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kysstar · 2 months ago

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RIGHT NEXT DOOR | SONG MINGI (requested 💕)

pairing : : song mingi x fem!reader

synopsis : : you and mingi have been dancing around your feelings for far too long—neighbors, friends, something more. neither of you says it. but everything else does. Eventually, something has to give.

genre : : friends to lovers, next door neighbours, slow burn (?)

warnings : : reader and mingi being fools, alcohol consumption. (lmk if i missed smth!)

word count : : 7.9k

author's note : : thank you @bananananana26 for requesting this <3 i had such a fun time writing it! hope you like it 💕

—There’s a click, the familiar metal rattle of a key sliding into your front door, and the slow creak of it opening like the house itself is still deciding whether it’s awake yet. You groan and bury your face deeper into your pillow. The sun is barely bleeding through the curtains—definitely not an acceptable hour for social interaction.

“Mornin’,” Mingi’s voice floats in, warm and unbothered. Too chipper for this ungodly hour.

You don’t answer. You don’t have to. He’s already crossing the room like he owns the place, which, to be fair, he almost does. Mingi is that kind of neighbor. The kind that becomes a fixture in your space, slipping into your life through shared dinners and inside jokes, and eventually, the spare key you gave him for emergencies. Now he uses it like an open invitation. Like it’s his right.

“Where’s that black shirt I left here?” he asks, already rooting through your laundry basket like a man on a mission.

You crack one eye open and squint at him. “What?” Your voice is gravel, soft and uneven from sleep.

“My black shirt—the fitted one, short sleeves, buttons down the front?” He turns to you, holding it up triumphantly. The fabric clings to his fingers like it recognizes its rightful owner.

You blink. “Why do you need that? It’s like... seven in the morning.”

Mingi shrugs, slipping off his hoodie right there in the middle of your room like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “Got a date. Brunch.”

That word cuts through the fog in your brain like cold water to the face. You sit up slowly, heart tapping against your ribs, alert now in a way that has nothing to do with caffeine.

“A date?” you echo, trying to sound curious, not concerned.

“Yeah.” He pulls on the shirt, and you hate how well it fits him. The fabric clings just right at the shoulders, tapering slightly at his waist. He runs a hand through his messy, copper-tinged hair, trying to tame it as he leans toward your mirror. His fingers smooth over his jaw, adjusting the necklace around his throat.

“She’s someone I met through Yeosang. Cute, funny. Likes jazz, apparently.” He says it like it’s a fun fact. Like he’s not casually rearranging the architecture of your mood.

You hum something noncommittal and flop back onto your pillow. You don’t want him to see your face.

Mingi laughs, amused. “Why do you sound like I told you I’m going to war?”

“Because waking someone up to brag about a date is not exactly delightful,” you mutter.

He throws a pillow at you, but it’s soft, and you smile into the mattress when he’s not looking.

—You spend the afternoon trying not to think about him.

It’s not easy.

The problem with Mingi is that he’s everywhere in your life now—without ever really meaning to be. He’s in the smell of your laundry detergent (because he ran out of his own and now uses yours). He’s in the playlist that’s still looping from last night’s wine-and-rant session. He’s in the extra mug on the dish rack and the way your living room couch always has a slight dent on the right cushion where he lounges.

You’re trying to work—trying being the operative word.

Emails stack up, deadlines hover like impatient clouds, and you’re still stuck thinking about how easily he said it. Date. Like it was nothing. Like it didn’t matter.

You picture him sitting across from some girl at a cozy café, laughing in that low, goofy way that always makes your chest warm. You picture her making him smile. Picture her reaching out to touch his hand across the table.

It makes something twist in your stomach—tight and jealous and stupid.

He’s allowed to date. Obviously. It’s not your business. You’re just neighbors. Friends.

And yet. You keep refreshing your inbox like it might distract you from the ache of wanting something that isn’t yours.

Evening slides in with a sky streaked in orange and lavender. You’re in sweats, finally letting yourself collapse onto the couch, when your door creaks open again.

Mingi walks in without ceremony, a frown tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You glance over. “So?”

He sighs and flops down beside you like he’s been holding in the weight of the world and just now decided to let it out in your living room.

“So, that was a bust.”

You try to school your face into sympathy. “Oh?”

“She talked about her ex for thirty minutes straight. No joke. I timed it after the first ten.” He scrubs a hand over his face, voice muffled. “I thought it was just nerves at first, but then I realized I was basically a placeholder for some dude named Jinwoo who cheated on her with her Pilates instructor.”

You wince. “Ouch.”

“And then she asked me if I thought it was weird she still texts him sometimes,” he adds, eyes wide. “Like, ma’am?”

Despite yourself, you start to laugh. “Okay, that’s... tragic.”

“I left before dessert. Just told her I had to feed my cat.”

“You don’t have a cat.”

“She doesn’t know that.”

He grins at you, eyes finally lighting up. That boyish kind of smile that you can't help but smile back.

You know you shouldn't feel happy. Not really. You should sympathize, offer comfort, maybe even suggest he give the girl another chance. But instead, your heart feels lighter. Like someone just cracked open a window in a stuffy room.

Mingi stretches, then stands. “Come on. I need to wash the disappointment off me. Let’s do a movie night. Your pick.”

“You mean your apartment, your couch, and my movie taste?”

“Exactly.”

The movie carries on in the background, its glow flickering across the room like a lazy pulse. You’re half-watching, half-daydreaming, legs tucked under a blanket and Mingi’s stretched across your lap like furniture. It’s quiet, comfortable. The kind of silence that doesn’t ask to be filled. Just as a chase scene starts up on screen, you glance over—and freeze a little.

He’s fast asleep.

His head’s tilted slightly toward you, hair falling messily over his forehead, one strand caught against his lashes. His lips are parted in a soft pout, like he fell asleep mid-thought. The bowl of popcorn still rests on his chest, absurdly balanced, the kernels slowly sliding with each steady rise and fall of his breathing. You stare for a moment, then smile, amused and maybe a little fond without meaning to be.

You reach for your phone as quietly as possible and snap a quick photo, biting your lip to keep from laughing. The angle’s perfect. He looks ridiculous in the best way. You open the group chat and send it without shame.

Satisfied, you set your phone down and try to shift out from under his legs, but they’re heavier now that he’s completely out. You wiggle gently, hoping he’ll roll off or stir just enough to let you slide free. Instead, he shifts the other way—an arm slipping down across the couch, his body turning just enough to press into your side, his leg now fully across your lap. A soft sigh escapes him, content and oblivious, like he’s settling in for the night.

You pause, blink at the ceiling, and exhale. He’s not moving. At all.

You stare down at him, then at the blanket, then at the barely touched popcorn. This is your life now, apparently. Trapped under a snoring six-foot-something man who smells faintly like your detergent and still has crumbs on his shirt. With no other option, you shift down slightly, tuck the blanket tighter around both of you, and get comfortable.

And honestly? You don’t mind.

—You stand in front of the mirror longer than you need to, checking your reflection for the fifth time. The party isn’t anything wild—just a casual get-together at Seonghwa’s place, mostly mutual friends, people you’ve known long enough to not stress about. But still. You’ve put more effort into getting ready than you care to admit.

You’re wearing a black satin slip dress that hugs in the right places and falls just below mid-thigh. It’s simple, easy, but elegant in that effortless way. You threw a cropped leather jacket over it for warmth and balance, paired it with ankle boots that give you just enough height to fake confidence. Your earrings catch the light when you move, and your lips are glossed, eyes soft with just a little liner.

As you adjust the strap of your purse and reach for your phone, the doorbell rings.

Right on time.

You already know who it is. Your hand closes around the doorknob. You take a breath that feels too deliberate, then open the door.

And there he is.

Mingi stands in the hallway like a scene out of a daydream—black dress shirt tucked neatly into fitted slacks, the sleeves rolled up just enough to show the curve of his forearms. The top two buttons are undone, revealing a hint of collarbone and a simple silver chain glinting against his skin. He’s wearing his usual beat-up boots that somehow don’t ruin the look—if anything, they make it more him. His hair is pushed back messily, like he tried to style it but gave up halfway, and it somehow works.

You blink, once, then again. Breathe out before you realize you’ve been holding it in.

Mingi’s eyes travel down, then back up, slower than he probably means to. His lips part slightly, but nothing comes out. For a second, it’s just the two of you standing there, saying nothing, doing nothing—just looking.

Like idiots.

You clear your throat, fingers tightening around your purse strap. “We should go.”

“Right,” he says quickly, nodding. You notice the faint blush creeping up his neck as he turns to head down the hall. “Yeah. Totally.”

Mingi’s car smells faintly like mint gum and that citrusy cologne he always pretends not to wear. You settle into the passenger seat while he starts the engine.

He drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting loosely on the gearshift. There’s music playing low—some indie playlist he probably queued up for the ride. It’s chill. Familiar. You both sit in that silence that isn’t awkward, just... easy.

“Do you know if Wooyoung and Yeosang are going tonight?” you ask, adjusting the hem of your dress as you cross your legs.

Mingi nods without taking his eyes off the road. “Yeah. I think they’re already there. Wooyoung texted me like five times reminding me to bring that stupid portable speaker he left in my apartment.”

You laugh softly. “Of course he did.”

“Also said he has a new drink recipe and wants to test it out on people, so…” Mingi glances over at you with a smirk. “If we end up doing karaoke in Seonghwa’s backyard again, blame him.”

You roll your eyes. “That was your idea last time.”

“And you crushed a Beyoncé song, so clearly you didn’t hate it.”

The city lights smear across the windshield as he drives, flickering over his face in gold and white. You steal a glance—just a second too long—and wonder if he notices. If he ever notices.

He shifts gears at a red light, glancing at you quickly. “You look... nice, by the way.” He says it casually, like it’s nothing, like it didn’t just short-circuit your brain a little.

You glance at him, your voice quieter than you mean it to be. “So do you.”

And just like that, the silence stretches out again. The light turns green. The car rolls forward. And neither of you says another word.

The buzz of conversation hits as soon as you and Mingi step through the door—warm light spilling from the hallway into Seonghwa’s apartment, the sound of music underscored by clinking glasses, laughter echoing from the kitchen. The place is comfortably packed, full of familiar faces. People you haven’t seen in a while but fall back in with like no time’s passed.

Seonghwa spots you first. “Hey! You made it,” he says, pulling you in for a quick hug. He smells like aftershave and woodsy cologne, dressed in something sleek that probably shouldn’t work indoors but totally does on him. “Damn, you look good.”

“Right?” Hongjoong appears beside him, one hand holding a beer, the other casually tucked into his pocket. He gives you a once-over, then nods at Mingi. “You clean up well too, man.”

Mingi grins. “Tried.”

Seonghwa glances between you, a knowing smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. “You guys come together?”

You nod without thinking, brushing a hand down your jacket. “Yeah, we carpooled. We live next-door, remember?”

There’s a flicker—too quick to clock unless you’re watching for it. Seonghwa and Hongjoong exchange a look, that subtle, shared language of people who know. But neither you nor Mingi catch it. You’re too busy scanning the room, looking for the next familiar face.

You find it in the form of Wooyoung crashing into you with the energy of a Labrador. “You’re here!” he says dramatically, like it’s some big surprise despite the fact that he texted you three times to make sure you were coming. He pulls you into a hug that rocks you on your heels. “And you look like a hot villainess. I love it.”

You laugh as Yeosang appears, slightly less chaotic, sipping something suspiciously bright green. “I tried to tell him not to make the drink neon,” he says, nodding toward Wooyoung, “but he’s impossible.”

The conversation rolls easily from there—catching up, teasing each other, talking about things you didn’t know you missed until they came back to you all at once. Mingi floats in and out of your orbit, sometimes close enough to feel the warmth from his shoulder when he leans in to say something, other times across the room laughing with San over something you can’t hear.

You get caught up in it—just the way people do when the right kind of music is playing and the drinks are cold and the conversations run just deep enough to matter but not so deep they get heavy.

At some point, Mingi notices you’ve disappeared.

He’s mid-laugh with San, hands animated in the air, when he glances to the side and doesn’t see you where you were just minutes ago. His smile falters, even if only slightly. It’s small, but San catches it. Mingi mumbles something vague about grabbing another drink, and San nods, too distracted to question it.

He starts scanning the apartment, weaving through clusters of people. He checks the kitchen, then the hallway near the bathroom. It’s not panic, exactly—just this pull in his chest that won’t relax until he knows where you went.

Then he sees you.

You’re by the window, a drink in your hand, laughing at something a tall guy is saying. Mingi recognizes him—Yunho. He remembers seeing him at a few other get-togethers. Friendly, always polite, the kind of guy people like instantly.

Apparently, you’re no exception.

You’re smiling wide, your eyes crinkling, one hand brushing against Yunho’s arm as you throw your head back laughing. Yunho leans in just slightly, saying something else that makes you laugh again.

Mingi’s stomach knots. It’s stupid. He knows it’s stupid. You’re allowed to talk to whoever you want. But that doesn’t stop the irrational heat rising behind his collar. Doesn’t stop the way his jaw tenses when Yunho reaches out to tuck a loose strand of your hair behind your ear.

You feel it first—eyes prickling, that inexplicable awareness of being watched. You glance up, across the room, and meet Mingi’s eyes. He’s standing still, his expression unreadable at first glance, but there’s something in his posture. Tighter than usual. His hands shoved into his pockets like he’s trying too hard to look casual.

You excuse yourself from Yunho with a quick, polite smile. “I’ll be right back,” you say, though you know you won’t be.

As you cross the room, Mingi doesn’t move. He just watches you walk up to him, eyes flicking down your frame like he’s trying not to.

“Hey,” you say lightly, as if you didn’t just catch him staring.

“Hey.” His voice comes out lower than usual.

You grin, oblivious to the weight of his mood. “Guess what? Yunho just asked if I wanted to grab coffee tomorrow. Isn’t that cute?”

Mingi frowns before he can stop himself. It’s subtle, just the smallest dip of his brows, the barest twitch of his mouth.

You don’t miss it. “What?”

“Nothing,” he says too fast. Then shrugs, trying to play it off. “That’s cool.”

You tilt your head. “You sure?”

Mingi looks away for a beat, then back at you, and there’s something flickering in his eyes. Jealousy dressed up as indifference. “Yeah. Just didn’t know you were into that type.”

You raise a brow. “That type?”

He rubs the back of his neck, sheepish now. “I mean… tall. Smiley. Safe.”

You laugh. “Are you describing Yunho or a golden retriever?”

Mingi gives a half-smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He nods again, almost to himself. “Yeah. No, it’s cool.”

But it’s not cool.

Not even a little.

—It starts with your closet door wide open and half your wardrobe already strewn across the bed. Tops hang from your headboard, dresses are tossed over chairs, and there’s a growing pile of “maybes” gathering on the floor like fallen soldiers. The date with Yunho is in two hours, and you’ve tried on five outfits. None feel right.

Mingi is on your couch, sipping a drink like he didn’t just invite himself over after lunch and then refuse to leave once he heard the words “I don’t know what to wear.”

You walk out in the sixth outfit—an off-the-shoulder baby blue top, short skirt, boots—and strike a pose in the living room. “Okay. Thoughts?”

Mingi glances up from his phone. His eyes flick down, then narrow slightly. “Too much leg.”

You scoff. “It’s a skirt, not a scandal.”

“Exactly,” he says, deadpan.

You roll your eyes and disappear back into your room, already tugging the skirt off. The seventh outfit is a black cropped sweater and high-waisted jeans—safe, cute, not trying too hard. You step back out and do a lazy spin. “Better?”

Mingi tilts his head. “It’s fine.”

“Fine?” you repeat. “You sound like I asked you to rate my tax return.”

He shrugs. “Just feels... like you’re dressing down for him.”

You stop halfway to the mirror. “What does that even mean?”

Mingi takes a sip of his drink, eyes steady on yours. “I’ve just seen you wear better stuff when we get coffee. He should get at least that level.”

You squint at him. “So now the jeans aren’t enough?”

“You asked,” he mutters, hiding behind his cup.

Outfit eight is a fitted midi dress—wine-colored, sleeveless, square neckline. You kind of love it. It's flattering without being loud. You walk out again, expectant. “Okay. This one.”

Mingi doesn’t even blink. “No.”

Your hands drop to your sides. “What now?”

He gestures vaguely toward your chest. “That’s not even trying to pretend it’s subtle.”

“It’s literally not even low-cut!”

“Still.” He shifts on the couch, suddenly very interested in the stitching on his sweatpants. “You’re going to be sitting across from him in that, laughing at his jokes, leaning forward, doing that thing where you—just—no.”

You stare. “Didn’t realize you were dressing me for a convent.”

He mutters something that sounds suspiciously like “It’s not about that.”

Outfit nine is an oversized graphic tee tucked into leather pants, the vibe a little chaotic but maybe weirdly sexy. You emerge, posing like a runway model.

“No,” Mingi says immediately.

You throw your hands up. “Okay, what is the vibe you’re looking for here, Mingi? Sack of potatoes?”

He looks up at you then, something sharp and quiet in his expression. “Something that doesn’t make other guys stare at you like you’re available.”

The room stills for a second. You blink at him. You try to laugh it off. “Mingi, that’s literally the point of a date.”

He doesn’t smile. You go quiet. Something strange shifts between you—just for a breath, barely there. Then it’s gone. He looks away, tapping his fingers against the rim of his cup.

“I’m just saying,” he adds, softer now, “if he can’t like you in something simple, he’s not worth the time.”

You look down at what you’re wearing, then back at him. “So what’s your vote?”

“Jeans and the white sweater,” he says without hesitation. “You look like you in that.”

You sigh, disappearing back into your room one last time, this time pulling on the outfit he picked without protest. You’re tired of trying to read into his words. Tired of guessing where the lines are.

You return a few minutes later, fully dressed and adjusting your earrings. “Well?”

Mingi looks up. His gaze softens instantly. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “That’s the one.”

You grab your purse, still catching glimpses of yourself in the mirror as you pass. You look fine. Better than fine. But a part of you still wants to ask him—Why did it matter so much what I wore?

And a louder part of you already knows the answer.

—Yunho is perfectly on time. He greets you with a smile that’s all teeth and warmth, holds the car door open, compliments your sweater. It’s smooth—thoughtful in that quiet, well-raised way. The restaurant is nice too. Not overly fancy, not a chain—something in between. Brick walls, soft lighting, a jazz playlist humming just under the hum of cutlery and conversation.

Objectively, everything is going well.

You know how these things are supposed to feel. There’s eye contact. The rhythm is easy. You laugh when he says something genuinely funny. He’s polite, attentive, says your name when he talks to you like it means something. But it’s strange how even when you’re here, present, smiling and nodding at all the right times—you’re somewhere else.

You’re with Mingi.

Not physically, but in the little corners of your brain that won’t shut up. Every time Yunho says something charming, you find yourself thinking, Mingi would've made a joke here instead. When Yunho talks about his love for hiking, you imagine Mingi groaning and calling him a “nature masochist.” You smile at that thought, then realize you’re smiling at someone who isn’t even in the room.

You nod along as Yunho tells you a story about a weird encounter at a subway station, and your first instinct is to think, Mingi would’ve absolutely dramatized this into a full two-act comedy skit. Your second instinct is to look over and catch Mingi’s expression reacting to it—except, of course, he’s not here.

You twirl your straw in your drink, pretending to listen, but your thoughts drift again.

Mingi would’ve ordered something off-menu just to see if the server could keep up. He would’ve slouched in his chair, gotten sauce on his shirt, made you laugh with his dramatic regret. He wouldn’t be this polished, this effortlessly perfect. He’s not the type to play dates cool. Mingi shows up with full heart and zero filter. It’s messy. Real.

But Yunho is here. Polite, calm, thoughtful.

There’s no reason you should be comparing them. And yet.

You catch yourself doing it again when Yunho leans in and compliments your laugh—says it’s “light.” You remember how Mingi once called your laugh “ridiculously loud” while laughing so hard he snorted. He said it like it was the best sound in the world.

At some point, Yunho asks if you want to go for a walk, and you say yes, mostly to clear your head. The air is crisp, the sidewalk quiet under your boots. He talks about music, then books, then something about a camping trip. You nod along, you even chime in—but nothing lands.

You should like this.

You do like it.

But it’s like watching a movie with subtitles slightly out of sync. Everything almost fits. But not quite.

He walks you to your door when the night ends. Says he had a great time. That he’d love to see you again. You smile politely and say, “Yeah, maybe,” even though you already know you’re going to lie awake tonight thinking about someone else entirely.

Because the truth is, Yunho is lovely.

But he isn’t Mingi.

—It starts with a group chat message from Wooyoung that reads:

"Emergency night out. Everyone shut up and show up."

You don’t argue. After the week you’ve had—awkward dates, annoying work calls, and whatever the hell is happening inside your chest when Mingi looks at you a second too long—you need the chaos.

You meet the guys at a cramped, slightly too-warm bar tucked into a side street, the kind with sticky tabletops, neon signs buzzing weakly above the liquor shelf, and a karaoke room in the back that’s barely soundproof. Wooyoung and Yeosang are already two drinks in when you arrive. Jongho shows up five minutes later with chips and something stronger than beer. Mingi slides in last, wearing a hoodie and a grin that makes your stomach flip even before he sits down next to you like he always does—without asking.

The drinks come quick. Rum, soju, a cocktail Wooyoung insists is “his signature” that tastes suspiciously like melted candy. The room warms up, volume rising with every song. You all start off ironic—bad 2000s pop, dramatic power ballads, Yeosang doing Beyoncé way too well, and Wooyoung trying to harmonize with literally everyone.

You’re laughing so hard your ribs hurt, pressed against Mingi’s side on the low couch. His leg brushes yours and stays there. You’re not sure when that started happening—these subtle, unspoken touches. But you don’t pull away. Neither does he.

Then Wooyoung throws his arm around Mingi dramatically. “Your turn. Go. Impress us.”

Mingi groans. “No one asked for this.”

“Do it,” you say, nudging him with your knee. “Unless you’re scared.”

His eyes flash as he looks at you. “Scared? Of you?” He’s grinning now. “Okay. Bet.”

He stumbles over to the screen, selects a song with the confidence of a man who’s made questionable karaoke decisions before. The first notes hit. You recognize it immediately.

It’s a love song. A dumb, sappy, overly sincere one—the kind people usually only pick if they’re trying to make a point or drunk enough to not care.

But he sings it. And he sings it well.

His voice is rough in places, but there’s something raw about it. Something real. His eyes scan the room, playful at first. Then they land on you. And they stay on you.

You feel it like heat against your skin.

The room fades a little. Wooyoung and Yeosang are still howling in the background, probably off-beat clapping. Jongho’s filming it, mouthing lyrics under his breath. But Mingi is still looking at you.

When he hits the chorus, there's something almost serious in his expression. Not like he’s just goofing around now—but like he’s saying something without really saying it.

You hold his gaze, something caught in your throat.

The last note fades into the room like a secret hanging in the air. There’s a beat of silence before Wooyoung yells something unintelligible and dramatic applause breaks the tension.

Mingi laughs and sits back down, a little breathless, cheeks flushed—not just from the alcohol, you think. He grabs his drink and takes a long sip, avoiding your eyes now.

You lean toward him, voice low. “You sang that like it was personal.”

He shrugs, still not looking at you. “Maybe it was.”

You’re not sure what to say to that. You want to ask for who, even though you think you know. But your tongue feels too heavy and the room too loud.

Later, a few more songs in, the others are busy fighting over mic control. You and Mingi are leaning into each other now, bodies drawn like magnets. You’re laughing at something stupid he whispered in your ear, and he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing worth focusing on in this chaotic little room.

There’s a lull. A quiet moment in the noise. He looks at your lips. You look at his.

It happens slowly. A lean. A breath. His hand brushing your knee, his face close enough now you can see the flecks of gold in his eyes. Your heart is beating in your throat.

And then—

“NEXT SONG, LOSERS!”

Wooyoung launches himself between you two, flopping dramatically across the couch with a mic in hand.

You jolt back. Mingi does too. The moment collapses like a wave that almost reached shore but never quite did.

You swallow hard. He clears his throat. Neither of you say anything.

The night carries on like nothing happened.

—Your head is pounding. Not in a dramatic, movie-style way—just a dull, persistent throb behind your eyes, made worse by the fact that the sun seems personally offended by your existence today. You sit on your bed for a few minutes, staring into space, before finally pulling yourself up with a groan.

You know if you feel like this, Mingi probably feels worse.

So you do what you always do when he's hungover: you go into autopilot.

Within an hour, you're walking down the hall with a plastic bag full of hangover cures—the good kind. A container of hot soup, two greasy egg sandwiches, cold soda, painkillers, and something vaguely healthy to make it look like you tried. You knock once, but you’re already digging out the spare key he gave you when he first moved in.

The apartment is quiet when you let yourself in. Dim, a little stuffy, and still carrying the faint scent of cologne, leftover snacks, and last night’s choices.

Mingi’s sprawled across the couch, hood pulled over his head, blanket tangled around one leg. His arm is flopped over his eyes like he’s trying to disappear.

You walk into the room, drop the bag on the coffee table, and clear your throat. “I come bearing salvation.”

He doesn’t move for a beat. Then, in a voice wrecked by sleep and dehydration, he groans, “I knew you'd come. You're too good to me.”

You laugh, kicking his foot gently as you sit on the floor beside the couch. “You say that every time and still don’t drink water when I tell you to.”

Mingi lifts his arm just enough to peek at the food, eyes lighting up slightly. “Is that soup?”

“Obviously. And sandwiches. And soda. You’re welcome.”

He sits up slowly, wincing like it hurts, and leans forward to grab one of the containers. His hoodie is slipping off one shoulder, hair a mess, eyes bleary and soft. He looks like a half-drowned cat. You try not to find it endearing.

You both eat in silence for a few minutes, hunched around your food like hungover goblins, the clink of plastic containers and occasional sips the only sound in the room.

You steal glances at him between bites, the way he keeps rubbing the back of his neck, squinting slightly at the light, chewing like it’s taking his whole brain to coordinate. You wonder if he’s thinking about last night too.

Because you are.

You’ve been replaying it since you woke up. The music, the drinks, his voice. The way he looked at you like he meant every single lyric. The almost-kiss. The way your heart paused, then sped up, then did absolutely nothing, because nothing happened.

But the nothing is loud. Echoing through this quiet morning like it wants to be noticed.

You glance up. He’s already looking at you. Your eyes meet for a beat too long.

You look away, wiping your fingers on a napkin, trying to play it off. “You sang so seriously last night, by the way,” you mutter, reaching for your drink. “Didn’t know you were auditioning for a drama.”

Mingi grins, head dropping back onto the couch. “You dared me.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t have to look at me like that while doing it.”

The words are out before you realize how they sound. He turns to look at you again, slower this time. His smile softens, fades just a little. “Like what?”

You busy yourself with the drink. “Nothing.”

He doesn’t push it. You both go quiet again, finishing your food with the TV playing some muted weekend rerun in the background. The sun shifts through the windows.

When the food’s gone and the trash is gathered, you stay on the floor, leaning back against the couch. Mingi slides down until he’s sitting next to you, shoulder to shoulder, still silent.

It’s comfortable. It’s maddening.

You close your eyes, head leaning back, heart a little too aware of the space between you and the boy who almost kissed you last night.

—You’re half-asleep when the knock comes.

It’s light at first. Then louder. Then followed by an unmistakable voice slurring your name like a secret.

“Open the doooorrrr… I know you’re in there. I can hear the fridge humming.”

You blink, sit up on the couch, check the time. It’s nearly midnight. Thursday night. Correction: Thirsty Thursday, which you now realize must have meant a bar night for the boys.

You shuffle to the door, still in your old hoodie and bike shorts, and open it with a tired sigh.

Mingi is standing there, slightly swaying, cheeks flushed red, eyes shiny with poorly concealed mischief. His hoodie is unzipped, hair a tousled mess, and his lips are curled into that lopsided, too-proud grin that only shows up after two too many drinks.

“I was just thinking,” he says, dramatically pointing a finger at your face, “that you're my favorite person ever. So I came over.”

You blink at him. “You’re drunk.”

He gasps, like you’ve just accused him of something scandalous. You sigh, stepping aside. “Come in before you wake the neighbors.”

Mingi stumbles in, shedding his shoes with unnecessary force and immediately bee-lining to your speaker like he owns the place. Which, to be fair, he kind of does—he knows your playlists better than you do.

“I’m playing something,” he declares, squinting at his phone like the screen is doing him dirty. “We’re dancing.”

“No, you’re drunk, and I’m going back to my spot on the couch.”

“You love dancing,” he counters, turning to you with wide eyes. “You always dance when you’re cleaning. Or when you’re happy. Or when I bring you cake.”

“That doesn’t mean I want to dance right now.”

He ignores you entirely. The song starts—something upbeat, obnoxiously happy. He starts swaying, arms moving like he’s swimming through molasses.

You cross your arms. “Mingi.”

He grabs your hand. “Dance with me.”

“Mingi, you can’t even stand straight.”

“I’m very stable,” he says confidently, almost falling into your coffee table as he tries to spin. “See?”

Despite yourself, you laugh. He’s a mess. A very affectionate mess.

Eventually, you give in. Just a little.

You let him pull you into a slow, lazy half-dance in the middle of your living room. He hums off-key, his forehead resting against yours for a second too long, his arms slung loosely around your shoulders. His grip is warm, clumsy, loose like he trusts the gravity between you to do most of the work.

“You smell like soju,” you mutter, trying to sound annoyed, but you’re smiling, and he knows it.

“It's my cologne. Limited edition,” he slurs, head dropping to your shoulder.

You both laugh, and his breath hits your neck—warm and soft, closer than it probably should be. Your heart is doing something inconvenient in your chest, but you ignore it. This is Mingi. Drunk, clingy, harmless Mingi.

The song fades. He pulls back enough to look at you—eyes half-lidded, dazed and soft.

“You’re so pretty,” he says suddenly.

You blink. “Okay, bedtime.”

“No, wait, I’m serious. You’re like… glowing.”

“Mingi.”

“Like a really hot glow stick.”

You snort and start steering him toward the couch. “You’re cut off.”

He lets you guide him with no resistance, but just as you reach the couch, he trips slightly, and suddenly, you’re both falling—an awkward, clumsy tangle of limbs, landing with an oof as his full weight collapses on top of you.

“Get off,” you wheeze, laughing as you squirm under him.

He groans dramatically. “Can’t. Too tired. You’re comfy.”

“Mingi, I am not your mattress.”

“You are now.”

You try to push him off, but he’s deadweight—already melting into you, head tucked against your chest like it’s the most natural place in the world. One arm is flung across your waist, his breathing already starting to slow.

You stare at the ceiling, frozen. “Mingi…”

Nothing. He’s out. Fully, deeply asleep. Just like that. You should shove him off. You should throw a pillow at his head or wiggle out from under him. But you don’t. Not right away.

His hair is soft against your neck. His hand twitches slightly, fingers curling against your side. And something about it—all of it—feels dangerously nice.

You sigh, let your hand rest lightly on his back.

Just for a minute.

Just until your heart stops doing this stupid thing where it thinks maybe this could mean more.

—Mingi wakes slowly, like he’s being pulled up from somewhere warm and far away. His body is heavy, his mouth dry, head faintly buzzing from the remnants of cheap soju and sleep. It takes him a second to realize why his shoulder feels warm. Why something soft is pressed against his chest. Why everything smells faintly like your shampoo.

His eyes open, hazy and unfocused, and there you are.

Still beneath him.

His breath catches in his throat as he lifts his head just enough to see you—eyes closed, face relaxed in the kind of peace that only sleep allows. Your chest rises and falls beneath him, slow and steady, like your body is somehow calming his without trying. His arm is still draped over your waist, one leg tangled with yours, and your hand rests lightly against his back like it’s always belonged there. You’re holding him.

And he’s never wanted to stay in a moment more.

He blinks, slow and disoriented, brain sluggish from the hangover and the fog of sleep. He takes you in like he’s afraid you might vanish. Like maybe he dreamed this, and if he moves too fast, he’ll wake up to an empty couch and the hollow space where you used to be.

Without thinking, he reaches up and gently brushes your hair out of your face. His fingers barely graze your skin, but the touch feels seismic. He watches the way your nose scrunches slightly in response, the way your lips twitch at the corner like you’re dreaming something good.

This close, it’s impossible not to feel everything. The heaviness in his chest. The tenderness blooming quietly behind his ribs. That low, aching want to stay like this—not forever, not even for long, just for a while. Just long enough to memorize the feeling of your heartbeat against his cheek. Just long enough to believe you’re holding him not by accident, but because you wanted to.

You shift slightly beneath him, and your arm around his back tightens in your sleep—barely, instinctively. It’s nothing. A reflex. But to Mingi, it’s everything.

He lets his eyes close again, just for a minute. Just to savor it.

Later, he’ll get up. Later, he’ll go back to being your best friend and neighbor and whatever else he’s supposed to be.

But for now, he stays wrapped around you, your warmth anchoring him, your breath brushing against his shoulder.

And in that stillness, he thinks—

If this is all he ever gets, he’ll carry it with him anyway.

—The next date isn’t much different from the first, at least on paper.

You say yes to a guy you met through work—Taehyun. Clean-cut, smart, soft-spoken in that effortlessly confident way. He texts back quickly, plans the evening with ease, and picks a place that’s just the right kind of trendy without being pretentious. The type of guy you’d be stupid not to give a chance.

You get ready without telling Mingi. That’s new.

He’s been quieter around you lately, more fidgety. He still shows up with snacks, still flops onto your couch like gravity insists he belongs there, still makes you laugh without trying. But there’s something in the pauses now. A tension in the space between his glances, like he’s holding something back he’s not ready to let you see.

So tonight, you leave without mentioning it. You tell yourself it’s nothing.

But part of you is waiting for a text from him the whole time. It never comes.

Taehyun picks you up right on time. He compliments your earrings, opens the car door, makes easy conversation during the drive. At dinner, he asks thoughtful questions, makes you laugh more than once, and never interrupts when you speak. It’s easy. No red flags. No weird silences. No awkward fumbles.

And yet.

Every time he reaches across the table, your brain betrays you. Mingi’s hands are rougher. Warmer. When Taehyun leans in to tell a joke, you think, Mingi would’ve made a stupid pun instead. When Taehyun compliments your laugh, you hear Mingi saying “You sound like a cartoon character” with a grin on his face and fondness in his eyes.

You smile at Taehyun anyway. You nod, you laugh, you play the part.

But something inside you is quiet. Unsettled.

After dinner, he asks if you want to grab dessert somewhere nearby. You say yes, but you’re already picturing Mingi in your kitchen, raiding your freezer for ice cream you pretend not to keep stocked. You remember the way he always eats straight from the tub, standing barefoot, ranting about some dumb video he saw.

Taehyun suggests a walk before driving back, and you say yes again. The night is cool. The sidewalk is mostly empty. He offers you his jacket. You don’t take it.

He drops you off just after ten, walks you to your door. He doesn’t lean in, doesn’t try to kiss you. He just says, “I’d like to see you again,” and waits.

You smile. “Maybe.”

And you mean it. But not in the way he hopes.

Inside, your apartment is quiet. Still. You drop your purse, kick off your shoes, and wander into the kitchen without really knowing what you’re looking for.

And then you hear the knock. You open it, and there’s Mingi—hoodie on, hands in his pockets, hair messy like he’s been running his fingers through it all night. He doesn’t say anything at first. Just looks at you.

You raise a brow. “Hey.”

He nods. “Hey.”

His eyes flick down—catch your outfit, the faint smudge of lipstick, the light perfume you never wear unless you’re going out. His jaw tenses, just for a second.

“You were out,” he says, like it’s a statement, not a question.

You shrug. “Just dinner.”

He nods again. “With a guy?”

You lean against the doorframe. “Yeah.”

Silence stretches between you, longer than it needs to be. You can hear the faint hum of your fridge behind you. The soft buzz of a streetlight outside.

Mingi shifts on his feet. “Was it good?”

“It was fine.”

More silence. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t leave. Just stands there like he wants to say something but can’t figure out how to start.

You watch him, heart thudding somewhere between frustration and longing. You wish he’d just say it. Ask. Admit. Anything.

Instead, he glances at his shoes and mutters, “I brought the stupid ice cream you like. Figured you might want it.”

Your chest aches a little. You step aside.

“Come in.”

—The party’s already buzzing by the time you arrive.

It’s someone’s birthday—someone you don’t know well enough to hug, but well enough to show up for. The place is packed. Music is loud, lights are low, and the drinks are flowing too fast for how early it still is. You're not even halfway through your first cocktail when Taehyun shows up beside you, grinning like he’s already tipsy.

You smile back. Out of politeness. Out of habit. Out of something else you’re still pretending not to name.

At first, it’s nothing. Light flirting. A little too close when he leans in to talk over the music. A hand at your waist that lingers a second too long. You laugh—nervous, but letting it happen.

You don’t see Mingi watching.

He’s across the room, pretending to listen to Jongho tell a story, but his eyes are fixed on the way Taehyun’s thumb brushes against your arm. How you don’t pull away. How you tilt your head and smile like it doesn’t twist something sharp into his chest.

When he sees Taehyun lean in and whisper something that makes you laugh—really laugh—he snaps.

He’s moving before he can stop himself, cutting through the crowd, his heart slamming into his ribs like it’s trying to get out. You don’t see him until he’s already there.

“Can we talk?” His voice is low, clipped.

You blink. “What?”

He doesn’t wait for permission. Just jerks his head toward the balcony. “Now.”

There’s something in his tone you’ve never heard before. You follow.

The air outside is cooler, quieter. Distant bass thuds through the walls, but here it feels separate, suspended. Mingi paces once, then turns to face you, hands in his pockets, jaw tight.

“What the hell was that?”

You frown. “What are you talking about?”

“You and him,” he says, motioning back toward the party. “The hands. The way he was—you were letting him touch you like that.”

You cross your arms. “So?”

He scoffs, bitter. “So, nothing? Just a casual thing? Doesn’t matter?”

You straighten. “Why does it matter to you?”

His mouth opens, but no sound comes. You see him struggling—his fists clenching, his breath uneven.

“It’s not like you care who I date!” you throw at him. It’s defensive, sharp. You’re trying to hurt him before he can hurt you.

His voice rises, the words bursting out before he can stop them. “Maybe I do!”

Silence. The kind that doesn’t sit quietly. It rings.

He runs a hand over his face, frustration spilling from every movement. “God. I do. I care, okay? I’ve been trying so hard not to. Trying to be the friend, the neighbor, the idiot you vent to about your dates while pretending I’m fine. But I’m not.”

You stare at him, your heart thudding once—hard, loud, like a signal flare.

Mingi steps closer, eyes locked on yours now, chest heaving with everything he’s been holding back. “I hated watching him touch you. I hated how easy it was for you to smile at him like that. Because I’ve been right here this whole damn time, wanting you, and you never look—”

You don’t know you’re moving until you're already there—your hands in his hoodie, your mouth crashing into his mid-sentence.

His breath stutters, and then he’s kissing you back like he’s been waiting to—for months. Years, maybe. Like he’s been holding his breath every time you walked into a room, and now he finally gets to exhale.

His hands find your waist, your back, your face—like he can’t pick where to hold you first. You’re still pressed up against the balcony, and the city blurs behind you, lights spinning, heartbeat pounding in your ears.

You don’t stop. Not even when someone opens the door behind you, lets out a laugh, and goes back inside.

The world can wait.

Right now, this is everything.

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salynaa · 1 month ago

Text

Sage of truth x Reader

Warnings : None, bad writing, fluff, shy reader.

Author note : The link to Part 2 is at the end!!

————————————————————————

You were one of the librarians at the prestigious Blueberry Academy, an ancient institution nestled between forested hills and timeless traditions, a place of marble halls and old ivy, where magic and intellect danced hand in hand.

You had worked there for years, long enough for the walls to recognize your footsteps, long enough for the books to trust your touch. And yet, despite your time there, you remained something of a ghost to your colleagues. It wasn’t for lack of kindness on their part; rather, it was the weight of your own timidity, tied with the fine thread of shame, that kept you apart.

You lived mostly in the silence between conversations, avoiding attention with the practiced ease of someone who had long since given up on being seen. Not out of bitterness, no, but from that gentle kind of shame born of being too awkward, too shy, too... much in your own head. You had tried, once, to befriend your colleagues, to join their laughter and complain about reckless student on breaks, but your words always felt like mismatched shoes, clumsy, uncomfortable, out of rhythm. Eventually, you stopped trying.

But you had the library. And that was enough. You found peace in the solitude of your work, in the quiet breathing of the library’s walls, and in the whispering rustle of pages turned by unseen hands.

You often left the doors unlocked late into the evening, even when the Academy’s magical curfew should have sealed the building. A few students would slip inside, grateful for the quiet space to revise, ask whispered questions, or simply rest their thoughts between the bookshelves. You never reported them. After all, you remembered what it was like to be a student, desperate for answers, afraid of failure. If they sought knowledge in the hush of ink and parchment, who were you to deny them?

One dusky evening, as twilight spilled through the stained glass and painted the library in hues of sapphire and gold, you heard the creak of the door open behind you.

You didn’t look up immediately. Expecting another student slipping into the library for unknown purposes.

“Good evening,” came a voice, not youthful, but calm, smooth, precise.

You turned, and the world stilled.

He stood near the entrance, framed by the dying light, cloaked in a white clothes in long navy sleeve lined with golden runes that shimmered faintly as though breathing. His presence was... magnetic, but quiet. Like a forgotten star remembering how to shine. He walked not as though he belonged there, but as if the place had waited centuries just for him to return.

You had never seen him before.

And yet...

“I was told the library had a copy of Celestial Architectures, Vol. I,” he said surely, but keeping his voice low as not to disturb the quiet of the place, while stepping closer he continued. “Would you happen to know where it is?”

You blinked. That book. Of course. A rare tome, often requested, rarely understood. Unfortunately.

