#I was thinking what this AU's title is going to be if I put it on AO3 and my brain said 'Let's Get Physical' 😂

[awxcoffeexno]

soft sounds from another planet | chapter 2 - stars hollow istg

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pairing: clark kent x fem!reader

genre: rom-com

summary: you get to smallville and it is not what you expect.

warnings: none for this chapter but this series is 18+, has smut, and mentions of canon typical violence even tho it's an au (cannot un-lex luthor lex luthor, soz)

word count: 2.3k

a/n: i took a day off work to write this and it's still buns. rip me.

“Look, most of what I know came from sitting on our back porch at home, passing a lemonade back and forth with ma and pa kent, watching our cows graze... I don’t think city folks get to really introspect. it’s just too loud out here.” - Clark Kent, interview on The Press Pass podcast, 2016

you start packing for your kansas adventure on saturday. the plan is simple: a six-ish hour flight to wichita, rent a car, and then drive the last two hours to smallville. not the worst way to spend your sunday.

you’ve always been the kind of freak who loves sitting on a plane, even in economy. and this time, it's even better because dani said the magazine would cover travel and board and insisted you fly business. so yeah... you’re kind of excited.

you’ve got the whole thing planned out in your head: iced mocha latte from al’s at 7 a.m., airport by 8:15, an hour of lounge time with sad but free continental breakfast and your research window open on safari. flight at 10, wichita by 4:30, rental car by 5:15, and–if all goes according to plan–you’ll be pulling into smallville just in time for a cozy dinner at some roadside diner that hopefully leans full 1950s: red-and-white tiles, mini jukeboxes at every table, a waitress named cheryl who calls you "hon."

but right now? you’re freaking the fuck out. because while you may love traveling, you hate packing.

“dude, there are, like, no underwear in here,” meera says, peering into your half-zipped packing cube.

“oh, fuck,” you groan, springing up.

“sit down. i’ll find some,” she says, shoving your shoulder back down with surgeon-level authority. to your horror, she proceeds to stuff the cube exclusively with the fancy underwear the lacy pairs, the ones you save for birthdays, or the very occasional hookup.

“meers,” you hiss, “i’m going there for work.”

she doesn’t even look up. “exactly. and nothing says professionalism like being emotionally prepared for a surprise makeout sesh with small-town cowboy.”

–

by the time you make it to the airport the next morning, you’re operating on exactly three hours of sleep, a fuckass coffee (classic al’s), trader joe’s chocolate covered espresso beans, and the high-stakes adrenaline of someone pretending to be effortlessly put-together.

you left the apartment with your suitcase half-zipped, your boarding pass loaded on three different apps (just in case), and your laptop charger already tangled in a knot so complex it might qualify as modern art. you are, in short, thriving.

not to mention, by some grace of god, the security line is short and (fucking miracle of miracles !!) the lounge has both wi-fi and a working toaster.

you settle into a warm sunlit corner and take your computer out of your bag. there’s a tiny stack of pancakes on your plate, a toasted bagel, a very earnest tab open titled, “how to make sure someone likes you.”

you need clark kent to like you.

see, you never truly believed that he had any true fault in what happened. sure, he couldve been a little more careful but honestly speaking, people have made worse mistakes with lesser consequences. his very public internet flogging that carried no nuance whatsoever never really made sense in your eyes.

besides, youre a romantic. and if there’s one thing hollywood romcoms have taught you, airports are a place for second chances. there’s something particularly appealing about the idea that reinvention is just one gate change away. maybe that’s why you’re already imagining what you’ll say when (if) you find him. if he even opens the door.

hi, i’m a journalist who’s been mildly obsessed with your writing since college and i swear i’m not here to stalk you, just exploit your tragic legacy for narrative gold!

okay. no. yikes. definitely not that.

you scroll absently through the “clark kent” google results again, half-hoping a new clue will magically appear between “where is clark kent now?” and “top 10 famous people who vanished mysteriously post pandemic.” it doesn’t.

the boarding call comes just as finish off the last of your pancakes. you close your laptop, and gather your things.

your business class seat is window-side, thank you very much. there’s a little glass of orange juice waiting for you, a hot towel you never quite know what to do with, and just enough legroom to fit a basketball player. you’re shorter than meera’s mighty 5’5.

you settle in, and tug your headphones on. you think about perhaps listening to an emily henry audiobook before switching to a podcast clark did back in 2016 that you’ve never heard before but had the foresight to download last night.

see, you’ve watched many many videos of him, especially in the last week, but with the podcast mic and the incredible audio quality, his voice runs straight down your spine. it’s warm and buttery and a charming mix of metropolis-polished and country twang.

by the time the plane lifts off, you feel it again - that little buzz in your chest. you’re finally doing something that you’ve wanted to for a long time and youre fucking excited.

–

the sun is just starting to set by the time you turn off the interstate and onto a two-lane road flanked by wheat fields and politely spaced telephone poles. according to your gps, smallville is still twelve minutes away. according to the increasingly spooky lack of signage or civilization, however, you might be driving straight into the plot of a mid-budget horror movie.

you’ve already passed a “jesus is watching” billboard, and an abandoned gas station with a goat on the roof (unclear if intentional).

and then, like it’s been waiting for you to stop checking the map every six seconds, smallville just... appears.

and it is stupidly cute. like, aggressively charming. there’s red and yellow bunting hanging from the stores in the main street which is lined with brick buildings and hand-painted signs: granny’s pie stop, main & maple booksellers, the stitchery (a sewing-slash-coffee shop, apparently). there are pumpkin planters on the sidewalks even though it’s not october, and actual children are playing tag in front of a general store. there’s even a little dog chasing them and nipping at their ankles as they squeal in delight

it’s so quaint you half expect to bump into a flannel-clad man carrying a christmas tree and a tragic backstory. in june.

hey, maybe you’ll get that cowboy romance meera wouldn’t shut up about.

you roll your window down and let the breeze in. it smells like woodsmoke and farmland aaaand.. maybe a little like betrayal, because you’re genuinely annoyed at how much you like it here. you’d been prepared for rundown and forgotten. instead, it’s full of life and laughter.

your rental car looks ridiculous on these streets - a slick, city-black sedan that definitely screams “i’ve never milked a cow” in this town -but no one seems to care. a sweet old man even waves as he walks by in overalls.

your phone pings, startling you.

meera: did u get murdered yet? pls confirm for legal purposes.

you send her a picture of yourself with a goofyass smile and a thumbs-up then pull into the gravel lot of the dandelion inn.

it’s a cute little b&b with floral wallpaper and fresh cookies at the front desk.

“hey, hon!” the little lady behind it grins, “you must be the girl from metropolis. i’m kelly.”

“guilty,” you smile. “how’d you know?”

she laughs. “oh, word gets around quick here. plus, you’re the only guest this week who booked with a corporate card and asked for the strongest wi-fi. that’s big-city energy if i’ve ever seen it.”

you like her immediately.

after checking you in, she hands you a room key with a sunflower keychain and a warm oatmeal cookie wrapped in a napkin.

“we’re screening the princess bride tonight,” she says. “you’re welcome to join. we’ve got blankets and popcorn and everything.”

you nod like you’ll think about it, but let’s be honest, you’re definitely going. you have questions about clark kent, but right now, but right now it’s still sunday, and you want to enjoy this gilmore girls knock-off town while the fantasy’s still fresh.

once youre settled into your room, you sit on the bed and pull out your notebook. you flip to a fresh page.

smallville: first impressions

disturbingly adorable

so fckin friendly - just genuinely nice??

stars hollow istg

clark kent grew up here?? makes sm sense, he is was a kind hearted cutie patootie too

you chew on the end of your pen and glance out the window. somewhere out there is the man you came looking for. or at least the ghost of who he used to be.

and if this town really is the kind of place that holds on to its people, maybe - just maybe - it’s still holding on to him, too.

–

by 7:45, the park is glowing like it’s been kissed on the cheek by a hallmark movie.

you wander down maple street with a b&b quilt tucked under your arm and a paper bag of kettle corn crinkling in your hand. somewhere ahead, someone is playing a soft acoustic cover of little sadie by crooked still. the town green is strung with fairy lights and someone’s set up a projector against the side of a whitewashed barn. there’s a table with cold cider and piles of nachos.

you’re so charmed–borderline disarmed–by the whole thing that you don’t even realize someone’s talking to you until they’re practically sitting in your lap.

“you’re new,” a woman says cheerfully, plopping down on the edge of your quilt like this is a long-running tradition. she’s got a plastic cup of lemonade in one hand and a tupperware of what can only be deviled eggs in the other. “i’m trish. i work at the library-slash-post office. not a joke. budget cuts and an overly optimistic mayor.”

“hi,” you say, blinking. “i’m just visiting. doing some writing.”

“ooh, mysterious!” her eyes sparkle. her accent heavy. “we get your kind every so often. journalists. usually after tornado season.”

you laugh. “close enough.”

she gestures at the green with her cup. “last week, we had a bake sale that turned into pie-eating contest that turned into a town hall. susan and shirley had a big fight about which one of their boys truly won. majority said susan’s boy, jack-ryan did.”

you’re about to ask whether susan offered bribes when a voice from behind you interrupts.

“you’re talking her ear off, trish.”

another voice pipes up, “she’s fine. if she made it past tsa, she can survive trish.”

you glance around to find that you’ve somehow acquired an entire welcoming committee. they’re settling themselves around your blanket like this was planned. you learn that they're joyce, earl, molly, ben, someone’s cousin, possibly someone’s dog, and there’s something so casual, so effortless about it that it takes you a moment to realize what’s happening.

they’ve let you in.

like you’re not new, like this isn’t strange. like you’ve always been part of the rhythm here.

eventually, the conversation drifts.

“heard you’re here about clark,” molly says, topping up your cider like it’s a peace offering.

you pause mid-sip. you’ve only… spoken to people about this on reddit. anonymously.

“word gets around,” ben adds, reminding you of what kelly had said earlier. “don’t worry. no one’s mad. just… interested.”

“he’s a good man,” joyce says, soft but firm. “always has been.”

“used to mow my lawn for free,” earl chimes in. “said the slope was dangerous, but we all knew it was because he can’t say no to a widower with a bad hip.”

“built the benches in this park,” trish adds, like it’s just one item on a long, beloved list. “with his own two hands.”

“showed my kid how to use a camera.”

“fixed the roof after the hailstorm.”

“never missed a blood drive.”

the stories pile up quick, gentle and nostalgic - laced with affection. there’s something underneath them, though. like, maybe he used to belong to this town in a way that he doesn’t anymore.

“he still lives here, right?” you ask, as casually as you can manage.

theres a beat of silence. not long, but just long enough to notice.

“he keeps to himself these days,” joyce says gently.

“but he’s around,” molly jumps in. “he’s… he’s healing.”

you nod like that explains everything, even though it doesn’t. not really. it’s like you’re assembling a puzzle, but the pieces keep shifting shape just when you think you’ve got an edge.

before you can ask more thpugh, the lights dim. the movie starts and a nostalgic sigh ripples through the crowd like someone just uncorked a bottle of collective memory.

you settle in, even giggling at some of the jokes, but your mind keeps circling back to clark.

and then, two-thirds of the way through the movie, just as westley is flinging himself down a hill and declaring his undying love… you see him.

standing near the edge of the park, half in shadow, half in the glow of the fairy lights, still as a statue.

he’s tall and clearly a notable presence, sporting a beard and downturned shoulders. you’ve watched countless interviews of him and are used to the clean-shaven version, sitting up straight in interviews, smiling like it’s second nature. he looks… rough. but it’s still unmistakably him.

he doesn’t interact with anyone. doesn’t move. just stands there, looking.. not at the screen, but at the crowd.

at you?

your breath catches.

it’s a strange kind of recognition. the kind that hits your chest first and logic second.

and then, before you can stand or or even blink properly, he turns and walks away.

not in a hurry or like he’s hiding.

just like someone who hasn’t quite decided if he wants to be found.

not quite yet.

(divider from @saradika-graphics)

taglist: @twizzlelutz @itzmeme @salty-salts-stuff

[oldrainfall]

CW: Nothin much— just me being abnormal about Ghost’s mask again, because amidst all my WIPs and shit I have to do, that’s apparently where my brain wants to focus rn.

Hiya. Hullo. I’ve got a lot of deadlines coming up that I’m procrastinating. So you know what that means?

✨More Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley mask headcannons✨ ft. me yapping about two of my WIPs at the very end (one Ghoap, and one König x reader).

(I stg masks aren’t even my thing, they just give me so many brain worms for no good reason.)

So I’ve yapped about Ghost wearing a mask when he’s on leave before— but I’ve got a new HC about it.

He doesn’t wear one of those black medical masks just to hide his facial scarring.

That’s a part of it, of course. Sometimes he just wants to keep his head down and get whatever he needs from the shops without having some bright eyed kid staring blatantly at the scars marring his face like they haven’t seen anything like it before (they probably haven’t. He doesn’t blame them for it, he remembers when he was first well enough to stumble from his bed in medical towards the nearest bathroom, and just stared and stared at the messy stitches going from the middle of his cheekbone, just below his eye, and curved down to the now missing chunk of his top lip). Or someone older than him poorly concealing their harsh whispers with a slight turn of their head towards whoever they were shopping with.

But that’s not the only reason.

Another was that — not that’d he’d ever willfully admit it — he felt far too exposed without it these days. In the rare times he did go without it, it made his skin crawl, like he was skulking down the streets without any shoes on. Didn’t feel somewhat settled until he gave in and put it back on, or managed to make it back to his under decorated flat, away from the world and any too curious eyes.

But if he was truly being honest with himself?

He couldn’t hide his expression for shit. An unfortunate caveat of wearing a mask all the time, is he’s gotten far too complacent with the face that people cannot see most of his face. Oftentimes he finds himself frowning or scowling at bad calls made by other soldiers, or his upper lip twisting in distain, pulling on his scar tissue rather uncomfortably, a reflexive reaction to watching the greenies almost do themselves in by something utterly stupid.

It’s not like he’s incapable of doing so if he needs to, but it takes a conscious effort on his part. Which, unfortunately, transferred to the rare times he was without a mask, too.

And, honestly, it’s easier to wear the ruddy mask than to nearly get kicked out of the closest Greggs to his flat again, because some poor bird thought he was pulling faces at her (which he’s sure is quite the sight with how his scars pull and pin his skin— he’s never checked, doesn’t want to know if it’s as bad as he thinks, but he can imagine) when he was in actuality just dead on his feet after a gruelling deployment, and frustratedly trying to do mental maths to figure out if whatever special was on was actually worth the bother of ordering.

Idk, I just love HCs that are startlingly human compared to the persona Ghost puts forward on the field.

Out of curiosity, would y’all be more interested in a Kelpie!Soap AU fic— or a long-shot style 141 operator!Reader x König fic, more?

Kelpie!Soap is more fleshed out, and has Ghoap, but is very angst-bordering-on-whump-y. And is set in an alternate universe where Soap never got to join the 141, and primarily focuses on him and Ghost working together to get the 141 back after they were captured while Ghost was on a solo op. Where they have to learning how to navigate the other, and work together. It’s a heavier than anything I’ve written before, but I still have plans for more light hearted banter like I’m prone to writing. Tentatively titled, ‘At Your Service,’ at the ‘mo.

While Reader x König would probably be quicker for me to finish (if I can find good resources to learn his accent) and shorter, focused more on a reluctant co-workers to friends to lovers dynamic, where they grow closer over the course of planning and executing a major illegal goods bust. A bit more lighthearted, albeit it still has its moments, due to König’s social anxiety, and why they end up starting to grow closer because of it. Tentatively titled, ‘Covered,’ because I’m in my loving double meaning titles era rn, and think I’m very clever, lol.

I’m more than willing to elaborate on either if that’s not enough info to decide, just send me an ask / comment or whatever. But be warned I will probably yap more than is required.

(I even broke out a Pinterest board for the Kelpie!Soap au, that’s how excited I am about it. Apparently you can take a lad away from his shite mermaid literature, but you can’t remove the psych damage the shite mermaid literature did to him, and the petty desire to one up it to prove a point, lmao.)

✨ My Masterlist ✨

[eggs-can-draw]

Hey YOU!! Yes, YOU!!! Wanna hear about my evil devious metaphor au? Wanna acknowledge the possibility that this will have SPOILERS?

Well. Have I got the post for you.

Everyone cheer I’m actually sitting down to explain an au for once!! I did it!! Yay!!! This au is also @yinvestigator ‘s because they are the remy to my linguini. Please excuse some re-used art. ALSO I’m gonna be using The Prince and Will interchangeably. I’m referring to the white haired one.

Ok serious talk, here’s the tldr. Instead of getting our beloved Magla Ball, the Eldan Queen made a whooole different choice in saving her beloved boy. Suppress the curse and have him do it himself!!

He has 6 months and two options

Live what little life you have left and ignore the curse slowly killing you

Kill Louis Guiabern and lift the curse

And he goes with… neither? Both?? He’s mostly just going along with what Gallica wants to do. He snuck out of the sanctum with Mamametaphor’s help and both their memories were rewired to think they conspired together. Gallica can’t be too far away from Will, or else the curse suppression weakens.

He’s got his mommie’s sword and a friend and dammit he’s. Gonna. Figure it out. Insert reason to join the army until we can come up with a different way to meet Strohl. Aha.

Strohl doesn’t believe Will’s the prince because that guy was declared dead YEARS ago and I think it’d be funny. Gallica is appalled and Will. Kinda likes that. Who needs the title of mixed eldan bastard prince when you’re just. Some elda to this guy. (This doesn’t last long, but it’s nice.)

They reach the border fort, meet Grius, archetype it up, meet More, the whole shebang. Important detail!!! Will’s archetype is weird and fucked up now :D shit’s interacting with the curse weeeeirdly. Auto Regens his mp very slowly on account of the Saint Battery his curse is hooked up to but alas, he is also ever so fragile. Glass canon boy.

More is. Concerned? But also intrigued!! Fascinating thing to study but also that cannot be good for your body my friend. Will believes the royal magic is in place because his father knew he was too weak to take the throne, but he only confesses this to More and Gallica in Akademia.

Generally things play out as they did in game but with different dynamics and slight diversions. Dont ask me about 9/24 I have no idea. The team enters the tournament specifically in Will’s name because fuck you buddy!! We’re putting you back on the throne where you belong!! Work up that self esteem!! He is horrified.

He might as well be made of fine china or delicate glass in the eyes of Hulkenberg but its chiiiiill its whateeeever they can work on it.

He has a weird dynamic with Louis.

Also there’s Strowill/stroprince cause I’m a one trick pony. Strohl voice oh my god I can’t have a crush on the fucking PRINCE of EUCHRONIA.

Also. I made him a cool traveling outfit. But immediately swerved to a cute dress shirt I drew him in once cause I like drawing it. He gets a cute dress shirt and a ye olde binder.

That’s all I got rn but my ask box is open and I love to yap

[chiarrara]

new scene, inspired by this art, which set me off on another daydream. this is recollection, not writing:

I'm starting to imagine more and more scenes that don't fit exactly into the outline I have, which is fun because i think the story is developing and getting better because of it. I don't know how it's gonna turn out, or if I'll even use everything. But I'm having a good time, and I like where it's going.

this iteration of megumi is really interesting to play with. it's like the most extreme version of everything that makes him him and how he confronts it when those things are baked even deeper into his dna

[lovesickeros]

lord its so dark in here the sahara desert of tsaritsa content you are like a shining oasis. your characterisation of her compels me & mihoyo would be hard pressed to top it imo.!! caaaaan i humbly request yr thoughts on her first meeting w a reader of any kind, or maybe even multiple kinds (sagau, sagau god au, isekai, etc) if you so desire...

it really is like a desert here. being the fan of a character we aren't getting until the last damn nation is driving me up a wall but i will persevere bc if nothing else i support morally bankrupt women in media. we r in a severe drought over here but i do my best. unfortunately nothing i say is ever coherent so pull out your translation notes its abt 2 be messy

also this got out of hand but thats bc first meetings w the tsaritsa are tricky to write + a LOT of her characterization lies in deeper exploration then just surface level yknow...NOT A DIG AT YOU this is just my excuse for rambling. gently pats the tsaritsa she can hold so much complexity i do not have the word count to delve into it completely :]

gonna talk cult au for a bit here though because that's 99% of my content. and honestly? she thrives in sub au's of the cult au like villain au + imposter au. it's basically made for her. i mean, early days, the imposter au had been going around for a little while but one of the first few ideas was the Fatui taking reader in so like. it kinda technically actually was. pretty sure cult au Tsaritsa popped up because of the imposter au. a lot of it's writers kinda left though which. man am i getting old or.

anyway.

there isn't much of a chance her first impression is all that positive. at best it's usually neutral, imo, but rarely if ever positive. specifically because i view the Tsaritsa as someone who isn't as fanatical as most of the acolytes typically are towards the creator. she's not exactly going to worship the ground you walk on unlike a certain geo lizard. which is partially why i think she thrives in the sub au's i mentioned.

imposter au, for example. she meets you at your lowest. there's no gaudy extravagance or pampering from the acolytes waiting for you because your own acolytes have turned on you. for all intents and purposes you aren't a "god" at all. which is why i don't think she meshes well with normal cult au reader. the Fatui are made up of outcasts, basically, and imposter au slots right in just perfectly. you're weak, at your lowest, when you meet the Fatui in the imposter au. and the Fatui can help you, too.

a mutual exchange, really. the Tsaritsa sees a tool she can use to one up the rest of the nations and especially Archons, and she has no qualms about you using her and the Fatui in turn. you both want something out of it, after all. whether you just want to be safe from the rest of the acolytes, or you want revenge, or whatever else..she'll give you the power to fulfill it, and she gains the strongest piece on the chessboard when all is said and done.

the best way i can describe the first meeting is "practical", i suppose. she sees an opportunity in you. the ultimate gamble. because if she "saves" you, and you dont trust anyone else because they tried to kill you, well..she holds all the cards, doesn't she?

but the Tsaritsa, imo, is just as capable of being just as fanatical towards you as anyone else. she just won't worship you as the creator. but as yourself? clawing your way back to your divine power and taking back what belongs to you? the Tsaritsa is, to me, a character who's character flourishes in long-term fics more because she changes a LOT between "just met reader" and after having been with reader for some time. she's practically apathetic at the beginning but a lot of her character, in my characterization, shines through LONG after the first meeting.

[insomnya777]

hi i just want to say i reallllyyy love your smalletho superhero au on ao3 it's amazing and aughhhh im so so insane about it and i cant sayy anyyythinggg to my friends cause ofc theyre twitter people and i have to be insane about your fic alone *sad face*

i love love love the amount of taylor swift titles btw

(also id go insane if you name a fic after false god or i can see you lyrics just a thought hehe)

awwww thank u so much omg! i lovelovelove naming things after songs i love (which is why there's so much taylor and olivia rodrigo LOL) and omg ive been thinking about lyrics from i can see you for a while now actually!!

[crustuu]

I think it's funny that, if it turns out I do have BPD, the first fucking domino to me figuring this out was goddamn FNF Weekend 1 coming out. God this is so funny like:

me finding the erect remixes came out -> sudden fnf fixation -> slowly make mutuals & friends through this fixation -> make a personal BF interp -> [the multiverse au] -> "oh this song would work for my guy let me check the comme- this is about bpd ???"

[avaricefics]

I do, I do, I do | charles leclerc social media au

| charles leclerc x childhood best friend fem!reader

| It's always been you- his loyal friend, his unrelenting pen pal, his doting girlfriend, and now, his wife. Through curated posts on the socials of people close to you, your story together is played out.

| had a lot of fun writing my last smau with Kimi Antonelli, this one is pretty spur of the moment, but I'm excited :) And this one has an ABBA song as a title too haha

f1updates

f1updates Wedding bells are ringing for Ferrari driver Charles Leclerc and his longtime girlfriend, now wife, Y/n L/n-Leclerc! Fans are flocking to the accounts of wedding guests to get a glimpse at these two loverbirds' ceremony, and it's no surprise as to why!

comments

user1 When you literally watch your favorite ship grow up together... actual tears in my eyes

user2 Man, he actually put a ring on her

user3 The amount of organs I would sell to have been a guest at that wedding

-> user4 Real for that tho

user5 Mom and Dad are finally married!!

youroldersister

liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc, and 204, 587 others

youroldersister Ever since you were little, you and Charles were inseparable. I remember one night specifically, you were over at Charles' house and Mom and Dad sat me down after dinner. I was probably around 10 or 11, you would have been only 6 or 7. Mom started talking first. She explained to me that a big sister's job was to protect her little sister, no matter what. She said that nothing should come between us- not distance, not money, especially not boys.

Of course, I asked about Charles. 'Does that mean Y/n shouldn't spend so much time with Charles? 'Cause I think he's really nice, and he doesn't pull at my hair or make fun of me like other boys do.' And that's when Dad whispered to me, like it was a special secret just for us three, 'Charles is someone special, sweetheart. He's a part of the family, too.' Even as children, everyone could tell that you two were meant for each other.

comments

youroldersister Sorry for the paragraphs, but I love this story ❤️

-> yourusername 🥹

charles_leclerc My favorite sister-in-law in the world

-> youroldersister I'm your only sister-in-law, but it's the thought that counts

user8 Omg, little Y/n in one of Charles' racing helmets?? My heart 🥰🥰🥰

user9 The fact that mama and papa L/n KNEW, even at such a young age... So precious!

user10 The holding handssss, they were adorable

user11 Can just imagine them terrorizing the streets of Monaco when they were little

-> youroldersister Trust me, they did. They may have looked cute, but they were evil masterminds at manipulating our parents into more pastries

-> yourusername Not my fault I was born with the better puppy dog eyes

-> charles_leclerc Now that she's done convincing her parents to buy her croissants, she's moved onto me

-> yourusername Speaking of croissants... 🥺

-> charles_leclerc Anything for you, ma cherie 💕💕

maxverstappen1

liked by charles_leclerc, yourusername, and 764, 928 others

maxverstappen1 Charles, I mean this in the nicest possible way, but you were insufferable as a teenager. Seriously, I've never met a single other teenage boy pine so besotted over a girl. After every single race, as soon as you were done reviewing the data and checking over the kart, you sat down and began writing a letter. Without fail, after every race you filled page upon page with everything you wanted to tell this one, special girl.

Once, I asked what you seemed to write so much about, and you told me with a straight face that you were telling her about the race, everything down to your tyre strategy and a lap-by-lap review. I thought for sure that no girl would want to date you if all you wrote about was karting, but apparently, Y/n was that girl.

Even if you two are so in love it makes me a bit sick, I'm so happy for both of you. To your future together 🥂

comments

charles_leclerc My best man, everybody!

-> user12 Best man??? Watch me go insane over this information

-> user13 I NEED to know all the drivers who were at this wedding... Guest list must go crazyyy

yourusername Aww Maxie 🥹

lando.norris What he doesn't mention is that his speech at the wedding was about ten times this length

-> charles_leclerc I wouldn't have asked him to be by my best man if I wasn't ready for the Maxplaining of my own relationship

-> user14 So now we have Lando confirmed at the wedding?!

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, youroldersister and 67, 302 others

yourusername My love, we've done it! Married at last- though now that all the wedding planning is over, I can't wait for it to be just us two once more. (And Leo, of course.)

I've loved you all my life, and I'm so excited for us to start building a new life together. You are my light, je t'aime jusqu'à la lune et les étoiles ❤️[I love you to the moon and the stars]

comments

user15 The reason I believe in love fr

user16 Married life looks good on you!!

charles_leclerc Tu es ma vie <3 [You are my life]

user17 Their relationship >>>

-> user18 No one does romance like them lol

-> user19 Absolutely! When I heard that they literally exchanged love letters for years, I knew they were made for each other

charles_leclerc

liked by yourusername, maxverstappen1, and 309, 291 others

charles_leclerc Y/n, mon cher, you are the calm in the storm that is my life. Without you, I'd have drowned or succumbed to the pressure a thousand times over. With you, I am strong enough to withstand anything, as long as I face it with you. Monaco is my home country, but you are my home. Being yours is better than any podium, and our future together is brighter than any trophy. Je t'aime, je t'aime, je t'aime!

comments

yourusername Je t'aime ❤️

-> charles_leclerc ❤️

user20 'Being yours is better than any podium'??? Excuse me while I go cry from pure adorableness

user21 Her literally being his anchor 😭

lewishamilton Congrats to both of you! Definitely winning cutest paddock couple award this year

maxverstappen1 Congratulations, both of you

user22 The grid in the comments congratulating them 🥹

carlos.sainzjr Congrats!

oscarpiastri So. Grid mom?

-> yourusername Ofc darling!! I'm bringing stepmom brownies next time I visit

-> oscarpiastri 😁

-> lando.norris Eyy Osc my buddy! Abt those brownies, sharing is caring, right?

-> oscarpiastri 🤨

-> yourusername Dw Lando, I'll bring some for you too

-> charles_leclerc Darling? Betraying me this early in our marriage?

-> yourusername Don't be dramatic, you're my favorite taste tester and spoon licker!

[borathae]

↳ Index [Day 31 - Werewolves]

Pairing: Alpha Dom!Jungkook x f. Omega sub!Reader

Genre: childhood best friends to enemies to lovers!AU, werewolf!AU

Warnings: Kook is kinda cold at first, it is implied that OC gets sold into a forced marriage where she will be tortured and assaulted (not to Kook but a villain character hahaha), yeah...her future is not looking good, or is it?, Koo might have a plan :----)

Kinks: the trope of "just the tip" and "we shouldn't be doing this", yeah besties i went there, sex in a shed in the forest, sex by the bonfire, nudity, naked cuddling for warmth *wink wink*, he is bigger and stronger than her, size & muscle & strength kink, he pins her down, fuck i'm literally so small when it comes to him like bro please i have so many thots, hahah sorry i'm really into him haahah, he pins her wrists & puts his hand over her mouth to silence her, huge werwolf dick, knotting, multiple orgasms for both, "just the tip" in spooning position, clit massages, rough penetrative sex in pronebone & doggy style, he has her in a headlock at one point, breeding for the sake of scent marking her, so much fucking cum oh lord, dirty talk, he has fangs, he bites her shoulder, he growls, what if i was weak?? what then??, tears, eye contact, this is emotional & has plot and i wanna write more about them, cuddly & safe aftercare, the plot in this is so good omfg

Wordcount: 11.5k

a/n: Click here if you wanna see his dick. I have zero (0) Z E R O knowledge of the workings of the omegaverse. i know that there’s alphas and betas and omegas but that’s it. and that there is heat and knots and slick and scenting(?) but how the dynamics work or what ABO each means? no clue. so if this is inaccurate, bear with me and let's see it as my interpretation of werwolves instead. Okay? Okay. Jjssjjs i also added this idea to the mix ps: i actually don't wanna talk about this, i need to recover first BRO GOODBYE this was kinktober 2024 besties FJJDF what a way to end it tbfh

The storm caught you by surprise. You wouldn’t particularly mind it if it wasn’t for the company you have to keep. 

Jeon Jungkook. A stubborn, self-centred peacock of a man who thinks he is something just because he is the son of the alpha. 

Now, to perhaps understand the situation a little better, one might need what the literary world calls backstory. 

You lived in a small mountain town far away from any big human city. The town was surrounded by high walls and visitors rarely found their way to it. It was wanted by the townspeople because you weren’t particularly human. Most humans would call you demons, but you like to call yourselves werewolves. You lived in a pack and the town was your lair.

You can be human but also turn into a wolf by choice. Some choose to keep some of their wolfish features such as their golden eyes or sharp fangs, while others looked entirely human when they walked on two legs. 

Jeon Jungkook was the son of the pack alpha and therefore heir of the title. His mother was an alpha as well, which naturally gave him the alpha gen. He was stronger and faster than the other wolves in the pack and he had control over his body during the full moon. He never hid his fangs and showed his golden eyes whenever he was provoked. He earned his pack tattoos when he was twelve after killing three enemy wolves and when he turned eighteen, he earned the pack piercings after fulfilling the maturity rituals within a day. Something only his father managed to do before him.

Ever since that day, Jungkook became even more obnoxious and unlikable than he already was.

You weren’t so lucky. Born as an omega into a normal family with normal siblings in a normal house, your life has been pretty…normal. You are the same age as Jungkook, which naturally made you go to the same classes from elementary to high school. And throughout your academic career, you never learned to like him. 

He was an alpha while you were an omega. You were the only one like this from your family, but they never treated you differently. You were a beloved and cherished family member and therefore lived a normal life until your older brother made a mistake and you had to carry the consequences.

He killed the promised omega wife of the enemy’s alpha’s son. The warring alpha wanted to slaughter the entire town at first, but Jungkook’s father persuaded him to take revenge another way. Take one of the village’s omegas and marry her to his son. “She will be complacent and quiet. Once she is married, she will be your property. You can take out your anger on her.” So Jungkook’s father told him and the enemy alpha agreed happily. One night later, you were dragged from your home with no way to escape your future. You were born this way, it wasn’t your fault and now it would be your death sentence. You cursed your brother that night who begged to be taken in your stead. You told him to choke on it. It was the last thing you said to him and probably will ever say to him. You already started to regret it. 

Jungkook was ordered to make sure that you would arrive at the enemy village safe and sound. It has been three days ever since that night and all your hatred for anyone and anything has been directed solely at him. 

“The rain’s annoying me. Let’s take shelter”, Jungkook says dryly. 

“No.” 

Jungkook glares at you.

“Yes”, he hisses, grabbing your arm by your elbow to drag you to a shed nearby. “I’m not gonna walk in the rain. Besides, it’s late. We need to rest.” 

“Let go of me”, you protest, stumbling after him. There isn’t much that you can do. He is stronger and bigger and because of his status, he naturally has almost instinctive control over your actions. You could fight against these instincts, but it’s a lot easier not to. 

“Would you rather get sick in the rain?” 

“Maybe, yes. Maybe I’ll get sick enough to die. At least like this, I won’t be sold into torture”, you spit, ripping yourself free from his grasp. Again, all your hatred and anger is directed towards him, so it is easy to fight your instincts right now. 

Jungkook gawks at you in surprise. 

“I mean it”, you insist.

He frowns. He steps close and lifts you off the ground, throwing you over his shoulder.

“Hey! Let me down, you fuck!” you yell, flashing your fangs and kicking around you. 

Jungkook merely shoulders you better and walks, frowning deeply. 

“You brought this onto yourself.” 

“I hate you. I fucking hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do. You big, smelling piece of shit.” 

Jungkook kicks the shed open and drops you. You stumble in surprise, but catch yourself pretty quickly. You and he are mere inches away, sharing air. The constant lighting cutting the sky illuminates your angry faces. You and Jungkook have your golden eyes out and show off your fangs. Your bodies are steaming as your increased body heats dry the water. 

“I’m gonna let it slip because we were classmates, but insult me again and I will make you be quiet. Understood?” he gnarls. 

You step closer, making him taste your words. 

“Go kiss my ass.” 

You turn your back to him and stomp further into the shed.

