell. Once. Then again. Harder.

She opens the door in an oversized sweater, hair tied up messily, and eyes already red.

Like she’s been crying.

Like she knew this was coming.

"You weren’t going to tell me?" you ask.

She flinches. “I didn’t want you to find out like that.”

“But you still went.”

She swallows. “They gave me no choice, Y/N.”

“You always have a choice. You just didn’t choose me.”

That’s when her voice rises. “Don’t say that.”

“Then what should I say?” You step inside, shutting the door behind you. “That I watched you sit across from someone your parents picked? That I saw you smile like he was already yours?”

Her voice shakes now. “I didn’t smile like that. You know me better than that.”

“Do I? Because it’s getting harder to tell when you're being real.”

She goes quiet. Hurt flickers across her face. “You think I want this? You think I want some stranger telling me what our kids might look like or what kind of house we’ll have in Gangnam while my real life is sitting in his room wondering why I’m not texting back?”

You clench your jaw. “Then why didn’t you leave?”

“I wanted to,” she says, chest rising with every word. “But I’m tired of running, Y/N. Every time I take a step toward you, the whole world pushes me back.”

You exhale, furious at everything—at her, at the situation, at how helpless this love feels when it’s up against families like yours.

“So what now?” you ask, softer. Bitter. “You marry him and pretend we never happened?”

She shakes her head, voice cracking. “No. I just… I don’t know what to do.”

“Then fight.” Your voice is low now, trembling. “If you love me, fight. Not just with your heart. With everything.”

She steps forward, tears in her eyes.

“I’m scared.”

You pause. “So am I.”

But you still hold out your hand.

And she still hasn’t taken it.

Days pass. The city moves on, but you feel stuck—like you’re frozen in a frame of time where Eunchae is slipping further away.

She still meets Seo Jaemin. Dinner after dinner, handshake after handshake. You hear about it from whispered rumors, from friends too afraid to say much, from the cold silence of your phone where your messages sit—read but unanswered.

The silence between you isn’t peaceful. It’s sharp. Like a blade pressed against the heart.

You replay every moment you shared, every stolen glance, every promise whispered in the dark.

And then, one evening, when the sun bleeds orange into the skyline

The wedding announcement is printed in glossy paper and cold ink.

A soft ivory envelope arrives at your doorstep a week later—no return address, just your name written in formal Hangul, sealed in wax with the Seo family crest.

You don’t open it.

You already know what’s inside.

You’ve known ever since she stopped texting. Since the last time you saw her, eyes puffy and voice shaking, saying “I don’t know what to do.”

Apparently, she chose.

You’ve been hearing about it from whispers. From news articles. From your father, who only said:

“Good. At least one of you understands your place.”

But none of that hurts as much as the image that surfaces online two days later—Eunchae, standing beside Seo Jaemin, the official engagement photo. She's wearing a soft pink hanbok, her hands resting neatly over her stomach. She’s smiling.

Perfectly.

Professionally.

Not real.

Not the smile you know.

And yet… she still looks beautiful. Still looks like the girl who kissed you in a stairwell. Who whispered “Don’t leave” when your hand lingered in hers.

And it’s that memory that makes you feel sick.

Eunchae’s mother fixes the ribbon on her daughter’s sleeve, her touch delicate but firm.

“You’re doing so well,” she says.

Eunchae nods.

“You’ll thank us for this someday.”

Another nod.

And then the mirror.

Eunchae stares at herself, sitting still in silk and lace and tradition. Her mother smiles in the background. A photographer snaps photos. The makeup artist adjusts her blush.

But all Eunchae can hear is your voice.

“If you love me, fight.”

She looks down at her lap, fingers trembling beneath the fabric. No one notices.

Not yet.

Later that night, you’re out on the roof of your apartment, cigarette burning between your fingers, even though you don’t smoke. The air is cool. The city is loud. And still, you feel nothing.

Until your phone buzzes once.

Unknown Number:

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t strong enough.”

You don’t respond.

Because what would you even say?

Love doesn’t always end in explosions. Sometimes it ends in silence—sentences never finished, hands never held again.

But something tells you…

She’s not finished yet.

Not really.

The night after the wedding, you and Eunchae meet in the quiet corner of the old café—the same place where your secret meetings once bloomed in stolen moments.

The city lights flicker outside the fogged-up windows, but inside, everything feels still. Except for the weight pressing down on both of you.

You break the silence first, voice heavy with regret.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t fight your family and mine.”

She looks down at her hands, twisting a napkin.

“I know. I wanted to, but it felt like trying to hold back the tide with my bare hands.”

You reach out, your fingers brushing hers lightly.

“Do you ever wonder if things could’ve been different? If we’d had more time, or... different families?”

“Yeah,” she sighed, her voice barely more than a whisper as she looked up at the empty night sky, the stars cold and distant above. The silence stretched between you like a fragile thread, heavy with everything left unsaid.

Then, breaking the stillness, your voice cut through—soft but filled with sudden resolve.

“Eunchae… wanna run away?”

The words hung in the air, a fragile question laced with hope and desperation.

She was speechless, her eyes wide as tears welled up, shimmering like fragile glass. Slowly, she looked back at you—tears spilling down her cheeks, glistening as they fell and pierced the expensive denim of her shirt.

With a trembling nod, she silently said yes.

“Follow me,” you whispered, already reaching for her hand.

And just like that, the night came alive beneath your feet. You ran through the glow of empty streetlights, your hands linked, footsteps echoing across the quiet roads. Your breath came in clouds, laughter chasing it. The air was cold, but it stung with freedom.

She couldn’t help but chuckle through her tears, the sound soft and shaking as she wiped her face and followed you, her lips finally curling into a smile that felt like sunrise.

“What if they find us?” she called behind you, still running.

You glanced back with a grin, your voice rising through the wind.

“Then we’ll move and move!”

You laughed, the sound raw and real, letting the night air slap your face like a reminder—you’re alive, you’re choosing this.

“Don’t stress it! This is our exit music.”

And the city, for once, didn’t feel like a cage.

It felt like yours.

“If this is the end,” she whispers, forehead resting against yours, “then let it be the kind we write ourselves.”

You nod, voice quiet but steady.

“No poison, no dagger... just us, and the promise that somewhere, somehow, we loved without fear.”

She smiles through the tears.

“Even if the world forgets us.”

You hold her tighter.

“Then let the stars remember.”

#spotify #kpop #lesserafim #eunchae x male reader #male reader #lesserafim x reader #lesserafim x male reader #hong eunchae #eunchae #eunchae lesserafim #lesserafim eunchae

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justtwofriendsinmyhondacivic · 2 months ago

Text

poly 141 x IT tech reader

Chapter 2 (Unedited)

18+ MDNI

cw: afab reader, mxm, masturbation, talk of shooting and weapon handling, inaccurate military descriptions, the reader has female anatomy, were all down bad.

…

You couldn't sleep.

The golden light cascaded through the open curtains, hitting your bare legs sending warmth through to your toes.

Whether it was the eagerness to make a good impression, or the anxiety of starting in a brand new team you know nothing about that kept you awake, it didn't matter.

You tried to do some digging into this team but their files are so hard to pull due to the level of clearance needed to access. And even if you had the needed clearance youd suspected that these files were heavily redacted regardless.

These men were gray to the government, they were killed a long time ago to best fit the needs of the ones they serve. So no wonder you couldn't pull anything, not even the status of deployment.

Laswell explained that this team is something that won't go on your file, but would be invaluable to you later in your career. So getting the head start on the system is exactly what you're looking for.

