#he had fallen in love with all of her without even knowing it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mae-gi-writes · 19 hours ago

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second wind. 2 . xaden riorson (fourth wing)

Xaden doesn't believe in second chances until he meets you.

genre: slowburn, fluff, suggestive content, mentions of death, violence and abuse. Reader is a Healer. iron flame spoilers so don't read if you haven't read iron flame and if you do read it, don't blame me TT.TT

a/n: Happens after the fight at Resson. Don't come after me. I love Xaden and Violet and this is just for shits and giggles so if you don't like it please just ignore it. Also, let me know if you wanna be added to the taglist! This one's gonna be quite a long one <3

taglist: @sorrybaeeeeee @lalameors @skxawngs @nesiris21 @ambivalence-is-me @fourthmarvel @kahlan170 @bubybubsters

part one | part two | part three

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

“Fancy seeing you out here all alone.”

You bury your face deeper into the coat that one of the riders had found for you within the depths of a closet somewhere inside the gigantic mansion in which you were calling home for a hot minute. It’s been more than a month since you’ve been brought to Aretia, a city that you once fought had fallen and were in ashes, only for the truth to be spilled by none other than Xaden Riorson, the one who’d brought you here when Samara was destroyed.

Needless to say that you’d gotten into somewhat of a routine despite the fact that here you feel pretty useless when there’s this new Mender— Brennan — around.

He’s the one that finds you kicking at snow with boots two sizes too big for your feet, his auburn hair disheveled and a two-day stubble adorning his jawline. It’s quite early for him to be out and about. What you’d learnt about Aretia is that the people here don’t actually stick to Basgiath schedule. It is something that throws you off slightly.

“I’m enjoying the peace and quiet while it lasts,” you murmur into the depths of your coat.

Brennan lets out a chuckle and a gust of smoke slips past his lips, “how are you liking it here so far, despite the cold?”

“It’s alright,” you kick at a few stray stones, “it could be worse.”

And you’re telling the truth. You’d rather be here than Samara. Even though there’s a lot of snow that covers the expanse of mountains surrounding you, it’s still warmer than Samara’s icy cold nights that had your toes freezing despite the double-layered socks you wore to bed every night.

“Still making up your mind about going back to Basgiath?”

Your face twists into a scowl, “how can I? Now that I know what’s really going on?”

“Yeah,” Brennan has the decency to grimace, flushing to the tips of his ears, “I’m sorry, Tala. We shouldn’t have dragged you into this mess.”

“No,” you shake your head, “no, you saved my life. It has nothing to do with that. It’s just…” the words fail you then as you try and gather some logic into your thoughts.

“Just that you don’t know what’s the truth anymore,” Brennan finishes for you gently, “am I right?”

You nod.

He lets out another puff of steam, “nobody’s forcing your hand. You’re free to go, just like you’re free to stay. As long as our secrets die with you, nobody has nothing against you going back, you know that right?”

And that’s why you love Brennan so, and if it weren’t for the fact that he is Violet’s brother — yes, you’ve happened to know her name — you would’ve definitely leaned onto his support without a backward glance.

But it’s not so easy when there’s too much information and so little people you can trust that kind of information with.

“If it makes you feel any better, I will not let Xaden touch a strand of your hair,” he adds on, “that surely alleviates some of the pressure?”

You crack a smile, “yeah, I guess so.”

It’s not that you don’t trust Xaden Riorson. But rather, you don’t know what to make of him anymore. He is always so in control of everything, so calculated, that it is hard to imagine him struggling to contain whatever is happening behind closed doors. Somehow it makes your heart curl with guilt. He shouldn’t have to shoulder all of this weight by himself and yet he is. God knows you would’ve already crumbled at this point.

The man is remarkable, and you hate that his actions render him even more desirable.

“Can I ask you something?” Your question makes Brennan pause. He looks over at you, hazel eyes focused.

He nods to spur you on, tilting his head at you like he’s listening on alert.

“Do you truly believe that this can work?” You bite onto your lower lip, “is it the right thing to do?”

"I don't know," he sounds raw when he answers, you're not going to get more honest than that. And there's one more thing with Brennan-- he doesn't sugarcoat it. He doesn't bother hiding the truth, and that somehow makes it so much easier to trust him, "but I know that whatever we do out here is right. We're fighting for what we believe in."

His eyes seem to find something in the distance you can't quite see-- or maybe it's his dragon talking to him -- because he turns to you abruptly, "the cadets are coming," he looks back towards the Riorson manor, "I'll tell Xaden."

Turns out that Garrick and Bodhi are not the only ones that you get acquainted to. Soon enough, you find yourself jostled around with names too unfamiliar on your tongue to remember, although the only string of recognition that does help is the fact that all these people seemed connected to the girl who'd died. The woman that Xaden had loved. And they all wear the same scars, the same faraway look in their eyes whenever they mention her, and guilt curls along your chest whenever they do because somehow, it almost feels like she's right here, this woman that had big plans to change the world.

You're more comfortable with the quiet blonde who apparently had been one of the main reasons for Violet's death. His name is Liam Mairi and unlike the rest of the cadets, has not said more than two words ever since his arrival. You find his silence somewhat comforting, a sanctuary amidst the other cadet's loud voices and arguments as they run through their daily plans. But the blonde just sits there, hulking frame hovering over what seems to be a carving that he works on, leaving little shells of wood everywhere he goes.

You find yourself reading through your book on medicinal herbs as you keep Liam company, and soon enough you feel his blue eyes boring into the side of your head.

"You're the healer," Liam states like it's a fact. His voice is rough, but lighter than Xaden's. Like pine.

You shift and draw your eyes to his face, "Yes, I guess I am."

"You were the one who flew with Riorson?"

"Yes," you bite the inside of your cheek, the memories playing behind your lids still so fresh. Sometimes, the nightmares plague you.

"And you are..." you trail off while motioning to him, continue on shyly, "Liam Mairi, right? I've ...heard a lot about you."

"Me?" the ghost of a smile dances across his lips, "do tell me more."

"Well, you've got quite a reputation among the healers," you say with a timid grin, "something to do with being a flirt."

"I'm impressed," he chuckles, "you healers seem to know a lot more about us than we do."

"That's because we're the only ones that history does not write down," you grimace, "we're irrelevant, after all, unless you're a mender. Like Brennan."

Liam's smile fades at that, "I'm sorry."

"No don't be," you're the one to chuckle now, "I didn't sign up to be a healer to change the world, that's for sure. I'm too much of a coward to be doing what you guys do."

"And yet, you're vital to whether we make it or not."

Maroon eyes clash with blue.

You blink at him. He gazes back, challenging you to bring yourself down again. It seems he can read right through your blunder, right through your insecurity. And for someone who's been brought up as a weapon, you find that his gentleness is more than surprising.

"I--thank you," the words stumble out before you can stop them, cheeks flushing bright pink when he grins back, "that's not something we hear often."

"Pleasure's all mine, miss...?"

"Tala."

"Tala," he tries out your name and cracks another grin, bigger this time, more natural, "cool name."

You blush again, "thank you."

As the cadets make themselves comfortable in the Riorson house, it's inevitable that they have questions about you that they seem intent on knowing. And since asking Xaden is not an option -- for he'll probably just tell them to fuck off and run laps -- they've all decided to try and get to know you.

Ridoc is more persistent than most, finding you as you walk along corridors and always making it a point to accompany you no matter the distance. He's chatty and easy to talk to, with a big barking laugh that is contagious and jokes that make double over and hold your tummy. Soon, he's the one dragging you out during mealtimes, forcing you to sit at the rider's table so that you have no choice but squeeze in-between gorgeous Liam and a scary-looking woman you think her name goes by Imogen.

"Riorson definitely needs to get laid," Ridoc announces like it's a completely normal thing to do and you almost spit out your hot milk.

You cough into your napkin and send Liam a grateful look when he thumps your back for good measure.

"Ridoc, it's just been a year. Can you not be a dick?" The pretty rider with the dark colouring and beautiful braids -- whom you think is called Rhiannon-- scowls at him.

"I didn't say he needs to fall in love! I just said he needs some distractions," Ridoc replies like it makes things easier, head whipping back and forth across his friends, "Don't tell me you're against the idea! You've seen the way he makes us train our butts off like he has a personal vendetta against us."

"I have to agree to that," Sawyer raises his hand half-heartedly.

"Sawyer!" Rhiannon slaps the said young man's shoulder.

"Don't be a pushover," Imogen glowers. Her eyes find Ridoc across the table, "and you," her glare intensifies and you all but shrink away as she leans towards Ridoc with narrowed eyes.

But she surprises you with, "I think you're right."

There's silence. Everyone stares at her like she's grown an extra limb.

"What?" Imogen shrugs, "Xaden's being an ass. Wouldn't mind him getting off my back a little."

"Thank you!" Ridoc thumps his chest like a proud kid.

"Are they always like this?" You whisper into Liam's ear as they keep on babbling about Xaden like he's not the most scariest rider in the room that can take out anyone within a second.

Liam's chest rumbles as he laughs, "unfortunately, yes,” his blue eyes crinkle with warmth, “You'll get used to it though."

All that talk about Xaden and has you flushing red to the tips of your toes. It is no secret within the rider quadrant -- as told to you by none other than Rhiannon one day when the squad had casually convened to talk about it so openly -- that riders are far more active in the sexual department. Unlike the Healers, the high-risk high-reward concept built into their training system and the fact that they never know when they might die results in a swarm of sexually-driven individuals who believe in having fun instead of preserving what Imogen labels as "prudeness."

By the manner in which you'd blushed a deep, bright red during that discussion, it had been clear as day that you were not used to being so open on such matters, hence where the teasing starts.

"Can't believe it. How do you de-stress, honey?" Rico's eyes are so wide they might fall out of his sockets. He stares you down like you're a new species of dragon he's never seen before. It makes you squirm in your seat and look away, shrugging it off to appease the heat rushing through your cheeks.

"Healers are very much like scribes in this respect," you say in what you hope is a half-decent argument, "we don't frolic amongst ourselves...as easily as you do."

"Well I don't blame you," Imogen rests her head atop her arms, "Riders are hot. And I suppose it doesn't help that you're dressed like--" she motions towards your body, covered up in swaths of white cloth, the standard healer uniform that once upon time you would've been proud of wearing, "--like this."

"Have you ever been to the rider's quadrant?" Rhiannon asks.

You shake your head, "not really. We only see them when they come to us."

"And you've never felt attracted to any rider that walked through your doors?" suspicion lines Imogen's tone.

You try not to think of Xaden despite the fact that he's the first that comes to mind. You can feel your ears going red as you blabber, "no. Not really."

"Aw come on Tala! Give us something to work with!" Ridoc whines and pounds the table with his fist, "what if I told you, you could have sex with any rider in here?" he makes a grand gesture to encapsulate the entire manor.

Your cheeks betray as they blossom with pink, "uhm...I don't--"

It's at this particular moment that Brennan walks by and Ridoc takes this as opportunity.

"`What about Brennan?" he waves wildly into the said rider's direction, who stops in mid-walk to look at the table with a confused frown.

"What about me?" he asks.

Ridoc ignores him, eyes focused solely on making you dig a deeper grave for yourself, "isn't he hot? Wouldn't you have sex with him if you could?"

"Ridoc, please for the love of all that is holy--" Rhiannon rolls her eyes at him, "ignore him Tala. He's the one who's sex-deprived. He's just missing his usual hookups. That's all."

"No no," Brennan merely sidles closer and you let out an exasperated squeak before proceeding to hide your face with your hands, "do continue. Now I'm curious."

"Nope. Alright. I'm going now," you blurt out, bursting from your seat and making a beeline for the dining hall exit as the group of riders gaze at your retreating form with growing amusement.

"She's cute," Rhiannon quips, taking another bite of a muffin.

"I agree with that," Liam adds.

The rest of the week goes by and as the riders settle into a routine, you scurry back to your Healer duties by shadowing Brennan as an assistant. He teaches you about the variety of herbs and medicine available in this kind of terrain, spends time to explain through theory and hands-on exercises which medicine is best used in urgent cases, and as the days go by you can't help but wonder that the Healers at Basgiath seem to be lacking of knowledge that Brennan seems to know of.

When you ask him about it, he merely shrugs and says, "most books found at Basgiath are relevant to an extent. But these conditions, this environment is different. That doesn't make them wrong, though."

"How did you learn all of this by yourself?" you ask while your fingers focus on tearing apart each herb leaf and dumping its stems into the medicine bowl.

"Trial and error, I suppose," his lips quirk up into a knowing smile. He sends you a look from the book that had his focus this entire hour, its contents splayed across the granite counter, "but you're a quick learner."

"Thank you," your head ducks at his compliment. Coming from him, it means a lot.

Xaden doesn't make an appearance until later that night. And at this point you haven't seen him for days, with rumours that he was out flying and checking over the perimeter. You hadn't bothered asking for more when you had managed to piece together the information by yourself.

But you are more than surprised to see him waiting by your doorway as you shuffle through your bathroom door, cheeks pink from your shower and hair still wet.

His dark eyes flicker over the wet strands curling along your collarbones, before darting back up to your face.

"Oh--hi," you stammer over your words in a mixture of shock and surprise, "what are you doing--did you need something?"

His jaw ticks. Wordlessly moving away from the door, he tugs his shirt upwards and turns to show you his back.

At first, you can only see the dragon relics curling along his skin, the design a beautiful onyx tattoo that crawls up his spine and ends just shy of his jawline. A man made of steel and muscle, that's what he is.

Your mouth dries up as his arms bunch. Gods.

He's beautiful.

And you're pathetic.

You spot the gash along his left side. It runs along his left shoulder blade, the blood so dark it looks black.

It’s not that, though, that makes your breath stutter.

Your heart sinks in your chest and you just stare.

It’s the multiple slashes, the scars that line his back with such uniformed precision that it’s unfathomable to think of someone at the other end of this terrible, horrifying act.

Cruel. Inhuman. That’s what it is.

It’s Xaden’s voice that brings you back.

“You’re staring.”

He’s right. It’s been years after all. And it’s not your place to have an opinion. So you silently re-direct your gaze towards his wound and feels your shoulders deflate.

“Again?" you can't help the worry that laces your voice as you step closer, head cocked to inspect the wound, “why don't you go see Brennan?"

Xaden's jaw clenches once more, as if there are words he can't quite formulate. It takes a long moment for him to say, "he's occupied."

"Surely not occupied enough that he can't mend you?"

"I did not come here so that you could question me, cadet," it's clear from his last word that he doesn't want you probing.

Fine. You won't. But that doesn't mean he can disappear for days on end without at least telling you what he's up to.

You wordlessly motion for him to sit on the couch -- the couch that he'd slept on just a month ago. Sometimes, you get a whiff of his scent (or maybe it's just you) -- before you find your emergency medical kit from your nightstand. He sits, back to you, as stoic and as stiff as a statue while you prepare the disinfectant and press it to the base of the wound.

A small hiss falls from his lips.

Though there is a wink of satisfaction that at least there's a reaction from the shadow-wielder, you mutter out a soft, "sorry."

It’s routine at this point, one that you can do with your eyes closed. The wind howls, rattling the window at the other end of your room as a lone dragon roars in the distance.

Xaden doesn’t offer any conversation as you clean his wound, nor do you entertain him. You’re tired from training and you’re more than happy to collapse into bed at this point, and it’s merely the thought of owing him your life that keeps you from snapping at him because god he can be so moody.

You’re almost done, pressing on a linen gauze to ensure he doesn’t infect it when you catch a glimpse of something that makes you frown.

You grab his arm without warning.

He hisses and yanks it back.

But you’re sure of what you’ve seen.

Xaden’s eyes are dark with rage. But you hold his gaze, locking your chin so that it doesn’t tremble.

Your words come out shaky when you murmur:

“Show me.”

But Xaden’s already grabbing onto his tunic and striding for the door so that you have no choice but scramble after him, “Rider Riorson I am asking you officially as a Healer—“

“It’s nothing,” he throws over his shoulder.

You catch his forearm at the door, “please,” you breathe out in desperation, “is this why you’re not seeing Brennan—“

“Out of your rank, cadet—“

“I am not from your quadrant,” you snap, “do not order me like I am,” anger and worry flare through you as you jerk his arm up and sure enough, much to your suspicion, you notice the multiple lacerations, still fresh like they’re days old, that line up his arms in scarlet lines.

You swear you hear your heart break a little.

Throat tightening, your eyes slowly flutter up to his.

His are averted towards the far wall, jaw locked, and if you don’t know better you’d say he looks guilty.

“Xaden,” your voice breaks slightly, “tell me…this isn’t what I think it is.”

It’s probably the first time you’ve used his actual name, which is probably why he finally tears his gaze from the wall and looks at you. Really looks at you. His eyes are lined with some kind of overwhelming sadness, the kind that you’ve never quite seen on his face before.

Guilt and remorse curl into your stomach, “tell me,” you plead. And then, like it’s not enough, “please.”

Still, he opts for silence and the moment drags out slow and filled with tension until it gets a little hard to breathe. After a while, you tug at his forearm— the one lined with scabs that can only be done by a human—and say so softly you’re not sure he can hear you:

“Let me treat you, at least.”

You wait a beat. Then another. And another.

Finally, his head dips into a nod.

Letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, you quietly walk back to the couch and wait until he follows before grasping his forearm and pressing an ointment-filled cotton swab to the red, angry skin that seems to sizzle with heat. You do it quickly and efficiently, then mutely motion for his other arm and do the same, trying not to panic at the number of injuries scattered across his skin, trying not to focus on the thought of this young man doing this to himself on purpose.

Your heart aches for him.

“Done,” you finally pull back with a soft sigh. It’s past midnight at this point and god knows you’ll need the sleep when Brennan has you waking up to a strict routine.

Xaden doesn’t say anything as he stands and walks back out of your room. You follow closely at his heels, halting only when he pauses by your doorway, back to you, as though he’s not quite sure what to do with himself.

“Can I—“ you swallow thickly, “can I say something? You don’t have to answer me. You don’t even have to acknowledge it. Just…”

Trailing off, you find that he stays still, an indication for you to continue.

So you do after another deep breath.

“I don’t—know exactly. What you’re going through,” you start slow, unsure and hesitant, “the riders told me…about you and your past lover. It’s not like I was probing or anything, but I guess word gets out.”

You know he’s listening because he doesn’t move an inch. So you continue, “I don’t know what it means to love someone this much. Gods, I’ve only been in love once, but not like they describe it, not like you. So… so who am I to talk right?” You let out a small laugh that cracks like broken porcelain in the gaping silence of the room, “but you cannot—please don’t hurt—please don’t do this to yourself. There are other ways, I don’t know what yet but I can help you and I will help you if you just tell me and I—“

Your voice breaks at the last set of words as emotion lodges the back of your throat, “— just please don’t do this to yourself again, Xaden. Please.”

The silence that follows is deafening. Loud and still, with the ghosts of your words still ringing like an echo. You don’t dare look up at the rider, not when you might have accidentally crossed a line that might cost you your life, and your hands quickly find each other, fingers wringing in growing nervousness as the weight of his gaze settles upon your figure.

You hear him letting out a soft breath, and you bite your lip when you feel him shuffle away. He allows the silence to fill the room in his absence, the only sound being his receding footsteps across the marble floor as you hold your breath for what seems like a lifetime.

And when you’re certain that he’s gone, you allow yourself to fall to your knees as tears silently trail down your cheeks.

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

He shouldn’t have let you in.

He shouldn’t have allowed you to be near him. Should never have allowed his instincts to hover over you like a protective figure when you’re clearly more of a nuisance, a thorn in his side.

Xaden’s knuckles are bruised and battered, but that doesn’t stop him from beating the hell out of the sand dummy in the training room. One the remaining few, it seems.

The rest lie in a broken heap around him. A testament to his growing frustration, no doubt.

She’s smarter than she looks, I’ll give her that, Sgaeyl drawls.

I don’t need this right now, Xaden growls at her.

You’re the one who was so keen on trusting her, on keeping her close, she huffs in annoyance, and now you’re pushing her away? Do tell me how that makes sense shadow-wielder.

The thing is, you’re too close. And you’re too smart.

And Xaden— Xaden allowed his walls to slip.

He never breaks. He never bends.

But that night, he had.

Maybe it had been circumstance— a result of knowing that this particular day officially marked one year since Violet’s death and that had left him more vulnerable. Alone. Torn from within by the sadness that threatened to consume him. He hadn’t been in his right mind when he sought you out to clean up his wounds that night, too overtaken by the gaping hole in his chest to care. And when you’d found the lacerations, the result of the countless nights he’d blame himself and let the pain consume him so that he wouldn’t have to deal with the guilt, the remorse of still being alive while Violet is dead, he hadn’t had the energy to fight you when your own face seemed to echo the pain he felt deep within the grooves of his heart.

In your eyes he’d found comfort. Tenderness as you handled him like a broken bird. Like he was fragile.

And Xaden was not— is not— fragile.

A mistake. That’s all that it was. That is all it is ever going to be.

And he’s made it clear the days that followed, never bringing up conversation, not even acknowledging your presence, walking out of rooms as soon as he saw you walk in.

It’s for the best. Because he’s a monster. A walking, living monster. And with you, he feels vulnerable and cracked and open.

He cannot allow it. He won’t allow it.

Of course, you’re too fearful of him to approach on your own and for that he is grateful. Which is why he opts to send Liam to check up on you during your shifts so that he has the peace of mind, makes it a duty to avoid your eyes at all costs and only reply in one-word answers if needed. He knows without looking at you that you’re more than hurt from his lack of communication, of the fact that he’s already broken your promise from that night. But it’s easier to pretend that nothing happened rather than admit that there is something that keeps on hurting from within. Something he cannot simply solve.

And because when he’s with you, for some reason, it dulls the pain. It makes it easier to breathe.

He hates that.

“Did you and Tala have a fight?” Asks Garrick one day as Xaden accompanies him on a flight trip around the perimeters of Aretia. Word from Basgiath sources state that the college still isn’t certain about their location, giving them extra days— weeks even— to be prepared once Basgiath does send their troops out to battle.

There’s an upcoming war in the vicinity. Talking about you is completely irrelevant to that war.

“Why would you think that?” Xaden tries to pass it off as nonchalant, though he can’t help but clench his teeth.

Idiot, Sgaeyl rolls her eyes.

“Because you're usually very uptight about who she talks to and where she goes. But you haven't been asking about her for a while,” the broad-shouldered rider spares him a look from underneath his flight goggles, bracing his weight against his dragon while Xaden steadies his gaze on the landscape beyond, “So what did you do, Riorson? Because I can tell she’s not doing good.”

“What makes you think I did something?”

“Why would she be upset then?”

"How should I know?"

“Why are you like this?” Garrick throws a hand up in exasperation, “if you didn’t care for her, mate, you wouldn’t have saved her. End of story. So— tell me, should I be worried about her or not?”

Damnit. Garrick has a point. And it hits a little too close to home.

The shadow-wielder rocks back on his feet as his arms go up to cross over his chest. He surveys the landscape, onyx eyes flickering past the clouds in attempt to locate anything out of order. That, and to bide his time about what to say to his friend when clearly there is a bit of truth in Garrick's statement.

"Define 'not doing good'," He finally turns to look at Garrick.

"I mean, I'm no expert but I think I can tell when a girl's been crying."

Shit.

If there's anything that Xaden hates more than having to take all the hard decisions and the brunt of it -- it's girls crying. He loathes it. It's weak. It's terrifying. And it's pathetic all at the same time.

But for some reason. For some undulated, strange reason, his chest tightens like he can't breathe when he hears you've been crying.

Because of him?

Surely not.

Surely it must be because you miss your home, or the comfort of Basgiath. Or the fact that life will never be the same for you, if you don't choose soon.

His suspicions are confirmed a few nights later when you appear outside his room with the medicine box in hand, looking up at him through red puffy eyes like he'd personally attacked you and you have taken full offence for his actions. He lets you in and silently does as told when you hold out your hand for his arm, doesn't say a word, doesn't even ask how you're doing while you dab the ointment at his scarring injuries lining his skin. He just watches, dark eyes focused on every flicker of your eyes, every downward tug of your mouth, every time you flinch and look away when you think he can't see.

But he sees you. He knows. Because he's learnt to read your mannerisms and your ticks, whatever information he can find to make up for the fact that he cannot pick your brain.

Still, not knowing what's going through your head leaves room for suspicion and doubt. And Xaden doesn't enjoy picking apart puzzles he knows he won't figure out.

It's only when you finally draw away -- when Xaden feels your absence in the cold that sweeps through the tiny distance you put between your bodies-- that his hand shoots out and grips at your arm.

Solid. Firm.

A silent order.

You look up at him. Shock flitters across your face.

"Were you crying?"

His question comes out more like an accusation of sorts. He himself would've winced at his tone. It's not the most friendly.

He catches a glimpse of pain before you mask it with a dull nonchalance that only weeks in Aretha have managed to ingrain in you.

"No."

His grip tightens. He stares you down.

You stare right back unflinchingly and slowly lift your chin, a small act of defiance.

"Is that all?"

Xaden searches your eyes for anything else. But all he finds is simmering anger that you don't bother hiding, laced with the pain that you bear in your heart. And maybe...is that guilt? For the secrets that you know?

He releases your arm.

You stumble back, cradling the limb to your chest as you hurriedly pack your stuff and scurry out of his room. The deafening bang of the door signals your departure and in its echo Xaden sits with his shadows, trying his best to ignore the way his heart lodges in his chest at your reticence.

She is hurting, Sgaeyl confirms from the other end of the dark bond.

Xaden presses his mouth into a tight line before he gazes out of the window overlooking the silhouettes of the snowy peaks that surround his manor, so now you're sympathetic?

I am merely stating a fact, she growls.

And how would you know that?

Because I see her crying every night, shadow-wielder. You might not be able to read her but I see what you riders don't just by being a little more observant.

