#haven’t been active over here for a while

[heejamas]

YOUR HEART GOT TEETH | CHOI. YEONJUN ⨾

SYNOPSIS ٬⠀⠀✦ in a world ruled by blood and territory, you built your empire from ash and betrayal. years ago, yeonjun shattered your life with a single lie — and vanished. now he’s back, offering salvation laced with secrets, handing over pieces of your land to save the very people he once left to die. old scars reopen as you're forced into an alliance stitched together with memory, resentment, and the kind of tension that never really left. while danger brews at every border and loyalty crumbles beneath ambition, you must decide if the devil you once loved is worth trusting again — or burning with everything else.

PAIRINGS 🗝️ mafia! yeonjun x fem! reader

WARNINGS ❜୧ violence, mafia themes, enemies to lovers, stabbing, blood, grief, all kinds of illegal activities, death of father figure, smut, dry humping WORDCOUNT ''. 28k

AUTHOR'S NOTE ٬ ✦ this is my first time writing a mafia fic and ngl i was super nervous 😭 i’ve never touched this theme before and i was so scared it would come off super cheesy or over-the-top but honestly?? i’m really happy with how it’s turned out so 🖤 hope you guys enjoy it!! Hi guys! this is rain @heesmiles, i'm making this layout for ronnie; i made the header too ! like this its so cutie core

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ#nowplaying - teeth by 5 seconds of summer

Some nights, you forget what peace feels like. And when silence finally settles, you start to miss the sound of violence.

That’s the first thing you think when the cold of 3:17 a.m. presses into your skin like a warning. It’s quiet, but not the good kind. This silence has sharp edges. Because you’re standing on the rooftop of a building that doesn't belong to you but answers to your name. The city stretches around you, lit up like a lie, glittering and full of ghosts. Somewhere out there, someone is bleeding. Somewhere out there, someone’s praying they never hear your name.

You light a cigarette you won’t finish, you never do. Smoke curls between your fingers like it’s dancing for you, like it knows you’re the queen here. The Ghost Queen, that’s what they call you. No face, no past, and also no mercy. No one knows you’re you, the daughter of the man who burned half the underworld down before disappearing into his own flames. No one knows you were born in blood and named after betrayal, and you like it that way.

Behind you, the rusted door creaks open, but you don’t turn around. You already know it’s Beomgyu, your second-in-command, and the only person in this city you’d trust with your back turned. “They're calling again,” he says. Voice quiet, always calm. “Third deal this week gone sideways.”

You don’t answer right away. You exhale, watching the smoke dissolve into the night. “Same buyer?” you ask.

Beomgyu steps closer and leans on the ledge next to you, the city lights flickering in his dark eyes. “Different face. Same pattern. Military-grade weapons intercepted. Police got there too fast. Like... too fast.”

There it is, the rot you’ve been sensing all week. Something is off, and now it’s crawling into your business. “Is it local?” you ask, keeping your voice flat.

Beomgyu hesitates. “Maybe. But it’s spreading. Not just us.”

You glance at him and he meets your eyes. And you both know what name you’re not saying.

Choi Yeonjun.

You haven’t seen him in years. Not since you were teenagers. But you push the memory down like a knife you’re not ready to twist. Instead, you focus on the facts. If someone’s feeding intel to the police, they’re not just targeting you. They’re tearing a path through the power lines of the city. And eventually, that path leads to the Crimson Order, Yeonjun’s organization.

You stub out the cigarette on the concrete ledge. “Let the others know,” you say. “We don’t move anything for the next 48 hours. Nothing leaves the vault unless it’s fireproof and untraceable.”

Beomgyu nods, but doesn’t leave. You can feel him watching you. “You think it’s him?” he asks, his voice quieter now.

You don’t answer, not directly. Instead, your eyes drift toward the horizon, toward the part of the city where red lights burn hotter than the rest, his territory. You think about a scar on someone else's skin. A knife in your own hand. The way his eyes looked the last time he saw you — not scared, not angry, but betrayed.

“I think,” you say slowly, “if it is him... he’s about to wish it wasn’t.”

You turn away from the edge. And behind you, the city keeps burning, because it usually burns like this. Most nights, the city is a machine of smoke and steel, humming with secrets too loud to keep. Your world lives in the cracks — the places where rules bend, loyalty bleeds, and every smile hides a blade. You don’t live, you move, you calculate. You don’t love, you protect, you bleed. And you only bleed for a few.

Downstairs, the lights are low. This is home, if you believe in that kind of thing. This is where you chose to stay with them. 

Next to Beomgyu, Choi Soobin’s on a laptop, legs pulled up on the couch like he lives there, because he kind of does. He’s the quiet one, the one who smiles the least and notices the most. He tracks shipments, hacks through government walls like it’s a game. Lee Heeseung walks in with two guns and a bag of dumplings. He places the guns on the table like offerings and tosses you the food like it’s more valuable. He’s been with you since the beginning, an he still calls you “Boss” but smiles like you’re just yourself and that’s why you trust him. Park Jay and Huh Yunjin are arguing over blueprints at the far table. It’s not real fighting, it never is. They’ve known each other too long to mean it. Yunjin is lethal in heels and poetry, and Jay’s the kind of man who doesn’t speak unless it’s necessary, but when he does, people shut up. They were the last to join you, but they fell into rhythm like they’d been there from the start.

This is your family. No blood, no birthrights, only fire and choice. And every person in this room would kill for you. Every one of them knows exactly what you’ve done and why. They don’t ask questions, but they’d follow you into hell. 

There’s a map on the wall. Red pins, black threads, coded notes. The whole city, a body open for surgery. Beomgyu stands beside you, arms crossed, eyes on the patterns. “Third deal,” he says. “Same setup. Same leak.”

“Where’s the weak point?” you ask.

Soobin answers from the couch without looking up. “It’s not us.”

You nod once, you didn’t think it was. That’s when Heeseung speaks, voice low. “It’s coming from across the river.”

Across the river. Yeonjun’s territory. You feel it before you hear it, that low thrum in your chest, but it is not anger or fear. It is recognition, like something crawling back out of your bones.  “Gear up,” you say. “We’re not waiting to get burned. We’re going to find out who’s lighting the match.”

Your family starts moving. You send Heeseung and Soobin the next morning. Heeseung wears his leather jacket like it’s a second skin, and doesn’t ask questions. Soobin taps his fingers against the grip of his gun while scanning the coordinates, already thinking three moves ahead. They’ll take an unmarked car and rotate comms every two hours. They’ll report directly to you, always. You don’t need to follow them, because you never micromanage blood.

The days pass slowly, so you keep your hands busy, meet with suppliers, cut ties with a contact who got too loud, relocate a storage unit after a whisper of police movement near the docks. You don’t sleep much, but that’s normal. Sleep is a luxury for people who don’t have targets on their backs or memories carved into their ribs.

By the third day, Beomgyu starts getting twitchy. He hates silence, especially when it stretches too long and sounds like a setup. Heeseung and Soobin send in updates, but they’re dry — trail’s cold, warehouse clean, contacts nervous. You get the sense that something is missing. Something’s being wiped before they get there. And on the seventh day, everything shifts. You’re sitting in the back room, cigarette lit, going over surveillance notes with Yunjin when the alert pings. Intercepted frequency. Jay bursts in without knocking, holding a black phone like it’s about to explode.

“Got something,” he says. “Encrypted, but Soobin cracked it.”

You stand slowly, taking the phone from his hand. The message is short, just a few lines, but they slice clean through the room.

to the ghost queen. someone’s leaking our supply lines too. if it’s you, run. if it’s not, stay out of the way.next time, we won’t send a warning.

— ㅊㅇㅈ

Choi Yeonjun. Your jaw tightens, but you don’t say a word.

Beomgyu lets out a low whistle. “Bold move. Must think we’re the ones playing rat.”

Yunjin leans against the table, arms crossed, voice cold. “Or he’s deflecting. Trying to pin it on us so we back off and stop sniffing too close.”

Heeseung, now back and leaning in the doorway, shrugs. “Or he’s bluffing. He wants to see how we move.”

But your head’s already spinning faster. You know Yeonjun, you know how he plays. Or at least, you knew him. He doesn’t know who you are now. To him, you’re just the Ghost Queen — the nameless, faceless woman who rose out of nowhere and carved a throne in the darkest corners of his world. He doesn’t know you were once just Y/N. The girl who ran barefoot through his father’s garden, who once made him get a scar that still splits his left eyebrow in two.

He doesn’t know you’re the reason he can’t look in the mirror without remembering betrayal. And now he’s threatening you? Bold move.

You toss the cigarette into the sink. “He thinks I’m behind this,” you say, voice low.

Jay steps closer. “Or he wants you to think he thinks that. To distract us while he closes in from another angle.”

“No,” you reply. “He’s angry. You don’t write a message like that unless you’re cornered.”

Beomgyu leans in, resting both hands on the table. “So he’s losing product too. Question is—who’s behind it? Because if it’s not him, and it’s not us...”

“Then someone else is cleaning the city,” Yunjin finishes.

It could be another player. But still, you don’t like this, you don’t like being warned. Especially not by someone like Choi Yeonjun, who speaks in threats and smiles like he wants to see your throat split open on marble. And maybe that stings more than it should. You built a name that erased everything you were before. And now, the boy with the scar you gave him thinks you’re just another myth he wants to destroy. So, let him try.

You straighten up, eyes sharper than the knife tucked in your boot. “Let’s make something clear,” you say, voice slicing through the room. “If someone’s feeding the police, we find them first. If Yeonjun’s lying, I’ll put a bullet in his mouth myself. And if he isn’t…” You glance at Beomgyu. “Then we send him a message too.”

Because you're not the girl he remembers. You're the Queen now, and your crown is carved from bone.

It’s been nine days since the first message. Fourteen days since someone started slicing through your shipments. Ten days of second-guessing routes, switching hands last minute, cutting corners and biting your own tail to stay alive. And still, they get to you.

This morning, another one of your cargos is seized. The police raid the docks just before sunrise, like they were handed a map and a schedule. Two of your men are arrested, one doesn’t come back. You hear the news in your office, mid-call, with one hand resting over a blueprint of a nightclub you were planning to take over next quarter.

On the fourth day of that same week, you decide to visit one of your quieter fronts — a gas station on the edge of the city, off a highway no one pays much attention to unless they need fuel or a place to bury something. It’s clean, minimal, looks just like any other rundown 24-hour joint, but it moves more money in a month than most luxury clubs. You pull up in a car no one would suspect. Hoodie up, sunglasses on, no guards this time. You walk inside, nod to the clerk — he knows not to speak unless necessary — and head toward the back, checking the logs.

Your phone rings just as you're thumbing through the most recent drop. Beomgyu. You answer without a word. His voice comes fast, low, urgent. “I found something,” he says. “Someone’s been rerouting the trucks before they even leave the safehouses. Which means whoever it is — they’ve got eyes inside.”

You still and your pulse slows. “Inside?” you echo, cold.

“Not ours,” Beomgyu says. “Or at least, not directly. It’s third-party tech. Someone piggybacking our routes, cloning trackers, feeding fake data. They’re making it look like both our sides are fucking each other up — but it’s neither of us.”

You’re about to ask who, when the sound of an engine makes your skin pull tight. A car rolls up outside, not just any car. Matte black, sleek body, custom license. It purrs into the lot like it owns the place. You don’t need to ask, because you know who it is before the door even opens.

Choi Yeonjun steps out of the driver’s side like he’s in a goddamn movie. Hair red like a warning, he’s wearing a long coat and sunglasses, but his scar is still pretty visible. He doesn’t look your way, he doesn’t know to. But he looks around the station, just once — a subtle glance, head tilted slightly like he knows exactly whose turf he’s standing on.

You press the phone closer to your ear. Beomgyu keeps talking, unaware of what’s unfolding in front of you. “I traced the breach back to an old supplier. Guy named Kang Minjae. He used to deal with Kim Mingyu’s crew before it fell. Now he’s freelance. Works with cops, rivals, whoever pays more. Guess who he’s been talking to lately?”

Your eyes stay locked on Yeonjun as he pops the gas tank, leans against the car. He doesn’t see you. He doesn’t recognize the girl who split his eyebrow open thirteen years ago. The one whose last name he still associates with betrayal. The one who’s now watching him from twenty feet away with the quiet rage of a storm about to break.

You whisper, “Tell me.”

Beomgyu answers. And your world shifts again. “It’s him,” he says. “He’s the one working with Kang Minjae. I double-checked the comms log. That message he sent last week? It was a bluff. He’s trying to pin this whole thing on you while bleeding you dry.”

You don’t say anything at first, just watch him from the other side of the gas station glass. Still leaning against the car like he’s waiting for something, or someone. So you think, of course it’s him. Of course it’s Yeonjun. The one person whose silence you still carry in your bones. The one boy you hurt enough to leave a scar, and the one man who turned that scar into a warning sign. 

You end the call without a word. Then, quiet and calm, you step into the backroom, peel off your hoodie, and pull your hair into a loose ponytail. You find one of the spare uniforms hanging behind the door, a faded blue jacket with an old patch on the sleeve. You smear a thumb under each eye, rubbing out whatever leftover makeup you had on. Just your face now, just your skin, just your eyes.

Let’s see if he remembers. So you walk outside, heart steady. 

“Can I help you?” you ask, voice casual but clear.

Yeonjun looks up, slowly. His sunglasses are still on, but his jaw tenses the moment your voice hits him. Something flickers. He straightens up just a little, head tilted like he’s trying to place you. The way your shoulders square. The curve of your mouth. Your eyes. 

“I’m good,” he says, but his voice is slow. Not arrogant, not yet. “Just filling up.”

You glance at the screen, and see the tank’s already full. You nod and move to ring him up inside. He follows, steps behind you like a shadow. You tap the register. “Card or cash?”

“Card,” he replies, watching you more than the screen.

You swipe it. Let it beep, pass it back with a steady hand. Up close, it’s easier to see the details of him, even with the sunglasses still on. The sharp line of his jaw, the way the light cuts through the red in his hair, the scar across his left eye like it was drawn there on purpose. It should’ve ruined his face, but it didn’t. If anything, it makes him look better, meaner, more interesting. Not that you’d say that out loud.

You allow yourself one second too long looking at him, cataloging the face you haven’t seen in years, now grown into something more dangerous, more defined. The mouth you remember yelling at you in a warehouse soaked in blood. And yet now, he stands there like nothing ever touched him.

So you smile, controlled. Tucked into the corner of your mouth. “Car like that?” you say, tilting your head toward the blacked-out Mercedes behind him. “Little risky to bring it to this side of town. People might start thinking you don’t know where you are.”

It’s not a threat, but it tastes like one. He lowers his sunglasses just a little, just enough to actually look at you properly this time, and something shifts in his expression. Not shock or recognition, but something close. His eyes drag across your face like they’re chasing a memory. He hesitates, just enough for you to catch it, before smirking, lazy and sharp.

“Maybe I like risky,” he says, voice smooth as velvet with a rip underneath. “Keeps things interesting.”

You raise an eyebrow, but say nothing. You’re good at silence, better than he is. He lingers for half a beat too long, then slips the sunglasses back up, nods once, and heads for the door. The bell jingles as he exits, like it’s mocking you for letting him walk out so easy.

You stay behind the counter. Heart slow, breaths slower. He doesn’t know it’s you, but he looked at you like he almost did. And that’s worse than anything else, because now, he’ll start remembering. And if there’s one thing you know about Choi Yeonjun, it’s this: once he starts digging, he never stops.

The garage door slams shut behind you with that low, dragging creak that always feels too loud at night. The sound echoes through the old warehouse and you shrug off the jacket, throw the cap onto the nearest couch, and run a hand through your hair like it might wipe the whole evening clean. It doesn’t.

Beomgyu’s already waiting by the maps on the wall, arms crossed, head tilted, that focused look on his face he only gets when he knows he’s about to tell you something you won’t like. You don’t give him the chance to start. “I fucked up,” you say, blunt. 

Beomgyu doesn’t even blink. “Define fucked up.”

You pace. “I saw him. At the station. Just pulled in like he owned the place.”

“The car?”

You nod once. “Blacked-out Benz. Had to be him. And I—” You stop pacing and let out a breath. “I went to him. In disguise, just to see.” Beomgyu’s expression barely shifts, but you know him well enough to read it. He’s not surprised, just disappointed you didn’t tell him earlier. “He didn’t recognize me, or if he did, he didn’t show it. But still—” You sigh deeply. “It was stupid. I acted on instinct. That’s not how I do things anymore.”

You go quiet, the room does too. Then Beomgyu steps forward, flipping a paper file onto the table in front of you. Names, numbers, a few blurred photos stapled to the corner. “I found something,” he says, tone low. “He made a deal with Kang Minjae. Three weeks ago. Off the books, hush-hush, no lieutenants present. And guess who’s been quietly partnering with the militia to wipe competition out and feed the cops enough bait to look clean?”

You stare at the papers, your mouth goes dry. “So he is behind the intercepted shipments.”

Beomgyu nods once. “Looks like it.”

You lean forward, hands braced on your knees. “Then I was right. He didn’t go to that station for gas. He was sending a message. He wants to be seen. Or worse—he wanted me to see him.”

Beomgyu shrugs. “Maybe he suspects the Ghost Queen’s closer than he thought.”

That makes your stomach twist. You’ve built this empire in shadows, piece by piece, and no one ever tied the Ghost Queen to Y/N. You made damn sure of it. But today, you played with fire. “I can’t afford to be found,” you whisper, more to yourself than to him. “Not by him. Not yet.”

Beomgyu crouches down in front of you, voice quiet but grounded. “Then you need to start playing like the Queen you are. No more instincts. No more stunts. You want to beat Choi Yeonjun? You outthink him.”

You lift your gaze to meet his. There’s no fear there, not in him, but there’s belief in you. And you’re going to need that—every ounce of it. Because the closer Yeonjun gets to the truth, the more dangerous this game becomes. And if he remembers who you are? It’s not just your empire at stake, it’s everything.

You tell yourself it’s just another week. Another cycle. Another set of moves on the board you’ve been playing for too long to lose now. You and Yunjin meet in one of the upper rooms of the safehouse—no names, no phones, just the two of you and the map on the wall. Routes are rerouted, codes are changed. You think, maybe this time, you’re a step ahead.

Tuesday brings in a storm. You send Heeseung and Soobin out again. A small job, just a tail. Follow a man who’s been asking the wrong questions in the right places. He’s tied to Minjae. You’re sure of it, you just need proof. They leave before the sun’s up, but they don’t come back that night.

Wednesday, you don’t sleep. You sit in your office, boots up on the edge of the desk, the dim light of the monitors painting your face in cold blue. Beomgyu doesn’t say much, just brings coffee, updates, silence. Every phone buzz makes your pulse spike, but you don’t show it. 

Thursday morning, Heeseung stumbles through the gate, half-carried by Jay and bleeding down the side of his arm. No Soobin.

Your chest collapses in on itself the second you realize it. Heeseung’s face is torn, his voice barely works. “They knew we were coming,” he rasps. “They weren’t following us. We walked into it. Trap.”

He looks at you like he’s sorry, like he failed. You don’t say a word. You just turn, walk straight past everyone, slam the door behind you, and scream. You hit the wall hard enough to leave a dent, then another. You don’t care. You don’t even notice the blood on your knuckles until Beomgyu’s there, catching your wrist, holding it firm. “Y/N,” he says, voice low but grounding. “We’ll get him back.”

You shake your head, blinking hard. “No. I’m not risking anyone else. This time, it’s me.” 

Beomgyu doesn’t argue. He sees the fire in your eyes and knows better, so does everyone else. 

Thursday night, you sit alone in the old car parked on the edge of the city, staring out at the skyline. Your fingers tap the steering wheel, and you remember Soobin’s laugh in the safehouse kitchen. The way he always made sure you ate something, even when you were too caught up in work. The way he smiled like he didn’t belong in this world, like he was born for something softer, but he chose this. Chose you, and now he's gone. Taken. Probably tortured, maybe worse.

Friday morning, you open the vault. Pull out the black case no one’s seen in months. The one with the custom-made Glock, etched with your mark. You strap it to your side like a second skin, then tie your hair back with steady fingers. Jay says nothing when you pass him by. He just nods once, knows what this means. Heeseung sits on the couch, still stitched up, eyes hollow. You stop in front of him, crouch down to his level.

You press your forehead against his for half a second. “You did good. Rest now.”

He squeezes your hand, weak but alive. Then you stand. And for the first time in a long time, you feel it again—the burn in your chest, the ice in your spine. The part of you that built all of this from nothing. The part of you they call Ghost Queen like a prayer or a warning. You don’t wait for vengeance, you bring it.

You don’t say much on the drive there. Beomgyu’s hands are steady on the wheel, the engine humming under your feet like something alive. Jay sits beside you in the backseat, silent, but his eyes flick to yours every now and then, reading the mood. He knows, they both do. You’re not going in to play tonight.

The car turns onto a narrow street lit by red neon and the low buzz of cheap pop music leaking through walls. There’s no name on the building, just a flickering sign shaped like a crown, bent at the edges. Everyone in the city knows what it is. One of the quieter spots owned by Choi Yeonjun’s empire. A place where people talk when they’re not supposed to. A place that only exists because Yeonjun wants it to. You know it’s not a front, but it’s a center. Information moves through this place like blood. And tonight, you’re here to bleed it dry.

Beomgyu kills the engine. You step out of the car, heels hitting the ground like a rhythm no one dares interrupt. You’re dressed like you mean it—tailored black, gold at your wrists, your presence sharper than the weapons you keep hidden. Your eyes lined dark, mouth cold and still. You don’t wear your name on your face, but it clings to you anyway. And people turn to look, they always do.

Jay walks to the bouncer first. The guy’s thick, tattooed, wired on something too cheap to be clean. He squints at the three of you like he’s trying to put the puzzle together. But before he opens his mouth, Jay leans in and says one word, a password. You don’t know how he got it, but you trust him with this.

The bouncer stiffens, then he steps aside. You walk through it like you’ve been here before—which you haven’t, not like this. Not as yourself. You’ve sent people and you’ve heard stories. But this is you, in person, in full view.

And it doesn’t take long. You step into the main lounge, the music drops, low bass humming under the floor. Laughter dies in someone’s throat, glass clinks against tile, and then silence. You don’t have to say who you are, you’re not wearing a name tag. But Jay and Beomgyu are flanking you like twin wolves, and their faces are too well known to mistake. Ghost Queen never shows her face. But if they’re here like this—shoulders squared, eyes sharp—then everyone knows exactly who you must be.

In the far corner of the room, someone’s already moving. Calm, fast, precise. You spot him instantly—Kang Taehyun, right-hand to Yeonjun. He’s not dressed for war, but he’s always ready. His eyes land on you, then Jay, then Beomgyu. You can see the calculations spinning in his head, and then he moves. Not toward you, but toward the bar. With one sharp wave of his hand, he clears the place. Quietly, efficiently, like pulling a fire alarm with no fire. The girls disappear first, then the customers, then the staff. Soon, it’s just you, and Taehyun, and your two.

You step forward, slow and deliberate, until you’re standing just inside the circle of light that frames the empty dance floor. The music shuts off completely. You watch Taehyun’s posture shift, guarded, still polite, but alert. Always alert.

He speaks first. “Well,” he says, voice low and calm. “Didn’t think you’d ever step out of the shadows.”

You tilt your head. Don’t smile. “I thought you might appreciate a house call,” you answer. “Seeing as your boss likes sending threats through back channels.”

Jay doesn’t blink. Beomgyu rolls his shoulder, one hand casually near his waist, close to the blade you know is strapped under his jacket. Taehyun smiles, just a little, not kind. “He didn’t know who he was threatening,” he says.

“Neither do you,” you reply.

And for a second, just one heartbeat, the room feels like it’s holding its breath. You let the silence stretch. Let it cut. You’re not here to bluff. You’re not here to talk things through. You’re here to make sure they know what’s coming if this war keeps building. And Taehyun, smart as he is, knows that too, so he doesn’t speak again.

You take another step forward. “They took one of mine,” you say, voice low but steady. “I want him back.”

There’s a flicker in his expression, barely there. “You’re assuming we have him.”

You tilt your head. “You think I’d come here without knowing?”

Taehyun’s gaze narrows. “Even if you know where he is… what makes you so sure we’re the ones holding him?”

You smile, sharp and humorless. “Because he wouldn’t have gone down easy. And because whatever game you’re playing with these intercepted shipments, it’s gotten messy. Sloppy. And I know Yeonjun doesn’t like messy.”  Taehyun’s silence drags out a little too long. You sigh. “I’m not here to talk circles with lieutenants. If I came here in person,” you say, voice colder now, “you should know I came to talk to your boss too.”

Beomgyu finally breaks. “Are you sure about that?” His voice is low, close to your ear, but loud enough to carry. You glance at him, and it’s not even a smile this time, just a look, calm and certain. 

“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”

That’s when the air shifts. The lights don’t change, but everything else does. A shadow unsticks itself from the far corner of the room, like it had been there all along. Leaning, watching and waiting.

Choi Yeonjun steps into the light like a punchline you should’ve seen coming.

He’s wearing all black, something tailored and expensive, hands in his pockets, and a smirk tugging at his mouth like he’s been entertained for hours. His eyes settle on you instantly, curious, sharp, and already amused. “Well,” he drawls, voice smooth, deep, familiar in a way that makes your spine lock. “If I’d known you were gonna show up looking like that, I would’ve cleaned the place up a little.”

You don’t flinch, you don’t blink. “Yeonjun.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You know my name. I’m flattered.”

You arch an eyebrow back. “You should be.”

Beomgyu takes a step closer, but you raise your hand again. Yeonjun’s eyes flick over him, then Jay, then land back on you with an edge of something darker. “So,” he says, voice lazy like a slow burn. “You want your boy back.”

“I do.”

“And you’re sure I have him.”

“I’m sure someone in your chain does. And if he’s not back by the end of the week, I’ll tear your operations down brick by brick until I find him.”

Yeonjun smiles wider, slow and amused, like you just told him a joke he wants to hear again. “Fight so dirty,” he says, almost a whisper, “but you love so sweet.”

Your blood goes still. It’s not the words, it’s the way he says them. Like he knows something he shouldn't, like he remembers something he can't place. Like he’s talking to the stranger you used to be. So you meet his eyes, hard. “You have no idea who you’re talking to.”

He studies you for a long beat. Then he shrugs, the smirk still curling at his mouth like it’s carved there. “Maybe not. Or maybe I do, and you just don’t want me to.”

Your jaw tightens, but your face stays still. This is what he does, gets under skin, lingers where he’s not welcome. “Get him back to me,” you say. “Unharmed.”

Yeonjun tilts his head slowly, his eyes dragging over you like he’s trying to peel something back. “You know,” he says, voice smooth, laced with amusement, “I thought it was kind of cute. You, playing dress-up at that gas station. Hiding behind a hoodie like you were just some bored girl with a job to do.” His gaze sharpens. “But I’m not stupid. That face... it’s too familiar.” You say nothing, let him keep talking. His smile widens, all sharp teeth. “You ever work here before? Place like this? You’ve got the look. Maybe you were one of the girls. Back in the day. I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Beomgyu steps again, this time, sharper, but you lift a hand and stop him without even looking. One slight move, and he stills, but the anger radiating off of him is palpable.

Yeonjun laughs, low and cruel. “You should keep your dog on a tighter leash.” He looks Beomgyu dead in the eye, then flicks his gaze back to you. “Lucky guy. Not everyone gets to have someone so beautiful and so... bossy.”

You tilt your head, slow, unimpressed. “I didn’t come here to listen to you flirt badly.”

He smirks. “I’m just saying, I like to know who I’m dealing with. And you’ve got secrets, sweetheart. Big ones.” His tone drops into something darker. “Like how you knew we had your guy.”

“I want him back,” you say, firm. “I don’t care who took him. If he’s in your territory, he’s your responsibility.”

Yeonjun shrugs. “Unfortunately, wasn’t me. I’ve got no reason to touch your people. Unless, of course, you’re working with the cops. Then we’ve got bigger problems.”

You blink once. “I’m not working with the fucking cops.”

He raises both eyebrows, mocking. “Could’ve fooled me. They’ve been intercepting my shipments. Getting real cozy with someone, and it sure as hell ain’t me.”

“I was going to say the same thing about you,” you snap, stepping forward. “Maybe you should look in the mirror before pointing fingers. You’re the one making deals with Kang Minjae. You think I don’t know?”

His smile falters just a fraction, but it’s there, and you catch it. The briefest glitch in his mask. “You’re bluffing,” he says, but there’s less certainty behind it now.

“So are you,” you fire back. “And here we are.”

Silence stretches between you like wire, razor-thin and ready to snap. The whole place feels tighter, tense. Taehyun is on edge, Beomgyu is burning beside you, and Jay’s eyes haven’t left Yeonjun once. But it’s just you and him in this moment. Two predators playing at civility.

“Talk so pretty,” he murmurs, lips curving slow. “But your heart got teeth.”

You stare at him, eyes cold. He still doesn’t know who you are. But he’s close, too close. And you can feel your past creeping in, inch by inch, on the heels of a boy with red hair and a scar you gave him.

Yeonjun exhales slowly, eyes flicking to your mouth, then back up to meet your gaze. “Well,” he drawls, almost bored, “unless this is just your very dramatic way of asking me out, I’m starting to think we’ve got a problem, sweetheart.”

Beomgyu scoffs under his breath, mutters something you catch just barely—“prick”—but you shut it down with a look.

Yeonjun doesn’t even glance his way, his entire focus is on you. “See, here’s the thing,” he goes on, voice low and almost amused, “I thought you were just fucking with me. And maybe you still are. But there’s one tiny detail I keep coming back to.” He leans forward just a bit, elbows resting on his knees. “My shipments are going missing. Yours are too. That doesn’t sound like a coincidence to me.”

You don’t blink. “No. It doesn’t.”

“So either one of us is a very good liar,” he tilts his head, mock-thoughtful, “or we’ve got an enemy in common.”

Beomgyu shifts beside you, stiff. “You expect us to believe you’re not behind it?”

Yeonjun finally glances his way, lip curling slightly. “I expect you to shut up when the grown-ups are talking.” Beomgyu starts forward, but your hand lands on his chest, firm and contained. You shake your head once, and he steps back, jaw tight. “Cute,” Yeonjun murmurs. “Protective. You trained him well.”

You take a slow breath and turn to him fully. “We need to talk.”

“Aren’t we already?”

“Alone.”

He lifts a brow, clearly amused. “Wow. So forward.”

Taehyun looks at you, then Yeonjun, then you again. “Boss?”

Yeonjun shrugs, standing. “Why not? Let’s see what the queen has to say when she’s not hiding behind her princes.”

Beomgyu steps in immediately. “Gyu,” you say, calm but sharp. “Wait here. If I scream, kill everyone.”

That gets a reluctant laugh from Jay. “Subtle as always.”

You follow Yeonjun down a narrow hallway that leads to a private back room. He walks slowly, shoulders loose, like nothing in the world could touch him. Like he owns the floor and the city beneath it. You wonder, as you follow, how many people he’s fooled with that walk. You wonder how many more he’ll fool before someone finally gets to him.

He holds the door open for you, exaggerated and mocking. “After you, Your Highness.”

You brush past him with your chin high, and he shuts the door behind you. The room is dim, velvet-draped, stinking of expensive liquor and older secrets. You stand in the center and he leans on the edge of the table, arms folded, watching.

“So,” he says, that smirk never quite leaving his face, “what’s this? A truce? A confession?”

You cross your arms. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Too late.”

You sigh, tired already. “Look. I don’t trust you. You don’t trust me. But if you’re telling the truth—if you’re really not behind this—then someone’s running both of us in circles.”

“And you think pillow talk’s gonna fix it?”

You step closer, tone steady. “I think two people with a common enemy have two choices. Work together, or let the enemy win.”

He laughs. “Work together?” he echoes. “That’s rich. Tell me, sweetheart, how do I team up with someone who won’t even tell me her name?” You don’t answer, not yet. He watches you, eyes narrowing, like he’s trying to draw your outline in his mind. Then: “I know I’ve seen you before,” he says quietly. “Not just the gas station. Somewhere else.” You lift your chin and he studies your face. Silence lingers a little too long, and then his voice cuts through it. “You’ve got a war in you,” he says, slowly. “And I’m starting to think I like it.”

You almost smile. Almost, but not for him. Instead, you say, “If I’m here, it’s because someone I love is missing. And if I find out you had anything to do with that—”

Yeonjun cuts in, voice low and wry. “You’ll burn my empire to the ground? Sounds exhausting.” He tilts his head. “How about we skip the empty threats and you just tell me the truth.” Your expression doesn’t shift. He takes a step closer, close enough that you can feel the smugness radiating off of him. “I’ll help you,” he says, voice casual, almost bored. “I’ll find out who took your boy and who’s fucking with our shipments.”

You narrow your eyes. “And what’s the catch?”

Yeonjun’s smile sharpens. “Tell me how we know each other.”

“We don’t.”

“Wrong answer.” He clicks his tongue. “Come on. You recognized me at the gas station. You came straight up to me wearing that little worker costume like you were playing a part. But you knew exactly who I was.”

You scoff, folding your arms. “The red hair, the expensive car, the scar. People talk.”

His eyes narrow, and he doesn’t believe you, not really. But he doesn’t push yet. “Hm,” he hums. “Yeah, people do talk. That’s the problem.” His gaze drifts over your face again, lingering. There’s something behind it now, not just arrogance. “You look like her, you know.” You stay still, too still. He keeps going, voice lower now. “The one who gave me this.” He gestures lightly to the scar slicing through the skin just above his left eye. “Never saw her coming. But when I did—she smiled. Just like you did. That kind of smile sticks.”

Your mouth is dry. “Sounds like she was smart.”

He tilts his head. “She was. Dead, though.” He shrugs, mock regretful. “Shame. She was pretty. Kinda looked like you.”

You shrug too, cool and detached. “Pretty girls die every day.”

“Mm,” he smirks. “True. But they don’t all pull blades on me and vanish.” You hold his stare. Let the weight of it settle between you. If he knows, he’s playing a long game, but you’ve been playing longer.

“Do we have a deal or not?” you ask.

He licks his bottom lip, just briefly. “I’ll help,” he says finally. “We both want the same thing. Whoever’s behind this is making a fool out of both of us. And I don’t like being made a fool.”

“Neither do I.”

“So,” he says, pushing off the table, standing to his full height, “you’ll give me updates, and I’ll give you mine. We trace the leaks. We find your boy. We kill whoever’s responsible.” You nod, slow. “Temporary alliance,” he adds. “Don’t get clingy.”

You almost laugh at that. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Yeonjun grins again, dark and satisfied. “You’re really not gonna tell me your name?”

You lean in close, just enough that your lips almost brush his ear. “Would ruin the mystery, wouldn’t it?”

And with that, you turn and walk out, leaving him standing there, half-sure he just made a deal with the devil. And maybe a little intrigued by the fire still burning behind your eyes.

Jay and Beomgyu are standing where you left them with shoulders tense, gazes sharp, like they’ve been waiting for a gunshot. You don’t have to say much, you never do. Your heels click softly across the velvet floor, past flashing lights. You stop only when you’re close enough for them to hear you without raising your voice. “Let’s get out of here,” you say, smooth and low. 

Jay doesn’t say a word, just nods once. Beomgyu exhales like he’s been holding his breath since the moment you walked in. As you reach the main doors, pushing past the heavy curtains, the air changing from incense and heat to something colder, Yeonjun’s voice calls out from across the club.

“Your Highness!”

You don’t flinch, but you stop. When you turn, he’s leaning lazily against the far wall, arms crossed like he’s got all the time in the world. Lit from behind, half in shadow. “Taehyun’ll be your point of contact,” he says, like it’s a gift. “He’s good with updates. Polite, too. I’m sure your boys will love him.” You raise an eyebrow, unimpressed. He adds, “Try not to miss me too much.”

You don’t dignify that with a response. Just turn on your heel, long coat brushing your calves, and disappear into the dark.

The next few days move slow. Taehyun reaches out first. He’s cold and precise, just like Yeonjun promised. Every message comes through clean, encrypted. You assign Jay to keep the line open, Beomgyu to cross-check everything with your own intel. Heeseung handles the shadows, the street-level whispers, what people don’t say out loud.