The shed wasn’t much bigger than ten square meters. There were tools on each wall and some tools scattered around the ground. Clearly it was meant as storage for woodworkers. One corner had neat stacks of wood and on a table, some blankets were stacked in case some of the workers needed to stay the night.

“Great. That’s luxury,  isn’t it?” you grumble.

The door slams closed behind you, making you flinch. You don’t look however, wanting to appear stronger than you feel. In truth, you are scared and alone and heartbroken. You are frightened. You are sad. You are afraid. You are helpless and hopeless. And you are only a little bit angry. As you walked, you couldn’t stop crying. You were happy for the rain because it masked the constant tears running down your face and you were happy for the loud thunder masking your sobs.

You are being sold like property to a man who will torture you for sports. All you want is to be home and to be held and to have someone pay for your fucking therapy because, goddamn, you are going to need a hell lot of therapy if you should survive this. 

Jungkook is the last person you want to be with right now. He lacks empathy and kindness and has a tendency to impulsive anger. You are waiting for him to hurt you after slamming the door, frozen on the spot. 

But it doesn’t come. Instead, he swerves past you to get firewood. You can only watch him, frozen like a scared little girl despite having long moved past your second decade on this cruel earth. 

Jungkook uses his claws to ignite the fire by scratching them over a stone. He blows into the amber until it forms flames, then he stands up. He hooks his fingers in his shirt and takes it off. 

You gasp and look away. You don’t know what he is going to do but it scares you. Is he going to test you out now? Make sure that the alpha is going to get a good delivery?

“Relax. I need to dry my clothes and I can’t do that on my body. I’ll catch a cold otherwise.”

“Oh.” 

Jungkook scoffs and starts unbuckling his belt. You watch his tattooed fingers work. He is wearing heavy silver rings on them. Yep, your people can handle silver without pain. It’s only a myth that it hurts you. Just as garlic being lethal for vampires is a myth. Humans like to tell these tales to sleep better at night.

Jungkook begins taking off his pants, meeting your gawking eyes.

“Stop staring and bring the blankets instead.”

“Oh, uhm. Sorry.” 

You instinctively obey. 

“Make a bed by the fire. Away from the door.” 

You obey again. 

Afterwards you lift your head, having to gasp and stare. What? Stare? Why can’t you look away? 

He is completely naked, currently hanging up his clothes on a chair. You should want to look away but you can’t. His body is sculpted, his muscles well defined. He currently has his back turned to you. It is so big and broad, contrasting against his small waist. Shit, his legs and butt are so big and sculpted in comparison to it. His back is covered scars. Slashes, bite marks, cuts. Some seem to have dug very deep when fresh.

“Just spit it out”, Jungkook hisses, rolling his shoulders which makes his back muscles shift and flex.

“What?” 

“I can feel you staring. Just say what you wanna say.” 

“Your back. It’s covered in scars.” 

Jungkook touches his own back, tracing the scars he can reach.

“I guess it is.”

“Who did this to you?” 

“Too many people to count.”

“What happened to them?” 

“The fact that I’m still here and they’re not, should be answer enough. Shouldn’t it?” 

You gulp. 

Jungkook turns.

You gulp even harder. Look away! You know that no matter how hard you beg your eyes, they won’t look away. It is like they are enchanted.

His pecs are big, clearly sculpted and strong. His stomach is defined, carrying scars as well. But what truly catches your eyes is his cock. Sitting under a dark, masculine bush of pubes, it glistens in the shine of the fire. It is big, even soft, a little tanner than the rest of his skin and sitting against a pair of big, plumb balls made for breeding. So this is what the cock of an alpha looks like. The effect it has on you is embarrassing. You feel slick build up in your holes and saliva collect in your mouth. 

“Quit your staring. It’s like you’ve never seen a dick before.” 

You shake out of your trance, looking away in embarrassment. Your face feels on fire. Holy fuck, what is wrong with you? 

“You have seen dick before, right? Weren’t you and Tae a thing in high school?” he talks as he gets under the blanket. 

“Uh, yeah, uh. We were.” 

“And knowing Tae, he fucked you. Didn’t he?” 

You turn away in embarrassment, rubbing the side of your neck. Of course he did, but Jungkook doesn’t need to know that. 

He figures it out instantly however, glancing at your middle when you aren’t looking. Just for a second, nothing more.

“So stop being weird about it”, he says and lies down. 

You shrink. Jungkook studies you. You are trembling in your wet, cold clothes. He pities you.

“Get naked and hang your clothes up to dry”, he orders.

You want to move in obedience at first, but then stop. You are too scared to obey instinctively.

“No. Close your eyes.”

Jungkook groans and closes his eyes.

“You’re so stuck up. You should practice being naked in front of other people. I heard that Alpha Urquard likes for his pack to watch wedding nights.”

You bite down tears. Great. Not only will you be assaulted, it will happen in front of god knows how many people. What if you just throw yourself onto one of the sharp tools? It would be a bitch way to go, but it’s better than what will happen to you. 

You ogle the pitchfork. Maybe you could do it. Maybe.

“Hey!”

You snap out of it. You whip around, meeting Jungkook’s eyes.

“Hurry up and come here.”

“What?”

“Come here. It’s better than over there.”

You ogle the pitchfork then his darkened face. Did he figure you out?

“I’m not gonna repeat myself. Get out of your wet clothes and come to me.”

“Ple-please close your eyes.”

Jungkook sighs in defeat and obeys. With shaking fingers, you get naked. With trembling knees, you walk to his side. With weak muscles, you get under the blanket next to him. There is only one blanket and you try your fucking hardest not to touch his body in any kind of way. He left you the spot closer by the fire so you were warmer and he could oversee the door.

Jungkook, who senses your presence, opens his eyes. He studies your face, then your body. You have the blanket pulled up to your neck, shivering uncontrollably. Even now, you seem plagued by the cold.

He furrows his brows in distaste and closes the distance. He manages to put his arm around you before your quiet beg freezes him.

“Please don’t hurt me.” 

He moves away, studying you in shock. Your eyes are squeezed shut, your fingers are trembling as you grasp the blanket.

“Why would I hurt you?”

The honest confusion in his voice forces you to open your eyes.

The fire casts deep shadows into his face as much as it illuminates other parts of it. His wet hair is drying slowly, sticking to his wrinkled forehead. He is furrowing his brows which explains the wrinkles.

“Why would I hurt you?” he repeats his question with more urgency. 

“I don’t know.”

“I was ordered to make sure that you arrive unharmed to Urquard. The last thing I’ll do is hurt you.”

“Please don’t.”

“Please don’t?” 

“Don’t make sure that I arrive safely.” 

Jungkook blinks in surprise. Such vulnerability isn’t what he expected from the once feisty, rude woman of before. You are tiny in fear, trembling uncontrollably and begging him with greyed, hopeless eyes. 

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re gonna be an alpha’s wife. That’s every omega’s dream”, he snarls, sounding weirdly jealous. 

You burst into tears instantly, turning your back to him as you curl into a small ball. You wail loudly, unable to pretend any longer. You don’t want to be married off. You don’t want it.

“No, uh… stop crying. I, I’m ordering you to stop crying”, he panics, hissing his words which only makes you cry harder. 

He stares for a while, fumbling with his words. In the end he doesn’t know what to say, turning off his brain to speak from his heart instead.

“Don’t cry, it’s gonna be okay”, he says softly, rubbing your shoulder.

His touch is tender and soothing. You sob despite it or perhaps because of it. It feels so weird to receive because it is nice. 

“Hey, it’s okay”, he tells you, draping his arm over you. Like this, your bodies are touching under the blanket. He feels so warm against your skin. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“It’s not gonna be okay. I’m being sold like a pig to a man who likes to watch his daughters in law get raped in front of the entire pack and who will use every second of his life to torture me.” You shrink into yourself. “I just wanna die. I’m so scared.” 

“Hey no, don’t say that. Don’t be scared, I’m here.” 

“I heard that Urquard killed his first wife by ramming a medal hook into her stomach and hanging her like this. All because she couldn’t give him a child with the alpha gen. Please just kill me, please.” 

“I’m not gonna kill you, ___.”

The last time Jungkook said your name, you and he were both eleven and played adventurers in the forest. He celebrated his twelfth birthday two weeks later and another two weeks later, he killed those three wolves and got his tattoos. He stopped playing with you and stopped saying your name. Quite frankly, he stopped playing with any children since that day, saying stuff like “a man wouldn’t play stupid stuff” or “my father says that it’s weak to play” and he became quiet and distant. Maybe he became sadder as well and lonelier. 

Your name from his tongue after almost fifteen years forces you to turn in his arms. For just a second, the same innocent and playful boy looks back at you before you blink and come back to reality. His features and eyes are still the same shape and colour but he seemed to have grown into them. His left cheek carries a scar these days and his brows are furrowed more than they are relaxed. 

“I’m not gonna kill you, ___. And I’m not gonna let you kill yourself either.”

“So you would rather see me sold to a monster?” You squeeze out tears of anger and frustration. “I hate you so much. You sadistic, heartless piece of shit.”

Jungkook frowns deeper.

“You alphas are all the same. You think just because you are stronger than the rest of us, you can push us around like cattle. We aren’t cattle. We are people, we live normal and good lives. We are nothing special but that’s good. We’re boring and mundane but we love deeply. Unlike you disgusting, selfish alphas who see us as nothing but merchandise.”

“Are you done now?”

“I’ve only started. You are heartless, selfish, self-absorbed, apathetic and a snob. At the spot where your heart once was, a rotten piece of coal is sitting and when you talk, plants die out of spite.” 

“Anything else you like to add?” 

“You are the worst person to ever exist. You are elitist and stubborn and way too obsessed with status. And you…” Your eyes fill with tears. “...you broke my heart before I even knew what heartbreak was.” 

Jungkook’s eyes darken in an unfamiliar emotion. Guilt? Regret? More anger?

“We did everything together until one day, you decided that I wasn’t good enough anymore. For fuck’s sake, we were twelve and you acted like I was embarrassing for doing stuff kids our age were allowed to do.”

“You think that I had a choice?” He finally speaks up and you get a feeling that it was your turn to listen. “I stopped being a kid in my father’s eyes the day I killed those wolves. I didn’t wanna push you away, but father made me.”

“What?”

“I became his heir that day, I sealed my fucking fate. I had to stop playing a-and doing kid’s stuff. He forced me to train day in and out. I had to be the perfect man. I was twelve, for fuck’s sake. I was a fucking kid who wanted to play adventurers in the forest with, with his….with his best friend.” 

The silence which follows after his confession is deafening. Fifteen years of hating him. Fifteen years of thinking that he hated you. And all this time, he only acted like this because his father made him. You meet his emotional eyes, feeling emotional yourself.

“I was your best friend?” you whisper.

He nods his head, biting down on his lower lip to stop it from trembling. 

“I miss you, ___”, he presses out. 

You feel lost for words. You are so shaken in fact that you can’t even find it in you to cry. Fifteen years. Fifteen years of hating him for what he did and wishing for an apology you thought would never come and here it is. His confession. His apology. 

“It’s been fifteen years and I still do. I miss you and I’m sorry.” He cups your face, wiping away the remnants of tears. “I’m so sorry.”

You stare. And stare. And stare. 

“Please say something”, he whispers.

“I don’t know what to say.” 

“Just anything, please.” 

“You’re the most selfish piece of shit I have ever seen.”

Jungkook’s face falls in shock. His eyes show how much your words hurt him.

“Why tell me your stupid apology now? Why confess to me now? Knowing that I will be sold into a life of sex slavery and torture?” You hit his chest. “Why tell me now when you literally deliver me to my fucking death? You piece of shit, you’re selfish and cruel and I want you dead.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do. You and your entire family and the rest of the pack. Die. All of you just die.” 

You hit him with more vigour. More and more and more. 

“Enough”, he stops you, pinning your wrists into the ground and with it, rendering you helpless, “stop hitting me, please.”

You spit at his face. 

Jungkook flinches back. He sits up and wipes it away.

“What the fuck? You spat at me. Why would you do that?”

“Go to hell and shove your sappy confession up your sadistic ass”, you hiss. You feel no ounce of remorse for what you did. 

Jungkook wipes your spit into the blanket and moves quickly. He puts your wrists together and pins them above your head. Before you can spit again, he puts his other hand over your mouth, rending your legs useless as well by slinging one of his muscular legs over yours. 

There is no fabric between your bodies. You are skin against skin. Raw and naked and hot. You can feel his dick against you and you know that he can feel your tits against his arm. You are rendered useless, vulnerable to whatever he plans to do to you now that spat at him. You are scared, but you are also droopy. It is that same droopiness you felt when you looked at his naked body. Except stronger and more unbearable. You are hotter and there is slick gathering in your holes. You can barely breathe, but maybe this is because of his hand over your mouth. 

“Stop fighting me and listen”, Jungkook talks with his lips close to your face. You can’t stop staring at them. You fight him while your mind goes droopy at the sight of his lips moving. “You can either go to your new life or listen. Are you gonna listen?”

You nod your head.

“Good. I’m gonna pull my hand away now and you won’t spit at my face again. Promise?”

You nod hesitantly.

“Good. I trust your word.”

He pulls his hand away, keeping his arm around you. It lies exactly over your tits, rubbing against your nipples. You know for a fact that he is able to feel it. You curl your fingers, trying so hard not to get affected by his closeness. Or to make a sound for that matter.

“I said this stuff to you because I wanna make it right between us. Your brother fucked up, but what Urquard did in retaliation is crazy and what father allowed is insane. If you want me to, I won’t bring you to him.” 

“What? But…your father promised.”

“I don’t care. It’s barbaric that omega trading is still a thing. You are right, you are people not cattle.” 

“If he finds out that you refuse, he will disown you.”

“I have a plan for that.”

“Urquard will kill you.”

“That’s why I have a plan.”

“What plan?” 

“It’s gonna sound insane.”

“Just tell me please. I don’t wanna be sold.” 

“The only way I can free you of this pact is if you get marked by another alpha. You’re unclaimed right now, but if you were to be marked by an alpha other than Urquard’s son, then the pact would be invalid.”

“What do you mean with marked?”

He hesitates.

“Tell me.” 

“An alpha would have to put his dick into you.”

“So assault? I would have to be assaulted?”

“Not if you wanted it.”

“Huh?”

“Not if it’s with someone you trust. Someone who’s gonna be careful and gentle and who’s gonna make it nice for you.”

“And who should that be? Last time I checked, I’m not really friends with many…”

Your eyes meet Jungkook’s. He seems shy all of a sudden.

“Oh.” 

You gasp for air. 

“Oh.”

“I know it’s crazy. I thought of other ways. I’ve been plotting ever since we left town. That’s why I volunteered. To give us time, to give me time to think of something. I thought of lots of stuff, but they all ended in hypothetical death or enslavement of our pack. The only peaceful option was this.”

“You volunteered to bring me?” 

He nods his head, “anyone else would have been too scared of or too loyal to my dad. I know you’re scared, but I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.” 

“And you thought of this?” 

“It’s the only way. We kill Urquard and his sons? Their pack comes after us. We run away? Their pack is gonna punish our pack. We kill everyone? Impossible we’d die and destine our pack to agony. It’s only death and pain u-unless you get marked by an alpha.”

“But I would have to be with you afterwards.”

“Only if you want to. We can pretend, make everyone think that it’s real. You wouldn’t have to be with me ever again.” 

“Oh my god, this is insane.”

“I know. I’m sorry. The choice is yours. I promise.”

You study his face. You are still trapped under him, sharing heat. Skin against skin. arm against chest and cock against hip. He is semi hard by now, smearing slick on your skin. The fact that he is affected by this - by you - doesn’t make it easier to stay calm. You are glad for his leg over yours because it forces your legs to be closed and therefore hide the masses of slick having accumulated by now. His hair is still damp, hanging into his face messily. His fingers feel so strong and protective around your wrists. You swear that each time he breathes out and you inhale it, you feel high. You are so attracted to him right now. 

Truth be told, you always thought that he was handsome beyond comparison. He has a mesmerizing aura and a captivating smile. His physique is your dream physique and his face often caught your attention in a crowd. You were utterly and insanely attracted to him which made your hatred for him grow deeper. He betrayed you, but he is still haunting your thoughts. It was unbearable until right now. 

“I’m scared. I never did it with an alpha before”, you confess, suddenly feeling so vulnerable.

And Jungkook takes that vulnerability, cradling it in his safe palm just as he cradles your cheek the same way. His eyes softened, his voice did too.

“Don’t be scared. I’ll be gentle. I promise”, he almost whispers the words, tracing your brow and temple between cradling your cheek. 

“I don’t know you like that.”

“Neither do I you. It’s gonna be a one time thing.” 

“I’m scared. I’ve been scared ever since all of this started.”

“Don’t be. I’m here. I won’t let them touch you.”

“But you’ll touch me?” you ask in a whisper, lifting the inner corners of your brows.

Jungkook has a hard time staying calm when you look at him with such puppy eyes. 

“If you let me, I will.” 

You exhale shakily, squirming under him. 

“I’m scared.” 

He lets go of your wrists to cradle your other cheek. You lean into the touch, barely wanting to keep your eyes open. Your arms stay in their submissive position naturally. 

“Just the tip. That’s all it takes. Just the tip for a few seconds so you take on my scent and then it’ll be over”, he says.

“Just the tip?” 

“Yes, just the tip. Nothing more. I promise.”

You are going to do something which you thought never to do. But if it saves your life, you would do anything. Even something as crazy as allow Jungkook to stick his tip into you.

“Okay. Just the tip.” 

Jungkook exhales shakily, moving closer for a kiss like it was instinct before he stops himself. You shudder, craving nothing more than what he denies both of you. 

“We shouldn’t be doing this”, he breathes.

“What?” 

“Kiss.” He lets the word dance over your lips, running his thumb under your lips as his eyes stare. “We shouldn’t.” 

“No, we shouldn’t”, you whimper, chasing him. 

Moments of craving and yearning where both of you try so hard to kiss the other. But you shouldn’t. Just the tip, nothing more.

“Roll to your side, please”, Jungkook breaks the electric silence, guiding you with his hand on your shoulder until your back faces his chest. 

You can see the fire and the rest of the shed like this, but not Jungkook.

“Why like this?” 

“If I look at your face, I’ll stick it in completely. I can’t do this to you.” 

“Oh.”

Jungkook closes the distance, connecting his hand with your hip. He guides it up your body, travelling along your waist and arm. His touch leaves goosebumps where it goes. His palm is slightly calloused from fighting but incredibly tender in how it touches you. You feel yourself breathe heavier and heavier the longer he touches you.

He reaches your shoulder, closing the last of the distance by lowering his lips to your back.

“Ah”, you let out quietly, tensing up. Your eyes are widened comically big, staring into the bright flames. He is kissing your naked skin. What the fuck. 

Jungkook’s eyes are closed in contrast. His head is foggy, but he tries to fight these feelings. You smell so good that it is very difficult to do so. 

His hand is still on your shoulder at first but moves to your waist when he guides his kisses to said shoulder. 

“Oh god”, you whisper, sighing afterwards. 

Jungkook feels droopy from the sound, digging his fingers into the softness of your side. He shouldn’t be doing this. Just the tip. That’s what he said. And yet here he is, kissing your soft skin as if it was his right to do so. He shouldn’t be doing this, but he can’t stop. He traces and holds your side and stomach, telling himself that he only does it to relax you. He kisses every inch of your exposed back and shoulder, telling himself that he only does it to calm you down. When in truth he does all of this because he wants to make it nice for you. And maybe he wants to be a source of tenderness after what you had to go through. 

Lies. These are still lies. He fucking does this because he wants to. He fucking does it because he wants to know how it is to touch you. Taehyung talked when you and he were high school sweethearts. Oh, Taehyung talked and Jungkook had to listen and secretly seethe with jealousy. It should be him, he thought back then, he would know how to treat you right.

You had no idea of these thoughts. You still haven’t as you lie here next to the warm fire while Jungkook touches you oh so carefully. You don’t know if you’re allowed to close your eyes. Just the tip, you agreed on. Can you close your eyes for that? 

But it feels so good. His lips are soft, while his piercings are hard in contrast. His touch is currently dancing up the middle of your torso slowly. You fight the shivers wanting to run through you. 

You lose the fight a moment later when he pulls you against his strong chest and kisses your neck. 

You whimper, trembling like crazy. You arch into him, craning your neck to give him more of it. Your heart skips beats under his lips. Jungkook grips the blanket to stop his hand from cradling your tits. 

“Fuck, I shouldn’t be doing this”, he presses out under his breath, mouthing at your neck hungrily. “I shouldn’t….do…this.” 

He drags his lips to your jawline and sucks. Your eyes close.

You mewl, rolling your hips back into him. His cock slides between your legs, rubbing between your puffy folds. He trembles in shock, gripping your hip to stop your wiggles. 

“Don’t do this. Don’t act like this when it is supposed to mean nothing.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t help it.”

“Mhhm I know. You can’t, but I can. I won’t do it again, I’m sorry.” 

You swallow your begs, not wanting to appear weak or desperate. It is so difficult not to beg when you have his cock between your legs. Hugged by your folds and exchanging slick. He feels hot and his veins are pulsing desperately. You have never before felt so stupidly horny than you do right now. Quite frankly, he might be forcing you to go into impromptu heat if he keeps being like this. 

“Just the tip, yeah? Just the tip”, he whispers as he puts his arm under your head so you have something comfortable to rest on. You practically melt into him, biting back tears. You are being held and it feels so good. So safe and warm. 

He kisses your neck and cheek, whispering his words.

“Are you comfortable? Are you ready?”

“Yeah”, you sigh, pushing your hips back. 

Jungkook slides his other hand between your bodies, using it to align his cock with your dripping entrance. Just the tip, he reminds himself, nothing more. Don’t be greedy, keep calm. This doesn’t mean anything. 

“Last chance”, he says, wanting to stall time so he can calm down. 

“I trust you.”

Jungkook bites back his moan, having to take a deep breath before he can act. You are messing him up without knowing. With a racing pulse, he applies pressure on your puffy cunt and slips inside. 

You squeak, shaking against your will. You convulse around him, gasping repeatedly. He went in so easily, despite his size. 

Jungkook growls, “fuck, holy fuck”, he gets out and bruises your hip as he grips it for support. It takes everything inside him not to push it all the way in. Jungkook genuinely has a hard time not to moan. You are so wet.

Judging from your tremors and the way you fight for air, it is just as difficult for you.

“Only a few more second”, he forces his voice to sound as normal as possible. He wants to fuck you, but knows that he shouldn’t.

“Mh-hm”, you squeak out, nodding your head. You want him to fuck you. 

Jungkook closes his hand to a fist, growing his claws to dig them into his own palm. The pain keeps him from acting up. He wouldn’t be able to handle it otherwise. 

Jungkook always hoped that he would marry you one day. There it is. It’s out there. Jungkook had feelings for you for decades. In his dreams, you marry him and he can spend the rest of his days spoiling you rotten. He would be your protector against any danger, your best friend to laugh with, your remedy for your heats and the lover you can be yourself with. 

Being with you like this is everything he ever wished for. You are so soft and warm around him, your slick is so wet. He knows that, deeper inside, it would be so much more. You'd be so warm, so soft. Jungkook gulps down his desire for more, otherwise he would do things he would regret.

“I think it should be good”, he presses out. He can’t do it anymore. One more second and he would push in all the way. He can’t do this to you. You trust him and he can’t abuse this trust. 

“Really?”

You turn your head, looking up at him in droopy devotion. Jungkook whimpers, instantly cradling your cheek. He furrows his brows, throbbing inside you. He fights the urge to kiss you, to rest his forehead against yours, to bury himself deep inside you.

“Please don’t look at me.”

“Jungkook.” 

His name hasn’t rolled off your tongue ever since he left you at the playground. It almost brings tears to his eyes, forcing his arm around you tighter.

“I can’t do this”, he drops his forehead against yours “I think I remembered that I need to put in all of it. It’s not gonna work otherwise.” 

He is lying, because he can’t accept the truth yet. That he is selfish and totally addicted to you. 

“Please do.” 

“No. No we shouldn’t be doing this”, he fights it still, shaking his head which makes his nose rub against yours. 

“Please”, your words tickle his lips, “save me. Whatever it takes, save me.”

“Urgh”, he growls through gritted teeth. 

“Please.” 

Jungkook lifts his head. He wants to look into your eyes as he does it. He wants to see the utter bliss in your eyes as he turns your relationship status from ex childhood best friends to two adults reunited.  

He rolls his hips, feeding your warmth his length inch by inch. Your brows furrow and lift, your lids flutter, your mouth falls open. 

“A-ah”, you squeak out.

“Shhh, it’s okay. I’m here. I’m all here”, he whispers. He closes his arm around you, cradling you in a gentle headlock. 

You close your fingers around his lower arm, spilling tears from your eyes. 

“Does it hurt?” 

You shake your head. 

“But?” 

“So…filled out. So big.”

“I know. I’m big, but you’re taking me so well.”

You whimper. Jungkook feels so insanely protective over you right now. 

“Yes, you are. Taking me so well”, he insists, brushing the back of his hand down your cheek. 

Jungkook continues until he bottoms out. He shudders, choking down a whimper. You feel so good. He never ever felt like this before. It feels like coming home which is insane because he was never with you like this. 

“___”, your name comes out of him against his will. 

“Jungkook”, you answer him, clenching around him.  

“Stay still, please.” 

“Okay”, you whimper, looking at his lips. 

The pull is magnetic. Jungkook draws closer with parted lips, you meet him with parted lips. Once you kiss, it will be over for you and him. There will be no coming back from this. 

“No”, he croaks, putting his hand over your mouth. The headlock tightens like this, giving you such a sense of being protected that your walls clench against your will. 

“We shouldn’t kiss. Never”, he rasps weakly, mouthing at his own hand right where your lips lie beneath. You close your eyes, trying to move your lips under his hand. It is starting to feel cruel to be denied his kiss. Especially when memories of your past come back to you. 

You remember that it was a group of eight kids and you were doing “dares” to see who is the coolest. Taehyung was dared to prank call his mom and he actually did. He pretended to be a grown up insurance clerk and once he hung up, you really thought that he managed to prank his mom (he didn’t hide his phone number and had a childlike voice). Jimin, another friend, was dared to climb a tree. Which he did and he was sooo cool for it. They were silly, childish dares who did no harm but made you feel so cool. Then it came to you and you were dared to kiss Jungkook. Which you did. In a childlike, innocent way but which made you and him feel so grown up for a moment.

The memory is haunting you right now, making you want to redo it in a grown up, mature way. You open your eyes, meeting Jungkook’s gaze. Judging from the foggy desperation in them, he is haunted by the same memory. 

“Please get out of my head”, he gets out.

You whimper his name behind his hand. Jungkook furrows his brows, grinding his teeth.

“No please. Stop it”, he croaks, squeezing his eyes shut.

You want to fight it as well, of course you do. You swore to hate him forever and now you want nothing else than his kiss. You want to fight it, but your hands move against your will. They rest themselves over Jungkook’s hand and try to dig between your face and his palm.

He growls, huffing out air. The only thing keeping your hips from joining the impossible fight is his hand on it. Shit, now he is concentrating on down below. Your puffy walls around him, so soft and warm. Being inside you, Jungkook swears he will never be cold again. Or maybe he will be, maybe he will never find warmth again once this stops, once he has to slip out and pretend that it meant nothing.

What will happen afterwards? He is so needy and he knows that you are too. What will happen? Are you going to lie next to each other, wet and needy and force your bodies to calm down? Or maybe he will need to excuse himself to outside, fuck his own fist as the loud thunder masks his desperate moans while inside the shed you most definitely would touch yourself as well?

Jungkook was so lost in his haunted thoughts that he realises too late that you managed to tug his hand away. Your lips brush his’. 

Jungkook moans from the bottom of his heart, going in for more at first. He even rolls his hips into you. Like instinct. Like it is meant to happen. 

“No”, he pushes you away, slips out, breaks the moment. “We shouldn’t be doing this. Not that far.”

You sob, shrinking into yourself. 

“Please”, you whimper your words, staring at him with desperate, sad eyes. You lift your hips, begging him silently.

“I won’t be able to stop if I do it again. I can’t do this to you.” 

“Please”, you beg.

“Do you even know what an alpha does when he fucks? I won’t be able to stop until I bred you. I-I’ll knot you and, and you won’t be able to get me out until I’m soft again.” 

“I know.” 

“This could take hours. You will feel out of control and vulnerable.” 

“You said that you will protect me. That I-I’m safe with you.” 

“___”, he chokes out and crawls to you. He picks you up in his strong arms, holding you against his chest. His heart is racing like crazy against your back. “Stop me. I beg you. I can’t pretend any longer that this means nothing to me. You have to stop this.”

You reach up and twist his hair, pulling him down to you. 

“We shouldn’t-” 

You silence him with a kiss. 

Jungkook trembles, resting his weight against you as the kiss renders his body useless for a moment. You are kissing him. You stopped this stupid farce for you and him. You sealed your fates. Jungkook knows that it won’t be the same after tonight. He will never fucking give you up. 

He breaks the kiss, but stay close.

“You shouldn’t have done this.”

“Please. More.”

“Are you even hearing me?” he hisses.

“Yes. Please, more.” 

“Fuck, we really shouldn’t, but maybe I…I have to move it a few times? To really mark you?” 

“Yes, sounds good, mark me please. I don’t wanna be sold.” 

“I-I’ll do it just for that. To make sure.” 

“Yes. Okay”, you sigh and melt into him, lifting your leg. 

Jungkook slides his hand under it instantly.

“Let me do it. Relax.” 

You let your muscles relax, allowing him to carry your leg’s weight. He does it so easily, tracing your hairline with his fingertips as he looks down at you. He moves his hips so his cock would slip between your folds, working you up to what was coming by grinding back and forth. He really drags out the movements, sending trembles through your legs each time his thick tip rubs your swollen clit. 

He exhales shakily, whispering his thoughts.

“You’re so wet. I have never felt slick so warm and, and wet before.” 

You look up at him with shy, nervous puppy eyes, making him want to protect you forever. 

“Is it bad?” 

“No, fuck no”, he puts his arm around your chest, pulling you up to him until he can rest his forehead against yours. “It’s perfect, baby.” 

“Baby?” 

“I…” he drops you, hips stilling in shock. He doesn’t know what to say. Anything he could say feels like too little of an apology. 

You however increase the lethalness of your puppy eyes, reaching down to try and move his hips again. 

“Please. More.” 

“We’re only doing this to save you, right?” He asks, picking up a rhythm again. It is the same as before but way more arousing because he purposefully makes sure that his tip slips into you every now and then. He starts off with just a little poke, increasing the inches more and more. But it stays just the tip, for now, don’t be mistaken. If he slips inside it should happen accidentally. He likes to tell himself if it happens like this, it will mean that it wasn’t his fault. 

“Yes, only to save me” you lull your words, getting droopier and droopier. Each time he has his tip inside you, it feels so good. Before he slips out and you feel sad, until of course he drags his cock over your clit instead.  

You can’t do this for long anymore and Jungkook seems to share your feelings. The tip he buries in you starts to go way past your entrance and it seems to stay longer inside. His golden eyes never break contact, his fingers rub your arm as he holds you so close. 

He slips into you again. So deep. 

“Mhhhhm” he lets out in a rumble, furrowing his brows. 

You whimper, lifting your brows. 

Deeper. Deeper. Deeper. He won’t be able to escape like this. 

Deeper.

He bottoms out. 

You moan, eyelids fluttering and lips chasing his kiss. 

He shakes his head, talking as he falls into the kiss.

“We really shouldn’t be doing this.”

You kiss and Jungkook’s cock doesn’t leave you again. It stays buried deep inside you, reshaping your walls as his hips move. Slowly for now, daring not to be too rough with you. Because being rough makes it real. Maybe if he keeps his movements tiny enough, it will still count as being nothing of importance. 

Because that’s what this is, right? Something that doesn’t mean anything, something that won’t change who you and he are. This is what those needy, hungry tongue kisses mean, this is what the desperate touches mean, this is what the exchanging of warm slick means. Nothing. Because if those things meant something, it would force Jungkook to admit that he is doing This for himself. Of course he does it to save you, but if it meant something, he would have to admit that he is also doing this for himself. 

But it doesn’t mean anything, right? Right?

You break the kiss for air, looking up at him submissively and droopy.

“It feels so good”, you whisper.

“Close your eyes, please.” 

You obey and Jungkook has to come to the realisation that it makes no difference. This fucking means something. Holy fuck, he is done for. 

“Maybe I have to make you cum?”

“What?” you ask, eyes still closed. 

“I think I need to make you cum once. Then you’ll be marked.”

“Please do. I trust you.” 

Trust. He thought that he would never earn it again and yet here he is. With your weakened, trembling body in his hold as you trust him to take good care of you. 

“Mhhm shit”, he presses out, biting down on his own tongue to calm himself. Be tender with her, he thinks, you swore to be a gentle alpha so fucking get it together.

He moves you into another position, draping your leg over his hip so you wouldn’t have to use your muscles. You are so open and spread like this, allowing his big cock entrance. He slides his hand to your clit and takes it between his thumb and middle finger to massage it. 

“A-ha”, you let out, arching your back and lifting your hips.

“Ssssh, relax. I’m here.”

“Please, deeper.” 

Jungkook buries his cock deep inside you and stays there, circling his hips. He is so big and long that he stimulates both your g-spot and your cervix. He is so gentle that it doesn’t hurt. It just feels so good that your fangs grow against your will and you leak masses of new slick.

“Like this? Am I making it nice for you?”

“So nice”, you mewl, nodding your head vigorously. 

Jungkook is gazing at you as it happens. He watches every change of expression on your face, fighting the urge to call you beautiful. Because that’s what you are. Beautiful. You would deserve to know but he is scared of the consequences. It would mean the fluttering of his heart is real.

“Is so nice”, you sigh, writhing happily. It breaks him.

“You’re beautiful”, he says, moaning softly when you tighten and arch your back. So you liked it. His cock throbs inside you, leaking into you needily. “Yeah that’s right, you’re beautiful. So fucking beautiful. Taking me so well, feeling so good on my cock.”

“Ah, aaaah”, your moans are so loud, your pussy so fucking wet and your clit so swollen. 

Jungkook fucks you gently, massaging your spot of pleasure with his long, skilled fingers. He can feel your heartbeat in your back, as much as he can feel you rub against his nipples. 

The blanket over your bodies is so hot, making you and him sweat wherever you are touching. He can’t deny it anymore that this is real, that this means something. This means fucking everything to him.

“You’re such a good omega, taking me so well.”

“You’re making me cum”, you croak, grasping his arm for support, “please, can I cum?” 

“Yes, baby. You can. Cum for me.” 

“Jungkook”, you gasp, ripping your eyes open to stare in shock as his gentle touches bring you over the edge.

Your eyes flicker golden, you moan silently with an open mouth. 

“That’s it, cum for your alpha. Let me mark you, that’s it.” 

