#So I’m really enjoying what they’re doing with her too

[madamechrissy]

you found me

art in the banner by @ayushnz_on X

pairings - nanny nanami x single mom reader

summary - you are exhausted, a single mother and running a huge marketing company, and your sweet little daughter Yuuka is honestly a menace. She's chased away every single Nanny you've tried to hire! All alone with her, you just decide to start bringing her to work, when a man walks in who might as well be Mary fucking Poppins - Nanami Kento. Sweet, patient, and Yuuka just loves him on sight, you pay his very high salary and promise no overtime. But Nanami grows to love what is becoming a family too much, and you grow to crave more and more of his time. The lines blur - what's professional and what's real?

contents/warnings - so fluffy I'm surprised at myself , hurt/comfort, reader is a mom, past abuse from her ex, eventual smut, sexual tension, humor, Nanami being a sweetheart, Yuuka being adorable, found family vibes! - this chap - sexual tension like a mf, a lot of hurt/comfort, but also a lot of cuteness!!! Opening up about reader's past trauma, mentions of abuse, making out (yayy) lil bit of grinding on Mr. Nanami, some emotional angst, and them being awkward hehe - wc-7k

mini series based on the drabble here! Tags are open <3

<<<part one - part three>>> (soon)

part two

“Do you wanna bring Mommy some sushi to work?” Nanami asks Yuuka, she’s in the back in her little pink booster seat, nodding and giggling.

“Yes! Mommy loves that!” He chuckles, turning toward his favorite sushi place now, it’s been a week since he almost kissed you.

It’s driven him crazy, since then he’s tried to be more professional, but the movie night is scheduled tonight again, and this time you all are going to see one together at the theater. It makes it feel too much like a date, to the point Nanami bought a bouquet of flowers that’s sitting on his kitchen counter, he kept contemplating if that was okay or not.

You have been as sweet as ever, but he can tell what happened made things just a little different, every mere brush of your hand meant too much. Even now, taking care of Yuuka means too much, as he feels more and more affection tugging at his heart, the little spitting image of you is too precious and he enjoys spending time with her and you, truly.

It seems unfair to get paid this well to be in your lives.

Nanami got like this with a few other kids he took care off – Yuuji, Megumi and Nobara. They were bratty, misbehaved children really, that somehow his friend Satoru Gojo had adopted. Nanami still goes over there often, but Satoru’s finally come around as they had gotten older, a big kid himself really, but he misses them even now.

He’ll miss you and Yuuka when you move on, too, but for now he tries not to think of that, pulling into the parking lot. “Mommy loves you.”

“W-what now?” He turns in his seat, raising a brow, and Yuuka’s giggling in delight, kicking her little feet around.

“She said it! She loves you!”

“I’m sure she… meant she loves me around.” He clears his throat now, opening the door and helping her out of the seat.

“I love you!”

He chuckles, easing just a bit and taking her hand. “You’re so sweet I don’t know where the rumors came from, Yuuka.”

“They lied.” She gets this mad little glare that he can’t help but laugh at, gesturing his head now.

“Let’s go get her something yummy.”

“Yes!” As they walk in, he sees them then – Satoru and the kids, they’ve grown so tall now, they’re all in middle school. But they light up when they see him.

“Nanamin!” Yuuji runs up all bright eyed, hugging him, Nanami chuckles and ruffles his hair, Satoru turns from the counter and waves at him.

“It’s Nanami! Kids, it's your real dad.”

“Dear god, Satoru.” He rolls his eyes, people are looking now, but Gojo’s maniacally grinning.

“The kids miss you, honey come home.” He pouts, Yuuji snorts but Megumi and Nobara roll their eyes.

“This is why I quit, I can’t stand you,” he grumbles, Yuuka is standing behind his leg then, peeking out, and Nobara comes up, crouching down now. “This is Yuuka.”

“Hi there, aren’t you so pretty?” Nobara says, Yuuka steps out, still tugging on Nanami’s pant leg, but smiles at her.

“So are you!” Nobara smiles, and Yuuji glares at her.

“Why are you so nice to everyone but me?”

“Because you’re annoying.”

“You’re all annoying, tch,” Megumi runs a hand through his dark locks, sighing and stepping over now. “Hey Nanami.”

“Hey kid,” Nanami watches while Nobara and Yuuka start talking about a necklace she’s wearing, Satoru has their order and eyes the girls.

“Nobara being nice, huh? Weird.” Gojo says, and she glares at him.

“She was nice to me,” Nanami says, and Gojo rolls his eyes. “You really are annoying.”

“You miss me, huh?”

“Maybe,” Gojo wraps an arm around Nanami now. “I’m going to get food, do you mind watching her for a moment, Nobara?”

“No worries!” Nanami smiles, the Sushi place is bustling now, as more and more people enter, Satoru follows Nanami up to the counter, the girl there is pretty, she’s making eyes at Nanami.

“Can I get you anything else?” She asks, batting her lashes and leaning forward, Satoru’s snorting in laughter, barely holding back, Nanami clears his throat.

“No, that’s all, thank you.” He smiles and hands her a generous tip, before walking a bit with Satoru, who lowers his obnoxious sunglasses. “What is it?”

“You didn’t think she was pretty? She was basically begging for your number,” Nanami rubs the back of his neck, lowering his eyes now. “Shit, did Mr. Nanamin get a girlfriend?”

“No, I don’t have a girlfriend.” He can’t call you that, even if he sees you every single day, and now that he’s thinking of it, that fucking hurts.

He can’t see anyone but you.

“You do! Give me the details, come on,” Nanami scoffs, looking over at Yuuka who is happily babbling away, the center of attention. “Is it… her mom?”

“No!? I mean… no? I mean…”

“You like someone!”

“Shush, Satoru.” Nanami shoves his friend who annoys the ever loving shit out of him, but he’s relentless.

“You do! Is bachelor Nanami finally going to find someone?”

“Should ask you that, three kids and no wife, scandalous.”

“Nanami has jokes.” Satoru’s snickering, watching his friend’s blush form on his cheeks. “So you don’t like her then? Is it someone else?”

“There’s no one else…” Satoru gets serious for a moment, as Nanami realizes what spilled from his lips. “You really are too much you know.”

“Nanami, if you like someone, just say it,” Satoru’s oddly serious for just a little bit, he has his surprising moments of clarity. “Don’t wait forever.”

Nanami hears it, the feelings he’s carrying, looking at his friend curiously. “That sounds personal.”

“Yeah well, maybe it is,” he runs a hand through his white locks, sighing a bit. Nanami finally takes a breath, Gojo raises a brow. “You good?”

“No, I do have… I already feel things? And it’s not professional.”

“You were in love with me too it’s-”

“Satoru.” he’s chuckling, shaking his head.

“Sorry, continue.”

“God,” he wipes a hand across his face now, shaking his head. “It’s not professional to act the way I want to, not at all. And the last thing I’d ever want to do is confuse Yuuka if anything didn’t work out.” Satoru puts a hand on Nanami’s shoulder, patting it then.

“You think too much, y’know that right?” Satoru drawls those words out, Nanami’s jaw clenches as he looks at his friend.

“And you don’t think at all.”

“Yes, but that’s how I ended up with those three,” he nudges his head, and Nanami’s lips quirk up. “And imagine that not happening.”

“You may have a point, but don’t get excited about it.” Yuuka runs up to Nanami with a necklace on, Nobara is behind her.

“She really likes it, she said she’ll give it back to me next time I see her,” Nobara is a softie for kids, really. Nanami can’t help but enjoy seeing Yuuka near the other kids so dear to him, picturing you by his side in a way that’s disconcerting.

He can’t shake it off completely.

“That’s so sweet. Yuuka, did you say thank you?” He gets down on his haunches, so he’s closer to Yuuka’s height.

“I did! I wanna see her again!” She’s waving her arms excitedly.

“We’ll have to have you all come over,” Gojo says, ruffling Yuuka’s hair, she giggles and hugs his leg. Satoru’s oddly good with kids, maybe because he is a kid. “Bring your mom too.”

Nanami glares, Satoru’s grinning. “Yes, my mommy! Nanami, can we go play?”

“We will some time then, but we need to bring your mom lunch, remember?” He says goodbye to the kids – well they’re teens now – it makes Nanami feel old honestly, when he’s not even thirty yet. Even Gojo makes him feel old though. “I’ll see you all later, yeah?”

“Don’t forget our play date, Papa.” Nanami flips off Satoru behind his back, making them laugh, luckily Yuuka doesn’t see.

Gojo’s words ring through his head, what if he did wait too long? What if someone else realized how amazing you are? But then, what if you didn’t feel the same, what if you were just tired that night, the wine hit too much? You haven’t made any mention of it since, and now he’s a little lost in thought about it.

What he feels he’s never felt before.

*****

“Where's the hot nanny?” Yuki is the other CEO of the building, and probably one of your best friends. You blush as she waltzes in, tall and blond and intimidating every man she comes near, she’s got a little smirk on her face. “You’re blushing! Is the hot nanny off the market?”

“No!? He’s not!?” You scowl now, shutting the door behind her, she laughs a bit, sitting in your office chair. “You’re a brat, Yuki.”

“Am I? Gonna punish me mommy?”

“Oh, you!” You spin her in the chair, she laughs and then tugs at you, until you’re sitting in her damn lap. “Yuki I’ll never date you.”

“Yet,” you snort at that, sighing then and wrapping an arm around her neck, resting your head on it. “You okay baby?”

“No, I guess I’m not. I really do like him, and we almost…”

“Fucked?”

“Kissed!? You’re a slut.” She sticks her tongue out as you giggle.

“You’ve got slutty thoughts, stop lying. You got it bad.”

“Shush! I don’t want to lose him as Yuuka’s nanny, and I don’t know if he feels the same? He hasn’t come near me since. Maybe he felt… sorry for me because I am so pathetically alone.”

“As if, you’re a wealthy CEO baddie, okay? And a milf.”

“Maybe I will date you.” She’s got you giggling, you snuggle her again. She’d been a big part of the reason you did leave your ex and were okay without him.

“If you like him, just say so.”

“It’s not that simple, and it’s so early. He’s only been around a little bit, Yuuka just loves him, I can’t risk her happiness like that.” She sighs, brows knitting together when the door opens, and Nanami sees you on Yuki’s lap, bringing a blush to his face. Yuuka however just runs up.

“Yuki! Up, up!” You hop off her lap and Yuki does just that, snatching her up in the air, Nanami walks over to you with a clear white bag, styrofoam boxes inside.

“Oh, what’s all this?” You ask softly, walking up to him, hating how much his cologne makes you just ache. 

“Sushi, you need food at work too, you know.” Your hands brush each other when he hands you the bag, and Yuki takes notice.

“Hey, wanna go get cookies from my office, kiddo?” She asks Yuuka, she eagerly agrees, and you catch Yuki’s little wink. “We’ll be back in a bit, you two.”

She shuts the door behind her gently, leaving you and Nanami completely alone, still awkwardly holding the bag. “You didn’t have to bring me lunch, though I’m so glad you both came.”

“It’s nothing really,” you sit down and open it, he watches your eyes glitter and can’t help but find you adorable. “You are hungry.”

“Shush, maybe. Come eat with me!” You stand again, tugging over one of the spin chairs, Nanami hesitates. “Please? I’d love you to.”

“I got it for you, though.”

“You got enough for us to share, sit.” He slides next to you, as you lay the sushi out carefully, your heart racing at his nearness. His thigh brushes against yours, he’s wearing a soft knit tan sweater and khaki slacks, looking like he’d be so comfy to just snuggle against, to straddle-

Stop that!

“You look flushed, darling are you all right?” He asks softly, a cool hand on your forehead, that word making you blush worse. “Tell me you’re not coming down with something, you do know stress can make you literally sick, right?”

“No, no I’m fine. It’s just warm.” You go to dip a piece in some soy sauce, holding it up for him with your chop sticks now. “You first.”

You’re feeding him – Nanami almost can’t handle that.

He opens his lips as you pop the piece in his mouth, he chews carefully, eyes shutting for a moment, his blond lashes casting shadows on the planes of his face with the sunlight filtering through. He’s so handsome in that moment you’re left staring with your lips parted, he smiles easily at you, wiping a little drip of sauce from the corner of his mouth.

“It’s delicious, now you eat,” he unsnaps his chopsticks now, picking a piece for you himself, holding it up. “Open up.”

That makes you think the filthiest things, your thighs press together, eyes wide as you just stare at him, and he’s holding it there, waiting. Open up, all you can picture is him making you get on your knees, his long finger tugging at your hair at the nape of your neck, you unzipping those slacks. Pleasing him with your mouth, hearing him moan and murmur – darling.

It’s actually too much.

“You better eat something,” he says sternly, you finally shove that lewd little thought back, clearing your throat and taking the piece in your mouth. “Good girl. I mean!?”

“Oh…” He’s a blushing mess just like you now, covering his face and grimacing. “It’s fine I know you didn’t mean it that way.”

He did. 

All Nanami could think of was you opening your mouth for him.

“I’m so sorry, really I don’t want you to ever be uncomfortable with me.”

“That’s the furthest from the truth,” you take his hand, easing it off his face now, feeling it warm against your own, grown just a little sweaty from your nerves. “Nanami, I trust you enough to care for Yuuka, of course I feel comfortable with you.”

He looks down at your little hand, swallowed by his own, so big and just a little rough, callouses brushing your delicate skin, and he just leaves his hand there, eyes locking with your own. If it was just attraction, Nanami would be fine, he’s not an inexperienced man even if he’s been a bit selective. He’s not this teenage boy you make him feel like.

He brushes his thumb across your knuckles, bringing them to his lips, pressing a sweet kiss on them that melts you completely, butterflies in your tummy turning violent at the action. It should be considered respectful, kind, he’s a gentleman and you know he is. Yet it’s just addling your brain even further, of how those lips must feel pressed everywhere.

“Thank you for trusting me,” he takes a breath then, unable to let your hand go, his eyes fluttering when he kisses the backs of your fingers. Your heart is hammering in your chest so quickly you feel almost dizzy from the contact, something so chaste and sweet. “I ran into my really good friend today, and the kids I started watching. It’s how I became a ‘manny’ as you call me.”

You giggle, leaning closer, dying to know more about the man next to you. “Oh really? Did they miss you?”

“Yeah, I guess so. Yuuka loved them… I thought maybe you could both come with me sometime to see them?”

“Oh goodness, of course! If it’s not an imposition?”

“Not at all, you’re…” important to me. “You’re…” dear to me.

“I’m what, Kento?” You don’t know what it does to him when you say that, when you whisper those words.

“You and Yuuka have become…” He trails off again, clearing his throat, giving your hand one more kiss. “I’d love to have you both there.”

“You just name the day then,” you smile brightly, illuminating the whole fucking office, making his heart ache with just how beautiful you are in that moment. “Are we still on for our date– I mean!? – movie!”

“Yes, of course, I can’t wait. I do need to go home and get ready after I drop Yuuka at home though.” He lets your hand go reluctantly, snatching up another piece of sushi and putting it in his mouth before he says something else foolish, you do the exact same, legs trembling with your nerves.

“That’s fine, I’m excited.” You dab a napkin on your lips, sighing. “Thank you again? No one has ever… aside from my friend who you just saw, no one has really cared for me. Even… my parents… not trauma dumping, I promise,” you trail off now, a hand on his thigh, leaning forward as tears begin to threaten. “But truly your thoughtfulness means everything.”

“It’s really nothing,” he sighs, your little hand feels too good, burning through that layer of material. “You deserve so much more than that, whoever didn’t care about you? It’s all their loss.”

“Thank you,” you blink tears down now, he swipes one off your cheek, cupping your face just a bit. “Sometimes you seem too perfect to be real.”

“I am not perfect, I just see you.” Your eyes flutter shut at that, he studies you freely then, thumb caressing your cheek as the door opens, Yuki peeks her head in, smiling at you two before she lets Yuuka follow.

“I have a cookie!” She’s very excited with a giant cookie as big as her face.

“She’s gonna be so sugared up now!”

“Not my problem, have fun.” Yuki just winks and says good bye, Yuuka runs up and climbs in your lap, her little arms around your neck.

“Did you have fun today, pretty girl?” You ask softly, her eyes are brilliant and bright, dimples on her cheeks from how much she’s smiling.

She was not this happy before, she was quieter, a little reserved, and a spiteful thing with all the previous nannies. You know she wonders where or who her dad even is, though she’s young, she’s curious surely, you hope she doesn’t remember some of the horrible moments, you’d tried to keep her away from the times your ex had laid hands on you.

But she’s truly shining in Nanami’s short three weeks with you all, and you keep trying to remember that is the most important thing, not the way you crave there to be more with him. It’s ultimately his career that he’s amazing at, and you’re so thankful he walked in that day, even if you can’t keep him out of your mind.

“I had fun mommy. We met Nanami’s friends, and I got a necklace!”

“I see this, it’s so pretty,” you touch it carefully, smiling back at Nanami now. “Thank you for bringing her, my day was stressful. You two cheer me up.”

“Of course, we can come any time you want.” He can’t help but feel the tug on his heart at you hugging your little girl, so devoted and caring as you are, it just makes him admire you that much more. “We did have a lot of fun, but we’ll have more fun tonight, right?”

“Yes, yes!” Yuuka is very happy, clearly, a little upset when they have to go as you have a work meeting. You give her a kiss as Nanami holds her, carrying her like she’s a little princess, and her spoiled butt absolutely loves it, clearly. You almost give Nanami a damn kiss, it feels so natural, holding back barely.

When they leave, the office feels a little empty.

Your phone dings now – your stupid ex.

You scowl at it, blood pressure rising, breaths coming in short little pants as you clutch your phone and read it.

It’s time I see my girls soon.

*****

“Are you all right?” Nanami asks you softly, driving to the movie now, you should be so excited, you are deep down, but the looming thought of ever having to see that man again makes you sick.

“Yes, of course, work was stressful,” you put on a brave face, the lights flashing across your face while he drives, showing just how pretty you are next to him tonight. “I am good, promise.”

Yuuka has on her headphones, poking away on her tablet while Nanami places a hand on your knee, concern in his tone. “You can always talk to me, we’re not just an employee and a boss are we?”

“No, not at all,” you put your hand on top of his, wanting to tell him just what happened, but to put all your trauma on him? To put drama and issues on him? It was too much, the last thing you want is to do that. “You’re sweet.”

“Sweet, hmm?” You nod, fingers hovering over his, as if scared to let go.

“Very sweet but don’t worry.”

“If you say so, but just know you can tell me anything.”

“Thank you, Nanami.” You smile, wanting to just lean your head against his shoulder, the feeling so vivid and strong you pull back just a little before you do. “It means a lot to me.”

“Of course.”

Soon you all are in the movie theater, it has these big reclining seats so Yuuka is bundled in a blanket you watch, she has her little popcorn and drink, and so do you and Nanami. The lights shut off, the movie begins, it’s perfect being with the two of them, murmuring to each other quietly, Yuuka is so excited at the little animated characters just being hilarious.

Nanami himself is chuckling, he’s at ease versus the stiff man he was when you first met him, leaning over to whisper to Yuuka about things, and earning her little peal of laughter. You feel so good you almost forget the ominous text, the one you’d replied to firmly with a – no you will not be.

He’s threatened to take you to court and take everything you have, you know he has connections but you have a lot of wealth and some of your own. If he wants to play that game you’ll go for it if you must. The last thing however you want is him in Yuuka’s life at all, if he hurt you, what’s to stop him from hurting her? It’s the very reason you made sure to leave that night.

Even now you get a little bit of a flash back, the thoughts meds and a therapist kept well under wraps. Him smacking you so hard you couldn’t see, then him apologizing, you forgiving him. He’d act sweet and loving, you’d forget what happened, especially when he made you think it was your fault, then he’d smack you again, harder the next time.

Hit, forgive, repeat.

Hit harder, grovel harder, repeat.

Hit you so hard your jaw hurts, grovel and gaslight you, repeat.

Until the day he tried for the fourth time, going too far even for him, if everything wasn’t perfect he would just snap. He hated you working, he called you a bad mother for having long hours at times, he downed everything about you, but you got through it, and became strong. You would never let him have the ability to hurt you again, and absolutely not your daughter.

Yet part of you worries that weakness and self loathing would come back if he had enough time around you. With all of his connections, he is not likely to ever get in actual trouble, and you have no real evidence. It’s a terrible situation, one you’ve actively been avoiding.

You’re cut out of your thoughts by another text, you tense when you see it’s him again, feeling sick to your stomach. Nanami eyes you just a bit, concern shown even in the darkness of the theater. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, of course.” You smile brightly, he doesn’t believe it.

You’ve been so down since he left your office today, it isn’t like you. You’re tired, sure, maybe a little moody when you get home, but you always brighten up around Yuuka. To see you so clearly struggling hurts him, he can physically almost feel what’s happening to you even though he doesn’t know, like a stab to the chest.

He can’t overstep more than he already is, he fucking brought you a bouquet like this is a date, like this isn’t just the three of you getting along. You’d teared up at the gesture, and he should have known then something was off, the way you reacted with the plastered smile.

He knows you stay strong often but he wishes you could rely on him at times to help you.

“Look, look!” Yuuka almost shouts, you shush her and apologize to the row behind you. “Sorry!”

It’s a fun movie, you wish you paid attention, yet the scenarios are playing through your head like a terrible movie. When Nanami carries Yuuka in she’s fast asleep against his chest, clearly tuckered out and sugar crashed from the theater candy she’d asked for. You unlock the door carefully, he steps inside while you slip off your heels.

You just want him to stay.

You can’t ask that.

But you need it.

“I’ll take her to bed,” he says softly, so as not to wake her up, you brush her hair and give her a quiet peck. “I’ll be back down in a moment.”

“Thank you, Nanami.” You’re heading to the kitchen when Nanami walks back down, hands in his pockets, a little quirk to his lips.

“Well, she’s out like a light.”

“Good, thank you so much for today, the lunch, the flowers…” You brush your fingers along the petals, they’re sitting in a clear crystal vase on the center of your marble counter tops. “The movie, all of it.”

“It’s nothing, I had a lot of fun,” he walks over to you, leaning a hip against the counter, turning his face just a bit to study you carefully. “Can I be honest?”

“Of course!”

“I’m worried about you.”

“Don’t be, really,” you shake your head now, wanting to cry against him. He makes you feel like you can let go, drop this facade of the perfect business woman, just be you. “I’ll pay you extra if you have a glass with me tonight."

Nanami blinks his eyes, frowning now, crossing his arms. “You really think you have to pay me extra to have a glass of wine with you?”

“I’ll make it vintage whiskey, it’s a 2006,” you bend down, opening one of the cream colored cabinets, pulling it out, the bottle is perfect, a pretty red wax seal dripped on it. “If you don’t want money, you can always take the bottle, I think it’s like hundreds-”

“You don’t have to pay or entice me to join you,” he cuts you off, eyes growing with concern, you can’t tell if they’re golden, green, light brown. You are lost in them, so lost in that moment, stepping just a little closer and looking up. “I enjoy spending time with you, very, very much.”

“You do? When it’s um… just me?” He sighs, shutting his eyes for a moment. “I shouldn’t ask it.”

“You shouldn’t, because the answer is obvious, I don’t want to be anywhere but here right now,” he falters at his own vulnerability, looking down at your gorgeous face in the soft lighting. The tenderness he feels mixes with the desire to lift you and sit you right on those counters, to kiss every bit of you. His throat goes dry. “I will take a drink gladly.”

“Thank you, I just don’t want to be alone yet,” you curse then, shaking your head. “I’m sorry.”

“Please don’t be, I’ll be here as long as you want me to be.” You want to believe it, but you’re so terrified then, hands just a little shaky when you open the bottle. “Allow me.”

“Yes, sir,” at times Nanami talks like he’s from the past. He’d fit in perfectly with the movies you loved to watch when you were younger, those Humprey Bogart black and white films. He opens it and lets it breathe a bit. “I’ll just have wine though, that would knock me out.”

“Then let me get you a glass,” he walks over to the cabinets he’s learned with ease, coming back and pouring you a little bit of red. “Where do you want to have this nightcap?”

“We can go out to the patio if you want?”

“Wherever you want, I’ll follow along.” You take his hand, it feels too perfect not to, leading him to the back where your balcony is, a pretty view up where your floor is, the breeze gently blowing.

“It’s beautiful tonight, isn’t it?” You murmur, a hand on the railing, looking up at the pretty night sky, Nanami’s right next to you, shoulder almost brushing against yours.

“It is beautiful,” you turn and see him looking at you then. You feel a blush dancing on your cheeks, hoping it’s too dark for him to see. “Are you going to stop acting like everything’s fine and talk to me? Or do you need a sip first?”

“You’re a tough one, I see why the kids respect you,” you’re teasing, but he remains serious, you take a sip of the red, letting it swirl and dance across your tongue, sinking into your tastebuds. “Yes I need a few sips. Let’s have a seat?”

He sits down on the little wicker couch you have out there, and you sit next to him, closer than you should, you have room yet you’re against him. He doesn’t move, he just places an arm around the back of it, almost touching your shoulder, taking a sip of his whiskey.

No man should look that attractive drinking it, you think to yourself, watching his adam’s apple bob as he swallows.

“My ex, I told you he… hurt me.”

Nanami tenses, lips turning down on the corners, pulling back from that glass. He watches as the breeze tousles your hair, flowing around your face, and hears the change in your tone. When you talk about him, you’re not the strong, confident woman he’s grown so many feelings for, it’s a vulnerable, insecure voice.

He loves it just as much because it is you, but he hates that anyone has made you feel this way. “I remember, you said he’s not in your lives.”

“He’s not, yet now he apparently wants to be a part of Yuuka’s life,” you blink back emotions, sipping the wine again, taking a shaky breath. “He’s really powerful, he has connections all over. I have no proof he hit me, and if he hurt Yuuka!? Nanami I’d end up in federal prison if he did.”

“Shh,” he tugs you against him, while your tears start falling, your breaths coming quicker and quicker, body trembling. “It won’t happen.”

“Y-you don’t know, yes I have money but not those connections! Like the best lawyers, what if he… if he… I can handle him, but I’d never allow him-”

“Darling,” you pause, he tilts your chin up, hating the tears on your face, hating whoever had you like this. “Lucky for you, my best friend is the best attorney there is. I’m sure he’d be glad to help. We’ll figure it out together.”

“Nanami you already do too much for us,” you’re sniffling even as he swipes your tears. “I can’t pay as much as you’re worth, because it would be everything.”

It’s quiet at your words, he’s still stroking your cheek, eyes studying your face carefully, you cling to his dress shirt with your little hand, the other still holding your glass, untouched. “I won’t let someone hurt either of you, you’re both very, very dear to me. Okay?”

You sniffle again, nodding, he takes your drink and sets it on the little glass table, tugging you in his embrace now. “You’re dear to me too.”

He exhales upon hearing it, arms wrapped around you, and you feel so small against him, he’s so big and strong, it’s like being in his arms makes you feel safe, for the first time in a long time. Yet you also are fighting the urge to kiss him, to desperately kiss him, to get in his lap and devour every bit of his flavor, of his sweetness.

You can hardly handle it, pulling back a bit, he watches your teardrops glitter with the reflection of the shimmering moon, thumb and forefinger on your chin. His hazel eyes are lidded, dropping down to your lips now, sighing so you feel the breath dancing across them, like whiskey and him. Intoxicating you, when you lean closer, impossibly closer.

You are damn near on him, his hand on the small of your back tightens, his other trailing across your jaw, down the side of your neck, imagining littering it in kisses, in bruises, things that surprise him, that make him ache.

“I want to comfort you, and not cross… any lines, but you’re making it very difficult.” His husky voice surprises you, your cheeks heating up, that sweet tension between your thighs building.

“Are you saying you think inappropriate things, Kento? About me, your employer?” You are teasing, but he senses it, the vulnerability, the worry.

“You think I don’t?” You take a breath, shaking your head.

“I think you’re perfect, a perfect man, and I think I’m a mess…” You bite your lower lip, he tugs it from the grip of your teeth. “You’re handsome, too, and I’m sure women are all over you, don’t need someone with trauma, with baggage.”

“You are beautiful,” you shake your head again, earning his scowl. “Shake your head one more time.”

You pause, hearing the subtle dominance in his tone. “Don’t say it like that, I’m trying to keep composed.”