“I’m afraid... our only copy was badly damaged last month,” you said, hesitant. “Some careless hands. …Student.” you muttered the last word under your breath, filled with bitterness.

His expression didn’t change, but you noticed the way his fingers twitched slightly, disappointment perhaps, expertly hidden.

Then you remembered.

“I-I might have... a version,” you said, already moving toward the back. “An older edition. I kept it for myself years ago, since the new edition came. Not for lending, but... well, it’s better than nothing.”

He inclined his head. “If you’d be willing to share it, I would be in your debt.”

You found the book quickly, worn but well-loved. Without hesitation, you handed it to him.

He accepted it with reverent hands, your fingers lightly brushing against each other as you offer him the book.

“Thank you, I will take good care of it.” He simply responded with a smile.

Then, he left without another word.

Only after the echo of his footsteps had faded did your stomach twist with sudden dread.

The notes.

Oh no.

You had filled that book, completely, with your own thoughts over the years. Scribbles in the margins, musings in the blank spaces, questions addressed to no one. Your imagination. Your thought. You hadn’t opened it in so long, you’d forgotten the ink-stained map of your mind you’d left behind.

You cringed, wishing the earth would swallow you whole.

Days passed. You told yourself he would not return, that it would be better if your gaze’s never met again after such a embarrassing event…

But on the fifth night, he came back, unfortunate for you.

You were shelving a stack of returned scrolls when his voice, as soft as silk over stone, came from behind you.

“I believe this is yours.”

You turned, startled. He was holding the book, your book, in both hands.

“I-I’m so sorry about the notes,” you directly blurted before you could stop yourself, face already flushing. “I forgot I’d written in it, I never meant for anyone to read them! Especially not someone like-”

He raised one of his hand, stopping you gently.

“There is no need to apologize,” he said, his lips slightly curved, as if the situation amused him more than anything else.

You blinked at him, wide-eyed.

“Truly. It was...” He paused, taking his time for searching for the right word. “..Interesting.”

You stared.

“I’ve read that book a dozen times before, and yet your interpretations offered an entirely new lens. I would had never imagined the constellations to be seen in a such way by myself... But now I fear that I cannot see them otherwise.” His voice faded like a whisper, chased by a laugh so delicate you thought it might have been your imagination.

Your heart thudded somewhere near your throat.

“I-I didn’t think anyone would ever read them,” you murmured. “They were just thoughts. Silly ones…”

He gave the faintest smile.

“Thoughts are never silly when they ask the right questions.”

You looked down, overwhelmed. No one had ever spoken to you like that, at least not about your ideas.

When he handed the book back to you, your fingers brushed his just briefly for a second time.

The book felt heavier than before, though you didn’t yet understand why and didn’t bother to understand more.

“Thank you again,” he said, giving a small bow of his head accompanied by a faint smile.

Then, with the same quiet grace he had arrived with, he turned and walked away. The long folds of his sleeve swept softly behind him like waves in deep water. You watched him until he disappeared between the columns of the library, his footsteps fading into silence.

And then he was gone.

You stood still for a moment, your heart oddly unsettled. The lamps hummed faintly above you, casting shadows on the marble floor.

…Who was he?

You hadn’t even thought to ask his name.

Should I have? you wondered. But the moment had passed, and you’d let it go.

You sighed and glanced down at the book still in your hands. Adrift in solitude with only the book and your thoughts now, you let your fingers wander through its pages, searching for a whisper of something new, maybe a response of your endless thoughts.

Yet as your fingers brushed across the turning pages, your gaze fell upon something that shimmered with quiet beauty, something far too radiant to be your own.

His handwriting, elegant and deliberate, had answered every one of your scattered thoughts on small note. Not correcting. Not judging. Simply responding, like a conversation that had waited years to be heard.

And that’s when you saw it, tucked delicately between the last two pages, just beneath one of your messiest notes, written in a precise and graceful script.

“If you wouldn’t mind terribly, I would love to read the second volume. And if possible, in similar condition as the first one.”

————————————————————————

Part 2

EH J’ÉCRIS TELLEMENT MIEUX, je crois, coems🤑🙏

My bad for the terrible writing, English not my first language so it can sound weird sometime🙏 Next post is about Fire spirit and Wind archer (human drawing)

#cookie run kingdom #cookierunkingdom #crk #cookie run x reader #crk x y/n #crk x reader #self insert #salynaa #shadow milk cookie #shadow milk crk #shadow milk x reader #sage of truth #sage of truth x reader

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holyblonded · 3 months ago

Text

now a culer | something blue

pairings: alexia putellas x teen!reader, olga rios x teen!reader

summary: school is still… rough, so alexia finds a solution

warnings: school fight

notes: i am genuinely loving writing for azulita

Don’t get it wrong. you didn’t hate Barcelona. It was a beautiful city, full of life, history, and football. The architecture was stunning, the beaches were nice, and the food, objectively, was good. But nothing— nothing could ever compare to LA.

LA had everything for you. Your friends, your school, your culture. You knew every street, every corner store, every mural that decorated the sides of buildings. The people in your neighborhood weren’t just strangers, you knew them, and they knew you. You had history with them. Mr. García, who owned the corner store, always had something for you when you stopped by, chips, a drink, a free snack, as long as you swept up the front of his store. Mrs. Alvarez, the seamstress down the block, had been patching up your old clothes for years because you couldn’t afford new ones. The local grocery store let you stock the juice shelves in exchange for a small bag of groceries. The paletero man that always made sure your favorite paleta was in stock People took care of each other in your LA. It was unspoken, but it was understood.

Barcelona had its own community, its own culture, its own way of life. But it wasn’t yours. It didn’t have your people. It didn’t have the same music blasting from car windows, the smell of carne asada grilling on the sidewalk, or the summer block parties that lasted until sunrise where you danced bachata til your feet hurt. It didn’t have the sound of Spanish and English blending together in a way that felt like home. It wasn’t the streets you grew up on. It wasn’t the familiar faces who had watched you grow. It wasn’t the city that had shaped you. It wasn’t home.

And the culture shock? It hit hard.

The Spanish spoken in Barcelona wasn’t even the same as what you grew up with. You could understand it, sure, but sometimes, the slang threw you off completely. The food was different, too—no more corner taco stands or elote vendors pushing carts down the street. No more bodegas where you could grab a pack of Hot Cheetos and a can of Arizona for a dollar fifty. And the people? They didn’t move like LA people did. Back home, you walked with a purpose, always aware of your surroundings. Here, people strolled leisurely down the sidewalk like they had nowhere to be, like they had never had to be in a rush a day in their lives.

But the biggest difference? The way you carried yourself. In LA, you had to be on guard. Always. You had to be sharp, ready, because life had never given you the luxury of relaxing. You were always prepared for something to go wrong, because it always did. Here, though, everything was so… safe. People left their doors unlocked. Kids walked home alone at night. You saw people with their phones out, not even looking over their shoulders. It made you uneasy. You didn’t know how to exist in a place where you weren’t constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Olga just could not get it. She didn’t get why you always seemed tense, why you jumped at sudden noises, why you always had to sit facing the door whenever you went out to eat. She didn’t get why you never let yourself fully relax, why you kept waiting for something to go wrong. She didn’t understand because she had never had to live like that.

And then there was the biggest adjustment of all: actually living with Olga.

For years, she had been a figure in your life. A presence. Someone who popped in and out, who you called and texted, who sent you money when you needed it. But you had never lived together. You had never had to share space. And now, suddenly, she was supposed to be responsible for you.

And it was a disaster.

You weren’t used to having anyone tell you what to do. You had been living on your own for months, doing whatever you wanted, whenever you wanted. So, naturally, you didn’t see a problem with leaving your stuff wherever you felt like it.

Your shoes? Kicked off in the middle of the living room. Your jacket? Draped over the back of a chair. Your gym bag? Somewhere. (You’d find it eventually.) Olga, however, was losing her mind.

“Do you not see the mess you’re making?” she snapped one afternoon, hands on her hips as she glared at the chaos you had left in the living room.

You barely spared her a glance from where you were sprawled on the couch. “I’ll clean it up later.”

“Later when? Next week?”

You shrugged.

And the music. You had always blasted your music at ungodly hours, back when there was no one around to complain. So, why would you stop now? Except now, you had Olga banging on your door at two in the morning, looking absolutely murderous.

“Are you serious right now?” she hissed, shoving open the door. “Turn that down!”

“It’s not that loud.”

“IT IS!”

And then, of course, there was the hoodie situation.

Olga owned nice hoodies. You had noticed this immediately. You had also decided, just as quickly, that they were now yours. You never asked— you just took them. Which made Olga’s blood boil.

“Where is my hoodie?” she demanded one day, hands on her hips.

You pulled the sleeves of said hoodie over your hands, looking at her blankly. “What hoodie?”

“That hoodie! The one you’re wearing!”

“Oh. This? Thought it was mine.”

“It’s not!”

Alexia just watched it all unfold with an amused smile. She had no intention of stepping in. In fact, it would only make it worse. The best thing for her to do was to let the two of you argue then drop you off at school.

You flex and extend your fingers as you stare down at your raw knuckles, the skin cracked, bruised, and stinging with every slight movement. Your hands tremble slightly, and not just from the pain. You sit on a bench outside the principal’s office, your legs bouncing restlessly, teeth clenched, chest tight. You’re trying to breathe, trying to calm down, but the fire inside you is still burning too hot. Why do you keep losing it like this?

You wrack your brain for answers, frustrated and ashamed. You didn’t come here to be the angry kid. You didn’t come to Spain to fight. But everything felt wrong. Your body was tense from the moment you stepped off the plane a few weeks ago. Everything’s been off.

You hate how different the Spanish sounds. Everyone speaks fast, sharp, clipped, nothing like the Spanish you grew up with back home. Your classmates either don’t understand you or mock your accent. Teachers correct you like you’re stupid. You’re constantly trying to translate everything in your head, to blend in, but all it does is make you feel more alone. You squeeze your hands into fists again. The pain grounds you, just for a second.

The door creaks open, and your head jerks up. Olga steps out of the office, her jaw clenched, eyes blazing. Alexia follows behind, calm as ever, but her gaze flicks to you quickly, assessing. She says nothing.

Olga doesn’t waste time. “In the car,” she snaps, voice low and furious. “Now.”

You don’t argue. You stand silently, walking past them both with your head down. It’s déjà vu, the second time in a month. You can feel her eyes on the back of your head, and you’re already bracing for it.

And sure enough, as soon as the car doors close, Olga turns on you.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she explodes. “Do you even care about staying here? Do you want to get kicked out of every school in the city?”

You stare out the window, jaw tight, refusing to say anything.

“I’m trying, okay?” she continues. “I’m trying to make this work. I’m trying to give you a good life here. But you’re making it impossible!”

“He was talking about you,” you mutter suddenly.

“What?”

You finally turn, meeting her eyes. “The guy I hit. He was saying disgusting stuff about you. I told him to stop. He didn’t. So I made him.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“Nobody disrespects my sister,” you say simply.

Olga exhales sharply, pinching the bridge of her nose as her anger starts to crumble.

“I… okay,” she says softly. “Okay. But Azul, this can’t keep happening.”

You don’t respond. The car ride home is quiet, tense.

Once you pull into the driveway, Olga tries again. “Can we talk more about—”

“I’m miserable here,” you cut in, still staring ahead. “I can’t keep up with the Spanish, people make fun of how I talk, I have no friends, and there’s no girls’ football team for me to play with. I feel stupid all the time. I feel… wrong.”

It hangs heavy between you. You blink back the sting in your eyes, suddenly too tired to fight.

Alexia, who’s been watching from the driver seat, finally speaks up. “I’m taking her to the pitch.”

Olga hesitates but nods. “Go. Just— be careful.”

The second Alexia nods toward the passenger seat, you perk up.

The Barcelona training grounds are quiet, bathed in the soft amber glow of the setting sun. You’re in your element the second you step onto the pitch, your body relaxing as you lace up your cleats. You and Alexia stretch in silence before falling into a one-on-one. The rhythm is familiar, the tension in your chest starts to melt away.

She’s good, obviously, but you manage to dust her with a ridiculous feint and spin move that has her stumbling, arms flailing as you laugh and tuck the ball into the net.

“Not bad,” she says, grinning as she shakes her head.

“You’re getting old,” you tease, jogging backward toward the penalty spot.

“Oh, please.”

Now she’s in goal, sleeves rolled up, expression focused as you line up your shots. One by one, you fire them in. She saves a few, but not all. The pop of the ball hitting the back of the net fills the air.

As you take a breather between kicks, you speak again. “I feel out of place at school. Like I don’t belong. It’s not just the language… it’s everything. I don’t talk like them. I don’t think like them. And there’s no football team. No girls to play with. I feel like I’m wasting my time.”

Alexia watches you carefully from the goal, nodding. “That’s not fair. School’s supposed to be a place that supports you.”

“It’s not,” you mutter. “I don’t even want to go anymore.”

Alexia stands up, brushing her hands on her thighs. “Don’t worry about that part.”

You blink. “What?”

“Just keep playing. We’ll figure the rest out.”

You take your last penalty kick, driving it hard into the top corner. The sound is clean, crisp, perfect. You grin.

Unbeknownst to you, two figures sit higher in the bleachers: Joan Laporta and Pere Romeu. They’ve been watching in silence, tracking your every move.

“She’s raw,” Pere murmurs. “Rough around the edges. But you can’t teach instinct like that.”

“She plays like she’s been fighting her whole life,” Laporta adds. “Because she has.”

“Alexia says she’s a winger, no?” Pere asks.

“Could be more than that, if someone gives her the right support.”

They keep watching as you and Alexia walk off the pitch together, sweaty and smiling, shoulders bumping. You don’t know it yet, but everything is about to change.

Back in the locker room, you clean up side by side, tying your hair back and trading casual banter. Your body aches, but your mind is calm for the first time in days.

The sound of your alarm blaring through your room was what, unfortunately, ripped you from sleep. You groaned, rolling over and slapping your hand against the snooze button with more force than necessary. Your eyes were crusty, your body stiff, and for a moment, you considered staying in bed and faking a stomachache. But you knew Olga would never fall for it.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you shuffled to the bathroom, splashed cold water on your face, and slowly made your way down the hallway toward the kitchen. Your hoodie was hanging half off your shoulder, socks mismatched, and your curls were a disaster. Typical school morning. You already dreaded the day.

What greeted you in the kitchen, though, made you pause. Alexia was standing by the counter, humming softly to herself as she tossed fruit into a blender. She was dressed, calm, and already looked like she had been awake for hours. There were slices of toast on a plate, eggs still steaming, and fresh juice already poured. You blinked slowly at the surreal domesticity of it all.

“Morning, ’Lexia,” you mumbled, rubbing at your eyes as you crossed the kitchen. “Have you seen my backpack? I swear I left it by the couch.”

Alexia didn’t even turn around at first. You heard the whir of the blender as she held the top down, blending with ease. When it finally stopped, she looked over her shoulder at you and that’s when you saw it. The smirk.

“You don’t need it today, nena,” she said coolly, pouring the smoothie into a cup. “You’re coming with me.”

You squinted at her. “Huh?”

She just handed you the smoothie. “Drink this. Get dressed.”

You stared at her like she had grown two heads. “Wait, what do you mean I don’t need it? I have school.”

“No, you don’t,” she said simply. “Not today.”

“Okay… am I in trouble again?”

She snorted and shook her head. “Just get dressed.”

The cryptic vibes were off the charts, but you went upstairs anyway, tugging on some joggers and a fresh hoodie, brushing your teeth quickly before grabbing your sneakers. When you came back down, Alexia was already at the door, keys in hand, sunglasses on like some undercover spy. The whole thing was sketchy—and a little exciting.

In the car, you peppered her with questions.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

“Why can’t you just tell me?”

“Because it’s a surprise.”

“Is it good or bad?”

“That depends.”

You rolled your eyes dramatically. “You sound like Olga.”

“She learned it from me.”

You pouted, leaning your head against the window as you watched the city blur past. The sun was barely up, streets still quiet. Your nerves were growing by the minute.

When the car finally pulled up to the FC Barcelona training facility, your brows furrowed.

“What are we doing here?” you asked, genuinely confused now. “Am I in trouble for playing here the other day?”

Alexia just gave you a tight-lipped smile and stepped out of the car. “Come on.”

You followed her slowly, legs stiff, anxiety kicking up. It was one thing to kick the ball around with Alexia when the place was empty— it was another thing entirely to walk through the main building in broad daylight. Your eyes darted around as you passed by trainers, staff members, and a couple of players you recognized. No one stopped you, though. Everyone just nodded at Alexia and let her through.

Finally, she led you to a quiet room off one of the main hallways. It looked like an office, kind of. You hesitated at the door, but Alexia gently nudged you forward.

Inside sat a man you recognized from TV—Pere Romeu. He stood when you entered, smiling warmly, gesturing to the seat in front of his desk.

“Buenos días,” he said kindly. “Alexia told me you go by Azulita”

You nodded slowly, heart pounding.

He motioned for you to sit. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”

You looked from him to Alexia, then back again. “Um… okay?”

He chuckled. “Relax. You’re not in trouble. Quite the opposite, actually.”

You sat stiffly in the chair, hands fidgeting in your lap. Alexia took the seat beside you, legs crossed casually.

“So,” Pere said, folding his hands. “The other day, Joan Laporta and I were here late, handling some administrative business. On our way out, we noticed someone playing on the pitch. You. With Alexia.”

Your mouth went dry.

“We watched for a while,” he continued. “And what we saw was raw talent. Instinct, drive, creativity, all of it. You play like it’s the one place you feel safe. And when we see a player like that… we pay attention.”

You blinked. “Wait… you were watching?”

He nodded. “Yes. And we’d like to offer you a place here. Not just training— on the senior team.”

Your jaw dropped. “What?”

“We’ll handle all of your schooling through La Masia’s internal academic program. You won’t need to return to your current school unless you want to. You’ll train, you’ll play, and you’ll study here with people who understand what it means to be an athlete. You’ll be surrounded by others like you. And more importantly, you’ll belong.”

You couldn’t speak. Your brain had stopped processing words somewhere around senior team.

“I know it’s a lot,” Pere added. “But we believe in you. And we want to help you grow not just as a player, but as a person. So… what’s your decision?”

He leaned back in his chair, patient, while your heart thundered in your chest. Alexia turned to you with a soft smile.

And all you could do was sit there, wide-eyed, the weight of everything hanging in the air.

#woso x platonic!reader #woso fic #woso x teen!reader #woso x reader #woso community #woso fanfics #woso #alexia putellas x teen!reader #alexia putellas x reader #olga rios x teen!reader #olga rios x reader #barca femeni x teen!reader #barcelona femeni x teen!reader #barca femeni x reader #barcelona femeni x reader #barcelona femeni #·˚ ༘ something blue

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domjaehyun · 7 months ago

Text

the need to know (l.dh) — part two

PAIRING. sneaky link!fwb!haechan x fem!reader GENRE. smut, fluff, mild angst, some humor CONTENTS. mentions of marijuana, explicit smut (unprotected sex, oral (receiving), overstimulation, praise kink, dom!haechan, switch!reader, breast play, nothing too crazy in this fic dw) WORD COUNT. in total, 40.4k, 17.7k in part two SUMMARY. you and haechan have undoubtedly had tension for the majority of your friendship. what happens when you act on it? PLAYLIST. the need to know (feat. sza) - wale // notice me - sza NOTES. hello hello here’s part 2!! i hope you enjoy 💖 please consider letting me know if you liked it!! (if you didn’t…. well… too bad ig) part three (the last part) will be out in one week!! that’s wednesday, december 18!! if you don’t want to wait, the full fic is available now on my patreon!! okay enough rambling from me, hehe. happy reading!!

By the time you all arrive at the hotel, it’s well into the evening, the sky a canvas of blue with pastel streaks of purple, pink, and orange.

“Dang, your manager hooked you up.” Mark remarks, letting out a low whistle as you all take in the sight of the modern style yet grandiose hotel architecture.

“She’s the best, actually.” you sigh happily as you head through the front doors, eyes widening as you take in the interior design of the lobby, the decor and layout somehow more impressive and expensive-looking than the outside.

You make your way to the front desk, smiling politely at the hotel receptionist as your friends catch up to you. You give her your first and last name, and she looks through the system before handing you four small, card-sized envelopes.

“Here are your room keys! Enjoy your stay.” she says with a friendly wave, and you smile, thanking her before you make your way to the middle of the hallway near the elevators.

“How are we gonna split up the rooms?” Jeno asks curiously, and you examine the envelopes carefully before holding one up.

“Well, this is my room.” you say, wiggling the envelope in the air, and Haechan frowns.

“Says who?”

“Says the golden star sticker on the envelope, dummy,” Renjun states, and you nod in agreement. “She’s the reason we’re here, so I’m sure they set aside a special room for her.”

“Fine,” Haechan huffs.

“Wait a minute…” Jaemin says, stepping forward to look at your handful of room keys. “There are only four rooms.”

“Yeah?” Jiwoo says, confused.

“That means two to a room… and there are three girls and five guys in our group… so that means—”

“A guy and a girl are gonna have to share a room,” Jihyo finishes, and you successfully fight down the urge to meet Haechan’s gaze as he sneaks a glance at you.

“Well, should we do, like, Rock, Paper, Scissors to see who has to share?” Mark suggests, and you shrug and nod.

“Well, wait, Jeno and I will room together; we’re already roommates, so that just makes sense.”

“Yeah, but I’m not rooming with Mark,” Haechan huffs. “We’re already roommates, so we’re getting sick of each other.”

“Well, I’m not rooming with Haechan!” Renjun exclaims, shaking his head vehemently. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Haechan replies. “I think.”

“Why don’t we do Rock, Paper, Scissors between Mark, Renjun, and Haechan, and first and second place get to share a room together?” Jihyo suggests, and they grumble indistinctly before reluctantly agreeing.

The first round, they all throw rock, making it a tie.

The second round, Mark throws paper, Haechan throws rock, and Renjun throws scissors, making it a tie yet again.

The third round, Mark and Haechan both throw scissors, while Renjun throws rock.

“Hell, yeah!” Renjun cheers before looking over at you sheepishly. “I’m not cheering because I don’t have to room with you; I’m cheering for the love of the game and winning.”

“Understood,” you chuckle, patting his shoulder understandingly.

Mark and Haechan throw scissors. Then they throw rock. Then they throw scissors. Then they throw paper.

“Jesus Christ, are you two mentally linked or something?” Jaemin asks exasperatedly, and Mark scowls.

“Be quiet, I need to focus.” he says dismissively, waving Jaemin off.

Finally, the last round comes and Mark throws scissors and you’re not sure if you’re the only one who caught it, but there’s a significant delay between Mark’s hand and Haechan throwing a sign, your eyes widening almost imperceptibly in surprise as Haechan’s hand extends out flat.

“Scissors beat paper!” Mark cheers victoriously, and he and Renjun high-five.

Haechan shrugs nonchalantly at his defeat, sporting a “what can you do” kind of smile as he looks over at you. “Hey, roomie.”

You can feel Jihyo’s stare burning holes into the side of your head, and it takes everything in you to react naturally, rolling your eyes and sighing loudly.

“Okay, I guess.” you agree hesitantly, and Jihyo rubs your back sympathetically.

“We’ll see you in the morning for the festival, okay?” she says, and you nod, starting to head to your room. Haechan catches up with you easily, taking your bags from your hands and slinging one over his shoulder, holding the other in the hand not holding his own bag.

As you two walk to the elevator, you grab Haechan by the ear as soon as you’re both out of sight, shushing his yelps of alarm and pain as you pull him into the waiting elevator. You don’t release him until the doors shut on you, and when you do, he shoots you a wounded look as he rubs his ear.

“What was that for?!” he squawks, and you point at him accusingly.

“You threw that game on purpose so you’d room with me—didn’t you?”

He shrugs once more, crossing his arms smugly. “Says who?”

“I saw your hand,” you whisper loudly. “You put paper up after Mark threw scissors.”

There’s a moment in which he doesn’t speak and neither of you move, and a sly grin takes over his face as he speaks. “Do you watch my hands often?”

“Oh, shut up,” you scoff, pushing his chest.

“Maybe you’re right,” he admits as the doors open and you two make your way down the hall to find your room. “Maybe I didn’t want Mark sharing a room with you.”

You roll your eyes dramatically, finally finding your room and inserting the room key. “You’re unbelievable, actually. Nothing would have happened with Mark, and there are two separate beds.”

As you step into the hotel room, you’re taken aback by the view and the modern decor, but something else makes you stop entirely in your tracks, Haechan bumping into your back before he can pass the narrow entryway to see what you’re seeing.

“Well, I take that back.” you mumble, surprised, and Haechan splutters in horror.

“Something would have happened with Mark?!” he squawks, and you make an expression that he can’t see, face scrunched up in confusion and mild exasperation.

“What? No, Haechan.” you huff, pointing in front of you, and Haechan peers past you to see what you’re seeing.

“There’s only one bed.” he breathes, excitement creeping into his tone, and you can’t help but laugh.

“You little weirdo, why are you so okay with this?” you manage to get out through your incredulous laughter, and he smiles, setting your and his bags down before stepping closer and closer to you until you feel provoked to back up. He keeps advancing on you, smile growing as you retreat, until your legs hit the side of the bed and you plop down on your ass unexpectedly, looking up at him with confusion and a hint of panic.

“Because now,” he purrs, leaning over you so suddenly that you lean back, promptly flattening yourself on the bed as he braces himself over you with his hands on either side of your body, “I can do this,” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss you. You squeal in surprise as he connects your lips, Haechan quickly building the intensity as he leans most of his body weight on you to keep you in place. His tongue slips into your mouth with ease, the wet, warm intruding muscle exploring your mouth like he just can’t get enough.

“Haechan,” you gasp out when he finally breaks the kiss, but your call falls on deaf ears as he kisses down your neck and lingers there, sucking and licking at various spots until he finds the one that makes you squirm. When you push at his chest, overwhelmed by the ticklish yet pleasurable sensation, he grabs your wrist and pulls it away from him, pinning it up by your head.

“What’s wrong, baby?” he coos, separating from your neck long enough to hover over your face, looking you in the eyes with a small grin that you wish you didn’t find as attractive as you do. “Nervous to share a bed with me?”

“No,” you answer, probably too quickly to be convincing, and by the way Haechan’s smile grows, your suspicions are confirmed.

“Aw, baby… do I make you nervous?” he teases, and you huff, pushing at his chest with your free hand. He’s quick to restrain that one too, and you won’t lie: a thrill travels up your spine at him using his strength to overpower you. “I’m gonna take that as a yes.”

“Shut up,” you mumble, and his eyes flash with delight.

“You’re not even gonna try to deny it?” he taunts, leaning down and nuzzling his nose against yours, urging your head up in anticipation for another kiss. “How cute.”

“You’re being mean,” you grumble, bucking your hips upwards to throw him off. He laughs and shakes his head in disagreement.

“Could never be mean to you, baby.” he murmurs, leaning back in for another kiss. “I just like playing with you.”

“Well, quit it; I wanna shower before bed.” you say with a pout, and he smiles down at you fondly, eyes dragging between your eyes and your lips. “What is that look in your eyes for?”

“You’re cute when you’re the whiny baby.” he points out, and your frown deepens, brows knitting together. “Don’t worry, baby; I’m gonna dote on you just like you dote on me.”

“I’m not a whiny baby.”

“Oh, yeah? Then why are you pouting?”

“I’m upset.” you huff, and he raises an eyebrow as if to say, “Is that so?”

“Why are you upset?” he muses, leaning down to brush his lips against yours. “Because I’m pinning you down? Because I’m kissing you?”

“Because you’re teasing me.” you correct him, and he blinks at you before a knowing smile curls his lips.

“So you’re not upset that I’m pinning you down and kissing you?” he asks rhetorically, and you blanch, realizing you’ve backed yourself into a corner. “Mm, don’t worry, baby; when you get out of that shower, I’m gonna pin you down some more and kiss you over… and over… and over again.” he purrs against your lips, stealing a sudden, passionate kiss from you before sitting up and releasing you.

Your mind is dazed from his kisses and the onslaught of attention he’s just given you, and it takes you a moment to process that you should probably get up. Your delay doesn’t go unnoticed by Haechan, who grins widely.

“You like my kisses that much, huh? What about your shower?” he teases, and you huff, glaring at him before pushing yourself up to a sitting position.

“I’m going,” you mumble, standing up and grabbing your toiletries bag before you make your way into the bathroom.

You’re rinsing off in the shower when the door opens, and you freeze as Haechan enters the room.

“What are you doing?” you ask, gripping the shower curtain carefully to conceal yourself as you peer around it at him. “Nope! Nuh-uh. No.”

He hesitates as he unbuckles his belt, looking up at you with a frown. “Why not?” he complains, and you wet your hand before flicking water at his face. He flinches back, eyes scrunching shut as he wipes his face and glares at you petulantly.

“What makes you think you can just get in my shower?” you ask incredulously, and he grins at you, brows raised suggestively.

“Aw, come on, baby,” he coaxes, stepping closer to the shower. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” he reminds you. “Plus,” he adds with a cheeky wiggle of his brows, “I’d love to see it again.”

“Yeah, I bet you would,” you mutter. “But too bad! Get out!”

He narrows his eyes at you and opens the bathroom door, slinking out in defeat as he mutters something about the world being unfair.

“You’ll live,” you call after him.

“Will I?” he calls back, but the door shuts and when you peek out again, he’s nowhere to be found, leaving you to finish your shower in peace.

When you’ve finished with your nighttime routine, you crawl into the bed beside Haechan, who looks over at you from his phone.

“Took you long enough,” he huffs. “You were in there for ages. I got lonely.”

“Aww, did you miss me?” you coo teasingly, reaching over to pinch his cheek.

“Yes,” he grouches, and you beam.

“What was that?” you ask, tilting your head and putting your free hand behind your ear.

He rolls his eyes before setting his phone down on his stomach and glowering at you. “Yes, I missed you.”

“How cute.” you hum, releasing his cheek and lying on your back, unlocking your phone.

He shuffles closer to you and rests his head on your shoulder, watching as you check your social media, making sure your follower count is relatively the same as it was the day before, and you text back your PR manager, confirming the logistics of the music festival tomorrow.

“So that lady handles all your social media scandals?” he asks curiously, and you nod.

“I mean, I’ve never had a scandal, but if I did, she’d do damage control. She mostly organizes my promotional content and gets me cool deals and PR boxes.” you explain, and he hums thoughtfully.

“What’s a PR box?” he questions.

“It’s those boxes of, like, makeup or clothing, or products various brands want me to try.” you reply patiently, and he nods slowly in understanding.

“You know, I feel like you do a lot more work than I thought.” he observes, and you scoff.

“I’ve been waiting for you to realize that.”

“I’m serious! I feel like you work really… really hard,” he says, his voice dropping ever so slightly in pitch.

“I do,” you agree.

“You deserve a reward.” he decides, and you nod before it hits you that, knowing Haechan, he’s probably thinking of something entirely different.

Your suspicions, once again, are confirmed as one of his hands trails up your bare leg, stopping just before your sleep shorts.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it feel like I’m doing? I’m touching you.” he murmurs, turning his head to kiss your shoulder.

“I’m not dumb. Why are you touching me?”

“Well,” he muses, “like we just said, you work so hard… so you deserve a little treat.”

“Uh-huh,” you say skeptically. “And?”

“And…” Haechan trails off, making you look over at him. He’s looking down at the lump where his hand rests on your leg and you watch as he wets his lips slowly before looking up at you. “You look so good in your little pajamas.”

“There it is,” you chuckle, and he joins you, fingers trailing further up your leg to slip ever so slightly under your shorts.

“You really do look good, baby,” he purrs seductively, and you curse internally as you realize he’s bringing out the big guns. “And you smell good…”

“Okay, Haechan.” you say, patting his hand under the covers.

“Good enough to eat,” he grunts in your ear, and you squeal at the sensation, squirming away from him.

“Hey!” you yelp. “Get your hands off of me,” you huff, pushing at his fingers. “Don’t be yucky-disgusting-gross-nasty.”

“But I love being yucky-disgusting-gross-nasty,” he chuckles, bringing his lips to your ear once more and holding you down as he brushes his lips against the inner parts of your ear. “It’s one of my favorite things to be.”

“One of?”

“It comes very close to being on top of you.” he answers with a grin and a flick of the tongue at your ear, and you scowl, pushing him back with a groan.

“Well, too bad,” you huff, but he persists, fingers slipping higher and higher still up your shorts until you could probably lift the covers and see his hand completely disappearing under the thin fabric, fingertips grazing your underwear-clad skin so lightly it almost tickles.

“Well, then; what do I do now?” he murmurs against the spot behind your earlobe, his words sending more ticklish vibrations down your spine, making you shudder involuntarily.

“Uh, gee, I don’t know…. stop?” you reply with a sarcastic roll of your eyes.

“What if I don’t want to?” he questions, leaning closer to you and trailing his lips from behind your ear to just a breath away from your lips. “What if I want to kiss you?”

“Too bad,” you mutter weakly, your resolve slipping due to a number of factors: his voice, the suggestive lilt to it, and the way his fingers are starting to trace slow lines up and down your slit, deliberately avoiding your clit.

“Aw, baby, don’t be like that,” he coos, shifting his body entirely to climb on top of you. “Gimme a kiss. Just a little good night kiss.”

“You’re very persistent, you know that? Like a dog with a bone.”

“I like to call myself determined.” he replies easily, smiling as he leans in even closer to the point where you can feel his breath fanning over your lips. “Remember when I said if I want something, I get it?”

“Yeah?” you reply quietly, barely moving your mouth as you speak for fear even the slightest pucker of your lips would result in a kiss.

“What I want now,” he explains slowly, eyes trained on your lips even through his lowered eyelids, “is a kiss from the prettiest girl I know.”

You pause, thinking it over, and his smile widens as your brows furrow in frustration before your eyes roll and you sigh in defeat. Not needing to hear anything else, Haechan closes the gap, kissing your lips softly with a tenderness that takes you by surprise.

“I hate that that worked on me,” you groan against his lips, and he grins into the kiss.

“I love that it did.” he mumbles into your mouth. “Love kissing you, baby.”

“Mm, yeah?” you hum, running your hand through his hair.

“Yeah,” he sighs dreamily. “Wanna kiss you everywhere,” he adds, connecting your lips again in a wet kiss that results in a soft smacking sound when you two part.

“Everywhere?” you reply curiously, and he nods, starting to smile as his head moves lower and lower until it’s disappearing under the covers. “Where are you going?”

“Wanna kiss you here,” he mumbles against your stomach, hands lifting up the hem of your shirt to reveal your bare flesh. He does just that, kissing a path from under the bottom of your bra to the waistband of your shorts. “I really wanna kiss you here,” he growls softly, and you feel his nose and upper lip brush against your skin as he takes the waistband of your shorts in his teeth, pulling the elastic back before letting it snap against your skin.

You yelp in shock, and he laughs, kissing along where your stomach slightly stings from the contact as a wordless apology. He slips an arm under your leg, moving it to drape over his shoulder, and nuzzles his face into the seat of your underwear, another sound of surprise leaving you before it’s cut off with your moan as he groans into your concealed core.

“Pussy smells so good,” he mumbles, words dragging together as his nose nuzzles and rubs against your clothed clit. “You’re so wet, too—and you were really gonna try to convince me you didn’t want this?”

“Please shut up,” you say shakily, and he chuckles.

“Less talking, more licking?” he questions, and at your whine of frustration, he laughs, wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking it through the fabric.

“Shit—” you hiss, attempting to squirm away, but he holds onto you firmly, pulling your underwear to the side and dragging his tongue up your slit. You can feel the wet warmth of his tongue gliding along your folds as well as his hot breath as he groans against your flesh, lewd sounds of sucking, slurping, and kissing filling the room as he sloppily makes out with your core. “Oh, my God,” you whimper when he focuses his tongue on your clit, alternating between swirling it around the bud, flicking it back and forth, and massaging it with the flat of his tongue.

“Tastes so good, baby.” he rasps, a rhythmic rustling sound catching your attention and piquing your curiosity. A glance down at where Haechan lies prone on the bed under the covers grants you the sight of his body moving, hips rutting into the bed as he tongues at your core feverishly with no signs of stopping. “Could eat this sweet pussy all night.”

“Please—” you start, words cutting off in favor of a gasp as he trails two fingers down your folds from your clit to your entrance that’s currently dripping arousal.

“Please, what? You want my tongue, hm? Or my fingers?” he murmurs, lips coated with a mix of his saliva and your arousal as he sucks noisily at your clit, the two fingers prodding at your entrance easing into you ever so slightly. You hiss loudly, fingers clutching the bed sheets as his mouth ravishes your core, his fingers pushing in deeper as he flicks his tongue over your clit rapidly.

“Feels so good,” you cry out weakly, and he nods vigorously into your core, fingers starting to pump in and out of you.

“Wanna make you feel good, baby,” he moans into you, tongue lapping at your clit, your folds, and around where his fingers keep slipping into you. “So fucking wet—”

“I–I’m close,” you stammer, and he hums contentedly, fingers speeding up and curling to massage your g-spot. Your nails scratch uselessly at the comforter on the bed, part of you wanting to lift the covers and watch as Haechan devours you with an unrestrained greed and a remarkable level of glee.

“Want you to cum,” he mumbles drunkenly against your clit. “Wanna feel it—wanna taste it—cum for me, baby, cum all over my face—”

Your back arches off of the bed as your abdomen tenses almost painfully, your climax spreading through you slow but thick like molasses in your bloodstream. You feel heavy and lightheaded all at once, a series of shaky breaths and moans of Haechan’s name leaving your lips as you try to compose yourself to no avail.

Haechan doesn’t let up, free hand clutching your thigh and pulling you down further onto his face greedily, tongue ravenously delving in and out of your folds to taste the cum leaking from your core. Your breath catches in your throat with a sharp whimper, hips bucking up to meet his mouth even as the rest of your body squirms, overwhelmed by the pleasure coursing through you.

“Can’t—” you pant, pushing weakly at Haechan’s head over the covers. “You gotta stop—”

“‘M not done yet, baby.” he grunts, voice throaty and thick as he sucks your folds into his mouth. “Just a little bit longer—you can take it, right?”

“I—” you whine, not even sure what you were going to say once Haechan’s tongue connects with the underside of your clit. “Fuck!”

“That’s it, baby,” he coaxes, gently pulling back the hood to your clit and licking at the exposed bud. You cry out loudly, and he moans in response, tongue speeding up in its actions. “Wanna cum one more time for me?”

“No—” you gasp, attempting to squirm away from him. It feels good, so unbelievably good, but you’re not sure if you can handle another climax right away without giving your poor, hypersensitive clit a break.

“I wasn’t actually asking,” he informs you, voice muffled as he presses his mouth to your entrance, his tongue joining his fingers and entering you, wet muscle flicking and licking and stroking until you’re climaxing again, your thighs closing around his head tightly as your hips buck upwards and your body trembles, muscles tensed, tight as a violin string.

This time, Haechan relents, slowly slipping his fingers and tongue from you and turns his head, kissing along your inner thighs before making his way back up to your face, where he kisses you deeply.

“Got you nice and ready,” Haechan murmurs with a smile, “so now you can take my cock.”

You don’t even have it in you to pretend to protest, instead nodding dazedly and gazing up at him expectantly with half-lidded eyes.

“Fuck, don’t give me those eyes unless you’re trying to go all night.” he warns you, and you blink slowly, trying to fix your face. Haechan pushes the covers off of his shoulders and sits up slightly, tugging his boxers down to let his erection spring free. He trails his fingers up your slit, chuckling when you jolt, and wraps the hand around his length, using your arousal as lubrication as he strokes himself, eyes on you the whole time.

Finally, he aligns his tip with your entrance, pushing into you with a slow, fluid thrust that still manages to knock the wind out of your lungs.

“You feel that, baby?” he coos, taking your hand and pressing it to just below your stomach. As he drags his thick length in and out of you, you can feel him moving inside of you, a soft gasp of surprise leaving you at the realization. “Yeah, you’re taking me all the way in your pretty little pussy—doing such a good job—”

“Haechan,” you plead weakly, reaching for him with your free hand. He leans over you and grants your unspoken wish, molding his lips with yours and deepening the kiss immediately, sucking gently at your bottom lip.

“Yeah, you like when I fuck you nice and deep like this, right?” he murmurs in a low voice, tongue slipping into your mouth to swirl around yours.

“Mm—yeah—” you barely manage to get out.

“Like feeling every inch of my cock deep in your little pussy, yeah?” he eggs you on, and the almost taunting edge to his words is inexplicably more arousing than you expected, your body now hopelessly hurtling towards yet another climax. “Fuck, baby, you just got so tight around me—your pretty pussy must really like me.” he remarks smugly, his unshakable confidence not helping you keep your composure.

“Wanna cum—Hae–chan, please—” you gasp, and he grins, kissing you again.

“Gonna cum too, baby, hold it for me for one second—I’m almost there—”

“Can’t hold it—”

“Yes, you can, baby, just a little more—”

“Haechan—” you moan, both a warning and an exclamation of pleasure.

“Cum, baby, let it go,” he grunts finally, and you do just that, the feeling of release so blissful it brings tears to your eyes. His thrusts slowly come to a stop as he pumps his load into you, his cum filling you practically to the brim—and then some, because a decent amount trickles out of you as he continues to lazily move his hips. “Good?”

“Yeah,” you say breathlessly, your chest heaving as you wipe a stray tear as surreptitiously as possible.

“Are you crying?” he asks incredulously, brows raised in surprise.

“Allergies,” you lie, and he shoots you a skeptical look.

“Sure, baby.” he chuckles, pulling out of you, tucking himself back into his boxers, and lying down beside you.

“What do you think you’re doing?” you ask curiously as you spot Haechan’s arm moving to drape over your waist.

“Uh…” he stops short, caught red-handed, and you narrow your eyes at him.

