#I’ve been thinking about it and wondering

[that-one-girl2020]

Hi!! I absolutely LOVE your kpop demon hunters story!!! I was wondering if you could do story where the saja boys and Rumi's sister get engaged and married? If you write this, can derpy and sussie have some kind of part in the ceremony? Imagine the tears and the teasing.

Promises

Saja Boys x Rumi’s Sister! Reader

A/N: I don’t know how well I did with this one, I’ve only been to one wedding in my life and that was when I was twelve I think. And also I have no idea how a poly wedding would work so I took a lot of creative liberties. Sorry it took me so long to get around to this one, I just have no experience writing this kind of thing…? I’ve been working on it for a little while so here it is, hope you enjoy!

Synopsis: Time for you to walk down the aisle and to the rest of your life with the five men you love.

CW: Fluff, romance, love, crying, etc.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the songs I use in my works.

Word Count: 3.4k

Master List || KPDH Pt. 1 || Role Reversal Pt. 1

(Reminder: Baby = Jum, Romance = Chungae, Mystery = Hyeon, Abby = Kwan)

Zoey was sobbing. Her hands were reaching out to you but Mira held her back with a fond smile and her own glistening eyes.

“(Y/n)’s all grown up~” Zoey cried.

You chuckled. The three girls had been helping you get ready. You had changed into your dress and then the moment you came from behind the screen, the three had burst into tears—well, Zoey had at least, but Mira and Rumi were desperately fighting back tears as well.

“You’ll ruin her makeup if you cry all over her,” Mira sniffed, pulling Zoey into her arms so she could both comfort the younger girl and keep her from ruining your appearance.

“You look so beautiful, (Y/n),” Rumi was breathless as she looked upon you, her precious sister, all dressed for your wedding day.

~~~

You weren’t really sure how you had gotten to the point you had but you wouldn’t change a thing.

The Poly Pride and Polytr/x had teamed up to go on a joint tour, the set list being a combination of all of your songs. The fans loved the different mashups and getting to see the nine of you and how you all interacted together. It was also nice for you all because Bobby—the man, the myth, the legend himself—had been able to fit in free time for you all to explore the places you went. So it was like a working vacation for you all.

It was during your last show for the tour, the final one in Korea that the boys had surprised you with a new song.

You were confused when the girls had waved and left the stage, the boys guiding you to a stool at the center, front of the stage, a safe distance from the edge though. You smiled, lifting your microphone up, “What do you dorks have planned…?”

Kwan chuckled, “It wouldn’t be a surprise if we told you, babe.”

“Yeah, it’s called a ‘surprise’ for a reason, beautiful,” Jum smiled. He and Chungae had each of your hands, Jinu’s hands on your shoulder blades, Kwan and Hyeon guided you with hands on your shoulders.

“Everybody,” Jinu called to the audience of waving lights. “We have a special song that we wrote just for our girlfriend here.”

The crowd roared louder. The boys settled you onto the stool, gesturing to keep you there while you smiled indulgently. After all your time dating them, you have gotten used to their antics. You loved them anyway. You just hoped that they weren’t dragging you into the tour prank war.

“You just sit right there, darling,” Chungae told you, the crowd going crazy over the sound of his voice. Typical.

The boys pulled out five more stools, sitting in a half circle in front of you. A slow melody began and you couldn’t help but sway along to it as you listened to it. It was a heartfelt tune and much different from the boys’ usual genre.

“Boys workin' on empty~ Is that the kinda way to face the burnin' heat?~ I just think about my baby~ I'm so full of love, I could barely eat~ There's nothin' sweeter than my baby~ I'd never want once from the cherry tree~ 'Cause my baby's sweet as can be~ She'd give me toothaches just from kissin' me~”

You couldn’t help but smile as you took in their words. Just from the first verse, you could tell that the boys had worked hard on this. A song that described you from their point of view, their love for you.

“When my time comes around~ Lay me gently in the cold, dark earth~ No grave can hold my body down~ I'll crawl home to her~”

You were getting emotional. It definitely wasn’t a typical love song, but it fit the uniqueness of your relationship. Even though you could see the crowd waving their light sticks back and forth in your peripherals, your world had narrowed down to just you and your five boys.

Jum flashed you a small smile, the urge to chew on something itching at his mouth. His stomach was fluttering with nerves but his heart was steady in his decision. Helping his brothers to write this song was perhaps one of the hardest projects he had ever undertaken, taking their feelings for and devotions to you and trying to put them into words? But this song felt almost perfect.

“Boys, when my baby found me~ I was three days on a drunken sin~ I woke with her walls around me~ Nothin' in her room but an empty crib~ And I was burnin' up a fever~ I didn't care much how long I lived~ But I swear, I thought I dreamed her~ She never asked me once about the wrong I did~”

Jinu swayed to the melody the five of them were singing along to. They had been working on this song for a long time, for months. They had to fudge some of the lyrics, because they couldn��t exactly reveal their demon backgrounds or the fact that they were actually several centuries old. Though his voice was perfectly steady, he felt like he was shaking with nerves.

Chungae couldn’t help but smile as his heart raced, despite the soothing song. He was so excited. He had been looking forward to this since the boys had brought it up together. He was a little nervous, but he was mainly excited for this next step.

“When my time comes around~ Lay me gently in the cold, dark earth~ No grave can hold my body down~ I'll crawl home to her~ When my time comes around~ Lay me gently in the cold, dark earth~ No grave can hold my body down~ I'll crawl home to her~”

Hyeon felt those words come from deep inside him, down to his bones, his soul. It was true for all of them. You had saved their souls. No matter what would happen, he would definitely come back to you. Always. And he wanted to make that promise to you fully.

“My babe would never fret none~ About what my hands and my body done~ If the Lord don't forgive me~ I'd still have my baby and my babe would have me~ When I was kissin' on my baby~ And she put her love down, soft and sweet~ In the low lamplight, I was free~ Heaven and hell were words to me~”

Kwan felt more peaceful than he ever had before. This body, these hands, this soul that had once been for nothing but war and death, was now loved by you. No matter what any of them had done before, you accepted and loved them unconditionally. And they did the same for you.

Before the last chorus began, the five of them stood up, holding their mics in one hand. Jinu took the lead, holding out a hand for you and helping you stand. Stage hands came and took the six stools away while the boys led you towards the center of the stage.

You followed them, smiling with all the love in your heart as the boys started dancing with you, twirling you between them and trading with each other. You couldn’t help but laugh softly at their actions, fondness in your eyes as you spun under Chungae’s arm, was dipped by Kwan, then turned in Jum’s arms, lifted by Jinu, and spun into Hyeon’s hands.

“When my time comes around~ Lay me gently in the cold, dark earth~ No grave can hold my body down~ I'll crawl home to her~ When my time comes around~ Lay me gently in the cold, dark earth~ No grave can hold my body down~ I'll crawl home to her~”

As the song ended, the boys formed a line before you and, in synchrony, fell to one knee in front of you as you choked on a breath, slapping a hand over your mouth in shock. Your eyes started watering even as you stared in disbelief. The crowd was silent.

Chungae lifted his mic to his lips first, “(Y/n), I didn’t know what love was like before you. I saw others giving and receiving it freely and wanted it for myself. But I didn’t know how to do that. You taught me. And I want to keep learning and growing in love with you. I love you with all of my soul.”

Jum began as Chungae stopped, “You would think I would be good with words after all the lyrics I’ve written, but I often find myself lost for words when it comes to you… All I can say right now is that you’re my favorite flavor. With you, I experience the world in ways I had never seen it before. Every moment is precious, and every moment with you is doubly so. So this is with the hopes of having a lifetime of more moments with you.”

“I’m not as eloquent as the others,” Kwan picked up, “But I’m gonna do my best for you. I thought I was doomed to an existence of suffering and violence until you showed me how to be gentle. That I could be gentle. I don’t know what else to say except… I love you and I want to see what the rest of our lives together will look like.”

Hyeon, ever the quiet one, spoke, “You’re my person, (Y/n). It’s as simple as that. I don’t want to be without you. You’re my safe place and my favorite person in the world. I want to see what the whole world has to offer with you, but I wouldn’t mind just spending the rest of time with you curled in my arms.”

Jinu lifted his mic last, “You’re the light of my life, (Y/n)—no matter how cliche it is to say. But it’s true. Before I met you, all I could see of life was the darkness, the suffering. It seemed hopeless. And then I met you and you listened and understood me in a way I had never experienced, taking me by the hand and dragging me into the light. I look forward to every day now, because I know you’ll be in it.”

You were sobbing and sniffling pitifully now as the boys reached into their pockets and pulled out five different ring boxes. A wide teary smile was spreading across your lips and the crowd was screaming in excitement. A hush fell over the crowd as the boys opened the boxes and Jinu lifted his mic back up to his lips.

“(Y/n), you see every broken, bruised, shattered part of us and love it just as much as you love our good qualities. Without you, we would never be able to feel as complete as we do when we’re with you. We love you. Will you marry us?”

Of course, you nodded, saying yes. But then you realized that nobody could hear you so you remembered to bring the mic up to your lips, “Yes, of course I will! I love you, you dumb idiots!” You couldn’t help but babble and the crowd erupted into cheers. You dove into the boys’ arms and they gathered you into their arms.

With giant smiles and wet eyes, Mira, Rumi, and Zoey came from backstage with giant confetti canons. They launched them over the stage, a rain of red rose petals falling over you as you sat on the stage with the boys, one by one letting them put a ring on your fingers.

You looked at the five rings on your fingers, two on your pointer and three on your ring finger. You smiled and laughed tearfully in a pile of your boys as the girls started a celebratory song around you.

~~~

Now you stood, waiting for your cue to walk down the aisle. Mira and Zoey had already walked down the aisle, one in an elegant dress and the other in a sharp pantsuit. It was a pretty private wedding, with only a small handful of photographers, Bobby, a few employees to make the ceremony go smoothly, and the girls there. Footage would be edited and released later as the MV for the song the boys wrote for you. The life of an idol. The boys were waiting at the alter.

Rumi stood next to you, her eyes teary but she determinedly sucked them in. “(Y/n),” She spoke softly.

You turned to look at her, “Hm?”

Your sister smiled gently at you, a proud gleam in her eyes, “I’m so happy for you. And I’m sure mom and dad would be very proud of you as well. I know I am.” She huffed out a laugh, “As cliche as that is.”

You laughed wetly, “I don’t know, I think dad would have had a hell of a time threatening the boys to make sure they take care of me.”

Rumi chuckled as well, “And mom would have given him a talking to about how you are perfectly capable of taking care of yourself.”

The both of you shared a laugh. Then you took a deep breath, your nerves settling. “Thanks Rumi,” You told her softly. You both softly pressed your foreheads together. Just in time for the music to start.

A piano rendition of the song the boys wrote for you. It just felt right.

The doors opened and you began to walk, Rumi walking you down the aisle. Sussie flew overhead, releasing flower petals along the aisle ahead of you. You swallowed thickly, almost crying at the sight of your fiancés. They were just as bad, you could see their eyes shining as they caught sight of you.

Beautiful. That’s how you felt under their gazes.

And they were just as handsome, dressed in white suits. Each suit was tailored to each man: Chungae had a knitted shirt under his white blazer, which had floral embroidery on the shoulders and along the hem. Kwan was wearing a three piece suit with the buttons undone and no tie, a silver chain going from his blazer pocket to his pants pocket. Hyeon didn’t have a blazer, just a vest and a tie, his pants having some subtle, silver pinstripes. Jum looked a little more princely with his pleated undershirt peaking from under his vest, no tie either. Jinu was the most classic looking in a full three piece suit and a silk pocket square in his buttoned up blazer.

Rumi kissed your cheek as you reached the altar, handing you over to your five fiancés.

Bobby was honored to be officiating your unique ceremony—tearful as he was. “Honored guests—few as we are here—we are gathered here today to witness the love of these six as they take the next step in their relationship. Now, unique as this ceremony is, we will move straight into the vows. Chungae, if you would like to begin?”

Chungae stepped forward, pulling at the cuffs of his blazer, “(Y/n), you are my light in the darkness. My hope in despair. You’re the one that showed me what love is and you are the love of my eternity. My darling, I will love you even when the world is nothing but ash and dust, this I can promise you.”

You smiled tearfully, sniffling. You wanted to pull Chungae into your arms and kiss him senseless but it wasn’t your turn.

Bobby smiled, tears running down his face that he patted at with a handkerchief. “Thank you, Chungae. And now Jum?”

The maknae stepped forward as Chungae stepped back, a soft smile on his lips. “My beautiful (Y/n), There aren’t enough words in any human language to describe my love for you. I don’t know how human vows work so I’ll just say this: I promise that my heart will be with you for the rest of our lives, and my soul will follow you even after.”

You wiped your cheeks, almost shaking with energy, with the need to respond and voice your own love for the boys but you had to wait still.

Bobby called Kwan forward next. Kwan had struggled with what he was going to say. He wasn’t really a man of words—well, complex words. So he didn’t know how he would be able to express his love and desires for the future with you. He did his best though.

The man grinned, an edge of softness to his usual roguish smile. “I want to promise to protect you, if you’ll let me, (Y/n). To use the strength I once used to destroy and instead use it to shelter, to build a life for us. I promise to hold you gently, to shield you if you need it, to provide you a safe place.”

His handkerchief now soaked with tears, Bobby called Hyeon forward. An actual man of few words.

“Princess,” he began softly. “I love you and it is as simple as that. You have my heart and soul. To me, this ceremony is just a formality to declare the devotion I have for you. I already know that I will stay with you for the rest of our lives. That I will always ensure your happiness. That I will follow wherever you lead. So please, let me stay at your side.”

Finally, Bobby called Jinu forward. The man took a deep breath, wiping his hands on the sides of his pants. But he still smiled, full of love.

“I didn’t think I would ever get the chance to experience a love like this, I didn’t think I deserved it. But, somehow, you became the melody running through my head and the symphony playing in my soul. Please allow me to stay with you, to continue expressing my love for you. To keep singing for you.”

Bobby did his best, sniffling and doing his best to stop his tears. “And now, (Y/n), you may recite your vows as well.”

“Boys,” You began. “Chungae, Jum, Kwan, Hyeon, Jinu. I love each of you. And maybe it’s selfish and greedy for me to love all of you. But, I can’t help how my heart beats for you all, how I feel safe and loved the most when I am surrounded by all of you. So I promise to keep loving you. To keep being selfish in my love for you all. Because I don’t want to go anywhere you all can’t follow. I don’t know what our future holds, but I swear that I will take each step with all of you at my side.”

Bobby took a deep breath, “And now for the rings.”

Derpy appeared, coming up through one of his portals between you all. He was holding a small tray in his jaws, ten rings cushioned by velvet on it. Your engagement rings had been converted, the diamond from each ring removed to create an elegant bracelet that adorned your left wrist.

“Hyeon,” The man stepped forward, “Do you take (Y/n) as your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; from this day forward until death do you part?”

“I do.”

“And (Y/n)?”

“I do.”

The two of you traded rings, Hyeon sliding the first one onto your left hand while you slid his onto his left ring finger. This continued, one by one, until you had three wedding bands on your ring finger and two on your pointer.

“Ah,” Bobby gasped, his eyes still leaking. Honestly, you had no idea how he hasn’t passed out from dehydration or crying exhaustion yet. “Okay, by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husbands and wife. You may now kiss the bride!”

The room cheered, photographers clicking their cameras, the employees clapping and cheering for you, and your three sisters crying as they clapped at your union.

One by one, through tears and smiles, the boys stole your breath in one heart stopping kiss after the next, flower petals raining down around you as Sussie swooped overhead a few times. You couldn’t help but laugh as the boys kept tugging you this way and that, stealing kisses and twirling you off your feet, even hugging each other.

You were married. To five of the best men you knew. And yeah, you all had your darker sides, but it was fine because you all loved them anyway, and helped each other choose to be better.

You couldn’t help but wonder what would come next for you all.

A/N: Again, I have no experience with weddings or engagements so I kinda just made it as sappy as I could. Go check out my kpdh short series and the role reversal series on my page!

Outtakes:

*At the reception*

Zoey: *giggling* “Man, Bobby, you were crying pretty much the whole ceremony~”

Mira: “Yeah, I think you’ll be crying in all of the pictures and shots from the cameras.”

Bobby: *still teary eyed* “I was just very touched that they would ask me to ordain the ceremony for them and it was just such a lovely ceremony and it was so sweet…”

Rumi: “It’s not like we weren’t crying through the whole ceremony too, girls…”

Zoey and Mira: *sheepishly laugh*

…

*Later*

You: *ready to sleep after the long day cuddled by your five husbands* “Ah, I’m ready for bed…”

You: *Entering the bedroom to see the bed covered in rose petals, wine and special chocolates on the bedside table, candles lit around the room*

Saja Simps: *Hovering around you with amber eyes* “Nights not over yet, darling~”

You: “Oh. Right. That.”

You: “I’m in danger…” *And perfectly okay with that*

…

Polytr/x: *slipping the boys boudoir photos of you throughout the night*

Saja Simps: *Hyperventilating*

Polytr/x: “Sorry, not sorry (Y/n).”

…

Tag List: @brights-place @itmechaosartist @reni502 @chin-chii @cultish-corner @enerofairy @mama-m1na @akariis4snowball @gremlinartstudio @shynotded @shadowmoonlight0604 @omgsuperstarg @neigesprincess @sleep-7372 @hurts-my-brain @kiwibackie @gh0stied3ath @naysha140 @theferretkids @lelantyuu @sexyindependentdowntospendit @hornehlittleweeblet2 @moonymoo1 @moochiwoochi @cheolright @crescent-z @prorpy @mey-archive @cami1qx @nerdalicios @xxsadlovexx @latisthegenderfluidwannabealone @blackheart34 @anonymousewrites @scarletrosesposts @justanindiangirl12 @beexboo @tatsuri-zomushiki @call-me-nyxx @queenofviolenceandnerds @randomfan218-blog @jaybbygrl @unholycheesesnack @ocean-mochi @iviorienne @confusedparticle @otakusimp1 @nosbaby07 @fries11 @ri-eveowe @1950schick @libdarkheart @yourjustassaneasiamx @the-bookish-artist @anduinandwrathionlover @eternallyrosyfire @lysira340 @lansy-4 @strayharmony943 @maximumtrashchild @bleufu1 @minepugs @valeriele3 @arieslucy @nisarelle @suzieq1948374 @esposamultifandom

[idolomantises]

Having some thoughts about my webcomic and webtoons and would like some feedback:

A lot of you are already aware that I’ve publicly announced quitting webtoons because the ridiculous and often hypocritical policies (why are you telling me to remove a comic for alluding to sex while you have comics that have full on sexual discussions rated for teens), and I don’t regret that decision for a second.

However uh…. Social media in general has gotten so much shittier lately for artists. Twitter suppresses artists that don’t have a blue checkmark. Instagram now prioritizes videos over photos. TikTok is just… TikTok. Patreon’s recent updates have been fucking over artists for several months now. Bluesky is decent but still hasn’t attracted a mainstream audience. Tumblr’s search functions has somehow worsened and still marks completely innocuous drawings as mature.

While I do think Tapas is less restrictive… its UI is kind of terrible and the resizing of comics makes certain pages straight up unreadable. It’s also a lot less popular compared to Webtoons. I’ve had a lot of people tell me they didn’t want to read my works on tapas simply because they disliked the UI.

It made me wonder, would it be alright to return to webtoons? I still have a large platform over there and I have had people tell me they regularly read my comics over there (unfortunately I think a lot of the average online reader prefers webtoons over other webcomic sharing platforms or personal websites).

My only issue is

1) my webcomic is rated is mature and I have no interest in censoring comics that don’t need to be censored. But webcomics rated as mature are heavily suppressed by the platform and cuts off a huge chunk of my audience (I also heard you can’t read webtoons without any account anymore). So i wonder if it’s worth it?

2) I feel a bit weird announcing that I’m done with webtoons and later changing my mind because it’s reached SO many people. I worry people will get upset with me or flat out insult/harass me for choosing to return to a platform that treated me pretty badly. It’s just that I can’t prioritize my own personal feelings over income.

I would like to know your feedback, and also if anyone has read or makes webtoons rated mature and how it’s affected them

[makeitworse]

TH𝔘NDER

using a vibrator w him┊ f!rea 18+ ft. MG ‧ SY ‧ SC ‧ JH

𝓜𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐘𝐔

you don’t even have two steps through the door before mingyu’s dragging your suitcase out of your hand, backing you against the wall with a kiss that feels more like a claim than a greeting. the house is dark, blinds already drawn like he’s been waiting for this moment all day. he’s handsy with his hello — near bruising you from the force of his kisses of your lips, his gropes of your body. “you have no idea,” he breathes, voice husky with impatience. “how fucking bad i missed you.”

your shirt’s already hiked up over your chest, pants haphazardly tugged down enough for him to get a hand in. mingyu’s mouth leaves wet heat across your throat, practically backing you into the bedroom before you can catch up and caging you on the mattress with his massive body. “y’know how many days i spent jerking off in this empty house? just thinking about you, waiting for you to come back?”

the filth of his words at your ear has your back arching up and pressing into his broad chest. with his mouth sucking a mark on the skin below the shell, you don’t even notice when his arm reaches for the nightstand and grabs a familiar little vibrator. you gasp when the silicone taps your stomach, mingyu dragging it down your skin. “i used this,” he admits, a little laugh in his voice, but eyes dark and serious. “just holding it in my hand made me think about how you sound when it’s on you.”

you don’t get out anything more than his name in a whine before mingyu’s pressing it between your thighs — teasing, circling, not even turning it on yet. savouring how you wriggle underneath him. “i’ve been edging myself, to last longer once you got back.” he mutters, thumb finally clicking the toy on to the lowest setting. your entire body jolts, cunt clenching around nothing.

mingyu watches like his wet dream is finally playing out in real time: your fist curling in his shirt, face twisting in the most beautifully fucked-out expression. he swirls the toy around on your clit, free hand coming to prod a finger at your soaked core. you’re already so sensitive from the travel and weeks of missing him, but mingyu’s far from done as he croons: “let me give it all back to you, yeah?”