There’s a name that keeps surfacing: Kang Minjae. You already had your suspicions, but now the links are undeniable. Minjae’s been moving like a roach in the walls, playing every side that lets him breathe a little longer. Yeonjun’s people confirm he’s got connections in the militia, and that he’s been sniffing around routes that were meant to stay quiet. Some of the evidence leads to areas only your own crew had access to — which means the leak might be internal. That truth burns worse than anything else.

You’re careful, never in the same place twice. Your face remains out of sight, your name still a whisper wrapped in fear. But inside your core, something's cracking. Soobin is still missing. His trail is faint, but not cold. Some surveillance footage caught a convoy passing through a border checkpoint under fake credentials, days after he vanished. The timestamp lines up with the night you lost him. Jay triangulates the route. Heeseung maps it. It points to a facility miles outside the city — nothing official, but everyone knows who controls it.

Militia. And you know who’s protecting them.

So you wait. You sharpen your knives in silence. Every meeting with your crew is sharper, tighter, more desperate. You sleep less, smoke more. And every time an update comes in from Taehyun, you read between the lines, looking for Yeonjun’s voice in the spaces where it shouldn’t be. He stays quiet. You’re not sure if that’s good or bad, but you’re sure of one thing: this isn’t over, not even close.

It’s a Tuesday. You head to one of your quieter spots, a laundromat tucked behind a strip of closed-down shops, one of your smaller fronts. No one’s supposed to be there but your crew. You’re not there for show, you’re there for air. Heeseung walks a step behind you, always watching. You push through the metal door, let it clang shut behind you, and immediately feel that slight shift in energy. Someone’s sitting on one of the folding tables near the back, legs swinging lazily, fingers drumming on the edge.

You know that face. Hueningkai. He shouldn’t be here.

Heeseung stiffens behind you before you can even whisper. Your body moves before your mind does, in casual steps, but the kind that keep your right hand free. Kai’s head lifts when he sees you, and he smiles. Bright, almost naive. “Didn’t know this place was open to the public again,” he says, voice all sunshine and breathy charm. He looks between you and Heeseung like you might be siblings, or hired help. “Nice jacket.”

You lean back against a dryer. Calm, but your pulse is sprinting. He doesn’t know you, not yet. But you know him, you’ve read his file. The boy with the baby face and the mind like a minefield. He works for Yeonjun. Keeps his hands clean, his lips looser than they should be. He plays dumb, but he isn’t.

You don’t answer him. Instead, you tilt your head toward Heeseung, eyes sharp. Handle it.

Heeseung steps forward. “What are you doing here?”

Kai shrugs. “Waiting for someone, I guess.”

“Someone sent you?”

“Kind of. We’re looking into something. One of Minjae’s old associates might’ve used this building a few weeks ago. It’s near the harbor.”

Your breath catches, because the harbor is too close, too damn close to where Soobin’s trail last pinged. If they think there’s a hideout nearby—you cut your own thought off. Your eyes snap back to Kai, who’s now looking at you more closely. Heeseung’s moved into a partial block, but it doesn’t matter. You can feel the recognition click behind Kai’s irises like a switch flipped without permission. His smile fades.

“Wait,” he says, eyes narrowing. “You’re her.” Heeseung shifts, ready. Kai doesn’t move, but something in his whole posture turns glassy. “The Ghost Queen,” he murmurs. “Huh. You’re prettier than they said.”

You want to ask who said what, but you don’t. You’re too busy trying not to tip into a panic. Soobin. If Kai’s here, if he knows this spot’s hot, how long before they relocate Soobin? Or worse?

You step forward. “How close is the location?”

Kai blinks at you. “Close enough that you being here just set off some very loud alarms.” His smile returns, but it’s hollow now. All teeth, no warmth. 

You swallow hard. Rage pressing tight behind your ribs. You glance at Heeseung — you could go. You could move now, you could flip the building upside down, if Soobin’s that close. 

“You really shouldn’t let your emotions make your calls for you,” he adds gently, like he’s offering advice. “Someone could use that.” You should answer him. But then Kai reaches for his phone, calm and polite, and you don’t stop him. He dials fast, brings the phone to his ear with a sweet little hum. 

“Hey,” he says into the receiver. “It’s me. Yeah, no — I’m fine. But she’s here.” There’s a pause. His eyes stay on yours the whole time. “She’s nervous,” he says. “Like, the bad kind of nervous.” Another pause. Then: “No, no. She hasn’t done anything. But she might move before she should.”

He hangs up without waiting for a goodbye. Your throat is dry and your fists ache from clenching. Kai slides off the table and stretches like he’s just woken up from a nap. “Anyway,” he says brightly, “you should probably clear this place out. I’d hate for things to get messy again.”

Then he waves, cheerful and friendly. Insane. And walks out like he owns the air. Heeseung watches the door for a full minute after it closes, and you’re shaking slightly. Not from fear, from fury and desperation. From the suffocating ache of knowing that Soobin could be so close and you’re still one step behind. You exhale. 

“Heeseung, call Beomgyu. Jay. Everyone. Now.”

You’re already moving. Your voice comes out sharp, controlled, but barely. Your heart’s not in your chest anymore, it’s somewhere else, screaming. You shove open the back door of the laundromat and suck in air like you’ve been drowning. Heeseung’s at your side in an instant, grabbing your wrist. “You can’t just storm into this,” he says. “You’re not thinking—”

“I am thinking,” you snap. “I’m thinking that Soobin’s still alive. And if I waste another minute twiddling my fucking thumbs, he won’t be.” Your chest heaves. “He’s not just crew, Heeseung,” you whisper. “He’s family. He’s mine. If they kill him just to send me a message—” You cut yourself off, jaw tight. “I can’t live with that.”

Heeseung hesitates. He wants to fight you on it, but he sees your eyes. The shaking in your hands. The fear twisting beneath all your armor. “I’ll call them,” he says finally. “But if you’re wrong—”

“I’m not.”

He doesn’t argue again. You pace like a storm while he makes the calls, and twenty minutes later, you’re piling into two black SUVs with Beomgyu, Jay, Heeseung, Yunjin and three others you trust with your life. Nobody talks much. There’s no plan, just a location and a name and too many emotions to fit inside one car.

Beomgyu drives like he’s got something to prove. You’re in the front seat, fingers twitching in your lap. The closer you get, the more it feels like your skin’s turning inside out. “Are we sure this is it?” Jay asks from the back. “No chance it’s bait?”

“It’s always bait,” you say. “But sometimes the mouse still has to bite.”

The harbor comes into view, with containers stacked in quiet patterns, dim lights humming, the water black and endless. Beomgyu slows down before turning in, park just behind a half-burned warehouse a few blocks from the drop point. Everyone starts checking weapons. You don’t even glance at yours, it’s second nature by now. What you do look at, though, is the sleek black car that turns the corner right as you do. Expensive. You don’t need to see the plates because you know exactly who it is.

Beomgyu sees it too and his mouth twists. “Are you fucking kidding me.”

You stare as the engine cuts. The car door opens, and Yeonjun steps out like a goddamn ghost from a fire. Hair tied back, long coat, no urgency in his bones — just that unbearable swagger that you want to tear off his face, again. You exhale through your teeth. Beomgyu mutters something violent under his breath, already half-reaching for his gun. You stop him with a look.

“We might need him,” you say.

“Yeah? Or maybe he’s just here to gloat when they drag Soobin’s body out of the water.”

“Either way,” you say coldly, “we’re finding out.”

Heeseung joins you as you step out of the car. “You still wanna go in with no plan?”

You glance at the harbor, the shadows waiting inside it, then at Yeonjun, who’s now leaning against his car like he’s posing for a magazine cover. “No plan’s ever survived the first bullet,” you mutter. “Let’s move.”

And you do, straight into the lion’s den. You and your team stand near a stack of containers, weapons visible, eyes sharp. Five figures emerge from the far side, shadows peeling off the darkness like it’s nothing. Taehyun walks first, with Hueningkai at his side, bouncing slightly on his heels. Behind them, Chaewon moves like a ghost, quiet and deadly. Sunghoon stalks a few steps behind, all tension and watchfulness. And then, at the center of it all — Yeonjun.

He moves like he owns the ground beneath him, like the night shifts to make space for him. Of course he would show up with a team like that. He stops a few feet from you. No gun drawn. Just that infuriating smirk pulling at his mouth.

“I should’ve known you’d beat me here,” he says, voice low and amused. “But damn. No plan? No scout? Just vibes?”

Beomgyu growls beside you, but soon he steps back with a glare, jaw tight. You turn to Yeonjun. “I don’t have time to wait. Soobin’s in there. I can feel it.”

Yeonjun tilts his head, studying you with those sharp, calculating eyes. “And what? You were gonna run in, guns blazing, and hope for the best?” You don’t answer. He chuckles — soft, infuriating. “You’re being reckless.”

“I’m being desperate,” you say. “And I don’t have the luxury of pretending otherwise.”

That makes something shift in his expression. The smirk falters for a breath, then curves back up, softer this time. “You care about him,” he says. “That’s cute.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

“I’m not,” he replies, surprisingly sincere. “I think it’s admirable. The way you fight for your people.” You say nothing. Yeonjun glances toward the maze of containers behind you all. “I know this place. Minjae used to run small trades out of here — weapons, mostly. Smuggled in, offloaded straight into trucks by the south gate.”

“Does he still use it?” Jay asks, stepping forward.

Yeonjun nods. “Sometimes. When he doesn’t want attention. He’s got a room near the waterline. Old office converted into a holding space. I’d bet money that’s where he’s keeping your guy.”

“What else?” you ask. “You don’t come here without more than a guess.”

Yeonjun flashes a grin. “You wound me.”

Taehyun sighs beside him. “There’s always at least three lookouts. Usually on the cranes, plus one by the west exit. If they spot us, they’ll burn whatever evidence they’ve got. People included.”

Your stomach clenches. Heeseung steps up beside you. “So what do we do?”

Yeonjun exchanges glances with his team, then he looks back at you. “We go in quiet. I’ll send Taehyun and Sunghoon up the cranes, take out the eyes. If we’re lucky, we’ve got five minutes before someone inside realizes we’re here.”

“And if we’re not lucky?” Beomgyu asks.

Yeonjun smiles. “Then it’s a bloodbath. But hey—” he looks at you, all charm and teeth “—at least we’ll get matching scars.” You glare at him. Yeonjun’s eyes slide back to yours, glinting with something that feels like amusement laced in real calculation. “We don’t have time to execute anything fancy. But I’ll make you a deal.”

You arch a brow. “This should be good.”

He smiles, slow and smug. “We go in together. Just the two of us. No noise. If we run into someone, we say we’re here to negotiate.”

Beomgyu steps in immediately, tension rolling off him. “No fucking way.”

“You trust him?” Jay asks you quietly.

You look over your shoulder. Everyone’s waiting on you. “No,” you admit. “But I trust that he doesn’t want to die tonight either.”

Beomgyu looks at you like he wants to argue more, but he knows better. His jaw ticks. “You sure about this?”

You nod. “It’s fine.”

“I’ll be right behind you,” he says. Not a threat, but a promise.

Then you turn to Yeonjun, who grins like this is a game he’s already winning. “Let’s go,” you say. You and Yeonjun move through the outer edge of the harbor in silence, sticking close to the rows of containers. The metal is cold against your back every time you press into the shadows. You keep your pistol tight in your grip, the weight grounding. 

Yeonjun glances down at it, amused. “You don’t strike me as someone who handles her own mess.”

You don’t look at him. “That’s because I never had to appear in person. Until now.”

He lets out a low chuckle. “Right. Ghost queen. Rarely seen, always whispered about. Real dramatic branding.”

You side-eye him. “You’re just jealous no one whispers about you. Only bitches.”

That makes him smirk. “Bold words for someone walking into a lion’s den with me.”

“I’m not afraid of lions.”

He hums, ducking beneath a rusted staircase, motioning for you to follow. You do, close enough to feel the heat off his body, but not close enough to lose your head. “Funny,” he says, leaning into the next bit of cover, “you never gave me the vibe of someone who’s reckless for people.”

“And you never gave me the vibe of someone who thinks before speaking.”

Yeonjun turns slightly, facing you under the shadow of the catwalk. “I think a lot of things. Especially when you’re around.”

You roll your eyes, scanning the area. “Focus.”

“I am,” he says, voice dropping low. “Laser sharp. Just distracted by the company.”

You adjust your grip on the pistol. “Don’t forget why we’re here.”

“Right. Your guy. Soobin.” He squints toward a building near the edge of the water. “If Minjae’s keeping anyone, it’ll be in that one. Windows are blacked out. No patrols near it.”

You glance toward it too. “We get closer. Quietly. Check it first.”

He starts forward again, and you follow. His hand brushes yours at one point — maybe by accident, maybe not. You don’t pull away, you keep moving. As you creep past an open bay, he says, almost casually, “You really would’ve killed me the other night if I’d been involved.”

“No hesitation,” you answer.

“That’s hot.”

You stop and glance at him, deadpan. “Seriously?”

“What? I like a woman who threatens me with conviction.”

You almost laugh. But instead, you focus ahead, heart pounding a little too fast for comfort. The door to the building is twenty feet away. The only thing standing between you and Soobin might be whatever trap Minjae left behind, or nothing at all. But either way, you’re not walking away until you know.

And then a sudden voice breaks the silence, too close, echoing faintly between the steel containers stacked around the edge of the dock. “Shit,” you whisper, grabbing Yeonjun by the arm and pulling him back fast. He doesn’t fight you, doesn’t speak either, he just follows.

You both slide behind a rusted container, low to the ground, barely a foot between you. The voices grow clearer. Two men, laughing about something. Footsteps scraping against the concrete. Yeonjun presses close, chest against your shoulder as you crouch beside him. His breath hits your jaw. The scent of him—something clean and expensive—wraps around you like smoke. Your pistol is still firm in your hand, the safety already off. His fingers graze the small of your back as he shifts just slightly to look around the edge. Too close. Too fucking close.

Your eyes catch on the faint silver scar above his eyebrow, half-faded now, but still familiar. You left it there. You remember the way his skin broke open, how red his face had been after. Yeonjun catches your staring.

“What?” he murmurs, voice low and rough. “You like my face that much?” You don’t answer, and his eyes narrow. The corner of his mouth lifts, sharp. “If I didn’t know she died… I’d say you look just like the girl who gave me this.” You stiffen, he sees it. “You even look at me the same way,” he continues, voice a little too soft now. “Like you’re already planning where you’ll leave the next one.” Still, you say nothing. His eyes flick down to your mouth, then back up. “Interesting.”

“Back off,” you mutter, but you don’t move. Can’t. The space is too tight. The air’s too charged.

He leans in instead, just slightly, close enough for his words to press against your ear. “It’d be poetic, wouldn’t it? If the girl who carved my face turned out to be the one I keep thinking about every time I get bored at night.”

You shoot him a glare. “You’re disgusting.”

The voices outside fade, footsteps drifting elsewhere. But neither of you moves. His hand finds your waist, steady, possessive. 

“You hate me,” he says.

“More than anything.”

“Then why are you looking at me like you want me to kiss you?”

You scoff. “You wish.”

He leans in, lips barely brushing your cheek as he speaks. “I don’t wish. I get.”

There’s a fire in your chest. Not soft, not romantic. Not even something you’d name. It’s sharp and twisted and dangerous. The kind of tension you don’t survive if you indulge. You push him back — just enough to breathe. “We’re not here for this.” He doesn’t fight you, but he smiles like he knows something you don’t. “We’re here for Soobin,” you snap. “Focus.”

His gaze lingers on you a second longer. Then he nods, finally looking away. “Right,” he murmurs. “Let’s go find your boy.”

But even as he turns, you feel his eyes still on you, even when they’re not. Like he’s still working out the puzzle, and like he already knows the answer.

The door creaks as you and Yeonjun slip inside the warehouse. It smells like rust and oil, stale water and something older. The air is thick with the kind of silence that doesn’t sit right. Every step echoes a little too loud. You move slow, pistol raised. Yeonjun does the same, behind you. Your breath catches. Something shifts.

And then—

“Drop your weapons.”

Two clicks. Cold steel against both your temples. Fuck.

You don’t see them, but you feel them, the men behind you. You and Yeonjun exchange a glance, and with a slow, calculated movement, you both lower your guns to the ground. Boots scrape across the concrete. A shadow moves forward from the far end of the warehouse. Minjae.

He steps into the flickering light above, dressed in black, expression dark with something dangerous. “I expected more from you,” Minjae says, eyes fixed on Yeonjun. “Showing up here with company.”

Yeonjun lifts his brows, casual as ever, like he isn’t surrounded by armed men. “Relax. I came to talk. Thought we could work something out. You know, just… friendly business.”

Minjae doesn’t smile. “Who is that?”

Then Yeonjun shrugs. “My girl.”

You don’t flinch, you don’t even blink. The lie slides off him easily. There’s a beat of silence. Minjae’s eyes shift to you, cold and calculating. “I know why you’re really here,” he says. You stay silent. Let him keep talking, and he steps closer. “He’s Ghost Queen’s, isn’t he?”

Yeonjun gives a short, forced laugh. “You think I’m dumb enough to come here for her people? Come on. I don’t work with her.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Minjae snaps. “You think I don’t know what you’re doing? That I wouldn’t find out?”

He signals to his men. A moment later, you feel rough hands wrench your wrists behind your back. Zip ties cut into your skin. Yeonjun resists for half a second before giving in with a bitter smile. “No need for the theatrics,” he mutters. “You could’ve just asked nicely.”

“Shut up,” one of the guards snaps, forcing him to his knees.

Minjae looks down at the both of you, satisfied. “You didn’t come here to talk. You came to find him.” Your jaw tightens. “I knew someone would come looking. I just didn’t think it’d be you. And certainly not with company.” His eyes scan your face again. “She’s too pretty for this life, don’t you think?”

Yeonjun’s smirk returns. “I like pretty things.”

Minjae crouches, eye level with you now. “Tell me, sweetheart. What’s your name?”

You don’t answer, but Yeonjun does. “She doesn’t need one.”

Minjae laughs. “Of course she doesn’t.” He stands. Pacing, thinking. Then he turns to one of his men. “Lock them up. Separately.”

Yeonjun tenses beside you. “That’s not necessary.”

Minjae smirks. “Oh, I think it is. Let’s see how long the Ghost Queen’s new pet lasts without his little gun.”

You clench your fists, biting back every instinct to fight. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not like this. But now you’re in Minjae’s hands, and whatever game he’s playing — it just got personal.

The room they put you in is small, metallic, no windows. Bare walls, one buzzing fluorescent light that flickers above you like it’s mocking your silence. It smells like mold and blood. You’ve been in worse places, but not many. You don’t know how long you sit there, could be minutes, could be hours. Then the door groans open and a guard steps in with rough hands, cold grip, and he yanks you up without a word and drags you down a narrow corridor.

You’re shoved into a larger space with a concrete floor. A single chair bolted to the ground. Your wrists are still zip-tied. A second later, they shove you down onto the chair and bind your ankles. And that’s when you see Yeonjun again, across the room, tied up to a pipe against the far wall. His head is tilted slightly down, a thin line of blood trickling from his mouth. His shirt is ripped at the shoulder, his face bruised, but his eyes don’t leave you. He looks at you like he never stopped.

Then the door creaks again, and Minjae walks in. He looks completely at ease, smug even, his black boots echoing off the concrete. “Well, well,” he says, circling you like a hawk. “Yeonjun’s girlfriend. I’ve been dying to meet you.” You glare up at him, jaw locked. He smirks, stopping right in front of you. “Can’t lie. I get it. Sharp mouth. Killer stare. I’d probably throw a few alliances in the trash for you too.”

“Choke on it,” you mutter.

Behind him, Yeonjun shifts slightly in his restraints. Minjae crouches in front of you. “Tell me, how long have you two been shacked up? Does he cook breakfast? Call you sweetheart? Or is it all bullets and blackout sex?”

You roll your eyes. “Go to hell.”

“Touchy,” he says, and then, click. A blade appears in his hand. Small, curved. Clean, at least for now. “Thing is,” Minjae says, voice light and casual, “you’re lying to me. I can feel it. And I don’t like being lied to.”

You keep your expression neutral, but your pulse spikes as the cold flat of the blade presses against your cheek. You don’t flinch, you refuse. “Maybe you’d look better with a scar. Right here.” He taps the tip against your cheekbone. “Something to match your boyfriend’s. Wouldn’t that be poetic?”

“Get that fucking thing away from her.”

Yeonjun’s voice slashes through the air. Low, furious and dangerous.

Minjae stills. Turns his head slowly, eyebrow raised. “What was that?”

Yeonjun grits his teeth, jaw tight. “I said—get it away from her.”

The room falls quiet. Even you are surprised, but you still freeze, heart hammering.

Minjae’s smirk wavers. He straightens up, turning to face Yeonjun. “Interesting. You didn’t seem this protective when you walked in here like an idiot.”

Yeonjun breathes hard, nostrils flaring. “You want the truth? Fine.” He lifts his head slowly, eyes on Minjae, but you know he’s talking to both of you. “I was intercepting the shipments. All of them. Yours. Hers. Everyone’s. For weeks.”

Your blood runs cold. Minjae’s whole face shifts. “You what?”

Yeonjun continues, voice steady. “At first, I was helping you hit Ghost Queen’s routes. You paid well. You gave me access. I knew her ports, her blind spots. So yeah—I made it easy for you.”

You feel like the floor shifts under you. Your blood runs cold.

Minjae raises a brow, amused. “Right. So what changed?”

Yeonjun’s jaw ticks. “I started losing my own shipments.” That wipes the smirk off Minjae’s face. “Big ones,” Yeonjun says. “Routes only you knew about. Timings only you had.” Minjae stiffens. “I thought maybe Ghost Queen had found out and was hitting me back. I figured it was retaliation. But it wasn’t her.” Yeonjun finally lifts his eyes. Not to Minjae, to you. “It was you.”

Minjae’s amusement snaps in half, replaced by something sharp. “So what, you came here to cry about it?”

“No,” Yeonjun says, voice cold. “I came to fix it. That’s why I turned to her.”

Minjae’s head tilts. “Who?”

Yeonjun murmurs. “Ghost Queen. We’re working together. She wants Soobin back.”

You flinch, just barely, but enough. And when Minjae glances at you, you plaster on the most confused, irritated face you can, like none of this makes sense, like you have no idea what they’re talking about. “Wait,” Minjae says slowly. “That little shit was with her crew?”

“Yeah,” Yeonjun says. “And you took him because you thought he was with me. My guys said he was snooping around your port. You assumed he was part of my team.”

Minjae runs a hand down his face, pacing once. “Fuck. Thought you sent him to steal my shipment.”

“I didn’t,” Yeonjun says. “You were already stealing from me. Why would I send someone into your nest without backup? I just didn’t stop you when you grabbed him—because I knew whose he really was.”

You blink hard, chest pounding. So he knew, he knew the whole time that Soobin was yours, that he worked for you, and he let Minjae take him anyway. Used it to his advantage, he let you panic, let you come running. So you stare at Yeonjun, heat crawling up your neck, your fists clenched in the zip ties until your fingers start to go numb. Rage is bubbling under your skin, sharp and hot, but you hold it down — because Minjae can’t know who you are. Not yet.

Minjae exhales harshly, scrubbing his hand over his face. “Jesus Christ. You two are a goddamn mess.”

No one speaks. He finally looks back at you, eyes narrowing like he’s reassessing everything. You force your expression blank, neutral, disinterested. Because Yeonjun may have just saved your cover, but he also sold you out. And now you owe him nothing.

Minjae’s boots echo as he crosses the room again, slower this time. You try not to shift in the chair, even as the plastic zip tie cuts into your wrists, even as the ache in your ankles pulses with every second. Then he’s in front of you, and the knife is back. He drags the flat of the blade along your shoulder, then up, slow, until the cold steel rests just under your chin, the sharp edge kissing the soft skin of your neck. You hold your breath.

Across the room, Yeonjun tenses so hard you swear the veins in his neck might snap. “Don’t,” he bites. “Minjae—”

But Minjae doesn’t look away from you. “You lied to me,” he says quietly. “You played me for a fool. I don’t like being made a fool, Yeonjun.”

Yeonjun swallows hard. “I gave you information. I did my part.”

Minjae presses the blade in just enough for you to feel the sting. “No, no. You sold me a story and sat back while I bled for it.” He finally turns to look at Yeonjun. “Now you owe me.”

Yeonjun breathes through his nose, jaw locked. “What do you want?”

Minjae doesn’t blink. “Who else is at the port?”

Yeonjun hesitates. Then: “Just us.”

Minjae’s smile is thin and humorless. “Funny. Because my guys saw someone else.” Your stomach drops. “Skinny little bastard. Long black hair. Looked like a rat cornered in a trap. He was hiding inside one of the containers. Now he’s out there, making a fucking mess.”

Your heart drops so hard it might crash through your ribs. Beomgyu. You force yourself not to react, not to blink, not to move, not to scream. 

The blade is too close, the stakes are too high. Minjae tilts his head, still looking at you, but now his voice is directed at Yeonjun. “You really gonna sit there and keep lying to me? When I just watched that kid shoot two of my men and crawl back into a crate like some street dog?”

Yeonjun doesn’t answer. His jaw clenches, teeth grinding so loud you can almost hear it. His fingers twist against the restraints on his wrists, blood already seeping around the plastic. Minjae lets out a long sigh through his nose. Then the knife shifts — not cutting, not yet — but pressing. Just enough for you to feel the weight of it against your pulse point, enough to make you swallow reflexively, and feel the sting.

Yeonjun’s voice is gravel. “Let her go.” Minjae raises an eyebrow. “She has nothing to do with the boy,” Yeonjun continues, voice tight, almost strangled. “She’s not part of this.”

Minjae chuckles dark and bitter. “No? You’re dragging her around like a trophy then?”

Yeonjun’s eyes flash. “I said let her go.”

Minjae doesn’t move. “You want the kid back?” he asks. Minjae smiles, all teeth and violence. “You want her to walk out of here with her face intact? You want me to call off the guys who are probably about to blow your little container rat’s head off?” He steps back finally, pulling the knife away from your neck slowly, like it’s reluctant to leave. He wipes it casually on your shoulder, like you’re nothing but a napkin, and turns to face Yeonjun properly. “Then give me something.”

Yeonjun lifts his head. “What do you want?”

Minjae’s expression hardens. “Territory.” Yeonjun doesn’t flinch, but you can see it hit him like a punch. “You’ve got a route down south,” Minjae continues, pacing now, loose and dangerous. “Quiet. Prime for expansion. I want it.”

“That wasn’t part of the deal,” Yeonjun growls.

Minjae shrugs. “Yeah, well, the deal changed when you lied to my face. When you helped the Ghost Queen behind my back. When you kept secrets.”

The words hang heavy in the air. You keep your expression neutral, though inside your blood is boiling. He knew, Yeonjun knew exactly who you were, and still played both sides. And now Beomgyu is out there, alone, likely cornered. Soobin is still missing. And your cover is hanging by a thread.

Yeonjun’s chest rises and falls with shallow, restrained breath. “You think you can just take a route from me?”

Minjae smirks. “I’m not asking. I’m offering you a trade. The kid for the route. Their life for peace. Simple math.”

Yeonjun’s jaw ticks as he breathes in slow through his nose, chest rising once, twice. You can see the calculations behind his eyes. His silence isn’t hesitation, it’s rage, controlled, deadly rage.

But Minjae mistakes it for weakness. He turns back to you without warning.

“No—”

Yeonjun’s voice is hoarse and sharp, but it’s too late. The blade slices across your cheek, clean and fast.

Pain blooms white-hot as your head jerks to the side, breath catching in your throat. The sting is immediate, followed by the slow warmth of blood slipping down your skin. It’s not deep, not fatal, but it’s a message. And Yeonjun receives it loud and clear, because he roars. A guttural sound tears out of his chest as he lunges forward against the restraints. His wrists strain, veins bulging, teeth bared like an animal ready to rip someone apart.

Minjae watches him, amused. “There it is,” he mutters, low. “That’s what I wanted to see.”

“You’re dead,” Yeonjun growls. “You’re fucking dead.”

Minjae raises the bloody blade, twirling it lazily in his hand. “Not if we make a deal.” Yeonjun freezes. “I want the southern route,” Minjae says again, calm now, like nothing just happened. “And I want access to one of the Ghost Queen’s ports. Not the main ones—something smaller. You can get it for me.”

Yeonjun’s eyes flick to you, your cheek slick with blood, your expression still and cold despite the pain. He doesn’t speak, but his silence this time means: yes.

Minjae grins. “There we go. Knew you had a rational side.”

Then he snaps his fingers, and two of his men appear instantly, grabbing you roughly by the arms. One of them mutters something about not getting blood on his jacket.

Yeonjun fights the bindings again. “Where are you taking her?”

“You’ll see,” Minjae replies, stepping aside. 

You don’t speak, and you don’t look at Yeonjun. You just let them drag you down a long, dim corridor. Every step makes your face throb, your jaw stiff from clenching. They push you through a rusted metal door and slam it shut behind you. And for a moment, all you can hear is your own ragged breathing. The metal room is dim and cold, reeking of rust and sweat, but you barely register any of it—because right in front of you, alive but wrecked, is Soobin.

Your knees hit the floor hard as you scramble toward him, your throat catching on a sound you hadn’t realized you were holding back. His name leaves your mouth like a prayer, like it means something more than just syllables. “Soobin—”

He lifts his head slowly, eyes half-swollen and glassy, but he smiles, barely. “Hey.”

Tears sting your eyes before you can stop them. You cup his face in both hands, thumb brushing over the bruises on his jaw, and you press your forehead against his like you’re afraid he’ll disappear if you let go. “God,” you whisper, voice shaking. “I thought—I thought you were—”

“I’m okay,” he rasps, but it’s a lie. He’s not okay, he’s barely breathing, but he’s alive.

“Y/N,” Beomgyu’s also there, and his voice is soft but urgent beside you. “You’re bleeding.”

You blink, disoriented, then remember the cut—your cheek throbs, the blood sticky and warm. You pull back just enough to see Beomgyu crouching beside you, eyes wide with panic. Before you can say anything, he’s already yanking at the hem of his shirt, tearing off a strip of fabric with his teeth. “Hold still,” he says, his hands trembling a little as he presses the makeshift cloth to your face. “I swear to God, if they touched you again, I’ll—”

“I’m okay,” you whisper again, voice thick, but you don’t stop him. He’s too focused, too gentle, like he’s trying to fix something with his bare hands. His fingers brush your jaw as he ties the cloth in place, the fabric warm from his skin. You glance between the two of them, heart racing. “Where are the others?”

Beomgyu exhales, sitting back on his heels. “Gone. Got out before things got ugly. I stayed because of Soobin. I couldn’t just—” He runs a hand through his hair. “Didn’t know they’d catch me too.”

Relief washes through you in waves, so overwhelming it makes your limbs weak. You sit down fully, still close to Soobin, the burn in your chest finally settling. But the weight of everything you’ve just been through presses in. You swallow. “It was Yeonjun,” you murmur, voice tight. “He was behind it all. From the beginning.” Both boys look at you, stunned into silence. You continue, barely able to meet their eyes. “He helped Minjae steal from me. From us. He lied about everything.”

Soobin flinches, like he didn’t want to hear that. Beomgyu clenches his jaw, fists tightening on his knees.

“I was going to kill him,” you say, raw and bitter. “I wanted to. I was so angry I couldn’t see straight.”

Beomgyu exhales through his nose. “We should kill him.”

But you shake your head. “He saved our lives.” They both blink at you. “If he hadn’t made a deal with Minjae, we’d be dead right now. All three of us. He gave up part of his territory. Maybe even part of his crew.”

Beomgyu and Soobin don’t say anything at first. Just sit there, taking it in. You’re curled between them, one arm still wrapped carefully around Soobin’s shoulder, the other resting against Beomgyu’s thigh. It’s the only way you can stay grounded, with touch, warmth. The knowledge that they’re here, really here.

Beomgyu scoffs beside you, shaking his head. “Yeah? Great. And what did we give up? You almost got your face carved off.”

“Almost.” The word slips out before you can stop it. You’re tired, so tired, but you cling to the sliver of logic that’s keeping you upright. “He didn’t have to do it. Yeonjun could’ve let us all die. Would’ve been easier for him.”

“Don’t care.” Beomgyu shifts beside you, folding his arms across his knees, his voice sharp. “Doesn’t erase everything else he did.”

You don’t argue. Because he’s right, too. 

It’s not long before the silence turns tense again. The door clangs open, sharp and sudden, and all three of you tense instinctively. Heavy boots scrape against the concrete, and a shadow moves inside. Yeonjun. They throw him in without ceremony. He stumbles forward, hands no longer bound but arms limp at his sides, and hits the ground with a harsh grunt. His clothes are soaked with sweat and grime, his face smeared with dirt and blood, not all of it his. His jacket’s gone, his knife, gone. The glint in his eye? Also gone. He’s empty now, hollowed out.

Beomgyu surges forward before you can react, fury written all over him. “You bastard—”

You grab his arm mid-motion, holding him back with both hands. “Beomgyu. Don’t.”

“Let me go!” he snaps, voice cracking, muscles tense under your fingers. “Look at her! Look what you let them do to her!”

Yeonjun doesn’t flinch, doesn’t raise his head, he just breathes slowly, like each inhale costs him something. “Could’ve been worse,” he mutters finally, voice hoarse. “Could’ve been all four of us in body bags.”

That does it. Beomgyu stops fighting, but he’s still vibrating with rage, breathing like he’s ready to explode. You stay between them, hand still clutching his wrist. Yeonjun finally looks up. His eyes go straight to your face—and linger on the bandage Beomgyu tied around your cheek. You watch something in him twist, and it’s not satisfaction, it’s shame. 

“No one else is coming,” Beomgyu says from the wall, voice dull. “So what now?”

You turn to Yeonjun. “Yeah,” you echo, still holding Beomgyu back. “What now?”

Yeonjun sighs and sits back against the wall, dragging his knees up to his chest. “They’ll keep us here a little longer. Keep us guessing. Then they’ll probably dump us in the middle of nowhere. Maybe in enemy territory. Maybe not.”

Beomgyu snorts. “How thoughtful.”

You frown. “And then what? We walk?”

“If we’re lucky,” Yeonjun mutters.

“If?”

He looks at you again, his expression unreadable. “I burned my deal to get you out alive. That’s all they wanted. Leverage. A show of power. Now that they’ve made their point, keeping us any longer is just a waste of resources.”

“And if they don’t let us go?” Soobin asks.

Yeonjun closes his eyes. “Then I’ll find another way.”

Beomgyu scoffs. “Yeah? With what army?”

But you don’t join in the cynicism, not this time. Because you saw the look in Yeonjun’s eyes when Minjae pressed that blade to your throat. That wasn’t strategy, that wasn’t calculation, that was something else. You don’t know what you’re supposed to do with that. But for now, you do the only thing you can—lean against Soobin, keep one hand wrapped around Beomgyu’s, and stare at Yeonjun like he’s both the reason you’re alive and the reason you’ll never sleep the same way again.

They don’t come for a while. You lose track of the hours, and it’s always cold, always quiet, except for the occasional drip of water somewhere behind the walls, or the sound of Beomgyu pacing like a caged animal. Soobin sleeps most of the time, his head on your lap. You run your fingers through his hair and try not to cry every time he winces in his sleep. Yeonjun doesn’t speak. He stays on the opposite wall, arms crossed, eyes half-closed. Watching everything, but saying nothing.

It’s Beomgyu who breaks the silence most often—jokes, insults, wild theories about how you’re all going to die in increasingly dramatic ways. But even he starts to get quiet as the hours drag on.

Then, suddenly, without warning, the door slams open. You don’t even have time to stand. Boots thunder in, and black fabric is yanked over your head. You hear Soobin growling, and Beomgyu cursing. Someone grabs your arms, too rough and fast, and you’re being dragged, stumbling blindly, unable to see or fight back. The floor changes beneath your feet, concrete, gravel, then something smooth. A van. The ride is short, bumpy, silent. Then the doors open, and you’re thrown out like trash.

You hit the ground hard, gasping as the sack is ripped from your head. Cold wind, empty road. Forest on both sides. Nothing else. Soobin lands next to you with a grunt, then Beomgyu. Then Yeonjun. 