You spent hours just working on necessary updates to the system, one that had been pushed off for too long. Seems the last guy was just here for the paycheck as nothing was really done besides the bare minimum. Taking the time to sort out the plan for future needs on the software.

Sleep continued to evade you, even after you showered and got a head start on work.

So you decided to go for a walk to try and find the access to the hard drive and the physical elements to the server.

Knowing about where most bases keep their hardware, you started walking in that general area. The empty hallways were a welcome sight after all of the travel and meeting new people.

You followed the memorized map in your mind down a dimly lit hallway. It was sterile, the clean silver knob was cold in your hand as you twisted the door open. Taking in the small office you mentally cheered. Normally you didn't have an office, you'd have to bunker down on the floor with a mobile set up, this could be for days at a time. Especially when there is a mission, that floor near the hardware unit is your new home.

Taking in the small desk, the gray carpet, some simple cupboards holding manuals about the current system in operation. The glass closet doors on the right side showing thousands of blinking green and red lights, the tangle of wires that wound need to be re-organized.

On your left through the blinds was a small window, just big enough to let in the orange tint light of the lamp post filter through.

Walking around to run your fingers over the desk, it wasn't anything fancy, it was a small wooden desk with one drawer under it. The chair isn't a normal office chair, it looked like someone brought an armchair from home and never took it back. You weren't complaining as that means you can curl up better anyway.

You throw yourself down onto the weathered furniture, smiling to yourself.

You opened the drawer to rummage through and see if there were any left behind treasures when you heard a grunt from the slightly ajar door. Looking up to make eye contact with the mountain of a masked man.

Your mouth fell open in surprise as you didnt expect to see anyone out here, especially the elusive man that you were sure wouldn't have shown himself if he didn't want to be seen.

“O-Oh, my apologies, Sir. I didn't mean to wake you-” You scrambled as you pushed yourself up to be in a more proper position while facing someone in a higher position than you.

He shakes his head at you, his gaze lingered on your bare dewey legs, taking in the way that your skin looks under the orange tint light that cascaded through the blinds. Your damp hair fell past your mid back, framing your face.

“S’alright.” His eyes linger on you, you feel the dark pools of his eyes drape over you. Clinging to every bone in your body. It felt like more than just an observation, it was like he was trying to burn your image to his eyelids. And you're unsure if that's a good or bad thing.

You stood at attention waiting for orders, you knew you weren't supposed to be awake. Both him and Price gave an order and you didn't listen. And all you could look at was the veins that are protruding under his flesh, arms crossed and bulging under the sleeveless tank top he wore. The Ghost mask he was known for was traded out for a black neck gaiter, and the messy ashy blonde hair stood at odd directions on top of his head.

“Should be sleeping.” The deep grumble of his voice sounded out as he leaned against the door frame. Not breaking eye contact he continued, “Got a long day ahead of you, need ta’ see you at your best.”

You nodded your head along with him, “Course, Sir. I’ll go straight to bed.”

Ghost never took his eyes off yours, you just waited for him to dismiss you.

He internally grinned, you were finally now being a good girl after disobeying orders.

“You're dismissed, Soldier.”

You tried to bolt out of the door as soon as the words left his mouth. But his large frame took up most of the doorway. Making you stand in front of him, the smell of your shampoo danced into his nose.

Looking up at him, “Excuse me, Lieutenant.”

He pushed off of the wall and gave you enough space to wiggle through and scurry off to bed. A dark chuckle made its way out of Ghost's chest, a confusing amount of heat ran through his body, pooling blood into his lower region.

It was the way you stared into his eyes with confidence, but still so timid and eager to please all at the same time.

Sighing he shut the door to what is now your new office, he'll have to send Gaz in here to set up surveillance during tomorrow's training.

…

As soon as you scurried back into bed, it took you a while to calm your heart and mind down enough for you to get some sleep. Leading to the slim amount of sleep that left you desperate for more.

Your alarm went off dragging a frustrated sigh out of you and a long stretch before you got up to get ready. Truth is you were up a couple hours before you needed to be so you could get in a workout before training.

You needed to make sure you were in top condition during these training exercises, the last time that you were on an assignment the team wouldn't allow you in the field so you were excited to have the opportunity.

With that in mind you got a motivation streak and got ready in record time, the grey work out gear hugging you well, as you threw on a large shirt over for the walk to the gym. Opening the door you glided your way, remembering where it was from the small tour the Captain gave to you.

Stopping by the dingy water fountain to top off your army issued water bottle.

Once you breached the doors to the gym, you had to turn on the light as it seems you were the first person in today. The hum of the fluorescent lights buzzing in the background. There were small windows on the back wall above the machines and weight racks. On the left there was an area for stretching and lockers.

Turning to the right you see yourself in the large mirror that was covering the entire wall, chuckling at the heavy purple bags under your eyes.Three well loved benches sat in front of it.

Quickly finding your way to the open area, setting your things down before you sit down to stretch. Getting through most of your stretch routine before you hear the door open. A whistling Soap walked in, both of you locked eyes for a while.

You couldn't look away from him. His messy mohawk stood at odd angles after a night of sleep, but what really had you was the strong arms that made you want to drool. The natural tanned skin sprinkled with freckles, covered in a layer of burly thick hair that traveled all over his chest. His loose green tank top did nothing to hide anything.

Your fingers twitched with the need to run your hands through it.

His lip pulled up into a dog-like smile.

With burning cheeks you decided to get back to your stretching, hiding your face in your legs while touching your toes.

Soap let out a chuckle at the redness that dusted your cheeks, as you hid your face his eyes dilated at the dusting of red on the nape of your neck. He felt himself salivate.

He broke himself out of his staring and headed to grab his weights and start his own workout, not wanting to creep you out with his staring.

…

Soap has never been this worked up during a workout.

You were his exact fucking type.

Half way through your work out, he watched you strip off the loose shirt, leaving you in a tight black sports bra. Exposing your muscled shoulders and the soft flesh of your tits that spilled slightly out of your bra. He was absolutely hiding a boner the entire time.

The worst of it was when you bent over to adjust weight on the squat machine, the line of your panties digging into the meat of your hips and ass leading all the way down to the damp outline of your pussy.

It reminded him of how long it was since he tasted a woman. Especially one like you.

He would rather take torture in a syrian prison then have to be tortured like this again.

You went up on weight on this next set, your head tilted back with eyebrows furrowed as you struggled against the new weight. You grunted on the next rep, looking ready to give up.

You heard the sounds of two weights drop on the ground as Soaps form slowly walked towards you, “C’mon bonnie lass, ya can do it.” he clapped his hands.

Your legs shook as you tried to push the weights up, after a few moments you finally got it to its resting position. Slowly sliding out of the machine and onto the cold floor. Your eyes were closed as you tried to regulate your breathing.

“Think I tried too much weight” You chuckled dryly. He took the time to look at you, taking notes of any scars, freckles, or moles. He saw a pretty bad scar that peeked out from your back and over your shoulder.

“Nonsense, ya powered through.” he laughed as you opened your eyes, a small smirk on your face, “Ya should stop now, doll. Got training exercise in an hour.” He said, taking in how your eyes looked when you looked up at him from this position.

You nodded at him checking your watch as it read 0430, as his hand came into view to help you up.

He pulled you up as if you weighed nothing, almost pulling you into his chest.

“Appreciate your help, any advice for the training?” You probed. Grabbing your shirt from the floor and wiping the sweat that was running down your neck.

His eyes tracked the movement happily, “Ya done a lot of shootin?”