A pang of guilt so intense rushes through him that a small exhale escapes his lips. Leaning back against his chair and pressing a hand to his nose, part of him wonders whether he should've pressed you earlier, maybe he should've been more insistent about your personal feelings towards everything that's been happening around you.

Damnit. He really is getting a little too soft.

You are already too far gone, Sgaeyl lets out a sigh that caresses his mind, more gentle than she had been. Clearly you are concerned for the girl. What is stopping you?

Don't be ridiculous, Xaden snaps as his hands tighten along his thighs, I am concerned because she's part of my responsibility. Nothing more.

If you say so.

The rest of the week passes by and Brennan makes plans to fly out of Aretia to find more ammunition and food that can carry them over for the rest of the winter. With the new arrivals and plans to make more space for more riders to come, they're bound to run out of resources if they don't find any backups to ensure that everyone is well-fed and well-kept for.

The rest of the cadets are busy preparing their armour along the field where all their dragons wait, when Sgaeyl's voice rushes through the bond in a border of panic:

Shadow-wielder, I think you need to go to the healer.

Xaden frowns, still in mid-conversation with Bodhi and Garrick about their plan, something wrong?

She is unconsolable, it seems.

He dismisses them quickly and swivels to stride back into the manor, where is she?

I spotted her along the turret when I flew over.

Gods, you can be anywhere. In your room, in the dining hall, the healer's quarters that you and Brennan have made your own--

But he follows his gut, forcing his shadows through the rooms before him before he senses a glimpse of your presence down the corridor that leads straight to your room.

He doesn't hesitate, twitching his knuckle to unlock your door only to spot you atop your bed, your back to him and hunched over, a small figure that seems all too fragile amidst the room that seems to swallow you whole.

Something twinges in his chest. He swallows thickly, making sure that his booted feet clatter over the marble floor to make his presence known as he approaches your hunched form.

You must've heard him by now. And yet, you insistently keep your back to him like he's not here.

It irks him, how stupidly strong you think you're being.

You don't have to be, not when you're not like him; made to be a weapon that kills without question.

Xaden's patience finally thins out when he snaps out, "what's wrong?"

You don't answer, though your back stiffens like you've just received a blow.

Closing the distance between the two of you, he rounds the bed so that he comes back to face with your hunched figure. And what he sees makes him suck in a breath.

Your eyes flit up to his, red and swollen. Puffy. Tear stains mark your cheeks, turning them pink as your chest rattles with every breath you take.

The sight causes his chest to squeeze tight. He cannot quite breathe, seeing you this way.

All bite leaves his tongue, dissipates along with any remarks he would've said as he stares at you with growing uncertainty.

But you turn away and avoid his gaze, "go away," you whisper brokenly, your words stinging the air like bees.

Xaden does the contrary, steps forward until he's just a few millimetres from you before he bends down so that he's the one having to tilt his face up to look at yours.

"Tell me," he commands.

Your lips wobble but you turn your head, "go away," you repeat with a little more conviction.

A warm hand comes up to cup your cheek. You still, eyes blowing wide, body freezing from his sudden touch.

But Xaden seems unconcerned as he slowly turns your face towards his, until his eyes lock on yours. Dark onyx clash against soft maroon with such intensity that you have an innate urge to squirm.

"Tell me," he repeats, voice dropping an octave.

Your stomach curls deliciously in response, a traitorous move when you're more than angry with the said man.

"I--" you swallow thickly, "I have nothing to say to you."

Xaden merely searches your gaze for a moment, "I think you have a lot to say to me."

"I don't." you persist.

"Why are you crying?" he fires back.

"I'm not--"

"Don't lie to me," he snaps.

"Stop yelling at me!"

Your voice cracks like a whip and Xaden sucks in a breath as it bounces off the walls of the room, the air heavy and laden with thick walls of tension that can only sting from the aftermath of your words.

He pins you down with his gaze, waiting for you to say something else, anything else, really.

And then, when he notices the fresh set of tears at the corner of your eyes, a sting reverberated through his chest.

Before he knows it, his arm is winding around the back of your head.

He pulls you to him without warning.

Your gasp is enveloped by his arms as your hands shoot out in attempt to stop his actions. But Xaden is stronger, forcing you into him until you're practically buried into the material of his tunic, arms winding around your frame within a matter of seconds to halt any kind of escape.

"Wha--let me go!--"

"Stop it," Xaden growls.

You try to speak but your words dissolve into a soft squeak when he tightens his grasp. Your nose is practically shoved into the crook of his neck and his is lodged at your temple.

What the fuck does he think he’s doing?

What the fuck is this?

Xaden feels like losing his mind.

It’s almost like he’s not here, because he’s acted before he can think and now—

Now he waits for the guilt to crash into him like a tidal wave and pull him under—

Except— there is no guilt.

Just the smell of vanilla and citrus, and something else. Something soft and dewy that makes him want to bury his face into. Like fresh laundry sheets on a Sunday morning.

And you’re— soft.

Soft and small and tiny, so breakable—

He might just break you if he’s not careful.

It takes a long moment, but your body finally gives in to his warmth. You melt slowly, leaning into him as all the fight drains out of your body. Your hands curl over the dark material of his tunic like he's the one that can ground you when your head feels full with too many thoughts, and Xaden almost dissolves when he feels your head cuddle closer almost unconsciously.

He shouldn't be enjoying this as much as he is. But he cannot bring himself to care.

When he speaks next, his voice has dropped to a soft murmur:

"Tell me."

He doesn't have to look at you to know that more tears are trickling down your face. He can feel the wetness of them caking along his shirt and he cannot bring himself to care about how inevitably weak of a reaction this is, how in any normal circumstances he would've scoffed at the pathetic picture you make.

His arms merely tighten around your waist instead, a silent comforting act of tenderness. A cue to keep going.

"Don't laugh at me," is what you whisper against his shirt.

A beginning of a smile starts to curl at the corner of his lips. His murmur brushes over your hair, "I won't."

You shift slightly and lean back so that your brown eyes flutter up to meet his. In the dim light of your room, he spots the caked trails left by your tears and clamps down onto his hand so that he does not do anything he might regret.

"I--" you start, pressing your lips together with hesitation, "everything is different here, and I'm not sure--I mean, knowing what Navarre has done, knowing all their secrets...it--it scares me."

Your admission to the truth is somewhat refreshing. Nobody talks about fear behind those walls. Nobody dares utter the words that everyone believes to be true because admitting to it is weakness. And riders do not show weakness.

But you are not a rider, and your humanity is a strength that takes him by surprise.

"I'm not like you. I don't think about not living to tomorrow, or about this being my last day here, or about--I don't know. I'm a healer, I'm meant to just heal sick people," your lower lip trembles with effort, "and I'm sorry if that's not--I know you hate weaknesses. I didn't want to tell you because I suppose that for you, this--me being like this -- is kind of pathetic."

Xaden gazes down at you unflinchingly as he tries to piece together every single piece of truth falling from your mouth. That had been...surprisingly easy to know and part of him thinks back to his discussions with Violet about trust and communication.

To you, it seems communication is definitely not a problem.

And for you to admit all your secrets like that, provide it to him like it's a gift...

Xaden is not used to that.

His heart stirs, but he shoves it at the very back of his mind as he tries to find words.

"It's not pathetic," he says, eyes blazing down with such intensity that you cannot help but look away. His thumb reaches out though, grasping your chin to tug you back insistently, "don't look away from me."

His words cause a troop of butterflies to explode through your tummy. You nod and swallow, half-intimidated, half-impressed by his sense of authority.

No wonder he was a Wingleader.

"You are not a rider," Xaden continues, "and I don't expect you to act like one. So when things get tough, I expect you to tell me. Cry, fight, kick--whatever you want. These are not normal circumstances, and trust me, whatever's coming next is just as scary."

He holds your gaze for a minute too long as your heart flutters. You nod, quickly turning your face away so that his hand drops, your skin still tingling from the aftermath of his touch.

"There's..." your hand finds a stray thread from the edge of his shirt and you start picking at it to distract yourself, "there's another thing."

Xaden's brow cocks in that seductive way of his and a thrill of adrenaline zips down your spine.

"Well, like you said, I'm not a rider," you bite down onto your lower lip, keeping your eyes along his chest, "so I won't act like one. The truth is that--these days, well, I know I shouldn't be because you're Xaden Riorson and you're like, maybe the strongest rider in here but I--" your gaze falls onto his scarred arm as if on impulse and you feel the said shadow-wielder tense underneath you when realisation dawns, "I am worried about you."

"It's not your job to worry about me," he snaps.

You flinch, "you're the one that told me to be honest," your whisper is a shaky exhale.

Xaden's eyes are dark and stormy as he watches you with an expression you cannot quite place, as though he isn't certain whether he should be angry or concerned or guilty about how he has treated you. But you keep your eyes on his face despite the fact that your body starts trembling with the growing fear that this man can do whatever he wants and you likely won't be able to outrun him.

No. You trust him.

If there's one thing he's taught you about being around him these days is that no matter what, he will not hurt you without reason.

"If it's any consolation," Xaden starts, "there have been no new injuries as of that night."

Surprise flashes through your gaze. You stare at him, and then, quickly look down to analyse his arm.

"You're telling the truth?" your voice is hoarse, tentative.

He nods and before you can question him, extends his arm out to you.

Your fingers grasp at his elbow and you turn his arm this way and that, humming in satisfaction upon noticing that most wounds are almost gone, the scarring practically invisible with the ointment you've given him. You beckon for his other arm which he gives after a slight scoff, the one with the tattooed relics swirling up his skin like a beautiful midnight artwork that seems to glimmer in the shadows of the dark.

Finally, you drop his tattooed arm and a small smile curls along your lips when your eyes flutter back up to his.

"Thank you," you say, "for being honest with me."

Your words are like a slap as Xaden watches you, heart twisting in his gut at the way this thankfulness easily slipped past your lips like water.

It makes his heart waiver. It makes his throat constrict. There are things he wants to say, things he cannot say because he's not used to being so open.

But you're different. You tell him whatever comes to mind and despite the fact that he cannot read your mind, he realises that he can read you because he knows you.

It's time to go, Sgaeyl's rumble echoes through the back of his mind.

Xaden lets out a soft sigh. Slowly, he starts pulling away. His hands fall to your hips, not missing how you look up at him in confusion.

Fucking adorable. His jaw tightens, "I need to go."

"Ah," your head dips into an understanding nod, "okay, yeah."

"You--" his thumb unconsciously brushes over your hipbone through the material of your healer uniform and heat sizzles through your skin, but you keep your wide eyes on his dark ones, "you'll be fine as long as you stay inside the manor."

"How long will you be?"

"Can't say," he straightens and you feel his absence a little more than you would like, "could be a few hours. Could be a few days."

"Okay," you quickly wipe at your cheeks and stand to follow him, "I'll come say goodbye."

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

Ever since then, it seems that you have come to an unspoken agreement with the shadow-wielder.

Oh don't get you wrong. He's still the same snappy, grumpy grunt that roams the corridors like a shadow about to bite anyone's head off for breathing wrong, always walking about with a scowl on his face and a glare at the ready to anyone who might displease him. And withe the new training regiment they've been implementing for the cadets and the new arrivals of Gryphon Fliers that are supposed to be present in a few days, it is no secret that Xaden Riorson has a lot on his plate.

But still, he makes a very conscious effort, as you have noticed, to seek you out in the evenings when everyone has fallen asleep. Sometimes you're still working, cleaning up the healer's quarters so that it is fresh and ready for the next day. Sometimes, he walks up to your room with the excuse that he's checking up on the crybaby of the group (an inside joke that makes you blush every single time he says it, though from the way he chuckles you're certain he doesn't seem to mind the fact that you're easily sentimental).

"Do you trust the Fliers?" you ask one night while sitting atop your bed and brushing your hair. Xaden is sprawled along the couch, his brows furrowed into a frown as he busies himself analysing a map of god knows what.

"Unfortunately I have no choice," he glances up from the tinted papers, "it's either that or we let them die."

His sharp words are a contrast to the kind nature of his actions. You stifle a smile as you comb the brush through your strands, wincing when it tugs on a particular knot.

"What?" he scowls at you.

"What?" you blink at him.

"You're smiling," his scowl deepens, "is there something funny?"

"Not funny at all," you grin now.

He straightens, attention now fully on you as he grinds out, “tell me.”

“Well,” your grin widens tenfold before you can control yourself, “you’re kind of like an anti-hero, aren’t you? The kind of guy who saves everyone despite being a total jackass.”

“I’m a jackass?” His eyebrows fly up to his hairline.

“I—I mean,” you stammer upon realization of what you’ve said. Oh shit, “in a good way, right?”

He scoffs, unimpressed, before going back to his map. A silent indication that he is done with the conversation.

Life is not all that bad in the Riorson Manor, not when you’re finally comfortable enough to hang out with the cadets in-between duties. Liam is more than willing to teach you a few moves one day when you gape at the sparring going on between riders and soon a circle forms around the pair of you as he teaches with the patience of a scribe, as gentle and as kind as one could be.

You, on the other hand, suck at fighting.

“No no, balance on your back leg—“ Liam’s words cut off mid-sentence when you flail and practically tumble onto the mat, butt first and face flaming red. Out of the corner of your eye you spot Imogen and a tiny blonde — Sloane?— snickering and your embarrassment deepens tenfold.

“Nevermind,” you stammer out and brush his helping hand away as you straighten, “I think I’ve had my fill for today.”

“We barely got started,” Liam responds, “come on Tala. Don’t be a coward.”

“Come on princess!” Ridoc squeals from the bleachers, “you can do it!”

“I say knock him dead!” Rhiannon calls out next to him.

You definitely do not knock Liam dead.

On the contrary, you’ve lost count of the number of times he’s swiped his leg under your feet and caused you to tumble to the floor in a heap, or the amount of times he’s punched you (albeit lightly, though you can already feel the bruises forming along your arms). By the time you are done and he’s had his fill of butchering you into little pieces, you can barely feel your legs as you trail them off the mat.

Xaden is definitely not impressed when he joins the riders for dinner that evening, practically choking on his food when he spots the yellow bruise along your cheekbone.

“Who the fuck did that to you?” He snarls like an enraged beast, Garrick’s hand restraining him into his seat.

“No one! I was—uhm, sparring with Liam,” you explain with a smile, wincing when it causes your bruise to ache.

Xaden’s dark eyes fly over to the blonde cadet as a scowl forms on his face, “you did that?” His voice turns low, dangerous.

“She wanted me to teach her,” the blonde splutters.

“I did,” you add in a rush, “it really is nothing—“

“You’re a Healer,” Xaden’s eyes narrow, “heal yourself.”

“I—yes—I will,” heat rushes to your cheeks and you turn away, trying to ignore how Rhiannon and Ridoc’s gazes are darting between the two of you.

It’s a few hours later, in the Healer’s Quadrant, as you are crushing a few herbs for next day’s assignment, that Rhiannon finds you.

She steps in as quietly as a shadow, so silent you barely notice her presence until she speaks.

“Hey.”

You jump and almost spill the contents of your bowl, swiveling in panic and wide eyes, “oh hey. Hi,” you send her a small smile.

To be completely honest, Rhiannon is probably one of the only cadets you hadn’t had the chance to speak to, mainly because you know she’d been closely tied to Violet before her death.

“Is there anything you need?” You ask tentatively.

“No,” she hovers by the doorway, her black riders outfit a stark contrast against the white canvas of the healer’s quarters, “well, yes. I do.”

You pause amidst your grinding, “are you hurt?”

“No I’m fine,” she takes a few steps closer before her eyes flit down to your bowl, “what’s this?”

“I’m just preparing a few medicinal herbs for tomorrow,” you say, “Brennan might need them.”

Rhiannon hums but provides no answer. She still lingers as though unsure of what to do with herself and amidst the silence that grows awkward like curdled milk, you bite the corner of your cheek and ask:

“Is there… something that I can help you with?”

Rhiannon’s beautiful face pauses. She opens her mouth. Closes. Opens it again.

Finally, she says, “can I ask you a question?”

You pause and take in her seriousness, “sure,” you reply warily.

“Do you like Riorson?”

You blink at her.

Heat flushes through your face. You swallow, “no— it’s not like that.”

Rhiannon scoffs, “I can read you like an open book. You don’t need to lie to me.”

Her gaze makes your skin prickle with fear and you look away.

“It doesn’t matter,” you tell her quietly as you resume your task, glad that your hands have something to do, “how I feel.”

Surprise lines her tone, “what do you mean?”

A small smile dances across your mouth, “I’m not like her,” you look up to see the bronze skinned woman now getting comfortable against one of the spare beds, arms crossed and measuring you with her dark-eyed gaze, “I never will be like her. And I know that he can only love someone who’s just as strong. I’m anything but, so I don’t have any expectations. Not from him anyway.”

Your words ring with truth and it hits hard, reverberating through the space with an unforgivingness that rattles you to your bones. Something in your stomach curls and knots, but you stow it away and clamp down on your lips so that you retain some sense of control— the little bit of it that you have left.

“So whatever you wanted to say— to defend your friend, to keep her honour— it’s okay. I get it,” you give her a shaky smile, “I won’t steal him. He wasn’t mine to begin with.”

Rhiannon’s dark brown eyes bore into yours like she is trying to read through your words, decode any lie you might be hiding. But it’s not just that— you swear you spot a flash of sympathy in those dark irises, probably the memory of her dead friend playing at the back of her mind.

“Thank you,” is what she finally murmurs out.

She turns to leave but then hovers by the door with hesitation.

“I—“ she shakes her head slightly before looking back at you over her shoulder, “I wasn’t going to defend her honor though. I was just going to ask you to take care of him.”

Your mouth dries up. You can’t help but stare.

What is she saying?

But Rhiannon merely shrugs and leaves. Her words ring through your ears and you look down at your crushed leaves, wondering if you’ve understood that wrong.

Surely she hasn’t just asked you to— what? Take care of him?

Like you have a chance? Like Xaden Riorson could love someone like you?

No way.

Tossing and turning that night does nothing to help when sleep escapes you nevertheless, and you’re a little groggy-eyed you’re woken up by a few knocks at your door a little shy past six in the morning.

Your eyes widen when you come face to face with none other than Xaden Riorson.

“What are you doing here?” You rub at your eyes in growing confusion.

“Get dressed,” it’s clear from the way he eyes your bedhead that he is more than amused by your countenance, “we’re training.”

“Excuse me? Training? But I—“

He shoots you a scowl.

You flinch and mumble out a soft, “fine.”

The sparring gym — or the makeshift area that cadets have now converted into a small training arena— is void of people as you step into the grand hall, palms sweaty and heart fluttering with nervousness.

Xaden strides over to the row of chairs scattered along the far wall and places down his bottle and flight jacket while you watch, flexing your fingers as your eyes dart around to take in your surroundings.

He’s not going to bash your face in, is he? Or worse?

But you’ve seen the way he fights. The ruthless grace, the deadly precision in which he strikes.

Fear races up your spine and goosebumps rise along your skin. You shiver.

“Shall we begin?” The shadow wielder steps forward onto the mat while rolling his neck from side to side.

“Do we really have to?”

His eyes narrow, “I thought you wanted to learn how to fight.”

“I did,” you bite down onto your lower lip, “but…with you?”

“I trained every single one of them,” his eyebrow cocks up in that sultry way of his and your stomach flutters at the way his eyes scan you down, “are you questioning me?”

“No,” you say reluctantly.

He’s seemingly satisfied, body extending into a fighting stance before he makes a “come hither” motion with his fingers.

You were right. Xaden is a force to be reckoned with.

And not just that, he literally kicks your ass.

Not in a nice way.

You sprawl out onto the floor with a groan, butt screaming in pain from the heavy fall and the way you’d skidded right off the matt that you’re bound to have a few burn marks. The rider stands before you without even breaking a sweat, looking like he’s having too much fun messing around with you and not even calling it his warm up.

“Come on,” he motions for you to stand up. You do after a few seconds of hesitation, muscles screaming in pain as you struggle to straighten your spine.

He comes at you again; fast agitated movements that make you dizzy as you spin in an attempt to block him out. You pathetically try to do as he’d told you from the beginning, reigning in your core and focusing on tracking his movement patterns. But he’s too strong and no sooner have you started that Xaden lands another blow that sends you sprawling over the floor with a cry.

You curl up on yourself as tear prick at the corners of your vision, wondering why on earth you thought this would be fun.

“Stand up,” Xaden commands.

But you can’t. Your body shakes and you scream at yourself inwardly to do as you’re told.

It doesn’t cooperate. Your muscles are locked in place, a small sob falling from your lips.

A shadow falls over you and Xaden crouches, brow furrowed, “hey,” he says it roughly, though his touch is gentle when he prods your shoulder, “you okay?”

“I—“ you gasp out in a stammer, “I can’t— move—“

In one swift motion he’s swept you up into his arms before carrying you over to the corner of the room. His hold is strong and secure, his scent a lovely whiff of bold flowers and something you cannot quite place. Something smokey. You want nothing more than to curl up into him and the thought is enough to set your cheeks on fire.

He sets you down onto one of the spare chairs with a gentleness that makes your heart stutter before he crouches, face levelling to yours.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble with downcast eyes, “I did warn you though. I’m really not good at—“ you motion towards the mat, “all this.”

Xaden lets out a soft chuckle, “yeah, you are terrible.”

Throwing him a scowl, you straighten, “it’s not fair. You’ve been learning this your whole life. I’ve literally never battled before last week.”

“Which is why you were crying,” he shoots back, “sore loser.”

“I am not a sore loser,” you huff.

He sends you a pointed look, eyebrows raised, “you are.”

“I am not,” your scowl deepens even more, “I’d rather Liam teach me. You’re horrible.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” with one final prod at your forehead, Xaden straightens up and moves towards his discarded jacket, throwing a set of words over his shoulder, “get cleaned up. Breakfast is in fifteen minutes.”

“Wait, how do you know—“

He’s gone like a whisper, too fast for you to track, and you want to bonk yourself on the head for being a total nutcase around him.

It’s almost as though he takes it as his personal mission to train you; catching you during early mornings only to have you run drills across the arena until your lungs threaten to burst, snitching you away during late afternoons when he has nothing better to do and showing you the art of self-defense. When you protest that you will probably never use such skills in your lifetime you’re rewarded by a white hot glower from the said shadow-wielder.

“I am teaching you how to defend yourself, if ever something happens,” he shoots back, “be a bit more grateful.”

“Oh thank you mighty Riorson for being so kind,” you mutter under your breath as you squat down for what seems to be the millionth time.

“What was that?”

“Nothing!” You send him a fake grin.

From the litter of bruises and scars you carry along with you after every training session, the cadets can’t help but worry that he's going a little bit rough on you.

“Are you sure you’re fine?” It’s probably the fifth time Liam has asked you that.

“I’m really fine,” you wince as you reach for some more curry to add to your rice. Your arm has been aching and sore for days now, “really.”

“You don’t look fine,” Rhiannon’s brow furrows.

“I am. He’s training me to defend myself,” you try to sound as convinced as you think you are, “I thought you guys were used to his … brutal ways.”

“Yeah we are,” Ridoc says, “and the fact that you’re still standing is a miracle.”

They’re not wrong. Xaden is probably the toughest teacher you’ve ever had. Not that you have any to compare with, considering that Healers are pretty much tame. But still, him taking time out of his busy schedule to train you does mean something and you try not to question the warmth buzzing in your heart every time you think about it.

Things — unfortunately— take a turn for the worse when the Gryphon fliers make it to the Riorson Manor. They’re angry and bitter, with sharp tongues and hungry eyes that can devour you with a single glance. You make sure to stay the hell away from them, but that doesn’t mean they do the same.

Together, Fliers and Riders have no other choice but to bridge the barrier they’d once built so high that it’s going to take a lot of rough work to destroy and put it the past. You linger on the sidelines, watching with fearful eyes every time a narrow-eyed glance is sent towards the riders.

But it’s not their interaction that renders you uncomfortable. It’s not the fact that the air is now thick with tension that you can cut with a knife straight down the middle. It’s definitely not the fact that your training sessions have ceases in favour of meetings and plans leading up to the so-called revolution.

It’s the way this particular Flier has her eyes on you.

They’re hazel, unsure whether to settle on brown or green. And her lips tug into a snarl whenever she spots you. Almost like you did something personal to her when you barely even know her at all.

“Cat,” Rhiannon’s voice drips with disgust, leaning towards you so as not to be heard over the dining table that same evening, “she was apparently Xaden’s betrothed when he first got to Basgiath. They spent some time together back then, as lovers.”

Every word on your mouth turns to sawdust. They taste sour along your tongue.

You can only stare at her.

“You’re joking,” Ridoc is the one to speak, “how come?”

“Well she’s a princess. Riorson’s the heir to the Tyrrendor throne. She would’ve been invincible.” Rhiannon lifts her shoulders in a shrug, “you do the math.”

Sawyer whistles, “bet she’s regretting it right about now.”

“Ain’t gonna argue with that,” Imogen pipes up from the other end of the table.

From then onwards you make sure to steer clear out of her path, not wanting to attract any unwanted attention when all you want is peace and quiet. Alas though, it seems that fate doesn’t have the same plans for you, for you bump into her a few days later when you’re out training with Xaden.

He’s currently fixed on your form, prodding and pushing at your spine, “back straight. Face forward,” he instructs with his Wingleader voice on.

He rounds your silhouette until he stands before you. Then, without warning, his arm lashes out.

You block it, a small yelp echoing past your lips when it almost slams into your cheek.

“Good,” he steps back and pushes up his shirt sleeves, “you’ve gotten better.”

He strikes. Again.

And again.

And you block him. Every single time.

You grin. You can’t help yourself. This is exhilarating. No wonder riders are addicted to it—

A fist comes flying and slams into your face.

Pain explodes across your nose, sending your body sprawling to the ground as rapid fire consumes your very being.

“Fuck. Tala!” Xaden’s hands grab at your shoulders in an instant. He pulls you up, brows furrowed as a small hiss escapes his mouth once he catches sight of the newly formed bruise blossoming across your cheekbone.