“And so am I,” he rests his forehead on yours then, lips just a breath away, hand slipping across your waist, thumb brushing under the swell of your breast. You’re so tense you can’t breathe. “I don’t want to do anything to ruin this.”

“Neither do I, Kento.”

“And I don’t want to be… all over you after you’ve been upset.”

“I know.”

You grip his shirt with two little balled fists, when he curses softly under his breath. “Forgive me for this then.”

“Forgive you-” He slams his lips on yours now, and what you imagined, some sweet little peck perhaps, was nothing like that. “Mnh!”

He hums, turning his head, lips moving over yours, his hand entangling in your hair, your hand slips up his collar, to his neck, gasping and allowing his tongue to slip inside your mouth. It’s greedy, like he’s drinking every bit of your saliva, mixing with his, like he can’t get enough of it, his grip on your waist tightening. You’re soaked from a damn kiss, cunt eager and needy for more.

“Fuck,” you hear him cuss, he doesn’t often, and it’s sexy, feeling him lost that control, his eyes fluttering shut while his mouth moves over yours. “You are… mmm… perfect.”

“Oh, Kento, I-” He’s shutting off any potential protest with another kiss, fixing in a moment just a bit of the damage you carry, the insecurities just melting slowly.

Nanami pulls back with a shaky breath, kissing along your jaw with sweet little pecks, before his tongue wickedly dances on your earlobe, you tremble in need, whining out, hips shifting. Nanami loses himself in you, forgetting about whatever propriety he had, forgetting that he doesn’t want to overwhelm you, when he tastes you, your delicate skin in between his teeth when he nips.

Your sounds, your movements, every bit of you he devours, he wants to devour more, taste more, the heat he can feel when his hand is on your thigh, he wants to sink to his knees and bury his face. The kiss unleashes his every thought, the amount of times he’d stroked himself to you in full force, every wicked position he’d pictured.

But moreso, everything fades in that moment, but you.

You’re on his lap soon, neither of you are sure how you got there, your heat now against his cock, hard under his slacks. You gasp when you feel it, between your plump, soppy folds under your panties, and he moans softly, kissing down your collar bone, hands sinking into your hips over your silky dress. He could almost cum from feeling you over these layers, you’re that warm, that wet.

“I h-haven’t in… um a few y-years,” you whisper nervously, eyes lowering to your hands on his chest. “I think I was bad at it.”

“I am absolutely sure you were not bad at it,” seeing you’re still so scared, so nervous, and he pulls back just a bit. “We need to take things just a little slow, I think. We don’t have to rush this.”

“What is… this? What does it… mean?” Nanami opens his lips when your phone starts ringing, vibrating along the table. You look at it nervously, he picks it up and hands it to you. You curse, tossing it on the couch now. 

“It’s him?”

“Yes, Nanami don’t, I don’t want you having to deal with my trauma. My baggage. Please.”

Nanami pauses from telling the man to go fuck himself, looking up at you, your flushed face in the night, your pretty breasts rising and falling. “You don’t have to hide anything from me.”

“It’s a burden.”

“It’s not. I’ll call my friend tomorrow, you can meet him, okay?” He cups your face gently, you nod, kissing him again, he exhales as you do, tugging you close.

“I will want to do that a lot now, maybe all the time,” he smiles a bit, the mood lifted for just a moment when you pull away, easing off his lap, flushing when you see a dark spot. “Nanami oh my god, I’m sorry!?”

“What?” He looks down then, at the trails of slick across his bulge, you’re adjusting your dress nervously. “Oh, this?”

“Y-yes, god I just pounced on-” every thought is cut off then, when Nanami Kento thumbs the sticky substance, the action lewd and filthy, but not as lewd as when he brings it to his lips, looking right at you and sucking it into his mouth.

His cheeks hollow, you’re staring, lips parted, while he sucks your flavor, moaning softly, before yanking you against him and kissing you again, letting your taste hit your own lips. “Mnh, son’t say sorry for being so wet for me.”

“Oh god, you… tasted it… are you crazy, sir?” He chuckles, shaking his head and kissing you again.

“I’ll taste it fully when you’re more ready,” you’ve never had that done to you, really you never found sex very pleasurable before. It was something you had to do when he basically demanded, but he was not one to touch you. “If you want that, of course, am I… overstepping?”

“No, no, I just haven’t done that,” you’re a mess now, he sighs at that. “I want to though. I’d do it right now.”

He chuckles again. “You’re eager, are you?”

“Very, but if you think we should wait?”

“I would like you in a clearer headspace, not upset like this, it would make me feel terrible if you regretted it.”

“Nanami Kento, I’d never regret anything about you.” He kisses you softer now, a little gentle brush of the lips, and soon you’re walking him to the front door.

You don’t want him to go.

You want to ask him to come stay in your room, you know it’s nonsense right now, that he is right, you’re emotional, and exhausted. He’s caring enough to see that and make a decision you wouldn’t right now, wrapping his arms around you tightly and lifting you just a bit.

“I’ll be a little late tomorrow but I’ll grab Yuuka at work, is that all right? I want to meet the lawyer and talk to him for you.”

“Oh, of course. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He smiles, so handsome your heart breaks, and leaves then.

There’s a sinking feeling when he’s gone.

*****

“You can’t go in there!? Hey asshole!” You hear Yuki shouting outside of your door at work the next morning, Nanami hasn’t gotten there yet, and that sinking feeling grows and grows.

You stand up, Yuuka is napping on the little couch since it’s still early, when you see him open the door, smirking meanly down at you. “I’ll talk to the mother of my child, thank you very much.”

“The fuck you will, I’ll drag your ass out-”

“Yuki, it’s okay,” you stop her, as coworkers and employees are staring, you quietly point to your sleeping daughter now, and she hesitates. “We can just talk, can’t we?” You ask him softly, hating when he’s near you.

“That’s all I want to do, is talk to you.”

“If I hear anything I’ve got a gun,” Yuki makes your ex step back just a bit, you can’t help but smile at her. “Baby I’m right outside.”

“Thank you,” when she shuts the door, he suddenly makes you feel so small, the way he looks down at you, everything about it makes you sick. You clear your throat, straightening your shoulders. “What is it you want?”

“I want my daughter,” you scoff now, scowling as he brushes his fingers against your cheek. “And I want you.”

Nanami is rushing to get over to your work. Higuruma had been extremely busy so he’d had to wait just a bit to talk to him, he was truly the best attorney there was, so Nanami is confident he can help. He does not ever want you or Yuuka hurt, and after last night, he can’t get it out of his mind.

The kiss.

The way you felt in his arms.

The protectiveness he feels just magnified, when he’s running up to your office, and sees Yuki standing by the door, arms crossed, an ear to it. “What’s wrong?”

She looks at Nanami then, sighing. “Her ex.”

“Her… ex?” She nods, clearly ready to throw down at a moment’s notice, and Nanami’s jaw sets, his eyes narrowing a bit.

“Allow me.”

Comments/rbs very appreciated if you enjoy!! Gojo had me wanting to write him as a dad to those three?? help lol

Kofi link if you wanna buy me a glass of wine 🍷

tagsss- @kitchen-cryptid @kitassecretgf @omgitzmami @fanfictionlovergirl @elliee-smellie @arrozyfrijoles23 @mat-mat-mat @vorfreudevortex @storiesbyparadise @akiii143 @erintaro @jud3thedude @satorupi @shibataimu @nanamjai @kamuihz @watasinekoru @bloodsuckerslut @elliehenry24 @evii1e @just-lilita @wofnsts @emochosoluvr @princess-bblgm @frenchcoucou @yomama2089 @vehuzzzz @bypanana @erenspersonalwh0re @liluvtojineteyam @appt2235 @totallygyomeiswife @senaqsstuff @sherrieblossoms @starmapz @gojoawayhoe @sylviavf @alygator77 @higu-toast @neverlandlostchild @pastaforrasta @thejujvtsupost

[wordsmeetwbb]

Looks Better on You

Word count: 762

Content: fluff

Pairing: Pazzi

Notes: little bit of highly concentrated fluff for you on this fine saturday evening. based on this request. tell me how much you love it (please) or i'll take 9 years to post my next fic (i'm joking probably) okay enjoy bye

________

Paige’s palms are sweaty. Not the I just worked really hard, kind of sweaty, either. They’re cold and clammy and wet, and she’s pretty sure her fingers are trembling. Which, honestly? Embarrassing. She shoves her hands into the pockets of her sweatpants.

Azzi is lounging on Paige’s bed, a book open on her lap, staring at Paige like she’s grown a second head. Maybe even a third.

“What the hell’s wrong with you?” She asks, voice filled with skepticism.

“Nothing,” Paige says. Her whole body twitches. Azzi raises an eyebrow.

“Why do you look like you’re about to bolt out the door, then?” Paige swallows. Clears her throat. Swallows again.

“I wanted to give you something. A gift. I have a gift I want to give you.” Paige stumbles over the words, raspy and nervous and innocent. A gentle smile makes its way onto Azzi’s face.

“Why’re you nervous about that, baby?” She asks softly. She reaches up, loops a hand through Paige’s arm, and tugs her carefully down onto the bed next to her. Paige’s eyes dart around the room, focusing anywhere except Azzi’s face.

“It’s just… kind of bold or maybe I’m assuming too much because we haven’t even like… come out yet or anything, and I know that’s a whole thing, and I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with but I–” Azzi silences Paige’s rambling by pulling her down for a kiss. It’s chaste, just a quick little thing, but Paige blushes fiercely.

“Shh. Take a breath, Paige. I’m gonna love it, whatever it is. I always do,” Azzi soothes. Paige inhales, chest expanding, and exhales slowly through her nose. The lines of her shoulders relax, rounding into softer shadows. Azzi rubs a hand along Paige’s thigh as she breathes.

“Sorry,” Paige whispers.

“It’s okay, baby.”

“I promise it’s not, like, a bad gift. At least, I don’t think it is. I’m just overthinking.”

“That’s supposed to be my job,” Azzi teases. That gets a smile out of Paige, smoothing out the rest of the lines that had etched themselves onto her face, tension bleeding out of her body. She holds out a hand, fingers curled into a fist.

Paige opens her hand, fingers unfolding to reveal a silver chain nestled in the palm of her hand. Azzi reaches out, fingers gentle as she handles the necklace to reveal the charms dangling from the dainty metal.

“Paige,” she whispers, fingers brushing over the heart charm, then turning the other one around carefully to reveal a shiny 5. Azzi’s heart stutters.

“You don’t have to wear it. I know that’s like, practically a hard launch, and we’re not there yet, or whatever, but I…” Paige trails off, seemingly considering her next words. “I want you to have it. Have me. And if you want to wear it, then I would be honored. And proud. And just… happy. But you make me happy anyway, without the necklace, without anybody else knowing about us. The necklace is just jewelry.” Azzi’s eyes are shiny, but the tears don’t fall.

She pulls Paige to her chest, arms wrapping around her back tightly. Paige lets her head fall to the crook of Azzi���s neck, breathing in her scent, basking in the warm embrace.

“I love it, Paige. It’s really sweet. You’re sweet.” The words bring an immediate grin to the older girl’s face, erasing any remaining traces of anxiety.

“I didn’t make it or anything. Hell, I didn’t even buy it. A fan gave it to me, like, months ago, and I’ve never worn it. And I just thought it would look a lot better on you than it would on me,” Paige explains. Azzi smiles softly.

“Put it on me?” She asks. She’s already turning around, holding the necklace steady around her neck so Paige can fasten the clasp. Paige runs her hands over Azzi’s shoulders, brushing stray curls out of the way. Azzi turns back around, grinning.

“How do I look?” Paige isn’t even looking at the necklace when she answers.

“Fucking incredible. You always do.”

Azzi whacks Paige lightly across the arm, scolding gently.

“You weren’t even looking at the necklace, dumbass. How does the necklace look?” Paige is quiet for a moment, eyes roving across Azzi’s frame slowly.

“I was right. It looks better on you.” That’s all Paige gets out before she’s tackling Azzi flat onto the bed, peppering kisses to Azzi’s face through the younger girl’s giggles.

“Looks so much better on you,” Paige mumbles again.

Azzi doesn’t take the necklace off for three weeks.

[luvnette]

-𝑃𝑖𝑐𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢-

Artwork here

𝑃𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: Older!neighbor!Sevika x reader

𝐶𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡/𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: Nsfw, mdni, fluff, modern AU, Stalking (Sevika->reader) (but in a cute way I promise), reader is 19 and still goes to school, big age gap (19 & 41), rich Sevika (spoil me mommy), r! is not a virgin, sex shortly after meeting, soft smut, couch-cunnilingus, pool sex, fingering (r! receiving)

𝑆𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: After moving into your new home you feel like you’re being watched. When a chance encounters to meet with your mysterious stalker, everything changes.

𝑊𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑠: 2.6k

𝐴/𝑛: I’m on vacation rn and my aunt has like this big house in sweden and since everything reminds me of Sevika I thought i’d write something. Anyway, enjoy♥️!

You feel watched. Ever since your mother remarried some rich doctor and you moved into this new fancy house you felt watched. No matter if you’re having a drink in the backyard, reading a book on the balcony, taking your clothes off with open curtains or just relaxing in the pool, you. feel. watched.

Today was one of those days again. You and your friend were playing volleyball in the pool until she sets the ball a bit too hard— and you watch it disappear on the other side of the hedge into your neighbors yard.

That’s not the only thing you see though. There’s a tall, broad shadow behind the hedge, gone as soon as you try to get a better glimpse of it.

“Umm.. did you see that?” you mumble to your friend.

“Hm? What?” she asks, busy with something else.

“Nevermind.. I’ll get the ball.”

“I think it’s a little too late for that, it’s past ten”

“Yeah.. you’re right. I’ll ring there tomorrow.”

“Gotta go anyway. See you in school on monday?”

“Sure”

~ఌ*:・ﾟ

You don’t sleep well that night. You keep asking yourself what or who was behind the hedge. Maybe it was just your exhaustion playing a trick.. or maybe someone really is stalking you. You haven’t met your new neighbors yet— what if they’re creeps? Around 2 a.m. you finally fall asleep, your dreams continuing your worries.

The warmth of the sun wakes you up. The day ahead begins with breakfast and your friend canceling your plans for the weekend. Your parents are on a trip, the big house empty. In the afternoon you get ready to take a swim in your lacy bikini, but then suddenly remember the ball thing, so you decide to throw on a cute sundress, put on some mascara and walk over to your neighbors huge house. Standing in front of the door, you hesitate. Maybe you shouldn’t wear this dress, your bikini underneath slightly visible too.. and what if it’s some old pervert? Or a serial kil—

That’s when the door opens. You didn’t even ring?

“Hey there.” a woman greets you like you’ve met her before.

For a moment all you could do was stare. Stare at the big, muscular, older, and extremely sexy woman right in front of you, her hoarse voice giving away her years of smoking. She’s wearing a white long sleeve shirt and brown pants, her black hair combed back. Her grey eyes look up and down your frame, stopping at your tits for a second.

“I.. I— uhh.. umm..” you stammer, practically feeling your cheeks redden.

“Yeah?” she chuckles.

“Umm, a ball, my ball.. it’s.. well,—”

“Yeah, killed some of my flowers in the garden.”

“I’m sorry.. I didn’t throw it”

“Sure. Come in, I’ll get it for you. And a drink, you look like you’re about to explode, darling.”

To be honest, you meant to say no. But something stopped you. Maybe you just tried to be friendly. Or you wanted to keep talking to.. her.

“Sevika, by the way.”

“I’m—”

“I know. You drink?”

“..How?— uh, sure..”

“Your dad? Stepdad? He told me your name”

“Neither.” you murmur.

“Hm. Anyway, I’ll get your ball. Here” she says, handing you a glass of whiskey before she disappears behind a corner.

You walk into the living room and sit down on the couch, your eyes roaming around her house. The interior looks rich and beautiful, dark wood and leather everywhere, high walls and many windows.

“Sorry if I scared you earlier. Alarm tells me when there’s someone at the door.” she apologizes, gives you the ball and sits down next to you, chugging down some of her own whiskey.

“That’s okay. Sorry about the flowers, again” you smile, nervously fumbling with the glass in your hand.

“Doesn’t matter, sweetie.” she chuckles, the nickname making you squeeze your thighs together. “Soo, you like it here?”

“Yeah, if I wouldn’t feel like someone’s stalking me all the time..” you say, looking at her suspiciously.

Sevika nearly chokes on her drink, her cheeks rosy as she looks back at you. For a moment, all there is is silence between you two.

“I.. I’m sorry. ‘Didn’t think you’d.. ‘should’ve made it less obvious, I guess..” she says, her expression ashamed.

“Guess so..” you say, a small laugh escaping your throat. “So.. why are you.. you know?” you ask, looking down at your hands.

“Really? You wanna hear it, hm?” she asks, earning a shy nod from you. “Well, you’re a pretty girl.. And I’ve been lonely for such a long time now.. I suppose you walking around in your lacy clothes, looking all innocent and adorable.. ‘Just couldn’t resist. I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable.”

“You know.. I was scared you’d be some old perverted guy. I’m actually relieved you’re a woman.. an attractive woman..”

You take her bigger hand in yours, stroking your thumb over her fingers. You give her a small smile before she puts her glass down and gently cups your cheek with her free hand, pulling you in for a soft kiss. After a moment she pulls away, her eyes filled with desire.

“Sevika.. I—” you stammer, unable to speak as you feel the warm stickiness between your legs.

“Shh..” she shushes, her hand now trailing up and down your thigh. “You’re just as soft as I imagined..”

Sevika carefully puts you on you back, climbs on top of you and pulls your dress up, her gaze tracing your body.

“Hmm, ‘seen you in that bikini some times now.. looks even better close up..” she says, voice low and husky.

She starts to place kisses down your body, starting at your cheek, down your temple, your belly and lastly your thigh, noticing the puddle on your bikini bottom.

“Didn’t even touch you yet my love, looks like I’m not the only one who likes to watch?” she grins, slowly spreading your legs more before she looks at your face. “Can I take it off?”

“Yes.. please..” you whisper shakily, buckling your hips up a little. “Please.. touch me”

“Fuck.. you don’t know what you’re doing to me love” she murmurs, slowly removing your bottoms, revealing your dripping cunt. “What a lovely pussy”

She spreads your puffy lips apart, her face getting closer to your entrance before she gently kisses it, her big nose bumping against your clit.

“Mhhh, ‘Vika..” you mewl, fisting her hair.

Her hand comes up to cover your boob, giving it a light squeeze as her tongue licks a long stripe along your slit.

“You taste so sweet, darling..” Sevika groans against your heat before she continues devouring your pussy like it’s her last meal.

It doesn’t take her long to make you clench around nothing— your legs shaking and your clit twitching. She shifts upwards to press your body against hers, fondling gently with your hair to help you relax.

“You did so good, pretty girl..” she whispers, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

You hum at her praise, your eyelids slightly heavy now. You nuzzle your face into her neck, falling asleep in her warm embrace.

~ఌ*:・ﾟ

“Sweetheart?” a familiar deep voice whispers, waking you from your slumber.

You have no idea what time it is or how long slept, the sun halfway down behind the horizon. But what you know is that Sevika stayed by your side the whole time, even falling asleep herself since you heard her snoring.

“Hm?..” you hum, slowly opening your eyes to look at the older woman, her hair messy.

“Shouldn’t you be home by now? I don’t want your parents to worry.” she murmurs.

“They’re not home.” you say, giving her a small peck on the forehead.

“Mhmm.. you wanna sleep here tonight?” she asks, caressing your back.

“Actually.. I’ve got a better idea” you say as you get up to put your bottoms back on. “You have a bikini?”

“Don’t need one.” she sits up, a smirk across her lips.

You two walk over to your home, the warm summer breeze tickling your skin. Stars appear in the night sky, the moon bright. You guide Sevika into the backyard, the pool lights shimmering dimly in the water.

“I’ll just get some towels real quick, wait here.” you say, disappearing in the house.

When you come back, dress gone and two big towels in your hand, your gaze falls onto Sevika, standing there completely naked. You look at her tall figure, her thick arms and her big chest, her happy trail that leads to her bush and her thighs, looking like they could crush you.

“What took you so long, dear?” she asks, that smirk back on her face like she knows how wet she gets you with those nicknames.

She walks over to you and unclasps your top with one hand like she did it a hundred times.

“You won’t be needing that, my love” she mutters before she starts to plant kisses down your neck, her hands groping your ass gently. “‘Been craving to fuck you in this pool for weeks, sweetie..” she chuckles and shoves the fabric on your hips down your legs once again.

You let the towels fall onto the floor, your hands finding hold on Sevikas broad shoulders.

She picks you up and kisses you deeply before she carries you into the water. She holds you carefully against the inner pool wall, her tits pressed onto yours. You wrap your legs around her waist, her thick fingers finding your wet slit while her lips softly explore your neck.

“Mmhhh.. ‘Vika..” you whimper, nails digging into her back as she gently rubs your engorged clit.

“I’ll make you feel good baby, don’t worry..” she purrs against your jaw before she slowly pushes her index finger inside your throbbing entrance.

She adds a second finger with ease, her long and thick digits giving you a feeling of fullness already. It gets even better when she starts to plunge them in and out at a steady pace, the water around you making the moment even more magical.

“Feels nice, huh?” she chuckles, damp hair falling into her face.

You give her a slight nod, holding back your moaning so nobody gets a glimpse of you getting finger fucked in the pool by the older woman.

“C’mon sweetie, let me hear those pretty sounds you make..” she coos, picking up the pace.

Her fingers start to curl just right, hitting the spongy spot on your inner walls over and over again. You mewl and whimper, your climax building up.

“Sevika.. I’m close, don’t stop..” you cry out, legs shaking.

“Not planning to” she kisses you hungrily, chuckling against your lips.

Your tummy feels like it’s doing backflips, every muscle in your body tensing before you’re finally able to let go, clenching tightly around her fingers, your moans muffled by the kiss.

“Shit.. that was.. amazing, Sevika..” you whisper, voice low and shaky.

“Mhm.. should definitely do this more often” she smirks and carefully pulls out, cupping your cheek with her palm to calm you down.

You two stay in the pool for a while longer, chatting and cuddling before you head inside to dry each other off. Sevika picks you up and carries you into your bedroom where the two of you snuggle up together in your bed, dozing off to sleep once again.

~ఌ*:・ﾟ

The next morning you wake up, the soft golden sunlight shining into Sevikas face. For a moment you stay like this, looking at her facial features, her pretty lips and those beautiful eyelashes, her big nose and her dimples, visible from time to time. She looks so peaceful.

That’s when you hear a car pull up in the driveway— your parents are coming home.

“Sevika” you whisper, trying to wake her up.

“Mmmm..” she groans in response.

“Sevi, my parents are back, you should leave” you say, caressing her cheek with your thumb gently.

“Oh, shit.. really?” she groans, rubbing her sleepy eyes. “Next time you’ll spend the night at my house, sweetheart” she grumbles and gets up, giving you a peck on your lips before she puts her clothes back on, ready to sneak out your window like a teenager.

“Sevika?” you stop her.

“Yeah?” she asks, turning around.

“Love you” you say, smiling at her.

“Love you more, my sweet girl” she winks and smiles before disappearing into the yard, knowing this will not be the last time she doesn’t use the front door.

𝑇𝑎𝑔𝑠: @aislinator 🫶🏼

[natalicss]

SEVENTEEN READS THIRST TWEETS

SEVENTEEN X 14TH MEMBER READER

summary: BuzzFeed invites members of Seventeen to read thirst tweets about themselves!

warnings: not proofread, swearing, innuendos, basic thirst tweet behavior, follows the video pretty close, use of y/n until we decide a stage name, reader bullying mingyu & is just chronically unserious. y/n has no faceclaim! all photos of celebrities/influencers used are simply place holders! let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 5K

nats notes: hey y’all!! i wrote this as fast as i could LMAO. i actually had a hard time coming up with thirst tweets that i had to go look up real ones about other people BWHAHAHA. i tried to have them match the energy of buzzfeeds pics but you and i both know they were tame all things considered. some tweets from the real video didn’t get included, but 80% are in here. i am still getting into the swing of writing seventeen so excuse me if this is actual ass. anyways, i hope you guys enjoy! if you don’t, don’t tell me. i also really wanna write something for scoups’s birthday but im not too sure what i’ll do; if it’ll be scoups centered or just a gose episode or something. okay that’s it BYEEEE

[VIDEO STARTS]

“Say the name! SEVENTEEN. Hi, we are SEVENTEEN.” Five members of the world-famous k-pop group bow to the camera. In the front row, sits Seungkwan, Y/n, and Vernon; he only female member sitting in the middle.As they introduce themselves, the video has a close-up of each member.Seungkwan is wearing faded denim pants, a matching jacket, and a white t-shirt with black text. Y/n in lightwashed baggy jeans, a white baggy shirt that hung off her shoulder with the number 17 on it, and her hair, still a minty color, was up in a messy up-do. In the back row, members Mingyu and Minghao are sitting on higher stools. Mingyu is in all black with his pants and hoodie. Minghao is in jeans, a black shirt, and an orange and black striped button up layered on top (unbuttoned, of course). And lastly, Vernon sits in dark jeans with orange bleached spots, a gray shirt, and a black zip up with a design on the front.

“Today we are with Buzzfeed to read our thirst tweets.” Vernon says as he looks at the members.

Y/n shifts in her seat excitedly. “Okay!” She says, her tone reminiscent of absent member DK.

“Thirst tweets!” Mingyu chirps while smiling at the camera.

[THIRST TWEETS WITH SEVENTEEN]

“I think this is going to be fun,” Mingyu says. “I thought it would be fun from the moment I heard we were doing this.”

Seungkwan, sitting in front of Mingyu on the bottom row, says, “You know, we’ve heard a lot of thirst comments from fans over the years, so I’m hoping some of them go a bit bold.” Y/n smiles knowingly. “I’m excited to see just how much they’ll make us laugh.”

“I know what our fans tweet,” Y/n says, looking directly at the camera. “Me and Hoshi like to doom scroll comments and stuff.” She nods as she talks with her hand that isn't holding a phone. “So I know how wild they get. I just hope we get some of those so I can see their reactions,” She points mainly to Minghao and Seungkwan, nodding her head as she smiles.

The five of them were holding phones closer to their faces to read the tweets from their screens. “Fck seventeen and puppies, I propose seventeen reading thirsty tweets.” Vernon reads off. Seungkwan covers his mouth in surprise, a little sound escaping him as Vernon casually reads off the word fuck. Not too long ago, the group would have been more than scolded for something like that, even if they’re adults.

“So the fck is fuck?” Mingyu asks.

“Yeah. So basically, get SEVENTEEN and puppies out of here. I just want to see them read thirst tweets.” Vernon explains the tweet in Korean, Mingyu finally understanding while Minghao shyly smiles at his screen. 

“So this refers to that puppy interview, right?”

Y/n nods, turning slightly in her chair. “Yeah, the one with you, THE 8, Dino, and DK,” She says. She turns back to the camera, “I agree with the tweet, because I wasn’t in that video and I didn’t get to see any puppies.” She says with narrowed eyes. 

Members start to laugh, “Still, they must’ve put a lot of effort into the puppy interview content too, and then it’s just like- boom fuck puppies.” Seungkwan says.

“Isn’t this exactly what you wanted?” Venom asks, lifting his arm and gesturing to him.

Seungkwan turns to the camera with a thumbs up. “This is great. It might be my first time saying fuck on camera.” He says in realization.

“If we ever do a kitten interview though, I wanna be there.” Y/n interjects. “Or I’ll be saying fuck a lot on camera.” 

Mingyu reads the next tweet, “If anyone ever sees a hot guy acting weird on the streets of sk i bet you a 100 dollars it’s seventeen. Y/n will be nearby hiding from public view from embarrassment and shame.” Y/n starts to giggle at the tweet while Mingyu looks up, “Oh, where are you from?” He says before bursting into laughs with her. The other members join, repeating his question. “No, if it’s someone doing something weird, you can’t just bet it’s SEVENTEEN, maybe DK or something? I’m not a hot guy doing weird stuff on the street-”

“Now, why are we lying?” Y/n interjects.

Seungkwan joins her, “You’re not exactly all that normal either.”

[CRICKETS]

“Then I’ll take the hundred dollars,”

The next tweet is read by Y/n, who crosses her legs as she leans back in her chair. “Not to be a slut or anything but I’d let Y/n do horrible things to me in her MAESTRO outfits. I’m talking, beat me with a hammer and dissect my organs with no anesthesia.” The girl covers her mouth as she giggles. She looks up, “This is my kind of tweet.”