You nodded and sat down on the floor, “I was deployed in a Special Activity unit before I transferred to IT.” From the way your smile dropped a bit, a sad look in your eye, he knew it wasn't by choice.

He made a noise of acknowledgement, “Should be the same thing ya did with that unit.”

That gave you some confidence, nodding your head and grabbing your stuff you turned back to Soap before you left.

“Thank you, Soap. I’ll see you at the training exercise.” You turned to leave and he took another full look at you before he went to grab his stuff to hop in the shower or get in bed with one of the boys and relieve some tension before he had to see you handle guns, he didn't think he could survive that boner.

…

You met Captain Price in his office. You looked at the clean cut beard on his face under the soft lighting of his lamp. His handsome eyes looking over paperwork and then back to you, why did they all have to be so good looking.

Stood in front of the deep mahogany desk, dressed in your dark camo fatigues, with a tight compression shirt tucked into a standard belt.

He was treating this as a mission, so he was giving a full debrief. He is sending you alone to clear a small compound, no prize or target, just clear and hold. He asked you to follow him to the outdoor range, you had four personal gun cases sitting on the floor.

Bending down to pick them up at the same time as Price feeling his warm hand as you grabbed the same case. Looking up, the blush dusted across your face, making eye contact with him.

“Let me help you with these, kid.” He said, arms bulging as he picked the cases up and opened the door for you. Making your way into the hallway.

“I have gear for ya at the range, once there you can pick from our standard selection of hardware, we want to see ya use your personal and the standard.” He said as he showed his badge to the man at the gate of the range.

“What are you guys running in your kits?” you asked.

“You can choose what you want to have in your kit but the standard currently is the MK25.” You nodded.

As we breached the doors to the outdoor training area the cool humid air hitting you as your boots hit the wet pavement, the stormy sky greeted you as you breathed in the air.

There was a maze of walls with scaffolding above so superior officers could observe the training, next to it was a table with firearms and ammo, in front of that sat four unmoving fresh targets. Ghost and Soap were there in full gear waiting for you and John.

Soap stands slightly behind Ghost giving you a quiet thumbs up, which gives you a little bit of confidence.

Ghost stared through you as he barked questions at you, “What do you have for your personals?” Watching as price sets down two gun cases and you set down two.

“Currently I'm running beretta 92FS and ZEV OZ9 elite for handguns,” popping open the cases with your personal firearms, “Colt M4A1 URG-1 and SIG-sauer MCX-SPEAR LT for my carbines.” Pulling one of your carbines out, Soap practically buzzing just from watching you check your sights and settings on the gun.

Ghost too found himself watching the gun press into your tit as you checked it over, quickly looking away.

“Run your beretta and the ZEV, then I need ya to run the MK25.” you nodded at the tall man, surprised at how many words he's using.

They departed from you and walked up the stairs to watch you, Soap looked at you as he started his climb, giving you another thumbs up mouthing a quick good luck.

Grabbing the ear and eye protection, you grabbed your mags that you filled this morning and loaded your weapons. You walked over to the door and waited in position.

“Cleared hot.”

As soon as the word came out of John's mouth, the lights started to strobe and screaming played over the PA system.

You were startled but regained composure and breached the first door, keeping your back to the wall with your service weapon at the ready. Coming up to a corner that rounded to the right, there was a piece of plastic tarp covering half of the doorway.

Gaz climbed the stairs joining the others, running a hand down John’s back as he looked down.

“Where have you been, Kyle?” John asked, leaning into the warmth of Gaz’s hand.

“Had ‘im run an errand for me.” Ghost interrupted, looking at John,

Price chuckled, running a hand over his beard watching as you proceeded through the compound.

As soon as you cleared the corridor you breached, seeing two targets on both sides of the rooms. You shot a distraction shot forward and then hit both bogeys. As soon as that room was cleared you moved to the next hallway. There immediately was a target to the right of the door, sending a quick shot into the head.

This hallway was a dead end except for the rooms on either side of it. Inching forward and looking at the closed door to the left, deciding to keep that for last and bracing against the wall next to the open door. Taking a deep breath trying to drown out the screaming, you peeked the gap between the door and the doorway seeing a target.

Sending the first shot through that gap before running into the room, and taking out the other two. The rest of the room was clear so you moved back out to the hallway, slowly opening the door and you find the room is empty.

It was supposed to be a bathroom, with debris in the way you took a defensive stance in the corner of the room.

The boys watched as you cleared the last room. You obviously haven't been in combat in a while but for being thrown in a simulation you weren't bad, just needed some extra practice to get back into the groove of things.

The way your muscles flexed while you fired into a target was a welcome sight to them. Soap and Gaz kept eyeing each other. Soap ran straight to his partners to relieve some stress after watching you working out. Ghost and Price didn't think much of it as he's always a horny mutt, but Gaz knew.

Looking down, they saw you lift your head.

“I need evac.” You yelled out of breath.

The lights kicked over to the constant yellow lighting, and the screaming finally stopped.

Standing up and walking out of the door you see the team now including Gaz are walking toward you.

“Fuck ya bonnie.” Soap hollarded, happy with your run through. He had to readjust the half chub in his pants before walking down earning an eye roll and a smack to the ass from Ghost, “Hit me harder LT.” Soap winked before running down, giggling.

You gave him a quick fist bump and moved to face the captain.

“Ya did good, taking out the three in the last room was a bit reckless but if you're ever in the field you should have one of us with you at all times.” He gruffed out walking to show you your accuracy on some of the shots.

You nodded, starting to cool down and feel the sweat drip down your back.

The group moved out of the building as you welcomed the cool air on your skin.

“Go reload your weapons, you're going to run the course with Ghost.” He nodded at you with a smile, you're fighting the reflex to giggle as when he smiles his beard moves in a cute funny way.

He looks up and motions for Soap and Gaz to reset the course.

You walk over to the table where Ghost was loading up a pistol and carbine.

“Are we taking the carbines?” You said as you pop out the empty magazine.

“Yes.” He said, not even looking at you.

Nodding you reloaded all of your mags and placed your handgun in the holster on your right hip, and held your carbine. Walking over to the door, you moved the ear protection back over your ear and waited for Ghost to get into position.

His hand grabbed your shoulder and squeezed letting you know he was ready, trying to ignore the tingling under the calloused hand, as soon as he squeezed the music started and the lights began to strobe.

Walking through the now familiar corridor, there was immediately a target behind the door which you neutralized. As you did Ghost took a shot at a target that was tucked behind a pile of debris.

As soon as you made it to the last hallway the hallway was clear but the door to the left was closed so you cleared the bathroom first, taking out the target that was in the middle of that room. Moving out, you and Ghost took a position outside the door, Ghost's thumb brushed against where your neck and shoulder met. Feeling the nail dig slightly in sending a chill down your back and a dust of pink across your neck.

Ghosts keen eyes caught the movement, knowing what it was doing to you.

You felt the rough corners of his gear dig against your hip as you peeked through the door seeing the targets. You didn't know if it was the close proximity to Ghost or the adrenaline that was making your body hot.

All you knew was you needed to get this out of your system, you can't be feeling all hot and bothered while being thrown into a new team.

Taking a quick breath you breached the room, finding two targets on the right close to each other and two farther away on the right side.

You too made quick work of the targets in the room, kneeling down and calling for evac.

The lights switched over and the music stopped.Ghosts hand was still on your shoulder as you looked back at him. His gazed bored through your skull.

You looked back waiting for him to either give you criticism or what to do better next time, but instead he took his hand from your shoulder and walked out without muttering a word to you.