“No cuddling.” you repeat the rule back to him, and he scowls at you before rolling his eyes. “Plus, we both need to shower now.”

“Wanna shower together?” he offers with a wiggle of his brows, and you chuckle.

“No.”

“Just evil, I swear.” he grouches, and you scoff in amusement.

“At least I’m not yucky-disgusting-gross-nasty.”

“You seemed to like how yucky-disgusting-gross-nasty I am when I had my tongue all over your pussy a couple of minutes ago.” he replies smugly, and you grimace, covering your ears.

“Can’t hear you! Go shower!”

He wraps a hand around your wrist and pulls it away from your ear, replacing it with his lips as he murmurs, “You can deny it all you want, but that pretty pussy wouldn’t lie to me.”

“Shower!”

“Fine,” he sighs loudly, climbing off the bed and walking to the bathroom. “You sure you don’t wanna shower together?” he tries one more time hopefully, and you grab the nearest pillow and chuck it at him.

“Shower! Now!”

“Just cruel and wicked and evil.” Haechan grumbles, picking the pillow up from the floor and tossing it back onto the bed. “Hate that it kinda turns me on.”

“Haechan, I swear to God—”

“I’m going!”

The following morning, you’re getting ready for the festival in Jihyo’s and Jiwoo’s room, much to Haechan’s dismay.

(“I just don’t get why you can’t get ready in here with me,” he’d complained, following you around as you gathered your makeup and various clothing options.

“Because,” you reply patiently, “Jihyo and Jiwoo are gonna help me figure out my makeup and my outfit.”

“I could help you with that!” he squawks indignantly, and you sigh, an amused smile on your lips as you turn to face him, placing a hand on your hip.

“Okay, Haechan; should I go with a warm-toned cut crease or a smoky eye look?” you ask, and you can practically watch as the gears in his head spin and overheat and eventually stop, Haechan frowning deeply at you.

“Okay, fine.” he mutters in defeat.

“I’ll see you downstairs before we head over to the festival.” you promise, and he grumbles indistinctly, brows furrowed together. You step forward and press a soft kiss to the space between his brows, watching as he relaxes slightly. “That’s better,” you remark, pleased.

“One more kiss for the road?” he asks hopefully.

“Haechan, what road?”

“It’s an expression!”

“Fine,” you relent, leaning in to kiss him sweetly. He groans in delight and winds his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him. One kiss turns into two, which turns into three, which turns into you peeling yourself off of a whining, grouchy Haechan and wiggling your fingers in a goodbye, blowing him a quick kiss before slipping out the door.)

As you do your eye makeup—the girls opted for a warm-toned smoky eye look, which is exactly what your outfit needed and the exact reason why you consulted them in the first place—Jihyo calls your name, making you meet her gaze in the vanity mirror.

“So, how was your night last night?” she asks curiously, but you know her too well; she’s never asking just to ask; there’s always an ulterior motive to her every move, and so you proceed with caution.

“Eh, it was fine. You know Haechan snores?” you remark lightly, and Jiwoo snorts.

“Was it loud?”

“No, I just had to roll him onto his side and he slept like a baby.” you explain, and Jihyo scans your face, no doubt searching for anything that could give you away. You remain calm and neutral, continuing to blend out your eyeshadow, and she finally relaxes, seemingly satisfied for now.

“What did you guys do all night? Jiwoo and I watched a movie.” Jihyo questions, and you turn to look at her.

“What movie? And you’d better not say anything I haven’t seen yet.” You point a finger at her accusingly, eyes narrowed playfully, and she snickers.

“We watched Aquaman.” she answers, and you gasp loudly. “You’ve seen that!”

“You let me miss out on a chance to see Jason Momoa all wet and muscular?! Do you even love me for real?” you wail, bringing the back of your hand to your forehead dramatically. “Oh, I could faint.”

“You’re overreacting—”

“The horror!”

“Girl, you’ve seen it—”

“The betrayal!”

“I swear to God—”

“I may never forgive you, you know.”

“Oh, hush!” she finally laughs, joining in on your and Jiwoo’s giggling. “You’re too much.”

“You love me.” you pout, turning to look at her, and her features soften into a warm, fond smile.

“I really do.”

The festival is packed with hundreds of people, various vendors set up under tents to shelter from the sun, and the stage is huge, with a catwalk going down the middle of the platform.

“Holy shit, you guys.” Jiwoo exhales in awe, looking around at the scenery. “It’s so crowded.”

“There are snacks everywhere,” you sigh dreamily. “I’m in Heaven.”

“I can’t wait to try everything,” Renjun says excitedly, and Mark nods in agreement.

“Those churros are calling my name right now.” he groans, and you all follow after an almost entranced Mark as he makes his way through the crowd to get in line for the churros.

As you wait, you realize that you rarely have to do your job in front of your friends, and the prospect of suddenly doing so makes you nervous. “I just wanna warn you guys that I need to film content while I’m here… that’s the whole reason we got to come.” you inform your friends, who nod or agree verbally.

“If you need help filming, I got you,” Jaemin offers, and you immediately nod, handing him your phone.

“I was hoping you’d say that.” you sigh in relief, taking his wrist and pulling him over to the next snack tent that catches your eye, the both of you unaware of Haechan’s disapproving gaze following you.

“You know, you’re spending a lot of time with Jaemin,” Haechan points out, and you blink at him slowly.

“He’s my photographer.” you explain bluntly, and he makes a disapproving face.

“I could be your photographer,” he replies in a huff, and you roll your eyes.

“Are you as good at photography?” you ask, and he nods immediately, making you roll your eyes as you decide to call him on his bluff. “Okay, take this next photo for my Instagram.”

He sets up his position as he angles the phone towards you, and you make a cute pose, holding it until Haechan gives the okay to move.

“Done?” you ask, and he nods, presenting you with the screen proudly. You look over the photo and— “Haechan?”

“Yes?”

“How do I say this…” you wonder aloud before deciding to rip the bandaid off. “Your photos aren’t as good as Jaemin’s.”

“What?!” he exclaims incredulously, and you nod sympathetically with pursed lips.

“It’s blurrier.” you point out.

“It’s not!”

“Haechan, I’m looking dead at it. It’s blurrier.”

“Well—fine, I can be your creative director.” he suggests, nodding proudly, and you raise your eyebrows before just shrugging in defeat and nodding. “I’m gonna run to the bathroom—don’t film with Jaemin while I’m gone.” he warns you, and you wave him off dismissively, nodding.

When he disappears, it takes a minute for Jaemin to find his way back over to you, reaching for your camera and phone only to tilt his head in confusion when you deny him.

“Haechan wants us to wait for him to come back.” you explain, and he nods slowly.

“And why do we care what Haechan wants?”

“Aw, don’t say that! He’s our friend!” you protest, and he raises his eyebrows.

“Okay, well, I’m your friend and I wanna film now.” he says, and you blink, conflicted. A knowing smile tugs at his lips and he steps closer, speaking more intentionally as he says, “I thought so. I’m gonna ask you again: why do we care what Haechan wants?”

Lost for words, you scan the crowd for an out, your salvation coming in the form of one of your favorite songs starting to play. “Ooh, I love this song! I’m gonna go dance,” you say, and Jaemin rolls his eyes with a smile before gesturing for you to join the group of dancing bodies.

The music consumes you as you move to the beat, and you’re swaying your hips with your eyes closed when two hands land on your hips.

“Back from the bathroom already?” you chuckle, receiving no response. Shrugging, you continue to dance, it dawning on you a moment later that this is quite the compromising position to be caught in.

You turn to your left to make sure your friends aren’t watching, only for your heart to jolt with a lurch when you see Haechan standing a foot away from you with an affronted expression.

If that’s Haechan, then who’s behind you?

You turn around with a whirl, eyes wide, and your features contort into anger when you see some absolute schmuck of a stranger standing behind you.

“And who the hell are you?” you ask, not caring how rude you sound.

“I’m Chad.” he says, grinning too widely.

“Right… and why are you dancing on me?” you question.

“I’m a fan of your content and I saw you dancing over here and, y’know, thought I’d take the opportunity.” he explains, and you blink at him for a moment.

“Well, thank you for liking my content.” you say sincerely, and he smiles, nodding. “Did you, um, come with anyone?”

“Yeah, I lost my friends a couple minutes ago… do you mind if I hang out with you until I find them?” he requests, rubbing the back of his neck, and you pause to think before shrugging reluctantly.

“I guess you can hang out with us,” you say finally, and he beams at you, jerking his chin at Haechan in a greeting Haechan doesn’t return, your friend still eyeing the newcomer suspiciously.

“Well, I’m gonna get some snacks…” you say carefully, eager to leave the uncomfortable atmosphere.

“Let’s go,” Chad suggests, and you hold back a sigh, not looking forward to babysitting this stranger, but head to the fried dough tent regardless, deliberately giving Haechan a look that signals for him to follow you.

Of all the moments for Haechan to leave your side, of course he picks now when you actually need him. Chad follows you around like a lost puppy, poorly attempting to hit on you and even get you to leave with him at one point, and you wish you could see literally any of your friends right now, but especially Haechan.

“I love this song,” Chad says, tugging you closer as he attempts to dance with you.

“I feel like I made it clear earlier that I don’t want to dance.” you say impatiently, and Chad frowns, the expression nowhere near as cute as when Haechan does it, pulling you closer and closer still. You’re debating smacking him, but you know that would be horrible for your image.

However, you may have spoken too soon about Haechan disappearing, as Haechan appears to your right, taking your hand and pulling you away from a confused Chad firmly.

“Haechan,” you say breathlessly, never happier to see him. “Where are we going?”

“We need to go back to the hotel,” is his only reply as he pulls you through the mass of bodies at the festival, not caring one bit about the affronted glares and annoyed muttering under people’s breath as he pushes past them.

“Haechan, you’re causing a disturbance,” you warn him as you two finally clear the crowd, and he stops in his tracks, whirling around to face you.

“I’ll drop my pants right now and show everyone a real disturbance when I fuck you right here.” he replies in a low, surprisingly serious voice, and you blink, stunned. “That sound good to you?”

“No,” you say quietly, surprised by the shift in his energy, and he nods curtly before turning back around and continuing to lead a much more cooperative you to, you presume, the hotel.

When you get to the hotel, Haechan has the decency to act natural, now leading you a bit more gently to the elevator. Once the doors open, though, all decorum is out the window, Haechan tugging you in and practically flinging you against the wall.

“Jesus, Haechan—” you gasp, but your words are muffled by his lips on yours.

“You’re mine, you know?” he grunts into the kiss. “You trying to drive me crazy?”

“What?” you ask, baffled. “Haechan, I thought that was you behind me!”

“Well, it was that weirdo and he kept flirting with you—pissed me all the way off.” His lips travel south to kiss your neck, but he’s rough with you—biting you, sucking hard at spots until you whimper, and finally he licks a stripe up from your collarbone to your jaw before turning your face towards his for another searing kiss, this one a mix of teeth and tongue as he molds his lips with yours feverishly. “I don’t like that freak touching you—”

“Neither did I—”

“I should be the only one touching you.” he ignores you as if you hadn’t spoken, sucking on your bottom lip harshly before pulling back and letting it slip back into place.

He pushes his hand into your shorts, nimble fingers finding your clothed clit with ease and stroking it teasingly as you cry out in surprise and pleasure.

“Shh, shh, shh,” he coos against your lips. “Don’t want anyone waiting for the elevator to hear you.”

His words remind you once more that you are, in fact, very much in a public elevator, and you gasp in surprise, pushing at his wrist inside your shorts.

“Haechan, what if the doors open? What if someone sees—” you moan, a hint of panic in your voice, but it fades away when he presses harder against your clit and drops his head down to suck at your neck.

“Relax, we’re almost there,” he soothes your worries with another, slightly gentler kiss before returning to his task of sucking at various spots on your neck, teeth scraping over the heated skin before he’s pulling back as the elevator slows to a stop.

The doors open on your floor and Haechan takes your hand once more, not-so-gently pulling you after him to the hotel room. He pulls the room keycard out of his pocket and slips it into the slot, the small beep and clicking sound of the door unlocking prompting him to open the door and pull you inside.

Yanking you into another kiss, he focuses on unbuttoning your shorts and backing you towards the bed. When the backs of your legs connect with the side of the bed, he pushes you onto the bed, leaving you bouncing on the bed slightly from the impact as he drops to his knees in front of you between your legs.

“Fucking mine,” he growls under his breath, pushing your shirt up to kiss down your neck to your chest. He tugs your bra down so your breasts are practically spilling out, his lips on your skin immediately. He sucks at the flesh of your breast, swirling his tongue around your areola before focusing in on your nipple, sucking the bud between his lips as you moan and slide your fingers into his hair.

“What happened to ‘no jealousy?’” you tease lightly, and he pulls away from your nipple with an embarrassingly loud wet pop, glowering up at you.

“Fuck that right now,” he grumbles. “You didn’t even want him. I’m just reminding you that you could do so much better than him.”

“And you’re… the ‘better’ I could be doing, right?” you reply with a growing smile, and his eyes narrow at you.

“Don’t piss me off.” he mumbles, returning his lips to your nipple and sucking, swirling his tongue around the stiffened peak. You arch your back in pleasure, pushing your chest further into his face, and he takes the intrusion eagerly, pressing his face into your breast until his cheeks are smushed by either side of your breast.

One hand gropes at your other breast, squeezing and kneading the flesh while occasionally drawing circles around your nipple to mimic the traces he’s making with his tongue on your other nipple. His free hand moves from beside you on the bed and slips back into your pants, this time pushing past your underwear and dragging two fingers up your folds, collecting the arousal and swirling it around your clit.

“Feels good,” you sigh blissfully, fingernails lightly scratching at his scalp, and he groans so lowly it could almost pass for a purr.

“Yeah? Think he could do a better job?” Haechan huffs, and you can’t help but roll your eyes.

“Shut up about him,” you urge Haechan, and he sucks his teeth, pulling back from your nipple with one last flick before switching to the other one. His fingers dip into you, as if testing your readiness, and he sucks in a breath at how eagerly your core welcomes him in.

“So fucking wet for me, baby.” he teases, and you whine in anticipation, pushing your hips forward to push more of his fingers into you. “Wanna feel more, yeah?”

“More,” you pant, nodding eagerly, “please.”

“Anything for the pretty girl,” he coos, pushing his fingers in to the last knuckle and curling them, relishing your responding moan, before he starts to move them in and out.

“Fuck—feels so good—” you moan when he finds that sensitive patch along the inside of your walls that makes your breath hitch and your hips buck.

“Pretty girl’s all mine, right?” he grunts, tongue lolling out to flick at your nipple, the wet muscle traveling over the bud repeatedly as his fingers pump in and out of you.

“Yeah,” you whine, and he grins, leaning up to kiss you. He nips at your bottom lip playfully and you make a tiny, plaintive whimper that he coos affectionately at before your stomach starts to develop that telltale tightening feeling. “Mm—wanna cum—gonna cum—”

“Then cum, baby,” Haechan chuckles, fucking his fingers into you faster. “Who’s stopping you?”

His words send you over the edge and you free fall into an ocean of pleasure, warmth spreading through your body as you climax. Your abdomen tenses repeatedly, your walls clenching around his fingers and making him suck in a loud breath of surprise, his eyes glazing over with desire.

He keeps moving his fingers in you until your body shudders subside, kissing at the corner of your mouth sweetly as you ride out your high. You’re prepared for him to take his fingers out of you, so it surprises you when he doesn’t, instead pressing your chest down until you’re lying on your back, his fingers gradually picking up the pace again.

“Wha—fuck, Haechan—” you swear, trying to squirm away from him.

“Where you goin’, baby?” he chuckles, moving forward to follow you. “We’re not done here.”

“But—”

“But nothing. Spread those pretty legs for me.” he coaxes, kissing where your knees meet before trailing more, wetter kisses up your legs to right where your shorts end. He pulls his fingers out for a moment, granting you reprieve before hooking his fingers in your shorts and pulling them down off of your legs. He flings them behind himself, a soft muted thud sounding out somewhere behind him before he moves more onto the bed, lips attaching to your inner thigh to suck and lick at various patches of skin. “Gonna eat your pretty little pussy,” he grunts, pulling your underwear to the side, “and remind you there’s no one better than me.”

You refrain from telling him that you’re already quite aware of that, given that he’s made you cum every time without fail, because you don’t necessarily want to make him prove it again… and again… and again.

Your thoughts just about fly out of your head when he drags his tongue up your slit in a long, wet stripe and groans lewdly, the sound making heat rush to your face. He starts to lap at your core fervently, most certainly on some sort of mission as he massages the underside of your clit with his tongue.

His fingers find their way back to your entrance, lips wrapping around your pulsing clit just as he slips two digits into you. You cry out at the pleasure, trying to prop yourself up on your elbows to watch him as he ravishes your poor sensitive core with his tongue and fingers.

His eyes are closed at first, losing himself in the taste of you, and you can just barely see where his fingers keep disappearing into you. There are wet sounds coming from your core with every move he makes, but you don’t even have it in you to be properly embarrassed, your mind reeling with pleasure as he tends to you.

“Tastes so fucking good, baby.” he groans, making an obnoxiously loud slurping noise, and you whine, all the embarrassment you lacked before making its way to the surface of your cheeks as you flop back down, throwing an arm over your face. “No, no, no, look at me.” he urges, mouth still pressed to your core. “Want you to watch me eat your pussy.”

“Fuck,” you curse weakly, propping yourself back up to watch him. His eyes are open now, laser-focused on your face as he slurps and licks and messily makes out with your core. With every moan and reaction from you, his eyes light up with a blazing intensity and after some point, his resolve seems to snap as he surges forward, practically burying his face in between your legs and licking at your folds as his fingers rapidly piston into you. “Holy shit—gonna cum again—”

“Damn right, you’re gonna cum.” he mumbles against your clit. “Wanna taste it, baby, cum for me—cum all over my tongue—”

Your peak hits again, this one making you almost see stars when you shut your eyes, and your head drops back as a string of swears leave your lips. You get one good look at the wild, almost awestruck look in Haechan’s eyes as he watches you before your arms give out and you collapse onto the bed, eyes fluttering shut once more.

He withdraws his fingers from you slowly, detaching his lips from your clit with a wet pop, and you can feel him moving to kneel on the bed between your legs, his hands pressing down on either side of your head as he (probably—you wouldn’t know since your eyelids feel too heavy to move) watches you.

“You still with me, baby?” he chuckles, stroking your cheek with the backs of his fingers.

All you can manage is a weak nod, and his responding laugh is smug and dark, prompting you to laboriously open your eyes to look at him. He’s hovering over you, eyes roving over your body and your face with a greedy sort of hunger in his gaze before he sits up, the telltale sound of his pants opening alerting you to what’s to come.

“I’m with you,” you finally answer, voice hoarse and thick with desire, and he grins widely, the smile almost devious as he leans back over you with one hand by your head.

“Good—because we’re not done yet.” he says with an upwards flick of his eyebrows. It’s devastatingly handsome and your core clenches with need as he wets his lips and finishes opening his pants, pushing them down his thighs and pulling his boxers down to let his length spring free.

For a moment, he kneels there, watching you with dark eyes as he pumps his fist up and down his length.

“I wish you could see how pretty you look,” he grunts, leaning back to get a good look at you. “Prettiest sight I’ve ever seen.”

Your cheeks blaze and you look away, flustered, but he turns your chin so you’re looking at him once more.

“Look at me,” he urges breathlessly. “Keep those pretty eyes on me, baby—think you can do that for me?”

“Uh-huh—”

“Good girl.” he purrs, and the heat in your cheeks returns full force, as well as spreads to your core and inner thighs. “You ready?” he asks, bringing the tip of his length to your entrance. You can feel the thick head of his cock pressing insistently against your entrance, poised to enter at a moment’s notice, and the thought thrills you, making you nod before you even realize what you’re doing.

He pushes into you slowly, making you gasp and push at his stomach. It doesn’t hurt, it’s just big, and you’re not as ready as you thought you were.

“Don’t run from it, baby.” he chuckles, voice throaty and deep as he pushes in more. The arm attached to your hand pressing against him bends and he grins, using the leeway to push in more. You let out a pathetic little moan as he slowly bottoms out in you, and he grins. “That’s right, baby, take it. Feel my cock nice and deep, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you whimper, nodding vigorously.

“Fits so nice and perfect—fuck, you feel so good, baby—” he groans before starting to pull out. He thrusts back in with a slow, fluid motion that makes your breath catch in your throat and gives you practically no time to recover, starting to rock his hips in and out with slow, smooth strokes that have your eyes rolling back.

When you cry out weakly and clap a hand over your mouth, he shakes his head with a teasing smile, starting to build up the pace.

“I want to hear you moan.” he urges. When a particularly well-placed thrust makes you whimper again, he frowns at you and yanks your hand from your mouth, pinning it beside your head. “Come on, pretty, you can do better than that.” he coaxes, reaching between you two with his free hand and massaging your clit in little circles that, when combined with his thrusts, make you swear loudly, a moan falling from your lips that makes him grin. “That’s more like it—sound so pretty, baby—”

He builds the pace even more, quick, powerful strokes into you making the rhythmic sounds of skin slapping on skin and the bed shifting fill the room as he effectively fucks you stupid, thoughtless words spilling from your lips.

“Right there—fuck, yes, there—”

“Here?” he teases, pressing down more firmly on your clit, and you nod, proceeding to babble more nonsense. You bite down on your lip, embarrassed by the noises you’re letting out, and he sucks his teeth. “Said I wanna hear you, right? Why are you biting your lip?”

“Too loud—it’s embarrassing,” you whine, and he coos affectionately at you, leaning down to kiss you passionately.

“It’s you and me, baby,” he assures you against your lips. “Just you and me. Let me hear you.”

“Fuck, Haechan—please don’t stop—”

“That’s it, talk to me, baby,” he grunts, brows furrowing in concentration as he continues to fuck into you.

“Feels so good—you’re so good to me—”

“That’s right, baby—no one’s better than me—” he pants, and you shake your head in agreement.

“No, just you—”

“This is what you want, right? You don’t want losers like that guy—”

“Shut up about him—”

“You want me,” he asserts, and you nod with a mewl of pleasure. “That’s right, pretty, you’re mine.”

“Yours,” you agree breathlessly, and his responding smile is positively radiant. “You’re—mm—”

“I’m what, hm?” he coaxes, almost as if he knows what you’re about to say.

“You’re mine,” you gasp, and he nods vigorously, grinning from ear to ear.

“This is yours, baby—it’s all yours,” he promises, and you nod back, shallow breaths leaving you with every thrust. “Look at me, pretty girl,” he urges, and when you do, he puckers his lips at you in an air kiss. “What’s my name?”

“Hae—chan,” you whimper, and he beams at you, nodding encouragingly.

“Yes, baby, good girl—who’s doing this to you, hm? Who’s making you feel this good?”

“You, Haechan, you—” You’re sure you’re losing your mind with all the combined pleasure of his fingers, his length, and his words. “Fuck—gonna cum, you’re gonna make me cum—”

“I am?” he wonders aloud with a teasing lilt to his voice. “I shouldn’t stop then, huh?”

“No,” you’re quick to reply, shaking your head with tears building in your eyes. The sounds of lovemaking are only getting louder, the soundscape consuming you as you start to succumb to the pleasure. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop—wanna cum so bad, Haechan—”

“Then cum, baby—wanna feel you clench nice and tight around my cock—”

“Cum–ming—I’m cumming—” you whine, fingers clutching at the bed sheets as your orgasm takes over you. Your eyes rolling back into your head and your lids fluttering shut, your back alternates between arching and curling in on itself, your mind on the brink of ecstasy as he brings you to a powerful climax.

“God, baby, you’re sucking my cock in—what a greedy girl,” he teases, but there’s a strain to his voice that lets you know he’s close as well.

“Cum, Haechan—please, wanna feel it, want you to fill me—”

“Shit—” he curses loudly, his head dropping forward as his thrusts slow to a jerky stop before he’s bottoming out in you, balls pressed to your ass as he releases into you, your walls flexing around him rhythmically from the aftershocks of your orgasm. “That’s it, baby, milk my cock just like that—gonna give you every drop—”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you babble mindlessly. “Want it—give it to me—”

“All yours, baby, all yours,” he promises as his length throbs inside of you. The two of you stay in that position, catching your breath for several moments, before he pulls out of you carefully, making you sigh in disappointment. “Don’t tell me you want more?” he jokes, and you shake your head immediately, certain you can’t handle another orgasm right now.

“No, it just—felt good.” you mumble shyly, and he grins, leaning down to kiss you. This kiss is much sweeter than the previous ones and you can practically feel his satisfaction through the lip lock as he slowly molds his lips with yours, his tongue slipping into your mouth for a quick taste.

“There’s more where that came from, baby, don’t you worry your pretty little head.” he promises, and you’re surprised that genuine relief fills your insides. “Now—”

“Shut up.”

“But—you don’t even know what I was about to say!”

“I could tell by the tone of your voice,” you reply with a tired but amused smile.

“Oh, yeah? What was I gonna say?”

“Something about that dude.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” you say with a chuckle and a roll of your eyes.

“Was just gonna say he definitely couldn’t do what I just did.”

“Most certainly could not. He couldn’t even dance.” you snicker, and he grins, satisfied with your answer.

“Good. Now that we’ve established that, do you wanna, um, go back?”

“No?” you reply, confused. “Are you crazy?”

“No, just trying to make sure I didn’t literally drag you away from a good time.”

“You didn’t,” you assure him, and he smiles, relieved. “Wanna order, like… room service or something?”

“Oh, hell yeah.” he agrees instantly, flopping down beside you on his stomach. You internally apologize to the room cleaning service for when they have to clean your cum-stained sheets, but thankfully, they’re white, so the evidence of your activities might remain a mystery to anyone beyond your room.

As Haechan starts scrolling through the online menu for room service food, you think back to the possessive behavior he just displayed and realize, to your surprise, you have no qualms about it—hell, you would even encourage it.

“I’m gonna use the bathroom,” you say, patting the back of his thigh before slowly climbing to your feet. You adjust your top and bra so your breasts aren’t exposed and shuffle to the bathroom, glad Haechan’s too engrossed in reading the food options to notice the way your legs are slightly trembling. When you get in the bathroom, however, you gasp loudly after you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror.

“What?” Haechan calls out, alarmed, and you poke your head out of the bathroom to glower at him.

“Did you have to leave so many marks?” you complain, and he looks up from his phone, looking over the marks left on your neck and chest appreciatively.

“I did, actually.” he replies smugly, and you roll your eyes before shutting the door again before he can see the smile growing on your lips.

“Unbelievable.” you mutter through your smile, inspecting the love bites littered all over your skin. “How the hell am I gonna cover all of these up?”

Even as you tilt your head this way and that to get a good look at the damage Haechan inflicted on your skin, you can’t help but smile as you realize you don’t really mind all that much.

In the morning, you wake up to Haechan draped over you, his arm and leg positioned over your body in such a way that any real attempts to get up would wake him as well.

“Haechan,” you whisper, your morning voice hoarse. He doesn’t move. You try again. “Haechan.”

“Mm?” he grunts, still very much asleep, and you sigh loudly, moving his arm off of you. He whines and pulls you closer, putting his arm back where it was.

“Haechan.” you say, a seriousness to your voice that you know will get through his sleepy brain. Sure enough, his brow furrows as he opens his eyes, squinting at you sleepily. You ignore how delectable he looks right now with mussed up hair and puffy morning lips.

“What?” he groans, burying his face in your neck as he holds onto you.

“You’re breaking the rules.” you point out, flicking at his arm and leg trapping you in place.

“What rules?” he mumbles groggily, and you sigh, trying to hide your amusement and fondness at his sleepy confusion.

“Our rules,” you remind him, and he mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like “fuck the rules” before pressing his face into your neck and breathing in deeply. “No cuddling? Remember that?”

He shifts slightly, mumbling much more clearly now. “I’m not cuddling, I’m… huddling for warmth.”

“Haechan.” you say with a sigh, not buying it for a second.

“Mm?” he sounds mildly annoyed now, and you bite back a laugh.

“The heater is literally on, and you’re hot as fuck.”

Even in his half-awake state, the corners of his lips tug into a smirk. “Why, thank you.”

“No, you dolt, I’m talking about body temperature,” you reply with a hint of exasperation. “You’re very warm.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” he mutters, waving you off dismissively. “Just go back to sleep.”

“Not until you release me from your cuddling clutches.”

“Not happening.”

“So you admit you’re cuddling me right now.”

“If I say we’re cuddling,” he says, sounding significantly more awake, and you can’t help but notice that his morning voice is deeply arousing, his timbre significantly lower and deeper and even a bit raspy. “Will you go back to sleep?”

“No! We’re not supposed to do this.” you complain, and he props his head up to regard you with sleepy eyes and a deadpan gaze.

“Does it hurt?”

“What?”

“The cuddling. Am I hurting you?”

“Well—no,” you mumble, and he nods.

“Do you dislike it?” he asks, and you pause. “I asked you a question,” he murmurs, voice still authoritative even in his drowsy state as he squeezes you slightly.

“No,” you admit quietly, and he smiles, pleased.

“Great. Now here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna lay your pretty little head back down and go back to sleep just like this.”

“Am I?”

“I could always fuck you until you pass out.” he offers, and you blink, not expecting that at all. At your stunned silence, he chuckles softly, lifting his head to look at you. “Sound good? Or would you rather go back to sleep on your own?”

“I’ll, um,” you mumble, “I’ll go back to sleep on my own.”

He smiles again, eyes closed as he nods and pats your side in approval. “Good girl. Good night.”

“It’s 9:46am,” you point out, looking over at the clock on the nightstand.

“Time is a social construct. Now go back to sleep and let me hold you, woman.”

“...Fine.” you mutter, settling back down in his arms, and he shifts closer, pecking your neck and up to your cheek slowly.

“Good night, baby,” he says again, and you heave a small little sigh of defeat.

“Good night, Haechan.” you reply, and he hums in satisfaction before laying his head back down and falling back asleep almost instantly.

As you listen to the heater whirring and Haechan’s soft breathing, you can’t help but wonder if he had a point when he sleepily told you, “Fuck the rules.”

Maybe the rules were a bit outdated, anyway, you think as you drift off to sleep, secretly relishing his secure hold and warmth radiating from his body.

“This shit is hard,” Jiwoo complains after her fourth attempt to get the ball in the hole. “How does Tiger Woods do it?”

“It’ll remain a mystery for ages to come,” you sigh. “Whose idea was mini golf, anyway?”

“Mine,” Jihyo says with a frown, and you pause, rethinking your words.

“And what a great idea it was,” you assure her. “It’s fun, conveniently fifteen minutes away from the hotel, and it’s inexpensive! I just think I’d be having more fun if I was, like, good at it, y’know?”

“Want help lining up your shot?” Haechan offers, and you turn back to look at him, rolling your eyes slightly at his suggestively raised eyebrows and playful grin.

“Yeah, actually.” you say, beckoning him closer. He pushes his golf club into Renjun’s unsuspecting arms immediately and makes his way over to you, standing behind you. His hands fall to your hips as he gently moves you into the proper position, and they glide up your sides and down your arms until his hands are clasped over yours.

“Damn, Haechan, way to grope our friend in front of my very eyes.” Mark remarks sarcastically.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Haechan defends himself, huffing under his breath before returning his attention to you. “Plus, you like it, don’t you?” he coos in your ear, and you let out a flustered giggle, squirming away from his lips.

“Shut up,” you mumble with a smile, but it just seems to prove Haechan’s point, the cockiness radiating off of him in waves as he guides your arms to swing the club, the ball rolling down the green path before tipping over the edge and landing in the hole. You beam as you turn around to celebrate with Haechan, his arms already outstretched for a hug. You step into his embrace readily, wrapping your arms around his neck and holding onto him as he sways you both from side to side.

“Not you two dry humping on the mini golf course,” Mark groans, gesturing at you in disbelief. “Have some respect for the Putt Putt Brothers!”

“First of all, how is a hug dry humping?” you start in on Mark, turning around with an accusatory pointed finger at him. “Second of all, that is not the name of this establishment, you nitwit.”

“Hey!” Mark yelps, clutching his chest defensively. “I was joking—”

“You’re joking now that I called you on it, huh?” you counter, raising your eyebrows, and Mark huffs, crossing his arms and muttering something about public indecency and the sanctity of friendships. When you turn back to Haechan, he’s watching you with intense intrigue, an impressed expression on his face. “What?” you ask, voice now devoid of any (playful) edge to it.

“That was pretty hot.” he murmurs, wiggling his eyebrows, and you roll your eyes with a growing bashful smile. “No, really—kinda want you to snap at me like that.”

“Cause me mild to severe annoyance and my wrath is all yours,” you say, patting his chest twice with a playful smile before stepping out of his embrace. You’ve barely made it ten steps into your attempt to catch up to your friends before you whip back around to face Haechan once more. “I’m joking. Please don’t piss me off.”

“I’ll try not to, but… you’re just so hot when you’re irritated.” he says with a shrug and a shameless grin, and you snort in amusement, looking over your shoulder to see that your friends are split between one course away from yours and the rest are at the drink bar, blissfully unaware of what you two are up to.

“That’s an interesting kink of yours,” you muse. “Where’d you pick that up at?”

“Not you kinkshaming me?” he gasps. “And to think I trusted you.”

“Oh, hush. I said it was interesting.”

“Interesting is code for weird.” he says with a frown, and you coo sympathetically, cupping his chin affectionately.

“I just wanna understand it more,” you explain. “Like… a psychoanalysis.”

“You wanna be my shrink?” he asks, eyes wide. “Oh, that’s hot.”

“I swear, you’re getting more fascinating by the minute.” you chuckle in disbelief.

“Can I put my head in your lap and tell you all my troubles while you play with my hair?” he sighs hopefully, and you blink, stunned.

“You think you’re allowed to put your head in the lap of a shrink?”

“Well, no, but you’re not just any shrink, y’know? You’re my sexy shrink.” he says with a suggestive wiggle of his brows, and you exhale loudly through your nose in surprised amusement.

“And what does your sexy shrink do, hm? What’s in the job description?” you ask, tilting your head to the side in sarcastic curiosity.

“You, my sexy shrink, let me put my head in your lap—”

“We got that one.” you interject, but he carries on like you haven’t spoken.

“And play with my hair, and, y’know, if I’m in need of a little… sexual therapy, then you’re there.”

You stare at him blankly. “I can’t believe you really stood there and made that up.”

He shrugs casually. “Off the dome, baby; off the dome.”

“Yeah, a hollow ass dome,” you chuckle, and he gasps.

“Hollow?!” he squawks indignantly, and you nod, grinning gleefully.

You bring a knuckle to his forehead and knock gently. “Thunk, thunk.”

“You’re so mean,” Haechan huffs.

“Yet you’re hard.” you say with a roll of your eyes, but you’re confused when Haechan looks at you with restrained panic. “What is it?”

“You can see it?” he asks worriedly.

You blink in confusion, gaze drifting downwards and—”Haechan, you’re joking.”

“I wish I could joke about this.” he laments, and you start to giggle, clapping a hand over your mouth. “It’s not funny!”

“It very much is funny, actually—you stood here daydreaming about me being your sexy shrink and you popped a boner.” you snicker, and he scowls at you, not a shred of malice in his gaze to back it up.

“Can you stop laughing and help me?” he pleads, and you splutter in confusion.

“And how am I going to help you? I’m not sneaking off with you!” you exclaim in a hushed whisper, and he frowns deeply, eyes pleading with you. “Don’t give me that look.”

“Baby, please?” he mumbles, and you’re ashamed to admit that all your resolve just crumbled at the sound of his voice cracking slightly towards the end.

“Do you guys ever wonder what those two get up to when they disappear?” Mark asks, and there’s a moment of silence.

“Briefly, yeah, but I don’t like to dwell on it,” Renjun answers with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“They’re kinda cute together, no?” Jihyo hums thoughtfully, and Jaemin shrugs.

“Little bit, actually. I have to agree.” Jaemin adds with a wise nod.

“Not to get sentimental, but do you guys remember when we, like, all hung out for the first time?” Jiwoo thinks aloud.

“Because we kept hearing about each other through each other but we’d never had us all together in one room… so Jaemin crashed out and made us hang out.”

“I did not crash out! I just tracked everyone down and made a group chat and guilt tripped all of you into coming.” Jaemin answers defensively.

“Admitting to the guilt tripping years later is wild.” Mark chuckles.

“I’m not ashamed.” Jaemin says with a shrug. “I’d do it again.”

“That’s all well and good, but back to what I was saying,” Jiwoo butts in. “We probably should have anticipated those two disappearing frequently in the future because they kept sneaking off together that day!”

“They really did, didn’t they? There are so many times where they’re just… nowhere to be found.” Jeno remarks curiously.

“It’s their thing,” Jihyo remarks protectively. “Let them do their thing.”

“It’s probably Haechan��s doing,” Jeno muses. “Probably drags the poor girl off to fuck around and do Lord knows what.”

“Oh, please, you know she likes to wander.” Jiwoo points out. “She probably gets restless and starts to roam, and Haechan—”

“Would follow her off a cliff without her even asking.” Renjun chuckles.

“Exactly.” Jaemin agrees. “So it’s both of them.”

“Should we tell them we know?” Mark wonders, and Jihyo rolls her eyes, placing a hand on her hip.

“Let them figure out whatever the hell is going on between them first? Besides, I don’t see the appeal in forcibly bearing witness to their weird little relationship.” she replies, and Mark nods thoughtfully.

“Good point, good point… so we don’t say anything? We just…” Mark trails off.

“Let them do their thing.” Jihyo finishes, and Mark nods with a shrug.

“I guess.”

One rushed and hushed orgasm later, you and Haechan are back on the scene with your friends, all of you laughing at Renjun’s failed attempt to get the ball in the hole while staying under par when you feel a set of eyes on you. Your skin crawls as you look around, finally making eye contact with the guy from the festival from yesterday, and he grins at you, his smile still eerily wide and eager.

“Oh, brother.” you sigh, offering him a tiny, very fake smile before returning your attention to your friends.

“What’s wrong?” Jiwoo asks, stepping closer to you and speaking lowly. “Everything alright?”

“It’s that weirdo from yesterday—Chad.” you mumble, pinching the bridge of your nose. “He’s here.”

“Ew.”

“Right?”

“Well, I hate to break it to you, but I think he’s coming over here.” she says carefully, and you look around for Haechan instantly, your heart dropping when he’s nowhere in sight.

“I’m gonna disappear for a minute,” you say as surreptitiously as possible, and she nods, squeezing your hand gently.

“Be safe, okay? Anything happens, just scream and we’ll come running.” she promises, and you can’t help but chuckle.

“Will do. Thanks, girl.” you say gratefully, walking off quickly.

“Hey, wait up!” you hear Chad say, and you sigh internally before turning around and looking at him with raised eyebrows. “How are you?” he says when he finally catches up to you.

“I’m alright; you?” you say politely, and he shrugs, flashing that wolfish grin again.

“I’m great now that I’m seeing you.” he replies and you’re sure that would have worked if, say, Haechan had said it, but you find yourself fighting back a grimace.

“Cool.” you say shortly, smiling politely before turning to leave.

“Wait!” he calls out, and you blink hard before turning back around. “I got you a drink.” He thrusts the cup at you, and you eye it suspiciously.

“I’m okay, actually.” you tell him, patting his hand before pushing the cup back at him.

His brows knit together and he shakes his head. “No, really, I insist.”

You contemplate just taking the drink to be polite, but you really don’t like the glint in his eye like he’s planning something, and it gives you a sinking feeling that he may have done something to the drink.

“I’m fine,” you insist. “Really.”

“Come on, I got a drink just for you and you won’t even try it?”

“Listen—Charlie—”

“Chad,” he corrects you, and you pause, nodding.

“My bad. I don’t want the drink. I’m actually, uh, all full of drinks and was heading to the bathroom. So… I’m gonna go do that.” you inform him, and a scowl passes over his face for half a second but you catch it all the same.

“It’ll be waiting for you when you get back,” he says with an unnerving smile, setting it on the countertop by where you’re standing.

“I just said I don’t want it.” you say flatly, losing your patience rapidly.

“And I said it’ll be waiting for you.” he counters, and you raise your eyebrows.

“Yeah, alright.” you mutter, shooting him a passive aggressive thumbs up and a smile that definitely does not reach your eyes. “See ya.”

When you exit the bathroom, you look around to see if Chad is anywhere nearby, and sigh in relief when you see that he’s not.

To your relief, you spot Haechan’s back at the drinks stand and walk over to him. As you do, you pass the drink Chad left for you and promptly smack the cup, knocking it and its contents onto the grass.

“Whoops.” you mumble sarcastically, picking up the cup and tossing it in the nearest garbage before continuing your walk to Haechan. He turns when you call his name, smiling widely as you give him a small wave. “Hey,” you finally say when you make it to him.

“Hey,” he says with a small grin. “You want a drink?”

“Yeah, actually, I’d love one.” you answer, smiling back at him.

“Pick what you want, baby.” he offers, gesturing at the menu. You peruse it carefully and decide to go with a virgin piña colada, telling the bartender your selection. “Good choice,” he praises, and you smile at him warmly.

“Thanks.” you say with a giggle, the smile slipping off your face when you spot Chad off to the side in the distance. He hasn’t seen you just yet, and you’d like to keep it that way. “Hey, Haechan?” you call quietly, tugging at the side of his shirt. He turns around immediately, brows furrowed at the concern in your voice.

“What’s wrong?” he responds, voice low as he scans your face. “You okay?”

“Not really,” you answer honestly, and his brows knit together even more.

“What happened?”

“Remember that guy from yesterday? At the music festival?” you say, and irritation flashes across his face for a moment before it’s gone, his clenched jaw the only reminder that it was there. “Well, he’s here, and he’s bothering me.”