It’s only once you’re all out that you realize someone slipped something inside your pocket before throwing you out: your phone. So you scramble to unlock it, signal's weak, but it’s there, and you hit the contact you’ve called more than anyone else in your life. “Heeseung,” you breathe when he picks up. “It’s me.”

“Y/N?” His voice breaks. “Holy shit. Are you okay? Where are you? What happened? I’ve been going crazy—”

“We’re alive,” you say, eyes scanning the empty road. “They dumped us in the middle of nowhere. But we’re out.” You tell him everything, about Minjae, the deal, the betrayal, the scar on your face that’s still fresh and stinging. He doesn’t interrupt, just listens. You hear the way his breathing falters, like he’s struggling not to break down.

“Stay where you are,” he says finally. “I’m coming.”

The line goes dead. You lower the phone slowly, still kneeling in the dirt, and then you turn. Yeonjun’s sitting nearby, arms resting lazily over his knees like he’s on a fucking picnic. Something in you snaps. You’re on your feet before you realize it, storming toward him.

“You lied to me.” He doesn’t move. “You used me.”

Beomgyu grabs you around the waist just as you lunge forward, arms locking around you from behind. “Don’t,” he mutters. “You’re already hurt.”

“I don’t care!” you shout, struggling in his grip, blood rushing in your ears. “I should kill him right now—”

“I know,” Beomgyu says softly, tightening his hold. “But you won’t.”

Yeonjun finally looks up at you. And for the first time since this whole nightmare started, he speaks with a calm so cold it makes your stomach twist.

“You think I don’t know who you are, Y/N?”

Your heart slams against your ribs.

“You think I don’t know exactly who you are?” His eyes drop to the cut on your cheek. “You think I don’t remember the night I got this?” He lifts his hand, fingers brushing over the faint, jagged scar that cuts through his eyebrow. 

Silence. Beomgyu’s grip goes still around you. Soobin’s head lifts. The wind whistles through the trees, like even the world wants to know what you’ll say next. But you don’t say anything, because the past just walked out of the shadows, wearing Yeonjun’s face. And suddenly, this isn’t about survival anymore. It’s about everything you thought you’d left behind—coming back to bite.

You were fifteen the last time you saw Choi Yeonjun.

Not this version of him — not the man with blood on his hands and a scar running down his face like a warning — but the boy. The boy in the silk shirts and the too-expensive shoes, the boy who rolled his eyes at banquet speeches and snuck you stolen desserts under the table. The boy who knew what it meant to feel trapped in gold cages.

You weren’t supposed to be friends. Children like you were meant to become weapons, not companions. But when you were forced into that same gilded room week after week, dressed like pawns in a game you didn’t ask to play, it was hard not to notice each other. He was magnetic, even then. All sharp smiles and lazy charm, already too good at getting what he wanted. You were colder, quieter. You watched more than you spoke. You already knew you were disposable — illegitimate, your father’s sin in a pretty dress. You had no seat at the table. No name that mattered.

Except to Yeonjun. He used to call you Ghost. You didn’t know if it was a compliment or a curse, but you liked it. It felt like something that belonged to you.

The night it all burned down started like any other. 

You were at the Choi estate, the grand mansion at the edge of the city, the one with the koi ponds and the marble floors and the halls that echoed when you breathed too loud. Your father, Kim Mingyu, was in meetings with Choi Hyunwoo, Yeonjun’s father. Talks of expanding routes. Sharing ports. Making more money off the war brewing overseas. You and Yeonjun had been shoved into the side parlor to stay out of the way. The windows were tall and the fireplace glowed, but the tension was always heavier when your fathers were close. Yeonjun sat sprawled in an armchair, and you were lying on the rug, arms crossed, counting each second you weren’t being used like leverage.

“I heard your dad wants to marry you off,” Yeonjun had said suddenly.

You didn’t flinch. “He wants to pretend I don’t exist. That’s not the same thing.”

Yeonjun looked at you, head tilted, lips twitching. “You know, if you married me, that would solve both our problems. Sometimes when I look at you, I see my wife.”

You rolled your eyes. “If you keep talking, I’ll be the one killing you.”

He laughed, you almost smiled. Almost.

Then— gunfire.

The kind that doesn’t echo through halls like thunder. The kind that thuds, short and final, and you both froze. 

Yeonjun stood first. You followed him to the door, but before he could open it—click. It locked from the outside. Someone didn’t want you to see what was happening. You banged on the wood. Nothing. The quiet that followed was worse than the gunfire.

After a while, the door opened. Yeonjun was expecting a servant. Maybe one of the guards. But it wasn’t that, it was a man you didn’t recognize. Pale skin, black suit, eyes like ice — too still, too calm for a house that had just swallowed gunfire. He stepped into the room and leaned down to whisper something in Yeonjun’s ear. You were still by the window, but you didn’t miss the way Yeonjun’s entire body went still. The way his jaw tightened, then clenched, like he was trying not to scream.

“Yeonjun?” you asked, turning toward him. “What is it?” He didn’t answer. You stepped closer. “What happened?” Nothing. No movement. No sound. You were standing right in front of him now. He was pale. His hands trembled. “What happened?” you asked again, more forceful, but still nothing. You raised your voice. “Yeonjun, what the fuck happened?”

And that’s when you saw it, the flicker of something in his eyes. Not grief, but guilt. Your chest dropped. “What did your father do?” you whispered.

Yeonjun looked at you then, finally. But not with answers, only silence. That was enough. Your hands slammed into his chest. Once. Twice. He let you, he didn’t even flinch. “You knew,” you spat. “You fucking knew, didn’t you?!”

His hands caught your wrists mid-swing. Not hard, just enough to stop you. “Y/N—”

And that’s when your fingers wrapped around the hilt of the knife. It was small, thin, sharp, hidden in the side of your boot. A gift from your real mother. The only thing she ever gave you. Your hand moved before your brain did. You slashed upward, sharp and fast, not caring where it landed. All you saw was red. All you heard was your father's voice, echoing in your skull. “Trust no one in silk.”

The blade caught him across the face. A clean, slicing arc from brow to cheekbone — just above his left eye. Blood bloomed instantly. Yeonjun stumbled back, gasping, a hand flying to his face. It came away red. He stared at you in disbelief, chest heaving. You didn’t flinch.

“You let them kill him,” you said, your voice shaking. “You let them kill my father.”

Still, he said nothing. And that silence was the last answer you needed. So, you ran. You didn’t stop to look back. Not when the door burst open again. Not when footsteps thundered after you through the corridor. Not when you reached the side gate and scaled it like a girl possessed. You ran until your legs gave out. And even then, you crawled.

It took them three days to declare you dead. A fire in your house. Charred remains. No doubt it was you. Probably suicide, probably shame.

But you weren’t dead. You were lying in a pool of garbage behind an abandoned noodle shop, ribs cracked, blood soaked into your shirt, half your face bruised black. You couldn’t see straight. You couldn’t move. That’s when Beomgyu found you. He was stealing food. That’s what he told you later, just trying to survive like everyone else. He could’ve run when he saw you, most people would’ve. But he didn’t. He swore at first — loud and panicked — then knelt beside you, pressing a shaking hand to your neck to find a pulse. You tried to speak, but you couldn’t. He carried you anyway.

You woke up two days later in a basement with a blanket over you and a bandage around your ribs. There was a sandwich on the floor. He was sitting in the corner, arms crossed, watching you like a stray that might bite. “I thought you were dead,” he muttered.

He didn’t ask your name, you didn’t ask his, but from that day on, he stayed close. You healed together. Then Soobin found you. He was older, smarter, calm in a way that made you wary. The three of you weren’t a gang. Not at first. Just strays with nothing left to lose. But slowly, you became something else. You started calling in debts. Digging up secrets. Using what you knew and what your father taught you — and twisting it into something deadlier.

A whisper started in the streets. A name, passed like a warning: The Ghost Queen.

No one knew it was you, not until the summit. Not until you walked into that hall like you owned it, head high, mask off, eyes colder than anyone remembered. Not until Yeonjun saw you again for the first time in a decade.

And in that moment, the scar on his face felt fresh again. Because the ghost he thought was buried, was standing in front of him. And this time, she wasn’t running.

The silence on that empty road was the kind that clung to your skin. You stood there, the black sack they’d shoved over your head was now on the ground, forgotten. The ache in your body didn’t matter anymore. Yeonjun sat a few steps away on the edge of the road, face bloodied, exhaustion sinking into his bones, but like none of this was new to him, like losing everything was just another Tuesday. You turned to face him, jaw clenched, hands shaking.

“So you know,” you said, voice low but laced with venom. “Good. I'm glad you know.” Yeonjun arched a brow, slow, like he was waiting for the punchline. “You know what you did. You know what I lost. You know what I had to survive after that night.” You gestured toward Beomgyu and Soobin. “These two? They saved me when you destroyed everything I had left. And even now, you’re still screwing me over.”

He let out a dry, bitter laugh. “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he muttered. He stood, brushing dust off his pants. “I’m the reason all of us are still breathing. I gave up part of my territory, part of my crew. If we’re keeping score, I’d say we’re even.”

Beomgyu stepped forward, jaw clenched so tight it looked painful. “You’re lucky she wouldn’t let me get to you. Because if it were up to me, you’d be face-down on this road spitting teeth.”

Yeonjun sighed like he was bored. “Ah, great. The dog keeps speaking.”

“You have no idea what you did to her,” Beomgyu snapped. “You think one scar makes it even? You sleep at night with her blood on your hands?”

Yeonjun’s gaze flicked to you, then to Beomgyu, then back. And then, quiet, cold: “She left a scar on me too. Don’t forget that. She knew exactly where to put the knife.”

You stepped forward before Beomgyu could explode again. “You deserved that knife, Yeonjun. Because when I needed you, you chose silence. You let them kill my father. You sided with yours.”

“I was fifteen, Y/N,” he shot back, eyes sharp now, voice rising. “I was locked in that room with you. I heard the gunshots the same as you. You think I had a choice?”

“You had a choice to follow me!” you shouted, your voice raw. “To help me. To find me. But instead, you left me to die. You let them burn me!” 

He flinched—not visibly, but you felt it. “I did look for you,” he said, voice low. “For years. I searched for your body. For any sign you might’ve lived. And all I ever found was ashes.”

You barked a humorless laugh. “How convenient. No need to deal with me. No need to face what you did. What you didn’t do.”

He took a step closer. The scar over his left eye caught the fading light. “And you? You hid behind a mask. Built an empire out of borrowed blood. Turned yourself into a ghost so you wouldn’t have to remember your own sins.”

“I survived,” you hissed. “That’s all I had.”

Yeonjun didn’t answer. For the first time in the entire fight, he looked like he didn’t have a comeback. And then, the rumble of an engine. Headlights broke through the dust cloud on the road. A black car, old but fast, came flying toward you like salvation itself.

Soobin turned. “It’s Heeseung.”

Beomgyu relaxed—just slightly—but his eyes stayed locked on Yeonjun like a loaded gun. The car skidded to a halt. The door flew open. Heeseung bolted out, panic and relief battling on his face. “You’re alive,” he breathed, rushing to you.

You didn’t speak. Just let him wrap his arms around you, just this once. Yeonjun watched from a distance, eyes unreadable, expression carved from stone. And you didn’t look back at him. But you knew he was looking, because he always was.

You stopped with one hand already on the van door, your other resting against the frame like it was the only thing holding you up. You didn’t turn immediately, but you felt him behind you. Heeseung turned too, halfway into the driver’s seat, brows rising with amusement as he saw who had the audacity to still be talking. “You need a ride, Your Majesty?” he drawled, mock-serious. “Plenty of room in the trunk.”

Yeonjun rolled his eyes with a muttered, “I’ll manage.”

Beomgyu didn’t even attempt to hide the snarl curling on his lips. “We should’ve left him in that ditch.”

“Beomgyu,” you warned softly, not because he was wrong, but because this wasn’t the time. He huffed, shooting Yeonjun one last glare before climbing into the van, slamming the door harder than necessary. You lingered a second longer, eyes locked on Yeonjun. He was standing with his hands in his pockets, half in shadow, half in the hazy morning light. His red hair looked more copper than flame now, but that scar — your scar — cut through it like it had the day you gave it to him. Time hadn’t softened him. If anything, it had carved him into something even sharper.

The dust had barely begun to settle when Yeonjun’s voice cut through it. “Y/N. We need to talk business,” he said, not with force or threat, just fact. You didn’t respond at first, just looked at him. And in that moment, something cracked. Not in your expression, because you were too well-trained for that. But behind your ribs, in that locked box you thought you’d buried. Because the worst part was that you remembered. You remembered everything.

Not just the betrayal. Not just the blood, but the moments before it all fell apart. You remembered silk shirts and wide staircases, sneaking out of boring banquets with Yeonjun to sit on the roof of his family’s estate, trading secrets under a sky too vast for two children bred for war. You remembered him giving you half his dessert when your father ignored you at dinner, remembered the way his eyes used to light up when he made you laugh. You remembered the hours spent in quiet competition — chess matches, blade training, stolen books you both claimed to hate but always finished anyway.

You remembered him grabbing your wrist in that room, trying to stop you, begging you not to open the door. You remembered the look in his eyes after you cut him. And you remembered running, not just from his family, but from him. Because he was the only person in that world who had ever seen you. And you didn’t know if you hated him more for failing you — or for still seeing you now.

“Come find me when it’s time,” you said finally, voice steady, chin high. 

You turned and climbed into the van. Heeseung looked at you in the rearview mirror but didn’t speak. Soobin passed you a water bottle, quiet and steady as always. Beomgyu just shook his head like he still couldn’t believe you let that man live. You didn’t explain yourself. You just leaned back into the seat as the van pulled onto the road, the rising sun spilling gold across the horizon like the world hadn’t just tried to kill you again.

Behind you, Yeonjun grew smaller in the rear window — a figure carved out of memory and regret. But he wasn’t gone. He never really was.

The week that followed was full of antiseptic, quiet rage, and the kind of exhaustion that didn’t come from lack of sleep — but from surviving something you shouldn’t have.

The first morning back, you woke in your own bed, in your safehouse buried deep in the outer rings of the city. For a split second, you thought it had all been a nightmare. Until you turned your head and pain bloomed sharp across your cheek. You hissed, and before your fingers could even brush the wound, Beomgyu was already there.

“Don’t touch it,” he muttered, crouched beside the bed, eyes bruised with worry and zero sleep. “You’ll reopen the cut.” You tried to bat him away. He glared. “I swear to God, Y/N. Sit. Still.” So you did. Beomgyu cleaned the wound every morning, careful but muttering curses the whole time, most of them directed at Yeonjun. “You should’ve let me beat the shit out of him,” he grumbled more than once, dabbing ointment against the split skin like it was a battle tactic.

“I think your fists were too busy protecting my ribs,” you replied dryly, and he scowled but didn’t deny it.

Soobin, meanwhile, spent most of the week in bed. He had a cracked rib and a deep bruise on his thigh that turned every shade of black and blue before it started to fade. But he took it in stride, quiet as always, and only winced when Beomgyu wasn’t looking. You checked in with him often, more often than he liked. “I’m not dying,” he’d mutter, and you’d answer with, “Good.”

You didn’t mention that you barely slept. Or that some nights you stared at the ceiling for hours, replaying Yeonjun’s words, his voice, that look in his eyes when he said he knew who you were. Because the truth was, you didn’t know what haunted you more: the past, or the fact that he had lied.

By the third day, your inner circle had rotated to secure-mode. All comms were rerouted through Soobin’s backup systems, deep-web tunnels and burner signals only a handful of people in the world knew how to follow. Even then, everything was reduced to code. You stopped saying names. You stopped trusting phones. You stopped breathing easy. Because if Yeonjun was right — if Minjae had more planned — this wasn’t over.

You adapted quickly, you always did. You started giving orders again, rebuilding connections, tracking every whisper that floated through the city. You wore a hood every time you left the house, and your knife stayed strapped to your thigh. The cut on your face ached every time you moved your mouth, but you didn’t complain. Beomgyu did enough of that for both of you.

On the seventh night, you found a message waiting in your most encrypted channel. No name, no signature. Just coordinates, a time, and one line of text.

You're coming with me. Try to look like you like me.

You stared at the screen for a full minute before even breathing. The coordinates were downtown — one of Yeonjun’s more luxurious clubs, the kind that didn’t even have a name on the front, just a line of guards who knew when to keep their mouths shut. The time was just before midnight.

He was making a show, of course he was. You already knew what this was: he had something planned. A meeting, a gathering. And clearly, Yeonjun wanted to look like he had you in his pocket, because Minjae still thought you were his girlfriend. That was your leverage, that was your shield, and Yeonjun was cashing in.

“Absolutely not,” Beomgyu snapped, the second you brought it up. “I’m not letting you go parade around on that bastard’s arm like this is fucking prom night.”

“You don’t let me do anything,” you said calmly, sitting across from him. “I’m going. I’m just telling you in advance so you don’t explode and level the building.”

“You say that like it’s not still an option,” he muttered.

Heeseung, lounging on the couch nearby, raised a brow. “So we’re crashing a party now?”

“More like we’re playing pretend,” you said. “Yeonjun’s meeting with some major players, and he wants me there to make it look like we’re together. I’m not going in alone, though.”

Beomgyu narrowed his eyes. “You better not be suggesting—”

“I’m taking Jay and Heeseung.”

Jay blinked. “Wait. I am?”

You nodded. “Minjae hasn’t seen either of you in person. As far as he knows, you’re just… hot background noise.”

Heeseung grinned. “I am great at that.”

“Figures,” Beomgyu muttered. “You’re picking the two most reckless ones.”

“They’re unpredictable,” you said. “Which makes them valuable. And I trust them.”

Beomgyu didn’t argue. He just nodded. “Just don’t let Yeonjun get in your head.”

You didn’t answer that. Because part of you already knew: he was already there.

The club didn’t have a name. From the outside, it looked like a museum built for gods — all black marble and gold trimming, slick columns, a single brass door guarded by men who wore tuxedos carrying pistols under their lapels. There were no signs, no posted hours, no public records. If you were meant to be inside, you already knew. If you weren’t, you never found the door.

You stepped out of the black car just before midnight, heels clicking against the stone, silk brushing against your thighs. Your dress was fitted, ink-black, slashed low at the back, and a single necklace at your throat. Jay and Heeseung stepped out behind you, both in tailored black suits and matching expressions: calm, unreadable, dangerous. Bodyguards. Ghosts. Whatever you needed them to be.

The guards at the door let you in without a word. And inside, the bass was low, the air perfumed, gold lights flickered across the ceiling and the whole place smelled like heat, power, and money. There were no screams, no dancing, no crowd. Just whispers. Just very rich, very dangerous people pretending they weren’t afraid of one another.

You scanned the room, and of course, he was already watching you. Leaning against the bar like he owned it (which he did), Yeonjun was dressed in charcoal grey, shirt undone at the collar, sleeves rolled up, his rings glittered when he lifted a glass to his lips, and his eyes burned through you even before you took your first step.

He didn’t move as you approached. Just raised an eyebrow and smirked, lazy and lethal. “No dog today?” he said. “I was hoping to see if he bites.”

You didn’t blink. “Beomgyu sends his regards. And his middle finger.”

Yeonjun smiled like you’d complimented him. “Ah, the language of love.”

You took the drink he offered, mostly for the excuse to put something in your hand that wasn’t a gun. “Cut the bullshit, Yeonjun. Why am I really here?”

“Because you like looking at me,” he said smoothly. “And because Minjae thinks you’re mine. So, you play the part, he doesn’t question why I kept the West docks. He thinks he’s dealing with me. Not with Ghost Queen, and that keeps you alive.”

“I don’t need you to keep me alive.”

“No,” he said, leaning in, “but you need me to keep your empire breathing.”

You hated how close he was. Hated how calm he made you feel. Like standing in the eye of a hurricane. Everything around him was chaos, but he — Yeonjun — was composed destruction. A man who smiled while the building burned and said, You’re welcome for the warmth.

“You think all this justifies what you did?” you asked, eyes sharp.

He raised a brow. “What I did, darling, is what keeps your little boyfriend patching up Soobin’s wounds instead of burying him.”

You smiled without humor. “Careful. Your jealousy’s showing.”

“You always say that like it’s not part of my charm.” Yeonjun laughed like he actually liked his answer. You turned away, about to walk, but he caught your wrist lightly, easy, no force behind it. “You are wearing my necklace.”

Your hand rose instinctively to your collarbone. Shit, you hadn’t realized. Your body betrayed you before your mind caught up. Instinctively, your hand flew to your collarbone, the simple chain, delicate and old, still resting just beneath the neckline of your clothes. You hadn’t realized. Or maybe you had, and just refused to admit it to yourself. The weight of it had been familiar, comforting, buried beneath all the armor you’d learned to wear since that night. The night you gave him that scar.

Yeonjun was watching you closely. His eyes didn’t move from your face, but you could feel his attention shift from the necklace to the faint scar just beneath it. The bruise on your jaw was fading now, but the laceration across your cheekbone was angry and fresh, the stitches tight and unkind. He didn’t speak for a long moment, his gaze darkened, something unreadable moving behind it.

And then: voices behind him. Shoes on marble. Laughter and steel wrapped in suits. You turned just as Yeonjun did, instinctively stepping a fraction closer to him without meaning to.

Minjae arrived with men with cold eyes and colder hands behind him. His presence filled the room before he even spoke. Expensive suit, louder than the lighting. Yeonjun straightened, casual as ever, all lazy charm and mask-perfect posture.

“Minjae,” he greeted, voice like a blade in velvet. “Right on time.”

The older man’s eyes swept the room and landed on you. His gaze took its time, drinking you in with the kind of arrogant slowness that made your stomach turn. Yeonjun’s hand brushed the small of your back. A show, but also a claim. So you tilted your head, gave the smallest smile, the kind that didn’t reach your eyes. You felt Heeseung and Jay nearby, playing their roles well, quiet and watchful from the far end of the room. 

Minjae grinned. “You should take care of that scar. I don’t like damaged goods.”

You smiled at him, slow and dangerous. “Good thing I’m not yours, then.”

There was a beat of silence. Yeonjun laughed first, then Minjae. The tension melted into something easier, at least on the surface, but the scar still burned, and the necklace still sat heavy on your skin. And Yeonjun’s hand, even though it barely touched you, felt hotter than it should.

When Minjae turned to greet someone else, Yeonjun leaned closer, breath brushing your temple. “Still sharp,” he murmured. “Still mine.”

You didn’t look at him, you didn’t have to. “You could never afford me.”

He chuckled. “Darling, I already paid in blood.”

And you both knew — neither of you were bluffing.

You could tell by the way the staff glanced at him like he was both owner and threat, the way people stepped aside when he moved, always a beat too late. Power had its own gravity, and he wore it like silk. He walked beside you with a drink in hand, not drinking it, just holding it like an accessory. His other hand occasionally brushed your back, your arm, your wrist. Always light, always casual. Always enough to remind you he could still find your pulse without trying.

“Smile, darling,” he murmured near your ear, smirk curling. “You look like you’re about to kill someone. Which, to be fair, would only make me love you more.”

Your eyes flicked sideways. “Do you flirt with every woman you’ve sold out to a warlord, or am I just special?”

Yeonjun tilted his head, feigning thought. “Definitely special. Most of them don’t survive long enough to flirt back.”

You didn’t smile, but you didn’t look away either. That was your power — the stillness. The knowledge that if Minjae, who scarred your face with the back of his ring-heavy hand, had any idea who you really were, this place would be on fire by now. And Yeonjun was playing the long game, he always was.

Jay leaned against a pillar in the far corner, glass in hand, posture loose but eyes hard. Heeseung was by the staircase, casual enough to pass as bored muscle, but watching every move Minjae made. They hadn’t said much since you arrived, because that was the deal. Stay close, stay quiet, intervene only if necessary.

Yeonjun led you through the crowd, nodding at names you half-recognized. He led you to a private balcony overlooking the main floor. Not far enough to be hidden, but high enough to feel untouchable. You leaned against the railing and he stood beside you, close. His gaze dropped to your scar again, thumb brushing your cheek before you could stop him. You didn’t move or flinch, but something in your stomach twisted tight. “I’ll kill him for you,” he said, tone too casual.

You rolled your eyes. “You don’t get to kill people for me anymore.”

His smile was sharp. “Who said it would be for you?” The silence stretched. He took a step closer, and your breath caught before you could help it. You turned your head, his hand dropped. Downstairs, Minjae laughed at something. Jay’s eyes flicked toward you, just once. Yeonjun leaned in again. “Do you miss it?”

“Miss what?”

His voice dipped low. “Being mine.”

You didn’t answer him, just stared. The kind of stare that had made men confess, cry, crumble. But Yeonjun only looked back like he’d been waiting years for it. “I was never yours,” you said finally, voice like smoke.

His smile didn’t falter. But something beneath it twisted, just a little. “You were supposed to be.”

“Yeah,” you said. “I was. If your father hadn’t murdered mine. If you hadn’t locked me in that room.”

Yeonjun’s smile faded at the edges. He leaned on the railing with one elbow, gaze dragging over your face. “Well,” he said after a long moment. “I guess we’re even. You gave me this one, after all.”

He tilted his face, and there it was — the faint but brutal line running along his eyebrow. Your work, your rage. Your proof that love could rot. “And now I’ve got this one,” you muttered, tapping your cheek where the newer scar still pinked beneath makeup. “Thanks to you.”

He looked at you like he might shatter the balcony glass with his bare hands. “Minjae did that. Not me.” You looked away and Yeonjun stepped in, voice dropping, a hiss. “He’s going to pay for putting his hands on you.” You scoffed. “I’m serious,” he said, closer now. “You think I’m gonna let anyone leave a mark on that face and walk out breathing?” You turned to snap at him, but froze. He was inches away, his mouth too close. “Though I have to admit… you wearing a scar that matches mine?” His eyes dropped to your mouth, then climbed slowly back up. “It suits you. Makes us look coordinated.”

Your glare sharpened. “Fuck you.”

He smirked. “Do you want to?”

You shoved him lightly, but not enough to make distance. He didn’t budge anyway. From the far end of the balcony, Minjae’s gaze found you both. You felt that chill like fingers down your spine. He was watching, curious. Yeonjun caught it instantly. His hand slid to your hip. Not forceful, just a gentle pull to remind you of the lie you were supposed to be living. “Eyes on us,” he whispered. “Play the part, sweetheart.”

“I’d rather jump.”

“Okay… but try not to bleed on the carpet. It’s imported.”

He leaned in then slowly, theatrical, intense, until his face was right there. His nose nearly brushing yours, his lips a breath away. His eyes locked on yours with that too-familiar glint: part hunger, part mischief, part ruin. And Minjae was still watching, waiting. So you didn’t flinch when Yeonjun’s mouth brushed your temple, your cheek, and hovered by your ear.

You didn’t mean to stare. But once you did, it was impossible to stop. Yeonjun’s face was older now, of course, but under the dim golden light of the balcony, you could still see the shadow of the boy he used to be. The one who smirked too easily. Who whispered reckless things when no one was listening. The one who used to lean so close you thought he’d kiss you, but never did. He was always just a breath away, dangling the possibility like a blade over your throat. 

You used to wonder what it would feel like — his mouth on yours. You were fifteen. A girl made of rage, and Yeonjun was a fire you wanted to hate but kept reaching for. You never let yourself find out, never crossed that line. But now, standing in the heat of his stare, you didn’t know why you ever thought you were safe from it.

Your gaze flicked up to the scar that split the edge of his left brow, faded now, but unmistakable. You’d given it to him in a moment of betrayal so bright it still burned behind your eyelids when you closed them. Funny. You'd thought it would make you feel powerful, seeing it. But it only made your chest ache.

“Still staring, sweetheart,” Yeonjun said, low and smug. “If you want to touch it, you can just ask.”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“You say that,” he said, leaning closer, “but your breath hitches every time I talk like this.” He wasn’t wrong. “I could make you forget who you’re pretending to be,” he whispered, mouth ghosting near your jaw. “One touch. One word. You’d remember exactly what it feels like to be mine.”

You turned toward him, mouth parted to curse, or worse, but the sound of a cough cut through the tension like a knife. Yeonjun didn’t even flinch. His gaze flicked lazily over your shoulder. Minjae stood by the balcony doors, watching you both with eyes too polite to be innocent.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Minjae said, though the smug twist of his lips made it clear — he wasn’t. His gaze lingered far too long on your face, right where the scar cut across your cheekbone. “But we’ve got business to discuss.”

You didn’t flinch, but your heart, however, knocked once, hard against your ribs when Minjae’s eyes landed on your face again. You knew that look. That casual cruelty, the one that reminded you exactly who gave you that scar, and exactly who still believed you were nothing more than Yeonjun’s favorite toy.

The corridor to the private lounge was quiet, lined with dim lights and mirrors that made everything seem hazy. You saw Jay just before you entered, leaned against the wall in black, dressed like security, his mouth set in a practiced scowl. If you didn’t know better, you’d believe the act yourself. Taehyun walked beside Yeonjun with silent confidence, his sharp eyes sweeping every shadow. And you played your part.

Inside the lounge, everything was low light and dark velvet. Minjae sat first, sprawling like he owned the room, and maybe, in some ways, he did. Jay stood near the door, eyes on you. On Minjae. On everything. Yeonjun didn’t sit until he’d guided you down beside him, his hand still warm on your waist. His thumb brushed up once, just a fraction, grazing your ribs through the fabric of your clothes. You gave him a warning look, and he only smirked.

“Let’s get to it, shall we?” Minjae said, lighting a cigar like the caricature of a villain. “I want to finalize the territory shift.” 

Yeonjun smiled lazily. “Of course.”

“Must be nice,” Minjae said after a beat, changing topics. “Having someone so pretty that devoted.” His eyes flicked to your face again, and something uglier bloomed behind his grin. “Though I don’t remember that scar being there last time.”

Yeonjun’s hand moved again, but not away. This time it slid across your lap, over the silk of your dress, and came to rest on your thigh. He squeezed gently, like a warning. Or maybe comfort, maybe both. You swallowed, eyes trained forward. You weren’t sure if it was your own pulse you were hearing, or Yeonjun’s.

Business was discussed, territories laid out. Taehyun handled most of the numbers, Jay nodding occasionally as if he were part of the team. But through all of it, Yeonjun never stopped touching you. His hand drifted to your knee, your waist, your back, in a casual, intimate, possessive way. Like he meant it, like he wanted Minjae to see.

And you let him, because Minjae couldn’t know the truth. Because Yeonjun was playing his role. Because, somewhere deep down — under all the betrayal and blood and broken pieces — you remembered what it was like to be touched by him and believe it was real. And maybe some part of you still wanted it to be.

The meeting ended, Minjae stood first, adjusting the lapel of his tailored jacket with that same smug smile glued to his face since the start of the night. He looked at Yeonjun, and then at you, lingering a second too long. “Congratulations,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Getting territory from the Ghost Queen isn’t a small thing. You must have a special talent, Yeonjun. Or she must really like you.”

Yeonjun didn’t flinch, he just smiled dangerously slowly. His hand tightened slightly at your thighs, grounding you, warning you, comforting you. Almost like he was saying, Let it go. I’ve got this.

Minjae took a couple of steps toward the door, tossing a final comment over his shoulder. “I hope the scar makes your girlfriend even prettier.” A smirk. “Take good care of her, Yeonjun. Women like that are hard to find… and easy to mark.”

Your entire body stilled. Not from fear—you’d burned that out of your system years ago. But from the kind of fury that didn’t flash, it simmered, low and dangerous in your veins.

Yeonjun leaned in before you could speak, his voice brushing hot against your ear. “Give me one reason. Just one. And I’ll tear him apart.”

You didn’t answer. The tilt of your chin, the ice in your gaze, it was enough. Minjae left with his goons, the door swinging closed behind them like the end of a nightmare that didn’t know it was over. But Yeonjun didn’t step away, not even an inch. If anything, he pulled you closer, with his hand drifting up your back to rest at the back of your neck, thumb gently brushing just beneath your jaw. Possessive, protective and dangerous. Not for show this time, even if the performance had technically ended.

Jay let out a slow breath and finally stepped forward from the shadows, pulling out the earpiece he’d worn for the entire meeting. “Well,” he said, with a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, “if hell had a homeowners’ association, I think we just sat through the board meeting.”

Taehyun snorted quietly, heading to the table to collect the documents Minjae had left behind. “He really thinks he’s winning.”

“Let him,” Yeonjun said, fingers still tangled in your hair. His tone was calm, but it carried an undercurrent of violence. “The higher he thinks he is, the harder the fall.”

Jay crossed his arms and finally looked directly at you. “You alright?”

You nodded slowly, your eyes still on the door. “Yeah. The worst part’s over.”

Jay looked back at Yeonjun. “We need to get the logistics in place. Can’t hand over territory without locking in transport, security, collection.”

Yeonjun gave a small nod, finally turning, but he didn’t let go of your hand. His fingers stayed interlaced with yours, like the truth was still too dangerous to set down. Like he needed them to know you were his, even if it was still just pretend. Even if it never really was.

“Let’s handle that tonight,” he said, looking at the two of them. “But first…” He turned to you again, his gaze heavy with something you couldn’t quite name. His expression softened only slightly—only for you. “I want to make sure she has what she needs. And that no one—ever—lays a finger on her again without bleeding for it.”

For a moment, it sat in your chest like warmth. Like safety. Like the kind of thing you'd once dreamed of when you were a teenager and he was still the boy with fire in his eyes and a promise on his lips. But then it cracked. Because it hit you, all at once—there was no one left to pretend for. Minjae was gone. The room was full of allies, no one was watching. You weren’t his girlfriend. And he wasn’t your hero, not anymore.

You stepped away from him like waking from a dream, the trance shattered. You didn’t even meet his eyes when you stood up. “You don’t need to worry about me, Yeonjun,” you said, voice cold. “I’ll handle it.”

There was a silence. Jay raised an eyebrow, halfway to speaking when you reached over and plucked the drink from his hand without asking. He didn’t stop you, just tilted his head slightly, watching as you started toward the door. “You need anything?” he asked, cautious.

You didn’t look back. “Yeah, to be alone.”

And then you were gone. You went straight to an outside balcony, the cold air outside hit you like a slap. You lit the cigarette with fingers that didn’t shake, but only because you wouldn’t allow them to. The burn in your chest wasn’t from the smoke. It was the memory of his hand on your waist, his voice in your ear, his lie living under your skin like a second pulse. He always did that—wrapped barbed wire in silk and called it love.

You heard the door open behind you ten minutes later. You didn’t have to look to know who it was. No one else had that kind of presence. That specific gravity.

“What the fuck was that?” Yeonjun’s voice was low, sharp, laced with confusion and something angrier underneath.

You didn’t turn. You exhaled, slow and bitter. “What was what?”

He stepped closer, not touching you now, not daring to. “You walking out like that. The attitude. The—” He stopped himself, like he wasn’t sure what the hell he was trying to say. “I’ve been protecting you all goddamn night. And now you're acting like—”

“I didn’t ask you to protect me.” That made him pause. You turned to face him finally, eyes dark. “I didn’t want your protection, Yeonjun. And especially not after everything you did.”

His jaw clenched. “I did what I had to do to keep you alive.”

“No,” you said. “You did what you had to do to keep yourself alive. Don’t rewrite history just because I’m standing here again.” He didn’t answer. You stepped closer, enough that your breath could find his collarbone. Enough to remind him that once upon a time, you wanted to be close. “You had years, Yeonjun. Years to come clean. Years to fix it.”

“I was trying to protect you.”

“Bullshit.” Your voice cracked barely. “You let me rot.”

“You think it didn’t kill me? I thought you were dead!”

“I think you lived just fine with it.”

He looked at you like he wanted to tear something apart. Maybe you. Maybe himself. “You think I wanted this?” he hissed.

“I think you let it happen,” you snapped. “And I think it’s too late now to play the good guy.” There was a silence. He stared at you with that same infuriating expression—equal parts regret and arrogance. The one you used to fall for. “I don’t need you,” you said, finally. “And I sure as hell don’t need you pretending like we’re anything anymore.”

Yeonjun tilted his head, eyes narrowing just a little. “Then why are you still wearing my necklace?”

The question landed like a slap. And you didn’t have an answer.

Before you could even breathe, he was stepping closer. Each step heavy with something darker than tension, something primal. You stayed still, partly because you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of moving. Partly because your legs didn’t fucking work when he looked at you like that. He stopped only when his chest nearly brushed yours.