She and Vernon explain the tweet to the others. “Organs?” Seungkwan repeats, eyes wide. “Why would you dissect their organs!?”

“You never know!” She defends. “But they’re saying they’d let me if I’m wearing the MAESTRO outfits.”

Mingyu leans onto his legs, angling himself closer to the girl, “Which one?” He asks. She hums in thought, “People really liked the red suit.”

She hums, nodding, “I’ll wear the red suit.” She turns to face the camera with a straight face. “If I ever need your organs, I’ll wear the red suit when I take them,” She says with a bow. Vernon just smiles and shakes his head. 

Seungkwan looks down to read the next tweet. “God created men then sent Mingyu as an apology,”

“I don’t accept his apology.” Y/n deadpanned in English. Immediately, the members started laughing while Mingyu pouted behind her.

Seungkwan waved his hand, “Why is it my turn to read and it’s a tweet about Mingyu?” He asks.

“I think you need to film my solo shot, not Seungkwan’s.” Mingyu points to his face as he looks to the crew behind the camera. “Because this tweet’s clearly about me.”

“As I was talking, I was like…wait, why am I not in the tweet?”

“Because when God created Mingyu, they then sent you as an apology,” Y/n said, her tone soft and warm as she reached over and put a hand on Seungkwan’s shoulder. Vernon starts laughing, turning away from the camera. Minghao even giggles, sitting up straight as he looks at the pouty Mingyu next to him.

After Mingyu thanks the account for their tweet by blowing a kiss at them, it’s Minghao’s turn to read. 

“Minghao’s giggles give me a kind of energy that no coffee, no sunlight, no sleep could ever match.” 

Y/n awes at that, “That’s so sweet!” She says as Minghao looks up at the camera with a shy, awkward smile.

Seungkwan turns, “THE 8, by any chance,”

“Give us a giggle, please,”

Minghao lets out a small, gentle giggle, but Y/n shakes her head. “No, no, no,” She says, waving her finger at him.

“I don’t think this is it,” He says over her, waving his free hand dismissively.

“You’re saying this is sunlight?” Mingyu looks straight at the camera as he points at Minghao with a raised brow.

Y/n turns, “No! His giggles are precious! I know what they mean!” She says. “They’re not something that can be faked.” She turns back to the camera, adjusting her clothes as she does.

“Still, make sure you’re eating well,” Minghao says to the camera, a hand on his hip. “I’ll try to laugh a lot.”

“If you keep sending us these thirst comments, he’ll definitely be giggling a lot!” Mingyu says.

Y/n nudges Seungkwan, giggling like a schoolgirl when she reads the next tweet on her phone. He looks down to read it, “Seungkwan you must stop. your face too sweet, skin too supple, cheeks too round. seungkwan your cherubic swag is too much.” He reads as Mingyu squishes his cheeks in the middle.

“Are you gonna ask where they’re from again?” Minghao asks when Seungkwan stutters to reply.

“Where are you at? Contact…DM, please.” Seungkwan speaks in English as he starts to smile, Y/n laughs, leaning into him.

Mingyu looks up. “But Seungkwan is kinda cute.” He leans over, his finger grazing Seungkwan's face. “Can’t say much about his skin, but he is round and squishy-looking.”

“When we meet in Seoul, I will hug you. Promise.” Seungkwan holds up a pinkie to the camera. 

“Y/n reminds me why I can’t be a straight woman. Everytime I look at her I get the simultaneous urge to take her out to dinner and also make out with her with tongue.” Y/n reads with a straight face. When she’s done, she only looks up at the camera and smiles innocently. The male members surrounding her are staring at her with wide eyes or silently laughing. 

“That was a lot.” Seungkwan whispers.

Minghao is silent, but his face says everything. He is judging this tweet and the person who tweeted it.

“You can take her to dinner.” Mingyu says in English. “But just dinner. Nothing else.”

Seungkwan nods, “Where do you want to eat?” He asks. 

“Oh! I don’t know!” Y/n taps her chin in thought. “Maybe we can get something simple. It’s our first date. I don't want them to spend too much money on me.” 

Vernon raises a brow, “First date?” He asks, causing the girl to turn in her chair to look at him.

“I hope so! This tweet does not have friendly intentions.” Y/n faces the camera, holds up her hand in a makeshift phone, and winks, mouthing “Call me,”

Seungkwan cuts in, “I accidentally saw the next tweet already, so Mingyu, please hurry and read it,” He explains to the man behind him. Mingyu looks at his phone, giggling before reading.

“Mingyu’s so sexy but he has to do something goofy every 5 seconds or he’ll die.”

“Correct!” Seungkwan says as Y/n just giggles.

“I’m sorry.” Mingyu looks up at the camera. “But not five seconds. Maybe one minute?”

“Goofy sounds good. Mingoofy, maybe?” Seungkwan says. Y/n gasps, about to chime in that she likes it when Mingyu cuts in.

“You’re Boofy?” Mingyu asks, but it sounds like the word boopi, meaning space/volume in Korean.

Seungkwan turns to the older member, “Are you saying I take up space now?”

“Yes. A lot of…boofy?”

Y/n starts cackling, Seungkwan joins in.

[CUT: Y/N changing MINGYU’s contact on her phone to MINGOOFY]

Y/n reads the next tweet. “Minghao with his angelic pastel mullet and thick soft neck lookin like a sexy my little pony.” She looks up at the camera, smiling but narrowing her eyes playfully.

Seungkwan turns to Minghao. “So they’re saying you look like a sexy little pony.”

“Like the donkey from Shrek? You know–Donkey!” Mingyu says, his tone surprisingly innocent sounding. Vernon and Y/n are silently laughing.

The girl sits up, “My Little Pony is a kids show,” She clarified. “And the ponies had colors and then their manes were also bright. So they’re saying your pastel hair reminded them of that.” She explains more clearly, unsure if the members had heard of it before. 

Vernon turns towards Minghao, “Can you act like a pony?” 

“How?”

“Just do something pony-like!”

Minghao then throws his hand up and moves in his chair, smiling awkwardly.

“Get the fuck out.” Mingyu huffs.

The group looks at their phones to read the next one, Mingyu sitting up straight. “Wait, wait, wait, this question is so insane.” He says, “Let’s go, Seungkwan.”

Seungkwan laughs in shock, covering his mouth with his hand before he even reads it. “I would argue with Seungkwan just so I can see his sexy ass mad face.” He reads. Y/n scrunches her face again, raising the brow at the camera as if saying really, Carat?

“I’ll act it out for you. When Seungkwan gets mad, he’s like…” Mingyu then continues to do a strange bite-like movement and exhale, then turns away. The group is silent in confusion.

“Who are you?” Seungkwan complains. “When did I ever do that?”

“This is that goofy every minute thing the other person was talking about.” Y/n scolds, pointing at Mingyu with a pout.

“Oh, and that side-eye thing he does.” Vernon says to the camera as Mingyu hits both Y/n and Seungkwan at the same time. 

Mingyu points at Seungkwan’s face. “This, this, this,” He says, ignoring Y/n who’s now staring at him, jaw dropped. Vernon and Minghao start to nod and agree with him, smiling.

“Why would you suddenly hit me?” Seungkwan whines.

“So they could see your mad face,” Mingyu reasons.

Y/n spins in her chair. “Why’d you hit me!?” She shouts.

Mingyu looks down at her. “Cause it’s funny.” He yelps as she slaps his leg.

Seungkwan is facing the camera again. “You’d pick a fight on purpose?” He says, returning back to the tweet. “Start it,” He says while making a similar hand phone sign Y/n had done before. 

“Sometimes I thank God for the fact that I don’t know Vernon irl because for the life of me I wouldn’t be able to listen to him, all I’d think about is kissing him on the mouth and that wouldn’t end well,” Vernon reads the next tweet.

“Wow!”

“What!?”

“Oh!”

Vernon, with a closed mouth smile, puts the phone in his lap as he looks up at the cameras and the crew behind them. All he does is hum in reply and nod his head.

“Oh my god!” Mingyu says. He looks up, covering up his smile with his phone. “So hot!”

“Sounds like you really miss him,” Seungkwan says while Mingyu continues to squeal and coo like a little girl.

Y/n sighs as she looks at the next tweet. “I’m so jealous of the boy members of Seventeen. Not because they’re rich, but because they get to be bullied by Y/n and I want that to be me.” She reads as Vernon gives a brief translation to the others.

“They want you to be mean to them?” Mingyu asks, tilting his head.

Y/n nods in confirmation. “I can’t be mean to Carat’s, but I can be a little mean to the members.” She says as she holds out her arms to gesture to her members around her.

“Which one of us are you mean to the least?” Seungkwan asks, turning his torso and leaning back to face her better.

She hums in thought, turning her head back and forth to look at the boys. “THE 8,” She says finally, pointing to the boy with ginger-colored hair.

“Why?”

She reaches up and pinches at Minghao’s cheek. “Cause he’s so cute, I can’t be mean to him!” 

The video cuts to Y/n facing the camera, “I can’t be mean to you. I only bully my members as a joke.” She says with a warm smile.

Mingyu starts to read a new tweet about himself. “His hairline is perfect, his skin is glowing, his cheeks are plumpy, his fangs are pretty, his smile is mesmerizing, his mole nose is kissable, his curved-up lips are to-die-for, Mingyu is just PERFECT.” He looks up as he finishes. “Did you hear that?” 

“Yes.”

“Yep.”

“Yeah, Loud and clear.”

“You guys agree?”

“No.”

“Why?”

Seungkwan slowly turns. “Everything is natural?”

“Yeah.”

Seungkwan raises his brow. “Really?”

Mingyu, quick, “Shut the fuck up.”

“Shut the fuck up!?” Seungkwan covers his mouth in surprise.

“Shut the fuck up.”

[CUT: Y/N slaps Mingyu’s leg again]

“I agree. Thank you so much!” Mingyu chimes happily. He leans over to Seungkwan. “Do you know I have a mole on my nose?”

Seungkwan looks at him. Blinks. “Of course. I’ve been looking at you for 13 years.” He deadpans while Mingyu smiles at the camera.

The next tweet is read by Vernon while Y/n brings her knees to her chest in her chair. “So many veins on Minghao’s hands what the-” He struggles to read HECKKJNGN, and instead just makes a jumbled sound. “I wish I were a mosquito.”

“They want to be a mosquito?” Minghao asks softly after Y/n translates it to him.

Mingyu nods and reaches for his hand. “Because your veins are so pretty. They want to be a mosquito and go poke, like this.” Mingyu then proceeds to make a high pitched buzzing noise, clicking his tongue as he leans into Minghao and pokes at him with his finger.

“They think your veins are sexy and they want to be the mosquito that bites your veins.” Y/n deadpans, looking over at Vernon as they fight back a smile. Meanwhile, Seungkwan and Mingyu are observing Minghao’s hand and arm.

“If you become a mosquito, you might starve to death.” Mingyu says to the camera. Y/n starts to laugh as she adjusts in her seat, putting her legs down. 

Seungkwan waves his hand as he talks. “There’s not enough blood to suck.”

“Or your mouth would have to be super tiny.” Mingyu follows.

Y/n shakes her head. “I don’t think they care about his blood, though. I think they just wanna-” She cuts herself off, because not even she is sure how to explain the mosquito tweet.

“Worse than that, if you’re a mosquito, what if I kill you?” Minghao questions honestly.

“But what if a mosquito is holding a CARAT Bong?” Mingyu starts to buzz again, mimicking the idea. “You can’t kill them.”

Y/n points at someone behind the camera. “Mosquito-sized CARAT bongs. Write it down!”

[CUT: Y/N pinching SEUNGKWAN’s cheeks and cooing at him while MINGYU laughs]

She clears dramatically before reading, loudly, “VARMS VERNON ARMS BICEPS OH GOD CRUSH ME.” She then drops her tone to a normal volume as she looks up. “Why did I read this one?” She turns to Vernon and looks him up and down, analyzing his arms.

“Varms! Vernon arms! Biceps! Oh god! Crush me!” Seungkwan and Mingyu recite like a rap. Mingyu looks up, “Show me, brother!”

Vernon slowly looks down as he pulls open his zip up, revealing that he was wearing a sleeveless shirt. He laughs as he looks down at his arms. “It’s so thin.” He says as Y/n leans over to poke at his bare arm.

“Since Vernonie looks great in sleeveless tops, I sometimes just walk by and give him a little tap.” 

“I call him a slut.” Y/n deadpans to the camera in English, staring blankly. 

“I want Vernon to get a tattoo. I think it’d suit him.” Mingyu says in thought.

Vernon hums, scrunching his face in thought. “I don’t think I’d actually get one.” He says finally.

Seungkwan lifts his phone to read the next tweet. “Mingyu has biceps the size of my head but he’s still babygirl.”

Y/n snaps her head up, “Why are Seungkwan and I reading about their biceps?” She points both arms at Mingyu and Vernon.

“I look like baby girl?” Mingyu asks sweetly. “Thank you.”

Y/n shakes her head, “We should’ve brought Hoshi instead of Mingyu.”

Minghao looks down at her, leaning over slightly. “He’d like it too much,” He points out. Y/n leans over the back of her chair, her head angled awkwardly so she can look up at Minghao.

“You’re right. We should’ve brought Jun to see him all flustered and shy.”

[CUT: MINGHAO giggling when Y/N reaches up to adjust his hair and suggests that he should go back to the My Little Pony pastel hair]

Minghao stumbles over his words, but does well as he reads a tweet. “The fact that Seungkwan is sexy doesn’t mean we have to brag that Seungkwan sexy because Seungkwan is sexy and that’s how sexy Seungkwan is.”

Y/n blinks at the camera, her face expressing her attempting to register the words. “Is this a tongue twister?” She asks in English.

“So in the end, it’s just saying Seungkwan is sexy, right?” Minghao asks, looking down at Y/n who nods.

“Sexy, sexy, sexy.” Seungkwan chants, “Why do you think I’m sexy?”

“I don’t agree.” Mingyu blurts.

Seungkwan doesn’t even look back at him, “I agree, but why do you think I’m sexy?”

“If you’re sexy, then show us the move for Anyone.” Mingyu says. Seungkwan immediately tries but only bursts into giggles halfway through.

“People think you’re sexy because you’re Seungkwan,” Y/n explains, “You’re attractive and there are other things about you people find sexy.” 

It’s Seungkwan’s turn to read a tweet, and he looks at the larger screen to do so. “You guys are asking the wrong people about how it feels to be the hottest person on Earth. You should be asking Y/n,” 

The girl with mint hair snaps her head up at the camera, smiling wide. “That one was kinda cute!” She awes, turning to look back at Vernon and Minghao. “Wasn’t it?”

“Are you going to answer them?” Mingyu asks, tapping her shoulder. “How does it feel to be the hottest person on Earth?”

With a dramatic sigh, Y/n turns in her chair, leans her top half onto Vernon, and then lays her legs on Seungkwan. She looks up, sighing again. “It’s so hard being so hot. But I do it for Carats.” She goes to say more, but Vernon just slowly puts his sleeve-covered hand over her face. 

[CUT: SEUNGKWAN pushes Y/N’s legs off of him and she falls off her chair. MINGYU laughs, SEUNGKWAN apologizes like he just murdered her first born child, VERNON’s wheezing, and MINGHAO is the only one that actually helps her up]

“Vernon’s like in Water by Seventeen was so sexy seriously my legs are divorcing,” Vernon stares for a moment before chuckling quietly. Y/n starts laughing, leaning into him while the other members remain confused behind her.

“Why are legs divorcing?” Seungkwan asks curiously.

“Like,” Vernon looks over, “They just gave out and went weak at the knees.”

Y/n shakes her head. “Don’t lie to them!” She says, shoving him lightly.

“How do people even come up with this stuff?” Mingyu questions. “My legs are divorcing?”

“That’s actually pretty creative.”

Y/n nods, “I like it.”

“Mingyu, I hope you never have to go through divorcing.”

“Please, divorce with your cheeks!”

[CUT: Y/N saying she’s going to divorce the group. For legal reasons, this is a joke.]

“BOO SEUNGKWAN SLAYED THOSE FREAKING HIGH NOTES! GOOD JOB, SEVENTEEN. YOU MADE MY OVARIES EXPLODE.” 

Seungkwan’s eyes widened. “Oh my god– wait a sec.” He says. Meanwhile, next to him, Vernon and Y/n are smirking and nodding in understanding.

“How old are you?” Mingyu asks. “How. Old. Are. You? I’m 29.”

“I haven’t seen that translated word since my middle school FCS class.” Seungkwan says to his members before starting to laugh nervously. His cheeks tinge a slight pink as he starts to fan himself. “I think this one’s gonna get a lot of views.”

Vernon is still laughing, “What are you gonna do?” He asks, pointing at the other 98 liner. “They said their ovaries exploded!”

Y/n nods, “Boom! Ovaries are gone!” She starts making explosion hand signals.

Seungkwan looks at the camera, still slightly blushed and slightly quieter. “I sincerely apologize for being the cause of your ovary explosion.” He says to the camera. The others are giggling quietly. “If I did that, I’ll be more careful in the future. Thank you, and sorry.”

“So stop belting so much.” Mingyu scolds from behind him.

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop hitting those high notes.”

Seungkwan bows for the third time. “I’m sorry!” He says.

Minghao leans over to Vernon, getting help for the next tweet. Meanwhile, Mingyu shouts in surprise as he reads it himself. Y/n sits in the middle of the chaos, swaying back and forth absentmindedly as she waits for the next tweet.

“Minghao could spit on me and push me into a wall and I’d thank him,”

Y/n laughs in surprise, “Oh, that’s freaky,” She comments, looking over at Vernon with wide eyes. 

“If you actually met Minghao and he spit, you’d probably hate it.” Mingyu replies to the tweet. Minghao purses his lips, nodding in agreement as he tries not to judge too obviously.

“But he probably won’t be able to push you, he’s not that strong.” Vernon adds.

“I’m not that weak.” Minghao counters.

Mingyu looks up, “When he pushes, maybe he’d be like, whoa! And bounce back himself.” He says as he pretends to fall back in his chair. “And while spitting, like this,” He pretends to spit and hit himself.

Y/n shakes her head, “Minghao isn’t the spitting type,” She says softly. “He’s too sweet,” Minghao smiles awkwardly as the girl reaches back and pats his cheek.

“Don’t think you should be thankful if I do something like this.” Are Minghao’s final thoughts.

“Sex is good and all but have you seen lyrics by Vernon, prod by Vernon, composed by Vernon?”

The group nods in understanding, and Minghao in particular giggles as he looks up. Seungkwan leans back. “Mingyu, could you translate this into Korean for us?” The five of them immediately burst into giggles again when Mingyu does exactly that before asking the tweeter how old they are, again.

“Their sex life is very bad,” Y/n comments to nobody in particular.

Seungkwan looks at the group. “Ten years, we really have all grown up.” He says in thought, “The fact that we get to say these words-”

“It’s not anything bad. It only sounds weird if you keep dragging it out.”

“They’re compliments!” Y/n chirps before smiling at the camera. 

Mingyu starts to read a new tweet about himself. “That Calvin Klein ad…I need Mingyu’s abs the way I need to lick buttered corn on the cob at a backyard BBQ on a hot summer’s day.”

Vernon sits up in his chair, "Wait, hold on, this one’s really-” He starts to laugh into his sleeve, Y/n snorting as she tries to hide her laughter.

When he’s done, Mingyu looks up. “If you want.” 

“If they want? Like, if they want, you’ll let them?” Seungkwan asks.

“If we can meet,” Mingyu starts. Vernon and Y/n, in sync, whip their heads to frown at him in confusion. “If we can meet, but I think we can’t.”

“Our Calvin Klein Mingyu-hyung ad became a huge topic, right? When I saw that, I was like, whoa.” Seungkwan remembers, talking with his hand as he does.

Y/n scrunches her nose. “Don’t lick him.” She says to the camera, slowly shaking her head. Then, she smiles brightly and sits up straight. “My turn again!”

While Y/n starts to read the next tweet, Mingyu and Minghao lean into each other as they start to mess with Y/n’s updo, flicking at the loose strands at the top. “I just know Y/n makes the most angelic hottest noises known to man and I’d pay to hear them. Her voice sounds like sex.” She reads, blinking a few times before looking up. “Oh!”

Vernon sighs, shaking his head. “That ones- yah..” He says slowly.

“Wow.” Seungkwan stares.

Minghao giggles like a little kid.

“Your voice sounds like sex?” Mingyu asks, “But someone else said Vernon’s lyrics are better than sex.”

Y/n shakes her head, “This person is saying my voice brings them a lot of joy,” She stumbles over her words, having a hard time trying to censor herself. 

“You’re pink!” Seungkwan says, pointing at the girl's cheeks. She shakes her head, smacking his hands away. “This one got you!”

She smiles at the camera, “Thank you,” She says with a bow.

At the last tweet, Vernon crosses his legs, reading, “All 14 Seventeen members could rob me, gaslight me, set my house on fire, step on me, and I’d still say thank you. They could kidnap me, run me over in their tour bus, ruin my credit score, crash my ready, and choreograph my downfall and it would be the best day of my life.” 

“At this point, I think you might make it into Guiness World Records for being the unluckiest person ever.” Mingyu blurts.

Y/n nods, “I’ll ruin your credit score and gaslight you after.” She says with a wink.

Finally, the group of five have reached the end of their tweet adventure. Seungkwan, the variety show master. “When I heard we’d be filming a Buzzfeed Thirst Tweets video, I was worried it might end up being too safe.” He explains, “I was a bit worried, but I hoped we’d get to do some fun ones. All of these tweets were really funny.”

“Seungkwan, please be careful with your highnotes,” Mingyu reminds him. Seungkwan closes his eyes tight, fighting back a laugh. “Vernon, please be careful with your lyrics, composing, and producing, too,”

The youngest male member of the group of four sat up, “Well, it’s not like anything happens because I’m doing it.” 

“But every time you do, that person will keep thinking about it.” Seungkwan points out.

Mingyu nods, “They will keep thinking about that, and I think every time Vernon writes lyrics, I’ll be reminded of that tweet,” He explains.

Vernon faces the camera, talking to whoever made that original tweet, “May you experience something better than my music.” He says as the others start cackling. “I’ll be rooting for you.”

“And I’ll keep living healthy– like a buttered corn cob.” Mingyu grins.

“I’ll keep laughing a lot,” Minghao says, keeping his word-choice safe.

Mingyu nods, “Laughing, eating well, not getting bitten by mosquitoes.”

“Spitting, pushing against the wall, too.” Vernon adds.

Seungkwan looks up next, “Yes, from now on, I’ll try to sing carefully and contain my high notes for the well-being of our Carat’s and women’s health.” He says before laughing to himself.

And lastly, Y/n, sits in the middle of the group. She smirks, “And I’ll keep being the hottest person on Earth and get started on stealing organs.”

“Okay! Thank you, CARATs!”

“Thank you, BuzzFeed!”

Y/n points at the camera, “Be sure to check out our new album, HAPPY BURSTDAY! Thank you!”

And with that, the video ends with the five of them waving at the camera. A video filled with classic moments that are sure to trend in the Seventeen fandom for days, maybe even weeks to come. 

[VIDEO ENDS]

[kaliuchisangel]

Didn't Think I'd Meet You

Pairing:Malachi Barton x reader

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: Fluff and mutual pining

Anonymous asked: Heyyy, how r u doing?? I was wondering if maybe you could make a one-shot about how reader and malachi met? Like, maybe r is not famous, and they met at a party because of some common friends or something like that. And it's kind of like "he fell first and harder". It's okay if you don't want to though :]

A/N: hey, pookie. I'm good. Ofc, I will do it. I hope you enjoy this one!

You almost didn’t come to the party.

Honestly, you would’ve rather been at home in your hoodie, eating popcorn and watching your comfort show for the third time this month.

But your best friend had insisted dragged you, really—saying something about “you never get out” and “it’s just a few of my LA friends, you’ll be fine.”

You figured you’d stay for an hour and then dip out.

But that was before you noticed him.

Before he noticed you.

The music was loud, not obnoxiously so, but enough that you had to lean in to talk. People were scattered across the huge house. some dancing, some taking selfies, and others lounging near the back patio.

You were nursing a red cup of lemonade, standing by the wall near the snack table, awkwardly texting your friend who had wandered off after introducing you to someone who clearly forgot your name the moment you said it.

That's when he saw you.

Across the room, a boy in a black hoodie and backwards cap was talking with a group of friends—some faces you vaguely recognized from shows or social media but his eyes kept drifting over to you.

You didn’t notice at first.

But he did.

You looked soft. A little shy. Like you weren’t trying too hard to impress anyone. You were scrolling your phone, your fingers tapping against the side of the cup while your friend was off laughing with someone else.

There was something about the way you tucked your hair behind your ear, or maybe the way you smiled politely when someone walked by and said hi. He couldn’t place it, but he was already leaning over to ask, “Hey—who’s that?”

His friend raised an eyebrow. “Who, her?”

“Yeah. You know her?”

“No, I think she came with Camille or Mia or someone. She’s not in the industry, I don’t think.”

That made him even more curious.

So, he made a move.

You looked up when someone cleared their throat.

He stood in front of you now—tall, but not intimidating.Cute smile. Soft brown curls peeking out from under his hat. His voice was warm when he spoke.

"Hey. I'm Malachi."

You blinked. “Oh. Uh—hi. I’m Y/N.”

“You looked a little bored,” he chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “Thought I’d come say hey.”

You laughed under your breath. “Is it that obvious?”

“Only a little,” he teased. “Not a fan of random LA parties?”

You shook your head. “Not really my scene. I only came because my best friend swore I needed to ‘touch grass’.”

Malachi laughed at that. A real, genuine laugh. “That’s a good one. I’ll have to use it.”

You smiled, your nerves easing slightly. “So… what brings you here?”

He shrugged. “I know a few people.

Thought it’d be chill. It’s kinda not.”

You laughed again. “Exactly.”

There was a pause—but not the awkward kind. Just that lingering space where both people realize they’re kind of enjoying this more than they expected.

“I like your hoodie,” you said randomly.

He looked down at the oversized black hoodie with a subtle logo. “Thanks. It’s my go-to for ‘I don’t wanna be here but I came anyway’ energy.”

“That’s a very specific vibe.”

“And yet—spot on for both of us.”

You smiled again, more openly this time. He caught the way your eyes crinkled a little when you did. And maybe that was when it happened for him—when something in his chest tightened just enough to scare him, but not enough to stop it.

You were funny. And real. And didn’t treat him like Malachi Barton.

You treated him like a person.

That did something to him.

The two of you ended up talking for way longer than expected. About everything. Music. Bad movies. How parties like this are secretly exhausting. How people always act like they’re having more fun than they really are.

At some point, he asked, “Wanna go outside? It’s quieter.”

You nodded. “Yes, please.”

He led you to the backyard where the lights were softer and the air felt cooler. The music was just a muffled thump in the background now.

You sat on the porch steps. He sat beside you.

There was a moment of silence before he said, “You know… I didn’t think I’d meet anyone interesting tonight.”

You glanced over at him, teasing, “And then I saved your night?”

“Kind of, yeah,” he admitted with a lopsided grin.

“You’re different. In a good way.”

Your cheeks warmed, but you didn’t look away. “You’re not what I expected either.”

“What did you expect?”

You pretended to think. “I dunno. Maybe a little full of yourself. You’re kinda famous, right?”

He winced playfully. “Ouch.”

You laughed. “I mean it as a compliment. You’re real.”

He smiled. His fingers drummed lightly on his knee, and for a second, he looked like he wanted to say something else. You could tell—his eyes held it all.

And maybe he would’ve. But your friend appeared in the doorway, calling your name.

You looked over your shoulder. “Hey! Sorry—I totally lost track of time.”

Malachi stood up with you. “You leaving?”

“I probably should. She’s my ride.”

“Oh.” He tried not to look disappointed. He failed.

You turned to him. “Hey. I’m really glad you came to say hi.”

“Yeah? Then maybe I could, uh—text you sometime?”

Your heart fluttered. “Sure. Here.” You handed him your phone.

He typed in his number, saved it with a little vampire emoji for some reason. “That’s me.”

“Vampire?”

“Inside joke,” he shrugged, smirking. “You’ll get it soon.”

You laughed. “I’ll hold you to that.”