He has a hard time saying these words to you. His thoughts are running wild. This is the face you make when you have an orgasm. Never in his wildest dreams could he have imagined this to be a face he gets to see. And it’s so beautiful that he treads the moment your high stops and he has to pull out. He doesn’t want to pull out. He needs more of you. He needs you like fucking crazy.

“More please”, and then your beg releases him. You are down from your high, yet still so hungry for more. You feel so fulfilled with him that you don’t want this to stop. 

“What?” he croaks.

“More please, more.”

“If I do this, I won’t stop until I cum too.” 

“I know.” 

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe I have to cum inside you to mark you?” 

“Yeah, maybe.” 

The pretend continues. The fucking charades that this is only to save you from your fate, that you and he aren’t doing this because it feels so good to both of you. 

“Please Jungkook, fuck me properly.”

“Are you sure?” he almost squeaks the words because he has such a hard time controlling his urges. 

“Yes. Please.”

“Holy fuck. ___ urgh.”

Your needy beg does the rest. His animalistic instincts take over.

Jungkook growls, grabbing you roughly to flip you onto your stomach and therefore pin you down. He straddles you from behind. His right hand slips to the back of your head, his left hand has a possessive grip on your hip. His legs cage in your legs, keeping them squeezed together as he drills his thick cock into your pussy. You are so tight like this, jerking him off in such a maddening way. 

You scream up as you didn’t expect him to take on such a punishing pace instantly, but you aren’t complaining. It feels so good to take him. He fucks you so well. His cock is so filling, making you feel whole. 

“I’m not holding back now. For you, just for you. Is this good for you? Do you like this?”, he growls through gritted fangs, shifting his eyes between your face and his cock.

“Yeaa”, you sob, clawing at the ground helplessly. You were aware that Jungkook has been an adult for years, but this is still changing how you see him. Whenever you thought of him, you saw that twelve year old boy calling you immature for playing. That boy is gone as if he never existed. Jungkook is a fucking adult and he is rewriting the image in your mind one heavy stroke at a time.

“You should have never seen me like this. Fuck, this shouldn’t happen”, Jungkook spits, high on your body. He is embarrassed by his actions, but can’t stop them. “But I can’t stop. Holy fuck, I need you so fucking bad.” He needs to fuck you. You are so small and weak right now, so goddamn vulnerable. Once so unclaimed until he took you.

You are his. 

Jungkook growls, pinning you harder into the ground. 

You are his. 

You reach behind yourself because his hand on your head hurts. He grabs your wrist instantly, using it to pin your arm against your back. You wail up, kicking the ground as best as possible as you writhe in your imprisonment. 

“I’m sorry. You shouldn’t see me like this. Not you. I’m sorry.” 

He apologises, knowing that he won’t be able to stop until you are claimed. The thought makes him crazy. He is claiming you. The girl who was his first kiss, his best friend who always came to him when she needed help, the woman who counts on him to protect her from her fate and the wife he always hoped to have one day. And he is claiming her. He is marking her, making you his for anyone to smell.

Jungkook drills you harder. He pulls out all the way to his tip just to thrust into you sloppily. He does it over and over again, reminding your dripping pussy of his size with each possessive thrust. 

And you take it with grateful sobs, existing only for him right now. You would never recover if he stopped right now. You need him to finish what he started even if it ruins you in the process. 

“We really shouldn’t be doing this, fuck, this shouldn’t happen”, Jungkook gets out, gawking at where he buries himself in you. 

Your slick is slowly taking on a milky colour from the intense friction. It sticks to his veiny shaft and his dark pubes, smearing all over your ass and his thighs as well.

If this shouldn’t happen, why does it feel so good? If this shouldn’t happen, why does it look so hot? If this shouldn’t happen, why does he not want to stop? 

Jungkook scrunches his face in anger. He lets go of your arm so he can grip your hips with both hands. He pulls them up until you are kneeling. Your face is still buried in the ground, your back is arched.

You shake and convulse instantly, sobbing in embarrassment because the open position of your legs forces your slick to run out of you. 

“Holy fuck”, he gets out, staring at it with blown out pupils, “holy fuck, ___.” 

“I’m sorry, please don’t judge me”, you beg, trying so hard to keep it inside with clenches around his cock.

“Never. Holy fuck, I could never.”

“I’m so embarrassed.”

“Don’t be. Relax, baby. Don’t fight it”, he says, knowing that you and he shouldn’t be doing this. 

You obey instinctively. You relax around him, releasing the slick you so desperately wanted to hide from him. It begins squirting out of you messily and audibly, marking him yours.

“Yes”, he growls and begins pulling your hips onto his cock possessively, thrusting into you at the same time. He does it with one hand because the other he slips between your legs to pinch your clit. Gently of course, keeping her between two fingers to massage her in circular motions.

“Let me help you.” 

You wail and shake, releasing more and more of your pretty slick. It runs down your thighs, covers his legs, smears all over your ass and his stomach.  

“Relax, that’s it. My pretty omega shouldn’t keep it inside. It’s not good for you.” 

“Jungkook, I can’t do this”, you sob.

“I know. We can’t do this, we never should have.”

“No”, you wail, “no. I have to cum again.”

“Whenever you want to. Your alpha’s right here, baby.” 

“Jungkook!” you scream, breaking apart as if you never orgasmed before. It feels so good.

“Holy fuck baby, ah!” Jungkook yelps, hips stuttering in shock, “you feel so good, what the fuck ah! Ah! I can’t control myself. Baby!” 

Jungkook growls and lays himself over you. He holds you up with one hand around you, biting down on your shoulder as his body breaks. You sob from the pain of the bite, loving every second of it. 

And then it hits you. 

His seed.

His thick, hot seed.

It shoots out of him with such strength that you feel punched in the gut. The effect is instant. You lose control over yourself. Quite literally, you lose control. You can still talk, using it to scream his name as you orgasm in a way you have never experienced before. 

The first one was intense but familiar. This right now? You didn’t even know that your body could feel this way. It is truly, seriously, religious. It is as if you finally found your purpose in life. And in a sense you did. You found your alpha. He finally claimed you properly. You are his’. You aren’t unclaimed anymore. Nobody ever educated on this, so you have no idea that these religious, soul fulfilling feelings mean that you changed forever, but you don’t mind right now. You are just riding on these feelings, screaming his name and milking him dry. 

Jungkook whimpers. He truly, honestly whimpers from the bottom of his heart, collapsing on top of you. He knocks you into the ground like that, burying you under his weight but he couldn’t stop it from happening. 

He never experienced this feeling either. He had sex with people, but it never felt like This before. He orgasmed in them but it never felt like this. It feels as if his seed finally has purpose. That’s how it feels. Like his efforts and all the rutting he is doing has fucking purpose. 

And then it happens. Something that he was only told could happen to him, finally happens to him. His knot swells. He actually fucking grows a knot and has to writhe on top of you, burying his nose deep in your hair as he sobs your name. 

You sob as well, insides suddenly feeling like bursting. His knot is so big and thick that it should feel like an intruder but it doesn’t. It feels like the best drug ever. You didn’t even know that you could stretch this far. The amount of stimulation it gives you as it rubs against your walls is otherworldly, making you chase one orgasm after the other.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me. Ah! ___!” Jungkook yelps, having to orgasm again as your tight walls stimulate his knot. The amount of sensitivity he feels on it is insane. 

His hands slide together with yours, holding them tightly as he pins them into the ground. His tears fall into your hair, your own tears soak the blanket. 

“I can’t stop”, you get out, shaking in fear, “I can’t stop cumming!”

“Me neither.”

“I’m scared. I’m so scared”, you sob, riding on the unfamiliar, scary sensations.

“Don’t be scared, I’m here. I’m here”, he talks you through it, shaking beyond saving.

You aren’t even moving much. There are no thrusts, no sloppy wiggles. Just and you and him, actually stuck together because of his knot while he pumps one cumshot after the other into you. There is no movement and yet it feels better than the most passionate rutting session you each had. No movement and yet you are fulfilled beyond comparison. Is this how it feels to find your mate? Is this what it is? 

Did “we shouldn’t be doing this” turn into the finding of your other half? Was “we shouldn’t be doing this” fate’s way of protecting you from what will happen once you gave in? Or was there ever a “we shouldn’t be doing this” strong enough that could have prevented you from doing this?

Whatever it might be, it is too late to think about the what ifs now. The reality is that you and he can’t stop climaxing, lost in the most addicting and intense pleasure you and he ever found yourselves in. It is never ending. When he climaxes, you have to too which sets him off again, triggering your need to as well. It is a vicious, never ending, orgasmic cycle.

“This feels so good”, he croaks out, writhing on top of you, “does it feel-” 

“Yes! Yes! Oh god please Kook not again. Kook!”

“Kook”, Jungkook repeats the nickname in a whimper, curling his toes as another orgasm hits him as well. He never thought to hear this name from you again. He can’t handle it any other way than filling you with more of him. 

There is so much of him inside you by now, having no way to escape because of his knot that your body reacts in the only way it knows how to survive. It opens up for his seed to go deeper. It trickles into the deepest parts of your sex organs, warming you from the inside out. It is like he is alive inside you, feeding you with the strongest drug you ever took. You think that you black out for a moment. You are still aware of what is happening to you, but it is hidden behind a thick layer of blurriness. 

“Eh”, you let out, falling into the darkness gladly. It feels so good to do. There is something because you are aware of your orgasm, but there is also nothing. It is as if you are standing next to your body, watching it shake and tremble as he makes a home inside you.

And then there is nothing. Truly nothing. No more orgasmic pleasure, no more watching yourself. Just darkness.

“___? Hey, ___? Holy fuck, what’s wrong with you? ___, open your eyes please”, Jungkook’s distraught voice comes closer and closer, his hand on your face becomes clearer and clearer, “please ___, open your eyes, please. Oh god, what have I done? I should never have done this. I- Oh god ___ please, I’m sorry. Wake up, please.”

He shakes your head gently. It brings you back to reality. Your body regains the ability to feel. 

“Jungkook”, you whimper, opening your eyes. You writhe instantly, throbbing around his knot happily.

“___ hey. Holy fuck, thank god. Hey”, he says, dropping his forehead against your temple and kissing the side of your face desperately, “I’m so glad that you’re back. I thought that I killed you.”

“No, just made me black out.” 

“Why? Does it hurt? Are you in lots of pain?” 

“No, just haven’t felt so good before. Ever. Kook, I”, you suddenly have to whimper your words, “I feel your cum inside my uterus. It’s so warm and alive and….right.”

“It is?” He whimpers as well, feeling weakened in emotion.

You nod your head. Jungkook sobs quietly, using the hold he has on your hand to guide your arm under your body and against your chest. Like this, he rolls your bodies to their sides, instantly cradling you against his chest while his trembling lips kiss any part of you that he can reach.

Your face, your neck, your shoulder, your arm, your back and the bite mark he left, your face again. Over and over he kisses each inch of you, whispering your name every now and then as if he is trying to make sure that he remembers who made him feel like this. As if he is trying to make his brain memorise who it was who made him experience his first knot.

He is still swollen, keeping everything inside you safely. It is still so intense, but suddenly it feels more emotionally intense than physically. Enough time must have passed for the fire to reduce the logs by lot. And all of a sudden you and he don’t feel the uncontrollable need to orgasm anymore. You still want to be close, moving your hips in emotionally needy wiggles in hopes of keeping his knot alive for as long as possible, but it is not to chase another orgasm. You want this to last because it feels so safe. 

“I don’t know what’s happening to me. I don’t want this to end”, Jungkook confesses, holding you protectively.

“Me neither. I feel so safe like this.”

“Holy fuck, ___. What did we do?” he presses out, kissing your cheek over and over again.

“I don’t know.”

“I never knotted before. I never felt like this. Holy fuck, ___.” 

“What is gonna happen to us now?”

“I don’t know. All I know is that I can’t let you go again. Ever. I don’t wanna fucking share you. Never. I’m trying so hard not to tell you that you’re mine ‘cause I promised you that this would never happen again.”

“Please don’t.”

“What?”

You turn your head, leaning deeper into his embrace. Like this, you feel his racing heart against your shoulder and you are entirely protected in his arms. His knotted cock throbs inside you as your eyes meet. The same playful, gentle boy of the past looks back at you, except that his once boyish features are mature and aged up. A gentle, adoring man stares back at you and you can’t seem to find your way out of his galaxy eyes. 

“Please don’t promise me that this won’t happen again.” You cradle his cheek. “Don’t hold back on telling me that I’m yours.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying. You’re high from my cum, these aren’t your real feelings.”

“Why shouldn’t they be?” 

“___, we-”

You put your thumb on his lips. 

“We shouldn’t have done this, I know. You kept telling me as we kept doing this.” 

Jungkook gives up in a sigh, having to chuckle afterwards. You giggle, cupping his cheek again.

“Just the tip. That’s what we agreed on. Just the tip”, he says.

You clench around his knot, touching your bloated stomach. You instantly guide his hand to it, wanting him to feel what he did to you. He purrs deeply, biting down on his lower lip. You grin goofily.

“Just the tip indeed.”

He laughs softly. You snicker and stub his nose with your own. 

“This is the messiest and deepest tip I have ever given”, he jokes, making you laugh. 

“Oh god, this was funny.”

“Mhm, I’m pretty funny”, he says and nuzzles his nose into your neck to tickle you gently.

You squeak and giggle, feeling happy beyond comparison. Jungkook ends his loving attack with kisses to your ear. 

You sigh, melting into the affection. You and he lace fingers, using the position to melt closer. 

Your droopy eyes stare into the flames while Jungkook relaxes you with soft kisses all over your neck, shoulder and back. 

The thunderstorm stopped outside. It is already a little brighter. Fuck, so you were really trapped in this orgasmic state for a few hours. It felt as if so little time passed as it was happening. 

“What is gonna happen now?” you whisper.

“Now? We’re gonna cuddle and I’ll be kissing you until you’re asleep.”

“I mean after that. Do we have to show Urquard that I’m claimed?”

“I guess. I haven’t thought that far into the future yet. But yes, he will probably want proof that you’re marked.”

“I’m scared. Do I have to get naked in front of him? And his pack? Will he put something in me to get a scent?”

“He can try if he wants to die.” Jungkook pulls you closer possessively. “You’re under my protection now. Okay? You won’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with and I’ll hunt down anyone who dares to overstep your boundaries. Even Urquard and his pack.” 

“Really?” 

“Yes, really. I promise you.”

You close your eyes, spilling tears.

“Thank you.” 

You never thought it possible to have your dreams fulfilled by Jungkook and yet here you are. You are being held and comforted by Jungkook and it feels like home. 

“Don’t thank me. You’re mine. My darling ___ to keep safe. You have my body to protect you and my heart to find a home in.” 

There is deep rooted honesty in his words, but you are suddenly too sleepy to ask him what he meant by them. There will still be another time. This wasn’t just a one time thing after all.

[astonmartinii]

put it all on red (bull) | max verstappen social media au

pairing: max verstappen x fem russell reader

her brother won the race? does she know? does she care?

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

yourusername

liked by alexalbon, georgerussell63 and 204,300 others

tagged: maxverstappen1

yourusername: VIVA LAS VEGAS

view all comments

user3: this is fucking hilarious

user4: her whole ass brother won the actual race and there's not a peep of him on the post

user5: i mean her boyfriend did win the championship...

yourusername: exactlyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy i mean my instagram is for pretty girls only

user6: do not erase george's beauty

yourusername: nothing to erase girlypop - FUGLY!

user7: the way the guys are in the media pen and can't see that y/n is coming for their necks in instagram comments

user8: i fear she's already started drinking...

user9: in the back of the sky broadcast she hands max a drink and i'm starting to suspect that it was not water or red bull

user10: LMAO HELMUT TOOK A SIP AND LIKE NEARLY FELL OVER

yourusername: i've never claimed to be good at mixing drinks

maxverstappen1: WHERE WAS THE TONIC ???

yourusername: i don't believe in tonic 💔

maxverstappen1: YOU GAVE ME STRAIGHT GIN?

yourusername: straight 🤣

maxverstappen1: Y/N THAT'S ATTEMPTED MURDER ON HELMUT ???

yourusername: free me i did nothing wrong !!!

user11: these people kill me

user12: sign of a healthy relationship is making gay allegations about each other

yourusername: ALLEGATIONS ???

yourusername: george is lucky that he was the first russell carmen met ...

georgerussell63: RIGHT, I HAVE HAD ENOUGH

georgerussell63: thank you for the congratulations but STOP flirting with MY girlfriend

yourusername: congratulations??? for what?

georgerussell63: WINNING THE RACE?

yourusername: boring!

georgerussell63: you are so lucky we're family because you are a few cards short of a deck

yourusername: CARDS? that reminds me ... time to gamble!

maxverstappen1

liked by oscarpiastri, charles_leclerc and 1,342,988 others

tagged: yourusername

maxverstappen1: winning without the fastest car isn't for everyone

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user13: this caption has y/n russell written all over it

yukitsunoda0511: i sat here and watched them giggle to themselves for a good five minutes while posting this

user14: tell max to post more pictures like the second one

yukitsunoda0511: they are not safe for innocent eyes and they are not taken with a locked door :/

user15: why are you there ???

yukitsunoda0511: they're very generous when they're drunk !

user16: so real

yukitsunoda0511: it's also not just me :(

user17: just how many people are using the bar tab?

liamlawson30: me!

oscarpiastri: me!

charles_leclerc: me!

landonorris: me!

pierregasly: me!

alexalbon: me!

yourusername: broke bitches

carlossainz55: you do not have a job?

yourusername: gambling and being pretty is more of a job that what you will have next season 🤨

carlossainz55: has anyone ever told you you're a really mean drunk

yourusername: just george about a billion times, you get used to it (we just don't invite you out)

user18: she is just dragging anyone now

user19: hold on that is her boyfriend's work boyfriend's enemy

user20: girl is 90% of lestappen twitter's source and you think she's not gonna have a problem with sainz???

yourusername: you're so sexy i actually can't even function

maxverstappen1: gotta put the trophy in trophy husband somehow

yourusername: jokes aside i am super duper proud of you, this year has been insane and you've proven that you are the bestest eva

maxverstappen1: couldn't have done it without my fave cheerleader

yourusername: i'll wear the uniform and everything ....

schecoperez: STOP

georgerussell63: still no congratulations? i know you won the title or whatever but we're going to be brothers soon SHOW SOME RESPECT

yourusername: literally suck his dick

yourusername: wait no

yourusername: suck my dick

yourusername: WAIT NO

yourusername: choke ❤️

georgerussell63: i have no words at this point

maxverstappen1: so romantic hehehehe

yourusername

liked by alexalbon, kimiantonelli and 410,300 others

tagged: maxverstappen1

yourusername: put it all on on red (bull)

view all comments

user22: ma'am why is there a cat?

user23: i think we already know the answer

user24: oh i know the answer i just wanna know the batshit explanation

georgerussell63: exsqueeze me ???

yourusername: don't speak like that about your nephew ??

georgerussell63: tell me you're not keeping it??

maxverstappen1: IT? HE JUST LEAPFROGGED YOU IN OUR WILL

georgerussell63: 1. you have a joint will ??? 2. why am i on it ??? 3. what is a cat doing with a monaco penthouse ???

maxverstappen1: i thought you could use the money ? i know toto ain't paying you what he promised me

yourusername: george your weird sugar daddy is more broke than you think sorry xx

georgerussell63: once again, what is stopping me taking the monaco house from a literal cat ?

yourusername: caesar will be very aware of his rights string bean - just because you talk in an uppity accent doesn't mean you actually know anything

georgerussell63: i cannot tell who corrupted who but i am sick of being your victim :(

user25: yes as fun as watching them dog george is i do want to know caesar's origin story

user26: i have a very bad feeling i know where he got his name

alexalbon: HE'S NOT NAMED AFTER THE CASINO IS HE?

yourusername: ding ding ding we have a winner, always knew you were the smarter half of galex

maxverstappen1: your gambling is getting out of hand

yourusername: did i or did i not win us a cat ?

maxverstappen1: AND £250,000 ???

yourusername: didn't want to promote gambling too much

yourusername: KIDS DO NOT GAMBLE IT IS DUMB

yourusername: look at me i literally have a child now ???

user27: we have lost the original plot of the movie

user28: you must be new, we stopped trying to make sense of these two years ago

lewishamilton: i can assure you it does not get any easier when you know them personally

yourusername: we aim to be sexy and mysterious

lewishamilton: that's strange because you guys dance like little boys and overshare at any given opportunity

maxverstappen1: guilty !

georgerussell63

liked by alexalbon, landonorris and 873,409 others

tagged: lewishamilton, yourusername & maxverstappen1

georgerussell63: i won the las vegas grand prix and all i got was this lousy cat

view all comments

user29: i am sensing a y/n and max meltdown incoming

user30: maybe they're too hungover to argue?

yourusername: NEVER

maxverstappen1: LOUSY CAT? FIRST OF ALL HE'S NOT YOURS SO KEEP HIS NAME OUT OF YOUR MOUTH AND ALSO I WILL KILL YOU WITH A GUN

georgerussell63: excuse me?

yourusername: do NOT threaten my boyfriend !!!!!!!!

georgerussell63: do you have selective sight or something?

yourusername: no i just like him more than i like you

georgerussell63: you only met him because of me?

maxverstappen1: i have faith we would've found each other regardless we have a SOUL TIE

yourusername: EXACTLY

georgerussell63: i give up.

yourusername: this is exactly why you don't have a championship ... no drive (pun intended)

georgerussell63: NOW THAT'S IT

maxverstappen1: are you threatening my girlfriend?

georgerussell63: OMG LEAVE ME ALONE

user31: their commitment to never letting george have a day of peace is really quite charming

user32: they're going to give him grey hairs before he even turns 27

alexalbon: i gotta say georgie, i'm not with you on this one - caesar is THE dude

georgerussell63: are all my eggs falling out of the basket at once?

maxverstappen1: that's called karma for calling caesar 'it' and a lousy cat

georgerussell63: i can't lie i am missing your honeymoon phase you guys were a lot nicer

yourusername: we never left the honeymoon phase we just like annoying all of you

maxverstappen1: makes you people leave us alone :3

landonorris: you don't have to be mean to do that

yourusername: YOU JUST GOT OFF OF THIN ICE NORRIS WATCH YOUR STEP

user33: they can make excuses all these want but they just like annoying everyone else

user34: i mean based on their vegas shenanigans i think they would be super fun to be around

yourusername: oscar literally came to stay while he 'looked for a flat' in monaco and hasn't left... it's been three months. face it we're a HOOT

oscarpiastri: they are fun! the secret is to not be annoying sorry george!

maxverstappen1: they grow up so fast :')

maxverstappen1

liked by charles_leclerc, danielricciardo and 984,036 others

tagged: yourusername

maxverstappen1: took a gamble when i went for the lanky posh dude's sister and i can now say it was definitely worth it

view all comments

user37: bro says snug as a bug in a rug once and now he's labelled as posh HE'S FROM NORFOLK

user38: it's also the way that y/n never gets the posh allegations

georgerussell63: it's because she's scruffy as fuck x

maxverstappen1: literally outside your house with a knife, keep talking

georgerussell63: i'm a grown man, max, you don't scare me

maxverstappen1: so i'm free to do a little gardening while you hide inside?

georgerussell63: you wouldn't...

yourusername: GO FOR THE PEONIES MAX

georgerussell63: NOT THE PEONIES I BEG HAVE MERCY

user39: so i'm supposed to read all of this shit and take them seriously when they get in the car

user40: it's part of the charm i think

user41: it's all fun and games until you remember they are full grown adults who can vote who are arguing over flowers

yourusername: i'd go through the strenuous task of growing up with george thousands more times just to be with you

maxverstappen1: i've been in love with you since i was 14, there has never been anyone else for me and there will never be anyone else for me

yourusername: ugh why didn't we just get married in vegas ?

maxverstappen1: because even though i did just harm his flowers, i do want to marry you in front of our families

yourusername: i guess you're right

georgerussell63: you know what? based on how you usually talk to me... i'm touched

yourusername: if i'm feeling generous i'll even let you do the seating chart

georgerussell63: I LOVE YOU BEST SISTER EVER

user42: only a declaration of love between max and y/n could end with george proclaiming his love for charts

user43: how does one procure an invite to this wedding ...

yourusername: be cunty

yourusername: @zakbrownceo YOU'RE BARRED

yourusername

liked by landonorris, alexalbon and 409,300 others

tagged: maxverstappen1

yourusername: i'm the sibling who can't drive and yet i'm the one with four championship trophies in their house... george, step your pussy up x

view all comments

user44: omg queen who can't drive, she's such representation

yourusername: george says i'm so mean all the time but really i'm generous, i clearly gave him all the driving genes

user45: have you even tried driving?

yourusername: i went on max's sim once and got motion sickness and i'm also with the best driver in the world and siblings with an okay one - i'm surviving

alexalbon: he's already texted me about your language on this post

yourusername: just because he's a boomer in a string bean's body does not mean i must censor myself - he should know what stepping his pussy up means by now

georgerussell63: i will not be stepping on any pussy, i respect both felines and women

maxverstappen1: you called caesar 'it' so PLEASE

georgerussell63: i respect women?

maxverstappen1: you called y/n scruffy?

georgerussell63: that's y/n it doesn't count

maxverstappen1: that's not very feminist of you george. i am disappointed

yourusername: i agree, i really think the GDPA should reconsider the type of person they're letting run it

georgerussell63: huh?

yourusername: not once have i been invited to a grid meal ....

georgerussell63: well you're not on the grid that's why

yourusername: FEMALE EXCLUSION

maxverstappen1: you know we have attachment issues, you're so heartless george

georgerussell63: what is going on ???

yourusername: you CLEARLY don't care about me

maxverstappen1: and you CLEARLY don't care about the wellbeing of the grid

georgerussell63: I'M SORRY???

user46: george is unbelievably easy to rattle

user47: it must be so fun

yourusername: oh believe me, we have way too much fun

maxverstappen1: we once convinced him that it was a social faux pas to shake hands in japan lol

georgerussell63: IS THAT WHY MERCEDES WERE TOLD THAT EVERYONE THOUGHT I WAS REALLY RUDE ???

yourusername: LMAOOOOOOOO

maxverstappen1: so so so easy bro

user48: i guess a couple that plays mind tricks together, stay together?

yourusername: 4eva

maxverstappen1: til death do us part

yourusername: quite literally you're not leaving me alone with GEORGE

georgerussell63: you know what: DIE

yourusername: GASP

maxverstappen1: @fia get his ass

fin.

note: HAPPY MAX VERSTAPPEN CHAMPIONSHIP DAY TO ALL WHO CELEBRATE. IE. ME LOL

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

The Reader gets jealous/upset because Sukuna gets Concubines, with a happy ending though. pleaseeeee

Wish I didn’t care

Tags: true form!Sukuna x fem!Reader, king!Sukuna, royal au (?), angst, hurt/comfort, happy ending i promise

An: Ooo, this was such a good idea. Thank you for requesting it from me!! I hope it’s everything you wanted!!

Sukuna never felt the need to give you a title for being in his life. To him, titles were superficial… There wasn’t a title in the world that could explain or encompass the complexities of his relationship with you.

However, you, coming from the mortal realm, wanted a title. It’s not that you wanted the power that was associated with being the betrothed of the King of Curses. You just wanted to feel.. irreplaceable to him.

So, to make you happy, you were his wife.

Kings rarely ever are allowed the luxury of marrying for love. Most kings marry daughters of other powerful kings to create allies between nations. However, Sukuna didn’t need allies. He didn’t need to marry for power when he had more power than he knew what to even do with.

Everything was simply child’s play for him. He even stopped trying to conquer the mortal realm because it was just too damn easy for him. The “sorcerers” could barely even put up a fight. It was embarrassing.

Life was truly becoming boring for him.

That was, until a female curse was delivered straight to his chamber. He was confused and honestly pissed that Uraume would simply guide this harlot into his chambers without his permission. Only you were granted such luxuries.

He was leisurely splayed in his bed with no cloth to cover himself. He truly appreciated the concept of being completely in his own skin at all times, and he often encouraged you to do the same. Though, he also learned to appreciate your more modest approach. You didn’t have to show any skin to get Sukuna riled up.

“State your purpose.” His voice was low and menacing as he spoke to the woman. He slipped his robes on over his shoulders, tying it in the front so he was no longer exposing himself.

“My father sends his regards. Says that a newly wedded king deserves a ‘fresh’ concubine.” The girl spoke with no humility towards him.

Sukuna’s face twisted in disgust that her dad would even suggest such a thing. He was even more put off that she described herself as ‘fresh’ as if she were a type of vegetable in the garden.

“Your father can kindly go fuck himself. I’m not interested.” He responds coldly, and his large palm grabs onto her shoulder with the intention of throwing her out of his chambers. He knew that if you saw her here, you’d probably be devastated.

“My lord-“

“I am not your anything. You address me as Lord or King, but make no mistake. I am not your lord.” He rudely cuts her off, not letting her think she has any sort of claim to him.

“Okay, Lord Sukuna, when’s the last time she’s fulfilled her wifely duties? I can see she’s not in here tending to you now, right? She’d probably feel grateful that you’re being satisfied around the clock.” The concubine’s voice was like a purr, and she looked up at him with eyes that’d rival a siren’s.

And for a split second, Sukuna almost considers her offer.

“You’ll never believe it, Kuna!” Your happy voice fills the air, and the door swings open to reveal you holding a small flower in your hand. “I got a jasmine to bl-“ Your eyes fall upon to scene in front of you.

Sukuna’s towering over an unfamiliar woman. His hand is touching her neck and shoulder area, while she has her hand leisurely pressed against his bicep.

“Who’s.. this?” You quietly ask, and immediately, Sukuna can feel a strange feeling pour into him. It feels like… guilt? He regrets even momentarily entertaining the idea about this harlot occupying his bed.

“Nobody-“

“Oh my lady, it’s nice to meet you. I apologize. Lord Sukuna and I were just getting aquatinted with each other since we’ll be seeing each other a lot from now on.” The serpent of a female cuts him off, and he immediately realizes just what this is. Whichever king decided to send her is hoping to ruin his marriage. She’s quite literally a snake in his garden, trying to ward his wife away from him.

“I don’t… understand.” The way your voice sounds so small. The small pout upon your lips. The way the flower you were once carrying with such confidence is now sagging in your hand. Fuck. Sukuna felt like a complete imbecile.

“Oh, come on now. You know he has needs that are beyond your abilities. I’ll lay with him when you’re too-“

“Enough.” Sukuna’s voice snaps. His teeth grit together as he practically drags the woman out of his chambers. “Go fuck off for a while. I’ll deal with you later.” The door immediately slams in her face.

After a moment of trying to comprehend what just happened and how it all happened so quickly, Sukuna slowly turns to you. It feels like a gut punch once he sees the tears brimming in your eyes.

“That wasn’t…”

“You took up a concubine?” You ask in a sniffle. Your hands are barely even holding the jasmine that’s you were once so excited to show him. Flowers rarely ever bloom in Sukuna’s desolate kingdom, but with hard work and determination, you had gotten a jasmine to bloom in his kingdom.

“No, she was sent to me. I didn’t seek her out.” He tries to dispel the claims while he slowly approaches you. His chest aches as he watches you take a step back away from him. “Do not cower from me, woman.”

“Was I not good enough? Was I not doing enough for you..? I thought… I thought it was good, b-but I can try harder.” Your voice is so shaky, and you won’t even look him in the eye. What has he done?

“Silence. You will not speak of yourself like that to me.” Sukuna orders, and he takes another step forward. You take another step back with another sniffle. Your tears are streaming down your cheeks.

“Please…” The word sounds foreign on his tongue. He’s never ever pleaded for anything in his life. He could simply take what he wants, but he doesn’t want to hurt his delicate flower. He wants her to seek out comfort in him. “Please don’t cower. It was not like that. She showed up at my door, spoke of lies and filth, and I was trying to throw her out when you walked in.”

“So you didn’t even con..consider taking her on as a concubine?” You ask while you rub the tears away with the back of your hands. Hopefully, this was all just a poorly timed miscommunication.

Sukuna takes a moment before responding. He has two options. He could tell you a white lie that would instantly comfort you, but it would be a lie. Or he could tell you the truth and face the consequences of his actions.

“It was one moment of weakness.” He replies carefully.

He instantly wishes he just lied from the way your face immediately twisted in disappointment and pure hurt. The jasmine falls from your hands, and your footsteps trail away from his chambers, leaving him dumbfounded.

Sukuna is immediately on your trail, unable to let you be. He needs to fix this. His dear wife is upset, and it’s all his fault.

A pair of hands slither up his arm as he walks. He already knows who’s touching him based off the nasty feeling from their contact. “My lord, let her be. She needs to-“

“Dismantle.” The concubine’s body drops to the floor in two, split directly at her waist. He had warned her already about referring to him as her lord. She didn’t deserve to speak of you so carelessly, and she didn’t deserve to live after causing this rift in his marriage.

Sukuna continues on his hunt for you without another hitch, leaving the harlot’s body right where she once stood for one of the servants to clean up.

He searches for you in all your usual spots: the gardens, the kitchen, the library, the rooftop. You’re no where to be found. You don’t want to be found. He starts to wonder around his perimeter. The longer he goes without finding you; the more his heart starts to race.

Did you leave him? Did he lose you for good?

The thought of not having his delicate flower by his side makes his body feel ill. You must’ve placed some sort of binding curse on him, but he didn’t necessarily mind.

He’s close to waging war when he finally sees your small human body tucked underneath a weeping willow on a bed of grass. His body moves on it’s own: running to you. When’s the last time he’s ran like this?

Crouching over you, he can see no visible injuries on your body, but he knows he’s wounded your heart with his foolish actions. How could he ever have a wandering eye when you were the real prize?

His four arms carefully scoop you up and cradle your body as he takes a seat underneath the willow. Your poor cheeks are flushed and tear stained. Your eyes and lips are so puffy. You must’ve tired yourself out from crying.

“I’m sorry, flower.” He whispers softly, even if your eyes are still resting. He pulls your body closer to his chest, and he contemplates when he started becoming so soft for you.

A part of him hates it. That small unconscious voice of his telling him that he shouldn’t concern himself with the feelings of a mere mortal, but the bigger part of him knows that he can’t just ignore you. He cares far too much for you.

“Kuna..?” You murmur as your hands rub your eyes. You’re immediately met with remembering just why you had fallen asleep. “I do not wish to see you right now.”

Sukuna chuckles quietly from your defiant little comment. It reminds him of when you first arrived to his estate. “Then close your eyes.” He simply states as one of his hands start to comb through your hair. “Woman, tell me what to do to fix this.”

You shift your gaze away from him with a small huff. If he wasn’t so much bigger than you, you’d try to wiggle away from him. However, you know it is of no use. “I don’t know, Kuna.” Your words are sharp and still so full of emotion. “Imagine how you’d feel if I told you I contemplated sleeping with someone else… in a moment of weakness.”

The sheer thought of it has Sukuna’s anger burning up like an inferno. You’re his delicate flower. No one would even know how to take care of you like he can. His arms subtly tighten around your frame. “I’d kill every man you gaze at.”