Sighing you pulled the ear covering off of your head and leaned your head back.

You met up with the group outside of the building.

“You did good, we're going to have you join the majority of our training sessions from now on-” Price gruffed out, placing a large hand on his hip. Your eyes watching the handsome older man.

“For now you're free to work on the servers or have some down time, Laswell wanted to make sure you had time to get settled in before joining our training sessions regularly.”

Nodding your head, “Sounds good, Sir.”

…

You found yourself in the comfy chair of your new office, finally changed into an army issued green hoodie and leggings. Your hair was gel free and flowing down naturally.

Currently you are setting up to download the last upgrade before you can redo the wiring in the hardware. After hitting the allow button you leaned back sighing, glancing out the window to see the rain was coming down harder than it had been all day.

Looking back to the screen on your laptop, you saw the loading bar was still on one percent.

You got to thinking about the day.

Your mind drifted away to how Soap's chest looked, how Ghost’s hand felt wrapped around your shoulder, the warmth of John's hand against yours, and how Kyle's eyes slid over your body.

You felt the molten heat that gathered between your legs stick to the leggings that now felt too tight on you.

You couldn't stop yourself as you traced the tips of your fingers down the front of the scratchy hoodie. Tracing over the pierced sensitive flesh of your nipples over the fabric, biting your lip to hide the moan that was beginning to fall out of your mouth.

Ripping the hoodie over your tits feeling the cool air, and rubbing your legs together. You pinched and rolled the piercings in your fingers, feeling the devastating pang of electricity that it sent to your cunt.

You knew you shouldn't be doing this…

But you couldn't stop either.

You trailed one of your hands down the smooth surface of your tummy, passed the waistband of your leggings. Suddenly thankful that you didn't put a pair of panties on before leaving your room.

The pads of your finger met the surprisingly soaked heat of your cunt, letting out a small broken whimper as your back arched off of the chair. Using the edge of the desk to help keep your legs open.

Running two fingers up from your dripping hole to the buzzing button of flesh that begged for attention, rubbing your fingers in a figure eight motion. Having to cover your mouth as your toes curled. It felt so good to finally have relief.

You rolled your eyes into the back of your head, feeling your body release its slick all over your fingers and inner thighs. Barely able to keep your sounds at bay.

You quickened your fingers as you felt your climax approaching rapidly, the knot tightening in your lower stomach.

Then it snapped.

Letting out the quietest moan you could manage, riding out as much of the high you could before it got to be too much and you snapped your knees together. Your chest was heaving from trying to catch your breath. The faint buzzing in your pussy pulsed after finally getting the high you so desperately needed.

You laid there for a bit, eyes closed, feeling the cool air from the vent above you. Nipples tighten once again to the cold air.

Unknown to you in the foggy cloud that was your mindset, post orgasm, a red light faintly blinked from inside the vent, a strategically placed camera faced directly at your chair.

On the other side of the camera was Ghost.

Large hands closed in tight fists, knuckles turning white, cock angry red being choked against the fabric of his jeans. Feeling his breath quicken as he watched you come down, tits high in the air, hand still pushed between closed legs.

He didn't know what he was getting into when he asked Gaz to install the camera, and he was at war with his brain and cock. He yanked out his phone sending a text to Gaz, knowing he was free.

Get in my office. Now.

Quickly saving the video to his computer, he heard footsteps quickly approaching his office as the door was wrenched open. In walks an out of breath Garrick, a look of concern taking over his handsome face.

“Ya alright Si?” The bronze skinned man walked over to place a hand over the masked jaw of Simon.

The blonde man said nothing as he looked into Gaz’s eyes, quickly yanking his mask down and grabbing the man by the back of his neck. He yanked him down to bring their lips together, immediately earning a groan from Gaz.

Finally understanding what was happening, Gaz took a confident seat on the widespread of Ghosts lap.

Gaz swallowed the desperate groan as he rocked his hips against the rock hard length of Simon's cock. Before pulling his lips back looking down at the desperate man beneath him.

“What's gotten into you?” he said, tracing a finger around his lips.

Large hands wrapped around the smaller man's hips, forcefully turning him around to see a video paused of you sitting at your desk in a typing position. He cocked his head confused as Ghost hit play on the video, watching you trail your shirt up exposing the pink and pierced nipples almost directly to the camera.

Gaz moaned as he watched you slide your hand into your pants, face twisted in pleasure.

“Holy fuck.”

#john price #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #task force 141 #tf 141 x reader #poly 141 #smut

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derinthescarletpescatarian · 1 year ago

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Hi Derin! Sorry if this has been asked before, but I'm amazed by the vast array of cultures and gender norms in TTO:U. How did you come up with all of it?

I just thought "hey wouldn't it be funny if there was a little guy" and then made them, and thought "hey what norms would exist in a culture under these conditions" and then made those.

In all seriousness, most of my worldbuilding comes down to tearing down assumptions. Brennans exist because I fucking hate gender and I'm sick of seeing the gender binary or "gender binary Plus Nonbinary Extra People (who still live in a world that assumes a gender binary)" as some immutable natural law that all societies will forever cling to, and I wanted to make a society that was harder for readers to inevitably sort into a binary as they always, always fucking do. (Partial success; I have seen some absolutely rancid takes on the TTOU gender ternary that make me want to break my computer.) The array of different cultural family structures exist because those are different ways that societies can be built on smaller units. The Arboreae and the two space elevators and the Khemin exist because that is a potential response to a critical climate crisis.

On top of that, most of my ideas are stolen. I once read a short story about people who lived under the ocean on an alien planet and spent most of their time just cruising around the ocean in big bubble-like biological submersibles and that was their job, because their submersibles cleaned the water by feeding on things in it; they were employed to be part of the ecosystem. The Khemin, wandering about the ocean as both environmental monitors and trash-gatherers, were inspired by this; from there, I just thought on what sort of family structure and traditions such a group would develop for a stable society. When I was a teeny tiny child I saw a guy on Ripley's Believe It Or Not who was trying to build a self-sustaining floating island to sail around the world on. Absolute disaster of a plan, man knew shit about ecology or farming, but a bit later on I got really into swamps for awhile and started thinking of using plant roots as water filtration systems and, with an eventual biotechnology degree, multiple years hyperfixating on ecology and evolution, and touch of Magic Future Genetic Engineering, that eventually became the Arboreae. The social structure of Hylara is somewhat inspired by CJ Cherryh's azi, particularly the way that Florian and Catlan are raised in Cyteen. The Hylarans are very much not azi (the azi being slaves brainwashed from birth via hypnosis) but the way they are raised fed into building a society batch-raised by robots and each other with no natural family unit. You can just steal concepts from the real world or from scifi and build them into your own thing it's fine.

Anthropologically speaking, the golden feature of any social structure or cultural practice is *stability*. This is the one feature upon which everything is judged. Just or unjust, productive or unproductive, authoritarian or free, structured or unstructured, when developing a society your key thing to worry about is "is this stable? Would a society survive for multiple generations on this norm?" and if your Weird Idea isn't stable, either ditch it or -- far more interesting -- adjust it and your parameters until it is. Different norms will be stable in different environments and built on different histories -- Khemin and Hylaran norms are not interchangeable because of the environments, tech, political climate and reproductive methods the two cultures have. But if it's stable, you can throw in whatever weird shit you want.