And as you walked off with your friend, he stood there for a second, watching you disappear into the night.

His friend wandered over, teasing, “Bro, you good?”

Malachi blinked like he was still in a daze. “Yeah. Just…”

“What?”

He smiled to himself, thumb brushing over his phone where your contact now sat. Then he looked up, eyes gleaming.

"I think I just met someone important."

[ellewoodswrites]

couldn’t watch live so I didn’t dare come here until I finished watching, but tonight’s episode was so fun!!!!! I loved it, easily best episode of the season for me, and I didn’t even mind the pacing!

maybe I’ll have more detailed thoughts later but I truly loved everything. Some highlights:

Blake Ritson acting his ass off

Marian and Oscar together being pseudo-siblings, which I always love

and some acknowledgment of Oscar’s sexuality and the true nature of his grief over John’s death!! idk how accurate it is that Marian would figure this out so quickly but I’m okay with it, let the man have one person who supports him

John keeping the photographs of himself and Oscar made me legit cry — is he the most romantic man on the show? I think yes.

Mrs. Fish’s face while reading Society As I Have Found It was a delight! Great acting

I can finally see Gladys’ resemblance to Bertha, and it’s so marked for me that I don’t know how I never saw it before

Ada losing her shit over Mrs. Astor deigning to thank her was giving big “ignored in high school and trying to be cool in later life” vibes that I hate, but it’s in character

Ada and Marian’s talk was really nice

I really enjoyed the downstairs shenanigans at the Russell house — reminded me of the kind of thing we used to see on Downton Abbey that this show had often lacked (for which I blame the short seasons)

Peggy was absolutely radiant this episode and I thought the picnic scene was so sweet — so I really really don’t want to watch her get her heart broken 😭😭

Jack touring the house!!! Marian supporting him!!! Cuties.

Bless Jack for saying what needed to be said about Larry. They’re definitely naming one of their kids John now (do I have to rename my head-canoned Brook Russell kids to include this? I think I do).

Really enjoyed all the Larry and Marian scenes — Harry Richardson in particular was really good at portraying hurt and bewilderment — and also some shame (imo) at his lie, and the realization that Marian has a very good and valid point about spending her life with a man who lies when it’s inconvenient.

Idk why George is being SO nasty to Bertha right now when they both have giant egos and boundless ambition. It’s pretty clear that he’s taking his frustrations out on her and I hate that for him and for her. I got it in the wake of the Gladys wedding (although he only has himself to blame, he did nothing to stop it if it was so offensive to him) but now it really feels like he’s just venting his frustration at his business failures on her, and I hate that.

George and Larry both turning away from Bertha to Do Business made my heart hurt for her

Look, I get why Larry jumped to the conclusion he did re Bertha interfering — and I don’t think it’s an unfair conclusion, based on the recent Gladys wedding finagling. It’s also a very human thing for an adult to lash out at their mom like this (IMO) about something that is actually their own damn fault, especially when hurt and vulnerable — but it still sucks to see, and I really felt for Bertha. Obvi I am a Larry fan but I am also a major Bertha fan. Larry has a bit of growing up to do that I think/hope is going to come out of this whole thing — both on the front of not telling (white, from his POV, but hurtful from another POV) lies to his fiancée, but also not jumping to conclusions and blaming his mom, and generally navigating his relationships with a bit more maturity and honesty…but that shit is hard, and I don’t want to see perfect characters. And it’s hard to have a domineering parent who you want to break free from (tbh both of the Russell parents, but he seems to be focusing his frustration on her this season) AND are also being unfair to said parent about other things.

This was a bullet point but then it got too long: give Carrie Coon a fucking Emmy already. My heart broke for her a hundred times this episode, and while I love Bertha, I am no Bertha stan — so Carrie was really selling it. I love seeing Bertha in all of her complex, flawed humanity, and this was a really satisfying episode for that, IMO. I find Bertha interesting as a character BECAUSE she is an ambitious striver who can be vicious and self-interested — but also is someone who clearly loves her family and is trying to do her best by them and by herself in both the restrictive society they live, and by her own beliefs about what is best. I also think she can be a power-hungry egomaniac who did blindly shove her daughter into a marriage her daughter didn’t want, willfully closing her eyes to that fact and focusing on what she (Bertha) was getting out of it. But that’s very much within her character, IMO — it’s the logical extension of her unfettered ambition (and her excellent ability to strategically plot something and see it through!), and I’m okay with seeing it, as much as I didn’t love it for Gladys. Both George and Bertha are ruthless people because they had to be to be who they are — while also being capable of deeply loving their family without seeing these things as contradictory. I just think they should have made George be a little bit more brutal in business to drive this point home (I really think he should have fired on the striking workers last season to drive home just how vicious he could be in business), because right now it’s feeling a bit imbalanced between George and Bertha, and I don’t think that’s entirely fair. They are BOTH Big Personalities with big ambitions, big egos, killer instincts, a deep ruthless streak, etc, and that’s what makes them interesting and compelling characters, IMO.

Just like it’s in character for Bertha to be ruthless and self-interested, it’s also in-character for her to drop everything and run to help Gladys in England (and totally fuck up Lady Sarah in a deeply satisfying way), and be proud of Larry for the copper mine whatever, and be so very hurt when her husband and son are ignoring her, and to be baffled by George’s sudden anger at her ambition (which is only rivalled by his own, c’mon George, that’s what you like about each other, don’t act all high and mighty) and all of her other little nuances. I don’t know what I am trying to say except that the character is very interesting to me, and Carrie Coon is absolutely killing the role.

Oh, and George got shot?! Good thing there’s a doctor across the street!

Trailer for next week looks great. Really looking forward to it.

Remember when I said I didn’t have long thoughts? This is how I end up writing long-ass fanfiction when I said I’d write something short. I just can’t stop.

[mandoriana]

Merlin,

Today we watched a puppet show.

The plan was simply to speak with the Duchess, check how things were going and see if she needed any help with politics. Gwen insisted on going, of course, so everything went well, and we were planning to leave as soon as possible. But naturally, my queen charmed all the children, and soon enough you and she were being pulled into a circle.

There was an old man there, a long-time resident who had lost both his wife and children. He now spends his days entertaining the young ones with puppet shows that he crafts himself.

It was a lovely story, funny too — about a lady who falls in love with the most dangerous creature in her kingdom. I enjoyed it, and judging by your and Gwen’s expressions, I suppose you did too.

The children, especially, were enchanted by you and her, because the story spoke of a common girl who, through her love, turned the beast into a man. In a way, the puppets looked like the two of you, and it was good to see the admiration in everyone’s eyes as you entertained them with even more fantastical tales.

Anyway, we came home. You and my queen spent the whole ride laughing and talking about how it would be easier for me to be the beast in the story than you, and how you were more suited to be the charming prince than I was.

I’ll miss these moments between the three of us — two of my favorite people joining forces to tease me, both the kindest and most lovable souls I’ve ever known. I hope your gentleness won’t die with me.

In the end, what I really want to say is:

If one day the weight of longing becomes so heavy you feel like you’ll sink — do what that old man did, and create a theatre.

Not a big one. Not a fixed one. But a travelling theatre.

At first, I thought of asking you to carve wooden puppets like his, but I’ve thought it over many times and realized I’m not comfortable with the idea of you holding a sharp knife while trying to carve something — you might end up cutting yourself.

So instead: take your old socks, the ones you insist on not throwing away even when they’re full of holes, and turn them into characters. Sew on eyes, stitches, crooked buttons. Give them ridiculous names and funny voices.

And then… travel.

Go from village to village, from school to school, from square to square.

Enchant the children with silly stories, impossible adventures, and happy endings — like that man did with all of us today. And at the end of each performance, gift the children with sock puppets. Let those toys become part of their own stories too.

You never said you wanted to be a father, but you always shine around children — and I would be so happy if you continued being that magical presence for them, like you and Gwen were today.

You don’t have to do it all the time. Just now and then, simply to distract yourself and hear the sound of children’s laughter.

Sometimes, making a child laugh is more than enough to revive your whole soul.

Your king,

Arthur Pendragon

P.S.: Please try to remember to wash the socks before turning them into puppets. No one deserves a stinky toy.

To Merlin

[saturn-peache]

We're Not Together (One-Shot)

A/N: As I said, gonna post some stuff that I had already uploaded to AO3 for those who prefer reading on tumblr. Enjoy :)

NSFW (18+) MDNI | One-Shot | Evan Buckley x Reader

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

Read on AO3

You get off the FaceTime call with your parents, your heart sinking. For some reason, you didn’t think that they would ever actually come to LA to visit you, but it turns out they have plane tickets booked for your birthday in three days. A bead of sweat forms on your forehead when you hear your roommate, Buck, coming in through the front door. You wipe it off before plastering a smile on your face and going to the living room to greet him.

“Hey, Buck! You look like you could use a drink. What would you like? I’ll make you something,” you ask cheerfully. He raises an eyebrow, clearly confused by your uncharacteristically warm welcome.

“Uh,…I’ll just have a beer if you’re offering. Thank you?” He answers, wary of what is going on.

You hand him a cold can of beer, plopping down on the couch next to him. “What do you want?” He asks, clearly onto you. You try to play it off as just you being nice but he’s not buying it.

“Fine, I need your help.”

This earns a small grin. He is clearly curious about what it is you need help with.

“Okay, some back story. When I moved to LA it was with my ex, Steve. You never met him. He broke up with me almost immediately after we moved out here. That’s how I ended up living in this apartment with you. Anyway, my parents were really worried and upset that I was alone in a big, new city. They watch too much true crime and apparently only awful things happen in LA to girls who live alone. Anyway, they were complaining a lot and threatening to come to LA and force me to move back home, but then I moved in with you and I told them not to worry because I was living with a big, strong firefighter so no one was going to break into my place in the middle of the night and murder me. And, you see, I thought this was a great way to shut them down, but instead they started going off about me living with a guy and how improper that is or whatever. So, …,” You chuckle shyly, “This is where things get a little…weird.”

“Weird?”

“Yeah, so, I’m not saying it was a good idea, but, it was the first thing that came to mind and it seemed to work, until now.”

“Wait, what worked? What are you talking about?” He asks. “Okay, in an attempt to shut them up I told them that the guy I live with, well you, is my boyfriend.”

His eyebrow shot up, but he didn’t seem upset, just amused at your idiocy. “And that worked?”

“Somehow. I convinced them that it was a really serious relationship, which somehow made them get off my back about how terrible it is for a woman to live with a guy. It makes no sense to me either. Anyway, it’s been working great. Until now, because, in three days, My parents are coming to LA to visit,” You smile trying to soften the blow.

“And…?”

“And they might be staying here because they think that the second bedroom is a guest room since they think we’re, you know, together.”

He stays silent for a moment, then opens his mouth again, “Now it makes more sense why you ask me to take selfies with you after your mom calls.”

I rub the back of my neck, “Yeah, when she starts getting suspicious about why we don’t have pictures together on ‘the Facebook’ I send her one of those to reassure her that we are still going strong.”

He chuckles at your predicament, “So, your folks will stay here for a couple days. That’s fine. I’m sure we’ll make it work.”

“So you’re fine with this? It’s not a big deal?”

“No, of course not. I’ll be at work all day for the first day anyway. But, honestly, I’m sure it will be fine.”

“No, Buck, you realise that we have to…keep up appearances while they’re here right?”

He shakes his head with a soft laugh, “Yeah, I’m sure we can hold hands or something and make it convincing. Don’t worry about it, I’ve been accused of being a flirt since forever, at least I’ll get to use it to my advantage — or, your advantage I guess.”

The next couple of days fly by. You cleaned your room, setting it up as the guest bedroom for your parents, and moved your stuff to Buck’s room. When it was time, you drove to the airport to pick them up. The first thing your parents ask you during the drive was how come your boyfriend was not there. You explain that he has a long shift at the firehouse and would not be home until the next morning, which leaves your mother with a sour look on her face. She was looking forward to meeting the guy after hearing so much about him. And this part was true. You were always telling her about Buck, mostly to keep up the lie, but really because you kind of enjoyed talking to her about him. She seemed genuinely happy for you. You hoped that bubble wouldn’t be burst during the next three days.

You make a reservation for four at Gianluca’s for your birthday dinner under Buck’s name, the Italian restaurant you lied to your mother about Buck taking you to on date nights. You make sure to shoot him a text telling him that he was surprising you with dinner at your favourite place, keeping him updated on the web of lies you were weaving.

The first day runs smoothly. After all, you’re alone with your parents. The charades haven’t begun yet. That night, you bid goodnight to your parents, then retire to Buck’s room for the night, sleeping in the empty bed.

Early in the morning you were woken up by the sound of the front door closing quietly, followed by footsteps trailing to the door. Buck entered the dark room. You were barely awake but you could make out his silhouette undressing down to his boxer shorts and getting in bed. When he felt you there he gasped and cursed under his breath. “Oh, Jesus, I forgot about this,” He whispered, grabbing his pillow and a blanket.

“Where are you going?”

“Nowhere, I’m gonna sleep on the floor.”

“Come on, that’s ridiculous. You just got off work,” You scoot over in the bed, “we’re adults right?”

He gets into bed next to you, his breathing soon letting you know that he was sound asleep, and you manage to get a few more hours of shuteye before waking up to the dapples of light coming through the blinds. You open your eyes, realising Buck isn’t next to you. You go out into the kitchen and see him with his apron on, and your parents sat at the kitchen table.

“Morning, sleepy head,” He says, coming up to you and kissing your cheek, “Happy birthday!” You’re caught off guard for a moment but then just play along. He’s making pancakes for all of you, heart-shaped for the birthday girl, and its clear that you had interrupted your mother’s riveting retelling of a story from your childhood. The four of you have breakfast together, and Buck plays along perfectly. You present your planned itinerary to your parents, suggesting the three of you visit the zoo. Your mother asks why Buck will not be joining you and you begin to form an excuse before he cuts you off.

“Oh, no, honey. Didn’t I tell you? That fell through, I’m coming with you.” You shoot him a weird look but he ignores it. “Yeah, I take Chris there all the time, so I can give you a great tour, complete with facts on all the animals.” Your mother nods enthusiastically, like she already knows all about who Chris is, and you wonder just how long they had been talking before you got out of bed.

Buck drove you all to the zoo. He insisted on it. He was walking you through each exhibit, spouting off facts about the animals, just as he had promised. He was being the perfect gentleman, and you could tell that your mother was enjoying the show. He took your hand somewhere around the meerkats and hasn’t let it go since.

The four of you take a photo in front of the flamingos, smiling like one big happy family. That’s when you begin to get a sick feeling in your stomach, feeling guilty for lying to your parents. It was one thing to fib over the phone but putting this much effort into keeping this up seemed a step too far. But you were in too deep, saying something now would be weirder. You’re not sure when you became a dishonest person — you used to tell your mom everything, but one small lie, which seemed insignificant at the time, was now becoming a full-on theatrical production. At least Buck didn’t seem to mind playing along. In another life he could have been an actor.

His arm is draped around your shoulder as he talks to your mom about the time he lived with an alpaca in Peru and you wonder whether he’s making it up or if he actually did live in Peru and you just didn’t know about it. You still feel uneasy, your mind wrought with thoughts about how you’re acting like a bad daughter and a bad friend, mixed with the cotton candy Buck bought for you, making your stomach turn. He instantly picks up on it and sits you down on a bench, feeling your forehead with the back of his hand.

“What’s wrong, darling?” He asks, his voice riddled with concern.

“I’m fine, It’s just the heat I think. Keep walking, I’ll find you in a minute.”

He rummages in his bag for a bottle of cold water and opens it before handing it to you, “Here, this should help you feel better.” He tells your parents to keep going and that you two would join them later on, staying by your side. Your parents walk on but he doesn’t stop rubbing your back when they do.

“You can stop doing that, they can’t see us,” You groan. He reluctantly takes his hand off you but still sits close. “You’re a little too good at this.”

“You sound like you’re complaining. Isn’t that what you wanted.”

“I didn’t want any of this!” You snap. He’s taken aback but he says nothing. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to raise my voice. I just feel awful for lying. I should have just said something before. I could have just told them it was a lie. ‘I’ve been in LA for over a year and I haven’t been kidnapped and also my roommate isn’t a perv’ would have sufficed. Instead I’ve roped you into this mess.”

“I mean it’s not the best idea you’ve ever had, but it’s not a huge deal. Let’s just have a good time today. It’s your birthday. Then, tomorrow, maybe you can tell them that we’re really just friends,” He said, reassuring you. He grabs your hand again as the two of you catch up to your parents.

That same evening, you’re in Buck’s room, getting ready to go out to dinner. He got ready early, letting you have the room to yourself while you got dressed. You wore an elegant, form-fitting dress, with dainty jewellery to go with it. You kept things simple with your hair and makeup, save for a little bit of glitter on your eyelids. It was your birthday after all. You finished off the look with a pair of heels, and exited the room into the living room. Buck was on the couch, and his head turned when he heard the door open out of reflex. His eyes widened, taking you in, and you felt your cheeks heat up.

“Is it too much?” You ask shyly.

He shakes his head, “Not at all. You look…you look great.” He gets off the couch, grabbing the bouquet that was on the coffee table, handing it to you.

“Buck, you really didn’t have to get me anything.”

He just shrugs as you look for a vase to place the flowers into. They’re stargazer Lillies —your favourite. You wonder how he could have possibly known that or if it was just a good guess, but either way it warmed your heart.

Your parents come out into the living room, ready to go. They admire the flowers, and your mom coos at Buck, going on about what a gentleman he is. Once again, he insists on driving to the restaurant. When you get to Gianluca’s, he gives the keys to the valet, then rushes around to your side, opening the door for you and helping you out of the Jeep.

You walk in and the host leads you to your table. You have a surprisingly good time, considering the circumstances. There are no awkward moments or weird tension in the air. It seems like your mother loves Buck, and Buck is doing a good job of acting like he loves you. Even your father, who’s usually the protective type, seems to approve of your relationship. The waiters bring out a slice of cake with a candle in it, and the people around your table clap. You could die of embarrassment but Buck’s arm around you is grounding and reassuring.

“Oh, go ahead, kiss her! Don’t be shy,” Says your mother encouragingly. He doesn’t hesitate, pulling you in for a kiss. It’s over in the blink of an eye but his soft lips on yours felt electric, leaving a trace long after the kiss was broken.

Your parents insist on paying for the meal, wanting to show their appreciation for the two of you hosting them during their trip as well as to treat you on your birthday.

You are exhausted when you get back home. It had been a long day of walking around in the sun, and, although you had a great time, calculating every word to keep up your lie was tiring. You got ready for bed, putting on a pair of silk pyjama shorts with a matching tank and got into bed. Buck emerges a few minutes later, wearing nothing but a pair of sleep shorts. He catches you looking at him with a surprised look on your face. “What?”

“Nothing. I just didn’t realise you slept like that every night. I thought last night you were just too tired to get dressed after work,” You explained.

“Oh, sorry. I can put on something else if you’d be more comfortable.”

“No, don’t worry about it. I’m not uncomfortable,” You assured him.

He got into bed next to you and you turned off the lamp. “Goodnight, Buck,” you whispered.

“Goodnight, birthday girl.”

You open your eyes, feeling a hand on your arm shaking you gently. When you wake up properly, you realise that you are latched on to Buck, your arms grabbing onto his shoulders and your leg draped across his hips.

You blush, apologising. “It’s fine, really,” he reassures, as you push yourself off him. His breath hitches when you move your thigh off him but you pretend you didn’t hear anything, turning your body away from him and trying to go back to sleep.

When you wake up again the blinds are slightly illuminated. You’re still with your back towards Buck but your bodies are now pressed up against each other, with one of his big arms strewn across your body in sleep. The feeling of his bulging shorts on your ass cheek is unmistakable. Your face gets hot and you try to shimmy away, but his grip on you tightens as he mumbles something incoherent. Eventually you manage to slip out of his grip, and scurry out of the room, turning on the coffee pot.

You pour yourself a cup and a few minutes later, Buck emerges. His hair is messy and you can’t help but think that he looks pretty cute. He’s put on a T shirt which just about covers his hips, not wanting to run into your parents shirtless and sporting a hard-on. He pushes past you to get a cup of coffee, his hand resting on your arm for less than a second, but it makes you feel some kind of way. You shake the thought from your head. Clearly, the pretending has confused your nervous system. He sits next to you and both of you drink in silence. When he hears the door open to your parents’ bedroom, he automatically places his arm around you, making the hair on your neck stand up. “You don’t have to…I’m gonna come clean, remember?” You whisper to him.

He looks a little confused then reluctantly lowers his arm, and you can’t help but feel the absence of his touch.

Your dad comes out of the room looking a little bit worried. He explains that your mom has a migraine, something she often struggles with. You find some painkillers and take them to her, making sure she’s doing alright, helping to blackout the room so she can rest. You decide to head to CVS to get her a cold mask which usually help her to feel better. Your dad stays behind but Buck obviously tags along. He drives while you sit in the passenger seat, and he touches your thigh reassuringly with his other hand on the wheel. His touch catches you off guard and makes your stomach flip.

“We’re not actually a couple, Buck, you don’t need to keep pretending.”

“I’m just trying to be there for you. Besides, you probably shouldn’t come clean to them now, maybe wait until your mom is feeling better,” He advises.

“Yeah, sure, you’re right, but, we’re alone right now. We don’t have to pretend.”

“I’m not. I just wanted to remind you that I’m here for you. That’s all. I didn’t mean anything by it,” He protests.

“No, yeah. I know. I’m sorry, I’m just a bit on edge. I’ve been a total bitch to you these last couple days.” He chuckles and shakes his head.

“Hey, I get it. You wouldn’t want to see me around my parents either. Trust me.”

You walk through the aisles at CVS, looking for ice masks and anything else marketed for treating migraines. Buck walks behind you silently like a shadow. You walk past the family planning section and a box of condoms falls off the shelf right in front of your feet. Buck picks it up and goes to place it back, but then hesitates and turns to you. “Maybe we should get some, you know, to really sell this thing,” he suggests.

You roll your eyes, “I told you we’re done pretending, and anyway, I don’t need my parents to know about all that.” He shrugs and puts the box back.

Back in the car, you sit in silence while Buck drives. You get to the apartment, giving the stuff you bought to your mom. Your dad sits in the living room watching the game and drinking a beer. You sit with him for a while but he’s really into the game and you grow bored and a little hungry, so instead, you decide to look for Buck to see if he’s hungry too, so you can start preparing something for lunch. When you push the bedroom door open you’re met with a fully naked Buck laying in bed. You lock eyes, both of you like deer in headlights, then you shut the door quickly, trying your best to be silent. Your cheeks are definitely glowing and you try to blink away the image. A few moment later the door opens again, and he is now dressed, pulling you into the room.

“Sorry, I was just, uh, I was changing, and then I got a little distracted…” He begins.

“No, no. It’s my fault. I should have knocked,” You assure him, the red tinge on your cheeks still evident. “I was just gonna ask if you’re hungry.”

“Yeah, I could eat. I’ll come help you make something. How does pasta sound?” He suggests.

You cook alongside each other in silence, apart the low volume of the game on the TV in the living room. You can’t shake the image of him in bed. It had only been a second but you saw him. You saw…it. And your mind cannot stop thinking about what he was doing in there. You’re not an idiot, you know what he was about to do, imagining exactly what it would look like in your head. You try hard to rid your mind of the image but the more you try the more it cements itself there. Distracted, you bump into him, apologising shyly. He can sense that something is off and he feels guilty about it. You decide to just say something, desperate to clear the air.

“It’s not a big deal. Really, I mean, it’s just a body, right? I’ve seen those before,” You begin.

He smirks, “Have you now?”

“I’m serious. It doesn’t have to be weird between us just because I saw…that.”

“I know…I didn’t think things were weird.”

“No, yeah exactly. We’re adults, we should be able to talk about these things without it being awkward.”

He takes this as an invitation, “I was just a little…pent up,” He whispers, watching the blush creep back onto your cheek. “Relax, I’m just enjoying watching you get this flustered. We don’t have to talk about it,” He chuckles.

You nod, returning your attention to the cooking.

Later that night, you’re in Buck’s bed again, both of you asleep. At least, you were asleep, before he pulled you against him in his sleep. He was pressed against you, spooning. You almost went back to sleep when you felt his erection against your ass once again. You thought about waking him but you didn’t want another awkward moment, not after that afternoon. You didn’t really mind. You were both wearing shorts, anyway.

The next morning, your parents’ trip had come to an end and it was time to drive them to the airport. You realised that you never told them the truth, deciding to just tell them you broke up over text or something later. You hug them goodbye at the glass doors and then return to the car. Buck tries to make you feel better by making a joke about you getting your rooms back and not having to share a bed or walk in on each other in compromising positions.

“Yeah, finally, I’ll get to sleep without anything poking me,” You play along.

He blushes, “I mean, I wasn’t lying when I said I was pent up before.”

You chuckle, “Well, you are officially relieved of your fake boyfriend duties. Thanks again, by the way. You did surprisingly well.”

“Yeah…”

“Yeah…”

There’s a long stretch of silence.

“It wasn’t that hard, you know,” He says, breaking the silence, “Pretending to be your boyfriend.”

“I mean I’m sure you have loads of practice,” you smile.

“No,” he pauses, “I mean its not hard to touch you and kiss you,” he glances away from the road to look at your face, “and act like I’m in love with you.”

“Buck…”

“Are you gonna tell me you hated it?”

You shake your head, then, realising he probably can’t see you clearly out of his peripheral vision, “It was nice.”

“Yeah, but now, now, I think I’ve developed a habit for it,” he tentatively places his hand on your knee, the other on the wheel.

“Buck…,” you begin again, unsure of what you even want to say.

“Tell me you don’t feel it too,” He pleads.

“I…,” You hesitate.

You’ve arrived back at the apartment now, and he pulls into a spot right in front of the building, his hand still on your knee. With the car parked, he can finally take his eyes off the road and place them on you.

He looks like a kicked puppy sometimes, and this is one of those times.

You decide to be brave, reaching over the centre console and grabbing his face with both hands, kissing him softly, the same way he had kissed you at the restaurant. His hands find your waist and he deepens the kiss, kissing you like he means it, his tongue running over your lip, engulfing you passionately.

You break the kiss, looking into those puppy eyes framed with long lashes. You can’t help the smile that breaks out on your face, and seeing you smile makes him smile.

“What?” He asks, his dimple making an appearance.

“Nothing,” you assure, “I really want to get inside,” you nod towards the apartment building door.

He jumps out of the car, opening your side and helping you out. The two of you barely make it through the door before you’re kissing again. You make out in the elevator on the way up, only breaking the kiss to unlock the front door. You pull his shirt off, eager to see his bare chest again. His large hands wander, feeling the curve of your hips.

He lifts you up with ease, setting you down on the kitchen counter and reaching his hands under your dress, all while still kissing you on the mouth. His fingers find the waistband of your panties and he pulls them down swiftly, discarding them. He uses one hand to cup your face while the other travels up your thigh, finding your core. His fingers feel around, parting your lips gently. He feels how slippery you are already, your body aching to have him, and he smirks a little into the kiss. He rubs circles on your clit making your legs shake and your back arch.

Then, he pulls your hips closer to the edge of the counter, hiking up your sundress and pushing your legs open. You gasp when his tongue lands on your clit, lapping at it relentlessly. You grab a hold of his head, rocking your hips softly against his face. He introduces his fingers, inserting one inside you while he licks your clit. Then adds another finger, curling them up and making you moan. Your noises are music to his ears and he works hard to get you to make more. His other hand is on the back of your thigh, pushing your legs open. He can feel you tremble under his touch and he relishes in the feeling. He loves that he can make you feel so good already. You feel your pleasure building to its peak, instinctively squeezing your thighs together, but his strong hands hold you spread open and he licks you through your high. You pant, trying to catch your breath and he comes back up to kiss you, letting you taste yourself on his mouth.

“You’re so good…,” You whimper. Those words are like a drug to him. His blue eyes look black, staring into your soul with a look you can’t begin to describe — something between desire and adoration. He helps you down off the counter and you immediately crash into his lips, needing to kiss him again. You tug at his jeans and he helps you take them off him, your lips still attached. You spit in your hand, dipping it into his boxers and stroking him. You feel how hard he is getting while you do that and you can’t help but blush at the sheer size of him while your fingers attempt to wrap around him. You had seen it when you walked in on him the day before, but you didn’t appreciate just how big he was before feeling him like this. His lips latch onto your neck and he moans softly as your hand teases him.