“Where is he?” Haechan says without a moment of hesitation, looking over you and around the course, and you cup his face and turn his head back to face yours.

“I don’t want you to fight him,” you chuckle softly, and he cracks a small smile at your laugh, nodding in understanding. “I need a favor from you.”

“Anything,” he agrees instantly, and you can’t help but laugh again, endeared by how willing he is to help you.

“Can you… pretend to be my boyfriend? So he’ll leave me alone?” you request hopefully, and he nods readily, pausing to think for a moment.

“How far do you want me to go?” he asks curiously, and if you’re not mistaken, there’s excitement creeping into his voice.

“As far as you need to go to sell it.” you answer with a shrug, and he grins.

“Copy that.”

You’re walking to the next course with Haechan several feet behind the rest of your friends, his fingers wrapped around yours protectively, when his grip tightens slightly out of nowhere. When you look around, confused, Haechan moves to stand in front of you, cupping your face and gazing into your eyes.

“He’s right over there,” he murmurs urgently. “I’m gonna kiss you now,” he warns you, and you nod, winding your arms around his neck and pulling him closer. He leans in and connects your lips in a kiss so casually possessive that it makes your head spin. He clutches at your waist, pulling you up against him as he moves his lips against yours fervently. When you whimper faintly into the kiss, he groans and pulls back ever so slightly, mumbling, “Better keep a handle on those cute little noises before I take you back to the hotel.”

“If that guy sticks around, maybe you should.” you hum invitingly, and he chuckles darkly, fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt.

“What did I say about tempting me?” he says softly, nose nuzzling against your own. You feel the guy’s eyes on you as he passes by and, as if he can sense it, Haechan pulls you into another kiss, this one markedly more heated and handsy than the first. One hand slides down the small of your back and caresses where your asscheek meets your thigh, his lips parting from yours as he kisses down your neck, nipping and sucking with a hint of possessiveness to his actions. “Mine,” he speaks against your skin, and goosebumps erupt on your arms as you swallow thickly.

There’s no way he said that loudly enough for the guy to hear, and it hits you that he might not have even had the man in mind when he said it, and now hope, along with excitement, blooms in your chest.

“Yeah? Yours?” you ask softly, and he kisses back up to your lips, capturing them in a slow, nasty kiss complete with his tongue pushing into your mouth and stroking at your own. When you gently suck on his tongue, he grunts, the sound filled with surprise and desire as he pulls back slowly to look you in the eyes.

“You’re a tease.” he breathes, a warning undertone to his voice, and you shake your head in disagreement. “No? You’re not? Then what was that just now?”

“That was me telling you,” you say as you pull him closer and bring your lips to his ear, “that I want you to take me back to the hotel room.”

He stiffens in surprise, and pulls back to look at you, searching your face for any signs of a joke. When you nod encouragingly, he grins widely, looping his fingers around yours once more and tugging you towards your friends.

“I don’t feel well,” you lie, frowning at Jihyo. “I wanna go back to the hotel and lie down for a bit.”

“Oh, no,” Jihyo coos, walking over to you and placing the back of her hand to your forehead. “You do feel a little warm,” she remarks worriedly, and you thank Haechan’s kissing skills for the slight feverish effect they’ve had on you. “Are you gonna go alone?” she asks, concerned, and Haechan shakes his head.

“I’m gonna take her back,” he tells her, and she nods, satisfied.

“Okay, well—feel better, babe,” she says sincerely, and you nod, smiling feebly.

“I’ll try.”

As you two walk away and are out of sight of your friends, Haechan slips his arm around your waist, pulling you into his side and kissing your temple.

“You feel a little warm, huh?” he teases. “Maybe you should take some of those clothes off when we get back.”

“Mm, I feel so weak,” you sigh dramatically, looking up at him through your lashes. “Will you help me?”

He stops short, looking at you with incredulity and gradually building delight in his eyes, before stammering, “I—well—yes, hell, yes—how far are we from the hotel? Wanna take an Uber?”

“Yeah,” you hum, resting your head on his shoulder and sighing. “I’m just… so hot.”

“Hell yeah, you are, baby.” he mumbles distractedly as he fumbles his phone out of his pocket and opens the Uber app.

Once the Uber is booked, Haechan sits on a bench on the sidewalk, pulling you onto his lap and wrapping his arms around you.

It dawns on you several moments later that the guy you’ve been avoiding is probably long gone, and you wonder if Haechan has noticed the same, the male seemingly committed to keeping up the role of your affectionate boyfriend.

You think on it for a moment, pondering how good his arms feel around you and how soft his lips are when he kisses you, and decide two things: one, you won’t remind him just yet, and two, that you hope Haechan never realizes his fake boyfriend duties are (probably) no longer needed.

With this new decision comes a realization: you like Haechan far more than you thought you did in the beginning, and as Haechan nuzzles into your neck, pressing kiss after kiss after kiss, you wish he meant it with all the romantic intent and none of the casualness.

Today, the eight of you are at the local Fire Island zoo, walking around the exhibits and you’re having a great time; that is, until you’re stopping in the middle of the path to take a photo of the wildlife, your friends continuing on, and you feel two arms wrapping around your waist from behind and Haechan’s chin on your shoulder.

“Haechan,” you murmur, trying not to draw the attention of your friends a few feet ahead of you.

“Mm, yes?” he hums, nose in your hair by your neck.

“You’re breaking the rules, like, real bad right now.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

“And what rule am I guilty of breaking?” he murmurs against your neck, and you squirm, turning around to face him. He never lets go of you, so your turn to face him is more of a shuffle-pivot as you remain trapped in his embrace.

“No PDA!” you remind him in a whisper, and he raises his eyebrows.

“I’m protecting you.” he says into your neck, smiling against your skin, and you whine weakly under your breath, head tilting back subconsciously to allow him better access.

“From what?” you ask, confused.

“That creep from before,” he answers, his grip tightening on you for a second as he recalls the incident. “The one that tried to dance on you and take you home—what if he’s here? Lurking in the shadows?”

You snort in amusement, casting a glance over your shoulder to see that your friends have yet to notice you and Haechan significantly farther behind them. With a small sigh of relief, you turn your head back to face Haechan, who’s since lifted his head from your neck and is now looking down at you intently.

“So your holding onto me and your not-very-subtle neck kisses… are your ways of protecting me?”

“Yes.”

“Even though the creep from yesterday has yet to be seen in this location today?”

“Mhm.”

“And there’s nothing in it for you?”

“Nope.”

“Nothing at all?”

“I’m just doing my due diligence as your appointed fake boyfriend.” he says smoothly, and you narrow your eyes at him suspiciously. The two of you engage in a brief staredown, where you’re trying to get him to crack and he sticks firmly to his guns. It’s an unshakable conundrum and you realize fairly quickly that he’s not going to break.

“Sure you are.” you say finally with a roll of your eyes.

“Plus,” Haechan says, pulling you a little closer with a sudden tug, “don’t act like you don’t like it.”

“So if this is purely a business transaction—the fulfillment of a contract, so to speak—”

“Uh-huh.”

“You won’t mind if I terminate the deal?” you say with a coy tilt of your head, satisfaction flooding your system when his face falls ever so slightly.

“Uh… but what if he shows up again?”

“We can renegotiate.” you say with a wry smile.

“...Fine.” he grumbles, releasing you, and you smile, pleased with yourself, but inside you’re surprised to find a hint of disappointment at the loss of his touch.

“Good. Now come on, we’re, like, miles behind them.” you urge him, turning to rush through the crowds of people.

Haechan’s hand slips into your own and you look back in surprise to see him smiling innocently at you.

“So we don’t get separated.” he says, and you narrow your eyes suspiciously, looking down at his hand wrapped around yours and up at his guiltless expression and back down at your hands before you sigh in defeat.

“Come on.” you relent, pulling him after you as you speed walk to catch up to your friends.

Haechan seems determined to test you today—whether it’s your patience or your resolve, you have yet to find out, but he is most certainly putting you through a series of trials on this zoo outing. You’re in line for the petting zoo, and you’re minding your business when you feel a hand slip into yours. You look over to see Haechan casually standing next to you, looking around innocently.

“Haechan.” you murmur surreptitiously.

“Yes?”

“Why are you holding my hand?” you ask, continuing as he opens his mouth to speak, “And don’t say it’s so we don’t get separated, because we’re standing still. In line.”

“My hand is cold.” he says, and you turn to look at him, blinking impassively.

“You know I can feel your hand, right?”

“Does it feel good?”

“Ignoring that. Your hand is warm—very warm, actually.” you say flatly.

“It feels cold to me.”

“So you have a fever and should go back to the hotel and rest?” you say, raising an eyebrow in a silent challenge.

“No!”

“So you’re fine and your hand is at normal temperature? So you lied? Or did you make a miraculous recovery? Should I call CNN?” you continue, and he glowers at you.

“Can’t I just hold your hand without all the questions?”

“Well, no.” you say, looking at him like he’s dumb. “On account of those rules we set.”

“Rules this, rules that,” Haechan grumbles, pulling you closer to him. “Maybe some rules were meant to be broken.”

“Wh–What?” you say, baffled. “That makes no sense—why would rules be made in the first place if they’re just meant to be broken? They make rules so people don’t break them, you little scoff-law, you.”

“Wasn’t aware I was messing around with a goody two-shoes,” Haechan drawls in response, and you splutter indignantly.

“I’m not a goody two-shoes,” you huff.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” you gripe back, turning on your heel as the line moves up, You move to walk ahead, but Haechan holds on fast to your hand, essentially tethering you to him as you attempt to pull him forward with you and he digs his heels in the sand, so to speak. When you growl to yourself in frustration, he tugs you towards him, your legs giving way to his pulling easily. “What, Haechan?” you complain as you find yourself in his embrace once more.

“You’re not a goody two-shoes, right?” he reminds you, and you furrow your brows in confusion, nodding slowly.

“Right.”

He peeks over your shoulder, presumably to see if your friends are looking, before returning his gaze to you, shooting you a devastatingly handsome playful grin. “So kiss me.”

“What?! No!”

“Why not?”

“Why not? We just established the creep from yesterday isn’t around,” you remind him, “and we ended the fake relationship contract. So are you asking me to kiss you as Haechan, my previously employed fake boyfriend, or Haechan, my friend in public?”

“I’m asking you to kiss me as Haechan, your friend in public who just really wants to kiss you right now.” he murmurs urgently, and you blink in surprise.

“Why?”

“Why not? You look good as hell today, and it’s not a crime to want to kiss a pretty girl.”

“Wh—but—our friends are, like, a handful of feet away!” you protest weakly, and Haechan rolls his eyes exaggeratedly.

“They’re too far ahead in line,” he explains. “They can’t see us back here. But just to be safe,” Haechan says, angling your bodies in such a way that they’re partially concealed by one of the metal pillars holding up the overhead structure above your heads. “Now they definitely can’t see us.” He looks down at you, that frustratingly alluring grin back on his face as he leans closer, invading your space teasingly, before murmuring. “So kiss me.”

You nibble your bottom lip nervously, leaning upwards slightly to peek over his shoulder at your friends. Satisfied when you’re greeted with the sight of their backs completely turned and unaware, you rock back down onto your heels and grip the front of Haechan’s shirt, pulling him down to you for a quick kiss.

He smiles against your lips and tugs you closer, deepening the kiss slightly as he sucks gently at your bottom lip.

When you two part with a muted wet sound, your cheeks are blazing with heat, and Haechan has perhaps the most smug grin you’ve ever seen anyone sport… well, ever.

“Now was that so hard?” he coos, leaning in to nuzzle his nose against yours. “Let’s go catch up,” he says, releasing your waist but lacing his fingers with yours.

As Haechan leads you to your friends once more, you can’t help but attempt to rationalize the situation, feeling more than a little frustration when all that comes to mind are a slew of questions you don’t know how to answer..

Is he holding your hand and kissing you in public because he likes you, or is he just feeling frisky and affectionate? Is he developing feelings for you, or is he just getting too comfortable? Are the rules you two established actually dumb, or have the circumstances just outgrown them? What exactly even are the circumstances between you and Haechan? Does he have a different perception of what’s going on? Is there something he’s not telling you?

Are you distancing yourself because you’re trying to keep things casual, or do you have feelings for him?

The last question makes you pause, brows knitted together in thought. Do you have feelings for Haechan?

When you truly think about it, you realize that not only do you, not only that you did in the first place, but also that you must have always had feelings for him, because you know good and well you wouldn’t agree to being friends with benefits if you didn’t have an iota of something for him.

Haechan takes you out of your spiral of questions with no answers by gently smoothing out the space between your eyebrows, his hand dropping slightly to caress your cheek.

“You okay?” he asks, concern etched on his handsome features. “Was it too much to ask you to kiss me just now?”

“No,” you assure him. “I’m okay—and it wasn’t too much.”

“You sure?” he presses gently, and you’re not sure which question he’s referring to, but you know you don’t want to answer the first and open that can of worms, so you resort to only addressing the second question.

“It was kinda hot,” you confess, and he raises his eyebrows, pleasantly surprised and just a bit skeptical.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I kinda like when you make me do stuff.” you admit sheepishly.

Haechan’s lips twitch, the male in front of you fighting back a smile as he continues to watch you suspiciously. “You’re not just saying that to distract me from how you’re feeling?”

You wish for a moment that he wasn’t as perceptive as he is.

“I mean everything I just said,” you assure him, and his lips stretch into a smile.

“I should boss you around more often then, huh?” he says with a flirtatious wiggle of his brows.

“Oh, hush.”

“No, really. Since apparently it gets you all hot and stuff.” he continues, leaning in to murmur in your ear. “Isn’t that right, baby?”

“You are a menace to society, but most importantly, you are a menace to me.” you sigh, and he laughs.

“You signed up for this roller coaster, baby. Sit back and enjoy the ride.”

You squint at him. “What cheesy old movie did you steal that from?”

“Hey! That was pretty smooth!”

“If it was smooth—which it wasn’t—it would now be significantly less smooth given the fact that you were trying way too hard to be smooth in the first place.”

“You’re mean.”

“You like it.”

“Yeah, I do.” he sighs dreamily, looking at you with such a tenderness behind his eyes that it almost makes your knees weak. “I really do.”

“I don’t know how to prove it, but I feel like Haechan’s cheating.” Jaemin huffs as the “Perfect Score!” screen appears on Haechan’s playthrough of Michael Jackson: The Experience on the Wii.

“Never that,” Haechan boasts. “I’m just better than you.”

“And so humble, too,” you joke sarcastically, making Jeno snort.

“Hey—when Haechan finishes his power trip, can we play Mario Kart?” Mark asks hopefully, and various utterings of assent sound out from around the room.

“I’m not on a power trip! I’m just insanely skilled at this.” Haechan defends himself, glowering at Mark as “Do You Remember the Time” starts playing. “Now, hush, it’s my encore.”

You watch with fascination as Haechan nails the choreography and are only a little bit surprised when you realize that he looks incredibly attractive right now.

“He’s got a home advantage,” Jaemin gripes, crossing his arms.

You look at him in confusion. “This is my house.”

“No, like, with Michael Jackson; he was probably raised on this game.” Mark sighs.

“I may have played it almost every day after school.” Haechan admits sheepishly, and Jeno, Jaemin, and Mark jeer in distaste.

“Cheater! Yo, get this fool out of here!” Mark complains, and you whack Mark with a nearby pillow, making him splutter and Haechan laugh. His smile is radiant, tanned skin glistening with sweat and hair messy in all the right ways, and you find yourself swooning internally.

“Thanks for having my back,” Haechan says appreciatively, and you nod with a sweet smile.

“Anytime."

As the song ends, Haechan relinquishes the controls to Mark and sits down next to you, breathing heavily. It doesn’t dawn on you that you’re still watching Haechan until he looks over at you and grins flirtatiously, flicking his eyebrows upward as he watches you.

“You like what you see?” he asks, tongue darting out to wet his lips, and you, in a daze, nod. His eyebrows raise once more in surprise and he slinks an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him. “Do you, now?”

“Careful—” you mumble, and he sucks his teeth, rolling his eyes.

“Who cares?” he murmurs in your ear. “Let them see.”

“No,” you protest weakly, but he shushes you, lips grazing along your ear before sliding down to behind your earlobe.

“Not you two cuddled up on the couch like lovers,” Jihyo calls out from across the room, and you freeze as your friends turn to look at you and Haechan.

“I’m feeling cuddly and she’s right here… perfect for cuddling.” Haechan replies with a shrug and a nuzzle into your neck. “Friends can cuddle.”

“Not like that, they can’t,” Renjun counters, and Haechan glowers at him.

“Just because you don’t like cuddling doesn’t mean it’s unnatural and weird.” he retorts, and you nod in agreement.

“Cuddling never hurt anyone,” you back Haechan up, and Renjun rolls his eyes.

“Great, now they’re on the same side again.” he laments, and Haechan grins at you.

“We make a good team.” he coos at you, and you roll your eyes with a smile, trying to fight down the heat rising to your cheeks.

“Wanna team up again to fight for Chinese food for dinner?” you ask hopefully, and he scans your face slowly before a smile curls his lips.

“I’d be honored.”

Later that evening, you’re in the kitchen washing your dish when you hear familiar footsteps shuffling into the room. You don’t turn to see who it is, your hypothesis proven when Haechan sighs loudly in an obvious attempt to get your attention.

“Yes, Haechan?” you chuckle, and he shuffles closer to you, standing beside you and watching as you wash the bowl in the sink.

“Why’d you leave?” he whines, his arm brushing against yours slightly.

“I had to wash my dish now or I was never going to do it.” you sigh, and he snickers, moving from beside you to stand right behind you.

“Well, are you almost done?” he asks hopefully, wrapping his arms around your waist and tucking his face into your neck. “I miss you.” he mumbles against your skin, and the heartfelt words combined with his lips brushing against your neck practically make your knees buckle.

“I mean, I’m rinsing it now,” you say slowly, “so, yes, I’m almost done. And I missed you too.”

“Mm, really?” he muses, pressing a soft kiss to your neck that makes you fight back the urge to squirm, and you can feel the smile on his lips as he presses another kiss to your neck in the exact same spot.

“Yes, really.” you mumble, trying to control yourself and not make any sort of noise or reaction that could spur him on further or blow your cover.

“Good. You smell really good,” he groans, breathing in deeply against your neck, and you can’t hide the small shiver that travels down your spine. He presses his spit-slicked lips to your neck, parting them to suck gently at the skin as you curl your fingers up in the dish cloth and bite back a whine. “So… fucking good.”

“You’re breaking the ‘no PDA’ rule. Again.” you point out, and he growls under his breath, shaking you slightly.

“No one’s even in here but us, so it’s private, not public. Now, shut up—you know you like it.” he huffs against your neck, leaving wet kisses down from your ear to your shoulder.

“No way you’re trying to have sex right now.” you scoff incredulously.

“I’m truly not,” he promises you. “I just want to be close to you.”

“Oh.” you say softly, his words warming your heart.

“Is that okay with you?” he asks, a hint of sass in his voice.

“Yeah, that’s okay with me.” you agree, and he smiles.

“Great.” he mumbles, sucking and licking at the base of your neck.

You’re so caught up in the mind-reeling sensation of Haechan kissing your neck and his earnest words that send you spiraling with a flurry of questions—like if this is still just something casual to him—that you don’t hear another set of footsteps heading towards the kitchen until Jihyo’s clearing her throat pointedly and you flinch.

Haechan holds onto you still, lips still working away at your neck, as Jihyo raises an eyebrow expectantly and your cheeks blossom with heat.

“You know what?” Jihyo says, leaning against the doorway. “I’m not even mad, because I feel like I knew all along that you two were up to something.”

“Haechan, cut it out,” you whisper insistently. “I’ll be in the living room in a second.”

He sighs and reluctantly detaches himself from you, lips leaving your neck with a wet smacking noise that makes the heat in your face blaze even hotter, before exiting the kitchen with a sheepish grin at Jihyo.

It’s quiet for a moment as you dry your hands off with a paper towel, until Jihyo speaks.

“I really hope you know what you’re doing.” she says gently, and you pause, thinking over your next words carefully before deciding that honesty might just be the best policy.

“Gonna be real with you? I don’t.” you admit. “I’m just in it for the ride; we have fun together.”

Her brows could not possibly be closer to her hairline, skepticism written all over her face before she sighs and shrugs reluctantly. “Copy that, I guess.” She pushes off of the doorway and offers you her hand, jerking her head back towards the living room where you can hear the sounds of laughter and casual chatting. “You coming?”

You smile and take her hand, relieved she decided to let you be. “I’m coming.”

“I landed on your property and you charged me, but she landed on it and you didn’t charge her anything?!” Renjun squawks indignantly when Haechan gives you a pass.

“Well, yes. You’re mean to me.” Haechan responds like it’s obvious, and Renjun grumbles something under his breath about favoritism and unfair advantages.

“Thank you, Haechan,” you say sweetly, and he smiles at you.

“You’re welcome.”

“Okay, my turn!” Jeno exclaims, rolling the dice. He lands an eight and moves eight spaces, landing on a “Go to Jail” space, and groans loudly. “I hate Monopoly.”

“Whose idea was Monopoly, anyway?” Jaemin complains, and Jiwoo raises her hand.

“Monopoly is fun! It brings out everyone’s inner competitive side.” she defends herself, and Jeno rolls his eyes.

“Not too much on Jiwoo,” you say protectively, and she smiles at you gratefully. “Okay, my turn,” you say, rolling the dice. You land a six, and given that you were two spaces ahead of Jeno, you also land on the “Go to Jail” space. “Oh, man.” you say, frowning, and Haechan leans over to you, offering you something you can’t quite see yet.

“I have a ‘Get out of Jail Free’ card if you want it,” he offers, and you smile brightly, taking the card from him.

“Thank you, Haechan,” you coo, and he smiles widely, a hint of a blush appearing on his cheeks.

“That is not how the game is played,” Mark points out, and Haechan waves him off.

“You’re just mad you own no properties.” Haechan teases, and Mark stares at him for a long moment before lunging over the table. Haechan shrieks as Mark shakes him roughly, and you pull Mark off with a poorly restrained laugh.

“No throttling Haechan!” you defend him, and he all but cowers behind you, glaring at Mark.

“You’re lucky your little girlfriend was here to save you.” Mark huffs, and Haechan smiles smugly.

“I sure am,” he coos fondly, and you try to ignore the thrill you feel at being called Haechan’s girlfriend.

You make eye contact with Jihyo, who raises an eyebrow shrewdly, making you do away with the little smile you have in favor of a more neutral expression.

Haechan is anything but subtle, and you’re coming to realize that this arrangement probably won’t be a secret for much longer, making you worry about how your relationship with Haechan might change.

But when his hand finds yours under the table, squeezing gently, you can’t say you mind.

#haechan smut #nct smut #nct 127 smut #nct dream smut #donghyuck smut #donghyeok smut #lee donghyeok smut #lee haechan smut #lee donghyuck smut #haechan x reader #donghyuck x reader #donghyeok x reader

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ybklix · 1 year ago

Text

you can be the boss

★ pairing: softdom!chrisbang x virginfem!reader

☆summary: A rich hot older man, a slightly horny young woman, together in a hot summer in his house near the coastal zone. When you meet Chris, your step-aunt's new boyfriend, your world changes completely, and after a night of liquor and cigarettes, there's no going back to satisfy all your fantasies, you don't even care you're inexperienced.

✧ genre - warnings: MDNI 18+, smut, cheating, implied legal age gap, daddy kink, use of petnames, masturbation, corruption kink, fingering, clit play, oral sex, deepthroat, faceriding, cunnilingus, cumplay, chocking, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, creampies, mention of chris as a smoker.

word count: 9.5k

masterlist - taglist ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹

a/n: lana del rey literally invented the 4th of july, she’s so iconic, so proud of my CUNTry led by my president miss grant🫡❤️

divider by chachachannah

The bright sunshine, the light sweat pouring from your forehead despite being inside your father's cool car made you feel young again, something in the air was so innocent and sweet that bright summer. Especially when he insisted you spend the summer with his wife's family, as if you were a little girl, you agreed, you had a very tedious and frustrating semester in college that you needed a distraction, plus a huge house with a yard, pool and near the beach didn't sound bad at all. You'd be doing nothing but sunbathing in your bathing suit, relaxing.

You walked onto the grounds of the house, it really was a mansion, the architecture was modern but there were some classic touches that for some reason got you. You were surprised, thinking that your 'aunt' really did get a rich man this time. Your father remarried when you were 17, to a woman 7 years younger than him who couldn't have children, so she always opened you up to her family, treating you sweetly, going to your high school graduation, and supporting you in your college career, so you met your stepmother's family, who had two sisters —she was the middle one— the oldest, Lilian, who had a daughter your age and you became close, however, you lived apart from each other; your stepmother Dahlia, and the youngest, Ruby, who was the prettiest of the three, was young, glamorous and kind; you weren't sure, but you thought she was at least twenty-nine or thirty and, that she got herself a rich boyfriend who kindly offered his summer home to her whole family.

Liv, Lilian's daughter greeted you as soon as you got out of the car, you felt small, like a young girl still close to your parents when you spent more time at college than with them for years. Liv hugged you briefly, making your sunglasses slip off and fall into your eyes, you both moved where the sun didn't hit you directly and greeted each other shyly.

“No shit, I have no idea where Aunt Ruby got her boyfriend from, but a house with a pool in this weather, is a house with a pool, I don't care” Liv spoke.

You let out a chuckle, you watched as Ruby came out of the doorway, and you walked over to greet her, after all somehow Dahlia always went out of her way to make you consider her as family, and she received your brief hug.

“Oh wow, you grew up a lot along with Liv, I haven't seen you since Christmas” she commented to which you smiled.

After that Ruby went over to her sister, you helped by carrying your luggage and walked into the house, it seemed unreal that you were going to be under someone stranger's roof, but at least you wouldn't be alone, Liv could distract you a bit.

“Girl, wait till you meet Ruby's boyfriend, he's kinda hot, not gonna lie” Liv whispered in your ear, helping you with your stuff and guiding you to the room you both would share.

Once inside the room you jokingly said to her, “So it's not about an old sugar daddy she found around?”

Liv pursed her lips and softly denied, “He's handsome, young, rich and has an accent. I think this summer will be fun… want to meet him?”

You nodded amused, curiosity consumed you; you and Liv spent hours talking behind Ruby's back about the strange and extravagant kind of life she led, it was a fun topic of conversation for you, you analyzed every partner she had, since she didn't know how to be alone, and just had girl talk, secreting and gossiping a little.

“Oh, honey, the cherry pie” your father reminded you once he saw you coming down the stairs.

You sighed, remembering that you had baked Ruby your cherry pie which she loved so much, just because, out of a mere act of kindness, and because your dad reminded you how much she was a fan of that dessert of yours and that you should at least give it to her as a thank you for spending the summer at her house, or her boyfriend's, rather.

You took the tart out of the car, Liv waited for you at the entrance of the house and then led you to the kitchen, where a very smiling and happy Ruby received your gift, thanking you and reminding you how delicious it should be. Liv was about to ask about Chris, Ruby's boyfriend and owner of the place, just so you could meet him and analyze him with your own eyes, but Ruby herself stepped forward saying:

“Oh, you haven't met Chris, have you? I think he's outside getting the pool ready better for you girls to swim in. I'll go get him.”

Liv raised her eyebrows and looked at you a little amused, again you felt small, giving funny looks to your cousin-friend; you had been so consumed by college that you had forgotten the simplicity of the little things. Ruby didn't take long, your father and stepmother already met Chris, as apparently he had been dating Ruby for a while and was quite serious, and once again, you lived in your college dorm and institution almost.

And the man appeared, you really didn't expect to see a man like him, with a downwards smile, a bit shy, but his presence was quite strong in the room; he was wearing a white t-shirt loose to his muscular body with the name and logo of a luxury brand, denim jeans up to his knees and sneakers. He looked young, and he was cute, and so attractive to your taste, but you wanted to instantly brush the thoughts away.

“Chris Bang, nice to meet you” he greeted, in a thick voice and a soft accent, just as your cousin had mentioned.

You returned his greeting, introducing yourself, Chris also didn't expect to meet two young and beautiful girls like Ruby's nieces, but you, there was something that caught his attention in you, it was rare, but you radiated innocence plus however your strong and piercing gaze contrasted with the rest of your tender appearance. You couldn't help but darken your gaze, you liked what you saw, he was attractive, he had a unique and clean face that you could watch for hours, the harmony of his face with his sharp, dark, small eyes, combining perfectly with his distinct nose and rosy lips, his slightly pale skin detonating small pink and tan undertones, you realized that never in your little more than twenty years of life had you ever paid so much attention to a man. You didn't understand what it was about him, besides being incredibly attractive, but something drew you to him.

“Thank you for letting us stay at your place…” you said, almost lost in him, you didn't know why you said it, maybe you just wanted to talk to him more.

“Oh, it's nothing, really.”

Chris licked his lips, staring at you, going over in his mind that if it was you the girl who wasn't directly blood related to Ruby.

“Oh, babe, Y/N brought us her cherry pie” Ruby spoke, clinging to her boyfriend's arm.

Liv held back her laughter at her aunt's immature attitude. Chris looked over to the counter.

“Did you bake it?” he asked.

You nodded, “Yeah, Ruby… Ruby really likes it.”

Chris leaned into the counter, leaning on his elbows and with his long fingers lightly played with the edge of the pie plate, you focused on his hands, so manly, big, slender and with visible veins running up his arms; then you returned your gaze to him who said, in a different tone, slower and looking deeply and directly into your eyes,

“I bet it tastes delicious.”

A shiver went down your spine, oh, you were liking it too much. Your cousin raised her eyebrows at his sudden action, instantly recognizing his gentle flirtation.

“Anyway, pool's ready” Chris added, standing up straight.

“Thanks, Chris, we'll go swimming now” Liv mentioned, trying to break the incredible tension or magnetism she suddenly felt between you and her aunt's boyfriend.

Liv grabbed your arm and almost dragged you into your room, pulling you out of your trance, you could only think about who he was and…. how was it that Ruby got him, even though you knew perfectly well that she was beautiful and had a bubbly personality; you thought about his hands, and his subtle comment that made your hair stand on end.

“C'mon babe, let's go swimming,” Liv told you, teasing her aunt for calling Chris 'babe.'

You blinked suddenly…. trying to get it out of your head and reacted, quickly grabbing your suitcase and pulling out your clothes almost in desperation, finding the most revealing swimsuit you packed, a red two-piece bikini; the rest of your swimsuits weren't cute, you were so indisposed with the idea of wearing something hot, since you thought it would just be you and Liv in the pool, so you packed shorts and old t-shirts to get wet and, clearly you were also expecting a middle-aged man not at all attractive to your taste, not a damn man like Chris.

You sighed, thinking you had to go into town to buy better swimsuits. And after you put on your bikini, you perused your makeup, you perfected it more, using your best waterproof mascara, blush, pink gloss, you didn't know what you were doing but you wanted to look good. You almost forgot Liv was there, you didn't give a shit how obvious you acted, primping with effort. Chris had awakened something in you that you hadn't sensed before, it was as if he suddenly gave meaning and fun to your monotonous college life, you suddenly felt like a complete attention whore, wanting his eyes on you all the time.

Your cousin also wore a cute blue plaid print bikini, had two braids done and grabbed her sunglasses, reminding you to take yours, replacing the ones you had when you arrived, with red heart-shaped sunglasses. You sighed as you looked at Liv, she had very nice round breasts, and you thought, how funny and in a way, dirty, the way you two would walk around, being walking temptations to an unknown man.

“Would it be too much to ask Chris to put sunscreen on our backs?” she commented jokingly with a pout and with the bottle of sunscreen in her hand, to which you laughed.

And you both left, grabbing towels, your cell phones, heading towards the backyard at the pool. You took the time to admire the scenery and noticed that a few miles from the large pool was a small pool house. Once again, unable to believe you were in the home of a millionaire and unknown man, about to swim in his pool, it was so unreal, like something that only happened in the movies.

Chris bit his lip as he watched them both, replaying in his mind fuck, over and over again, it was the perfect fantasy, two pretty young twenty-something girls in bikinis at his house, about to enter the pool, getting their young bodies wet. He wasn't being the strongest soldier, and an immensity of dirty thoughts filled him completely. He took one more puff on his cigarette, this time deeper and more intense, trying to keep himself occupied and de-stressed by the incredible desire he had to fuck them both; thinking that it would be a very long and frustrating summer, and that he would end up finishing a pack in minutes if he decided to use nicotine as an escape from his dirty thoughts.

Did he love Ruby? Of course, more than anything in the world, but he was also a man with such an active libido, incredible imagination and great sexual energy. You both noticed him, on the other side of the pool, a little far away, and for some reason you found him more attractive when you saw him smoking. Chris' intention wasn't to see you, he swore, he was just hiding from his girlfriend because she hates his smoking habit. And after meeting you, damn, he really needed a cigarette.

“Hey Chris” Liv greeted him cheerfully waving her hand, to which he responded with a soft smile, raising his eyebrows and his right hand with which he held the cigarette.

She turned to you, “I hate him so much, if he marries Ruby he'll really be my uncle and it'll be gross.”

You smiled apologetically at her sudden comments, but suddenly your mind short circuited, “Marry?”

Liv sat down in one of the chairs, leaning back and relaxing her body, picking up her book ready to rest and read.

“Mmm, honestly I give them two months tops” she added disinterested, “I haven't been aware since I also live in college, but apparently they've been dating since January, I also got a big surprise today when I met him.”

January, you thought, that made them in a six month relationship, pretty long for Ruby. You questioned whether it was really a serious relationship. You pouted and sat on the chair next to her, and convinced yourself that if nothing happened, which was most ideal and the most likely option —plus you were still a virgin— you could at least think about him and have your little summer crush to keep your mind busy.

“Aren't you going to get in the pool?” you asked.

“Mmm yeah, sure, but I want to get some sun.”

You let out an incredulous airy chuckle as Liv was in the shade, not getting any direct sun. And you were about to stand up and swim, but you noticed the sudden and noticeable presence of Chris near you, this time his intentions were clear and not at all innocent, he just wanted to see your semi naked bodies more closely and in detail. He stood in the middle of the two chairs, with his hands in the pockets of his shorts, you watched him, gently lowering your heart shaped sunglasses on the bridge of your nose and raising your eyes.

“Enjoying your summer girls?” he said to which you and Liv nodded a little confused by his sudden closeness, “Do you mind if I join you?”

Liv smiled playfully, closing her book completely, “Of course not” she replied.

But Chris was only looking at you, and you felt it, you had achieved your goal, he couldn't take his eyes off you, off your body in that red bikini and your glossy, full lips. He looked at you expectantly, waiting for an answer from you, which his gaze suddenly made you nervous.

“Sure, join us” was all you could say with your heart pounding.

“I'll be right back” he replied, walking away from you and into his house.

You and Liv looked at each other complicitly, almost feeling like you were about to do something wrong but it felt so right. You didn't understand how you went from somewhat flirtatious and confused, to feeling nervous around him.

“Oh, he's such a fucking whore” Liv added.

She didn't take Chris and Ruby's relationship very seriously, truly. But you were beginning to question so many things, but you couldn't help but want him so badly, you've never been so curious about a man, you wanted him, you needed him.

Minutes later, he appeared, wearing black sport shorts a little loose on his thighs, but tight enough for his member to be suggestively visible and noticeable, again, that was not Chris's intention, he couldn't help but have a nice penis, and that you two had to witness that. In a way you were thankful that you were wearing dark sunglasses and could blatantly see his silhouette, his strong arms and worked chest area over his tight white sleeveless shirt.

You were already in the pool, so Chris joined you, putting on a black cap before getting in and gradually getting in, wetting his body little by little.

“Agh, the water is nice” he added, getting his body completely wet, his marked abs and pecs showing through the thin fabric of the shirt.

Your heart raced again, you couldn't believe Ruby had him every day while you and Liv only had hair loss from the stress of your college. You and Liv stood transfixed watching him, as if it was such an entertaining spectacle. And when he approached, you both snapped out of your trance and pretended to look away, which Chris noticed and smirked, yes he knew he was all handsome and hot, but he was curious to know if you two also considered yourselves that way to such a degree that you dared to flirt with him.

And you began to play mindlessly, ball games, Liv getting on a float, swimming, all with Chris's nerve to watch your wet young bodies, watching the sun beat down on your skins; then you wanted to mimic Liv, getting on a float but found it difficult to get on somehow, to which Chris quickly took advantage, once again leaving Liv surprised.

“Let me help you” he whispered to you, holding your exposed waist to carry you up and onto the float.

Your breathing and heart stopped for a moment, his big hands on your waist felt so good, you couldn't believe he dared to touch you, you didn't want to make it a big deal, you wanted to believe he just did it out of kindness but you were screaming with excitement internally.

A little awkwardly, giving him the view of your ass and thighs, you were able to climb on, shyly whispering thank you. Chris swallowed nervously, your semi-naked skin made him feel good and your ankle accidentally brushed against his member as he lifted you up. He needed another cigarette to forget about you for a few moments, or he definitely had to try you. It wasn't news that, he before Ruby, was quite the gentleman who loved to enjoy the pleasures of sex with different women.

“And don't you have a farm sort of place to spend the winter when it snows?” suddenly blurted out Liv.

“Do you want to spend the winter with me too? Do you like me that much?” he joked.

“Sure, you're the best, Uncle Chris” your cousin replied again in amusement.

He grimaced in disgust, he loved it when girls called him daddy in bed, or just as a form of endearment, when he rarely messed with women relatively much younger to him, but uncle, coming from another young woman who he considered highly attractive, didn't like the idea.

“Uh no, just Chris, please,” and then he turned to you, “And you, you're not directly related to Ruby, are you?”

“She's family, but not by blood” replied Liv innocently, but Chris was a little annoyed, as he wanted to hear you talk , so he still didn't take his expectant gaze off you.

“My father married Ruby's sister” you replied, almost just to humor him and get him to take off that expression of waiting to hear you speak because it was making you nervous.

“I know” he whispered.

And before long you knew a little more about him, that he is an architect with his own company, his parents are two of the top lawyers, that he knows three languages and has a passion for technology like computers or things like that and, the question that gnawed at them both and Liv asked, how did he meet Ruby, as he seemed quite busy and an extremely wealthy and decent man, but just at the mention of her, she appeared. She had taken a nap and suddenly wondered where her boyfriend was, to which her surprise, he was friendly talking to her two young nieces inside the pool, while they were wearing a bikini, she couldn't help but feel a little jealous, but decided to put it aside, and wanted to be a cool aunt:

“Let's give the girls some drinks, they're old enough.”

Chris thought how old enough, looking appreciatively at your body on the float, wearing your red bikini and your heart-shaped glasses of the same color. How old enough were you, that you could handle being with him? He wanted to know more about you and questioned himself why he had never met you before, although his answer was obvious to him, usually Chris didn't look for young and college girls, it was very strange the occasion when he decided to sleep with them and spoil them —as it is one of his techniques— he still considered them so young and naive, even a little bit kooky and spoiled… but you, he bit his lip again, thinking that he could very well be your daddy, and that he would love to spoil you and spank your young ass. He loved being dominant but it was very strange the situation where his mind formulated these ideas of wanting to take care of a naive woman and give her everything, being slightly careful, and you had exactly aroused those thoughts in him.

Ruby also got into the pool, showing off her impressive figure, leaving Chris a little shocked, but he couldn't stop thinking about you. You looked away, unwilling to see them together.

[…]

For the rest of the evening you caught up on Liv's life, as she recounted her sexual encounters, her love life status, her college environment until it was time for dinner.

You couldn't help but think that it didn't matter if you flirted, if anything happened, you wouldn't know what to do and probably wouldn't satisfy him, you were inexperienced and a virgin, which you never made a big deal about it, but for some reason you thought about so many sexual things lately since he awakened your desire.

Dinner was normal and a little strange, eating all together, your last family dinner was maybe on your birthday. And Chris realized that your father and he were the only men, so he thought at one point to invite one of his closest friends, plus he needed him, the tension between you and Chris was growing, or at least his desire for you.

The next morning you went downstairs for breakfast, not even hungry, but you just wanted to see Chris, but he wasn't there since he was supposedly still working and you didn't see him until the afternoon. You took the opportunity to update your swimsuits and take a walk to the beach with Liv. Chris was also confused not to find you at his house, until he saw you arrive with shopping bags.

That evening he convinced his close friend Minho to stay with him too for the summer as Chris had to confess to him the reason and Minho saw with his own eyes and understood why.

Once again you wanted Chris' attention and you had no choice but to go out dressed up all the time, feeling cute, since you kind of sucked at flirting. And you got the pleasant surprise of finding another handsome man next to him.

Chris introduced Minho to you and Liv, and your mind flew with the crazy idea of a man for each other, that maybe so at least Liv would stop thinking about Chris a little bit, because honestly you wanted him for yourself only, when he was already taken, and wasn't yours in the first place. But you weren't the only one with that crazy thought, Liv was so happy that Chris got her own handsome older man to have fun with in the summer.

Minho was also so handsome, he had a muscular body too but his features were softer to Chris'. He also looked intimidating.

The next day was odder, Liv and Minho disappeared, leaving you in disbelief with the ease of things that circumstances work, when both are single, or at least you wanted to believe that Minho was single, or honestly you could care less, at least Liv didn't know his life that much, let alone if he was in a relationship with someone so the guilt didn't exist in her body; but in yours it did, Chris was Ruby's and you couldn't even hate her, your stepmother's whole family was so sweet to you, Dahlia thought you were a real daughter to her because she could never conceive and was afraid to adopt.

You were bored without Liv, you sent her messages but she didn't answer, she must be having a great day in Minho's arms, but lucky her, you thought between sighs; so bored you started to explore the house a bit until you reached a long hallway, at the end of it you saw that there was a family photograph which caught your attention, there were not so many memories of family photos of Chris so it caught your attention and you approached it, next to it there was a large room, which had the door open and you stopped in your tracks when you realized that it was Chris' office, and that he was sitting behind his desk, who quickly heard your footsteps and turned to see you.