It’s pulsing. Practically vibrating.

Your hand goes up to press against the skin and you wince when your cheek throbs, bouncing all the way up to the back of your skull.

“Shit. I’m sorry,” Xaden’s turning you so that you have no choice but to face him, onyx eyes filled with worry. One of his hands grasp the back of your elbow, the other turning your cheek this way and that, “I’m so sorry. Why the fuck didn’t you evade? I thought I taught you better than this.”

“I’m sorry,” you mutter through the stinging burn now spreading through your entire face.

He lets out a loud sigh, “that’s gonna form a nasty bruise.”

“I'm sorry," you repeat once more. Like it might make it better.

That is when you spot a figure in the distance, body instantly tensing in Xaden's arms when you notice that it's none other than the Flier Cat, with her dark mane tumbling over her back and her hazel eyes currently narrowed as she takes in the scene in front of her.

Fuck. You're screwed.

Xaden notices the look on your face, for he quickly swivels, his entire body turning to stone.

"Cat," he says her name without warmth. Devoid of emotion.

And yet, you can feel the tension, simmering underneath your skin.

You quickly scramble up and blubber an excuse as you scurry away, not wanting any part of this and leaving Xaden to fight his own battles. Your legs burst into a sprint as soon as you find the staircase leading to the Manor and you run for your life until you manage to round a corner, chest heaving with effort as you double over right beside one of the victorian columns lining the edge of the doorway.

Maybe it's the fact that Xaden has had a past that he'd shared with her. That she got to know him how you didn't. And how you never will know him that way.

That's why there's a terrible knot in your stomach, some kind of queasy jealousy that leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

Because you actually like him. This dangerous, cruel monster. You like him.

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

a/n: things are heating up and xaden and tala are getting closer! Any ideas on what's going to happen next? comment your thoughts down below! xx

#xaden #xaden x reader #Xaden Riorson #xaden x oc #xaden x violet #fourth wing #iron flame #onyx storm #fourth wing imagine #fourth wing xaden #xaden imagine #xaden fanfic #empyrean #the empyrean #fourth wing x oc #fourth wing x you #fluff #slowburn #Rebecca yarros

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mylovewasbulletproof · 1 day ago

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Catalyst pt 4

Jack Abbot x attending amputee reader

Here’s pt 3 if you missed it

Synopsis: your life post accident and your relationship with Jack

Here’s the final part of the catalyst series! I hope you’ve enjoyed it :)

warnings: hurt/comfort, injury recovery, side effects of skull fracture, medical inaccuracies, confessions of love

——————————————————————

Recovery was hard. It wasn’t like you expected it to be easy but it was so much harder than you imagined. Your intense therapy regimen began before you were even discharged, so that they could monitor you. It was during these therapies that complications began to show.

You were definitely still dealing with some residual dizziness, brain fog, headaches, balance and coordination issues.

The first time they put on your prosthetic and had you stand up, you nearly toppled over. Your center of balance was completely off. Luckily, Jack and your physical therapist were right next to you. His hands finding your waist easily.

Despite the fact that Gloria was going on and on about staffing, she let Jack take the first two weeks off when you came home. You couldn’t be on your own until a doctor fully cleared you and you had no family in the area. She didn’t really have a choice though, Jack threatened to call out every single day if he had to.

The day you went home felt like a personal win for everyone in your life: your doctors, coworkers, friends, yourself and Jack. Nobody really said it out loud but there were times when they weren’t sure you’d pull through. As much as you hated riding in a wheelchair it was nice not to have to think about where you were going. You still knew your way around the hospital but it made your brain tired to think too hard about anything.

Jack had parked your wheelchair next to the nurses station in the Pitt, explaining he wanted to bring the car around so you wouldn’t have to walk very far. He didn’t say it out loud but he also left you there so you’d have some socialization from people who cared about you and vice versa. During your stay, aside from Jack, you refused other visitors. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to see your friends, you actually really did. It was that you didn’t want your friends to see you like this.

“Oh honey, it’s so good to see you!” Dana slid over on her stool, subtly doing so to remain at your eye level without crouching down

“Hi Dana. It’s nice to see you too” you smiled softly

“Can I give you a hug? It’s just been so different without you around”

You nodded, leaning forward slightly to initiate the hug.

“When you’re feeling up to it, I want to hear all about you and Jack” she whispered, before letting you go from the hug

“I think we both know how we feel but there’s too much going on right now”

Your conversation naturally ended as Michael and Jack walked back towards you.

“You look so much better than the last time I saw you” Michael says grinning

“And unfortunately you look just as ugly as ever” you tease

“I am so glad your sass has remained intact throughout this experience. Go home and get some rest. Call if you need anything, both of you” Michael looks between you and Jack

——————————————————————

The ride to Jack’s place was short and sweet. There had been several lengthy conversations about whose apartment was better suited for your recovery. It was ultimately decided that Jack’s place was better for several reasons: it was closer to the hospital for follow-ups and therapies, it had all of Jack’s personal medical supplies (which certainly made him feel better) and it was on the second floor instead of the 8th. The last reason was really the tie breaker. But you had agreed to let Jack go to your apartment and bring some of your favorite comfort items to make Jack’s place feel more like home. You were pleasantly surprised at how cozy his guest room looked with all of your things from home. You had fallen asleep pretty quickly after arriving to Jack’s. Your energy levels had yet to fully bounce back.

While you rested, Jack kept himself busy. Spending so much time at the hospital with you had left a lot of household chores unfinished. He had only been at his apartment to sleep or get more clothes. Jack was in the process of folding some laundry when he heard a soft sound coming from the guest room. He put aside his laundry before approaching your door. He just wanted to make sure you didn’t need anything if you were awake. By the time he neared the door he could make out your whimpers.

Making his way into the guest room, Jack moved quietly, trying to gauge if he needed to wake you from your sleep. It became pretty apparent that he would need to wake you up as you began to kick your legs and grab at the blankets.

“Y/n, sweetheart, it’s okay. You’re safe. It’s just a dream. I’m right here” he spoke softly knowing how jarring it can be to wake up suddenly from a nightmare or flashback

Jack continued to whisper soft reassurances, eventually deciding to offer you his hand. Your movements slowed before stopping completely, your brows furrowing like it was difficult to peel your eyes open.

“That’s it. You’re okay” Jack murmured, tension melting away as you grabbed his hand

Your eyes lazily peeled open taking a second to find his. When you did, you produced an equally lazy smile that had Jack’s heart stuttering.

“There you are, my girl. How can I help?”

You pulled his hand closer to your chest, speaking in an almost whisper, “hold me please”

Jack perched himself on the edge of the bed, using one hand to slide off his prosthetic (as you kept his other hand hostage). He found his spot behind you, as if it was something he’d done a million times before. There was no way to accurately describe how natural and calming it felt to be holding you. It was like you were the last missing piece to the puzzle of his life.

——————————————————————

It didn’t take long before Jack ultimately just went to sleep in your bed instead of waiting to hear you get upset. Your therapist would say that you were using Jack as a security blanket and that it would be difficult for you to sleep after you’re cleared to live independently. She didn’t realize that neither of you had any intentions of allowing things to return to exactly the way they were.

Your bond with Jack continued to grow as you faced the ups and downs of recovery.

On good days, Jack deferred to you. Sometimes you went on a slow walk around the neighborhood, his arm wrapped around your waist as a steady support in case you got dizzy. Other good days consisted of cooking, reading, really anything that made you happy.

Bad days were more challenging. Depending on your symptoms sometimes you were stuck in bed with Jack attending to your every need. He’d lie next to you, gently rubbing your back, trying to provide some comfort. The worst days were when you were determined to make it a good day even when your symptoms were flaring.

The weather was getting nicer and as a result, you were becoming a little bit stir crazy being stuck in the apartment. So you and Jack had made a plan to pack a picnic and spend the day at your favorite local park. You were really looking forward to it. So when you woke up that morning and the world was immediately spinning, you refused to let it cancel your plans. The hard part would be trying to hide your symptoms from Jack. Unfortunately he had developed the ability to read you like an open book.

You flung a hand out sideways, confirming that Jack was no longer in bed with you before attempting to get out of bed. Getting yourself into a seated position was a struggle and getting to the en-suite bathroom was even harder. With your hands braced out in front of you, you leaned on every piece of furniture between you and that bathroom. There were several times where you almost fell and you knew if Jack heard you fall, it would only be a matter of time before he realized you wouldn’t be able to handle leaving the apartment today. By the time you reach the bathroom, gripping both sides of the counter, you couldn’t even remember exactly why you had come to the bathroom in the first place. You decided that going the bathroom and brushing your teeth was probably the reason and begun to complete that routine.

You were pretty tired after getting ready for the day (which you found incredibly ironic). But you knew Jack had heard you fumbling around in the bathroom as he let you know from the kitchen that breakfast was almost ready. You sat on the edge of the bed, practicing some of the strategies your neurologist had recommended for when you got dizzy. It seemed to help enough that you felt confident walking down to the kitchen.

Jack greets you from the stove, not needing to turn around to feel that you were in the room. He knew better than to ask how you were feeling. You had put an end to that on a particularly bad day when you snapped at him when he asked how you were feeling after physical therapy.

“Good morning. When did you wake up?” You ask, knowing Jack had his fair share of sleeping problems

“Not too long ago, I wanted to start packing for our picnic” Jack shrugs, placing a plate with pancakes down in front of you.

Looking down at the plate and utensils, you realized Jack had already put your rubber grip on your fork. You were still having a hard time pinching items to hold them, which made it difficult to hold utensils. The rubber grip added additional surface area, allowing for your hands to do a slightly modified grip until your dexterity returned. Jack had been so attuned to every need you might have during your recovery period. He made sure you had access to all the adaptive equipment and modifications that you needed. And the way that he did it, so effortless, made you feel less like a burden. He acted as if all the extra things that you needed were a normal part of every day life.

After you both had finished eating, there were a couple of things that needed to be gathered from around the apartment before you could leave. Jack moved around the apartment with ease, taking care of some of the items more out of reach. You were tasked with filling up the metal water bottles Jack had wanted to pack. As you stood at the fridge, filling up the first water bottle, you were hit with a sudden wave of dizziness. The kitchen counter tilted violently next to the fridge, your hand shook, sloshing water over the sides of the water bottle. You were worried you might actually tip over, so you reached for the counter. In the process of steadying yourself the metal water bottle slipped out of your hand, crashing onto the kitchen tile with an extra loud clang.

You blinked — wishing away your brain injury and all the stupid residual side effects — and Jack was next to you, offering a steady hand on one side of your hip. His other hand cupped your cheek gently, tilting your gaze towards him, so that he could inconspicuously medically check you.

“You alright darling?” Jack asked

“M’fine. A little dizzy. Nothing new. Sorry I dropped the water bottle” you mumbled, turning to lean against the counter, burying yourself in Jack’s chest

“Nothing to worry about. Easily cleaned up. Are you sure you’re feeling up to the picnic?”

You groaned, trying to delay the inevitable conversation that was about to happen. You would try and convince Jack that you were fine, sometimes it worked but most times it failed. It’s hard to mask symptoms around a doctor, something you knew all too well. It wasn’t that you didn’t agree. There was still a logical, scientific part of your brain that could understand where Jack was coming from. If you were your own patient, you’d be giving the same advice Jack gives to you.

Much to Jack’s surprise, you agree that it isn’t the best idea to take a walk down to the park when you could barely keep yourself standing. You don’t even complain when Jack suggests that you rest in your bedroom with a warm compress on your eyes.

——————————————————————-

You must have dozed off for a while. The sun had shifted, casting long shadows of light onto the wall across from you. Feeling much better, you stretch before deciding to try and find Jack. He was always around somewhere. He hadn’t quite felt comfortable enough to leave you completely alone.

Your heart leaped as you emerged from the hallway into the living room. Jack had moved the coffee table and created a cozy picnic area. A blanket was spread across the carpet, pillows leaning up against the couch, along with the picnic basket and your favorite blanket.

“You seemed so disappointed that you couldn’t go on our picnic so I brought the picnic to you”

“I can’t believe you did this all for me. I’m so thankful for you. I don’t know that I would’ve survived everything that’s happened without you” you step closer to Jack, taking his outstretched hand

“I love you Y/N and I know the timing isn’t right and there are so many reasons why you shouldn’t want to date someone like me. But I’ve loved you since you walked in those doors your intern year and I’m tired of being quiet about it.”

As Jack pulled you closer, you took the next step, closing the distance between you and pressing a soft but passionate kiss to his lips before whispering, “I love you too”

#jack abbot #jack abbot x reader #the pitt #the pitt x reader

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inquisitornocturn · 1 day ago

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◇ Inter Stellas Inveniam Te ◇

◇◇◇ Chapter VI - Sic Mundus Creatus Est

⚜ 𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌: Xavier Calcazar/Volenta Calcazar (OC)/Heinrix van Calox

⚜ 𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖘: Overall story rating - E. Overall tags - romance, disaster polycule, smut. This chapter - PTSD, forced voyeurism, smut, vaginal fingering, anal, threesome, cunnilingus.

⚜ 𝖘𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖞 𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: Even the most powerful have their weaknesses. Volenta has more than a few of her own. One such weakness being her husband. Another - her love for toying with others. Her station permits it, but it doesn't come without consequences, because Lady Inquisitor soon finds herself entangled with another man. And she doesn't know just what events will unfold when the man she's married to gets assigned to look over the Koronus Expanse.

In the 41st millennium, there's only war. Be it on surfaces of planets, on the decks of spaceships or… in personal lives. And those battles are not easily won.

⚜ 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: Memories of the past haunt Volenta, but just one vox, one message and she pushes that away to go and see the one who has need of her. Information is exchanged, promises made, but she is forced to confront the truth of her liaison with Heinrix.

⚜ 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙: 11,989 | AO3 | Chapter navigation

⚜ 𝖆/𝖓: Every time I plan a short chapter the prose shoots me in the back with no mercy. Enjoy!

Eyes closed, eyelashes trembling, bare fingers gripping the lip of the sink so tightly that the already pale skin over the knuckles is now completely white. And breathing. Heavy, interrupted by a sort of choke that happens when one sobs, except she’s not crying. Her lungs are constricting when she tries to inhale. The sweat on her brows accumulates and trickles down in rivulets down her temples.

The uniform on Volenta’s body feels uncomfortably tight even though she’s used to it, to the comforting skin-tight feeling of the clothes she picks. “Shit.” She tries to inhale again and her chest contracts again as well. “Shit.”

She has seen worse than this. But the knowledge doesn’t help to discard the memories that resurface like a needle full of toxins pushing through the skin. The flames, the barrels full of corpses, laughter, strangely. Hers and the boy’s running close. “You should’ve seen his face, Len! You should’ve seen his face when I blew his head off! This baby is worth every Throne I had to pay for it!” He laughs again and she does too, eyeing the exotic gun in the boy’s hand, all putrid glow and dark, purple orbs all over it. In her own hand there’s a beaten up las pistol that Volenta lifted from a man who tried to rape her. She seduced him into it, got him with his pants around the ankles and then slit his throat as he tried to put his dick in her. Appendage that most likely hasn’t seen a spec of soap since birth. She bathed in his blood and laughed. And laughed. And laughed. But had to ask Carynth to help her move the body off of her.

She was twelve then. He was fifteen.

“Stop it!” Volenta hisses in the present. At herself, at the memory that keeps unraveling in her head scene by scene. Her and Carynth in the underpass of the low level of the Hive, counting dirty coins. Her and him, rummaging through the pockets of a fallen woman who has been caught by a gang and left for dead after they had their fun with her. Them, trying to survive the jabs and mockery of the gang that Carynth talked Volenta into joining. He didn’t need to do much convincing.

“STOP IT!” This time she shouts and rises a hand faster than the woman herself can comprehend, a fist reeling back before it launches forwards, towards the mirror above the sink and she stops herself at the last moment. Eyes snap open and Volenta sees her own ghostly pale face, wet with drops of sweat, hair sticking to her temples and collar of the shirt soaking up the rivulets that haven’t stopped running from the moment they built up momentum.

Wide eyes, her eyes, eyes of a little girl, before the face of her reality morphs into the visage, erasing the young impression of Volenta entirely. She lowers the fist then and with trembling fingers activates the faucet, letting it run until the water is ice cold. Only then she cups two palms and begins washing her face.

“God-Emperor help me.” A whisper escapes the Inquisitor when she pauses to gather more water into her palms. “Please, Emperor, remove these memories.” She’s begging and she knows it, but Volenta allows herself to. The only times she truly, earnestly begs are in her private conversations with Him.

But no relief comes and she keeps washing her face, then sighs, gripping the lip of the sink again and hanging her head low while the water is still running. “I know, I know…” Volenta whispers to words that she imagines, said by the Emperor through His silence. They speak to her, tell her that she can survive this, it’s just memories, it’s not dangerous. And she rises a wet hand to grip the silver rosette hanging from her neck with a firm fist. “I know.”

Len… No one calls her that. No one ever did, except for Carynth. And the memory of how the nickname sounded in a joyful voice of a boy she remembers growing up with, squeezes her eyelids shut once more. She can’t let it consume her.

This time, when the Lady Inquisitor inhales it’s without a hitch and she exhales slowly, through pursed lips to even the flow of air. And does it all over again a handful of times before she starts feeling dizzy from the deep breaths and controlled exhales. “Shit.” Suddenly she laughs and deactivates the faucet, snatching the towel from the hook nearby, drying her face.

She nearly gave in. Nearly succumbed to the memories that gnaw at her like rabid rats the moment she forgets herself. “Fucking Rashakht.”

It was him who led her to this state and she walked into as if led by a hand held upon her wrist. Mer reported his findings. She went to inspect them. What they found was not that drastic, but the amount of young, teenaged boys made it difficult for Volenta to go through the torture cells, stepping over the limbs akimbo or just torn and strewn about. One of them looked like Carynth and while she held her bile down then, upon returning to the safety of Volenta’s office, she closed herself in the bathchamber and heaved.

She heaved but nothing came out. Volenta forgot to eat again this morning and the alcohol she consumed has long been absorbed into her system. Still, she spasmed over the sink, mouth open, chocked gasps coming out of her to the oppressing, lonely silence surrounding her. Only Carynth could provoke such response and it wasn’t even him there, laying among the bodies, cut from navel to throat.

Stop thinking about it, Volenta scolds herself within the safety of her thoughts and then straightens her spine, rolls her shoulders and looks into the mirror again. What she sees there is a pale, haunted face of a woman that despite being over eighty years old stopped aging around mid-thirties. And she wonders how she would look like without the rejuvenation treatments, without the highest grade technology that supports her youth to prolong functionality and extend Volenta’s service to the Inquisition far more than anyone else in the Imperium can afford.

Attempting a smile the Inquisitor is met with a ghastly mockery of it and immediately stops, sighing heavily and throwing the towel back onto the hook. And she refuses to look at herself in the mirror again. To the hallowed cheeks and dark shadows beneath the eyes. Food, that’s what she needs.

With that thought, Volenta exits the chamber and gets greeted by her servo-skull, hovering in complete silence. It’s optic implants are waiting for a hand gesture or a whispered command, but she just passes it and walks to the desk cogitator, reaching for a button.

The moment she attempts to summon the serfs to bring her whatever meal they can put together in five minutes, the message comes in with a familiar name.

“Come.”

It’s the only word being displayed and she sighs, closes her eyes and sighs again. But if Xavier wants to see her, then she won’t refuse.

Volenta’s heart beats faster at the thought of forgetting her distress in his embrace and she grabs at the rosette again, squeezing it tightly. She does it until the edges of silver begin cutting into the palm, nearly breaking skin. Only then the Inquisitor relents her grip and tries to breathe slowly again. Because she knows that her reaction to the murdered boys is not welcome. That she shouldn’t share it, shouldn’t speak about it. Not to Xavier. He tried to root out this shortcoming in her. First through tough talking, then with a scar, one of the first upon her back.

And Volenta should’ve learned her lesson, should’ve discarded such a weakness long ago, and yet…

And yet she fails still. Albeit in the privacy of her own loneliness, but she still fails and the thought alone makes Volenta’s body tense and fingers twitch with desire to grab something and throw it. To destroy, to break, to express the accumulation of feelings within the woman that she can’t seem to get rid of, no matter how many decades pass.

She does not think of Carynth often or his nickname for her, but when it happens – it’s always…

Shaking her head, Volenta tries to remove the nasty remnant of a thought from her mind and attempts another smile. This time it comes more naturally so she lets go of it and repeats the process until finally it feels like she has gotten herself back.

And Xavier is waiting. Waiting for her. She won’t deny him even a moment longer than she has to.

Deleting the vox message, Volenta grabs her gloves from the desk where she has thrown them upon return, and while pulling them onto her still slightly trembling hands, she marches out of her office.

Teleportarium has been fast to assist the Lady Inquisitor Prime and in just twenty minutes she already is on Merciless Wrath. The officers there immediately greet Volenta and direct her to Xavier’s office even though she knows the path perfectly well. This ship, after all, has been a home to her for many years.

The corridors Volenta passes are familiar in a sentimental kind of way, but she does not linger on the thought, wondering why Xavier summoned her so unceremoniously. Last time she saw Heinrix was three days ago and while Xavier was, again, informed about what exactly transpired, it appeared that her husband gave up his displeasure. For the time being at least. Volenta knows that Xavier, for all his strengths, has a few shortcomings. And one of them is that he catalogues all her transgressions only to make a lesson out of them when the time is right. She bears the marks of such reminders both internally and externally.

Volenta does not expect another teaching opportunity has fallen into her husband’s hands, but his vox, sent through regular channels and not the private one they had set up for themselves that is counting decades now, is not exactly unusual, just not that common either. And as she passes the deck officers, agents of varying ranks and crew members of Merciless Wrath, the woman realizes that she recognizes less and less faces each time she’s back aboard. Such is the life in the Imperium.

Still, the whispers follow her like ghosts of the past, haunting her in cut-off sentences. While most of the Inquisition know who she is and the most barest facts of Volenta’s life – it appears it’s no different here, on a spaceship that she still thinks of as her home. Not the hiveworld from which the Lady Inquisitor hails and definitely not the regiment with which she served two grueling years. But this sword-class frigate that has been her schola, her home and the center of her personal life for many years, until Xavier sent Volenta to serve under the Ordo Hereticus banner. A banner, that technically the Inquisitor still waves on the battlefields, but considers herself less part of a specific Ordo and more the overseer of the entire Inquisition.

The whispers, however, caught not only by hearing but by her augmetic implant, are only slightly different from the ones that permeate the corridors of the Headquarters. The wife, the Inquisitor, the Hereticbane. Volenta dislikes the name people have given her. Much below her to wear the word heretic proudly, no matter the context. But she understands the need for such titles. Oftentimes they work as well as any purity seal detailing deeds of glory, or a bolter’s explosive shell to sow fear among the unbelievers and the traitors.

Still, she sometimes wishes it was something more than just terror tactics that spoke of Volenta’s deeds. Rarely does Ordo Hereticus pick non-psykers to become inquisitors. Even rarer such inquisitors climb any higher or survive in the field longer than their inhuman counterparts. Fight fire with fire is not just a sentiment when entire Ordo deals with witches that go rogue, with mutants that have slipped beyond permitted parameters via their genetics, and a wide array of heretics that vary from traitors to those born into heresy itself.

Hereticbane.

Volenta scoffs to herself when she hears the name repeated again. Do they even know what it entails? Most likely not, ignorant to most of everything that Imperium is built upon. But still, the nickname irks the Inquisitor in a way that only steel walls of her home can amplify. It’s because there was once a time when she wanted a name for herself, but it was less about destroying and more about her faith. Inspired after reading texts about Adepta Sororitas and their saints, Volenta dreamed to be one day called Emperor’s Justice or Bringer of His Light. But it’s not the path that has been chosen for her from the moment Xavier laid his eyes on the emaciated soldier, back on whatever world he picked her up from. Volenta never cared enough to memorize the name.

No, her path to recognition trailed over bodies, twisted from either mutations or torture, through oceans of blood and mind-numbing battles for her soul. Many a psyker had tried to break her. Many a heretic had tried to destroy her. And the job got harder when she took the role that Volenta represents right now. It’s been what, more or less forty years? Just a drop in the endless sea of the Imperium’s millennias. And still, despite that, she started getting a new name that she does not like any better than the Hereticbane.

Inquisitor of the Inquisitors.

This name, a mouthful for anyone with even one drink in their stomach, has started to emerge some ten years ago. After Volenta killed the previous Grandmaster of Solar segmentum. She nearly put her own head on the chopping block in the process, but the Emperor favorited the woman and she emerged not disgraced and thrown into the Inquisition’s holding cells for the key to get lost forever. No, she made a name for herself. And many, many enemies.

In the end, maybe it’s a better fitting title than the widespread one Volenta carries now. In the end – her duties have her chasing fellow colleagues rather than demons, witches or traitors et all. In the end… it’s her judgement behind which the Emperor stands. And in this moment, it’s like Volenta can feel the wonderful presence of Him near her, a hand on her shoulder. Heavy as it is liberating and reassuring.

“Emperor’s Throne.” She suddenly mutters when, nearing the goal of the journey towards Xavier’s command bridge, she is met with a view of two acolytes, no younger than two decades in age, on the floor on their knees, gathering las pistol batteries that Volenta immediately recognizes as weaker caliber practice ones.

The moment the acolytes notice Volenta, they don’t get to their feet but instead bow deeply, pressing foreheads to the floor. The young women wear similar robes that she herself wore in her early years aboard the Merciless Wrath and her expression hardens.

“What is this mess, acolytes?” She says in a commanding tone and notices one of the women flinch. “What disgrace and failure you have performed here?”

“Lady Inquisitor, it was an accident. We just dropped them, they were so heavy-“

“Quiet.” This time the command is said in a voice that could sound almost understanding if not for the steel encasing it. Volenta steps closer, eyeing the batteries that the acolytes have been well underway in putting into stacked piles before she appeared, and considering what to do with this, the woman remains silent for a moment.