You take your hand out of his boxers and he immediately grabs it and leads you to his room. You giggle softly at his eagerness, but you can’t deny you need this just as much as he does. He undoes the zipper on the back of your dress, letting it fall to the floor. He licks his lips, admiring the sight of your naked body. You feel a little bit like prey being scrutinised by a hungry predator, but it only excites you further.

He radiates warmth as he comes to stand behind you, your bodies barely an inch apart. His fingers run up your spine with a featherlight touch that makes you shiver, before settling around the back of your neck, then slowly creeping up to your head. He runs them through your hair, massaging your scalp and making you close your eyes in pleasure, before he gently grabs the hair at the roots and tugs on it, making you crane your neck back, taking the opportunity to kiss your lips again, then trailing kisses down your neck. While kissing you, his hands undo the clasp of your bra and it slowly falls down your body onto the carpeted floor, exposing your breasts. He wastes no time, pinching your nipple between his fingers while his tongue flicked over the other one.

“I wasn’t done,” you hum while he plays with your breasts. He seems confused, looking up at you without taking his mouth off your nipple. So you continue, “before you dragged me in here, …I wanted to taste you.” Now the confusion in his eyes was replaced with desire.

You reach back into his boxers, this time tugging them down all the way, once again grabbing hold of his member. The thought crosses your mind if he’ll even be able to fit. You drop to your knees before him, and he throws his head back in anticipation even before your lips take hold of his tip. You run your tongue over it, suctioning your lips around his width. You try to will your body to make more saliva, then lower yourself onto him, taking him as far down your throat as you can, ignoring your gag reflex’s protests. When you finally have to come up for air, there are strands of spit connecting your tongue to him, making both your chin and his cock glisten. You take him back into your mouth, bobbing up and down while his hand holds your hair in a makeshift ponytail, fighting his urges to guide you deeper.

After several minutes of your mouth taking him beautifully, he can’t take it anymore, and pulls you back up on your feet, immediately capturing your lips in a hungry kiss.

“I need you,” He whispers into your mouth and pushes you gently onto the mattress, “can I?”

You nod and almost whimper as you say, “please.”

In seconds he is hovering over you, pushing his hips against yours and calling you beautiful while he kisses your neck and chest. He turns you over onto your stomach, kissing the back of your neck and down your spine, the continued stream of compliments leaving his lips.

One of his hands grabs hold of your hip, his thumb tracing circles over your butt cheek, spreading you open for him. You gasp as you feel the tip of his cock grazing your glistening lips. He whispers into your ear, “Is this okay? Can I take you like this, beautiful girl?”

You shudder, the gentleness of his words contrasting with the tight grip of his hand. “Yes, Buck, please,” You answer, almost mad at yourself for how needy you sound.

The head of his cock pushes past your folds and into your opening, slowly sliding into you with ease due to the ample wetness he made your body produce, despite the fact that he was much larger than anything you were used to. Your legs go weak as he buries himself into you fully, reaching even the deepest spots which make your eyes roll back. Due to the position he has you in, each long and deep thrust also stimulates your clit which rubs on the bedsheets. He starts off slow, careful not to cause you any pain or discomfort, but it becomes pretty clear to the both of you that all he is making you feel is pleasure. He lets himself thrust a little faster, keeping a steady rhythm, and you can hear the loud sloshing your bodies make with every thrust. You would be embarrassed, but it feels too good for you to care. Buck is also clearly in ecstasy. Your body envelopes him so well, taking him like it’s what you were made for. You are warm and wet and perfect. He continues to whisper praise into your ear but you can barely make out a word, too lost in the intensity of the pleasure you are feeling. He pulls out of you, and for a second you’re confused, and you begin to ask, “why?” until he expertly flips you over onto your back, sliding right back into you. The position provides a new angle, hitting different spots.

“Want to look into your eyes. Want to see your face when you cum,” he explains between ragged breaths, the words themselves sending jolts of electricity through you. He grips the bottoms of your thighs, pushing them up, spread, with your knees close to your shoulders, then hoists your ankles up over his shoulders, somehow fucking you even deeper than before. Your nails dig into his large biceps.

“Buck,” you breathe out, “I think I’m gonna…”

“Come for me. Come around my cock like a good girl,” He assures you, sending you over the edge. Your legs vibrate and your back arches off the mattress. His relentless pace does not falter, which drags out your pleasure, and you continue writhing and moaning under his touch.

Feeling your orgasm and the way you clench down on him makes his own orgasm imminent. “Baby, where do you want me to come?” He asks, and it dawned over both of you that in your frenzy, you hadn’t discussed it at all.

“Inside…me,” you croak out, too far gone to even begin forming a coherent sentence beyond what was necessary.

That was all the encouragement he needed. Before long, his thrusts become erratic and sloppy, fucking into you desperately, before pushing himself all the way inside you, as deep as he possibly can. You feel his cock twitch and then the warmth pooling inside you as his release coats your insides, with a deep groan and a simple “fuck.”

He collapses onto you for a moment, and you can feel his heart beating against your own chest. He lifts himself off you, worried that he might crush you, but still not pulling out. He just stares at your face. Both of you have flushed faces, with red lips which had been kissed raw, and a dopey daze in your eyes. You admire the way his blue eyes sparkle, the way his birthmark seems a little more noticeable than usual, the way his curls stick to his skin with sweat. You were always obviously aware that he was attractive, but right now you could not tear your eyes away from his face if you wanted to. He is so pretty. Truly beautiful. And he’s thinking the exact same thing about you.

When he finally pulls out of you, you instantly miss the way he filled you. He reaches for a used t-shirt and wipes you clean before using it to clean himself up. Then, he wraps his arms around you, holding you as close to his chest as possible, almost constricting your breathing.

After a few minutes of calm cuddling, he finally speaks, “Don’t bother texting your mom that we’re not really together.”

[bruiseddollface]

Epistolary Lovers IV

Word Count : 8k

Pairing : real!Verso x writer gn!reader

Summary : After days of waiting, the books finally left your room, placed between the two of you. You'd had the courage to show them to him, but will you have the same courage to explain to him what they're for? Worse still, what would his reaction be?

Author's note : This chapter is very fluffy, lots of tension... Enjoy!

chapter III

The words spun in your head like dead leaves carried by the wind, disjointed, floating, unable to settle. You felt them rising to your throat, pressing against your palate, but nothing passed your lips. You stared so intently at the two books lying on the ground in front of you, as if they could somehow help you know where to start. But you didn’t even know if you were supposed to start. Maybe you should just leave them there, on the ground, like a simple gift, an ordinary book. But even that idea didn’t feel right. And something inside you refused to treat them like ordinary books. The more seconds passed, the more tangled your thoughts became. You didn’t even dare look at him anymore. The silence grew heavy, almost searing against your skin.

Finally, his voice reached you. Soft. Almost amused, “You’re giving me… a book?”

You looked up. He had that crooked smile, the kind that danced on the edge of mockery and tenderness. But it faded almost immediately. His expression shifted, an instant of hesitation, restraint, as if he already regretted breaking the silence. His ice-blue eyes observed you without judgment. Just… curious. Attentive.

You finally inhaled. A real breath of air, the first since you'd placed the books on the ground, “It’s not really from me. It’s… a friend who gave them to me,” you began, as if to shift the blame for whatever trouble might follow. You felt bad throwing your friend under the train, but it was the truth, the idea hadn’t come from you, “They’re… special. An old magic…” you didn’t say more. Not yet. It wasn’t the right moment, you felt it.

“And the mirror on the cover… is that part of the magic?” he asked, voice sincere and curious, almost naïve.

You shook your head, a faint smile forming despite yourself, “No, that’s just… her artistic taste. Her… unique aesthetic.”

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. You thought you saw the corner of his mouth twitch, amused. A brief moment of lightness settled between you, like a breath between two heartbeats. Then the silence returned. Softer now, less cutting. But the knot in your stomach remained.

You ran a nervous hand through your hair, hesitating one last time, “I’m just… really scared to tell you what they’re for and… how they work.”

You stared at the ground as you said that. The flower-covered earth under your feet suddenly seemed more comforting than his gaze. You were afraid he’d become suspicious, afraid he’d laugh, or worse, walk away. But he said nothing. Didn’t even move. When you finally dared look up again, his blue eyes were still watching you. Calm. Deep. Cold, yes, but not unkind. The murmur of the nearby river filled the space between you. The wind rustled the branches of the willow overhead, and now and then a leaf brushed against your shoulder or his, as if trying to soothe whatever still trembled inside you.

And he stayed. Not a word, not a step back. Just that calm, present gaze, as if he too were thinking, weighing the risks without fleeing. You weren’t sure what he saw in you, or why he stayed. Maybe he was just curious. Maybe he had nothing better to do. But maybe… maybe he cared enough to trust you. The thought warmed a corner of your chest. You sighed softly.

“Promise me something…” you said quietly, hesitating. You lifted your eyes to his, “Promise me that… you won’t be afraid. That you won’t… think I’m crazy. Or leave. What I want to say, what I’m about to say… I know it sounds… absurd. But I have no bad intentions, I swear. None. Ever.”

You stumbled over the words, uncertain if he’d understand what you meant. But you meant every one of them.

He didn’t laugh. Didn’t frown. Instead, he stepped a little closer, just enough to place a hand on your shoulder. His palm was warm, reassuring, steady.

“Alright,” he said calmly, “I promise… if you promise it’s not dangerous.”

Your heart clenched. You opened your mouth, then closed it again. Could you really promise that? You didn’t know. The books were a mystery even to you. You didn’t know their cost. Were they just connected? Simply a form of communication, as your friend claimed? Or did they hide something more dangerous? But you wanted him to trust you. You wanted him to stay. You wanted to give this relationship a chance, your friendship, or something more.

“I… I promise.” you finally said. Your voice trembled, but you held his gaze.

A short silence followed. Then, unexpectedly, he held out his hand… and raised his pinky. Looking very serious. You raised an eyebrow, surprised. Then a smile tugged at your lips, despite yourself, “A pinky promise?” you asked, amused.

He glanced away, his cheeks tinged a faint pink, “Alicia,” he admitted, grimacing slightly, “She always does that when she makes a promise… I… picked up the habit. Bad one, maybe.”

You let out a brief, sincere laugh. The kind that eases tension without dispelling it entirely. The kind that says I’ll be okay, even if you’re not sure. You lifted your pinky and hooked it around his, sealing the promise, “Then it’s a promise.”

You stayed there for a moment, pinkies entwined, as if that simple gesture could truly stop everything, doubt, fear, the possibility of rejection. It was a child’s game, a custom borrowed from a little sister, but it comforted you more than you wanted to admit.

It was silly, maybe naïve. A promise wouldn’t protect you from anything. It wouldn’t stop him from being afraid if the truth scared him. It wouldn’t stop him from stepping away, or leaving. But you had managed to tell him you meant no harm, no matter what happened, that it was never your intention. And he had believed you. He was still here. That was something.

You took a deep breath, eyes fixed on the books between you, still avoiding his gaze a little before diving in. Then, you straightened up slightly, finding the words, “They’re… books, obviously,” you began with a nervous smile, “But… they’re connected. Linked. We each take one. And when one of us writes inside… the words appear like magic, in the other. On the same page. In the same spot.”

And finally, saying it lifted a weight from your shoulders. You felt lighter. Braver. You looked up. Verso was staring at the books like he was seeing them for the first time. He leaned forward slightly, as if to examine the cover more closely, without touching it. His eyes shimmered, not with fear, but curiosity. That spark of fascination found in creators faced with something beyond explanation.

“I didn’t know that was possible,” he whispered, as if realizing what writers could truly do. You smiled a little, relieved. It was a good reaction. But not yet the hardest part. He tilted his head toward you, raising an eyebrow, “So why were you afraid of how I’d react..?”

Your smile faltered, then faded. You lowered your gaze, fidgeting with your sleeve, your fingers twisting the edge nervously, “Because…” you started, voice lower, more fragile, “That’s not everything.”

He remained silent. Patient, “For the books to work… our names have to be written on the first page… in both books.” you paused. Your breath was shallow, your heart pounding, “And… we have to write them… in our blood.”

You didn’t look at him as you said it. You stared at some invisible point on the ground, as if that could soften the truth. You feared what you’d see on his face. Feared he would finally step back. Break the promise. Feared your hope, fragile like a flame in the wind, might be extinguished with a single breath.

The silence lingered a second too long, suspended in the warm afternoon air. Beneath the shifting shadow of the willow, sunlight danced on the closed books, like a silent invitation. You still didn’t dare look up. Cold sweat began to bead on your back, trickling between your shoulder blades despite the pleasant day. Your heart pounded too hard, too fast, and suddenly your body felt foreign, frozen by a fear you had long carried alone. Everything in you went cold, motionless, while the world around remained bright, peaceful, almost mocking in its indifference.

You cleared your throat softly, then whispered, “It’s forbidden magic…”

The words slipped out, barely audible, but you couldn’t take them back. You continued, your voice firmer despite the nervousness gnawing at you, “An old scroll she found in the archive zone at the Grand Library, apparently… I swear I wouldn’t have brought these books if she’d said they were dangerous. But they’re not. And I believe her. It’s not destructive or corrupted magic. Just forgotten. Forgotten because… maybe it was too intimate.”

You risked a brief glance at him. He hadn’t moved. But his expression wasn’t closed. Intrigued, mostly. Quiet. You paused again, eyes drifting to the rippling river, “Because of our districts, because of your name… even talking for too long could be seen as a provocation. A betrayal. I don’t want… to put us in danger. You even less.”

Your throat tightened slightly, barely letting air in, “But this magic… if it works as it should, it could let us keep talking. Without sneaking through the central district. Without being seen. Or questioned. I thought… it could be a way to exist more freely. Even if only through a few pages.”

You stopped, unable to say more. The weight of what had already been spoken held you in suspense. You almost regretted it, not because you thought it was a mistake, but because waiting for his reaction was unbearable.

Verso remained still for a moment, arms crossed, gaze resting on the two objects between you. He didn’t look afraid. It was something else, more complex. As if he was both fascinated and deeply thoughtful.

Then, slowly, he looked down at his hands, then yours, still trembling. A faint smile brushed his lips, “So… to sum it up,” he said softly, “I’m supposed to write my name in blood in a book that isn’t magical yet, hidden under a willow by a river, with a young writer I barely know, but who believes it’s worth it, just to talk to me without risking the shaky peace between our districts exploding?” he raised an eyebrow, eyes twinkling, “That’s… romantic. In a completely insane way.”

His tone wasn’t mocking. It was sincere, surprisingly gentle. He ran a hand through his dark hair, slow and a little nervous, before adding, “I think I get it now. Mostly. And yeah, the blood part makes me… hesitate. But what matters is that you could’ve said nothing. And you chose to tell me everything anyway.”

He stayed thoughtful for a few more seconds, eyes fixed on the two books in the grass. Then, without a word, he stood up slowly. A breeze stirred the long willow branches, brushing your faces like a shiver from elsewhere. You watched as he slowly stepped around the books and came closer. His footsteps were silent on the grass. He didn’t ask for permission. He didn’t need to. Verso sat down beside you. Just close enough that your shoulders touched. That simple contact sparked a quiet, contained tension. You felt your breath catch, your heart race, as if he had unknowingly brushed something fragile in you. The fabric of his sleeve touched yours. A discreet warmth, but real. And you didn’t dare move, not even an inch.

He remained still for a moment, then slowly reached out toward one of the books. He picked it up gently, handling it with a kind of reverence. Then, he opened the cover, revealing the first blank page, “It’s here, right?” he whispered.

You nodded, unable to speak, eyes fixed on the blank page awaiting names, just paper, but perhaps enough to change everything. Your relationship. Your lives.

Verso carefully opened the second book, placing it beside the first. Now you were seated side by side, facing two open books. Two names. A few drops of blood. Two silent promises. And suddenly, the distance between you felt impossibly small.

You weren’t entirely sure you had heard correctly. Your mind still lingered on the softness of his voice, on the almost unreal calm with which he opened the book, on the words he had just spoken, that strange way he had of summarizing the situation, as if he found it less absurd than you did. Less dangerous. Less frightening. Your gaze slid toward him, hesitant, almost wary in your surprise. You tilted your head slightly, slowly, your eyes searching his, questioning. He was still there, quiet, just inches from you, the light filtering through the leaves casting pale flecks across his cheek.

"Are you sure?" you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath.

He turned his head in response, his eyes finding yours. And what you saw in his gaze disarmed you. No doubt. No fear. Just a clear tenderness, a calm warmth, resting there like a hand offered in the dark.

"You promised me it wasn’t dangerous," he replied calmly, "And I… I promised I’d believe you."

You froze. It wasn’t much, just a few simple words, said without emphasis, without oath, but they had a strange effect. They swept away everything you could no longer carry alone, the doubt, the dull anxiety that had knotted your stomach for days, the fear of ruining everything. They were replaced by something even more fragile: a kind of relief you didn’t quite know how to welcome.

You lowered your eyes, turning your face away for a second, just long enough to swallow the emotion threatening to spill over. Then, almost mechanically, you opened your bag and pulled out your quill. A quill that might have seemed ordinary to other writers, but to you held an emotional value that made it more special than any other. Something inside told you it was perfect for the situation you had walked into. You placed it gently near the books, in the center, between you, like a bridge.

But just as you looked up, another thought seized you, a cold pinch in your chest. Your brows furrowed. You looked down at your hands, the books, then the quill. That detail, probably the most important, you had forgotten. Too stressed, too focused on everything else. But… how were you going to do it? How would you sign with blood if you didn’t have anything sharp? And he… he didn’t seem to, either. You had assumed it would be obvious, that improvisation would come naturally. But now that you were here, both of you, inches from the blank pages… you had nothing. No sharp object, no possible alternative. Nothing to make even a single drop of blood flow. You felt your face flush, first with embarrassment, then worry.

And when you looked back up at him, you realized he had already figured it out. He was watching you, a small amused crease at the corner of his lips, not mocking, though. Tender. Almost touched. You made a small, helpless grimace. And without saying a word, he took your hand. His fingers wrapped gently around yours, with the same careful slowness that seemed to define everything about him. He guided your hand toward him, holding it carefully, almost reverently. His palm was warm, firm. Your heart skipped a beat.

Then, without hesitation, he brought your hand to his mouth. You watched him, not quite understanding, or maybe, refusing to understand for one heartbeat longer. But his intention became clear in the slow movement of his head, in the way his eyes lowered to your thumb. In that sudden, almost unreal closeness that shifted everything.

His lips brushed your skin. A caress. A breath. Your breath, on the other hand, caught sharply. You felt every millimeter of your finger against his lips, his mouth. Not like a kiss. Not exactly. More animal, more ancient. He slightly parted his lips. No bite yet, but that rasp, that soft, almost sensual growl, you felt it more than heard it. His eyelids lowered halfway. He was focused. As if he didn’t want to hurt you. As if he were holding back.

And you understood. Your heart pounded in your chest, your ribs, your throat. It was too much. Too slow, too close, too real. The warmth of his mouth, the moisture of his breath, the tension in his jaw. You knew what he was going to do. You knew what he wanted to do. He was going to bite you. Break your skin with his teeth. And you… you were going to have to do the same. You would have to bite him back.

The thought alone made you shiver. You stared at him, fascinated, frozen. He seemed no longer fully present, absorbed in the contact. A kind of complicit silence had settled, too dense to be broken. Your shoulders still touched. But now, it was far more than that. The world around you no longer existed. There was only that tiny link, that invisible red thread, stretched between your thumbs that you were about to make bleed.

You stayed silent, his breath brushing your skin like a silent promise, but fear didn’t dissolve so easily. Not this time. It wasn’t violent dread, not a refusal, but a deep, intimate resistance. That visceral hesitation you feel when approaching an invisible border, a tipping point, and you know that one more step will change everything. You knew it. Your body knew it. Your fingers trembled slightly, just enough for him to stop. The contact remained, his lips still resting gently against the pad of your thumb, warm and unmoving, but he didn’t shift. Attentive. Patient. No pressure. Just a quiet, taut waiting. Devoted, almost. Your gaze wandered, seeking a landmark, his tense jaw. Everything about him seemed controlled, but tension coursed beneath the surface, visible in the way he held your wrist, gently, but firmly. He was waiting for your consent. He wouldn’t cross the line without you. And yet, everything inside you screamed that you couldn’t do it. Not really. To bite someone… truly. Enough to draw blood, it wasn’t a poetic metaphor or an old romanticized myth. It was raw. Animal. An intimate, irreversible act. And you were afraid. Not of him. Not of yourself. But of what it meant. Of hurting him, failing, doing it wrong.

But when your eyes met his again, you understood, they reflected only that same calm, immense softness, like a bottomless lake you could fall into without ever hitting the rocks. He was offering you space, silent trust, a calm that wrapped around you. A quiet light, reassuring, telling you everything would be okay without needing to say a word. That you could do it. That nothing would be broken. Not between you. So you nodded, slowly.

That tiny gesture, simple as it was, was enough to break the tension. He barely loosened his grip on your hand, still holding it in his, his palm resting against yours, warm, reassuring. Then, he leaned in slightly, as if to accompany you to the end. His other hand rose to your face, slow, precise, as if he were afraid of startling something inside you. His fingers brushed your cheek, then slid to your lips. His thumb gently caressed your lower lip, slowly, as if trying to tame it. The gesture took your breath away, but you didn’t look away. You opened your mouth, slowly, without resistance. And in that suspended moment, the world around seemed to stop breathing. So did you. He slid his thumb between your lips, and your tongue, hesitant, brushed against it, a timid, almost curious touch, as if to sense its texture, its warmth. There was nothing wild in it, nothing rushed. Just a dense, silent tension binding you more and more. You had never approached anyone like this, especially not with such ease that felt both natural and unreal. But the contact of his thumb on your tongue quickly pulled you back to the present. Your eyes stayed locked on his. He hadn’t moved an inch. Present. Offering.

Your jaw closed. Gently. Just as his did on your thumb. The bite was brief, but sharp. A jolt. A shock. The pain, acute, flashed under your skin. A muffled whimper rose in your throat, quickly swallowed. You felt his teeth. His warmth. His restraint. And the metallic taste of blood. Bitter, ferrous, almost warm. Intimate, in a way. A trickle slid along your tongue, an ancient, primal sensation, like a pact whispered into your veins. Something deeper than words. Your hands eventually separated. Slowly. Almost regretfully. From your twin wounds dripped a thin, vivid red line, enough for what was to come. You didn’t need words. Just a look. A silent agreement. Together, you let the blood flow onto the blank page, your blood mixing. The living ink, natural, formed a stain of strange texture, almost alive. The quill touched the fresh blood on the page, letting that red ink soak into its fibers. Then finally, you let the tip glide across the page.

Your name was the first to take shape, tracing its letters in reverent silence. Slightly trembling calligraphy, but whole, driven by new resolve. Just below, he wrote his name, with the same care, the same quiet respect. The blood had barely dried when the light appeared. At first faint, a pale shimmer trembled on the surface of the letters, then stronger. A soft, lunar glow, pulsing like a heartbeat. The two names vibrated on the page, as if breathing in unison.

You repeated the gesture, the second book signed in the same sacred silence. A few more drops of blood mixing again. Two signatures. Two glimmers of light responding to each other. The silence was no longer heavy. It had become solemn. Serene. Once the last letter was written, the quill fell gently from your hand. You were bound now. Finally bound by an ancient, forbidden act, long forgotten. By your names engraved in the fibers of what was once ordinary paper, now enchanted. By your mingled breaths, your reciprocal bites, and that invisible but indelible tension, ready to awaken at the slightest touch.

The books vibrated faintly, then the light intensified, before slowly fading. The magic had accepted your pact. It was done. Complete. But in the air, something else lingered. No longer magic. Nor fear. Something older. Something neither of you dared name just yet. A silent shiver, charged with all the things you hadn’t dared say, but your bodies, your gestures, your breaths had already whispered to each other.

You remained still for a moment, your eyes fixed on the pages still glowing with light, your breaths held, as if the mere act of breathing too loudly could make what you had just created vanish. You didn’t even blink, captivated by the slow and gentle dance of light across the paper, like a silent wave gradually fading, leaving behind a supernatural calm. These were no longer just books. They were a pact, a seal, a bond. And when the light finally faded completely, there were no words. Only your eyes meeting again, uncertain, yet intense.

You didn’t know what to say, or even if you were supposed to say anything at all. Yet, despite the strangeness of the silence, it wasn’t uncomfortable. Just a fragile, suspended space the two of you shared. You felt a timid smile tug at the corner of your lips before you even realized it.

You reached out to pick up one of the books, but before your fingers could touch it, he gently took your hand in his. The one marked by his teeth. You frowned slightly, questioning, but he said nothing. Slowly, he guided your wounded hand to his mouth, and you flinched a little at the warmth of his lips against your skin. Not to bite. Not this time. He licked the cut with unexpected gentleness, almost reverence, his lips barely brushing the wound, his tongue tracing a soothing circle around the bite. He sucked your thumb slowly, cleaning the blood, as if the act carried some deeper meaning.

His gaze remained locked on yours, steady, intense. You felt yourself blush, a warm flush rising up your neck and into your cheeks, and you looked away for a brief second. He didn’t smile. He looked at you with that rare seriousness, like nothing else mattered but you, here, now.

He released your hand slowly, then picked up one of the books, and you followed, grabbing the second and placing it on your knees. Your heart was still racing, perhaps too fast, but you didn’t want it to slow. You suggested trying it right away, a new excitement lighting up in your stomach. But as you rummaged through your bag, you remembered you only had one quill.

Before you could even say it out loud, he delicately took the quill, without waiting, without asking. Just a fluid, natural gesture. Then he looked at you, almost playfully this time, “Do you have something to clean this? And a bit of ink?”

You nodded, pulling out a small cloth rolled carefully, and a little glass jar filled with simple but reliable blue ink, which you handed him silently. He cleaned the quill meticulously, wiping off the fresh blood from the tip, each movement precise and deliberate. Then he dipped the tip into the ink, staining his finger slightly in the process. The inky finger and the still-bloodied thumb contrasted strangely with the white of the paper.

He settled more comfortably against the gnarled trunk of the weeping willow, the venerable wood seeming to envelop him in its protective shadow. He turned a page, his eyes drifting over the blank sheet before lifting briefly to meet yours, then returning to the page. You watched as he began to move the quill and, curious, you turned the page of your own book to follow along. And then the magic happened. The strokes he traced on his page appeared, mirrored perfectly, on yours. But he wasn’t writing. He was drawing.

The curves came alive, the lines became shapes, and little by little, you recognized yourself. Your face, your hair, your posture, just as you were now, seated in the grass, book on your lap. You didn’t dare move. The quill paused, resumed, traced every detail with almost painful precision. You felt his gaze on you, even as he looked down at the page. You lowered your eyes, partly out of shyness, partly afraid to disrupt the moment.

And yet, you heard his voice, soft and deep, finally break the silence: “You’re the perfect muse… You haven’t moved a muscle. And you’re beautiful, you know.”

You felt your heart skip a beat, maybe two, and remained still, fascinated by the lines forming on the page. After a while, you noticed the heat rising in your face. Your cheeks burned, and you were almost certain your neck had started blushing too, as if the tenderness of his gaze had imprinted itself under your skin. Still, you didn’t look away immediately. You studied each stroke, each curve that shaped you, drawn by a hand that seemed to know you better than you knew yourself.

Then his voice rose again, lighter this time, slightly teasing, but without any malice, “Red suits you, you know.”

Again, as if your heart had suddenly forgotten how to function properly, it skipped a beat. Your cheeks flushed even deeper, and you looked down, as if that simple motion could hide the intensity of your fluster. Your fingers clenched slightly around the book’s pages, careful not to crease them. You didn’t want him to see how deeply his words affected you, how he made you feel. But it was too late. He had seen. He knew.

He said nothing more. He let you breathe in that silence that wasn’t stifling, but embracing, then resumed his drawing, attention returning to the quill, the paper, the smooth and steady movement of his wrist. The minutes passed, long, strangely gentle, and you felt that something had settled between you, halfway between closeness and that delicate tension you didn’t dare name, for fear of creating false hope.

At last, he looked up. A discreet smile curved his lips, tinged with quiet satisfaction. He tilted his head slightly, his gaze searching for yours, “There. Do you like it?”