𝓢𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐆

soonyoung’s always moving: bouncing his leg, tapping his fingers, laughing mid-kiss like he’s too high on his own vibes to ever just relax. there’s only a few situations in which you can bring him to a heel — one of which being what he’s found himself in: tiring him out with a vibrator that bests his energy.

he’s too breathless to speak, thighs trembling under your ass where you’re sat on him, wrists writhing in the hand pinning them above his head. his hair’s stuck to his forehead, face flushed pink and whining with that wide-eyed wonder he always sports when you manhandle him. the toy’s been buzzing against him for a while now: low and slow, then mean and fast, over and over again — and he’s still managing to be on good behaviour, as insane as it’s driving him.

“still got more in you, baby?” you purr, smirking as he lets out a strangled whimpers, hips jerking upward in a futile attempt to move away from the incessant buzzing. you tut, dragging it up the length of his cock. he’s not worn out just yet, the muscles of his stomach flexing beneath you. “you can keep up with me.” soonyoung tries to nod, to give you one of those cocky grins — but his smile splinters, voice cracking in a moan when you amp up the vibration setting.

you trail kisses down his bare chest, teeth tugging and tongue swirling at his nipple to leave him a gasping wreck. “all that energy, and look at you now. my pretty lil’ mess.” he’s bucking up into thin air at your words, whining at the absence of your warmth with his fists clenching like he wants to hold anything. but he can’t — not if he wants to follow your orders to stay still and let you have your way with him. if he keeps being good, keeps letting the back-to-back orgasms flood his body, he might just get lucky and be allowed to fuck you after. if he can even move anymore, that is.

𝓢𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐎𝐋

your body’s close to disconnecting from your brain at this point. your thighs are trembling, hips barely lifting off the sheets anymore, and seungcheol’s right there with you as the last thing keeping you grounded. his lips pressed to the side of your face, one large hand holding you down, the other keeping the vibrator buzzing on your puffy clit.

you’re long past sensitive — you don’t know when your orgasms start or end. the first one ripped through you at a record time, and cheol’s been relentless since, fucking you through each and every one. each time you whine out that you’re done, that it’s too much, he just coos softly in your ear; voice soaked in sweetness, dripping with his carnal want.

“shshh, you’re doing so well, baby,” he murmurs, hips rolling slow — the head of his cock rubbing that tender spot to make your eyes roll back. “doin’ so fucking good for me.” he kisses the sweat from your temple, freehand pressing over your tummy to feel where he’s pressed deep inside.

he cusses, cock twitching inside as he holds back on his own first orgasm. you’re never done until cheol’s done — and cheol only cums once you’ve lost count of your own. he hisses through his teeth as he pulls out enough to leave just the tip in, gliding the vibrating toy up and down to watch you squirm on his cock. “you can go another, yeah? i know you can fucking take it.”

words beyond you, you just nod. cheol mutters a “that’s my girl”, pelvis snapping to start fuck into you at a ruthless pace, his hand swiping the toy over your clit with a speed to match. you believe him whenever he says you can go just one more. and you always deliver.

𝓙𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐀𝐍

jeonghan had been pushing your buttons all day: snarky comments, smug glances — that slow, lazy smile in response to your temper that he knew drove you up the wall. he’d tugged at your strings just enough, tip-toeing the line between playfully annoying and downright asking for it. so when you finally corner him in your shared bedroom, shoving him back onto the mattress and straddling his lap before he can blink — you revelled in how his smirk faltered, hips twitching into your warmth.

“what?” he goads, breathy and amused. “gonna punish me?” his voice betrays him with a crack. you don’t answer right away, and you can see how his guard’s finally crumbling, eyes swallowing the light in anticipation. wordlessly, you reach for the bedside table and grab your little helper — a small, charged bullet. you catch jeonghan’s eyes go wide once he realises, body already writhing under your weight. he must’ve figured you’d just ride out your frustration with him instead. plan backfired, jeonghan bumbles out a string of pleas as you tug his pants down, toy buzzing to life in your hand.

“you just wanted attention, didn’t you?” you murmur, leaning down so your teeth graze his ear. you trace the vibrator along his inner thighs, deliberately avoiding where he’s already hard and aching. “well you’ve got it now.”

when you touch the toy to the underside of his cock, jeonghan has a full-body jolt, hips bucking shamelessly. “f-fuck,” he stammers out, cocky tone replaced with a tremble that makes you snicker. you drag the toy up his shaft with a slow, tortorous pressure. jeonghan’s already panting beneath you, hands fisting the sheets as he fails to bite back his whines.

something wicked stirs in you, and you press the buzzing toy against the leaking head of his cock. jeonghan throws his head back, a broken cry falling from his lips as you swipe it over his frenulum. you can’t help but chuckle at the sight. “careful what you wish for, hey hannie.”

mlist · taglist 〃 note. for emmie and i’s gooning pleasure

@lightinbug @sherrayyyyy @namsgyu @riddlerloveb0t @ttturnitup @emmiesoverthemoon @rafesbunniebby @nicaeno @orphicarchive @vix3e @babycaratdeul @sseungcheols @sunnysidesins @livelaughloveseventeen @nezhamoment @nervousaggressive @madebybec @aaronwarners69thwife @gyuguys @macherizz

[holyblonded]

love (gonna get you killed) | alexia putellas

pairings: alexia putellas x sister!reader

summary: your internally conflicted about your feelings towards alexia. meanwhile alexia is realizing there might be no salvaging your relationship

universe: cloud 9/bear’s universe

warnings: angst, angst, and more angst!

notes: i was in fact listening to the damn album writing this 🌚 i think this is the shortest chapter of cloud 9 i’ve ever written cause it was honestly gut wrenching to write but also it fr a setting up chapter

You didn’t know what to expect after the Nike event. But you didn’t expect this.

Not this strange hollowness. Not this unfeeling pit in your chest where, just hours ago, you thought there would be fireworks. Or tears… or maybe even relief. But no, just indifference. Or maybe something more dangerous. The numbness. The one that follows when you’ve been waiting for an explosion that never comes.

You lay on your hotel bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling. JuJu was in the shower. You could hear the faint sound of water, steam curling under the door. The bed was cold on your back, but you didn’t move. Not even when your fingers began to ache from being clenched too long.

You always chased Alexia. You chased her smile. Her attention. Her approval. Her scraps. And tonight, you were so close you could’ve reached out and touched her. You could’ve said something—anything.

But instead, you looked her in the eye and let it go. But now, you’re wondering if you did the right thing.

When JuJu comes out of the bathroom, her braids are piled on top of her head and her skin glows faintly from the heat. She’s wearing black shorts and a sports bra, towel slung around her neck. Her eyes find yours immediately.

“Hey,” she says softly, pausing in the doorway. “You’re quiet.”

“I’m fine.”

JuJu doesn’t move, just watches you. You can feel it, her gaze heavier than the room. You sigh and roll to your side, away from her. “I said I’m fine.”

She doesn’t believe you. She never does, and she’s usually right. A moment later, the mattress dips as she climbs in next to you. She doesn’t say anything. Just lies there, the silence thick but not suffocating. Her fingers brush yours once, so gently you almost miss it, but you don’t pull away.

You lie like that for a while. Jyst breathing together. Not touching, but not apart.

Eventually, your voice breaks the silence. “I thought I’d feel something, Ju.”

She doesn’t interrupt you, she just listens.

“I don’t know what I expected. Anger, maybe. Or heartbreak. Heartbreak for sure. But I didn’t feel any of it. I looked her in the face, and I felt… nothing.”

JuJu hums softly, encouraging you to keep going.

“And now I don’t know what’s worse—the years I spent hurting over her, or this…the nothingness. Like there’s a hole where something used to be.” You turn your head to face her, finally. Her eyes are already on you, warm and patient and steady. You wonder if she ever gets tired of holding space for you. “Do you think I did the wrong thing?” you whisper.

“I think you did what you needed to do to protect yourself,” she says. “That doesn’t mean it was easy. And it doesn’t mean it won’t hurt later. But you didn’t do anything wrong.”

You nod slowly. It’s hard to believe it, but it’s also hard not to believe her.

“I just feel so… off. Like I’ve been carrying this thing my whole life and suddenly put it down, but my arms still hurt from holding it.”

She smiles, a little sadly. “That’s grief, babe. Sometimes it shows up in silence.”

You look at her. This girl who’s never asked you to be anything but exactly who you are. Who never pushed or pried, just offered warmth when the world felt like stone.

“Thank you,” you say, voice quieter than before. “For always seeing me for me.”

JuJu leans forward, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek. “Always.”

The next morning, JuJu has an early interview. You wake up to the sound of her tiptoeing around the room, trying not to wake you. She kisses your temple before she leaves, and you pretend to be asleep just to savor the feeling.

Once she’s gone, you shower, throw on a hoodie and sunglasses, and head out into the morning light. New York is buzzing, but you’ve been here enough times to know where to go to escape the chaos.

You make your way to a little cafe tucked between two bookstores in the East Village. The smell of espresso and buttered croissants floats through the air as you walk. But just as you turn the corner, you bump into someone.

“Oh. I’m so sorry,” you say reflexively.

But then you look up and meet the kind eyes of Olga. You blink as a smile grows on Olga’s face. “Hey, kid.”

You instantly hug her. She hugs you back just as tightly, kissing the side of your head.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, though you already know.

“The Nike thing. With Alexia,” she replies.

“Right. Dumb question.”

You gesture behind you. “I’m going to this really cute cafe. Great coffee and pastries. Wanna join?”

Olga considers it, then nods. “Sure. Lead the way.”

You order your usual, an iced oat milk latte with an extra shot of espresso and a breakfast sandwich. You also order JuJu’s favorites to-go, an iced vanilla matcha and a chocolate croissant.

Olga gets a cappuccino and some almond pastry you’ve never seen her eat before.

You sit at a small corner table, the window fogged slightly from the warmth inside. It’s peaceful. You almost forget what yesterday was.

Until Olga clears her throat. “She didn’t speak,” she says softly. “After seeing you.”

You look up. But you don’t say anything.

“She left early. Alexia never leaves events early. She takes everything seriously. You know that.”

You do. Of course you do.

Olga stirs her coffee. “I found her in the hotel gym at three in the morning. On the treadmill. Running like she was being chased. She didn’t stop until I made her. She looked like… she looked like she was falling apart.”

You don’t respond. Not because you don’t care. But because you don’t know what to say. You feel…nothing. Not anger. Not pity. Not satisfaction. You didn’t even cry last night. And that scares you more than anything.

Eventually, you and Olga part ways. She hugs you again. Says she’s proud of you. You nod with a smile on your face. But the smile never reaches your eyes and she sees that.

Back at the hotel, JuJu’s not back yet.

You sit on the edge of the bed, the city noise muted by thick windows.

You look at the coffee cup she left this morning. Still warm. You hold the matcha she loves in one hand and the croissant in the other. You set them on the table.

And then you sit...and you sit…and you sit. The silence isn’t peaceful this time. It’s loud. Louder than the treadmill at 3 a.m. Louder than the voice in your head asking if you made the right call.

You don’t know. And you’re terrified that you may never know.

JuJu stretched her long limbs as she rose from the velvet chair, thanking the interviewer with a polite nod and signature easygoing smile.

“Am I done yet?” she asked her agent, that distinct Californian drawl pulling through her words. “My girl got me a matcha from my favorite place.”

“You’ve got one last fitting,” her agent replied, scrolling through her phone. “A quick one. For the LA shoot next week. After that, I promise, you’re free to go back to your girl and your overpriced green milk.”

JuJu couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips. “My girl,” she repeated under her breath, letting it linger like a prayer.

“For now, take a break,” her agent added, glancing over her shoulder. “Snacks are on the second floor if you want something.”

JuJu shot off a quick text to you: last thing then I’m yours. matcha better be cold 💚

Then she headed to the second floor, running her hands over her fresh braids, hoping for peace. Instead, she walked straight into it. Alexia.

She was standing by the fruit platter, untouched bottle of water in hand, staring out the large conference window like it might give her answers she hadn’t already asked herself a thousand times.

JuJu’s steps faltered, but only for a second. She adjusted, always steady.

“JuJu Watkins,” she greeted, extending her hand with calm, poised strength.

Alexia turned slowly, lips tugging into the tightest imitation of a smile. “I know.”

She took JuJu’s hand, cold, tense, and reluctant to linger. Silence filled the space.

But then, with a crack in her voice she didn’t mean to let show, Alexia asked the question she’d been too scared to voice out loud. “How is she?”

JuJu blinked once. Her tone didn’t shift. Her voice didn’t raise. But somehow, it hit harder than if she’d screamed.

“She’s not okay,” JuJu said, arms now folded across her chest. “She’ll lie to everyone. Smile, crack jokes, say she’s fine—but she’s not. Because she’s grieving her sister.”

Alexia’s breath hitched, but JuJu didn’t stop.

“She’s grieving someone who’s still alive. And that’s the hardest thing to do.”

There was no venom in her words. Just the truth, measured, clear, and very JuJu.

Alexia stood frozen, the weight of it all slamming into her chest. JuJu watched her just long enough to make sure it landed, then turned and walked away.

And Alexia—strong, composed, media-trained Alexia—turned into the women’s restroom, locked herself into the farthest stall, sank to the tile floor, and cried.

Not quiet tears. Not graceful ones. Gut-wrenching sobs, the kind that curled her spine and left her chest heaving. Because for the first time, she realized she might have lost you for good.

The hotel room was too still, too silent, and too much. So you left. The streets of New York were buzzing with life and yet you couldn’t feel any of it. Your sunglasses covered your eyes, but they couldn’t hide the tension in your jaw, the way your mouth kept twitching like you were holding something in.

You wiped at your cheek quickly when a single tear escaped. You hadn’t even noticed it until the wind kissed the wetness on your skin.

You hated crying in public. Always had. But today, it wasn’t sadness that broke you. It was indifference.

You had looked your sister in the eye and walked away. And nothing cracked. Nothing shattered. It should’ve hurt more and that scared you, so much.

You wandered aimlessly until you passed a city park. A group of little girls in matching Nike kits giggled as they kicked a ball back and forth, shouting in Spanglish and laughter. One of them tripped and fell.

The others immediately rushed over, pulling her up, brushing grass from her knees, telling her she was brave.

That’s when it happened. The memory came like a sucker punch to the gut.

You were six again. A scraped knee, tear pooling, and blood starting to run.

“Lexi! My knee!” you had sobbed, tiny hands clutching your leg. “I’m scared!”

And she had run to you, your hero in cleats and still in her football kit, kneeling down without hesitation.

“It’s okay, Osita,” she said, already lifting you off the grass. “Be brave for me, mi nena.”

“You are so brave. So strong.”

She held you in her lap as she cleaned you up. She kissed your forehead like she always did. Like love was easy.

But it hadn’t stayed easy.

The flashback left you winded. Your knees almost buckled.

You turned away from the park, sunglasses slipping slightly, breath catching in your throat. You kept walking, fast. One foot in front of the other.

But the grief had already climbed under your skin again, like it never left. And this time, it wasn’t just grief for what you lost.

It was for the parts of you that used to believe you’d always have her.

Alexia had never known this kind of restlessness before.

Not even the high pressure matches at Camp Nou, not even the captain’s armband weighing heavy on her sleeve during the Champions League final. None of that came close to the ache she carried now. None of that had kept her up at night like this. Her head pounding, thoughts spiraling, guilt making her physically ill.

She had tried to keep her distance like everyone told her to. Tried to convince herself that maybe space would mend things. But JuJu’s words haunted her.

“She’s grieving someone that’s still alive, and that’s the hardest thing to do.”

It rang in her ears constantly.

She thought about you every day. The little girl who used to trail after her with mismatched socks and wide eyes. Who used to whisper “Lexi, look!” every time she learned a new trick. The teenager who slowly stopped asking for help. The young woman who looked at her now like a stranger. If she looked at her at all.

Alexia knew she couldn’t undo the past. But silence was no longer an option. Not after what she’d done. What she’d failed to do. So instead of another voice memo she’d delete before sending or a curated Instagram post, she picked up a pen.

The letter took her days. Nine pages in her neat, slanted Catalan handwriting.

She didn’t ask for forgiveness. Not once. She just… told the truth. Told you how she had panicked, how fear warped into distance, and how distance turned into something colder. How she had promised your father that she would protect you, love you, raise you the way he would have wanted. And how she failed.

She wrote about how you were brave, so much braver than she had ever been. How she used to watch you sleep when you were a baby, just to make sure you were still breathing. How she’d kept every silly drawing you gave her. Every birthday card. How she still carried your photo in her wallet. How she never stopped loving you.

She didn’t know where to send it. Not directly to your building, she didn’t have the address. Not through your club or your agent. So she showed up at Eli’s door, tears already threatening.

“Mami, please,” she whispered, holding the sealed envelope in trembling hands. “I know you said to give her space, but—she deserves to know. Even if she never speaks to me again. I need her to know the truth.”

Eli said nothing, just stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her daughter. Alexia cried like a child, forehead pressed to her mother’s shoulder, while Eli silently took the letter.

You were already raw that day. You hadn’t slept…again. Something about the trip, the city, this whole event had your emotions prickling at the surface. It had even clung to you in your sweet city, LA. You had gone through the motions, smiled when expected, nodded through meetings, even taken a few photos. But inside? You were cracking.

So when you opened your apartment door and found the letter inside, familiar handwriting, Alexia’s name in the corner of the envelope, you didn’t even make it to the couch.

You dropped right there on the floor. Your knees hit tile. Your hands shook. Deuce rushed over, nuzzling into your side as you held the envelope like it might explode.

And then the tears came down, heavy and inconsolable. You sobbed in gasps that made your ribs ache. The weight of everything—loss, abandonment, betrayal, love… it crushed you all at once. It was like grief had been waiting in your lungs, and the moment your fingers touched that paper, it finally let itself out.

You didn’t open it. You couldn’t. You just clutched it to your chest and wept, forehead resting on your knees, Deuce’s soft whimpers the only sound in the apartment besides your cries.

Eventually, you crawled into bed, letter still clutched in your hand. JuJu came home to find you like that.

At first she thought you were asleep, then she saw the tear tracks, the puffiness around your eyes, the way your fist still gripped the corner of the envelope like a lifeline. She gently slid it from your fingers and read the return address.

She didn’t open it. Didn’t ask questions. Didn’t even touch your arm. She just placed it back down on your pillow, beside your sleeping form, and let you be.

Later that night, you woke up in the dark. The air felt too still. The shadows too loud.

You turned your head slowly and stared at the envelope. It sat there, quietly waiting.

You stared at it for a long time. Long enough that the clock changed minutes. Long enough that the ache in your chest turned into something sharper. You could almost hear her voice. Osita. My baby girl. You hated how much you missed her. You hated that part of you still loved her. But more than anything, you hated the fear that reading that letter might undo you entirely. So you didn’t read it. Not yet.

Both JuJu and Deuce snored in your ear. JuJu’s soft, rhythmic breaths brushing your shoulder while Deuce’s little puffs of air tickled the crook of your neck. One of his paws rested gently on your chest, twitching occasionally as he dreamed. The bed should’ve felt safe like this. It should’ve felt warm. It’s should’ve felt anchored. It should’ve felt loved.

But you were wide awake. Your eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling, unblinking. The shadows cast by the streetlights outside crawled across your room in slow, shifting lines, and the hum of your own thoughts filled the silence left in their wake. It was like your brain refused to let you go. Every breath you took felt too shallow, like you were only pretending to be okay. Like your body was holding itself together with tape and wire.

You didn’t even hear the buzz of your phone, not right away. It was only when the screen lit up that you registered anything outside the mess inside your head.

alba 🤍

I’m not choosing sides. I just miss my sisters being okay.

You blinked and then inhaled shakily. Your thumb hovered over the screen. You read it once. Twice. Five times. You weren’t sure what hurt more, the honesty of it or the fact that she was right. You missed it too. You missed being okay. But you weren’t. You hadn’t been in a long time. And you didn’t know how to get back there.

There had been a time when a message like that from Alba would’ve been enough to break the dam inside you. When you would’ve called her sobbing. When you would’ve begged her to tell you what to do.