His eyes dropped to your collarbone and he towered you, looking down at you. “Still fits you like it was made for you,” he murmured, voice honeyed and low. “Of course, it was. I picked it out when I was younger and so fucking in love with you I couldn’t think straight.” You blinked. The weight of that sentence crashing into you all at once, but he didn’t give you time to recover. “Funny thing is…” His gaze dragged up to your lips, then your eyes. “Even now—after all the blood, the lies, the shit we buried—I still look at you and want to fuck you against the nearest wall.”

You sucked in a breath.

“I still think about what your mouth would feel like saying my name the way you used to—sweet and desperate.” He tilted his head again, like he was admiring the way you looked pissed off and frozen in the same breath. “Still think about what your skin tastes like under all that attitude.”

Your fingers curled at your sides. “You’re disgusting.”

“Yeah,” he breathed. “But you’ve always liked me that way.”

And the worst part is that he wasn’t wrong. You hated the way your body reacted to him, how your pulse betrayed you, how your mind told you to step away and your feet stayed planted.

His eyes dropped again, this time to your mouth, and lingered. “Do you even know what you look like right now?” he whispered. “All cold and fire at the same time. Like you want to punish me for wanting you.”

“I should punish you,” you said, finally finding your voice again, though it came out rough.

Yeonjun smirked. “Baby, if that’s a threat, I’ll fucking beg for it.”

That made you flinch, just a little. But he saw it. Of course he saw it. And that was all the invitation he needed.

He tilted his head, watching your every breath like a predator. Then, slow as sin, he leaned in, close enough that his breath kissed the shell of your ear when he spoke again. “Tell me something.” His voice was a hushed rasp, too close, too deep. “In all these years… did anyone make you feel good?” Your lips parted, but he didn’t wait. “I mean—really good,” he continued, his mouth dragging close to your cheek. “The way I would’ve. The way I still want to.” A pause, his lips ghosting over your skin, not quite touching. “The way I will.”

You turned your head sharply, eyes slicing toward him. “You talk like I was yours to begin with.”

Yeonjun only smiled. “You were.”

You let out a short, bitter laugh. “We were young. You don’t get to rewrite that.”

“Young and stupid, yeah,” he agreed. “But you never stopped looking at me like you wanted to tear me apart. And you think I didn’t see that? You think I didn’t feel it?” He stepped in even closer, one hand bracing against the wall beside your head. “I’ve had to live with that image in my head for years. The way you looked that night you cut me. Face flushed. Hands shaking. Breathing like you’d just—God, I wanted to taste the blood on your fingers.”

You exhaled through your nose, trying to stay cold, unbothered. “You’re sick.”

“And you love it.” He leaned down, murmuring right against your ear again. “Tell me, baby. Did anyone ever get to have you? Did they get to fuck that attitude out of you, or did they all fail?”

“Yeonjun—”

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. “I’d ruin you,” he said, voice low and steady. “So slow, so good, you’d forget your own fucking name. You’d forget who you are—Ghost Queen or not. You’d just be mine.”

You didn’t answer, you couldn’t answer, because you hated that a part of you was imagining it. His hot skin, rough hands, his mouth on your throat, dragging out every gasp like it belonged to him. You could almost feel it. The pressure, the filth of his words against your ear, the pull of him unraveling you. So you clenched your jaw, locking it in place. “You never had me.”

Yeonjun stared, quiet for a breath. Then the corner of his mouth curled. “But I could’ve,” he murmured, leaning in, lips brushing dangerously close to your cheek. “And I still could—maybe I should ask your little dog to watch us. What’s his name again? Beomgyu?”

You didn’t even think. In one clean, practiced movement, your hand slid from beneath your sleeve, the blade catching the low light as you slammed him back into the wall with your forearm to his chest and your knife pressed right to the hollow of his throat. The force of it knocked the smirk off his face, but only for a second. Then it was back, wider and hungrier.

“Well, well,” he breathed, tilting his head against the blade. A bead of blood bloomed at the contact, but he didn’t even flinch. “There she is.”

Your eyes were all fire, teeth clenched, breathing sharp. “Say his name again, Yeonjun. Say it. I fucking dare you.”

His hands didn’t go up, didn’t push you off. He stayed still, almost inviting the cut. That damn smirk still plastered across his lips. “You know,” he drawled, voice barely above a whisper, “you holding a knife to my throat is hotter than anything I’ve ever jerked off to—and I’ve had years to imagine this.” Your grip didn’t loosen. If anything, it tightened. But his gaze didn’t drop, it burned into yours. “I missed you,” he whispered. “You insane, deadly little thing.”

You hated the way your pulse betrayed you. How your body thrived off the proximity, off the danger. You could kill him, right here, right now. You wanted to. “You think you scare me?” you snapped.

“I hope so,” he said, smiling wider. “Because nothing makes me harder than a girl who might slit my throat after fucking me.”

Your blade was still slick against him, your chest rising and falling. But you didn’t need to move, because he did all the work for you, leaning in just enough so his lips hovered by your ear, voice thick with venom and something far more dangerous.

“What’s the matter?” Yeonjun said, low and sickeningly sweet. “Afraid I’ll say something else that gets you all worked up?” The weight of his body so close, the smell of his cologne crawling under your skin. “I've got a thousand fantasies about you pressing that knife a little lower.” He exhaled like he was enjoying himself. “God, I missed you. Every version of you. The girl who kissed my cheek once and made me lose sleep for a week, and the one who nearly slit my throat just now. They both get me off.” Your grip faltered for half a second, just enough for him to feel it, and he grinned. “Don’t know if you love me or you want me dead.”

You stepped back like the words were a punch to the chest. His gaze followed you as you turned, fast and sharp, like you had to run before your legs gave out. Before he said something even worse, or something you wanted to hear. You shoved the blade back into the sheath under your sleeve and stormed toward the club’s hall, the music echoing louder the closer you got. You thought you could lose him in the noise, that maybe if you slipped back into the crowd, back into the role, back into your armor, he’d vanish with the bloodlust and the memories.

But of course not. You’d barely made it to the bar when you felt him again, his hand finding your waist from behind like it had belonged there all along. His chest pressed to your back, lips brushing against the shell of your ear with that voice, that stupid, dangerous voice—

“We still have to sell the story, baby,” he whispered, shameless and slow. “Minjae’s watching. Don’t make me hold you tighter.”

“You keep touching me like that,” you muttered through clenched teeth, “And I swear to God, Yeonjun—”

“You’ll what?” He cut in, nuzzling against your hair. “Make me beg? Scream? Kill me in front of everyone?”

You turned your head just enough to meet his eyes. “Maybe all three,” you said.

His smile was pure sin. “Fuck, I hope so.” But then he leaned in closer, voice a breath over your skin, lips ghosting the shell of your ear— “Truth is,” he murmured, slow, filthy, “I think about it every night. What would you let me do to you if my father didn’t kill yours.”

Your brain short-circuited. There was no time to think, just movement. You grabbed a fistful of his hair, hard enough to make him groan, and yanked his smug, beautiful face toward yours. His smirk only widened. You didn’t waste a second, you shoved him back across the room, until his back slammed into the wall near the nearest private door. You didn’t even check if anyone saw you twist the lock.

The second the door clicked shut, you spun him and slammed him against it, fingers still tight in his hair, breath heaving. He was grinning. “Knew you missed me, princess.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

You grabbed his jaw, nails biting into his skin, and forced him to look at you. He was already hard, cocky as ever, eyes gleaming like he’d won some twisted game. But he didn’t say another word. You pressed in close, body flush to his, letting him feel every inch of your control. “You talk too much,” you muttered, dragging your mouth along his jaw—not kissing, just hovering and teasing. “Always did.”

“I can shut up,” he said, already breathless. “If you sit on my face.”

“Quiet,” you hissed. You slammed him back against the wall again, just to feel the sharp inhale he took. His eyes fluttered, and for a split second, the mask cracked, just enough to show how gone he was for you. How long he’d been starving for this. “Tell me you missed me,” you demanded.

He licked his lips, eyes blown wide. “I missed the way you make me fucking weak.”

You didn’t give him time to breathe. Your lips crashed against his jaw, not soft, not sweet. You sank your teeth into the sharp edge of it, biting down until his whole body jolted under your hands, a strangled groan ripping from his throat. You could feel him trembling. “Fuck,” he hissed, head tilting back against the wall, eyes fluttering shut for a second. “Fucking bite me again—”

“I said shut up,” you growled against his skin, your breath hot and ragged. You licked where you’d just bitten, then bit again, just below his ear, harder. “God, you’re pathetic.”

He let out a low, breathy laugh, already wrecked. “Only for you.”

You leaned in close, lips brushing his ear. “I think about it every day, Jun. Every fucking day.” He stilled, but you didn’t stop. “The sound you made when I cut your face. That pitiful, shocked little gasp. You looked like a kicked dog. And I swear I wanted to kill you,” you whispered, pressing your mouth back to that same spot on his jawline, biting again. “After my father died, and your father left me rotting—you just let it happen. You walked away. You knew.”

“Y/N—”

“No.” You gripped his chin, forcing him to meet your eyes. “You let me starve. You let them humiliate me. And I swore—every fucking day—that I’d make you pay for it. I built myself from blood and ash, and you? And now you are fucking stealing from me.”

Yeonjun stilled. For one long, charged second, he didn’t move or speak. Then his eyes darkened and everything snapped. With a brutal sort of grace, he grabbed your wrists and spun you, slamming your back against the wall in a single, fluid motion. His breath was hot at your throat, his body crowding yours, his thigh sliding precisely between your legs until it was pressed against your heat firmly and deliberate. Your breath caught and you hated how fast your body betrayed you.

“You think you’re in control?” he growled, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand, while the other slid down your side, fingers dragging painfully slow. “You think you built yourself?” His thigh pressed up hard, just enough friction to make you gasp, and he chuckled. “I love it when you look at me like you want to kill me—and fuck me in the same breath,” he hissed, lips brushing your jaw. 

You choked on a sound, part fury, part need, grinding involuntarily against the pressure between your legs and he smirked. “I bet you ache,” he whispered, mouth moving to the shell of your ear. “Bet you’ve always ached. You try to fall asleep at night, and you squeeze your thighs together, pretending it’s nothing. Pretending it’s not me you’re thinking about.” His voice dropped lower and meaner. “Tell me the truth,” he murmured. “When you touch yourself—because I know you do—do you pretend it’s my fingers? Or do you imagine me throwing you against a wall like this, fucking you so hard you forget your own name?”

His thigh flexed against you again, and your hips bucked helplessly in response. He grinned, dark and wolfish. “You hate that you want it. That you want me,” he breathed. “But you always have. Even back then. You were mine long before you knew what that meant.”

His hand slid under your dress, fingertips teasing the sensitive skin of your thigh, just barely skimming where you needed him most. “You wanna know what I think about?” he asked, voice rough and sinful. “I think about spreading you open. Holding your legs apart while I taste every inch of you—slow. So slow it hurts. I wanna hear you whimper. Wanna ruin you so completely until you cry for my dick. Again. And again.”

You gasped as his thigh pressed up again, harder, firmer, angled just right. It sent a jolt of pleasure through you so sharp your knees nearly gave out. His hands clamped down on your hips, tight and possessive, guiding you against the flex of his thigh. The friction sent another sharp jolt of heat through your core, and you cursed under your breath, biting down on your lip hard enough to hurt.

“That's it,” he rasped, grinding you down with purpose. “So eager now, aren’t you? I can feel how wet you are through your panties, baby. You're soaking me.” You clenched your jaw, trying to hold on to that last shred of control. But he was relentless, dragging your hips with a slow rhythm, the pressure maddening. “Go on,” he coaxed, voice low and filthy. “Use me. Ride my thigh like the needy little thing I always knew you were.”

“Shut up,” you spat, even as your hips betrayed you, rolling down against the muscle of his leg with pathetic desperation.

He chuckled, dark and hungry. “Shut me up, then. Or are you too busy soaking my pants like some spoiled brat in heat?”

Your nails dug into his shoulders, leaving half-moons in his skin. You hated him. You hated how he knew exactly what to say. How your body responded to him like it had never belonged to you in the first place. “I should’ve slit your throat the day I found out what you did,” you hissed, breathless.

“Oh, baby,” he murmured, voice dripping with mock sympathy. “You should’ve. But you didn’t. And now look at you.” He leaned in closer, closer to your mouth, his lips almost touching yours. You turned your face at the last second, his lips brushing the corner of your jaw instead. You can’t kiss him right now. You don’t know how you feel about this. And he notices it, that resistance in you. So he rolled his thigh up again, harder this time, making your head tip back against the wall as a ragged moan escaped you. “You're grinding on me like a whore,” he murmured, leaning in close. “But you won't even let me kiss you?” He barked a laugh. “That’s cute.”

One of his hands slid up your back and tangled in your hair, pulling just enough to make you gasp. “You're so good at pretending you're above this,” he whispered against your cheek. “But I can feel how close you are.”

Your lips parted, a breath catching, but no words came. He pressed his forehead to yours, keeping you pinned, his thigh flexing beneath you in slow, deliberate circles. “You're shaking. You gonna come just from this?” he whispered, tone wicked. “Gonna fall apart without me even needing to touch your pussy properly?”

“Fuck you,” you hissed, even as your fingers clutched his shirt like a lifeline.

“We already are,” he breathed. “You just don’t wanna admit it.” You tried to snarl something back, anything brutal, but all that came out was a broken whimper when he angled his leg just right again and ground you down on it hard. “Say it,” he growled. “Say you want me to ruin you.”

“No.”

“Say it.”

You hesitated. His grip on your hips tightened, and he dragged you over him again with a force that knocked the breath out of your lungs. “Say it, or I’ll stop.”

You looked at him. At the flushed skin, the blown pupils, the restraint in every muscle of his body barely holding back his own hunger. And something in you snapped. Not from surrender, but from something darker, older. Something forged in every time you’d had to bite your tongue, bury your desire, and walk away from him when all you really wanted was this. The way he looked at you now—wild, worshipful, starved like you were a sin he’d been denied too long—it ignited every sharp, burning edge of you.

You gripped the front of his shirt and yanked him closer, your breath brushing his lips. “You think you’re in control now,” you whispered, voice low and trembling with fury and want. “But you’re not. You never were.”

He grinned, teeth flashing, but there was a flicker of something else behind his eyes. Respect, maybe, or awe. “I’ve always been in control,” he murmured, dragging his thigh up again between your legs. “Even when I wasn’t touching you. Especially then.”

You let out a shaky breath, your forehead pressing against his for a beat. Your hips rolled of their own accord, chasing friction like your body had given up waiting for your mind to catch up. He hissed. “Fuck, that’s it. Keep going. Let me see what that perfect little cunt does when you stop pretending you don’t need me.”

His hands moved like instinct, one cupping your jaw, the other sliding down your spine and grabbing your ass as he ground you even harder into his thigh. You moaned into his mouth, and he groaned into yours, the sound deep and guttural like he’d been dying for this. “You like that?” he rasped, mouth so close to yours. “Like grinding that soaked little pussy on me while I whisper every filthy thing I’ve ever wanted to do to you?”

You gasped as he rocked you forward again, the pressure brutal, perfect. “I wanna wreck you,” he said, voice like smoke and sin. “Wanna fuck you in every way. Wanna hear you beg for it, cry for it—thank me for it.” Your head tipped back, a raw sound catching in your throat. 

His thigh flexed under you again and your whole body jolted. “You gonna come for me like this?” he asked, hand sliding between you to press against your clit through the soaked fabric. “So desperate you’ll cream on my leg like a needy little slut?” You whimpered, you fought not to, but your hips bucked against his hand. “Say it,” he growled. “Say you’re mine. Say it and I’ll make you come right now.”

Your lips hovered near his, breathing him in. His breath ghosted over your mouth, but still—you wouldn’t kiss him. Not yet. That, you’d keep. That was your line. And then you whispered: “…I’m yours.”

He exhaled, like the words physically undid him. “That’s my fucking girl.”

His mouth was everywhere but your lips. He kissed your neck like he wanted to brand you, tongue dragging over your pulse, his teeth grazing that sensitive spot below your ear, making you shudder so hard it nearly hurt. You didn’t mean to move, but your hips ground down on his thigh anyway, desperate for friction, for relief. Yeonjun’s hands locked around your waist dragging you even closer. He rolled his thigh up hard, and you choked on your breath, eyes fluttering shut. “That’s right. Use me,” he whispered, and then, closer to your ear, darker: “But if you think I’m just gonna let you come without claiming every inch of you first, you’re fucking dreaming.”

Your fingers dug into his shoulders, legs shaking, brain fogging fast with the pressure building between your thighs. “I can feel it,” he groaned. “You’re right fucking there. Gonna soak my leg like a needy little slut, huh? Can’t even wait for my cock—just wanna make a mess on me.”

“Yeonjun—” you breathed, but you didn’t know what you were begging for.

He bit down gently on the curve of your jaw, just enough to make you whimper, then spoke so close to your ear it sent a bolt of heat down your spine. “You don’t wanna kiss me?” he taunted. “Fine. But you’re gonna come like this—shaking, grinding on me, moaning my name like a fucking bitch.”

You broke. The tension snapped like a rubber band. Your body convulsed, the orgasm tearing through you so hard you nearly sobbed. Your hips jerked once, twice, before collapsing into him, legs weak, chest heaving, mind blank with the force of it. You were screaming his name. And Yeonjun held you through it, strong and steady, one hand firm on your back, the other gently stroking your thigh, lips brushing your ear.

“That’s it,” he whispered, voice smug and thick with hunger. “That’s my good fucking girl.”

And still, he didn’t kiss you, not yet. Instead, he held you there for a moment longer, letting your trembling body press against his as your breath came in broken, uneven bursts. One hand stayed planted low on your back, grounding you. The other trailed up slowly, until his fingers curled gently around your jaw. “You came so hard, baby. Rubbed your needy little cunt on my thigh like you were made to be ruined by me.”

You twitched at his words, still raw from the high, but your body reacted anyway, too sensitive, too aware. He pulled back enough to look at you, his eyes half-lidded, drunk on power and lust. And then he leaned in, his mouth angling toward yours, lips parted, close enough that his breath mingled with yours.

But something snapped. Reality slammed back into you, all at once—your heartbeat still frantic, your skin still hot, your body still aching... and all of it because of him. The person you swore you’d never let close again.

So you shoved him hard. He stumbled back a step, blinking in surprise, before a slow, amused grin curled his lips. “There she is,” he said, breathless, a dark chuckle in his throat. “My little hellcat.”

“Fuck you, Yeonjun,” you spat, fury and embarrassment colliding in your chest.

He tilted his head, eyes flicking to your mouth. “You bit your lip so hard, you’re bleeding.”

You reached up instinctively and sure enough, your fingers came away red. Yeonjun moved fast. Before you could stop him, he was already close again, hands on either side of your face, and he leaned in—not to kiss you, no—but to drag his tongue slowly along your lower lip, tasting the blood like it was something sacred.

You flinched. “Don’t—”

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, a wild gleam in his own. “Even your blood tastes good,” he murmured. “Bet I could get addicted to you.”

You shoved him again, harder this time, and he let you. “You don’t get to kiss me,” you snapped, breath still unsteady.

His smile was crooked now, smug. “Baby, I already made you come. With your clothes on. Grinding on my fucking thigh like a bitch.”

Your face burned fiercely—flushed with a storm of anger, humiliation, and something darker, more twisted beneath it all. “You’re disgusting,” you spat, jerking your dress down, trying to steady the ragged gasps that threatened to spill from your mouth. “This was a fucking mistake. It should’ve never happened.” You whipped around, ready to escape, to put miles between you and the man who’d just unraveled you without even shedding your clothes. But before you took two steps, his hand slammed down on your wrist. “Don’t,” you warned, voice sharp but shaky, refusing to turn back.

Yeonjun didn’t care. He yanked you back with a brutal ease, pressing you flush against his chest. His body was a furnace behind you, hot, and that unmistakable hardness pressed right where it needed to, digging into you. You froze, breath hitching, every nerve screaming. His fingers spread over your waist, gripping with possessive force, anchoring you.

“You really think this ends here?” he growled, voice thick. “After how soaked your panties got, creaming on my leg like some desperate little slut who can’t get enough?”

A shiver ran down your spine. Your fists curled, but you stayed rooted, helpless to deny the truth in his words. His voice dropped lower. “Run if you want. Go ahead. But I’m the only one who knows how to touch you like this. You are fucking mine, queen.”

Your breath caught, eyes burning with a mix of defiance and desire. Your body betrayed you, frozen against his relentless hold. His chest pressed heavier against your back, his hot breath trailing down your neck like liquid sin. “You’re gonna fucking replay this in your head,” he whispered, cruel and sweet all at once. Then, just like that—he released you.

You didn’t look back. But his voice echoed in your mind as you walked away, the filthy promise dragging after you like a shadow:

“You’ll come back. You always do. And next time? I’m gonna make you scream my name while I ruin you completely.”

You hated him, you did, you hated everything he had done, the lies, the pain, the silence. But you didn’t hate the way his touch made your pulse skip. You didn’t hate the way his voice, low and wrecked, had said: You are fucking mine, queen.

Yeonjun was a mess. A walking, bleeding contradiction. He was dangerous, infuriating even. But you couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Because Yeonjun fought so dirty, but he loved so sweet. He talked so pretty, but his heart got teeth. And you’d never, never, never let go.

author’s note: okay confession time: this was my very first time diving into the mafia genre and honestly, i always avoided it because i was scared it would come off too cheesy or overdramatic. but somehow, with these two, everything just clicked. so i ended up really liking how everything aligned in the end because some loves don’t fit into the rules AND THAT being said… if by any chance you’d like to see what happens next, i’m already working on a part 2!! but it will take a while :( if you want to be in the taglist, let me know in the comments! ok byeeeeeee

my masterlist | last fic 🕷️🖤

taglist: @lovesickchoi @biteyoubiteme @heesmiles @xylatox @soobinieswife @deadlykitten404 @fancypeacepersona @zoemeltigloos @choibona14 @iyoonjh @usuallyunlikelyfox @cristy-101 @stormy1408

© all rights reserved @/heejamas — do not repost, copy, translate, or modify my works without explicit permission. these are works of fiction and are not meant to represent real-life actions, thoughts, or personalities of any public figures ꒱

[betweensnoopy]

see you again ⋆ ･˳

walking into the loud, crowded house, you could instantly smell alcohol and weed. your nose turns up to the smell and you face your friend, who’s already in the party mood.

her smile fades as soon as she see your face and she rolls her eyes in a playful way. ‘oh my gosh, we’re not even half way in the house and you already want to leave? i thought you wanted to go out, y/n?’

she was right. you thought that going out would help you get over your break up but all you want to do is lay in bed and cry your eyes out.

‘c’mon let’s go have fun! maybe you’ll find somebody better!’ she dragged you in and push y’all’s way through the crowd and right to the liquor. there were all types of alcohol—tequila, beer, vodka, whatever you named—it was definitely there.

your friend grabbed the tequila and poured 6 shots, 3 for her and 3 for you. ‘wait wait wait! this is too much..’ you rasped. she ignored you and continued to pour the shots.

‘I don’t need you worried about your ex or anything else while we’re at this party. girl, you’re gonna drink these shots’ she hands you your first shot and cheers you. you had a feeling in your stomach, not because you were scared.. well you were scared a little bit but, because it’s been months since you drank and you don’t want to be that one drunk girl at the party.

you quickly drink the shot, a burning sensation goes down your throat. you go to grab a cup of orange juice until your friend stops you. ‘nope, no chasers.’ she says and snatches the cup out of your hand.

a guy, who looks very tipsy—walks over to you and your friend and eyes her up and down.

the guys asks her to dance to the song that just screams sweaty, drunk bodies grinding on each other. she accepts to dance and gives you a look. ‘go have fun, y/n! finish your shots!’ she yells over the loud music and leaves you there—by yourself.

you eye down the two tequila shots. she’s right, you should have fun. you just got out of a relationship and is going out for the first time in forever. you need to turn back into your carefree, single self again and have fun.

you quickly take the two shots and make yourself a drink and step out the dance floor.

you finally started to let loose and danced to a couple songs. you know, really enjoying this party, even dancing with this one guy you came across.

you were having fun until you saw him.

the man that broke your heart, staring right at you. the man who’s the reason your at the stupid party in the first place.

your heart dropped to your stomach, what was he doing here? hamzah wasn’t really the party or any social activity type of guy.

you haven’t seen him the months. his hair is a buzzed bleach now and not the black curls that you love, or well loved. he looked more muscular than the last time you saw him, his eyes looked darker than his usual brown eyes.

hamzah looked totally different from when you guys broke up, and so have you—you two looked like two strangers to each other.

you looked away from hamzah and continued dancing with this stranger, putting on a fake smile—but you could feel his eyes still on you. his eyes basically burning holes into your back.

you tried the take your mind off your ex-boyfriend who’s standing in the corner, looking like the creep. you grind harder into the man behind you, his hand on your hips guiding you.

‘how about we take this somewhere else?’ the man says into your ear, before you can answer you were snatched away from the guy. you nearly fall due to the fast speed this person was walking.

your heart beating fast, you thought you were getting kidnapped and the guy you were dancing on didn’t when run after you. you look up and see that bleached buzz, it was hamzah.

before you could say something—he shoved you in a empty bathroom and locked the door. ‘what the fuck are you doing out there?’ he exclaimed.

you face scrunches up, what the fuck is he talking about?

‘what the hell do you mean? i’m enjoying being single, you know since you fucking dumped me!’ you snap back. hamzah pinches his nose bridge before looking down at you.

you walk up the mirror to fix your dress and fix your hair, hamzah’s eyes filling you ‘don’t worry, you still look the same way you did when you dancing on the guy, like a whore.’

without even thinking, you turn around and slap hamzah across the face. ‘fuck you, hamzah!’ you shout.

he has no reaction, fucking weirdo. ‘fuck me?’ he muttered.

‘yes, fuck you.’ you say. he looks down at you with hooded dark brown eyes, lips plump just asking to be kissed.

the two of you looked at each other until hamzah smashed his lips onto yours, you could taste the alcohol on his tongue. the kiss was tough and messy, your hands go on each side of hamzah’s face.

he breaks the kiss, turning you around and pushes you against the counter. your hands tightly grip the sides of the sink as he pulls up your dress and pulling your panties to the side, wasting no time.

his lips go on your neck—making little hickies all around it, visibly marking his territory.

you lightly gasp at the feeling of his fingers rubbing your entrance. ‘your already wet? you’re living up to your name, whore.’ hamzah grins.

you look up at him in the mirror ‘don’t call me th-’ he cuts you off by sticking his middle and ring finger inside your wet cunt. your head drops low and you lightly bite your lip.

‘what was that? I didn’t hear you..’ the man mutters. his fingers pump in and out of you at a torturing pace. hamzah places his hand on your throat, squeezing lightly—pulling your head back to kiss you from behind.

his curled fingers speed up, making you moan in his mouth. behind the muffled moan coming from you, you could hear the squelching from your pussy.

he fucked you with his fingers, knowing that it always get you loose. your creamy fluids spill on his fingers, dripping down on the tiled bathroom floor.

‘look at you, fucked out just by my fingers. you miss this down you.’ hamzah whispered as he looked at you through the mirror.

he groans at the sight in front of him. ‘look at me, y/n. look at how pretty you look with my fingers inside you.. fuck.’ hamzah cursed.

you slowly open your eyes to see him staring at you. the same stare that makes your knees weak everytime. he takes his fingers out of you, glistening in the bathroom light. you let out a little whine at the lost of contact, your cunt just throbbing.

hamzah puts his forcibly puts the same fingers that were inside you in your mouth. ‘taste yourself, see how good you taste, y/n.’ his voice rasped.

you slowly suck on his fingers as he watches you in the mirror— a number of curses coming out of his mouth.

he takes his hand out of your mouth and get a taste himself. he begins to unbuckle his pants, the tent in his pants is just raging. you reach down to help him, slowly palming him in thought his boxers.

you pull his cock out, hitting his stomach as you do. hamzah takes over and strokes his cock.

he rubs his tip against your entrance, gaining a small moan from you before he pushes all the way in. immediately, you feel full—it’s like you’ve never adjusted to his size.

hamzah doesn’t start off slow, no. he started off rough, fucking you like he hated you.

‘wait.. ham.. oh fuck..’ your eyes rolled back under your hooded eyes. your hands grip the sink for support. his mouth attaches to your neck once again as he pounds you.

the muttered music from the party played outside of the bathroom, you were hoping that it was enough that no one can hear how loud hamzah’s hips were slapping against yours and your high moaning.

this feels completely wrong but yet, so good. his hand wraps around your throat—making you look at him. ‘fuck, y/n. you must missed me fucking you like this, don’t you? say it. say you miss me fucking your guts.’ his mouth is so filthy.

it took you a while to get the words out, you were so overstimulated with him pounding into your aching pussy and slightly choking you.

‘i miss.. you.. s-shit.. fucking me like this..!’ you moan. hamzah groans at the words, his pace going even faster.

you lightly try push hamzah, putting a hand on his stomach. ‘nuh uh, don’t try to push me away. goddamn.. you know you want this.’ he moans as he pushes your hand away.

your makeup and hair was fucked up and smudged. you looked a hot mess but hamzah loved every sight of it, knowing he’s the one that caused you to look like that. your dress pushed all the way your waist, panties soaked and pushed to the side.

his cock hit your g-spot repeatedly, mouth opening into a ‘o’ shape.

‘that’s the spot? i know it is.’ hamzah spoke in your ear. your mouth opened but nothing came out.

his cock so deep—pushing the feeling of an orgasm at brink. ‘hamzah.. im close..’ you mutter.

‘you gonna cum? do it, fuckin cream all over me.’ hamzah groans. his cock pounding you over and over and over—until you came and your body fell limp against his. hamzah came right after you, letting out a deep moan, shooting his ropes inside you.

it’s quiet now, just muffled music in the background. he stayed inside for a minute, feeling your warmth for once again.

he carefully pulls out, his cum oozing out of you just turns him on again.

your dress wasn’t even fixed or actually anything, you still looked a mess before he left after getting dressed again.

‘it was nice seeing you again, y/n’ your ex-boyfriend says before leaving the messy bathroom.

TAGSLIST: @weirdogirl888

hey guys! ik it’s been a while since I’ve posted but trust i have some things in the drafts that i need to finish. I hope you guys enjoyed this! remember my requests and tagslist are open!

[ameriize]

Pt2 of that Anton smut please😩😩 need them to fuck

content! mentions of masturbation, touching ding dong indirectly, whiney anton, he just wanna be dommed fr, no sexuuuu!!! that’s next, but a whole lot of tension (my fav) esp at the end

no fucking in this one, i love a good buildup beforehand, but it will be in the next one🙏

i have no idea how to do warnings/content sorreh

pt1

it’s been about three weeks now since you last heard from your friend, anton. however, it’s not like you haven’t seen him around. he’s still in the same class but now he’s changed seats. he no longer sits two rows diagonal to your back, but right at the front. or all the way in the back. like he was trying his hardest to get further away from you.

lucky thing is you’re not stupid. you knew he was avoiding you but the only problem was why. why was it that when the lecture was over, he would always be the first to leave? it became a rare sight for him to be engaged in conversation with the group after class, and this bothered you. a lot.

you tried to text him but he would either leave you on delivered for an abnormally long amount of time or give you a response that was impossible to reply to. when you would text him asking what’s wrong, he’d reply with “nothing” after a couple of days. you thought it best to leave it alone, i mean after all you two weren’t really that close and only studied together a couple of times.

but why did it bother you so much? you knew you were definitely attracted to anton, cmon who wouldn’t be. i mean your cunt was definitely not foreign to the idea of being stimulated because of him. especially during those late slow nights. but you never thought it would bother you to this extent. not to the extent that you’d spend so much of your day, no matter what activity you were doing, wondering what it was that you did, or maybe you started it first with your horrid reply time?

either way, whatever it was, it was starting to piss you off. why couldn’t he just address the issue rather than ignore you? you knew he was a soft spoken individual but it reaches a point. something was boiling up inside you that needed to be released. and you chose today.

today, you arrive 15 minutes early to your lecture and sit right at the front, closest to the door. when anton comes through, he avoids your eye, as usual, but this time you let it go. because you know you’re going to get your answer.

so, the lecturer dismisses the class, and you, slightly imitating anton, bolt out the door. however, you wait by the side. then when he comes through, you grab his arm.

“what are you doing?! let me go!”

not listening, you continue to drag him to an empty room, also ignoring the looks from others around.

you close the door behind you, walk further into the room past anton then turn to face him. you sit on the edge of the lecturer’s table, setting your bag down, while anton remains standing, still avoiding your eye.

“so what the hell has been your problem these past few weeks.”, you start, then let out a heavy sigh “listen i know we’re not that close but i think i deserve a little more than just plain ghosting just because there may be an issue. i don’t know how you operate in other friendships but this can’t run here. if you don’t wanna be friends, then anton please just say that. but atleast tell me what i did.”

he tries to ignore how good it sounds when you say his name. it’s exactly how he imagines you’d say it when his face is buried in your wet core and you’re getting close, with your hands gripping his hair, or when you’re riding his dick with your hands tight around his neck. anyway.

“and furthermore-” , you continue until he interrupts you with a call of your name.

“wait, i don’t- i-i already told you that there was nothing wro-”

“anton. taken that you’ve not been speaking to me for three weeks, you can manage to stay quiet right now. so shut up and listen then i’ll let you speak.”

ohhhhhh fuck. he’s almost 100% sure he just came a little with that tone of yours. oh how he wished you ordered him around like tha-

so you continue to rant on about how crazed you’ve been over this whole issue. you tell him about your constant worries of potentially hurting him and not knowing, then telling him how avoidance is a stupid way to deal with issues. and you stress, like really stress, how much you wish he had just talked to you. then you slowly stop speaking, realising that you had stopped him from speaking in the first place, when that was the whole reason you brought him here. you were slightly taken aback by how honest you were being with him, and how much this issue had affected you. you didn’t imagine you’d go on for about 10 minutes…

“well, now you can speak. so… care to tell me what’s really up”

just for the record, anton listens. for the whole 10 minutes. first off, because he loves your voice, second because of how hot you look when angry, and third because he had no idea you even cared.

but now that your rant was over, he has to face the real issue. he knows he can’t lie to you, not after that. but how is he meant to tell you that he could no longer look at you without instantly getting hard. that the thoughts of you choking him, fucking his mouth with your slender fingers, while aggressively riding his dick, completely clouded his brain. even worse, was that he would spend almost everyday jerking off to your insta pics where your boobs were a very frequent guest feature. he craves every part of you, and that makes him feel guilty. you’re nice to him. you’re nice to everyone. you always talk to him if he’s around, whether it be in the cafeteria or in the library or at a friend’s party. sometimes you get him cute little gifts or snacks because you know he likes things like that. and here he was having these lustful thoughts of you. he feels so ashamed. so he had no choice but to ignore you. because maybe if he did, then his guilt would go away. and he’d stop thinking about you. but boy was he wrong. anton thinks he hasn’t craved you more than anytime, since knowing you, than in these weeks. his whole body ached for you, longed to be touched by you. essentially, he was having withdrawal symptoms. he came (😏) to the realisation that all those times you two interacted actually soothed down the urges. because then at least he’d actually be hearing that voice he’d imagine, and be seeing that figure he’d dream of fucking. but he just couldn’t handle how disgusting he felt for his thoughts. like some sort of sex-craved, lack-of-impulse-controlled perv.

“i can’t tell you.” he looks down at the ground.

“what? why can’t you tell me if it’s something i’ve done!”

“because it’s not you! it’s me. i’m fucked up right now and i can’t be around you anymore”

it may be a bit of an understatement to say your heart took a deep dive down when you hear that.

“anton, i don’t get it. is it specifically me you can’t be around? do i trigger something in you that others don’t? because i know you still talk to the rest like normal. so if it’s not a thing where you isolate from everyone then it must be something about me.”

he doesn’t speak.

you stand up fully from the table. you take a step closer. and another. then another. until there’s nothing but a breath in between you two. you stay looking at him, while his eyes are glued to the ground.

now you realise you really care for anton. you don’t want to hurt him. you want to make him laugh, smile, be happy. and if it’s something about you that’s stopping that then, as painful as it is, you’ll let this friendship end. shame really, you were hoping you could be more than that.