“Well, men can rest easy because I only have eyes for you.” You mutter while rolling your eyes. “I love you so much that the thought of being with someone else repulses me, and it… just really hurts that you don’t feel the same.”

“Flower, I took you for granted. It was a brief moment of contemplation, but I instantly decided against it. I did not desire her in the slightest.” Sukuna tries to explain, and his hand gently brushes against your soft cheek.

“You still don’t deny that you don’t feel the same for me.” You respond quietly, still not giving him the satisfaction of you looking at him.

“You are everything to me. I will not lose sight of what’s important again.”

“Kuna.” You finally look up at him, and you frown slightly. Sukuna secretly adores the little nicknames you have adorned him with, but he’d never admit it.

“What is it, woman?” He asks, titling his head to the side a bit to get a better look at your face. You’re so pretty in his lap like this.

“Do you love me?” You quietly ask, even if you can already hear his voice telling you ‘do not ask questions you don’t want answers to’… because even if he’s the incarnate of evil, Sukuna will not lie. Liars are weak cowards who can’t get jobs done by being upfront. Sukuna isn’t afraid of what the truth is.

Your husband contemplates your question for a moment. He thinks about how disgusting that wannabe concubine was. He thinks about how you preoccupy his mind majority of the time. He thinks about the weird mix of feelings he has felt today in your absence.

“What I feel for you… is probably the closest to love that I’ll ever get.” Sukuna responds, carefully choosing his words. “You, my flower, are the only thing that keeps me grounded to the mortal plains.”

You give him the best smile you can muster despite the disappointment that you feel since he won’t tell you that he loves you. You suppose you have no one to blame other than yourself. Sukuna told you when he married you not to get your hopes up for love, but you still can’t help but crave that sort of affection from him.

“I don’t like seeing you upset, flower.” He speaks tenderly as his thumb brushes against your bottom lip. “If I could, I’d snap my fingers and assure you that I love you whole heartedly. It just not in my genetic code.”

“I know… I’m grateful for your effort at least.” You murmur as you wrap your arms around his neck.

His arms wrap around you, cradling you to his chest. He inhales deeply, savoring your sweet scent that he enjoys so much. “Am I forgiven, woman?”

“Mmm, no.” You smile cheekily in his embrace, and Sukuna chuckles heartily.

“Oh? Is someone going to use this blunder to her advantage?” When you nod in his shoulder, Sukuna lays back against the soft pillowy grass. “That’s my girl. Go on. Make me work for your forgiveness.”

On a completely unrelated note, Sukuna had that harlot’s body mailed back to her father as a ‘thank you’ for sending a whore to his kingdom.

[clioerato]

Reverse of this post.

AU Unrealistic 90s, sorry

Eddie is like: "Well, Steve is just a really loyal ally. Really… physically loyal. And caring. I guess that's just the level of friendship a popular dude has." And Steve is genuinely convinced that they've been together for a long time and that Eddie knows.

1986:

They start hanging out. Then they hang out every day. Then they live at Steve's for a week straight.

Steve: “You can leave your stuff here, you know. Closet’s half empty.” Eddie: “Damn, you really are the most considerate straight dude I know.” Steve: “…Huh?”

1986:

They regularly sleep in the same bed. Sometimes they hold hands. Sometimes they kiss. Sometimes they kiss for a long time. Sometimes for a very long time.

Eddie (after kissing): “This is crazy. I mean, I get it, experimenting and all…” Steve: “What?” Eddie: “Nothing. I’m cool. You’re cool. We’re cool.” Steve (искренне): “Yeah. We’re the best couple I know.” Eddie: “…Couple of what, though?” Steve: “What?”

1987:

Steve gives Eddie a silver ring on a leather cord. Eddie wears it, even in the shower.

Eddie: “This is, like, a friendship ring, right?” Steve: “That’s literally a promise ring.” Eddie: “…A promise of what?” Steve: “Of us, Eddie. What the hell else would I mean?” Eddie: “Right. Us. Bros. Tight.”

1987:

Eddie: “You take care of me like we’re married.” Steve (smiling): “We might someday.” Eddie: “We might… legally non-binding kind of way.” Steve: “Eddie. We file taxes together.” Eddie: “You’re just very organized!”

1988:

Robin: “How’s your boyfriend?” Eddie: “Boyfriend? Who?” Robin: “Steve. Your literal partner in life. Your domestic co-op. The man whose shampoo you steal.” Eddie: “Steve’s not my boyfriend. We’re just… you know… post-labels.” Robin: “Eddie. You live together, you kiss. He holds your hand. He told me you're his boyfriend.” Eddie: “…He what?”

1988: Eddie: “Steve. Real question. Are we… dating?” Steve: “You’re joking, right?” Eddie: “Sorry! I didn't mean to! Maybe I misunderstood. I… I'm sorry, did I ruin everything between us?” Steve: “Eddie. We have a dog. We hosted Thanksgiving. We kiss. We have sex. You made me a Mixtape titled ‘songs that remind me of us’.” Eddie: “I thought you just needed a roommate with benefits and deep emotional intimacy?” Steve: “That’s literally a relationship.” Eddie: “…Holy shit. We’re boyfriends?” Steve: “We’ve been boyfriends for years, Munson.” Eddie: “Huh. Go figure. Guess I’m dating King Steve.” Steve: “You’re lucky I love you.”

Now that Eddie’s caught up emotionally, he’s 110% in. Possibly too in.

Eddie: “So... should we elope? Vegas? Matching rings? I’m thinking silver, with little bats engraved—” Steve (choking on his cereal): “Wait. What? Now you want to get married?” Eddie: “Well, yeah! We’re already basically married, babe.” Steve: “Don’t ‘babe’ me while talking about bat rings and eloping.” Eddie (grinning): “Too late, husband.”

*** Eddie: “So I saw this house. Big porch. Weird attic. Ghost potential’s high, but I think we can make it work.” Steve: “...Are you asking if I want to buy a house with you?” Eddie: “Well, yeah. We live together. We share a car. We kiss. A lot. I have a drawer full of your socks. I think it’s time we haunt a place jointly.” Steve: “This is how you propose real estate to me?” Eddie: “You should be grateful. The realtor loved my ‘gothic charm.’” Steve: (sighs) “We’re gonna need a mortgage... and a sage bundle.” Eddie: “You love it.” Steve: “I do.”

Grocery store, middle of the cereal aisle:

Cashier: “You want to sign up for the store discount card?” Eddie: “Yeah—uh, do I have to put my husband’s name too, or just mine?” Steve (pauses, then stares): Cashier: “...Congratulations?” Steve: tearing up immediately, holding a box of Cheerios like it’s a wedding bouquet Eddie (realizing): “Wait, you’re crying??” Steve: “You said—you said husband! In public!” Eddie: “I also said ‘Cheerios,’ are we crying about those too?” Steve: “Shut up.” Eddie (gently): “I meant it.” Steve: “I know. That’s why I’m crying.”

Later that night, in their definitely haunted new house: Eddie (quietly, as they’re brushing their teeth): “You know I really do want to marry you, right?” Steve (mouth full of toothpaste): “Mhm.” Eddie: “Not just for grocery discounts.” Steve (spitting): “I love you.” Eddie: “I love you too, husband.” ✨ If you like my stories and vibes, you can support me here: [Ko-fi]

[sailorsoons]

On the Clock | (c.hs)

PAIRING: Vernon x f. reader

SUMMARY: Modern problems call for modern solutions, including naming a random stranger in the book store as your boyfriend to avoid an embarrassing encounter with your ex. The problem? The stranger is Vernon and he’s not supposed to be a stranger at all - he’s your coworker, and now everyone at the office - including your ex - thinks you’re dating. 

WC: 20,296

AU: Faking dating, Coworkers to Lovers, Romcom

GENRE: Smut, some fluff and crack

RATING: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

WARNINGS: Reader has some insecurity about how her working hard is perceived, some ranting about Being A Girlboss, a little bit of inner angst, my bad attempts at humor, reader’s ex boyfriend SUCKS sorry to all the Minho’s of the world I named him after, explicit language, some minor commentary on power dynamics, Star Wars Lore, explicit sexual content including unprotected vaginal sex (never do this), oral (f. receiving), nipple play, vaginal fingering, multiple orgasms, a little bit of a handjob, some cum eating if you squint, Vernon was supposed to be a freak but I made him soft instead, mutual pining.

A/N: Thank you to @camandemstudios for allowing me to be a part of the Lonely Hearts Collab. I’m honored to be among such amazing writers and I cannot wait to see what everyone else wrote. 

A/N 2: Thank you to the (w)hor(e)anghae squad @daechwitatamic @eoieopda and @jihopesjoint for beta reading this and letting me blind pass it over so I wouldn’t have to read it again because I don’t like it :)  

MASTERLIST | PERMANENT TAG LIST | ASK | LONELY HEARTS CAFE COLLAB

WHOSOEVER SLAYETH CAIN SHALL SUFFER TENFOLD... OR WHATEVER IT IS THAT THE BIBLE SAYS. You haven’t slayed Cain and you’re not really sure you believe in anything in the Bible, but you’re certainly suffering sevenfold. Eightfold. Ninefold. 

Sevenfold had been earlier this morning when you dropped your glass of coffee on the ground, shattering your favorite cup and staining your white tile. Several Clorox wipes later, there is still brown stuck to the grout, looking a bit like you had an unseemly accident in the middle of your kitchen. 

Eightfold had been when you decided to fix your weekend by heading to the bookstore. Surely purchasing books that you were going to let sit on your shelf months before reading would fix your day - until someone rear-ended you in the parking lot, leaving a good dent and an apologetic exchanging of numbers and insurance information.

Ninefold comes when you least expect it, standing in the aisle with a stack of books in your hand, eyes flickering over the different titles and ornate covers. You already feel better than you had this morning. The smell of paper, the whisper of turning pages, and the hum of the cafe brewing coffee in the distance immediately puts you at ease. 

You swear nothing can put a damper on a good hour spent between shelves - until ninefold walks around the aisle corner. 

The stack of books in your arm nearly drops to the ground when you see your ex-boyfriend hand-in-hand with his new girlfriend. You wheel around so fast you slam into the person behind you, which does knock all the books from your hands onto the floor. 

A hissed curse leaves your lips followed by a quick apology. You drop to your knees, picking the books up as quickly as you can. The dude you’ve collided with has also dropped his books, the amalgamation of your soon-to-be-purchases making it more difficult for you to pick up your shit and leave the scene before Minho sees you. 

Minho says your name, surprised. 

“Fuck,” you whisper, fingers going rigid on the stack of books in your hand. You shoot to your feet and spin around, breathless as you come face to face with Minho and the new girlfriend that you definitely didn’t look up on social media a few weeks ago. “Hi, Minho.” 

“Wow, it’s nice to see you not in the marketing department for once.” 

“Well, I work there…” You offer a bit sharply, tapering to adjust to a nicer tone. “Hence, you know - finding me there.” 

“I meant you rarely leave there.” He laughs and you feign a grin, eyes flickering over to the rosy-cheeked and very glossy-haired girl on your ex’s arm.

Good for her, you think. I wonder what hair product she uses. 

“This is Mina.”

“Mina?” You ask, sticking your hand out as you shuffle your books awkwardly to the crook over your elbow. She smiles - god she has good teeth - and shakes your hand. “Mina and… Minho. Easy to remember.” 

“It’s nice to meet you. Minho tells me you’re the only ex he’s ever left things on good terms with.” 

Your eye twitches. 

Good terms was a serviceable way to put it, you suppose. Sure, there had been no fighting or infidelity or long distance that put a strain on your relationship. In fact, you hadn’t been aware that there was a strain on your relationship until Minho was sitting you down on his couch and letting you know that it just wasn’t working for him anymore. 

That had been confusing. You hadn’t asked any questions though, opting to sit and stare at him while clenching your teeth, nodding along while he explained that your inability to leave work at work and enjoy home while at home was wearing down on him. 

You’re not saving lives, he’d said. He had been earnest too, which is the crux of it. You’re in marketing. You need to take a breather. 

As if he didn’t come home in a bad mood after shitty sales calls all day, as if he wasn’t stressed when he didn’t hit quota, or didn’t complain about how long the department meeting went - you know. You were there, too. 

So sure, you were on good terms. But only one of you seemed to have been unhappy with where things were going, and only one of you seems to have moved on to someone with really good hair genes and great dental hygiene. 

Your tongue runs over your teeth, suddenly worried that you’d forgotten to brush them this morning. 

“Yeah,” you agree, clearing your throat and choking a bite. “Good terms are always the goodest - best way to end things.” 

“He’s really hopeful you’ll find someone,” she sighs, looking up at him dreamily. “He’s always wanted the best for you.” 

A vein bursts in your head. Well- no. You wish the vein you feel throbbing in your head would burst and knock you out so you’d no longer have to suffer through this ninefold moment of suffering. Perhaps, even, a very attractive medic with glossy hair and good teeth could come save you and fall in love at first sight. 

The genuine way that Minho and Mina look at you tells you that they’re serious, that they see you as something that deserves love too. Said in a cooing voice, said patronizingly, said with a pat on the head and a firm pout. 

You turn with your free hand, grabbing the sleeve of the man who is hovering behind you and pull him over to you, grin growing sevenfold. Eightfold. 

“No need to worry,” you assure them. “My boyfriend is right here! The stars really did align for me, just like you hoped and dreamed.”

Your seconds-old-star-crossed-lover looks entirely startled, looking between you, Minho and Mina. His books are cradled against his chest, his brown eyes wide. He’s actually incredibly cute, his glasses a little askewand his brown hair a little unruly. 

“You’re dating Vernon?” 

You look at Minho, blank. “What?” 

Minho looks at your Very Real Boyfriend. “You’re dating Vernon? From IT?” 

Ninefold, meet Tenfold. 

“Of course,” you answer slowly, looking at your partner of now thirty seconds. “I am dating Vernon… from IT.” 

Vernon (from IT) looks like he would rather be anywhere else than standing in the middle of the fantasy novel aisle with you at a bookstore, your nails digging tighter into his sleeve and your crazy eyes telling him to get with the program. 

Vernon (from IT) clears his throat and nods, looking over at Minho. “Yeah. Hey, Minho.” 

“Wow. This is really unexpected.”

“It sure is.”

Your nails dig in harder and Vernon (from IT) tries to pull away from you but you step closer, leaning toward him while flashing Minho and Mina a smile. “Anyway, no need to worry about me finding a relationship. I am very happy.” 

“Figures you found someone at work again.” He laughs, but the comment lands like a blow. You feel yourself flinch, smile going too tight. “You really don’t leave enough to find anyone else, huh?” 

Vernon (from IT) seems to notice, shifting toward you to slide his arm around your waist. The move startles you, drawing your attention to his face. He really is pretty this up close, his lips the perfect shade of bubblegum pink, his cheekbones high and hidden beneath the rim of his glasses, the tangy scent of citrus on his clothes. 

“I like women who work really hard,” Vernon (from IT) assures Minho. “I’ll never get tired of resetting her password over and over again because she loses all her sticky notes everytime the cleaning crew comes through.” 

If Minho senses the shift, he doesn’t let on. He’s never been great at social cues anyway, which is what makes him a decent salesman. Still, you’re eager to get out of their way and the glare of Mina’s shiny hair. 

“Well,” You state. “We have to get going.”

“For sure. It was nice seeing you outside of work!” 

With a final nod, Vernon (from IT) tugs on your waist. You both navigate awkwardly down the aisle, steps not quite in time and hips bumping. It’s uncomfortable and uncoordinated, but as soon as you’re around the aisle and away from your encounter, the two of you separate. 

Vernon (from IT) looks anywhere but you. His cheeks are tinted pink as he looks up at the ceiling, shifting from foot to foot while you regain all your books in your arm. Embarrassment and gratitude both well up inside of you, one beating the other out.

“I am really sorry,” you blurt, voice a little loud. The people around you startle and you lower your pitch when Vernon (from IT) looks at you, chewing on his lip. “Thank you - I don’t even know how to say thank you for doing that.”

“I didn’t have much of a choice.”

Your cheeks heat. “Right.”

“Happy to help, though. You can thank me by swapping books with me, though.”

“What?”

He gestures to your books. “I was standing behind you because you grabbed my books after you ran into me.” 

Oh. Right. You look down at the pile of books in your hand and see a few titles that you own, but did not plan on buying today. You divest yourself of his selections, taking the ones he’d collected off the ground from there. 

“So you really work in IT?”

He snorts. The sound is… a little off. You glance up at him, but his face gives away nothing. “Yeah.”

“I didn’t know.”

His smile is off, too. “I know.” 

You’re unsure how to reply to that, but you’re also uneager to let him go, suddenly. Vernon (from IT) stands there for a second, lips pressed in a firm line and studying you. He really is beautiful, the light hitting his eyes in a way that turns them molten gold and-

“Alright well,” he interrupts your thoughts. “See you later or something.” 

The urge to stop him strikes you, your mouth opening and closing. No words come out. You don’t know what to say - or why you want to stop him, just that you do. He walks toward the front of the store to purchase his books, leaving you standing in the middle of the store and wishing you’d met Vernon (from IT) under different circumstances. 

-

Routine is important to you, especially during the weekdays. Wake up, snooze your alarm for at least fifteen minutes, get up when the second one goes off. Groan as you feel every single joint in your body pop after sitting up in bed. Wonder if you really need a corporate job to pay your bills (decide the answer is yes), and get up to feed the furious beast yowling from the bed. 

The ferocious beast in question has a routine as well. Perhaps not as important as yours, the cat knows when he’s supposed to be fed and when it’s even a minute past feeding time. Halloween takes his meals very seriously, which you respect. 

Your morning continues with the monotonous rhythm you’ve learned to appreciate: make coffee, shuffle back to your room into the ensuite bathroom for skin care, start your morning proper. The only thing that isn’t the same thing every morning is your playlist and your outfit of choice, leading both items up to fate to decide. 

A hint of spring is in the air when you step outside. It’s that kind of sunny day with a cool breeze that promises longer days of sun ahead, despite still being brisk in the morning and biting when the sun sets. 

Mornings during the days that hang between winter and spring are your favorite. You roll the windows down a little on your drive to work, fingers drumming against the steering wheel as you crawl along with all the other commuters. 

Buildings shoot up toward the sky on either side of you. Dozens of banks, private firms, buildings with multiple different businesses and food courts become your entire world as you navigate to the parking garage. It’s already full of cars, but you get special parking.

Well - special as of your promotion just a few weeks ago. The designated parking spot and title bump was all that had come with the promotion, though, much to your dismay. 

Still. You’d worked for this particular publishing house in the marketing department for close to a decade now. You weren’t quite as far up the ladder as you wanted to be, but you were trying to get there little by little. 

So close. No cigar. 

The elevator of the parking garage opens to reveal other office workers already filling the mirror-walled space. You step in as everyone makes room, clutching their bags and briefcases a little closer. You see Mingyu from creative and flash him a polite grin, which is answered with a bright one of his own and a small wave.

When the people not associated with your company shuffle off on other floors, Mingyu slides over closer to you. He’s one of the many designers in the art department, and definitely several rungs below your position, but you started the company at the same time together.

“How was your weekend?” He asks, wagging his brows up and down. 

You frown. His questions suggests there’s something salacious to your wild weekend spent reading books with Halloween, but you don’t think burning the bagel you ate for girl dinner or staying in the same shirt for forty-eight hours straight is what he’s looking for. 

“It was fine?” It comes out as a question. “How was yours?” 

“Hm. It was good. We went out to catch the big game. Seokmin got so drunk he vomited, and Vernon won all of the bets we placed before.” 

Mingyu leans forward, looking at you like you’re supposed to understand something. You don’t get it, looking him up and down with a pinched brow. 

“That’s nice?” Again, it comes out as a question. “Not for Seokmin, I guess.” 

His eyes narrow. Pin you to your spot against the elevator wall.

Then the elevator dings, signalling that you’re at his floor. Creative is an entire level down from marketing, all dim lights and glowing screens for the designers hard at work. Mingyu gets off, still looking suspicious as the elevator doors close and you shoot up another floor. 

Instead of focusing on it, you shrug it off. Mingyu has a penchant for being weird - a creative thing, in your opinion. As soon as the elevator door opens, his behavior is long forgotten as you slip into work mode. 

Everyone greets you with a polite smile or small wave on the marketing floor. The main office is filled with grey-walled cubicles, employees popping up to peer over walls with mugs of coffee and protein shakes and breakfast items as they ask their neighbors how the weekend was. 

A glass wall in the far back denotes the executive and director offices. You head for the one in the back, right corner. Instead of turning on your lights, you let the natural lighting from the floor-to-ceiling windows filter in, keeping the ambiance muted and relaxing. The only additional lights you flick on are the monitor light at your desk and a small salt lamp wedged between the books on one of the many shelves behind you. 

Your office is still slowly being decorated. You’d only moved in after your recent promotion, and it’s still bare of personalization, save for the salt lamp and a few things you’d moved in from your cubicle. 

And the coffee machine - your own private, blessed coffee machine in the corner on a small bar cart. That might be your favorite thing about your office. You like your coworkers - for the most part, anyway - but being able to bury yourself in your work without having to interact with all of them every time you want coffee is nice. 

Sitting down, you roll your shoulders. When your monitor flashes to life, you see the number of emails in your inbox and try not to groan out loud. You’re thrilled to be the new Senior Director of Marketing, but you’ve gone and made the mistake of becoming too important at work, most things unable to move forward without you playing some part in it.

In theory, that was one of the reasons Minho had broken up with you in the first place. Too buried in work, too many late nights at the office, too many dates or movie nights interrupted by the blue glow of your phone screen on your face while you answer urgent emails. 

The thing is - you don’t mind. It doesn’t bother you to pause and send a quick email, or to stay late and help get something launched. You like the intricacies of being a problem solver, and with as fast as your company is growing and publishing new titles, you’ve got challenge after challenge ahead of you. 

It’s easy to fall into the monotony of answering emails, joining virtual meetings and striking your pen through your to-do list. It fills three pages, but it feels good to cross something off, even if you’ve only completed two things. 

By lunchtime, someone is knocking on your window. You look up, surprised to see Seungkwan sticking his head in. He’s the Manager of Digital Marketing and Social Media and he’s dubbed himself as your assistant. 

Other duties as assigned, he always jokes, but you are thankful for him. 

“You have to eat,” he reminds you in a singsong voice, crossing his arms over his chest. His glasses are pushed up into his blonde hair. “Maybe you can take me to lunch and divulge every detail about your new romance.” 

That makes you sputter. “My what?” 

Looking like the cat that ate the canary, Seungkwan slips into your office, clapping his hands together. He sits on the edge of the couch in front of your desk, bounding with energy. 

“Come on,” he whispers, looking at you earnestly. “Everyone knows - you don’t have to keep it a secret anymore!”

“Keep what a secret?” 

He rolls his eyes. “You’re dating Vernon!”

You stare. “Who?” 

“Vernon! From IT!” 

It comes back in tunnel vision. Ninefold meeting tenfold, Minho and Glossy Hair Mina, Vernon (from IT). Suddenly you’re hot all over, feel it creeping up your neck and blooming across your cheeks. You clear your throat, leaning back in your chair as your fingers reach for your water. 

“I’m - oh!” You escape answering for a second by gulping down copious amounts of water, trying to cool the panic that is licking flames up your skin. “Right. Vernon… from IT.” 

“Honestly, he’s cute.”

“Ha. Ha. Yes. Um. Yeah.”

“You’re so cute when you’re flustered. How long have you been dating?”

“Uhh very new. Yes. Super new. I’m sorry - how did you hear about this?” 

“Mingyu told me, but Soonyoung told him and Joshua in sales told Soonyoung because Minho told the Always Closing group chat.” 

“The what?”

He sighs. “Ugh, do you keep up with anything? The sales floor has a group chat. It’s where Soonyoung gets all his tea because he and Joshua room together.” 

“Who the fuck is Joshua?” 

Seungkwan stares. “It is a wonder you even know who Vernon is. I swear you don’t know people you’ve worked with for years.” A thought seems to strike him and he gasps. “Oh my god is that why you’re always going to him for your fucked up passwords?” 

Something Vernon said comes back to you vaguely. Something about forgotten passwords when the cleaning crew throws out your sticky notes. Of course, no one would throw out your sticky notes if you weren’t dropping them all over the floor, but that’s neither here nor there. 

Bolting from your seat, you startle Seungkwan, whose brows disappear in his hairline as he stares up at you.

“Actually, I can’t do lunch today.”

He sighs. “Boss, you have to eat.”

“I am! I am going to lunch with my…. Vernon from IT.”

“Oooo.” He leans back, shaking his head and grinning at you. “Go on then. Make sure you wrap it before-”

“If you finish that sentence I will revoke your privilege to my coffee cart.” 

Seungkwan’s grin only gets wider. “Enjoy, boss.” 

In a flurry, you leave your office. Eyes follow you as you go and suddenly you’re unsure if people are looking at you because you’re walking so fast that you’re almost running, or if it’s because they think you’re dating Vernon). 

Your finger nearly breaks as you slam the button over and over again to shoot a few floors down. It doesn’t make the elevator go any faster. When the doors finally close and you begin to descend, you turn to the mirror walls and panic, tucking stray pieces of hair back into place and trying to fix the mascara smudges from staring at your screen for four straight hours.

A knot forms in your stomach. You press your damp palms against your dress pants, wiping viciously to try and keep the moisture at bay. When the elevator dings and the doors open to the silent hum of the IT department, you think you might vomit.

Unlike the marketing floor, no heads turn as you go. You try to maintain a normal pace this time, marching down the rows of cubicles before you realize you have no idea where Vernon sits. You pause awkwardly, standing on your tiptoes to try and see over the walls of cubicles to spot him.

“Can I help you?” A man sticks his head out of his cubicle, his headphones around his neck. He looks you up and down critically. “You’ll have to have proof of submitting a ticket before-”

“Vernon,” you interrupt him. “Vernon from IT? Where does he sit?” 

For a second, the guy narrows his eyes. Then a lightbulb seems to go off and he grins, leaning back in his chair. He looks far too pleased with himself, and there’s something oily and slick you don’t like about his gaze. “You’re her.” 

“I’m a senior director, yes.” 

That changes his tune immediately. He sits up, clearing his throat. “To the back on the left.” 

“Thanks.”

Following his lead, you pass by several empty cubicles, everyone seemingly at lunch. You take the corner as instructed and find a handful of men sitting in the same cubicle, one sitting atop a desk and swinging his legs, another leaning against the cubicle wall, and the last one sitting in the seat.

The one sitting in the seat is the quarry you seek, his eyes going wide when he sees you storming toward him. He goes rigid in his seat, clearing his throat and slapping the leg of the man sitting atop his desk. He kicks at Vernon before spotting you and immediately jumping down, straightening his shirt. 

Nervous energy crackles as all three sets of eyes settle on you. You stop right in front of his cubicle, trying to put on your bravest smile. 

“Hi?” Vernon asks, looking at the two men on either side of him. “Did you forget your password again?”

“What? No. I don’t do it that often.” He looks unsure, brows raised behind his glasses. You huff, putting  your hands on your hips. “Okay, I forget it sometimes. But no, that isn’t why I’m here.”

“Does your software need updating?”

“No, I-”

“Oh. I did forget to give Seungkwan that new phone he asked for on behalf of the social team. It came in last week - I’ll finish setting it up and-”

“Lunch!” You all but yell, startling all three men. “I came here for lunch.”

There’s a long pause. Vernon’s coworkers look like they’d rather be anywhere else than trapped by you. You ignore them in favor of a quick study of Vernon. He’s in dress pants and a button down shirt that is untucked and a little wrinkled. It’s a far cry from the casual way he was dressed at the bookstore, but it’s still not totally work appropriate. 

Still he pulls it off. There’s something casual and cool about it, aloof in a way that still looks good. His hair is even styled neatly, though a brown lock falls over his eyebrow as he leans forward and asks, “Lunch? The cafeteria is on the first floor.”

The man who had been sitting on his desk kicks him. “She’s asking you to go to lunch, dude.” 

“She’s not-” Vernon pauses and looks at you. “Are you asking me to go to lunch?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Your patience narrows to a tight smile, your words pinched between your teeth, “Because that’s what loving girlfriends do, sweetie.” 

The words land and have an immediate effect. Vernon flushes from the neck up, mouth opening and closing as he presses his palms against his thigh. The man who kicked him snickers and tries to hide it with a thinly veiled cough.

Your gaze narrows and he notices you watching, clearing his throat to stretch his hand toward you. “I’m Chan. It’s nice to meet… Vernon’s girlfriend?” 

You shake his head and say nothing, eyes drifting to the man leaning against the wall. He gives you a small salute. “Seokmin.”

“Oh.” You blink. “The puker?” 

His charming smile drops immediately as he looks at Vernon, smacking him on the shoulder. “You told her about that?”

“I didn’t tell her anything.” Vernon stands, shrugging away from both of his friends’ wandering eyes. “Sure, sweetie,” he answers you, giving you a plastic grin. “It’s your treat this week, right? At that very nice, very expensive steakhouse down the block.”

There’s a glimmer in his eyes that tells you Vernon will only play along if it’s by his rules. You’re at a disadvantage, so you grin and nod, willing to go by his rules for now. “That’s so right, darling. Let’s go.”

“Enjoy lunch!” Chan calls behind you as Vernon shuffles behind you, quickly trying to tuck his shirt. “Don’t do anything I-”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Vernon warns, quickening his step to match yours. “Sorry about him.” 

“Don’t worry, I’ve got my own version of him sitting in my office.” 

The elevator ride down to the first floor and the walk out onto the busy street is silent. It’s not the comfortable, easy silence you might have with Seungkwan or Mingyu - if Mingyu could wrap his head around silence. It's awkwardly silent, both of you looking anywhere but one another. 

You don’t know where you’re going, but Vernon leads you to a Michelin steakhouse down the block, true to his word. You glare at him when you step into the dark entryway where a host with hair as glossy as Mina’s greets you. 

“Two?” You both nod and she grins. “Right this way.”

Vernon follows her first, shuffling behind her as she leads the two of you into the dining room proper. It’s a beautiful establishment with lacquered floors, rich wooden tables draped with fine tablecloths and the kind of glassware that looks like real crystal. 

When you both sit down with menus in hand, the hostess leaves you and you lean forward, hissing, “How much money do you think I make?”

“More than I do in IT,” Vernon answers breezily, eyes roving the menu. For a second, his gaze flickers to meet yours over the top of the menu. It’s the first time he’s really looked at you since you marched into his office. “Consider it an apology meal for the mess you’ve got us in.”

“Hey! You played along?” 

“You’re right, I guess I could have just super embarrassed you in front of your ex-boyfriend. That would have been very polite of me.” 

That stumps you. You open and close your mouth, feeling a bit like a fish. You suppose that’s fair - what was Vernon supposed to do when you’d grabbed him in the middle of a bookstore and staked your claim? 

Sighing, you lean back as your server gives you a moment of respite, filling your glasses with water and going over the specials. When they leave, you grab your glass and take several gulps of water, trying to cool your head. 

It only works a little.

“I didn’t know Minho was going to tell the entire world.” 

“Really? Minho has the biggest mouth at this company. You should see his Teams messages.”

“You can do that?” 

“On the clock?” He asks. When you shake your head, assuring it stays between you, he nods. “Yeah, we can see everything you do.”  

“Oh.” You think of all the terrible things you’ve searched on your work computer like how to get over a breakup and how to tell if my ex still likes me. “Anyway, I didn’t know he was going to say anything.” 

The server returns to take your orders. You order some sort of steak salad at random while Vernon orders something blessedly modest. As the server parts ways, Vernon leans back in his chair and looks at you again, expression unreadable. 

“Well,” he eventually says. “No harm done once you tell everyone we’re not dating.”

“Once I what?” 

“Well you’ll have to-”

“No way.”

“What?” 

“Do you know how embarrassing that would be?” 

He raises a brow. “More embarrassing than grabbing some dude in the bookstore and claiming he’s your boyfriend.” 

The air leaves your lungs and you melt into the seat, your misery showing. “I already said sorry.” 

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Just tell everyone you broke up with me.” 

You snort. “No one would believe that.” 

“Why?” 

Instead of answering him immediately, you busy yourself unraveling silverware. It’s a hard question to answer, not because you don’t know the answer but because you don’t want to tell him. Vernon is quiet, though. Patient. 

He doesn’t press you for an answer, happy to wait you out until you’ve folded your napkin and placed it on your lap, and once again drained the rest of your water. It does nothing for your nerves as you fixate on a spot atop the table. 

“I don’t… date.” 

“You dated Minho.”

“Yeah. That’s uh… it. It’s kind of a running joke that I am undateable.”

He frowns at that. “Respectfully, I find that incredibly hard to believe.” 

“Thanks. I think.” You pick at a string in the tablecloth. “Anyway, no one would buy that I ended the first relationship I’ve had since Minho. I didn’t even end the last one and sort of clung to it in a way that was sort of embarrassing.” 

“I see.”

You’re unsure if he really does. When Minho had broken up with you, you’d attempt to make arguments to keep him around. Offered less work hours, even said you’d go to therapy to talk about your insane need for success. He hadn’t wanted any of it, and you’d eventually realized that he just… didn’t want you. 

They never did, when people realized what dating you entails. Everyone wants a woman who works hard. They like the illusion of it, the woman who gets up early in the morning and goes to workout before going to her corporate job and girl bossing all day long. They desire the woman who dresses fashionably, who wears designer tags and commands a room all day before coming home to make an effortless dinner followed by a luxurious night routine. 

And you get it. You want to be that too. But the truth is most days you wake up past your alarm and rush to the office wearing shoes that don’t match, and sometimes you come home so late and burned out from your job that you eat a handful of shredded cheese over the sink with a stick of beef jerky, only to do it all again the next day.

That wasn’t what anyone wanted. At least, not in your experience. 

“Anyway,” you clear your throat. “You’re right, or whatever. I should just tell them I lied. I’ve given worse news. Just you know - less personal.” 

For a few minutes, Vernon is quiet. You don’t look up to meet his gaze. Instead you watch the ice cubes in your glass melt, little beads of condensation zigzagging down the curve of your glass. 

A sigh makes you look up at Vernon. “What if we dated for like a month or something?” 

“What?”

“I don’t mean really date,” he offers quickly, sensing your surprise. For some reason, that stings a little. You swallow it down past the knot forming in your throat. “It’ll get people off your back or whatever and we can just mutually end things.” 

“Really? You’d do that.” 

He shrugs a shoulder. “I guess, yeah.”

“You can break up with me,” you promise eagerly, leaning forward with the new promise of a solution to your problem. “Everyone will believe it. Just say I work too much and I’m too obsessed with my career.” 

An uneasy gaze flickers in Vernon’s eyes. “It can be mutual,” he says firmly. “That way it ends nicely.”

“Fine. Everyone will think one thing anyway, you’ll get out without a scratch, trust me. Are you sure you’re willing to do this? I can… suck it up and tell everyone I made it up.”

“Do you really want to?” 