But now? Now you just stared at the message as if it were written in a language you no longer understood. Your throat was tight, your chest burning under the weight of a sadness so familiar it had become a second skin. You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. Because choosing not to respond somehow still felt like control in a world where everything else had fallen apart.

Deuce shifted beside you, letting out a tiny sigh in his sleep. JuJu murmured something incoherent and instinctively curled a little closer, wrapping a protective arm around your waist. But even wrapped in their warmth, you felt cold.

You turned your phone over screen-down and closed your eyes. You didn’t cry this time. You just felt the silence press against your ribs like a weight. And just let it sit there.

[artethyst]

˚✧₊⁺˳ Brooding Bats ˳ ₊⁺˳✧

Clark Kent x Wayne!Reader

Where older brothers do sometimes know best… (potential superpower lore for future fics?)

Bruce’s study was cold.

Dark.

Pragmatic.

A contrast to Clark’s ever-present warmth— or at the very least his cosy apartment, filled to the brim with your trinkets mixed with his own.

Sometimes he wondered how you both were related, but he stood his ground.

Sweaty hands clenched at his sides, jaw uncharacteristically tight, but when it came to you, he wouldn't back down— not even to your brother.

Bruce’s voice cut through the silence he thrived in (even though he definitely was finding some cruel enjoyment in the way the man before him squirmed).

“You need to end it.”

Clark blinked slowly, calmly. “I’m not going to do that Bruce.”

Bruce’s glare was sharp as ever. “She’s not safe with you. You know that.”

Clark’s tone stayed quiet, but steady. Something Bruce lacked. “I protect her. All this time—”

“For the record, I’ve never been okay with it.” Clark tilted his head, like a confused puppy. “Even when I thought you were just some snivelling photographer—“

“Journalist.”

Bruce abruptly rose from his chair— expensive, leather. “You draw attention. You have enemies— galactic ones, Kent. They’ll use her to get to you. That makes her a target.”

Clark didn’t flinch.

“And what about you?” His typically warm eyes flashed with a foreign iciness— a hint of steel beneath all the mellowness. “You live in a manor with a cave under it filled with weapons! You…You go out every night picking fights with…With psychopaths! She’s your sister— everyone knows that! Do you think she’s safer with Batman?”

Bruce’s expression darkened. “That’s different. I control my world. You bring in things we can’t even understand…For God’s sake you aren’t even human—“

Clark stepped closer now. “She knows who I am, Bruce.”

Silence.

“She knows. I told her.”

Bruce’s fists tightened. “You what?”

“She has the right to know who she’s trusting her heart with— you think I could hide something for this long? From the person I love? I don’t lie to her.”

The accusation was unspoken— but it was there.

Clark’s voice softened. “She knows I’m Superman. She knew before we ever…” He became coy. “B-Before this became serious. She’s smarter than you give her credit for and she chose to stay. Just like she chooses to pretend she doesn’t notice her brother who disappears every night with cracked ribs and blood on his shoes.”

Bruce’s lip twitched, but he said nothing.

“If you’re going to call me dangerous,” Clark said, his voice calm but unyielding, “then at least be honest about what she’s already survived. From both of us.”

Bruce’s expression twisted— not with hatred, but with that rare, vulnerable rage he only showed when he was scared. He would’ve weaponised it if he had seen it flicker across the face of the man in front of him, but luckily that man was a better one.

Clark took a breath, gentler now. “I love her. And I would die before I let anything happen to her.”

“Don’t make me bury her.” Bruce said, voice rough, not a threat— a plea. Acceptance…Almost.

“Then stop pushing away the people who’d die to protect her too.”

You knew the moment you waltzed into the room that something had happened.

Your brother was stood— not sat in that ugly old chair you knew he liked to pose in, dramatically role playing his Godfather-esque fantasies of intimidation from; jaw ticking in that ‘I just threatened someone’ manner and Clark— oh, your poor Clark.

That sweet, gentle, usually soft-spoken good boy was standing a little too taught— too calm. Even for him. Like he was trying not to look rattled, and failing spectacularly.

Your brother was a good actor, your Kryptonian lover…Not so much.

“…You two are so weird.” You couldn’t even be bothered to dissect it. “The vibe is totally off in this room. Clarkie did you interview him about his Mommy issues again?”

Bruce scoffed and Clark’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “N-No…I— We were uh— were just...talking.”

Bruce, not even attempting a cover-up, huffed. “Debating.”

Clark side-eyed him, unimpressed. “Discussing.”

You crossed your arms. “Right…” You were impatient. A trait Clark regularly found amusing but mildly frustrating at the best of times— not that he could ever hate you for it. “So are you both just going to stand there and continue to pretend you didn’t just lie to me or…Can we leave? Because I must say, you are looking particularly delectable—“

Bruce didn’t bother to mask his expression of disgust as you made heart eyes at your boyfriend. “You shouldn’t be involved with someone like him.” You didn’t catch the double-meaning. “I have rich friends you know. Powerful, too.”

Clark looked mortified, your direct bluntness flustering him even after all this time.

But how could you help it? He was so gentle— so calm. Even after clearly being scorned by your brother (no wonder his only friend was Alfred). You felt a rush of protectiveness disguised as affection so strong it nearly toppled you over.

You pulled a face at the only other Wayne and draped yourself over your boyfriend’s deliciously muscular bicep, wanting nothing more than to smother him with kisses.

“Ignore him. He’s just jealous that money can’t buy gentlemanliness and he’ll be single and lonely forever.”

Clark tried to interject but you had already spun on your patent kitten heels, throwing a vulgar gesture behind your back (one Clark couldn’t see of course).

“Not jealous.”

“Yeah you keep telling yourself that Brucey.”

—

The barren snowscape surrounding the Fortress was quiet.

Eerie.

As though it was all too aware of the true horrors inside the otherwise pristine crystal enclosure— one now stained with you.

Clark held your body in his arms, rocking slowly on his knees, tears rolling down his own bloodied cheeks.

He was a man unafraid of crying.

He had fought— hard.

Hell, even the Justice Gang couldn’t hold off what Luthor had thrown at them this time.

His cape was torn, the city burned, he needed to heal…but he didn’t care. Blood was everywhere— yours. Too much. Too fast. His hand was pressed hard to the wound in your side, but it was too late.

Superman had found him— on that roof, and Lex had taken his winning shot. Not at him this time, but at what mattered most.

You.

Bruce had been right.

“No…No, no, please—” Clark’s voice cracked with his resolve. “Sweetheart stay with me, please— please don’t leave me—”

Your skin was cold.

Colder than the floor he cradled you upon.

Lips blue.

Pulse fading.

His yell was guttural, begging 4, no— Gary to help. To do something— anything.

He felt as though his insides were borne of Kryptonite, a stingingly cruel fate watching you helplessly drift from him and there was nothing he could do.

Bruce— Batman stood over you, his face like stone.

The fight had been long.

Catastrophic.

He knew Clark wasn’t to blame, there had been other casualties. Failed heroes.

It had spilled into Gotham, some joint masterplan, so he had answered the call.

He hadn’t expected his sister to be at the forefront.

His gloved hands moved fast, already poised at the alien console, keying in commands Clark didn’t even want to know how he knew.

Bruce’s stoicism betrayed the ache in his own chest— he was distracting himself. Holding back his own panic by doing what he knew best.

“We can bring her back,” Bruce said lowly. “But it’s risky. And it’s going to hurt.”

Clark looked up, eyes red. “She’s dying Bruce—“ he couldn’t find the air he desperately sought with every choked gasp, “I can’t— She’s—”

“I said I can save her. I mean it.”

A machine unfolded from the wall— The solar infusion chamber. Originally meant to restore Kal-el’s cells…Now hacked. Reprogrammed. Kryptonian tech mixed with Wayne modifications— A gamble.

Clark didn’t have the energy to fight.

He didn’t care to know what your brother had been trying to do— how he knew its location or why he so quickly was able to take control of the system. That wasn’t important now.

“You…You want to fuse her with solar energy?” Clark instinctively shielded your limp form. “She’s human— her…her body can’t—”

“She won’t be for long.”

Clark faltered.

Bruce locked eyes with him. “Joker tried taking everything from me,” he began, wistful, though that appeared to be the extent of his emotional outpouring as he quickly quietened.

Especially to the heartbroken man snivelling in front of him.

“I’m not letting Lex do that to you.” His voice was stern “Put her in the chamber Kent.”

Clark hesitated. You were still. Barely breathing. And yet—

A murmur.

The smallest whisper of a heartbeat only his super hearing could detect. You were still there— just.

He let himself cradle your jaw, thumb shakily caressing the apple of your cheek he wished more than anything would glow with life once more.

He couldn’t live without you.

“Clark!”

The taller man trembled as he gently placed you inside the pod like you were made of paper, hands still shaking even as he pulled away, wanting nothing more than to shield you from harm.

The machine came alive.

Blazing white and gold light poured down on you. The chamber filled with heat so intense even Clark— whose contraption it was, staggered back in suprise.

Then you screamed.

It was worse than anything. Ever.

Clark wished he had never heard it because he knew it would haunt him forevermore, a ghostly memory that would keep him awake for countless nights to come.

Your back arched.

Body convulsing and light pouring from your skin as you wailed in agony, as though it was setting you alight from the inside. He didn’t know whether to cry out in hope— your pain proof of life, or in despair at the sheer suffering.

Clark surged forward, skin prickling as you burned before him. “Turn it off! Bruce she’s—she’s screaming! It’s hurting her—“

Your Brother’s voice reminded steady. “If I stop it now, she dies. You want that Kansas?”

Clark’s dirtied hands clawed at the machine, fruitlessly in an attempt to reach you in some way— anyway. “S-She’s in pain!”

“I know.”

Clark was shaking. His fists against the chamber. “Please...Please…” He closed his eyes as your screeching persisted, desiring only to help you— take the pain away, absorb it himself if he could. Trade his life for yours.

He had failed you.

Silence.

The chamber unlocked.

Your body slumped forward.

Clark dropped to his knees again, catching you just before you fell. He cupped your face, memorising every feature— picturing the way you would wake up every morning with a sleepy frown and bleary eyes, his name on your lips. “Sweetheart please…Please come back to me. Please…” His begging was pathetic, but he didn’t care.

Your eyes fluttered open.

Gold.

Not human.

Like the sun had stolen your soul and refused to let it go until you surrendered to its magnitude— alight.

You gasped in his arms as you caught your breath and Clark choked out a cry— half-laugh, half-sob, burying his face into your bloodied hair.

“You’re here,” he rocked you in disbelief. “You’re here, you’re alive! I’m— I’m so sorry I—“

You reached up, dazed, your hand dusting his cheek, “C-Clark?” A glittering warmth blooming where your fingers had touched— the bruises on his jaw begging to fade.

Clark stilled.

You blinked.

“S-Sunshine has a whole new m-meaning to it now huh babe?” Your voice was meek— an attempted joke at the fond nickname he had taken to giving you. Jesus you sounded rough (not like you had died or anything).

His dimples showed but the joy didn’t quite reach his eyes which were still wet with tears— as if he couldn’t quite believe you were talking.

Bruce cleared his throat, face unreadable. “You’re glowing.”

Your neck ached as you turned, surprised at the sound of your brother’s voice.

“…Does that mean I’m a Superhero?” Another joke to mask the unease you felt crawling across your pearlescent complexion, your Lover’s familiar hands a welcome distraction.

Clark pulled back to look at you properly— tear tracks down his cheeks, still holding you like you might vanish.

“You’re part solar now,” Bruce said, a little too casually. “Your cells absorbed it. Mutated.“ Clark held your hand to his heart, afraid of ever letting go again. “The look is temporary. You’ll go back to normal soon. Until you use your…powers, again. I imagine.”

“You saved me,” you whispered, your forehead touching the man’s above you. “You were hurt but you brought me all the way here—“

Clark shook his head, eyes full of awe. “You saved me. You always do.”

“So nobody is going to thank the genius?” A grumble came from behind you.

You leaned into his touch. “So….” You swallowed nervously, “I suppose I’m an alien too now.”

Clark let himself grin, slowly, nose brushing yours. “You’re still you, just...brighter.”

You did a double take at your hands, still glowing faintly, rotating them gently with a mirroring twinkle to your eye. All it took was one more look at Clark for you to wrap your arms around him as tightly as you could.

“I’ll never let him touch you again.” He knew you meant it. You could be scarier than any villain he had ever faced.

“Isn’t that supposed to be my line Sunshine?” He shook his head in disbelief, not quite believing you were still safe or you had the strength to joke at a time like this. “You’re really somethin’ huh?” His accent slipping as his heart did to his stomach— adrenaline dissipating.

“But you love me.”

“That I do darlin’,” a deep kiss to your cooling cheek, “That I do.”

For a moment there was silence again— this time peaceful.

“…Brucey?”

“Yeah?”

“Why are you dressed like Batman?”

…

—

The Fortress was quiet now. Well, save for the hum of the solar chamber cooling down and the distant echo of Gary milling around.

Your brother— Batman, which you were still too dazed to even process, had left (after a very awkward hug from an even more grateful Clark who had to be practically peeled off of the disgruntled man).

You sat on the edge of the healing table, legs swinging, wrapped in a soft Kryptonian cloak Clark had draped around you— his cloak, despite protests you were fine and he still needed to be coddled too.

Your skin faintly glowed, like your veins were drawn in gold, but your hair had returned to a more natural shade and your fingers had stopped sparking— thank God.

Clark hovered at your side— figuratively and literally.

He hadn’t stopped touching you.

His hand on yours. His shoulder against yours. His eyes never leaving your face— like if he looked away for even a second, you might slip through his fingers again.

You weren’t complaining, but it was starting to feel a little stifling— especially considering the other circumstances which had your flesh itching like a wildfire.

“You keep staring,” you mumbled, voice hoarse.

“I…I almost lost you,” he murmured back, as if the words were too painful to admit. “I’m going to keep staring for a while.”

You smiled softly. “It’s strange…” You let a nails run across your exposed thigh (you could kill Lex yourself for ruining an archival Dior piece). “Not bad. Just... like there’s something burning under my skin.”

Clark gently took your hand— as if you were made of glass and not pure sunlight. “I’ll help you figure it out. Every step.” And he meant it. Wholeheartedly.

You closed your eyes. “What if I can’t control it?” It came out so quiet you were surprised you had even said it.

“Then I’ll be your anchor. You’ve been mine this whole time.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “You’re so mushy Smallville…”

He guffawed and you giggled as he flapped around, bewildered how you could turn it into a bad thing, so flippant whist your blood still stained his suit.

But he loved you, and you loved him.

With everything in you both.

“So…The Batman thing—“

“Can we talk about that later?” He sighed, his stray curl limp against his temple. You glared as his eyes widened in error. “P-Please?”

—

Miles away, in a lair just as bleak— in a different way, Lex Luthor reviewed the security footage.

It should’ve been victory.

The final blow against Superman.

Instead he watched you scream— burning. Rising from the ashes like an otherworldly being…glowing, golden— alive.

His face twisted in frustration. “No…”

He had intended to kill, but instead had created a new weapon— a creature of pure light. Bonded to Superman, more powerful together than either had been apart.

“Enhanced cellular regeneration…” He spat. “She’s radiating controlled solar output now. Like a living Kryptonian capacitor!” His hand swiped across the desk, shattering whatever had innocently lay before him.

“She can heal him,” Lex growled. “He’ll never bleed again!” His hand curled into a fist. “I gave him a god.”

The monitor he cursed was cracked— screen frozen on the moment his camera had captured you looking utterly ethereal.

Golden eyes bright with unrestrained power…And love.

Lex knew, then, he had made the biggest mistake of his life.

[sluttyminghao]

I was trying to think of a nsfw prompt since I’ve seen your post and the only one that keeps coming to mind is

“Fucking the CEO” with the CEO either being Wonwoo or Mingyu.

If you like this prompt and choose to write something thank you so much! 🩷

You’re organising the files on your desk when you hear the low creak of his office door. “You’re still here,” Wonwoo murmurs, voice dipped in amusement. “Either you’re incredibly devoted… or you’re trying to get my attention.”

You look up from your files. He’s standing in his doorway, jacket off, sleeves rolled just past his elbows, and the top two buttons of his shirt undone. He looks like he’s walked off a magazine spread, exuding confidence, but his look is unreadable, and a little too powerful for your own good.

“And if I said both?” you say, pushing a little just to see him react. He tilts his head slightly at you, his eyes narrowing with a slow smile. “Then I’d say I need to give you more attention.”

He walks back into his office, but he doesn’t close the door, providing an unspoken invitation. You follow him in, barely aware of how fast your heart is beating. He doesn’t look at you at first; he just walks over to his desk, leans back against it, and crosses his arms as he watches you step in.

“Shut the door,” he says softly. You do.

“Lock it.” Your hand hesitates over the lock for half a second before obeying with a soft click. The moment it shuts, the air shifts and becomes charged, warm, and electric.

“You always dress so sweet,” he says, eyes dragging down your body with deliberate slowness. “All polished and professional. But I can see the way you look at me across the boardroom table.”

You flush, but you don’t deny it. You’ve thought about this, him, far too many times. “I wonder what you'd do if I asked you to sit on my desk,” he continues, voice velvet-soft. “Not to work, but just to look pretty, and to let me admire how well my assistant obeys.”

You swallow hard, your voice nearly caught in your throat.

“Wonwoo...”

“Did I say you could use my name like that?” he interrupts gently.

His gaze burns into you, and you're suddenly, very fully aware of how alone you are in this building. “Sit,” he says, motioning to the edge of the desk.

You do, and he steps between your knees, eyes heavy-lidded, with one hand bracing the desk beside you, and the other reaching up to trace the edge of your collar. “I haven’t even touched you yet,” he murmurs, “and you’re already trembling.”

“Maybe you should,” you whisper. His smile sharpens into something dangerous and satisfied. He leans in, lips brushing the corner of your mouth, never quite kissing, just teasing. “If I start,” he breathes, “I’m not stopping until you're ruined for anyone else in this building.”

His lips hover just near yours, never touching them, just breathing the same air. His fingers curl around your thigh now, slowly drawing your skirt higher until his thumb brushes against bare skin.

“You want this?” he asks, voice low, but not unsure. “Yes.”

“Say it again.” You hold his gaze, even as your heart tries to pound out of your chest. “I want you, Wonwoo. I want this...I want you.”

His composure falters for a second, and you see the exact moment he snaps. One hand slides into your hair and pulls your mouth to his in a kiss that’s not polite or tentative, it’s full-blown possessive. Like he’s finally giving himself permission to take what he's been holding back.

He lifts you effortlessly onto the desk, his name slipping past your lips again, but this time muffled by another kiss, deeper than the first. Your legs wrap around his waist like instinct, and his grip tightens, keeping you right where he wants you.

“You’ve been driving me crazy for weeks,” he murmurs between kisses, trailing them down your jaw. “Walking into meetings like you don’t know what you do to me.”

You gasp when he presses his hips to yours; there are no barriers now between how badly he wants you and how badly you need him. He grinds slowly and deliberately, dragging his mouth down to your neck. “You're mine tonight,” he growls against your skin. “And when I’m done, you won’t forget it.”

Your hands fumble at the buttons of his shirt; he lets you, but only lets you get so far before grabbing your wrists and pinning them down against the desk. His gaze darkens. “Careful,” he warns, teasing but serious. “You're already pushing your luck.”

“And if I keep pushing?”

He leans closer, lips ghosting your ear. “Then I’ll make sure your knees still feel it at your 9 a.m. meeting.”

You don’t back down, you only smile at him, and that’s all the permission he needs. The lights stay on while the city glows outside. And Jeon Wonwoo, usually all cool logic and unreadable calm, spends the rest of the night showing you what it’s like when control gives way to obsession.

[loganficsonly]

. ݁⋆ ۶ৎ ݁˖ . ݁ fic + writer recs 2‎ . ݁⋆ ۶ৎ ݁˖ . ݁

recs masterlist

I’m back with another fic-slash-writer’s recommendations! Some of these authors have already been featured but I’m highlighting different work. Most of these are Bucky fics (again…) but I’ve started reading Clark Kent x reader fics and let me tell you, it’s sending me to a different dimension. GAHHHHH

⚠️ Some NSFW works below! Minors please do not interact. The rest of you, proceed with caution.

In alphabetical order:

🍀 @barnesonly wrote an extremely sweet and hot first time sex fic that is guaranteed to ruin your expectations of real life men—as it should. Consent? Hot. Care? Hot. “I want to make you feel so good, baby”? Sign me the fuck uppp 😩

I stumbled upon 🍀 @buckysouvenir ‘s fic just a dress and it was such a comforting, steady read. She writes Bucky’s constant affection so well, and not without the kind of tension that keeps you at the edge of your seat. It’s my first fic of hers and I look forward to devour their masterlist!

Just when I thought Liv 🍀 @cursedheartsclub knocked it out of the park with about time, she went and wrote to whom it may concern, and not a single ounce of me is joking when I tell you it made me want to quit writing. Have you ever read something so good you put your hands up and ask what’s the point of you trying? That fic was that for me 😭🤌 PLEASE GO READ IT. Also Liv has been busy and there are soooo many hot fics that I need to catch up on. This one is so fucking crazy. AND THIS ONE. AND THIS ONE TOO. LIV HOW DO YOU KEEP DOING THIS??? YOUR BUCKY WINDS ME UP WITHOUT FAIL LIKE A TOY someone stop her, she’s too powerful!   