You didn't know what to do and smiled nervously at him and he amusedly thought that all ways always led you to him. Chris quickly stood up from his chair, put his pencil aside as he was working on a project and walked dangerously close to you.

“You were looking for me?”

His flirtatious tone and the way he gently raised his eyebrow gave you chills again.

You denied, but you didn't want to get away from him.

“But I found you” you replied.

He invited you in with his gaze, closing the door once you entered, you looked around the place and Chris looked boldly at you. Your young, bare legs with your tiny skirt and your slightly carefree look as you were comfortable in his home.

Chris without thinking, went to his desk and out of habit took a cigarette, he couldn't help it, he was a recurrent smoker, not an addict, but he liked to smoke one or two cigarettes a day, or two cigarettes one day and then quit for several days without a problem, but just now he couldn't think about anything but enjoying your company, your presence and aroma combined with a little of his nicotine.

You thought that even though he smoked and you didn't like the smell, on him, he looked good and you liked him, you liked him so much that you forgot your little inconveniences and thought he didn't smell of cigarettes, he had a strong scent of a manly perfume that you found highly pleasing.

Chris put his cig between his lips and you saw him take another one, thinking he was going to offer you one but you noticed he took a pen and with his big hands, which drove you crazy and you had recurring thoughts of his fingers in your mouth, you saw he wrote a series of numbers on the cigarette; he took a lighter and lit his cigarette quickly, taking his first puff, sucking air between his teeth and then holding the cigarette delicately between his two fingers, then passing you the cigarette with the written numbers and saying to you:

“Do you want it?”

You took it, only to see the numbers on what you quickly noticed was a phone number and before he took the lighter once more you said, “I don't smoke.”

“Well, that's my phone number, since apparently it looks a little bad for us to be together and we need to be more discreet.”

Your mind stopped processing what he said, he inhaled again from the cigarette, exhaling all the smoke, losing it in the bright sunlight coming through the windows, he looked so fucking hot your legs were almost starting to shake, he walked over to you and put his free hand on your waist.

“Let's have fun this summer, I know you want me and I can't get you out of my fucking head” he spoke and you felt it unreal, for a moment you stopped thinking about everyone, it was just Chris and you, fuck the rest, “Relax a little with me, I don't bite unless you ask me to” he whispered, leaning into your ear, noticing your tense body.

He pulled away, stubbing out his cigarette in his ashtray and sitting back in his chair.

“Come here” he ordered patting his thigh.

He was wearing a white button up shirt and black formal cloth pants, you were so wet at his appearance, you were wet knowing he was older than you and dressed elegantly, you were wet at the way he asked you to sit on his lap.

Chris couldn't take it anymore, from the first night he met you, after seeing you so provocative in your bikini, he masturbated thinking about you, pulling and stroking his cock hard, filling his mind with scenarios where you were all needy, wet, making a mess and begging for him, until he cummed. He couldn't even fuck his girlfriend, his cock only reacted to you apparently. He needed you, all day he thought about how his friend did get to fuck the other girl with no problem while he was stuck there, but not anymore as you happily sat on his lap, feeling so happy, feeling the friction of fabric of his pants on your thighs as you moved to get comfortable, causing him tenderness at your reaction.

“Mmm, I guess you want it too by obey me, don't you babygirl?” he murmured, caressing your thighs and making you shiver.

Your mind spun like crazy, wanting what what, you didn't know but yes, you needed him like you had never needed anyone, your mind was lost in his closeness and that it's finally happening. You really tried to be strong too, but you lost it. He was caressing you, bringing his hands up tentatively so high almost in your intimate zone.

“Yes…” you answered in a whisper.

“Then just kiss me, babygirl, I'm dying to taste your lips since the first moment I saw you.”

You turned your face and met the closeness of his, without thinking too much, you joined your lips with his, feeling his slight cigarette taste together with a soft and fresh sensation, your hand shyly rested from his shoulder, your inside was burning, you felt as if fireworks were detaching inside you. At first it was sweet and gentle, but then he changed his pace to something slower but desperate and lustful, opening your mouth and feeling his expert tongue caress your cavity, leaving you breathless but addicted to the feel of each other.

Chris found his way to your pussy, opening your legs slightly and without wasting time, he pushed the fabric of your panties aside, playing with your clit, making you gasp and take a moment away from his lips. You were now focused on his fingertips caressing you.

Chris licked his lips, leering at you and admiring the slight trembling of your body from pleasure. By this point, he too was already so hard with an erection protruding from his pants.

“You're so wet and needy, let me take care of you” he moaned.

You were almost about to cum with his caresses on your clit, his movements on it, his light pinching and pressure towards it, turning you on so much, but his fingers went down your wet folds, in search of your entrance and, you realized what he would do, it still surprised and hurt a little to feel two of his fingers inside you. You moaned louder at the sensation of his digits sliding into your virgin hole, as did Chris who let out a groan, unable to believe you were so tight, even being in that position, sitting on his lap, there was no reason for your insides to squeeze his fingers so tight, he had never felt a pussy like that before, like yours, he love every second of it, he was obsessed.

“Fuck” blubbered Chris, “You like that, don't you, little doll?”

You whimpered high pitched in response, his fingers began to penetrate you and his thumb went back to caressing your clit and labia, making you feel like you had never felt before. You were so hot, you wanted to strip off all your clothes and feel something bigger fill your pussy, you were a mess, moaning and shivering at his hand on your cunt.

“Tell daddy how much you like it, babygirl, call me daddy when I'm touching so good your pussy” he gasped.

“Yes, daddy I love it, please don't stop” you whimpered in a squeak, feeling your orgasm so close as your heart pounded intensely.

Your first orgasm caused by a man. Daddy, daddy, daddy, you thought it fit him so well, he was older than you, and you could tell he liked to be in control. He could command you whatever he wanted, he could be in charge, your panties got wetter as you fantasized about how dominant he was. He was so hard, analyzing every part of you and enjoying your body fading for him.

You were about to cum, your pussy moistening Chris's fingers more and more, your thighs quivering and the feeling of clenching in your stomach, you were so close… but the sound of heels down the hall and door handle turning startled you too much, Chris removed his fingers from you abruptly, hurting you a little but you stood up instantly, adjusting your skirt and resting your hands on his desk, turning your back to the door. Chris picked up a book that was on his desk, opened it and held it with his hand whose fingers were touching you earlier, over his cock, at an angle where you couldn't see his erection and the small wet spot you left on his pants.

“Hey” you heard and turned your body, hiding the cigarette and found Ruby all smiles but then grimaced, “Fuck, Chris, did you smoke here? Anyways, Liv and Minho arrived with the shoppings, should I start the… grill?”

You and Chris simultaneously looked at each other, looking scared and guilty.

“No, it's okay baby, I'll go downstairs in a minute.”

“Oh, you found each other, didn't you” Ruby added, leaving you confused, “Y/n it's a little artist too, she draws and paints well” she confirmed, referencing that Chris was doing a sketch.

He didn't know that and wanted to know more about you. But fate was not in your favor this time.

“Are you okay, honey, you're sweating and look a little red?” said Ruby worriedly.

You were so wet and hot, your fluids bothered you, but you had to pretend to be okay, so much so that you went outside pretending nothing was wrong, watching the stupid grill burn, almost as much as your insides, you kept fantasizing if Ruby hadn't interrupted you what would have happened, maybe you would have tasted and had another piece of meat in your mouth before the one Minho was cooking.

You watched him, who stood next to Minho, looking manly grilling the meat. Chris had changed his clothes, now wearing jeans and a black sleeveless shirt. You felt a little jealous that you didn't even want to ask Liv if anything happened with Minho, you wanted your own moment with Chris no matter what. Chris noticed your look and in a whisper said to his friend:

“I kissed her and touched her.”

“Woah, good for you dude, what did I tell you about college girls? They are all trouble makers but they know how to take care of you very well” Minho encouraged him smilingly, giving him a friendly pat.

“But we were interrupted and now I feel guilty, I don't think I should have done it…”

You took your phone and amidst impatience, texted him, just telling him Hey and watched as he immediately pulled his phone out of his pocket, seeing the message but ignored it.

“My sexual fantasy is a threesome with Minho and Chris, imagine their two cocks pleasuring you. I'm kinda horny right now” Liv spoke as if nothing, seeing herself on her cell phone camera, snapping you out of your trance.

So were you. In fact she was talking but you weren't paying attention, you weren't that greedy, Chris's cock was really enough for you.

[…]

It was late at night, everyone was sleeping, but you noticed the pool house light on through the window, you didn't know what it was about, but you were thankful that you were a little lazy to remove your makeup and quietly put your clothes back on, taking off your pajamas, with the slightest hope that, maybe it was Chris being alone, or in the worst case, him with his girlfriend.

You texted him but he didn't respond and you were impatient so you carefully went downstairs quietly and managed to get outside, walking up to the property and slowly entered the house, which was literally another house, just a little smaller. And you found Chris with his back turned sitting in the chairs leaning against the kitchen counter.

He turned to see who it was and smiled broadly at the sight of you. You also noticed that he was drinking and smoking, or at least you saw a couple of cigarettes in the ashtray and apparently he was alone. You approached him, so excited with adrenaline at its peak to see that he could be all by himself. He smiled at you, so wide that he narrowed his eyes, he wasn't expecting you but he was just thinking about you, he couldn't sleep, you drove him crazy, when he saw you, it seemed almost like a dream since he was starting to get a little drunk.

You sat down on the chair next to him and noticed his almost empty glass of hard liquor.

“What are you doing here?” you whispered to him.

“I'm just… drinking a little” he replied, his tone of voice low and almost slurring his words.

“By yourself?”

“Minho just left, wanna join me?”

You shook your head softly, you really didn't want to drink, you wanted to kiss him passionately, and more so knowing you were alone. But Chris went there because he couldn't sleep and he kept thinking about it in that he felt a little guilty but at the same time he wanted to do so many things to you, you looked innocent, you were young and his deepest desire was to corrupt you so badly.

You decided to get bold and just blurted out:

“Why don't we continue what we were doing… I didn't get to cum.”

Chris let out a chuckle in disbelief at your comment and analyzed you, from your face with your makeup intact, to your thighs uncovered by your skirt with very easy access to him.

“Who would have thought, you look so innocent… but you are quite the dirty little whore. You want me to make you cum, huh?”

His comment made your skin bristle and gave you shivers, both for your body, and for your pussy, causing it to twinge with arousal in your sensitive core. Everything about him turned you on so much.

“Yes…”

“And what will you do for me?” he asked so quickly as soon as you answered, looking at you defiantly.

You stood there thinking for a few seconds, "You want… me to make you cum too?" you spoke uncertainly.

“I wanna see it” he challenged you, “I like you a lot” he confessed, getting carried away with the moment and the alcohol doing its thing.

You smiled, stood up from the chair and moved closer to him, Chris turned his body and let position yours between his legs, you wrapped your arms around his neck, he grabbed your waist and you, close to his lips, reciprocated his confession.

“I like you a lot too, Chris.”

He smiled, coming back to all his senses, leaving the effect of the alcohol aside, so awake and ready for you, he raised his eyebrows, wanting to correct you, lowering his hands to your ass, you understood immediately.

“I like you, daddy” you repeated.

“That's my good girl.”

You felt your body burn on fire, that had sounded so good to you, more so coming from his voice and him. You moved in with a smile to kiss him, savoring the taste of the liquor on his full lips, spending long minutes of him running down your body and both of you completely lost in each other's lips, feeling his tongue and nose collide on your face, kissing was such an intimate act, something you loved to do with Chris, whose erection in his pants grew sky high, his throbbing cock ready to be used.

Chris couldn't take it anymore, he wanted your pretty mouth around his cock, he wanted to fuck your throat until he made you cry. As he pulled away he admired your heaving breathing and swollen lips, he thought this was just the beginning of more to come.

“Fuck” he whispered with a little pain from his erection stuck in his jeans.

You watched him, for a few seconds somewhat transfixed and realized he was just as turned on as you were, you stared at the bulge in his pants, not wanting to wait any longer to get his cock out at once, but he went ahead to say.

“C'mon babygirl, feel how hard daddy is for you, and make me feel good, be a good girl.”

You got so excited, as if you had won a prize and lowered your arms off his shoulders so you could feel his hard member between the also tough denim of his jeans. You bit your lip and unbuttoned his pants. Chris gasped, breathing raggedly knowing you were about to attend to his cock. You finally released it, wanting to experience everything with it and getting the big surprise of how nice and big it looked, just as veiny as his arms. You took it, completely forgetting that you were a poor college virgin girl and, that he would most likely end up fucking you and you couldn't agree more, you could remember that your virginity was taken by a man who knows what he's doing, millionaire, incredibly handsome with a colossal cock to die for.

You stroked his glans with your thumb and spread his precum over his length, it was your first time feeling a penis in your hand, for the moment, at least Chris's, it felt so good, its texture was smooth but his muscle was so tight and rigid. Chris for his part, gasped enjoying the feel of your hands on his cock and watched you look so impressed, almost as if you were studying every part of his anatomy, making you look a little more innocent but daring.

You acted with common sense, and began to slide your hands up and down his member, stroking his length from top to bottom, making him feel great. Chris bit his lip and inhaled air between his teeth, so excited he could cum right then and there. He didn't know exactly how to ask you, but he really wanted your mouth on his cock.

“Babygirl, use your mouth please, please” Chris babbled, caressing your face, admiring it before it was ruined by his cock in your mouth and the constant motion.

Your pussy throbbed harder at the thought of sucking him off and you dropped to your knees, unconsciously sighing nervously, making Chris feel the warm air of your sigh, now giving him shivers of pure arousal.

You looked into his eyes before bringing his cock closer to your mouth, to which he looked at you approvingly, subtly shaking his head encouraging you to do so.

You stuck out your tongue and licked his entire length, losing more and more strength, you were so aroused, trembling and twitching with your hot body, until he said,

“Open your mouth wide, baby doll.”

He helped you a little, guiding his cock into your mouth, finally slowly pushing it in, doing your best to make him enjoy it, which you felt a knot in your stomach of nervousness and excitement as Chris moaned loudly, letting you know you were getting off to a good start. He fisted your hair, completely ready to be satisfied.

You sucked his cock, sucking your cheeks and giving your best effort to get as much of his length as you could deep inside your cavity. Chris moaned again incredibly enjoying the also tightness of your mouth and softness of the inside of your cheeks. He watched you the whole time, your lips wrapped around his cock, the tender expression of concentration and struggle on your face, he could cum just from the image of you taking his length.

You started to move, his whole member didn't fit in your cavity, but you did your best, your eyes were starting to bother you a little, you were starting to form little tears, your nose got slick and your jaw hurt a little, but it was worth it, it was so worth it, Chris's moans were so hot to you that you never wanted to stop. You began to move your mouth, taking as much as you could, making Chris lose his sanity little by little, he helped you, pulling on your hair gently and pushing your head to move up and down exquisitely. Your movements were imperfect but from your little details Chris became more aroused and fantasized about your innocence again.

Your saliva combined with his precum began to slip from your lips and you took a breath, pulling his cock out of your mouth, Chris took advantage and quickly stood up from his chair, you looked with confusion at his action and he lifted your chin with his fingers, making you stare into his eyes.

“You're doing great, good girl, but let daddy fuck your throat, are you okay with that?”

Your eyes sparkled brighter despite the little tears you shed, you were scared but nodded so excited. “Yes, daddy” you said.

Chris took his cock almost by its base and opened his mouth slightly indicating you to do the same, causing you tenderness, and you did, his cock and your mouth meeting again, inserting it little by little, until you felt his skin tickle your uvula, your body shuddered, you closed your eyes tightly, he was huge, but you tried to hold back with all your might your gag reflex, Chris shifted his hips and finally you felt his cock sliding down your throat, taking him pure to heaven, you thought of everything, of Chris swimming next to you, of you sitting on his lap, trying to forget the slight discomfort and tingling that his penis was causing in your throat. Chris gasped loudly, and began to move gently, ramming into you, completely filled with sexual pleasure at the feel of his cock inside another strategic spot of yours.

You looked up at him, your watery eyes begging for mercy, your body was weak and your stomach sensitive; you cried harder, drooling non-stop, dripping his testicles and even the floor; unable to breathe or speak, just his balls rubbing against your face, his pubic area bumping against your nose and his cock stretching your throat, with his glans rubbing against your esophagus. You were doing so well, for your first time, and Chris was so happy to remind you of it, moaning senselessly completely lost amidst the pleasure, babbling swear words and whimpering, “You feel so good, babygirl, I'm gonna cum in your throat sweetie.”

But you felt so good, in desperation and helpless, with nothing to do but obey him and make him feel good, your pussy throbbed harder and harder, with the same intensity of an orgasm but you weren't sure if you were about to cum.

You felt Chris's body tremble, a loud gasp escaped his lips and you felt the shot of his hot cum inside your pharynx, he was having a wonderful orgasm like he had never had before, even making him shudder and lose his sanity and consciousness; Chris gently tugged at your hair, gently pulling his cock out of you so as not to hurt you, while he kept collapsing in his orgasm, cumming still on your tongue inside your mouth, spilling a few drops around your mouth.

“Good girl, swallow everything, there you go, good princess” he spoke softly caressing your face, watching you swallow hard and with heavy breathing “C'mon up here. Look at you, your face is a mess, my pretty baby. So fucked up for daddy's cock.”

He smirked at the sight of your face stained red, your cheeks shiny from your tears and your lips dirty and swollen from him.

You stood up and Chris wiped your chin stained in his cum with his thumb and then slipped it into your mouth, which you sucked it hard.

“Let's go to the room” he spoke excitedly, arranging his cock in his underwear and pants to take you by your wrist and lead you to the room.

You were surprised that it could practically be a small apartment with all the amenities with no problem and once you entered his room, he kissed you wildly again, tasting his own cum, feeling the wetness of your lips, and began to undress you, yanking off your skirt, parting from you to remove your top and bra and leaving the best part of taking off your panties at the end.

Chris bit his lip as he slid your panties off, bending down and placing soft kisses on your lower belly all the way down to your mons pubis.

“Fuck, you're beautiful, babydoll.”

He kissed your skin, to then put his warm tongue in and sticking his lips tightly to finally suck, leaving a mark on you and making you gasp softly, he looked up, searching your gaze, leering at you playfully, he couldn't believe he finally had you all to himself. Chris stood back up and quickly began to undress as well, leaving you dumbfounded at how incredibly attractive he looked as he lifted his strong arms to remove his shirt, unbuttoning his pants and nimbly removing his them along his underwear, as you finally stood naked in front of each other, with his prominent and slightly intimidating cock exposed, it dawned on you that, it was tonight the night you would lose your virginity.

He leaned close to your ear, whispering hotly, “I want your pretty pussy in my face, sit on daddy's face princess, please.”

You shivered and watched as Chris lay back on the bed, you quickly followed him, biting your lip unsure how you would do it, but completely sure what it was all about. You climbed onto the bed and positioned your pussy in his mouth, embarrassed to let yourself fall into it, but you did, giving a little jump of shock as you felt his tongue on your vulva, Chris took hold of your thighs, to lift you up and guide your pussy to his liking and disposal. You felt his fleshy lips kiss the full length of your folds and his big nose squeezing your vulva hard each time he gently shifted positions in your pussy, making the sensation a hundred times better. Chris licked and sucked intensely and thoroughly on your clit, making your thighs quiver in desperation and pleasure, you were so close but for some reason the sensation of your near orgasm was dragging on longer and longer, building up in intensity; Chris slid his tongue, licking your labia and reaching your entrance, sucking making a soft, sonorous slurping sound of your soaking wet pussy. You were on cloud nine, completely out of thoughts, your vision blurred and enjoying your first oral sex, with an older man who was an expert at every single thing he did, you couldn't have asked for anything better.

Chris lifted you up a little and said:

“Ride me, babygirl, fuck my tongue, move over, fuck.”

Then inserted his tongue inside you, making you gasp loudly, even his tongue was reaching a sweet spot in you that made you lose your mind again. You began to move, back and forth, enjoying the sensation of him; you threw your head back with your eyes rolling, Chris caressed your breasts with one hand, pinching your nipples, then bringing that hand quickly to his cock, as it was twitching, and ached a little, Chris stroked his cock and cum intensely in his abs. Sliding scattered drops down his length. Boy had he loved eating you and the delicious taste of your young fluids.

Finally, you came to your orgasm too, so intensely that you felt sorry for yourself at the thought that maybe you had made a mess on Chris. But he was so happy, tasting every drop of you. Awkwardly, you went down on top of him, and dropped your exhausted body on the bed, with the slightest idea that maybe it still left him wanting to fuck you… still you reminded him:

“That was great, daddy, th-thank you.”

Your chest heaved up and down, your world was a blur, the sensations were so new and good to you that your delicate body was exhausted.

“Oh, my pretty baby,” Chris said tenderly.

He sat up, wiping his mouth and chin, parting your legs and positioning his face dangerously in front of your pussy. A mischievous grin formed on his face.

“I'm gonna fuck your pretty pussy, baby, daddy's not done with you yet.”

Chris went back to stroking your clit with his fingertips, getting you wet in seconds. He watched you, panting and a mess for quite a while but Chris wouldn't stop until he felt your guts. An electric shiver ran down your spine, Chris stopped stroking your clit, spit on your vulva, positioned himself and took his erection, rubbing and stroking in your folds his hard length in your puffy, well lubricated pussy, making you more needy until at last, you felt his tip slide into your orifice, stretching every muscle at your entrance, gradually filling your insides, causing Chris to whimper halfheartedly at the sensation of your core deliciously smothering his cock. You gasped in pain and pleasure until you felt his glans tingle deep inside you in your cervix, Chris finally popped your cherry that night. You were a woman now, at least in a context of traditional and conservative phrases, wishing you were his woman every day.

You were a little sore, but so excited, you still asked him, “Da-dddy, can you move slow, please?”

He smiled tenderly at you, “Whatever my babydoll asks.”

His cock was buried in your core and Chris began to gently ram your pussy, kissing you slowly on the lips and moving his caresses down to your neck, it felt so good and when you finally felt you had gotten used to and adjusted to his size, you shyly asked him:

“F-faster daddy, please” you stammered.

Chris smiled sideways and started ramming you deeper and faster, sliding carelessly into your walls, making you gasp in pain but it felt so good, his cock filling every inch of you, you couldn't help but feel haunted by the sensation. Your thighs squeezed his body and your body began to move uncontrollably, your breasts jiggled roughly at each thrust and your insides burned with desire and for his big new visitor. His body collided with yours non-stop, you were breathless, aching and about to cum intensely.

Chris was babbling and moaning things you couldn't understand, he was so close to cumming in you, completely fixated on your insides squeezing his cock. You arched your back, contracting your body, ready to release in your second orgasm.

“Cum for me, fuck, cum on daddy's cock. You like that huh? You like to be fucked hard?”

“Fuuuck, daddy yesss” you squealed, cumming and wetting his cock.

You fell down in surrender, Chris rammed you a couple of times, deeper to climax in you, with the sensation of his cum shot hitting your cervix. Chris pulled out of you, admiring the dirty artistry of your little hole quivering and spurting his bright white cum. Getting him hard in seconds again. Satisfying him so much by leaving you so weak.

“And I'm not done yet, princess.”

You blinked suddenly and Chris grabbed your arm, making you turn around, he opened your folds, exposing your newly destroyed hole, still wet in each other's cum and, he pushed his cock back into you, making you whimper, you were barely recovering when you felt the firmness of his huge cock again in your walls, this time he went in fast, his whole cock, ramming into your pussy, hitting your ass because you didn't even have time to settle, you were lying down, face down, panting and somehow, extremely aroused again.

Chris pounded you hard again, so brutal and primal releasing every frustration of his in your weak body, ramming you hard, making your ass vibrate every time his pelvis and balls collapsed into you. He moved in on you, his arm headlocking you, tightening his grip harder and harder, cutting off your breath slowly without stopping thrusting hard into you.

“You like that, don't you sweet baby? Fuck! You feel so good.”

You couldn't even answer him, besides the fact that he was slowly suffocating you, you couldn't think clearly, you only heard his gasps, yours and the sound of your bodies colliding at such a frantic act. You were so close, just as he was, your breathing was completely cut off, you heard his panting close to your ear, this time you trembled more intensely, and your vision blurred more, begging for air, but in desperation, you cum intensely, almost making yourself cry. Chris softened his grip, letting you catch your breath and cum in you again, spurting out quickly and ejaculating a few loads in your ass.

You couldn't take it anymore. You even forgot your name. You could only remember Chris, who pushed your hair aside and kissed your back.

“That was amazing, beautiful. We're going to have a really fun summer.”

He couldn't help but think of all the ways he wanted to fuck you, treating you like a doll, showering you with pampering afterwards, but damn it, he had to break up with his girlfriend.

You were trying to come back to your senses, but you were so tired and could only think that, somehow, you loved him, and didn't know exactly why.

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

𐙚TAGLIST: @rylea08 @hann1bee @iovecb97 @armystay89

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werezmastarbucks · 4 months ago

Text

of those who found out

in which yoongi protects you

fluff, hurt/comfort

yoongi x nonKorean!f!reader x established relationship, husband!yoongi, protective!yoongi

word count: 5439

warnings / tags: violence, bodily harm, wound description, parasocial, mentions of hypothetic suicide, angry yoongi / angry jungkook, fuckboy jungkook, street fighting, married members

Newly married. When Yoongi told you he managed to claw not two, not three weeks for the honeymoon, but four, you spun about the room. The world tour after the reunion has been all kinds of unexpected, gruelling and exciting, and lonely, for an inexperienced you. Now, you got to marry the person you loved, and not have to share him with the rest of the world, for a full month. Osaka is unusually fresh and beautiful in early April: cherries in full bloom, blue skies, mild wind. And your dream boy would be with you this whole time; as you watched his preoccupied face, frowned by the pressures of his work, his second life, the need to pretend, the need to smile, change to relaxation; the weather outside the plane window changed as well. Osaka had the special kind of blue in its sky, the almost dream-like color, as if you weren't really there. Every time you happened in that city, it always seemed like you layered into parts and not all of you was present, but in a good way. People in Osaka didn't care about faces; Yoongi would always drop his shoulders comfortably, making his wide and tough frame a little softer. He didn't wear a mask in Osaka, and didn't pull his cap so far down that he couldn't see where he was going. Seeing him become nonchalant like that, looking around instead of straight ahead and down, swing his arms as he walked, and swing his head to look at buildings and trees; it was just happy. Your left hand was pleasantly and unusually heavy with the new ring; you would raise your palm against the bright sky to look how the sun sneaks in between your middle and ring finger; and catch Yoongi looking at you. You knew intuitively, as it always happens when you feel on top of the world, that it would only get better and better with time. As if nothing bad can ever happen to such people as you: young and happy and so strong. Whatever parts of him weren't healed yet, he was now at least okay with them, and was learning to embrace them. He wasn't screaming in his songs anymore. His voice acquired the soft murmur again. He smiled so much nowadays, showing his small delicate teeth, as if he finally learnt to click and switch, from Suga to Yoongi, and back again.

"You always looked kinda Tokyo to me", you noted, studying his face. Yoongi's eyes were narrowed as he watched the streets slowing down behind the window of the train.

"Shin-Imamiya", he hummed, as if he didn't hear you at first, seconds before the soft faceless voice announced the station. Yoongi's hand squeezed yours, and you ouched out of habit; he couldn't get used to the rings, either. Was accustomed to holding your hand very tightly, pushing the engagement ring with briar rose gemstone into your nearby fingers. His hold loosened immediately.

"Sorry", you got off the train, and your head snapped to look around at the unconventional urbanistic rundown architecture around.

"Japanese, huh?"

"About twelve per cent Japanese".

"People usually tell me, once I hit thirty, I started looking like a Chinese crook from a nineties movie", he confessed, with just not enough indifference.

"You would love to be one, huh?" you grinned. You could see it, too, now. Your thought adjusted. His high cheekbones and sharp, unforgiving slant of the eyes, and without makeup to smooth his face, he did look like he was capable of bad things. Yoongi nodded, quite content. He led you through the pedestrian tunnel into the wide sleepy street, with tall, dishevelled buildings, pieces of clothes hanging warily from the balconies, bright grey shining in the spring sun. In this weather, even the less attractive districts looked rather like locations from a video game, with its special greenpunk charm. Yoongi's short black hair moved lazily in the light wind; he cut his royal mane right after the wedding, elated like a puppy who caused mischied and knew about it. He did leave two wavy strands to frame his face though. Both you and his mother were glad.

You walked down the street looking at people living his life; someone adjusting a flower pot on their balcony, or thrashing a sheet furiously; some voices flew down from the top floors as the tall houses grew and grew on above your heads. Some kids left the building, hands in their jean pockets, caps, chains on their thighs. Yoongi checked the map on his phone:

"To the left at the end of the street".

He clocked them first; but you didn't even notice. The years living in safe Seoul all but killed your spacial awareness skills; and as far as you knew, Japan was even safer. Crime rates low on the ground, you always hopped like a butterfly on the Kyoto streets even when you were alone. So now, as you heard a whistle coming from one of the entrances, you attributed it to some internal conversation among a group of people.

"Oh, no way", Yoongi grumbled, and you finally paid attention. He was looking at the group of young people huddled together in between two broken up flower beds in front of the building. Your natural instinct finally kicked in: three men of moderate height but sick built. Wide shoulders, thick legs, they looked like people who were looking for trouble.

"It's not even evening", you mumbled, frustrated. Yoongi couldn't break the lock with them as he watched the group that gestured something towards you.

"Tourists?" you heard. One guy motioned his hand. The other two started babbling something in Japanese assuming Yoongi would understand them. One of the guys was looking at you the way drunk Itaewon men usually did. You pushed against his body but tried not to show your growing anxiety.

"Don't fuss", he advised, his fingers caressing the back of your palm reassuringly. Amidst the conversation the three peace breakers engaged in, you could make out something like 'pretty boy'. Sure your boy was pretty. But, as they set off from the flower beds and started cutting your way across the street, he also got angrier.

The thing about Yoongi was, he was like a battery that liked to snap. His large storage could contain a lot of annoyance, a lot of disrespect and exhaustion, but when the time and space was up, someone who tipped his peace at last would always get a handful. Yoongi used this internal fuel well in his work. Hooding his eyes, dangerous stare from behind the long locks falling onto his face, he would slouch his shoulders in a way that made him look much, much bigger than he really was. Perhaps he learnt this method from cats: the small, clawed and unpredictable carnivores that were unhinged enough to scare away bears. Yoongi was that kind of a person. You have never been scared when you were with him; it's the raging optimism of knowing that your fiancé, now husband, was ready to throw hands at anyone which could easily be read on his face. The years of neglect, condescending nods and underestimation helped him be spared of fear of bodily harm. You noticed this weird feature with every one of his six brothers, too. They were successful and beautiful, and still, they were desperate to prove themselves.

You tugged on his hand when Yoongi tensed towards the three people stopping you in your tracks. A short exchange in Japanese sounded hostile to you. You were half-through with your Korean, the language occupying all your attention, so you haven't thought of starting Japanese yet. Yoongi knew just enough of it to be able to tell people to fuck off.

The tallest, buff guy, undoubtedly, the leader of this pathetic, bored pack, stepped from side to side, and pointed his finger at you. Yoongi's left arm which was attached to you, pushed you slightly, and you read the cue to step back. The blank faces in front of you. Nothing behind the eyes, just sheer boredom of the Saturday afternoon. Someone yelled in Japanese from the above balcony, perhaps calling their nineteen-year old jobless son to leave tourists alone. He paid no attention. You felt your heart pumping blood in your chest. There's three of them after all, and this is not a dream anymore. You looked at their arms and shoulders; one, buff, the other kind of in the middle, and the third was totally thin, but still a fighting force. Yoongi said something, a bit louder, and you realized that your husband was crazy. His face was his asset, and it couldn't be broken. Instead of acting timid and saying you don't need trouble, he was stepping up and grilling them. You clutched his hand, poking him with your nails, but he didn't feel it at all.

The fallout was very quick. With that hand, he pushed you away, making you stumble a little, while with the other, he already aimed for the nose. From four steps away, you watched as his hair shone in the bright April sun; Yoongi ducked and punched the buff guy in the throat. The leader's friend stepped up to him from the side, grabbing his shoulder, and he kicked. Bam! It was over. One boy on the ground, the second, swaying in hesitation, the third decided to run. Yoongi turned around, his face relaxing as if he didn't just reenact his nineties movie dream, and grabbed your hand.

"We should get through another station", he panted, a little bit happy. You ran together, hand in hand, and by the end of the street, the fright was leaving your mouth in the form of breathless giggle.

Jungkook just had too much energy. The boy never ran out of it. He could do a two and a half hour concert and then go clubbing because the performance didn't drain him; on the opposite, it energized him. Seeing all these people, bouncing with them, dancing in synch, being in the spotlight - he was a natural. Where Jimin fainted after every fourth show, and Yoongi became unnaturally grumpy after outpouring all his might into it, Jin, retreating into the hotel room to ron in bed, Jungook would beam brighter than the sun. During the training, he was the one who would do twice as much as needed, straining his body to the extreme maximum, only to outperform himself every time. His mind wandered in all directions and his body moved, like he was a shark. He had love for everyone. He loved his members to death, and yet he loved to babble away, sometimes not listening to himself and what he's saying. He loved the crowds, his fans, and people around, and yet basked in their reciprocated love so self-indulgingly sometimes that it seemed like he thought he was the only one in the world. Jungkook loved the love, and he loved women, and it was obvious he needed them, because they were beautiful, and he was handsome, and young, and always needed to release his energy somewhere, or he would burst like a blood bubble. He was the golden maknae, everybody's favorite, and more often than not, he got away with things that weren't allowed for the others.

During the tour, the standard procedure was thus: in the morning, everybody got up almost always hungover and with wrinkled faces, Jin, usually with insane bed hair, and slowly set off for the airport. There, on the apron, you would all wait, the members and the team, while the crew was loading the luggage onto the plane. You all usually preferred to wait outside because the air was fresher, and most of you were afraid of flying.

You'd normally be enveloped around Yoongi as the flights were undertaken at ungodly hours. Wrapped in a hoodie, in the tight circle of his arms (he would actually lean onto you like onto a huge pillow and try to sleep upright for a minute), in the wicked wind, you peeked out and saw Jungkook's girl doing the same as you. She'd look better, dolled up even at seven or six am, with nice hair. They'd murmur to each other or kiss quietly. Almost every other city the girl would be new. You stopped the efforts to memorize the names when you realized Jungkook wasn't serious about it. Of course, there's beauty in consensual, situational one-night stands; he'd pick up a pretty and lively girl at a bar after the show and pull her along for a couple of days, sometimes she'd even fly to another city with the band. That's how he recharged. He was an adult now, and you caught it in the way Namjoon and Jin looked at him. They still couldn't believe he had slipped through their fingers, all the while being proud of their MVP Jungkook. They always let him be, and the others did, too. You had fun hanging out with his girlfriends while on tour as you soon got too anxious attending every show every other night. While they performed in a new city, you'd stay in a hotel and play boardgames, drink, or even wander around the city with the girl. Most of them were actually amazing. Always very beautiful, funny, effortlessly perfect with their appearance, and easy going. Of course, there were no conversations about 'our boys'. Jungkook belonged to everyone, he belonged to no one. And most of the girls understood that.

Parasocial was dangerous. It's a good thing that you, like your batshit husband, could put up a fight.

One of the girls, Laura, or Lara, was more complicated to get along with. Simply speaking, she wasn't interested in anything apart from Jungkook, and wouldn't leave him alone. The middle of the tour, you already forgot where he picked her up, and how long ago. Was it France? No, that one was Marie, and she got off in Rome. Then that was the next one, but she didn't speak Italian. You remembered because you tried to get her to teach you the hand gestures. She frankly paid no attention to you at all which was an okay break. You've been a little under the weather all week, and was happy to spend a quiet day at a hotel while everybody worked their backs off.

You were trying to figure out what time it was after the sharp knock dragged you out of a nap. The movie was still on the TV which showed you hadn't slept much. Swaying a little bit, you hiccuped once and looked into the peephole. Laura. You were under the impression she went to see the tonight's show, but okay. You opened the door and noticed she looked a little worn out, her face puffy from crying. Something dawned on you unpleasantly: they probably had had a fight. And her time was almost up.

"Y/N", she whined, letting herself into your room. There was no contiunation, so you closed the door and tried to assess her condition.

"How are you?"

"I think I love him", she slurred. Drunk. Crying and drinking and not attending the show.

"Why aren't you at the arena? I thought you wanted to see the concert", you offered. Laura shook her head and then ran the fingers of her right hand through the lush curly hair. She sniffed. She was a full mess. You were considering filling her a bath.

"He just doesn't take it seriously. Tell me the truth, Y/N, you think it's not serious? I asked him about what after the tour, and", she was messing up her words, "he just smiled at me and changed the subject, you know how it is..." her mouth formed a painful O and her eyes pierced you. Suddenly, Laura was angry for no reason. Well, there was a reason. Jungkook fucked up and took in a girl who was in love with him. In love panicking, desperate.

"He told me not to think about the future", she whispered. You just stood there, unmoving, not sure what to say. "But the thing is, he is my future. I need him".

"I think..." you faltered, "you should really talk about it with him, and not let him off the hook until he lets you know..."

"I already know!" she yelled. In the silence between, a character yelled from the TV. There it was, the cue to leave. As her eyes grew in size, beautiful green, but a little mad right now, you realized she was breaking down. You wanted to give her a hug, but instead, Laura shook and raised her other hand that you hadn't seen previously. It was conveniently behind her back and you failed to pay attention. There was no chance you could expect her holding a razor.

"I said, he is my future", she pressed. You quickly went from compassionate to annoyed.

"Give me that", you ordered. You were older. And was already used to the convenient Korean tradition of younger people doing what they're told. But she was European, drunk, and didn't give a shit. Your outstretched hand with the palm open was almost closing on the sharp elongated blade. Where did she even get a dangerous razor. On a private jet, you can bring all kind of shit with you nowadays.

"Laura, give me the razor. You're not killing yourself over Jungkook", you felt comical saying that. Laura's eyes went completely round.

"I am Lauren", she hissed, totally offended. "You don't even know my fucking name".

She probably wanted to throw her hands up, like, nobody here thinks anything of me! kind of way. But, several glasses of Jungkook's fine whiskey from the mini bar affecting her, she must have fogotten she's holding a sharp razor in her hand. God know what she was intending to do with that; probably practice threatening suicide so that you could tell her if the peformance was convincing enough. Now the weapon of the naive was slashing your forearm which you put out instinctively in front of your face. Sharp pain downed the yelp inside of you as the rage kicked in. You straightened the arm which was yet to be engulfed in burning ache, and threw a fist towards her face. Lauren produced a gentle 'ah!' and stumbled back, but stayed on her feet. Hissing with the coming sensation, you knew that you had to disarm her before you collapse. Bright narrow stream of your blood was flying as you moved your arm. The hotel room spun due to adrenaline shaking you completely awake. You stepped to Lauren carefully, trying not to give her time to undestand what's happening, and grabbed her hand with the razor.

"Let go!" you yelled. You had to bash her palm onto the wall to make her sturdy fingers uncurl, and, as the weapon fell on the carpet with a thud, you slapped her across the face again. Then, took her by the neck, making her bow and walk. Lauren was bawling. You opened the door, already moaning with pain, and screamed into the corridor:

"Help, please!"

Jungkook's rabbit eyes were staring into the designated spot on the tip of Jin's shoe. He always had this astounded look when he was uncomfortable; a natural manipulative trick which made him look like an adorable owl baby, making you want to protect him. One gaze at this face, his jaws clenched, the rings in his lower lip giving him the doll shine, eyes transfixed, and you already forgave him. You weren't mad anymore, but you were, indeed, in pain. The razor cut the exact spot on your arm which you offered; the amount of skin and fat there covering the bone was laughable, so it cut until it got stuck on that. As the medics were wrapping up the arm, you could actually see your own bone which you didn't think you'd ever get to. The pain was phenomenal: going into the wrist, to the tips of fingers, and up, until the very neck, at first you worried that you were somehow mortally wounded. But no, it was just how it was: deep cut.

Yoongi was livid. Jungkook was terrified, and yet, his pride wouldn't let him budge in front of everyone. You all grouped into logical units. Yoongi stood with his back to the door, making it impossible for the youngest to escape. Behind him, Namjoon and Jin paced and nibbled on their fingers. You were propped against the wall on the side, head low as if you were the one who fucked up. Jimin, the pacifier, was at your side, his silent support making you not feel alone. While you just needed Suga to take off his stage clothes and comfort you, he was busy fuming at Jungkook, seemingly releasing the built-up annoyance with his affairs. Taehyung and Hoseok were judging silently on Jungkook's side; nobody wanted to join, scared that Yoongi will blow up and start screaming.

You could understand about 70% of what they were saying already. Yoongi was scolding Jungkook for being reckless, and interrogating him about the girl. Jungkook was replying that no, he had no idea she'd be so broken up about the casualty of the relationship. Yoongi was being sarcastic, calling Jungkook to admit it was stupid to begin with, to expect that a new girl every fourth night would cause no drama sooner or later. Then he dragged you into this, pointing his finger at you, saying something like,

"And now Y/N is hurt, someone who is actually supposed to stay".

You checked the wedding band on your finger. That was correct. Jimin sighed. He was anxious about the moment when the management barges into here, with penalties, insults and things to say. They all knew they had to sort this out quickly, and then reform and protect Jungkook together, no matter what each of them thinks.

Jin said something quietly, and Yoongi started speaking so quickly that finally you stopped understanding. His finger pointing accusingly at Jungkook who seemed to grow, hurt by the resentment his ever protecting hyung was now directing. He chewed on his rings, eyes targeting Yoongi, his brow lowering. Soon, it was an exchange. Don't you think you are being a little too dramatic about this? Is there anything deeper that you want to tell me?