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mikaylathenerd5 · 4 months ago

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Game Day Heat + One Shot

Masterlist Summary: Joe Anoa’i, WWE’s Tribal Chief and a Georgia Tech football legend, shares a thrilling game day at Bobby Dodd Stadium with his girlfriend, Isla Navarro, a cybersecurity specialist and fellow Tech alum who once dreamed of him from afar. The electric atmosphere of the Yellow Jackets’ victory fuels their passion, setting the stage for a night of intense connection in Joe’s luxurious Midtown condo. As their shared history deepens their bond, Joe’s wrestling-honed stamina and Isla’s admiration for her campus icon lead to a fiery, emotional evening that blurs the line between fantasy and reality. Will their love shine as brightly as the Atlanta skyline? Warnings: This one-shot contains mature themes. Please read at your own discretion. Explicit sexual content (graphic descriptions of sex, including oral and penetrative), Light BDSM (light bondage, spanking, Daddy kink), Squirting, Emotional vulnerability, Alcohol consumption (wine), Mature language (profanity, explicit dialogue), Brief mention of an age gap, Voyeuristic elements (implied) Authors Note: Might have gotten carried away lol but hope you enjoy. Trying something different for once. This can be read as a standalone from the book series. But as always, feel free to leave a comment 💛🖤💛🖤 Word Count: 5.7k words

Bobby Dodd Stadium, Atlanta, GA

The air at Bobby Dodd Stadium crackled with raw energy, the stands a vibrant sea of gold and white, the scent of grilled hot dogs, spilled beer, and fresh-cut grass hanging heavy in the September breeze. The crowd roared as the Georgia Tech Yellow Jackets sealed a victory with a last-second touchdown, the stadium lights casting a golden glow over the field, the atmosphere electric with triumph, the distant hum of Atlanta traffic a faint undercurrent to the cheers. Joe Anoa’i sat in the alumni section, his massive frame filling out a fitted Georgia Tech hoodie, the fabric stretched tight over his broad shoulders, his tattooed arm wrapped possessively around his girlfriend, Isla Navarro. The game-day intensity stirred a fire in Joe—he’d been a star defensive tackle for Tech years ago, his name still a legend among fans, his legacy etched into the turf below. Now, as the Tribal Chief of WWE, Joe was known for his unmatched stamina in the ring, dominating matches with a relentless endurance that left opponents exhausted and fans in awe—a trait that carried over into every aspect of his life, especially with Isla, who’d admired him from afar during her college days. Isla, who’d attended Tech much later, pressed herself against his side, her gold Tech T-shirt clinging to her curves, the soft cotton catching the light, her dark hair tumbling in waves over her shoulder, her eyes bright with joy as she cheered, her voice hoarse from shouting, her laughter a melody that warmed Joe’s chest.

Isla had always respected Joe’s legacy at Tech, the stories of his unyielding spirit on the field a quiet inspiration during her own student days, though they’d never met back then. As a computer science major, she’d been deeply immersed in her studies, often camped out in the Clough Undergraduate Learning Commons with her laptop open, debugging code or working through complex data structures, her determination to excel in her field driving her through late nights and endless cups of coffee. But even amidst her rigorous academic schedule, she couldn’t help but overhear the whispered legends of Joe Anoa’i—the star defensive tackle who’d graduated years before her time, his name a symbol of grit and glory on the field. She’d catch snippets of his games playing on a loop in the student lounge nearby, her eyes occasionally flickering to the screen, a small smile tugging at her lips as she imagined what it would be like to meet the man behind the myth, though her focus always snapped back to her coding projects, her dreams of a future in cybersecurity taking precedence. Now, as his girlfriend, she felt a deep thrill watching the game with him, the reality of being in his arms a dream she’d never thought would come true, his warmth a steady anchor amidst the chaos, his scent—a heady mix of cedarwood cologne, leather, and the faint musk of sweat—wrapping around her like a lover’s embrace. Joe’s hand rested on her thigh, his calloused fingers tracing slow, deliberate patterns on her skin through her jeans, each touch a spark that set her nerves alight, his grip possessive yet tender, a silent promise of the night ahead. “You’re a fuckin’ vision in gold, baby,” he murmured in her ear, his deep voice a low growl, the sound vibrating through her, making a sharp pulse flare deep in her belly. Isla blushed, her cheeks warming under his gaze, her voice teasing as she leaned closer, her lips brushing his ear, the scent of her jasmine perfume mingling with the stadium air, “Wait ‘til you see what I’ve got for you after the game, Daddy—your college crush has a surprise.”

Joe’s eyes darkened, a storm of desire brewing in their depths, his grip tightening on her thigh, the pressure sending a jolt of heat to her core, his dick twitching in his jeans at the nickname. “You’re playin’ with fire, baby—gonna make Daddy burn for you,” he growled, his voice rough with need, his lips grazing her earlobe, the heat of his words sending a shiver down her spine, her panties already damp with anticipation. “I can’t wait to get you alone, Isla—gonna make you scream for me,” he added, his voice a low rumble, the promise making her walls flutter with need, her heart racing with anticipation, knowing his stamina would ensure a night of relentless pleasure. The crowd’s final cheer marked the Yellow Jackets’ win, the victory fueling their adrenaline as they left the stadium hand in hand, the Atlanta skyline shimmering against the night sky, a glittering backdrop to the fire building between them.

They arrived at the luxurious condo Joe had rented for the weekend, a sleek penthouse in Midtown with floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the city’s twinkling lights, a modern kitchen with gleaming marble counters, and a spacious bedroom with a king-sized bed draped in crisp white sheets, the scent of fresh linen mingling with the faint musk of their anticipation. Isla insisted on cooking dinner, her way of grounding herself after the game’s intensity, and Joe couldn’t tear his eyes away as she moved around the kitchen, her hips swaying with a natural rhythm as she prepared a creamy pasta dish, the scent of garlic, basil, and parmesan filling the air, the sizzle of the pan a soft counterpoint to the pounding of his heart. “You need me, baby?” he asked, his voice a low rumble, his eyes tracing the curve of her ass in her jeans, the way her T-shirt hugged her waist, his dick already half-hard at the sight of her, his mind racing with thoughts of how his stamina would let him take her apart piece by piece, over and over, until she was a trembling mess beneath him.

“I’ve got it,” Isla replied with a playful smile, glancing over her shoulder at him, her eyes glinting with mischief, her dark hair catching the kitchen’s warm light. “Pour us some wine and relax—I’ve got a surprise for you after dinner,” she teased, her voice soft but charged with promise, making Joe’s anticipation spike, his dick throbbing in his jeans. “You’re killin’ me, Isla—better make it quick,” he growled, pouring two glasses of deep red wine, the liquid catching the light like molten rubies, his voice rough with need, his heart pounding with the thought of what was to come, his stamina already fueling his impatience to have her.

Dinner was a slow burn of desire, their attraction a tangible force, every glance a flame, every brush of their fingers a spark that set their skin ablaze. They sat close at the sleek dining table, the creamy pasta dish steaming between them, the scent of garlic and parmesan mingling with the rich aroma of the wine, the distant hum of Atlanta traffic filtering through the windows, a reminder of the city’s pulse outside their intimate bubble. Isla’s mind drifted to her college days, how she’d been so focused on her computer science studies at Georgia Tech, her nights consumed by coding assignments and algorithm design, her determination to build a career in cybersecurity driving her forward. Back then, Joe was a distant legend, his name a whisper on campus, his football highlights occasionally playing in the background of the Clough Commons while she debugged code nearby, her focus unwavering even as her heart fluttered at the thought of the man who’d once dominated the field. She’d allow herself a fleeting daydream—imagining meeting the campus icon who’d graduated long before her time—before diving back into her projects, her ambition always taking the lead. Now, here she was, living a fantasy she’d once thought impossible, sharing a meal with the man who’d been a distant inspiration, their shared history as Tech alums deepening the moment. Joe twirled a forkful of pasta, the creamy sauce clinging to the noodles, and held it up to Isla’s lips, his eyes locked on hers, a playful smirk tugging at his mouth. “Taste it for me, baby—wanna see those pretty lips around this,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble, the words dripping with flirtation, making Isla’s cheeks flush, a sharp pulse flaring deep in her belly. She leaned forward, her lips parting as she took the bite, the creamy sauce coating her tongue, a soft moan escaping her as she savored the flavor, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment, the sound making Joe’s dick throb, his heart racing with desire.