“No,” you admit.

“Then it’s settled.” He shrugs, heaving a heavy sigh. “I’ll give you a month and then we can mutually end things.” 

Sticking your hand over the table, you offer it for Vernon to shake. His mouth twitches a little as he smiles, leaning forward to take your hand. His is warm and softer than you imagined, enveloping yours firmly as he shakes. 

“Deal,” you smile, feeling a glimmer of hope. 

Just like that, Vernon (from IT) becomes Vernon (your boyfriend). 

Sort of.

-

Vernon doesn’t consider himself anxious. He’s never really dealt with anxiety, and there are only a few things that can make him nervous in the world. The few times he remembers being nervous were when he was in a bidding war for a limited edition Millenium Falcon model, in line at a meet-and-greet for his favorite band when he was sixteen, and when he lost his virginity to Carley Waters in his sophomore year of college. 

He’d won the bidding war and managed to not sound like an idiot meeting his idols, but he definitely came immediately after putting his dick inside Carley. Two out of three were pretty good odds, all things considered. 

Vernon is more nervous than all three of those events combined as he checks himself in the mirror for the millionth time. Usually, he doesn’t really think twice about what he wears to the bar on the weekend. He has fifteen of the same shirt in the same colors, and his jeans all look the same, even though he thinks they’re different. 

Now, though, he has the added element of you. He cannot recall a single time that you’ve ever agreed to go out with your work friends - and to your surprise, not his, you do have the same work friends - but tonight is different. 

Tonight, you’re supposed to be dating. 

It’s weird. Chan and Seokmin agree it’s weird. He keeps no secrets from them and had already told them about the encounter at the bookstore. They’ve sworn themselves to secrecy, though Vernon cannot fathom how they just go with it. 

She’s really hot, Chan had said after a few sips of beer. Fuck it, right? 

She’s the third most executive person in marketing, Seokmin warned. Be careful. 

Both are true. Vernon had acknowledged Chan’s point the first time he’d seen you in Information Technology a little over two years ago. You’d been dating Minho then and entirely untouchable - still are, kind of - and Vernon had been the only person at the office early enough to help you out. He’d been new then, and often came in the earliest to get started on the overload of tasks he was always given as the junior employee. 

Even then, Vernon thought you were the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. Sure, you had on mismatched shoes and there was a breathy chaos to you that would probably stress most people out, but he sort of liked it. Thought that it was different in a good way, and spoke to the sort of person who worked really hard and didn’t fake their way through the day. 

Vernon had realized Seokmin's point right after he’d learned Chan’s. As soon as he helped you login to your computer, he’d realized you were a Senior Manager of Marketing. Not a huge title in a company so big, but high enough that Vernon thought twice about his attraction to you. 

Now, both of their points are moot. You’re still attractive but that doesn’t really change the situation - makes it harder, even. Vernon had never really dreamed of an actual relationship with you and now that he’s found himself in a fake one, he’s not really sure what to do with the acknowledgement that he’s attracted to you. 

Worse is that he doesn’t actually know if he’s allowed to date you. Vernon is a senior coordinator in the IT department and you’re a senior director. Perhaps not in his department or directly overseeing him, but it’s a high enough position that Sekomin is right - it could mean trouble if this goes poorly. 

So why the fuck did he offer to fake date you for a month? 

As someone in Information Technology, most people think Vernon is smart. He doesn’t consider himself to be above average intelligence, and as he slides his sneakers on his feet to go pick you up for a night out, he thinks everyone is wrong about him - he’s fucking stupid.

Looking in the mirror one more time, Vernon decides it’s as good as it’s ever going to get. Jeans, a black shirt and a hat facing backward is all he really knows how to style. He shoves his keys in his pocket, a tiny vial of contact solution just in case, and grabs his phone as he heads out the door. 

Your apartment complex isn’t that far from his. He finds it with ease, surprised that you don’t live in one of those high-rise apartments that all the other executives live in. The apartment is pretty modest with only three floors and rows of respectable Toyota Camrys and Honda Civics. 

When he spots you coming down the stairs, his traitorous heart does that same little staccato it had last weekend when he saw you at the bookstore. He hadn’t expected to run into you outside of work and only panicked for a split second before he realized that you didn’t recognize him. 

And then you’d called him your boyfriend. 

Recovering from the memory of it, Vernon stares as you open the door to his car, flashing a tight smile as you slide in. He doesn’t know what he thought you might wear on the weekend, but he’s surprised to see you in jeans, a black form-fitted shirt tucked in, and a simple purse on your arm. 

“What?” You ask, a little breathless. He sees the sticky shine of lipgloss on your mouth and squeezes the wheel, fighting the urge to lean over and taste it. 

Insane, he thinks as he puts the car in gear. He’s gone insane. 

“Nothing. I guess I just thought you’d live somewhere nicer.” 

“Oh.”

Your shift in tone makes him realize how it sounded. “Sorry - not like that. I thought it would be somewhere really fancy. You’re a senior director and all that.” 

“I only got promoted a few weeks ago. And it was not a pay raise, trust me.” 

“Seriously?” You glance sidelong at him, pausing like you’ve said something you shouldn’t. His lips twitch and he says, “Not on the clock.”

That gets you to grin, leaning back into the passenger seat. “Only came with an office and title bump. I was already doing all the work of a senior director so they felt like they needed to bump my title to protect themselves, I think.”

“That’s kind of shitty.”

You hum. “Is it like that in IT?” 

“I think it’s like that anywhere.”

“Good point.” 

A comfortable silence falls over the car. It’s not at all like the awkward, stilted lunch the two of you had at the beginning of the week. He had been sweating through his shirt that time around, though you didn’t seem to notice. He’d been a little angry with you too, for getting the both of you into this mess. 

But… it had been his idea to help you save face. He didn’t have to. He didn’t owe you anything, and he believes you when you say you would come clean and admit you lied through your teeth. Maybe that’s why he offered to help anyway, your willingness to swallow the pain of embarrassment to relieve him of the facade. 

Library is a hole in the wall bar that Vernon and his friends from work like to go to on Saturday nights. It’s sort of a funny joke, a bunch of professionals from the publishing industry getting drunk and eating shitty bar food in a place named for the very buildings they dedicate their life to, in a weird, roundabout, mathematical way. 

Vernon has friends outside of work that come too, but tonight it’s just the usual crowd: Chan, Seokmin and Seokmin’s girlfriend, Mingyu and Soonyoung from creative, and some of the people from the sales team. The sales team is only there by virtue of Joshua, who is the only person from sales Vernon remotely tolerates. 

Vernon isn’t exactly sure what a sales team does at a publishing company anyway. 

When Vernon parks, he sees you take a deep breath. He averts his eyes, feeling like he’s intruding on a moment before you brace yourself and get out of the car suddenly. He makes a noise and panics to follow you. You’re already plunging ahead like you’re storming into battle, and perhaps in your mind you are.

He jogs to catch up. “Wait!” 

You stop, turning to face him with a dubious expression. “What?”

“We should walk in together.”

“Oh.” You blink. It’s a bit cute but Vernon shoves that down. “You’re right. Sorry. I sort of… set my mind to the task and forgot.”

“You can’t approach this like you approach work.”

“I can’t?”

He laughs. “No. Relationships aren’t jobs - so a fake one isn’t either. You have to try and appear like this is natural. If you come in all to-do list and checkmarking the boxes, it’s going to look weird.” 

“Oh.” 

The confidence you had a second before deflates. He feels a little guilty, reaching out to take your hand before he realizes what he’s doing. Your hands are cold in his but he doesn’t mind, wrapping his fingers in yours as you stare at him like he’s grown three heads.

Maybe he has. 

“We should walk in together. Maybe holding hands.” 

“Right.” You lick your lips and he tries to give you a smile more confident than what he’s feeling. His heart is hammering in his chest, both at the way your hand squeezes his nervously and at the preposterousness of it all. “You’re kind of good at this.” 

“I just have a different perspective.”

“The perspective of someone who knows how to date versus… whatever I am.” 

He hears the joke in your tone so he lets himself laugh a little. He starts walking, tugging you next to him. “Not exactly. I just watch a lot of movies, including romances.” 

“Really? What’s your favorite one?” 

“Uhhh.” He thinks about it as you both approach the door. He doesn’t answer for a second while he flashes the security outside his ID. “I really like The Proposal. With Sandra Bullock.” 

Instead the bar is filled with modern music at a reasonable level and small, wooden tables with chipped tops. There is nothing about the bar that actually looks like a library, save the single shelf shoved in the corner with beat up comic books and an insane amount of hentai that Soonyoung put there. 

“You mean the one where the boss fake dates her employee… and they work at a publishing company?” 

As soon as you ask the question, Vernon realizes the irony. He looks at you with a wide gaze, pausing at the entrance to look at you. Your mouth folds on itself, trying not to laugh as you too realize the irony of the movie. 

“Yeah, so that’s weird I guess,” he admits. He tugs on your hand. “Come on, we always sit in the back.”

You follow him wordlessly. The crowd isn’t big inside, but there are enough people that you have to shuffle a little closer to him. He catches the scent of your perfume - it smells like sweet tobacco and vanilla, something that is subtle with a little bit of spice. 

Turning around the corner of the bar, you see a wall entirely taken by booths with pool tables in the open space. Mingyu and Seokmin’s girlfriend are already fighting over the felted green as she points a pool cue at him, threatening. Seokmin is lounging in one of the booths, watching on with a dopey grin that makes Vernon roll his eyes.

Everyone else sits in in a variety of booths, an entire corner dedicated to the dozen or so of them who have made this their home for the last two years. Vernon keeps you close, feeling his hands go clammy when all the eyes turn to the two of you. Despite the rumor having spread far and wide, it’s clear that surprise ripples through the crowd at seeing evidence of your relationship. 

The fake one, that is. Naturally. 

Instead of going directly to the safety - or danger, in this case - of his friends, Vernon heads to the bar. He needs to take the edge off immediately, though he knows he can’t get too crazy. The drive home is short, but even if you weren’t in his car for the evening, he doesn’t like to tempt fate. 

Next to him at the bartop, you drop his hand to press your palms against the sticky wood. You make a face and he laughs before ordering a simple rum and coke. You order the same but with a lime and the bartender flashes you a charming grin.

Vernon glances at you and realizes you don’t even register the bartender. You’re chewing your lip and fidgeting, pulling at the sleeves of your shirt and shifting from foot-to-foot. A pang goes through him. 

“Relax.” You look up at him, eyes wide. “We’re going to do fine.”

“What if I fuck it up?” You ask, voice barely audible as you lean in. “They’re going to see right through me, Vernon from IT. They’re going to have one conversation with us and be like ‘no way is he dating that lunatic.’” 

“For starters, you’re not a lunatic.” You give him a look and he amends, “Not in the way that’s bad, anyway.”

“How do you know? We barely know each other.” 

You’ve got him there. The bartender comes back with your drinks and you take yours, draining half of it before remembering the lime. He watches you squeeze it into the drink while he contemplates his answer. 

“I guess I just have a feeling for these things. You don’t seem very crazy to me.”

“Thanks.” 

“And I guess I’m getting to know you, so there’s that.” 

You sigh. “Right.” 

“You’ll do fine. But maybe don’t call me Vernon from IT.”

“Right.” 

“Come on.” 

With wavering confidence, you follow Vernon over to the crowd from work. Everyone greets you warmly, though a little unsure. He notes the comments about being shocked to see you outside the four walls of your office, a joke you take in stride. 

It’s clear you don’t know how to interact with everyone at first. It’s not to say that you’re stiff or awkward, but Vernon can see the rigid set in your shoulders and the way your eyes follow the conversation but don’t actually contribute. 

You have an effect on others as well. For those who are a little more unfamiliar with you, they can’t seem to puzzle out why one of the higher ups is here guzzling down rum and cokes. And you are guzzling them down, carving a path to and from the bar at a rate that impresses Vernon. 

“How are things going?” Chan slips into the seat you just vacated to march to the bar again. “She seems surprisingly normal.”

“Why is that surprising?” 

Chan gives him a look. “She’s a suit.”

“I don’t think so,” Vernon laughs. “Trust me on that.” 

Chan hums unconvinced, watching you at the bar. “She’s nice, at least.”

“Very.” 

“Don’t fall in love with her or anything.”

“Weird thing to say, man.”

“Yeah, well. She’s attractive, nice, and no offense, a little weird. She’s exactly your type.” 

That makes him frown. “What’s weird about her? Also, would that be so bad?”

“She knew the radius of the sun and the verbatim definition of parsecs. I’m not answering that second question because I shouldn’t have to.” Chan claps him on the shoulder, looking over Vernon’s head. “She’s coming back, but seriously. Be careful.” 

Chan scoots away, flashing Vernon a look that makes the single drink Vernon has had sour in his stomach. Then you’re there, sitting down next to him, swaying a little bit. He smells sweet tobacco and vanilla, his eyelids fluttering for a second as you shift a little too close - or what would be too close, if you weren’t fake dating. 

“What’s that look on your face?” You ask, sipping your drink. He wonders if it’s appropriate to ask if you need water.

“What look on my face?” 

“You know, like-” You try to pinch your brows together and your mouth puckers downward. He feels himself smile and he shakes his head. “Sort of frowny.” 

“Nothing.” You look at him skeptically. “Hey, I have a question.” 

You pause, looking a little panicked. “Okay.”

“What’s the radius of the sun?” 

“Oh!” You visibly brighten and it’s like watching the sun spill over the lip of the horizon, all gold and liquid, warm and bright. “432,690 miles. Surface temperature is about 5,772 Kelvin.” 

Suddenly, Chan’s warning feels very, very real. Vernon tries to hide his smile, looking down at the table. Meanwhile, you start rattling off facts about the sun, not taking a single breath as you explain you memorized them from when you were working on the marketing for a line of textbooks about space early on in your career. 

Vernon lets you talk. Lets you somehow divert back to work, watching as you animatedly walk him through the process of what you do. How you think. It’s fascinating, and he’s not really sure how anyone else could find it tiresome, seeing the way you light up when you tell him about a project that Seungkwan’s team killed it on. 

Your pride is palpable, your energy shifting from unsure to confident. 

Suddenly, you pause, leveling Vernon with a hard stare. He says nothing, watching the way you drink him in, something beneath the surface of your gaze he can’t quite read. “Can I say something?” 

“On the clock?” he asks, grinning. You shake your head and he gestures for you to continue. 

“You have pretty eyes. I still like when you wear glasses, though. They suit you.” 

Yeah. Vernon thinks Chan’s warning is very real. 

-

Running in heels is hard. You don’t know how anyone manages to do it in movies. Not that you think anything that happens in movies is real, but you can’t imagine how they make it work for the scene. You nearly break your ankle three times on your sprint to IT and you’re sure you scare the daylights out of Chan when you come tearing around the corner.

You shout a greeting over your shoulder but don’t stop until you’re hissing Vernon’s name while rushing into his cube. He flinches, turning around to look at you mid-task. You’re heaving, putting a hand on your hip as you straighten, trying to suck down air. 

“Say no!”

He’s visibly confused. “To what?”

“Just say no!”

Before Vernon can ask you another thing, you hear Minho’s voice. Your heart thunders in your ribcage as you try to lean against the wall of Vernon’s cube, nearly missing it. You stumble a few steps and he catches you by the elbow, lightning quick as he helps steady you. 

When he drops his grip, the place where Vernon had held you moments before is warm. You try not to think about it, heart thundering doubletime as you watch Minho approach, a lazy swing to his step and a smirk on his face. 

“Funny I found you here!” 

“Why would that be funny? My Vernon - my boyfriend is down here.” 

From the corner of his eye, you see Vernon wince. You’re not doing a great job at keeping it casual, but you’re also still out of breath from sprinting down the stairs to beat Minho here and warn Vernon. Seungkwan had barely been able to give you the heads up that Minho was going to ask for a double date, and you simply couldn’t have that.

Even as you near the end of your second week dating - fake dating - Vernon, you’re unsure the two of you can get through a date with someone who actually knows you. Vernon might be able to give some details on the surface, but you dated Minho for a year - how could Vernon ever hope to keep up? 

Minho leans against Chan’s cube. Luckily it’s vacant of its usual occupant - Chan hates Mihno, as you’ve recently learned through a lunch with him and Vernon. 

“Glad I caught you together, then,” Minho says, though you think he’s not that glad. But what do you know? “I wanted to see if you were busy on-”

“Yes.” You flash him a too-wide grin with too many teeth. 

“I didn’t even give you the date.”

“We’re always very busy.”

“Ah.” Minho scratches the back of his neck and gives Vernon a look akin to sympathy. “Never has time, does she? Always all work, no play. I wanted to see if you guys wanted to go to dinner with Mina and I tomorrow night, but…” He shrugs. “Same old.”

You try not to let your exterior crack, but Minho’s words cut right through your outer shell to the softness of you. Without fail he manages to highlight this obsession you have with work, making it sound worse every single time. 

Behind you, Vernon shifts closer. You become acutely aware of him suddenly, warmth radiating from him as his chest presses against the back of your arm and his hand slips to the middle of your back, featherlight, like he’s afraid to touch you. He smells like ocean driftwood and salt, something that makes you think of warmer days. Fresh fruit. Cold water. 

Fighting a shiver, you freeze up, hyper aware of him. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Vernon says gently. “She doesn’t work that much. She makes plenty of time for me.”

Minho’s eye twitches, the only sign he’s annoyed. As a trained salesperson, his tells are always subtle, nearly undetectable. But you know him inside and out, can see the sliver of annoyance there.

Satisfaction rules supreme, a smile tugging at your lips until Vernon adds, “We can make time for them, right?” 

You snap your head to the side, eyes meeting his. Vernon has beautiful eyes. You’d said as much the other night when you had a little too much to drink, staring up at him without his glasses. He looks good without them, but you like the way the frames sit on his nose, the way they reflect light against the liquid brown of his iris. 

Now, those eyes are staring back at you straight on. There’s something fierce in them, and though you barely know him, you have a sneaking suspicion Vernon is annoyed. Not with you but with Minho. 

Still… 

“Are you sure?” 

Your question is gentle. For a moment, you forget Minho is there at all. You’re looking at Vernon, trying to puzzle out why he would say yes to something insane again. It was lucky enough he’d offered to participate in this little charade to save your pride, and now here he is doing it again, unprompted. 

Vernon’s mouth twitches. He nods, hand pressing into your back a little firmer before he drops it away. You turn to Minho, who watches the two of you with a peculiar expression. “Alright,” you tell him. “It’s a date.” 

“Great. I’ll send you the details.” 

When Minho leaves, you turn to Vernon, the question on the tip of your tongue. He doesn’t give you a chance, shooting you a sidelong glance as he says, “Why is he always bringing up your work schedule?” 

You wince. Vernon either doesn’t notice or is nice enough not to say anything. Instead of answering right away, you sit on top of Vernon’s desk, feet dangling a little. He makes room for you, turning his chair to face you and give you his full attention. 

He’s dressed the same as always today, but you notice his shirt is ironed and tucked in neatly. Rubbing his brow, he slides his glasses up on his head, pressing his fingers along his eye sockets like they’re strained. 

“What kind of stuff do you do?” You ask instead of answering his question. You gesture to his multiple computer screens. “Besides help me figure out my passwords.” 

“Lots of stuff. It’s mostly small things like remoting into people’s computers to help them solve their issues. I spend a majority of my day showing people how to unmute themselves on their virtual meeting software.” 

“Do you like it?”

He shrugs. “It’s got a rhythm to it that I like. I like having a to-do list every day and I can pretty much always know what to expect.” 

“That does sound nice. And you can spy on everyone’s messages right?”

He raises his brow. “On the clock?” That makes you smile and you shake your head. “I could, but I don’t. There are a ton of people who forget us and HR can see all their shit, though.” 

“Ooo like what?” 

He sucks in air through his teeth, “Man, I don’t think I can tell you.”

You can tell he’s teasing and you scoff, kicking out with your foot toward his knee. He dodges you easily with a playful grin. “Come on!” 

“I’ll tell you off the clock. Real off the clock.” 

“Fine. Speaking of - are you busy tonight?” He raises his brows in question. “We should probably meet up and try to flesh out some details of our uh… relationship. I know some things about you but not a lot. Like, when is your birthday?”

“February 18.” 

You slap your hand on top of his desk. “Vernon! That’s super soon! Are you doing anything for it?”

“Nah. I don’t ever want to make a fuss and it's close to Valentine’s Day so sometimes people are doing things retroactively.” 

You hum, displeased with the answer, but you file it away for later. “So are you free tonight?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool, you can come over to my place. Do you like pizza? You have to like pizza, right? You’re a boy.”

“A lot of boys like pizza, yes. Specifically me.” 

“Good. Seven?” 

“Seven.” 

-

A knock at the door makes you look up from your computer. It takes a second for your eyes to adjust, the light outside the office windows long fading with the setting sun and the only other source the salt lamp behind you and the burn of the safety lights in the main cubicles.

Vernon leans against the door frame, resting his head against it as he peers at you. For a second, you forget about everything except the way he looks leaned against the frame, his glasses perfectly perched on his nose and hair soft with wear from the day. 

Then, you lurch with realization, gasping and looking at your watch. “It’s seven.”

“It’s seven,” he agrees, laughing gently. 

You bolt from the seat, groaning and grabbing things to shove in your bag. In the process, you knock over a cup and a curse flies out your lips. He pushes off the door, walking over to help you tame the chaos. 

“Easy,” he admonishes. “All good here, don’t panic.”

“I’m really sorry. I got stuck working through this media plan that someone asked for and I completely lost track of time.”

“It’s okay.” 

The panic welling up inside you calms down as you look up at him. Vernon says nothing further, picking up your cup and righting the pens that you’ve knocked over. His movements are casual, straightening the things on your desk until he’s satisfied and steps away. 

You prepare for annoyance, for the same expression you’re used to when you’re late to an event or have missed a thing, when you’ve yet again lost track of time holed up in your office and yet… Vernon just gives you an easy smile and a shrug.

No annoyance. No judgment. Just… Vernon. 

Perhaps tenfold isn’t so bad. 

“It’s not pizza, but there's a tiny little bar a few blocks down that I really like. They serve food.” 

“Yeah?”

He nods and hesitates. “It’s… themed, though.”

“That’s okay. I like a theme.”

The theme in question isn’t so much of a theme as it is an entire franchise. You stand in the doorway of Cantina Far Away, mouth parted as you drink in the sights and sounds of the Star Wars themed bar. 

A circular bar sits in the middle of the small establishment. There isn’t a ton of room to recreate the iconic corner of the world where you were first introduced to Han Solo as a kid, but there’s just enough to make the magic work. 

Kegs and other apparatuses hang from the ceiling of the stone top bar. Lights track underneath the bar top and in the ceiling, giving the dim illusion that it’s permanently dusk inside. Small, round tables fill the main space, with three booths lined against the back wall. An R2-D2 replica stands beside C3-PO in the corner, and a familiar soundtrack plays through the sound system.

“If you want to go somewhere else-”

“Do they have blue milk?” 

Vernon pauses. “What?” 

You look up at him, grinning. “Do they have the blue milk?”

“They have something on their menu like that, yeah. I don’t know what it is.”

“I always wanted to drink the blue milk as a kid.”

“Alright.” He gestures to the bar, which is mostly empty. “Let’s get you blue milk.”

Popping up on a stool, you can’t help but crane your neck upward to look at the bar from this angle. It truly looks like every part of it was taken from the movie set. You run your hand atop the bar’s surface to realize it’s actually wood that looks like stone, marveling at the smoothness. 

Behind the bar, two bartenders move in sync, dressed in Jedi robes. When they approach, you both order the blue milk - you, because you demand to know what it tastes like, Vernon, in solidarity. 

Vibrating with excitement, you turn to look at Vernon. “When I was a kid, watching Star Wars was one of the few things my mom and I got to do together.” 

“One of the few things?”

You nod, clapping your hands excitedly when the bartender brings you whatever concoction the blue milk is. It comes in a tall glass and is clear, baby blue and frothy at the top. Leaning over, you take a whiff. It smells vaguely coconutty and you narrow your eyes, leaning forward to take a tentative sip.

Coconut rum hits your tongue and you cringe. Vernon does too, making a face and sticking his tongue out as he immediately shoves the drink away from him. You laugh, not even caring that you hate it. It tastes nothing like you expected and you don’t really like coconut, but it strikes a nostalgic chord. 

“My mom was a single parent and worked really hard at a law firm,” you eventually answer, taking another sip and cringing. Vernon orders something more generic - a rum and coke for you both. “But she always made time on the weekend if I really wanted to do a Star Wars marathon and she took off work for all the prequel releases to take me.”

“That’s cute. My mom was really into it too. Want to know a secret?”

“Yes.”

“My first name is Hansol. A little inspired by Han Solo. I prefer to go by Vernon with everyone who isn’t my family, though.”

That makes you smile. “I like it, though. Your mom has good taste like mine. Think they’d be friends?”

He blushes. “Maybe.” 

You realize how forward of a question it is. You avert your gaze to your blue drink, sipping it and grimacing. Vernon chuckles and says, “You don’t have to drink it.”

“I don’t have to do a lot of things but I do anyway.” 

“Hmm. Like what?” 

“Ugh. I don’t know? Attend meetings all day?”

“I think you do have to do that.”

You scrunch your nose. “Alright, fair.” 

“Tell me about your job.” 

You glance at him, brows raised. “You want me to talk about work?”

“It’s obvious you like what you do, and by the sounds of it, working hard runs in the family. Tell me what you like about it.” 

That makes you sigh as you push the ice around in your glass. What do you like about your job? Well, you like a lot of things and you hate a lot of things. So you start listing them, telling Vernon that you like the routine and you enjoy having a rhythm to your day. You like feeling proud when you can solve a problem no one else can, or when you lead your team through chaos and they look at you like you’re a god who showed them the way.

You like that you can be an authority in the room but you don’t feel like a dictator, and that now when you talk, people listen. Your team is your favorite, loving the way you and Seungkwan work in tandem, and the way the creative department likes to pick your brain. Mingyu and Soonyoung are always asking for your feedback, even if your opinion doesn’t matter in the hierarchy of their world.

The dislikes though… well, you dislike that you never have enough time in the day. That you’re always in a meeting and feel like you leave your team drowning in work picking up the slack. Hate that you get time blindness and sit in your office for hours past dinner to get something right, to get something perfect.

Hate that because you like what you do, everyone thinks you don’t have a life or don’t want a life. And that leads you to the center of the entire issue with your relationship with Minho. 

You pull away like you’re approaching a particularly purple bruise when you near the topic of Minho. Your blue drink is gone and you order something more normal instead. The coke and rum sizzles on your tongue as Vernon looks at you expectantly. 

“I’m doing all the talking,” you mutter, a little defensive. “What’s your favorite color?” 

“Blue.”

“What kind of blue.” 

“Blue like that very nasty milk you just drank.” You stick your tongue out and Vernon smiles. His smile is like a burning star at the center of a solar system, glowing and bright and warm. It gives life. “What’s yours?”

“Deep red. Like… wine or burgundy. What’s your favorite movie?”

“Ah, not that question. I’m a bit of a cinephile.”

“Too bad. You have to pick one.” 

Vernon thinks about it. The tip of his finger traces the condensation of his glass lazily and you hyperfocus on it, watching the way he catches the bead of liquid every time. He has nice fingers, you realize. The thought makes you clench and suddenly wonder if you need to walk out of the bar down to the church to confess the sin of your mind.

Not that you’re religious, but maybe you should be, with where your mind has wandered. 

“I like The Princess Bride.”

You gasp, grabbing him by the wrist and shaking it excitedly. “My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father, prepare to die!” 

Vernon’s laughter is infectious. You both fall into a fit of giggles, quoting your favorite parts of the movie. It’s nice - this is nice. It’s unexpected and you’re a little unsure how you got here, but Vernon makes the pressure of getting to know one another in preparation to fake date in front of your ex fade away.

Until, of course, you remember that’s why you’re at the bar and the thought suddenly sobers you. 

Straightening, you ask, “Why’d you want to go on a double date, anyway? You don’t owe me that.” 

“He seemed kind of smug. I thought it was annoying.” 

You hum, studying him. “It’s a bit risky. I dated him for a year… if there’s anyone who knows anything about me, it’s probably him.” 

“I can always just hack into your data and learn everything about you.” You stare at him, mouth opens. His grin grows. “I’m kidding. I mean I probably could but I’m not a hacker.”

“Are you sure? You’re a bit suspicious, Vernon Chwe.” 

“Hansol.” You frown in confusion. His tone is gentle, eyes soft when he murmurs, “You can call me Hansol. You know… to make it um. Seems legit.”

“Hansol.” You try out the name, liking the way it fits on your tongue. His eyes are dark and you feel like you could fall into them - you kind of want to. “Hansol. I like it.”

Maybe you don’t need to go to that church to beg for forgiveness after all. What you think you need might be divine intervention to stop the butterflies in your stomach when you say his name, or the nervous shake in your hand when you see him smile. 

Not Vernon (from IT) but Hansol. 

-

Hansol (from IT) is late when he picks you up. For once, you’re just glad it’s not you. Your heart beats a little faster when you see him pull up in his nondescript, black RAV4. He waves through the window when he sees you, a shy smile on his face as he reaches to turn down the music. 

Inside the car smells distinctly like Hansol - driftwood, salt, a little bit of the air freshener that has long since dried but still sways under his rearview mirror. He looks good tonight, dressed in ripped jeans, a black shirt and a black leather jacket. He’s sans glasses, and though he looks good, you miss them a little. 

Hansol without the glasses is a little intimidating. Especially this version of him that grins when you settle into the seat next to him, his brows slightly raised as though to ask if you’re good. When you nod, his grin tilts upward again and he puts the car and drive, one hand on the steering wheel, the other on the gear shift tapping to the beat of the music. 

It feels like you’re radiating nervous energy, but you relax as Hansol asks about your day. He’s good at that, eliminating whatever weight is sitting on your shoulders or whatever residual stress you’ve got from work. You don’t feel so… well. On the clock. 

The thought makes you squirm in your seat, pulling the edge of your dress down your thighs a little. You picked it out as a last minute choice, unsure whether you’re trying to dress to impress or dress to show you don’t care what Minho thinks of you.

Hansol notices you fidgeting. “You alright?”

“Kind of nervous.”

“Any reason in particular?”

You blow out air, your head smacking against the headrest. “On the clock?”

“Off,” he says with a grin.

“I feel like I’m going to fucking blow it.”

“How so?”

“What if he asks me to kiss you?”

The words are out before you can stop them. It isn’t until you’re met with silence that you realize what you’ve said. You’ve certainly stuck your foot in your mouth on more than one occasion. You do it often, and quite wonderfully, truthfully. It has taken years of practice to stop flubbing presentations and pitches at work, but that doesn’t mean you don’t say insane shit.

Like right now, when you tell Hansol that of all the things you’re nervous about, the very slim, tiny percent of a chance of being asked to kiss him is at the top of the list. 

And yet, because it’s Hansol, he grins and says, “Damn, Minho’s a freak like that? He likes to ask people to kiss so he can watch?”

Just like that, the tension eases. You laugh, hand flying your mouth to try and suppress it. His eyes are on the road, but they glitter when you catch a glimpse of his face in the headlines, flashing from dark to liquid gold for a split second. 

“Okay,” you admit, laughter dying down. “He’s definitely not going to ask that. It’s just one of those irrational fears, especially with him.”

“Why especially?”

“I feel like he’s always trying to prove that he was right when he broke up with me. Or I guess, in general. He loves being right and sometimes it’s like he’s trying to force a gotcha moment.” 

Hansol is silent as he turns into the parking lot. You say nothing, watching as he navigates to find a parking space. The restaurant is busy and there’s a valet, but Hansol is determined to find his own. He does - very close to the entrance - letting out a happy noise as a car backs out.

Car in park, he turns to look at you. “Can I say something? Not on the clock.”

Your heart skips a little. “Sure.”

“Minho is an asshole.” You smile, looking down at your hands folded in your lap. “And you’re going to get through dinner just fine because he’s an asshole, and you’re not.” 

“Are you sure?”

His laugh is full. “I’m actually pretty confident in this. And if he does ask us to kiss, you have my full consent to lay one on me. Come on.” 

You wish you felt as confident as Hansol seems. He slides out of the car easily, coming around to your side as you get out. He reaches out a hand almost instinctively, waiting for you to grab it. You look at him in surprise to find that he looks equally stunned at his own gesture. 

Grinning, you take his hand. It’s warm in yours and he gives you a squeeze as you drop your linked fingers between you, walking toward the establishment like a real couple.

It feels real. You’re not sure what to do with that. The sudden realization of it churns in your stomach as you approach the dark interior of the steakhouse, immediately hit with a romantic ambiance that feels far too big for this tiny thing brewing inside of you. 

Twelvefold? How many times have you suffered since that first day you ran into Hansol at the bookstore? You think it might continue through the evening, especially when he glances over at you on the way to the table to check on you, hand tightening for a split second. 

As soon as you spot Minho and Mina, you’re glad that Hansol has a steady grip on you. Mina’s glossy hair is nearly blinding under the glow of the soft lighting and her smile is brighter still. You almost want to shield your eyes as they wave you over. 

Neither of them seems to know if they should stand and greet you or what the protocol is. Good, you think, happy to see them as off kilter as you feel by this very weird and very unnecessary dinner date. 

Why had Hansol agreed to do this again? 

“She keep you late?” Minho asks Hansol, immediately reminding you why Hansol had said yes in the first place: he seemed kind of smug. I thought it was annoying. “You’ll get used to it!”

“Actually, it was me,” Hansol answers smoothly. He pulls out your chair for you, startling you again. You try to fein admiration - it’s not hard - and sit, looking up at him with a little bit of awe. Hansol sits, adjusting his seat so that it’s a little closer to yours. “I was working on an infrastructure request and lost track of time.”

That seems to shut Minho up for a moment. Then he laughs his businessman laugh and you wonder if it’s always sounded that way, hollow and fake and… well, annoying. “Damn, so you’re both like that?” 

“Yep.” Hansol leans back in his chair, stretching his arm so that it rests over the back of yours. He doesn’t explicitly touch you, but you feel the warmth of him radiating like a furnace, a shiver snaking through you at how close he is. “Works well for us.” 

You try not to frown. He’s not going to make it easy for your fake breakup. You’d assumed that you’d tell everyone you just didn’t have time for him, but with the way he’s talking to Minho now, you’re worried it’ll make the impending breakup a little less believable. 

“That’s good, then,” Minho says eventually. “Just don’t schedule any vacations or you’ll both miss it.”

“I never did that,” you scowl. 

Before he has time for a rebuttal, the server is there welcoming you to the restaurant. You shift in your seat, feeling irritated. Hansol senses it, the tips of his finger brushing against your bicep as if to tell you it’s okay. You relax, but only a little, still frustrated. 

Again, you can’t help but feel like your faults are being exacerbated, like Minho is drawing them up to be far grander than they really were. You had missed some dinners and cancelled on some things, but you’d never gone as far as to miss a vacation or a birthday - never the big things. Never the milestones. 