You simply nodded, unable to speak, your throat tight with confused emotion. Your eyes slid over the frozen portrait of yourself, as if seeing it for the first time, or as if seeing yourself for the first time. It wasn’t just a drawing, not to you. It was a gaze. A gaze that had watched you silently, translated into lines, shadows, light.

He gave you a broader smile, then handed you the quill and the inkwell, the tip still stained a deep blue. You could see the excitement on his face, innocent and curious, like a child discovering something new, “Your turn! I want to see what it’s like too, to watch the lines appear like magic.”

You hesitated only slightly, but your movement was careful. You reached out and took the quill as if it were made of glass, fragile, precious, almost sacred. Your fingers closed slowly around it, seeking the right angle, the perfect balance. The object felt too loaded with meaning to handle casually. You looked down at the book resting on your knees. The page awaited, silent, almost intimidating. You didn’t know what to do. Should you write a word? Draw symbols? Abstract shapes, maybe? Nothing came. The emptiness stretched between you and the quill, suspended. Then, instinctively, you raised your head, looking around for an answer. And you fell into his eyes.

His irises were waiting for you, calm, with an almost disconcerting patience. He wasn’t smiling, not this time. He simply waited, ready to receive whatever you chose to give. And that’s when the idea struck with the clarity of the obvious, you would draw him. Even though you had no idea how to draw, not even the basics, you wanted to trace his gaze the way he had traced yours. And you weren’t sure anymore whether it was to show him how the book worked, or just to admire him for a while. Maybe both.

You didn’t look away immediately. You observed him. You memorized every detail, as if you knew what you were doing, even though you didn’t. His jaw half-relaxed, the shifting shadow of the leaves on his cheek, the way his shirt opened slightly, giving you a perfect view of his throat, his collarbones, the hair on his chest, his shoulders leaning against the willow’s bark, the rebellious strands of hair falling across his forehead. He was still, and yet you felt the quiet hum of energy emanating from him. He was alive. Intensely alive.

You let your gaze fall gently back onto the blank page. Your fingers, still wrapped around the quill, hesitated for a moment, then you placed the tip on the paper as softly as a breath. But nothing came. You froze, the quill’s point barely touching the page, unsure where to begin. A line? An eye? You had no idea. You didn’t know how to draw, didn’t even know where to start. Part of you, paralyzed by doubt, thought of closing the book and putting the quill away with an embarrassed smile. But another voice, more mischievous, whispered in your mind: so what? Worst case, he’d laugh. Maybe he’d even find it endearing.

And… wasn’t it him, earlier, who had smiled when he saw your cheeks redden? Who had read your fluster in a single glance, without mockery, without judgment? If anyone could receive your drawing without cruel laughter, it was him.

So you took a deep breath, and began. The first stroke was a circle. Not very round, a bit wobbly even. That would be the face. Then two tiny dots for the eyes, a straight mouth for the expression, neutral, like him, when he observed silently. Then you drew that lock of hair. The one that fell just over his right eye, always a bit rebellious, a little serpent of black ink, unsteady in your uncertain hand. You added some squiggly lines around the face to suggest his hair, then a dotted beard, trembling, and you did your best, truly. Then came the body, a simple vertical line, two more for the arms, two for the legs. You hesitated, then in one of his hands, you drew a little rectangle, vaguely tapered at one end. A brush. A stick figure, nothing more.

While you drew, you could hear his reactions. First, a little breath, a soft sound, quiet but full of wonder, like a child seeing snow for the first time. A faint “oh” escaped his throat, as if he already knew what you were about to do. Then silence… followed by a small laugh. Clear, genuine, impossible to hold back.

You finally looked up, and your eyes met, again. This time, you both burst into laughter, spontaneous, joyful. It was so ridiculous, so unexpected, and yet so perfect in its simplicity.

“That’s… me?” he asked, eyes shining, half-amused, half-bewildered, “I don’t know if I should feel honored… or slightly offended.”

You set the quill down, trying to keep a straight face, but your lips were already trembling, “Don’t laugh!” you protested, stifling another giggle, “I’m doing my best, okay?”

You shook your head gently, unable to stop smiling. He continued to look at the drawing with almost fond attention, as if, despite the shaky lines and absurd proportions, something real was there. And maybe there was. Maybe, in the clumsiness of those lines, you had drawn something else. Something only he could truly understand.

Verso tilted his head slightly, eyes still fixed on your stick figure with its blurry gaze and stubborn lock of hair, "Do you want me to teach you how to draw a face?" he asked, in an almost nonchalant tone, as if the idea had come to him without thinking, fslipped in between two heartbeats.

A silence fell, suspended, almost luminous. You turned your head toward him, slightly surprised… then a smile touched your lips, one of those you couldn’t suppress, even if you’d tried. The idea ,so simple, pierced through you, and something inside you lit up. To learn. With him. Here, now. You nodded with a sort of childlike eagerness.

"Yes!" you breathed, your voice a little brighter, "I’d love to."

He closed his book gently, unhurriedly, then set it beside him in the grass. You watched his movements closely, almost fascinated by the calm fluidity of them. He reached a hand out to you, palm open, a small smile playing on his lips.

"Then come here," he said, voice soft, almost conspiratorial.

You didn’t hesitate, not even for a second. You took his hand, your fingers sliding naturally against his, as if that contact had been long awaited, long foreseen. You kept your book clutched to your chest like a talisman, and sat up, moving toward him. You were about to sit beside him, but he gently held your hand, stopping you. With a smooth, effortless gesture, he pulled you toward him, and you tipped forward slightly before his arm wrapped around your waist to guide you. You found yourself seated on his lap, your back against his chest.

The impact was soft, but your heart suddenly raced. You froze for a second, your cheeks flushing violently. You hadn’t expected this. Not this sudden closeness, so intimate. Not the warmth of his body against your back, not the casual ease of his arm resting around your waist. And especially not the breath, almost imperceptible, that you felt in your hair, on the skin of your neck. The hairs on your nape stood on end.

He said nothing. Made no comment. As if it were normal. As if he knew the moment didn’t need explaining. His chin came to rest gently on your shoulder. You felt the light pressure, comforting, and the warmth of his skin against yours. You kept your eyes down, clinging to your book like a lifeline to keep from drowning in this new wave of emotion he made you feel. Emotions you’d never felt before.

"Open it," he murmured, just inches from your ear.

You obeyed, wordlessly. Your hands, slightly trembling, lifted the cover and turned back to the stick figure page. It was still there, proudly planted in the middle of the sheet, with its rebellious lock of hair and paintbrush in hand.

Verso reached out, took the quill, and whispered, "Watch."

He drew a gentle, slightly curved line to outline a face. He didn’t speak much. You could feel his focus, calm, precise. His movements were steady, fluid. Then he handed you the quill, unhurriedly, "Your turn. Try."

You took the quill between your fingers, this time without trembling. You were nervous, of course, but another emotion had taken over. A quiet excitement. A kind of new intimacy, made of shared gestures, nearby warmth, simple teaching offered sincerely. You reproduced the shape. It wasn’t perfect, but that didn’t matter. Verso took the quill again. Drew the centerline of the face, a guideline splitting the circle in two. Then handed it back. You did the same, slower, more carefully. And so, the quill traveled between your hands and his, from his back to yours. The shapes became clearer. The features added, one by one. Eyes. A nose. A mouth. Two faces gradually appeared, side by side. His, precise, balanced, assured. Yours, trembling, hesitant, but sincere.

You had no idea how much time had passed. The space had shrunk, contained in the protective shade of the tree, in the warmth between your two bodies. There was nothing else. Just the two of you, and the ink lines on the page.

At one point, you thought you felt something. A gentle pressure. The faintest brush of his lips against the curve of your neck. Your breath caught, suspended. You didn’t move, not daring to turn, afraid it was only fantasy, a figment of your troubled mind. Had he really done that? Or was it your imagination, fed by the warmth of his chest against your back, by the softness of his voice? You no longer knew.

And then he spoke, so low you felt the words vibrate against your skin before you even heard them, "For someone with no experience… you’re doing surprisingly well."

You felt the compliment seep into you, slowly, like a shiver. He hadn’t just complimented you. He had seen you. Recognized you. Seen what you were capable of. You barely breathed, heart fluttering. Your fingers tightened slightly around the quill still in your hand. You didn’t respond right away. You didn’t want to shatter this fragile moment with clumsy words.

Instead, you turned your head just slightly, just enough to catch his gaze from the corner of your eye. And he was there. Still. Ice blue, but soft, strangely warm. Present. Open, "Thank you," you whispered simply.

He tilted his head a little, his chin still resting on your shoulder. He seemed to be thinking, but said nothing. You could hear his breathing, steady. And your heart was beating fast. Too fast. You gently laid the quill down on the page, beside the two faces, then rested your hands on your knees, breathing more slowly. He didn’t move. His arm still around you, his chest against your back. He wasn’t holding you captive. But he wasn’t letting go either. You felt his presence like an anchor. Like a thread strung between you, fragile but solid. And you understood that it wasn’t the drawing that mattered. It was what you were building, right there, in silence, between two gestures. You lowered your eyes to the two faces, side by side on the page. They were almost looking at each other. Yours looked shy. His, more confident. And somewhere between the two… there was a truth you weren’t quite ready to name. But maybe he already had.

The hours passed, slow and supple, as if the world had slowed down around you. The books remained there, forgotten in the grass, their pages open to the wind, but neither of you paid them any attention. As if the magic now being written didn’t need ink. As if your voices, your silences, your gazes were enough to bring something into existence, something more powerful, more real than anything you could ever read or write.

You were still sitting on him. Your back now rested against his chest, no longer tense, no longer hesitant. You felt the warmth of his body like a blanket wrapped around you, and his arms, wrapped around your waist, held you with that strange combination of strength and gentleness. Not tight enough to suffocate, but just enough that you’d never want to move. A quiet embrace, as if he were saying without words, stay a little longer.

The shyness you had felt earlier had slowly faded, melted away into the intimacy of the moment. Verso had that gift. That strange ability to disarm your defenses, to make the unknown feel soft instead of frightening. You had relaxed without even realizing it, his cheek now resting on your shoulder, your breath calm, almost peaceful. Your bodies had adjusted to each other as if they had done this a hundred times before, as if they were already used to it.

And you talked. Not loudly. Not quickly. But for a long time. You had spent those hours weaving invisible threads between you, discovering each other through the simplest of things. Your hands resting on his, your palms against the backs of his hands, your thumbs lightly caressing his fingers, absentmindedly. Movements so subtle, you weren’t even aware of them. You couldn’t say how the topics came. Sometimes it was a question, sometimes a smile, sometimes a word half-whispered, like a secret given to the breeze. And you spoke about yourselves, not what you did, but what you were. What you loved, what you hated. Little things. Anecdotes, dropped like crumbs on a path you were discovering together. And with every word, you felt a little closer to him. Not like getting to know someone, but like remembering something you’d always known.

At one point, he admitted, almost laughing, that he liked trains. Then he added, in a quieter voice, “And I prefer piano to painting.”

Your eyebrows lifted slightly, and this time, you turned your head to truly look at him, searching his gaze. That wasn’t what you had expected to hear. Not from a painter. Not from him. But then again… maybe it made perfect sense. Maybe you understood better than anyone what he meant. You were a writer yourself, with no great talent for writing. A writer who always doubted, who hadn’t yet found her place in the world of writers. You knew what it was like to love an art you didn’t always feel you belonged to. You knew that tension, that pull between passion and frustration.

So you didn’t ask questions. You didn’t ask why. You didn’t need to. You simply let a small, companionable silence fall between you, then murmured softly, as if offering something of yourself, “Will you play the piano, someday?”

He turned his head slightly too, and his calm blue eyes met yours. He didn’t smile right away. He just looked at you, as if storing your question, as if weighing each word, each intention. Then a smile slowly formed on his lips. Not wide. Not fast. But genuine. One of those smiles that reached your heart without making a sound.

“If you want…,” he replied, tilting his head slightly. “I’ll write a song. Just for you.”

You felt your heart clench a little, in a sweet, warm kind of ache. Your gaze drifted, looking for an escape in the landscape, but nothing around you felt as real as he did. So you closed your eyes for a moment, just to etch that phrase into memory. To keep it. To hide it somewhere inside you, safe.

His arms tightened slightly around your waist, and you felt his breath in your hair, closer now. You were no longer afraid of the closeness. It no longer scared you. On the contrary. It grounded you. It made you feel alive. You could have stayed like that for hours. And maybe you would have.

Verso turned his head a little, and you felt his hair brush your temple. His smile was still there, amused and peaceful all at once. Then, in a playful tone, he said, “So… I have to show you my dogs, teach you to draw, and now play piano for you? What do I get in return?”

His voice vibrated softly against your shoulder. You let out a small laugh, quiet, but real. A part of you wanted to give him something, truly. To offer him a corner of your world, something intimate. And the thought came to you, fleeting: the Writers’ District. You would have liked to take him there. To let him step into that part of your life you usually kept locked away. But you knew it wasn’t possible. Not with his notoriety. Not with that surname of his, echoing through every district. The risk would have been too great, and the stares too heavy.

You thought for a second, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. Then, as if to dispel your own hesitation, you replied, half-joking, half-serious,“I’m offering you my presence. Isn’t that already something?”

The silence that followed lasted a breath. And then you felt him shift gently, his chin lifting from your shoulder just enough for you to hear the smile in his voice.

“You’re offering yourself to me? Should I take that to mean you want to be mine?”

Your heart leapt in your chest, and heat immediately flushed to your face. Your cheeks were on fire. You gave him a light smack on the arm, more symbolic than anything,“That’s not what I said!” you protested, your voice a little too high to be convincing.

He laughed softly. That low, warm sound. You could have listened to it forever. He was about to say something else, you could feel it in his breath, but a sound interrupted him. In the distance, the chime of the central district’s clock echoed. Distant, but clear. A bright, regular ringing that cut through the air like a reminder. Four bells. Four o’clock in the afternoon. You froze for a moment. Four o’clock. The whole afternoon had passed. You hadn’t noticed the time. And judging by the way Verso didn’t react either, neither had he. You had lost track of everything, as if the universe had wrapped you inside a fragile bubble, a silent cocoon beneath that tree, far from the world. But the world hadn’t disappeared.

You took a slow breath. It was time to leave. You knew it. So did he. But neither of you moved right away. He released you gently, and already you felt the ache begin to settle, subtle but cruel, where his arms no longer held you. You sat up slowly, adjusting your clothes a little, your heart heavier than expected. He picked up his book from the grass, tucked it under his arm with a casualness that contrasted with the quiet sorrow in his eyes. You packed your pen and notebook in your satchel, your movements slowed, as if trying to gain a few more seconds. When you finally stood, the air felt different. Cooler. Emptier.

“I can walk you to the border of the central district, if you’d like,” he offered, stepping toward you.

You shook your head gently, a shy smile on your lips. “That’s kind, but I’ll be fine. It’s not far.”

He nodded, but you sensed he still wished he could. Just to stay a little longer. To delay the ending. There was something in the way his eyes followed you, as if he was afraid to let you go, afraid that you might really be leaving, beyond this day.

“Thank you… for today,” you said softly, almost reluctantly.

He didn’t answer right away. He just looked at you. And in his gaze, there was something strangely painful. As if he already felt your absence. “Thank you,” he finally said, his voice a bit deeper, a bit lower.

You walked together toward the park’s exit, the path to the square where the great carousel stood painfully silent. And then you stood there, face to face. Unable to part. As if your feet refused to move. As if your bodies already knew what your hearts were still trying to hide. The very idea of leaving felt unfair. Almost cruel. You felt like you were at the edge of something breaking, even though you were just friends. Officially. But maybe what you had built today wasn’t quite friendship anymore.

Finally, almost at the same time, you both stepped back. Then again. Then once more. You slowly moved apart, reluctantly, not turning your backs just yet. Your eyes still searched each other, held on in the space between. And at the same instant, as if your thoughts were linked, you both turned. Your eyes met one last time. And your hands lifted. A simple gesture. A silent goodbye. Then you watched him walk away. And you did the same.

The walk back felt both longer and blurrier. You couldn’t say how long it took to reach the Writers’ District. The entrance looked different that day. Less cold. Less intimidating. That peculiar silence was still there, that chill in the too-orderly streets. But you didn’t pay attention to it anymore. You heard nothing but his voice. Saw nothing but his smile.

You thought of his eyes, how deeply they had looked at you, as if seeing straight through. His laugh, soft and teasing. His way of being present, fully. Every memory still vibrated inside you, like a warm pulse that wouldn’t fade. And suddenly, the entire district seemed more colorful. The walls, the streets, the faces around you hadn’t changed. And yet… something in you had shifted. As if you’d opened a window in a room you thought was sealed shut.

You suddenly remembered your thumb. That moment when he had bitten it, the blood, the sting. Then the unexpected gesture. His lips on your skin, soft, far too soft, to clean the wound. You remembered his eyes in that moment, that quiet boldness. He hadn’t hesitated. He had caught you off guard, completely, giving you no time to think. Your thumb no longer hurt now. The small cut had healed. But you knew you’d never be able to look at it the same way again. You slowly raised your hand, and without even thinking, you pressed your lips to your finger. A light, silent kiss. One he wouldn’t see. An indirect kiss, filled with everything you hadn’t known how to say. A way to keep him a little closer. Even now that he was no longer there. And you kept walking. The streets felt less cold. Your life, a little fuller. A little more alive. And somewhere inside you, a melody had begun to form. A song. Just for you.

chapter V ( in progress )

[aventoru]

i really enjoy your writing if you dont mind can i request a platonic drabble for welt yang as a mentor or a father figure to reader 🥹

welt enters your bedroom on the third knock, a brief look of concern on his features. you have just completed a particularly difficult mission and the fatigue you felt soon turned into a cold.

“hey, i’m kinda sick,” you lift a hand from your bed.

“so i’ve been told,” welt nods, closely observing the state you’re currently in. he steps closer and rests a hand on your forehead, “you’re running a slight fever too.”

“yeahhh, it hasn’t been getting any better,” you admit.

“we should get you checked up,” he suggests.

2 hours later, welt manages to get a physician on call.

“you’re (name) born on __ correct?”

you remain silent and turn to look at welt. he sighs.

“yes, that’s correct,” welt nods.

“and what are your current symptoms? how are you feeling right now?”

“you look at welt again. he stares back, holding his gaze longer this time.

“they’re having a headache, mild fever, and a cough.”

“hmm, have they also—“

you tuned out the rest of the conversation, letting welt handle the rest. you were handed a prescription and some medicine to take. that night, welt tells you a story from his homeland before he tucks you into bed.

the cold clears out a few days later.

“welt really does act like your dad, huh?” himeko comments.

“what?” you take a sip of the coffee she’s made (it’s…bad. as usual.)

“well, he was being all fussy when you were sick last week. he cooked you 3 meals a day, fed you medicine, and refused to leave your side.”

“doesn’t he care for everyone in the express?,” you ask.

“not everyone,” himeko smiles, “well, maybe except for sunday as well.”

“hm? what about me?” speak of the devil. welt enters the lounge with sunday trailing closely behind.

“oh, it nothing! coffee?” himeko offers. welt politely refuses and sunday becomes her next target. himeko nudges a cup towards sunday, who shakes his head politely.

“he can’t he’s lactose intolerant in the mornings.” how in the world does he know that???

“alright then,” himeko shrugs before offering you a knowing look.

“ah, (name), do you want to join sunday and i for dinner some time? i’ve been working on a new recipe lately.”

“of course, i’d love to!”

“you’re feeling better now, yes?” welt pats your head.

“yeah, the cold is completely gone,” you respond.

now that you’ve been offered a 3rd person perspective, you kind of see it, actually.

the last straw happens during a meeting about the express’ next expedition. as per tradition, the majority vote will confirm your next destination. the members take turn, and eventually it’s yours.

“i’ll choose whatever dad chooses,” you say without missing a beat.

“same,” sunday replies from his seat next to you.

a beat of silence passes before you realize what you’ve just said.

“did you just call welt dad?” dan heng asks, slightly amused. you glance over to see himeko stifling a laugh, her eyes filled with mirth.

“then how about we let welt vote before the kids decide?” she nudges welt who face has since sported a red tinge. you resist the urge to run away in embarrassment and glance over to see sunday’s feathers covering his face.

you’re never going to live this down.

a/n : hope u don't mind the sunday cameo since i js got reminded of the scene where sunday kept looking at welt for answers when meeting herta 😭

[blo0d1stanined6engin3]

I’m in love with the Yellowjackets girls and I feel like you should be too. THIS CONTAINS MENTIONS/ SPOILERS FOR ALL OF CURRENT SEASON 3

(ep 1 - 8)

This shit is horny so back away if you’re not into sexual sapphic situationships. I don’t have favorites but this was what was running through my head.

PLEASE LOOK AT MY PAGE AND REQUEST STUFF I have no ideas but I love to write!!!

This includes: Lottie, Shauna, and Nat.

Oh btw they’re all toxic asf. THEY’RE NOT GOOD PEOPLE!!!

Lottie:

When Lottie is annoyed she wants you to refer to her as “Charlotte”. She loves watching your face twist sourly as she ‘corrects’ you. Lottie can really stay mad at you for long, but that’s mostly because nothing you do makes her mad. So when she is actually mad at you she gaslights herself into saying it’s her fault. Even if you were being a little bitch.

Lottie has many ideas on how you can make her forgive you. Some of which (depending on if she’s ovulating or not) involve you in a lot less clothing than one would seem appropriate. This goes for both versions of herself. As a teen Lottie was repressed sexually and emotionally, and the wilderness gave her freedom. As for older Lottie, she takes good care of you and her… intentional community. So you should have no problem taking care of her?

Lottie is weak for your body, let’s be honest she either gets worshipped or worships. Both are fun. One is more suited for her anger. She enjoys you worshipping her body, praising her like a goddess and giving her everything you have. All of yourself. In Lottie’s eyes; when you worship her you’re also worshipping the wilderness. You are taking care of the wilderness…

Adult Lottie couldn’t hurt you, pain play of any sort is off the table for her. She’s so much softer as adult. Lottie, while still not taking her medication, is much gentler after what she had to go through when they got home.

Younger Lottie likes to bite. She likes to taste, and touch, and control, and hold. Lottie loves how you taste, be it your blood, tears, cum, even your skin. She needs to taste it all. Lottie Mathews wanted to consume you, she wanted all of what she could take. All of something she fear she would one day have to give up.

And she was right.

Shauna:

(I’m a personal believer that if Shauna had a partner(long term) to help her get through everything she would have been a lot better…but yall aren’t here for that and neither am I)

Shauna can’t get angry at you. She can’t. Maybe before you two knew each other, maybe before she fell for you. She could have gotten mad at you before, but not now. When Shauna sees you, she sees beauty, love, the sun and the moon. When Shauna sees you, she sees everything she loves.

Yes that includes Snackie<3

When Shauna thinks she’s mad you, she looks you over once and sighs. Because no the hell she is not. How the fuck can she be mad at perfect? Oh you dropped some meat, okay?! Is that a crime?! You literally can’t be mad at someone for that. Anyone that is mad is a stupid bitch- like Mari.

Shauna has (on multiple occasions) full on refused to acknowledge the bad things either she or you have done. You got into it with Van? Well she should have kept her mouth shut. You hit Lottie? Maybe she needs to keep her cult shit away from you.

Shauna blows up at people all the time, but that’s because they deserve it. Mari dropped some water and now they have to go back to the lake! Akilah left the pen open and now the ducks are loose! Van fails to fix something in time and now the ducks are loose again! You accidentally spill tonight’s soup, well clearly someone tripped you! And if they didn’t then someone pushed you, and if they didn’t then Shauna would just start being a dick to everyone so they’ll all shut up.

It works every time.

Teen Shauna sees you as an angel and she sees herself as the devil (she sees her teammates as god, the same one who cast the devil out). Is she though? Yes. Shauna treats you like an angel trapped by a devil. She holds you down, you can squirm but she doesn’t understand if you do it to rile her up or if you’re actually a little scared. Shauna definitely bites too deep, she’s probably given you a few scars from her teeth. In a way it’s her control over you.

Shauna likes to be rough, she likes the thrill of the hunt. Shauna is way more animalistic than people give her credit for (so are Nat and Akilah). If you’re the loud type, she enjoys knowing you stay with her more often because the others give you weird looks. And if you’re not, you are now. Shauna Shipman will fuck you until you cry if you say you’re quiet in bed.

Adult Shauna Shipman knows damn well you’re no angel, in fact she knows how devilish you actually are. Shauna has learn a lot of things in the past 25 years, and you- maybe the person she actually married, maybe a secret relationship situation, or maybe a third -are the lesson she still hasn’t finished. Shauna knows better than to trust that sultry smile, you’re pulling her back to the past. Simply to get away from the future.

You have a hold on her in a way you know you didn’t have in the wilderness. Shauna needs you, you’re her drive. With all the bullshit she’s dealing with, and her world and family falling apart. It’s hell. You being a little devil on her shoulder trying to get her attention helps no one. Not even you, because you’ll get the attention you want, although; the way it’ll affect your life will eventually ensure your death.

And who’s to say it’s not all in your head?

Natalie

Natalie wishes that you were the antler queen. And she hates herself for wishing that upon you. Natalie wishes she served directly underneath you, keeping you safe and loving you all the same. Natalie didn’t want the power in the first place, she hated it when all eyes were on her. They were ready for her next move, her word, her signal. Natalie loves you, she finds happiness in you.

The idea that you were barking out commands and Natalie stood beside you, trying to play peacemaker. Natalie knew the situation they were in was fucked, and she didn’t fully understand if she believes in the wilderness as a threat, or even at all. Some days she thought it was a monster, waiting, waiting, waiting for them to all go crazy. Other days she knew there was a logical explanation, she just couldn’t explain it.

Natalie looks mean, she fucking knows it too- but it’s not true. Not even close. Natalie is weak; she doesn’t have the heart to be the butcher, and she isn’t crazy enough to be the Shaman. No, those jobs best suited Shauna and Lottie equally. So all Nat had was a gun, and she could shoot. She knows better, she knows her place.

Natalie, contrary to popular belief, isn’t a saint. Natalie is no hero, but she’s certainly no villain. She wants to go home, but fears the truth in Lottie’s words. Natalie doesn’t enjoy hunting, but she feels like it’s the only way she can contribute. As Natalie has been bringing back food from the beginning, her instincts have sharpened. She feels like an animal every time she taps into it, but every time she also feels free- like a wolf finally getting to run free.

Natalie is like putty in your hands most of the time. In a role of both leadership and as a friend; that girl has too big of a heart. She doesn’t see herself that way and so, of course, it’s your job to help her see herself in a softer light.

You two are hiding in Nat’s tent during a thunderstorm. They’re rare, but that doesn’t mean they don’t happen. Nat is lying in the corner, a large makeshift blanket on her. Natalie looks up at you, lying above her, on top of her. She smiles faintly, you can just barely sees her dimples. In moments like these you don’t feel as if you’re in the middle of the forest, instead you’re in a large warm bed with you girlfriend.

Natalie has you covered from top to bottom in clothes, last time it rained it was so cold you got sick; she wasn’t taking any chances. Natalie is overprotective, it’s become a norm for her to overreact. So while wearing extra layers if it’s cold and raining is important, wearing extra layers while it’s warm and inside a place with no rain makes no sense.

“Nat, I’m hot.”

You could say it a million times and she’d still have the same answer.

“If you take it off now you’ll get sick. You can be a little warm for now.”

It seemed there was only one way to get your clothes off. You’d have to take hers off first! You learn your head forwards and pepper a few small kisses against her neck and chest. Natalie whines and looks down at you, she frowns and gently pulls away from you entirely. “Y’know, you’d think I’d have told you to listen to me only once. I’ve said it five separate times now. Do you…”

Natalie grabs you by the shirt and pulls you to meet her eyes, Nat’s Italian accent always shone bright when she flirted. “Enjoy me telling you what to do?”

Natalie is brash and doesn’t give you time to answer, instead she presses her warm lips against yours. Small but breathy kisses spill across your lips and face. Natalie is playing rough, she’s rushing away all the fun because she’s too needy. You don’t mind. How could you?

Natalie is so easy to dominate, but that doesn’t mean she won’t bite back. This time around she wanted you at her mercy, she wasn’t exactly in the “receiving” mood. Natalie knows all the curves on your skin, she knows how to slowly pull your long-sleeve shirt up and off. She certainly knows how to wiggle you out of those sweatpants and spread out for her.