I read the legendary 🍀 @eupheme ‘s through the garden some time ago and was just struck by the painterly-ness of that fic. I don’t know if this’ll make sense but it makes me feel the same type of way as looking at an impressionist painting. So beautifully written (and hot) in a hazy, dappled, poetic interpretation of reality. ALSO, I was guilty of ghost-reading sugar, sugar around the time it came out so consider this atonement. That series is beloved among the many Logan x reader fics okay? It’s so sweet and real and sexy and every time I write lines for Wade, I remember her. It’s not enough that she’s amazing at portraying Logan’s depth of emotions, she’s a master at dialog for Wade—and that says a lot because we know he has a specific voice. 

🍀 @imtaashu comes up with the sweetest, dangerous-for-your-blood-sugar fics that you can possibly think of. All of them will leave you wondering if a real person could possibly love you that much. If you’ve had a hard day, if you’re not feeling the best, I guarantee you reading her stuff will make you feel better 💕 This one’s my favorite so far, but the social media ones are all so good. Kicking my feet giggling at this one! 

Another one that made me want to quit writing (lmao is my period coming? but also they’re genuinely so good pls believe me)—🍀 @lolobeey ‘s Unauthorized Response. I will keep this fic in my notes and study it foreverrr 😭😭😭It’s a masterclass in twisting something trope-y (forced proximity) and pushing it to its very limits until it’s wrong to call it trope-based, because the result is so original. Also a masterclass in portraying context and well-researched plot devices that makes the fic that much more immersive. It didn’t just feel like I was watching a movie, it felt like I was in it. I was in a movie. As one of the main characters. Seriously, I admire the level of detail and thought in this. ALSO IT”S THEIR FIRST SMUT LIKE WTF? If you read my first smut you’d look at me different. I cannot recommend this fic more, please please please go read it I’m begging on my knees.

Van 🍀 @lostinlovingrevery responded to an ask by @tl-c-sugarskulls about Logan and a reader who wears glasses and it is enough to send me into a catatonic state. I am so unwell. There’s a second part, too, and that made me even more unwell. Like you don’t understand how powerful Van is because her mere thoughts are enough to drive me in-fucking-sane for Logan 🫨 And I don’t say this just as a person who wears glasses!!!

🍀 @mandoalorian ‘s five-part series lessons in love has me SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP. It has Congressman!Bucky, friends to lovers, TEACHING SEXY STUFF WITH NO STRINGS ATTACHED??? I can feel the emotional tension feeding into the physical tension through my phone screen. This series is absolutely dripping with it and you know I love it when that happens. And Bucky yearns so bad 😭 I’m also a sucker for big strong men being tested to their limits by a reader who they absolutely want to get their hands on… But seriously the way this is written is tear-your-ribcage-open feels and absolute sexiness. 

Tell Me I’m Your National Anthem by 🍀 @pinksplace is a Bucky x campaign manager!reader triumph that is a delight to read from start to finish. How is this your first fic after five years, darling? I love the portrayal of the reader here (I enjoy pretending I’m some type of girlboss who knows what they’re doing) and the scenes are sooo good and realistic to the setting. Bucky getting a haircut to improve his image. Doing an adoption drive as part of his campaign??? ALPINE IS IN THIS THING??? What the fuck are you doing if you haven’t read this fic yet??? Read it now 😭 (I’ve run out of eloquence to describe how good this fic is. Please trust me.) 

🍀 @rosesaints is a phenomenal writer, this we all know. Her series best guess? I can’t even begin to describe. It’s a perfect cocktail of secret (?) relationships, sexual tension, EMOTIONAL TENSION STITCHING ITSELF ON THE SAME LAYER AS SEXUAL TENSION, incredibly funny lines, and smut so well-written you’ll be out of breath. BECAUSE I FUCKING WAS 😭Also it has switch vibes and I’m suchhh a slut for that.

🍀 @sceletaflores ‘s Clark Kent fic is filthy, dirty, messy, and will leave you a puddle wherever you stand (you shouldn’t stand while reading this fic, your knees will buckle). And I mean all of those in the complimentary sense of the word. I thoroughly enjoyed how ruined he was even when he was the one doing the ruining. I think this was the fic that got me into a Superman spiral. (He swears during sex, I think we all can get on board with that, yes?)   

🍀 @superbassbuck !!!! She is an enemies-to-lovers master, I tell you. I was on an overseas vacation when I chanced upon her single dad!Bucky x teacher!reader series and I stayed up all through the night reading every single one of its 60k+ words. It was an emotional rollercoaster from start to finish and when I got off the ride, it felt very out of body. Delicious, delicious enemies-to-lovers tension, with beautiful set-ups and banter. Tastefully placed cuteness with Bucky’s daughter Becca (😭PROTECT HER!!!). The smut and angst were explosive and extremely well-executed. As someone who’s tried multi-fic writing, this series feels beautifully planned and patient, never rushing. Truly a feat. GORGEOUS. Also she wrote this super fun AU and it’s still soooo fucking hot, like… how do you do it girl 😭😭😭😭😭

If there’s a 🍀 @viviale Logan drabble on my dash, I’m immediately clicking read more. They ooze character depth, and Logan is written in a way that feels so real, it’s honestly impressive. This might have been the first piece of writing I’ve read from her, and since then she’s come up with bangers like this one and Eyes Don’t Lie. The latter is fluffy but not in a saccharine sweet way—more like a calming cup of tea, if that makes sense. It’s comfortable even when portraying moments of discomfort, and reeks with meaning even when dialog is sparse. Amazing job! 

always happy to get recs from others!

[urhoneycombwitch]

hey remember that time you said our husky neighbor is into free use? cos I sure as shit do 🫠

not that I’ve been thinking about it all day, nope not me, noooooooooooo way 👀

Sarah with your blessing I'm officially launching the not-so-secret thought I've had since the inception of husky neighbor Eddie that he's at LEAST 40 years of age and breaks into the big wide world of BDSM and kink with your guidance and (not very) subtle conversations about Well wouldn't it be nice if we learned together... 💞💞💞

stg it takes a singular jokey TikTok link or random turn of phrase for Eddie to apply his incredibly impressive deep dive/research-oriented mind to the topic. 'come over' and 'wyd' texts go crazyyyy after that.

cw: free use kink, unprotected PiV, plussized/fat reader w a vagina, husky!neighbor!Eddie (more of him here!), mention of somno

*modern time setting below read at ur own risk I know it's not everyone's jam* *also this may not technically be free use-specific I'm j using my imagination*

___

it's 3AM and you both happen to be up and bored. Eddie's been fisting his cock to a polaroid of you he keeps in his bedside drawer (bc he's still old school at heart. and dick) lazily, wondering if it's worth a sext but not wanting to wake you.

he figures worst outcome is you see it when you wake up, get a little hot and bothered before your shift, squirm at your little office chair and make a mess of your undies that he'll just have to help clean up once you're off.

yr thighs are so fucking hot. wish I was between em right t now

Eddie hits send despite the errors because he's one hand down and the thought of you sitting on his face has his toes actively clenching under the sheets just to tamp down the wave of pleasure that threatens his sanity.

your ellipses appears so quick Eddie's worried he woke you until your response appears-

funny. just woke up from a dream where I was drowning in yours. u psychic or something?

Eddie mutters a swear under his breath. tightens his precum-soaked fist to drag upwards, maddeningly slow, as he types-

could make your dreams come trueif you want

Eddie thinks he can almost hear your tinkling giggle through the walls, across the hall, like it’s only the two of you in the still, dark night. he's not sure if his AC stopped working or if the heat radiating off his body is a natural response to the thought of you. 

another text appears-

don't cum without me. kinda the whole point of free use :(

Eddie chuckles, shakily, glad that Frank chose the couch to sleep on and shoots off door's unlocked before shoving his phone away, refocusing his efforts on his aching cock, head tipping back into his pillows, waiting for the sweet sounds of your footsteps.

he doesn’t need to wait long. like a waking dream, you appear, backlit softly by nightlight as you bend to press your lips to Eddie’s.

he’s not gentle, this time, free hand cupping the back of your bare thigh at the hem of your oversized t-shirt, pulling you closer, groaning when he’s greeted with nothing underneath.

your tongue slips against his, a flash of teeth in his bottom lip as Eddie trails his fingers between your thighs, moaning in tandem as he finds the beating heart of your clit. 

there’s already a river of slick for him to dip into your entrance, encouraging your legs apart, your right knee coming up to dip into the mattress beside his hip as his middle finger slides into a warm, wet home. 

your hands are just as hungry as his. wandering over the broad expanse of his chest, dipping lower, shoving the sheets aside and replacing his dick stroking with your own. you start up a rhythm that has Eddie’s stomach tensing, a sharp inhale as he cradles the back of your skull, stuttering as he whispers- 

“h-hi. honey. gonna make me cum if you keep that up.”

Eddie doesn’t need better lighting to know you’re pouting as your leg swings to settle yourself on his stomach, arm twisted behind yourself to keep the stiff length of him in your grasp. 

“not without me, though. you promised.”

“fuck, me.” it’s an exaltation. 

you smell sleep-sweet and feel like the softest thing Eddie’s ever touched as you borrow your face into his neck, lining him up with your entrance.

any protests about needing or wanting to prep you dies on Eddie’s lips as his cock slides into the tight channel of your cunt, nothing but a gentle exhale from you as your hips grind impossibly further down. 

Eddie squeezes the hell out of the plush fat above your hips, holding on as you both find the rocking motion that sends the head of his cock into that upper spot that turns your brain into mush and steals Eddie’s speech, every time.

it’s nearly effortless, the push and pull of your bodies, the short movements of two people dangerously close to the edge. Eddie can’t remember the last time you’ve come so soon- his hand slides over to press his thumb against your clit, and your weight trembles around him, just the way he likes.

“that’s it, sweetheart,” he coaxes, still whispering through gritted teeth. “you cum for me now and I’ll let ya sleep over. do it all again in the morning.”

not that you’d ever have to earn it, but the idea is exciting enough that your walls tighten in anticipation, your teeth sinking into that tender spot between shoulder and neck as your orgasm washes over you both.

Eddie doesn’t last long after that, not with the way your whines increase with each thrust, beckoning him over the edge with you, cock being wrung dry with the force of your squeezing.

in the quiet afterglow there are more slow kisses and panting and reorienting; Eddie’s never been more grateful for the apartment layout of an attached bath because it takes you no time at all to clean up and be snuggled back in his arms.

dozing off, Eddie’s biceps across your chest like a cozy cage, you murmur, “you’ll wake me up in the morning like that, right? don’t care if I’m still sleepin’.”

Eddie resists the urge to give you a matching hickey for saying such things when he’s trying to bring you both back to a resting heartrate. “yeah, sweetheart. can have me any way you want. race you to dreamland.”

[clowfish]

Yes!!! I’ve always wondered about the other hunters of 12

In Catching Fire, katniss says that when gale’s dad died, “even then, he [gale] was a skilled trapper” already. This implies gale had experience hunting in the woods even before meeting katniss or his father’s death. He was only fourteen, I wonder how did he learn? Did his own father teach him, like katniss’s? Was his dad a hunter?

Katniss never really runs across anyone else in the woods and her POV generally makes it seem as though the woods are solitary to only her and gal despite that “the few of us” comment. But if you really look at it, a lot more people probably enter the woods than it seems. (SUNRISE ON THE REAPING SPOILERS UNDER CUT!!!)

in sotr we see such casual existence of people beyond the fence. Burdock takes Haymitch to the woods several times, theyve skinny dipped, and I’d assume that he has probably taken other close friends there too. Haymitch doesn’t really exhibit or express much fear in these moments, even as a young child. Hattie has her whole bootlegging business stationed in the woods. Lenore Dove is chilling out in the trees as a kid (ofc, she’s covey and thus probably most likely to ignore the fence regardless lol). Also, Haymitch says that “the Everdeens are hunters”, implying there are more hunters than just Burdock!! How did he learn? Has the skill been passed down in his family? Are there other Everdeen hunters out there?

I think I just wish Katniss wasn’t such a recluse socially and we actually got more insight into how other kids view the woods lol bc it seems like it was a lot more carefree in sotr. I find it hard to believe there aren’t more rebellious groups of friends traipsing under the fence out of curiosity. Then again, it is also possible that the fear mongering surrounding the woods may have been amped up between Haymitch’s time and Katniss’s

Katniss and Gale aren’t the only ones who hunt in District 12.

Katniss says that most people aren’t brave enough to go into the woods with only a knife. And some people cross the fence to pick apples.

But Katniss explicitly states “Most of the Peacekeepers turn a blind eye to the few of us who hunt because they’re as hungry for fresh meat as anybody is”.

Meaning more than her and Gale. They might not being as successful as them but other people do in fact hunt/ gather too.

It’s a small detail but an important one.

It’s speaks the defiant and resilient nature of District 12, people who are pushed so far to the brink of death.

When bent the people of District 12 don’t break they snap back.

[heesmiles]

I’ve been looking forward to reading one of Yun’s fics for a while now and i had some time tonight to read so i thought why not choose this one!! It intrigued me and ofc it’s beomgyu so here we gooooo!

Beomgyu tried to play it off—he really did. He kept up his flawless cocky attitude with his friends and strangers alike. He laughed too loud, flirted shamelessly, tossed casual remarks like he hadn’t just been wrecked in a way he never saw coming. - typical gyu

Because every time he licked his lips, he swore he could still taste you.- EHEHE GIGGILING stopppp

Because right in the middle of it all, you stood with your flawless stance of a shooter, arm extended, trigger steady. Your aura alone was completely indecipherable, just like last night. He was sure if he got closer, your expression would be too. - hot af tbh i’m living for this

"So," he drawled as he took position in the station next to you, tone light like he wasn’t trying to crawl under your skin and twist, "was last night just an experiment? Or were you trying to teach me a lesson?" - THID BANTER PLS HES SO HOT

i’m loving the way reader has bite, she’s not taking any shit from beomgyu and she’s bantering right back. Beomgyu is so fucking hot but reader is MATCHING HIS ENERGY and i’m living for that. she’s not some weak little mouse for him to push around and play with. No, she’s got just as much fight in her and i think the match is one made in heaven for sure.

Your head tilted, eyes glinting with quiet satisfaction as you turned to face him fully, your expression unreadable except for the faint uptick of one brow. “I do enjoy a challenge.” - SEE WHAT I MEAN. she’s such a badass god i love it

“You talk big,” he murmured, voice dipping just enough to send a slow, curling heat through your stomach. “Wonder if you’ll hold up when the tables turn.” - and i’m betting she will

The other two snorted, and even the manager laughed. Your gaze flickered toward Beomgyu. The light from the window caught in his hair. The soft glow making him look almost golden. Ror a moment, you wondered how could someone so insufferable also be so… maddeningly charming? - the absolute best way to describe him for real

Then there were the fleeting touches. Fingers that brushed against each other as you reached for the same silver tray. A fleeting press of his foot beneath the table, one that made contact and then vanished as if it had never been there. When you finally rose from your seat to excuse yourself, murmuring something inconsequential about fresh air, Beomgyu leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming lightly against his glass, eyes never once leaving your disappearing body in the crowd. - THE YEARN I FEEL PLS THE YEARN.

Even now, the image returned too vividly. It stirred something warm and unwelcoming in your chest, creeping lower to your stomach. You exhaled sharply, as if the motion alone could dispel the feeling, almost scoffing at yourself. You wiped your hands clean and tossed the paper towel into the bin without looking. - JUST TOUCH EACHOTHER ALREADY

"Caught you," he murmured. - ok…yeah, um yeah ….

“Satisfy me.” - FUIIFXUIYTDUUOOBCDEYY. i’m nonchalant

Beomgyu was a pretty man - well yes

“How else do you want me to look at you?” he murmured, voice raw, almost pleading. “Because I don’t know how to look at you any other way.” - oh i’m on my knees. you got me

Beomgyu gaped at you. For a heartbeat, he looked as though you had spoken a foreign language, and he was trying to translate the meaning behind every syllable. He barely restrained the smile that followed. You saw the way he bit down on it, the way the corners of his mouth twitched despite himself. - he’s so cute i need him so bad.

Stop, i loved this omfg. like i mentioned before i love the way the reader bit back. even in the smut she wasn’t letting beomgyu have complete control it was like a game of cat and mouse except there was no mouse and they’re were both cat’s hissing and bitting at eachother. It was hot, and intense and god i loved it omggg.

give me 10 of them thank you!

Just a Game? || Choi Beomgyu

Beomgyu wasn’t one to be caught off guard, wasn’t one to lose control of the game.

But you? You’d rewritten the rules entirely.

Choi Beomgyu x afab!reader

⊹₊⟡⋆ 11k

[MDNI] smut warning: explicit sexual content, kissing [lots of it lol], sexual tension, enemies/rivals to lovers type shit, slight body worship, kinda switch!beomgyu, kinda switch!reader, oral (fem receiving), fingering, multiple sex positions, unprotected sex (not huzzah!), pull out method [probably missed some]

RE-WRITTEN VERSION. This is a continuation of Beomgyu's part from my Seven Minutes In Heaven fic! So I suggest reading it for better understanding of some of the context of this fic. A BIIIIIIIIIIIG THANK YOU TO THE LOML @dawngyu for beta reading this fic and also hyping me up through over 40 comments <3 Reblogging/feedbacks will be much appreciated!

© filmsbyun ── please do not copy, translate, or repost my work without permission.

The moment you walked out of that closet, you disappeared like smoke.

Beomgyu spent the next ten minutes searching for you. He wove through the party, scanning every corner, every group of people, every possible place you would have slipped away to. But you were gone. Completely vanished into the crowd, leaving him restless, his pulse still erratic from what had just happened.

Beomgyu tried to play it off—he really did. He kept up his flawless cocky attitude with his friends and strangers alike. He laughed too loud, flirted shamelessly, tossed casual remarks like he hadn’t just been wrecked in a way he never saw coming.

But he was failing miserably.

Because every time he licked his lips, he swore he could still taste you.

And every time he closed his eyes, he could still feel the way your fingers had tangled in his hair, the way your lips had moved against his—languidly yet so achingly dominating, so different from anything he’d ever experienced before.

Then what did you do? You’d left him in there, standing like an idiot, and he hated—no, loathed—that you’d managed to slip away before he could say or do anything.

Despite his tremendous effort trying to act normal, anyone paying attention would’ve noticed how his gaze flickered to the door every few minutes. How his fingers tapped restlessly against his thigh. How the phantom feeling of your lips against his refused to leave him alone, haunting him like a ghost. His mind replayed it in loops like a broken cassette player, and he kept dissociating more than once throughout the rest of the night. All he could think of was the way you had pushed him, the way your mouth had claimed his, the way you had left him breathless and pathetically undone.

Beomgyu wasn’t one to be caught off guard, wasn’t one to lose control of the game.

But you? You’d rewritten the rules entirely.

It wasn’t until the next day at practice that he saw you again.

The scent of gunpowder greeted him the moment he stepped into the arena. Muffled voices murmured from the observation area, barely audible beneath the rhythmic crack of gunfire. Targets flipped back and forth, fresh paper replacing the perforated ones, scores lighting up on the monitors. Beomgyu couldn't give a damn about all that today.

Because right in the middle of it all, you stood with your flawless stance of a shooter, arm extended, trigger steady. Your aura alone was completely indecipherable, just like last night. He was sure if he got closer, your expression would be too.

Beomgyu exhaled sharply through his nose, jaw ticking with the effort to keep his composure. There was no universe where he was letting this go. Not after the way you had walked out of that closet like you hadn’t just scrambled his entire nervous system with a kiss that still burned behind his eyes.

He took his time to close the space between you. He knew you felt him and it filled him with a twisted kind of thrill. You were giving him exactly what he wanted; he wanted you to sense him approaching before he even spoke, even if you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of turning around.

"Didn’t know ghosts practiced here," he said, voice pitched just above the noise of the shooting range.

You didn’t so much as even pretend to acknowledge him beyond the next squeeze of your trigger. "Didn’t know sore losers did either."

His lips curled. There it was—that fire, that grit, that spark you always threw back at him like a glove to the face. He lived for this. For you. For the way you gave as good as you got. He craved that bite from you like a shameless man.

"So," he drawled as he took position in the station next to you, tone light like he wasn’t trying to crawl under your skin and twist, "was last night just an experiment? Or were you trying to teach me a lesson?"

You finally turned to face him, expression perfectly composed, except for the ghost of a smirk at the corner of your lips. “Does it matter?”

It mattered more than he could say without ruining the game. 

Oh, you enjoyed this. It drove him insane. He wanted to wipe that smirk off your lips—wanted to see just how far he had to push before you cracked.

Beomgyu clicked his tongue, shaking his head as if disappointed. “Let’s make a bet.”

He lifted his pistol, the barrel pointing straight at the target ahead. From his peripheral he could see the slight tilt of your head as if you couldn’t catch up to his implications. Seriously, you knew how to drive him insane, didn’t you? Was it on purpose to piss him off or not, Beomgyu unfortunately could never decipher you.