Two trembling forms before her. One’s hair is red, another wears a crown of rich brown. Both of them shaking no matter how hard they are trying to hide it. They know who she is, how can they not. But irritation still rises in Volenta at the less than stellar view that she is presented with. These young women can’t even take a stock of las pistol batteries without spilling them everywhere like children. Did Xavier’s recruitment has turned so poorly that now he takes people who can’t perform the simplest of tasks? She will need to speak to him about this.

All the while Volenta contemplates about her husband’s recruitment choices, the right hand moves to the holster of the plasma pistol strapped over the Lex Imperialis at her waist and unclips the button. By the time familiarity of holding her hallowed gun is recognized by Volenta’s body, the two acolytes are already dead. Shots quietly let out plasma blasts that got drowned out by the dying breaths of the two women, who slump in the spots they have been kneeling at. Then the pistol gets holstered again, even before the singed holes the shots have left in the two skulls release thin tendrils of smoke. With an expressionless face Volenta steps over the bodies and proceeds.

A waste, really, not to make a more direct path to the command bridge. It’s taking her forever to get there but only because Volenta refuses to use the lifts, that are usually stuffed with either servitors or agents losing their minds for being in her presence. As if she’s a curse that will end their lives if they come too close.

Finally, she sees the all too familiar door and stops, gloved palms smoothing over the front of Volenta’s uniform. Then fingers run through loose strands of her hair, making sure that they are flowing in a way Xavier likes. Again the woman practices a smile, finds it completely natural and with a genuine one slotting instead of a fake, she enters the office.

She finds Xavier standing behind his desk, power armor abandoned somewhere else and just a sleek, black suit he wears beneath it being what covers the man from neck down. Trimmed with red and gold, it emphasizes the classical look for inquisitors, contrasting Volenta’s own choice for black and silver. His palms are pressed onto the desk, face turned down onto the data-slates shining in green hue below the man.

He does not rise his head when Volenta enters.

“I don’t have a date for Koronus yet, but I have been given a more immediate assignment and was granted a choice of inquisitors to take with me.”

“Splendid. I need to be here - why?” Volenta asks as she walks around the desk and places a quick kiss to Xavier’s augmetic on the left side of the skull, then turns to the liquor closet.

“Volenta.” Xavier says and she stops in her tracks, then looks over the shoulder to see her husband push a cup of recaf alongside the edge of the desk. She rolls her eyes but obeys and turns back, taking the still steaming cup with one hand.

After a sip at which she frowns because Xavier was never known to sweeten his recaf, something that Volenta personally does, she focuses her grey gaze upon the side profile of a man who’s a pict-perfect image of concentration. Absentmindedly, she reaches and brushes a strand of hair behind his ear and only that grants the woman a look from Xavier. “I will need your assistance on the mission.”

“I’m not Ordo Xenos, love.” She reminds him but the frown does not disappear from upon Volenta’s brow and Xavier straightens his spine, rising almost a head taller than his wife.

“No, but the available inquisitors at my disposal are far from being my first choices.”

“And you want my presence to instill enough fear in them so that they don’t betray you or sabotage the mission.” She finishes for Xavier and sighs, rubbing the bridge of her nose with two fingers. “You can’t just whisk me away at a whim like you used to.”

It’s not a conversation they are having for the first time. A handful of times before Volenta felt like she had to remind Xavier that she’s not his acolyte and hasn’t been for what is nearing four decades? She’s not sure. Simple fact is - she has other duties and other responsibilities.

And despite that - she follows him every time.

“My dear, you’re the best of the best. When was the last time you saw real battle?” There’s a sneaking sensation of Xavier’s bare touch against the side of Volenta’s face and she lowers her own hand to look at the man to whom she gave everything – body, mind and soul.

“Is that mockery?” Despite the smirk on her face, the woman still leans into Xavier’s touch and he rubs the prominent cheekbone with a thumb in slow circles.

“I think you could use an exercise, that is all. Lords of Terra will try to keep you pinned, you know that. Don’t let them.”

How clever, Volenta thinks to herself as Xavier gazes into her eyes with pure affection. How clever to make her rebel against those who think they control her. He knows all her buttons, all the triggers and this time it is no different.

“So what’s the mission?”

Xavier’s smile widens at the swift victory he was able to achieve and leans closer to Volenta, at the same time pulling her face up, angling it for himself to plant a kiss upon the waiting lips of his wife. “There’s this planet-“ He starts but stops when the door to the office opens with a smooth slide of well-calibrated hydraulics.

He turns only to see Heinrix, and immediately drops his touch from Volenta, who glances at the Interrogator and allows Xavier step away before taking a sip of recaf. This – has not been in her plans. Not in today’s schedule, at least. And as she sees a veil of mortification slip over Heinrix’s expression, however momentarily, Volenta knows that Xavier didn’t talk to him yet.

Ignorance is bliss, some say, but Volenta knows her husband better than to pretend that he will forgive and forget. No, especially because she gave no indication of wanting to cut Heinrix off. Still, allowing herself one nod to the dumbstruck agent, she takes two steps to lean her hip against the side of the desk. Xavier, in turn, shuts off all the data-slates with a wave of a palm over them, then affixes Heinrix with a look that is betraying absolutely nothing at all.

“So you’re here.” Newly appraised Inquisitor Lord says and Volenta looks at him, taking another slow sip from the cup. “Good. In a week’s time we will be leaving on a mission. I was informing Lady Inquisitor here of the situation.”

Heinrix’s eyes flick to Volenta, then back to Xavier and the urge to tug at the collar of his jacket increases as the perceived tightness of it begins choking the man. He nods to his mentor and approaches the desk. “Will Lady Inquisitor Prime be joining us?” He asks and Volenta doesn’t notice it, not yet, she hasn’t been around Heinrix for long enough, but Xavier does. The hint of foolish hopefulness that permeates the words in the most delicate way.

“She will indeed. We have agreed that Lady Inquisitor Calcazar will accompany the forces as a boost to morale.”

Volenta laughs. She can’t help it. “Drop it, my dear. You can tell him that I’m needed there to scare the men shitless.” Chuckling, she chooses not to mention how Xavier picked her title specifically to include the shared last name, as if trying to make a point before Heinrix even rises any objections. Jealousy.

“I tried to put it in a way that is not as jarring as your usual choice of words.” Xavier grumbles but far less chastising than he could become. Volenta puts the half-empty mug on the desk and makes towards Heinrix, in whose eyes she sees an unspoken plea.

“My usual choice of words usually gets the point across much faster than skirting around it.”

“I don’t mind it, really.” Heinrix joins in and Xavier just shakes his head, then looks for something on the table. The manilla folders rustle as he rummages through the never-ending presence of them upon his desk. If it’s not one thing, then it’s always another.

“Of course you don’t.” Volenta’s voice gains a crooning quality and Heinrix’s eyes fixate back onto her after briefly glancing at his mentor. He watches, as if in slow motion, how the woman pulls off a glove and caresses first his chest, then lets her fingers climb up. The moment her palm presses against the side of Heinrix’s face is when all tension seems to dissolve in the man, leaking out like a punctured waterskin.

“Lady Inquisitor, if you could spare me a moment, I’d like to discuss something with you.” An attempt is made, but Volenta only smiles.

“Indeed? Discuss what?”

“It’s confidential.”

She laughs and Heinrix’s eyes flick to Xavier again, catching the man scan the open folder before him and take out an intricate box that the Interrogator knows well. It’s where Inquisitor holds his cigars. In which he doesn’t partake often, when the occasion calls for it. And that is what puzzles Heinrix, as he observes Xavier take out one cigar, clip the end of it and light it, all the tools returning safely to the box right after. Then it is closed and hidden again.

As he does this, Volenta only observes Heinrix, the way his throat moves when he swallows nervously. At the click of a jet lighter, that she is all too familiar with, the woman slips her palm into Heinrix’s hair, to the back of his skull and pulls his face towards her. Their lips meet and Heinrix, too stunned to do anything at first. A frozen second before he forgets himself for just a briefest of moments and reaches to embrace Volenta, to pull her against him.

“I think that’s quite enough of a display.” Xavier’s voice snaps Heinrix back to the present and he immediately steps backwards, hands now risen not to embrace but in show of surrender.

“Inquisitor, I didn’t- She-“

Volenta chuckles again and raises an eyebrow at the man, clearly terrified of his own transgression, that she can’t help but find hilarious.

“She what, Van Calox?” Xavier says and, in her amusement, Volenta just pulls off the second glove, watching the situation unfold.

“You saw.” Heinrix replies, sounding defeated and Xavier inhales the smoke, then looks at his wife’s back, the cascading white hair covering it to the waist of a body that knows very inch of.

“Volenta, come here.” He demands and she smiles to Heinrix, then swiftly and smoothly turns on her heel, before letting her steps take her around the desk and to Xavier’s side.

When she stops there, there’s a flick of a motion and Xavier’s mechanical fingers grip her jaw, squeezing tightly, edging the threshold of pain. The look in his eye is the one that tells most – he wants to make a point.

“Why did you do that?”

“Xavier-“

“Answer me.” The hand squeezes further and she lets out a grunt, after which Heinrix moves towards the desk.

“Xavier, release her.”

But the look that the Inquisitor shoots to his acolyte is danger spelled out in clearest of warnings. “I will deal with my wife in whichever way I please, Van Calox.” Then, back to Volenta. “Answer me.”

“You already know why.” She says but doesn’t move to pry the augmetic hand away from her jaw, doesn’t even flinch, just looks straight ahead of herself. Straight into the face of a man she married all those years ago.

There’s a sneer, so uncharacteristic to him, and Xavier takes a long pause to make use of the cigar, blowing smoke straight to Volenta’s face. She only squints, then allows herself a smallest of smiles.

“You have forgotten yourself.” At last he says and blows the smoke again, noticing with his ocular implant the heat signature of Heinrix twitch with a jump that he suppresses before it happens. How badly does he want to protect the Lady Inquisitor. He’s almost ready to risk his own safety. And life.

“No, I haven’t.” How does Volenta defend Xavier’s need for show of dominion over her without giving up her own desires? Those that Heinrix has risen within the woman? Those of excitement and being wanted in a similar but such a different way from her husband.

Why can’t she have both. If only to make a point that Volenta too has wishes. That she, too, can have it her way even if Xavier doesn’t like it. Because every single time in their shared history when Xavier seriously pushed back against Volenta – she relented. She always does. Because she loves him more than herself.

But now it feels different. Why him sleeping with Dec is not an issue, even if it was a one time thing? Why she has to forgo what she wants, even if it’s a wish driven by desire?

Why he sees Heinrix as such a threat?

Surely it’s not the proximity, Volenta thinks to herself in the two seconds while all these thoughts run through her head. It can’t be that, because like every agent - Heinrix rarely spends time in his mentor’s company. The Inquisition separates everyone. The service demands it. Even this meeting of three of them is not a common occurrence, despite it being decades of them being intertwined.

No, even if it’s just a fling. Even if Volenta will bore of Heinrix tomorrow. It’s not about that. It’s about putting her foot down which she has every right to do. Is she not Volenta Calcazar? The Hereticbane, the Inquisitor of Inquisitors? She has a right to permit herself this because Xavier has broken their agreement first.

She swallows before continuing. “Dear, surely you are not threatened by Heinrix here, are you?” The small smile slowly becomes a smirk, mischievous and bratty. One that Xavier knows well. A muscle under his eye twitches and the ash from the cigar drops onto the folders loudly in the silence encompassing all of them. He doesn’t move, just thinks of what his dear wife has challenged him with.

And he boils with fury.

The notion that his wife, one person that knows Xavier perhaps better than he knows himself, is pushing just the right buttons to get her point across. Heinrix doesn’t matter, her insubordination doesn’t matter. No longer these occupy the front of the Inquisitor’s mind. Instead, it’s the sheer thought that she thinks that Xavier is threatened by another man. His acolyte, above all things. The point has been made on Volenta’s part and now… Now he knows he has to make one of his own.

A smirk appears when an idea forms in his head and Xavier releases Volenta, turning to tap the ash of the cigar into the unfinished recaf mug. It quickly sizzles out and while her jaw aches, Volenta refuses to bring her hand up and soothe the marks that most likely will appear later. She watches Xavier instead, observing how he lowers himself into the armchair that has been in this office for far longer than the Inquisitor himself served the Ordos. A flagship he inherited from his own mentor and he – from his.

Despite the centuries, the armchair has been a comfortable companion to Xavier for many missions, tragedies and joyous moments. It’s the same chair that Volenta herself has made use for in the past, many a time. And not for the first time it will serve as a podium for punishment.

“Remove your coat.” Xavier gestures to his wife and she pauses, but only for a fraction of a moment.

First gloves are out down on the desk, then her pauldrons. The cloak is draped over the other, lesser chair to the side, and her fingers work the front of her greatocoat.

“You see, my dear Heinrix.” Xavier does not look at the younger man, rather preferring to watch his wife work the buttons on her front. “There are some things that you don’t know about in dealing with a woman like Volenta.” Drawing onto his cigar, the Inquisitor pauses, waiting until the greatcoat joins the cloak and smirks slightly. “I’m about to show you what exactly that means.”

“You don’t have to do this. I can leave.” Heinrix tries not to jump closer because he senses that something will happen. He knows not what, but this situation doesn’t bode well.

“No, stay. Let the man show his power.” Volenta winks at him with a smile and Xavier scoffs with disdain and raises an eyebrow.

“Come to me.” He commands and with ease Volenta obeys, in two steps ending up before her husband again, facing him.

For a moment Xavier doesn’t do anything, just taps the cigar over the mug and partakes in the rich smoke again. But the moment the rolled up, brown leaves leave his lips – the Inquisitor takes Volenta by the shoulder and spins her to face Heinrix instead of himself. Their eyes meet and while Heinrix looks concerned and partially cross, Volenta, on the other hand, only appears to be amused.

She feels how Xavier’s mechanical arm moves behind her and then wraps itself around her shoulder at the front, pushing the woman against his chest. Blowing smoke to the side of her face again, the Inquisitor smirks. “Tell me, my dear wife, what do you see?”

“I see Heinrix.” She responds calmly, although not without squinting slightly at the smoke in her eyes. “Your acolyte, High Interrogator in your retinue. Your right hand man.”

“No, tell me what you see.”

She thinks and eyes Heinrix again who looks like he would prefer to be fighting hordes of deamons alone rather than stand here, feeling helpless. It’s a familiar feeling to her, one that Volenta experienced before. When Xavier was injured, when she lost members of her retinue before. And back on the planet that was nearly wiped off by a psyker gone rogue. Elio.

It clicks.

“A psyker. Sanctioned.”

“So he is.” Xavier’s voice drops to almost a whisper and he leans to Volenta’s ear, keeping eyes on Heinrix as well. “And that means?”

She doesn’t know and at her delay in answering Xavier’s mechanical fingers close around her left shoulder even firmer, bruising the skin beneath the shirt. But that hurts less than failing to deliver what he wants. “I don’t know.” Finally Volenta admits and a scoff brushes against her ear. “He’s no different than countless other psykers serving the Imperium and the God-Emperor.”

“No?” There’s mockery in Xavier’s tone now and her stomach sinks.

“I don’t know what game you’re playing here, Xavier, but this is enough.” Heinrix rejoins and his gaze moves from Volenta and onto his mentor. The air grows colder and she winces when in response Xavier’s grip becomes even more suffocating. The forearm against her chest squeezes harder, trapping Volenta against his chest as if by chains.

“No, Heinrix.” In a calm voice the Inquisitor relishes the smoke of the cigar again, creating a pause during which only the sizzling of the leaves can be heard. “I want her to answer. You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?”

But Heinrix doesn’t need to answer for both Volenta and Xavier to understand that he does not know. His eyes flick to the woman, almost pleading for help, the emotion muddled when it intertwines with increasing anger.

“I’m not going to be a prop to a malicious game.” Heinrix says and begins turning until one simple command comes. One not meant for him.

“Strip.”

Volenta tries to turn her head and look at Xavier but the side of the jaw that he has against her temple prevents the woman from achieving an exchange. He cannot be serious, can he?

“You heard me. I’m going to release you and you’re going to undress.”

“I won’t stay for this!” Heinrix raises his voice and is only met with Xavier’s oppressing look.

“You will. That’s an order.”

“This is a travesty. You can’t-“

“But I can, my dear Heinrix. You will soon understand why.” And then to his wife: “Follow your order.”

Volenta stands still, quiet and unperturbed. Heinrix searches her eyes for something. A sign of distress? Of unwillingness to go along with this? Sadness even, perhaps? He sees nothing in the glacier grey. And when her gaze turns away, Heinrix clenches his fists but keeps them at his sides. Whatever show Xavier wants Heinrix to witness – he’s been ordered to see it through.

There’s a handful of seconds while Xavier draws on the cigar, then, finally, his mechanical arm releases Volenta and she lingers by his chest for a moment longer with a small smile playing at her lips. “Naughty.” She whispers and feels a rumble of a chuckle against her back but it doesn’t escape her husband’s mouth.

“You like this.” Xavier whispers back right into her ear and Volenta’s smile grows wider, painting her pale face in colors of amusement.

She only clicks her tongue and steps half a step away from Xavier, then begins to unzip the front of her shirt. Heinrix immediately turns his eyes away and there’s a hue of a blush creeping up his neck and face that Xavier doesn’t miss. He only taps more of the ash into the tainted recaf mug and scoffs at the younger man.

“No need to be pretending now, Heinrix. Don’t you think I know? Not for even one second doubt that I didn’t know from the very beginning. Started with a kiss, did it not?” He’s mocking the Interrogator while Volenta lets her black shirt slip off her white shoulders and pool on the floor by Xavier’s feet.

“Inquisitor, I implore you to understand-“

“No, you will listen to me.” Xavier cuts him off and with free hand slips a strap of Volenta’s bra off her shoulder while her hands are working the clasp at the back. “You should count yourself lucky that you live to draw breath, Heinrix. You do understand that it is my wife that you touched?”

At the words Heinrix’s face becomes fully red but whether from shame or anger, perhaps both, Volenta can’t discern just yet. His eyes are downcast, fists still clenched and she smiles to herself again. Of course he knew that, how could he not. But there are other things that Heinrix doesn’t know and that thought amuses the woman to almost no end.

Relieving herself from a bra, Volenta breathes easier and rubs one shoulder where the strap of the garment dug painfully into her skin. Same shoulder that is sore from Xavier’s grip, but she doesn’t linger long and proceeds to undo her belt, placing it atop the table and onto the data-slates. It doesn’t bother her in the slightest that Xavier seems to be in a mood to use her as a proof of his power. In fact, she’s having quite a bit of fun at the way Heinrix seems to be squirming within his own skin, the way he refuses to raise his eyes to her.

“It was the most grievous mistake, Inquisitor. I take the blame and I will accept whatever punishment you want to sentence me for.” Heinrix says and his voice sounds firm despite the blushing, partially angry expression. Xavier chuckles.

“Really? How generous of you to take the blame for a married woman’s mistakes. Even if you have not conveniently forgotten that she is mine, Volenta is still the one who broke the bounds of our marriage, is it not, dear?”

“Hm?” Volenta glances over her shoulder at Xavier and has to enforce near all the will not to start giggling. “Yes, my love. It’s all my fault.” She responds but the amused tone surprises Heinrix and he forgets himself for a moment, glancing up. Upon seeing the Lady Inquisitor bare-chested he quickly stakes his gaze back to the floor.

“Seems Volenta is ready to take her punishment.” Xavier smirks and she sees venom in the expression, but turns back to the task at hand, unbuckling her pants, then bending down to unclasp the heels. There’s a hand over her rear, rubbing two lazy circles and then a touch upon the tattoo on her back, tracing the middle of it, the inked skull there.

“She doesn’t have to. Transfer the punishment to me, Inquisitor.” Heinrix mutters, not sure what’s even happening. He feels like a fish being fried in a red-hot pan and Volenta doesn’t even sound distressed or worried at all. There’s something missing, some fact that escaped the Interrogator, and he can’t quite come up with the answer as to what it might possibly be.

“You both will take punishment if you are so eager to be sentenced. This – is part of it.”

“Inquisitor, with all due respect, this is humiliation.” Heinrix finds the words of protest at which Xavier chuckles.

“Is that not one of many possible disciplinary actions, Interrogator?”

Heinrix flinches as if scalded by a lash of a whip and falls quiet, listening to Volenta as she places her heels to the side once they are off her feet. The shuffle of fabric indicates that she’s proceeding to undress further and the Interrogator shuts his eyes, squeezing them firmly.

“There.” Xavier’s eyes row over Volenta’s back when she at last throws her pants and underwear with the coat and cloak and straightens her spine.

With a brush of a hand the man moves the luscious white mane away from her back, eyeing the scars surrounding the Inquisition symbol that hasn’t faded even one bit throughout the decades. The bend of her back, the curve of her rear, strong muscles, relaxed for now, but he knows better than anyone what she’s capable of on a battlefield. He made the right decision to let the assassins train her and to send her to Ordo Hereticus that sharpened Volenta to a razor-like finesse. If she wished she could take both him and Heinrix out before they even managed to put up a fight. And yet here she stands, in the glory of her nakedness, pliant and obedient as he honed her to be.

He’s her maker and he’s her very own god.

The thought is satisfying as it always is, and Xavier presses his chest to Volenta’s back once again, feeling her body mold against him. Putting out the cigar into the mug, Xavier leans down and presses a kiss to the naked shoulder that is beginning to bear a shade of blue. He won’t apologize, it’s not in the manner of the man to do so, but she will learn from this and from what’s to follow. Of that – he will make absolutely sure.

With growing enjoyment of the situation he created, Xavier rises his bare hand and places it upon Volenta’s left breast, exhaling slowly at the tickle of a piercing against his palms. The other one, the bionic hand, he uses to first trace a line over her right thigh, then splays the hydraulic fingers and grips at the flesh. The Inquisitor Lord doesn’t need to imagine how soft she is even if the sensation itself is not there – he knows Volenta’s body, every part of her etched into his memory and senses like an icon of a saint upon the altar.

She, in turn, grips at his wrists, but not to pull them away or stop his lingering touches. It’s simply to hold onto her husband and Volenta relishes the feeling of being in his arms again. There’s not a care on her mind that Heinrix is here. She wouldn’t care if anyone else, besides the Emperor Himself, was here to witness her in the nude. And especially not a man who already has seen her like this, had her like this. It’s not a concern on her mind at all.

“Look at her, Heinrix. Actually look at her.” Xavier commands and squeezes the overspilling through his fingers breast harsher, making Volenta gently inhale.

She turns her gaze to Heinrix and witnesses his flushed face lifting as if moved by an unseen force. The mismatched eyes of his, only by a shade or two, sweep over the form that can be observed from mid-thighs up due to the desk between them. But he sees her. The pale skin, the round hips, flat stomach and heavy mounds of her chest, one of them gripped tightly. Heinrix remember how she felt under his own touch, under his own lips, and swallows thickly. Forcing his eyes even higher, he is met with Volenta’s gaze betraying her never-ending amusement. That look, one not of distress or shame, surprises the Interrogator and he swallows again. Lips part but no words come out.

Behind her, like a dark shadow, Xavier stands, looming unlike a curse that is surrounding her and that will descent upon any man who might dare come closer. Yet he is smiling, however vicious that smile is. His ocular implant flares with a flash when the Inquisitor tilts his head downwards, to look at the woman against him. His very own wife, his very own perfect soldier. Both in one and yet so much more than that.

“Do you think she’s embarrassed, Heinrix?” Xavier asks and Volenta bites her bottom lip, restraining a chuckle threatening to emerge. She wants to give Xavier this chance to flex the power he has over her and if the woman has to be honest with herself – watching Heinrix struggle in this situation is just beyond entertaining.

“I don’t think I’m fit to answer this question for her, Xavier.” The words come out through clenched teeth and Xavier scoffs again. He’s bemused by Heinrix’s attitude and is starting to get irritated.

“And yet you are asked to answer.”

Silence falls because Heinrix does have the answer Xavier requires, but refuses to give it. Who is he to speak for Volenta? A woman of her magnitude doesn’t need others speaking for her. But this whole situation is beginning to confuse the Interrogator even further. What’s the point of all of this? Sure, part of it is clearly to show Heinrix how easily Volenta obeys her husband, but there ought to be something else. Something more.

And Volenta can almost hear the gears turning in Heinrix’s head. She says nothing, remaining quiet. Not because she herself has nothing to add, far from it, but because this stand-off between the two men is of most curious nature. She knows the goal of it, unlike Heinrix. Xavier will establish that he’s the captain of this ship-like situation and will relent, letting her keep Heinrix in a way one keeps a pet. She knows this because the fact that she’s standing naked and is near paraded before the flustered and partially offended man is proof enough. If Xavier made his mind strictly against involving the Interrogator – he would be laying on the floor with a smoking hole in the skull the moment her lips left his.

But he’s not. Instead Heinrix is looking her strictly in the eyes, like he’s too ashamed to let the gaze wander. She tries not to chuckle again. Just days ago he had her on the back and on a desk, legs spread. And now he’s playing the timid one.

“I see you don’t quite yet understand what is asked of you.” Xavier sighs and releases Volenta from his grasp, sitting into the armchair behind him. He pats a thigh and Volenta glances back then slips onto his lap smoothly like a serpent. Not straddling him, but draping her feet over the armrest, forcing Xavier to put his hand over her knee. The Inquisition rosette dangles from his wrist and Volenta glances at it with warmth. It has seen more than just heresy and battle.

“No, I don’t. Why… this?” Finally Heinrix moves and gestures to the display before him: Xavier with his legs parted so that Volenta’s rear rests upon the chair; her relaxed position as she observes the Interrogator with a curious spark in the eye; Inquisitor’s augmented fingers reaching to the side of his wife’s face and grasping a strand of white silk, toying with it gently.