“So good, Daddy—you’ve gotta try it,” Isla purred, her voice soft but teasing as she twirled a forkful of pasta, the sauce glistening on the noodles, and held it up to Joe’s mouth, her eyes glinting with mischief, her lips curving into a playful smile. “You’re hackin’ my heart with every bite, baby,” she teased, a nod to her computer science background and her current cybersecurity work, the playful comment making Joe chuckle, his deep laugh sending a shiver through her. Joe leaned in, his lips brushing her fingers as he took the bite, the creamy sauce bursting with flavor on his tongue, the heat of her touch sending a jolt of pleasure through him, his eyes darkening with need. “Fuck, baby—you’re makin’ dinner dangerous,” he growled, his voice rough with desire, the taste of the pasta mingling with the taste of her skin, the intimacy of the moment making his dick strain against his jeans, his anticipation building with every second.

Joe’s expression softened for a moment, a rare vulnerability flickering in his eyes as he set down his fork, his voice quieter, almost hesitant. “You know, Isla, last week’s match… the pressure of bein’ the Tribal Chief, it’s heavy sometimes. Everyone expects me to be unbreakable, but I feel it, you know?” he admitted, his fingers tracing the rim of his wine glass, the confession a glimpse into the man behind the legend. Isla’s heart swelled, her hand reaching across the table to cover his, her touch warm and steady. “You’re more than the Tribal Chief to me, Joe—you’re my safe space, my everything. And if anyone tries to break you, I’ll hack their whole system ‘til they’re begging for mercy,” she said with a playful wink, her computer science expertise and cybersecurity career shining through, her words a mix of support and fierce loyalty that made Joe’s chest tighten with love. “Fuck, baby—you’re my rock,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion, his hand squeezing hers, the moment deepening their connection, the intimacy of their shared meal a quiet prelude to the fire waiting to ignite.

They continued feeding each other, their movements slow and deliberate, each bite a shared act of intimacy, the creamy sauce a sensual contrast to the heat building between them, their laughter and teasing words a soft counterpoint to the pounding of their hearts, the tension a living thing in the air. Joe’s gaze lingered on Isla’s lips as she sipped her wine, the way her throat moved as she swallowed, the soft curve of her neck a canvas for his mouth, the sight making his dick throb even harder. “You’re too fuckin’ beautiful, baby—I’m dyin’ to taste you,” he growled, his voice low and rough, the words making a sharp pulse flare deep in Isla’s belly, her skin flushing under his attention, the ache between her thighs a desperate throb. “Patience, Daddy—you’ll get everything you want,” she replied, her voice soft but teasing, her eyes locked on his, the promise in her gaze making his heart race, his dick straining against his jeans even more, the intimacy of their shared meal only heightening the fire between them, his stamina ensuring he’d make good on every promise he whispered.

After clearing the dishes, Isla excused herself to “freshen up,” leaving Joe on the couch, the leather cool against his skin, his anticipation a wildfire in his veins, his dick straining against his jeans, the taste of the creamy pasta and Isla’s skin lingering on his tongue, sharp and sweet. She returned a few minutes later, and Joe’s breath caught in his throat, his heart pounding like a war drum. Isla stood in the doorway, wearing his old Georgia Tech football jersey—number 96, the yellow-and-white fabric hanging loose on her smaller frame, the hem brushing the tops of her thighs, the faded letters a testament to his past glory, a symbol of the legacy she’d always admired, the rough texture of the fabric a tactile reminder of their shared history. Beneath it, a black lace lingerie set peeked out—a bra that pushed up her breasts, making them spill over the top, the lace intricate against her skin, a delicate contrast to her curves, and a thong that framed her thick ass, the thin straps digging into her hips, the lace barely covering her pussy, her skin glowing in the soft light of the condo, her curves a vision of temptation, her eyes locked on his, a silent invitation.

“Fuck, Isla—you look like a goddamn dream in my jersey,” Joe growled, his voice thick with lust, his dick hardening instantly as he stood, closing the distance between them in two long strides, his movements predatory, his eyes raking over her body like a man possessed. “You’re Daddy’s perfect girl, huh? Gonna make you feel so fuckin’ good tonight,” he added, his voice a low rumble, the words sending a shiver down her spine, a sharp pulse flaring deep in her belly, knowing his stamina would ensure he’d keep going until she was utterly spent. His hands grabbed her hips, pulling her against him, the hard length of his erection pressing through his jeans, the heat of him searing through her, his fingers digging into her soft flesh, the jersey rough against his palms, the lace of her thong a teasing contrast, the scent of her jasmine perfume mixing with the musk of her arousal, a heady combination that made his head spin. “I love being yours, Daddy—I’ve always wanted this,” Isla moaned softly, her hands sliding up his chest, her nails scraping lightly over his hoodie, the fabric catching on her fingertips, her voice breathy with need, the admission making Joe’s heart race, his dick throbbing with the depth of his desire for her.

He backed her against the kitchen counter, the cool marble pressing against the backs of her thighs, a sharp contrast to the heat of his body, his hands roaming her curves, lifting the jersey to reveal the black lace lingerie, his fingers tracing the edge of her thong, the lace delicate against her skin, before yanking it to the side, teasing her clit with slow, deliberate circles, the pad of his thumb rough against her sensitive bud, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure through her, her walls fluttering with need, her juices already soaking the lace, the counter slick beneath her. “You’re so fuckin’ wet for me, baby—already drippin’ for Daddy,” Joe growled, his voice rough with desire, the words making a sharp pulse flare deep in Isla’s belly, her thighs trembling with anticipation. “Please, Daddy—I need you so bad,” Isla moaned, her hands gripping the counter, her knuckles whitening, her voice desperate, the ache between her thighs a desperate throb, the scent of her arousal filling the air, a sweet musk that drove Joe wild.

He dropped to his knees, his hands spreading her thighs wide, the muscles in her legs quivering under his touch, his hot breath fanning over her pussy, making her shiver with anticipation, the heat of his gaze searing her skin as he looked up at her, his eyes dark with hunger. “Gonna make you come so hard, baby—gonna taste every fuckin’ drop,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble, the words sending a shiver down her spine, her clit pulsing in anticipation. His tongue darted out, licking a slow, deliberate stripe up her slit, the taste of her arousal bursting on his tongue like the sweetest nectar, a low groan rumbling in his chest as he savored her, the vibrations sending shivers through her body, her clit pulsing under his touch. “Fuck, you taste like heaven, Isla—sweeter than any win in the ring,” he growled, his voice muffled against her, the praise tying his wrestling persona to their intimacy, making her heart race, her walls fluttering with need.