You turned back to face your own lane. “I don’t take bets I can’t win.”

“That’s funny,” he shot back, tilting his head, “neither do I.”

Your fingers flexed around your gun. The challenge was bait, and you’d both taken it before. He knew you wouldn't resist. Not when there was a challenge in front of you. Especially not when it was him offering it.

“Alright,” you said finally, shifting your grip. “What’s at stake?”

He stepped in, closer now, until he was just inside your periphery. "If I win," he said, his voice dipping low, almost coaxing, "you owe me a redo."

The slightest hitch of your breath and Beomgyu swore he caught it. He saw the way your lips parted slightly, the way your shoulders tensed for a split second before you masked it just as quickly, expression back to obscure.

“And if I win?” You shot back coolly.

Beomgyu leaned in, his breath warm against your skin, just enough to set your pulse alight. “Then I’ll do whatever you want.”

Your eyes locked onto his. You’ll let him have his fun. The corners of your mouth twitched before you nodded lazily. “Deal.”

Beomgyu's smirk deepened, pulling tight across his face, brimming with anticipation. His fingers curled around his pistol, knuckles flexing as he straightened to his full height. "Try to keep up, then."

The crack of his first shot split the air. It took you a heartbeat to answer. Sly bastard didn’t even bother to give a head start. Shot for shot, neither of you faltering. Beomgyu heard the murmurs of onlookers, the suffocating tension as the scoreboard lit up after each round. The room may as well have disappeared—it was just you and him, locked in a battle of ego and thirst for control.

“You’re good,” Beomgyu admitted, lining up his next shot. “But not that good.”

You barely blinked as you fired again, your bullet slicing through dead center. “You sure about that?”

His eyes flicked to the scoreboard. His jaw clenched. The scores were neck and neck and neither of you were willing to give ground. Heat prickled down his spine, each round sharpening the tension until it coiled in his chest like a loaded spring. He adjusted his grip, rolled his shoulders, tongue flicking over his bottom lip, and inhaled through flared nostrils. 

You were good. No—you were better than good. Worse was that you were absolutely certain of it.

Final round.

Beomgyu inhaled slowly, steadying himself. His shot landed just shy of the perfect mark. He exhaled through his nose, rolling his wrists. One last chance for you to slip up.

You took your shot right after he did.

Bullseye.

The scoreboard flashed. Your score eclipsed his.

Beomgyu’s grin faltered for just a second before he let out a slow chuckle, shaking his head. He ran a hand through his long hair, pushed it back as he looked at you. "Well, damn."

You turned toward him, your smirk a mirror of the one he’d worn earlier, only more taunting. "Guess I won."

His gaze raked over your face, trying and failing to school the chaos flickering behind his eyes. There was heat there, and frustration, along with admiration that twisted low in his stomach. He swallowed it all with another shake of his head. "Guess you did."

You stepped in close, voice dropping just enough to make his stomach tighten. “Looks like you owe me now.”

With that you turned away, leaving him behind with the echoes of the match still ringing in his ears. He stayed there, gun slack in his grip, breath caught between a laugh and a curse, staring after you like he was utterly at your mercy.

He let out a breathless laugh, hands settling on his hips. His heart was still pounding. His pride was bruised. And his grin—God, his grin stretched wide now, teeth flashing as he watched you disappear behind the doors of the arena.

He was so, so screwed.

And he wanted nothing more than to chase you down and lose again.

The locker room was nearly silent, save for the occasional rustling of curtains and the distant mechanical hum of ventilation overhead. You were alone, until the door creaked open behind you slowly, the sound dragging like a fingernail against concrete.

“You really think you can just walk away after that?”

His voice licked a ripple down your spine. You didn’t turn to face him. Instead, you adjusted the strap of your bag, letting the silence stretch just a second longer before responding.

“You seemed fine last night,” you remarked, tone as cool as ever. Since you’ve already had the upper hand from winning the match, why shouldn’t you twist the knife a little deeper? “Figured you moved on.”

Beomgyu scoffed, the sound punctuated by the definitive click of the door closing behind him. “Not even close.”

Your lips curled slightly. “That’s a shame.”

Beomgyu stayed where he was. His gaze burned with a fire so intense that it engulfed the space between you before he even reached you. It didn’t matter if he was a few paces away—he was already in your orbit, drawing you in whether you wanted it or not.

“You really don’t care, do you?”

You hummed, pretending to consider. “Should I?”

Oh, you were enjoying this.

He could see it now—the nasty flicker of amusement in your eyes when you finally glanced over your shoulder. You weren’t avoiding him.  You were waiting to see what he’d do next.

Beomgyu let out a breathless laugh, shaking his head. “You caught me off guard,” he admitted, voice quieter now. “I’ll give you that.”

Your head tilted, eyes glinting with quiet satisfaction as you turned to face him fully, your expression unreadable except for the faint uptick of one brow. “I do enjoy a challenge.”

His gaze darkened. He took another step, the last bit of distance between you almost closing. “Then you won’t mind when I return the favor.”

You had no time to react. With a single long stride Beomgyu caged you between him and the locker. The cool metal of the lockers pressed against your back, the scent of his cologne mixing with the faint trace of sweat from practice invaded your lungs like smoke from a fire you’d set yourself.

His hand came up, fingers splayed against the locker beside your head. He wasn’t even touching you but you felt his body heat radiating in yours easily through this silver of distance. His other hand rested on his hip, posture casual, but his eyes darkened and locked onto yours told a different story.

“You talk big,” he murmured, voice dipping just enough to send a slow, curling heat through your stomach. “Wonder if you’ll hold up when the tables turn.”

Your smirk didn’t waver. If anything, it deepened by the adrenaline now beginning to burn beneath your skin. “That depends,” you mused. “Are you actually going to do something this time, or are we playing the same game again?”

His jaw flexed, and for a moment he seemed to chew on the edge of his irritation, a wry expression tugging at the corner of his mouth as his tongue poked the inside of his cheek. It was almost as if he dared you to cross a line while making it clear he’d already redrawn it.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You merely shrugged in response, refusing to look away. Neither of you were yielding. The eye contact between you was a challenge all its own—steel against steel, neither one of you willing to be the first to look away. The tension was hot and volatile, ready to combust any moment.

Your smirk however threatened to falter when he lifted his fingers, his knuckle grazing the edge of your jaw. It wasn't even a proper skin to skin contact, but enough to make you crave for his touch.

“What you did.” His voice was barely above a whisper now, meant just for you. His gaze drifted, almost dazed, like he was following a phantom memory. “Did you enjoy it?”

Your pulse leapt, but your face remained impassive. “Enjoy what?”

Beomgyu clicked his tongue, tilting his head like he was debating his next move. He dragged his knuckle just a fraction lower, tracing the column of your neck, his gaze locked onto yours. There were goosebumps on your skin.

“You know what,” he said simply.

The memory of your last encounter flickered between you like a live wire.

You could taste the sweetness of his mouth whenever you closed your eyes. The sounds that escaped him when you touched him. His dumbfounded, dazed face when you pulled away just before he could regain control.

Your eyes dropped to his lips. He was biting the lower one again, smiling that smug, ruined smile. And when your gaze snapped back to his, it was already too late to pretend otherwise. You could easily take advantage of this distance and grab him by the collar. You could easily crash your lips against his again, taste him again, drink him in to quench your dry throat now.

But the faint sound of voices echoed from the hallway outside snapped you out of your trance.

Beomgyu exhaled sharply, as he stepped back at the last possible second, his frustration evident in the slow drag of his tongue across his lower lip. You wanted to do that for him, drag your tongue over them and over every inch inside his mouth until nothing of him would be left unexplored.

His gaze swept over you one last time, orbs dark with something illegible in them. You were sure your gaze matched his intensity too.Then, with a low chuckle, he turned and walked away, tossing his voice over his shoulder like a loaded promise.

“Guess we’ll have to continue this later.”

And just like that, he was gone, leaving you there against the lockers, heart pounding like a fist against bone.

Damn him.

Because this time, he knew he’d gotten to you.

It had been a week. A full week since you’d left him standing in that dark closet. You hadn’t expected the moment to shake him so much. It was just a game, right? A well-placed tease. But something in the way Beomgyu had looked at you, wide-eyed and speechless, made you realize you’d done more than just fluster him.

You’d challenged him.

He wasn’t the type to back down from a challenge.

He played his part pretty well. Most of the time around people, he was the same as always; loud and testing, pushing your buttons whenever he could. During lunch hours he showed up at your table and stole your fries, still challenged you to one-on-one matches during practise, and still threw his arm around your shoulders in front of your friends as if you were just a friendly rival to him.

But you knew better.

It was in the way his eyes lingered on you a little too long. The way his hand accidentally left a touch on your skin before pulling away during every conversation. The way his voice dipped just a little lower when he said your name.

Choi Beomgyu was waiting.

And, maybe—just maybe—you found that endearing.

"Alright, guys!"

The warm voice of your team manager drew your attention. You, Beomgyu, and two other elite shooters from your club sat around the table of the meeting room.

He set down four sleek black envelopes in the center. "I have exciting news!" His eyes glimmered with enthusiasm as he slid the envelopes toward the group. "You four have been invited to a high-profile dinner event. It’s an exclusive gathering for the top shooters in the country! Big names, big opportunities."

Your fingers brushed the cool envelope as you picked it up, reading the elegant gold lettering embossed on the front. The bubble of excitement was beginning to form in your chest. It was indeed a big opportunity.

"It’s a formal thing, of course, so be on your best behavior. Not that I’m worried." He chuckled, shaking his head. "You’re all professionals. Just go, enjoy yourselves, and make a good impression."

Beomgyu hummed beside you, tapping the edge of his invitation against the table. "A fancy dinner, huh? You think they’ll have steak?"

The other two snorted, and even the manager laughed. Your gaze flickered toward Beomgyu. The light from the window caught in his hair. The soft glow making him look almost golden. Ror a moment, you wondered how could someone so insufferable also be so… maddeningly charming?

You shook the thought away before it could settle.

Beomgyu, on the other hand, turned to you with that knowing grin. While the rest got engaged in a conversation, he leaned toward you. "What do you say? Think you can handle a night of keeping your hands off me?" he lowered his voice just enough for you to only hear.

You sighed, slipping the envelope into your bag. "I don’t think that’s the real question here."

Beomgyu only laughed, standing up and stretching his arms above his head lazily. But when he turned to leave, he tossed one last glance at you over his shoulder. One that lingered just a second too long, before his eyes narrowed.

Game on.

The evening of the event was the epitome of sophistication. Golden chandeliers dangled from the vaulted ceiling, their light pouring down in syrupy amber hues that bathed the grand ballroom in a warm, resplendent glow. The murmur of polite conversation blended around seamlessly with the delicate notes of a live string quartet. A high-profile dinner for elite shooters, a gathering of class and discipline, where everyone carried themselves with courtesy.

You and Beomgyu were no exception.

From the moment you arrived, you slipped flawlessly into the roles expected of you. You exchanged nothing more than formal nods, casual acknowledgments and comments in passing. To the outside world, you were simply two competitors; colleagues bound by skill and reputation, neither particularly concerned with the other beyond professional courtesy.

There was no reason to assume there was anything beyond that. And yet, every glance, every sidelong look, every well thought out brush of proximity was executed with the care of a sniper setting their sights.

At the dinner table, you sat across from each other; engaged in separate conversations with your tablemates. Not once did your gazes lock for too long; never more than a passing glance, never more than coincidence. But you didn’t miss it when his eyes stuck to you when you lifted your wine glass, the minute tug at the corner of his lips when your sharp tongue laced through a particularly bland comment made by someone beside you.

Then there were the fleeting touches. Fingers that brushed against each other as you reached for the same silver tray. A fleeting press of his foot beneath the table, one that made contact and then vanished as if it had never been there. When you finally rose from your seat to excuse yourself, murmuring something inconsequential about fresh air, Beomgyu leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming lightly against his glass, eyes never once leaving your disappearing body in the crowd.

Not once did either of you slip. No one suspected a thing.

The dinner transitioned into an afterparty. It was a more relaxed affair, where the guests mingled freely, laughter breaking through the previously restrained atmosphere. People gathered in small clusters, drinks in hand, the tension of formalities dissolving into lighthearted chatters among peer groups and acquaintances.

You saw Beomgyu before he saw you. He was by the bar, speaking with a few others, one hand in his pocket. But you could tell his attention was elsewhere.

He was searching for you.

A slow smile tugged at your lips as you made your move, slipping between guests, weaving through the crowd. You took your time doing so and didn’t so much as glance back. Just like before—just like that night in the closet—you vanished before he could catch you.

Only this time, Beomgyu wasn’t about to let it slide.

The moment he realized you were gone, his jaw twitched.  His drink was long forgotten on the counter. He was on his feet, already moving in between the guests.

Enough of this.

He wasn’t going to lose sight of you again. It had always been like this. It always felt like you were one step ahead of him. What sort of satisfaction did you get from playing with him like this? You were being so cruel, yet Beomgyu desperately craved this.

The truth was, you’d always driven him insane.

From the moment you stepped into the club a year ago, he hadn’t been able to look away. Not because of the way you looked, though that had certainly caught his eye—a composed figure standing tall among the newest recruits. No, it was the control. Back then, he had only looked, only watched. Maybe he hadn’t realized it at first—how his gaze always found you, how your name always stayed somewhere in the back of his mind but it had been there. It was really simply curiosity at best in the beginning.

And then, you weren’t just a presence. You became a contender.

You started rising through the ranks. One by one you surpassed the ones he thought wore the crown with a relentless determination that awed him, that thrilled him. You chased mastery like it owed you something. You always made sure to challenge your own limit, always making yourself your biggest opponent.

But what drove him insane was that you weren’t just good. You were the one who became untouchable.

And now, tonight, you were testing him again. Always pulling just out of reach like you were always one step ahead. It was as if the world moved at your pace, like you were always in control. Even now, as you slipped away into the crowd, it wasn’t in retreat.

Beomgyu had no intention of letting this become a pattern.

His pace quickened as he pushed through the guests, his eyes sweeping corners and alcoves and literally everywhere. He was going to make sure he matched your pace. He wanted to shatter your unbreakable image.

He wasn’t going to let you win.

You slipped away meticulously, the soft chime of the elevator signaling your quiet escape. You stepped out as the doors opened on the eighth floor. It was where the suites were reserved for the elites. The sound of your high-heeled boots clicking against the polished marble echoed in the empty corridor. The only other presence there was a lone floor butler who passed you whom you acknowledged with a polite nod before making your way to the restroom.

Inside the restroom, beneath the low glow of the wall scones, you looked at the woman staring back at you. You took a moment to really look at yourself. The evening had demanded your best, and you had delivered. Your eyeliner adorned eyes, the sleek lines of your outfit, and the careful touch of color on your lips; you looked good. Of course you did. 

People noticed. The lingering stares that kept returning, the thinly veiled advances from men who thought they stood a chance. You should’ve felt satisfaction but none of it mattered. None of them mattered. Because in the end, only one gaze had truly mattered to you tonight.

A quiet laugh escaped you, almost self-deprecating.

Beomgyu.

A tsk nearly followed the name in your mind. He was pretty, no doubt about it. His prettiness was at odds with the bastardized side of him which clearly pissed you off. Yet here you were, washing your hands as if that could cleanse the memory of the way his lips had tasted when you kissed him first.

You shook your hands free of water and reached for a paper towel, and as you did, you wondered—just how long could he play this game? How long could you?

You hadn’t meant to entertain him that night. When the bottle pointed, and the room went still with the thick anticipation that people dressed up as fun, you weren’t thinking about games. You hadn’t even considered closing that distance and letting the moment happen.

But he was so close that even in the dark, you could see him properly. You stared at him as if you were seeing him again for the first time.

In that split second—just one look at his face up close—something in you wavered, and you gave in.

Even now, the image returned too vividly. It stirred something warm and unwelcoming in your chest, creeping lower to your stomach. You exhaled sharply, as if the motion alone could dispel the feeling, almost scoffing at yourself. You wiped your hands clean and tossed the paper towel into the bin without looking.

This was a game. That’s all it was. That’s all it would ever be.

To him, and to you as well.

With that thought settling like a quiet resolve, you turned on your heel. You pushed the door open and stepped out, ready to return to the afterparty.

The moment you turned the corner, Beomgyu was there, leaning against the wall like he’d been expecting you; like he knew exactly where you’d be.

Your steps faltered. Heart catapulted to your throat as you took a step back. The look in his eyes was different this time. There were no traces of the mischievous mask he wore when he played the back-and-forth game with you. No, it was like he was savoring something before taking his first bite.

You didn’t get a chance to speak.

One stride, that’s all it took. Beomgyu was in front of you, and in the next breath your back hit the wall with a thud softened only by the fabric at your shoulders. Your hands twitched, not in surprise but in instinct, caught in a dilemma between pushing him away and pulling him in.

The golden lighting caught the sharp lines of his suit, the deep black fabric sculpting his frame in a way that felt almost unfair. You wished it was how well he wore his suit that froze your senses but no it was the look in his eyes. They looked empty but brimmed with emotions at the same time.

He lifted a hand and let it settle against the wall near your head, fingers grazing the cold surface of the wall. His other hovered close to your hip, a mere touch away, purposely letting you feel the absence. He was doing everything to make you break first.

"Caught you," he murmured.

Your breath hitched.

You tilted your head, arms at your sides though your hands had curled into fists without you realizing. “Is this payback?” you managed, though your voice lacked the steady confidence you wished it had.

“Aww, I don’t know.” Beomgyu tilted his head, a slow smirk curling his lips. You couldn’t recognize this man in front of you. He didn’t look like the Beomgyu who’d piss you off over trivial matters. He looked like a man far more patient. “What do you think?”

The hallway felt too narrow. Every little sound seemed to amplify; the faint rustle of his jacket as he shifted, the soft thud of your heartbeat against your ribs, the near-silent pull of breath between his lips. You realized soon what he was doing. Beomgyu was playing the game using your tactics. He didn’t look like he was going to rush. He was going to make you beg.

Your pulse pounded. “You took your time,” you said, forcing your voice to sound nonchalant.

His gaze dipped to your mouth for the briefest second, but that was all it took to make your stomach flip. “Had to make sure you’d feel it.”

Feel what? The tension? The heat curling in the space between you? The way your chest tightened every time he breathed a little closer?

His fingers dragged along the wall beside you before they stopped just near your shoulder. He leaned in achingly slowly until his lips were just at the shell of your ear. His breath ghosted over close enough to draw a shiver from the base of your spine.

“You had your fun,” he whispered, “won’t you let me have some of it too?”

You swallowed, a shaky breath threatened to spill past your lips. 

He hadn’t even touched you yet. And still, you felt scorched by the space he took up.

Beomgyu exhaled a soft chuckle and then, just as easily as he had cornered you, he stepped back. Stepping away like he was already done with you; like he’d gotten what he wanted. The absence of his warmth sent a sharp contrast through your senses, but the moment felt almost comical—like he thought he could just walk away after that. Oh. He was taking revenge.

Well, Beomgyu has always been a fast learner. 

Your lips parted in disbelief, a breathless laugh slipping past before you could stop it. Was that it?

Just as he turned, you spoke in a low, taunting voice. "Is that all you've got?"

That stopped him dead in his tracks.

You leaned back against the wall, arms folding across your chest in mock nonchalance. A lazy smirk tugged at your lips as you tilted your head. "Sorry to say, you're growing to be a bit predictable."

For a second, he didn't react. He stood with his back turned to you in complete stillness and silence. When he turned to face you again, there was no trace of that earlier grin. It seemed as his eyes glowed for the briefest second. His lips parted slightly, only to curl languidly into something far more dangerous than his usual smirk.

Predictable?

In a blink, his fingers curled into your hair, gripping at the back of your head as he yanked you forward. A startled gasp barely left your lips before they were swallowed by his own.

It was all heat and hunger, all months of games and tension and near misses snapping at once, and your mind went blank with the sheer intensity of it all.

The force of it sent you stumbling, your balance thrown completely off. His grip tightened, steadying you, but not gently—he was pulling you closer, demanding all of you. Your feet barely found their place before you realized you had to rise—had to step onto your toes just to meet him.

He held you there, both hands cupping your jaw, thumbs pressing into your skin like he needed to feel you under him, like he couldn’t get close enough. The downright intensity of it sent a shiver down your spine, and before you could so much as breathe, he pushed you against the wall.

A sharp gasp escaped into his mouth from you and he greedily devoured that sound. He only pressed deeper, trapping you between the wall and the solid heat of him. The absolute urgency of it had your footing slipping again, your fingers finding his waist, gripping onto him as if he was the only thing keeping you standing. Maybe he was.

This wasn’t careful. This was reckless. He’d been holding back for far too long and finally let himself break.

It was beginning to feel like you weren’t just a game to him anymore.

But still, you couldn’t help but wonder if this was really him, or if this still was just another game. Either way, you didn’t care. You couldn’t bring your mind to weave together sane thoughts right now. Not when his kiss felt like fire.

“Look at you,” he murmured against your lips, voice rough and teasing.