“i masturbate to the thought of you. almost everyday.”

silence hangs in the air.

“i-” you begin to say. but no words come out. instead…feelings. emotions…arousal. straight to your core.

“anton-”

“fuck. i’m so sorry. i don’t do this. i’m not someone who just stays home doing that. i know this is gonna sound so fucking creepy to you, because i’m just some guy you talk to sometimes.”, he rambles “i feel like a kid who can’t control his hormones, and i try. i really try. but it’s like my brain short circuits when i see you. and i just feel so- so- disgusted with myself. i’m sorry. i’m really sorry. i just hoped i would never have to tell you so you didn’t think i’m some sort of perv who just wants to nail you. so i ignored you because i thought all the thoughts would stop and this would just end. but it hasn’t. and i don’t know if it will. so i completely understand if you want to stop being friends. i would too. i’m so sorry. shit.” he places his face in his hands. well it’s done now, he thinks. but his heart is still hurting with the possibility of losing you.

you listen. it’s only right since he did the same for you. but you really wish you could just shut him up with a kiss on those plump pink lips that you had always low-key been dying to taste.

you can’t believe he’s been thinking about you the same you do too. on the off chance you have nothing to do in the evening, you’d normally lay in bed with your hands between your legs, rubbing your clit, trying to relieve the pressure.

9 times out of 10 it was anton who had set it off. but you always brushed it off as him just being exceptionally hot rather than any sort of feelings being the underlying factor. however now it’s different. it’s mutual. and you want to take advantage of that. you have to.

“anton. look at me”

he slowly lifts his head out of his palms and his eyes land on yours.

you miss this. you miss the feeling of his eyes landing on yours. you miss his handsome face, with his cute brown doe eyes. and he misses this too. he always thought you were pretty, from when he first saw you.

“do you hate me?” he says, lips slightly quivering.

“i don’t think that’s possible.”

“what do you think of this? of me thinking about…stuff like that about you”

“i’d much rather it be that than lose you as a friend”

now, he was going to take a big risk with what he’s about to say. but he just needs to know if you feel the same way about him like he does of you. and the fact that you haven’t run away makes him feel just that bit more confident.

“is friends… all you want us to be?”

“i want to fuck you. so…i think no.”

anton can feel his dick getting more stiff, stiffer than it was when you were angrily ranting. he feels his fantasies and desires getting close to being realised and he’s excited. so fucking excited.

you both stare at each other, then you look down at those lips of his. and he notices. he smirks slightly then leans in, with his eyes closed.

but then you hold a finger to his lips.

“what did you think about?”

“huh?”

“you heard me.”

“uh i- fuck do i have to say this here? in public?”

“there’s no one here tonnie.”

he’s going to forever remember the feeling he just got when you called him that nickname.

“just give me one thing you desperately thought of”, you continue. heat is increasingly building up in your core as you press and press for anton to say his desires. you just want to tease him, tie him up, bite him, suck him, lick him, mark him. fuck him. you really really want to fuck him. right now.

“please don’t make me say it. i really don’t want to. i think i might die”

“too bad.”

he runs his hand through his hair, trying to keep composed despite being as red as a cherry. you think it’s so cute.

“and look at me while you say it.”, you say, wanting him to feel even more embarrassed.

he takes a deep breath in. looks at you. then speaks.

“i- i always think of you… making me suck on your fingers and then thrusting them in and out of my mouth. hard.”

“just making you take it?”

“just making me take it.”

“i bet i could make you cum just by doing that.”

“i already have.”

fuck. if you get even a single bite of anton, you may never recover from the addiction that’s laid ahead.

you look at your phone and check the time. you remember you have another lecture later in the day, and while fucking a boy up is fun, studies take priority. and also you just want to make him wait.

“i have a lecture at 5 so meet me in my dorm at 9.”

“wait but we have time though. we can do something before your lecture”

“you’re too eager” you laugh out, and hit his shoulder lightly. you turn around to get your bag from where you left it and walk back up to anton.

when he realises you were actually serious about doing nothing, he gets a little bit sad. mainly about his raging boner and the fact that he just wants to be with you even longer.

“fuck you can’t leave me like this. please. look how hard i am for you” , he pleaded, with a whiney tone and furrowed eyebrows.

he starts to palm himself through his joggers and lets out the tiniest whimper. but not too tiny for your ears. he’s putting on a show for you and desperately hoping you indulge.

you walk up closer to him, and slightly tiptoe to place your lips close to his ears.

“oh anton, i didn’t know you were such a slut”, you say seductively in his ear, “makes me wish i could take you right here and now” you lightly tug on his ear with your teeth.

he whimpered, eyes fluttering shut. having your voice saying such dirty things that close to his ear was almost too much for him.

“so do it. please.”

he takes your hand, while keeping intense eye contact, and places it on his hard on. you indulge just a little, and give his dick a small but effective squeeze.

anton rolls his eyes shut, and bites his lip. his hips buck up a little, desperate for more.

“mnngh! fuck please do that again.”

“i will. at 9.”

you move past him and go towards the door, acting as if it didn’t take all your strength to walk away and not fuck him on the student desk. he pouts a little, completely unsatisfied that his plan didn’t work.

“think of grannies or whatever it is that you do to calm your dick down. but just don’t touch my dick. if i find out you do, i just won’t touch you for, let’s say… three weeks? be a good puppy for me, okay anton?”

and with that, you leave the room.

anton’s unsure of how well he’s gonna be able to calm down his throbbing dick, when he’s just experienced the most sensual thing in his life, that will almost definitely be on constant replay. but all he knows is that he wants to be good for you.

so he’ll wait for whatever it is you’re going to do to him at 9.

a/n: hii guysss. i hope you like this one. imma wrap it up in the next chapter, idk when that’ll be bc i wanna write for other people aswell, but it will definitely happen. this is soooo long, i got a little carried away in the details and story, but it’s only because i’ve had this thought before (except i was daydreaming about gojo lol) and i just wanted to make it exactly like it, with a couple add ons. idk if it’s acc good tho bc i was jus writing and writing but hopefully it is !! again, ask away for any riize members. i’ll make a pinned post soon detailing who i’ll write for and what i won’t write, all dat all dat. lemme know what you think in the comments pls!!! :33

[madzillus]

Trans Izzy Hands lounging about and giving out orders what a guy

[hypmicdaydreams]

is anyone still in the mood for a hypmic imagines blog these days lol

[rafecameronssl4t]

Can you please write one where Drew and reader are in a relationship and they have a big fight before an interview with the whole cast. When reader gets there she is really sad and she’s spacing out while fidgeting with her fingers and the others notice and she also skipped her meals and didn’t sleep well since he wasn’t next to her. Maddie Cline pulls her aside and talks to her to ask what’s wrong and she maybe tells her that she hasn’t eaten nor slept well and maybe Drew hears and is concerned. I just want some angst so if you want to write this PLEASE DO! <3

Behind the scenes || Drew Starkey x actress!reader

A/n: love love loveeee this idea tyy!!! keep them coming xx

Warnings: angst!!

Word count: 1,997

MASTERLIST

divider by @h-aewo

The morning light barely peeked through the curtains of the hotel room as the tension from the night before lingered like an unshakable weight. You and Drew had argued—something rare but emotionally exhausting. His words replayed in your mind, harsh in the heat of the moment, and you couldn't help but feel your chest tighten with regret and sadness. He'd stormed out after saying he needed some space, leaving you alone with a hollow ache.

The fight had been about something trivial at first, but it spiralled into uncharted emotional territory—questions of priorities, insecurities, and your relationship's strength. Drew's absence from the bed that night only made things worse, and you barely slept, staring at the ceiling as anxiety gnawed at you.

Morning came all too soon, and the looming cast interview offered no reprieve. You avoided breakfast, your appetite nonexistent as you focused on pulling yourself together for the day. But no amount of makeup could hide the dark circles under your eyes, and your usual spark felt dimmed as you arrived at the studio.

Arriving at the studio, you took a deep breath and stepped inside, your heart heavy and your mind scattered. Maddie spotted you immediately, her face lighting up with a radiant smile. Her enthusiasm was unrelenting as she crossed the room, her arms wide open. “Oh, there you are!” she exclaimed, wrapping you in a warm hug. Her energy was infectious, but you felt yourself faltering as you tried to match her cheerfulness.

“I’m so glad you’re here! The other girls haven’t arrived yet.” You forced a smile, nodding as if to reassure her—and maybe yourself. “Yeah, glad to be here,” you said, your voice softer than usual. Maddie chuckled, looping her arm through yours. “Come on, I brought muffins. Figured we could snack while getting touch-ups,” she said, leading you toward the hair and makeup station.

You followed her, your heart sinking slightly when you caught sight of Drew in the reflection of the mirror. He was across the room with Chase and Austin, laughing softly at something they said. He hadn’t even glanced your way yet, and it stung more than you wanted to admit. Maddie broke you out of your thoughts, nudging you with a muffin in hand. “Want one? They’re fresh—blueberry, your favourite!” You hesitated, glancing at the pastry before offering a polite smile.

“No, thanks. I already ate on my way here,” you lied, hoping she wouldn’t push further. Maddie nodded, accepting your answer without question. “Suit yourself,” she chirped, taking a bite as the stylists began fussing over your hair and makeup. Your eyes wandered back to the mirror, catching another glimpse of Drew. He looked so at ease, as if the fight hadn’t affected him the way it had you.

The longing for some kind of acknowledgment, a sign that he felt as torn as you did, was overwhelming. But instead of confronting those emotions, you turned your attention to Maddie, who was now scrolling through her phone, chatting animatedly with the stylist. You tried to focus on her words, but everything felt distant, your mind weighed down by the unresolved tension between you and Drew. The room buzzed with activity, yet you felt isolated, your usual spark dimmed to a faint flicker.

~

The interview began with its usual lighthearted energy. The host dove into questions about the upcoming season, sparking animated responses from your castmates. Chase cracked jokes that had everyone laughing, while Austin shared a funny behind-the-scenes story that even made the crew chuckle. Madelyn chimed in with her signature enthusiasm, lighting up the room with her vibrant energy.

But you sat quietly, your faint smile barely masking the storm swirling within. The tightness in your chest only grew with every passing moment, your focus slipping further away from the lively discussion. When a laugh rippled through the room, you managed a soft chuckle out of habit, but it lacked conviction. Your hands betrayed your inner turmoil.

They fidgeted endlessly in your lap, fingers twisting your rings, picking at your nails, and smoothing invisible wrinkles in your outfit. The subtle, restless movements didn’t go unnoticed. Madelyn’s eyes darted to your trembling hands, then to your face, where she saw the strain you were trying so hard to conceal. When the cameras cut for a break, she leaned closer, her tone soft but edged with worry.

“Are you okay?” she whispered, her eyes searching yours. You nodded quickly, forcing a weak smile that didn’t reach your eyes. “Just tired,” you murmured, your voice low and unsteady. Madelyn didn’t look convinced, her brow furrowing further as she studied you. But she chose not to press the issue, giving you a reassuring pat on the arm instead. As the cameras rolled again, you tried to centre yourself, to focus on the questions and the easy camaraderie around you.

But your mind wandered. The fight with Drew replayed in fragmented flashes, every word, every sharp look, haunting you. You felt the weight of his absence, the space he used to fill beside you now a gaping void. It wasn’t until the host directed a question at you that you were jolted back into the present. “So, what was your favourite scene to film this season?” There was a beat of silence, then another, as you struggled to process the words.

Your castmates exchanged subtle glances, the pause growing more noticeable by the second. “Obviously all the scenes with me,” Madelyn interjected smoothly, her voice light and playful as she leaned forward to cover for you. The room relaxed, a ripple of laughter breaking the tension, but you felt your cheeks flush with embarrassment. It was then that Drew’s head snapped toward you, his casual demeanour faltering.

His brow creased as he studied you, his eyes narrowing at the pale tone of your skin and the exhaustion etched into your features. His gaze flicked to your hands, noting the nervous tremor and how you played with the ring on your finger. His jaw tightened, and guilt churned in his chest. The easy laughter that had come so naturally to him earlier now felt misplaced, almost cruel. How had he missed it before—the signs that something was wrong, that you weren't okay?

Drew couldn’t stop himself from watching you for the rest of the segment, the concern etched into his features growing more evident with every passing second. His own words from the fight echoed in his mind, and the regret settled in his chest like a stone. He’d been too caught up in his frustration to notice how deeply it had affected you. And now, as he saw the toll it had taken, all he wanted was to fix it.

~

"Okay, we have a 10 minute break," The producer says as you're the first to get out of your seat as the others watch with slight confusion, already undoing your mic. "Y/n!" Maddie calls out as you walk towards your hair and makeup chair. You look at yourself in the mirror, letting out a shaky breathe you touch up your makeup.

Maddie stands behind you, her hands on your shoulder as she studies you. “Alright,” she began, her tone both soft and firm, “spill it. What’s going on? You’ve been acting strange, I know you're not just tired. Talk to me," You hesitated, the weight of her care making the knot in your throat tighten further. Your hands wrung together nervously, fingers fidgeting with your rings as you tried to find the words.

“I…” You paused, your voice trembling. You gaze looks up as you catch a glimpse of Drew. Maddie notices, turning her head to where you were looking. The overwhelming emotions finally bubbled to the surface, your eyes misting with unshed tears. “Drew and I had a fight last night.” Her brows furrowed, but she stayed silent, giving you space to continue.

“It was bad,” you admitted, your gaze dropping to the floor as a tear slipped down your cheek. “He… he left, Maddie. And I couldn’t sleep. I’ve barely eaten. I just—” Your voice broke, and you inhaled shakily, struggling to keep yourself composed. Madelyn’s eyes softened with understanding, and without hesitation, she pulled you into a warm embrace.

Her arms wrapped securely around you as she whispered gently, “Oh, babe… I’m so sorry.” She pulled back just enough to meet your watery gaze. “Whatever happened, I know you two will work it out. You’re good together. But you’ve got to take care of yourself, okay? Skipping meals, losing sleep—it’s not going to help.” Her words struck a chord, grounding you for a moment, but before you could respond, a subtle shift in the air caught Madelyn’s attention.

She glanced over her shoulder and froze briefly, her expression flickering with a mix of surprise and hesitation. Unbeknownst to you, Drew had wandered in. “Hey.” Drew’s voice was low and tentative, cutting through the noise of the studio. Maddie gives your shoulders a light squeeze, giving you an encouraging smile as she leaves the two of you. You glanced up at Drew through the reflection of the mirror in front of you, his presence catching you off guard.

His features were etched with raw concern, and his blue eyes held an apology that words hadn’t yet expressed. “Can we talk? Please?” he asked, his voice laced with vulnerability. You hesitated for only a moment before nodding, unable to resist the weight of emotion in his gaze. You nodded, and Drew quietly pulled a chair close to yours. As he sat down beside you, he extended a hand toward you. Though your fingers trembled slightly, you placed yours in his, the contact sparking an immediate sense of familiarity.

Yet, there was a fragility to it, as if he was holding on to something he feared might slip away. He brought your hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss on your knuckles. The gesture was tender, full of unspoken remorse, and it made you briefly close your eyes against the wave of emotion crashing over you. “I’m sorry,” he began, his voice cracking slightly. The sincerity in his tone tugged at your heart, making your chest tighten. “I shouldn’t have left last night. I shouldn’t have said those things. I was frustrated—but that doesn’t excuse it. You didn’t deserve that.”

You blinked rapidly as tears welled in your eyes, threatening to spill. “It wasn’t just you,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I said things too. I just… I hated the way we left things. It felt so wrong.” The guilt in his expression deepened, and he reached up, his thumb brushing away a tear that escaped and trailed down your cheek.His touch was warm, tender, and familiar, and it made your heart ache with longing and relief all at once.

“I hated it too,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I couldn’t stop thinking about it—or about you. And then hearing Maddie say that you didn’t sleep or eat…” He trailed off, shaking his head in frustration with himself. “You’re too important to me. I can’t stand the thought of you feeling like this because of me.” You inhaled shakily, his words chipping away at the tension that had been building in your chest since the night before. “I don’t want us to fall apart either,” you said softly, your voice trembling but earnest.

You stand up, moving towards him as he moves the chair back to let Without thinking, you stood and moved toward him. Drew instinctively pushed his chair back slightly, giving you room to settle in his lap. You wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in his shoulder, while his arms encircled your waist protectively. He pressed you close, his hand resting against the small of your back as his thumb rubbed soothing circles on your waist. “We’ll be okay,” he murmured into your hair, his voice steady despite the emotion behind it. “I promise.”

[solxamber]

'Elloo! :D I saw your requests open, can I request some hcs or short imagines for the first, second, and third years, separate characters?? Or you can just do it as a single scenario with all the characters. They're (Their??) reaction when they've realized the things reader/Yuu had to go through starting from the very beginning ,when they first got transported to the school. Like, the shock of not being able to go home, new environment, the fear-- just the emotional and mental turmoil reader/yuu went through starting from the beginning.

Also, as time goes by it just gets worse and worse along with all the overblots and stuff that got reader/Yuu over the edge. And now the students kind of help?? Or at least try to soothe or comfort the reader I guess??

Does this make any sense?? I dunno :'D

I want me some angst hehe >:]

But if this is kind of too much then it's okii if you wanna skip this one, I love the effort you put into your writings! <3

I kinda just wanted to ramble and yap about this idea I had hehe

Toodles!

thank you!! and i'm sorry it too so long, but i hope you like it <3

They realise what you went through - All NRC + Rollo + Neige + Grim, Staff

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle doesn’t realize the extent of your struggle until much later, likely after witnessing you reach your breaking point. The way you bottle up your emotions reminds him of himself before his own overblot, and it fills him with guilt. He prides himself on upholding order, but he feels like he failed to notice the chaos within you.

“Why didn’t you say something?” Riddle asks, voice trembling as he stands before you, his normally stern expression soft with regret. He places a hesitant hand on your shoulder, unsure if he has the right to offer comfort after overlooking your pain for so long. “I… I should have noticed. I’m sorry.”

Riddle dives into a methodical plan to ease your burdens. He takes on your academic concerns, ensuring your assignments are manageable and offering personal tutoring. When you’re overwhelmed, he insists you take breaks in Heartslabyul’s peaceful rose garden. While he’s not good at openly expressing affection, he’s steadfast, always by your side with words of encouragement and warm tea.

Trey Clover

Trey picks up on your struggles sooner than most, his observant nature allowing him to notice the small cracks in your demeanor. He doesn’t pry but stays close, offering quiet support until he realizes you’re beyond your limit. His heart aches knowing you’ve been carrying so much without asking for help.

“Hey… you don’t have to pretend everything’s fine,” Trey says softly, kneeling beside you as you sit slumped in an empty classroom. His usual calm demeanor is tinged with concern. “I’ve seen you pushing yourself too hard. You’re not alone in this, you know.”

Trey becomes your sanctuary. He’s the type to cook comforting meals for you, often sneaking you your favorite desserts. He encourages you to talk at your own pace, listening without judgment. Trey also ensures you’re surrounded by people who care, gently urging you to spend time with friends so you never feel isolated again.

Cater Diamond

Cater doesn’t fully realize how bad things are until he catches you breaking down when you think no one is watching. The sight hits him hard—he’s used to wearing masks himself, but seeing you put on a brave face while falling apart reminds him of his own struggles.

“Whoa, hey, hey…” Cater’s voice is unusually soft as he crouches in front of you, the playful lilt replaced with genuine worry. “You’ve been holding all this in, haven’t you? Man, that’s not healthy… You should’ve told me!”

Cater becomes your cheerleader, using his energy to lift your spirits. He takes you on spontaneous outings, distracting you with fun activities and selfies to remind you of life’s lighter side. When you need to vent, he’s surprisingly patient, letting you talk without interruptions. His go-to phrase becomes, “No filter, just let it out. I’m here.”

Ace Trappola

Ace is the last to understand the depth of your pain, brushing off your struggles as stress until you finally snap. Seeing you cry or lash out leaves him dumbstruck—he’s not used to serious emotions and struggles to process it at first. But beneath his awkwardness, he genuinely cares.

“Whoa… I didn’t think it was this bad.” Ace rubs the back of his neck, guilt clear in his expression. “Look, I’m sorry if I made things worse. I didn’t mean to. I just… didn’t know.”

Ace sticks close to you in his own Ace-like way. He cracks jokes to make you laugh and distracts you with playful banter, but he’s also there for the serious moments. If you’re feeling overwhelmed, he drags you outside to play a quick game of basketball or to look at the stars, insisting, “You’ve gotta clear your head, or you’ll go crazy.”

Deuce Spade

Deuce notices your struggles but doesn’t know how to approach you about them. When he finally sees you crumble, it makes him feel like he’s failed as your friend. His protective instincts kick in, and he becomes determined to help you in any way he can.

“Wait—you’ve been feeling like this the whole time?” Deuce’s voice is thick with emotion as he looks at you, his fists clenched at his sides. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve done something! I’m supposed to have your back!”

Deuce takes your well-being seriously, to the point of overcompensating at first. He insists on walking you to class, carrying your things, and defending you against anything he perceives as a threat (real or imagined). Over time, he learns to provide quiet support, sitting with you during tough moments and saying, “We’ll get through this together. I promise.”

Leona Kingscholar

Leona is a perceptive man, even if he acts otherwise, but your struggles slip under his radar for too long. It isn’t until he notices how you’ve stopped rising to his teasing or how the light in your eyes has dimmed that the gravity of your situation hits him. It reminds him of his own sense of isolation, and the guilt gnaws at him.

“Tch. You think you’re the only one who has to deal with this crap?” Leona’s voice is gruff, but there’s no malice in it. He sighs, sitting beside you under the shade of a tree. “You should’ve said something sooner, herbivore. Doesn’t mean you have to carry it all yourself.”

Leona doesn’t coddle you, but his actions speak louder than his words. He offers his presence, silently inviting you to nap in the botanical gardens with him when you need a break. If anyone dares to make your life harder, Leona handles it with a quiet, lethal efficiency. “Rest up. You’re not falling apart on my watch.”

Ruggie Bucchi

Ruggie notices your struggles quickly, but his initial reaction is to brush it off as normal stress—until he sees you genuinely hit your breaking point. It stuns him; he’s used to dealing with hardships himself but hates the idea of you enduring the same without support.

“Oi, don’t do this to yourself,” Ruggie says, his usual playful tone replaced by something softer. “You’re not alone, y’know? I don’t let my people suffer in silence. That’s not how we roll.”

Ruggie uses his resourcefulness to lighten your load however he can. He sneaks you snacks, takes care of tedious tasks for you, and even makes you laugh with his sharp wit. When you’re overwhelmed, he shares stories of his struggles to show you that it’s okay to lean on others. “You’ve got me, okay? I’ll make sure you’re okay, promise.”

Jack Howl

Jack notices the signs of your stress early on, but he hesitates to bring it up, unsure if it’s his place. When he finally realizes how deeply you’re struggling, it stirs a protective instinct in him, and he immediately resolves to do whatever it takes to help you.

“You should’ve told me,” Jack says, his voice low and filled with regret. His ears twitch as he glances away, guilt etched across his face. “I could’ve helped. You don’t have to do this on your own anymore.”

Jack becomes your steadfast support, encouraging you to exercise or go for runs to clear your mind. He’s a calming presence, offering quiet companionship when words aren’t enough. “You’re strong, but you don’t always have to be. Let me help carry the weight, okay?”

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul prides himself on noticing vulnerabilities in others, but your ability to mask your pain throws him off. When the cracks finally show, it shakes him deeply, reminding him of his own insecurities and the times he felt powerless.

“I didn’t realize…” Azul murmurs, his hands wringing nervously as he looks at you with uncharacteristic vulnerability. “I should have seen it. I’m sorry—for everything. Let me help you now.”

Azul’s approach is practical and calculated, but it’s rooted in genuine care. He offers to take over responsibilities or negotiate solutions to ease your stress. When you’re overwhelmed, he’s unexpectedly tender, sitting with you in his VIP room and reminding you, “Even the strongest need someone to lean on. You’ve been there for others; let us be here for you.”

Jade Leech

Jade notices your struggles early but refrains from intervening, assuming you’ll reach out when you’re ready. When he realizes how much you’ve been bottling up, he’s surprised and slightly guilty for not addressing it sooner.

“My, you’ve been carrying quite the burden,” Jade says, his usual calm tinged with regret. “It seems I underestimated just how much you’ve endured. Forgive my oversight.”

Jade is a master of subtlety, offering comfort in ways that feel natural and unintrusive. He invites you on quiet walks through the woods, using the serene atmosphere to help ease your mind. When words are needed, he listens attentively, his soothing voice offering reassurance. “Do not hesitate to lean on me, should you need support. I’ll always be here.”

Floyd Leech

Floyd doesn’t realize how bad things are until you completely snap, and even then, it takes him a moment to process that your outburst isn’t just a temporary mood. Seeing you so broken flips a switch in him, his usual playful demeanor replaced with a rare seriousness.

“Shrimpy, why didn’t you say anything?” Floyd’s voice is uncharacteristically quiet, his sharp eyes scanning your face. He pouts, but there’s no mischief in it—just genuine concern. “You don’t gotta handle everything alone, y’know?”

Floyd sticks to you like glue, his unpredictable nature becoming a strange source of comfort. He drags you out for spontaneous adventures, insisting that fun will help you feel better. When you’re feeling low, he’s surprisingly gentle, wrapping you in a tight hug and muttering, “I gotcha, Shrimpy. Nobody’s messin’ with you while I’m here.”

Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim is always full of energy and positivity, so it takes him a while to notice the depths of your struggles. When he does, he’s devastated, blaming himself for not seeing it sooner.

“Wait—you’ve been feeling like this?” Kalim’s eyes widen, tears threatening to spill. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve done something to help!”

Kalim does everything in his power to brighten your days. He showers you with gifts, invites you to lively parties, and insists on spending time together to lift your spirits. When he realizes that quiet support means more than grand gestures, he sits with you, holding your hand. “You’re not alone, okay? I’ll always be here for you.”

Jamil Viper

Jamil is highly observant, and while he notices your struggles early on, he assumes you’re managing on your own until he sees how much you’ve truly endured. It reminds him of his own bottled-up frustrations, and guilt eats at him for not acting sooner.

“...I should’ve known,” Jamil mutters, his voice low and filled with regret. He rubs the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze. “I’ve been through this too. I know what it’s like to feel trapped. I’m sorry I didn’t step in sooner.”

Jamil’s care comes in quiet, thoughtful gestures. He prepares your favorite meals, arranges peaceful moments away from the chaos of NRC, and ensures you never feel overwhelmed alone. “You’ve done more than enough. Let me take care of things for a while.”

Vil Schoenheit

Vil’s sharp eyes catch the signs of your struggles quickly, but he initially brushes them off, believing you’ll overcome them like any challenge. When the full weight of your burden becomes clear, he’s horrified and deeply regretful for not intervening sooner.

“I failed to notice something so glaringly obvious,” Vil says, his tone laced with self-reproach. “That’s not acceptable—not as your friend and certainly not as someone who should’ve supported you better.”

Vil approaches your comfort with precision and care, determined to help you regain your footing. He insists on self-care days, encourages you to vent your frustrations, and teaches you grounding techniques. “You’re stronger than you think, but even the strongest need rest. I’m here for you, no matter what.”

Rook Hunt

Rook is attuned to the emotions of those around him, and your pain does not escape his notice. He marvels at your resilience but is deeply saddened that you’ve been enduring so much without seeking help.

“Mon cher trésor, your suffering… it pains me to think I let you endure this alone,” Rook says softly, his gaze earnest. “You’ve carried a weight that no one should bear by themselves. Allow me to lighten your burden.”

Rook’s support is poetic and heartfelt, crafting moments of beauty to remind you of the world’s wonders. Whether it’s a bouquet of flowers, a handwritten letter, or a quiet moment under the stars, he ensures you feel cherished. “You are not alone in this grand stage of life, and I shall remain by your side as your steadfast ally.”

Epel Felmier

Epel is initially too caught up in his own frustrations to notice the extent of your struggles, but once he sees you falter, his protective side kicks in. It reminds him of his own insecurities about being underestimated.

“Aw, geez, why didn’t ya say somethin’?” Epel frowns, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “You’re always lookin’ out for us, but ya never let anyone do the same for you. That ain’t fair.”

Epel takes a straightforward approach, offering to help however he can. He sticks close, ensuring you never feel alone, and encourages you to vent when needed. “You’re tough as nails, but that doesn’t mean you gotta do it all by yourself. We’re a team, remember?”

Idia Shroud

Idia is slow to notice your struggles, being so wrapped up in his own world, but when he realizes the extent of your pain, it hits him hard. He sees a reflection of his own struggles in you and feels immense guilt for not seeing it sooner.

“This is my fault, isn’t it?” Idia mumbles, his voice trembling. His hair dims as he nervously fiddles with his tablet. “I should’ve… I don’t know, paid more attention. I’m sorry. I—I wanna help, if you’ll let me.”

Idia comforts you in his own awkward way, creating a safe space where you can relax without judgment. He shares his favorite games, shows, and quiet moments, offering you an escape from the chaos. “You don’t have to be ‘okay’ all the time. Just… take it easy for now. I’m here if you need me.”

Ortho Shroud

Ortho is one of the first to notice your struggles, his advanced sensors picking up on changes in your emotional and physical state. His concern is immediate, and he wastes no time in seeking to help.

“You’ve been so sad for so long, haven’t you?” Ortho’s voice is soft, as he hovers close. “I wish I could’ve made you smile sooner. I’m sorry you’ve been hurting.”

Ortho’s comfort is warm and reassuring, filled with optimism and boundless energy. He’s always ready with encouraging words, small gifts, or simply a cheerful presence to brighten your day. “You’re not alone! I’ll do everything I can to help you feel better, okay?”

Malleus Draconia

Malleus has always sensed something amiss about your emotions, his acute sensitivity to auras making it impossible for him to overlook your struggles. However, he hesitates to approach, fearing he might overstep or worsen your burdens. When he finally understands the depth of your pain, he is both heartbroken and determined to help.

“You’ve been enduring this in silence?” His deep voice is laced with regret as his green eyes soften. “If only I had been more attentive, perhaps I could have eased your pain.”

Malleus ensures you feel his unwavering support. He invites you for peaceful strolls under the stars, shares his favorite quiet spots, and reassures you with his calming presence. “You are precious to me. Whatever darkness surrounds you, I will remain by your side until the light returns.”

Lilia Vanrouge

Lilia has lived long enough to recognize the signs of emotional turmoil, and it pains him to see you suffer. While he often masks his seriousness with cheerfulness, he doesn’t hesitate to step in when he sees you reaching your breaking point.

“Oh, little one, you’ve carried such a heavy heart all this time.” His playful demeanor fades into solemnity as he places a gentle hand on your shoulder. “You shouldn’t have to face this alone.”

Lilia comforts you with wisdom and warmth, drawing on centuries of experience. He shares stories to make you laugh, cooks (albeit questionable) meals to distract you, and offers sage advice when you’re ready to talk. “Life’s trials are harsh, but you’re stronger than you know. And if you need someone to lean on, I’ll always be here.”

Silver

Silver is observant despite his drowsy nature, and he’s one of the first to notice your growing exhaustion. When he realizes the extent of your suffering, he feels deeply remorseful for not acting sooner.

“I should have seen this sooner,” Silver says quietly, his tone filled with regret. “You’ve always looked out for others… I should’ve done the same for you.”

Silver stays by your side, offering silent, steady support. He doesn’t push you to talk but is always ready to listen when you’re ready. His calm demeanor helps ground you, and he often sits quietly with you under a tree or by a calm lake. “You’re not alone. I’ll protect you—not just from danger, but from this weight you’re carrying.”

Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek’s initial reaction is frustration—not at you, but at himself for failing to notice your struggles while being so focused on Malleus. His loyalty shifts into overdrive as he becomes determined to help you.

“You’ve been struggling this much, and I didn’t see it?!” Sebek’s voice is loud, but there’s a rare softness in his expression. “That is… unacceptable. I failed you as a companion.”

Sebek’s attempts to comfort you are a bit clumsy but heartfelt. He insists on helping you with daily tasks and loudly declares his commitment to your well-being. Despite his rough edges, his sincerity shines through. “Know this: I will not allow you to suffer alone any longer. You have my loyalty, now and always.”

Rollo Flamme

Rollo’s disdain for magic only deepens when he realizes how much you’ve suffered due to the chaos and overblots of NRC. His concern for you is genuine, though it’s laced with anger toward the school and its culture.

“This place… It’s a cesspool of disorder and harm,” Rollo says, his voice cold yet trembling with suppressed emotion. “You’ve been caught in its web for too long. You deserve better.”

Rollo’s comfort is practical and protective. He tries to create a sense of normalcy for you, offering quiet, structured moments away from the chaos. His words are sharp but sincere. “You deserve a life of peace and stability. If you can’t find it here, I’ll do what I can to give it to you.”

Neige LeBlanche

Neige is quick to notice your distress, his naturally empathetic nature making him keenly aware of your struggles. He’s horrified to think of you enduring so much alone and wants to do everything in his power to make you smile again.

“Oh no… You’ve been feeling like this?” Neige’s voice is soft, his eyes brimming with concern. “You don’t deserve to carry such sadness by yourself.”

Neige’s comfort is gentle and uplifting. He sings for you, offers kind words, and encourages you to express your feelings without fear. “You’re so strong, but you don’t have to be strong all the time. It’s okay to let someone take care of you for a change.”

Grim

Grim initially doesn’t notice your struggles, his focus often on his own ambitions and mischief. When he finally realizes how much you’ve been enduring, he feels both guilt and panic.

“Hey… You’re not okay, are ya?” Grim’s ears droop as he looks up at you, his voice unusually soft. “Why didn’t ya tell me? I—I’m supposed to be your partner!”

Grim becomes fiercely protective, sticking by your side at all times. He tries to cheer you up with his antics and insists on being your “emotional support boss.” “You’re stuck with me, got it? So don’t go actin’ like you’re all alone. I won’t let ya.”

Staff:

Crowley

Crowley prides himself on being the "benevolent" headmaster, but when he realizes how much you’ve suffered under his care—or lack thereof—he’s struck by a rare pang of guilt. While he’s not one to admit fault outright, he becomes visibly uncomfortable with the weight of his oversight.

“My dear, you’ve been carrying all of this on your shoulders?” His dramatic flair falters for a moment, his usual exuberance replaced with awkward sincerity. “I… suppose I may have been a tad neglectful in ensuring your well-being.”

Crowley tries to make amends in his own roundabout way, offering resources, extended accommodations, or attempting to be more attentive (though his efforts are often misguided). “Rest assured, I shall personally oversee that you are well cared for! You have my full support—within reason, of course.”

Divus Crewel

Crewel is not one to tolerate weakness, but when he sees the toll everything has taken on you, his stern demeanor softens. He’s the type to take immediate, no-nonsense action to ensure you’re taken care of.

“You’ve let it get this bad without saying a word?” His sharp tone is laced with frustration, but his eyes betray his concern. “Pup, I thought I taught you better than to carry burdens alone.”

Crewel’s approach is practical yet caring. He insists you rest, brings you comforting meals, and ensures you know you’re valued. “You’re stronger than you think, but even the strongest need support. Lean on me, pup. I’ll make sure you’re back to full strength in no time.”

Mozus Trein

Trein is a man of wisdom and observation. He likely noticed your struggles but respected your space, waiting for the right time to step in. When he realizes the full extent of your distress, he feels deep regret for not intervening sooner.

“I should have addressed this earlier.” His voice is steady but tinged with remorse. “You’ve faced more challenges than any student should. It’s a testament to your resilience, but it shouldn’t have come to this.”

Trein offers gentle guidance, providing stability and reassurance. He shares stories of his own trials and reminds you that even the hardest times pass. “Life is fraught with difficulties, but you’ve shown remarkable courage. Allow others to help shoulder the burden—you need not face this alone.”

Ashton Vargas

Vargas isn’t the most emotionally perceptive, but when it finally clicks that you’re struggling, he’s hit with a wave of guilt. He immediately shifts gears, trading his usual boisterousness for genuine concern.

“Whoa… I had no idea it was this bad,” Vargas says, his brows furrowed in concern. “Why didn’t you say something sooner? I would’ve helped in a heartbeat!”