He sucked her clit into his mouth, his lips wrapping around the sensitive bud, his tongue flicking it in a slow, torturous rhythm, the wet sounds of his mouth on her pussy filling the kitchen, a symphony of desire that mingled with her desperate moans, the counter cold against her ass, the jersey slipping off one shoulder, revealing the black lace bra, her breasts heaving with every ragged breath, the lace stretched tight across her skin, her nipples hard against the fabric. “Joe, fuck—oh my God, that feels incredible!” Isla cried, her voice raw, her thighs trembling as he worked her, his tongue relentless, his hands holding her hips to keep her in place, his fingers digging into her soft flesh, leaving faint marks that made her feel claimed, desired. His tongue dipped inside her, tasting her deeper, the wet heat of her pussy enveloping his tongue, the slickness of her arousal coating his lips, his chin, the taste of her driving him to the edge, his dick throbbing in his jeans, the pressure almost painful.

His fingers slid inside her, curling against that spot that made her vision blur, the stretch of his thick fingers making her walls flutter, the burn of it sending a wave of pleasure through her, her juices dripping down his hand, the counter slick beneath her, the scent of her arousal overwhelming, a heady mix that made his head spin. “You’re so tight, baby—gonna make you squirt for Daddy, aren’t you?” he growled, his voice rough with need, the words making a sharp pulse flare deep in Isla’s belly, her body trembling on the edge. “Yes, Daddy—please, I’m so close!” she pleaded, her voice desperate, the pressure in her core building to a breaking point, her thighs quaking with the intensity of the pleasure.

He worked her slowly, his tongue circling her clit faster, his fingers pumping in and out, the wet squelching sounds driving her wild, her thighs trembling, her core tightening with every flick of his tongue, every thrust of his fingers, the pleasure building to a breaking point, her body trembling on the edge. Isla’s orgasm hit her like a tidal wave, her walls fluttering around his fingers, her juices squirting out in a gush, soaking Joe’s face, dripping down his chin and onto his chest, the wet heat of her release making a mess of the counter beneath her, the marble slick with her cum, the scent of her arousal a testament to the intensity of her climax. “Fuck, yes, baby—that’s it, squirt for Daddy,” Joe groaned, pulling back to watch her, his lips glistening with her cum, his eyes dark with hunger as he licked his lips, drinking in every drop, his voice raw with need.

Her body shook, her thighs quaking with aftershocks, her hands gripping the counter as she rode out the waves of pleasure, the sensation so intense she felt tears spill down her cheeks, her clit pulsing with aftershocks, her voice a broken sob as she moaned, “Daddy, fuck—it’s too much!” Joe stood, his chest slick with her juices, his dick rock-hard in his jeans, the pressure unbearable as he stripped them off, his massive length springing free, the head swollen and leaking precum, veins bulging along the shaft, the sight making a sharp pulse flare deep in Isla’s belly, her core aching to be filled, her body trembling with need. “You ready for me, baby? Ready for Daddy to fill you up?” he growled, his voice rough with desire, the words making her walls flutter, her arousal dripping down her thighs. “Please, Daddy—I need you inside me, need you to fuck me,” Isla pleaded, her voice desperate, her hands reaching for him, her body aching for his touch, knowing his stamina would push her to her limits.

He teased her with the head of his dick, rubbing it against her clit, the wet heat of her pussy making him groan, the sensation of her slickness against his sensitive tip sending a jolt of pleasure through him, his balls tightening, his heart pounding with the need to be inside her. “Fuck, baby—you’re so ready for me, so fuckin’ perfect,” he growled, his voice a low rumble, the praise making Isla’s heart race, a sharp pulse flaring deep in her belly. He pushed into her slowly, stretching her tight pussy around his girth, the burn of the stretch making Isla gasp, her nails digging into his shoulders, the pain mixing with pleasure as her walls adjusted to his size, the fullness of him overwhelming, her inner muscles quivering around him, the heat of her body searing through him. “Daddy, fuck—you’re so big, it’s so much!” she cried, her voice breaking, the sensation of his thick length filling her driving her to the edge, her heart racing with the depth of her love for him.

Joe groaned, his hands gripping her hips, his fingers leaving faint bruises as he started moving, his movements slow and deliberate, savoring every inch of her, the counter creaking beneath them, the cool marble a sharp contrast to the heat of their bodies, the jersey rough against his skin, the lace of her bra teasing his chest. “You feel incredible, baby—so tight for Daddy,” he growled, his voice rough with desire, the words making Isla’s walls flutter, the pleasure building with every slow, deep thrust. Each thrust was deliberate, his dick hitting that spot inside her that made her see stars, the pressure building in her core, her juices dripping down his thighs, the counter slick beneath her, the scent of their arousal a heady mix that filled the air, the slow drag of his dick against her walls sending waves of pleasure through her, the friction making her clit pulse, her body trembling with the intensity of it, her heart racing with the depth of her love for him.

“You’re takin’ Daddy’s spear so good, Isla—look at you, my perfect girl,” he growled, his voice a low rumble, referencing his signature wrestling move, the words tying his Tribal Chief persona to their intimacy, his eyes locked on hers, watching every flicker of pleasure on her face, her lips parted, her cheeks flushed, the raw attraction between them a living flame. “Daddy, fuck—it’s so good, don’t stop!” Isla moaned, her voice raw, her thighs quaking as the pleasure built, her inner muscles quivering around him, the sensation of his thick length stretching her, filling her, driving her to the edge, her body trembling with need. He turned her over, her breasts pressing against the counter, the cool marble a shock against her heated skin, her ass raised, the jersey hiked up around her waist, her thong pulled down to her thighs, the lace stretched tight against her skin.

He entered her from behind, the angle allowing him to go even deeper, her pussy stretching around him, the burn making her sob, the sensation of his dick hitting that spot inside her making her vision blur, her ass jiggling with every movement, the counter slick with her juices, the scent of their arousal overwhelming, the roughness of his thrusts making her body tremble with need, the jersey a reminder of their shared history, the lace of her thong digging into her thighs, the sensation of his hands on her hips, his fingers digging into her soft flesh, leaving faint bruises, making her feel claimed, desired. “Fuck, Isla—your ass looks so good like this, bouncin’ for Daddy,” he growled, smacking her ass, the sound echoing in the condo, the sting making her moan louder, her walls fluttering around him, the roughness making her body tremble with need. “Daddy, fuck—I’m so close again, please let me come!” Isla pleaded, her voice breaking, the pressure in her core building to a breaking point, her body trembling on the edge.

“Hold on, baby—Daddy’s gonna make you come so hard,” he growled, his voice rough with need, the words making Isla’s heart race, her clit pulsing with anticipation. He moved slowly, drawing out the pleasure, the slow drag of his dick against her walls sending waves of pleasure through her, the friction making her clit pulse, the pressure in her core building to a breaking point, her body trembling on the edge. Isla’s orgasm hit her hard, her inner muscles quivering around him, her juices gushing as she came, the wet heat soaking the counter, her body trembling, her voice a broken sob, “Daddy, yes!” the pleasure so intense she felt her entire body ignite, her heart pounding with the depth of her love for him.

Joe moved through her orgasm, his thrusts slow and deep, drawing out her pleasure, a low growl rumbling in his chest, “That’s it, baby—come for Daddy, let me feel you,” his voice raw with need, his dick throbbing inside her, the pressure in his balls building, his heart pounding with the depth of his desire for her. His stamina, honed from years of dominating in the wrestling ring, kept him going, his movements relentless as he pushed her through her climax, his own need building but his control unwavering, determined to make her come again before he let himself go. He carried her to the bedroom, the transition swift as he laid her on the king-sized bed, the white sheets cool against her heated skin, the Atlanta skyline glittering through the floor-to-ceiling windows, a silent witness to their passion. “I’m not done with you yet, baby—gonna love you even more,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble, the promise making a sharp pulse flare deep in Isla’s belly, her body trembling with anticipation, knowing his stamina meant he could keep going for hours if he wanted to.