“Why not, my dear Heinrix? You have seen Volenta naked. You have taken her. Is seeing her like this while in my presence disturbs you?”

Of course it does, how can it not. Out of countless possibilities of what kind of reprimand the Inquisitor Lord might have enacted upon Heinrix for sleeping with his wife – this one was not among them. Again words like humiliation, disrespect, show of power flash in the Interrogator’s mind and he tries not to feel even angrier at them.

And then there is a part of him that still craves and yearns. A part of him that is jealous. This woman that he so desperately craves could be sitting in his lap, naked like a trophy of a conqueror. But instead he’s forced to observe another man taking the spoils of the battle that Heinrix didn’t want to admit in fighting. And losing. Now she will never be his. Xavier will establish that Volenta is not to be touched, or come near to, and that will be that. The last thing that Heinrix will see of her, tender and barren like this, is this very scene – of her in another man’s arms. He’s not stupid enough not to realize how unfair and bitter Heinrix sounds even in his own mind, but since when emotions were rational? That’s why he has tried hard to root them out, to clad himself with steel and duty.

Only all of it had been for naught. In this very moment Heinrix understands, that whatever training he has gone through in the decades serving the Inquisition – none of them could have prepared him for how badly it aches to want something and be mocked for not having it.

She was never his.

But could’ve been.

If only he tried harder, talked to Volenta perhaps, maybe she would have… left her husband for him.

Stupid, stupid idea and seeing the woman’s content smile and relaxed pose tells him everything that he needs to know. She would never leave Xavier, neither for him or anything else. And the thought becomes poison that floods the nerve centers of Heinrix’s thoughts.

All of this he thinks in a second or two, the maximum appropriate time to make his mentor wait for a response and Heinrix straightens his back, finding a degree of dignity within himself at last. “No, it does not disturb me, Xavier. She’s a very beautiful woman and I understand now what is it that you’re trying to show me.”

“Do you now?” Unexpectedly Xavier chuckles and strokes Volenta’s thigh, up the side, over her right breast. His rosette drags against her skin and she smiles wider. “Then do enlighten us both, dear Heinrix. Do tell us what you think this is all about.”

It’s not a question, but not exactly a command either and Heinrix swallows dryly, watching fingers toy with a pierced nipple, release it, slide down over the pale thigh again. It’s disgusting, to be taunted like this with a body of a woman that he- Doesn’t matter. And yet the heat in the office becomes more oppressing and Heinrix’s pants sit somehow tighter around his hips. He tells himself not to think, but it’s near impossible not to. The taste of her, the eyes that made him feel like he was the only one for her.

How unfair.

“You want to make your claim obvious. I think the point has been made. You didn’t need to put Volenta through this.” Heinrix gestures and is met with her raised eyebrows.

“No?” Xavier scoffs and his fingers begin trailing on the inside of her thigh, higher, as if testing if Heinrix will look. He does, but only for a second. “Do you think she appears to be in distress about the situation at hand?”

“Xavier, dear, I think he doesn’t understand.” She chimes in and Heinrix frowns at this. How both of them can keep saying that?

“Then explain to me, Volenta, what is going on because I clearly don’t understand, and both of you insist that I don’t.” He tries to bite back the harshness with which the words come out and fails. His foot moves forwards. Just one step and Heinrix is not even sure why, so he stops himself before more such steps are taken.

“May I?” She looks at her husband, who’s fingers already found the soft heat between her legs and is beginning to stroke there lazily. He smiles to her, finally content with how the things are turning out and that she didn’t put up a fight that he almost half expected.

“You may.” Xavier grants the permission and Volenta smiles wider, then kisses him. It’s a deep kiss, slow one and she mewls into his mouth when his fingers find the entrance of her and begin slipping in. It’s easy, she’s wet for him already, and the pride at her being so ready for him swells in the Inquisitor’s chest.

While she kisses her husband, she can sense the heated, scalding look of Heinrix upon her body and it makes her shiver with excitement. To be so desired is what speaks of most profound feelings to the woman and she drinks it in while, allowing the kiss to continue for just a little bit longer. Her tongue tastes the cigar smoke, the faint notes of recaf, and Xavier responds to her growing passions. His augmetic hand grips the underside of Volenta’s jaw and holds her there until he senses her pulling back. Time for words. Time for action will follow.

Yet before she turns to Heinrix, there is an exhale against Xavier’s lips when his fingers slip into her further, to the knuckles, and he senses her tense in a familiar fashion that stirs fire within him and ignites desire in his loins. An idea of taking her, in front of Heinrix, emerges in his mind. It is not what he had planned, but now he wishes for it.

Xavier will let Volenta explain it first.

With a smirk he begins to move his fingers, two of them, curling them upwards and eliciting another moan out of her, however subdued. “Go ahead, love, tell him then.”

The smile on Volenta’s face that appears at Xavier’s words near makes his heart skip a beat, but he responds with a smile of his own and nods again, reassuring her.

Finally she turns to Heinrix, her pale face beginning to gain a shade of pink that the Interrogator himself has seen before due to how he touched her, how he- Heinrix doesn’t allow himself to think further, not right now. He is fighting a losing battle already not to let his gaze drift down to Volenta’s heavy chest or to the fingers between her legs, even if partially hidden by a pale thigh. Oh to have her one more time…

“You see.” The woman starts and Heinrix focuses back on the grey eyes, trying not to see how Xavier’s attention is taken away from the situation and how his lips begin trailing Volenta’s shoulder and up, to the side of her neck. Desire like an electric rope wraps itself around Heinrix’s spine. “My beloved husband here just wants to establish one thing. And that is quite simple – that it is him who I am bound to.”

“I can see that already.” Heinrix grumbles with apparent indignation, eyebrows furrowing even deeper.

“But you don’t see the full picture. He’s also permitting you access to me.” She smiles and then gasps when the digits inside her curl even more.

“Access.” The word sounds bitter on Heinrix’s tongue when he repeats it, but the hope that he tried to kill within himself emerges and he sighs. He doesn’t like how Volenta has framed it. As if she’s an item to have, a luxurious commodity to own. She’s more, so much more. But who he is to argue with her or with Xavier. Who he is to dismiss the chance of still having her, even if these are the terms he’s been presented with.

“You most likely don’t appreciate how I have put it, but I prefer to keep it simple and clear. So yes - access.” Volenta tilts her head and feels Xavier’s teeth sink into the side of her neck, eliciting another sigh. Yet her eyes remain on Heinrix. She doesn’t have to tell him that they fought about him, that she stood up against her husband just to defend him. Let him think that it’s a whim they both want, for Heinrix to be included.

Let him think that, lest he thinks Volenta will throw her marriage to the wind one day. That’s not going to happen. Not for Heinrix, not for anyone. But fun is still to be had and that’s what she’s looking forward to. To have them both, to let them have her.

Another moan, louder, when Xavier’s finger presses against her clit and her body shivers, growing more aroused. Coaxed into desire that she knows he will use against her and Heinrix both.

She will let him.

“Now that you explained to the Interrogator what he couldn’t apparently grasp himself, why don’t you show me how much you appreciate my willingness to let you play around?” Xavier whispers against Volenta’s ear, leaving the throbbing bite for a moment. His breath brushes against her skin, fawning over the hair strands here and she smiles.

“You surprise me still, my love.”

“One has to keep marriage interesting. I’m sure you can agree.” To emphasize the words, Xavier presses onto her clit harder, the thumb sensing the swelling nub and her body responds with a tremble and another moan escaping Volenta’s mouth.

“Oh I do.” She smiles without taking her eyes from Heinrix, feeling almost bad for having him stand there and watch, but this is not about him. Right now it’s about her and her need to be taken, audience or not.

The moment Xavier’s fingers leave her, Volenta bites her bottom lip at the absence of relative fullness, but doesn’t linger hoping for the digits to return. She wants more than just that and finds herself thrilled at being watched after all. It’s not that it has never happened before. She’s been walked in onto multiple times, but never someone was stood there like a prop and made watch so openly. She swallows at the thought, at the arrangement. Because Heinrix’s emotions are worn on his sleeve.

He doesn’t need to tell or express how he’s feeling. The yearning look, mixed with a degree of embarrassment and a hint of anger are obvious upon his strong features, but he stands. Letting the scene unfold. Watching Volenta move.

She gracefully slips out of Xavier’s lap and with a moment to spare for him to caress the side of the woman’s face, she proceeds to undo his pants, pull the zipper down. Swiftly she takes out his hard length and gives it a few strokes. Heinrix tries not to watch but he can’t stop himself, wishing it was him instead. And there’s shame that he’s feeling in this very moment. Shame for enjoying the show put up just for him. He should hate it, but finds himself unable to.

There’s a pause when Volenta leans down, drags her tongue against the underside of Xavier’s dick and he exhales, running fingers through her hair when she does it once, twice and then stops, smiling all the while.

“Turn around, let Heinrix see you in your glory.”

There’s a flicker of surprise in Volenta’s eyes that are gazing up at her husband, but she smiles again and complies with ease. Turning around she feels Xavier’s hands grip at her slim waist and pull her backwards. It takes just a moment for her to straddle him, back against his chest and his cock between her legs, hot and hard as it presses against her.

She looks down and exhales, wanting it, needing it. Heinrix becomes forgotten, the so-called lesson Xavier is trying to teach them both gets forgotten. There’s only desire. Only the need to be loved in the only way she recognizes love – by being claimed.

The hands slip to her hips and lift them. All that Volenta can do is grip onto the armrests of the chair and let herself be guided. A breathy chuckle escapes her when the hold on her right hip leaves only for Xavier to take his cock into the hand and tease the tip against her entrance. She wants to sink onto it, to experience the fullness that fills her soul as well, but he squeezes the other hip tighter, making her stay still. “Follow my lead, dear.”

There’s pressure and not where she hoped for it. Not that this is unwelcome, the intrusion that makes her gasp and sink deeper, letting Xavier’s length force its way into her. He holds himself still and Volenta can hear him grunt with satisfaction at the tightness of her body and how it yields to him. “There, there, you’re doing so well.” He murmurs and her eyes flick to Heinrix, who’s standing there with face fully red and his own desire betraying him in unabashed baring.

Whatever restraint the Interrogator has, gets forgotten when his gloved hand moves to the front of his pants, adjusting the taunt fabric that is becoming increasingly uncomfortable. Heinrix never imagined himself to be this turned on while watching the woman he near worships being taken right in front of him, but it becomes an undeniable fact before he can even process the adjacent feelings. He wants to join, he wants to take her like Xavier is taking her. He wants to be what she needs him to be. Yet he stands, because the order of him to watch reminds of itself as an echo of the past.

The moan that escapes Volenta nearly breaks his resolve. She takes Xavier in full, her beautiful face flushing gentle red, the expression strained but also needy. With a gasp the woman sinks down onto her husband’s lap, feeling the pleasant fullness that being taken this way provides her with. Something she enjoys immensely, and then with a rise of her hips the Lady Inquisitor sinks down again, drawing another cry out of herself. The grip on the armrests become firmer and there’s an attempt to increase the pace despite the partially uncomfortable friction that she’s trying to adjust to, to the sheer size of Xavier inside of her.

“Move your legs, dear.” Xavier whispers behind her, voice taunt from pleasure and she pauses, gasping for air already, but obeys and with his help she unfolds the legs from beneath her. When she loses the base under the knees completely, Volenta sinks even further onto Xavier’s cock, new position allowing for even deeper penetration and she gasps, thighs shaking.

“My love-“ She glances back, heaving every breath but Xavier only smiles and shushes her. One hand, his right and bare from the glove, returns to the center of her, tracing the slit with two fingers while the rosette that’s at his wrist drags against her skin again.

“Just relax.” He presses a kiss to the side of Volenta’s hair and begins circling where she’s most sensitive, where her own desire throbs, escalated by the mind-numbing fullness in her backside. She whimpers at the touch, fingers still gripping the chair and her legs spread over Xavier’s thighs. And then she gasps when his fingers spread her folds. She looks down, not seeing or caring that Xavier is doing this for Heinrix.

She doesn’t see it, but Heinrix does.

It’s this moment that his eyes meet the Inquisitor’s. Only when Heinrix is finally capable of peeling his eyes from a body on display, and he swallows, trying to think of something to say, but Xavier speaks first.

“You want her, don’t you?”

“Yes.” Barely a whisper, barely a plea.

“For how long have you wanted her?”

“I… I don’t know.”

Xavier scoffs and slips two fingers into his wife, near groaning at the wet heat once again. How is it that no matter in which way he takes her – it’s still never enough. Volenta arches against his chest and his fingers start to move, the rosette bouncing against the underside of her thigh. She moans, louder now and so beautifully too. The sweetest noises that she makes, he can’t have enough of them.

“You don’t know.” The Inquisitor Lord has to remind himself what this is about and it’s not only his pleasure. Not quite yet.

“For a while, Xavier. I don’t know. It’s been… It’s been long.” Heinrix finally admits and his eyes flick to the moving digits, to the glistening wetness that is seeping out of Volenta as she gasps every time the fingers are shoved back into her. She’s only looking down, too absorbed in the pleasure to care for what the conversation is about. By the Throne, her body is so inviting…

“It’s been long.” Xavier echoes the words, losing his own train of thought at the moment and pulls out the fingers, making his wife gasp in mild protest. Before she can say anything, beg for more, he brings the fingers to her mouth and watches Heinrix’s face as she obediently licks at them, heavy gasps escaping her mouth as she loves him with her servitude.

“I…” Heinrix tries to find the words, but his own thoughts are slipping and he pulls open the collar of his jacket and shirt, finding it hard to breathe. “Xavier, you know what you have.”

At this the Inquisitor Lord chuckles, a breathy kind of sound and he pulls the fingers away to grip Volenta’s hips. “I do, trust me. And that’s why I need you to understand one thing and one thing only.” With a grunt he begins moving the woman atop him as if she weights nothing, augmetic hand easing the task significantly. “Even though you are permitted to join, even though Volenta herself wanted you…” He pauses just to listen to the sweet moans his wife is letting out at the beginning of movement, her body accepting him with increasing satisfaction. “Even though it is because of her that you are getting a chance to enjoy her body, it is me who she belongs to. And always will. Never forget that. Or else the consequences will come in spilled blood. Yours.”

“I- I know.” Heinrix swallows again and looks at Volenta’s face, so beautiful when she’s in the throes of passion. If his dignity and a threat to life is the price to pay just to have more chances to see that face contort only for him – so be it. He will pay it and gladly so.

“Xavier.” She moans, casting a glance behind her shoulder and he nods. They don’t need further words than this to communicate, the decades and marriage creating a language that is unique just to them.

The moment the approval is given, Volenta’s eyes turn to Heinrix and she reaches out to him, beckoning for him to come closer, to indulge in the first taste of what will be a new arrangement until one of them decides to end it. But it’s only the start, the beginning, and Heinrix steps forwards. Couple tentative steps and then he’s before her, watching her white hair bounce together with the heavy breasts as Xavier now turns his attentions to his own pleasure, moving her upon him harder and faster.

Heinrix leans in and cups her face with both palms, kissing Volenta deeply and swallowing her moans with a swelling chest. He needs her, but he’s not willing to risk upsetting Xavier and for him to retrieve back the offer of sharing. Instead, when he pulls back leaving her lips glistening, Heinrix bends over and first licks one nipple, letting it dance against his tongue while she’s being moved faster and harder, then another one gets same appreciation.

Volenta’s fingers tangle in his hair, making a mess out of it immediately and Heinrix sinks to his knees, facing the most tender display. And he craves to fill her even if not with his cock, not this time. Unwilling to beg but having almost no other choice, the Interrogator glances up at Xavier and receives a short nod, as if given absentmindedly.

That’s all he needs.

Gripping the undersides of Volenta’s legs, just above the bend of her knees, Heinrix lifts her legs higher, spreads them wider and indulges himself. Mouth pressed to her pussy, a gasp scalding it with the heat of it. He hears her moan loudly above him, fingers clenching into the dark hair and the Interrogator indulges himself not unlike Xavier. His tongue slips inside and he himself moans against Volenta’s flesh, nearly releasing the pent-up desire in the confines of his pants already. What little restraint he has – he uses it not to mess himself up.

He tastes her like a man starved, like it’s his salvation and damnation both. Letting Volenta’s legs fall onto his pauldrons just like he has done before, Heinrix spreads her folds for himself again and feels the body shake in response.

“Fuck, I’m going to-“ Volenta breathes heavily, barely able to speak and Xavier smirks to himself, feeling sweat peppering his brow.

“Then do it. And I’ll follow.”

There’s only this that Volenta needs to let herself go. The fullness that Xavier is giving her, the tongue that is deeply tasting her. And Heinrix’s face, with eyes closed in so much need it verges on reverence. The way he moans against her just at the sheer taste and feel of her.

Volenta cannot take it anymore.

With a gasp she unravels, closing her eyes and shaking with wave after wave of bliss that wash over her and create a sun behind the eyelids. She barely even hears herself, but she’s crying out, repeatedly. And then somehow even louder when Xavier reaches his peak and fills her even more, spilling himself deeply into his wife to the point her lithe body cannot contain it anymore. His seed leaks around the length still embedded in her and with a jerk of hips and fingers squeezing to the point of bruising, Xavier finally stops.

Heavy breaths are escaping him and he looks down at Heinrix, who has pulled back and places a kiss at her stomach, appearing strangely chaste. Volenta remains unmoving, relaxed in the grasp of the two men, but finally a smile appears on her face and she swipes a hand over the flushed face. Her eyes, pale grey that now appear warm, find Heinrix’s.

“I’m not sure either of us got punished.” With the voice coarse, the woman chuckles slightly and Xavier clicks his tongue.

“Maybe next time your punishment will be taking both of us, at the same time. Since you can’t seem to learn your lesson.”

Looking back, Volenta places a sweaty palm at the side of Xavier’s face and pulls him into a short kiss. “You make it sound like I should disobey more often.”

“Don’t push your luck, my dear.”

“When did I ever stop doing that?” She laughs a little louder now, but then turns to Heinrix and he rises just enough, not letting her legs slip from upon his shoulders.

“Then misbehave and see what happens, Lady Inquisitor.” Heinrix whispers and dominates her mouth with his own, fingers finding space just below Xavier’s hands and gripping at her thighs as well. She moans into the kiss, but he feels a smile there too. He smiles in return.

P.S. Anyone who might be complaining that it's not realistic because there was no prep - well, apologies, but sometimes realism is not sexy and I'm not trying to educate anyone on safe sex practices through fanfic. Sure there are plenty of works that do that and I have written some myself, but in this case I let fantasy be a fantasy♡

#rogue trader #rogue trader crpg #xavier calcazar #xavier fic #heinrix van calox #heinrix fic #fandom: wh40krt #oc: inquisitor volenta #volenta calcazar #inquisitor volenta fic #nocturn writes

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itadoraki · 3 days ago

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Tears of Light

—————————————————————————

Malleus Draconia x R.femele. ( Kind, loving, generous and extremely sensitive-hearted )

—————————————————————————

The sky was darkening over Night Raven College when Malleus Draconia decided to walk through the ruins near the Ramshackle dormitory. He didn't expect to find anyone there - much less someone kneeling, crying softly next to a flower broken by the wind.

- "... she was so beautiful... and now... sniff... it looks like she's sad too..."

The girl sobbed sincerely, tears running silently as her fingers tried to protect the fallen petals.

Malleus stopped.

He approached in silence. That aura was... comforting. But also fragile. Like a crystal about to shatter.

- "Why are you crying, little human?" - her deep voice resounded, scaring her slightly.

You stared at him with red eyes from crying so much, but you smiled when you recognized him.

- "Ah... Lord Malleus... it's just that... the flower... it was so alive. And now..."

He snouched next to you. And, with a small snap of fingers, he brought life back to the withered flower, which rose gently as if it had never suffered.

You immediately cried again.

- "OH MY GOD, SHE'S BACK!!!"

Malleus blinked.

For the first time in years... he really smiled.

Since that day, you began to cross Malleus' path frequently. He appeared out of nowhere. Always curious about what you would cry this time.

And, to his surprise, there was no lack of reasons.

- "Sniff... I read a story of a kitten who got lost and..."

- "Sniff... the moon is so beautiful today that it hurt my heart..."

- "Sniff... I thought about how the leaves fall from the branch and it reminded me of loneliness..."

Every tear was sincere. Every feeling, pure.

And Malleus - who was always feared, ignored, considered "too much" - began to understand something new:

You felt everything he repressed all his life.

His kindness crossed all the armors of the world.

You cried for flowers. But you also smiled for thunder. And he laughed for small reasons, like when Grim fell into his own pot trying to steal tuna.

And, above all, you looked at him as if he were worthy of love.

One night, he took her to Briar Valley. I wanted to show your land, your thorns, your loneliness.

- "You know... I've been hated by many here."

You looked at him in silence.

- "They they think I would bring destruction. That my magic was too dangerous. That I was just a walking curse."

You looked at him. Then to the floor.

After...

- "Sniff..."

- "Are you... crying?"

- "Of course I am!!! How could they say that to you?! YOU ARE SO BEAUTIFUL, SO MAGICAL, SO... SO... sniff sniff... so misunderstood...!”

Malleus stared at her, speechless.

- "Would you cry... for me?"

- "I would cry until it dries!" - you answered, without hesitation.

- "Even if I lost control?"

- "Yes."

- "Even if everyone ran away from me?"

- "I would run towards you."

Silence.

And then...

Malleus pulled her close. Carefully. As if holding a ray of sunshine about to fall apart between his fingers.

- "You're the most precious thing I've ever found in this world."

—————————————————————————

Cute extras:

• When you cry because he yawned (you thought it was too cute), Malleus just starts yawning on purpose.

• He created a spell to conjure personalized cloth scarves with drawings of smiling dragons. "For the most magical tears," he says.

• Silver and Sebek don't know how to deal with his emotional. Lilia thinks everything is hilarious ("You're perfect for Tsunotarou~!").

• You built a wooden crib for a slug that you "rescued from the rain". Malleus watched the whole process with fascination.

—————————————————————————

It was a rainy morning when Malleus called her for a walk in the black rose garden behind the castle.

You went with a cute toad hood (Lilia's gift), and he just watched you with that small and reserved smile, while you held an umbrella with a crying dinosaur drawing.

Suddenly, he stopped in front of a blue flower and exclaimed:

- "This is the most beautiful flower I've seen today."

You crashed.

- "Oh... really?" - the voice came out a little trembling.

- "Yes... notice how even under the rain, she remains harsy."

You bit your lip. He felt the tears rising.

- "Sniff... do you mean... she's prettier than me?"

Malleus turned around, surprised. His green eyes widened slightly.

- "Are you crying... for a flower?"

- "It's not just a flower, Malleus! She has more elegant petals than my cheeks! And you said that looking at her with such admiration... sniff... I got jealous... of the plant..."

Silence.

Then... a soft laugh escaped from Malleus' lips.

- "Oh, my adorable and sensitive flower... no beauty in the world compares to yours. Not even this flower could provoke in me the desire to touch it as I want to touch its heart."

You sobbed, but this time... you smiled.

- "Sniff... that was so beautiful... sniff sniff... I'm going to cry a little more."

And he hugged her gently. Your forehead touched yours.

- "Then cry. Your tears are the purest blessings Briar Valley has ever received."

—————————————————————————

Malleus prepared everything.

Floating green candles, magic harps playing gently in the background, and a ring made with a branch of the oldest tree in Briar Valley.

He was going to ask for your hand there, in the clearing where you saw the first firefly together.

But... you arrived... and saw a mushroom alone in the corner of the grass.

- "Sniff... he's so lonely... does he have friends?"

You knelt down. He started crying. And made a mini-hut for him using sheets.

Malleus sighed.

- "... This may not be the ideal time..."

But then, you looked at him, holding the mushroom like a baby.

- "But if a mushroom alone can be loved... then I can love a dark prince too, right?"

He froze.

- "... Do you agree to marry me, then?"

You screamed.

- "AAAAHHHHH!!! SNIIIIIFFF!!! I'M GOING TO MARRY A DRAGON!!!”

And fainted. Of emotion.

You became the royal consort of Briar Valley. Known as "The Queen of the Crystalline Heart", for her empathy so powerful that it made fairies bloom and storms calm down.

You kept crying for everything - even for ants carrying leaves.

But Malleus smiled every time.

Because every tear of his... was the certainty that he was alive, loved, and that finally, he was no longer alone.

—————————————————————————

The castle hall was silent, except for the distant whisper of the wind that crossed the high windows. The dim light of the candles danced on the walls adorned by old tapestries, reflecting a warm and welcoming glow.

Malleus led Y/N to the private room - a large bedroom, with dark velvet curtains, a majestic bed covered by black silk sheets, and night flowers that exuded a subtle and charming aroma.

He stopped in front of her, observing every detail of her wet face by the soft tears that were still escaping.

- "Are you nervous?" - his deep and calm voice wrapped him like a protective mantle.

- "Just a little..." - she replied, with a shy smile, feeling her heart speed up.

Malleus approached slowly, his long and delicate hands touching his face with infinite tenderness. His fingers traced the contour of the jaw, going down to the neck, where his breathing became heavier.

His green eyes fixed on hers, full of a silent, intense and safe promise.

He slid his hands to his shoulders, carefully smoothing his skin, as if every touch was a prayer.

Y/N felt his contained strength mixed with softness, and little by little, his fears dissipated.

The clothes were falling apart, slowly, between kisses and caresses that spoke more than words. Every touch seemed to whisper an "I love you" hidden between the shadows.

Malleus laid her on the bed, wrapping her in his big and warm arms, protecting her from the world outside.

His lips met hers, first soft, exploring, then more intense, full of contained desire.

Each movement was a delicate balance between passion and care, between surrender and respect.

Y/N cried softly, not of sadness, but of deep emotion - tears that slid down their face, wetting Malleus' shoulders, who wiped them with a long kiss on the forehead.