Vargas focuses on physical activity as a form of comfort, encouraging you to blow off steam in healthy ways. He also offers constant positive reinforcement. “You’re tough, kid, but even the toughest need a break. Let’s get some fresh air and clear your head—you’ve got this!”

Sam

Sam has always been attuned to the emotions of others, so when he realizes the depth of your struggles, he feels a pang of regret for not stepping in sooner. His usual upbeat demeanor becomes tinged with quiet sympathy.

“Well, well… Looks like someone’s been carrying more than their fair share.” His voice is soft, his usual grin replaced with a concerned expression. “You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?”

Sam provides comfort through small but meaningful gestures, like preparing your favorite treats or giving you space to talk. He reassures you with his calming presence and wise words. “Don’t keep it bottled up, friend. Whatever you’re feeling, it’s valid. I’m here to help you through it.”

Masterlist

[sooniebby]

ఌ 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐍𝐀𝐄

w.c › 9k

Warnings › face claims. Part 2. Bottom male reader, slow burn, slight romance with Doha. Mentions of body shaming

Plot › Mingi begins to actively pursue you, while you uncover who else in the group still likes you

Kinks › size difference, cross dressing, manhandling, lite feminization, semi-public sex

Words to know › maknae (막내) — youngest. Hyung (형) — a term a younger male will call an older male. Jagiya/Jagi (자기야) — “sweetie/baby.” Noona (누나) — a term a younger male will call an older female.

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

Four years ago

Doha didn’t get it.

You and Hyojin were acting buddy-buddy after one music video. It was strange to him at how easily Hyojin just started calling you “Hyung.” Did you really allow it? You haven’t even been in the group for over two months yet.

The company just plopped you into the group and expected everyone to just fall at your feet.

Well, he wouldn’t.

But he didn’t agree with Yohan’s weird hatred of you.

He and Yohan were walking to the dance practice room. Yohan looked angry, he had been angry ever since you stole the leader title from him.

“I don’t get it. I’ve been leading you guys for four years, how is that Hong (Name) better than me?! Just because he can carry a tune?” Yohan ranted, lowering his voice when he and Doha reached the empty room.

Doha didn’t respond, letting Yohan whine about his frustrations. He took off his jacket and backpack, resting them on the couch. Why was there a couch in the corner of the dance studio?

Who knows.

He plopped down and pulled out his phone, typing away. “You talked about this earlier. It’s been two months.”

“Two months!” Yohan yelled, throwing his bag onto the couch. “Two months compared to my four years! How is that fair?”

“Stop yelling at me as if I chose for this to happen.” Doha rolled his eyes. “We just have to go with what the company decided.”

Yohan groaned, rubbing at his face. Doha glanced up and noticed the door to the studio open, Mingi was walking in with Hyojin to behind him. He was about to greet them when you appeared right after them.

His eyes widens as he glanced over at Yohan who had his back to the door. He quickly tried to signal for Yohan to shut his mouth.

“It’s so strange, what did Hong (Name) sleep with the CEO to get my position?” Yohan ranted, pausing when the sound of the door slammed shut.

Doha held back his loud groan as he watched Yohan look pale, he wasn’t making any effort to look back.

“Seriously, Hyung?”

Doha raised an eyebrow, he had expected Hyojin to say something but Mingi beat him to the punch. Hyojin looked pissed but Mingi had a look of anger that he had never seen on the younger boy.

You on the other hand, didn’t look bothered. Doha looked closer and realized why—you had headphones on. You took off your headphones and smiled widely, naive to the fact one of your teammates just insulted you.

“Afternoon!” You said. “Is everyone here?”

“Kihyun Hyung is coming late,” Hyojin answered, looking back at you.

Mingi kept his gaze on Yohan’s back, tightening his grip on his bag. He raised his hand up and leaned back, before throwing his backpack to hit Yohan square on the head.

Yohan grunted, almost falling to his knees from the impact. Doha winced. Mingi always had the heaviest backpack because of his school supplies. He still went to school at the request of his mother.

The bag fell to the floor as two thick school books slipped out.

“Mingi-Ssi!” You said, a frown on your lips. “That’s not nice, you need to apologize.”

“I’m not apologizing to an asshole like him, he should apologize to you!” Mingi yelled.

“Why should he—?”

“—sorry I’m late.” Kihyun said, entering the studio with the choreographer and a few managers behind him.

Well, things were getting worse by the minute.

The dance practice went fine. The choreographer had to tell Mingi to stop glaring at Yohan. A few times Yohan was even told to fix his movements, which was rare. Yohan never got moves wrong.

After the managers gave the dance practice their approval, everyone was eager to leave. Mingi left first, his excuse was the need to “study.” However Doha knew it was because Mingi would’ve jumped Yohan if he stayed any longer.

Hyojin didn’t even speak to Yohan as he walked past and left with Kihyun. Doha was about to go speak to Yohan when the boy left quickly.

Doha sighed, rubbing at his face. He’d have to try and talk to Yohan another time. Any sort of tension between the group before debut was a bad sign.

Just as he finished packing, he glanced up to see one of the managers had stayed back. It was an older man. He wasn’t their main manager—just one that would occasionally substitute for Dawon or Gaeul.

“Do you need something?” Doha asked, standing up.

“Ah, yes,” the man said, a wide grin on his face. “You dance pretty well but… I’ve noticed that you’ve gained a bit of weight.” He used his pen to point of Doha’s stomach.

Doha just felt himself freeze as the man poked his stomach that was spilling over from the shorts he was wearing.

“You’re probably just eating good for your debut but you don’t want to be over a certain weight. Guys need to watch their weight too!” He laughed, as if this was just a funny joke. “Maybe lighten up on the gimbap or something, I’ve noticed you’ve been eating it a lot.”

“Gimbap is healthy.” A voice cut in.

Doha glanced over to see you. You hadn’t left yet?

Your gaze was harsh as you glared at the manager, reaching over to push his hand away from Doha’s stomach. “You shouldn’t touch someone you don’t know. It’s rude and disgusting. Besides, are you his doctor?”

“Huh…?” The manager asked.

“Are you his doctor? What if he is at a healthy weight? He’s still growing.” You patted Doha on the back. “Weight fluctuates… but even then, even if he was gaining weight from ‘eating too much’… it’s none of your concern. Now you should go, I’ll be reporting you to the HR department.”

The manager squared his jaw. He looked ready to say something before he raised his hand up high. Doha felt himself move before he could even think as he grabbed the man’s wrists just as he brought his hand down close to your face.

“Are you crazy?” Doha yelled, pushing the man away. His yelling seemed to catch a few people’s attention as Dawon and a few other people walked into the studio.

He stopped paying attention as the workers began speaking to the manager as he glanced over at you. His gaze softened at the sight of you, you looked calm for just a second before you let out a gasp, almost dropping to the ground. Doha grabbed your arm and held you up as you took multiple deep breaths.

“Doha, (Name), are you guys okay?” Dawon suddenly asked. Doha looked up to see the manager being carried out with force. “I didn’t think he’d be crazy enough to hit any of you guys.”

“We’re okay. Maybe you guys should look into the people you hire.” Doha spit out.

Dawon rolled his eyes. “Sure, sure. I’ll go tell them that. You guys should go home, it’s late.”

As Dawon left, Doha heard you let out a sigh. He looked over at you and helped you stand up straight.

“Sorry,” you muttered. “I tried to act… tough but I was so scared. He shouldn’t have said that to you.”

“Has.. someone spoken to you like that?”

You only nodded. “Mhm. But it’s the first time I’ve talked back… it’s easier doing it for other people, for you.” You looked up at Doha and smiled.

Doha only stared at you before feeling himself blush. “Ah.. thanks, (Name)-Ssi.”

“Oh, you can call me Hyung.”

“Are you sure..?”

“Mhm!” You grinned. How could someone be this cute without being cringy?

“Ah.. okay, (Name) Hyung…”

“You’re so cute, Dodo!”

Doha narrowed his eyebrows, “never call me that again.”

“Mhm… Dodo!”

Never mind, he didn’t like you.

ཆི❤︎ཆྀ

You were pretty sure Mingi was dying.

It had only been four days since your ‘no touching’ rule and he’s been acting as if he’s going through a drought. He was currently on the couch, dead eye contact on the tv as he occasionally let out a loud groan.

He seemed to groan louder each time you walked past the living room to get to the kitchen.

While he was certainly dying—you couldn’t lie to yourself much longer.

You were horny.

Worst of all, you were missing him sleeping with you at night. You never realized how much Mingi touches you everyday. Yohan was the cuddliest but Mingi was on another level—but usually only with you.

Teaching him a lesson seemed so silly now. You wanted him to touch you but you knew he wouldn’t dare unless you told him to or until the month was over.

But… that was embarrassing. You didn’t want to ask. You, the oldest, whining to the younger man to touch you?! Have some decorum!

No way in hell were you going to embarrass yourself in front of your maknae again. No way!

You’d get through this… you would!

“Hyung, are you going to stare at Mingi all day or..?”

You sat up, blinking rapidly as you looked over at Kihyun. He smiled and sat down beside you in the van. The company was having the group record content for promotion for the future comeback. Luckily, Yohan and Mingi were currently holding the vlogging camera.

“I was staring?” You whispered. “I wasn’t.”

“Sure.” Kihyun replied, looking over at Mingi and Yohan when Yohan let out a loud laugh. “Why didn’t Mingi sit next to you? He always pushes us out of the way to sit near you.”

“He does?”

Kihyun rolled his eyes. “You’re so oblivious.” He muttered, looking back at you.

You pouted. “Well why aren’t you sitting next to Jinnie?”

That seemed to be a sore spot as Kihyun immediately tensed. He didn’t even attempt to glance over at Hyojin who was sitting next to Doha. The two weren’t even talking, just listening to music on their own headphones.

“Ah,” you muttered, wondering how far you could push him before deciding to just take his mind off his problems. “You just wanted to spend time with your Hyung, mhm~?”

Kihyun glanced over at you with a raised eyebrow as you grinned. You wrapped your arms around his bicep and pressed your cheek against his chest.

“Hyung wants to spend time you too~” You giggled, purposefully tightening your grip as Kihyun tried to pull away. “Hyunnie~ don’t make Hyung sad!”

“You’re so annoying.” Kihyun muttered, but you could see the corner of his mouth tilting upwards as he fought back a smile.

You opened your eyes and glanced over to see what Mingi and Yohan was doing as their conversation suddenly fell silent. Only for you to see the both of them staring daggers right at Kihyun.

The camera was pointed at you two so you decided to wave, trying to ignore the weird tension for those two.

“Hyunnie, wave to Miras.” You said, grabbing Kihyun’s left wrist and waving it for him. He didn’t pull away and just allowed you to maneuver his hand around.

“I’m stopping for gas.” Dawon said from the driver seat. Gaeul said something too but you couldn’t exactly hear her clearly.

Once the van reached the gas station, Kihyun and the others had gotten out to buy a snack. You stayed in your seat, typing away as you texted your mother when the sound of bickering filled your ears.

“Stop it, I’m the youngest.”

“You can’t keep using your age card!”

“Face it, (Name) Hyung doesn’t even see you that way.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know a lot of things… living in the same apartment has gotten us closer than you can imagine.”

“You fucking—”

The sound of banging caught your attention as you made the move to get up. However an angry Doha walked into the van right after. He sat down beside you, muttering on about something you couldn’t understand.

Hyojin came in after, sitting down in his same spot. Kihyun walked in but seemed to hesitate for a moment. He made the move to sit somewhere else until Hyojin grabbed his hand and tugged him back to the seat.

You watched the scene with an odd sense of relief. Maybe they’ll get over whatever’s bothering them.

After a minute or so, a disgruntled Mingi walked in with Yohan close behind. The two sat in the two empty rows of the van, far apart from each other.

The van had three rows, two seats each. You were sitting in the right side middle row. Kihyun and Hyojin were in the back row, left side. Mingi in the front left side and Yohan in the front right side.

They looked childish.

Dawon and Gaeul came in not too long ago and started the car. The group was heading to the amusement park.

“Doha,” you whispered, leaning in.

Doha glanced over at you, pulling off his headphones. “Hm?”

“What were Mingi and Yohan arguing about? Did a fight break out?”

He rolled his eyes. “Dumbasses were fighting over something stupid. I think Mingi was going to punch Yohan Hyung but I beat them both to it by hitting them both. So childish.”

“What were they fighting over?”

“Uh. I don’t know.”

“Oh.” You frowned, easily clocking that Doha wasn’t about to tell you the truth.

The rest of the ride was oddly tense, well from Mingi’s and Yohan’s side. You decided to leave the two to wallow as you gazed out the window. It would be your first time going an amusement park. The last time the group went was in their second year and you had to sit out because of a family emergency.

Your mother could never afford to take you when you were younger. And even as you grew up, you threw yourself into practicing as a singer and dancer. No breaks.

To say you were excited was an understatement.

Once the van finally reached the location, you were practically buzzing in your seat. You all got out of the van as you took in your surroundings. Dawon and Gaeul was telling you guys something but you could hardly pay attention.

It was more than likely just about what to do for the vlog. Didn’t matter to you, you hardly paid attention to it since Miras didn’t particularly care about you.

As soon as Dawon and Gaeul gave you guys the ok, you practically sprinted away, ignoring the surprised yells of your members.

There was a whole plan that you had since you were ten. You were going to follow that plan to a tee!

First: ride the Ferris Wheel.

Lucky for you, there was no long line. You eagerly got on and sat on one of the horses. It looked a little silly compared to the small kids on the ride but you didn’t care.

Even if the ride was a little slower than you imagined, just being on it was fulfilling any dream you had back then.

After the ride finished, you were a ball of energy as you mentally thought about what your next step was. But you didn’t get far when something tugged at your shirt. You looked back to see an exhausted Doha as he let out a heavy breath.

“Holy shit,” he cursed, rubbing at his face. “You’d think you’re the youngest. What was that?”

You blushed, biting your lip. “Sorry, I got a little excited.”

“A little?”

You giggled in response to his harsh glare. You could hear footsteps from behind him as you glanced over his shoulder. Mingi was sprinting over to you with Yohan right on his tail, somehow holding up the vlogging camera upright the entire time.

Hyojin and Kihyun were walking behind them.

“Hyung!” Mingi yelled, skidding to a stop as he shoved Doha away from you. Doha gave Mingi an incredulous look as you couldn’t help the slight laugh that left your lips. “You scared me—!”

“—scared us.” Yohan interrupted, slowing down as he panted heavily. “Who knew the leader would abandon his members in an amusement park. I only noticed you walking away because of the camera’s viewfinder.”

You grinned sheepishly, “sorry. I’ve never been to an amusement park, I got too excited.”

“You’ve never been?” Mingi asked.

“No. I have a list of things I want to do.”

“I’ve been here loads of times,” Yohan said, grinning. He pointed the camera over at you. “I can show you the best rides.”

Mingi subconsciously stepped in front of you, “no way. You’ll hog him the entire day. I want to spend time with Hyung.”

“Stop being so childish,” Yohan rolled his eyes. “It’s so he can have a good time.”

You sent a swift glare to both boys before they could raise the tension with their stupid argument. You didn’t know what was wrong with them—they seemed to be arguing more than normal.

“I’ll spend one step of my bucket list with each of you.” You said, shaking your head. You reached over and grabbed the camera from Yohan. “I’ll start with Doha. I’ll find whoever I want to hang out with later.” With that, you turned around and grabbed Doha’s hand, tugging him away to the nearest ride.

The others just watched in silence.

“Uh,” Kihyun muttered. “That’s going against the plan of the vlog.”

Hyojin shrugged. “I think a vlog focusing on (Name) Hyung isn’t a bad idea.” He looked over at Mingi. “What do you think, Mingi?”

Mingi pouted. “How comes Doha Hyung get to go first?”

Hyojin sighed and shook his head. “Oh my gosh.”

ཆི❤︎ཆྀ

Turns out taking Doha out on the fastest rollercoaster was a terrible idea. He was out of commission immediately. You felt terrible as you led him to rest on a bench.

After a few minutes, Hyojin and Kihyun appeared. Doha looked pale as he slowly sipped on the water bottle you bought him. The camera sat on your lap as you had shut it off as soon as he threw up a few minutes earlier.

“What happened to Doha Hyung?” Hyojin asked.

“I took him on that fast rollercoaster… I forgot he had eaten something not even twenty minutes ago.” You sighed, patting him on the shoulder.

Kihyun looked away as he let out a cough. “Shame… we should probably take him back to the van.”

“Ah, right. I’ll go take him.” You said, getting ready to help him up.

“No, it’s okay, Hyung.” Kihyun said, shaking his head. “Hyojin and I will take him.”

“We will?” Hyojin whispered, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah. It’s your first time here. You can’t just ride one rollercoaster and call it a day. Go find Yohan Hyung and Mingi. They were by the food court a few minutes ago.” Kihyun walked over and grabbed Doha’s arm, helping him stand up.

Hyojin helped him as well, looking a bit pissed at his forced aid. “We’ll join you guys later… if Doha Hyung feels better.”

With that, they walked away with a groaning Doha in their arms.

You felt anxious, feeling terrible about putting Doha through that. Deciding to follow Kihyun’s orders, you began to walk over to the food court to find Mingi and Yohan.

Though you didn’t necessarily want to speak to them right now. They were being so childish—it was getting a bit annoying.

You started the camera back up, unsure of what to do. You’ve never solo vlogged. You turned the camera to face you as you smiled shyly.

“Ah… I’m not sure what to do,” you whispered, feeling a bit shy. “I need to find Hannie and Minnie. I made Dodo sick, I feel so bad… I should buy him a gift to make up for it.. but—”

“—excuse me! Are you busy, Miss?” A lady yelled out to you.

You almost ignored her until you realized she was pointing right at you. “Miss…? Ah, I’m not a lady.” You said, laughing slightly. That’s the first.

The lady looked slightly embarrassed as she laughed nervously. “I’m sorry! I don’t have my glasses on right now so I can’t see far away that well.”

“It’s okay… is there something you wanted?”

“Ah!” The lady pointed at her small little venue. “I do a little make up and dress up booth! I was asking if you were interested but since you aren’t a woman…”

“Can I still do it?” You asked, grinning at her shocked face. Ever since the whole Cinderella makeup, you oddly wanted to see how you’d look with a more natural look. The stage makeup was always so heavy because of the bright light they shined on you.

It wasn’t a crime to see how’d you look. Maybe you’d like it.

“Of course, of course! Ah, you young men are so open minded! C’mere, I’ll do makeup that suits your features.”

Since you were vlogging, you had the camera propped up on her desk so it would tape the entire process. Though the editors would probably fast forward or take most of it out to save time.

The lady worked faster than you imagined. She looked on the older side, close to your mother’s age of 56. But somehow she was swift and precise with her strokes of the makeup brush. You wondered if she painted on the side.

After a few minutes, she was done.

“Ah,” she nodded, squinting her eyes as she took in her handwork, “I wish I didn’t forget my glasses but you look good, son. Boys should wear makeup more often. They’d look less ugly.”

You bit your lip to stop yourself from laughing. You reached over to look into the small mirror she had on her table. Woah, she was right. You did look good.

The makeup wasn’t overly feminine like the Cinderella makeup but it still softened your features. It was light and almost felt like there was nothing there. Minimal blush and the lightest red tint on your lips. She even put an eyeshadow that matched your skin tone.

The only strong part of the makeup was the wing eyeliner she did.

“Woah, thank you, Miss!”

“It’s no problem. It’s nice to see a man that’s not an actor or model wear makeup.”

You didn’t mention you were an idol.

“Since you’re here, take this sweater, it looks good with your outfit.” She pulled off a baby blue sweater off her chair and handed it over to you. Just as you were putting it on, she placed a headband on your head. “Might as well, they’re the same color.”

You only grinned, handing her a few dollars before grabbing the camera and leaving. While it still felt a bit awkward to vlog by yourself, it was oddly nice to see such a pretty sight of yourself in the viewfinder.

“I only wear makeup for photoshoots and performances… maybe I should wear it more casually.” You muttered, grinning slightly. “Would that be weird?”

It only took a few more minutes before you reached the food court. You glanced around, wondering if you might have to call them when a hand tugged at your sweater.

You looked back and grinned when you came face to face with Mingi. He looked particularly angry until he saw your face. Whatever he was pissed about was long gone as he stared at you with his mouth agape.

You turned the camera to face him and grinned, “Found Minnie. What do you think? A lady stopped me and I decided to let her do my makeup. I kinda like it.”

Mingi only let out a little grunt as he gulped. “Mhm.”

“Mhm..? What? Do you hate it?”

“No!” He yelled, catching the attention of a few guests. “Uh, I mean… it’s nice.. it’s not too much. It really suits you.”

“Thanks, Minnie. I don’t think I’ll wear it daily but maybe sometimes.” You giggled. “Anyway, where’s Yohan?”

At the mention of Yohan, Mingi fought back the urge to roll his eyes. You frowned, wondering if they must’ve fought again. And if there was no one there to stop them—it must’ve gotten bad.

“I don’t know.” Was all he said, shaking his head. “Let’s just hang out.” He reached over and grabbed the camera, turning it off. You raised an eyebrow and tilted your head.

“But we have to film.”

“I don’t care. I’ll take the fall from Dawon Hyung and Gaeul Noona.”

“Minnie, are you okay?”

Mingi glanced around before he grabbed your arm, tugging you away to a corner away from curious eyes. You almost forgot about how he wasn’t even supposed to be touching you right now.

He pressed you against the wall of the hidden corner, a dumpster hiding you both from anyone who peeked into the mini alleyway between the small food courts.

“Hyung.” Mingi whispered, his hands gripping your shoulders as he released a strangled groan. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“Can’t do what anymore?”

“I can’t let Yohan Hyung keep thinking he has a chance with you.”

“What…? Hannie? What do you mean, Minnie?”

“If I want our relationship to work, I have to be honest.” He whispered to himself before gazing over at you. “Yohan Hyung was the person who refused to my request back on my nineteenth birthday.”

“Wha…”

“Everything was okay until he started pursuing you for real. No one told you this, but when we were choosing our roommates, Yohan Hyung and I got into a huge argument about who would room with you.”

“Argument? Oh my gosh, Mingi, why are you guys so childish?”

Mingi frowned. “Yeah, I know… but we ended up letting you choose and after you chose me, he’s been a bit pissy over it.”

“Choose you? How’d I do that?”

“Oh uh, remember when Doha Hyung asked if you’d prefer me or Yohan Hyung cooking you dinner. You said me.”

You blinked. “That’s so stupid. Who came up with that?”

“Doha Hyung because he got tired of us arguing.”

“Of course.” You sighed, shaking your head. “But this is so silly, Mingi. You two can’t be fighting over me like this. It’s not good for the groups dynamic.”

Mingi nodded, signing. “I know. I wanted to apologize but he made me angry again so I fought back.”

“Mingi… that’s not right. You should apologize to him.”

He looked as if he wanted to argue but decided against it. Mingi rest his head on your shoulder as you flinched. It had been a minute since Mingi has been so close to you that this light contact was sending you over the edge.

It seemed he could tell as Mingi let out a laugh, his lips teasing your collarbone.

“Hyung… there’s something else I can’t do anymore.”

“W…What…?”

He slowly pulled away as he held your gaze. Never in your life did you think being stared at like you were a piece of meat could be hot… but you felt a rush of adrenaline in your body from his gaze.

Mingi didn’t say anything his hand slowly reached up and grasped your cheek, gently rubbing the skin. You almost closed your eyes at the touch when lips slammed against yours. Your head knocked against the wall but you didn’t even get a minute to properly react to the pain.

He kissed you as if you were his lifeline. His free hand moving down to grab your jeans, unbuckling it. You reached up and grasped the collar of his shirt but you made no effort to push him away. Your lips followed his as he bit and tugged at your bottom lip, earning a gasp from you.

His tongue slipped in with ease as the kiss entered a new territory you didn’t know. Your eyes felt watery as you whimpered into the kiss, beginning to remember you weren’t exactly in the privacy in your own home.

But he didn’t pull away, his hand slipping into your boxers as he grasped your cock. Your hips stuttered as you let out a muffled cry. Maybe it was a good thing he was kissing you.

He pumped your cock with a quick rhythm, not wanting to drag out the quick handjob. You appreciated it but also wanted him to stop as your moans were swallowed into the kiss.

Your back arched against the wall as your eyes squeezed shut. The pleasure was too much—you wondered if this was what pleasure was like. Or if only Mingi could make you feel this way.

You cummed into the palm of his hand, nails digging into his shoulders as you tried to ground yourself. He didn’t pull away, kissing you as if he was stealing your oxygen. When you began to tap at his back is when he finally got the message to let you breathe.

A large gasp left you as you took a few greedy breaths, taking in the fresh air. Mingi didn’t say anything as he pulled out his hand from your jeans. His hand was coated in your cum as you stared up at him in embarrassment.

“Mingi—”

Your eyes widen as you watched him bring his palm to his mouth. With his gaze zeroed in on you, he stuck his tongue out and licked his palm clean off. He didn’t leave any trace behind as he showed you his clean hand.

You felt as if you’d faint.

“You taste sweet, Hyung.” Mingi grinned, a smirk pulled on his lips. His blonde hair fell into his eyes as he leaned down and captured your lips into another kiss. You didn’t even attempt to push him away, eagerly kissing him back. Your hands tangled themselves into his hair as he pressed your body against the wall with his own.

His hands reached down and grabbed your thighs, hoisting you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist as you released a moan into his mouth.

You almost forgot all about your surroundings when the sound of a kid crying startled you both. Mingi immediately pulled away as he peaked over the garbage bin. Coast was clear, but that was way too close.

Mingi helped you back to your feet as you tried to fix your jeans. Your face felt warm—you couldn’t look Mingi in the eye at all. He let out a slight huff before grabbing your face, forcing your face up.

“Hyung,” he said, before his voice trailed off. His gaze widening. “Oh shit… you can’t go out there like that.”

You blinked. “What’s wrong?”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, turning on the camera. Mingi handed over his phone as you cautiously took it. Your eyes widen immediately when you caught sight of your face.

To say you looked like you were just fucked was an understatement. Your lipstick was smudged, blush almost gone from the tears. Even worse, the eyeliner had leaked and trailed down your cheeks, creating a dark stain.

Any one would understand what happened with just one glance at you.

You looked over at Mingi and noticed that there was lipstick on his lips but it looked a bit more natural on his face. Okay, he could get you some wet wipes so you don’t embarrass yourself to complete strangers.

“Go get me some wet wipes.. hopefully I can take some of it off.” You muttered, noticing that Mingi wasn’t making an effort to move. “What’s wrong?”

Mingi bit his lip, “I think I want to fuck you while you wear makeup.”

“Choi Mingi!”

ཆི❤︎ཆྀ

Two years ago

“That’s a perfect birthday present for Mingi. He’ll love it, Hyung.”

You glanced up to see Kihyun standing behind Yohan. Yohan was still holding the vlogging camera before turning to face Kihyun.

“Perfect present?” You asked, moving to sit on up. “What is? I bought him a guitar…” your lips pulled into a frown.

“You bought him a guitar?!” Yohan yelled, mouth agape.

Kihyun rolled his eyes. “You are so oblivious. I meant you being on your knees.”

“Why would Mingi like that?” You whispered, genuinely confused.

“Forget it.” Yohan quickly said, “let’s just focus on getting the party ready.”

“What party?”

You all looked back to see Mingi entering the apartment.

Fuck.

After a few seconds of panicked silence, a rushed Doha and Hyojin appeared behind Mingi. They looked stressed out and you could easily tell their plan to keep Mingi away from home didn’t work at all.

The whole surprise party was a dud.

Mingi sat on the couch as he just watched everyone else continue to set up. You excused yourself to go get the cake when Mingi finally sat up, grabbing the vlog camera. He turned it off much to the other’s confusion.

“I need to talk to you guys about something.” He said.

“Without (Name) Hyung?” Hyojin asked.

“Yeah. It’s about him.” Mingi said, waiting for the members to stop what they were doing so they would listen. “I know each of you liked (Name) Hyung. Even if it’s to different degrees.”

The others glanced at each other, not seeming too shocked at Mingi’s revelation. It wasn’t exactly a secret. Even Dawon and Gaeul noticed. It was mainly you being absurdly oblivious to have not noticed by now.

“So?” Kihyun finally asked, “are you worried you have competition?”

“No.” Mingi glanced up, his face devoid of any doubt. “Because I know (Name) Hyung will return my feelings. So, I wanted to let you guys know… or ah, ‘ask’ if you could not pursue him.”

Kihyun shrugged. “Okay.”

Doha rolled his eyes. “So cocky. Fine, whatever.”

Hyojin looked hesitant before sighing. “I miss when you were scared to even upset us. But okay, I wasn’t going to confess anyway. But if you treat (Name) Hyung wrong, I’ll take him from you.”

Mingi nodded, smiling slightly. “The best birthday present you guys could give me.”

Kihyun grinned. “Ah good. I’ll return the other one so I can get my money back.” He chuckled, enjoying the sudden change in expression on Mingi at the mention of his present.

“What if I don’t want to?”

Doha groaned. Kihyun muttered a quick prayer and took a step away from Yohan. Hyojin shook his head, moving to grip Mingi’s shoulder as a way to keep him standing up.

Yohan raised an eyebrow, “huh? Will you try to stop me? How can you be so sure (Name) Hyung will want someone he sees as a kid?”

“A kid? You little—!”

“I’m back!”

The tension immediately diminished as you burst through the front door. You were bundled up in your coat and scarf, little snow on the top of your nose. Your beanie was rolling down, almost covering your eyes.

“I got red velvet, your favorite.” You walked over to the living room and tilted your head. “Something wrong?”

Yohan and Mingi glanced over at each other.

“No. Nothings wrong.”

ཆི❤︎ཆྀ

To say that you were nervous around Mingi was an understatement. You practically felt hot whenever he even brushed up against you. The make out two weeks ago made you see Mingi in a different light. A light you’d never imagine for your maknae.

After the whole amusement park debacle, Yohan and Mingi seemed to have made up.

Or at the very least were hiding any fights they were having from you.

Today, the company had did a pre-album fan meeting. Strange, but you knew they were trying new things.

Each member prepared a short little performance to do as their entrance. Although Gaeul definitely had a hand on which songs for each member.

Gaeul chose Rainism for Yohan.

Bambi for Kihyun.

Any song for Doha.

Deep for Hyojin.

Peaches for Mingi.

Hyojin performing a female solo artist song got a few laughs from Doha. Though Yohan was quick to beat him. You had wondered what Gaeul would pick for you but she actually told you she had too many options.

She had given you a few popular male solo artist songs but you decided to pick the one female artist she had on her list. You mainly did it for Hyojin—so he didn’t feel left out!

But also….

Each member would be dressed up in outfits for the performance that the original artist had.

After the vlog had been uploaded, you had a lot of Miras affirm that you looked good in more feminine clothing. While a younger you might’ve viewed this as an attack on your “manhood” you now viewed it as a new way to express you.

What better excuse to dress up feminine was to perform a female artist song?

You decided on 24 hrs by Sunmi. Why not? The outfit she performed in wasn’t too much, some would argue it wasn’t overly feminine.

A perfect start. You didn’t think you’d be ready to wear skirts or dresses. While you did like the Cinderella dress… it was a cheaply made costume.

Wearing real women’s clothes felt like a big step, especially in public.

You winced as the hairstylist used another clip to get the wig to stay down. It was a short pink bob. You were once again the last one to get dressed.

Gaeul stood not too far away, a wide grin on her lips. “Aaah!!! You look so cute! I’m so happy you’re experimenting with your style! Oh, and, you’re getting some attention from women now, after the vlog. They’ve overtaken the gay men.”

“Re—?” You groaned as the hairstylist gripped your face and turned your head back to face the mirror. “Sorry.”

“Yeah!” Gaeul said. “I mean female fans are always the best anyway! But they love how open minded you were. They even started recommending certain clothing you should try! Ah, I’m sure by next year, you’ll get your own offer in modeling photo shoots!”

“Like Mingi?”

“Keep your head straight.” The hairstylist said.

“Sorry.”

“Yeah, like Mingi. See, I told you! You just had to find your audience. If only the company didn’t take so fucking long to stop advertising you as a stoic man.”

When the hairstylist was finally finished, you got up, eager to see what you’ll be wearing. The other members were already backstage, probably starting to perform.

The outfit was similar to the black and white one piece from the video. It was a black and white stripped turtle neck. Close enough. The bottom wasn’t connected to the top. It was a pair of short black shorts.

And no shoes, because she didn’t wear any.

You pulled on the outfit, making sure to keep your new hairdo safe.

“Hm, I think this is a woman’s turtle neck.” Gaeul said, helping you fix the collar. “I’m pretty sure I saw my mom wear this same brand.”

“Oh.” You pursed your lips. “I don’t look like a grandma… do I?”

“Hey, my mom is fashionable. Besides, she’s not a grandma.”

You rolled your eyes. “Do I… look weird?”

“Getting second thoughts? These shorts might hug your butt a little too much.” She pulled the shorts down just a bit to properly cover your ass. “You look cute. You always wore the more revealing clothing anyway.”

“Yeah…”

“What made you want to try feminine clothing?”

“Uh.” You shrugged, glancing over in the mirror. The makeup was similar to the one the older lady did at the amusement park but a bit more heavy. You looked more feminine this way, maybe someone could confuse you for a girl. “Just trying something new… my sister used to dress me up back then so maybe I actually did like it a lot.”

“Ah. Your sister groomed you into appreciating feminine clothing.”

“Uh, I don’t think you should say it like that.”

“(Name).” Dawon called out, opening the door. “It’s almost your turn. Let’s go.”

You gave Gaeul a tight grin and walked away. The performance was easy, you were only doing the first minute of the song anyway.

Performing by yourself for practically most of your teens made you fearless almost. The performance was done before you noticed. You walked off stage right after and let out a sigh, feeling a bit cold now.

“You were great, Hyung.” Kihyun said, smiling at you. He seemed to be the only other member backstage for some reason. Staff members walked onstage and began to set the tables up for the individual fan meeting.

You’d all sit at the table as a person talked to you for thirty seconds to get their album signed and move to the next member. It was quick and easy, Gaeul ran meetings like this like the navy.

“Where’s everyone else?” You asked, reaching up to poke Kihyun on the nose. He playfully sneered at you, pretending to bite your finger. “Are they already changing?”

“Sure, let’s say that.” He said, shrugging his shoulders. “Let’s go change.”

He grabbed your hand and tugged you to the changing room. You followed behind him, wondering if something happened. But decided against worrying if you had no proof of anything happening.

The next outfit was just “regular” clothing. Mainly, clothing from name brands that wanted a member to promote them. You, unsurprisingly, didn’t have any brand that particularly wanted you so you just wore more average clothing.

However, the outfit looked a bit… different than usual.

It was a brown sweater jacket with a burgundy shirt. Most surprising was the brown jean shorts.

You just shrugged and put them on. Everything but the jacket looked like they were men’s clothing. Maybe Gaeul added the sweater as an extra.

“Ah, should I take off my wig?” You asked, glancing back at Kihyun who had changed into his own clothing.

“Won’t your hair underneath be messy? It’s not like we’re taking off our makeup, just keep it on.” He said.

“Ah. Okay.”

After changing, you and Kihyun left to see the others had reappeared. Mingi and Yohan looked particularly upset. You mentally sighed and shook your head, not even attempting to wonder what the fuck just happened between them.

The staff member guided the group back on stage to sit at the table. You sat at the end, grabbing the pen one of the staff members held out for you.

There was a sound of screeching before someone plopped down beside you. You glanced over to see Mingi acting nonchalant as Yohan grumpily sat down on Mingi’s right.

You were about to ask what just happened when the first fan was already starting.

Everything went into motion. Not to your surprise, a few fans didn’t even stop to get your autograph or not even use the full thirty seconds or one minute to even exchange dialogue with you.

Whatever.

Before you could even properly be angry, someone sat down in the seat across from you. You glanced over and smiled, the first time someone sat down since the almost full hour.

“Hong (Name)-Ssi.” The boy looked to be around Kihyun’s age. He looked shy before he handed over his album. “I’ve liked your work for a while now. But only today have I’ve been able to come to any of your Miracle work.”

“Miracle work?” You asked, signing your name. “What do you mean?”