If the server can tell the energy at the table has shifted, they don’t let on. They pour glasses of wine that you let Hansol order while you’re spiraling in your head, and leave with the promise of coming back to take orders when the table is ready. 

It’s Mina who restarts the conversation, glancing at Minho who sucks down the entire glass of wine in a single go. “So,” she says. “What is it exactly that you do?”

“Careful with that question,” Minho jokes. “She’ll talk to you about work for hours.” 

“Which is what makes her good at her job.” Hansol’s voice is even. Smooth. Almost severe, a tone you’ve never heard from him before. Tension ripples from him for just a moment before he looks at you and smiles. “Her job is very cool.”

Unlike her blockhead of a boyfriend, Mina seizes the chance for normalcy and asks, “Marketing, right?” 

Mina (with the glossy hair) is really nice. You like her almost immediately and strangely enough, you’re glad she’s there. Minho is like a stormcloud at the edge of the table, a little pocket of pressure that everyone can feel but tries to ignore. 

Hansol makes your fake relationship look effortless. You have to mask your surprise when he recounts a detail about you that you didn’t expect him to know, or makes an observation that has you warming, ducking your face to hide the smile tugging your lips. 

You know little things about him too. It’s almost like you weren’t aware until you’re saying them, all the small things about him bubbling to your lips like an instinct. 

“He’s such an Aquarius!” You laugh, finish the rest of your steak. “The IT department is full of them, even and they’re all so effortlessly cool and have different interests. Hansol has the coolest case full of Star Wars collectibles and-” 

“Hansol?” 

Minho’s question catches you off guard. You blink at him a few times, confused until Hansol interjects, “That’s my legal name.”

“Damn. Should we be calling you Hansol?”

“Nope. Reserved for my mom and my girlfriend.” 

“Wow.”

Minho sits back and observes the two of you. The plates have been cleared away for the evening and the glasses of wine have dwindled. You’re a little sleepy, ready to go home, but the appraising look in Minho’s eyes as they flicker back and forth between you and Hansol has you on edge.

Hansol seems unbothered, finishing his water. His arm rests against your back properly now and you almost melt when his fingers start to trace a pattern on your arm, almost absently. You’re so acutely aware of him that you’re nearly vibrating, telling yourself over and over again that this is just him committing to the bit. This isn’t something to overthink. His touch is for show.

You don’t want it to be for show. God, you don’t want it to be, but you try not to let it unravel right now, instead finishing your water under the heavy and calculating gaze of your ex-boyfriend, who, over the course of dinner, has made you realize you are so grateful is your ex. 

“Huh.”

“What?” you ask, voice coming out a little more challenging than you intend. He has that look on his face like he’s trying to figure something out, like he’s trying to position himself in a way where he’s not wrong. 

“You guys are really together.”

That makes you stiffen. Hansol’s fingers go still on your arm. “What do you mean?”

“You just didn’t really seem like you were dating at the bookstore. It didn’t even seem like you knew who Vernon was.” 

“It was still new,” You lie. “I also wasn’t expecting to run into you both. That’s all.”

“I guess. Just… find it surprising, I guess. Figured you’d never have time for someone.”

It’s Hansol who says, “She has plenty of time for me. Speaking of time, it’s time we head home. I have to finish up some stuff for work tomorrow and she just finished an insane project and deserves some sleep.”

Again, Minho seems thrown for a loop. You could get used to seeing him like a fish out of water, trying not to let an evil smirk take over your face when Hansol beats everyone to the check. 

There is an edge to Hansol’s movements. You observe him quietly, noting the way his mouth is pinched at the corners and the way his eyes darken when he looks at Minho. But when he looks at you, it’s like the world stops. Hansol’s eyes soften and his lips turn up at the corner, a gentle smile for you.

Only you. 

You’re fucked. You’re fucked fucked fucked and it’s nearly all you can think about as dinner wraps up and Minho and Mina thank Hansol for paying. You want to smack him for offering to pay for the insanely expensive bill, but he takes everything in stride.

Outside, it’s a little cold. Hansol shucks his jacket off immediately, wrapping it around your shoulders while giving Mina some sort of computer advice that goes over your head because all you can focus on is the way Hansol smoothes the jacket over your shoulder, his hand dropping to your waist to keep you close.

You’re dizzy with it. Dizzy with him. You can’t recall a single time you ever felt this affected by Minho, much less anyone else. Despite having two glasses of wine, you know it’s Hansol and not the wine that has you buzzing. Hansol who has you warm, Hansol who makes it feel like there’s static in your brain when he glances at you to make sure you’re still okay after you’ve gone silent. 

Hansol gives you a quick smile and turns to say farewell to the other couple. You’re happy to say goodbye - though perhaps you should have asked Mina her haircare routine - and you wave as Hansol leads you into the parking lot, fingers intertwined.

He turns to you, making you look up at him. “I’m going to kiss you,” he murmurs, barely giving you a warning. “Unless you say no.” 

“I - okay.” 

There is the barest of smiles on Hansol’s face before he leans in, pressing his lips against yours. It’s brief and gentle, so quick that you barely register he’s kissed you at all. He’s already pulling away when you blink, nearing his car as he does. 

“He was a dick,” Hansol explains. “And he was staring at us when we left. So. Let him question what’s real now.” 

Minho isn’t the only one questioning what’s real. You’re hung up on the kiss, despite it being nothing more than a peck. Your mouth is warm, thoughts spinning as Hansol helps you into the car. You say nothing, completely consumed by the feel of his mouth, the smell of driftwood and salt, the barest taste of wine. 

The drive home is quiet but not uncomfortable. Hansol’s hand grabs yours instinctually over the center console, fingers tied together loosely as he drives. But there’s no one to perform for her, no one to show off too. No one who needs convincing. 

It’s just you and the burning desire for him bubbling up inside of you.

You’ve lost count of how many folds you have suffered, but somehow, this one is a little less worse than the others.

-

Hansol cannot stop thinking about you. He’s pretty sure the last time he had brain rot this bad about another person, it was Larcy Dodsen in his senior year of college who had blown him to heaven and back. He’s had better (and worse) blowjobs since then, and doesn’t really think of Larcy Dodsen ever anymore.

But you. You. 

You occupy every corner of his mind. He wavers back and forth between thinking about the way you smell or the way you laugh (a little reedy, but cute) and thinking about how bad he fucked up by kissing you that night. 

Things aren’t exactly weird. The very basis of your relationship - or lack thereof - is weird. He’d agreed to be your fake boyfriend for a month, but with zero terms. No contract outline. No do’s and don’ts. No guidelines. No rules. No regulations. Just an agreement and a fucking dream. 

Now, he’s wishing he had something to go off of, because what started out as an agreement to help someone out has turned into something else entirely. 

Chan was right. Hansol is desperately trying to hide that fact from his best friend, but the way Chan side-eyes Hansol at lunch when he stares off into the distance, he thinks that the younger  man might be onto him. 

It doesn’t help that Hansol is buried in Help Desk tickets the weekend following kissing you, and you’re six feet under in a pile of projects. It isn’t until he goes a few days without talking to you multiple times that it’s occurred to him how much he texts you during the day. 

Hansol finds himself checking his phone again at lunch, swearing that he felt it vibrate. This time, Chan catches him, putting down the fork and clearing his throat to gesture at the phone. “So it happened, right?” 

“What?” Even Hansol winces at his own defensiveness. “I can’t check the time?”

“Do you check the time three times every five minutes? I know you can do math.” 

“Just checking to see how her presentation went.”

Chan laughs and crosses his arms over his chest. “Right. So it did happen.”

“You’ll have to be more specific.”

He doesn’t. Chan knows it. Hansol knows it. Chan gets more specific anyway. “You like her. As in, you have feelings for her after… well. This weekend will make it a month. So wouldn’t that be your deal coming to an end?”

Hansol wants to think about anything other than that. “Everything is fine.” 

Chan holds up his hand, a white flag. “You’re an adult. You can do what you want. Just make sure you know what she wants too, is all I’m saying.” 

And that’s the crux of it. Hansol isn’t sure what you want. He assumed that you just wanted to get through this month and your fake breakup, but now he’s not so sure. He thinks of the way you’d look at him during dinner last weekend, the way your expression gets dreamy with a soft smile, eyes glowing. 

Hansol doesn’t think he made it up - his creativity is good but not that good. He had been so sure that you felt something too, swears that you melted into him every time he touched you, every time he turned to check in on you.

And the kiss… it had been brief and born from wanting to rub it in Minho’s face, but Hansol had wanted to do it, too. Wanted it for himself. Wanted to allow himself a single, greedy thing. You’d been surprised but leaned into him, almost instinctual. It had been so short but it haunts his dreams, the phantom press of your mouth keeping him up late at night. 

Even now, Hansol’s fingers trace his mouth, as though he can remember the feeling of your mouth against his. So maybe Chan is right. Hansol likes you - has feelings for you. There is a lingering sense that you might too, but he’s not sure. 

He needs to be sure. 

Finding a window to make sure, is tough, though. He only hears from you once throughout the rest of the day, and it's to shoot him a quick text that the presentation was moved to Monday and that you have to work all weekend on it. 

He feels more disappointed than he lets on. He wonders if you remember his birthday is on Saturday. Not that you owe him that since you’re not actually dating, but in a perfect world Hansol thinks it might have been a good day to tell you how he feels. That he kind of wants to make this thing real. 

On the bright side, you do remember his birthday. On the shitty side, he can’t spend it with you. You’re working on your presentation for the foreseeable future, and Hansol had hesitated to make plans with his friends knowing some of them were celebrating Valentine’s Day late with their partners and because he’d hoped to maybe spend it with you.

It feels stupid, thinking about it now. Of course you weren’t going to spend it with him. He knew what this was when he offered to do it. You were a bright burning star at the top of the company, and Hansol had been someone you barely registered. 

By the afternoon, he’s still sullen. He’s thinking about just spending the evening eating pizza and playing video games online where he’ll get bullied by a bunch of high schoolers when he hears his phone ring and your name flashes across the screen.

Hansol’s heart soars. He all but throws the control across the room, diving to pick up the phone and answer, “Hi!” 

“Please don’t hate me,” you rush out, completely out of breath. “I am panicking right now. My work laptop randomly got the blue screen of death and I’m in the middle of my project and-”

“I’ll come look at it.” He cringes, realizing how down bad he is. It’s his birthday and he shouldn’t have to work, but he’d rather come solve a problem for you than have a bunch of thirteen year old’s tell him that they’re fucking his mom. “I can come over in fifteen.” 

“Oh! Uh… can you make that twenty?” 

Weird. “Sure?” 

“Great! Text me when you’re here and I’ll give you the unit number.” 

Twenty minutes ends up being perfect, because Hansol goes through the mental anguish of what to wear, which is new for him. He showers as quickly and efficiently as he can, hopping with one leg in his jeans and the other missing the hole multiple times. He nearly runs into the wall as he’s pulling on a band tee over his head while also looking for his flannel. 

Hair still damp, he pulls on a hat and twists it around backward, grabbing his glasses because he doesn’t feel like wearing contacts (and because you said you liked them) as he barrels out the house, radiating with nervous energy. 

Hansol wonders if it’s appropriate to tell you how he feels today. It will be face to face but… no. You’d sounded stressed on the phone and he knows how important this presentation is for you, despite not knowing what it’s about. 

He barely remembers the drive to your apartment, blinking and realizing he’s parked and texting you that he’s there. You give him directions to your unit and with shaky hands, Hansol turns off the car. He takes a few steadying breaths before getting out and heading to the stairs, his heart hammering with each step. 

When he finally gets to your door, he double checks that it's the right one. His hands shake when he knocks, and he has to remind himself several times that he’s just here to fix your computer. Sure, he’s thrilled that he gets to see you, but this is on the clock. Not off.

You’re breathless when you open the door. “Hi!” You say a little too loudly. He raises his brows but you open the door and step aside, ushering him in. “Come on in.”

Hansol gives you an amused grin as he walks into your apartment. He’s confused as to why it’s completely dark, a question that he’s about to ask you as you shut the door, but you flick on the lights and he’s met with the world’s loudest shout of surprise he’s ever heard.

He flinches, hand flying to his chest in terror as the lights flood on and Hansol realizes that the reason they were off is to hide the obscene amount of Star Wars decorations covering every part of your apartment. He can’t even picture what your home is supposed to look like, just that it’s covered in streamers and paper Luke Skywalkers and RD-D2s, and filled with familiar faces.

Hansol’s mouth pops open as the crowd screams at him. Chan and Seokmin are at the forefront, phones in hand capturing Hansol as he stands there, dumbfounded. Soongyoung and Mingyu are blowing through noise makers with so much force that the paper on them breaks, and Seungkwan is leading an off-key rendition of happy birthday with Hansol’s friends you’ve never even met.

Slowly, Hansol turns to look at you. You’re standing behind him, hands clasped nervously and tucked under your chin as you watch him, terrified. You’re chewing on your lips, entire frame vibrating with energy. 

He wants nothing more than to walk over to you and kiss you stupid. The flame of desire that licks through him is borderline impossible to tamp down, staring at you like the eighth world wonder as you slip over to him, scanning his face.

“Surprise?” You squeak.

“You did this for me?”

“Well, yeah.” 

You say it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He wants to pin you against the island counter behind you, but it’s fill with food and beverages and blue fucking milk. “Is that okay?” you ask, suddenly nervous. 

Hansol softens and starts to laugh. “Yeah,” he shakes his head. “It is more than okay.” 

Before he can say anything else, the crowd of people crashes into him. Seokmin and Chan are screaming in his ear, grabbing him and yelling for shots. Mingyu and Soonyoung are chanting his name and his best friend from college manages to squeeze in and give him a hug and a birthday greeting.

How did you even know Minghao existed? Or how to contact him? Hansol has no idea, but before he can ask you any questions about the how or the why, he’s swept into your kitchen for birthday celebrations he thought would never happen, orchestrated by the single person he wanted to see most. 

Fuck was Chan right more than ever. 

-

The thing about being a bad liar is that you found it nearly impossible to hide what you were doing from Hansol. The thing about everyone thinking you’re always busy, is that it was an easy facade to shield the sheer stress of trying to plan a surprise party for him. 

Your apartment is filled with more people than you’ve ever dared to let inside. It makes you a little nervous for all of these people to see this new part of you, but with a little bit of rum and the released pressure of Hansol looking like he’s enjoying himself, you decide it’s worth it. 

Squished in the corner of your couch, you watch as Chan leads a game of cards that he is losing very badly at. Most of these people in your apartment are casual friends, with the exception of Seungkwan who is playing DJ in the kitchen, but they’re all friends that Hansol would want at a celebration for him.

At least, that’s what Chan and Seokmin said. Recruiting them had been pretty easy, but during the process of them helping you plan this, you’re pretty sure they’ve caught on to the AT-AT Walker-sized elephant in the room: you are very much into their friend. In a very Not-On-The-Clock appropriate way. 

Now, you watch as Hansol makes his way over to you, dodging people who stop to talk to him. He seems pretty determined to reach you, clapping someone on the shoulder and moving them aside to continue his journey to you. 

Your stomach flips when he sits on the arm of your couch, perched perfectly next to you. He looks good today, dressed in jeans, a soft looking tee and a flannel. The backwards hat does wonders for you - which you will not be psychoanalyzing now - and his black frame glasses. 

“How did you do all this?” He asks, shaking his head in wonder. “I just… what?” 

“It wasn’t easy, but it worked, right?”

“Is this the presentation you’ve been working on all week?”

“Yes. Please don’t be mad at me for lying.”

He laughs. “I couldn’t be mad at you if I tried.” 

An argument breaks out over cards, Chan and Mingyu yelling at each other about someone cheating. Hansol winces at the noise and you scoot a little closer to avoid the deck of cards Mingyu throws in Chan’s direction.

“Is there anywhere quiet we can talk?” Hansol asks, though he’s laughing at them. “They’re giving me a bit of a headache.” 

You grin. “For sure.” 

Getting up, you lead Hansol down the hall to your bedroom, which is off limits to the rest of the party. The good thing about adult festivities is that no one is a weirdo about going into rooms they shouldn’t, staying exactly where it’s appropriate to be. 

Shutting the door behind you, the noise of the party dies down immediately. It’s dark in your room, save for the single lamp burning in the corner at a low setting. You realize it’s a bit messy, apologizing to Hansol as you kick clothes out of the way. You hadn’t intended on bringing him in here, and suddenly the implication of Hansol standing in your room tingles down your spine. 

“I, uh-” You stammer, looking at him. “Sorry it’s a mess. I didn’t intend on anyone seeing this.”

Halloween yowls, getting up off your bed. Hansol makes a surprised sound and you apoogize again, “It’s just Halloween. He likes to sleep in here. Out, kitty!”

You open the door and Halloween bolts out, going to find Seungkwan who will give him snacks. 

Hansol grins and wanders over to the bookshelf, looking over the titles. You take a few steps to follow him but keep your distance, suddenly very nervous. He points his finger at a title and looks at you, inviting you to step closer to read it in the dim light. 

You recognize the title - you’d bought it the day you’d crashed into him and got some of your books mixed up. 

“This one one of the books you accidentally swapped with me,” Hansol notes, running his finger along the spine. You zero in on his finger - his hands, in general. They’re pretty. You swallow hard, looking up at the ceiling instead. “Have you read it yet?” 

“Not yet. I started one of the others but I’ve been having trouble breeding - reading lately.”

Hansol presses his lips together in a flat line and you can tell he’s trying not to laugh at you. Warmth floods your face and you want to die on the spot, especially when he turns to face you head on, leaning against your bookcase. 

His eyes are dark, drinking you in. Your pulse skyrockets, thinking about that quick kiss he had given you the other night. It’s all you’ve been able to think about, too afraid to ask him if it was just for show and too busy trying to plan this party to work out what to say about it.

Now, alone in your room, the questions fizzle on your tongue at the nearness of him. 

“Thank you,” Hansol says eventually. “For planning this. I… would never have expected you to do that.”

“I wanted to celebrate you.”

He blushes, ducking his head. “It’s sweet. It did make me nervous, though.” 

“Why?”

“I thought you were avoiding me, kind of.”

You blink. “Why on earth would I be doing that?”

“Thought that maybe I took it too far with the kiss.” 

“No. You didn’t.” 

Hansol’s gaze falls on you. It’s razor sharp and there’s something there, burning just under the surface. You swear it’s something like desire, but you’re too afraid to name it. Too worried that it’s just what you want reflected in his glassy gaze, and not his. 

Then, “Did I not take it far enough?” 

The question hangs in the air. You cannot hear anything but the pounding of  your own heart. It’s just Hansol in this dark room with you, looking at you with exactly the same hunger that’s been churning in your gut. 

You don’t know when this hunger started. All you know is that the last few weeks, it’s been there. Every time you look at him you feel it ignite, the desire so raw that you don’t know what to do with it. 

Now, you know he feels it too - see it, in the way he waits for your answer. Patient. Calm. Steady.

“On the clock?” You ask, voice shaky. He shakes his head no. “You could go further.” 

That’s all Hansol needs. He’s gentle when he reaches for you, cradling your face in his hands. You barely get to suck in a trembling breath before he’s kissing you.

This kiss is entirely different from the peck he gave you in the parking lot last weekend. This kiss steals the breath from your lung, his mouth confident and sure as he slots his mouth against yours. He smells like the sea, all driftwood and salt and his lips taste like the tangy drink he’d been sipping on earlier.

Everything else fades to the background. Your hands twist in his flannel. It’s soft, but nothing compared to the softness of Hansol’s tongue as he licks at the seam of your lips. You let him in and he groans, pulling you in impossibly closer as the kiss turns more desperate.

You melt. He kisses you hungrily now, sucking your tongue into his mouth. It makes your head spin, the party long forgotten as you press further into him. The bookshelf wobbles under the weight of both of you leaning against it, making you break, both of you panting.

Hansol’s mouth shines with your spit in the low lamp light and you have the urge to lean forward and lick it. You resist, only for him to give into his urge. He leans forward, tongue pressing to the corner of your mouth gently. 

“What about now?” he mumbles, voice muffled against your mouth. “Too far?”

“No.”

He makes a sound in the back of his throat, hands dropping to your waist. You let him grip you, backing you up toward your bed. It’s a bit clumsy but you don’t care, hands looping around his neck to keep him close.

“Tell me what you want,” Hansol mumbles. Your knees hit the bed and you let yourself fall backward. He follows you, caging you in with both of his planted on either side of your head. “Tell me how far you want me to go.” 

“On the clock?”

“Fuck no. Nothing I want to do right now is on the clock.”

“Good. I want you to go as far as you want.”

He drops his mouth to your neck. A moan slips between your lips when you feel his tongue scrape across the soft skin of your throat. He sounds strained when he says, “You gotta tell me, baby. I need to know what you want.”

“You.” It’s the most honest thing you’ve said all month. “All of it. Everything. But for real.” 

Hansol nods. He presses messy, wet kisses up your neck, along your jaw, stopping at your mouth. His nose nudges yours and he smiles against your lips, giving you a chaste peck. “You’ve got me. For real.” 

Grinning, you slide your hands underneath his shirt. He moans, throaty and delicious. He twitches under your exploration but he lets you brush your palms up the warmth of his stomach, reaching around until your hands are gripping his lower back. 

His mouth attaches to yours again. The kiss is messy and addictive, Hansol filling your senses as he lowers himself so that his weight is rested on top of you. It’s comforting and wanted, your knees squeezing his hips to hold him in place. 

One of his hands leaves the mattress to drop to your hip, squeezing before he scratches his nails against your thigh. You shiver, feeling the stimulation through your jeans. His hand slips under you, gripping the curve of your ass to lift you a little, pressing you closer to him.

A moan slips through your mouth to his when he rolls your hips against him. The stimulation isn’t remotely enough but you like this version of Hansol. His touch is confident, his lips intentful as they leave a trail from your mouth to your collarbone. 

With one last squeeze to your ass, Hansol traces his fingers over the tops of your thigh to drop between your legs. He presses his fingers to the apex of your thighs, working you through your clothes. You let out a desperate sound and you feel the way he smiles against your skin. 

His touch sparks a flame. You tear at his flannel, peeling it from his shoulders. He helps you get it off of him but he’s just as eager to peel you out of your jeans and shirt. A deep curse leaves his mouth when he sees you in just a bra and underwear, your chest heaving as you pant, staring up at him, mouth swollen and tender. 

Reaching for him, you grab the hat and throw it. “Hat is very hot,” you admit. “But I wanted to do this.” 

You slide your fingers in his hair, curling them through the strands to tug him back to you. He smiles into the kiss, tangling his tongue with yours. His hand skims up your thigh, fingers leaving a trail of goosebumps as he goes until he slides his hand back between your legs.

A gasp leaves you as he presses his fingers back to your cunt, pressing the fabric into your aching clit. He whispers a string of curses when he feels how damp you are, resting his forehead against your shoulder for a moment as he teases you over your panties.

“Please,” you whisper, hips rising off the bed. “Want more.”

“Mhmm.” He lifts his head and gives you a quick kiss to the cheek. “I’ve got you.”

Hansol doesn’t make you beg. You like that about him. Your breath catches when he drops to his knees, reaching his arm up to pull the back of his shirt over his head, tossing it. The sight of him between your knees in just jeans, his hair mussed and mouth swollen is enough to make you dizzy.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, watching with hooded eyes as Hansol grabs you by the calves, spreading you a little more. His hands are gentle and warm, rubbing up and down while he takes his time pressing a myriad of kisses up the right side of your inner thigh. 

It feels so good. Your lashes flutter a little, breath coming in quicker. Everywhere his mouth touches tingles, a little path of buzzing electricity as he makes his way closer and closer to your heat until he switches sides.

You make a sound of protest and Hansol looks up at you through his lashes, grinning. He looks smug, leaning forward to bite your thigh playfully. It stings but it feels good, making your fingers twist in the sheets. 

“Feel good?” he whispers, pressing his tongue to soothe the sting. You nod, mouth parted, unable to speak. He smiles again, dragging his tongue down your thigh. You think you might die right there. 

Hansol makes his way back up. He drags his burning gaze up to meet yours, deliberately making eye contact as he presses the flat of his tongue against your underwear. If it wasn’t soaked before, it is thoroughly drenched now. You suck in a sharp breath, knees closing on instinct to squeeze against his shoulders.

He chuckles, dragging his tongue upward where it presses against your clit momentarily. He brings one of his hands up, pressing his middle finger right against your hole. You feel yourself clench around nothing and you know he knows, his grin wicked. 

"What do you like?"

"I... don't know."

He looks at you, pausing. "You don't know? Like what makes you come?" You shake your head and realization lights his eyes. "That jackass didn't make you come, did it?"

You shake your head and he groans.

“Don’t worry,” Hansol promises with another languid lick to the soaked fabric. “I will make up for all the times you didn’t get to come.” 

“Fuck.”

Vernon (from IT) has been replaced with Hansol (the Menace). He hooks a finger in the crotch of your underwear, pulling them to the side. He drags a knuckle against your pussy on purpose, both of you groaning in unison. 

Eagerly Hansol leans forward, giving you a teasing lick. Your fingers dig into the mattress anyway. You can do nothing but stare at him, watching the way Hansol drags his dark eyes up to watch you as he drags his tongue through your folds again. 

“Shit,” you hiss at him, a shiver wracking your body.

He seems pleased, shooting you a quick smile before he brings his mouth to you again, sucking gently. He avoids your clit at first, working you up slowly. Hansol eats you out like he has all the time in the world, like there’s no where he would rather be than tonguing your pussy. 

It drives you mad, his name slipping from your lips in little gasps. His tongue circles your clit, applying pressure indirectly, working you up and up until finally, he closes his mouth around the throbbing bundle of nerves, suckling. 

“Ohhhh,” you laugh, half delirious. “That. Whatever that is.” 

He hums, parting only to say, “You got it.” 

You see God when he fastens his mouth to you, sucking your clit gently. Dropping back against the bed, you twitch and gasp under Hansol’s ministrations. He sets a rhythm, adding his fingers to the mix as they press against your entrance. He doesn’t push in, but rather traces a pattern, making you squeeze. 

Panting, you drop a hand to his hair. He hums in delight as you tangle your fingers in the strands, bringing him closer to your cunt. You feel like you’re burning up, your sheets sticking to your skin, the room spinning as Hansol eats you out in earnest now. 

No one has ever seemed this dedicated to your pleasure. He doesn’t let up for a second, fingers and mouth working in tandem to bring you to a cliff of insanity. All you have to do is jump and dive head first into an orgasm. 

You do. Hansol works you right to the very edge and you topple over, falling into it hard. You go taught but he holds you down, fighting your spasm as you come hard. He doesn’t miss a beat, the obscene sounds of him slurping at you drowning out the pitiful, high pitched whine that leaves you. 

In a wave of exhaustion, your orgasm subsides. You flop on the bed, still shaking as he removes his mouth in favor of pressing slick, cum-stained kisses to your thighs. You lift your head and his eyes meet yours, flashing wickedly. 

He pauses, looking at your wet, messy cunt back to your face. “Want a taste?”

Hansol (the Menace) is going to kill you.

You nod and he smirks. He runs his tongue generously up your pussy, making sure to dip into your entrance just a little before he stands up and leans over you to press a filthy kiss to your mouth. You suck at his tongue greedily, tasting yourself and him, a combination you’ll never get tired of. 

One of his hands snakes up to your chest, tweaking a nipple gently, testing the waters. You nod, breaking the kiss with a gasp, “Yeah.” 

“Gonna work you open with my fingers,” he slurs. He kisses down your neck again, working his way to your chest. “That okay?”

“More than okay.” 

“God,” he whispers. “You sound so fucking good when you come. Want to hear it again.” 

There is no doubt he will. Hansol rids you of your bra before returning to suck greedily at your chest. Your nails bite into his shoulders, dragging down his sides as he presses a finger into your warmth. 

“God damn,” he laughs. He plucks at a nipple with his teeth and you curse. “You’re so fucking wet.” 

“On the clock?”

“Fuck no. My finger is in your pussy.”

“I am really turned on.”

He gives your other breast a playful bite. “Good. Now I want you to come apart on my fingers.” 

That won’t be an issue. Hansol gets you there embarrassingly fast. He finds the sensitive spot inside of you with ease and doesn’t hold back, pressing another finger in. He works you toward another orgasm like it's easy - and maybe for the both of you, it is. Maybe Hansol was meant to have you like this, gushing around his fingers and babbling nonsense as you come again, his mouth pressed against your hammering heart. 

Maybe he was meant to have you fucked out and light-headed by the time you’re helping him out of his jeans, sliding his briefs down his muscular thighs to free his cock. The tip is dark and sticky, weeping with precum when he pins you to the bed, catching you in a bruising kiss.

Gone is the patient Hansol who had started with gentle kisses to your thighs, replaced by his need to have you. To consume you. You let him, willing to let him do whatever he wants. You want his pleasure just as much as he wants yours, slipping your hand between your bodies to palm his cock, heavy and warm in your hand.

He whispers your name and it sounds like a prayer. His forehead presses against yours, letting you pump him slowly. His hips twitch as though he’s fighting to control himself, letting you have your fun before he growls and grabs your hand, lacing your fingers to pin above your head. 

Hansol scoots you up the bed, putting you where he wants you. Gone is the sweet guy from IT, replaced with whatever this is. You like this side of him equally, listening to him when he asks you to lift your hips so he can slide a pillow under your ass.

With a kiss to your brow that feels sweeter than the moment allows for, Hansol lifts your leg, prying you open for him. His cock is heavy against your cunt and he ruts a little, making you both whine in tandem. 

“You still want this, right?” He asks, voice shaking. “For real?”

“Yes.” You squeeze the hand he has laced with yours, pinned to the mattress near your head. “On the clock. Off the clock. Literally all of the hours.” 

“What if I refuse to change your computer password?”

That makes you laugh. He gives you a glowing smile, kissing the tops of your cheekbones. “Even then,” you promise. 

“Good. Try breathing for me when you come this time.” You give him a look and he smiles. “Did you think you were done? I told you I was making up for lost time.” 

He doesn’t give you a second to retort, his cock pressing in at that exact moment. “Ohhh you fucker,” you moan and he laughs, which makes things worse. You squeeze around him hard, barely breathing as Hansol slides in to the hilt, the pressure and stretch divine. “You did that on purpose.”

“I did,” he admits before trapping you into an uncoordinated kiss. 

With one hand holding yours to the bed and the other sliding under your ass to help lift you with the pillow, Hansol sets a slow pace. You continue to kiss him, just as slow as he fucks you. He is deep, cock brushing against your g-spot on every upstroke. 

Your free hand slides to his lower back, urging him to keep going. His tempo is measured, perfect, the angle of his hips just right. You start to feel insane, mumbling his name, whining between kisses, making a pathetic noise when he increases his pace. 

Hansol fucks like he knows exactly how you like it. Of course he does. Even from the moment in that bookstore, he had you figured out. No one else has been able to adjust to you like he has, no one else has been able to understand - to see you. 

“Fuck,” he hisses when you start squeezing on him for harder and longer. He’s pushing you toward that edge again, so close you’re already seeing stars. “Pussy feels so good.” 

He shuffles up the bed more, folding you a little. You make a wild sound, gasping as the angle pushes his cock in deep. “Holy shit, Hansol.” 

“That the spot?” he asks, and you nod. He starts fucking you in earnest, pace picking up. “God damn I could do this all day.” 

“Keep doing that and I’ll let you.”

He laughs and kisses you again, all tongue and teeth. You start to spasm, feeling the way your muscles clench as you near your third orgasm. This one is tight in your stomach, a pressure that is so compact you feel like you’re going to combust.

“Breathe through it,” he reminds you, out of breath as he chases your high. “You can do that, yeah?”

You nod, saving your breath for when he tells you to use it. 

A few more hard strokes and you’re doing exactly as instructed, taking in a deep breath as your orgasm hits. You see white, shaking underneath Hansol as the warmth of your high blooms in your lower stomach and expands. It’s better than the first two, stretching longer, the feeling reaching to your toes. 

You manage to breathe all the way through it, barely hanging on as he fucks you through the entire length of your high. He presses his mouth to your temple, slowing his pace to let you recover. You feel melted, like your bones and muscles have all gone on vacation, leaving Hansol to do the work for you.

“Good?” he asks, breath fanning your face.

You nod and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him close. “You,” you mumble. It’s not a complete sentence, but he gets what you mean, kissing you quickly before chasing his own high, gritting his teeth. 

As spent as you are, you do your part to help him get there, squeezing with what strength you have left, whispering his name, pulling him in close with a leg around his hip. It works, sending Hansol over the edge and spilling into you within a few seconds. 

He curses into your shoulder, pace turning sloppy until he finally stops, hips pressed to yours, cock sheathed to the hilt. Both of you stay like that, trying to catch your breath in a sweaty pile of limbs.

Hansol recovers first, shifting so that he can lay next to you. He pulls out, a mess of cum and fluid going with him. You don’t care, rolling to your side to kiss him slowly. Softly. He rests an arm over your hip, keeping you connected. 

“This is a great birthday,” he jokes, voice hoarse. “I uhhh, forgot there was a party. No one will think we’re fake dating now.” 

You grin. “Whatever. We’re not on the clock.” 

He kisses you again. “Thank god. Cause I really want to do this again in fifteen minutes.”

You smile, really glad that Hansol (the Boyfriend) is on the same page as you.

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[kithtaehyung]

minted: three (explicit) | myg

title: minted: part three (m) pairing: street king!yoongi x street vendor!reader series: masterlist | one | two rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , smut ; haegeum au , gang au summary: at this point, you would do anything to forget. including the unthinkable with a gangster. note: sooo this series basically saved my writing slump haha. i am still having the time of my life and i’m so excited to show y’all more of this minted universe. and to also show you just how spicy things can get❤️‍🔥 note 2: this is ofc a present for hali @sailoryooons that spiraled into a whole universe. still always gonna thank nary @joonary for letting me use the vendor reader idea, as well! also happy birthday to @remmykinsff @awbells @keylime4eva @aaclariww and @noshit-cantfindagoodone!! to everyone else having a bday around this time, this is my gift to you hehehe. warnings: language, drugs, alcohol, slow burn, murder mentions, gang activity, mint!yoongi, haegeum!yoongi, tatted!yoongi, his eyebrow is pierced, chains bc of course :)), world-building, reader is still sassy, yoongi is still infuriating, tension explicit warnings: under the cut! drop date: december 9th, 2024, 9:03pm est word count: 12.3k 😀👍

explicit warnings: i know it’s a slow burn but there’s definitely smut lol, choking, head/hair tugging, penetration, oral (f rec), backshotssss, marking bye, rough sex, ass play, breast play, his hands are a nice necklace😀, taunting cus reader’s an icon, thighs, breath play, spanking, hand job, protected sex, multiple orgasms, restraints (his hands, robe tie), brat!reader but who is honestly shocked🙂‍↔️, brat tamer!yoongi lmao, yoongi is a menace i’m sorryyyy, but reader is…?????, need them both™, teasing, rawdogging HELLO?? (pls wrap it up fr!), commanding yoongi a ha ha, pain kink, cowgirl🙂‍↕️, this is just the calm before a whole damn storm

—

—

“But,” you exhale with a shake. “Just for tonight…”  

This is it.