He wrapped her in a hug that said "you are mine", and at that moment, the prince of darkness and the queen of the sensitive heart became one.

That night, under the sky of Briar Valley, love gained form, light and warmth - a love that knocked down barriers and built a kingdom of their own.

The flame of the candles flickered, casting shadows that danced around the room while Malleus kept his gaze firm, but delicate, trapped in the wet eyes of Y/N.

- "You don't have to be afraid," he murmured, his voice so low that it seemed like a secret just for both of them. "Here, you're safe."

Y/N felt his fingertips touching his hand, slowly intertwining with his. The heat of the touch was so deep that it seemed to penetrate his soul, calming every accelerated heartbeat.

She took a deep breath, feeling his soft smell - a mixture of wood, fire and something mysterious that made her feel at home.

Carefully, he tilted his head, kissing her forehead, her eyes, her nose, leaving delicate traces on her face that made her shiver.

- "You're more beautiful than any flower I've ever seen," he said, almost in a whisper, while his lips touched hers for the first time that night.

The kiss was soft at first, a recognition, a slow dance where each breath shared brought more confidence.

When their bodies began to approach, the feeling of mutual surrender was intense - not only physical, but emotional, almost magical.

Malleus traced with his fingertips the curves of the Y/N face, going down to the shoulders and back, exploring with reverence.

She let herself be carried away, between low moans and silent tears that flowed down her face, not of pain, but of happiness.

- "It's okay to cry, you know?" He whispered, while wiping his tears with his thumb, "My tears are also your company."

His hands ventured through his body with a perfect mixture of firmness and tenderness, awakening sensations that made his skin shiver in ecstasy.

The night advanced at a slow pace, full of sighs, touches, promises and confidences. Every moment was a silent pact between two souls who found refuge in each other.

Before the world could interrupt, Malleus hugged Y/N firmly, as if he wanted that moment to never end.

- "I am yours," he declared, "And you are my light, my hope."

Y/N, with his heart overflowing, smiled between his fingers, feeling that he had finally found a home.

——————

The Dawn of Malleus and Y/N

The soft morning light filtered through the velvet curtains, spreading golden reflections in the silent room. The air was fresh, with a slight scent of night flowers that still rested in the pots.

Malleus was still sleeping next to him, his face calm and serene - a rare vision for someone so powerful and imposing. His black hair fell disorderly on the pillow, and his chest rose and fell in the quiet rhythm of breathing.

You watched him with a tight heart of tenderness, his eyes still watery from the tears of the night before - but they were tears of joy, of surrender.

Careful not to wake him up, you slid your hands over the hot skin of his arms, feeling the force that hid so much sensitivity.

He moted slightly, opening his green eyes that soon met his.

- "Good morning, my light..." - his voice still dragged by sleep, but full of affection.

You smiled, almost without words, and shrank a little more, seeking the warmth of his body.

- "Good morning, my prince of shadows..." - he whispered, still with a choud voice.

Malleus pulled you into a tight hug, wrapping your body with the protection of your delicate wings that appeared intertwinged at your back.

- "Did you sleep well?" - he asked, with a small, almost shy smile.

- "Yes," you replied, leaning your head on his chest, feeling the firm and rhythmid beats. "More than ever."

They stayed like this, in silence, letting the time flow slowly, savoring the unique moment of the morning after the first shared night.

No words were necessary, because in that hug there was all the promise of a future together - with tears, smiles, magic and love.

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ohrackham · 1 year ago

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It is not what you do for me that makes me love you. It's your kindness. Your empathy. How much you care. Just being you is enough, Colin. I do not need you to save me. I just need you to stand by me. To hold me. To kiss me.

#bridgertonedit #bridgerton #polinedit #polin #penelope featherington #colin bridgerton #colin x penelope #loved how colin came to terms with lw through pen's old letters #not hearing from her all summer sent him into such a tailspin that he had an identity crisis and invented a whole new persona #but rereading the letters he had missed made him realize that the part he wanted to separate from penelope was her all along #he had fallen in love with all of her without even knowing it #those letters and the lack of them were really the catalyst for his love for her #also how he admitted that his pride and ego got in the way because sometimes you can't help but struggle with feeling inferior #and unaddressed insecurities always come back #idk man #eight episodes of them telling each other you're enough you're good you're beautiful and i love you #mine

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motorsportbarbie13 · 8 months ago

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The Yapping Hour is Upon Us

In which Max decides that maybe doing interviews isn't such a bad thing.

Warnings: jos verstappen mention ew Pairing: Max Verstappen x Podcaster!Reader Word Count: 2.5k plus social media posts

Series Master List Main Master List

TheYappingHour posted:

349,219 likes liked by redbullracing, charlesleclerc, and others TheYappingHour Back at it this week with a very super top secret special guest. I simply can't wait to reveal who's on this weeks pod, you guys! You're going to DIE. (peep the clue in the second picture!) user928 her podcast set up is so aesthetic i can't user0928 RED BULL??? what does this meeeeeean??? >>>user1211 she hasn't done a ton of athletes in the past, maybe she got one of the Red Bull athletes!! user00291 DU DU DU DU MAX VERSTAPPEN. (shhh let me be delulu for a minute) >>>user221 as much as i'd love that, we all know how much Max hates interviews.

There was absolutely no reason why having Max Verstappen on your podcast should be making you this nervous. You’ve interviewed actual heads of state, a former president, and royalty for crying out loud and you’re losing your mind over Max fucking Verstappen? You supposed it came from the fact that you had spent most of your childhood traveling from track to track to watch your dad race in NASCAR, racing was in your blood and you knew how revered and idolized Max was. And how rabid his fans could get. You wanted to get this interview right. Needed to get this interview right. Motorsport were still a huge part of your life, even if you weren’t really outwardly an active fan. You never missed a NASCAR or F1 race and while you considered yourself a Ferrari girlie, Red Bull was most certainly your second team.

“Everything ready?” Your assistant Shannon pokes her head in as you fluff the last throw pillow on the cream colored lounge chair. Scanning the room, everything looks to be in order. The two overstuffed chairs dominate the center of the small recording studio, each with a microphone set up on a small side table next to each chair. Instrumental versions of Taylor Swift songs floated out of small speakers tucked away and a few candles burned in the low light of the studio, creating the exact ambiance you were famous for.

You’d been doing your podcast, The Yapping Hour, for nearly five years now and it was now one of the most popular podcasts being produced. You specialized in relaxed interviews of people that the general public don’t get to see relaxed very often. Your big break had come about 3 years ago when you had somehow managed to land an interview with Michelle Obama, her episode was still the most streamed episode of yours to date. Everyone had fallen in love with your interview style, how you got these normally highly media trained individuals to drop their guard down a little and be real for even just an hour. It gave people such a unique glimpse behind the curtain of fame and your fans ate up every bit of it.

“I think so!” You nod, smoothing down the front of your boyfriend cut jeans even though the denim is perfectly ironed without a single wrinkle.

“Good, because he just pulled in the parking lot.” Shannon smirks. She knows how nervous you are for this interview and is insisting it’s because you have a crush on the driver. Which would utterly unprofessional if it were true. But it wasn’t true. At all. “And he’s driving this matte black Aston Martin.” She closes her eyes as she bites her lip, smirk growing even wider.

“Okay, let’s cool it on the hero worship.” You warn, following Shannon out into the lobby of the building.

Outside, it’s a dreary late April morning in the heart of downtown London. You had traveled from your home base in New York City just for this interview but had been surprised at how much you liked the ambiance and energy in the city. So much so that you had extended your stay a few extra weeks. The good thing about being your own boss of a podcast was that you could literally work from anywhere you had your laptop.

Peering out into the parking lot, you’re surprised to see a lone figure in jeans and what looked to be a Red Bull windbreaker, hustling across the pavement towards the door. When he approaches the door, Shannons steps forward to open the door, a gust of wind whipping at your hair when Max comes bustling in through the doors.

“Hello!” Max’s voice sends involuntary shivers down your spine, a feeling you fight hard to shove down. This is not the time to be a fan girl, you remind yourself.

“Hi Max, thank you so much for joining us today! Can I get you some water or maybe some tea?” Shannons steps forward first, extending her hand.

Max takes it and gives her a wide smile, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “Water is fine, thanks.”

“Max, it’s such a pleasure to meet you.” You step forward then, the heels of your black Louboutain’s clicking on the hardwood floor as you approach him. It takes every ounce of focus you have not to react at what feels like a white hot spark flickering over your skin when his hand touches yours for the first time.

“Pleasure is mine.” He murmurs, cat like smirk replacing the warm smile that had greeted Shannon. Your social media did you absolutely no justice and Max was finding it hard to keep his composure you were so pretty.

“Are we waiting on anyone else or is it just you today?” You ask, eyes darting above his shoulder to see if there was anyone still in the parking lot.

“Why? Will I be needing my body guard today?” He quips as he follows you towards the recording studio.

You pray the dim lights in the studio hide the way you’ve gone pink. “Of course not! It’s just that normally the people I have on the show travel with an…entourage.”

“I don’t like people.” He says, as if it’s the most obvious fact in the universe. “I prefer to travel solo. Besides, I’m no Queen of the Netherlands or Justin Trudeau, I don’t really need an entourage.”

He casually drops two of your biggest interviews like it’s nothing and you feel the pink tinge of your cheeks heat to a crimson red. “You’ve listened to the show then?”

He nods, taking the seat you offer him as Shannon and your AV guy Steve bustle around getting things set up. A bottle of water appears for each of you and you take out the pages of notes you’ve made even though you’ve got all the questions memorized. You like to be prepared and prefer your interviews to be more conversational, less question and answer.

“I like to know what I’m getting myself into.” His eyes hold this glint of mischief that if you were less of a professional, would have you biting your lip and kicking your feet. Truth was, Max had spent an ungodly amount of time on your socials and wikipedia page, obsessing over you and your career.

“And yet you still came.” You tease.

“I did.” He says simply and you can’t help but notice how his gaze briefly drops from your eyes down to your lips and quickly back up. It’s so quick that if you weren’t in the business of watching and observing people, you probably would have missed it. But those baby blue eyes of Max’s are so easy to read, all you can do is grin back at him.

“Well, thank you for making the trek into London today. I do appreciate it.”

You briefly explain how the interview is going to work, how Steve is going to make sure everything is set up and recording, how you’ll post audio and video versions and that he can have final say in anything that goes in or stays out of the interview. You’ve found that a lot of your guests appreciate that little clause and in the five years you’ve been doing the show only a handful of bits have been kept out. You like to think it’s because you’re good at what you do and get people to open up on a level that they feel comfortable with.

Steve finally gives you the okay and you settle into the cozy lounge chair, Max sitting comfortably in the one opposite you.

“Thank you again for joining me today, Max. I’ve got to admit, I was a little surprised when your manager said you’d agreed to come on the show. You don’t do a lot of lengthy interviews and I could only find a handful of podcast appearances over the years. So, why The Yapping Hour? Why now?”

Max takes a sip of water before placing it on the table beside him. His shoulders are relaxed, his ankle sitting on his knee is a causal pose. You’ve become a veritable body language expert since starting the show and you can already tell this is going to be a good interview.

“I like your style.” His blunt answer throws you off for a moment and your cheeks heat. Again. You make a mental note to make sure they edit your complexion in post production to take the blush out. “GP sent me the one you did with Dale Earnhardt Jr a few months ago and I was impressed at how authentic you were. Dale is a character but you got a lot of depth out of him. Your questions went beyond the typical ‘what’s your favorite race track.’”

“Well, thank you. That is quite the compliment coming from you.” For the third time in a short time, you blush at the compliments this man is handing out left and right.

Your eyes flicker above Max’s shoulder to where Shannon and Steve sit, their smug faces tell you that you’re not imagining him flirting with you.

“I have to tell you, I went karting with a few friends in prep for this interview and oh my God, I’ve been sore ever since! I can't imagine how hard an F1 car is on your body. Talk to me a little bit about your training sch-…”

“You went karting as research?” He interrupts you, face a mask of disbelief.

Now it’s your turn to smirk, “Of course, I like to know what I’m getting myself into.” You toss him a wink and enjoy the way your stomach flips when his ears go a bit pink. “My dad beat me by almost 20 seconds and I don’t think I’ll ever hear the end of it, but it was worth it. I can see why so many people get hooked, it was so fun.”

“Karting with a NASCAR legend had to make it a little better though, yeah?”

“You know my dad?” Your brows nearly hit your hairline, you’re so surprised at this. Your dad had been long retired before Max had come onto the racing scene and there wasn’t a huge overlap in fan bases between F1 and NASCAR.

Max nods, “He was racing around the time Jos was in F1. I still remember that one Daytona 500 where he stole the win from Earnhardt Jr on the last lap after he’d led for the entire race.”

You tilt your head back laughing and Max thinks it’s the prettiest thing he’s ever heard, fully entranced by the long column of your neck that’s suddenly exposed. “Oh God, dad is going to die when he hears you know about that race.”

“Have either of you been to an F1 race yet?” A plan begins to form in Max’s head.

“No!" You lean forward to swat at his arm playfullt. I’ve tried a few times but it’s always fallen through. I do watch most of the races though, as long as my schedule permits. Sometimes it’s easier when you guys are in Europe because the races are so early in New York, it’s easy to watch them from bed on Sunday mornings.”

The image of you wrapped up in a fluffy duvet wearing nothing but his t-shirt as you watch him race nearly sends Max into orbit. He blinks furiously, trying to get that vision out of his mind so he can pay attention to you.

“Tell me this then, if you could pick any garage to watch the race which one would it be and why would it be Red Bull?"

You can’t help that laugh that explodes from you then and Max preens under your attention, smile stretching wide across his handsome face. “You know, I could have sworn it was my name on the podcast Instagram page.” You tease, giving him a wink. “You keep asking me questions, I’m going to be out of a job, Verstappen.”

“I can’t help it when the interviewer is much more interesting than I am.” He murmurs, taking another sip of water without taking his eyes off of you.

The rest of the interview continues on for the next two hours and you get so much content you feel a little dizzy at the thought of having to cut over half of the episode. For the first time in the podcast’s history, you may have to split this into two episodes. Max doesn’t mind one bit, finding that he’s not as nervous as he thought he’d be with how easy he finds it talking to you.

You wrap up the interview over an hour past the time you had told Max’s press officer it would last but neither of you make any movement to get up, despite both Shannon and Steve beginning to wrap things up.

“I’m so sorry I kept you this long, Max. I know you’re not a huge fan of lengthy interviews.”

Max just shrugs, “If all interviews were like this, I probably would say yes to a lot more of them.”

You grin over at him as you rise, realizing the sun is setting outside and your stomach is aching for food. Max follows suit, although he feels a clench in his stomach realizing that his time with you is coming to an end.

“Can I ask you something?” He says when Shannon and Steve walk out of the studio, leaving the two of you alone.

You look up at him and nod earnestly, “Of course!”

“Why didn’t you ask me about my childhood? Usually it’s one of the first things people ask me, especially in these kinds of interviews.”

You shrug, face heating at being found out. “Like you, I do my research and I figured you might not want to talk about that part of your life. I want my guests to feel comfortable when they come on the show, not immediately put on the defensive. I guess I thought there were other more important topics…”

Your words hang in the air, heavy between you two. Something in Max’s chest aches at the simple kindness you’ve extended him. It’s true, he doesn’t like revisiting his childhood very often, especially when it’s recorded and will be put on the internet. His dad was very much still in his life, obviously, and while he had done a lot of work to move past his childhood, it was still painful to talk about.

“Thats…wow. Thank you.” Is all he can manage, voice thick with emotion.

“Of course.” You murmur, reaching out to touch his elbow in what you hope comes across as a comforting gesture.

Max’s eyes drop to where your slender fingers rest on his bare arm before a smile stretches back across his face. “I know it’s kind of last minute but you were saying earlier you’d never been to a race. We’re in Miami next weekend and I’d love it if you were my guest…”

You can’t help the flutter in your chest at how nervous he appears standing before you. Your eyes dart over to Shannon, the official keeper of your schedule and are delighted when she nods vigorously, phone in hand with your calendar already pulled up. You made a mental note to give that girl a raise ASAP. “I would love to, Max.”

“Yeah?” He sounds almost shocked that you had agreed so quickly.

“Yeah.” You say, a hint of a giggle at the edge of your voice.

“How about I take you out to dinner tonight and we can work out the details.”

“Why Max Verstappen, I had no idea you were this smooth.”

TheYappingHour posted

987,392 likes liked by maxverstappen1, redbullracing, susiewolff, and others TheYappingHour SURPRISE! Part one of my interview with none other than 3 time F1 world champion Max Verstappen is live on all socials RIGHT NOW. (yeah, I said part 1! We both yapped so much you're getting a part two next week!) user9382 the chemistry between these two was OFF THE CHARTS >>>user111 ikr? i felt like i was interrupting something the entire hour. MaxVerstappen1 it was a pleasure meeting you! can't wait to see you in Miami this weekend! >>>user2999 MAX WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU CAN'T WAIT TO SEE HER IN MIAMI. >>>user999 stfu she is so coming to the Miami race?? MAX EMILIAN VERSTAPPEN. user3210 has she ever done a two parter before??? not even the Queen of the Netherlands got a two parter!! user9928 i don't think i've ever seen Max this relaxed during an interview EVER. >>>user222 seriously! He was like a little boy with a crush then entire time.

yourpersonalinsta posted

234,100 likes liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris, michelle obama, and others yourpersonalinsta we yapped some more and stuffed our faces. til next time, maxie! (tagged: maxverstappen1) user999 not michelle obama herself in the likes maxverstappen1 you're going to be trouble in miami, aren't you? >>>yourpersonalinsta what do you think? ;) >>>user9932 oh my godddddd user028 this is the couple i didn't know i needed

tag list (some of you only requested to be on a series tag list but i am not organized enough for that. lmk if you want to be removed!! also fingers crossed this tag list works this time ffs. sorry!)

@anilovessadbooks, @shelbyteller, @formulaal, @martygraciesversion381, @longhairkoo, @samantha-chicago, @stelena-klayley @dark-night-sky-99 @luckylampzonkland, @chlmtfilms , @inarabee @aykxz98 @forensicheart @cheer-bear-go-vroom @lieutenantchaos @willowsnook @sltwins @linnygirl09 @powerfulmess @technicallypleasanttree @meglouise00 @mixedstyles @strawberryy-kiwii @secret-agents-stole-my-bunnies @unknownmystery22 @mrosales16 @charlesgirl16 @leclercdream

#f1 #formula 1 #max verstappen #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fic #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x you #max verstappen fluff

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athenalvss · 25 days ago

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Hi, I love your writing style, and I was hoping you could write a Jason Todd x reader? Where the reader is a sexual menace, even though Jason was her first. Jason hadn't really told his family he was dating anyone. So when Barbara was out one day, going about her day, she saw Jason shopping with a woman[reader], and so being the person she was, she followed them around and from what she could see, the woman was a kind and sweet person so she snapped a pick and left unnoticed. She showed the fam the picture when she got home. A few days later the mystery was eating away at them specifically Dick. So he decided to pay Jason a visit in the middle of the night, only to hear Jason and the mystery woman going at it.

HE RUINED THAT GIRL ( Jason Todd! )

Summary: The family is eager to meet Jason's sweetheart, but Dick is the first unlucky one to meet her.

pairing: jason todd x fem reader

tw: some smut

open request - Jason masterlist

You and Jason had been dating for less than a year, but he had fallen really hard the first day he met you. At that moment, you seemed to him a beautiful woman, with a gentle presence, a calm smile, and a sweet voice. A serene, elegant, almost angelic person. Jason thought that maybe he had finally found something normal in his life.

But when he really got to know you, he realized that you were the complete opposite of what your appearance showed, everyone saw you as an educated, sensitive and innocent woman, too pure for this cruel world, but you were nothing like that.

You were brazen, intense, unbearably provocative. Your constant double entendre jokes, your caresses that were far from pure, and every time you smiled innocently, it was right after you'd said something that left him breathless, uncontrolled, unable to keep his face straight.

Jason used to say you were a problem with your long legs and dangerous lips. But he never meant it as a reproach because he loved you for being that way; he truly enjoyed the relationship you had.

The truth was, Jason didn't know how he'd survived so long without you. Your energy contrasted absurdly with his: where he was tense, you helped him calm down; where he tried to maintain control, you knew exactly which button to push to tear him to pieces.

And you always did it with an innocent smile, as if you didn't know what you were doing. As if you weren't aware of how his eyes darted to you as he watched you walk by, or how his sighs escaped him every time you laughed and caressed the back of his neck with those fingers of yours that showed not a shred of mercy.

The funniest thing is that Jason had been your first everything, and you had turned out to be a sexual threat in an angel's disguise, you were a lethal combo.

"How can you be so damned if I was the first?" he'd once said to you, his breath coming in short bursts, after you'd dragged him from the kitchen to the couch as if he owned it.

"As if you hadn't seen my books," you had whispered in his ear, licking his earlobe before mounting him as if the world was about to end.

He kept you away from the family out of self-preservation. Because if they ever heard what you said when you had him up against the wall, the jokes would last for years. And if they ever saw him melt with just one look from you, he'd lose all credibility as the cold, tough guy of the group.

Too bad Barbara Gordon had perfect aim, or you guys just didn't have very good luck.

Barbara had just stepped out for coffee when she saw Jason. Or rather, she saw you. A pretty woman dressed exactly like Jason, a white blouse, black pants, and cute, delicate boots that she'd no doubt look up online later. You were leaning against Jason's big arm like it was your natural place to be. Laughing at something he'd said, your eyes were sparkling, your hand in his, and Jason had a grin that stopped Barbara in her tracks.

It was a soft smile, something the family didn't receive; they could only settle for that condescending smirk he show at family dinners.

Curious, Barbara followed them from a distance, watching and analyzing their movements in detail. Trying to figure out who the hell had managed to win Jason Todd over without him saying a single word.

She watched you two browse books, check out vinyl records, and end up at a coffee shop ordering pastries and cappuccinos. You seemed like a really sweet and kind girl, maybe too much so for a guy like Jason, but from what he was seeing, you didn't really know Jason at all.

Barbara took a photo from a distance and left unnoticed. She was going to use all her knowledge and training to learn more about you and what was happening.

That was three days ago.

▬▬▬▬▬▬

"Okay, I need someone to explain this to me" Barbara put her cell phone on the table in front of the boys, the screen lit up with the photo."Did anyone know Jason had a girlfriend?"

Dick leaned forward. “It can’t be.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “Is that… Jason?”

Damian frowned as if he were witnessing a crime. "What's that grimace on your face? Is he... smiling?"

"Yes, Damian. He's smiling." Barbara crossed her arms. "Smiling and holding the hand of a woman we don't know. And I swear, he looks... happy."

“He’s mesmerized,” Damian murmured.

Barbara sat down, resigned. "I couldn't identify her. I already ran a facial recognition search on the database, but nothing. She's completely clean, too clean."

"So why didn't he tell us anything?" Dick asked, frowning.

"Could it be that he knows how we are and that's why he's hiding it from us?" Tim raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms.

"You mean because we're invasive and emotionally dysfunctional?" Dick looked at him sideways.

"Exactly."

"We have to show her she can trust us, maybe that way she'll let us get to know her," Barbara commented, in that reasonable tone she used when she was trying to sound less nosy than she really was.

Damian snorted. “That’s not going to work. Jason doesn’t even trust his reflection.”

"He's right," Tim agreed. "The guy skips family gatherings, leaves the group chat every two weeks, and the last time I asked him how he was doing, he replied with a picture of a gun."

Dick jumped up, with that impulsive energy that always got him into trouble. "Well, that's all. I'm going to stop by her apartment tonight. Big brother surprise. Casual conversation, not at all intrusive."

“That’s invasive,” Tim told him.

"Not if he doesn't find out," Dick replied, already moving towards the door.

"You're crazy," Barbara muttered, shaking her head but not stopping him. "He'll kill you if he finds you."

"What if he doesn't find me?" Dick smirked. "I go in, take a look, see if he's with her, if he's okay... and that's it. Five minutes."

Damian followed him with his eyes, like someone watching a man headlong into his own funeral. "When you're done, be sure to send us your location, in case we need to recover your body. "

Dick winked at him and disappeared down the hall. He was going to find out; curiosity was eating him up. If Jason had a girlfriend who could make him smile like that, he needed to know what kind of woman could do it.

Even if that meant sneaking through his brother's apartment window in the middle of the night.

The city was silent as Dick climbed the fire escape with the same agility as always, moving through the shadows, barely breathing. Jason's apartment window was barely ajar.

Perfect .

He crouched down, peering carefully through the cracks.

Inside, there was no sound at first. Everything was pitch black. Not a voice, not a laugh, not even the sound of the television. And for a moment, Dick thought it had been a terrible idea. Maybe Jason was sleeping, or had gone out, or just...

"Fuck... baby, where did you learn to do that?" Jason's voice was barely a growl against your neck, deep, hot, ragged.

Dick froze. He didn't move, he didn't even breathe. Because that clearly wasn't the sound of friendly chatter. Not even remotely.

"I imagined it..." your voice came seconds later, muffled by gasps and laughter. "I spent weeks imagining what it would feel like to do this to you. And I wasn't wrong."

In response, he heard the mattress creak loudly. There was a wet sound, a raw gasp, and another shove. Dick closed his eyes, wishing he'd stayed home, or been born deaf.

“Fuck yeah, like that. You’re so good for me. So perfect. So fucking dirty with that innocent little slut face…” Jason growled through gritted teeth against your neck. “Every time you open that mouth, I want to see you taking my cock and those wet little eyes.”

Dick jerked away from the window, tripping over his own foot. His heart was pounding. He didn't know if he was hyperventilating, having a panic attack, or both at the same time.

"I can't. I can't be listening to this. It's not real. It's not real," she repeated to herself, while the sounds inside the apartment grew louder with each passing second.

"Please," you begged, slurring your words in the sweetest, most provocative voice, completely dizzy from how close you were. "Don't stop."