A shiver ran through you, but you refused to let it show. It felt like he caught it anyway because he was already so impossibly close. He was holding you like he had no plans of letting go. You tried to bite back because you never let him have the last word but the moment your kiss-bruised lips parted, he stole the breath right from you.

His hands no longer cradled your jaw. They slipped lower, fingertips skimming down your neck, tracing the curve of your waist before pressing firmly against your hips. You fought against the broken whimper that threatened to leave you when you felt him pressing against you, drawing you in like he was savoring every reaction you gave him.

You could feel it in the way his lips curved against yours, the slow drag of his mouth against yours, the way his hands traveled back to the sensitive parts of your skins whenever your breath stuttered.

He pulled back only for a moment, and you took that chance to gasp in a much needed breath to stabilize your heart. He didn’t even have the decency to give you space, his lips trailed the line of your jaw then lower until they hovered just over the pulse hammering at your neck.

That’s when he smirked, his voice rich with satisfaction. "That felt pretty real to me."

His teeth grazed over the pulse, followed by a feathery brush of his tongue before he latched his lips there. You flinched at the sensation and grabbed his shoulder, palms pushing him away but he didn’t budge. He caught your wrists instead, fingers pressing to remind you he wasn’t done yet.

But neither were you.

You tilted your head, enough to shift him back, just enough to meet his eyes—those eyes, darker now, glinting with an intensity that seemed to pulse with heat. It was there, written plainly across his features that whatever this was—this pull, this provocation—you weren’t the only one caught in it.

Your mouth curved into a smirk. “I think I’ve hit a nerve.”

He let out a quiet chuckle. "You think so?"

The space between you vanished again in a second. One moment he was looking at you like he could devour you whole, and the next he proved it exactly right; his mouth was on yours again, harder this time, rougher, like he couldn’t bear another second of restraint. Your back hit the wall with the unrelenting pressure of his body closing the last of the distance, his knee shifting between your legs locking you in place. His hands—one cradling the back of your head with a possessive urgency, the other clutching your hip like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to pull you closer or pin you exactly where you were.

He was chasing your words back into your throat. Your defiance had only lit him up further, like whatever control he’d tried to hold onto had just been shattered and scattered beneath your feet. The drag of his mouth against yours was relentless, his teeth catching your lower lip just hard enough to make you squirm in his hold.

A low sound rumbled in his chest, feral and satisfied. His hand slid from your waist to your arm. "We should take this somewhere else, yeah?"

The words barely had time to settle before he was already moving, his grip firm as he guided you through the dimly lit lobby lined with doors reserved for only a select few. The golden numbers on each one glowed under the dim lighting, but your focus narrowed when he stopped in front of the one meant for you.

"Card?"

The single word sent a slow shiver down your spine, not because of what he asked, but because of how he asked it. Expectantly, like he already knew you’d hand it over.

You sighed, fingers dipping into your pocket. The second you pulled out the card, he took it from you, slipping it into the scanner with a swift motion that sent another rush of heat through you.

The scanner beeped. The green light showed as the door unlocked.

Before you could so much as step inside, he did it for you. One hand at your waist as he walked you backward into the darkened suite. His other hand caught the frame behind you, arm caging you in as the door shut behind with a muted thud.

Just as Beomgyu leaned in to claim the space again, you stopped him. You pushed him back, palm resting flat against his chest. 

Beomgyu halted instantly, dark eyes flicking down to where your hand rested against him. His heartbeat was erratic beneath your touch. The way his jaw tensed just slightly told you he hadn’t expected the pushback.

Your fingers splayed just a little wider, the silk of his dress shirt smooth beneath your palm. Slowly, you met his gaze, tilting your chin ever so slightly. Your eyes steady like his touch hadn’t just unraveled you moments ago; while his had a flicker of intrigue beneath the hunger, his lips parting slightly before curling at the corners.

Beomgyu’s hands fell back to his sides as he watched you step past him, your black boots clicking softly against the floor. You didn’t spare him another glance as you just shrugged off your light coat along the way, letting it slip from your fingers and pool onto the chair beside you.

His gaze burned into your back as you walked.

A black turtleneck, tucked into tailored formal pants that hugged your frame just right. Boots that gave you an air of cool detachment. You looked like you belonged in a painting.

And Beomgyu loved it.

You sat on the edge of the bed crossing your legs in an elegant motion, hands resting on your knee. You finally met his gaze again.

With a languid smirk, you said, “You seem tense.” You let him have his fun. It was about time you took back control.

Beomgyu exhaled a breathy chuckle, pushing back his hair with his hand. His fingers briefly rested at the nape of his neck. His head tilted, gaze narrowing as though trying to decipher you all over again, before the sound of a scoff broke the silence between you. “You love pissing me off, don’t you?”

Your smile didn’t waver. “I love winning.”

He blinked. Then realization flickered in his eyes, followed by a groan. It only deepened your smirk.

“The bet.”

“The bet,” you echoed, tilting your head.

You had beaten him fair and square in that game, outmaneuvering him at his own strategy, and he knew it. The terms were clear—whoever won had carte blanche. And you walked away with the game winning.

Beomgyu ran a hand through his hair again, exhaling a laugh before shifting his gaze back on you. There was a trace of something delighted in his gaze.

“Okay,” he murmured, stepping closer. “I’m a man of my word.”

Your fingers drummed lightly against your knee as you regarded him, gaze dark. 

“Satisfy me.”

He stopped mid-step, lips parting soundlessly at your demand. You watched him absorb it, watched every flicker of thought pass over his face. Huh, whatever this game was, you were beginning to truly enjoy it. You found yourself thriving off of the reactions he gave you to feast on. Then oh so devastatingly slowly, Beomgyu grinned.

What a good boy.

A low hum left his lips as he dropped to one knee before you, his hands trailing up your calf. His fingers found the hem of your pants, slipping just beneath, teasing against your warm skin. His eyes flicked up to yours, ravenous.

“Why, of course,” he smiled, like molten molasses. “I’m a gentleman.”

Your lips curled, mirroring his game. “How charming.”

Beomgyu held your gaze, fingers brushing along the boot. His hand slid higher, the pad of his thumb pressing lightly against the leather of your boot before curling just beneath it. You didn’t rush him. You merely watched, one leg still crossed over the other as he slowly—agonizingly slowly—reached for the zipper along your ankle. A hum left you as he pulled it down, the sound barely audible over the sharp click of the metal teeth separating. He slid the boot off your foot with care, as if savoring the motion.

His fingers trailed back up, this time under the hem of your pants, warm against your skin. And yet, you didn’t react—not the way he wanted. Beomgyu hated how much you got to him. The control was yours, and you held it with the confidence of someone who knew exactly how much power there was in patience. The way you sat there, perfectly composed, lips quirked in something between amusement and indulgence, it was like you already knew how much he wanted to ruin you, and you loved making him wait.

You tilted your head, eyebrows raising in mock concern. “Something wrong?”

His eyes snapped up to yours, and the laugh that spilled from him then sounded rawer. “Oh, you’re cruel.”

Beomgyu dipped his head forward with a slowness that felt almost sinful. The first kiss was barely there, a tender touch of warmth against the arch of your foot. A touch that shouldn’t have felt as reverent as it did.

It wasn’t just a touch. It was a declaration.

His fingers traced idle patterns along your calf, as if memorizing the shape of you, as if grounding himself before his lips found you again; this time at the inside of your ankle. His breath lingered against your skin before he pressed another kiss there; slower, deeper. Worshipful. He wanted you to feel every second of it the way he felt it.

You inhaled, just the faintest hitch of breath, and Beomgyu caught it. His senses were hyper aware of you; just you and only you. His lips curled against your skin, the ghost of a smirk before he trailed another kiss even higher. Your body shuddered at the feeling.

“You like this, don’t you?” he rasped. Dark eyes looked up at you through pretty lashes. 

His hands smoothed over your calf, fingers dragging slow and firm, pressing just enough to leave a lingering fire in their wake. His lips followed, ghosting over your skin with the kind of patience that wasn’t restraint but was indulgence.

Your fingers twitched against the sheets, the only betrayal of what simmered beneath your skin. Then, in a motion so swift he barely registered it, you uncrossed your legs, lifting the pointed toe of your remaining boot and tilted his chin up with it.

Beomgyu froze. His breath caught, eyes snapping up to meet yours.

Your foot pressed just enough to tilt his head back in a clean swift motion. Beomgyu’s lashes fluttered, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. His lips were parted, breath coming quick and shallow. A flush crept up his neck, his skin glowing under the dim light, a bead of sweat trailing down from his temple. He looked wrecked.

Despite that, that bastard had the audacity and gall to smirk. 

"Careful," he rasped, voice wrecked in a way that had nothing to do with exhaustion. "I might start thinking you like having me on my knees."

You exhaled, soft and languid. You felt a swirl of pride having him like this infront you, watching the way his chest rose and fell like he was barely holding himself together.

"Who says I don’t?"

Beomgyu’s smirk twitched, faltering just slightly, but his eyes—his eyes maniacally darkened, pupils blown wide, heat simmering beneath the surface like a storm about to break. His fingers flexed against your calf before tightening in an unforgiving grip. Then before you could process the shift—his hand wrapped around your ankle, heat searing into your skin, and he yanked you forward.

A startled gasp left you as you slid closer to the edge of the bed, legs spreading as Beomgyu placed a hand on your thigh. His grip on you was controlling, but not overbearing.

You could stop him if you wanted to, but you didn’t.

Your breath came out a little heavier as you stared down at him, still on his knees before you, still holding your leg like he was deciding just how much he wanted to ruin you. It was getting excruciatingly hard to ignore the ache between your thighs.

“Say it again.”

“Say what again?”

Beomgyu’s grip tightened just slightly, just enough to make you aware of his strength. “That you like having me on my knees,” he rasped, eyes narrowing as if daring you to agree with him. Oh you were getting the thrill back. Adrenaline coursed through your veins and it itched you to piss him off even more.

“Why?” You let your voice drop, teasing. “Do you want to hear it that badly?”

Beomgyu huffed out a laugh, the sound short and strained, like it cost him. His hands slid higher, fingers brushing the backs of your knees, the warmth of his skin burning even through the fine fabric of your slacks. He was breathing harder now, and you could see the tremble in his restraint, the twitch of his jaw, and in the way his tongue darted over his lower lip.

“I must warn you,” he muttered, almost too low to hear. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

He looked so desperate and so, so pretty, kneeling before you. Your gaze wandered, drinking him in. The slope of his nose, the way his lips—plush and kiss-bruised—parted ever so slightly with each uneven breath. The faint sheen of sweat clinging to his skin, trailing down the curve of his throat, catching at his Adam’s apple as he swallowed.

Beomgyu was a pretty man.

You reached out, your hand brushing his forehead, sweeping the damp strands from his brow. His lashes trembled with the contact and as your fingers dipped further, threading through his hair, his whole body seemed to shift like he couldn’t help himself. He leaned into your touch, eyes slipping closed as if savoring the warmth of your palm.

Your nails scraped lightly across his scalp, drawing a low breath from deep in his chest, and that was the moment you felt the balance tip again. He was unraveling right there at your feet.

"Well," you whispered, leaning in a little. "I'm still not satisfied."

His eyes snapped open, and you caught the flash of surprise just before it melted into hunger. He had expected a drawn-out game, a slow torment; something that mirrored the way you always liked to push him to his limits, to take your time drawing out every reaction until he was barely holding himself together.

You gave him none of it. Instead slowly, you sank back into the mattress, legs uncrossing with elegance that bordered on cruel. Beomgyu didn’t breathe for a full second, as though the air had caught in his throat the moment he saw you recline before him like that with every intention written across your body.

You had given him permission. Beomgyu never wasted an opportunity.

Two deft fingers worked their way with the button of your pants, pulling down the article of clothing in one swift motion down your legs, the remaining boot getting tossed aside along with it. His hands slipped up to your hips, pulling you closer to the edge of the bed.

A quiet curse left his mouth at the sight of your dampened panties, translucent from the slick pooling in between your thighs. His eyes briefly flitted to your face—you were looking down at him with steel eyes yet they brimmed with anticipation behind them. It drove him insane how little reaction you showed despite the sight of your arousal in front him.

Beomgyu placed a soft kiss over your clothed clit. The sensation sent a shiver down your spine and you had to bite your lips from making any sound. He continued to pepper kisses all over you before finally hooking his fingers into the waistband and pulling your panties down. 

Your head spun when you felt his hot breath over your sopping core, shaky fingers finding residence into his hair again. The first lick over your clit was slow, torturous—as if he was deliberately waiting to see you fall apart. You hissed, tugging on his hair and it made him chuckle.

He gazed up at you through his lashes. “Patience, darling.”

Then without wasting another minute, he dived back into you, his tongue licking a long stripe along your folds, lapping up your arousal with a low, deep hum. “Fuck… you taste divine.” His voice muffled against your skin as his lips latched themselves around your clit and sucked harshly.

Your eyes rolled back almost instantly, breath stuttering, slipping further into the ecstatic sensation of his tongue gliding back and forth over your folds. One of his hands slid under your left thigh, putting it over his shoulder while he held the other open. The angle gave him all the access he wanted. He was good—way too good with his tongue as he continued to send you over the edge. 

Your grip in his hair tightened when Beomgyu brought two fingers, nimbly sliding against your folds, rubbing up and down while his teeth caught torturously on your clit. Your legs trembled with pleasure as he dipped his fingers inside you with humiliating ease. 

“Oh god…” you breathed out before harshly biting down on your bottom lip, your head tipped back as he pumped his digits in and out of your core, curling them at the right spot. The heel of your foot dug into his back as you fought to keep your sanity from losing. 

The room resonated with the sound of depraved squelches, the only sound of his plump lips sinfully eating you out, and it didn’t sit right with Beomgyu. Dazed eyes swirling with desire and lips glistening with your juices, he looked up at you—your chest heaving with every deep breath you took, your lips in between your teeth as you refused to make any sounds. 

He brushed his thumb along your bottom lip, forcing your mouth open. “Don’t do that,” he pleaded, his thumb caressing your lip. “Let me hear you… please.”

Your resolve shook at the way he sounded. You wanted to bite out a provoking remark about how he should earn it but before you could do anything, Beomgyu took your words away as he connected his lips onto yours.

He lifted himself from kneeling, hovering above you as he gently pushed you against the mattress. His tongue pushed past your lips, your restraints—it was hot and messy, your juices mixing with your saliva as your walls fluttered around his fingers. The odd sensation of being able to taste yourself made you groan against his mouth. 

The familiar sensation of heat coiling in your lower stomach began to embrace you, however, before it could fully take over your senses, Beomgyu removed his fingers from you. The glaring emptiness almost made you choke out a moan, eyes peering at him with disbelief. But whatever annoyance took over you melted away in an instance as Beomgyu wrapped his lips around his fingers, licking and sucking off your arousal from them. You swallowed, throat humiliatingly dry at the sight. 

And he knew, because the way his lips curled up into the most devilish smirk as he continued to lick his fingers clean, you know he knew.

You eyed the bulge in his pants before using one foot to apply just the right amount of pressure on it. You watched in pure awe as Beomgyu’s cocky demeanor faltered. A strangled moan fell from his lips as his body twitched and shivered from that simple touch from you. His hands found your ankle, stopping you and eyes locked onto yours in a look that screamed nothing short of begging.

“Take it off,” you commanded lowly, sitting up. Beomgyu complied wordlessly, hands fumbling with the buckle of his belt. His garments joined the rest on the floor one by one. His hands stilled from unbuttoning his shirt when you climb onto his lap, straddling him. His breath hitching as you took your turtleneck off, hair falling breathtakingly around your face as you were presented with nothing but your black bra in front of him. 

Shirt left halfway unbuttoned, forgotten, his hands found themselves on the curve of your waist. His touch sent sparks of heat through you as you cupped his erection through his boxers. His head fell into the crook of your shoulder with a moan. You guided him out gently, his cock springing back against his belly, precum pooling at the tip.

For a beat, you didn't move, eyes going slightly wide at his size. He was big, bigger than you thought he would be, bigger than anything you’ve taken before and your senses clouded with lust at the realization. 

You were broken from your trance when Beomgyu wrapped his hand on yours, guiding you to his shaft. The heated weight of him in your palm shot another spasm straight to your core. You pumped him gently, feeling your senses dizzying by the pants and groans spilling from him. You let out a shuddering breath, trailing your fingers up to his weeping slit, collecting the oozing pre cum there and smearing it across his tip.

Beomgyu panted against your neck, lips trailing open mouthed kisses on your skin, nipping and sucking on the supple flesh. You take that opportunity to take him by the base of his cock, rubbing the tip against your sopping slit, his arousal mixing with your own. The sudden warmth of your core snapped Beomgyu’s head up, eyes locking with yours.

“Do you really want this?” he asked, voice low, but desperate.

His question made you pause, his tip sliding against your core and resting on your abdomen instead. You looked at him, eyebrows furrowing and you felt your chest tighten because why was he looking at you like that? Like he genuinely wanted this as much as you did? You couldn’t dare yourself to hope. Wasn't this only a game?

“Isn’t it too late to ask that?” you couldn’t look at him anymore, gaze faltering under his intense stare. 

There was a pause. The only sound filled between you was your mixed breathing and erratic heartbeats. Then, Beomgyu moved his hands to your hips as he pulled you closer, his tip brushed against your sensitive cunt, causing you to whimper softly. Your hands found refuge on his shoulders, your heart thumping loudly against your ribcage and in your ears. 

“If it’s okay, then,” his lips brushed against the shell of your ear, “I've wanted you for too long to be satisfied with just once. I need you.”

The depth of his words didn't have the time to settle in your senses when his tip slid inside you, stretching you deliciously. His lips devoured your strangled moan, his hand slipping in the back of your head holding you close to him. You gasped into his mouth at the way he brushed up against every sensitive nerves, slowly bottoming out to the very base. 

“You okay?” he pulled away just a fraction, his hand massaging the soft flesh of your hips, a gesture of encouragement that made your chest swell with warmth. He let you adjust to his girth, muttering praises into your ear and it only made your head spin more. You hated the way he was making you feel. 

You attached your lips to his in a feverish kiss as you lifted yourself up to his tip, then swivelled your hip downward on his length. Beomgyu’s eyes rolled back as his nails dug deeper into your hips, choked gasps and grunts escaping him. 

This position let you take him as deeply as possible. Your senses clouded with pleasure at how his cock pressed into your deepest parts, the drag of his tip making you want to slouch over and succumb to the blinding pleasure. It didn't take you long to set a steady rhythm, your synchronous moans mingled in the small space between your bodies, overlapping with the lewd sound of skin slapping.

"You're doing so good," he murmured against your neck, moaning when your walls clenched around him at the praise. "So, so good, oh my god."

Your breath came out in hot puffs, your thighs aching from riding him, as your movements began to become sloppy. Beomgyu pressed one chaste kiss to your lips and brushed your hair out from in front of your face, then your world spun as you were flipped with impressive speed onto your back, your head hitting the soft pillow with a yelp.

He hovered above you, his thrusts hitting deeper inside you in the new position. Strings of broken whimpers left you with each of his thrusts. All it took was one look at his expression for you to choke on your breath.

He was peering down at you with glazed eyes—eyes full of softness that spilled something like adoration. You swallowed hard, refusing to let yourself believe. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” you begged, voice coming out barely as a whisper. 

Beomgyu slowed down his pace, the sensation making you squirm under him, his breath hitched, his brows drawing together like your words had physically struck him. But he didn’t look away. Didn’t laugh it off or mask it with some teasing remark. He exhaled shakily, and let his fingers trail up, the touch was so light and full of devotion, until they cradled your face.

“How else do you want me to look at you?” he murmured, voice raw, almost pleading. “Because I don’t know how to look at you any other way.”

You barely got the first syllable out—“Please”—before the word withered on your tongue. Beomgyu leaned down, tenderly pressed his lips to your forehead. That was it. The last string holding you together snapped.

Maybe you had it wrong all along—maybe Beomgyu’s infuriating arrogance, the way he always pushed and provoked, wasn’t indifference at all. Maybe it was a pull, just as relentless as the one that had kept you shackled to him for so long. And now, here you were, drawn together like Icarus was to the sun, aching to take, to burn, to make this moment last before it slipped through your fingers.

Your breath trembled, your fingers curled into his back, and this time—you didn’t hold your sounds. You sank further, letting the warmth of him consume you whole.

“Beomgyu.”

It was the first time you moaned his name that night. It slipped past your lips as if torn free from the core of you, soft and breathless, laced with a wrecked kind of desperation that carved into him like flame. The sound of his name in your voice shaped by want, by surrender, by the kind of hunger neither of you had spoken aloud until now seared through him devastatingly.

That was all it took. Beomgyu faltered, his hands reacted before he could think, fingers flexing hard enough against your skin to leave reminders behind, clutching at you like he was trying to hold on to something slipping through his grasp. But there was no grip strong enough to keep him grounded now—not when you moaned his name like that; not when you were looking at him like he was the only thing in your world worth falling apart for. You had him. Completely.

A curse left his lips, ragged and desperate, and he surged forward—kissing you like he was chasing the sound, like he needed to hear it again, needed to feel it vibrate against his skin. His hand slipped under your bra and kneaded your soft breast, no patience left, his control unraveling at the seams. His hips spearing into you with newfound energy.