The brink of no return.

Your soul dips into the dark.

“Please make me fucking forget.”

Did you go too far? 

Is there a limit to his accommodation? Did you actually think this was gonna be easy? 

When silence swirls between your robes, you start to second guess your demand. 

But Yoongi simply stares before stepping aside, allowing you to enter his room with jellied legs. 

This is madness, but you’re gonna go through with it. Whatever the hell this will be. Because you may not know much, but you figure all men sit up the same when sex is on the table. 

This man, though... 

Quite frankly, you aren’t sure about anything when it comes to him. Unless it’s about him doing something questionable. Then there’s no question about it.

The enigma himself makes no conversation as you step inside, even as your eyes roam around a cleaner, more put-together room than when you left the first time. Did Yoongi clean this much while you made a mess of your dreams? 

The only answer you get is a door shutting, followed by a massive presence at your back. Before you can so much as turn around, the first words on your shoulders burn like embers,

“Was he your first.” 

Fuck. 

This isn’t what you approached him for. He’s supposed to make you forget, not remember. Remember?

You don’t turn around; you don’t respond right away. Instead, you swallow before focusing very hard on the fact that Yoongi sleeps on the bedside nearest the window. At least, judging by the way the covers are flipped. You happen to prefer the side opposite.

The heat from his body proves soft but intense, and you can’t help but close your eyes when you finally answer with a question, 

“Do you remember yours?” 

“Yes.” 

“Do you ever regret it?” 

“No.”

Your vision lowers to the rug lying still under the bed. A splash of light grey amongst a darkened, moonlit sea. 

No matter how quick Yoongi answers. No matter how even his tone. 

He still remembers it, too. 

But this isn’t what you expected when you walked in here. You assumed this man was going to get right to it, save no room for you to second guess yourself. Clearly he gave zero shits about kissing you in that taxi, and he damn near undressed you in the living room. 

So what’s the holdup here? Does he want this for real? Or not? 

Head at a slight angle, you admit with a hint of finality, “I don’t wanna talk about that.” 

“Mm.” A warm, rough hand subtly tugs at your belt, and prominent knuckles nudge through the smooth material of your robe. “So what are you really here for.” 

Your eyes blink thrice. 

Yoongi cannot be serious. Does he really not know? 

No. He knows. With a shift of your jaw, you realize he’s just fucking with you, purposefully not in the way you want. “You’re being difficult.” 

“You woke me up.”

Ah. That’s fair. 

“So tell me.” 

Well. If you’re gonna have to spell things out for him, he’s gonna be waiting for awhile. Because the more you stand here not doing anything, the harder it is to gather a little thing called courage. Courage to meet the beast in his den, and madness to let him devour you whole. Now you have neither. Neither, neither, neither.

Awkwardness sticks to your throat until it’s jammed, and you can barely mush your lips together to form sounds. The courage you speak of flees before you can wrangle it, and what’s left of your answer tumbles out like boulders, “This is.. I don’t.. I can’t.” 

“You can.” 

“It’s,” you huff, noting that you don’t like this horrible mix of hesitation and anger, “It’s… I’m—” 

Your vision jolts as you feel a quick tug shit you’re spinning fuck your back just hit a wall—

“Of all things today,” Yoongi murmurs with slits for eyes, “This is what gets you to shut up?” 

Damn it. 

You don’t even have a rebuttal. Because he’s right. Yoongi’s sharp discernment is millimeters from your face and you have no intention to move nor speak. Only quick breaths. Only shaky exhales. 

But you do swallow.

Which brings out a sound you will never admit you like: a breathy, condescending laugh, as coarse and as soft as his touch. 

“You mean to tell me,” he observes, tilting your chin while his irises blaze dark, “You came all the way in here for nothing?”

“No, I—”

“All that talk, and for what.” 

Defend yourself. Say something. Say just one word two words any words—

Did Yoongi just pat your cheek? ..Twice? 

Why did you kinda like that—

“Makes no sense,” he ponders aloud, lolling his head and staring down your crumpled lips. “Who even are you..” 

Now that's an easy one. You always have the answer to that question. 

“No one,” you whisper. “Sorry to disappoint you.” 

Seems like the people back home aren’t the only ones you’ll let down. If Yoongi keeps that question loaded in the chamber, he’s gonna keep shooting the same target. Over, and over, and over. 

But you don’t have to worry. Because he drops it, caging you in with a hand near your stiff, risen shoulder, “So what are you here for.” 

This is a mistake. Either Yoongi doesn’t want this, or he’s being frustrating on purpose and your fire is both stoked and quelled. “Now I don’t know for sure.” 

“The more you stall the harder it gets,” he goads with a lick of teasing. And for a split, minuscule second, you wonder if that meant more than one thing.

Goddamn, he’s annoying. He’s outright savoring this. 

Maybe you shouldn’t be surprised. You woke him up for god’s sake. If someone did this same thing to you after the day you’ve had, you wouldn’t have even let them in. 

Unfortunately for you, Yoongi’s version of dealing with a midnight inconvenience is whittling them down until they leave— 

“So you can tell my bellhop off but I get nothing, huh.” 

Oh, shit. 

Oh, shit. 

You’re so taken aback that you can only ask, “What?” 

Mercifully, the dragon gives you air, straightening before leaving your personal space. 

Your focus should be on his words. You know this. But he uses this moment to rake his hair, and words are no match for the sleeve cascading down his inked forearm. 

Even as his hair flows in waves, you still cling to his tattoos as he looks downward in thought. “You think I wouldn’t check who the fuck was coming up here?” 

It takes you a second to process. 

But you realize what this means and you fall silent again.

Yoongi saw that? All of that? You acted without much thought, and if he really did see and hear everything that went down, there’s a chance he thinks a lot differently about you now. No wonder he’s so thrown by this switch in behavior. 

But on the other hand.. The way he touched you in the living room. Was all that because of what he saw? Is that side of you the one that pulled him close? 

You thought his parting would allow you room to breathe. How very wrong you were. 

Shoving all contemplation aside, you decide to coat the room with concern, your assertion making a brief comeback, “He said a lot of shit, Yoongi. What was that about?” 

He languidly approaches the long table at your side—one you faintly noticed while leaving the room the first time. Unbothered, he slides unhurried fingers over a gun, stopping on the barrel before reaching for something less lethal. 

A decanter, it seems. Liquid flows from the container into a smaller glass, and you assume it’s whisky from the deep amber tones and luscious pour.

When you wonder where else Yoongi litters his weapons, he cuts through your surveying, 

“You really wanna know?” 

Looking up, you nod. 

He sets the bottle down with a dull clink. “He took his chances.” 

“His.. What?” 

Now what the hell could this man mean by that? You were clearly being coaxed into leaving the premises, vaguely feeling like something seemed off. How is he being so dismissive about all this? 

Slowly, Yoongi shakes his head, looking out into the night while taking his initial sip. “I don’t come here often. But when I do, I come alone.” Long fingers nestle his cup perfectly as he explains further, “It’s been awhile, so. Had to feel out the staff.” 

The staff. Is that why Yoongi held your hand? To weasel someone out? You really thought he meant it when he said he just wanted to… 

How naive. 

“His plan could’ve been solid.” 

“But what?” You ask, newfound frustration clipping your tone. 

Yoongi slides you a look over the rim of his glass. “He didn’t know who he’d be dealing with.” 

Your eyes roll so far they strain.

But this begs a question. Does he mean dealing with you? Or him? Surely he meant your little show at the elevator but he could very well mean himself. 

Facts are facts. Would Yoongi really trade il-don for you? Absolutely not. So you have to assume he’s mostly talking about the latter. 

Your scoff is pitched to the side, “Of course. You wouldn’t trade il-don for anything.” 

Yoongi pauses, not acknowledging your comment in the slightest as he strolls back your way. “Something I am curious about..” As he leans in, musk and whisky invade both your space and senses. And you hate, hate, hate that you need more of it. “Who was he talking to?” 

“Someone he royally pissed off.” 

“Mm.” 

“You’re not gonna punish him?” 

“Me? Nah.” Leaning on the sideboard, he stares out the windows across the room. Your vision follows suit. “Not until I have to.”

If what happened wasn’t enough to warrant a punishment, you’re morbidly curious about what ticks the box. “I figured he’d be dead by now. At least for trespassing.”

Yoongi only shrugs. “Grey zones aren’t just amnesty for the clans. Anything goes here, too, so a ransom attempt isn’t surprising.” 

This man really doesn’t stand on black or white. Here you are with eggs for brains discovering you were almost taken instead of saved, and he’s chalking it up to, what, just another Tuesday? Or is it still Monday? You don’t even know anymore. 

Your question leaves you a little scuffed. Because you feel exactly like leftover goods. The fruit at the back. “Are you always this heartless?”

“So I’ve been told.” 

Great. 

So much for being… Safe up… here… 

You glance at the touch on your hip, and your eyes traverse up his arm as he toys with your belt again. 

Shouldn’t you feel disgusted? Shouldn’t you be walking away? It’s crystal clear how little this man thinks of you, or anyone for that matter. He probably brought you along just to be a shield for his precious il-don. So why can’t you bring yourself to leave? 

Your knot starts to loosen.

His voice begins to flow.

“But if you’re gonna go for what’s mine, don’t be an idiot.” 

Wait.

No. Nope. Stop thinking about what that could mean. Because if you think too hard, it will only leave you disappointed. 

But there’s something you won’t stop doing. And Yoongi knows you won’t. So as he keeps playing at your waist, your words come out in shudders, 

“Can’t believe you used me.” 

Yoongi hums, and it makes you shiver when his touch leaves you to rest against wood counters. “You’re about to use me, too.” 

Fucking hell, he’s right. 

“Gotta say I didn’t expect it, but..” Damn him and his head tilts. “I’m impressed.” 

You’re too empty-headed that you can’t even process his words as genuine praise. His touches already feel like pops of lights in the night sky.

It’s a given. You aren’t prepared for him in the slightest.

“Come here.” 

Lightly pulling your hand, Yoongi brings you to stand in front of him. And from this point of view, you become even more ensnared. 

His robe flows down his taut build so beautifully, painting him like dark water over rolling hills. At his peak, the hair you’ve come to miss frames his face like artwork. Mesmerizing. Your downfall. 

“You get one more chance. Tell me why I’m awake.” 

Your brow lift is only a front. The rest of you is shaking, trembling, howling. “You clearly know.”

“Tell me anyway.” 

Relentless. Will you shame yourself for wanting to see him use this same strategy on other people? Most likely. But will that stop you from thinking about it anyway? Absolutely, positively not. 

But there’s another side of you that’s being comforted. And it’s the side that realizes how much he’s spoken, how much time you’ve spent without needing to watch behind your back. 

Yoongi talking this much? It’s making things easier. And it’s strangely making you feel a little better, even if the subject matter isn’t the greatest topic in the universe. 

After you steal a glance at the other whisky glass, you look into his eyes. Determined and decisive. Knowing exactly what you want at this very moment, because you just need a little more time. 

“Tell me more. About grey zones.” 

Something in the air freezes. And Yoongi’s brows crease so comically you almost laugh. “That’s it?” 

“Yes.” 

His nod is slow as he sets down his glass.

And you’re quickly hauled back so fast that you don’t have time to react. 

A rush of air. The world topples. Soft sheets. 

Dangerously, a thin chain sways above as Yoongi shrouds your body in silk and lingering smoke. A gasp escapes you as he peers into your eyes, and your senses fire as a commanding hand slides up your thigh. 

“Final answer?”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck you know you want him and you still do but also talking to him isn’t half bad and maybe you’re just tired of being lonely— 

Musk. Alcohol. Breathing hard, you take it all in. Slowly nodding because you can’t function otherwise, which makes a dragon flash teeth. 

But he obliges without moving a muscle, so you’re left underneath a demon—robe dangerously close to opening and exposing everything once again.

A man of conviction, Yoongi does exactly as you ask. Eyes drooped, he continues his explanations, as if he didn’t just shove you into his enormous bed and tangle you under his legs, 

“They started awhile ago, back when all the high-powers got locked in a grudge match. Took half the city with them.” 

Immediately, your shoulders start to sink into his tale. “Half is a lot.” 

“Everything went to shit,” he agrees. “Not even the Politicol could stop it all.” 

“Bullshit.”

His level expression is enough to refute.  

Now that’s a shock to learn. For as long as you can remember, the Politicol have always held more power than any force should ever have. If they weren’t able to keep this under control, the high-powers used to be ungodly. 

Staring at the slippage on Yoongi’s shoulder, you wonder if those ink lines are to immortalize the ones that came before him. The history he must’ve grown up memorizing. 

Still.. Why does he have them all? There’s no way he doesn’t know how disrespectful that is to all three clans. 

But then again. He said he didn’t choose them himself. Which leads you nowhere in this unending maze. 

Head disheveled; robe coming undone. To outsiders, you’d be at Yoongi’s mercy. 

But in reality, you’re laser focused on him and his explanations. Especially when his voice scratches every itch just right. “So…” You watch his gaze slowly slide down your face. “What happened?”

Even now, Yoongi’s hands stay exactly where they are. The only thing that moves is the tinkling swing of his silver above your warming neck. “Deals were made, stripping power from all of them in certain sectors so that none could completely take over.” 

“Why only in certain ones?” 

A corner of his mouth quirks up. “Let’s just say the negotiations went how you think they did.” 

Your eyes roll yet again. But another question pings into your mind as quick as the first one, knitting your brows. “Wait… Deals with the Politicol? Or each other? No way they would’ve let cowards put them all on a leash.” 

At this, something interesting passes over Yoongi’s face.

But it flits away before you can snatch it for further inspection, and the shift of his leg against your thighs resets your brain. 

“Any of the clans could’ve monopolized if they had the right resource, but. They weren’t ever gonna let outsiders get a piece. Called a truce and kept their mouths shut.” 

Makes sense. You know exactly what resource he’s referring to. “The il-don.” 

“That’s part of it.” He shifts again, but this time, your legs have more room to move. “But grey zones have priority infrastructure. The ones that keep the lights on. If you had the money, you had the people. And people are the best resource there is.” 

It’s at this moment that a lot of things click into place. 

And one of those is figuring out that you may have been a little wrong about the man above you. 

Is he heartless? To a high degree. But that comes with being calculating. Patient. Smart. Everything that Yoongi has been this entire time you’ve tagged along. 

He’s not keeping the il-don safe because he treasures it. It’s because the money is a tool. A tool to help him get what he wants whenever he needs. And leverage it for value instead of frivolous decisions and material things. 

Yoongi must have really, really enjoyed your tangerines.

A stray touch finally makes its way inside your thigh. And you flare between your legs. Shivering. Aching. You’re sparkling inside but won’t allow yourself to fully explode. Not when he’s revealing so much without telling. Not when you’re starting to see things from his angle. 

“Keep talking,” you rush out, gripping his robe and squeezing his pelvis. 

Though his fingers still light flares on your skin, Yoongi stops in his daring quest, observing your face without judgment. 

“I like it,” you shakily admit. Because screw it, since you’ll never see him again. “Learning about all this.” 

You sigh at his weight. His beautiful, strangely calming weight. “About you, too.” 

Stopping all movements, Yoongi coats your skin with gravel. “What good will knowing all this do.” 

He’s got a point. And it hammers home exactly what you were just thinking. “Nothing, maybe,” you answer, squeezing his robe a little longer. 

Fuck, you really are this deprived. This lonely. Is bedding a dangerous man—this dangerous man—really better than being alone right now? A mental reset is outstandingly in order throughout the coming abysmal months.

You finish your weak explanation, hoping it’s enough to convince him, 

“But it’s helping.” 

Yoongi lifts his head to watch your eyes. And you observe how dark his are in return. How cold. 

But yet.. Why do you also see…?

With a slight huff, you tack on, “And you aren’t so annoying to talk to right now.” 

There it is. That spark you’ve seen before in dusty, tinkering streets. “Don’t push your luck.” 

“I might.” 

He exhales, shifting himself into a sitting position and facing the door. “The thing about grey zones.. No affiliation, no rules. You can be anyone here.” 

When you lift your upper body to sit, you watch his side profile as you repeat, “Anyone?” 

Yoongi turns to look at your lips. 

You know there’s a question you want to ask. But for some reason, it’s difficult to say. 

But eventually, you can’t help it. Because you’re intrigued. You’re haunted. And you really, really need this. 

“Then who do you want me to be.”

He lets out a cross between a scoff and a laugh. Looking into your eyes, he asks in disbelief, “You?”

“I’m pretty good at pretending.” 

“Sure you are.” He gives you another small grin before resting forearms on his knees. “But you don’t want my answer to that.” 

Swallowing is proving too difficult. What the hell does he mean by that? Is it one big bluff or a real opinion? “You’re just being a pussy.” 

All you get is the side of his cheek rising high.

Yeah. He’s not gonna tell you a damn thing. 

“Forget about me then. Who are you right now?” You wait as his expression falls back to earth. “Agust? Or Yoongi?” 

When you end with silence, you’re met with an approaching shadowed visage. And even in this moment, you sense static in the air, both of you poised and locked in a dangerous, thrilling dance. 

“You tell me.” 

Your breath cuts as he slips a finger inside your robe, and you dare not breathe when he pulls—slow, unhurried, intoxicating. 

You’ve never felt quite like this. 

Are you supposed to do something, too? Is there something that usually happens here? Your experience isn’t zero but it is clearly leagues below where it should be. 

Before you can blink a third time, your garment is ever, ever so slightly off your shoulder.

And you haven’t uttered a damn thing.

So he keeps going, sliding it lower, and lower, until he reveals a part of you that you didn’t mean to reveal so suddenly before. 

This time, it’s deliberate. And that makes it terrifying. 

This is the point of no return. The slope of your chest barely keeps your robe from dipping any farther. It’s happening, and life between you will never be the same when it’s over. 

And yet. 

Your nerves speak up at the worst time.

“Get me a drink,” you whisper, “Then maybe I will.”

Yoongi flicks up an eyebrow before obliging, and you silently mourn the loss of his heated touch. 

He walks over to pour you something neat, taking his time bringing both glasses to the bed. When you sit up properly, you habitually adjust your robe, scoffing at his hum. 

“Thanks,” you whisper, taking the glass and smelling the piercing aroma. “Maybe this is what I needed all along.”

“You ever had sex before?”

The question is so sudden and blunt that you cough up a burning sip. “Ow, fuck..” Wincing, you wipe your mouth before breathing in scratchy inhales. “If you must know, I have.”

“Maybe you are good at pretending then,” Yoongi drawls. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Don’t get me wrong. This situation is new to me.”

His brow raises are definitely talking a lot for him. 

“I’ve just never.. I dunno. Never had just one night.” Taking a more cautious sip, you continue. “Much less with someone like you.”

“Like me?”

“With a.. You know.” You fiddle with your glass. “A customer.” 

When you hear his reaction, you stare at his raised cheek, stomach fluttering when he sighs downward,

“You can’t just say shit like that.” 

“I can say whatever I want,” you counter. “Especially since I…”

You don’t wanna finish that. It helps that Yoongi doesn’t look your way still, taking a sip of his whisky instead. His locks swing forward as he leans, and you almost reach out to feel them. Maybe you’ll get to very soon. When you finally get over this final hurdle of outright shyness. 

Why are you so timid right now? Why can’t you just tell him what you very obviously came in here for and get on with it? You’ve been decisive as fuck the rest of today, so what’s got your tongue pressed this time? Is it really your abysmal level of experience?

Or is it because you’re gravitating to more sides of him with each passing second? 

“Since you what.” 

“Since I don’t like you,” you snip. 

Yoongi flashes teeth in amusement. “Keep telling yourself that.” 

“Oh, shut up.” You take another drink, feeling the burn down your throat. “I don’t have to if it’s true.” 

Both of you keep drinking in silence after that. Which makes things a weird mix of calm and awkward, considering what your original mission was. 

Going over the events of today, it’s a wonder why you aren’t crashing into a dreamless sleep. You’ve been up and having the most exhausting day ever, and yet, you can’t imagine shutting your eyes. 

Think of something else to talk about. Anything. Any topic you could possibly hold a conversation with Yoongi over. 

What did he respond to before? No small talk, since the plantains thing from months ago was a bust. And when you conversed over ramyeon it was more of him angering you on purpose—wait a minute. 

There was something you never circled back to. 

And as soon as you ask him about it, he appears impressed you remembered, 

“Were you bluffing when you said you knew what I was shopping for?” 

“No,” he responds immediately. “And I know I’m right.” 

“Prove it.” 

Mouth curved at an annoying angle, Yoongi shoots you a look before placing his drink down, getting up to walk to a tall armoire. 

Your eyes follow his every movement, even the way his ass moves under that damned robe. But soon, your jaw goes slack not because of his assets. 

But because the motherfucker was right on the money. 

How the… How the fuck did Yoongi know? 

In front of your face lies exactly what you were searching for. Sleek. Minimal. Lightweight and visibly balanced. You don’t even want to keep shopping around because this is the only one you want. 

How did he know you were shopping for daggers based on one single line of questioning? 

“I wasn’t gonna show you until you asked,” he divulges. “Honestly, I was hoping you’d forget. This one was hard as fuck to track down.” 

Eyes flicking up to his, you ask in wonder, “Can I…?” 

He lifts it slightly, signaling that you can indeed hold it yourself. 

And it’s perfect. 

“Wow,” you breathe out, feeling along its edges and hilt. It’s all one continuous line, with metal so black and matted that you almost moan. “I don’t have much on me, but.. I’ll give you whatever you want for this.” 

“Keep it.” 

What? 

“It’s yours.” 

There’s no way he’s just gonna gift this to you. It’s perfectly crafted in material you can’t even find in Crane. And they have almost every class of ore in existence. 

Who even is this man? 

“Yoongi, this is…” You shake your head while extending it back. “I can’t just take this.” 

“You can.” He fiddles with the bracelet on his wrist. “I did.”

Oh. Charming. The weapon you’re being gifted is stolen goods. “Well, in that case, I really can’t accept it.” 

But goddamn, this is more than perfect. You can’t even pluck one finger off the handle. And you can’t change the fact that it was already taken, right? Right?

“At least…” Scowling at your own crumbling morals, you mumble, “Not without good reason.”  

He looks at you over his shoulder. “Do I need a reason?” 

“No,” you reply. “But I’d like one.” 

Yoongi sighs long before moving his fingers. “I lied to you back there in the lobby.” Looking up at a clock instead of you, he works his jaw. “But this time, it really is just that.” 

“You expect me to believe you?” 

Fuck, the veins in his hands are so prominent when he laces them together. “No. But it’s better than those chopsticks you’re saving in the bathroom.”

Oh. So he saw those, too.

“Thank you,” is what you wave in white. Because that’s exactly how you feel and this one gesture does excuse some of his faults. Maybe. Or your standards have plummeted to the gutters. “I, umm. I usually keep one for self-defence. Just in case.” 

Turning it over and back again, you marvel at its light but solid weight. “But I lost mine in the last rough raid before they suddenly stopped.”

“Don’t sweat it.” 

“K.” Placing it on the closest nightstand, you go back to holding your glass between your hands. “One day I’ll pay you back somehow.” 

Yoongi shoots that down on sight. “No need.” 

“But I want to.” 

He glares before picking up his alcohol. “Anyone that owes me shit gets treated a lot different.” The drink rests in his hand like a liquid gem. “So just accept it as a gift, doll.” 

You’d laugh if you knew he was kidding. But you know he’s dead serious, so you only nod. 

It’s quiet again as you both retreat into your minds. 

Yoongi has the mental fortitude of a fortress it seems. Because he really is set on waiting until you tell him what you woke him up for, and it’s been awhile since this all started. 

But being in his presence while the night is quiet is somewhat comforting. You’re finding it easy to think about other things now, especially after he gave you so much to mull over. 

Like grey zones and how they came to be. It’s fascinating how you had no clue even though you should. Even though this whole conflict affected half the city. 

Wanting to gain more insight, you blurt your curiosity, “How long ago were the grey zones fought over? Before everything was decided?” 

“Years. Decades, at this point,” Yoongi answers, his gaze locked as you think about this timeline. “Most people don’t even bother knowing, though.”

“Why? This sounds like a big part of our history.” 

“No one cares if a Crane kills a Dragon.” His tone shifts slightly. And you wouldn’t have caught it if not for his subtle sulk. “They only resent the blood they have to wipe from the street.” 

Your lids lower all the same. Because that resonates deep within your chest, so much so that you feel your heart bend in its aching. “No one cares about us, either.” 

When Yoongi catches your look, you give a sad excuse of a smile. “Being a vendor? Especially where I am? You quickly figure out how little you matter. You as a person, I mean.” 

You slide fingers along the tiny rim of your glass, lost in the fibers of his rug more than anything else. 

Maybe you’re just a loose fiber in the rug of this city. One that will pretend to run only to be swept back into the folds. “The only things that people remember are what you offer. Anything other than that isn’t worth their time.” 

Lifting your chin, you save face. “Can’t say I won’t miss you.” May as well admit it all if you aren’t ever gonna see him again. “You were the only one that ever let me bother them.” 

“You never bothered me.” 

You look up to see him staring. Lip curled upward, you huff. “With all the looks you gave me? I find that hard to believe.” 

Yoongi doesn’t laugh in return. “What would I gain from lying?” 

Mm. That’s an interesting question. But the alcohol starts to talk for you as you have the balls to flirt. “People lie to get laid, for one.” 

“Mm.” He takes a measured sip of his glass, the last dredges of it swaying at the bottom. “Can’t say I’ve ever needed to.” 

“Shocker,” you drawl, sipping to match his pace. And it’s after this drink that you loosely admit, “This is really good, by the way.” 

“Yeah?”

“Mmhmm.” Lifting the glass to peer inside, you swirl it around before divulging a past you don’t talk about—ever. But what are rules of conversation when you want to stall? “My uncle got me into whisky a long time ago. But fruit stands don’t pay for top shelf alcohol.” 

“Where’s he at now?” 

“Uhh.” You look away. “Gone.” 

“Sorry to hear that.” 

He gets up, and you watch in silence as he makes his way to the sideboard. Stuff shifts around before he appears to pour another glass. And he stays there for a bit, black robe blending into all the dark decor. 

“Yoongi?” 

He turns. 

“Can you keep talking?” You keep your drink steady between your robed legs. Buzzed and vulnerable, you offer an explanation, “Turns out there’s a lot I wanna forget right now.”

Like endings. And future endless days without your most frustrating, most dangerous, most favorite customer. 

Yoongi pauses before walking back to the bed. When his thighs settle next to yours, he asks without much heart, “What do you wanna know.”

“You.”

His jaw shifts, and you feel a slight tug in your chest. 

Was that too forward? Probably. But you’ll take what you can get, like a last meal chosen to hit every one of your desires. “Anything you wanna tell me, of course.”

Yoongi remains quiet. Which isn’t unexpected but still a little letdown. 

“Not much to tell.” 

Ah. Just more lies then. Maybe you should stick to the original plan. “Nothing at all?”

He looks at you, planting a hand on the bed to lean a little closer. “Nothing you’d wanna hear.”

You shift between his eyes. Wondering if it’s better not knowing or if you really do wanna give in. 

Perhaps his eyes will speak for him instead. Glowing dark. Hints of ember and smoke. Years and years squeezed into those irises. 

“What if I do,” you quietly question, catching the light on his alcohol-tainted lips. 

Reaching out, you boldly place a thumb over one side, slowly brushing off excess liquid and marveling at how soft he is there. Tender, just like his name. “What if I don’t care.”

Yoongi waits for a moment before holding your wrist, the atmosphere trembling and buzzing around your shoulders. Oxygen depletes as he leans in close, his beautiful features almost touching yours. 

You feel something locking into place. Something beautiful and terrifying. And it holds you down as you feel his hair, his warmth, his—

A noise blares into the room before you can feel yourself rushing upward, your body reacting on survival instinct alone. Glasses spill onto the rug and you don’t know what’s happening but lack of sleep lack of comfort lack of everything has you ready for—

Time stops. 

Sounds muffle. 

And your eyes flash wide as you see the tip of your blade pointed straight at Yoongi’s side. 

Just as he’s poised with a gun pointed towards the door. 

It’s a phone ringing. 

A fucking. Telephone. 

What have you done?

As Yoongi slowly shifts his gaze to your outstretched hand, you tremble in severe regret. Regret that you pulled this on him with the very weapon he gave you. Regret that he knows all there is to know about how you still feel about him. 

But you didn’t mean to… You didn’t even think. And you abhor how you directed your fear at the one person that kept you alive. The one person you fucking saved. 

When Yoongi lowers his gun, he doesn’t acknowledge the guilt on your face. But as he walks away to grab his device, his gaze flicks back to you before he answers across the room. 

Shit. 

You fucked up you fucked up you fucked up. 

You weren’t lying when you said you wouldn’t care. You really weren’t. But who knows what Yoongi will think of you after that shock of a face off. 

Coming into his room was most definitely a mistake. Now you can’t wrangle your emotions for shit, head pounding with feelings and outcomes and adrenaline to the brim. 

Yoongi’s close to the wide bathroom stairs, so you can’t hear what’s being said. He does keep looking at you, though, which keeps your fingers pressed against a hilt. 

Are you in danger? Will Yoongi not want anything to do with you anymore? Is it alarming that you can’t decide which one is worse? 

The call doesn’t last long.

And as soon as he hangs up, you’re sputtering like a broken fountain, dagger still wielded as he stalks forward—phone clunking to the ground. “Who was that.” 

“No one.”

“What’s gonna happen to me.” 

“Nothing.” 

Fuck. You really did fuck everything up. Your brain is so battered that you’re gonna be skittish and paranoid for a long, long time. “Yoongi, I’m so—I didn’t mean to—It just happened—”

Forget it. It’s over. Your last interaction will haunt you forever and the only way you’ll experience what could’ve happened between you will be in your wildest darkest sweetest illest—

Burns flare at your eyes when Yoongi’s chest meets the quivering tip of your blade. 

“Stop,” you wince out, a damning tear pinging to your feet. “Just stop.” 

He starts to walk forward, which alarms you enough to step back because what the fuck is he doing! Why can’t your arms move? Why can’t you lower the fucking dagger? 

“I can’t,” you croak. “I can’t move.”

You’ve been firing on all fronts the whole day. Even in your dreams, you’re in survival mode. You can’t unlock your arms because they fight for the rest of you. Your legs propel you when the rest of you wants to give up. 

But that still doesn’t stop your heart from aching. It burns, it burns, it burns. 

When Yoongi grips your wrist, you choke on a sob. When he calls you smart, you squeeze your eyes shut in shame. And when he whispers to drop the fucking blade or he’ll do it for you, you do so after a maddening pause. 

It clunks to the ground when a gun does, and you’re suddenly spun until the backs of your knees hit something solid. 

Immediately, you’re thrust back onto dark sheets again, tears now rolling into your ears as you instinctively let Yoongi smother you whole. 

His hand slides to your inner thigh, and your mind reels when you start feeling a hardness on your stomach. Breath whooshes out of your mouth before you're covered in silk and muscle, and pleasure bursts from where he quickly devours your neck fuck.

Hands are quick to untie your robe as fire stokes your throat. 

“I won’t ask again,” he vows with a voice that rumbles. “Tell me what you fuckin’ want.” 

“Yoongi—” 

“Say it and it’s yours.” 

“Make me forget,” you shove through your teeth. “Just make me fucking forget.” 

“How.” 

Fuck lack of experience. Fuck being shy. You aren’t wasting another damn second and your emotions need all the release they can get. Loose lips, loose tongue, looser inhibitions.

The monster inside of you yanks at its chain, claws and claws at its confines screaming at you to give in. You need this. You want this, especially if Yoongi himself is gonna give it so willingly.

Just say it. Just say it.

“If this really is the last time I’ll see you…” 

Yoongi stills as your eyes lock unblinking. 

Tell him. Four words. 

“Fuck me like it.”

A proverbial chain snaps as Yoongi dives into your neck, ravishing you and sucking hard on your vein. When you yelp, your clenched legs seem to encourage, and he thrusts forward to launch you up the bed with a purpose. With intention.

All to let you know what you just got yourself into.

His fingers light little fires along your skin, burning everything in their paths up your arms, your sides, squeezing into your imperfections and latching down. His lips set your being ablaze as he keeps feasting, causing your breaths to get shorter, and shorter, and shorter. 

“So sensitive..” 

When you feel the warm swipe of a tongue, your eyes scrunch shut as you shudder. Which makes the whole thing worse for you when Yoongi chuckles dark in return. 

“I don’t think you’re ready for this.” 

“Shut up,” you huff out, grasping for his robe and raking at his sleeves. “Of course I am—Fuck.”

His thumb rolls across your exposed nipple, pinching it to make you arch right up into his chest. “You sure?” 

When the hell did he even open your robe? How did he do that so quick without you knowing? 

You bite down on your lip to keep from screaming, nodding in determination while your brows almost kiss. 

Watching your expression, Yoongi pinches again, biting his own lip while slowly spreading that shit grin. Your moan comes out more like a muted hum, which seems to displease. 

“Uh uh,” he orders. “You’re gonna be loud for me.”  

“But what if someone—” 

“They won’t.” 

He continues in his control, sliding a hand under your thigh to hitch it up before shoving it to the side. 

And you know where he’s going. But it still shocks you all the same when his fingers make contact with your slick. 

Your very, very wet slick. 

Many, many things will haunt you for life. Your experiences. Your choices. 

But right now? The only thing that will follow you to your grave is this distinct, biting, staccato batch of laughter. “You shouldn’t’ve ever come in here.” 

Breath ragged, you watch as Yoongi concentrates, exploring your cunt with his long digits and hitting every nerve with perfection. When you rub against him, he growls, lifting shiny fingers to insert right into his mouth. 

Sucking. 

Licking. 

And your eyes mirror his at once—as black and pulsing as fallen stars. 

He swoops down at the same moment you tug on his clothing, his mouth latching onto the side of your neck he hasn’t ravaged. Impatient, his hand yanks the bottom of your robe to the side, fully exposing your legs and leaking folds while you grapple with your own obstacles. 

It’s messy. It’s jilted. It’s exactly what you want. 

As soon as you find the slit in his robe, you take a brave leap and reach for his cock, not knowing what you’re gonna find but having a vague idea based on his—

Oh. What.

Fuck, he’s gonna split you in two. 

You’ve held one before. You know what they feel like. But this cannot be possible and you’re already mentally preparing yourself for your breaking point. 

“You good?” 

You snap your head right up, realizing how stunned you must be if he’s asking. “I… You’re fucking huge.” 

Yoongi doesn’t react, but that somehow makes it more attractive. Like he knows. And he doesn’t deny a thing. “That a problem?” 

“I mean… I think I’ve lived a good enough life.” 