“Should I use my tongue or my mouth?”

Natalie will smile and oblige with whatever you choose as long as it means she can get her hands on you. But that doesn’t mean she won’t choose the other option later.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry- fuck…it feels good though, right? You’re crying, but you keep bucking your hips against my wrist. Shh, I know, I-I will take care of you.”

Natalie’s too good for this world, she treats you so well. But that doesn’t excuse the things she’s done for you.

[miscellaneouzz]

New episodes of Invincible got Rae, Rex and Monster Girl surprisingly becoming some of my fav characters in the show

Which is funny bc I don’t even disagree with Cecil’s side, after everything the contingency plans make sense as well as the idea of working with former villains for the greater good… Yet from the Guardians perspective they’re essentially witnessing their boss torture their friend in front of them while using the creations of a now employed serial killer, so I love the focus on their growing reservations about working under him and being viewed as disposable weapons. And I like how it especially makes sense after Rae and Rex’s talk in the next episode about the lack of agency they had growing up.

[poppyseed799]

Brother why are there so many roaches we have had TWO full exterminations and BOTH TIMES the roaches came back. The first time there were less of them for a week (still some) but the second time there was absolutely zero difference in the number of roaches even immediately after the extermination. Like man. What am I supposed to do about this

[castor-redd]

I can’t decide if I want my Rook’s canon to be sending Neve or Bellara to deal with the wards. I hate missing the final romance scene and the interactions with romanced Neve following the Isle of the Gods (my warden really needed her support), but I also want the juicy drama that comes with Neve getting yoinked and blighted. My Rook spent the entire game fretting over her friends getting blighted. She also did her damndest — and failed miserably — to dodge love. So to potentially lose Neve to the blight… That’s some good angst.

[sharlsworld]

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆ taking care of the elderly — 𝐂𝐒𝟓𝟓 ⚘

( 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗈𝗌 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗓 𝗑 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 ）

（ 𝗌𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒 ）𝖼𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗈𝗌 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗓 𝗋𝗎𝖿𝖿𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝖿𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝖿𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗀𝗂𝗋𝗅𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗉𝖾𝗈𝗉𝗅𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝗌

🝮

carlossainz55

liked by pierregasly and 1,255,160 others

carlossainz55 Feliz cumpleaños cariño, I’m so grateful to be spending another year celebrating you. Here’s to 23! I love you forever and always bebé ♥️

williamsracing Happy Birthday yn, we hope 23 treats you great! Enjoy your special day!! 💙

♥︎ by author & yn

lilymhe Happy birthday cutie 🤍

⤷ yn thank you lily pad!!! 🥰🥰

lando birfday gill 🥳🥳🥳 WE GOT A TWENTY SOMETHING YEAR OLD IN THE HOUSEEEEEE

⤷ yn twenty something 😭😭

sainzpoet fawk she’s so beautiful

sharls_lerklerk i love her style!!

landowon1 23? as in two three? 😟

yn thank you honey buns 🩷 i love you always!!!!

⤷ carlossainz55 I love you more 😘

ihavenofriends Gold digger 🤑🤑🤑🤑

⤷ estiebestie babe she’s literally been living in monaco for the past 3 years, i doubt she’s worrying about money

alex_albon Happy Birthday yn!! Hope you liked the flowers, me and Lily spent an hour figuring out all the flowers we should add 🥳

⤷ yn thank you alex! i love them you guys did an awesome job they are soo pretty 🫶🏼

couchpotato yeah they’re cute together but the age gap is so weird she just turned 23 and he’s going on 31?? 8 years is just off putting

⤷ charleslechair you should be off pudding

charles_leclerc happy birthday yn! can’t wait to see what this night brings 😂 keep Carlos on his toes tonight!

⤷ charlos4eva my charlos heart 🫩

idonthaveasociallife she ain’t beating those gold digger allegations with that birkin 😂😂🤣

⤷ yn i’ve had it since 2022?? 😂

⤷ carloslovesyn iktr 🤏🤏🤏

alexandrasaintmleux Happy birthday pretty girl! Can’t wait to celebrate you tonight! 🥰🥰❤️

⤷ yn thank you alexxx 🤍

🝮

yn

liked by carlossainz55 and 334,550 others

yn i’ve got a yacht on my mind :(

alexandrasaintmleux So iconic of you ;)

carlossainz55 How about you let me take your mind off of everything 😉😂

⤷ pierregasly This guy 😂😂

⤷ carlossainzappendix he said what 😨

kikagomes my petty queen 👸

♥︎ by author

iamaloser another women needing male validation from older men, another angel has fallen

⤷ yn goodness forbid a girl take care of the elderly 🥀

⤷ kikagomes girl 😭😭 same

♥︎ by author

chillinlikechili she loves messing with the haters 😭

⤷ hoeforsainzzz our fav rage baiter

carlossainz55 My little minx 😍

⤷ lando BOIII

⤷ carlossainz55 What? Goodness forbid a guy compliments his girlfriend 😒

♥︎ by author

imaloner she’s so shadyyy she radiates mean girl energy

⤷ all4lando i would be shady and mean too if my bfs weird fans kept harassing me for being young

♥︎ by author

lando you look very free spirited in this picture, it’s lowk really poetic

⤷ yn preciate it lan

ispendvalentinesdayalone how do his parents and family approve of her? she makes carlos look like a perv

⤷ reyesvdec We love our girl! She is our family and she is so good to Carlos. Love truly has no age, maybe one day you will experience the same love these two share that you refuse to see.

⤷ operationsainz55 clock itttt

⤷ lecult_4lyfe she said no yn slander 🙅‍♀️🙅‍♀️

landossluttywaist i want this tattooed on my back ngl

⤷ carlossainz55 Me too

🝮

carlossainz55

liked by charles_leclerc and 1,385,907 others

carlossainz55 Mi amor ❤️

charles_leclerc good double date 🤌

⤷ lady.georgerussell they just cannot stay away from each other can they?

⤷ charles_leclerc excuse me?

⤷ lady.georgerussell am i wrong? i bet it was you and carlos’ idea too

⤷ charles_leclerc …

⤷ lady.georgerussell HAHAHA IM RIGHT

⤷ charles_leclerc do your parents know that you bully people online?

⤷ lady.georgerussell Does your mommy know you argue with 16 year old girls online??

⤷ charles_leclerc shut up

⤷ lady.georgerussell YOU shut up

⤷ charles_leclerc NO YOU SHUT UP

⤷ lady.georgerussell NO YOU

⤷ charles_leclerc I SAID IT FIRST

⤷ carlossainz55 Seriously?

⤷ lando 🚨BREAKING🚨 Charles Leclerc (27) seen arguing with fan (16) under comment section of Carlos Sainz (30) professing his love to his controversially young girlfriend (23)

⤷ yn why did you put so much effort in that

⤷ lando IM BORED OKAY me and carlos were supposed to go golfing but SOMEONE decided to get food poisoning and just NEEDED to be nursed back to health

⤷ yn YOU’RE THE ONE WHO GAVE ME A SMOOTHIE WITH EXPIRED MILK

⤷ lando HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW IT WAS EXPIRED???

⤷ yn DO YOU NOT SMELL YOUR FUCKING MILK BEFORE YOU DRINK IT??? OR I DON’T KNOW CHECK THE EXPIRATION DATE???

⤷ carlossainz55 Seriously guys? I think this post got away from us

⤷ lady.georgerussell thanks a lot charles 😒

⤷ charles_leclerc SHUT UP I’M GONNA BLOCK YOU

⤷ lady.georgerussell BLOCK ME THEN FATTIE

⤷ charles_leclerc HOW DARE YOU I AM ON A STRICT DIET WITH A STRICT WORKOUT TO MAINTAIN MY GLORIOUS PHYSIQUE

⤷ lady.georgerussell WELL IT’S NOT WORKING FATTIE

🝮

yn

liked by haileybieber and 716,554 others

yn image hating on me & i’m just in my living room like this

carlossainz55 Only the best for my girl ❤️

⤷ yn i love you 🩷💞💘💕💗

⤷ loserwannabe pr relationship

⤷ lando its been two years give it a rest lil bro

⤷ landossluttywaist carlos and yn’s #1 defender

sharls_leclercussy damn she kinda ate with that one ngl

alexandrasaintmleux As you shoulddd 😂😂🩷

lando queen shit bitch

⤷ yn you’re like my gay best friend

⤷ lando i’m straight though?

⤷ yn but you don’t act like it

⤷ lando i’m kinda offended but honored at the same time??

user16345581 wait why is she lowk funny

alex_albon I don’t wanna brag but…me and lily helped pick out the flowers for the bouquet on the right 😼😼🙂‍↕️

⤷ georgerussell63 The smallest one?

⤷ alex_albon He wouldn’t let us choose a big one because he said she’s starting to like us to much

⤷ lilymhe ikr like sorry we’re so lovable 💔

⤷ yn girl ain’t nothing to be sorry about 😉

⤷ landosland are all 4 of them dating each other or something?

⤷ carlossainz55 No 😐

user16554335 damn she got us there

user78037243 hold on girl i’m not supposed to like you

⤷ yn why resist?

⤷ lec i see what you did there 😉

🝮

carlossainz55

liked by oscarpiastri and 1,163,550 others

carlossainz55 My baby

lando my parents

⤷ yn you’re older than me

⤷ lando don’t remind everyone they just started liking you

⤷ yn you right

charles_leclerc Alex said we need to go on vacation together soon

⤷ carlossainz55 YESSSAAAAAAA LETS GO TO BORA BORA OMG YES HOW CUTE IM SO EXCITED I CANT WAIT

⤷ charles_leclerc Carlos??

⤷ carlossainz55 That was yn she lost her phone

⤷ yn i found it AND I CANT WAIT TO GO TO BORA BORA WITH ALEXXXXXX

⤷ alexandrasaintmleux Omg stopp I’m getting so excited

⤷ lovelylando they’re so me

hoeforsainzzz I’ve never hated her btw 🙂‍↕️🩷

⤷ yn 🩷🩷🩷

forzacharles they are saurrr hot together

kikagomes what’s allat back there 👁️👁️

alex_albon i love them your honor

⤷ alex_albon HEY DOES SHE NOT HAVE A TOP ON CARLOS SAINZ????

⤷ alex_albon OH YALL ARE FREAKYYYY

⤷ pierregasly DON’T STOP GET IT GET IT 🐶🐶

⤷ alex_albon AYYY DON’T STOP GET IT GET IT

⤷ pierregasly EVERYBODY NOW

⤷ charles_leclerc DON’T STOP GET IT GET IT

⤷ oscarpiastri DON’T STOP GET IT GET IT

⤷ lando DON’T STOP GET IT GET IT

⤷ francolapinto DON’T STOP GET IT GET IT

⤷ maxverstappen1 DON’T STOP GET IT GET IT

⤷ carlossainz55 Guys, please

⤷ olliebearman WHATTTT I WAS JUST ABOUT TO JOIN IN

⤷ kimi.antonelli me toooooo

⤷ isackhadjar didn’t even let the rookies join in

⤷ carlossainz55 Go ahead 🙄

⤷ olliebearman AYYY DON’T STOP GET IT GET IT

⤷ kimi.antonelli DON’T STOP GET IT GET IT

⤷ isackhadjar DON’T STOP GET IT GET IT

⤷ liamlawson30 DON’T STOP GET IT GET IT

⤷ gabrielbortoleto_ DON’T STOP GET IT GET IT

⤷ danielricciardo DON’T STOP GET IT GET IT

⤷ olliebearman DANNY RIC WE MISS YOU 💔💔

⤷ kimi.antonelli R.I.P 💔 you would’ve loved me

⤷ isackhadjar he would’ve loved me more

⤷ carlossainz55 I’m going to turn my comments off

🝮

yn

liked by charles_leclerc and 759,314 others

yn blame cupid

lilyzneimer So cute 🤍🤍

carlossainz55 My one and only ❤️

lewishamilton Roscoe said he misses you

⤷ yn SHUT UP I’M COMING TO YOUR PLACE RIGHT NOW ZON’T PLAY WITH ME 🥰😍🥰❤️❤️

user11495203 and if i said i loved them then what

⤷ yn ain’t nothing wrong with that girl

carmenmmundt Ahh you two are the cutest!! We need to go on a double date! Or just a date, you and I 😉

⤷ yn how crazy would i be to deny that 🙂‍↕️

user67890013 i can’t deny it anymore, they are so cute together carlos is so gentle and soft with her

⤷ lando ohhh now everyone loves them but when i was defending them with my life everyone was telling me i was crazy 🙄🙄

sharls_lerklerk the switch up is crazy last week everyone was hating on them like their life depended on it 😭😭 i’ve been a stan since day 1

♥︎ by author

kimi.antonelli can you guys adopt me

⤷ olliebearman me too

⤷ isackhadjar wait me too me too

⤷ liamlawson30 i wanna be adopted too

⤷ gabrielbortoleto_ hey adopt me too!!!!

⤷ yn YESSAAAA 😆😆

⤷ carlossainz55 I have no say?

⤷ yn well, yes!

alexandrasaintmleux Awhhh I wonder who took this super sweet photo 🥰🥰

⤷ yn the sweetest girl ever

⤷ landonowins charles and carlos are just attached at the hip aren’t they

⤷ yn i think they have separation anxiety

⤷ charles_leclerc hey!! we only hangout so much so you and alex can hangout so much!

⤷ carlossainz55 Exactly! Me and Charles do NOT have separation anxiety

⤷ yn you guys have your own life 360 circle…

⤷ charles_leclerc Goodness forbid a guy wants to make sure his best friend is safe 😒

[yogirl-willow]

The Crimson Pact | Part 10

Characterizations | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13

SoulBond!AU

Pairings: Yandere!Saja Boys x F!Reader

Synopsis: You were never supposed to remember them.

Four hundred years ago, a pact was made—a blood-soaked bond tying five demons to one human soul: yours.

They’ve waited lifetimes for your reincarnation, cursed with obsession, tethered by fate.

And now that you’ve returned?

They’ll burn the world before they let you go again.

Warnings: Explicit Smut / NSFW. Minors DNI (Do Not Interact), Fingering, Touching, Penetrative Sex (P in V), Breeding Kink / Creampie, Size Kink, Praise Kink, Soul bond with the Saja Boys, Yandere themes!, obsessive behavior / possessiveness, romantic psychological tension, intense emotional fixation, yearning, dark romance.

A/N: Here's part 10! Thank you to everyone who sent over messages and comments. I'm so glad so many of you are enjoying my series. Plot rolls in the first half of this, and there is smut at the end. :) Next chapter will also have smut just because I didn't want to rush any of the moments once again. But the plot and conflicts will really get rolling from here. I hope you all enjoy this one!

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The Saja boys are all demons.

They are wrath and ruin. Jealousy and death.

And yet, before her, they kneel.

Because she is the Heart. Because her soul is what keeps them from unraveling into true monsters. Because they were bound by her love and her curse.

They don’t just crave her—they depend on her. Without her presence, their minds deteriorate. Their bodies decay. Their hunger becomes unbearable.

Only Y/N’s touch tames the demon inside.

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Names (For those who get confused): Haneul (Abby), Seoha (Romance), Hwimori/Hwi (Mystery), Seungho (Baby)

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Part 10:

Every Version of You

The bass thumped through the Huntrix penthouse, shaking the mirrored walls as Mira struck the next beat of the routine. Her cropped hoodie flew with each sharp turn, every kick hitting with fierce precision.

"One, two, spin, down—Rumi, Zoey, hit the arm combo together, please!" Mira barked.

Zoey huffed, brushing sweaty bangs from her forehead. "You're acting like we're going to war."

“We are,” Mira snapped. “This is Takedown, remember? Demon-dissing choreo has to be sharp. Idol Awards are in a few days. We’re not just performing—we’re making a statement.”

Rumi held her pose, chest heaving. Sweat dripped down her temple. “It’s just... hard to focus with everything going on.” She flopped onto the couch dramatically. “Speaking of which... has she replied yet?”

Mira paused, lowering her arms slowly. “Did she see your message?”

“She read it,” Zoey murmured, checking her phone. “No reply though.”

Mira exhaled sharply, arms crossed. “So she’s alive, at least.”

“Or...” Zoey’s voice trembled. “What if they just have her phone? What if she’s being controlled? Or trapped? What if she’s being held hostage?!”

Mira’s fists clenched. “If they’re keeping a human hostage—”

Zoey added, horrified, “What if they’re doing horrible things to her—”

“Oh, I think she might enjoy that...” Rumi muttered under her breath.

Both heads snapped toward her. “What was that?” Mira asked sharply.

“Nothing!” Rumi said quickly, brushing hair behind her ear. “Just... we don’t know the whole story.”

Zoey frowned, concern dark in her eyes. “Do you really think she’s okay?”

Rumi looked away. “Look... based on what we saw—they were protective. Obsessively, even.”

“That could be an act,” Mira snapped. “Demons don’t feel. They mimic. That’s how they manipulate humans.”

“You don’t know that.”

Mira narrowed her eyes. “Why are you defending them?”

“I’m not—” Rumi said, too quickly. “I just think... maybe we shouldn’t jump to conclusions.”

The silence that followed was thick and tense. Zoey looked between her two friends, biting her lip in apprehension. “Okay, okay, let’s chill,” she said, forcing a weak smile. “How about we call it a day? Tomorrow we can try tracking her—maybe check traffic cams near her café?”

“She hasn’t been to her café,” Mira said coldly. “It’s closed. And her apartment? Empty for weeks. What else do you need? She’s with those demons.”

Then, quieter, sharper: “What if she knows?”

Rumi’s stomach twisted.

“What if she knows what they are—and still stays with them?”

Rumi didn’t answer. Maybe… she does know. Really know what they are, and yet… chooses to stay?

The girls filtered off to their rooms, tension unresolved. Mira’s footsteps were sharp and angry, Zoey’s slow and tired. But Rumi stayed.

She remained seated on the floor of the practice studio, knees curled to her chest, the city glowing behind her through the glass. Her muscles ached from hours of choreography, but her mind refused to quiet.

She could still hear Jinu’s voice. "We’re soulbonded."

There was something in the way he said it. Not just conviction, but reverence. Like the word meant more than the world itself. Like the bond wasn’t just real—it was sacred. And the others? The way they looked at you, hovered near you, protected you like something precious? It wasn’t just possession.

It was devotion. And maybe it was all a lie. Maybe Mira was right…

But Rumi couldn’t stop wondering: What if it wasn’t? What if demons could feel something that deep? That powerful?

What if… her father had felt it too?

The thought hit her harder than expected. It had been something she tried to brush off for days now, ever since Jinu had told her about the soulbond. She’d never known her parents. Just flashes in half-dreams and a handful of secondhand memories from Celine. But now, watching the way you looked at the boys—and how they looked at you—it stirred something in her chest.

Something unshaped. Undefined. Longing, maybe. Or just the ache of not knowing. Could her mother have loved like that? Could she have fought for something that impossible?

Rumi exhaled shakily and rubbed her arms, feeling the faint, cursed heat of her demon marks just beneath her skin. They had always marked her as different. Not enough of one thing. Too much of another. A walking half-truth Celine refused to explain.

She had tried asking before. Dozens of times. What was my mother like? Why did she fall in love with a demon? Who was he? Each time was met with silence. Each time: “You don’t need to know.”

But now Rumi did. She needed to know. Not just for herself. But for what was coming.

If you were really soulbonded to demons… If a bond that powerful could change the rules, rewrite the laws they’d lived under their entire lives— Maybe her parents had tried too. Maybe there was something they left behind.

And what if… that soulbond was somehow tied to their demise. She had to know- is that the same fate that awaited Jinu? The same fate that awaited you?

She stood slowly and walked to her bedroom closet, where a weathered duffel bag lay tucked behind rows of performance shoes. From its inner lining, she retrieved a small brass key—one she had stolen years ago from Celine’s drawer, hidden away on instinct. The key to a locked chest in her old childhood home. The one Celine had told her never to open.

Rumi stared at the key for a long moment. Then, she curled her fingers around it and whispered to the empty room:

“I’m sorry, Celine. But I need the truth.”

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The scent of sesame oil and gochugaru fills the air, warm and rich, as you perch on the edge of the kitchen island in Haneul’s oversized shirt, your bare legs swinging gently. Haneul hums quietly as he moves through the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, muscles still slick from earlier, now focused as he stirs a steaming pot.

“Kimchi jjigae tonight,” he says proudly, ladling a bit into a spoon and holding it up to your lips. “Taste this for me?”

You lean forward, letting him feed you. It’s spicy and savory, exactly how you like it. “Mmm. That’s perfect.”

“Perfect’s what you are,” he says, wiping the corner of your mouth with his thumb. His voice lowers, brushing with something more carnal. “I still haven’t recovered from earlier, y’know.”

You flush. “You’re not supposed to say that while cooking.”

“I can multitask,” he smirks.

Just then, a pair of warm hands glide around your bare thighs. You jump slightly as Seungho presses a kiss to your cheek from the side. He was shirtless, leaving his lean muscles out for you to admire. For someone who’s nicknamed “Baby”, he sure didn’t look it when he was dressed like this without the sweaters.

He slides between your knees, gaze half-lidded, teasing. “God, you look good like this,” he murmurs. “One of our shirts, no shame… You trying to kill me, baby?”

Your hand goes to push him away, but your smirk betrays you. “Just sitting here.”

“Yeah, and I’m just breathing,” he deadpans, “but apparently that’s a sin too.” His hand squeezes your thigh. “Keep testing me and see what happens.”

You giggle, clearly not sorry. Before he can get carried away, the front door bursts open.

“We’re home!” Seoha’s voice sings.

You hop off the counter just in time for Jinu’s arms to catch you mid-run. He pulls you into him like he hasn’t seen you in weeks, burying his face into your neck. “Missed you, baby,” he murmurs, kissing your shoulder.

Seoha’s next, sweeping you up and spinning you dramatically before peppering your face with kisses—forehead, nose, cheeks. “I nearly died from missing you,” he sighs, as if wounded. “I considered throwing myself into traffic.”

“Dramatic as always,” you roll your eyes, laughing.

“And yet you keep coming back to me,” he says smugly, carrying you bridal-style back to the kitchen. Seungho is already setting the table, now with a shirt on. Seoha plops down and keeps you seated firmly on his lap.

“So,” you ask, “what were you guys out doing?”

“Logistics,” Jinu replies. “Stage cues, wardrobe adjustments, dealing with sponsors. Idol Awards are in a few days.”

You blink. “It’s that soon?”

Haneul sets down a plate in front of you—steaming rice, kimchi jjigae, marinated beef, banchan laid out lovingly. You try to shift to your own seat, but Seoha tightens his arms around you.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he whispers into your ear, voice low and territorial. “Not after being away from me all day.”

Your face heats as you squirm in his hold. “Where’s Hwimori?” you ask, trying to redirect the attention.

“Studio,” Seungho says, grabbing another pair of chopsticks. “Hasn’t left it since noon.”

“He’s still working?” You frown. “He hasn’t eaten?”

“He never eats when he’s focused,” Jinu sighs. “Like a damn wolf on a hunt.”

Moments later, Hwimori finally comes down. His hair’s tousled, shirt inside-out. He pads over silently, bending to kiss the top of your head. You soften at the gesture. “You haven’t eaten anything, have you?”

He looks at you, startled. Then grins. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not,” you scold lightly. “Sit. Eat.”

His gaze dips to your hands as he picks them up to press soft kisses across your knuckles. “Your care for me is more filling than any meal, Y/N,” he murmurs, almost bashful—except for the glint of heat in his eyes.

You blush, looking away. "You say the creepiest sweet things..."

Dinner begins. Laughter, gentle clinks of chopsticks. They argue over which brand of soju is superior. Seoha tries to spoon-feed you until Jinu takes over with more finesse. Seungho complains, “You’re all obsessed,” to which they all agree.

“You are too,” Haneul deadpans.

You ask casually, “So what song are you performing for the Idol Awards?”

Hwimori looks up from his bowl. “It’s a new one. I’m halfway done with the mix.”

“Ooh, can I hear it?”

A pause. Their reactions don’t match your enthusiasm. “It’s not finished yet,” Seoha says quickly.

“You’ll hear it soon,” Jinu adds with a reassuring smile.

Your brow furrows—but you brush it off. Hwimori leans over to you. “Come to the studio after dinner,” he says. “I’ll show you.”

You nod, heart skipping a little.

The kitchen is filled with the comforting clatter of chopsticks and soft laughter, the scent of kimchi jjigae still thick in the air. You’re tucked on Seoha’s lap all throughout, your legs curled beneath you, a half-eaten spoonful paused in your hand as you watch the boys move through their dinner routine like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Jinu reaches across Haneul’s plate to steal a piece of beef. Haneul slaps his hand away without looking up.

Seoha rests his chin on your shoulder and softly nuzzles into your skin, murmuring, “You’re my favorite side dish.”

Seungho groans. “You’re disgusting.”

They argue. They tease. Hwimori eats quietly at the edge of the table, chopsticks in one hand, notebook beside him, already jotting lyrics and notes between bites. No one tells him to stop. No one complains that he’s multitasking again. You chew slowly, eyes drifting between them. And then you stop eating.

Something about this moment… it feels too good. Too quiet. Too normal. You set your spoon down and lean back slightly into Seoha’s chest, gaze flicking toward the warm kitchen light above the table. It bathes the boys in gold—catching on the edge of Hwi’s silver earring, the subtle curl of Jinu’s ink-black hair, the sweat still lingering on Haneul’s collarbone.

And you think— “This doesn’t look like a house full of demons.”

It looks like a home.

You glance at the sink, where Haneul now rinses a pot. Jinu has a towel draped over one shoulder as he air-dries dishes. Seoha’s rubbing a spot on your ankle like it soothes something in him just to touch you. And Seungho is yelling at the rice cooker as if it’s personally offended him.

You close your eyes for a moment and listen to the mundane sounds of it all—water running, footsteps padding on the floor, laughter, the scrape of porcelain. ‘Is this real?’ you think. ‘Or is this… something they’ve created for me? Something they’re maintaining so I don’t run?’

You remember what they said. How they’d waited lifetimes. How they knew you from before. How they love you, need you, worship you. But you also remember how you woke up here. The pain. The fear. The sheer loss of control.

‘They say they love me. But do they love me? Or the version of me they’ve carried for centuries?’

You swallow, suddenly unsure of your own heartbeat. The soulbond pulls tight in your chest like thread wound too firmly around your ribs. You can feel each of them—every glance, every flicker of emotion—and it’s overwhelming how much they feel. For you. But…

‘What if they’re just in love with the memory of me? With someone I don’t even remember being?’

You think of your past lives. The fragments that flicker in your dreams. A hand in yours. A kiss in the dark. Blood. Fire. Death. Always ending in death.

‘Do I even have a choice in all of this? Or is fate choosing for me?’

You open your eyes again and see Jinu watching you. Noticing. As always. His expression softens as your eyes meet. He doesn’t say anything, just sends you a smile that feels like it was forged in a lifetime of waiting. One that says, ‘We see you.’

Your chest tightens. Because you know what you're afraid to admit: ‘They make me feel safe. Even when they shouldn’t. Even when I know what they are.’

And still… Am I just playing a role? Or is this… actually love?

Your fingers brush your thigh, grounding yourself. Seoha murmurs something into your hair, and Haneul walks by and drops a sweet kiss to the crown of your head. Seungho brushes his fingers across your lower back in passing, almost unconsciously. They touch you like they need to make sure you’re still here.

And in that moment, you don’t have an answer. But you want to believe. You want this to be real. And maybe… just maybe…

You already do.

From the corner of your eye, you see Hwimori pause in the hallway. His fingers tap the doorframe, hesitant. His voice is soft, almost shy. “You coming?”

You blink up at him. His golden eyes catch the light. And just like that, the ache eases. “Yes,” you whisper. “I’m coming.”

His fingers find yours before you’ve even stepped into the hallway. Delicately, he laces your fingers together like he’s memorizing the shape of them, then brings your joined hands to his lips and kisses your knuckles as you walk, eyes still fixed ahead. You swear you feel something in your chest flutter and curl at the gesture—quiet, unassuming, and completely devastating.

You don’t say anything. You just follow him.