When you moaned his name a second time—oh, he was gone.

“You’re driving me fucking insane,” he gasped. His fingers push your palm flat against the bed next to you, and then gently intertwine with yours, a jarring contrast to the way his pelvis slammed into you so fervently. 

“You feel so–mngh, good,” you slurred, the haze of ecstasy starting to cloud your consciousness. His thrusts went harder, deeper, at your praises, hitting your g-spot over and over again. The familiar rush of warmth pooling into your abdomen caused you to wrap your legs around his waist, bringing him even closer to you. “I’m close–please,” you screw your eyes shut. “I’m so close.”

His Adam's apple bobbed thickly at the saccharine sound of your pleas. “You’re so beautiful like this–fuck, come for me.”

He thrusted once, twice, and with a final thrust, your walls spasmed around his cock, your back arched into him, his name falling from your lips as a whimper. Beomgyu buried his face into your neck as he sloppily thrusted in your leaking cunt, chasing his own climax. He swiftly pulled out and gave his cock a few pumps before hot ropes of thick, white semen coated your lower stomach and thighs. 

Your bodies heaved in unison. The room was quiet now. The silence wasn’t awkward or empty, but the kind that settled between two people who had nothing left to prove—nothing left to fight.

Beomgyu was the first to move, slipping into the bathroom and returning with a damp towel. He helped you sit up, his touch careful, gentle, as he cleaned you up with a tenderness that felt almost foreign.

You watched him closely. He was too gentle—far too gentle, in fact—and the sharpness in his eyes had dulled into a softer haze.

“You’re being nice,” you deadpanned. “It’s freaking me out.”

You expected a snarky retort, a teasing jab, anything to break the shift in atmosphere. But instead, he just laughed. The sound was warm. And somehow, that laugh only made the fire in your chest burn hotter.

You got dressed in silence. You pulled your coat back on, smoothing out the creases in the fabric, and when you glanced up, Beomgyu was watching you. There was that same look in his eyes from earlier. 

He reached for you before he could stop himself, fingers brushing over your hair, fixing the stray strands with an almost careful kind of touch. His brows furrowed like he was concentrating. The gesture was tender, yes, but it was also searching. Prolonged. It felt as if his hand didn’t quite know how to let go.

Your eyes narrowed. "What are you doing?"

His hand stilled against your temple. There was hesitation in the line of his mouth, a flicker of indecision you weren't meant to see. He raked the other through his hair, messing it up more than fixing it, a nervous gesture that you’ve come to recognise which betrayed the calm mask he tried to hold. He exhaled a quiet laugh, dropping his hand to his side.

“If I’m being honest," he murmured, voice lower than before, "it was a disturbingly short amount of time between meeting you and wanting to say ‘I love you’.”

Your brows lifted, taken aback not because you were surprised, but because of how unpracticed it sounded. This wasn’t some well-timed confession, something he’d calculated to fluster you. It was an admission that had slipped past his guard before he could stop it.

Beomgyu wasn’t waiting for an answer. He wasn’t even looking at you anymore, just kept running a hand through his hair like he couldn’t believe he’d actually said that out loud.

But you had an answer.

You stepped closer, the space between you vanishing in an instant, and Beomgyu froze when you reached for him. With a touch far lighter than he deserved, you straightened the collar of his shirt, smoothing over the fabric the way he had done to your hair.

"We can work on that," you said softly, glancing away. 

Beomgyu gaped at you. For a heartbeat, he looked as though you had spoken a foreign language, and he was trying to translate the meaning behind every syllable. He barely restrained the smile that followed. You saw the way he bit down on it, the way the corners of his mouth twitched despite himself.

And then he echoed your words, breath warm and disbelieving. “We can work on that.”

He repeated it like he needed to hear it again to believe it. He tested the words on his tongue a few times. Seeing him do that almost made you scoff a fond laugh, but you held yourself back from doing it by biting the inside of your cheek.

His gaze flickered down to your hand resting at your side. His fingers brushed against yours, he hesitated for half a second, as if giving you the chance to pull away, but you didn’t. So he threaded his fingers through yours, his hand folding into yours.

Your heart stuttered.

It was such a simple thing. The way he held your hand—his thumb tracing a small arc across your knuckles, it was really simple, but it didn’t feel so at that moment. His touch felt different. His touch felt like he was worshiping you.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his fingers tightened around yours. “I think I’d like that.”

And this time, when you turned toward the door, you didn’t walk out alone. You didn’t slip away. You didn’t vanish with a parting glance and leave him behind in the silence.

This time, you held his hand.

THE END.

Taglist; @dawngyu @saejinniestar @xylatox @hoefororeo @caratcakemoa @90steele

[puffins-muffins]

Between Us

Pairing: Jax Teller x Female!Reader Word Count: 1600 Summary: You spend the evening whispering filth in Jax’s ear. So when he tells you to prove it... you do, right there in the bar bathroom. Warnings: SMUT! 18+ only please, minors DNI!! oral sex (m receiving), semi-public setting, possessive behavior, dirty talk, praise, light vaginal fingering A/N: All feedback (comments, reblogs, likes) is very much appreciated!! 🩷 Enjoy lovers!!

Charming didn’t have many places that could be called “nice.” But tonight, neither of you wanted nice.

Jax only wanted you. He wanted the way you looked at him like he was everything dangerous and worth it. The way you leaned in close and whispered filthy thoughts in his ear like they were secrets meant just for him, knowing damn well it wasn’t the first time you’d sucked the air out of his lungs.

You were his good girl with a sinful mouth and absolutely no shame when it came to wanting him, saying things that had his cock hard well before you even got through your first drinks.

Tonight you looked like temptation in a little black sundress dotted with tiny white flowers. It clung in all the right places, hugging the curve of your waist, dipping low at your chest, and swishing sweetly around your thighs. The fabric was light and easy to move in, but Jax couldn’t stop staring at the way it framed your body, the way your tits rose and fell when you laughed, how your ass bounced with every step, round and perfect beneath the hem that kept riding up just enough to drive him mad.

The dive bar off 12th was dim and reeked of spilled whiskey and stale smoke. You were tucked into Jax’s side, his arm heavy across your lower back as his fingers slipped beneath the hem of your dress, trailing up and down your exposed thigh.

You smiled at him like you were proud of yourself, because you were. Your fingertips dragging slowly over the tattoo on his forearm, a light, teasing touch that made his muscles twitch beneath your nails.

You leaned in close again, pretending to reach for your drink, but your lips brushed his ear instead.

“You know I’ve been thinking about your ink all night,” you purred. “Just wondering what it’d feel like to run my tongue over every single one… nice and slow.”

His laugh came out low, more breath than sound as his fingers inched higher up your thigh, dragging the hem of your dress with them. You felt the shift in him at your words, like flipping a switch without even trying.

“Yeah?” he rasped, the words barely catching on his breath.

You nodded, your lips brushing the edge of his stubbled jaw as you leaned in. “Especially the one you keep covered. The one no one else gets to see.”

That did it.

His hand stilled on your thigh, fingers tightening just a little. His defined jaw shifted, a small clench, and he didn’t speak right away. Just stared at you, eyebrows raised, lips slightly parted, his breath measured like he was trying to keep it together.

You could feel the heat coming off him now, radiating through the space between you, clinging to your skin, thick and pulsing. His thumb moved absent-mindedly, dragging along the inside of your thigh as if he didn’t even realize he was doing it.

When he finally spoke, his voice was a low challenge, “Prove it, darlin’.”

The bathroom door slammed behind you both.

The second it clicked shut, he was on you, his mouth crashing into yours, hot and demanding, tongue parting your lips, sliding deep like he needed to taste every filthy word you’d whispered in his ear all night. His golden stubble scraped against your soft, plush lips, leaving a burn that only made you want more. You could feel the heat of his breath, the press of his mouth moving hard against yours.

One big palm cradled the back of your neck, holding you in place as his lips devoured yours. His other hand was already at the hem of your sundress, bunching it up over your hips with urgency, exposing everything he already knew wasn’t there. His fingers brushed your bare skin and he groaned into your mouth.

“Jesus fuck,” he muttered, taking a step back just to look at you. “This body. This ass. You really came out lookin’ like this… for me?”

You smirked through your own breathy moan, your body aching for more of him.

Jax grinned against your skin, teeth scraping lightly along your throat. “Fuckin’ naughty,” he muttered, like it turned him on more than he could stand. His hand slid between your parted thighs, fingers dragging through your slick. “So wet already… walkin’ around just beggin’ for it.”

You whimpered, grinding down on his touch, but he held you there, teasing, controlling.

“Bad girl,” he rasped. “That’s what you are.”

“Yours," you declared, hips tilting into his touch while his fingertips danced across your clit.

His grip tightened on your bare ass, voice thick with need, his teeth nipping at your ear. “Yeah. Just how I like you.”

You dropped to your knees before he even had to ask, fingers working his belt with practiced ease. His cock sprang free, hard and flushed, the tip already wet and glistening with precum, and the sight of it made your mouth water.

Jax braced one hand on the wall behind you, the other curling into your hair - he was trying to keep it together, but the second your breath hit the sensitive head, he swore under it.

“Look at me,” he ordered.

Your eyes lifted, lashes fluttering just slightly, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of your lips, knowing exactly what you were about to do to him.

He was fucked the moment your lips parted.

You started slow, leaning in to taste his precum, then swirling the head, letting it sit on your tongue before slipping your lips around him with a soft, wet suck. Just his tip at first while your hand wrapped around the base to stroke in time with your mouth.

He looked down at you like you were everything he craved, yours were the only eyes he ever let see him like this; wild and unrestrained.

Your throat tightened as you sank lower, your lips brushing the base, jaw relaxed and full of him, using enough suction to make him fight the urge to thrust.

Jax watched everything. The way your lips stretched around him, how your cheeks hollowed when you sucked him deeper. The naughty little glint in your eyes that told him you wanted to ruin him, that you enjoyed it. Craved it, even.

No one had ever worshipped his cock with this kind of confidence. This filthy, practiced rhythm that felt like it was designed just for him.

His eyes never left yours. Blue, dark, and possessive.

Fucking proud.

“That’s right,” Jax groaned, voice breaking. “Goddamn… look at you.”

Eyes wide, full of him, your mouth stretched and glistening, spit trailing from the corner of your lips as you worked him with eager devotion. You bobbed your head in a smooth rhythm, tongue swirling, jaw relaxing to take him deeper with each pass.

You moaned around him, the sound vibrating through his cock, and it nearly buckled his knees. You let him slip deep into your throat, gagging just enough to make your eyes water, pulling back with a wet pop and a gasp just so you could start again.

Your hand stroked what your mouth couldn’t take, fingers slick with spit, working in perfect sync with your lips. You swirled your tongue under the head every time you came up, then took him back down, sloppier and wetter until he couldn’t fucking hold back.

Jax was staring down at you, jaw clenched, heart pounding, sweat beading at his temple.

Your hands gripped his thighs, fingers digging in as you moaned around him, sending another vibration through his cock that made him hiss above you and throw his head back.

He was unraveling, right there in a dive bar bathroom, pants around his thighs, with you on your knees like you lived for this.

“Fuuuck babe,” he growled, voice wrecked. “Keep doin’ that, I’m gonna fuckin' come.”

You didn’t stop, only sucking him harder and slower, wanting nothing more than to drag it out of him. But that only made him snap.

He came hard, groaning your name through clenched teeth as he spilled into your mouth. You took it all, swallowing him down like it was nothing. Your tongue flicked against the tip as he pulsed in your mouth, sucking every last drop, your eyes still locked on his like you owned him.

And in that moment, you fucking did.

You collected every bit of him before swiping the corners of your mouth with your thumb, that same thumb slipping between your lips as you sucked it clean, a wicked little smirk curving across your still-swollen mouth.

Jax just stood there, completely fucking spent, watching you like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Like no one had ever looked so goddamn beautiful on their knees in front of him, your perfect swollen lips, eyes gleaming, still tasting him.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, head falling back for a moment as his chest rose and fell like he’d just been knocked breathless.

He tucked himself back in quickly, then reached down to steady you with both hands as you pushed up from the floor.

You licked your lips one last time, slow and teasing, letting out a soft, satisfied “mmm” like you’d just finished dessert, smirking as you looked up at him, entirely too pleased with yourself.

“Told you I was good with my mouth, Jax.”

[calitears]

VLOG #3. HOT CO-WORKER

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“I would’ve expected it to feel colder out, but this is actually really nice.”

“Nicer than your hot bath?” Megumi asked next to you. You both sat on a beach towel, his eyes that had been focused on the horizon glanced briefly at you. The sand was soft under you, the sound of the ocean waves crashing against the shore. They filled in the silence between your conversation, along with the quiet music playing off a small radio he had stolen from the storage closet in the back of the restaurant.

“Shut up… I swear if you’re lying about having a hot tub i’m never going out with you again”

“Why would I lie about having a hot tub? I’m surprised you and maki don’t have one.”

You side eyed him, wanting to quip back at him, but the sight of him distracted you. Blame it on the moonlight reflecting in his eyes, while somehow illuminating his pale skin. It contrasted with his dark hair and clothes, the sight almost worth being painted.

“Okay whatever… not everyone’s disgustingly rich, plus you could be using this as a way to kidnap me,” you adjusted your position, leaning back some more against the towel, “You’re luring me into your home like a siren with this.”

“I don’t know if that’s a compliment or not.”

You didn’t respond to him, instead just let the music continue to play, watching the ocean’s tide drop.

A question you had wondered after the first time you had seen his place popped into your head. On the nights you had walked home together, only the outside of the his place had been seen, but the exterior spoke for itself. It was elegant, luxurious in a way that outdid the other buildings along the street. That was saying a lot considering none of them were average homes to begin with.

“Do you have a job besides this?”

He turned his face, a curious expression on his face.

“No… why do you ask?”

You hesitated, but ultimately let curiosity win. Maki and You could cover the rent bringing your earnings together, but how could Megumi maintain it alone? “Just wondering, your place just looks amazing from the outside. I imagine paying for it all on a waiter’s salary is impressive.”

He shifted slightly, picking at the edge of the towel, “It’s… technically not mine. It’s legally still under Gojo’s name. I’m just paying it off until it’s eventually mine or something like that.”

You pieced together the details in your head. The reason why gojo always seemed to target megumi, why their relationship seemed more personal compared to the other’s. You originally thought it would’ve been just because he had been working there the longest, but it seemed to go beyond that. Not that you’d interrogate him about his personal relationships at the moment.

The chorus of the song currently playing filled in the break in conversation for a few seconds, before cut off by your response.

“Oh my god you’re a nepo baby.”

He gave you the look of a five year old child being told something their mind couldn’t possibly grasp. The expression comical on a man his age that you almost laughed in his face.

“A nepo baby? Of what, the restaurant?”

“Well, yeah, kind of?”

He shook his head, looking away and picking at the sand now. “He’s just stupid rich… it’s our old summer home from when I was younger.”

“Your summer home, so you’re not from here?“

He seemed to think through his response for a second. “Well I plan on living here for a while. I’ve always been familiar with the area, but I lived in Tokyo before.”

“Can I ask what made you want to move here?”

He sighed and gave a slight shrug, looking towards the ocean.

“I like the beach.”

“Fair enough.”

Once again silence fell, before broken by Megumi.

“It’s late, if you still wanna hangout at my place we better go.”

“It’s past your bedtime Fushiguro?”

He stood up, muttering some annoyed response, “That was at 10, be grateful I didn’t pass out on you.”

You scoffed playfully, but ultimately nodded, taking the hand he had offered out to you. Starting to help pick up, you saw his phone slip off the towel. The screen lighting up with a number of unread messages.

NOTES

hacks

usually everyone talks about gojo and geto for workplace drama but they haven’t seen them together in a few weeks so everyone’s deprived

gojo backread the gc messages and texted megumi teasing him only to get left on delivered

yall glorybox is such a sexy song i love it i love beth’s voice, megumi scrolling on airbuds for song inspo to play but don’t tell anyone that

ik i said this last time but truly thank you all sm for the love you’ve given this series i’ll kiss you all the lips mwah

will delete this later but:

do u guys want a hot tub drabble in the next chapter i cant decide if i should include one or not to start it idk idk idk 🥸🤥

also posting schedule might change to twice a week but no specific day, and um another chapter out maybe in the next two days 😛

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[ssshiversss]

In Defense of Trant Heidelstam

Forgive the clickbaity title, but the “new” ““lore””, as well as the broader reaction to it, has me raising one if not both of my eyebrows, especially over what I interpret as a really bad-faith and uncharitable interpretation of Trant (that both DOES and does NOT fit what we’re given in canon). 

Take everything I say with a grain of salt and with the knowledge that I spend an inordinate amount of my spare time thinking about this fictional man and his Problems. Trant Heidelstam has, for better or for worse, become my goddamn special interest.

I’m not sure how to approach this aside from using the classic internet technique of a nice numbered list:

Twice Divorced Well, what much is there to say? Two marriages failed. That’s about all the information we’re given. He has a better track record than my own stepdad. We’re only left to assume that he’s the one who initiated both divorces, which in and of itself shouldn’t really be seen as something shameful or flaky. Marriages fail, especially in Revachol. Oftentimes divorce is the kinder, saner option than attempting to make a shit relationship work, especially with a child in the picture. What this says to me about Trant is that he’s willing to commit and willing to acknowledge when something isn’t working.

Moved Countries Twice Again, why is this a bad thing? It’s a stretch, but the implication here could be ‘being disloyalty to a nation’, which is…[gestures broadly at the rise in populist rightwing thought]. Since when does being a globe trotter who has trouble putting down roots make someone a ‘backpedaler’, I ask.

Pulled out a Business Venture Maybe I’m biased here because I’m speaking as a business owner. A small business owner, but one that still deals with an intimidating profit margin for a pissant like me. Investing and running a business is fucking scary, especially in our own modern day setting. There have been times when I’ve been overwhelmed, exhausted, and terrified that I made the wrong choice getting tangled up in the rat race. I’m fortunate that I have good business partners. That isn’t always the case. Backing out of a business venture that you see is about to crash is not backpedaling. It’s fucking business.

 Heroin and Yahtzee Arguably the funniest fucking thing to add to the laundry list. I have to wonder if they swapped heroin for pyrholidon once they settled on his backstory in the final game. The game addresses that Trant was a past addict, and suggests that he simply trades one addiction for another (stick fighting being likened to a kind of addiction). Harry has a moment of “game recognizes game”. And, as a friend pointed out, addiction is not really something you can ‘backpedal’ your way out of. You deal with it for the rest of your life. It’s always there, hovering over your shoulder. It’s something that requires VIGILANCE and a tremendous amount of self-discipline and social support (and, let’s be real, financial stability) to overcome. I think the game isn’t subtle in its implication that the reason Trant was able to kick the drugs is directly related to his proximity to privilege, something that Harry noticeably lacks. As for the Yahtzee thing… This is weird, but only because I have an insane backlog of knowledge of Tarmo Jüristo, who the devs cited as being their inspiration for Trant (I’m going to make a whole fucking number for this one, so just hang with me). But Jüristo had a pretty intense poker phase, which actually ended up inspiring some of his later work with statistics, specifically Bayesian statistics. But I digress. Whether it’s Poker or Yahtzee, gambling is gambling, and I think that’s another weird thing to say someone ‘backpedaled’ out of. Implying it would be…more upstanding if he saw his gambling addiction through? Kept up with it? WHAT are they trying to say here?

 No Clear Agenda/Seeking Political Power Alright, I’m coming back to Tarmo again. And god, I feel like if I say his name three times he’s going to find my blog post again, but it’s the goddamn devs fault for basing this character off of someone who I find to be so incredibly interesting. So you’re about to witness me be a fanboy real quick, because I think more people should know about this guy. Taken straight from the Praxis website: “Tarmo has been an active member of Estonian civil society. He was one of the original members to sign Harta12 (a civil initiative focusing on problem areas in state governance) and publicly stood for the ratification of the Registered Partnership Act in autumn of 2014.” This man was fighting for civil liberties in Estonia when it was certainly uncool to do so, specifically for gay rights and marriage equality. He’s a staunch leftist and an unapologetic statistics nerd who practices Kendo and Brazilian Jiujitsu. He founded SALK, one of Estonia's most important leftist political organizations that swept the most recent elections, which was unprecedented, as right wing ideology has infected the West almost across the board. (Also, he’s a playwright on the side). So, I’m to believe that this guy, who is by all accounts someone with an incredibly diverse background, a vivid curiosity about the world around him, and a desire to see progressive thought put into action… THIS guy is the cited inspiration for Trant, so much that Trant’s design looks like him… But Trant isn’t supposed to have a clear agenda aside from “seeking political power”. When put vaguely like that, it sounds nefarious by default. But why would he work with the C Wing? Why would he put his faith in characters like Harry and Jean, who, for all their flaws, are two men who fundamentally want to see the world put right. A fight that feels so futile most days that it destroys them from the inside out. Why would a man with “no clear agenda” help the RCM? It doesn’t add up. As I said to my friend earlier: if they didn't want me to interpret Trant to be a well-rounded man who is interested in civil liberties and self-discipline, then they shouldn't have baSED HIM OFF OF TARMO FUCKING JÜRISTO.