“Ah!” He bit his lip. “I’ve been following you since pre debut! I went to your high school… but uh!! I’m not a sasaeng!! I’ve never tried to find out anything personal about you… but I do follow your mom… she posts so much stuff about you.. but I can stop if that makes you uncomfortable… I just—!”

You grabbed the boy’s hands that began flapping around. He stared over at you in shock, mouth agape as you gave him a wide grin.

“Really? You’ve been into my work for that long?” You couldn’t help but giggle. “That’s so nice.. I’m really happy. What’s your name?”

“Oh! Kim Pilseung! I never talked to you directly… I was too shy..” he admitted, gazing down at your hands that clasped his. “Your hands… are really small.”

You glanced down and noticed that he was right, your hands hardly covered his. “Oh. Hehe, I guess so.”

“And soft. Do you use gloves while working out?”

“You noticed?” You let out a giggle, pulling your hands away as you brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. “I do. I like having soft hands.”

“Woah.” Pilseung smiled. “My hands are rough. I try moisturizing but it’s a bit too late now.”

“Please move forward.”

“Ah.” Pilseung moved to grab his album. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to hold up the line. Thank you so much, Hong (Name)-Ssi.”

“Hyung… you can call me Hyung.”

Pilseung gasped, his eyes wide as he stared at you. “H…Hyung?!”

“Mhm. You’re not a stranger.” You reached over and wrote a number in his album. “I trust you won’t share it.”

“O..Of course!!! You’re so cool, (Name) H..Hyung! I.. I didn’t want to tell you before but..! Your past performance with your past group… it really meant something to me when you didn’t view love between two men as something disgusting…”

“Past performance? Woah, you really are a pre debut fan!” You grinned, standing up just as Pilseung did. “Why didn’t you reach out before… it would’ve meant a lot to know that you’ve followed me for this long.”

“I’m sorry… I didn’t think you’d care… but! I’ll be more vocal now, Hyung!!” Pilseung bowed his head, ready to leave when you grabbed his arm and stepped over to his side of the table. He stared at you in shock as you hugged him tightly.

Everyone else in the room looked over at the display in shock. You knew it was over the top to do this…

But honestly, you didn’t care.

For four years, you thought you were in a group with fans that wouldn’t even notice if you left. Even before that, doing past performances to get attention for your dream to be an idol.

You thought you only had your mom and your sister as your fans.

But to think that to every performance your mom and sister went to, Pilseung was also there. To think that maybe there were even more people that did admire you, that this singing was not for nothing…

You pulled away after a second, smiling at Pilseung. At least he was your height. Pilseung looked red in the face as he tried to say something but only a weak “thank you” left his lips. He quickly bowed and walked off stage.

You ignored the stares of everyone else to look at Mingi.

He didn’t look too happy to say the least.

Ah, you’d get it at home.

For fuck sakes.

ཆི❤︎ཆྀ

Y’know, when you got home, you thought you’d have to deal with a temper tantrum from Mingi. Never in your life did you think you’d be in Mingi’s lap as he fingered you.

You couldn’t even remember how it happened. The two of you got home without talking. Mingi had even went straight to his room first. You thought maybe he’d talk to you in the morning so you decided to shower and go to bed.

Only for you to come into the room after showering to see Mingi sitting on your bed.

Then you ended up here, legs spread as he curled two fingers inside of you, brushing against your prostate. Your body tensed as you let out a whimper, biting your lips to keep your voice down.

“Hyung…” Mingi finally said, resting his chin on your shoulder as he paid more attention to his fingers than your trembling body in his lap. “I know why you did it… you’ve been wanting attention for awhile and Miras just aren’t smart enough to truly appreciate you.”

His fingers curled inside of you, repeatedly rubbing the edge of your prostate. “But did you forget what I said? You don’t need them—you only need me.”

You bit your lip as you gripped at the bedsheets beneath you. Your cock was already leaking and ready to burst. It only took another graze against your prostate when you gasped, cumming against your stomach. You thought he’d pull away now but he didn’t.

No, he kept going. He now began to rub directly on your prostate, his free hand grasping your cock. You let out a whine as your body began to shake from the unknown feelings. No matter the fact you’ve only touched yourself like this before.

It wasn’t him fingering you—you’ve done that many times before.

But it was continuing.

“Mingi.. Mingi stop!”

Mingi quickly pulled away, grabbing your towel as he rubbed the cum coating your stomach. “Are you okay, Hyung? Did I hurt you?”

“No.. I just… I was just..” You sighed, allowing Mingi to pull you to lay down, resting your head on the pillow. “I got scared.. I don’t know why.”

“It’s my fault. I didn’t talk things out with you… you’ve celibate since forever so you don’t know how relationships work. I’m sorry, Hyung.”

“Relationships? Isn’t this… just a sexual relationship?”

Mingi glanced over at you, “sexual relationship? Hyung…” He moved to sit beside you. “This isn’t a sexual relationship. I love you.”

You sat up, staring at him in shock. You didn’t expect him to say it that time that you didn’t get to stop him. Your face felt red as Mingi only grinned. He leaned in and pressed a kiss on your lips.

As he pulled away, you didn’t know what to do. This whole relationship was going against what you believed was right. You as the Hyung and Mingi as the maknae. But Mingi didn’t want that—so who were you to force him into a brotherly relationship?

And deep down, you knew that you couldn’t view him platonically anymore. You haven’t tried hard enough to push away because you wanted it, even if your brain was saying no.

You leaned over and pressed a chaste kiss on his cheek. When you pulled away, you almost giggled at the shocked look on Mingi’s face.

“I can’t say it right now… but… I’m willingly to try…”

Mingi looked almost relieved as he pulled you into a hug, pressing a kiss on your forehead. You cuddled him back, burying your face in his neck. The two of you stayed close before he pulled away.

“Now that we’re dating—can I buy something for you? Like a dress maybe..? I don’t want you to be a girl… but I like you being feminine.”

You bit your lip. “Really?”

“Yeah. I want you… to maybe be my Noona… How does that sound?”

“Mingi..!” You whispered, giving him an incredulous look before looking away. “Just… once.”

Mingi only grinned before pulling away. “Well, I gotta go to tell Yohan Hyung to fuck off now.”

“Mingi!”

ཆི❤︎ཆྀ

Four years ago

Mingi didn’t think someone like you could cry. But here you were, crouched down in the corner of the dance practice room. He was here late to practice—against his mother’s wishes.

The first performance for the group’s debut song was tomorrow and he couldn’t lie and say he wasn’t scared. He was nervous. Even if the company said he didn’t need to sing live—he wanted to. Sure dancing was important, but he wanted to show off how good he was at singing.

So he had came to practice live singing again just before the performance but then he saw you.

You didn’t seem to notice him for a second until his shoes squeaked against the floor. Your head shot up as you looked over at him and frowned.

The two of you haven’t gotten as close but Mingi could say that you were getting there.

“Mingi-Ssi…” you whispered, your voice cracking as you rubbed at your face. “Do you.. hate me?”

Mingi stared at you in shock. If only you knew that not even two days ago he found your mother’s account and immediately followed it. He liked every post that had to do with you.

But he guessed he wasn’t showing it… maybe… maybe he wasn’t viewing the relationship like you were.

He sighed and walked over to where you were, kneeling down. “I don’t hate you. I’m sorry, I know I was hostile before…”

You frowned as if you wanted to say something but stopped yourself.

Mingi knew he had to be honest. “I didn’t hate you… I was scared.” He whispered, glancing down at his hands. “I had to constantly prove to my parents that being an idol was a serious job that I tried my best to get into bigger companies but I kept getting rejected.

“After so many rejections my parents said I only had one my shot and after that I had to give up… I tried for this company and when they called me back I’m pretty sure I threw up. Ever since I just kept doing my best so they could debut me as soon as possible… and I guess when you got added to the group last minute… I got so scared.. so scared that they could kick me out last minute.

“I… I shouldn’t have taken it out on you but you’re so good, Hong (Name)-Ssi! You’re better at singing at me and I… I didn’t want the company to see my flaws when put against someone like you. I—!”

Mingi froze when he felt arms wrap around his neck. He then realized he was crying. He felt his throat burn as he buried his face in your neck and began to cry. You tugged him even closer, rubbing his head as a form of comfort.

He sat there, in your arms, for possibly close to an hour before you pulled away. You wiped at his face as you gave him a smile.

“Really…? That’s it?” You whispered, “I can teach you, Mingi-Ssi… I can teach you everything I know so you can be on the same level as me.. but honestly, I think you’re cool as is.”

Mingi blinked, staring at you as if you just confessed your love for him. He felt himself about to cry again as you giggled.

“Can… can I call you Hyung…?” He muttered.

You nodded. “I was waiting for you to ask, Minnie.”

The two of you stayed in the practice room for a bit longer. He didn’t end up practicing that night, just snuggled up to you as you both took a nap in the corner of the dance studio.

But Mingi would soon wonder… if you thought Mingi was cool… he couldn’t have been the person to make you cry. It wasn’t like he technically ever did anything wrong to you.

Who were you crying over?

And why did Mingi have a feeling it had to do with a certain someone.

Park Yohan.

I love writing Mingi. He’s fun. Anyway, yall gonna see into the mind of Yohan in part 4, yall ready? Gonna go heavy into more feminization in the next part, so if it’s not your thing… you gotta end it here now lol

Tag list: @euthymiko @iwishtobeacrow @onementally-unstabel-kid @jaxyy219 @hoshimochicchi @honey-valentin3 @bensontrechic @ofclyde @star-3214 @tehyunnie @love-kha1 @chill-guy-but-cooler @tomoeroi @mooncarvers-world @the-ultimate-librarian @mello-life25 @yuzuukix @smellwell @remdayz @cherry-blossoms-187 @kiiyoooo @secretivemessenger @me-when-life @bangbangdevotee @bangchansdirty-slut @chaevvonders

[bloatedandalone04]

TikTok Trends

➪the one where drew is a little clueless in regards to your love for tiktok, and even more confused every time he finds himself thrown into another trend.

Warnings: fluff, swearing, drew being confused for 90% of this, mentions of smut, size difference, slightly younger reader (3 year age gap), there was going to be smut, but i am saving it for another fic.

Word Count: 3.2k

Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡

Drew was laying on the king sized bed he shared with you, his sweatpant covered legs crossed as he lounged back on both his pillows and one of yours. His phone was in one of his hands, his thumb scrolling through the latest game results he missed last night when he was too busy fucking you into this very bed. 

He was oblivious to the way you were rummaging around in the dresser, though his eyes would occasionally flicker over to you as he scrolled. Tonight was date night, and he knew you would take a lot longer to get ready than he would, so he was staying in his sweats and hoodie until you were ready since he’d just throw something on and then be out the door within the same minute. You were being awfully quiet, and Drew was also oblivious to the way you had propped your phone up behind a picture frame, just out of view.

Drew’s free hand ran through his hair, his recent haircut making his scalp feel a little itchy, but he wasn’t complaining, because this haircut was what had you begging him to fuck you every night this week, so clearly it was working for you. 

“Hey, babe,” he murmured, not looking up from his phone. “Where do you want to go tonight? Anywhere you want, I don’t care, I just want to know if I should call in beforehand.”

You bit your lip as you adjusted your phone, your eyes shining with mischief as you moved away from the dresser. “I’m not sure,” you answered as you walked into the closet and grabbed the dark blue dress you were planning on wearing tonight. “Haven’t really thought about it.”

You had to hide your smile as you walked back into the bedroom and set the dress down on the bed next to Drew’s legs, and you had to ignore just how sexy he looked right now as you glanced over at your phone. 

Drew had never been one to be very active on social media in the two years you’ve been with him, so you knew for a fact that he would have no clue what you were about to spring on him. 

Reaching for the hem of your shirt, you bunched the material in your fingers before pausing, “Hey, baby,” you laughed, poking his knee as you swayed a bit on your feet. When Drew just let out a grunt, you continued, “Can you leave for a few minutes while I get dressed? I’ll be quick.”

You watched as Drew’s eyes flickered all over his phone’s screen before he hummed, moving to sit up. Just as his legs swung over the side of the bed, he seemed to have finally fully processed your words, because his eyes narrowed before he looked over at you. “Wait, what?” 

A laugh threatened to escape your mouth, but you managed to compose yourself before he could realize this was yet another trend he was currently being forced into. “Can you, like, get out for a sec? I need to get ready for tonight,” you asked again, gesturing to your shirt and sweats. 

One of his brows raised and he glanced down at your current outfit before looking over at your dress. “Uh, why?” he asked, sounding so genuinely confused, you almost cackled. “We live together, baby. I’ve seen you naked, like…a million times now.” 

You covered your mouth and crossed your arm over your chest as you tried to keep this going for as long as you could. “Just…please?”

Drew’s brows furrowed as he locked then set his phone down on the bed beside him, his fingers brushing against your thigh. “What’s wrong?” he asked quietly, reaching for your hand. His voice was so deep but so sweet right now, you felt yourself caving in already. “Tell me, baby.”

“It’s nothing,” you say, but your voice sounded unconvincing even to you. “I just don’t want you in here while I get changed.”

Drew narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the pillows once again, clearly making no move to get up and leave. “Babe, come on,” he mumbled, giving you a pointed look as you tried to keep up the act for a little longer, but he was the actor, not you. “We’ve lived together for half a year now. I’ve seen you take off clothes in front of me more times than I can count. What’s so different now?”

You had a sneaking suspicion that he was catching on, and you knew the act was pretty much up. Still, you tried to go for a little longer, “There’s no difference…” you trailed off, then saw the look of realization flash in his pretty blue eyes. 

“Oh, I get it,” he muttered, a smirk tugging at his mouth as he looked up at you. “This is another TikTok thing, isn’t it?” 

You furrowed your brows and shook your head, but he had caught you. “No,”

Drew grunted and nodded his head, “Uh huh, where’s your phone?” he asked, glancing around the bedroom as you tried to think of a way to salvage your prank. 

“It’s not a TikTok thing-”

“Come on, where is it?” he cut you off, his tone light and relieved as he now knew that nothing was wrong and this was just him falling for another trend going around on an app he didn’t even have installed. 

With a huff, you nodded towards the dresser, and Drew shifted a bit so he could see your well-hidden phone behind the picture frame. 

“I fucking knew it,” he laughed, rubbing his hands over his face as he leaned back again. “Why do I keep falling for these things?”

“Because you’re old and refuse to use social media,” you mumbled, reaching for your phone and ending the video. 

He scoffed from behind you, reaching over to wrap his hand around one of your thighs. “I’m only three years older than you, brat,” he muttered, pulling you towards him. “I’m not nearly old enough for you to call me that.” 

“Three and a half,” you hummed, your attention quickly slipping from your phone as you let him turn you around and pull you to stand in between his legs. Your free hand caressed his jaw, his stubble pricking your fingertips as you gazed down at him, “Can’t forget the half.”

Drew hummed, leaning in to press his face against the front of your shirt. “Mm, right,” he rasped, leaning back on the bed and pulling you with him so you are straddling his waist. “Can’t forget the half.”

You dropped your phone onto the bed next to his, both devices quickly being forgotten about as you braced your hands flat on the sheets on either side of his head, your lips finding his in a deep kiss that quickly turned into something a lot more heated. 

-

“You’re not doing it right,” you whined, pushing your boyfriend away from you as you walked towards your phone to restart the recording. 

After finding a trend that would actually involve Drew participating in it, you decided to give him a break from all the prank trends you pull on him and asked if he wanted to try this couple trend you saw all over your for you page. Surprisingly enough, he agreed to. You assumed he was probably tired of falling for the pranks all the time, so this way he could be fully aware of what was happening. 

With that being said, even though he was an amazing actor, he fucking sucked at following directions. 

“What do you mean I’m not doing it right?” he asked, holding his arms out as he watched you set your phone back up against the TV stand. “I’m picking you up, am I not? Is that not what I’m supposed to do here?”

You rolled your eyes and bit back a laugh as you stood back up straight and moved towards him. “No, you’re supposed to flip me upside down,” you said, “Did you even watch the video I sent you?” 

“I watch all the videos you send me,” he mumbled, glancing over at your phone before stepping closer to you. “Just tell me what to do, okay?”

You grinned and moved to stand in front of him, and you reached behind you to take Drew’s wrists in your hands. “Just hold me here,” you instructed, placing his big hands on your hips as you both faced the camera. “Then lift me and turn me upside down.” 

“That’s it?” he asked, giving your hips a teasing squeeze as he dipped his head down and pressed a firm kiss to your temple. “What if I drop you?”

You look over your shoulder at him and raise your brow, “Well, don’t,”

Drew laughed, the deep sound rumbling against your back as you looked at your phone. “Alright, ready?” he asked, and you nodded. Drew bent his knees slightly, ensuring he had a good grip on you, before he straightened back up again and easily lifted you off the ground. 

That was the easy part though, but after a few seconds, he managed to turn you upside down so your legs were by his shoulders and your head was by his knees. “Yay, baby!” you squealed, holding onto his arms tightly as he dangled you above the floor. 

Drew let out another deep laugh as he held you securely in place, his arms wrapped protectively around your waist. “Is this it?” 

“Yes,” you answer, helplessly swaying in his hold as you look at your phone from your upside down angle. “I hope it turned out well. I don’t want to do this again.”

“Why not?” Drew asked, locking his arms around your thighs as he swayed you even more, making another quiet squeal leave your lips. “Now that I know what to do, this is easy.” 

Your grip tightened on his arms as you held on for dear life, a soft whine escaping your mouth. “Drew,”

He laughed and stilled before managing to guide your legs down until you were upright again. “Alright,” he grinned, steadying you with his hands on your waist. “Are we good?”

You nodded and leaned into his touch for a few seconds before moving away to grab your phone. After ending the video, you clicked on it to make sure it came out okay, and as you did so, Drew came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist. 

“How’d it turn out?” he murmured, resting his chin on your shoulder as he glanced down at your phone as well. 

“Good,” you answered, playing the video and watching with a dumb smile on your face as your boyfriend effortlessly picked you up and managed to do the trend rather successfully. Turning your head, you pressed a quick kiss to his chin, “Thank you.”

Drew hummed, kissing you properly as his hands splayed across your belly. “‘Course,” he mumbled, kissing you again before looking back down at your phone. “You look so small, baby. Send that to me.”

You grinned and nodded as he stepped away from you and towards the doorway. “You could see it on my TikTok if you actually had the app,” you pointed out as you sat down on the couch. 

“Not happening,” he called over his shoulder before giving you a teasing smirk and leaving the room. 

As you watched the video again and matched it up with the song it would go with, you bit down on your lip, because Drew looked really hot in it, and it was extremely obvious how fit and strong he is since he lifted you up with ease. 

You could only imagine all the comments you’d get, and all of them would be girls thirsting over your boyfriend. 

-

The ‘calling your boyfriend friend names’ prank was all that was currently on your for you page on your TikTok, and you knew after watching the first one that you were going to do it to Drew. 

Your poor, unsuspecting boy who was really never safe as long as you had access to the app, or any app for that matter, because he was just too easy.

Drew was laying back on the bed, one arm propped behind his head as he browsed through various movies on Netflix, his gaze fixated on the TV that was mounted on the wall above the dresser. 

He looked so focused as he tried to find something to watch, and you knew he was looking for something that you would like since you and he had very different tastes when it came to movies. You almost felt bad for what you were about to do. 

Almost. 

“Dude, just pick a movie already,” you laughed from your spot on your side of the bed, discreetly angling your phone to capture his entire upper body without making it look obvious. 

Drew’s head turned in your direction, one of his brows raising as his thumb paused on the remote. “I’m trying to,” he muttered, squinting his eyes at you, “Dude.”

You held in your snort and shook your head, looking back up at the TV. “I don’t care what we watch, man,” you mumbled and felt him shift next to you, but you kept your eyes locked on the screen. “Just pick something.”

The remote was set down on the bed between your body and his, and when you glanced up at him, he was softly glaring at you, “I will, once you call me by my actual name instead of dude or man,” 

You actually laughed, but this one fit in well, “Okay, Drew,”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” he groaned, moving towards you and dropping his head to your chest. He presses his face against your cleavage as you reach over and prop your phone up on the nightstand. “Call me what you always call me.”

You grinned as you draped your arms around his shoulders. “Aw, buddy,” 

Drew’s head had never snapped up faster than it did when you said that. “Why are you calling me that?” he asked, placing his hands flat against the bed on either side of your hips as he pushed himself back up so he was kneeling beside your still reclined form. “Baby, what’s going on?”

You pressed your lips together as you reached up and cradled his pretty face in your hands. “Nothing,” you answered, stroking his cheeks with your thumbs. 

Drew gave you a skeptical look before he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your lips. His big hands found your hips as he deepened it, his tongue brushing against yours, and you returned his kiss like you always do. “Are you sure?” he murmured against your mouth, and you knew your knees would’ve buckled if you were standing up from how deep and sexy his voice is. 

But you couldn’t think about that right now, and you realized you would have to edit that intense kiss out of the video so TikTok didn’t flag you, which would suck. “I’m sure,” you confirmed, then fucked with him further, “Everything’s all good, pal.”

Drew gave you a look of disbelief as he pulled away and sat back on his knees again. “Pal? Did you seriously just call me pal?” he gaped at you, his brows drawn together in confusion and something that looked a lot like betrayal. “Babe, what the fuck did I do? I know you’re mad at me, you keep calling me all these random names. Tell me what I did.”

You laughed and shook your head, pushing yourself up so you were sitting in front of him. “You didn’t do anything, Drew,” you assured him, but could tell that your words had very little effect on him. “I promise.”

His eyes narrowed as he glared at you, moving back to his original spot on his side of the bed. “Then stop calling me dude or pal,” he muttered, picking the remote back up and lifting his arm so you could cuddle against his side. 

You actually did snort this time as you crawled over to him, “Okay, bro,” you mumbled as you slid under his arm, but as soon as the name left your lips, Drew was standing up from the bed and looking down at you with his hands on his hips. 

“Bro? Bro?” he echoed, “No, something is definitely wrong here. What is happening right now, Y/n? Are you breaking up with me or something?”

You let out a loud laugh as you rolled onto your side. “No,” you answered, shaking your head as you looked up at him. “I’m not breaking up with you, Drew. Why would I do that?”

He sounded a bit desperate now as he braced one knee on the edge of the bed and asked, “Then why are you calling me dude and bro and pal? You’ve never called me those names before,” he rambled, “That’s what you call a friend, baby, not your boyfriend.”

“I know,” you said, propping yourself up on your elbows as you looked up at him, and after getting another look at his handsome, yet so obviously confused face, you caved. “That’s what the prank is, babe. I call you names I’d call a friend.”

Drew’s brows furrowed, then he was looking around the bed for your phone, and when he glanced at the nightstand, he let out a loud groan. “Oh for fucks sake,” he grunted, rubbing his hands over his face as you laughed and moved to retrieve your phone. “I thought we were breaking up or something. Why do I keep falling for this shit?” 

You shrugged, “I don’t know. Guys are just so easy,” you answered, “And unless you cheat on me or something, I’m never breaking up with you.”

Drew dropped his hands to his sides as he joined you back on the bed. “And I’m never cheating on you,” he rasped, straddling your thighs as he placed his hands on your waist. “But how many more times are you going to do this to me? This one was fucked up.”

You laughed as you ended the recording, then gasped when you felt how hot his skin was. “Drew,” you say with wide eyes, “You’re, like…sweating.”

“I know I am,” he said, his fingers pushing up your shirt as his hands ran along the skin of your stomach. “I told you, I thought you were breaking up with me. I was panicking.” 

You smiled up at him, letting him take your phone from you and toss it onto the end of the bed. “I would never,” you promised, and Drew wrapped his fingers around your wrists, guiding your hands up to rest on his chest as he gazed down at you with an intense stare. 

“Good,” he murmured, leaning down to brush his lips against yours, and it was clear that the hunt for a movie to watch was now postponed. His eyes were even darker when he pulled away, his nose bumping gently against yours. “I love you.”

You whimpered quietly as you slid your hands up into his hair. “I love you too,” 

Then he was pressing himself against you completely, and soon enough, you were sweating too.

[ceilidho]

'still wakes the deep' au

prompt: You're an environmental scientist conducting research on an off-shore oil rig with only a few days left before you're slated to leave. The eldritch creature they accidentally awaken throws a wrench in the works. First Meeting masterlist

-

Choppy waters like Neptune’s eye meet your gaze when you look back at where you came from, the land on the other side but a beige striation on the horizon. 

“Afraid of heights, doctor?” your escort asks, his amusement borderline distasteful. It must stroke their ego to watch newcomers come aboard and flounder, gawking at the swells and waves crashing against the oil rig, each wave so cataclysmic that it’s a wonder the structure stays upright. A wonder of engineering, that is. 

The rig manager stands closer to the railing, staring without fear out into the ocean surrounding you. His sea legs are likelier studier than the ones that wash up ashore every fourteen days when he’s due for his OSHA mandated break. His knees don’t even buckle at the sight of the barnacles clinging nerve-wrackingly high up on the rig legs. Far too high up for comfort. 

“No, sir,” you reply, shaking your head. “Just water.”

He barks a laugh at that. “Plenny o’ that around here. Wouldn’y go leaning my head over the rail then, if I was you.”

You take another look down, balking at the frothy white streaking the latticework barrier around the jacket legs. No worries there; there isn’t a chance in hell you’ll be going anywhere near the rails. You’re too high up to know for sure, but you wonder if there are sharks plumbing the depths beneath the rig, excited by the noise and activity on board. 

You’d be shark chum if you went overboard. Beyond that, you’d be fish food; no sympathy from the sea to be found this far from land. 

“Where should I set up?” you ask instead. 

Sensing your eagerness to get started—and to get away from the edge of the rig—he gestures for you to follow him and sets off towards the door closest to you, leading you into the interior of the rig. “This way, doc—got a room already set up for ye. Cozier in there than out here.”

The first few days aren’t so bad after that. You spend the first day getting unpacked, your suitcase already waiting for you in your quarters, which doubles as your office, and then turn in early after prepping for the next day. 

As anticipated, you spend the next day hunched over the toilet bowl, stomach roiling from spending too long staring at the turbulent waters below. You’ve done this before but it never gets any easier. Despite your chosen field of research, you’re suited for dry land, not the sea. It’s the price you have to pay though. 

No coffee that first morning. Just tea to help settle your stomach. And it does for a bit—lets you get through your first day worth of tests without you upchucking while collecting water samples from the discharge point. You’ll save your indoor work for the days when the crests of the waves are high enough to spray the working deck. By dinner, your stomach is a little more settled, but still you elect to eat in your quarters instead of with the workers in the mess. 

You haven’t been on the rig long enough to have made any enemies, nor do you think that’s something that’ll happen during your brief time on board, but you definitely haven’t made any friends. It comes with the territory. The men that work on these rigs out in the middle of the ocean—even the ones on land, for that matter—tend to view your kind with distrust at the very least, if not outright hostility. 

It’s hard to blame them. The purpose of your visit isn’t to shower them with praises. You’re stationed on the rig for the next few days to collect data and samples to assess the environmental impact of the rig’s operations. It puts you somewhat at odds with them, the outcome of your work being potentially to the detriment of theirs. 

Some whisper the word like blasphemy. Government worker. They say it like you’re the Baba Yaga or a witch living in a cottage at the edge of the village, like uttering the word too loudly will summon you. There’s too much work to do around the rig for them to cluck their tongues like gossipy hens, but the men find time for it anyway. You’d roll your eyes if you were any greener. 

The truth is though, you’re used to it, and at this point in your career, you don’t have it in you to act like it’s such a shock that they wouldn’t give you the red carpet treatment. All you need is a hot cup of coffee, an office (or even just a desk) to write your reports, and some space to conduct your research without being badgered with questions.

Most of the men tend to blur together, a medley of fluorescent yellow hard hats and navy coveralls, respirators strung around their necks and goggles covering their eyes. It’s easy enough to mistake them for one another. 

Only one of them has managed to catch your eye so far, though you can’t say it’s for a particularly good reason. Of the lot of them, he’s the loudest. Which is saying something, considering that the crew tend to speak in shouts and hollers to make up for the crashing waves beneath them and the howling winds above them. He’s also among the tallest, broad shouldered and muscled—a former first responder or military, if you had to guess, though you keep your assumptions to yourself. 

You know better than to ask questions around him because you’ve learned in the short time that you’ve spent on the rig not to give him—Soap, they call him, or MacTavish when the rig manager is particularly pissed off—even an inch. 

It’s another crew member that gives you that heads up. “Din’y pay him any mind.”

“Who?” you ask, looking up from your work.

The crew member nods to the man posted on the other side of the main deck. “Soap. Bit of a showboat, that one. Always stirrin’ up the boys, gettin’ ‘em all riled up. Din’y let him distract ye too much.”

“Oh. Thanks.” You look back down at the data sheets in front of you. “I’m not worried though. He hasn’t been too much trouble.”

Famous last words. 

He isn’t too much trouble until he suddenly is; until he’s suddenly everywhere, always in your way somehow. Not so much underfoot as just always around the corner waiting with his stupid smug smirk that you’ve grown to despise and half-lidded electric blue eyes roving up and down the length of you. Aggravating you at every turn. 

Your first meeting is an accident. At least, it seems that way, and likely is—he seems too blunt for coincidences or chance meetings, happy to tell you to your face that he manipulated the situation in order to get you on your own. 

You’re wandering down one of the many circulatory hallways and slightly lost when a door suddenly opens, blocking your way. A jumpsuit-clad man twice your size walks out, his hair just brushing the top of the doorframe. Though you recognize him instantly, you’d never gotten close enough for the details to cement in your mental image of him. Up close, you get a better look.

The faint lines around his eyes and mouth betray either his age or the life he’s lived. Weathered; bronzed from days at a time spent under the sun. You’d noticed the mohawk earlier, but staring at the side of his head now, you can see the faint puckering of a healed wound splintering out from his temple into his hairline. Though the sides of his head are freshly shorn, the scar looks old—maybe a year, maybe more. 

When he notices that he’s not alone in the hall, his head turns in your direction and he stops, one foot still in the other room. Two thick brows go up at the sight of you standing there with your tablet clutched to your chest. 

“Hullo gorgeous,” Soap purrs, pupils suddenly pinpricks and your stomach drops. 

Because of course he would. You’d long figured he might be an arrogant piece of work from what little you’ve observed of him from across the rig, but you should’ve known he’d also be a flirt. He’s too good-looking not to be one. Tall and broad, with biceps the size of your head. You’re sure he rolls his shirt sleeves up just to feel them strain against the muscles of his arms. You certainly can’t help the way your eyes are drawn there. 

“Ah ken who ye are,” he says, taking a step towards you until the tips of his boots nearly touch yours. The door is still wide open behind him, swinging slowly towards the wall behind it. Soap towers over you easily, tipping his head to stare down at you. Your lips press into a tight line when his eyes drop to your chest, staring at the outline of your tits through your cardigan. 

“Okay,” you say through stiff lips.

“Yer that lass from the government. Ah thought ye'd be auld,” he jokes, shit-eating grin on his face. 

You nearly groan. It’s too early for this shit and you’re too tired from being up all night working on your report on the rig’s discharge water quality. 

“Well, I’m not,” you reply woodenly instead, altogether unimpressed with him. 

For as fit as he is, you’re not here to flirt or hookup, and you’re good at separating work and your personal life. If anyone manages to get under your skin enough to tempt you, it won’t be the man undressing you with his eyes while covered in a thin layer of grime and sweat. 

“Nae, yer no’,” he agrees, voice a low burr. His eyes flick up to meet yours. “I’m John, by the way.”

“I know.”

“…It’s polite tae give yer name when someone introduces thersel's tae ye.”

“I’d rather you just call me doctor.”

“Doctor, eh?” Soap purrs, running his tongue over his bottom lip. “Dae ye dae house calls, doc? Hae been feelin’ a wee bit feverish lately.”

You can’t help the way your cheeks heat at his comment. “Not that kind of doctor. Do you mind getting out of the way?”

“Jesus, I din’y ken ye’d be so fuckin’ prickly. Thought ye government workers were cheery a' the time.”

“Not when we have work to do,” you bite out, decidedly uncomfortable with his shameless perusal and eager just to get on with your day. “Can you move please? I have somewhere to be.”

All that does is force him to take another step closer, toe-to-toe with you now. You should’ve known he’d take that as an invitation. He reeks of grease and brine, the smell pungent and clinging to his skin and clothes. Almost like he sleeps and works in the same pair of coveralls instead of bringing his dirty clothes down to the laundry facility like everyone else at the end of the week. 

You tell yourself to stop staring at where his coveralls open to a sweat-slicked chest, dark hair poking up over the neckline, but your eyes don’t comply. A small cross dangles from a chain around his neck, nestled in the hair just above his pecs. 

“Good Catholic lass, are ye?” Soap asks, noticing the focal point of your gaze.

You scrunch up your nose at that. “No. I didn’t—it’s none of your business anyway.”

The stutter is where his eyes light up, a little gleam in the blue that lets you know you’ve caught his interest. Like seeing a storm well off in the distance and bracing for it anyway, knowing that you’re in its path no matter what you do. 

“A’right, doc, Ah'll leave ye tae it. Gotta get back myself anyway,” he says, rolling his shoulders back and standing up taller, and it’s only in that moment that you realize how low his neck had been bent in order to get closer to you. “Wait. I can’y let ye go lookin’ like that.”

You’re about to ask him what he means when he suddenly grabs you by the front of your cardigan and pulls you towards him, getting the grease on his hands all over the fabric. Your eyes nearly bug out of your skull as he pops the topmost button into its corresponding hole, the only one you’d left purposefully loose. 

The only reason you don’t snap at him to take his hands off you is because your tongue is a knot in your throat. 

“There we go,” Soap coos when the button is in, looking down at his handiwork all over the front of your shirt. “Lookin’ like part o’ the crew already.”

Your heart pounds in your chest long after he lets you go. When he steps to the side, the door flush with the wall by now, you dart around him, walking away as fast as your legs can carry you without sprinting. You ignore the way he belts out a laugh at your swift departure. Ignore the way your stomach cramps at the sound as well. 

He might end up being more trouble than you thought.

[ksangelscrpt]

thinking about season three shauna with a crybaby reader…..

warnings: mdni, nsfw, swearing

a/n: first drabble on this account!! i haven’t written in literally months so sorry if this is rusty also the ending is a little rushed 😭😭 but my requests are open, so pls pls send them in!!

shauna couldn’t stand you. she couldn’t stand your perpetually wobbly lip or your constantly teary eyes. she couldn’t stand the little almost silent whines you let out when you were upset or overwhelmed. she couldn’t stand the way that you still resorted to tears after everything, everything that they had been through out here, what you had been through. but here you were, still blubbering over every inconvenience. but most of all she couldn’t stand the fact that every time she saw a tear drip down your cheek, her heart clenched in a way that made her chest ache. fuck

it didn’t help that your hut, that you shared with gen and robin, was almost right next to hers. that after especially ‘hard’ days, ones where the team had been arguing or one of the animals had to be slaughtered for meat, she could hear your sniffles and hiccups through the thin stick walls. gen and robin tried to help of course, tried to be supportive, but nothing could ever really console you. you would only stop long enough for gen and robin to presumably go to sleep before shauna would hear those familiar little weeps start up again.

when shauna was finally put in charge, she used this new found power as an opportunity to shut you up herself. she was tired of hearing your fucking whining at night, of seeing you wiping at your eyes. at least that’s what she told herself. it had nothing to do with the pang in her lower stomach everytime she hears your breath hitch, or sees your eyes glaze over with tears. nothing to do with the way her hand with drift down between her thighs some nights, thinking of you looking at her with that same look. nope. nothing at all.

it only took one day of her being in charge before she heard the sound of voices in the hut next to hers, followed by a hiccup of yours. she could tell right away that you were crying, and she knew it likely had to do with coach ben’s death. you were in the collective that believed that he would lead the team home in some way, that he was the bridge. so natalie’s actions had just wrecked you.

shauna’s face morphed into a small smirk at the sound and she is immediately making her way out of her own hut and into yours. you were sitting on your makeshift bed with robin on one side of you, rubbing your back comfortingly while gen paced around, actively talking about something. the presence of your new leader at the entrance of your hut drew all of the attention in the room, even your sniffles silencing as you looked up to meet the eyes of the girl.