Hwimori leads you gently through the dim apartment, the distant sound of dishes and laughter fading behind you. The studio door opens with a soft click, and the scent of sound foam and something faintly like cedar greets you. Inside, the room glows with a soft blue light from a large curved monitor, its screen filled with waveforms and sound levels. There’s a single black desk chair facing the setup, and handwritten notes scattered across the desk—some in Korean, some in English, a few in what looks like ancient runes.

He sits first, pulling you without a word into his lap. You settle there, curling comfortably against him, thighs warm over his, his hand never leaving your waist.

“This is where you work?” you murmur.

He nods against your shoulder. “Mhm.”

Your eyes roam across the workspace. “And this is where the magic happens?”

Hwimori hums again, the softest smile pulling at his lips. “Kind of. Jinu writes most of the lyrics. I handle the production, mixing, layering. Sometimes I add vocals.” He reaches to adjust a dial, the screen blinking in response. “This one’s still a work-in-progress.”

You tilt your head, reading the title scrawled in the corner of the page next to the monitor. “Your Idol.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Ominous.”

He gives a sheepish shrug. “Did you want to hear a little of it? I haven’t added in the final vocals yet.”

You grin. “Aren’t you cutting it a little close for the Idol Awards?”

His hand lifts, brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear. The gesture is tender—unconsciously so. “We’ll be singing live,” he murmurs. “This is just the backing track.”

You hum in understanding, but your eyes linger on his face. He’s usually so quiet, almost shadow-like. But in this space, surrounded by his work, his music, his presence feels different. Grounded. Whole.

He reaches behind you and gently lifts a pair of large over-ear headphones. “Here,” he says, placing them carefully over your ears. The size swallows your head a little, and you catch him smiling as he adjusts them.

“What?” you ask, your voice muffled.

He chuckles, leaning in to press a kiss to your nose. “You just look so cute.”

Your cheeks heat instantly, and you shift in his lap—just slightly. He doesn’t let you move far. His hands settle more firmly on your waist as he hits play. The first sound is a whisper.

Dies irae Illa…

A chant. Ethereal. Latin. So far removed from the sparkly, bubblegum tones of Soda Pop that it doesn’t even feel like the same group.

The low rumble of a bass begins to rise beneath the vocals. Haunting. Slow. Then the drop hits—hard, distorted, angry. Layers of eerie harmonies weave in and out, and a new pulse sets the rhythm. It's darker, heavier… yet oddly beautiful.

Your spine straightens instinctively. This doesn’t feel like an idol song. It feels like a warning.

After a minute or two, you carefully lift the headphones off, holding them in your lap as the silence returns to the studio. “It sounds… so different,” you say, your voice small.

Hwimori nods, looking straight ahead, eyes flickering with something unreadable. “Jinu wanted to try something new.”

“Are you guys rebranding?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just hums quietly. “Something like that.”

You look at him then—really look.

Under the low studio light, his lashes cast shadows on his cheeks, and his bangs fall over his eyes in a silky curtain. You can’t help but reach up, brushing the corner of his hair. His eyes widen slightly, but he lets you. Your fingers tuck some strands behind his ears, revealing more of the amber in his gaze—molten, unblinking, completely focused on you. “You’re beautiful, Hwimori,” you whisper.

He exhales like you’ve struck something inside him.

Then—without a word—he buries his head against your chest, arms wrapping around your back as if he can’t bear a second more of not being as close as possible. You feel his breath stutter. Feel the silent emotion he doesn’t know how to say.

You stay there, letting the music fade behind you, and hold him like he’s always been yours. Neither of you speak for a long while. Just the soft whir of the monitor, the warm hush of breath between you. There’s a peace in it—a rare kind. But even in the quiet, something lingers. A hum beneath your skin. And he feels it too.

“I felt it,” Hwimori murmurs, voice muffled into the fabric of your shirt. “At dinner.”

You blink, confused.

“The way your heart pulled,” he clarifies, lifting his head slowly to look at you. His eyes are searching, soft. “You felt uneasy.”

You stiffen. There’s no use denying it—not to him. He sees right through you, like he always has. You look away, but his hand finds your cheek, thumb brushing gently over your skin, coaxing you back to him. You turn your gaze slowly, and he’s already watching you like you’re the only thing he’s ever needed to see.

“You were quiet for a little bit,” he says. “But not the kind of quiet you get when you’re sleepy or full. It was the kind that hurts.”

You flinch. Not because he’s wrong, but because he’s so, so right. You don’t answer, and you don’t need to. Hwimori’s fingers gently reach for your cheek, brushing your hair behind your ear. His touch is impossibly tender. His gaze steady and warm.

“You’ve always been like that,” he says softly. “Since before you knew my name.”

You tilt your head.

“There was one night,” he continues. “From a long time ago. You were just a girl in a little village, taking care of too many people with too little help.”

A memory stirs. Familiar but distant. “It was after a long storm,” Hwimori says, voice laced with something warm. “Your roof leaked. The firewood got soaked. You’d spent all day patching it up with your bare hands, and you still went to the river to wash your siblings’ blankets by moonlight.”

You suck in a soft breath. He hadn’t been visible then. But he’d seen.

“I followed you there, like I always did. And you were singing to yourself, – albeit, a little off-key,” he chuckles, and you huff a soft laugh. “You were humming just to stay awake. Kneeling in the freezing water, shivering, hands raw. I could tell you were exhausted. Your voice was shaking.”

He pauses, as if savoring the memory. “And then a rabbit came to you. It was limping. Barely able to move. I thought you’d ignore it—you had enough to worry about. But you just… stopped everything. You dropped the blanket, picked up the rabbit, and tucked it in your coat.”

Your throat tightens. “You stayed like that, holding it. Rocking it. Whispering, ‘You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay,’ like it was your own child.”

His voice drops to a whisper. “That’s when I knew,” he says. “That you had the gentlest heart I’d ever seen. Even after everything life had done to you, your instinct was still to love. To care. Even when you had nothing left.”

You can’t breathe for a moment. He presses his forehead against yours. “You made me want to be something more. Something that could hold you. Protect you. Stay beside you. That was the first night I had ever desired to be more. To be felt. So I could feel you.”

You don’t realize tears have welled in your eyes until he brushes them away with the soft pad of his thumb. Hwi’s words hang in the air like the final note of a love song — quiet, aching. His eyes shimmer, blinking slowly beneath your gentle touch.

You stare at him, overwhelmed. And then… The doubt creeps in again. It’s a quiet voice, but sharp. Your fingers still on his cheeks.

“What if…” your voice cracks slightly. “What if that wasn’t me?”

He blinks.

“What if the girl you saw that night—the one who rocked a dying rabbit to sleep—was someone else? Someone better? I might be her soul, but I’m not her. I don’t remember that life. I don’t sing at the river. I haven’t—haven’t done anything like that. I’m not soft like she was. What if you’re feeling all these things for someone that doesn’t exist anymore?”

Your heart aches at the words. And you hate that you mean them. You try to look away, but he catches your chin—gently, like a thread of silk. He doesn’t force you to meet his gaze. Just holds you still, holds you softly.

And he whispers: “But you are her.” His thumb brushes your cheek. “You’re the same soul who reached for a broken thing instead of turning away. You’re the same heart that gave kindness without needing a reason. You still do. Every single day.”

You tremble slightly, lips parting. But he isn’t finished. “I didn’t fall in love with a girl who sang to the river. I fell in love with the soul that chose to love, even when it hurt. Even now—when you could hate us, when you should be afraid—you still sit here with your arms around a demon and ask if your love is real.”

He leans in slowly, forehead pressed to yours, and his voice drops lower.

“That’s you. That’s always been you. No matter how many lives we live. I’ll always know you. Even if the world forgets. I’ll know your soul, and how it calls for me. And I will always answer.”

Tears blur your vision as you swallow hard. He smiles softly—barely there, but achingly real. “You could cut your hair, pick up new hobbies, forget how to sing, fall in love with different books, dress differently, dream new dreams…”

His voice lowers, “And I would still find ways to love every version of you. Every change. Every chapter. Because it’s still you. Your soul is eternal. And I was made to follow it.”

His thumb brushes away a tear that slips down your cheek. “That’s what love is, isn’t it? Not clinging to who someone was—but choosing them again and again, as they become. I’ve done it for centuries. And I’ll do it for as many more as you’ll let me.”

And then he whispers—almost breathlessly— “My name is Hwimori… because I needed a name to worship you with. It’s the name you gave me. As long as you call me, I will always answer. In every life.”

You break, tears fully running now. Your heart hurts in the most beautiful way — with the kind of love that makes your whole body ache. A sound escapes you- half sob, half chuckle in disbelief. It was almost unreal, the love they had for you. The love Hwimori had for you. The love you were starting to remember you had for him, and the love that was growing rapidly in your chest for all of them.

“You say the most beautiful things…” You say breathily, hands wiping away your tears. You reach for him again. His face. His eyes. You unclip your hairpin and clip his bangs back fully, needing to see all of him, this creature made of devotion.

His eyes are breathtaking. Violet and gold and amber, like the inside of a star. Lashes long, silver, like dust spun from moonlight. And all of it—all of him—was made for you. This soulbeast became a man just to stay by my side.

Your loyal, wild-hearted creature. The one who never asked for anything but to be near you. Your lips brush over his eyelids. He shudders. A soft, needy sound escapes him—barely a breath. 

You kiss the other. He exhales like he’s letting go of centuries of longing. Then his nose. His cheeks. His jaw. And when your lips finally meet his— He melts.

He melts into you like you’re the only thing he’s ever needed. The only warmth he’s ever known. The bond between you hums, low and deep, like a drumbeat just beneath your ribs. And in his kiss, there is nothing but truth. 

It starts slow. Hwimori kisses you like a creature in worship, his lips brushing yours in soft, fleeting touches. Then he deepens it, and it changes. Desperation curls at the edges. His tongue traces your bottom lip before claiming your mouth fully, and you feel it—his need, his hunger, his aching loyalty. 

Like a beast starved, yet patient. Like he’s memorizing the shape of you, the taste, the scent. His hands glide along your hips, pulling you tighter against him. You gasp slightly as you feel the heat of his arousal press up beneath you through his clothes. Your thighs clench instinctively.

You shift in his lap, just enough to grind against him—slowly, deliberately. His breath catches, and a low whimper escapes his throat, sharp and broken.

“Ah… d–don’t do that,” he pleads, his voice ragged. His fingers clench at your hips, claws nearly unsheathing. “You don’t know what you’re waking up in me, my love…”

Your eyes glint with a teasing defiance. So you do it again. 

And he breaks.

With a growl, Hwimori stands in one smooth motion, lifting you effortlessly. You squeal softly in surprise but he doesn’t release your lips—not for a second. He walks you across the studio and lowers onto the velvet couch with you straddling him, breath hot and wild. His hands roam beneath your shirt, sliding up your back as he kisses you harder—possessive, trembling with restraint.

“Is that what you want?” he growls softly. “To see what I become when I stop pretending to be tame?” 

───────── SMUT ─────────

He lifts your shirt in one motion, leaving you bare save for the thin fabric of your panties. His breath hitches as he looks at you—chest rising, flushed, vulnerable. Worshipful silence falls over him for just a second. His gaze travels up—devouring you slowly—and when your eyes meet, it nearly steals the air from your lungs.

There’s nothing human in his expression. Just awe. Hunger. Adoration so intense it borders on unhinged. His hands grip your thighs, fingers trailing up, rough and hot all at once. “You’re mine,” he breathes—low, almost like a growl against your skin. “You’re my soul. My everything. The reason I even have this form.”

You lean forward to kiss his neck, pressing soft kisses against his pulse. You couldn’t help yourself. Not when his face looked like that. Flushed, needy, and oh so beautiful you could combust. He shudders beneath you.

Your hands slide beneath his shirt, fingertips brushing his skin. He moans—a raw, choked sound—and you feel the muscles of his torso tense beneath your touch. You peel the fabric off him slowly, revealing the sculpted lines of his chest and arms, and your breath catches at how perfectly carved he is. Like a statue built to guard you.

You kiss down his chest, lips leaving warm trails as his hands grip yours tightly, long fingers intertwined with your own. He trembles beneath your mouth.

“I love it when you touch me like that,” he murmurs, breath shaky. “It makes my skin sing. Makes my heart believe I’m not dreaming you.”

You feel him twitch beneath you as your hips move again, wetness pooling between your legs. Your mouth curls into a sly smirk. “Lucky for you, I can make those dreams into a reality.”

He groans at your teasing, eyes alight with fire. His mouth finds your neck, biting softly—claiming. You gasp as you feel his fingers trace the line of your damp panties. He groans, “You’re soaking. Just from my voice? My fingers?” His voice dips into a snarl, “This little body is desperate for me, huh? You were made to take me.”

The sound of his voice, so heavy and laced with desire almost makes you cream. You nod obediently, bottom lip captured beneath your teeth. “Uh huh,” you mutter faintly. 

He slides your panties to the side and growls low in his throat as he feels how wet you are for him. His fingers glide through your folds before slowly sinking one inside you. You cry out softly at the sudden stretch, clutching onto his shoulders. 

“So tight,” he pants, pressing his forehead to yours. “Always so tight for me. You let me in so easily… like your body already knows me.”

A second finger joins the first, and he begins a slow, precise rhythm, watching your every expression like he’s memorizing your ruin. His thumb brushes your clit, and your body jolts in response.

“Hwi,” you moan, kissing his temple as your eyebrows furrow in pleasure. “It feels so good. You feel so good-”

He growls in satisfaction, your name leaves his lips like a prayer—hoarse, wild. “I can feel you through the bond,” he gasps. “Every pulse, every squeeze—fuck, it echoes in me—I’m going insane with it—”

Your walls tighten around his fingers, your breath stuttering. You grip his hair and moan into his mouth as he kisses you through it, slow and deep and so loving it aches. And when you come undone, trembling, pulsing around his fingers—he kisses you like he needs it to survive. Like your pleasure is oxygen. Like he feels the intensity of your undoing.

He pulls back only when your body softens against him, watching you pant and tremble in his lap. Then, without a word and without tearing his eyes off yours, you watch as he raises his hand to his mouth and licks his fingers clean—moaning low, possessive heat flashing in his eyes.

“Every drop of you is mine,” he growls, licking the corner of his lips. “You taste like spiritfire. Like everything I’ve ever wanted and could never reach—until you let me.”

His words send a jolt of arousal through you. Endless heat pooling at your core. For him. A sudden idea pops into your head. You barely recover before you lean forward, lips brushing his neck, your hand drifting low with intent. He freezes as your fingers brush his waistband.

“What are you doing?” he asks, voice husky, breathless.

You smile softly, gaze heated. “You’ve tasted me,” you whisper. “Isn’t it only fair I get to taste you?”

His eyes go wide. “My love… you don’t have to—”

You kiss his neck, then down his torso, across his abdomen until you plant a kiss on his hipbone and feel him twitch. “I want to,” you say. “Let me give you a preview of your birthday gift…”

He groans, head falling back as your fingers slide beneath his waistband, breath shuddering with anticipation. Your fingers wrap around him—thick, flushed, twitching with need—and stroke him once, slow. 

Hwimori’s head snaps back. A breathless moan rips from his throat, desperate and shaking.

“Gods—your hands,” he pants. “Soft… warm… like they were made just to touch me…”

You pull the waistband of his shorts and his cock springs free. Hot and huge against your face. Hwi looks down at the sight of you kneeling before him in awe. Watching how you look so pretty next to his aching shaft. He brushes a lock of  hair behind your ear lovingly. 

You stare at his member before you, albeit a little bit intimidated as there’s no way that’s all going to fit in your mouth. As if he could read your mind he says gently, “You don’t have to baby. You can just take what you can, or even-”

His sentence it cut short as you lean in, tongue trailing up his length in one long, slow stroke—and he chokes on a groan so wrecked it echoes in your chest. “F-fuck—” His thighs jerk beneath you. His claws tear faintly into the couch cushions, muscles trembling. “Baby, don’t—don’t tease me like that—”

But you do. Again.

Your tongue trails ever so slowly from the thick base all the way to the tip, swirling around the head of his shaft. Hwi’s head tilts back in pleasure, a helpless groan escapes him as he clutches his hands tight against the couch. 

You look up at him through your lashes prettily, “But it’s so fun seeing you like this, Hwi…” 

Your fingers flutter against the base and corners of him and it has him bucking his hips in desperation. Now you understood why they liked seeing you beg so much… this kind of power was something you could get drunk with. And seeing Hwi’s desperate reactions, how crazy you’re making him right now, was one of the hottest things you’ve ever seen. 

"Fuck baby you're driving me crazy," he groans, “My love, please—”

You take him into your mouth—his tip brushing the back of your tongue—and he gasps. His whole body tenses under your touch. Then he breaks.

A cry, ragged and raw. His hands fly to your hair, trembling fingers carding through the strands, gently cradling the back of your head like you’re something sacred. “Fuck,” he groans at the feel of your hot mouth wrapped around him. He’s never felt this kind of pleasure before in his life, and it was driving him absolutely mad. 

His hips buck just slightly—restrained. Worshipful. Still trying to hold himself back for you. He was quite girthy, so you took what you could in your mouth and used your hands to cover the rest. Your fingers wrapped around him, twisting in opposite directions. 

“You don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he breathes, voice barely coherent. “You’re too much—I can feel everything—every flick of your tongue, every sound you make—gods, your mouth is heaven—”

You suck gently, cheeks hollowed, lips slick around him—and he keens, hands trembling. His body begins to shimmer. Veins glowing faintly beneath his skin. Ethereal demon markings pulse along his torso, crawling upward like wildfire. His beast is showing. His restraint, unraveling.

“You’re not just touching my body,” he gasps. “You’re inside my soul. I can feel it—every moan you make, I feel it in me, like I’m the one falling apart—fuck, baby—please—”

He thrusts gently into your mouth, hips rocking upward with a soft growl. The sounds he makes—raw, primal, completely lost in you—only make you want to worship him more. His hands are tangled in your hair, pushing you down gently to take more of him. You loved the sounds he was making. You loved how good you were making him feel. You look up at him from under your lashes and moan at the sight. 

His face, flushed with heat and eyes hot with desire, looking at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Like he’s careful not to break you but also holding himself back from thrusting in too deep into your mouth. He looked like you were undoing him from the inside out. You moan at the beautiful sight of him and he tips his head back hotly at the vibrations wrapped around him.  

But then—his grip suddenly tightens, trembling.

“Stop—baby, stop—” he whimpers. “I’m gonna cum—gods—I can’t—”

He pulls you off with a wet gasp, eyes wide, chest heaving, cock glistening in the low light. He’s panting. Shaking. Eyes blown wide with lust and love and awe. You’re confused for a moment, a quick flash of insecurity rushes through you. Did he not like it—

“I need to be inside you,” he says, voice hoarse. “Now. I need it—I need you. Please—please—”

Oh.

He pulls you into his lap again, cradling you like you’re fragile. His face was filled with need and so much yearning. He wanted– no, needed you wrapped around him. Badly. 

You smile slightly. He was so cute like this, and so hot. You shift on top of him. His hands fly to your ass, desperate and needy. You tilt his head up. Eyes molten pools of gold and violet. And without breaking eye contact, you line him up beneath you, and slowly, slowly, you sink down onto him.

And it shatters him.

Hwimori moans—loud and aching—head falling back, mouth open in a soundless cry. His claws dig into your hips like anchors, and his whole body trembles. You look at him, mouth parted slightly at the huge stretch of him sinking deeper into you. You moan and whimper at the feeling.

“You’re so warm—tight—fuck, I can feel your soul—” he gasps, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. His hands guide your hips lower, sinking himself deeper inside you. You feel as if there was no end. Every inch sinks in deliciously with a stretch, reaching places within you so deep it almost has you seeing stars. 

You both grunt as he bottoms out, your head sinking into his shoulder as he stills inside you, allowing you to accommodate the sheer size of him. 

“You feel incredible – fuck.” The last word is broken, shattered. 

You start to move—slow, deliberate—rocking your hips against him with sensual grace. He gasps softly at the friction, hands tightening on your waist like you’re the only thing anchoring him to this world.

Then his eyes meet yours. Wide. Wild. Awestruck. Shining like he’s beholding something holy. “You’re inside me too,” he whispers, voice trembling. “Every part of you… your heart, your voice… it’s echoing in my chest—I can feel you in my soul…”

“Really?” you breathe, stunned by the depth of it and his connection with you. Your body trembles. He nods, mouth parted, lips pink and kiss-swollen. “It’s like the bond has no beginning or end. Just you… burning in me.”

You lift your hips—slow, torturous. His cock drags along your walls and you feel him twitch inside you, thick and hot and pulsing. Then you drop your hips again, taking him deep—and he moans. It vibrates through both your chests, your moan echoing right after, the soulbond creating a perfect feedback loop of heat and pleasure.

You start to ride him—slow at first, letting him feel every wet drag of your walls. His hands explore you like he’s mapping the surface of a dream. They roam up your thighs, over your hips, along the delicate curve of your spine. He cups the back of your head with one palm, the other pressing into the small of your back as if he could hold your soul there forever.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmurs through gasps. “So powerful. So fucking mine.”

You roll your hips harder, drawing circles with your pelvis—and his eyes flutter, his body arching up into yours. Then you lean close, kiss his throat, and moan his name softly into his skin.

And it breaks him.

With a snarl, his hands shoot to your waist. He growls—a deep, primal sound—and in one quick, fluid movement, he flips you.

You barely register the shift before you’re on your hands and knees, breath caught in your throat, his chest behind you, his cock pressed at your entrance from behind—hard, throbbing, wild with need. And then he drives into you.

Hard.

You cry out, hands fisting in the cushions for support as his cock spears deep, reaching places unknown in this new position. The sheer force of his thrust makes you jolt forward—only for his arms to pull you back again, anchoring you against him.

He finds his rhythm. Deep. Powerful. Devastating. Like an beast on a mission to claim.

“Your scent,” he pants, voice guttural, animal. “Your voice—your fucking moans— they make me crazy. I want you messy. I want you needy. I want you like this every day.”

He’s slamming into you now, sweat-slick and burning hot. You cry out as his hips meet yours with obscene sounds, your skin echoing against his like drums to some ancient mating rhythm. His demon patterns were on full display now, no longer able to hold back any longer his primal urge to mark you, to claim you. 

You arch back into him, sobbing out his name again and again—and it shreds what little restraint he had left.

He growls, fangs bared, and pushes your chest down flat into the velvet. Your cheek rests against the cushion, stomach flat against the couch, hips raised high as he looms over you, his weight pressing your back flat with his own.

Now he’s fucking you in earnest. Hard. Fast. Possessed. His lips drag across your spine, fangs grazing the curve of your shoulder. Your cries are muffled against the cushions. His nose presses into the crook of your neck, inhaling you like it’s all he needs to live.

“You were made for this,” he snarls, breath shaking. “To be mine. To take me—all of me. Gods, you fit me so perfectly. So fucking perfectly—”

Your moans crack into gasps, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the sheer intensity. “Yours,” you mumble, almost deleriously against the velvet. “I’m yours, Hwi-”

Every thrust punches a cry from your lungs. Every kiss down your spine lights up your nerves like lightning. Your walls clench tighter and tighter—every stroke inside you driving you closer to a cliff you can’t see the bottom of.

“Let me mark you,” he begs. “Please. Let me leave something of me on you.”

You nod, helplessly. And he bites down on the side of your neck—not enough to break skin, just enough to claim. Your back arches under him, body trembling as he groans against your skin.

“I want you warm and full and mine,” he growls. “Let me fill you. Let me stay inside you.”

You scream his name as your orgasm crashes over you—twitching around him, sobbing, shattering. White hot pleasure sizzles down your spine and in your core as you close your eyes at the sheer intensity of it. The bond explodes in your chest. Your pleasure echoes into his—his hips falter, then slam one final time—

He moans your name as he cums. Buried deep. Hot, thick, endless.

He jerks as he empties himself into you, cock twitching inside your still-clenching walls, his breath catching as his entire body locks above yours. You feel every spurt of him flood you—so full you feel it dripping down your thighs. 

His hands have yours pinned by your head, fingers intertwined and tight against yours as he crashes through his release. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t pull out. He just collapses over you. Breathing ragged. Arms caging you beneath him possessively.  Nose in your neck.

And you—soaked, trembling, filled and full of him—let yourself melt beneath his weight. Safe. Claimed. His.

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“I’ll never let you go,” he breathes against your skin. “Even if all that’s left is instinct… I’ll love you in every form. Every time you’re born, I’ll find you. And I’ll love you again.”

You turn your head to meet his eyes, breath still shaking. “Yours, Hwi. You have me.”

His kiss is searing as he presses it to your cheek, your ear, your temple. And he whispers, broken and beautiful: “Mine.”

The bond pulses one last time. Then it quiets. Wrapped around each other. Hearts tangled. Souls glowing. 

Beast and tether.

His weight is still pressed against your back—hot, heavy, anchoring. But his thrusts are gone now, replaced by slow, trembling breaths against the shell of your ear. The room is quiet, save for the soft hum of the bond and the thunder of two hearts tangled together.

You feel his arms tighten around your waist like he’s scared you might slip through them. “Hwi,” you whisper.

He doesn’t speak at first—just buries his nose into your hair and breathes you in like a prayer. Then, softly, brokenly: “Thank you.”

You blink. “For what?”

“For… this. For you. For letting me—” His voice cracks. “I didn’t think I’d ever get to feel you like this. Not with skin. Not with hands. Not like this…”

You turn in his embrace, and he lets you, gently helping you onto your back. He hovers above you, eyes shining with something too big to hold. “I was never supposed to be this,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “I was a spirit. A guardian. A thing without touch, without form. But I would've given it up a thousand times over. I did—for you.”

He lowers his forehead to yours, his silver lashes brushing your skin. “If falling from grace means I get to hold you like this—love you like this—I’d fall every time.”

Your throat tightens, your heart breaking and healing in the same breath. “You’re not fallen,” you say, gently brushing his cheek. “You just… came home.”

He swallows hard, eyes closing at your touch. He kisses your palm, your wrist, then your chest—over your heart. And stays there, listening. “I’ll love every version of you,” he murmurs against your skin. “Even the pieces you haven’t met yet. Even the parts that change.”

You take his face in your hands, and he melts into them, leaning into your touch like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. “Thank you.” You say, “For always reassuring me. For loving me like this. Hearing you say things like that, makes it sound too good to be true.” You sigh, “I can’t believe you want to be mine-”

“I only ever knew how to be yours,” he says, voice trembling. “I don’t know how to be anything else. And now that I’ve had you like this… I can’t go back.”

Your breath hitches.

“I live to worship you,” he whispers. “To care for you. Provide for you. Cherish you. Love you. Every version. Every life. Every shape you take.”

Something in you shatters. You let out a soft sound—half sob, half laugh—and press a thousand kisses to his shoulder, his collarbone, his cheeks, his hands. 

“You don’t know what that does to me,” you whisper. “To be loved like this. After years of solitude. Loneliness…”

He hushes you gently, laying his head against your chest as you softly play with his hair. “I’m here now,” he says. “You won’t ever be without me. Without us.” 

His arms tighten again around your middle. His voice is quieter now, small and honest. “I won’t just stand by this time,” he promises. “I won’t let the world take you from me again. I don’t care what I become. I’ll fight fate, gods, time—everything. I’ll bare my teeth and rip the stars down if they try to take you.”

You smile faintly through the warmth in your chest. “Sounds like my beast.”

He grins, eyes glassy with emotion. “I’d burn the sky just to keep you in my arms.”

Then he shifts, wrapping you in his shirt and lifting you in his arms. Your head rests tiredly on his shoulder as he walks and carries you to your room. 

Opening the door, he walks over to the bed and places you on it gently. He gets in right next to you—pulling the blanket over both of you, wrapping his arms around your waist and tucking you close until your legs tangle and your bodies settle in perfect symmetry.

He presses one last kiss to your forehead and whispers, “Sleep now, my love. I’ll guard your dreams.”

And you do. Wrapped in his warmth. His scent. His soul.

Belonging. At last.

TO BE CONTINUED

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A/N: I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Mystery/ Hwimori gets his turn on this one. Wrote this with all my Hwimori girls in mind. I figured his go would be a bit different as he's a soulbeast and always had this type of spiritual connection to the reader. Seeds of doubt slowly creep into her mind in this one as well. Hwi silences them for now, but who knows where they'll go in the next chapters. I think you all know who comes next ;) Let me know what you guys think, and as always, thank you for reading! Much Love, Willa x

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