Jason groaned from deep within his chest. He gripped your hips with both hands, changing the pace, the angle, everything, only to hear you moan his name again, and you did so, your voice shaky, clipped, intense. “Jason… God, yes, yes, just like that.”

That was enough.

Dick left without looking back. He jumped two stories as if he were escaping a nightmare. He ran. He flew. He didn't stop until he reached the mansion.

When he came in, he was pale, disheveled, with a blank expression.

"Well?" asked Barbara, who was waiting for him on the couch next to Tim and Damian.

Dick opened his mouth… and closed it again.

"Did you meet her?" Tim insisted.

Dick just slumped back in the chair as if he'd been shot in the soul. His gaze was fixed on a fixed point on the wall, as if he saw something the others couldn't.

"Barbs," he murmured, his voice hollow. "You told us she was an innocent girl."

"Well... she looked like that," Barbara defended herself, crossing her arms uncomfortably. "She's very delicate and... smiley. She seemed... nice."

"She was... until Jason corrupted her," Dick said, still not blinking. "The things I heard can't have come from that poor girl."

"Dick, what the hell are you saying?" Barbara looked at him indignantly.

Dick turned toward him slowly, his eyes open, his voice low. "She seemed good..." Dick repeated, his voice low, like a traumatized echo. "She seemed good. Until she told Jason she wanted him to finish inside her while he growled that he wanted to see her on her knees, her eyes moist."

Absolute silence fell over the room.

Tim blinked several times, unsure whether to laugh or throw up. Damian turned his face toward the window, as if hoping someone would save him from being in that room.

And Barbara... well, Barbara needed a few long seconds before she found her voice again.

"Dick… did you hear that?"

“I heard everything!” he exclaimed, raising both hands as if he needed to defend himself from the images in his mind. “Every fucking second. Sound effects included, every word, every shove, every fucking obscenity Jason said.”

"Maybe she wasn't as innocent as we thought," Tim muttered, clearly struggling not to laugh.

"I refuse to believe that," Dick shouted, dramatic as ever. "She looked so sweet and delicate. She had an angelic smile, Tim. And now... now..."

"Now what?"

Dick looked at him, with a broken expression. "I'm going to sleep, I don't want to think about this anymore". Dick disappeared down the hallway, still muttering things like “watery eyes” and “damn mattress,” while the others watched him in silence.

▬▬▬▬▬▬

The next morning seemed like any other, the whole family was sitting at the kitchen table, ready to begin, until the door to the mansion opened.

Footsteps and laughter could be heard in the hallway, and a female voice, sweet, casual, almost musical “This house is huge! Does it always smell this good?”

"Yes, it's Alfred, he's going to love you," Jason replied, in a low tone, with a barely contained smile. "Try not to be scared of the rest."

The four in the room turned at the same time.

And there they were. Jason with a calm expression and a hand on your waist, you wearing a pretty dress, a bright smile, sparkling eyes, and that completely charming aura that made no sense given the things Dick had said to everyone last night.

Dick couldn't take his eyes off you, not Tim, not even Damian. Dressed simply, delicately, with a serene smile and a soft voice that said, "Nice to meet you."

"Is that her?" Tim whispered under his breath, completely shocked.

"Yes," Dick growled. "That's her, the one who said she wanted..."

"Dick!" Barbara cut him off in a quick whisper, kicking him under the table.

"What's wrong?" you asked with a smile, noticing the whisper. Your innocent eyes darted from one to the other, sparkling with curiosity.

"Nothing," Jason replied, tightening his grip on your waist. "They're just... nervous. They're not used to such pretty girls around here."

"Master Jason?" Alfred said, coming in, pausing briefly upon seeing you. "And this young lady?"

"My girlfriend," he replied with a calm smile. "I told you I was going to bring her."

"Oh, finally. Nice to meet you, miss," Alfred said with an elegant bow. "Would you like some tea or coffee?"

"Tea, please," you said, gently settling into the chair Jason offered you. "How kind of you."

Dick stared at her as if he were facing an optical illusion. "It can't be," he muttered, as he watched you and Barbara laugh at an innocent joke, take the cup with both hands, and thank Alfred for the tea as if you were a damn fairytale princess.

"Are you sure about what you heard last night?" Tim asked, lowering his voice to a whisper.

Dick glared at him. "I swear by all that is holy, that voice..."

Damian swallowed. "It can't be. She seems like she wouldn't break a plate."

"Exactly!" Dick burst out in a low voice. "And yet she destroyed Jason last night!"

Jason raised an eyebrow at them whispering, but decided to ignore them. Meanwhile, you leaned slightly toward Barbara, smiling. "Is Dick okay? He looks a little pale..."

"Oh, don't worry. He's just... digesting something," Barbara replied, swallowing a laugh.

Jason came up behind you and absentmindedly stroked your back as he talked to Alfred, not noticing that Dick was watching him as if he were watching a wildlife documentary.

"The traumas are fresh," Dick murmured. "He's touching her as if it were nothing. As if he didn't say he wanted to see her on her knees with wet eyes less than eight hours ago."

Tim nudged him. “Well, at least he’s happy.”

"He's obviously happy! He had a good night, the bastard," Dick said.

Barbara laughed softly. “Dick, I beg you. That girl can’t be…”

#dc masterlist #dc x reader #jason todd x reader #imagine jason todd #jason todd smut #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd x fem reader #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd masterlist #redhood x reader

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makeitworse · 27 days ago

Text

enjoy the silence

raising the baby w junho ! ⠀⚠︎ SPOILERS BELOW

after years of tunnel vision on tracking his brother down, untangling the rotten truth that’s left him sleepless— junho expected anything but this to be inho’s final statement. a baby girl, left with nothing but a player number and the bloodstained prize money.

was this inho’s child, trusted to her uncle to raise far away from her father’s true life? or perhaps this was a stranger’s child, saved by any surviving humanity left in the pits of his older brother’s heart? this poor girl, brought into the world amidst the circles of hell itself, and junho didn’t even know how to hold her properly.

he’d called his mother in a panic, stammering with the baby wailing in the background as if the building was on fire. though it was decades ago, his mother went through this twice, so it was muscle memory helping him out.

there wasn’t an explanation he could offer her though, since he hadn’t even wrapped his head around it himself. all he could say was that she wasn’t his, and she needed to be in the care of someone who knew what they were doing— even if the weight of her cradled in his arms had his heart beating like there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for her.

you met junho in a grocery store: poking your head around the aisle when you heard panicked whispers and a baby blabbering. junho was cradling her awkwardly, squinting at the shelves like the baby formula was written in hieroglyphics— looking like he was two seconds from bursting into tears himself. you approached him with an amused smile and soft voice, offering a helping hand that he’s been forever grateful for since.

you lulled her with gentle rocks, demonstrating it to junho and then explaining how to pick out the right food. all the while, he can’t stop gazing at you in awe like you’ve got a golden halo above your head. he could not stop thanking you for your help— and one thing after another, you’re sat at a café after he insisted on treating you to a coffee (and his girl to a babyccino, per your suggestion).

junho’s extremely transparent with you, also to his own surprise. you figured as much that he was a single father who’d been raising the baby by google searches— but you’re taken aback when he admits that the child was bestowed upon him by his brother (“long story” he’d said) and not his own.

you can tell he’s been absolutely lost, dark circles under his eyes and unkempt hair. so when you offer yourself up to helping him navigate parenthood, he looks at you like he’s fallen in love on the spot. maybe he did.

and it’s not out of pity for him. it’s because you can see the exhaustion in his eyes— how he’s putting in all the effort to something he doesn’t even understand. and how he looks at the baby, like he’s terrified to fail her.

you become a regular at his apartment complex. at first, visits were just practical— feeding tips, changing diapers, practical how-to-parent tutorials. but the rhythm becomes something more natural, something without the need for a schedule.

you don’t pry: you don’t ask where she came from or why he has her when he needs this much guidance. but junho opens up anyways— slowly, one story at a time, like each one sheds a burden off his shoulders.

he doesn’t intend to fall for you, but it’s hard not to. you make things feel normal again. you don’t press about the past. you care for this baby like she may as well be yours. and he adores that about you.

the love sneaks up on him: during quiet dinners after you helped him rock her to sleep. through the way his stare lingers at your hands when you caress her. without realising he’s suddenly saying our girl in conversation with his mother. when she asked what you are to him, that’s when his mind had a blank.

somewhere between late-night movies after putting her to bed, that’s when it happens. a kiss on the couch. junho’s hand trembling slightly against your cheek. guilt’s written across his eyes, but so is relief. and you don’t pull away from him. you leaned in. (mindful not to wake her in the other room, of course)

junho is so painfully clueless, but he's all heart. he watches youtube essays on parenting like he’s preparing for a police exam. he keeps a list of her favourite foods in the notes app. neatly folds her laundry like it’s pure silk. you tease him, but it makes your heart ache how deeply he cares.

he always insists on being the one to rock her to sleep, even when it takes an hour. claims it “helps her trust him.” but you know it’s just as much for him, too. the first time she gets a fever, he doesn’t sleep. just sits beside her crib and watches her breathe, one of her little palms wrapped around a calloused finger.

he still carries the weight of everything he’s done. still wakes up some nights soaked in sweat, heart racing. but now he’s got you next to him. you don’t ask question, just hold him. massage his scalp while he shudders in your arms.

when his girl first blabbered an “appa”, he froze. stares at her like she split the sky open. then he excused himself to cry in the bathroom. with the life he was living before he met you both, he didn’t have the time to dream of starting a family. and now that he’s got one, he wouldn’t trade it for the world.

🧸 mlist · taglist 〃 note. drinking for junhee tn

@lightinbug @sherrayyyyy @namsgyu @riddlerloveb0t @ttturnitup @rafesbunniebby @nicaeno @ferrarifinnick @loveesiren @madebybec @avsarchivez @frontwomann @szonyix6277 @namgyooner @thanosspills

#squid game x reader #junho x reader #jun ho x reader #squid game season 3 #hwang jun ho x reader #hwang junho #squid game spoilers #squid game fanfic #hwang jun ho

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planetherk · 1 month ago

Text

OFF LIMITS

in which Seonghwa cant get enough of Mingi's little sister

park seonghwa x fem!reader (third person)

tw: smut, 18+, unprotected sex, creampie, pet names (angel, baby), seonghwa wants her sooo bad, fem user, forbidden love, reader is 18, minors dni, non idol au

my seonghwa fever is getting worse, especially after the lemon drop mv...

wc: 5,7k

There were a few unspoken rules in the Song household. One: never blast loud music after midnight. Two: Mingi gets control of the aux in the car—no arguments. And three, the most sacred of them all—Park Seonghwa was strictly, eternally, absolutely off limits. At least, that’s what Mingi always said to his little sister.

She was eighteen now. Legally an adult. Technically allowed to vote, sign her own documents, and finally order iced Americanos without her brother making a face like she’d committed treason. But in Mingi’s eyes, she was still that tiny girl who used to follow him around the neighborhood in mismatched socks and two pigtails, trailing behind him like a puppy. That made things complicated. Because Park Seonghwa had been Mingi’s best friend since middle school.

And she had had a hopeless, fluttery, chest-squeezing crush on him for exactly that long.

She still remembered the first time she met him. She was ten, a little shy and quiet, peeking around the corner to spy on the tall, handsome boy who’d come over to play video games with Mingi. He had this soft, almost angelic face—kind eyes, a gentle smile—and he’d said hi to her in that voice that made her ears warm.

Now, eight years later, nothing had changed. At least not for her.

Well, okay, maybe some things had changed. Like how she had grown into herself—still sweet, still a little shy around new people, but prettier than she gave herself credit for. Polite to a fault, soft-spoken, and with a kind of delicate presence that people tended to notice without her even trying. But when it came to Seonghwa, she still turned to jelly.

He was in his last year of university and still best friends with her brother. He came over often, flopping down on the couch like he lived there, teasing Mingi with that lazy grin and tousled black hair that made her want to run into a hole and never come back out.

Because it wasn’t just a schoolgirl crush anymore. It was deeper now. Softer. The way he’d pass her a mug of hot chocolate without being asked. The way he’d say, “You look good,” in passing like it was just a fact. And the way his eyes would sometimes linger—just a second too long—when she smiled at him. But he never acted on it. Never crossed that line. Never let himself.

Because she was Mingi’s little sister. And Mingi would absolutely commit murder if he ever found out his best friend looked at her that way.

But what she didn’t know—what anyone couldn’t know—was that Seonghwa was already halfway in too deep.

He didn’t remember when it started, exactly. Maybe it was that day last winter when he found her asleep on the couch, curled up like a kitten, a book fallen across her chest. Or maybe it was the way her laugh lit up the whole room when she finally let herself be comfortable. But now it was impossible to ignore. The softness in her gaze, the subtle scent of her shampoo when she brushed past him, the way she chewed her lip when she was nervous—

He was screwed.

And yet, he kept showing up. Kept pretending he didn’t feel it. Kept pushing it down, like some heavy weight pressing into his ribs. Because her brother trusted him.

So when Mingi decided to throw another party, his excuse being halloween, claiming it would be the only thing to cure his boredom, Seonghwa, being the good friend he is, immediately offered to help.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚

Upstairs, some hours before the party, she was putting the final touches on her costume. The bathroom was small and a little stuffy from the heat of her hair curler and the flurry of makeup she had been working on for the last half hour. The mirror was fogged at the corners, the counter a mess of brushes, glitter, and tiny containers. She tugged at the hem of her dress — if you could even call it that. It was small, shorter than she expected when she ordered it, and so delicate it almost looked like it would dissolve if someone touched it. White lace clung to her body in all the right — or wrong — places, little sparkles catching the bathroom light. She wore thigh-high white stockings, thin and lacy too, giving her an almost sinful kind of sweetness. Her angel costume. And she definitely didn’t wear it for him.

And when Seonghwa saw her, he almost lost it.

She looks so... fucking perfect.

He couldn't stop the thoughts from flooding in again—this time even more intense than any other time. He was dangerously close to forgetting all the reasons why he should stay away. She was beautiful, radiant, flawless in every sense, and she seemed so completely out of reach.

I can't keep doing this, he thought, trying desperately to distance himself from his own feelings. She’s not mine. She never will be. But that didn’t stop the ache in his chest, the tension that was still building between them. His jaw clenched as he crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze never straying from her. She would be the death of him.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚

The party was in full swing now—noisy, wild, and exactly the chaos Mingi had wanted.

The bass from the DJ's massive speakers made the floor vibrate under their feet, lights flashing between red, blue, and green, giving the whole house an almost surreal, dreamlike feeling. People were packed shoulder to shoulder, drinks in hand, some dancing in the living room, some gathered in the kitchen, shouting conversations over the heavy beat. Mingi had somehow managed to turn the whole place into a mini nightclub, and it was obvious the college crowd was loving it.

She was somewhere near the middle of it all, surrounded by her friends, laughing like she didn’t have a care in the world. Her cheeks were flushed from the alcohol she’d been sipping—sweet drinks that went down like water—and her smile was bright, a little looser than usual. Her friends were dressed just as cute as she was—some in sparkly tops and tiny skirts, others in barely-there witch costumes—but none of them even touched the way she looked tonight. She stood out like a soft, shining light in the middle of it all—her white lacy dress and wings making her look almost untouchable.

And college boys, already buzzed and confident from their drinks, had been flocking around her friendgroup like moths to a flame. She didn’t mind the attention, exactly—she giggled when they flirted, batted her lashes once or twice—but even as she joked around and clinked red plastic cups with strangers, her mind kept wandering back to one person. Seonghwa.

Her eyes flickered to him without meaning to, seeking him out instinctively. And there he was—standing across the room by the makeshift bar Mingi had set up in the corner, leaning against the counter, a cup in his hand, casually talking to San over the thundering music.

He looked so good like this. Relaxed but sharp, his costume fitting him too well, his slicked-back hair and intense gaze making him look even hotter than she remembered from earlier. The blood spatter on his shirt and collarbone only added to it somehow. And the worst part was that his eyes never left hers the whole night. Even while he nodded at something San was saying, Seonghwa’s eyes barely left her body. His gaze was heavy, following her every move—the way she leaned into her friends, the way she laughed, the way her dress clung to her hips when she shifted.

It was killing him. Absolutely fucking killing him.

He took a sip from his cup, pretending to be nonchalant, but inside, he was a mess. Every inch of him was taut, straining not to walk over there, grab her, and make it clear to every other guy that she wasn’t available—even if she technically was. Next to him, San caught the direction of his gaze easily, even through the haze of music and lights. He smirked, nudging Seonghwa’s side with his elbow. "You're so fucking screwed," San shouted over the bass, laughing as Seonghwa shot him a quick, warning look.

Seonghwa scowled, tilting his head like he hadn’t heard right. "What?"

San only laughed harder. "You’re not even hiding it, hyung. You keep staring at her like you’re two seconds from dragging her upstairs. Mingi’s little sister," he added pointedly. "You’re dead if you even think about it."

Seonghwa barked out a low, humorless laugh and shook his head, forcing himself to act normal. "You’re drunk," he lied easily, taking another sip of his drink. "I’m not staring at her."

San arched a brow, clearly not buying it. "Sure, man. Whatever you say."

Seonghwa didn’t argue further. There was no point. He knew it was dangerous. He knew it was wrong. But fuck if he could help himself.

He watched as some college guy with too much confidence leaned too close to her, making her laugh again, and his jaw tightened painfully.

Stay cool, he told himself. Stay fucking cool.

He couldn’t act on it. He wouldn’t. No matter how badly he wanted her—how badly he wanted to be the only one making her laugh like that. Because San was right. If Mingi even suspected how Seonghwa felt about his little sister… He’d kill him. And worse, he would deserve it. He was supposed to protect her. Not fantasize about bending her over the nearest surface.

Still, even as he told himself all these rational things, his eyes refused to leave her, drawn back to her like she was the only real thing in the entire crowded house.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚

As a few hours passed, he music was deafening, drinks had been flowing like water, and she was officially gone. She was a giggling mess, her cheeks flushed pink, her hair a little tousled from dancing and moving around so much. Her angel wings were slightly crooked on her back, but she didn’t seem to care. She and her friends had been dancing non-stop earlier, but now they were getting bored — the DJ had switched to some slow, repetitive beats that weren't nearly as fun, and she pouted, dramatically whining over the music.

"I need to fix this," she slurred to her friends, determination flashing in her tipsy eyes.

She spun around, trying to find Mingi — he was the host after all, he could tell the DJ to change it — but in the packed, sweaty crowd, it was like looking for a needle in a haystack. Still, she was stubborn, stumbling a little as she weaved through bodies, her drink almost tipping over.

That’s when she bumped right into someone’s solid chest.

And of course it was fucking Seonghwa.

He turned instantly at the light shove, his hand shooting out to steady her by her hips without even thinking. And when he saw her—her wide, glazed eyes, her little pout, the way she swayed slightly on her heels—his whole demeanor shifted. He went so soft for her.

"Hey," he said, lowering his head closer so she could hear over the heavy bass. "You okay, angel?"

She giggled at the nickname, swaying again. "M'fine!" she chirped, nodding too hard.

Seonghwa didn’t look convinced. He kept one hand lightly on her waist just to make sure she didn’t topple over again. She leaned closer, getting on her tiptoes slightly to speak near his ear.

"I needa... change the music," she explained seriously, her words a little jumbled, her breath warm against his skin. "It's boring now. We need, like—" she hiccupped cutely, frowning, "I don’t know… some spanish songs."

Seonghwa chuckled lowly, heart squeezing at how adorable she was like this — so determined and tipsy and so irresistible. "Alright, alright," he murmured, giving her waist a gentle squeeze. "Let’s fix it."

Without giving her a chance to get lost again, he grabbed her hand — her tiny fingers slotting against his — and started leading her toward the DJ booth, parting the crowd easily with his larger frame. She stumbled after him, wings bobbing slightly behind her, her grip tight and trusting in his hand.

When they got to the DJ, Seonghwa stood right next to her, close enough that her shoulder brushed his chest every time she shifted. He watched, amused and fond, as she leaned into the DJ’s ear, pleading cutely for "some spanish songs, pleaseeee." The DJ laughed and gave her a thumbs up, scrolling quickly through his playlist.

He couldn't take his eyes off her.

The way her dress clung to her curves, the way her makeup glittered under the flashing lights, the way her lips curved into that triumphant little smile when the opening beats of Chantaje came blasting through the speakers.

Before he could even react, she turned back to him, beaming up at him, her eyes sparkling.

"Come dance with me," she said, grabbing his hand again, tugging him toward the middle of the floor.

Seonghwa didn’t even hesitate. "Yeah," he said, his voice low and sure. "I’ll dance with you."

At first, it was innocent enough. They laughed, moved together easily to the upbeat song, spinning and hopping around like idiots. She threw her arms up, her wings bouncing with her movements, and Seonghwa couldn't stop smiling, completely charmed. But as the music shifted into a slower, heavier bass beat—more sultry, more rhythmic—their movements began to change too.

Still tipsy and emboldened, she moved closer. Her body brushed against his. Then pressed. Her hips started swaying in a slow, hypnotic way that made Seonghwa’s throat go dry.

He didn’t pull away. He couldn’t.

His hands found her waist again, holding her there gently, but firmly.

She looked up at him through her lashes, all coy and mischievous, her body rolling to the beat, her ass brushing against his hips as she moved. Seonghwa sucked in a breath, sharp and strained, his fingers tightening slightly on her waist.

She’s drunk, his brain screamed. She doesn’t mean it.

But another, darker part of him, the part that had been craving her for months now, whispered: She wants you.

Her scent was dizzying — sweet perfume and vanilla and alcohol — and she felt so fucking good against him he thought he might actually lose his mind.

The music throbbed around them, but all he could focus on was the way she was moving — for him, against him — her laughter, the way her hips fit so perfectly against his. She wasn’t even aware of what she was doing to him, and it made it even worse. Seonghwa dipped his head closer to hers, fighting every instinct to not pull her even tighter.

Seonghwa was rock hard at this point, the front of his pants unbearably tight, every brush of her hips against his enough to make his hands twitch at his sides. He tried—God, he tried—to keep himself in check. To tell himself she was just drunk and having fun. That she didn’t mean it. That it didn’t mean anything.

But when the girl leaned her body back more fully against him, her ass pressing flush against his aching cock through the thin lace of her dress and hispants, Seonghwa’s self-control cracked.

His hands shot to her waist—gripping it tight—and for a second, he just held her there, breathing hard against the back of her head. And when she kept moving—kept grinding against him like she had no idea what she was doing to him—his hands slid lower, gripping her hips, his thumbs dangerously close to the curve of her ass.

"Stop," he rasped into her ear, barely audible over the music, but his hands betrayed him, tightening almost possessively.

But she only laughed, soft and tipsy, and turned around in his hold—tilting her head up, eyes gleaming. And without thinking, without caring, Seonghwa crushed his mouth to hers.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful. It was desperate.

Months and months of pent-up longing exploded between them. She gasped into his mouth, and he swallowed the sound, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of her head while the other stayed firm on her waist, holding her tight against his body so she could feel exactly what she was doing to him.

Their kiss was messy, needy — all teeth and tongues and muffled moans. Her hands fisted the front of his bloody costume, pulling him closer, and he deepened the kiss, tilting her head back just to taste more of her.

She was kissing him back like she wanted him, like she needed him just as badly.

He wanted to lift her up and fuck her right there against the wall. He wanted to tear that little dress off her and worship every inch of her body like he’d dreamed about so many nights. He wanted her.

But reality crashed back into him like a cold slap.

She was drunk. She wasn’t thinking clearly. He couldn’t take advantage of her. Not like this. Never like this.

Breaking the kiss felt like ripping his own heart out of his chest. He pulled back sharply, panting hard, staring at her swollen lips, her half-lidded, dazed eyes.

“Come on,” he muttered hoarsely, grabbing her hand again before he did something even worse. “We need to get you some water.”

She pouted, confused and frustrated, but she let him tug her through the crowd.

Seonghwa barely noticed the people around them. His brain was a haze of her and you fucking idiot, get it together. He dragged her into the kitchen — blessedly quieter — and let go of her hand only to grab a bottle of water off the counter.

“Here,” he said, shoving it into her hands. His voice was still rough, his heart hammering against his ribs.

She blinked at him, still looking a little dazed, her lips parted and he groaned internally and pushed the bottle closer. “Drink, angel,” he said more gently. “You need to sober up.”

Obediently, she brought the bottle to her lips, taking small sips at first, then longer gulps.

Seonghwa leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms tightly over his chest as if that could somehow cage the overwhelming need clawing inside him. She looked like sin itself, standing there in that tiny white dress, her wings slightly crooked, her cheeks flushed from alcohol and dancing, her lips still red and kiss-swollen from him.

He closed his eyes briefly, breathing deep through his nose. He needed to get a fucking grip. Because if he didn’t he didn’t know if he’d be able to stop himself a second time.

"Slow down, angel," he murmured when she tried to chug the rest of the bottle, stepping closer and curling his fingers gently around her wrist. His touch was careful this time. Controlled.

She looked up at him, cheeks puffed slightly from drinking too fast, and giggled. he smiled despite himself, soft and fond, smoothing a stray piece of hair from her face. And when she lifted her head to look at him after some minutes, her big eyes soft and a bit clearer, her mouth parting slightly like she wanted to say something he snapped.

He dropped the water bottle onto the counter with a dull clatter and stepped right into her space. She barely had time to gasp before he was cupping her jaw and crashing his mouth onto hers again.

This time, there was no hesitation. Just pure, desperate need.

She kissed him back immediately, almost hungrily, her hands flying up to fist the front of his shirt. Seonghwa groaned deep in his chest, kissing her harder, pushing her backward until her hips bumped against the counter. He didn’t even stop to give her a second to breathe.