To your surprise, the man above breaks completely as you keep blabbering, shoulders shaking alongside those stupid dimples. Those beautiful, elusive dimples. Too bad this is the last time you’ll ever see them. “Did what I wanted.. Not everything, but most of my list.” 

Yoongi’s still chuckling. And for a brief moment, you’re brought back to the days he was just a patron. Back to when you would think about him before bed, delighted to see him stop by. 

This is him. This is Yoongi with you now. 

Where was he this whole time? Was he really waiting until you answered him for real? 

You went so far into your head that you missed the change in position. So it makes you jump like hell when you realize where his teal mop of hair resides. “Wait, wait, wait. What are you doing?” 

Between your thighs, Yoongi lifts a brow, locking your legs with tough arms before you can even move. 

“Yoongi, you don’t have to—oh, fuck!” 

The first contact of his tongue on your folds makes your eyes burst, your legs effectively being pinned down in their tensing. Jolts of lust spiral from your core as he licks, sucks, twirls around your clit like it’s second nature, and you feel yourself welcoming his every thrust.

This is happening. This is happening? You’ve never done this before, not that you’ll admit it. Whatever Yoongi’s doing is completely new territory for you and you don’t ever think you’ll leave. Permanent residence. No other land to discover. 

Whines echoes throughout the room before you slap a hand over your mouth. Because the whole world will hear his name if you don’t. Especially when he adds fingers and curls them just right what the fuck! 

He makes you forget. And forget. And forget. You even forget your own name. Only his. Saying it into your palm over and over and clawing his sheets with the other. 

A low growl rumbles between your legs before you hear him purr, “Just like I fucking thought.” 

What’d he say? He didn’t say that. You’re hearing things, you’re sure of it. There’s absolutely no way Yoongi’s imagined anything about you, much less what you taste like. 

And the words keep coming as he whispers how tight you feel. How hot. How perfect you’re gonna fit him. 

While all you can utter in return is gibberish mixed with the syllables of his name. 

Pleasure rolls in waves as he learns every inch of your cunt, fingers drenched in your slick and the curves of his cheeks lathered in your scent. When he reaches beneath you to grope your ass, he gives a rough squeeze. 

“Move your fucking hand.” 

Your eyes fling wide. 

“I wanna hear you.” 

“No, I’m—there could be people—”

He clambers over you, robe wide open and revealing a body that rips your soul clean out. When he seizes your palm to shove it to the side, another monster starts to wake within your chest. 

And this one takes treacherous pleasure in those slitted eyes. 

“You’re gonna scream for me.” 

“Or else what.” 

The dark rumble. The rolling thunder. 

Your other monster is starting to match his glint. “You don’t wanna do that with me, doll.” 

“Do what?” you ask with flitting eyes. 

When all you get is a sharp smirk in return, your stomach flips in desire and excitement. So when he slaps the side of your breast, you hum high with a delighted flinch.

“Don’t say that I didn’t warn you.” 

Yes. This is what you came in here for. Your shyness will have to be comfortable with the unknown, but it’s also helping seeing Yoongi much more relaxed. 

Like a normal person. 

Especially when he leans over to open his bedside drawer, hair swaying as he grabs for what you think are condoms. 

Your hunch is right when he rights himself again, teeth nicking a wrapper before tearing it in one sweep. When you start to clench your legs together in response, he shoves them back open with a thigh, robe parting to show exactly what’s going to splice you in half. 

You’ll gladly take his amusement at your jaw unhinging. Because what you see is heaven sent. 

Yoongi says nothing as he wraps himself fully, and he continues to be silent as you whisper, 

“I wanna see you.” 

It doesn’t take long for him to understand. As his length presses against your core, he slips off his dark robe, letting it slide down equally dark sheets before pouring onto the floor. 

You’re just as quiet as he situates himself above your beating heart. Which is for the best. Your thoughts are better left unsaid. 

All you can do is grip his arm, sliding your hand up until you can finally, finally brush his hair with your own fingers. Exhaling when you discover how soft it feels. How comfort can be found in something as trivial as tendrils.

“This is helping, too,” you murmur to his lips, inhaling what you realize is your own scent. 

When he cradles your chin, your breath cuts. “Things happen when you say what you want.” 

“If only it was always that easy.”

“It is with me.” 

Your heart skips twice before tripping on itself, and you instinctively curl your palm against his head. “Everyone around you must be so lucky.” 

An eyebrow lifts before he huffs. “Not talking about just anyone, love.” 

…Huh? 

What does he mean by that because shit you’re getting tugged forward he’s so strong—

“Now, if you’re gonna be difficult,” Yoongi warns. “Let’s give you enough time to reconsider.” 

Your thighs widen as he positions himself at your entrance, cockhead rubbing along your folds as you tense. 

“Uh uh.” He hums. “This is what you want, yeah?”

“It’s been awhile,” you spat, rolling your eyes when he shoots you a knowing look. “Just… give me a second.” 

Obliging, Yoongi starts slow, making your head roll into the pillow as you accommodate his girth. Holy fuck, he’s big. But he’s sliding in easy after his little feast down there, which you piece together as one big prep for the main course. 

“Fuck,” he groans, resisting every urge to plow straight into you. At least, from what you can decipher in his pinched features. If this feels amazing for you, you can’t even imagine what he must be feeling now. It only gives you butterflies knowing he’s following through with his word. “So fucking tight.” 

“Not my fault you take up… so much space,” you grit through your teeth, neck straining as you blow air to the ceiling. 

Fully sheathed, Yoongi rests inside until your muscles relax. And you only peel your eyes open when you start to slip into more pleasure than anything else. 

Okay. You can do this. You can fit him surprisingly well—maybe too well—and you’re okay to keep going without restraint. 

When you peer down your body, you expect him to look bored or indifferent. Like he’s wasting time dealing with you. 

So it makes you shiver when Yoongi looks ready to ruin. 

Toned arms flex at his sides, hands keeping your thighs held in their place. When a strand of vibrant hair falls, his chains spark in the moonlight streaming in from the windows. A dragon that waits. And waits.

You’re ready. Your demise will be your reward. 

“I’m good,” you assure him. “You can move now—”

A second invisible chain snaps with a clink, and Yoongi launches into a thrust that has you seeing stars. You tumble through the dark as he thrusts again, mouth open with silent yells before you gnaw right into your lip. 

“Relax for me,” he commands. “Just like that.” 

Your cunt hugs him tight as you bounce even harder, his little grunts of praise making you mewl and whimper in bursts. 

Fucking hell, this feels good. 

You cannot wait to find out how it’ll feel when you piss him off. 

His hands grip your hips, hosting you up onto his thighs as he thrusts hard into your cunt. Your body rocks in an arch, limp and at his mercy—which there is very little of. Enchanted, your  lip tightens with the pull of your teeth, eyes squeezing shut as he feels so fucking good and hitting. Just. Right. 

It all carries you so far gone that as soon as you feel a rush of air, the sting on your ass makes you react—piercing moan making both of you freeze.

And Yoongi’s eyes deepen a shade as he slowly grins. “There you go.” 

“Don’t act like you—fuck!” His second swat has you grunting through your teeth, and his thrust forward at the same time he does it again has you whining. Monosyllabic, his name shoves out of your lungs, with each part more chipped than the next. 

“What’s that, love?”

“Yoongi, please—”

“That’s right.” He clutches your sides so damn rough. “Say my fuckin’ name.” 

And his pace pitches you into the sun, rocking so hard you won’t be surprised if the bed frame snaps in half. In thirds. In sevenths. Your legs go completely limp as he drives in, filling you and hitting a spot that pierces your eyes with stars and light and lust. Down down down you spiral, up up up you go. It’s only you and him now, with Yoongi plowing into you like his life ends come morning. 

There’s nothing in the world that feels like this. Burdened by the dangerous weight of a man—this man—while feeling so light you could float? Absolutely nothing can compare. 

Your body finally rests as he stops, but you get no breather as he flips you over with strong arms. Disoriented, you squeak as he tugs you backward, your ass rising in the air as your head is shoved into luxury cotton. 

Sweet pain sears your ass again, and you gasp with wide eyes as you feel his cock at your entrance. “What are you—”

“Lift up. Higher.” He slides his dick up your folds. “You’re gonna like this.” 

“You don’t speak for me—”

He thrusts into you as soon as you get accustomed to his length and size. And the place his thumb presses makes you scream into your pillow. His pillow. A hotel suite pillow that you’re biting to stay afloat. 

How the fuck does that feel so good? How does all of this feel so good? His thumb on your asshole already has you melting, but the smacking of his sack against your clit makes you want to repent.

“So fucking—fuck.”

Drool strings from your mouth as your arms are tugged at the elbows, your whole upper body coming up for air. Precious precious air that’s cut off when Yoongi chokes you from behind.

“Yoo—!”

His strength slams your chest into the headboard, right at the edge of the bed before you feel the force of his palm hit the wall. 

“What did I fucking say.”

“A lot.”

“I’m gonna hear you.”

“But—”

He shoves you flush against dark wood, your cheek smushing hard and your lips curling. “Let them hear you, too.” 

You keep your moans muted until fingers are shoved down your throat. And you gargle until he yanks them out. 

“That’s it. I know you can take it.”

“You’re easier…” Gritting your teeth in a smug grin, you taunt in a bold-faced lie, “Easier to take than I thought.”  

His laughter is not lighthearted. “You’re still gonna go there, huh.” 

“I don’t know what you mean,” you pout, eyes drooping from the euphoric shocks his thrusts provide. Sweat rolls down your arms as you slip on the wall, but it gives your chest a cool surface to rest. “Go where?” 

Suddenly, the grinding stops. And your cunt feels abandoned as he pulls out so fast. When you think to spin around, he spanks your ass with a harsh, “Don’t move.” 

Do you want to disobey? Yes. But you’re more curious than anything, so do as he says.

And your eyes light up when you realize what he comes back with. 

“Now… I could use this,,” he warns, pressing a silky smooth robe tie along your neck. “Since you don’t wanna behave.”

“Do it,” you taunt, wishing like hell that he does. Yes, yes, yes. You’re drunk on lust and volcanic want and you will fight for nothing more. “You won’t.” 

Your neck is rocked back before you feel him slap your ass. “Then stay still.” 

And you obey as you feel your belt—or his, either one—wrap loosely around your column before it’s tied. 

Gently, your chin is turned, and you’re surprised when you’re met with stern eyes. “Can you breathe.” 

Blinking, you nod. “Yeah, I can.” 

“Two taps if you’re out, understand?” 

“Yes.” 

A swift pat to your cheek. “What’d I say.” 

“Two taps,” you repeat, figuring out fast that you’re liking this development a little too much. “If I’m out.” 

Holy fuck the yank you feel is exhilarating, your body bending back as shock overcomes your senses. 

Lidded eyes staring down at yours, he vows, “You better make them count or we never do this again.” 

“I will, I will,” you rasp out, breath still coming to you fine albeit a little more harshly. “I promise.” 

“Good girl.”  

Wait, did he say again? 

As he slips right back inside, you lose all passing trains of thought. Cunt filled while his fingers clog your mouth makes you traverse to another plane. Every part of you, at his mercy—

Then he yanks you backward and all that mercy burns in the flames of heaven. Flocks to the clouds of hell.

The belt is completely taut as you succumb to his thrusts. Hard. Fast. Rough thrusts make you cry out as he toys with you, gravelly hums tumbling down your back as you arch for him. All the sounds you make echo throughout the room, a symphony of mewls and moans as Yoongi controls your every move. 

“Take it.”

“Hmm?”

“You want it,” he repeats. “So take it.”

Oh. Oh, he wants you to—Oh.

You start moving back and forth, doing exactly as he says. Taking what’s yours for the night and shamefully not forever.

But it turns out it’s not enough because he tugs. 

“Like you fucking mean it.”

Fuck.

Groaning, you move with more intention, sliding up and down his cock and feeling full every time. It feels good having control, you muse, and imagining him watching your debauchery turns you on that much more.

Your thrusts turn to rough slams, friction running fast while you chase it with all your strength. The groans you hear sound primal, hissed taunts egging you on.

“Guess you can listen after all.” 

“Fuck you.”

Another hard yank. 

Your laugh only spurns him on. 

Slaps to your ass, grabs to your breasts. Yoongi is worshipping every inch of you and you won’t even notice this until nights later when you’re alone. You’ll remember the way he squeezes just right, the way he fits so well, the places he hits with no hesitation nor guesswork. It’s pure experience strangling you with passion and you don’t even know how to embrace it all.

But then you start to feel it. Your breath tapering. It’s getting harder and harder to suck in air and you’re starting to see stars across your eyes. 

When you reach an alarming point, you quickly slap his leg twice, oxygen gushing into your lungs right as he lets go. 

You almost come on that exhilaration alone. Adrenaline pumps pumps pumps into your veins, eyes blowing black as he spins you around.

Hot, open mouth kisses pepper your burning throat, and you have the nerve to catapult him all the way back onto the bed. 

Yoongi lets you top him with a laugh, and you immediately use this opportunity to pin him down with a chokehold. Wanting him to feel the same way you just did. Knowing deep in your soul that he wants it, too.

“Cute.”

“You asshole.” 

Holy fuck, you can’t even recognize your own voice. It’s hoarse. It’s rugged. 

It’s salacious.

He cocks a brow while peering down his nose. “You done?”

“What?” You blink. Slowly releasing his neck, you admit with a rasp, “No, that’s not what I.. I’m not done with you.” 

Yoongi slides into a smirk, and you attempt to scoff with a burning throat. 

You wanna tell him how good he is. How stupidly attentive he is. But all you settle for is something neutral. Safe. And maybe a little forward. 

“Just felt like calling you that.” 

Yoongi’s smile mellows into a line, and if you weren’t in such an evocative position, you would have thought it was genuine contemplation. But he slides hands up your thighs before slapping the side of your ass. “Get on.” 

Fuck. You don’t really know how. At least, you don’t know how to do it without showing him you aren’t used to it. 

So the confidence will keep getting faked. With a little help of your quick wit and tongue as you grab his length. “Didn’t hear a please.” 

Yoongi huffs out amusement. “I don’t say that.” 

His tip goes in fine. Fuck. Okay. You can do this you can do this. “Why am I not surprised—!” 

He shoves you down as soon as you give him enough leeway, and you groan out as you catch yourself with hands on his chest. 

“This is where you’re gonna live,” he says with confidence, laughing in condescension when you scowl. “Fuckin’ love it.” 

He can’t say stuff like that. 

You ride until you find a rhythm, rolling your body and finding the friction you want. It’s there for the taking. And he’s encouraging you with gravelly words and hums, with hands up your stomach and grasping your chest. 

After a single swirl of your hips, he throws his bed back until his neck strains. “Fuck.”

So you take that cue, rotating between rides and swirls. When he tweaks and rolls thumbs around your nipples, you clench hard around him, and he does it until you moan to the ceiling. 

A slap to your breast makes you whine, and you keep going before leaning forward, placing hands against his shoulders and bouncing your hips on his cock. 

“—a fucking natural,” Yoongi praises, chuckling to himself as he toys with the silk streaming down your neck. 

“Maybe I’ve just practiced.” 

“Show me more then.” 

Quickly, he tugs you down flush against him before grabbing your ass, slamming you down and pistoning up until you scream.

You start biting his shoulder to quell your shouts, which makes him moan loud enough to make you possessive. Wildly possessive. Before long, you feel yourself going limp on him, only for him, solely for his pleasure and yours. 

“Just like that. There you go.” 

You mewl into his skin as he grabs you, holding you down as he slams into you again and again and again. Drunk with power, you begin to mark his throat, devouring and feasting with reckless abandon.

Growling ragged, Yoongi flips your position and pins you face down, shoving up hard into your cunt before plowing. You fully lean into the yells now, saying his name and inching over the goddamn edge of the bed.

It’s there. Your release. It’s potent and it’s visceral and it’s everything you need need need—

“Yoongi, I’m close—”

He penetrates so far that you can taste him, and you come so harshly that you convulse. Squeezing like hell and quivering in a full body fold.

Holy shit, the screams. Is that you? 

The sinister laughs of pride prove you right. “That’s my girl. Fucking scream.”

You can’t stop. All you know is extreme pleasure coursing through your veins, pulsing beautiful colors and making you arch like mad. 

But you have more to handle. Yoongi prolongs your euphoria by yanking you back only to sink into you again, hands rubbing both nipples and tongue speaking deadly sins in your ear.

“You aren’t done,” he growls. “Lemme hear you again.” 

“I can’t—”

“Liar.”

His name rips from your mouth as you surprise yourself, gushing around his length and squeezing in powerful pulses. Nothing exists. Nothing at all. Everything you know is a feeling, as vibrant and shimmering as the sun above your street back home. 

All the heat you’ve ever felt coalesces along your skin, and the words whispered in your ear slide right down with your sweat. You aren’t quite sure what you hear. But judging by your preening, it has to be praise. Dirty, dirty, sinful praise. 

When your limp weight is flipped, you allow your legs to be hoisted up with no resistance. Looking upward, you peel open lids to the equivalent of a king. A god. And your outright awe blocks your ears from catching what your dragon swears. 

“—perfect,” he grits, inserting himself into your squelching folds. “Again.” 

No fucking way you have more left in you. You’re already floating in the ether, buzzing in pleasure and sweat and ecstasy. If you come one more time you’ll be an empty shell. 

“Earn it,” you boldly rasp out, grappling a bit of your spirit and reining it back one last time. “Take it, you bi—”

Your heart leaps up your throat as you’re pitched upward, groan serrated and high as you grin in triumph because it feels so fucking rewarding when he gives gives gives. 

Letting everything go relaxes your folds, causing Yoongi to rock into you with pride and without resistance. His chain smacks against his pecs at the same pace as your bouncing chest, and you’re more than sure you’re gonna feel bruises on your legs where he sinks his claws.

Skin slapping skin. Mewls and gritted curses. Heady scent covers them all in a thick layer and you feel the light grow closer and closer, stronger this time than all the others before it. Why? Why do you know this one will pitch you over the edge for good? 

Both of you may feel the same. 

Because Yoongi suddenly shoves himself so far into you and presses his body flush against your shuddering shaking screaming form.

You pulse frantically around him, throat sore and ragged from your final cry as tears stream down your face. It feels so fucking gorgeous that it hurts, and you enter a plane so mystical it’s completely separate from your earthly vessel. The two of you become closer than one, and you feel Yoongi stutter in his groan before yanking out and ripping the condom off.

Hot spurts paint your skin—a sweaty, spent canvas that dips slow with your labored breaths. His own breathing is rough but not exhausted, and you chalk that up to the mountain of stamina and experience he has on you. 

It’s done. 

Thoroughly spent.

All the pent up emotions dissipate in a slow descent. The chaos of today finally lowers its head, your monsters making their ways back into their cages. Moonlight shines brighter. Fuller. 

Illuminating a man in silver as he slowly heads into the bathroom. 

Holy fuck. You just slept with a gangster. With a Dragon.

With Yoongi.

There’s no way you can forget this. No way you can see yourself moving past this moment, even years and lifetimes from now. It doesn’t matter if Yoongi never thinks about you again, because something transpired in this room that you’ll keep locked away in your soul forever. 

As he brings back a towel to wipe his essence from your skin, you wonder. 

Was it all worth it? 

Or will this torture you in every dream you’ll ever have? 

A palm digs into the mattress before you feel weight and jewelry. The silk around your throat is carefully undone, and lazy, heated lips descend on your neck once more.

Bliss.

Sighing, you utter his name much softer now, telling him please without knowing what for. 

“What do you want,” he whispers.

“I don’t know,” you admit in a wisp. 

Yoongi keeps worshipping your throat, and you mewl when he reaches to rub your breast in a slow squeeze. When you drag your hand down to grip his cock, he tenses with a gritty hum. 

“Careful, love,” he rumbles. “There’s a lot more I can do with you.” 

“Tell me.” Your breath starts shorting in anticipation. “Tell me everything.” 

“Nah.” When he slides forward, the bare tip of him meets your cunt, causing you to flinch with a bitten lip. “You’re just gonna have to wonder. Day, after day, after day.”

Fuck this guy with the spite of a thousand lives. You’re the one holding his cock, so how the fuck is he still being this sure of himself? 

“Put it in,” you blurt, earning his gaze of utter confusion. 

“What?” 

“Just for a second.” You stroke him, feeling slick velvet and wetness coating your fingers. “That’s the last thing I want.” 

His eyes search yours, and for the first time tonight, he’s the one that looks hesitant. “You sure…?” 

“We’ll never do this again,” you whisper. “And I know you want it, too.” 

His gaze holds yours for a moment, searching your eyes for any sense of doubt. 

When he finds none, Yoongi positions himself at your entrance, and you feel his knuckles brush your folds before he sinks in. Slowly, cautiously, extraordinarily. 

And both of you groan so full. 

“Fuck,” Yoongi glowers, teeth sharp as he grounds them hard. His arm veins strain, shifting all his ink in pretty ebbs and flows. All his stomach snaps taut, and you can’t look away from his sheer look of concentration and lust. “Fuck.” 

“Feels so good,” you gasp, enjoying the way he’s slowly grinding against your walls. All the slick from your releases allows smooth strokes, and you already feel close for yet another time. An unbelievable amount of orgasm in such a short span. You’ll never reach this peak. Not with anyone else. “What the fuck, I’m close again—”

“Shit—”

It happens in a snap. But more of a mellowed, drawn-out river flow than a full waterfall. Your eyes slowly roll before closing, and your chest arches slow as you rock back and forth on his cock. The squeezes are harder. The pulses are fuller. You’re milking him for all he’s worth, like your cunt won’t let go until it’s pumped him dry. 

Which makes Yoongi lose his absolute mind, hissing as he pulls out quick before spilling onto you all over again. Again? 

Holy fuck, again? 

As he groans up above, his eyes are wiped dark completely. Which makes you wonder how you can still see stars embedded inside. 

Was it all worth it? 

You’ve never been more achingly sure.

It’s a long shot to know if he feels the same. And an even longer one for that to truly be the case. 

But it’s okay. 

This is the first, the last, the only time you have. And it was more than you could’ve ever asked for. 

As he falls into the sheets next to you, both of you exhale harsh, hearts pounding and pounding into the bed and to the ceiling. 

You can’t even move. Every single limb is sore from base to tip, and the door looks so, so far away. 

When you whisper his name, you get a little acknowledgement at your side. Gathering all the strength you have left, you whisper, 

“I know this is when I’d be kicked out, but.. I can’t move.” 

The small puff of air you get in return sounds like a yes. But you aren’t sure until Yoongi verbally gives you a real answer, 

“S’ok.” 

All you can do is hum, noticing with a sharp pang that you feel soft towel wipes before the smooth slide of sheets up your bare skin. 

“Just stay on your side.” 

Ah. 

Well. At least you aren’t alone for a night. 

“And you.. Stay on yours,” you murmur, darkness seeping into your peripherals. 

“Mm.”

Yoongi can be as cold and heartless and calculating as he wants. But you know he’s more than what he shows. 

Because with a second sharp hit to the chest, you also realize the side you’re on is the side he was on before. He’s not gonna make you move just to keep his preference. 

Don’t think too much about it. Do not. 

“I wish everything was different,” you whisper, drifting into a dreamless sea. “I don’t want to hate you...” 

Your forehead is swept by a warm hand. You cannot lift your lids any longer, but your ears still hang onto their efforts. 

And the last thing you hear before succumbing to the dark is a lighter flick and a fact. A cold, expected, damning fact. 

“You’ll always hate me.” 

When you wake, you’re greeted by the same room you fell asleep in. 

Sunlight cuts through grey skies to shine every surface, and you breathe in a musky, comforting scent as you stretch your limbs. 

Did last night really happen? 

The soreness between your bare legs is more than enough to prove so. 

Slowly turning, you whisper to Yoongi that you’re ready to go when he is. 

Only to find out that you’re talking to no one. 

Shit.

Shooting up, you start to panic. Maybe he’s in the living room already? Getting ready to call someone to bring you back home? 

Glancing at the nightstand on his side, you don’t spot the dagger he gifted you, brain grappling with what that could possibly mean. 

Your ribs crackle when you bite back emotion. It’s all over. 

Shifting back to swing your feet onto cold fibers, you pause with swimming eyes. 

Because the blade rests ready on your nightstand, propped on a set of plain clothes in the perfect position you would need it to be.

Teeth clenched and eyes burning, you swipe it before rushing out of bed, head pulsing and a dull ache between your legs. “Fuck..” 

The shirt and pants you’re given don’t exactly fit, but you’ll take what you can get as you punch limbs through long sleeves and high pants. 

Yoongi isn’t here. 

You feel it in your whole being, and you have no fucking clue why it hurts. 

But if he’s not here…

Who do you start to hear outside the door? 

You freeze, lungs expanding as you hold multiple breaths. 

It sounds like talking. But also a myriad of sounds? 

Heading into the bathroom, you silently glide across the floor before swiping up the chopsticks. Because yes, you’re still gonna save them. For defence. For keepsakes. For a grave reminder. 

Tucking them in a pocket, you ready your dagger under your garment, pressing it flat against your skin like you were trained to do. 

Slipping out into the hallway, you hear the sounds clearer. Movement. Slides of furniture. 

What the hell is going on? 

You’re about to retreat back into the room when a man crosses in front of the hall. 

And his hair is strikingly… 

Orange?

As he catches you in his vision, he stops on a dime, hand outstretched in greeting. “Hello!” 

Your step back makes him laugh. But you’re not laughing in the slightest as you question, 

“Where’s.. Where’s Agust?” 

“Gone.” The smile spreading makes you squint. “Need to see him?” 

Your answer is immediate.

“I’d rather die.”

-

-

⟶ what do we feel! | 🥢 join the taglist 🥢 | masterlist

a/n: alright before i say anything else: use the bathroom after sex, and especially after doing it unprotected!! i normally include it so this is a rare exception. but yes. please use the bathroom after, and practice safe sex always! a/n 2: WHO COULD THAT BE AT THE END THERE... ahahah but seriously, i for one am still swirly eyed just thinking about what's coming for these two.. they have no idea what's in store and i'm itching to get the next part done! a/n 3: if there's something you liked about this or a line/scene/whatever thing you enjoyed, feel free to let me know! feedback is never expected, but always appreciated. if the interest level is high, that adds motivation like no other. thank you all for reading! ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist  ⇥ minted masterlist

[fear-is-truth]

POST-GAME! life with the surviving players AU — fix-it headcanons

ft. nam-gyu ‧ thanos ‧ cho hyun-ju ‧ kim jun-hee contains. mention of substance abuse/violence note. very self indulgent. we deserve happiness

NAM-GYU (남규) / PLAYER 124

after the games, nam-gyu goes fully hedonistic mode. uses his winnings to burn through every vice he couldn’t afford before.

he nearly dies in a club in itaewon—found in a bathroom stall foaming at the mouth. once he’s discharged from the psych hold, you tell him you’ve booked a recovery resort for the both of you in gangwon-do. you promise gourmet food, swimming pools, minibars; a private getaway to give your relationship one last shot.

except it’s not a resort. it’s a luxury rehab centre with armed medical staff. LOL

they take his phone and put him through detox. they call you emergency contact when he threatens to claw out his IV with a fork.

nam-gyu gets one phonecall, and he uses it to call you a manipulative cunt.

you say: “if i don’t make you live through this, then what the fuck was the point.”

three weeks in, you visit during the allotted hour. he nearly lunges at you. staff pull him back by the shirt.

he screams in your face, “you know i hate you for this, right? you fucking psychotic manipulative cunt?” you tell calmly him, “i know. but i’d rather you hate me than die of overdose.”

he doesn’t talk to you for the next month.

two months in, you get another phone call.

“i don’t hate you anymore. still think about strangling you in your sleep, but. less often.”

you drive up the same weekend and bring him some junk food he likes and copies of dogeared murakami paperbacks that you’re not sure if he actually reads.

six months later, he mails you a polaroid of himself eating soba and flipping off the camera. on the back: “clean. bored. now get me out of this place.”

CHOI SU-BONG (최수봉) / PLAYER 230

so he disappeared for a full week during squid game. no staff contact, no sightings, no updates. rumors swirl—dead, arrested, fled the country most likely.

he finally reappears at a press event for his label, sunglasses on indoors, chewing on his hoodie string. when asked where he’s been:

“self-medicating,” thanos says with a dazzling smile. “creative reset.”

three months later, he drops the comeback album. every track hits global charts: two go platinum in korea. billboard ranks it top album of the year. fans call it “his magnum opus.”

track 8 is just titled “230.” nobody knows what it means. only you do. that song dominated melon, bugs, genie, itunes, spotify—all of it—for 14 weeks straight.

thanos starts soft launching you on his instagram stories: a dinner table—two sets of chopsticks, one plate, your hands blurry in motion pouring soju.

internet comments go feral and his PR team has an aneurysm. but he doesn’t care.

he refers to you in interviews vaguely: “my partner,” “the reason i didn’t die that hellish week.”

CHO HYUN-JU (조현주) / PLAYER 120

first things first: hyun-ju is already the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen. always has been—pre-op, mid-transition, but after the surgery, she glows.

during her recovery, you live together in bangkok for a while, five-star-hotels. days spent in silk robes, nights with mango sticky rice and rooftop cocktails. she loved the infinity pool and breakfast buffets.

when she’s strong enough to walk without pain, you both go dancing. in high heels.

every morning/evening she (shyly) asks you to take her photo by the window, natural light on her face, no filter.

a year later, you buy a pink bougainvillea near hua hin. it has white-tiled floors, tall windows that opened to sea air. breezy balconies, palm trees tangled over the fence line.

you get married barefoot in your own backyard, her veil pinned with seashells.

she calls you her wife every chance she gets.

“i waited my whole life to be me,” she says, resting her head on your shoulder. “and now i get to be yours, too.”

little does she know, you were hers in the beginning.

KIM JUN-HEE (김준희)/ PLAYER 222

after the games, you and jun-hee split the prize money. she tries to argue—insists she won’t take more than half—but you don’t budge. after all, she has a baby girl to take care of.

you relocate somewhere safe: a mid-rise, two-bedroom apartment with a 24-hour doorman. sunlight floods every room in the morning.

she spends her share of money on diapers, powdered formula, and baby clothes: soft pastel onesies, duck-shaped slippers, and a growing army of jellycats on the couch. you find them charming.

shyly, jun-hee asks if it’s okay to list you as her emergency contact.

eventually, you invest in a small online business together: handmade floral wreaths, pressed flower bookmarks. then grows into a physical space: a tiny but aesthetically pleasing storefront, minimal signage.

goes without saying that you’re the baby’s godmother.

 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐑-𝐈𝐒-𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐓𝐇 2025 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content. ꕀ

[dissociativewriter]

Crow Family- Earned Title

Young Luke and Kieran AU, Sylus x nonMC!Reader | fem reader, not proofread | 787 words | Crow Family Masterlist

author’s note: HEAVY cute aggression in this one yall (the twins are so cute i need to adopt them and smother them in hugs and kisses omg), this is very cute and fluffy and sappy

requests open for crow family shenanigans!

Bedtime at the Qin household was never easy, Sylus had warned you.

“I really hate to leave you alone with them for the night,” he explained apologetically. “I wouldn’t ask this of you if it wasn’t an emergency.”

You waved him off. “It’s no problem. I love spending time with them!”

“I know you do. They love spending time with you, too.” Sylus smiled.

It faded, though, as his brow drew together. “Remember, they do have a knack for disappearing, so try to keep an eye on them. Last time I lost them, Luke apparently jumped off the banister,” he sighed, flinching as he recounted the memory as if it hurt him. “And Luke likes the crust off his bread. Kieran says it’s fine, but he really doesn’t like the crust either. Oh, and! Kieran is probably going to ask you for a glass of warm milk before bed. He saw someone in a children’s book do it and… now he thinks it’s what people do.” Sylus shrugged helplessly before continuing with a serious tone. “Do not give it to him. He’ll be very hard to resist, he’ll give you puppy dog eyes and everything, but you have to stay strong! The milk upsets his stomach. If they ask you to—”

“Sylus!” you laughed, putting a hand on his arm. “You worry too much. The twins will be safe with me, I promise.”

His shoulders dropped as all his tension eased. “I know. I trust you, I do, it’s just…” A deep breath. “This is my first time leaving them with someone else. I’m a bit scared, to be honest,” he whispered.

You softened at his quiet admission. “That’s why you’re such a good dad to them,” you murmured. His gaze snapped to yours, a faint pink tinging his cheeks.

You furrowed your brow for a moment before huffing out a laugh. “Luke, Kieran, you can come out now.”

The twins shuffled out from behind the couch, heads down in shame. “How’d you know we were there?” Luke whined.

“I’m fine with the crusts,” Kieran muttered.

“No, you’re not! You hate them, too!” Luke accused.

“They’re fine! I’m not a baby anymore, I can handle the crusts,” he said.

“Are you calling me a baby?” Luke cried.

“I’m not the one that asks Sylus to cut the crusts off every time I want some bread!”

“Shush.” You shook your head. “Say goodbye to Sylus, then we’ll get some dinner.”

“Bye, Sylus!” Luke grinned.

“Be safe! I love you!” Kieran hugged his leg.

“Wait, I love you, too, Sylus!” Luke grabbed ahold of his other leg.

Sylus chuckled, patting both their heads. “I love you both. I’ll be there when you wake up.” Sylus leaned down, pressing a kiss to their foreheads.

The night with the twins passed about as you expected. You had to pull Luke off the banister twice, be the seeker in a game of hide and seek (which you lost), and deny Kieran some warm milk before bed (which was the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do).

Now, you were sat on the edge of Luke’s bed, tucking in the blankets as they both sleepily chatted about what they would do tomorrow. “Can’t we watch a movie tonight?” Luke asked.

“No, you both need to get some sleep,” you said firmly.

“I’m not tired!” Kieran grumbled.

You stared at him blankly. “You’re yawning and you can barely keep your eyes open.”

Luke sank back into his pillow in tandem with Kieran. “Can’t we at least wait for Papa to come home?” he asked slowly.

“Papa…?” you repeated.

“I want to see Papa,” Kieran agreed. “Papa… Sylus…”

You couldn’t help the smile that made its way onto your lips.

As it was nearing 10:30, Sylus came through the door, crimson eyes immediately finding yours where you were dozing off on the couch.

“How were they?” he asked.

“No casualties.” You shrugged.

Sylus breathed a sigh of relief.

“Something interesting happened…” you began, fighting off your smile as you walked towards him.

He stiffened instantly. “What happened?”

“They called you Papa,” you said softly.

Sylus was quiet for a moment, the words settling over him. “…they did?” he finally asked, voice hoarse.

You nodded. “Right before they fell asleep, they were asking for Papa.”

Sylus’s bottom lip quivered. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly, turning away from you. “I need a moment.”

You put your hand on his trembling shoulder. “You are their father, you know.” You gave a small smile. “You take care of them, protect them, love them. And they love you, too,” you said simply.

Sylus looked back at you, eyes glossy. “They really are my boys,” he murmured. “My little crows.”

comments and reblogs appreciated and asks open! <3

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