He pressed her against the floor-to-ceiling windows, the cool glass a sharp contrast to the heat of their bodies, the smooth surface fogging with her breath as she moaned, the city lights casting a soft glow on their intertwined forms, the distant hum of Atlanta traffic a faint reminder of the world beyond their bubble. “Look at the city watchin’ us, baby—everyone down there wishin’ they were me,” he growled, his voice rough with desire, the voyeuristic thrill making Isla’s walls flutter, the sensation of his dick hitting that spot inside her making her vision blur, her breasts pressed against the glass, the jersey slipping down her back, revealing the black lace bra, the fabric stretched tight across her breasts. “Daddy, fuck—it’s so intense, I can’t—” Isla sobbed, her voice raw, the pleasure overwhelming her, her body trembling with the intensity of it, the city below a glittering witness to their passion.

“You’re relentless, Daddy—just like in the ring!” Isla moaned, her voice breathy, the comment tying Joe’s stamina to his wrestling persona, making him growl with pride, his thrusts deep and controlled, his body showing no signs of slowing down even after pushing Isla through multiple orgasms, his wrestling-honed endurance making him a relentless lover, determined to give her every ounce of pleasure she could take. He pulled out briefly, turning her to face him, his eyes locked on hers, the love and desire in his gaze making her heart race, the heat of their connection burning through every touch. “You’re my fuckin’ everything, Isla—I love you so much,” he growled, his voice rough with emotion, his hands sliding up to cup her face, his thumbs brushing her cheeks, the tenderness in his touch making her heart swell, her voice soft but intense as she moaned, “I love you too, Daddy—I’m yours, forever.”

He carried her to the bathroom, the steam from the hot shower already filling the air, the scent of lavender body wash mingling with their arousal, the soft patter of the water a soothing backdrop as he set her down, the jersey still clinging to her sweaty skin. “Time to get you clean, baby—but Daddy’s gonna make you dirty again,” he growled, his voice a low rumble, the promise making a sharp pulse flare deep in Isla’s belly, her body trembling with anticipation. He tugged the jersey off her, using the faded fabric to tie her hands behind her back, the rough material biting into her wrists, the light bondage adding a thrilling edge as he pinned her against the shower wall, the hot water cascading down their bodies, steam enveloping them in a warm cocoon. “You’re mine to take, baby—Daddy’s jersey looks better like this,” he growled, his voice rough with desire, the words making Isla’s walls flutter, her body trembling with need.

He entered her again, the angle allowing him to go even deeper, her pussy stretching around him, the burn making her sob, the sensation of his dick hitting that spot inside her making her vision blur, her juices mixing with the water, the shower floor slick beneath them, the steam amplifying the scent of their arousal, the roughness of his thrusts making her body tremble with need, the jersey binding her wrists a reminder of their shared history, the lace of her bra teasing her skin, the hot water adding a new sensory layer that made every touch feel electric. “Daddy, fuck—I’m gonna come again!” Isla sobbed, her voice raw, the pleasure overwhelming her, her body trembling on the edge, the relentless pace of Joe’s thrusts pushing her to her limits, his stamina ensuring he could keep her on the edge as long as he wanted.

“Hold on, baby—Daddy wants to feel you come with me,” he growled, his voice a low rumble, the words making Isla’s heart race, her clit pulsing with anticipation. He untied her hands, turning her to face him, her legs spread wide, her pussy glistening with her cum, the water soaking them both, the jersey discarded on the shower floor, her breasts heaving with every ragged breath. He entered her again, lifting her legs over his shoulders, the angle allowing him to go even deeper, her pussy stretching around him, the burn making her sob, the sensation of his dick hitting that spot inside her making her vision blur, her juices dripping down his thighs, the shower a mess beneath them, the slow drag of his dick against her walls sending waves of pleasure through her, the friction making her clit pulse, the pressure in her core building to a breaking point, her body trembling on the edge, his eyes locked on hers, the love and desire in his gaze making her heart race, the heat of their connection burning through every touch.

Isla’s hands gripped his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin, her voice raw with desperation as she felt the telltale signs of Joe’s impending release—his thrusts growing erratic, his dick pulsing inside her, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. Sensing his need for acknowledgment as the Tribal Chief, she locked eyes with him, her voice a desperate, reverent whisper, “Acknowledge me as yours, Daddy—my Tribal Chief deserves it!” Her words echoed his WWE persona’s commanding catchphrase, a powerful nod to his dominance in the ring and in their intimacy, her walls fluttering around him in submission, the acknowledgment pushing Joe to the brink, his heart pounding with the intensity of her words, the heat of her reverence amplifying his pleasure. Joe’s eyes darkened, her acknowledgment shattering his control after holding back for so long, his stamina giving way to the overwhelming need to release. “Fuck, baby—you’re mine, always,” he groaned, his voice rough with need as he came hard, his dick pulsing violently inside her, his hot cum filling her up in thick, forceful spurts, dripping down her thighs as he moved through his orgasm, the intensity heightened by Isla’s acknowledgment, his thrusts slow and deep, his cum mixing with her juices and the water, the shower floor slick beneath them, the sensation of his release making her walls flutter, her own orgasm hitting her at the same time, her juices gushing as she came, the wet heat soaking them both, her body trembling, her voice a broken sob, “Daddy, yes—I love you!” the pleasure so intense she felt her entire body ignite, her heart pounding with the depth of her love for him.

Joe gently pulled out, his cum dripping from her pussy, the shower floor a mess with their combined juices, the water washing away the evidence of their passion as he pulled her into his arms, their bodies slick with sweat and water, their breathing heavy, the steam a warm cocoon around them. Even after such an intense session, Joe’s stamina was evident in the way his hands still roamed her body, his touch possessive and hungry, as if he could go another round without breaking a sweat, a testament to the endurance that made him a legend in the ring and an unstoppable force in bed. Isla nestled against his chest, her fingers tracing the tattoos on his arm, her voice soft as she murmured, “I’ve got a big deadline at work next week—some new encryption project. But nights like this… they make everything worth it.” Joe kissed the top of her head, his voice a low rumble as he replied, “You’re gonna kill it, baby—just like you do with me.” He paused, his gaze drifting to the jersey on the shower floor, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Today at the game… seein’ you cheer in the stands, wearin’ my colors—it felt like a full-circle moment, you know? Like I was back on that field, but this time, I had you.” His words tied their intimacy to the shared joy of the game-day victory, a final emotional beat that left a warm, lingering glow, the Atlanta skyline still glittering through the window, a silent witness to their love. “I can’t wait for more days like this, Daddy—I’m yours to love,” Isla whispered, her voice charged with desire and devotion, her heart swelling with the depth of her love for him. They stood there, tangled in each other, the afterglow a warm cocoon around them, their attraction still simmering beneath the surface, the roughness of their encounter balanced by the love in their touches, their breaths mingling as they held each other close, the jersey a symbol of their shared history, the lace of her lingerie a reminder of the fire between them, the soft patter of the shower a soothing lullaby to their perfect night.

Can’t get enough of Joe and Isla’s fiery romance? 🔥💛 Their journey continues in my book series Open Arms, packed with more steamy moments, heartfelt connections, and the love story you’ll be obsessed with! Dive into the full series on my masterlist here. Want to stay updated on their story? Comment below or message me to be added to the Open Arms taglist—I’d love to have you along for the ride! 💖

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