Yes, I wanna tell you that your fuckery now led to my wife being slashed to the bone by your psychotic one night stand, you're behaving like a baby, you're losing your caution and act with no regard for people around you, and so on, and on, like an old man scolding a youngster at a fish market for shoplifting. You were breathing heavily because it was hard; you craved a painkiller of some sort, and only Jimin noticed. But he was quiet, frightened of getting in the middle of it. Taehyung rolled his eyes and covered his face with his hands. Hoseok seemed struck on the head, his eyes resting on the carpet. Everybody was hesitant to look at you, as if you could shout at them, as if it was their collective fault. The blood on the carpet was washed out by the time they returned after the show, and even the medics left; Lauren was locked up in Jungkook's room with the hotel staff, and this overdue outburst was tiring.

But of course there was something warm about Yoongi not being able to shut up about this. He's never seen you wounded like this and was probably in shock. Thought of what could've happened if you failed to outpower her. Pictured coming to the hotel to find your body with throat slashed. All due to this unhappy coincidence, because of Jungkook's carelessness. He was wiser and more paranoid naturally, he knew how small things led to big tragedies. He was the one stopping at the intersection for a fraction of a second only to then be chewed by the wheels of a car. He was scared.

What if she stayed in the room and waited for you? With the razor? What if she killed you while you slept? What if she killed herself in your room?

Namjoon winced painfully, trying to stop him from spinning this further and further. He tried to intervene by saying:

"It's generally not a good idea to date so many girls all the time".

You noted how rough he formulated this, trying not to sound too judgemental, but to express the firm desire to ban groupies.

"Not my fault Yoongi managed to only pull one", Jungkook spat, still looking like he was about to faint, like he was surrounded by wolves, and not by friends. Your brows flew up, as Jimin facepalmed, while Yoongi would've jumped him across the room. Would have, but the older ones caught him by the shoulders, visibly having been prepared for something like that.

"Aahh", Hobi added, sounding like he was being tortured.

The room was jumping in your vision field as pain quickly drained you of energy. You managed to see Taehyung push Jungkook in the shoulder, distraught.

"Don't listen to him", Jimin mumbled, "sometimes he says things just to say something".

"I am also married, so what are you gonna say to me?" Taehyung demanded. You loudly moaned with pain in order to pull the teeth from this fight. It worked. Yoongi deflated immediately, his eyes snapping to you, and before you knew it, you were in his arms. His breathing was in his chest, still agitated, and he led you out of the quietened room. You managed to steal one last look at Jungkook who looked like the sweet baby he was; you couldn't fight the maternal instinct this twenty-nine year old guy awoke in you. He was seemingly about to cry.

"It's been three hours, right?" Yoongi was preoccupied. His lips were pressed together firmly even when he was speaking. His face was very pale, and you, dizzy with pain, almost drunk-like, touched it to see if he still had makeup on. This gesture, taken by Yoongi as a distress sign, made him look at you intently. And you knew you loved his eyes and everything about him; when he was fussy and angry like this, as well. Simply because he was never angry with you. It was abnormal; he tended to always put you on a special place and act like a rabid dog if someone crossed you, even if it was in his imagination. You could never make him angry, and you tried. But he was too collected for that, only allowing himself to crumble on the moments like this. He had a good outlet for emotions in the shape of music. That was his sewage drain.

"You okay? We need to change the band, right? The doctors told me to change this every three hours".

You winced, expecting immense pain again. The wound just barely seized torturing you just now, when you held your forearm bent, and you had to bother it again.

"Why don't you take a painkiller?" he murmured. You nodded, unable to speak. He left the bathroom for less than a minute and returned with a pill and a glass of water. While you drank, he studied your face.

"Okay?" for the eighth time in ten minutes. You nodded yes and put your head on his shoulder to feel his warmth and feel his breathing. He was probably very tired, he is always sleepy after the shows. The tips of his hair tickled your face, and it smelt wonderful. Like hairspray and perfume. You realized you weren't really shaken by the altercation. It ended relatively well, you weren't scared. Rather,

"I am a bit heartbroken for her".

Yoongi chuckled ironically.

"I would've probably broken her fucking arm if I was there", he replied grumpily. "I know I would've regretted it, but still".

"I mean, I understand a little", you continued, as if not hearing him, "she is very in love with Jungkook and I wish he hadn't hurt her like that".

"You are too kind to some people".

Perhaps by 'some people' he also meant his youngest, for tonight.

He said nothing else and got to the procedure, whispering to you when you whimpered with pain. Yoongi hissed when he looked a the open wound; stitching it was impossible as skin was so tightly wrapped around this spot that it simply tore and pulled away after the cut. He had to wrap it up tightly, to make skin connect again, which meant he had to make you scream. Painkiller wouldn't help here. You rested on his chest after, panting and greatful, as his hands held your head. His big palm on the back of your head, and the violent beast of pain, still playing your bones like a guitar, had to retreat a little. The relief of being with him every day was powerful.

Someone knocked on the door. You smiled madly at the thought of round two, now, with an axe. Yoongi sighed and looked at you, asking silently if he should get the door.

"You aren't going to faint, are you?" he asked, bewildered.

"No, it just hurts".

He pressed a kiss on your forehead and went, dragging his feet, one hand in his long hair. It was too late by the time you realized that, if it's Jungkook, he might get punched as soon as the door opens. You pushed yourself off the bathtub edge and walked behind him to see. He stood, his head in the slit between the door and the frame, low voice saying something.

Then, a dispassionate, evaluating look at you, the look of a bodyguard. Do you wanna see him? Sometimes you could read his mind. Then Yoongi finally gave in and moved slowly away from the door and stood by the bed, observing. Jungkook appeared, the old version, sincere regret in his eyes, angel face concerned. Even his frame looked younger again.

"Y/N, I am so sorry", he started immediately, "I never meant for you to get hurt, I never thought it would happen. If I had known she'd do anything like that, I... I never, never wanted you to be hurt..."

He was apologizing feverishly, like a child, like he thought he only had thirty seconds before the door shuts on him, and it made your eyes water. You blinked the unwanted tears of tenderness. Yoongi was darker than night, his hands crossed on his chest. He wouldn't let it go that easily, and it scared you. It was Jungkook, his boy. The boy he protected all these years, that he watched grow, that he taught to cook. The boy he comforted when he got homesick and missed his mum, when he fell sick on tour and wasn't allowed even one day off, so he had to train with fever, and faint; the boy who Yoongi used to rage for like he raged tonight. Something changed. Yoongi was prone to tough love. The child wasn't a child anymore, and they all had to get used to it.

"It's okay", you whispered, moving quickly to Jungkook, and wrapping your good arm around his bent neck.

"It's alright, it's not your fault", you said quietly so that Yoongi wouldn't hear, but he did.

"It is", your husband barked from behind you. Jingkook sighed with an animalistic tremble, like a dog shaking off water. You knew he was looking at his hyung.

"I'm sorry", he repeated, and you tried to console him by stroking his head. The soft uncombed hair tickled your palm,

"I know you are also shaken".

"I am mortified. Are you in a lot of pain? How bad is it, really? Will you be okay?"

"Of course. It's just a big cut".

"I could see her bone", Yoongi intervened again, and you had to turn around to give him a look. He didn't budge.

"I'm sorry", Jungkook buried his face in your shoulder, "I didn't mean any of it", he said, his voice muffled.

A little more patting on the back and convincing him he was okay, and you were okay, and everything was okay, and he retreated, completely devastated. As soon as the door closed behind him, you turned to Yoongi again.

"I hate to see him sad".

He wanted to say something, but just rolled his eyes instead.

The cut left an elongated half-moon scar and became a reminder of three things:

you can throw a punch;

always protect your face;

Yoongi loved you the same way he loved his skin and bone.

#yoongi imagine #yoongi x reader #suga x reader #bts x reader #bts imagine #jungkook #husband yoongi

412 notes · View notes

nsharks · 6 months ago

Text

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part twenty-four —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 3k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn’t here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival. a/n: ily

England passes in beautiful shades of green, the last time you'll see it, so you soak it in. Rolling hills streak the landscape like scars. In the distance, you glimpse faded architecture, imagining people living and working there. An ivy-covered university appears, and you picture yourself dozing off in a lecture. These little fantasies entertain you for the next two hours, but Blue isn't distracted by the same game. When you look at her arm, you notice pink scratches just below where the friendship bracelet hugs her wrist, made by her nails mindlessly.

You tear your eyes from the window and nudge your shoulder against hers. "Hey. What do you call a cow with no legs?"

Her lips twitch at the broken silence and she lifts her azure eyes to yours, a bead of sunlight catching in them. "What?"

"Ground beef."

Those eyes roll. "That's stupid."

Nereida smiles from the other side of her. "Oh, I've got one. What did the ocean say to the beach?"

Blue sighs. "Ghost said that one before. Nothing—it just 'waved'."

A recoil passes over Nereid's kind eyes. "I apologize. That's the only one I know."

Quiet air fills the space again, and when you notice Blue's nails dig back into her wrist, you gently lace your fingers through hers and pull her hand to your lap, allowing her to scratch your thigh, instead.

When an old theme park erects from the grass, Blue's interest piques. "Woah. What is that?"

"None of it works anymore," Ghost mutters, one hand on the wheel.

"It looks cool, though. I have to pee, anyway. Can we stop here?"

"I could use a little stretch for my legs," Nereida adds.

The pitstop is brief enough to allow Blue the chance to curiously look through the decrepit bumper cars, carousel, and even a small rollercoaster that still has the car sitting mid-track. She grabs Ari's hand to show him, but he doesn't seem as intrigued given the pale look on his face. He ends up rushing to a bush and keeling over.

"The back gets a bit bumpy," Kyle says when he notices your expression. "He'll be fine."

"I'll switch with him for the rest of the way."

"You don't have to."

"It's fine. He can probably entertain Blue better than I can."

Everyone uses the small break to eat a little lunch. You already had some of the beans Ghost packed, so you feel uncertain whether you should eat anymore of his food. You haven't even discussed sharing. Rather, you ration the jerky you made and save the rest.

It is a small meal, so you eat it slowly to trick your stomach into feeling full. Just before getting back to the truck, you spot a tree by the entrance to Kettering Kastle. Hickory. Paul told you once they make for great arrows, a softer hardwood. Pliable yet strong. This excites you. Your sheath is only half-full, so you grab your serrated knife and cut a few midsized branches to take with you.

Sitting in the truck bed is far from pleasant. The tail wind makes it hard to breathe, and you have to grab the side of the truck to keep yourself from flying out. Kyle notices your struggle and seems amused, but reaches an arm over in offering. You hold onto him and it does some to keep you stable.

The motorway passes through Kettering, which is a smaller city. The smell is retched, though the only Greys you spot don't take notice to you, trapped between buildings and toppled telephone poles. You make out a sign that reads A14 and figure it is headed to Cambridge. If you continue this pace, you'll reach the coastline by sundown.

Of course, things don't work out that way. The road becomes more obstructed with abandoned vehicles. Ghost has to weave through them like a maze, wasting time and fuel. The sun crawls higher in the sky. Finally, there are a few kilometers of straight road. Speed ticks up only to come to an abrupt halt when he reaches an underpass. You let go of Kyle and stand up to see what has caused the stop—a semi truck completely blocks the way through it.

"Jesus," you mutter.

Consecutive slams of the fronts doors indicate Price and Ghost are checking it out. Kyle hops out with them. After a few minutes, he returns and explains with a sigh, "We'll have to backtrack and find a side street that will lead to another motorway ramp."

"That's going to eat time. The sun will set soon."

He offers his arm again as Ghost begins reversing. "I know. It's fine, we'll just get to the water tomorrow. No rush, yeah?"

It adds an extra hour and a half. The sky turns a remarkable orange that would've had you gawking if not for your irritation of having to stop again. Ghost pulls over just before it gets too dark to set up the tents in a small market town called Haverhill. There's hardly anything here except fields of bright, yellow flowers and little shops with slanted CLOSED signs. It is actually pleasant and well-preserved, until you catch the distinguishable shape of a corpse hanging from one of the telephone poles, a black trash bag over its head.

"Don't look at it."

"Nothing I haven't seen before," you dismiss under your breath.

A more forested patch of land at the edge of the town is where you make camp for the night.

They eat canned goods and you finish your last pieces of jerky. This means you'll have to find more food for yourself tomorrow, or ask Ghost for some. The thought makes you anxious. The last thing you want is to seem like an extra burden. Dead weight that they'd be better off leaving behind. But he also didn't comment when you ate the beans. The uncertainty of where you stand means you need to make yourself useful.

The men need rest, so you offer to keep watch.

Prices dismisses you. "You don't have to, Twix. The three of us can take turns."

"No, really. I'll keep watch and you guys can all get more sleep. I've just been sitting in a car all day, anyway."

He gives in, visibly fatigued after being up over twenty-four hours.

Ghost and Price sleep first.

That leaves you sitting with Kyle when the stars begin to flicker like bright, little heartbeats against the black night.

You pull out your smoother knife—the one you found back at that base—to carve the sticks you found, careful of your bandaged thumb.

Kyle lays his rifle across his lap. "First time I am seeing you smile today and it's while carving sticks."

"Arrows," you correct, holding one up and tapping your index lightly against the sharpened point. "And it's good wood. Hickory."

"You're an easy woman to please," he teases.

"My tastes have changed over the years."

"Really? I can't imagine you as one of those people who cared too much about nice things."

You flash him a raised brow. "Are you saying I was cheap?"

He nudges your knee. "Not what I'm saying. You just seem like someone who would prefer a little movie date over a fancy dinner."

"I liked sushi. Is that fancy?"

He hums. "There were some good cheap sushi spots in London—hole in the wall type places. When there was some kid doing their homework at one of the booths, that's when you knew it'd be good shit."

"You're making me hungry."

"Well, you should've eaten more." He looks at you knowingly. "You're scared to ask anyone for food, aren't you?"

Are you really that easy to read? You place the half-finish arrow across your knees and look at the ground, brushing your fingers absentmindedly through the soft grass. "I just—I am aware of my place here."

"Your place?"

Your hands tightens the grass into a fistful. "I am at the bottom."

"The bottom," he repeats slowly, and his voice lowers. "You really think that?"

You rip the grass and sprinkle it over your boot, glancing up at him. His eyes have darkened, or maybe they are simply mirroring the sky. "I am not complaining. I understand that everyone here has others who they would prefer to keep alive over me, that's all. I just don't want to stick out anymore than I already do."

He reels in your words. "You're forgetting that everyone here has their own perspective, their own wants. It is not as simple as you're making it seem." In a change of topic, he reaches for the arrow on your lap. "Here—let me help."

You hand him the knife and he begins carving expertly as a few minutes of silence ensue. You are lost in your thoughts, keeping your eyes on the surroundings, when he suddenly stops in his handiwork, holding up the knife. You watch him study the leather handle carefully, shake his head to himself, then look at you.

"Where did you get this?"

"Huh? Oh—I found it. At a military base actually."

Your answer seems to strike him, and he releases a disbelieving exhale. "The one near Manchester?"

You nod.

"It was my brother's."

What?

Reading your expression, he shows you the handle and rubs his thumb over a small etching at the bottom that you can barely make out in the moonlight: PG.

"Patrick Garrick," he explains in a murmur, and your chest tightens. "I didn't even notice it at first. It's been years since I had it. The last time...the last time was when shit happened, and I lent it to a friend of mine at the base."

"Who?"

"Soap," he says, a memory taking over his expression as he rubs his jaw. "He was the other member of our spec ops unit."

"You... Someone mentioned him before. Ghost—he asked you guys about him when you arrived. You don't know what happened to him, right?"

Kyles nods. "He stayed back at the base to keep helping even when Price and I jumped ship. That was the Scottish in him—stubborn as hell. Soap was just his codename, of course. Like mine was Gaz." He looks up at you with a faint dimple. "And yours is Twix, huh?"

"I guess." You press your tongue to your teeth and grab the knife, frowning at it as you try to recall exactly where you grabbed it from. "What was his real name, then?"

"John MacTavish."

"I think—I think your friend is dead. I'm sorry." You gaze at him. "I remember now. I found it in one of the rooms, and there was a skeleton with that name. He... he had it quick, though."

The expression on his typically warm eyes turns unreadable and his shoulders stiffen in the slightest. You wonder if you should have bothered sharing this, but then he shrugs it off with a sigh. "It's okay. Figured as much. Many people have died. He's just another name to the list."

Instinct draws your hand to his shoulder, and the muscles softens beneath your touch. "I'm still sorry."

His eyes find yours.

He smiles solemnly.

Then, somewhere in it all, he leans over and closes the gap. The sudden, foreign feel of lips pressed against your own stuns you. His lips move gently, cold and soft against yours, and only when he threads a hand through your hair to pull you closer do you fully register what he is doing. Your eyes fly open and you break away, leaping to your feet.

"Why did you—what was that?"

He stands up with you. "It felt right in the moment."

He tries to touch your shoulder but you flinch away. "I'm sorry. I just—I was just trying to comfort you."

"I misread the moment." His eyes are clouded. "So you didn't want it?"

Did you? Your mind feels fuzzy. "I don't know. I need to...I want to be alone right now."

You grab your knife and sticks, rushing around the tents to find solace by the truck, needing to process what just happened. As you move, you bump into a hard chest—Ghost. Somehow you failed to hear the jagged teeth of the tent's zipper. Avoiding his gaze, you try to slip past, but he grips your elbow, holding you in place.

"What is it?"

The lie wedges out of your lips. "Nothing. I just—thought I saw something so I am going to sit over there and keep an eye out."

The difference in height leads to his stare burning into your scalp. "What did you see?"

"I don't know. Something. Maybe just an animal."

His hold doesn't soften. Stoicism forces itself on your face as you press your lips into a line.

You're easy to ready.

He finally lets go. "I'll take over now. You can sleep."

You find yourself nodding soundlessly, internally glad to be relieved of this duty.

Sleep offers peace of mind, at least until morning.

Dawn breaks over the small town in a quiet clatter of spoons against cans and the shuffling of bags being packed up. The dream you wake up from was one of an old life—the last kiss you experienced. But it fizzles quickly from the recesses of your brain the moment your lids shutter open.

Both you and Kyle seem keen on acting as though nothing happened. More than anything, you are confused. You try to search inside that box of yours for how you feel, but all you find is fear. You've barely been able to keep up with the fear. You busy yourself with helping get everything back in the truck, fitting the supplies like a jigsaw puzzle. You have nothing to eat. A day or two without food is doable until you can properly hunt for something—

"Here."

It is Nereida who catches you by the truck before leaving. She practically shoves a can of tuna into your hands and you look up at her in hesitant gratitude.

"We're all sharing food," she says. "That is how it should be."

"Thank you. Really, this is—"

"Don't thank me. There is plenty for everyone."

For now, your mind chides, but you swallow the thought while scarfing down the meal you pretend is London's finest sushi.

Once everyone is ready, you head to the back of the truck, expecting an awkward encounter with Kyle, only to find Ghost sitting there beside the kayak, hands relaxed behind his head.

"What are you doing?"

"Needed a break from driving."

You glance at the front to see that Price is behind the wheel, and Kyle is in the passenger side. In a way, you're relieved. You breathe through your nose and hoist yourself up. The bumpy ride is quiet at first. His body takes up space so that each pothole nudges your shoulder or knee against his. The morning ages. You swear you can see there coast at one point, but it must be your imagination, because the passing sign reads Halstead.

"You really need to work on lying better."

The brash accent registers low against the hum of the engine, and his eyes are closed when you look over. He is leaned back, one leg straight and one bent, seeming to enjoy the seat more than you are.

"Fine. I'm bad at lying."

"Care to share the truth, then?"

He needn't elaborate for you to know what he is referring to. "I was...I was upset because I found out my knife—the one I took from the base—belonged to Kyle's brother."

His brow ticks.

You continue, "But he actually gave it to Soap, and I—I found his dog tag on a skeleton. John MacTavish. You were friends with him, weren't you?"

His eyes open, but they are too murky to decipher from just his profile. His jaw flexes. "I wasn't a man with friends, Twix."

"You know what I mean."

There is a pause, and then, "He was a sergeant under my command. A good man. Grating, at times. But good."

"Well, I'm sorry he didn't make it. If you of all people say he was a good guy, then he really must've been."

He hums in agreement. Thoughtful. Then—two gloved fingers touch your jaw, turning your eyes to his. "You are still lying, and still bad at it."

You wet your lips. "I wasn't—"

"Help!"

Ghost drops your chin and grabs the gun from his waist.

Your eyes flash around at the sound of a second plea. There is a man at the side of the road, leg draped in bloodied bandages, but there isn't a chance for you to register more of him when the truck takes a sudden, sharp left down a side street and you brace yourself by grabbing the edge with both arms. The small city-scape whirls by in a blur. Ghost swears under his breath, scanning the area as he bends on one knee and keeps the gun secure in his grip. Confused, you grab his arm.

"That man was injured."

His voice is harsh and alert. "He has fucking friends somewhere here. He was just trying to—"

A shattering sound. An audible pop. You're thrown against the truck bed even harder this time as it skids across the street, nearly slamming into a flipped-over car. Ghost covers you, the weight of him keeping you from flying out. The truck swerves to a halt. Everything is black until his weight lifts. He barks an order, jumps out, and pulls you with him.

Pressed against the side of the truck, the world becomes consumed by loud sounds and the distinct smell of gunpowder. Ghost rips open the passenger door and urgently pulls Blue, Ari, and Nereida out, ordering them to keep low. From the other side, you hear Price and Kyle shouting, followed by another series of gunshots.

#simon ghost riley x you #ghost #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cod #simon ghost riley #zombie apocolypse au

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harmoonix · 1 year ago

Text

✴ꪻꫝꫀ ꪀꪮ᥅ꪻꫝ ᦓꪻꪖ᥅✴

(Astrology Notes)

✴────✴─────✴✴────✴─────✴✴────

🌟 - Aries/Capricorn/Libra/Cancer in big 6 (Sun, Moon, Rising, Venus, Mercury, Mars) = Cardinal energy they bring to beginnings, changes, create new foundations and balances the world

🌟 - Taurus/Leo/Scorpio/Aquarius in big 6 Sun, Moon, Rising, Venus, Mercury, Mars) = Fixed energy, they make it to happen, action, inovation, hardworking, complexity

🌟 - Gemini/Virgo/Sagittarius/Pisces in big 6 Sun, Moon, Rising, Venus, Mercury, Mars) = Mutable energy, they bring the endings, flexible, adaptable, chameloens of the zodiac, old and wise

🌟 - Moon in Gemini Degrees 3°, 15°, 27° really know how to express themselves, they talk so smoothly and with ease, very intelligent as well

🌟Venus in Cancer/Venus in the 4th house loves to give hugs. This is something they adore to do, giving hugs and receiving hugs is like a love sign for them

🌟Sagittarius/Gemini Venus may have multiple love signs because they can't stand to only one loving thing to show their love for their partners

🌟The Degrees you have on your IC can show how you may like to decorate your home

Leo Degrees (5°, 17°, 29°) = Definitely a lot of lights, maybe neon signs aswell, golden hour aesthetics, beige/yellow colors

Scorpio Degrees (8°, 20°) = I see them following the traditional vibes maybe with brown/black/white and even gray, maybe vintage style, dreamcatchers, posters with their favorite singers/celebrities etc

Pisces Degrees (12°, 24°) = Turquoise/Green/Emerald colors, they may have or love tank fish, aquariums, comfortable bed, maybe neon star stickers/moon neon stickers who shine in the dark

Libra/Taurus Degrees (2°, 7°, 14°, 19°, 26°) = White/Pink maybe even purple, flowers/butterfly stickers, maybe quotes stickers, always making sure their room smells good

Virgo Degrees (6°, 18°) = Beige/Gray/Yellow and light brown colors, definitely a lot of photos with aesthete places/sun/forests/lakes maybe even with their friends

Aquarius Degrees (11°, 23°) = Definitely a lot of trendy things in their room, combined/mixed colors, a lot of selfies with them or their friends on walls, organized room, fresh, futuristic, a lot of neon lights

✴────✴─────✴✴────✴─────✴✴────✴─────✴✴────✴─────✴✴────✴─────

🌟 - Venus in the 1st/5th/10th/11th and 12th house may like cinematography, the art of the movies, acting, theater etc

🌟 - Uranus aspecting the Sun have an electric beauty, they're very outgoing with their friends and love the way they are

🌟 - Jupiter in the 6th house is one of the luckiest placements to have if you want to improve yourself/your mental health and your work because it will extend those things and give you so many opportunities

🌟 - Chiron in the 1st house natives are so pretty when they'll realize that being insecure about themselves is nothing wrong and is time to start to like yourself because you are very beautiful!!

🌟 - Pluto trine/sextile North Node natives have a high chance to go through some sort of evolution and transformation in their life, mostly developing in childhood

✴────✴─────✴✴────✴─────✴✴────✴─────✴✴────✴─────✴✴────✴─────

✴────✴─────✴✴────✴─────✴✴────✴─────✴✴────✴─────✴✴────✴────

🌟 - Uranus/Neptune in the 9th house is a very spiritual placement, it makes the native to be more aware of themselves and to explore their curiosity for spirituality

🌟 - Mercury/Gemini/Virgo in the 10th house makes the native to have a powerful voice in the world, their voice can influence others, they are also very Intelligent and strategic

🌟 - Libra/Taurus and Pisces/Scorpio Moons can be attracted to architecture, they will definitely explore the place's style first

🌟 - Moon/Mercury/Venus in Fire Houses (1st, 5th, 9th) are fiercely passionately in love, they can share a beautiful love language, intense, a sharp tongue

🌟 - Moon in the 8th house is one of the most mysterious placements for the moon, the native is fully aware of the things happening in their life and their own evolution

✴────✴─────✴✴────✴─────✴✴────

✴────✴─────✴✴────✴─────✴✴────✴─────✴✴────✴─────✴✴────✴─────

🌟 - Saturn in the 1st/6th and 12th house can have issues with being organized or keeping themselves healthy, sometimes they can get too tired aswell

🌟 - Asteroid Sirene (1009) in the 6th/12th house house are embodying the Sirene energy in their lives everyday, sometimes even without realizing. This energy is so dangerous yet so pure

🌟 - Asteroid Karma (408) in Libra or in the 7th house can indicate karmic relationships, and karmic partners (meeting partners with the same hobbies/interests/haibts as your exes ?? ya that's a sign)

🌟 - Asteroid Hebe (6) aspecting Venus indicates a young beauty no matter the age, your beauty still shines over the years just like in your Childhood

🌟 - Valentine asteroid (447) in the 6th/8th house have a unique love language, they're very sacrificial in their relationships

✴────✴─────✴✴────✴─────✴✴────

🌟 - Valentine in aspects with Eros (433) makes the native to be erotic in their relationships, they seek for love/romance and want the same from their partners

🌟 - Moon in Air Signs can find themselves liking more music styles/listening to more than one genre, 1 song can be rock and the next one can be pop and so on..

🌟 - A fire Venus will love you with everything they have, fire is represented by passion and power, sometimes they can be too clingy

🌟 - Scorpio Venus/Venus in the 8th house can experience attracting people with the same toxic habits over and over, that's why you'll need standards

🌟 - 5th house ruled by Mercury/Jupiter or Moon will put the communication as an important key in their relationships, without communication you have nothing

🌟 - I can already tell Moon - Pluto aspects people hate endings, they don't like when things don't end (and is worse when they end on bad terms), because their mind keeps thinking about it

✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴

🌟 - I have Uranus quintile Venus and that aspect makes me to be very tranquil about the relationships and the people I'm with. No rush with Uranus

🌟 - North Node aspecting the ascendant (minor aspects included) have the lessons to discover themselves, that's the theme for life. Don't listen to x, don't listen to y..only to yourself

🌟 - I can tell Sagittarius/Leo and Scorpio Mars men like to walk around the house naked 😭💀, always forgetting their damn clothes

🌟 - Mercury aspecting Mars talk really fast when they're mad like they be rapping in the same, I have a 10% chance to understand them taliing when these natives are into a angry mood

✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴

🌟 - Pluto aspecting the south node can indicate being abused in a past life, or bullied. I remember reading about it was something about the finding your own power within yourself in this life time .

🌟 - Ascendant aspecting Venus are so so so likely to be crushed on, just because their energy/aura is so lovely and charming

🌟 - Cancer & Libra Placements mood changes based on the weather/season I swear they can be so depressed in the winter/fall and so happy in the summer/spring

🌟 - Capricorn Sun/Moon/Rising had to get mature from a young age that's why they got the thing with "being wise being sassy" because they work for what they got.

🌟 - This is really serious like 12th house placements really need to prioritize sleep a lot, guys sleeping is actually healing it isn't just going into bed and closing your eyes

✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴

✨ Beautiful space post ✨

✨ I hope you all have a good day today full of light, love and good vibes ✨💅🏼💅🏼💅🏼

✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴

#astro observations #astrology #birth chart #astro notes #astrology observations #placements #astro community #horoscope #ascendant #venus #astro.com #astrolog #astro.seek #star #sky #sun #space #aesthetic

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cheol-e-kat · 13 days ago

Text

𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬, 𝐟𝐭. 𝐤.𝐦𝐠

> the one where ur situationship was always lwk dating

warnings: explicit language, flirting, mentions of drug use (just pot), and alcohol

pairing: kim mingyu x f!reader

summary: you’re used to mingyu messaging for hookups, but your ‘hookups’ are always cuter and more involved than they have any right to be, some might even say that it’s more like you’re ‘dating’ him

word count: 1k

[gyu]

you around

[y/n]

at a party why

[gyu]

come hang out w me

[y/n]

srry u mean leave free booze ??

[gyu]

have weed […]

and that part of me u seem to like so much

You grinned to yourself as you replied.

[y/n]

which part is that again

[gyu]

so funny […]

come smoke with me […]

let me eat you

You stared at the message for a moment too long.

“What happened?” Your roommate was suddenly very close and trying to read your phone over your shoulder, “You have that look!” She giggled. “You’re about to make some bullshit excuse to leave.”

You were quick to lock your phone. “Nothing - and no, I’m not about to do that at all…” you trailed off.

She laughed. “Don’t be annoying, just tell me who he is,” she whined and pulled your arm like a small kid trying to get their way.

You rolled your eyes and tried to push her away. She giggled and lunged for your phone. “Tell me!” She pleaded, making a pouting face.

You hugged your phone closer. “No, it’s a secret,” you whispered, kind of loudly.

You barely made it out without giving her Mingyu’s name. Even though she’d guessed it was him weeks before. The way she’d stared at you when she guessed “that lab partner - the one you clearly didn’t hate.” She’d been so certain.

And you’d manage to lie to her, convincingly enough, anyway.

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

[y/n]

okayyyy omw

[gyu]

[y/n]

yess […]

in uber now

[gyu]

send me a pin thing […]

so i know where u r

[y/n]

worried?

[find my location shared with gyu]

[gyu]

is that not allowed?

You sighed and looked out the window as you rode to his place. He lived in a cute part of one of the old art districts. You liked seeing the buildings passing by, the old architecture - you maybe loved when he asked you over.

You knew your way to his door despite the random flow of the building’s hallways. You barely knocked before the door was being opened. You held back a grin because you had the feeling Mingyu had been waiting for you just on the other side of the door, pretending he wasn’t of course.

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

“Hi,” you whispered as he pulled you inside his apartment. You grinned as he slid his arms around you so he could kiss you, his soft lips working sweetly against yours. You reached up, winding your arms around his neck as you returned his kisses. You loved the soft sounds he made - he was always noisy and needy and so cute.

He squeezed you close and picked you up, your legs wrapping automatically around his waist. You smiled at him, smoothing his hair from his face. “So big and strong,” you said as you traced a finger along his lower lip, loving the way his eyes gleamed in the low light as he looked up at you, soaking in all your compliments.

“So pretty too,” you murmured, leaning in to kiss him again, licking into him, tasting him.

You moaned softly when your back hit the wall. He rolled his hips against you, needy and wanton. You pulled his hair gently, leaning up again to breathe, to look at him. It was like surfacing after diving into water.

“Thought you wanted to eat me,” you whispered with a smirk.

He grinned in response, barely biting his lip. “That’s always true, though,” he murmured, squeezing your ass gently.

You smiled because he was painfully cute this way. “Are we actually going to smoke this time?” You asked, voice soft, fingers twining in his hair.

He nodded. “Yes,” he whispered, “probably,” he giggled.

You grinned, knowing he’d already smoked at least a bowl. Which was just fine, since you were still buzzing from whatever mixed drink you’d had.

You sighed softly. “Mmmh, ‘probably’?” You asked softly, “hmm, maybe we should skip to the part where we play Mario Kart, and I’ll actually let you be Princess Peach,” you offered.

He watched your lips as you spoke, glancing up suddenly. “I’m always Princess Peach,” he said with a pout.

You’d seen him purposefully avoid playing as his favorite character when anyone was around too many times to fall for this propaganda.

“Really? You?” You said in mock surprise. “Because last time I saw you”—

He rolled his eyes. “Okay,” he whined, “fine, I’m not Princess Peach when I play in public,” he corrected. “I’m just Princess Peach when I’m alone or with you - happy?” he asked sulkily.

You nodded, still running your fingers through his hair, loving how soft it was. “Very,” you admitted with a small smile. How could you not be happy with him, you wondered.

He hummed in response as he leaned in for another kiss. You loved how easy it was to be with him, how soft he could be. He was definitely in a cute mood.

You broke the kiss just to look at him. He groaned softly. “Seriously?”

You nodded. “Sorry, you’re just so…” you trailed off, tilting your head to the side to stare at him.

He leaned close, kissing your cheek. “We aren’t fucking are we?”

You giggled, feeling like he’d read your mind. “No, I don’t think so,” you whispered. “But who knows,” you said as you kissed him again.

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

You didn’t fuck before bed.

You played Mario Kart and ordered food. You borrowed his clothes to sleep in and curled up happily next to him, while he picked some movie to play while you both fell asleep. It was perfect when he finally settled on something, and was lying next to you, arms around your waist, his face buried in your hair.

Besides, you didn’t always need to fuck. Sometimes you just wanted to see him be ridiculously happy when Princess Peach took out Bowser in Mario Kart. And maybe sometimes you let him win just so you could see him be that happy.

And that was probably some kind of something beyond just two people hooking up, right, you wondered as you fell asleep in his warm embrace.

a/n: okay so sometimes i'm deep in my mingyu-feels and other times i'm just not - rn i am and maybe i'm working on other fics for him like mingyuAI..omg finally, some more of that - fr i just have to be in the mood to write him, i can't explain it :/

tbh i read my mingyu hanahaki fic and was like 'oh yeahhhh i do love him for reasons'

⋆˙⟡♡ 𝒌𝒂𝒕

♡ master list & tag list

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ complete mingyu master list

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐲𝐮 𝐛𝐲 𝐦𝐞

mingyu x noona agenda: praise + worship kink | vehicle sex + oral fixation | ceo/boss + big flirt x easily flustered + age difference | 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝒕𝒐𝒐𝒕𝒉 |

teasers: mingyuAI [ teaser i ] [ teaser ii ] |୨୧| all but break your heart |୨୧| tonight tonight

angst: no blueberries master list (college au)

fluff: waiting to feel foolish (college au) |୨୧| never happened before (magical realism au) |୨୧| hoodies & candy (college au) |୨୧| no strings (magical realm au) [pt. 1]

series: my familiar (magical realism au) [pt. 1 f] [pt. 2 - coming soon]

[ mingyu drabble tag list ]

☁︎ @syluslittlecrows [e] ☁︎ @gyuguys [e] ☁︎ @tinyelfperson [e] ☁︎ @unlikelysublimekryptonite [e] ☁︎ @livelaughloveseventeen [e] ☁︎ @codeinebelle [e] ☁︎ @ateez-atiny380 [e] ☁︎ @mingcouper [e] ☁︎ @hanniebub [e] ☁︎ @perfectiondazesworld [e] ☁︎ @scoupshawty [e] ☁︎ @peachytokki [e] ☁︎ @coupsbestleader [e] ☁︎ @fleurloovin [e] ☁︎ @babybae-shisui [e] ☁︎ @asyre [e] ☁︎ @dcrlingyou [e] ☁︎ @yeosayang [e] ☁︎ @nanabananananabatman ☁︎ @yoongznme [e] ☁︎ @gyuhao365 [e] ☁︎ @jeonghnie [e] ☁︎ @armycarat2612 [e] ☁︎ @shuas-winnie30 [e] ☁︎ @famouspoetrydinosaur [e] ☁︎ @ateezaddict24 [e] ☁︎

☁︎ @aaronwarners69thwife [e + wips] ☁︎ @daisymbin [e + wips] ☁︎ @babilou-pov [e + wips] ☁︎ @sseungcheols [ e + wips ] ☁︎ @keyrecsfics [ e + one/multi & wips] ☁︎

☁︎ @ninigyuuu [k.mg - e, b.f. priv]

375 notes · View notes

sleepincrow · 8 months ago

Text

suguru geto plays with your boobs when hes injured, by the way, just wanna let you know.

its nothing too bad, but suguru likes to sit behind you and draw little circles on your bare hips underneath your baggy shirt.

you had wanted to read to him, pamper him. after all, his leg is pretty much broken right now. so you just wanted to be a good girlfriend.

but the way his overworked hands slide up your sides so gently like you're the most fragile piece of architecture made you stumble over your words.

"baby, what are you doing?" you inquire, almost threatening to close your book.

"shh, just let me feel you, angel, keep reading." his lips are right behind your ear and you swore you could feel the lightest plush of his lips against your skin.

but how could you really? the way his fingers trail closer to your chest makes the plethora of sentences in the book dance on your tongue, refusing to halt their relentless tango.

soon enough, the warm palms of his hands hold your breasts so delicately, ever so gently squeezing them — playing with them. his thumbs rub over your perky nipples, making you let out a shaky breath.

his own chest is connected to the flat of your back, bent a little forwards as your smaller stature curls in the sparks of pleasure.

the book had long been forgotten. your own hands using it as leverage to keep you sat up as straight as you could, without progress, of course.

you knew long before he was skilled with his hands, somehow multiplying your pleasure by tenfold compared to playing with yourself.

suguru's uninjured leg comes to wrap around one of your own, gradually spreading your legs apart. a soft whimper slips between your parted lips when you feel the cold air grazing your barely covered pussy.

now you debate on whether or not just panties to bed was a good idea.

too lost in the wonderland of growing pleasure, lips upon your shoulder going to the nape of your neck accompanied by whispered praises kept you distracted from the fact a hand had left your breast.

"y'so pretty, sweet angel." he cooed into you spit-slicked skin. eyes hungry for the way you contort your face into one of deep pleasure and fluster.

suguru would always find a way to lavish your perfect body. he worshipped you dearly, kissing every part of your skin like it was gifted by gods. he always found a way to praise you in action, even when he could not pin you against the soft silken sheets of your shared bed.

with a flick of a switch, a vibrating sound resonated within the dimly lit room

"be a good girl for me n' just sit still, look pretty, okay?"

not proofread. probably the first smut(?) ive acc posted AHHAH

#suguru geto #suguru geto x reader #geto x reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #geto x reader smut #suguru geto smut #suguru geto x reader smut #jjk #geto smut

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somewhereincairparavel · 8 months ago

Text

Annabeth Chase and Jason Grace - two sides of the same coin, an analysis post.

after a long wait, I've finally posted my analysis on jason/annabeth being similar, and mirroring eachother as rivals/potential sibling figures more than percy/jason's 'bro rivalry', based on this post of mine which has crossed over a THOUSAND notes in the last week alone, and I've been getting so many reblogs and comments asking me to expand on my tags in that post and do a full analysis. so here it is. I've been procrastinating this for quite a while now for some reason but I'm glad I'm over my writer's block and I got to articulate my post well enough.

annabeth and jason have had very minor interactions throughout hoo, but the parallels and similarities in their character is jarringly noticeable, which is why I hoped for a jason/annabeth rivalry and not a percy/jason rivalry. they've both been raised at their respective camps since they were literal kids, they were well versed in their respective fields of knowledge, and were well respected/intimidated in their camps.

let's start off with the lost hero

when jason first meets annabeth, he says that her eyes were really intimidating and fierce, so right off the bat, we have jason who's pretty put off by annabeth because she very obviously looked angry, especially since she was frustrated about jason's arrival instead of percy, and looked like she could kill jason to get percy back.

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

this parallels to a lot when hazel kept going on about how difficult it was to warm up to jason because his eyes were always calculating and cold, and he gave off an untrustworthy vibe, that he'd sacrifice anyone for the sake of the mission.

both annabeth and jason have a certain similar ‘look’ in their eyes, which have nothing to do with the color. they both have the tendency to make people nervous simply with their eyes, because they always look like they're thinking of new things every few seconds. Ironically, jason first perceived annabeth, the way everyone else perceived him. scary and intimidating with an icy glare and hardened eyes.