In conclusion, I rebuke this ‘backpedal’ thing with my full fucking chest. If it was given to us in context of the game – maybe Jean or Harry giving Trant shit about all the choices he’s made in his life, ribbing him for the perceived flakiness – that is one thing. That diegetic lore. That’s coming from the mouths and the opinions of the characters. But instead we’re getting this information (allegedly) from the authors. And when it comes from the Creators as opposed to being from the Creation, I can only see it as something petty, mean-spirited, and unfairly biased against a character who should be given the same grace and nuance as any of the others. 

BUT ANYWAYS I’M JUST SOME BITCH ON THE INTERNET. Read my TrantJean fanfiction if you're into that kind of shit.  -- EDITED to fix the number fuckery and also include: I know they call him Special Consultant Backpedal in the game. They kept that part, and I think it's funny and great. I think it was just odd to say he backpedaled out of addiction and gambling problems, but it could be a translation thing.

[immaqulate]

Part Four: Stay Dry

– in which!.. He walks you home.. And for once he says nothing at all

— warnings: mentions of hookup culture, emotional repression, suggestive conversation, light jealousy, manwhore-coded behavior (not meant to shame), slow burn tension, intimacy avoidance, emotional vulnerability

You’re not expecting rain. It was supposed to hold off until morning, but of course, Boston doesn’t care. The clouds rolled in mid-afternoon, and now it’s drizzling steadily—just heavy enough to be annoying, just cold enough to make your hoodie feel thin and useless.

The campus is nearly empty when you leave the library. It’s late. Your tote bag is heavier than usual, and you didn’t bring an umbrella because you thought you’d be back before sunset.

You were wrong.

You keep your head down as you walk, hunching into the wind, regretting every decision that led you to this moment. And then—

“Y/N?”

You freeze.You know that voice, you hate that you know that voice. You turn around slowly.

Matt stands under the overhang outside the café across the street, hoodie up, curls flattened by the rain, hands shoved deep into his pockets. His backpack’s slung over one shoulder, and he’s staring at you like he’s surprised—but also like he’s been watching.

“You’re soaked,” he says. You look down at yourself. “Yeah, well. Boston.”

He hesitates. Then pulls the strap off his shoulder and steps out into the rain.

“What are you—” “C’mon.” He shrugs out of his hoodie and holds it out. “You’re gonna get sick.”

You blink at him. “You’re serious?”

“I’m not about to watch you catch pneumonia over a study session.”

He pauses. “Take it.”

You reach out slowly, fingers brushing his as you take the hoodie. It’s warm. It smells like him—clean laundry, soap, some kind of cologne he probably claims not to wear.

“You’ll freeze,” you say quietly.

Matt just shrugs. “Wouldn’t be the dumbest thing I’ve done this week.”

You roll your eyes, but pull the hoodie over your head anyway. It’s big. Heavy. Way too soft for someone who pretends not to care about anything.

He falls into step beside you.

You expect him to make a joke. To comment on how cute you look in his hoodie. To flirt. But he doesn’t.

He just walks, silently. You glance at him after a block. He’s looking straight ahead, face unreadable, jaw tight.

“Did you stay late too?” you ask, just to fill the quiet.

“Yeah,” he says. “Had some stuff to finish.” You nod. “Didn’t know you actually studied.”

He huffs a soft laugh. “Don’t tell anyone.” The silence settles again. But it’s not uncomfortable. Not tonight.

___

Halfway to your building, your fingers brush. Neither of you pulls away. You don’t say anything about it. You just let it linger—for one breath. Two.

Then he clears his throat. “You don’t have to give it back right away.”

You blink. “The hoodie?”

“Yeah. No rush.” A pause. “Looks better on you anyway.”

You bite your lip. “There it is.”

“What?”

“The flirty comment. I knew you couldn’t help yourself.” He grins—but it’s soft this time. Quiet. A little unsure. “Old habits.”

You reach your dorm steps too soon. He stops at the bottom while you fumble for your keycard.

“Thanks for walking me,” you say. He nods. Doesn’t make a joke. Doesn’t say something smooth.

He just… nods. And then, just as you turn to go in, you hear him again.

“Hey, Y/N?” You glance back.

Matt’s still there. Hoodie-less. Hands shoved in his pockets again. Hair dripping just slightly. Eyes darker than usual.

“You don’t have to keep pretending,” he says quietly. “That you’re not curious.”

You open your mouth. Close it.

He nods once more. “Goodnight.” Then he walks away.

And this time, it’s you who stands in the rain too long, thinking too hard, and wondering if maybe—just maybe—you are curious.

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[threetone3]

What We Don’t Say Chapter 2: Kang Haerin from Arae

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Kang Haerin x Male OC

Tags: fluff, angst, slowburn, romcom, kpop idol x male oc

Words: 3.1k

Chapter 2

“You’re a celebrity, huh?”

In which Jay gets to know the cat girl who stares at him in a good way… according to him, at least. 

Lee Hyunjae

Sometimes I wonder if I did something in my past life to offend the bald-headed demon in our school. 

Relax, I’m just joking… kind of. 

Who am I referring to? Take a wild guess. Not a day goes by that I don’t cross paths with him, and without fail, he always has something to say.

“Your hair’s getting too long, Lee Hyunjae. Cut it by tomorrow.” 

“Where’s your tie, Hyunjae? It’s part of your school uniform, put it back on now.” 

“How many times is that now? This is the third consecutive week where you’ve been late every single day.” 

Okay, maybe some of those comments were warranted. I’m not exactly winning “Model Student of the Year.” But even when he’s nagging me about my earrings or the sweatpants I sneak into uniform rotation (they’re just so much more comfortable), I know Mr. Choi’s just doing his job. A little too enthusiastically, maybe — but it’s not like he actually hates me. In fact, if I’m being honest, I think he might be one of the only adults in this school who actually gives a shit. Case in point — just a few seconds ago: “A minute late to school, as usual,” he sighed, already eyeing my outfit.

He went straight for the ear check. “Earrings. Again. That’s your fifth strike this week, and it’s only Wednesday. You trying to break your own record, Lee Hyunjae?” Classic Mr. Choi. Equal parts exasperation and sarcasm. 

A few other latecomers around us snickered under their breath. I rolled my eyes instinctively and brushed them off — people love to talk when they don’t know anything. I’ve learned to let it slide. Words don’t sting as much when you’re used to hearing worse at home. 

As I scanned the school grounds, my eyes caught a glimpse of a familiar girl pointing in my direction where I was standing. My close friend and the resident ray of sunshine in the school, Danielle Marsh, was with a not-so-familiar girl next to her. I waved at Danielle before she finally noticed me. 

“Third time this week?” she called. Wow, so I really am only known in this school for my demerit record, huh. 

“Nope, fourth. You forgot Monday—I got caught riding Bull to school,” I responded, referring to the motorcycle I bought with the money my mom left me, because I loved the feeling of riding into the wild with no destination in mind. Well, I worked a part-time job on weekends, so the purchase was worthwhile anyway. 

I noticed the other girl staring at me. I couldn’t really tell from a distance, but it almost looked like she was meticulous with her blinking, in a slow, perceptive, calculating manner, almost like a…cat? It seemed like a ridiculous comparison, but the more I took notice of her features, the more I could see the similarities. 

I saw her turn around and exchange a few words with Danielle, who responded with her signature hearty laugh. Looks like they were hitting it off. 

“Quit staring and get moving to class, Hyunjae. You’re already 5 minutes late.” I looked around, realising that all the other latecomers had already left for period 1. 

As I grumbled and started walking towards my homeroom, a hand grabbed my arm, and I turned to face a worried-looking Mr Choi, an expression I’d already gotten used to from him. 

“Wait, Jay.” 

Oh shit, even his tone was more concerned than usual. 

“If you’re still having problems at home, please reach out. You and I both know what he’s like when he drinks.”

I snorted. “When isn’t he? These days, I think he’s spared more glances at bottles of soju than Hyein, and she’s literally always at home.” 

Mr. Choi sighed again, more defeated than ever. “God knows what happened after graduation… That accident must’ve changed him. Anyway, keep your chin up and look after your sister. It’s what your mother would’ve wanted.”

With one final nod, he turned and walked back toward the front office. I stood there for a second longer, watching him go. 

Mr. Choi and my parents went way back. They all went to the same college, and from what I heard, my mom used to copy his notes in every class. It’s funny, really — he’s probably been scolding me since before I was even born. 

As I made my way towards my homeroom, I noticed Danielle taking the cat girl to the field. ‘Ah, she must be the new transfer,’ I thought to myself as I recalled Mrs Baek mentioning one. The way she stared at me just now intrigued me. Not to toot my own horn, but a lot of people in this school stare at me. Hoobaes staring in admiration, guys that stare tentatively in wary, or teachers with their judgmental, watchful eyes that constantly kept me on my tiptoes. I hated it. Movies always describe the popular kid as someone who basks in the attention, relishing in the glory, but I just didn’t get it. 

To me, attention came with strings. Expectations. Labels. The way they stared as if they weren’t looking at me, but at a version of myself that I didn’t want to be. The constant whispering, the assumptions—they were just exhausting. 

So when the cat girl looked at me like that, like she was trying to figure something out, I didn’t quite know how to feel. There wasn’t fear or admiration in her eyes. It was more like curiosity. Calm, steady curiosity, like she was watching a puzzle solve itself.

And most of all, it didn’t make me uncomfortable—quite the opposite.

🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊

The first thing I heard when I slid open the door and stepped into the classroom was yet another heavy sigh. 

“Lee Hyunjae, if you miss any more lessons, not even the student council president will be able to help you with your grades. Minji-ssi has many other pressing matters to attend to. You might as well kiss your graduation certificate goodbye at that point.” 

Mrs. Baek didn’t even look up from the attendance sheet. She just pointed to my empty seat at the back and scribbled something down — probably another late mark. I gave her a lazy salute, which earned a glare from Minji, seated at the front of the class, who was already diligently colour-coding her notes. 

Of course she was.

Minji’s always been the “get-things-done” type. If I were a storm, she’d be the emergency drill plan taped to the wall: efficient, serious, a little too sharp around the edges. We’ve known each other since middle school; in fact, we even used to be neighbours. 

We used to know everything about each other, but these days, we barely even talk. She’s busy, I know, what with all the student president business or whatever. Not to mention, she has a crazy mom who starts going batshit crazy whenever she places anything below 1st place on the termly exams. 

But I miss how close we used to be.

I still feel responsible for her, a promise I made to her dad when she moved next door. God, I miss the moments I had with her family as well. Spending time at hers allowed me to forget about my actual one back home. 

Of course, she does have Hanni now, her girlfriend of 2 years. They’re great and all, and I don’t want to impose, but I do feel like if I were to start drifting away from Minji even more, I at least want a bit more closure. 

“Don’t let Jay’s tardiness distract you from your grades, class. Back to page 47. There’s gonna be a pop quiz after we finish this topic as well.” Mrs. Baek announced to the class, eliciting groans and moans that grumbled across the classroom. 

I let my chin fall into my palm and stared blankly at the board. Five minutes into the lesson and I was already zoning out. Studying just wasn’t my thing. 

By the time Mrs. Baek flipped to the next slide, I had already made my decision.

I raised my hand. “Can I go to the bathroom?” 

She didn’t even blink. “Five minutes. If you’re gone longer than that, I’m sending Minji to drag you back.” 

Behind me, Minji raised her arm. “Sorry Mrs Baek, but I actually have a council meeting, like… now.” Mrs. Baek finally looked up and took off her glasses. “Oh, I see. Go ahead then.” Then to me, with a glare: “Lucky you, Hyunjae. But longer than five minutes and your detention will be a hundred times longer.” 

At that, I slid out of my seat, shoved my hands in my pockets, and strolled out into the hall, slightly trailing behind Minji, though she went her separate way, probably to the library where the student council held their meetings.

Slipping out of class, with or without permission, had become the daily norm for me. Most of the time, teachers don’t even realise that I’m gone after a few minutes, so I started making use of it. Sometimes I’d go to the gym and hit the bags, or go to my spot and clear my mind. Or I’d sneak downstairs and spy on my little sister, just to make sure that no creepy hoobaes were bothering her. 

You might think I’m a little weird and possessive for doing that, maybe, but I’m genuinely just concerned. Hyein’s all I have, and I just can’t risk losing her. Besides, Mom made me promise to take care of her, and that’s an oath I never intend to break.

“Jay! There you are.” I turned at the sound of Danielle’s voice and found her jogging up with the transfer girl trailing behind her. She was holding a clipboard, half her hair falling out of its ponytail.

‘Huh, that’s the third time I’ve seen them just this morning.’ I brushed that thought off as I focused on Danielle, who looked like she was panicking to the point of explosion.

“I was just about to come looking for you,” she said, slightly out of breath. “I was showing Haerin around, but I totally forgot I have to be at the student council meeting like… now. You know how Minji gets when people are late. Could you take her to the homeroom building for me? It’s the last stop, promise!” 

I looked at her incredulously, “Wait wait wait, that’s it? You’re dumping the new transfer onto me? I’m supposed to have my quiet time now.” I was half-joking, but Danielle’s exasperated look and the cat girl’s unreadable stare made me realise the joke didn’t land.

“Come on, Jay. I’m gonna be late. Help me out just once. I’ll make sure Pham doesn’t bother you with her weird Rocky Balboa impressions whenever you come over during our practice for at least a week.” Danielle was practically begging with pleading eyes. 

“Enticing offer… I’m in. You better hold up your end of the stick, though.” I responded, though really, I genuinely wanted to save Danielle from Minji’s wrath. That girl could really bite your ear off if she wanted to, no boxing reference intended. 

“No problemo, and thanks, Jay. Here, this is Haerin. Haerin, this is Jay, the guy with the earrings you asked about. Jay, try not to corrupt her too fast, please. She’s one of the good ones.” Without another word, Danielle almost glided in the direction of the library. 

“Wow, Minji really has these student council members on a leash, huh?” I glanced at the cat girl, whose name I now knew. The only response I received was a blank stare, the same one I received a while ago when I was standing with my fellow latecomers. She even started blinking slowly, in that same calm, unreadable manner. I was beginning to think it wasn’t just a coincidence.

“Uh... right,” I scratched the back of my neck. I swear I could hear the crickets chirping in the awkward silence. “Guess we better head to homeroom, then.” Still no response, not even the slightest nod. 

“Okay,” I muttered under my breath. “So you’re the quiet type. Cool cool cool, love that for me. Um, do you know which homeroom you’re in?” 

“3-1. Mrs Baek Seong Ja.” 

There it is. I finally managed to hear her voice, though the answer wasn’t what I was looking for, as I cursed under my breath. 

“Shit, you’re in the same homeroom as me.” This was bad; my five minutes were basically up already. “Well, scrap this then, I can’t take you there. Erm, let’s freestyle instead. We’ll go to my favourite spots in school, I’m sure you’ll love them.” 

This finally seemed to form a crack in Haerin’s expression, as for once, she looked just the slightest bit intrigued. 

🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊

“So, uh, Haerin-ssi, right?” I tried my best to make small talk as I brought her along the corridor that led to the boxing gym. I was forcing myself to change my social behaviour just to fit her vibe; I even slowed down my footsteps to make it seem like I wasn’t just dragging her along on this school tour. 

She nodded in response, then halted her steps and looked at me again. ‘There’s that weird stare… she looks like she’s expecting something from me,” I thought to myself. “Is there something you wanna ask—” 

A loud gasp interrupted me. “Holy shit, aren’t you Kang Haerin? From Arae Tuition?”

A short, chubby hoobae with a bowl cut stared at her in awe. “Oh my god, you are her! I see your posters all the time after school at Arae for math!” He fished out his phone and, rudely, snapped a picture before taking off.

I turned to look at Haerin, expecting to see a happy expression on her face for once, since someone recognised her, but instead I was met with one that seemed even colder than the one she usually wore. 

And of course, because of my amazingly timed humour, I just had to crack a joke then. 

“You’re a celebrity, huh? Sign here, please?”

Of course, it landed just as well as you probably expected. I wasn’t hoping for a reaction, but again, she just stared at me. This time though, she almost had a curious look on her face. 

“You don’t recognise me?” She finally spoke for what felt like the first or second time since I officially met her. 

“No, not really. Am I supposed to?” I didn’t know how to feel. Was she one of those uber-popular influencers on social media or something? The kid just now mentioned something about a tuition centre, though, so probably not. “Sorry, I don’t really go for hagwon. I don’t know who you are.” 

Relief thoroughly washed over her face. “No, no, it's fine. It’s better for me that you don’t, actually.” 

I don’t know why, but that sentence evoked a feeling in me. A weird kind of feeling; it was like a flicker. A subtle pulse of recognition. Not of her name, or face, or whatever Arae Tuition poster she might’ve been on, but of the feeling behind her words.

That sense of wanting to go unnoticed. To not be known for the wrong things. To walk into a room and just be, without people already deciding who you are before you even say a word.

Yeah. I knew that feeling.

So I didn’t say anything back for a moment. Just kept walking beside her in silence. She didn’t seem to mind. In fact, for the first time since I met her, her steps fell in sync with mine. Still quiet, still cat-like in her movements, but a little less guarded now. Like maybe I wasn’t a threat. Like maybe I didn’t need to be shut out entirely.

“You don’t like being recognised?” I asked eventually, keeping my voice low.

She looked down at her shoes, then ahead again. “Not like that.”

“Like how then?”

She didn’t answer immediately. I almost thought she wouldn’t at all — until she said, “I want to be known, not remembered.”

I slowed down without even thinking. “…What’s the difference?”

She finally looked up at me. Not blinking slowly this time, not observing. Just… looking. “Being remembered means they’ve decided who you are. Being known means they’re still listening.”

That quieted me more than it should’ve. For a second, I forgot I was supposed to be skipping class. Forgot about Mr. Choi’s warnings, Mrs. Baek’s threats or even Minji’s glare from earlier. I just kept staring at her, this girl who didn’t smile, didn’t flinch, didn’t say much — but who somehow made more sense to me than most people did. 

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I get it. People stare like they’re only seeing the outer shell I built. No one sees the real me. Maybe it’s the same for you.”

Haerin looked up at me and opened her mouth to speak before pausing, like she was contemplating whether to open up or not. 

“You can tell me anything, your secret’s safe with me,” I said with a wink, before immediately cringing inwardly. 

It seemed to work, though, as Haerin finally began to speak up.

“My mom, she… She doesn’t see me for who I am. I think to her, all I am is just a machine—a robot that’s able to help her boost her brand. It’s been like that my entire life. She’s been sending me to study at cram school since I could talk, and now it’s all I can do. Regurgitate information on a piece of paper.” 

I didn’t know what to say at first. There was a heaviness in her voice — not sadness exactly, but something duller. Like it had been worn down over time, sanded smooth from too many years of being unheard. 

“And the worst thing is, it’s the same for everyone. They only know ‘Kang Haerin from Arae’.” She gave a small, humourless huff through her nose. “It is what it is, though.” 

In the heat of the moment, I blurted my inner thoughts out without thinking. 

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I have the privilege of not knowing her. Kang Haerin from Arae, I mean. To me, you’re some weird cat girl who could probably go undefeated in a staring contest tournament. And that’s who I’m interested in learning more about.” 

For a moment, I wasn’t sure how she’d take it — but then she let out a sound. A laugh, a real one this time. It was a combination of a snort and a chuckle, small but genuine. 

And for someone like her, that was the loudest thing in the world.

Sorry bout the delay, I was kinda in a dilemma on whether I should switch perspectives throughout writing this chapter. Here it is, hope you guys enjoyed it, please leave comments, feedback, advice, constructive criticism or compliments 😉 Any questions about how the story is going to progress are welcome as well, I'd love to share my thought process when writing with you guys.

[rosetta46]

So what is the process of writing a chapter for rptr, from a technical standpoint. I'm specifically referring to the POV alteration between the past events and today,tho if there's something else logistical thar interesting,please tell, any excuse for there to be more yapping about this wonderful fic. Also,it sounds like tou have all the plot figures out, how much time did that take? Was your vision always clear from the start?

ooh tysm for this question!

i always write the ‘script’ first, and if i have a rough idea of where i want a chapter to end i’ll separate it by writing CHAPTER BREAK as a note to myself, so i usually write a chapter or so ahead and then go back and do all the reactions. that makes it easier to understand how everyone should react (AKA, helps me know how to balance all of Stoick’s distraught-ness across events and chapters in an arc).

can’t have the chief flipping out too much too early!

i’ve literally been thinking about a fic like this for years, so i’ve kind of unintentionally been building the layout of the plot in my head every time i’ve consumed any HTTYD media for years😅

but the vision is definitely not 100% crystal clear, things are still changing even from chapter to chapter! SPOILERS: the blood-pact between Hiccup and Dagur, VIGGO, Dagur’s re-introduction being on Hiccup’s birthday, Hiccup climbing the Red Death like a jungle gym and more detail things I don’t plan out, they just happen🤣 i know where the plot is going and how big events will play out, but everything in between is up in the air until the moment i’m writing it!