“get up” shauna grumbled, eyes glued on you. her hand flicked out, making a ‘come here’ motion with two of her fingers. it was almost condescending the way she called, as if she knew that there was no way you could refuse. which really, could you?

you were confused by the sudden command, who wouldn’t be. but it was shauna, everyone knew better to refuse her wishes. especially now that lottie had put her in power. your legs were wobbly as you stood up and hesitantly took a few steps forward. before you could question her, shauna’s calloused hand was wrapping around your wrist and giving a tug, turning on her heel.

she gave you no time to protest, to think even, before she was dragging you the few feet into her own hut. “shauna wh-“ you go to ask but before you can a hand is pressing over your mouth, pushing you against the hut wall with a soft thump. “shut the fuck up” shauna huffs, but the way her thumb rubs under your eye is nothing but gentle. a complete contrast to her harsh words. “i hear your every night, you know?” she continues, taking a step closer until her chest was pressing against yours, crowding you against the wall. but it wasn’t suffocating, instead it was almost comforting, grounding. “do you know how aggravating it is to listen to your sniffles every night while i’m trying to fucking sleep”

you go to say something but all that comes out is muffled vibrations against her hand. “shush” shauna grunts, but her hand drops from your mouth opting to instead rest it on your hip. the warmth of her palm against your stomach, exposed from the way your tank top had ridden up, causes a heat to spread in your abdomen. your thighs clench involuntarily, the action not going unnoticed by shauna. but surprisingly she chooses not to comment on it, the only acknowledgement being the way the corner of her mouth quirks up. “what are you always crying for anyways?” her voice was a hum as her eyes flick over your face “you have nothing to cry about. i know you don’t.” she knows because she made sure of it, always keeping a watchful eye on the interactions you were having, especially these past few weeks. she made sure you had everything you needed, in her own way.

“there’s always something to cry about” your answer came out mumbled and breathy as your eyes flick down to where her hand was on you. maybe you didn’t really have an answer, maybe you were just emotional, sensitive, or maybe there was something more. you knew shauna wasn’t looking for a real answer, not right now at least. and your suspicion was proved correct by the way her hand trails down a little farther until it was right against the waistband of your worn pajama pants.

“mmm you need someone to make you feel better, huh?” the brunette asks, her voice taking on a cooing tone that makes your face burn and your core clench. fuck. you couldn’t believe you were getting this worked up over shauna shipman. “maybe that way we could both get some fucking sleep.” her hand pushes past your waistband and she is pushing two fingers against your clit before you had a chance to respond. your words were swallowed by a gasp as your eyes fluttered shut automatically, hips bucking to try and meet the new sensation

“oh” shauna chuckles, her eyebrow raising a bit at your eagerness. “yeah you needed this, huh?” her fingers give an experimental circle over your clit which draws a quiet moan from your lips. this wasn’t particularly surprising to either of you to be honest, there was always tension there. shauna new position had just given her the confidence she needed to make her move.

shauna’s fingers start to move at a steady pace now as her other hand finds her chin, titling your head forward from where you had allowed it to lull against the hut wall. the touch causes your eyes to snap open to meet hers, and in her brown irises you can see how feral this is making her. how much she had been longing for this.

with your eyes still locked on hers, shauna’s index finger slips from your clit to your entrance, pushing in halfway. the stretch causes your mouth to fall open and your eyes to burn with the familiar sting of tears. it was like you could see a switch flip in shauna’s brain when she sees that glassy look start to build. in an instant she was plunging her finger fully in, giving you only a few moments to adjust before pulling it out and pushing in right back in. she starts at a relentless pace, and even though it was only one finger it still set every single one of your nerves on fire. “you gonna cry?” she mocks, leaning her head in until her nose was resting on the tip of your ear, her mouth brushing the lobe as she whispers out a “nothing new.”

another finger was added, her thumb still moving relentlessly on your clit. you hadn’t been touched like this in god knows how long, especially with this intensity. it didn’t take long before you could feel a coil forming in your stomach. shauna could tell you were getting close from the way you were clenching down on her fingers, like you never wanted her to slip out. “this is all it takes, really?” shauna can’t pass up the opportunity to mock how fast you were on the edge, but her pace doesn’t let up.

she pulls back so she could look at you, eyes locked on yours as she surveys the wetness pooling in them, right on the edge of rolling down. her thumb presses down hard on your clit and that coil in your stomach bursts with a choked moan. the tears finally slipping down your cheeks as you cum. yeah shauna could definitely get used to those tears.

[hamiltonaf]

Just A Friend | Max Verstappen

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Female Reader

Word Count: 1073

Warnings: None just fluff

A/N: Another TikTok trend lol. The only thing keeping me away from writers block atm. Surprised I’ve never written for Max on here before so I hope I did this justice. Enjoy .xx

Life of a content creator means being active on my socials. “Okay, I think we’re live now,” I smiled at the screen as my phone lit up with notifications. “Hi guys ! Welcome to this very chaotic, very last-minute ‘Get Ready With Me’ because I have no time management skills and I’ve got somewhere to be in—” I glanced at the clock on the wall, “—an hour. Great.”

I sat at my vanity with my makeup splayed out, Max’ oversized hoodie on and a few strands of hair already clipped back. The chat was moving fast, comments rolling in about my skin care, questions about where I was going, and the usual: “Are you dating anyone ?” “Why haven’t we seen you post with that guy again ?”. Max and I have been together for 6 months now and I’ve soft launched him once on my story - nothing official on our accounts, let people continue to speculate.

Just as I picked up my concealer, a shadow moved behind me in the doorway, and I saw it out of the corner of my eye. Max. He was shirtless of course, and casually strolling past, like he didn’t just interrupt a live in front of thousands of viewers who were now collectively losing their minds.

I froze mid-blend as the chat exploded.

WHO WAS THAT?
HELLO???
MA’AM
THAT’S MAX VERSTAPPEN??
BACK UP.
WHO WAS THAT MAN?
IS THAT YOUR BOYFRIEND?
DON’T LIE TO US, Y/N.

I choked on a laugh and quickly looked back over my shoulder. “Don’t mind him,” I said with the most dismissive wave I could muster. “That’s just a friend.” A friend. Yep. Sure. Just a friend who slept in my bed last night and stole all the covers and kissed me breathless in the kitchen this morning. From the hallway, I heard a quiet, almost stunned voice repeat, “Friend ?”

I pretended not to hear him. “Anyway !” I said way too brightly, dabbing under my eyes. “We’re doing something soft and glowy today because I have no time for winged liner. I’m meeting up with a friend after a while for dinner so I’m quite excited.. and hungry.” Behind the doorframe, Max’s head poked out again, his brows drawn together in an expression that clearly read are you kidding me ? He whispered it again—louder this time. “Friend ?” I bit my lip to keep from laughing. I could feel his stare like heat on my skin.

I went on with my makeup, brushing blush onto my cheeks while my chat continued to spiral in all caps. Max had disappeared again, but I knew that was not the end of it. He wasn’t going to let this go.

Fifteen minutes later, I wrapped up, did a little pose for the camera, and waved. “Okay! That’s it for today, I love you guys. Thanks for watching. I’ll see you soon, byeeee!” I ended the live, set my phone down, and barely had time to stretch before— “Friend ?” Max said from behind me, full offence in his voice.

I turned around slowly, trying not to laugh at the look on his face, arms crossed over his chest, hair tucked under his backwards cap, that adorable little crease between his brows when he was confused or annoyed… or both. I blinked innocently. “Hi.” “Don’t ‘hi’ me,” he said, stepping into the room. “Friend ? That’s what we are now ?”

I shrugged, biting my bottom lip. “I mean, technically, you are my friend.” “Technically, I’m your boyfriend,” he countered.“Right, but the internet doesn’t know that,” I teased, as I got dressed. “I’m preserving the mystery. Building intrigue. It’s part of the brand.”

He narrowed his eyes at me. “So I’m just part of your branding strategy now?” “You knew what this was,” I joked, grinning as he crossed the room in a few long strides. “I let you steal my last hoodie,” he said, gesturing dramatically toward the one I was just wearing. “I made you breakfast. I watched that awful romcom you love with the dog that dies. That’s not something friends do.”

I tilted my head playfully as I slipped on my heels. “You’re saying friends can’t watch movies together ?” “Not while you’re sitting in their lap and feeding them popcorn like that,” he shot back, leaning in closer. He was dangerously close now, and I was starting to lose my composure, my smirk faltering slightly. “And friends definitely don’t do this,” he added, voice dropping low as his hands found my waist.

I gasped, caught completely off guard as he pulled me in flushed against his chest. He leaned down and kissed me - soft, slow, and far too thorough to be innocent. I melted into it instantly, hands finding his shoulders, fingers curling into his skin. His kiss was familiar and warm and completely wrecked any illusion I had of teasing him further.

When he finally pulled back, just slightly, his lips still brushed mine as he whispered, “Still just a friend ?” I huffed out a breathless laugh. “Okay, fine. You’ve made your point.” He smiled, triumphant, resting his forehead against mine. “Good. Because if one more person asks if I’m your roommate, I might lose my mind.” I giggled, wrapping my arms around his neck, “I’ll make it up to you.”

“You’d better.” I pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes. “You know I was just messing around, right ?” “Yeah,” he said, grin softening. “But I still like hearing you say I’m yours.” My heart did that ridiculous flutter thing it always did when he looked at me like that. “You are,” I said as I squeezed his face. “Mine.”

He kissed me again, gentle this time, all affection and no heat. Then he pulled me into a hug, arms wrapping tightly around me like he couldn’t stand the idea of letting go. “I guess I should warn you,” I mumbled against his chest, “my DMs are about to be a warzone.” He laughed, low and amused. “You should’ve just told them the truth.”

“Oh yeah ?” I teased. “And what’s the truth?” “That I’m your very attractive, very patient, very not platonic boyfriend who is now going to steal that hoodie back as payment for emotional damage.” “Max!” But he caught me off guard as he carried me over his shoulder and slapped my butt.

Definitely not just a friend.

And I was totally fine with the world knowing that now.

[with-my-calamitous-love]

for you, i would ruin myself / a million little times

o. dazai x reader

dazai reads poetry to you after sex ・❥・mentions of sex / physical intimacy (nothing specified) and aftercare

✎ headcanon i’ve had for a while and wanted to write on it <3 here you go.

special tag for: @osamucide because i love you (im sorry this took 86 years)

song: illicit affairs

dazai, obviously, loves to fuck you. feeling your skin pressed against his, lips embedded against yours lazily while he finds different ways to draw pleasure on your body. for him, its a point of distraction. you’re too busy feeling good to feel empty, even if its for a moment.

but its that moment after the high, the returning back to earth, he especially loves. almost reluctantly, he removes himself from you, slowly easing with gentleness you’d expect from him. he was never one for brash, brawny movements. just quiet intimacy with quiet thoughts that speak volumes. he catches his breath with you, watching the rise and fall of your chest as you sink into the pillows beneath him. he tentatively lifts his head from your shoulder as he collapses next to you.

he waits a few minutes. if you fall asleep, he’ll fall asleep next to you. if you’re still awake, he’ll throw some sweatpants on and grab you some water and take a shower. if you haven’t had enough, he’ll invite you to join him.

but it seems unlikely, since right now, you’re still reeling from it. stars and clouds swirl around in your eyes as he stares, lips curved with content. while he waits, he grabs a book from the nightstand.

the pages are browned and worn out. corners of pages have been folded as crude bookmarks, and the last few pages are wrinkled from the time atsushi knocked over a cup of water on his desk. though he offered to replace it, dazai never seemed to mind the way it aged, like the book itself mattered more. almost as if it were a gift from an old friend.

he sees you shift over to face him in his peripheral vision. instinctively, he extends an arm to you so you can sit up next to him against the headboard.

you don’t normally look through his things. though he wouldn’t mind- he doesn’t have much to hide, anyway. the things dazai does keep hidden are things he doesn’t have to worry about you stumbling across. he has quite a large collection of books, and seemingly, he’ll read or has read, anything. biographies, manuals, tales of clandestine meetings or stolen stares. surely, there should be something in that pile you would enjoy. some titles have peaked your interest, but you’ve never picked one up for yourself.

perhaps its because nothing could match the way dazai reads to you.

so you prompt him, though you both already know the answer: “what are you reading?”

he smiles as your voice, scratched from your previous activities hits his ear. the blankets pool around his waist, gaining all the warmth he needs simply by being next to you. “what do you want to hear?”

he gives you the choice because, to him, all poems, with even a small hint of love, in some way, shape, or form, were about you.

which is why he loves your answer so much: “anything, ‘samu.”

his fingers flip to a random page. 113.

brown eyes skim over the words, softening in recognition once he reaches the final verse. he clears his throat, his adam’s apple sitting beneath the skin you’ve kissed and touched many times before.

Leave the perfume on the shelf

That you picked only for him

Leave no trace behind

Because you don't even exist

A dwindling, mercurial high

illicit affairs

clandestine meetings, stolen stares

They show their truth one single time

But they lie, and lie, and lie

A million little times.

his voice is soft, sanguine. he’s never putting on a grandiose performance but never flattening out the words into boredom. he delivers each syllable with justice, with poised pronunciation but a witty flare that is uniquely his.

you can see in his eyes the words resonate with something he’d like to believe he buried. something about betrayal. about feeling betrayed when you have no reason to feel that way, or simply because they left. or about remembering someone for longer than you’ve known them.

but he shoves it down with a question. “do you like that one?”

his cologne has worn off. his hair, though it was never exactly neat, is feathering over his shoulders in coffee-brown tangles. you can see that flushed hint of red on his lips, beginning to swell from kissing too hard. his sleek clothes are somewhere on the floor, and you can feel- from his arm wrapped around you- residual sweat.

still, he notices how you look at him like he’s the entire world, even after reading the poem that brought up so many pushed-down things for him. you see colours in him you can’t see with anyone else.

he gazes at that colour in you, while he awaits your answer.

“i liked it.” you smile, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“thats all?”

“osamu, you could read a grocery list and i’d listen.”

you get a soft laugh out of him.

he presses his lips against your forehead, coaxing you to sleep as he lays you down. he only reads a few more poems in his head, though he may as well have the letters memorized.

a grocery list. he thinks to himself. there was a time in his life grocery lists were the furthest from his head. death and destruction seem to take up a majority of your mind, and groceries are left on the back burner.

oh, but with you? he can spend every sunday morning unpacking expensive, store bought ingredients with you, and momentarily forget about everything else in the world.

for as long as his heart remains beating, he’ll savour all of it. a million little times.

[prythiansprincess]

── .✦ DAY ONE | [02/14] : THEO.

prythian's princess presents... day one of the valentine special ⋆.˚ .ᐟ first up, we have the love of my life and baby daddy; the one and only theo.

[breeding kink] — the experience of intense sexual attraction at the thought of being impregnated or impregnating someone.

[consensual non-consent] — a kink in which two consenting adults give permission to be forced into sexual acts before any sexual activity occurs.

home ✦ special ✦ more

theodore nott was the type of man that took what he wanted.

there was a quiet possession in him, a dominance that demanded submission. theo never thought that he would find that willingness in you. the pillars of your personality were built on independence, ambition, and success, but he learned that while you dominated all other aspects of your life, there was one place where you craved the relinquish of control — the bedroom.

your submission was a gift that theo treasured, especially because he knew that a lesser man would not have been able to earn it as he had. there was nothing more satisfying than knowing that he owned every piece of you so utterly and completely.

a sense of pride spread through theo’s chest as he entered the bedroom you shared and found you fast asleep in bed, so pretty and vulnerable as you curled up on his side of the bed, relishing in the scent of him that lingered on the pillows and sheets. theo smiled as he crawled in next to you. his lips dragged down your neck, sucking on the soft flesh and branding your skin with his kisses. theo hummed as he pulled you closer, big hands roaming all over your body, marveling at the feel of your creamy thighs and juicy ass and perfect tits. he pressed his already hard cock into your ass, grinding his erection against the warmth of your core.

the delicious friction it created was enough to have him rutting against you like the pre-pubescent version of himself might’ve done. theo couldn’t help it. you brought out a desperation in him, a delirium that sank its sharp claws into him until he succumbed to the need. theo used to fear his propensity to possess, to obsess, to consume, having been told all his life that it was wrong, it was unhealthy, but they just didn't understand him like you did.

even in your sleep, you melted into his touch as though you had been waiting for this all along. you wanted this. you wanted him.

theo groaned as his hand traveled down your torso, his breathing heavy and laden with desire as he slipped past the waistband of your pajama shorts and palmed you through your lace panties. stirring, you sleepily arched against theo, reaching for him even while you were unconscious. an animalistic growl crawled up his throat when he found you wet and ready for him.

wasting no time, theo yanked your panties to the side and positioned himself behind you, easing his cock into your entrance. a choked groan was all he could manage as he buried himself inside of you, so wet and warm and tight. his hand drifted up to your throat, anchoring himself in place as he thrusted up into you, fucking you with a desperation that consumed his entire being. this was what it meant to possess; to take what was rightfully his. with you, theo never had to deny himself ever again.

you stirred as he rutted into you, burying himself over and over again until his eyes rolled from the overwhelming pleasure. theo hushed you when you mumbled his name, placing a sweet kiss on your lips.

“take it, amore,” theo said in a rough, gravelly voice. “I know you want it. been waiting for me all night, haven’t you? just laying here, on my side of the bed, your face buried in my pillows, hoping that i’d come home and fuck you just like this.”

you moaned as his hips slapped against your ass. “always, theo,” you replied, half out of your mind from the pleasure. “I always want you.”

“so do I, principessa. needed you so much,” theo panted, his grip tightening on your neck. “i’ve been thinking about this all day. I want to claim you. I want to own you. I want to possess you.”

“you already do.”

“there’s more than one way to own someone,” theo grunted. “I want it all. fuck, m’gonna fill this pretty pussy with my cum until i’m dripping out of you for days. you want that, don’t you? just think of how pretty you’ll look pregnant. you’ll be such a great mother to our children. I won’t stop until I put my baby inside of you, cara mia.”

though you had never thought that you would want kids, being with theo had completely changed your mind. you wanted nothing more than to build a family with him, knowing that he would be an excellent father to your children.

“fuck, yes, please,” you breathed, eager to make his words a reality. “cum in me, baby. breed me, theo. I want to make you a dad.”

the thought of you pregnant, round and swollen with his child was enough to make theo lose all sense of self. thick ropes of cum pumped inside of you, filling your pretty cunt with his seed until it overflowed and dripped from your hole. never one for unnecessary waste, theo stuffed his cum back inside of you with a reverent expression.

“keep it all inside. you’ll need every drop to make you nice and pregnant,” murmured theo. “I can’t wait until you’re carrying my child. that way you’ll never leave me. there's no escaping me, amore. it's me and you."

you smiled as theo kissed your stomach, willing a child to grow in your fertile womb. "you’ll be mine, forever.”

[velvetvisionsaurora]

Alpha ATEEZ x Assistant Omega Reader

Warnings: omega reader, alpha ateez, scenting, heats, ruts, slow burn, eventual smut, forced command, more to come!

When Y/n accepts a position as assistant to alpha K-pop group ATEEZ, she's prepared with professional skills and scent blockers to hide her omega status. What she's not prepared for is the immediate, inexplicable connection she feels with all eight members—a resonance that defies her careful boundaries.

As Y/n becomes eerily attuned to their needs, her suppressed omega nature begins to emerge: purring for the first time in years, responding to alpha growls, feeling safe in ways she never has before. When a protective incident reveals the depth of the members' attachment to her, Y/n must confront the possibility that what binds them together is something ancient and profound.

Authors note: Double post because I missed yesterday! If you haven’t read Compass of the Heart, you may not know but I have twin toddlers, and with preschool ending, summer things and my full time job it’s going to take me a minute to adjust to finding writing time. So if things do get wacky please don’t worry, if I’m taking a longer break I will always let you know!

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Masterlist Ko-Fi☕️

Chapter 12: Awakening

There was something about Yunho’s easy energy that had always put you at ease, and today especially. 

After finishing breakfast, you both moved to the living room. You settled onto the couch with your tablet, still hoping to get some work done despite Hongjoong's orders, while Yunho sprawled on the floor with his gaming controller.

"You know," he said, pausing his game setup to look at you, "you don't have to pretend to work just because I'm here. It's supposed to be a rest day."

"I'm not pretending," you protested, though the way you were aimlessly scrolling through the same schedule you'd already memorized suggested otherwise.

Yunho grinned, setting down his controller and moving to sit beside you on the couch. "Come on, when's the last time you just... relaxed? No schedules, no coordinating, no making sure eight chaotic alphas don't burn the house down?"

You considered his question seriously. "I... honestly can't remember."

"Exactly," he said, gently taking the tablet from your hands and setting it aside. "So today, we're going to practice the art of doing absolutely nothing productive."

"I don't know how to do nothing," you admitted, feeling oddly lost without your usual tasks to focus on.

"Lucky for you, I'm an excellent teacher," Yunho replied with that bright smile that never failed to make you feel lighter. "Step one: forget about work. Step two: find something that makes you happy. Step three: do that thing."

"And what if work makes me happy?" you challenged playfully.

"Then you need better hobbies," he shot back, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "What did you like to do before you became our incredibly efficient but slightly workaholic assistant?"

The question made you pause. It had been so long since you'd thought about leisure activities that weren't somehow connected to your job. "I used to read a lot. And I liked cooking, though I never had much time for elaborate meals."

"See? We can work with that," Yunho said enthusiastically. "Reading and cooking. Both perfectly valid ways to spend a forced day off."

"You make it sound so simple," you said, though you were smiling despite yourself.

"It is simple. You're the one making it complicated," he replied, then reached over to gently poke your nose. "Stop overthinking everything, Tulip."

The casual use of Wooyoung's nickname for you, delivered with such fond affection, made your heart flutter unexpectedly. "Did you just—"

"What? Call you Tulip?" Yunho's grin widened at your flustered expression. "I like it. It suits you. Sweet and beautiful, but stronger than people expect."

Heat rose to your cheeks at the compliment. "You can't just say things like that."

"Why not? It's true," he said simply, his expression growing more serious. "You are beautiful, Y/n. Inside and out. And stronger than you give yourself credit for."

The sincere way he spoke, the gentle intensity in his eyes, made your breath catch. "Yunho..."

"What?" he asked softly, leaning slightly closer. "Is it wrong of me to want you to see yourself the way we see you?"

The space between you seemed to shrink without either of you consciously moving. You could see the golden flecks in his brown eyes. 

"How do you see me?" you whispered, the question escaping before you could stop it.

"Like you're precious," he replied without hesitation, his hand coming up to gently cup your cheek. "Like you're exactly what we've all been missing without knowing it. Like you're home."

Your heart hammered against your ribs as his thumb traced across your cheekbone with reverent gentleness. "Yunho, I—"

"Can I kiss you?" he interrupted softly, his gaze dropping briefly to your lips before meeting your eyes again. "Please?"

The simple request, asked with such tender hope, made your omega purr with satisfaction even as your rational mind tried to catch up with what was happening. Instead of answering with words, you found yourself nodding, leaning into his touch.

When his lips met yours, the kiss was different from the passionate encounters you'd shared with Hongjoong, Wooyoung and Seonghwa. This was soft, sweet, almost tentative—like Yunho was savoring every second, memorizing the feel of you against him.

When you finally broke apart, both breathing slightly harder, Yunho rested his forehead against yours with a contented sigh.

"I've wanted to do that for so long," he admitted quietly.

"Really?" you asked, still feeling slightly dazed from the kiss.

"Really," he confirmed, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "Now, how about we find you a good book while I set up my game? We can be unproductive together."

You laughed softly, the sound making Yunho's smile brighten even further. "That sounds perfect."

As he settled back onto the floor with his controller and you curled up on the couch with a book from their impressive collection, you couldn't help but marvel at how right this felt—spending a quiet morning with Yunho, no schedules or responsibilities, just the two of you existing in comfortable companionship.

---

Yunho had retreated to his room after lunch, the sounds of his gaming session drifting down the hallway—enthusiastic exclamations punctuated by the rapid clicking of his controller. You'd assured him multiple times that you were fine, that he didn't need to hover, and eventually he'd relented enough to give you some space while still remaining within earshot.

Now you found yourself sprawled on the living room couch, staring at the ceiling and trying to understand what was happening to your body. The restless energy that had started this morning was only getting stronger, making it impossible to sit still or focus on anything for more than a few minutes.

Your omega felt... different. More aware, more attuned to the house around you. Ever since yesterday's revelation, since the members had begun openly acknowledging what you were and responding to you with increased affection and protectiveness, something fundamental had shifted in your nature.

It was as if spending months surrounded by eight alphas while suppressing your omega instincts had created a dam that was now beginning to crack. Their casual touches, their protective hovering, their unguarded affection—it was awakening parts of your omega that you'd kept carefully dormant.

After twenty minutes of fruitless lounging, the restless energy won out. You pushed yourself off the couch and began moving through the house, drawn by an inexplicable need to... what? Clean? Organize? Care for the space that housed your alphas?

The thought should have startled you—your alphas—but instead it felt natural, right in a way that made your omega purr with satisfaction.

You started in the living room, straightening throw pillows and folding the blankets that had been left draped over chairs. The simple acts of bringing order to their space felt surprisingly fulfilling, each small task soothing the restless itch beneath your skin.

Moving to the kitchen, you found dishes from breakfast still waiting in the sink. Without thinking, you rolled up your sleeves and began washing them, the warm water and routine motions helping to calm your agitated omega. As you worked, you found yourself humming softly—another omega behavior you'd suppressed for so long it felt strange and wonderful to let it emerge naturally.

The laundry was next. Following your nose to the utility room, you discovered several loads of clothes waiting to be sorted and washed. As you began separating dark from light, your hands stilled suddenly on a particular shirt.

You lifted the garment to your face before you could stop yourself, breathing in deeply. The scent that filled your senses was unmistakably Hongjoong's—sandalwood and ocean breeze, rich and masculine and completely intoxicating. Your omega responded immediately, a soft whine escaping your throat at the pure rightness of his scent.

Confused, you checked your scent blocker patch with one hand. It was still firmly in place, still functioning. So why could you suddenly smell...?

Curious now, you rifled through the pile of clothes, bringing different items to your nose. A soft sweater that smelled like vanilla and cedarwood—Seonghwa's scent, warm and comforting and safe. A dance practice shirt that carried the bright, energizing scent of citrus and clean linen that could only be Yunho's.

A black t-shirt that made your knees weak with its potent combination of cinnamon and dark chocolate—San's scent, spicy and tempting and utterly masculine. Your omega practically purred at the intensity of it, your body responding with a heat that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room.

Another shirt, this one carrying the rich, earthy combination of soil and pine that belonged to Mingi. The scent brought memories of his protective presence, his gentle touches, the way he'd looked at you with such fierce care. Your omega whined again, a soft sound of longing that you couldn't suppress.

What was happening to you? How were you suddenly able to detect their scents through your blocker? You touched the patch again, pressing on it to make sure it was properly adhered, but it seemed to be working normally.

Yet here you were, surrounded by the distinct scents of your alphas, your omega responding to each one with increasing desperation. When you encountered a hoodie that carried the light, alluring scent of musk and cherry blossoms—Yeosang's scent, subtle but unmistakable—you actually had to grip the edge of the washing machine to steady yourself.

The lively, invigorating scent of bergamot and ginger from one of Wooyoung's shirts made your omega keen with want. Even the crisp, refreshing scent of apples and mint from Jongho's workout clothes affected you, despite him being the youngest of the pack.

By the time you'd loaded the first batch of clothes into the washing machine, you were practically trembling with need. Your omega was in overdrive, responding to the concentrated scents of eight different alphas with an intensity that left you breathless and confused.

The overwhelming intensity of their scents was becoming too much to bear. With shaking hands, you made your way to the guesthouse, your omega whining softly at leaving the den that smelled so perfectly of your alphas. You needed to change your scent blocker—maybe the current one was malfunctioning, allowing their scents to break through when it shouldn't.

In your bathroom, you carefully removed the patch behind your ear and replaced it with a fresh one from your supply. The relief was immediate but incomplete—the scents around you dulled to manageable levels, but your omega seemed to grow even more anxious in response.

It was as if blocking their scents again had triggered something deeper, a desperate need to care for the alphas who had protected you, who had shown you such fierce loyalty and affection. Not in the way omega stereotypes suggested—submissive and mindless—but in the way you naturally wanted to care for people who mattered to you.

Your hands moved without conscious thought as you returned to the kitchen, mixing ingredients for cookies you didn't remember deciding to make. The motions felt automatic, instinctual, your omega driving you to provide comfort and nourishment for your pack.

While the cookies baked and dinner continued to simmer, you found yourself climbing the stairs to Yunho's room with a plate of the fresh-baked treats. You knocked softly on his door before entering, finding him absorbed in what appeared to be an intense battle sequence.

"I brought you some cookies," you said softly, not wanting to startle him during what looked like a crucial moment.

Yunho paused his game immediately, turning to look at you with an expression of pure wonder. His eyes tracked your movements as you set the plate beside his setup, then noticed his empty water glass.

"Let me refill this for you," you murmured, already reaching for the cup.

"You don't have to—" he started, but you were already heading back downstairs.

When you returned with his freshly filled glass, setting it carefully within reach, Yunho's smile was radiant—that beautiful, sunshine expression that never failed to make your heart flutter.

"Thank you Tulip," he said, his voice warm with genuine appreciation and something deeper, something that made your omega practically glow with satisfaction.

The praise, the gratitude, the sheer happiness in his expression triggered something primal in your omega. Before you could stop yourself, a soft purr rumbled from your chest, followed by a delighted chirp that sounded foreign to your own ears but felt completely natural.

You fled the room immediately, embarrassed by the omega sounds you couldn't control, but not before you caught the way Yunho's eyes widened and his mouth fell slightly open.

Back in the kitchen, you threw yourself into finishing dinner preparations, trying to ignore the way your omega continued to purr softly with contentment at having pleased one of your alphas.

---

In his room, Yunho sat frozen, staring at his game screen where his character had been brutally defeated while he'd been distracted. But he couldn't bring himself to care about the loss, not when the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard was still echoing in his ears.

That purr. That soft, musical chirp.

His omega had made those sounds for him, because of him, in response to his simple gratitude. The realization sent a wave of alpha satisfaction through him so intense it was almost overwhelming.

He'd heard omega sounds before, of course—in videos, in passing—but nothing had prepared him for the effect of hearing them from you. Your omega expressing contentment and pleasure at caring for him, at receiving his praise.

His hands moved automatically to restart the level, but his mind was entirely focused on one desperate thought: he needed to hear those sounds again.

The cookies you'd brought him sat forgotten on the plate as Yunho tried to process what had just happened. Your omega was awakening, responding to them with increasing openness, and the sounds you were making were the most perfect thing he'd ever experienced.

His alpha was practically vibrating with the need to find you, to praise you more, to coax more of those incredible sounds from your omega. But he forced himself to stay put, knowing that crowding you right now might scare your newly awakening omega back into hiding.

Still, as he attempted to refocus on his game, Yunho couldn't stop the smile that spread across his face. Your omega had purred for him. Had chirped with happiness at his simple thanks.

And he was absolutely determined to make it happen again.

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[homemadesterekpie]

there’s something about the concept of Stiles joining Derek’s pack and over time becoming more wolf than human even if he remains technically a human, that i absolutely love… so here’s a little something about that.

losing his entire family transforms Derek into someone more primitive, more feral, parts of himself that had been buried under years of masking when living out alongside humans are now back with a vengeance.

his mother always believed in living a double life, living the best of both worlds and Derek always thought the same but then his entire family burned to death.

now he wants to live as a wolf. let the wolf to the forefront and take the lead. doesn’t mean he’s in wolf form all the time it just means he’s letting his instincts take control and he stops second guessing them.

Stiles joins his pack pretty early on because Scott has a death wish apparently and Stiles does not want to die thank you very much.

he starts spending all of his time with Derek and the betas, in the forest. his dad starts asking questions because Stiles is not even there for supper when he’s off duty anymore and he’s almost never in his bed in the morning either.

Stiles can’t sleep without Derek anymore. his room smells wrong. his own bed feels wrong to sleep on. the entire house smells wrong. his dad is never home anyway.

at school he keeps zoning out while looking outside the window, into the forest. non-packmates brush against him in the halls and he has to make a giant effort not to snarl at them.

Isaac, Erica and Boyd become his shadows. during lunch they leave the school grounds and run into the forest doing God knows what. the school starts talking, the sheriff gets informed. Scott gets told.

they both corner Stiles when he gets back from school along with Isaac, Erica and Boyd.

Stiles sighs through his nose when he sees Scott’s bike and the cruiser in the driveway. he looks to the three wolves and they look back. they haven’t needed to use words in a while.

they follow him inside the house that hasn’t felt like home to Stiles in some time now.

Scott is pissed the wolves came along, the sheriff doesn’t understand. he asks if they’re Stiles’s new friends and that maybe they aren’t a good influence on him, which provokes some low growls from the wolves. Isaac taking one of Stiles’s wrists in one hand and pulling slightly with a short whine.

Stiles soothes him with a touch and huff through his nose. won’t be long.

Stiles tells his dad that his grades are fine so whats the problem. his dad is a bit stunned. Scott is so red he looks like he’ll explode at any moment.

his dad says he’s just worried about him and Scott nods along. Stiles says he’s fine and that they don’t need to worry about him. they just need to let him be.

the sheriff kind of panics because it feels a lot like he’s losing control of his kid. like he’s actively losing him somehow. but he can’t pinpoint exactly why so he just deflates in defeat.

Stiles says again he doesn’t have to worry about him and with that he goes upstairs to his room to grab what he had come here for and then he’s out of the door, his wolves leading the way, leaving a livid Scott and a shook sheriff behind.

Scott comes out the door and shouts things at Stiles. Stiles doesn’t even look his way as he gets into his jeep and backs out the driveway.

when they get to the forest, Stiles hugs Derek tightly and lets him nuzzle his neck, his hair. Putting his scent back on him. he tells Derek what happened. Derek just looks at him, intently.

Stiles tells him he doesn’t want to leave anymore. he wants to stay here. with Derek. with the betas. that going into town doesn’t feel right anymore. and he gets upset as he tries to explain to Derek why he can’t be out there anymore.

Derek just pulls him into his arms and makes the low rumbling noise he makes whenever Stiles or one of his wolves are upset and need to be soothed.

Stiles clings to him. his alpha. staying away from him for too long is becoming painful. the betas can feel it too. the stronger their pack gets, the harder it is to be apart. being with the betas at school is just enough to keep them all sane.

the day Stiles turns 18, he moves out of the house and into the forest. the betas + Peter helps with the move. he moves out while his dad is at work and he gets home to his son’s room stripped of everything except furniture and a letter on the bare mattress.

Stiles’ words tells him not to worry about him and that he’s not far. that Stiles loves him but he needs to do this. that Stiles will keep an eye on him so not to do anything stupid.

the sheriff wonders around the house feeling numb until he notices the framed picture of him and Stiles when he was still a child, is missing from its frame on the wall. Stiles obviously took it with him. and thats what breaks him. he’s upset but that small gesture gives him hope. hope that his son is not completely lost to him.

the pack builds themselves a life out in the forest. they barely leave it now. only when Stiles wants to check on his dad or pack matters require them to leave it.

Scott follows Allison and her family out of state after Derek’s pack make a formal request. No hunters will be permitted to enter much less reside on Hale lands without explicit permission from the pack. Chris Argent tries to negotiate but the mated Alpha pair is adamant. either they leave their territory or they’ll be made to leave it.

Stiles sets up protective runes around his childhood home. the best ones he’s got. and he leaves an amulet on his dad’s bedside table and a note that says to put it on and never take it off. the sheriff does as he’s told without question.

by now he’s used to his son doing things from the shadows. he barely sees him but he also feels near at all times. like he’s always there, watching over him. like he said he would.

sometimes he finds baskets of stuff on his porch when he gets back from a long shift. some seasonal produce, fresh game, the occasional preserves and pickles. there’s no note usually but he knows who leaves them.

when he unpacks the baskets he leaves them back out on the porch to be picked up again.

sometimes he can hear howls from the forest. it took him a long time to finally understand what they meant, since after all, there’s no wolves in California.

Stiles is part of something old. so old it’s actually ancient. and sacred. something that has its own culture and rules. something he will never fully understand. but he understands enough and it settles something in him that had been unsettled ever since that day him and Scott cornered Stiles after school.