They were both said to be ‘studying’ each other in distrust many times throughout. A part of why they didn't trust each other, was, in my opinion, because they embodied their least favorite shared personality trait of each other, secretiveness and guardedness. which is why annabeth got on so well with percy, and jason with leo/piper.

they didn't admire the closed off-ish vibe that they gave eachother. they both needed people who were open and carefree.annabeth said that jason looked like he knew too much information, but chose to keep it all a secret, very similar to her own guardedness from time to time, keeping it a secret and wanting to deal with it silently.

we also know that annabeth and jason are extremely knowledgeable in greek/roman mythology, they both love debates and were quite passionate about history. they were both assigned architecture projects by the gods themselves as a mark of honor and favour.

moving on to the next most important point, they reminded eachother of the people they missed, causing them to feel resentful.

jason, barely met his sister after they reunited. he was bitter when thalia said he had to go look for percy to help out annabeth with the search. he was aware that thalia and annabeth were childhood friends, getting closer to eachother than jason and thalia ever did. she found a home in luke and annabeth, not even a few months after baby jason was thought to be ‘dead’, that knowledge would've weighed a lot on jason. annabeth became the sibling to thalia grace that jason could never be.

while annabeth? the only thing annabeth thought of, after jason had a face off with his mother's remnant in boo, was the fact that jason, who looks eerily similar to luke, could've experienced the exact same fate as him. luke was jason if he had more wrath and held grudges, jason was luke if he had less anger and resentment. annabeth could connect the dots so easily, and that was truly the moment where she gained immense respect for him.

and, when jason told annabeth that his sister was thalia? she had a very odd sort of expression on her face.

annabeth also quotes that looking at jason made her feel bitter, because he reminded her of heras exchange, and the fact that she lost percy for months. whenever she looked at jason, she would only see her two childhood friends, a found family that was broken, and a love that was challenged.

whenever jason looked at annabeth, he would be reminded that thalia had a closer contact to her than she did jason, and had to accept that he would never know thalia as much as annabeth does.

annabeth and jason also appear very confident and sure of themselves, but have second thoughts all the time. they had to put on a fake facade, to live up to their expectations and lineage.

they were both also sort of people pleasers, annabeth couldn't really say no to anyone who asked her for help with things, like carrying the sky for luke especially, because not only where they giving her a chance to execute her knowledge and skill, the thought of helping someone made her genuinely happy. jason also loved seeing people happy, always wanting to say the right thing to satisfy someone, even if it meant he had to sacrifice his own struggles to help them.

fatal flaws:

annabeth’s fatal flaw, is hubris. when you are confident and sure that you can do something, and have a sense of excessive self pride.

and jason's fatal flaw is the temptation to deliberate. hesitation and second guessing, to put it in simpler words.both fatal flaws are so different, yet so similar, and they have both flaws, just in a different viewpoint.

as a child of athena, annabeth appears super confident and even conceding at times because of her wisdom, but at the same time, annabeth had to make sure she was one step ahead of everyone. she had to rethink everything and had to have a plan in her mind all the time, fearing that things wouldn't go smoothly.

she had to hesitate and second guess herself alot, despite her knowledge, like she did when she knew she had to look for the mark of athena. piper and percy had to boost up her confidence with affirmations, to let her know she's on the right path and to just follow her gut. annabeth feels obligated to have a temptation to deliberate, because, as a child of athena, she has to be all knowing and wise, and most definitely cannot fail her mother.

and jason? despite having a very low sense of self esteem and hesitation, he was so used to leading the people who were considered slightly inferior to him in camp jupiter, and basically getting treated like a celebrity for 12 years of his life in camp jupiter, that often, he thought what he did was right, he had his own perception of what a hero should be, and I quote

[“No, no,” Jason said. “I made my choice. You’re not to blame. You don’t owe me anything except to remember what I said. Remember what’s important.” “You’re important,” I said. “Your life!”Jason tilted his head. “I mean… sure. But if a hero isn’t ready to lose everything for a greater cause, is that person really a hero?”He weighted the word person subtly, as if to stress it could mean a human, a faun, a dryad, a griffin, a pandos… even a god”- Tower of Nero]

which was normal, since he had everyone basically following his lead without question as a kid. he's expanded on this in his conversation with piper in mark of athena, where he said he felt weird to suddenly be around people who were either equal/or superior to him in power, and not being in the ‘lead’ particularly.

jason had hubris, but certainly not in a way that you would call it an ego or excessive pride. he was hardwired and brainwashed into having his own perception of what is right and what is wrong, that he thought he was always making good enough decisions, at least from a roman child soldier’s standpoint. [Like when he was okay with not saving nico because it might sabotage their mission, he genuinely didn't think what he said was insensitive until hazel called him out, because he was brought up that way. he thought he was doing the right thing, by prioritising the mission and the duty, first. Like the dutiful roman he was made to be].

both annabeth and jason, have hubris and a temptation to deliberate.

annabeth and jason, also had an extremely difficult time breaking free from the thoughts that their godly parents were always right. It took on alot of disappointments for both of them to stand up to their parents (and not just godly ones, mind you)

they've both had disappointing absent mortal and godly parents with a hostile stepmother involved and monitored with each and every one of their moves. annabeth has had to deal with her stepmother playing the ‘bad cop’ with her father not even coming to her defence, just the way hera came butting into jason's life and giving him terrible memories, taking him away from thalia, with zeus not even caring.

speaking of which, they are both the only demigods who have harboured the most amount of resentment for hera. just the sight of hera pisses them both off, as it hera, stripped off so much time away from annabeth and percy, and memories from jason, which he never permanently got back.

this is sort of irrelevant but I'll add this anyway, in boo, athena also immediately liked jason for calling out zeus's unfairness to apollo, saying something like 'the boy is right' and she gave him an approving/appreciative look for his wisdom, which is pretty rare for athena to say or do to literally any demigod ever. this makes me wonder if she ever saw jason as someone who had some sort of athena legacy in him, which is why she was so pleasantly surprised with him. ugh we could've so gotten jason and annabeth as potential sibling figures bc of how many parallels they have, too bad that the percy/jason rivalry narrative was pushed too hard.

I hope I've drawn enough parallels with their characters, as a lot of you have been looking forward to this post for a while, hopefully this analysis hasnt been underwhelming for you all to read!

@thevoidcaller @karmaajr @onestorytorulethemall @newlyfoundwren @thesummerstorms

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maxpounds · 7 months ago

Text

Twink Death

The bass thumped like a heartbeat, reverberating through the crowded club as neon lights flickered in rhythmic pulses. Simon glanced at his reflection in the mirrored wall behind the bar. His blond hair was artfully tousled, and he wore a tight white tee that clung to his slim frame, tucked into skinny black jeans. He was used to attention but felt a little jittery tonight. Michael, his best friend, coworker and fellow roommate, had dragged him out, insisting they needed to "blow off steam" after a hectic week at the clothing store.

“Look around, Simon,” he said, gesturing with his empty glass. “This place is teeming with men who would kill to buy a twink like you a drink.”

“All they want is a one-night stand.”

“And what's wrong with that?”

Michael winked, then disappeared into the throng of bodies on the dance floor, leaving Simon standing at the bar. Simon scanned the room. That’s when he noticed him: a man in his late thirties just a few feet away, casually leaning against the bar like he owned the place. Broad shoulders filled out a crisp navy button-up that strained slightly over his chest, and his brown hair and neatly trimmed beard gave him an effortlessly mature air. His biceps flexed slightly as he raised a glass of whiskey to his lips. The man’s gaze met Simon’s. His brown eyes softened into a smile, and he walked over with the confidence of someone who had nothing to prove.

“Hi,” he said, his voice deep and warm. “I’m Jeff.”

Simon blinked, caught off guard.

“Oh, hi. Simon.”

He shook Jeff’s offered hand, his smaller fingers disappearing in Jeff’s firm grip.

“You look like you could use a drink,” Jeff said, nodding at Simon’s nearly empty glass. “Mind if I get you one?”

Simon hesitated for a split second before nodding.

“Sure, why not?”

Jeff signaled to the bartender and ordered another gin and tonic for Simon. As they waited, Jeff turned to face Simon fully, towering over him in a way that was somehow both intimidating and intoxicating.

“So, what brings you here tonight, Simon?”

“My roommate dragged me out,” Simon said. “I’m not much of a club person, honestly.”

Jeff raised an eyebrow. “Really? You look like you fit right in.”

“Thanks, I think?” Simon replied, a faint blush rising to his cheeks.

Jeff chuckled. “It’s a compliment.”

Simon's drink arrived, and they clinked glasses before taking sips. The conversation flowed effortlessly—Jeff talked about his work as a Realtor, his passion for architecture and how much he loved discovering hidden gems in the city. Simon shared stories about the chaos of working retail with Michael. Before long, Jeff leaned in closer, his cologne—a mix of cedar and spice—invading Simon’s senses.

“Do you dance?” Jeff asked, his tone playful.

“I do,” Simon said, shyly.

Jeff extended a hand. “Come on, then.”

Simon placed his hand in Jeff’s, letting him lead him to the dance floor. The music was loud, the beat infectious, and Jeff’s presence steady and grounding. They moved together, Jeff’s strong hands guiding Simon’s hips until Simon let go of his self-consciousness. Their bodies pressed closer, and Simon felt a flutter in his chest every time Jeff’s dark eyes locked on his.

“Simon, I’d like to keep talking. My place isn’t far. Would you like to come over?”

Simon hesitated, glancing around for Michael. He caught his friend on the far side of the dance floor, waving and flashing a thumbs-up. Taking a deep breath, Simon turned back to Jeff.

“Okay. Let’s go.”

The sleek black SUV pulled into the underground garage of a luxury high-rise in downtown. Simon looked out the window, marveling at the clean lines of the building and the shimmering skyline. Jeff parked the car effortlessly and turned to him.

“Welcome to my place,” he said.

Simon followed Jeff to the elevator, their hands brushing as they walked. When they stepped into Jeff’s apartment, Simon’s jaw dropped. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcased a stunning view of the city, and the open-concept living room was immaculate, with modern furniture, tasteful artwork, and a kitchen that looked straight out of a magazine.

“This is... wow,” Simon said, turning to Jeff.

Jeff set his keys on the counter.

“Glad you like it. Make yourself at home.”

Simon wandered over to the windows, while Jeff grabbed two glasses and a bottle of wine. He handed Simon a glass, their fingers grazing, before leaning casually against the counter.

“You’re even more stunning in this light,” Jeff said softly, his voice like honey.

Simon felt heat rise to his cheeks.

“I bet you say that to everyone you bring here,” Simon teased, sipping his wine.

“Only when it’s true,” Jeff replied, his eyes never leaving Simon’s.

The tension between them simmered, and before Simon could respond, Jeff closed the distance between them. His hands slid gently around Simon’s tiny waist, pulling him close. Their lips met in a kiss that started soft but quickly deepened, filled with heat and longing. Simon melted into Jeff’s embrace. They moved to the bedroom, where the city lights cast a soft glow across the luxurious space. Clothes were shed, kisses trailed, and hands explored, Jeff’s touch both tender and consuming. Simon felt completely seen, completely adored.

After having amazing sex, they lay tangled in the sheets. Jeff’s arm was draped over Simon’s slender frame.

“You’re incredible,” Jeff murmured, his voice husky.

Simon turned to face him.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” he teased.

Jeff smiled, then grew serious, his gaze softening.

“Simon, I want you to know something. I don’t just see this as a one-time thing.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I want to take care of you,” Jeff said, his voice earnest. “You seem special, Simon. I want to pamper you, spoil you, take you on dates...”

Simon blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in Jeff’s words.

“Really?” he asked softly.

Jeff nodded.

“I don’t say things I don’t mean. Let me treat you the way you deserve.”

Simon felt a flutter in his chest, a mixture of excitement and disbelief. He had never been pursued so openly, so confidently.

“I... I think I’d like that,” he said.

Jeff grinned, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to Simon’s forehead.

“Then how about dinner tomorrow night? A proper date.”

Simon nodded eagerly.

“Okay.”

Jeff pulled him closer, his strong arms enveloping Simon. As they lay together, Simon felt a sense of warmth and security he hadn’t experienced before.

***

Here he was, sitting in a vinyl booth at a 24-hour diner across from Jeff, who looked very happy. The warm smell of fried food and syrup hung in the air as Jeff casually flipped through the menu.

“Are you hungry?” Jeff asked, noticing Simon fidgeting with his straw.

“Only a little,” Simon lied, though his stomach growled softly in protest.

Jeff chuckled, the sound rich and warm. He flagged down the waitress.

“Two cheeseburgers, two orders of fries and two chocolate milkshakes. Oh, and a plate of waffles with ice cream for dessert. Sound good?”

He winked at Simon. Simon opened his mouth to object but couldn’t bring himself to ruin Jeff’s enthusiasm.

“That’s… a lot of food.”

“You don’t have to finish it all,” Jeff said with a shrug, though the gleam in his eye suggested he hoped Simon would.

When the food arrived, Simon stared at the towering cheeseburger, the golden fries glistening beside it, and the decadent milkshake topped with whipped cream. Jeff dug in without hesitation, biting into his burger with gusto and groaning in satisfaction.

“You’ve gotta try this,” Jeff said between bites. “It’s amazing.”

Simon hesitated, but the aroma was too tempting. He took a cautious bite, the melted cheese and juicy patty practically melting in his mouth. Before he knew it, he was reaching for the fries, then sipping the milkshake. Jeff watched him with a satisfied smile.

“See? Told you it was good.”

By the time the waffles arrived, Simon was full but couldn’t say no when Jeff slid the plate toward him. Two scoops of vanilla ice cream oozed over the warm, syrup-drenched waffles.

“Just a bite,” Jeff said, though Simon noticed the encouraging tone.

Simon groaned as he took a forkful.

“You’re dangerous, you know that?”

“Only in the best way,” Jeff replied, smirking.

That first date set the tone for the beginning of relationship. Simon quickly discovered that Jeff had a talent for making indulgence seem irresistible. Every time they met—usually at Jeff’s spacious apartment, there was always something sweet in the kitchen. A pink box of fresh donuts on the counter. A chocolate cake with thick frosting in the fridge. A carton of premium ice cream in the freezer, always paired with Jeff’s insistence: “Have a little. You deserve it.” Jeff had a knack for making Simon feel special, showering him with compliments and small surprises. He’d pick Simon up after work, whisking him away to a cozy restaurant or back to his place, where they’d curl up with a movie and snacks. Jeff always seemed happiest when Simon gave in to his offers—taking the extra slice of pizza or savoring the brownie Jeff had baked himself.

At first, Simon didn’t think much of it. Jeff clearly loved seeing him happy, and the attention was intoxicating. But after about a month, Simon was starting to notice some changes. His skinny jeans felt a little tighter. His favorite shirt clung in places it hadn’t before. One evening, while stepping out of the shower, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His once-flat stomach now had a slight curve, and his face seemed a touch softer. When he stepped onto the scale, the digital numbers blinked back:

15 pounds heavier.

Jeff entered the bathroom. His gaze dropped to the way the briefs hugged Simon’s growing hips and how the waistband strained against his softening waistline. Simon turned, catching Jeff staring.

“What?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing. You’re just… perfect.”

Simon rolled his eyes, but his blush betrayed him.

“You always say that.”

“Because it’s true,” Jeff murmured, wrapping an arm around Simon’s waist. He tugged him close.

“And you know what? I think you’re getting even more perfect.”

Simon squirmed slightly but didn’t pull away.

“But I’ve gained weight.”

Jeff grinned.

“Yes. And I love every single bit of you.”

His hands slid down, cupping Simon’s ass.

“Especially this.”

Simon let out a surprised laugh.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Am I?”

Jeff tilted his head. He gave Simon a gentle squeeze, earning a mock glare.

Over the next few weeks, Jeff’s obsession grew more obvious. He loved surprising Simon with treats, always framing it as an act of care. He’d surprise Simon with his favorite pastries, or he’d whip up elaborate dinners that always ended with a rich dessert. He never outright said it, but Jeff was thrilled to see Simon indulging. And Simon—despite his initial reservations—found it hard to resist. Jeff was so good at making him feel cherished. “You deserve to be spoiled,” Jeff would say, handing him a plate of double-fudge brownies. “Let me take care of you.” The results were impossible to miss. Simon’s hips filled out his jeans in a way they hadn’t before, and his thighs started to press against the seams. His briefs became a challenge to pull on, the fabric stretching tight over his fuller ass, often leaving the top of his cheeks exposed. Jeff loved those moments—catching Simon struggling with a waistband or seeing him shift uncomfortably on the couch, adjusting the fit of his too-tight clothes.

***

Curled up on the couch one lazy Saturday night, Simon sat with a bowl of his favorite ice cream while Jeff rested his hand on Simon’s thigh. Jeff’s hand kneaded the soft flesh.

“You’re really into this, aren’t you?” Simon asked, glancing at Jeff with a teasing smile.

Jeff didn’t look embarrassed—if anything, he looked proud.

“Into what?”

“You know,” Simon said, gesturing vaguely at his body. “Fat.”

Jeff pulled him closer.

“I’m into you. I love everything about you. And yeah, I love that you’re letting me spoil you. I love how happy you look when you’re eating something you enjoy. And, if I’m being honest…” His hand slid lower, resting on Simon’s fuller backside. “I can’t get enough of how sexy you look.”

Simon’s face turned pink.

“You’re something else, you know that?”

Jeff’s adoration was undeniable, and it was hard for Simon not to feel flattered by all the attention. Still, he couldn’t ignore how his wardrobe was shrinking, or how every pair of briefs he owned now clung to him like a second skin, leaving little to the imagination. But every time he caught Jeff staring—his brown eyes full of love and hunger—Simon couldn’t help but feel a thrill.

After having a coffee the following morning, Simon stood in front of the mirror. He realized his ass had grown a lot, spilling over the top of his briefs and making it impossible to find pants that fit properly. His tits and belly looked bigger too. He sighed and ran a hand through his blond hair as Jeff walked into the bedroom, carrying a pink box of donuts.

“You bought donuts again?” Simon asked, narrowing his eyes.

Jeff grinned.

“Of course. You love these.”

Simon crossed his arms over his chest.

“Jeff, we need to talk.”

Jeff set the box down on the nightstand, his brow furrowing.

“What’s wrong?”

“This,” Simon said, gesturing to himself. “I’ve gained twenty pounds, Jeff. My clothes don’t fit. I can’t keep eating like this.”

Jeff stepped closer, his hands finding Simon’s love handles.

“Simon, you look incredible.”

“I look chubby, I'm not a twin anymore” Simon shot back, his cheeks flushing.

Jeff tilted his head, his brown eyes softening.

“You look hot. You’ve always been gorgeous, but now… I don’t know. I love you like this.” His hands slid down to cup Simon’s big ass, squeezing gently. “Especially this. It drives me crazy.”

Simon tried to pull away, but Jeff held him firmly.

“Jeff, I mean it. I need to go on a diet.”

“You don’t need to do anything,” Jeff said, his voice low and soothing. “You’re perfect the way you are.”

Before Simon could protest, Jeff pulled a donut out—a glazed, sugar-dusted ring that practically sparkled under the light.

“Open up,” Jeff said, holding it to Simon’s lips.

“Jeff, I—”

“Shh.”

Jeff’s other hand slid around to Simon’s belly, his fingers brushing over the soft curve.

“You know I love you,” he murmured, his tone dripping with adoration. “Let me take care of you.”

Simon hesitated, his resolve wavering. Jeff leaned closer, his lips brushing against Simon’s ear.

“You’re the hottest guy I’ve ever seen,” Jeff whispered. “You have no idea how crazy you make me, Simon.”

The sweet, buttery flavor melted on Simon’s tongue as Jeff’s hand continued its exploration, squeezing his developing man boobs and then reaching his dick.

“Good boy. You’re so sexy,” Jeff said, his hand jerking him off. “Every time I see you in these tight little briefs, I lose my mind.”

Simon swallowed.

“I don’t feel—”

“Shh,” Jeff cut him off. He picked up another donut, holding it between his fingers like it was something precious, and crouched to meet Simon’s gaze. “I love how soft you’ve gotten. How much you’ve let me take care of you.”

“Jeff…” Simon began, but his voice faltered when Jeff brought the second donut to his lips.

“Open,” Jeff said, his tone both gentle and commanding.

Simon hesitated but parted his lips. He took a bite, the sugary glaze melting on his tongue.

“Good,” Jeff said with a satisfied smile. “That’s my boy.”

Simon moaned as Jeff continued to feed him. By the time he was on his third donut, Jeff stop jerking him off and his fingers slipped under the waistband of his briefs, tugging it down to expose Simon’s round butt cheeks. He gave them a slap. Simon was torn between embarrassment and excitement.

“Do you really like my new curves?,” Simon asked.

“You have no idea,” Jeff replied, grabbing another donut.

Simon finished it slowly.

“I can’t eat anymore,” he murmured, his voice shaky.

“Yes, you can,” Jeff said, his hard dick now entering Simon's ass. “For me.”

Jeff gave Simon another donut.

“You’re everything I’ve ever wanted,” Jeff said, his voice thick with desire. “And you’re going to let me love every inch of you.”

***

A few months passed, and Simon barely recognized himself. His once-fitted clothes had long been replaced by stretchier options that could accommodate his growing figure. His belly was soft and round, resting comfortably over the waistband of his sweatpants, and his hips and thighs had thickened noticeably, giving him a fuller, almost plush appearance. Jeff, of course, was over the moon. His constant attention and affection made it impossible for Simon to feel anything but adored, even as he packed on more weight. Simon loved how Jeff’s eyes would light up every time he grabbed an extra helping or indulged in the treats Jeff always seemed to have on hand.

One Saturday afternoon, Simon sat on the couch of his shared apartment in his underwear, lazily scrolling through his phone. Michael arrived after being on a date.

“Holy crap,” he blurted out, his wide eyes scanning Simon’s body. “Look at you”

Simon glanced up.

“What?”

“You’ve gotten huge!” Michael said, gesturing toward Simon’s belly. “Is this Jeff’s doing?”

Simon shrugged, trying to hide his smile.

“He just likes spoiling me, okay?”

“Simon,” Michael said, exasperated. “You were, like, a twink icon, and now—” He trailed off, shaking his head. “I mean, are you happy?”

Simon looked down at himself, running a hand over his soft stomach. He thought about Jeff—the way he looked at Simon, touched him, worshiped him—and nodded.

“Yeah. I am.”

Michael groaned.

“Whatever.”

Simon was sprawled on Jeff’s bed later that night, recounting the interaction while Jeff rubbed his fat belly, grinning like he’d won the lottery.

“He called me huge.”

Jeff chuckled.

“He’s right,” Jeff said, his voice low and reverent. “You are huge now.”

Simon blushed.

“My sexy ex-twink,” Jeff murmured, pressing kisses to his belly. “You’ve let me take care of you so well. And look at you now. You’re perfect.”

His hands roamed freely, exploring every curve, every new softness. Simon shivered, his embarrassment melting under Jeff’s touch and words. He loved how much Jeff adored him, how desired he felt despite—or maybe because of—his growing body.

“You’re mine,” Jeff said. “My beautiful, fat boy. And I’m going to keep loving you—and feeding you—for as long as you let me.”

Simon moaned as Jeff’s mouth engulfed his dick. He didn’t really care about Michael’s reaction or the numbers on the scale. All that mattered was Jeff and the way he made him feel like the most cherished person in the world.

Jeff stirred awake, the morning sunlight streaming through the curtains. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he turned his head to see Simon already sitting up on the edge of the bed. He stretched, his arms reaching overhead, and Jeff couldn’t take his eyes off the way his soft belly rounded and shifted with the movement. His love handles curved gently over the waistband of his new briefs, which had also grown so tight that they seemed to struggle to contain him. The fabric cut into his hips, emphasizing the generous swell of his behind, which jiggled slightly as he stood. Jeff bit his lip as Simon hooked his thumbs into the waistband of the too-small briefs and tugged them down, revealing the full glory of Simon’s ass. It was round and plush, its fullness accentuated by the way it swayed naturally with each step toward the bathroom. His thighs rubbed together as he walked, the soft flesh shifting with every movement. As Simon stepped into the bathroom, Jeff heard the sound of the shower starting, water splashing against the tiles. He couldn’t resist any longer. Throwing the covers aside, he padded across the room and slipped into the steamy bathroom.

“Jeff!” Simon exclaimed, half-turning to look at Jeff.

“Couldn’t stay in bed,” Jeff said with a hard-on.

The water ran down Simon’s body in rivulets, highlighting every curve. His belly glistened under the spray, the soft flesh jiggling slightly as he shifted his weight. Jeff’s hands found Simon’s hips almost instinctively, pulling him close.

“You’re stunning,” Jeff murmured, his voice husky.

Simon rolled his eyes, though his lips curved into a shy smile.

“Well, I'm almost 300 pounds.”

Jeff's fingers started kneading Simon's belly, marveling at its warmth and softness.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he whispered.

Simon shivered as Jeff’s hands slid lower, tracing the curve of his thighs before moving back up to cup his ass. Jeff squeezed gently, his hands full.

“You’re obsessed,” Simon said, his voice breathy.

“Completely,” Jeff admitted, planting a kiss on Simon’s lips. “You’re everything to me. I love you”

“I love you too, but I'm worried I'll never be fat enough for you.”

Simon turned around and leaned against the smooth tile. Jeff's hands rested on Simon’s thick waist, fingers sinking slightly into the soft flesh. His round belly jiggled slightly with every shift, and his love handles spilled over Jeff’s large hands. Jeff’s touch was deliberate, reverent, as he let his palms slide along Simon’s sides, squeezing gently. Then his hands moved up, cupping Simon’s chest. His thumbs grazed over Simon’s soft man boobs, teasing the sensitive nipples. Simon gasped, arching his back slightly. Jeff leaned down to kiss the curve of Simon’s neck.

“I want to pamper you even more.”

Simon's belly quivered as Jeff’s hands wandered lower, gripping the wide curve of his ass.

“Even more?” Simon asked.

Jeff’s grip tightened, and he kneaded the round flesh, his hard dick digging into the softness.

“Oh, much more,” he said.

#gainer stories #gaining fat #gaining kink #gaining weight on purpose #gay gainer #gainer fiction

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mahalachives · 2 months ago

Text

Part 8: The Soul That Fled

🕊️TW: This chapter contains graphic depictions of Non-consensual sexual violence involving multiple perpetrators, assault, forced magical suppression, torture, and psychological trauma.

It also explores the emotional aftermath of these events from both the survivor's and the witness's perspectives, including dissociation, soul trauma, and survivor's guilt.

This content is extremely intense and disturbing, even in fictional context.

If these subjects are harmful or triggering for you, please skip this chapter or engage with caution.

Your well-being matters. 💛

Pairing: Azriel x F!Reader

Genre: angst, romcom, humor, fish out of water reader, canon (ish)

Summary: Murdered after a late-night study session in the modern world, you awaken in Prythian—still yourself, but with Fae features and the infamous title of Beron’s cold-hearted and ruthless daughter.

Then, fate snaps the mating bond into place between you and the shadowsinger, Azriel—who rejects it so fiercely, even the magic recoils.

You died a healer. You woke up a villain. Now fate’s mated you to who wants nothing to do with either—you’ll prove them all wrong, one heartbeat at a time.

Between Two Fires - Masterlist

The poison sang through Azriel's veins.

He had known many darknesses in his long life. The pitch of dungeons where he'd spent his childhood. The velvet of night skies above battlefields. The quiet absence in the spaces between stars that he sometimes thought might be the truest reflection of his own soul.

This was different. This darkness had teeth.

He fought it with the stubbornness that had kept him alive for centuries, each heartbeat a rebellion against surrender. Five hundred years of discipline demanded resistance, even as the toxin wound its way through carefully constructed defenses, dismantling the magic that made him immortal, that made him himself.

As his consciousness began to fray at the edges, Azriel became aware of your hands moving over his wound. Gentle, despite everything. Purposeful, despite what he deserved. He had carved rejection between you with the precision of Truth-Teller, and still, you chose to heal rather than harm.

Why? he wanted to ask, but his voice belonged to the poison now.

His body grew heavy, anchored to the realm by pain alone, while something deeper, something golden and ancient, pulled him elsewhere.

The bond that he had feared, that he had rejected, now wrapped around his failing consciousness like a lifeline thrown to a drowning man.

How strange, he thought distantly, that the very thing he'd run from would be his salvation. How fitting, perhaps, that it would lead him not toward light but into another kind of darkness altogether.

Into memory that was not his own.

Into yours.

Time fractured as he slipped between the layers of your shared existence. The shadowsinger who had cataloged centuries of suffering, who had measured pain in careful increments, who had learned to read agony in the minute expressions of his victims... that shadowsinger found himself suddenly, terribly unprepared.

For shadows recognized shadows.

And yours were vast beyond measuring.

He had wandered the darkest corners of Prythian's history. Had memorized the architecture of cruelty across High Fae courts. Had both witnessed and delivered precise suffering when Rhysand's plans required it. Had stared unflinching into abysses that would have shattered lesser beings.

None of it, not one moment in five centuries of darkness, had prepared him for this descent into the quiet catastrophe of your past.

A flash of light—soul-light, memory-light—pierced the veil between worlds.

Azriel drifted through time like smoke through shattered glass.

His shadows, those faithful companions of five centuries, reached ahead as if tasting a forgotten sweetness. They had known darkness in all its forms: the crushing weight of dungeons, the hollow void of night skies, the cold absence between stars.

Yet this darkness was different; it held memory, it held you.

The clearing materialized like a painting rendered in firelight. Autumn in its purest form, not the bitter political machinations of Beron's court, but autumn as it was meant to be.

Leaves burning gold and crimson in their slow, beautiful death; the scent of earth preparing for slumber; sunlight filtered through a canopy of fire.

And you.

Oh, you.

Azriel had witnessed beauty across realms.

Had seen sunrise over the Sea. Had watched starfall from mountain peaks. Had observed the deadly grace of Illyrian warriors in flight.

None compared to you in this moment, fingers trailing lazy patterns in water, face upturned to dappled light, humming a melody that reached inside him and touched something he'd thought long dead.

He moved closer, drawn by an instinct older than training. His shadows flowed toward you like water finding its natural course, stretching across time to cradle what they could not touch.

What was stolen from you?

What was stolen from us?

The question formed unbidden, startling in its possessiveness. He had rejected the bond, had severed connection with cruel precision. Yet here, witnessing who you had been, something ancient and nameless stirred beneath his ribs.

Recognition. Kinship.

The terrible knowledge that you had been carved from the same wounded material as he, gentle souls forced into weapons by others' cruelty.

A deer approached through sun-dappled shadow. You stilled, becoming statue-perfect save for eyes tracking its cautious advance. Your patience spoke of understanding that trust, once broken, must be earned again through consistent gentleness.

Hadn't he learned that same lesson through centuries of careful friendship with Mor, with Cassian, with Rhys? The parallels between you struck him with physical force.

"There you are," you murmured, voice soft as ember-light. "I was beginning to think you wouldn't come today."

Your smile as the deer accepted your offering...

Mother above, that smile.

It transformed features Azriel had only ever seen hardened by calculated cruelty.

He knelt before you, shadowsinger become supplicant. His scarred hand reached through time to touch what could never be touched. If only he could have known you then.

"Sister! Are you talking to animals again?"

A younger Lucien emerged between trees, whole in ways Azriel had never witnessed: unscarred, unbroken, eyes matched and innocent of horrors to come.

You mock-glared at your brother. "You scared him away."

"He'll be back tomorrow," Lucien replied, dropping beside you with easy confidence that would later be beaten into watchful wariness. "They always come back to you."

"Not if you keep blundering around the forest like a newborn bear."

Your teasing carried genuine warmth. Another revelation. Another piece of a puzzle Azriel hadn't known needed solving.

During war councils, he'd seen only calculated distance between you and your brothers. Had assumed coldness innate rather than learned. How many other assumptions had he made, about you, about himself, about the bond that connected and terrified you both?

Lucien peered at your sketchbook. "More healing herbs? Father won't be pleased."

A shadow crossed your face, swift, suppressed, significant. The spymaster in Azriel recognized that concealment. He'd performed it countless times when Rhys or Cassian ventured too near buried wounds.

"Father doesn't need to know everything."

Secretive, even then.

Hiding gifts meant for healing rather than harming. The irony struck him like a physical blow, you, practicing concealment to protect tenderness; him, practicing tenderness to conceal deadly skill. Mirror images, reversed but matching.

"Your secret's safe with me," Lucien assured, bumping your shoulder companionably. "Though I still think you should show the healers. Your knowledge could help people."

Azriel's shadows stretched toward the sketchbook, trying to preserve that evidence of your true nature. They traced illustrations with the reverence of scholars discovering ancient texts, each careful line a testament to patience, to precision, to purpose beyond pain.

"Maybe someday," you said softly, closing the book. "When the time is right."

Lucien studied you, expression uncharacteristically serious. "You know, sometimes I think you were born into the wrong court. You have fire in you, yes, but not the kind Father values."

"Careful," you warned without heat. "That's dangerously close to treason."

"It's the truth," he insisted. "Your fire heals rather than destroys. There's no shame in that."

You smiled at him, gratitude warming your eyes. "Thank you for seeing me, brother. Sometimes I think you're the only one who does."

I see you now.

Too late. Always too late.

The memory shimmered, edges dissolving into golden light. Azriel's shadows stretched desperately, trying to hold together what was already fading. He recognized approaching tragedy with the intimacy of old lovers, had cataloged its patterns across five centuries of blood and battlefields.

But this was different.

This wasn't witnessing another's pain with professional detachment.

This was feeling the approaching horror as if it were his own, perhaps because, in some cosmic way, it was.

The bond connecting you had transcended time, had brought him to this moment not as observer but as participant.

"Get out."

Your voice, your subconscious, rippled through his consciousness. Not memory but imminent confrontation.

"These aren't yours to see."

His shadows recoiled instinctively. They recognized boundaries of pain; he had taught them such restraint over centuries. Never take more than necessary. Never violate another's suffering without purpose.

"Forgive me," he whispered to the dissolving scene, to the girl you had been, to the female you had become.

But the bond pulled harder, golden thread becoming golden chain. It dragged him deeper against both your wills, into darkness shot through with winter frost. The memory of what was lost gave way to the horror of its taking.

The golden bond between them trembled violently, a dying star collapsing in on itself.

Azriel had endured five centuries of war, interrogation, and depravity, but nothing—nothing—had prepared him for this.

The bond yanked his consciousness sideways, tearing him from the Autumn Court gardens. His wings instinctively flared to catch himself, but there was no physical space to navigate.

Only the golden thread connecting your souls remained, pulsing with ancient magic no shadowsinger's training could have prepared him for.

For a breathless, eternal moment, he was neither here nor there, suspended in a liminal space where time ceased meaning. His shadows curled protectively around him like children seeking shelter, sensing danger but finding nothing tangible to fight.

The disorientation was unlike anything he'd experienced... worse than winnowing gone wrong, more violating than even Rhysand's mind-walking.

Then, with violent clarity, the memory crystallized around him.

Winter Court's delegation feast, perhaps two centuries ago.

Azriel's soul wept before his mind could comprehend why.

Some deep, primal part of him already knew what awaited, even as his conscious thoughts scrambled to make sense of this displacement.

His shadows thinned and spread, seeking purchase in a reality that wasn't quite real, their agitation mirroring the frantic beating of his heart.

The Winter Court's great hall breathed frost with each collective exhale of its occupants. Ice sculptures depicting the hunt lined the walls: predator and prey frozen in eternal pursuit. Unlike most diplomatic celebrations, the atmosphere carried an undercurrent of tension that made Azriel's centuries-honed instincts scream in alarm.

His spectral form tried to reach for Truth-Teller, muscle memory responding to perceived threat, only to grasp emptiness.

His shadows writhed in distress, seeking the familiar weight of his blade and finding nothing but memory and mist.

The opulence was obscene.

The mingling of courts created a sensory tapestry too vivid for mere recollection. This wasn't simply remembering; the bond had made him a witness to something far more intimate than memory.

Each detail assaulted his senses with precision that bordered on torture: the warm copper-gold light of Autumn Court chandeliers battling the crystalline blue radiance of Winter Court magic. Heat and frost waged their ancient war in the very air. He could taste the conflict on his tongue: cinnamon and woodsmoke overwhelmed by the sharp, cutting bite of fresh snow.

His gaze found you immediately.

Like a compass finding true north, like a dying man seeking water, like a shadow yearning for darkness. As if his entire being had been calibrated to locate you regardless of time or distance.

You stood alone.

A rush of protective fury surged through him, shocking in its intensity. His heart stuttered beneath the phantom sensation of ribs.

Isolation in court gatherings was never accidental. Never safe.

Centuries as Rhys's spymaster had taught him to recognize patterns of predation across courts. His fingers itched for Truth-Teller, his oldest companion, his most faithful tool. Helplessness clawed at him, a suffocating weight pressing on his chest.

The shadows around him whimpered, actually whimpered, a sound he'd never heard from them before.

They sensed his distress and shared it, amplified it, until the feeling threatened to drown him entirely.

The golden gown you wore was a declaration of defiance, burnished amber and molten copper in a sea of Winter Court blues and silvers.

Your hair caught torchlight and transformed it, not merely reflecting but enhancing, as if you were the source of all flame in the room.

You were beautiful. And you were in danger.

His stomach twisted with dread, primal and overwhelming.

Was this what drowning felt like?

This crushing weight on his chest, this burning in his lungs?

Azriel's shadows condensed into dark ribbons that strained toward you, as if to warn or protect, before dissolving against the immutable barrier of time. His wings flexed, the phantom sensation of battle-readiness coursing through him. Every instinct screamed a warning his conscious mind was still piecing together.

"Please," he whispered to the uncaring void of memory. "Please let me be wrong."

The pattern revealed itself with terrible clarity: your position near the high windows, too far from Autumn Court allies; the subtle shifting of Winter Court nobles creating a barrier of blue and silver bodies; the way servants had stopped offering you wine, isolating you from even that minor protection.

You had been positioned precisely like prey before a winter hunt.

Separated. Isolated. Displayed.

The male who approached moved with a predator's grace that made Azriel's shadows coil and hiss. Snow-white skin with veins of palest blue visible beneath, like cracks in ancient ice. Eyes deeper than midwinter midnight. Lips curved in a smile that held no warmth, only the promise of devastation disguised as passion.

"Lord Kieraven," the name pulled from Azriel's spectral lips before he could stop it. Knowledge that wasn't his flooded his consciousness. Distant cousin to Kallias. Not powerful enough to rule but privileged enough to remain untouchable.

Known for his particular fondness for fire magic—specifically, for extinguishing it.

Memory fragments flickered through Azriel's mind. Intelligence reports he'd filed centuries ago about Winter Court power structures, snippets about Kieraven that hadn't seemed significant then.

He recalled, with sudden clarity, dispatching the Winter lord himself during the war with Hybern. The noble's dying expression flashed in his mind—shock that the shadowsinger had chosen him specifically from the battlefield.

A fierce, vindictive satisfaction blazed through Azriel's veins. His shadows danced with savage pleasure. He hadn't known why he'd felt compelled to end that particular noble, but the bond was showing him now. Some part of him had sensed a debt needing payment. His only regret was that death had come too quickly, too mercifully, for what Kieraven had done.

"Lady of Autumn," Kieraven murmured, voice like a frozen river, smooth surface hiding killing currents beneath. "Your beauty outshines even your court's legendary fire."

Azriel's shadows thinned to razor edges, stretching toward Kieraven as if to flay him where he stood. Rage boiled through him, ancient and terrible. His carefully constructed walls of control crumbled with each passing second, shadows twisting into unrecognizable shapes that reflected his growing horror.

You replied with practiced diplomacy, your voice carrying the measured cadence of someone raised in political battlefields. "You honor me with such words, Lord Kieraven, though I suspect you offer them to all visiting diplomats."

The words themselves were forgotten the moment they left your lips as Azriel cataloged what others would miss.

The infinitesimal tightening of your fingers around your goblet, nails pressing white half-moons into your palms; the barely perceptible shift of weight to your back foot; the subtle scanning of the room for allies. Fight-or-flight instinct already activated while your conscious mind still navigated court politics.

Azriel recognized your fear—had cataloged such micro-expressions for centuries. But never had another's fear affected him so viscerally. His own heartbeat accelerated to match yours, his muscles tensing in unconscious mimicry of your readiness to flee. The bond between you vibrated with shared dread.

"Not flattery if it's true." Kieraven's fingers, long and elegant, tipped with the faintest blue that spoke of controlled Winter magic, brushed yours as he offered a goblet. The touch lingered, a deliberate invasion of your space, possession disguised as courtesy.

Azriel's awareness expanded, taking in the entire room with the tactical precision five centuries of spycraft had honed. Five Winter Court nobles had shifted positions, creating a subtle perimeter. Two Autumn Court guards who should have been nearby had disappeared entirely. Eris was engaged across the hall, deep in conversation with three Winter nobles, his back deliberately turned.

Not coincidence. Planned separation.

Understanding slammed into Azriel like a physical blow. This had been orchestrated. The separation from protection. The isolation. The calculated approach. Eris's convenient distraction.

A wave of self-loathing crashed through him, bitter as poison.

Recognition hit him with sickeningly familiar weight.

How many females had he witnessed in the shadows as they were cornered by powerful males? How many reports had he filed on violations when information was deemed more valuable than intervention?

Acid shame flooded his mouth, bitter and burning.

The taste of complicity. He wanted to vomit, to scream, to tear Kieraven limb from limb—but most of all, he wanted to erase his own culpability in centuries of similar predations, all justified in the name of intelligence gathering.

"Perhaps we might speak privately," Kieraven suggested, hand settling at the small of your back, fingers splayed possessively over your gown.

Even through memory, Azriel could feel the winter chill emanating from that touch. Not physical cold but something darker, an intent that frosted the very air between you.

His shadows lashed toward Kieraven again—a futile gesture against a memory two centuries old. Yet the violence of his reaction disturbed him.

His breathing came in short, sharp bursts, his vision narrowing until all he could see was the Winter lord's hand defiling the gold silk of your gown.

You attempted retreat, voice maintaining the careful neutrality of court politics. "I'm afraid I must decline, my lord. My father expects—"

The transformation was instantaneous. Charm to cruelty in the space between heartbeats. Kieraven's face hardened, frost literally forming around his fingertips where they dug into your waist.

"Your father expects you to secure Winter Court's goodwill." His voice dropped to a whisper meant for your ears alone, but the bond carried it to Azriel with perfect clarity. "Don't you think it's time you fulfilled your purpose?"

Kieraven's meaning crystallized with terrible clarity in Azriel's mind. The specific way he emphasized "fulfilled your purpose" carried centuries of entitlement, of females treated as currency between courts. A transaction Beron had clearly authorized.

The question burned like acid.

Now, seeing you—feeling through the bond your rising fear masked behind diplomatic composure—made him realize how hollow those justifications had been.

You lifted your chin, summoning dignity that made Azriel's chest ache with unexpected pride. "You misunderstand my purpose here, Lord Kieraven. I represent Autumn Court's diplomatic interests, not its... hospitality services."

The refusal was measured, diplomatic, final. Delivered with the poise of someone born and bred to navigate deadly courts.

Something that might have been admiration flickered through Azriel. A strange warmth blossomed in his chest, so at odds with the horror of witnessing what he couldn't change.

Kieraven's face contorted with quiet rage, "You'll regret that choice."

The memory shifted, the great hall dissolving into a more intimate scene.

You slipping from the gathering, seeking momentary solitude in a corridor adorned with Autumn Court's sigils. A place where you should have been safe.

Azriel recognized your tactical error immediately and wanted to scream a warning across time. No diplomat should ever seek isolation during hostile negotiations.

His centuries of training screamed at the vulnerability of your position—alone in a corridor, away from witnesses, in hostile territory. The terror of foreknowledge clawed at his throat, wild and desperate.

Please, no.

The sound of footsteps echoed against stone walls. Not one set, but many.

Azriel's body tensed, shadows coiling around him like armor as he braced for what he knew would come. He found himself at your side, unable to affect events yet unwilling to abandon you to face this alone.

Every sinew in his spectral form strained against the constraints of time and memory, his very essence rebelling against his role as helpless witness.

"Did you really think you could embarrass me before both courts without consequence?" Kieraven's voice carried a chill that frosted the very air between you.

You turned to find Kieraven blocking the corridor. Eleven other Winter Court males emerged from adjoining passageways. Surrounding you. Cutting off every escape route. The precise formation spoke of planning, of premeditation.

Azriel's spymaster mind calculated odds with the detachment of centuries of training—twelve against one, a female without combat skills, in a hostile territory with magic designed specifically to counter her natural abilities.

No possibility of victory. No chance of escape. The clinical assessment made him hate himself all the more.

"What is the meaning of this?" Your voice remained steady despite the fear-scent that filled the memory-space, so potent Azriel could taste your terror on his tongue. "My father will—"

"Your father," Kieraven interrupted, frost patterns forming on the walls around him as his control slipped, "sent you to us as a gift. One you refused to properly deliver."

The words hit Azriel like a physical blow, confirmation of his worst suspicion. This hadn't been opportunistic predation. This had been arranged. Sanctioned. Sold. The brutal truth of it cleaved through his composure, leaving raw, bleeding fury in its wake.

He fought against the memory's pull with everything he had, shadows lashing wild patterns against the constraints of time and space.

He cried your name, the sound tearing from his throat with such force it should have shattered the memory-walls around them. The scream echoed in the void between past and present, carrying five hundred years of rage and helplessness.

"STOP!"

Your voice, your subconscious, tore through the memory-space, desperate and raw.

Shadows that were not Azriel's surged between him and the memory, trying to block his view. The bond trembled violently, the golden thread connecting you stretching so thin it seemed it might snap.

"I don't want you to see this."

The memory surged forward, implacable as fate itself.

What followed unfolded with merciless clarity.

Kieraven struck first.

He grabbed you by the throat and slammed you into the wall so hard the stone behind you cracked. The impact forced the air from your lungs.

Your vision spun. Cold rolled off his skin in waves. Not the ordinary chill of Winter Court nobility, but something deeper. Something ancient. The kind of cold that settled into marrow, that crawled into the soul.

"The Autumn Court bitch thinks herself better than us," he spat, leaning close, his breath frosting the air between you. "But look how easily she burns."

You struggled. Your hands sparked, the fire in your veins instinctive, but it flickered once, then vanished.

A second male seized your wrist, another your ankle. Cold hands.

Magic laced through their fingers as they dragged you down, tearing your gown as they did. The fabric shredded under them, silk splitting like skin. Your scream followed, a raw, animal sound, but it was cut off too quickly. Kieraven's hand clamped over your mouth.

Azriel fell to his knees.

His shadows scattered like startled birds.

His heart didn't beat, it convulsed.

The bond pulled taut, a golden thread soaked red with what was coming.

His mouth opened to scream. Nothing came. Not your name. Not his own. Only air. Only silence.

Only memory that wouldn't stop bleeding.

Your body thrashed in their grip, but already you were surrounded.

Four males. Then six.

Then more.

Their bodies a cage of silver and blue. Their eyes glittered, not with lust, but with domination. With power. With ritual.

Ice magic bloomed across your bare skin, slow and creeping like frost over glass. It wasn't just suppression, it was invasion. It slipped beneath your skin, laced through your blood, calcified your flame. You writhed as your magic betrayed you, collapsed inside you, turned brittle and useless.

Your screams froze in your throat before they could even leave.

The silence wasn't still.

It screamed.

Azriel clawed at his chest, as if he could rip the bond out of his ribcage. As if he could stop feeling your bones break through his own skin.

His hands trembled. No grip. No ground. No breath.

Even his shadows refused him. They huddled in corners, flickering with grief. No blades. No barriers. No salvation.

Your limbs were forced outward. Your wrists pinned to cold stone. Ankles held wide.

Every inch of you exposed to their cruelty.

The chill on your skin was more than winter, it was shame. A shame so visceral it burned hotter than your fire ever had.

You tried to fight, gods, you tried, but they were prepared.

Each hand on your body was placed with precision. Each move choreographed. Your power suppressed. Your limbs restrained. Your mouth silenced.

One male took your face in his hand and turned it toward him. "The fire's gone now," he said with a grin. "Now we see what's left underneath."

The others laughed. That laughter echoed off stone walls like the shattering of glass.

Azriel's shadows clawed at the barriers of time until they bled smoke.

His skin split open in sympathy with yours, invisible wounds mirroring every violation. Through the ringing in his ears, he heard someone calling his name.

Rhys? No, it was you. Not present you, but the girl you were before they ruined you. Screaming, sobbing, begging, whispering his name like a prayer in a language he didn't know how to answer.

He reached for Truth-Teller, for wings, for any weapon, any strength he had ever possessed. His hands passed through memory, through time, grasping nothing.

Sweat beaded on his skin despite the cold. Bile rose in his throat. The room spun, reality fracturing around him while you suffered in perfect clarity.

He was a boy again. Hands nailed to stone. Blood in his mouth. But it wasn't his. It was yours.

His memories collapsed in on themselves until there was no line between past and present, between who had suffered and who was suffering now.

They touched you. Violated you.

Passed you from hand to hand like a thing. They didn't speak after the first, no taunts, no questions, no pleasure. Only duty. Only cruelty. As if this was a rite. A purge.

Each of the thirteen took something.

One crushed your fire.

Another twisted your arm until it snapped.

A third forced Winter magic into your mouth, through your teeth, until your tongue blistered.

One dislocated your hip.

Another froze your feet to the floor until your skin split open when you were torn free.

There was no dignity in this. Only desecration.

Pain was constant.

It had no beginning, no crescendo, no mercy.

And through the bond, Azriel felt it all.

As if it were happening to him. As if his own body were being torn apart while his mind remained intact, forced to witness, to experience, to understand.

Azriel's scarred hands trembled uncontrollably against the memory-floor. Sweat drenched his body, his leathers clinging to his skin as violent tremors wracked his frame. Blood filled his mouth where he'd bitten through his tongue, metallic and sharp. He couldn't feel his wings anymore, they'd gone numb with his horror, hanging like dead weight from his back.

The guilt wrapped around his throat like a rope, each second dragging tighter.

He should have known. Should have seen. Should have been there. He hadn't. And now it was carved into him, a sin that would never stop bleeding.

Your body shut down. Your mind tried to flee. He felt that too, the disassociation.

The split.

The moment when you began to float outside yourself, watching from somewhere above. The only defense left to you.

He could feel your soul splinter.

A thread snapped.

Something sacred was torn.

And he mourned.

His body convulsed. It wasn't a sob, but something more primal, a physical rejection of what he witnessed.

His stomach heaved, emptying itself onto the memory-floor. Shadows poured from his mouth with the bile, twisting into shapes of such anguish that they became unrecognizable.

His face contorted, veins standing out on his temples as he fought for breath against the crushing weight of your trauma.

He, the great shadowsinger. The killer of kings. The nightmare in the dark. On his knees in a memory he could not stop, unable to do anything but scream into the void and feel your suffering as his own. Five centuries of training.

Five centuries of killing. Five centuries of power. All meaningless in this moment. He could not save you. He could not even look away.

One noble bent to whisper in your ear. "This is what you were born for."

Azriel's shadows exploded. Darkness erupted outward from him in a tidal wave, tearing through the memory like a silent storm. He knew it would do nothing. He knew the past could not be touched.

But it didn't matter.

He would not let it go unanswered.

The scene shifted, a jarring transition.

Autumn Court guards discovered your body, their shock at finding you still breathing evident in their careful handling. Their whispers reached Azriel with perfect clarity.

"How is she still alive?"

"No one could survive this."

"Her pelvis is completely shattered," one guard reported, voice shaking. "Both legs broken. Five ribs puncturing her lungs. Her right shoulder and elbow dislocated. Three fingers on the left hand missing entirely. Frost magic in her bloodstream. And the... the internal damage..." He couldn't continue.

But you had survived. Somehow.

You survived.

Azriel fell forward, pressing his forehead to the memory-floor. His wings draped over you both, a shield against horror he couldn't escape. His shoulders shook with silent reverence. The survivor in him recognized something in you that transcended the breaking, a core of steel that even torture couldn't reach.

Where I might have surrendered, you endured.

Then Beron, standing over your healing table, face twisted not with fury at what had been done to his daughter, but with contempt at the political complication your assault created.

"Foolish girl," he hissed, flames erupting around his clenched fists, casting ominous shadows across your broken body. "Did I not tell you to behave appropriately? To represent this court with dignity?"

Something in Azriel broke.

A sound erupted from him, part growl, part scream, all predator. His lips pulled back from his teeth in a feral snarl.

His shadows solidified, taking physical form for the first time in memory. Truth-Teller appeared in his hand, conjured from pure hatred. His pupils dilated until his eyes were black pools rimmed with gold fire.

"I will end you," he promised Beron, the words a vow written in blood. "Father or not. High Lord or not. For this alone, you die."

The killing rage that surged through him transcended anything he'd experienced in five centuries of battle. His shadows lashed out with such violent force that the memory itself seemed to waver.

"She was found at the border," one healer reported quietly, hands shaking as they hovered over your wounds. "Impaled on a Winter Court tree."

"And the perpetrators?" Beron's voice held no concern for you, only calculation.

"No trace, my lord."

Beron's expression hardened further. "Say nothing of this. To anyone. Not even her mother or brothers."

"But my lord, she requires—"

"She requires discretion," Beron interrupted, voice deadly soft. "Heal her body if you can. But this incident never happened. Is that understood?"

The healers nodded, terror evident in their trembling hands as they resumed work on your shattered body. No one dared speak against the High Lord, though their expressions betrayed their horror at his callousness.

"You failed her," Azriel snarled, the words meaningless to ears that could not hear him. "You all failed her."

Azriel could only watch with mounting horror as the healers worked over your broken form.

Something in your eyes began to change.

The light dimming, the spark of the woman he'd glimpsed by the forest pool fading into nothingness. Blue frost patterns remained beneath your skin where Winter magic had taken root, refusing to dissipate despite the healers' efforts.

And then came the transformation that truly chilled him to the bone.

Over the following weeks, as your body healed but your spirit remained shattered, Azriel witnessed it.

The memory timeline accelerated, showing flickering moments across months, then years, to centuries.

Your eyes, once warm with compassion, grew cold and calculating. The curve of your lips, once quick to smile, hardened into a permanent sneer. Your hands, which had once healed with gentle touch, now dealt pain with mechanical precision.

You became what trauma had forged. A weapon.

Your first kill came three months after the assault. A servant who spilled wine on your gown during a feast. The room fell silent as you placed your hand against his chest and channeled fire directly into his heart.

His body crumpled to ash before it hit the floor. You didn't blink. Didn't flinch. Just returned to your meal while servants hastily swept away the remains.

Beron's smile that night was one of sick pride.

Azriel recognized the hollowness in your eyes. His own stared back at him from countless reflections after his own torture. The void where something vital once lived. He had almost become this, would have become this without his brothers. The knowledge settled in his gut like stone.

The second kill followed a week later. A courtier who dared mention the Winter Court in your presence.

His screams echoed through the castle for hours before he finally died, his body a testament to your newfound creativity with flame.

By the time another year had passed, your reputation had spread throughout Prythian. The Lady of Autumn, they called you in whispers. Cold as Winter but burning with Autumn's fire. A contradiction wrapped in cruelty. Beautiful and untouchable. Those who approached too closely vanished in screams and ash.

Through the bond, he felt it happen.

Your soul fracturing, tearing, one piece clinging desperately to your body while another fled, seeking escape from unbearable pain.

Azriel reached forward with trembling fingers, trying to hold the pieces together. His shadows joined his effort, stretching toward the breaking golden light of your essence. His face contorted with desperate concentration, as if by sheer will he could prevent what had already happened.

It wasn't instantaneous. The fracture began that night in the Winter Court corridor, widened during the hours on the tree, and continued to split during the weeks of physical healing.

Each new callous comment from Beron, each dismissal of your suffering, each night of untreated nightmares widened the crack.

Until finally, during a particularly horrific flashback, something broke completely.

One remained tethered to your Fae body, calcifying into something cold and lethal. The other fled, across worlds, across realities, seeking refuge in a form untouched by Prythian's horrors.

It felt like his own soul was being torn apart.

His shadows split into two distinct groups. One remaining with his spectral form, the other flowing toward you on the healing table, instinctively trying to hold the pieces of your soul together.

But they couldn't. Nothing could. The tear was too profound, the wound too deep.

His consciousness followed the fleeing half of your soul, pulled by the golden bond that connected you. The memory-vision blurred, reality dissolving into golden light that surrounded him, buoyed him, carried him across the boundaries between worlds.

The experience was nothing like winnowing, which merely folded space within Prythian. This was a shattering of cosmic barriers, a journey across realities that shouldn't have been possible.

The hospital room materialized around him with shocking clarity.

Sterile white walls, strange beeping devices, tubes and wires connecting the still form on the bed to machines he couldn't comprehend.

Your human form, so similar to your Fae body yet subtly different. Softer. More fragile. Untouched by the horrors your other half had endured.

Around the bed, human figures, family, he supposed, maintained their vigil. A woman who shared your human features wept silently, holding your unresponsive hand. A male, perhaps a father or brother, stood by the window, face haggard with grief.

"Come back to us," the woman whispered, and Azriel felt the words reach toward your soul across the void that separated conscious thought from wherever you had retreated.

But he could see what they could not, the golden thread that connected this human vessel to a Fae body in another world entirely.

You found a way to survive.

When there was no escape, you created one.

Azriel lurched awake with a strangled gasp, wings flaring violently in the pre-dawn darkness.

Shadows exploded from his skin, not with their usual controlled precision but in chaotic bursts that plunged the room into impenetrable night. His scarred hand seized Truth-Teller before his eyes had fully opened.

Then he felt it—wetness tracking down his face.

Tears. In five centuries of nightmares, of reliving his own torture and the weight of countless deaths, he had never once cried in his sleep.

"You were crying."

Your voice cut through his darkness like the first light of dawn. His senses, always razor-sharp, had failed to detect your presence—he'd been too consumed by the visions the bond had forced upon him.

His eyes found you standing at the foot of his bed. Morning light filtered through the windows, limning you in amber and gold, turning your hair to living flame. The sight of you stole what little breath remained in his lungs.

"Bad dreams?" you asked.

Something in how you said it—the understanding that only comes from walking through nightmares yourself—made his shadows curl back protectively around him.

"The bond shows me things," Azriel said, watching your reaction carefully. "Your world. The hospital room where part of you still dreams. The machines keeping watch with their steady, metallic heartbeats."

Your sharp intake of breath seemed to pull all oxygen from the room. Fear flashed across your face, not of him, but of truths you weren't ready to face.

"You've seen... my other life?" The words barely formed a whisper.

Azriel nodded once. His shadows coiled tighter, though rebellious tendrils still strained toward the answering golden light beneath your skin.

"I've seen your human family," he said, gaze never leaving yours. "Their vigil at your bedside. The prayers they whisper over your unmoving hands. Their refusal to surrender hope."

The color drained from your face as you stepped back. "How much do you know?"

His shadows reacted to his inner conflict, painting the walls with frantic, jagged patterns.

The bond had shown him everything, your assault, your soul's desperate flight from unbearable pain, but he could see those memories remained locked behind walls your mind had built to protect itself.

"I know enough," he said finally, voice gentling despite the rage still simmering beneath his skin. "I know you exist between worlds, suspended between lives, belonging fully to neither."

He watched your face for signs of distress, of memories threatening to surface. But he saw only confusion and wariness, and beneath that, desperate hope that someone finally understood.

"There are...gaps," you admitted, so quietly only Fae hearing could catch it. "Times I can't remember. Feelings that appear from nowhere, like I'm borrowing someone else's heart."

The admission seemed to surprise you as much as him, a vulnerability you hadn't meant to reveal. The bond pulsed in response, acknowledging the trust such words required.

"Sometimes the mind shields us from what we're not ready to remember," Azriel said softly. His wings shifted unconsciously, creating a sheltered space that included you within their span. "There's no shame in that."

Your eyes widened, understanding dawning like stars appearing one by one. "You know more than you're telling me."

Azriel's silence was answer enough.

A single tear escaped down your cheek. The mating bond flared in response, golden light seeping through both your bodies like twin flames fed by the same source.

"Why won't you tell me everything?" you whispered.

"Because some truths should be followed to their source, not poured into unprepared vessels," he said, his voice steady despite the storm raging inside him. "And because choice was stolen from you once. I won't be another thief."

Something in your expression shifted at his words, a wall crumbling, a door creaking open. Your fear softened to cautious wonder.

"You really mean that," you said, half statement, half question.

"I've had five centuries to learn the sanctity of choice," Azriel replied, the ghosts of his own trauma briefly visible in his eyes. "Of agency. Of deciding one's own fate when all other freedoms have been stolen."

Ember and Sizzle materialized beside you, their pink flame forms crackling protectively. They studied Azriel with suspicious intensity before Ember cautiously approached. The tiny creature hopped onto the bed, then settled near Azriel's scarred hand. Not touching, but close.

"I should go," you said finally. "The healers are expecting me."

Azriel nodded, making no move to stop you.

But as you turned to leave, something broke inside him, some final barrier between duty and need.

With a wince he couldn't hide, Azriel pushed himself from the bed. His movements betrayed the wounds still healing beneath his leathers. Shadows curled around him as he crossed the chamber in three swift strides.

Then, before you could react, he knelt at your feet.

The gesture was so unexpected, so contrary to everything you knew of the feared shadowsinger, that you stepped back. But Azriel remained where he was, head bowed, shadows spread around him like wings darker than those folded against his back.

"I make this vow to you," he said, voice raw with emotion he'd stopped trying to hide. "Not because the bond demands it, but because I have seen all that you are across worlds and cannot bear the thought of your light dimming."

Your breath caught in your throat. The weight of his words pressed against your chest, not crushing, but anchoring you to this moment.

He looked up, meeting your startled gaze with eyes that burned with such fierce devotion it stole what little breath remained.

Five centuries of controlled fury now focused solely on you with the precision of a blade crafted for one purpose.

"I vow that no one, not Beron, not the courts, not reality itself will ever again inscribe your destiny but you." His voice shook with the effort of laying himself bare. "Your choices will be yours alone."

His hands trembled at his sides, the effort it took not to reach for you written in every line of his body.

"Even if—" His voice faltered, and for the first time in five centuries, the shadowsinger struggled to master himself. "Even if those choices lead you away from me."

The bond between you flared, golden light bleeding through both your skins, responding to truth where pretty words would have fallen short.

The shadows around him deepened, no longer the calculated extensions of his will but raw manifestations of his soul laid bare. They created a living circle of darkness that surrounded you both, intimate as a whispered confession.

"I vow to stand between you and harm," he continued, each word carved from his very being, "not because you lack strength, but because you've already carried too much alone."

His voice dropped lower, until each word felt like a caress against your skin.

"I vow to be the silence that listens when you speak," he said, "the darkness that shelters when light wounds. To learn your silences, to honor your spirit in all its broken, beautiful glory."

His scarred hands—instruments of centuries of death—remained at his sides, making no move to touch you.

His fingers curled into fists, as if physically restraining themselves from reaching for what they had no right to claim.

"I vow to be patient as mountains, steadfast as stars." The tendons in his neck strained with the effort of offering everything while asking nothing. "To wait centuries if needed, to accept only what you freely give."

The chamber around you seemed to hold its breath as his final words took form.

"I bind myself not to you, but to your freedom," he said, the vow settling around you both like a constellation newly born, "your right to determine what you become."

You stood frozen, overwhelmed by what he offered. No male in your experience had ever placed a female's sovereignty above even a mating bond's demands.

"Azriel, get up," you finally managed, the word barely audible.

Azriel obeyed immediately, returning to his full height though he remained close enough that his scent—night-chilled stone and cedar—enveloped you like the promise of shelter in storm.

"Why?" The question escaped before you could stop it.

His gaze did not waver. "Because in five centuries of darkness, I never knew I was blind until your light showed me my own soul."

The simplicity of his answer, the raw honesty of it, nearly undid you.

"Can you..." you began, then faltered. Taking a deep breath, you tried again. "Can you help me find my way back? Home, I mean. To my real body."

For a heartbeat, everything showed on Azriel's face—the devastation of your request, the selfish desire to refuse. The bond between you spasmed as if in physical pain. His shadows recoiled, then coiled tighter as if protecting him from a blow that had already landed.

But then, deliberately, he mastered himself. His expression smoothed into something that cost him dearly to maintain.

"If that is your heart's true desire," he said, each word a river of emotion carefully channeled between banks of control, "then I will tear apart the fabric between worlds with my bare hands if it would grant you peace."

The promise clearly flayed him alive—you could see it in the tightening of his jaw, the subtle tensing of his wings, the way his shadows trembled, but he made it anyway. Honoring your choice even as it carved pieces from his soul.

"Thank you," you whispered, the words inadequate but all you could manage past the tightness in your throat.

Azriel inclined his head, accepting your gratitude though it must have felt like swallowing fire.

You took a step back, needing space to process what had just happened. The flame bunnies followed, though Ember cast one last look at Azriel before reluctantly joining you.

At the door, you paused, looking back. "I don't know what I'll choose in the end."

The hope that flared in his eyes was quickly banked, carefully controlled, but unmistakable as sunrise. "Whatever you choose," he said, voice steady only through centuries of discipline, "I will honor it as I would honor my own heartbeat."

Something that might have been a smile ghosted across your lips before you turned away. The sight of it made his heart clench in his chest, a glimpse of possibility where before he had seen only walls.

The door closed behind you with a soft click that echoed in the hollow space of your chest.

Azriel remained perfectly still for several heartbeats after you left.

The memory clung to him like smoke, seeping into his skin, his lungs, his bones. His scarred hands trembled uncontrollably as he tried to breathe through the aftershocks.

He made it three steps before his knees buckled. Truth-Teller clattered to the floor.

Then came the sound, not a sob, not a growl. Just something breaking.

Your screams still echoed in his ears. The cold of that corridor. The laughter of those males. The smell of your blood on snow.

The room was too quiet now. Too still. A silence that rang louder than your screams.

He lurched toward the bathroom, barely making it before his stomach emptied itself. His shoulders heaved as he retched, tasting bile and fury and impotent rage.

When there was nothing left to purge, he slid to the floor, back against the cold tile wall. His wings dragged awkwardly, joints refusing to cooperate.

The first tear fell then, sliding silently down his cheek. Another followed. Then another, until his face was wet with grief.

Five centuries of discipline shattered like glass as sobs tore from his throat. Each one painful. Each one raw. His shadows recoiled from him, terrified by this display of emotion from their master who had taught them control above all else.

I failed you.

The thought crushed against his ribs like a physical weight.

Mother above, I failed you.

He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to stop the violent trembling that had overtaken his body. The scars on his palms caught on the leather of his fighting clothes as he clutched at his own shoulders.

He had never broken like this. Not during his imprisonment in that lightless cell. Not in the centuries of blood and battlefields that followed. He had built his reputation on control, on emotionless precision, on perfect, deadly calm.

I should have been there.

I should have known.

Gods, I failed you.

The thoughts repeated, blades twisting deeper with each iteration. The tears wouldn't stop. They flowed as if an ancient dam had finally broken, carrying centuries of suppressed emotion. He buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking with the force of his anguish.

His shadows finally approached cautiously, curling around him like concerned children. They had never seen their master like this, utterly broken open, utterly vulnerable.

They will pay.

The thought formed with perfect, crystalline clarity amidst his grief.

Every one of them still living.

Every one who touched you.

Every one who watched.

He saw it again, the moment your soul tore in two. Remembered the sound, like silk ripping, like a star dying. The terrible beauty of that golden light splitting, one half fleeing across worlds, the other calcifying into armor around what remained.

This understanding only made him crumble further, made his chest heave with sobs that felt like they might break his ribs. He tried to regain control, tried to force the tears to stop, but they continued to pour down his face, dripping onto the tile floor beneath him.

In this moment, he wasn't Rhysand's shadowsinger. Wasn't the Night Court's most feared assassin. He was just a male, kneeling alone on a bathroom floor, heart breaking for suffering he couldn't prevent.

The shadows tried to comfort him, wrapping around his shoulders, his wings, his trembling hands. But they couldn't reach the wound that had been torn open inside him, the raw, bleeding awareness of his failure to protect something precious.

I'll guard what remains.

The vow formed somewhere beneath the tears, solid as stone.

I'll never fail you again.

He rested his forehead on his knees, arms wrapped around his legs, making himself as small as possible, as if he could somehow contain the devastating grief that poured from him.

For the first time in five centuries, Azriel, shadowsinger of the Night Court, cried until there were no tears left to shed. Until his throat was raw and his eyes were swollen. Until his shadows had gathered around him in silent vigil, witnessing this transformation, this breaking, this rebirth.

His shadows, once wild and frantic, began to still. As if recognizing the shape of a vow. As if honoring it.

Finally, when the tears subsided into occasional shuddering breaths, he lifted his face. His eyes were bloodshot, his features swollen with grief.

I will find them all.

The oath settled in his bones with cold finality.

And when I do, death will seem a mercy.

He pushed himself up, movements stiff and pained. In the mirror, he barely recognized himself, face ravaged by tears, eyes red-rimmed and swollen, shadows still curling protectively around his shoulders.

He looked like what he was: a male who had witnessed something unholy and been forever changed by it.

He splashed cold water on his face, the chill a shock against his heated skin. Then he straightened, squared his shoulders, and faced his reflection. Not to check the damage, but to look himself in the eyes.

To bear it. To earn the right to one day bear your gaze again.

I am yours, as you are mine. Whether you want me or not.

The vow settled in his bones with finality. This was his purpose now. Not Rhysand's missions. Not court politics. Not ancient vendettas.

You. All parts of you.

The broken and the healing. The cruel and the kind. The fragments across worlds.

His to protect. His to avenge. His to guard.

He picked up Truth-Teller with unsteady hands.

Not a weapon tonight. Just a reminder.

He opened the bathroom door, shoulders set with new determination.

The grief would come again, he knew. The images would haunt him. But they would also drive him.

He wasn't healed. He wasn't whole. But something had cracked open. Like stone split by frost. And through it, something new might one day grow.

His tears had washed away something old to make room for something new, a shadowsinger with purpose beyond court and war. A male who had finally found something worth fighting for beyond duty and brotherhood.

You.

You stumbled back to your chambers, Azriel's vow reverberating in your mind. Each word had carved itself into your memory with the precision of Truth-Teller's edge.

"Is kneeling and swearing eternal oaths what passes for flirting in Prythian?" you muttered, pressing fingers to your flushed cheeks. "Whatever happened to awkward small talk over wine?"

The bond pulsed in response, a golden thread beneath your skin that sent warmth cascading through your veins.

Ember and Sizzle materialized in twin pops of flame, immediately launching into a dramatic reenactment. Ember dropped to his tiny knees, paws clasped in supplication, mimicking Azriel's intensity with such ridiculous devotion that you snorted despite yourself.

"I'm glad someone finds this amusing," you said, collapsing onto your bed. The mattress sank beneath you, cradling your exhausted body.

Your fingers brushed against the leather journal in your pocket. The worn cover felt warm against your skin. You hesitated, then pulled it out.

"I shouldn't read this," you told the bunnies, already turning pages. "Major invasion of privacy."

The first entry made you choke on a laugh.

"What is a submarine? Some underwater house? Why would anyone put a door with holes in it underwater? Filed under: Makes no sense but I understand completely."

"He's been documenting everything!" you exclaimed, fingertips trembling slightly as you flipped through more pages.

A knock interrupted your reading. A servant bowed when you opened the door.

"My lady, Lords Eris and Lucien request your presence in the eastern gardens. The meeting with Lord Thesan and the shadowsinger has concluded."

Your heart stammered against your ribs. "What meeting?"

"I believe it concerns the Autumn Court," she replied carefully. "They asked for you specifically."

You hurried to the gardens, journal still clutched in your hand. The eternal dawn cast long shadows across the carefully tended paths. As you rounded the final corner, you spotted Eris and Lucien standing with Azriel beneath a blooming tree.

The shadowsinger's back was to you, his wings folded tight against his spine, but his posture changed the moment your scent hit the air.

Lucien looked grim, his metal eye whirring faster than usual. Eris's face was a mask of cold fury, lips pressed into a bloodless line, until he saw you. His expression softened instantly.

Azriel turned, and the raw emotion in his eyes knocked the breath from your lungs. His shadows stretched toward you before he reined them in, but not before one tendril brushed your ankle.

"What's happening?" you demanded, heart pounding. "Why wasn't I included?"

Eris's gaze flicked to Azriel, sharp as a blade. "Shadowsinger, leave us. This is a family matter."

A muscle ticked in Azriel's jaw. His shadows darkened, coiling tightly around him. For a moment, you thought he might refuse, but then he bowed his head in a gesture of surprising deference.

"As you wish," he said quietly. His voice was midnight stone, cool and impenetrable. The words were for Eris, but his eyes found yours. "I'll be nearby if needed."

With that, he dissolved into darkness, though the bond tugged insistently in the direction he'd vanished.

Once he was gone, Eris's shoulders dropped a fraction, the knife-edge of his posture dulling just enough to reveal something more human underneath.

"I've declared the northern territories of Autumn Court in rebellion against Beron," he said, his voice precise as a surgeon's blade. "Dawn Court has granted sanctuary and military aid."

Cold shock washed through you, the bond trembling with your fear. "You're starting a civil war?"

"A war that's been brewing for centuries," Eris replied, each word cut from ice. "Beron's time has ended."

"Why now?" you asked, stomach twisting into knots. "What's changed?"

Lucien moved closer, his expression gentling. Before you could respond, Lucien closed the distance between you. His arms wrapped around you in an embrace so unexpected that you froze, the journal pressed awkwardly between you.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, voice breaking. You could feel him trembling. "I'm sorry for failing you. For not being the brother you deserved."

You stood shocked, uncertain how to respond. Over his shoulder, you saw Eris watching, his amber eyes burning with an emotion you'd never witnessed there before.

"I'll protect you," Lucien continued, pulling back to meet your gaze. His metal eye whirred, focusing with fierce intensity. "I swear it on the Mother, on my blood, on whatever remains of my honor."

"We protect our own," Eris echoed. Unlike Lucien, he maintained his distance, but the vow in his voice cut deeper than any blade. "Whatever the cost."

You looked between them, Lucien's open emotion, Eris's restrained intensity, and felt something shift inside you. Not the mating bond, but something equally profound. The bond of family, forged in shared purpose.

"Beron will retaliate," Eris continued, voice hardening until it could have shattered stone. "You can't stay in Dawn Court. It's not defensible enough."

The bond reacted to your rising concern, pulsing beneath your breastbone. It felt like warning, like protection.

"The Night Court has offered sanctuary," Lucien said, his metal eye gleaming with determination.

"The Night Court?" Your voice rose slightly. The bond flared, golden warmth spreading through your chest. "With Azriel?"

Something that might have been amusement flickered in Eris's eyes, there and gone like a spark from a fire. "Despite my personal feelings about the shadowsinger, his protection is... formidable."

"You'll have choices there," Lucien assured you, warmth infusing his words. "You'll have freedom."

The word resonated within you. Your fingers tightened around the journal, its leather warm against your skin.

"Do I have a choice now?" you asked. "Or has this already been decided?"

The brothers exchanged a look laden with centuries of understanding.

"The choice is yours," Lucien said, his voice gentle. "Always."

"But we strongly advise Night Court protection," Eris added, amber eyes never leaving yours.

Ember and Sizzle materialized on your shoulders, sensing your uncertainty. Ember nuzzled against your cheek, his tiny flame form surprisingly comforting. Sizzle puffed herself up, growing to twice her size as if preparing to defend you from your own brothers.

"I'll go to the Night Court," you said finally. The bond hummed in approval, sending warmth through your veins. "But this isn't forever. When Beron is dealt with, I decide where I belong."

"Agreed," Lucien said immediately.

Eris nodded once, the gesture somehow more binding than any oath. "We'll send word when it's safe."

As arrangements were made around you, a shadow tendril briefly touched your hand. Azriel, listening from the darkness, acknowledging your choice without intruding.

The bond responded instantly, golden light briefly visible beneath your skin where the shadow had touched. Not rejection. Not possession. But recognition.

Looking at your brothers, one openly protective, one fiercely reserved, you felt something you hadn't expected. Belonging.

Whatever awaited in your future with a certain shadowsinger, you wouldn't face it alone.

The Dawn Court servants had packed most of your belongings. All that remained were your personal items and deciding which of Azriel's gifts to bring. You stood over the drawer containing them, his journal warm in your hands, your fingers tracing the worn leather cover.

A whisper of darkness gathered at your balcony, like night itself had taken form. Shadows curled and danced in invitation before Azriel himself appeared, moonlight silvering the edges of his wings.

"May I enter?" he asked, his voice deep velvet in the twilight. He remained outside, waiting with a patience that seemed etched into his very being.

You stiffened, heart betraying you with a quickened beat. "Why are you here?"

"Your brothers asked me to check final arrangements," he replied, but something in his eyes, a vulnerability that belied his warrior's stance, suggested another reason entirely.

You nodded, placing the journal back in the drawer. "Fine. Come in."

He stepped inside, wings tucked tight against his back, not the predatory male you'd first met, but someone humbled, careful. You moved to the opposite side of the room, pretending not to notice how the bond between you brightened at his nearness, golden light briefly visible beneath your skin.

Silence stretched between you, fragile as spun glass. Ember and Sizzle materialized, their tiny flame bodies casting warm light across your face. They stayed beside you, but their eyes remained fixed on Azriel with unmistakable longing.

"Are you prepared for tomorrow's journey?" Azriel finally asked, shadows betraying his nervousness, reaching toward you before he pulled them back.

"As prepared as one can be when shuttled between courts like a parcel," you replied, your tone softer than intended. Something about the night, about his presence, made your carefully constructed walls seem suddenly transparent.

He didn't flinch, but his shadows curled inward, as if absorbing your words. "Your world," he said unexpectedly, eyes finding yours across the distance. "What was it like?"

The question caught you off guard. "Why do you want to know?"

His gaze didn't waver. "Because it made you," he answered simply. "And that makes it important."

Your breath caught, the raw honesty disarming you more effectively than any practiced charm. "Is this small talk? Because you're terrible at it."

A smile, rare and beautiful, touched his lips. "Is it working anyway?"

Despite yourself, warmth bloomed in your chest. "Maybe."

"Tell me," he said, voice falling to an intimate murmur that seemed designed for secrets shared in darkness. "Please."

You moved to the balcony, gesturing for him to join you beneath the stars. His scent, night-chilled stone and cedar, enveloped you as he drew near, careful to maintain the space you needed.

"Submarines are vessels that travel underwater," you explained, watching wonder transform his severe features. "Like ships, but beneath the surface."

"And screen doors?"

Your answering laugh surprised you both. "They're mesh doors that keep insects out while letting air in, useless on submarines, hence the saying."

"Your world sounds fascinating," he said, gaze lingering on your smile.

"Says the immortal shadowsinger," you countered, noticing how starlight caught in his eyes, turning them to liquid gold.

His attention fell to your mouth. "What about...yeeting?"

"Oh god." Heat rushed to your face.

Laughter bubbled up from some long-forgotten place inside you. Ember and Sizzle suddenly formed tiny flame balls and flinging them while squeaking what could only be their version of "yeet."

"No, no!" you exclaimed through giggles. "No yeeting fire indoors!"

Azriel's shadows darted out, catching the flame balls before they could cause damage. What happened next stole your breath, darkness and fire merged, spiraling together in a dance of opposing elements that somehow created something new, something beautiful.

"I didn't know they could do that," you whispered, momentarily forgetting the distance you'd imposed.

"Neither did I," Azriel replied, watching the interaction with wonder. "Looks like we create something beautiful together."

The implication hung in the air between you, not a challenge, but a truth offered without expectation.

"What do you miss most about your world?" Azriel asked, his voice a caress in the darkness.

"Coffee," you admitted, leaning against the balcony rail, face tilted toward stars you were beginning to recognize. "And the people who'd make it for me on bad days."

His hazel eyes lit with genuine curiosity. "What is this coffee? I've heard you mention it before."

"It's a drink made from roasted beans. Bitter, but in the best way possible. People get addicted to it."

One of his shadows curled forward with interest. "Your world has recreational poisons?"

You laughed, the sound startling in its genuineness. "We have so many. Coffee, alcohol, sugar, social media..."

"Social... media?" His brow furrowed, shadows mimicking his confusion in swirling patterns.

"Imagine if everyone in Prythian could instantly send messages to everyone else, at all times of day, and also show pictures of their breakfast."

A rare smile tugged at his lips. "That sounds..."

"Horrible? It absolutely is," you grinned. "I was completely addicted."

"You miss things that are horrible for you?" His shadows danced with amusement.

"Humans are complicated like that." You gestured to the night sky. "We also had metal contraptions that flew without wings. Cars that moved without horses. Tiny devices that held all the world's knowledge in your pocket."

Azriel leaned closer, completely enraptured. "Tell me more about these... cars?"

"Metal boxes with wheels and engines. They go really fast, but also kill thousands of people every year."

"Your world sounds terrifying," he said, but his tone conveyed fascination, not judgment.

"We also had medicine that could cure most diseases. Buildings that touched the clouds. Devices that let you talk to someone across the world instantly."

"Yet you say 'yeet' when throwing things," he noted with unexpected dry humor.

You burst out laughing. "Did you just make a joke? The terrifying shadowsinger made a joke!"

For the next hour, you described smartphones, internet, airplanes, and television. Azriel listened with increasing amazement, his shadows occasionally forming shapes that resembled what you described—tiny cars, miniature airplanes, even a crude approximation of a smartphone.

"Your world sounds interesting," he said finally. "Creative. Innovative."

"It's also polluted, overcrowded, and constantly at war," you admitted. "No place is perfect."

His expression grew serious as he reached into his leathers. "I have something for you."

From within his leathers, he produced a small object wrapped in midnight blue silk. His scarred fingers barely grazed yours as he placed it in your palm, but even that brief contact sent warmth cascading through your veins.

Inside lay a delicate silver charm—a tiny flame crafted with remarkable detail, suspended on a fine chain. Within the flame swirled what looked like living shadow, dancing and pulsing with quiet life.

"I asked Amren to bind your flame to my shadow," Azriel explained, his voice rough with emotion. "It'll grow warmer the closer I am."

His shadows caressed the charm as if reluctant to part with this piece of himself.

"And if you ever need me," he continued, eyes meeting yours with fierce intensity, "break it. The bond will bring me to you, across any distance."

You held the charm against your heart, understanding the gift's true significance—not possession, but protection. Not demand, but devotion.

"I know your path is yours to choose," he said, voice breaking slightly. "But if you ever need someone who will come without question, without hesitation..." His scarred hand hovered near your cheek, not quite touching. "Let it be me."

Before you could respond, a commotion erupted below. Azriel's shadows instantly darkened, stretching toward the sound as his body tensed, warrior replacing poet in the space of a heartbeat.

Lucien appeared at your door, face grim. "We have to leave. Now. Beron's forces breached the defenses."

"How?" Azriel demanded, wings flaring protectively around you.

"Betrayal," Lucien answered. "Someone inside let them through."

The charm burned warm against your skin, its promise suddenly vital.

"Get her to Velaris," Lucien commanded. "I'll hold them here."

"And Eris?" you asked, heart pounding.

"Captured."

Azriel moved toward you with predatory grace, the tender male of moments ago transformed into living shadow. His fingertips finally brushed your cheek, the touch so gentle it made your eyes burn with unshed tears.

"Stay behind me," he said, voice midnight steel. "Always."

As he cradled you against his chest, you felt his heart beating in perfect rhythm with yours, the bond between you no longer a chain but a lifeline.

Through the windows, orange flame bloomed in the distance. Velaris lay ahead, but behind you, everything you'd begun to trust was burning.

As Azriel launched into the night, wings unfurling like destruction made beautiful, you slipped the necklace over your head and pressed the charm between your bodies, where fire and shadow already danced together, creating something neither of you had imagined possible.

Author’s Note: This was one of the hardest chapters I have ever written. It deals with trauma, helplessness, and the echoes of pain that linger in love. Nothing here is for shock value. It is about survival, silence, and the grief of watching someone you care for break.

If you have lived through something like this, or love someone who has, I see you. This story does not claim to define that pain, but it does seek to honor it.

Please take care while reading. Step away if needed. Your peace matters. 🕊️

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