His hands roamed greedily — one tangled in her soft hair, the other sliding down her back, gripping her ass through the scandalously short lace dress. She made a little needy sound against his mouth when he squeezed, and he swallowed it down like a man starved. Her dress was so fucking thin. Seonghwa could feel the heat of her skin right through it. He broke the kiss only to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down her jaw, to her neck, sucking gently at her pulse point.

She whimpered, arching into him, her nails scraping lightly at his chest, and it drove him wild.

"You have no idea," he muttered against her skin, voice rough and wrecked, "no fucking idea how long I've wanted this."

She shivered under him, her hands moving up, framing his face, pulling him back up to her mouth. He kissed her like he was claiming her, like he needed her more than he needed air. She whimpered again when his hands slipped down to her thighs, squeezing and lifting her effortlessly onto the counter. Her wings shifted and rustled behind her, but neither of them cared.

From this angle, she was so perfect—sitting pretty in her tiny white dress and lace stockings, flushed and panting, her thighs spreading naturally for him.

Seonghwa's hand slid up one of her bare thighs, fingertips brushing along the edge of her stockings, feeling the slight bump where lace met soft skin.

He pulled back just barely, breathing heavily, forehead resting against hers.

"You’re dangerous," he rasped, his voice almost trembling with how much he was holding back. "So fucking dangerous, angel."

He kissed her again, rougher this time, swallowing her little gasps, his hands greedy, sliding up under her skirt now, feeling the heat of her bare thighs. She moaned into his mouth, shifting closer, her legs wrapping around his waist without even thinking. Seonghwa was losing it. She was so warm, so soft, so fucking willing. It took everything inside him not to rip that little dress right off her body. Not to drop to his knees and worship her the way she deserved.

When he finally broke away again, panting, he rested his forehead against hers, trying to calm down, but it was useless.

"I need to get you alone," he whispered hoarsely, voice wrecked with want.

She giggled breathlessly against his lips, her fingers still playing with the collar of his costume.

"Then take me," she whispered back, mischief glinting in her pretty eyes.

Seonghwa growled low in his throat, already spinning plans in his mind— how to get her upstairs, how to lock the door, how to finally, finally touch every inch of her he’d been dreaming about. He was going to make her his. And he wasn’t going to let anything or anyone stop him. He slipped his hands under her thighs, lifting her off the counter like she weighed nothing. she gasped and clutched his shoulders, giggling quietly as he carried her across the kitchen.

He kept her close against his chest, weaving through the crowd carefully, taking a side route avoiding the main hallway, avoiding Mingi, avoiding any possible disaster.

All that existed for him right now was her. He was so fucking hard it hurt.

They made it upstairs somehow, slipping into her room, and the second the door closed, Seonghwa pinned her against it. His mouth was back on hers before either of them could breathe, his hands greedy, roaming everywhere at once down her sides, over her hips, squeezing her ass with both hands and pressing her harder against the door.

She moaned sweetly against his mouth, rolling her hips up into him without shame, feeling how desperate he was for her.

"Hwa—" she whimpered, tugging at his hair, kissing him back with sloppy, open-mouthed kisses.

"You’re driving me fucking crazy," Seonghwa growled against her lips, grinding into her, making her feel just how hard he was.

He kissed down her neck hungrily, sucking a dark mark just under her jawline where her brother wouldn’t see it later. His hands slid up her thighs, under the barely-there lace of her dress, until his fingers brushed between her legs. And he froze.

"Fuck," he rasped, pulling back just enough to look down at her, his hand still pressed firmly against the heat between her thighs. She wasn't wearing anything underneath.

"You’re killing me, angel," he muttered, voice wrecked, eyes dark and hungry.

She giggled softly, slightly drunk on the way he touched her, on the way he looked at her like she was the only thing he’d ever wanted.

"I wanted to be good for you," she whispered, biting her lip.

Seonghwa almost lost it right there.

Instead, he dropped to his knees in front of her, pulling her thighs apart with his large hands. She gasped, blushing fiercely, her wings trembling slightly behind her as she steadied herself against the door. He kissed the inside of her thigh first, slow and deliberate, making her shiver. Then higher. And higher. Until he was mouthing at the place she was already slick and needy for him, her sweet little wet pussy dragging a moan from her lips.

"Seonghwa—!" she gasped, her fingers burying themselves in his hair.

He groaned against her, the taste of her driving him wild, and he started working her open with slow, lazy licks, like he had all the time in the world to devour her. She whimpered and bucked her hips, desperate, but he kept her pinned, spreading her thighs wider, feasting on her like he was starving. Oh, she tasted so sweet. So fucking sweet.

When he finally slipped a finger inside her — slow, careful —she gasped again, her whole body trembling against the door. "So perfect," he muttered against her, curling his finger just right, making her sob. "So fucking sweet."

He kept going, slow and relentless, adding another finger, his mouth still working her, until she was writhing, tugging his hair, sobbing his name over and over. It didn’t take long.

She came with a loud, breathy cry, her thighs shaking around his shoulders, and Seonghwa grinned against her, helping her ride it out with slow, gentle kisses.

But he wasn’t done. Not even close.

He stood up again, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and kissed her hard — letting her taste herself on his tongue.

She was dazed, breathing hard, clinging to his shirt.

"Bed," he rasped against her lips. "Now."

She stumbled backward, letting her wings fall off as she crawled onto the bed, looking up at him through heavy-lidded eyes. He stripped his shirt off, not caring about the costume anymore, revealing a lean, sculpted body that made her mouth go dry. He crawled onto the bed after her, catching her mouth in another hot, desperate kiss, grinding against her slowly.

She could feel him now — hot, thick, pressing against her — and she whined softly, squirming beneath him.

"You want me?" he murmured, kissing down her neck, nipping at her collarbone. "Tell me, angel."

"Please," she whimpered, arching into him. "Hwa, please..."

He groaned, his last bit of control slipping. He yanked her dress up, and his fingers found her nipples, hardened by the cold of the room. He started pinching them, taking one in his mouth and started sucking, leaving her a moaning, desperate mess. When he was satisfied, he pushed her thighs apart, and finally — finally — slid inside her in one long, slow thrust.

Both of them moaned at the feeling, Seonghwa clenching his jaw, trying not to come instantly at how tight and warm she was, and she was moaning, her nails raking down his back. He stayed still for a moment, breathing heavily into her neck.

"So perfect," he whispered again, almost reverently. "So fucking tight for me."

Then he started moving. At first his thrusts were slow, deep, that had her gasping and clinging to him, then faster, rougher, pounding into her, making her cry out with every stroke.

Their bodies moved together like they were made for each other, sweaty and desperate, moaning each other's names like prayers. She wrapped her legs around him tighter, pulling him deeper, and Seonghwa buried his face in her neck, losing himself completely.

"You’re mine," he growled into her skin, thrusting harder. "You hear me, angel? Mine."

"Yours," she gasped back, barely able to breathe, barely able to think — all she could feel was him, everywhere, overwhelming and perfect.

It didn’t take long before she was tipping over the edge again, sobbing his name as she came around him, and the feeling of her clenching so tightly around him pushed Seonghwa right over the edge too. He groaned brokenly against her throat, hips stuttering, spilling deep inside her. They stayed tangled together afterward — sweaty, trembling, kissing each other slowly, lazily, like they never wanted it to end.

Seonghwa brushed a strand of hair from her face, kissing her forehead gently. "My angel," he whispered. She just smiled up at him, dazed and happy, and tugged him down into another kiss. The room was thick with heat, the faint pulse of the party's bass still thudding distantly through the walls. But here, in the dim light of her bedroom, nothing else existed except them.

She was sprawled beneath him, flushed and beautiful, her body still trembling slightly from the aftershocks. He hovered over her, breathing hard, his skin slick with sweat, his hair messy and sticking to his forehead. He kissed her again, slow at first, savoring it, then deeper, hungrier, his hand sliding down her side, squeezing her hip.

And she whimpered softly against his mouth, her body already arching back into him, wanting more.

"You’re killing me," Seonghwa muttered, voice low and wrecked. "You’re so fucking addictive."

Before she could say anything, he was kissing down her neck again, nipping her skin, sucking another dark mark just above her breast. His hand slid between her legs finding her still slick and sensitive and he groaned deeply.

"So wet for me still," he breathed, dragging his fingers slowly through her folds, teasing her.

She gasped, clenching the sheets, her thighs already falling open for him.

"You want more, angel?" he asked, kissing lower, his mouth now between her tits again, as he loved how soft and plump they were.

"Yeah," she breathed out, desperate. Seonghwa chuckled darkly against her skin — then without warning, he grabbed her thighs and flipped her over onto her stomach.

The girl yelped in surprise, giggling, but the giggle turned into a moan when Seonghwa dragged her hips up, forcing her to kneel on shaky legs while her chest stayed pressed to the mattress.

"Fuck," Seonghwa hissed under his breath, just looking at her flushed skin, the glitter of her stockings, the soft curve of her ass presented perfectly for him. He ran his hands slowly down her back, over the swell of her hips, squeezing her roughly. Then he leaned in and bit the inside of her thigh, making her whimper.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he growled, lining himself up again — teasing her, rubbing the thick head of his cock through her wetness but not pushing in yet.

"Hwa, please—" she whined, pushing back against him needily.

"Patience," he smirked, slapping her ass lightly, making her jump.

She whined again, trying to push her ass back, to grind on him, to feel something, but he was having none of it. He slapped the soft flesh of her ass, which turned into a pale red color, which made her cry out but stay still. Then, with one slow, brutal thrust — he pushed back inside her, burying himself to the hilt.

"oh my god," she gasped, clawing at the sheets.

Seonghwa groaned low in his chest, gripping her hips tight as he started moving, setting a hard, punishing rhythm that had the bed creaking under them. The filthy sounds of skin slapping skin, her whimpering, his grunts, was obscene, and he loved every second of it.

"Look at you," he panted, slamming into her harder. "So needy for me. So perfect."

She could barely answer — all she could do was moan, her body completely at his mercy, so cock drunk.

Seonghwa reached forward, grabbing a fistful of her hair and pulling her up so her back was flush against his chest. She gasped, the new angle making him hit even deeper, her legs shaking uncontrollably. He kissed along her shoulder, murmuring filth into her ear between his deep thrusts.

"Feel how deep I am, angel? You’re made for me. Fuck, I could live inside you."

She sobbed his name, her nails digging into his arms, and he slammed against her skin.

"You’re mine," he whispered roughly. "No one else gets to see you like this. No one else gets to have you."

"Only you," she whimpered, clenching around him, and Seonghwa cursed under his breath, his rhythm faltering from how fucking good she felt. He slid a hand down between her thighs, rubbing tight, fast circles over her swollen clit, pushing her closer and closer to the edge again.

"Come for me," he growled into her ear, thrusting harder. "Come all over my cock, angel. Let go for me."

It didn’t take long. With a loud, broken cry, she shattered again, her whole body convulsing, squeezing him so tight he almost blacked out. Seonghwa cursed, slamming into her a few more times before spilling deep inside her again with a low, wrecked groan.

They collapsed onto the bed together, panting, sweaty, trembling.

He kissed her shoulder softly, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her against him protectively.

"Fuck," he muttered, pressing his forehead against her back. "I’m never gonna get enough of you."

She giggled weakly, turning in his arms to face him, her cheeks still flushed.

"This will be our little secret, okay? We can’t have anyone knowing baby. Especially your brother." He said as he slowly slid out of her, looking at the mess they both made.

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mic-qw · 1 month ago

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Yandere Femboy x Reader

Warnings: emotional manipulation, bullying, obsessive possessive behavior, emotional dependency, toxic relationships.

Aiden was always perfect.

You knew it from the first day he sat next to you in class, deliberately dropped his pencil case, and said with a bright smile, “Oh, can you grab that for me? I’m so clumsy!”

From that moment on, you were stuck to him like you had no choice. But the truth is, you didn’t want one.

Aiden was addictive.

You never realized when he stopped being just a friend and became a light that followed you everywhere. He’d wake you up with voice messages at 7 a.m.:

“Good morning! Time to wake up! You look tired today… did you dream about me, or did you cry because I wasn’t by your side?”

And even though he said it jokingly, there was always something more. A pause. A “laugh” that didn’t sound amused.

He bought you things you never asked for. He took photos of you without you noticing. He introduced you as “his favorite person” to others—but if you so much as talked to someone else, he’d go silent and serious for hours.

Once, you told him you liked someone. Just as a joke, to see how he’d react. And he smiled. Not a nice smile.

A small, tight-lipped smile with a clenched jaw. You could feel his gaze drilling into you. He slung his arm around your shoulders and said,

“Glad you have some hope. But no one’s ever going to love you like I do, right?”

Then he kissed your cheek, hard. You could still feel the smear of his lipstick afterwards.

After that day, something changed.

Aiden wouldn’t let you walk home alone, even if you lived close by. He always had a reason. That he was just passing by. That he wanted to talk. That you looked sad.

“Don’t lie to me. I know you better than I know myself.”

He’d send you pictures of his meals, his outfits, even his bed.

“I miss when you used to sleep over… you haven’t come by in forever” He’d say it with cute emojis. But it never felt cute.

And when you started talking to that other person—the one you only shared classwork with—Aiden’s gestures became even softer. Sweeter. More perfect.

But the messages didn’t.

One night, you found one that said:

“So that’s what you’re into now? God, how basic. Did you seriously lower yourself like that? I wonder how long he’ll be interested once he realizes it takes you HOURS to reply.”

You didn’t answer. And the next day, that person never looked you in the eyes again.

You didn’t get it at first.

You thought it was a coincidence. That people were just busy. That the weird comments were misunderstandings. That canceled plans were just bad timing.

Until you noticed how people looked at you— With a mix of pity, discomfort… and distance.

Aiden, on the other hand, was shining more than ever. Surrounded by people. Smiling radiantly. Speaking in that sweet, angelic way that made everything sound like poetry.

“Don’t tell her I said anything, okay? I’m just… worried. She’s been acting so strange lately.”

A soft laugh. A touch on someone’s arm. A downcast look, like he was really hurting.

And that was all it took. A sad little smile and a concerned tone. Everyone believed him.

He was so beautiful. So perfect it felt unreal. But without a doubt—he was the best at playing the victim.

And you, without even realizing it, started to lose everything.

One by one, people drifted away. They stopped texting back. They avoided you in the hallways.

But Aiden was always there to comfort you.

“Poor thing… Nobody wants to talk to you anymore? That’s so cruel. But it’s okay, you don’t need them. You’ve got me, and I’m not going anywhere. Ever.”

He’d say that while brushing a tear from your cheek with his soft palm, that delicate smile of his making him look like an angel who had just fallen from heaven.

And even if you tried to connect with others, to get away from him… You knew deep down— You would always end up back in your best friend’s arms.

#x reader #yandere #yandere femboy #oc #original character #tw yandere #male yandere #toxic relationship #fanfiction #female reader #yandere oc #yandere boy

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orimuraa · 2 months ago

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• All I can do is try - 西村力 ↳ ┊: one more last time - henry young, ashley alisha

꒰ 𝔖𝘺𝘯𝘰𝘱𝘴𝘪𝘴 ꒱┆you were the school’s sunshine while your boyfriend was the school’s cold, grump ⨾

۶ৎ grumpy!ni-ki x fem sunshine!reader┆flufff┆petnames, kissing, ynki making you feel single┆wc 778

⤷ 𝐲𝐞𝐣𝐢’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: guys…i want a boyfriend 😭😭😭 but anyway, thank you to the anon who requested! + fb is always appreciated

part 2

꒰ঌ ℬℴℴ𝓀𝓈𝒽ℯ𝓁𝒻 ໒꒱

nobody expected this. the school’s sunshine who always had her chin held high and her grades just as high, and the school’s delinquent—the one who caused all the trouble and was never seen in a classroom during class time.

it shouldn’t have worked, but it did. you made him a better person—softer around the edges.

the way he would throw everything away just to be with you, the way he would actually smile and laugh when you cracked jokes, it was all so…wholesome. and nishimura riki was not ever associated with that word.

as you walked down the hallways, your classmates waved to you, smiling as they greeted you. they admired you, the way you carried yourself with all that confidence and the way you were so sweet to anyone without a thought. not to mention, your perfect grades.

your stroll was cut short when someone tugged your backpack back, causing your feet to slip and lose balance.

you fell back, expecting to hit the floor, but you never did. instead, you fell against a sturdy figure, their arms securing around you, effectively catching you.

you whip you head up to see the cause of your fall and your greeted with the smirk of none other than nishimura riki—your boyfriend.

“kiki!! i could’ve fallen!” you scold, straightening yourself out and brushing off your skirt.

“but you didn’t,” he shrugs, a smirk tugging at his lips. “besides, i was there to catch you, wasn’t i little love?” and for a moment, you forgot you were surrounded by your schoolmates in a hallway.

“whatever,” you flush, grabbing his hand and pulling him to class. “c’mon, we’re gonna be late.”

“love, class starts in 10 minutes,” riki says calmly, getting dragged to a class he only attends to stare at you.

“exactly! we’re late,” you huff, weaving through the crowds with your 6 foot boyfriend.

when you arrive at your classroom, you’re the first ones there.

“see?? no one’s even in here! can we go home? pleaseee? i’ll give you as many cuddles as you want, i just wanna go home,” riki pouts, despite knowing you would never skip school.

��we can do that after school, kiki. i can’t leave,” you smile sympathetically, aware that your boyfriend would rather be anywhere but that classroom.

he groans but slumps down in the seat next to you, resting his head on your arm as he sulks. he would never let anyone catch him sulking except for you. you were his safe zone.

by the end of class, riki was fully asleep and completely unaware of anything that was going on around him.

you were chatting with some friends when he stirred, grumbling something about wanting to go home again.

“sorry guys, i’m gonna head out now,” you politely excused yourself, packing up your bag while riki was already up and out of his chair.

the end of the day was always riki’s favorite part because it meant that you were all his now and that he could take you home and cuddle you forever and ever. of course nobody else knew that besides you because it would ruin his “bad boy reputation” and people would start to know hems actually a huge softie.

so here you were, wrapped in one of his giant sweatshirts and his arms were wrapped around your waist, holding you close. his face was nuzzled into your neck and he occasionally pressed soft kisses against it.

“tell me something interesting,” he whispers, just wanting to listen to your pretty voice.

“hmmm something interesting?” you pause to think. “did you know i love you with all of my heart? i’m so in love with you it’s crazy. sometimes i wonder how i ended up do lucky with you.” you say. anyone could tell from your voice that you were so in love. it was obvious.

riki lets out a small chuckle, sending shivers through your body.

“little love, god—you’re so smart and pretty and funny and kind and if anything, i should be the one saying how lucky i am. you’re someone who’s so pure and i definitely don’t deserve you,” riki smiles, peeking out from the crook of your neck.

“maybe it’s fate then,” you giggle. “maybe the stars drew us together.”

“well then i’m so glad they chose you to be with me because i can’t see myself anywhere else but with you,” riki sighs contently.

he kisses your jaw and your lips before snuggling back into your side.

and these were the moments you treasured most. the moments where the expectations couldn’t get to you and it was just you, riki, and the burning love you shared.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✉︎ ꒱ ˎˊ˗ 𝐉𝐢𝐣𝐢’𝐬 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @vmpivory, @yuvany, @seozii, @pinknjm, @greentulip, @jomisu, @nxzz-skz, @ancnymcnzjy, @hyukabean, @annybah, @ijustwannareadstuff20, @chaeneu, @17ericas, @firstclassjaylee, @riribelle, @right-person-wrong-time, @cheruphic, @woniefication, @melodiessvy, @soona-huh, @kiwicup, @yuuuraaa

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hyukascampfire · 7 months ago

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GIFT WRAPPING ﹒ ､､ c.sb

it’s a shame that soobin has to work on christmas eve, but coming home to a fire-toasted home and his little family is enough to make up for it. ˒´-

꣑ ࣪˒ 〈 🌰 〉･ 3.4k

ρairings ˒ husband!soobin x reader

ɠ ; smut ˒ fluff

ωarnings ˒ breeding kink, soobin rlly wants to get reader pregnant, lactation kink, general smut, traditional roles, tradwife reader, whiny soobin, breast fondling, mentions of balls cause i know how some people feel abt that, they’re both whiny for each other, soobin’s big, and lmk if i missed anything!

✎୭ ashlynn's note this one’s at the request of my lovely @biteyoubiteme! i love you baby, and could not thank u more for giving me this gift. this was the best gift i could’ve gotten for christmas >.<‘ but yes, since we are always giggling over dad!txt, this one i dedicate to u!!!

﹙⋞ ﹚... back to the 𝓂asterlist

The best thing you’ve heard today is the jingling of keys at the front door.

Soobin comes through the door with heavy, tired eyes. When the kids come tumbling down the hallway for him, they soften into something warm. Lifting one to pepper kisses over her face, and listening to the other tattle about something that’d happened earlier, his mouth tugs into a gentle smile.

Dusting powdered sugar off your hands, you wait your turn. The scene falls over you like a dryer-warmed blanket. All you three had done today was wait for him to come home. When finally it’s you that he turns to, your heart flickers.

The Christmas tree is up and in a stand, but it’s bare. You didn’t want to decorate it without him, as much as he told you he wouldn’t mind if you and the kids did. It’s not every Christmas eve that he works, but he’d been scheduled this year. You’d spent the whole day rolling out dough and slipping the kids some, even though you knew the sugar would wind them up, just to make the house feel less empty.

And, wind them up it did. You took them outside, bundled up in thick cashmeres and puffy jackets, at one point, hoping they might work some of it out in the fluffy snow that’d fallen fresh on yesterday. It hadn’t worked, but watching them with pink cheeks and giggling was worth the while. Then, the three of you drug snow-wetted feet indoors to defrost, tugging off layers to accept the tingle of warm air against your numb skin.

You wish he was there, too, though.

Soobin reaches up to pull his tie loose from his neck as he comes to give you your greetings. He just manages to get it loose before taking your lips against his.

With his hands steadying you by the hips and the counter at your back, you sigh out a soft breath. Your lips speak of your longing—the both of you. Slow and intimate tugging of lips and soothing, your lashes dust against your cheeks. He tastes like some peppermint candy he’d probably picked up on the way out of the office. Fingers still a bit cold from outside, he brings one hand up and cups your cheek, brushing a thumb up and down the flushed skin there.

He smiles against your mouth and parts from you only to sprinkle sugary kisses over your face. They fall everywhere: a few over your cheeks, one just beside your mouth, and the last to your forehead. He cups your cheeks through each. When he pulls back and you think he’s done, he steals a quick peck for good measure. His hot-chocolate eyes catch yours once he’s done for real, nose crinkling.

“Hi, baby,” he says. Your heart sings listening to his smooth timbre. It resonates through you and brushes down every last frayed nerve. “How did home treat you?”

You reach behind yourself to tug your apron off. It’s a mess of flour and stray buttercream icing. “It’s Christmas eve,” you tell him. That’s answer enough. “How was work? Did you have a good day?” you say, smoothing your hands over the knitted sweater you’d swiped from his drawer. “We missed you.”

His chest is like home against your back as he wraps you up in his frame. “Doesn’t matter; I’m home now. It’s a good day.” He murmurs his words into your hair. “Mmm. You smell good. Are all these cookies for me?”

“You know who they’re for,” you say. The smile on your mouth is light and fluffy, like whipped cream. Sweet. You’d waited all day for this—for him.

His arms encompass you, wrapped across your front like ribbons over a present. You can hear the lazy smile in his words. “Were you baking all day waiting for me, beautiful?”

With the weight and warmth of him against you, you let your head fall back on his chest. You hum. “I missed you so bad,” you say.

“I know,” he says. Pressing a toasty kiss right into your neck where it’s bared to him, he adds, “I missed you too. Wish I was able to spend the whole day with you guys, not paperwork. But, it’s okay. I had my pretty wife here waiting for me.” Toward the tail-end, he hangs sweet suggestion over his words.

Your cheeks go pink. Maybe you’ve got the heater up too high. It’s not usually this hard waiting for him to get home from work. You’ll usually be busy with your own stuff, so that time passes you by fast enough. And then, he’ll come home all tired, and you’ll finally get the kids to sleep and he’ll make slow, sweet love to you, and then the whole household goes quiet as you all knock out. But today... you found yourself missing him more. On Christmas eve, you’re all supposed to be together; spending the day sprawled over the couch with intertwined limbs and running through Christmas classics with bellies full of hot chocolate and candy canes.

But, he’s here now. That’s all you can ask for. A full, content home.

“The kids want to do the tree,” you say, curling your fingers over the warm skin of his forearm where he’s bunched the cuffs of his button-up to his elbows. “They waited very patiently all day.” You drag the word all out, because really... it’d felt just as long to you. Usually, you’d have had your tree up and laced with twinkling lights and ornaments two weeks ago, but you really wanted to wait until you could do it all together.

“Well,” he says, leaving you with one last nip to the column of your neck before dragging himself off you. You miss the security of his arms almost pathetically quick. “Let’s get it decorated, then. Wouldn’t want to make you guys wait any longer.”

Soobin departs to find the tubs of Christmas stuff, and you go to pull the kids from their playing.

You can hardly help the excited little smile that finds its way to your mouth as you do.

❅

The lights on the tree wink at you, a cozy warm white like ice crystals among green pine needles. Its branches dip under the weight of heavier bulbs. Starry silver and Santa red, and even those assorted ornaments that you’d let the kids pick out, shimmer in the low light. It’s serene and familiar, like the Christmases that you can only relive through orange, flickering memories of better times. Your chest aches in the good way, looking at it.

All of you had put your touch to it, but mostly, you’d sat back and watched them all work, committing it to memory so that it might never go spotty—so that you can remember it years down the road, and use it like a dose of soothing balm when you no longer have this.

Now, you and Soobin just sit and admire it. In true Christmas fashion, you two had to wrangle the kids to bed. You raised your brows at them and warned them with the same old things you’d heard on Christmas night: Santa doesn’t stop by the houses of kids who don’t sleep, and he especially doesn’t stop for kids that don’t listen to their parents. That got them, warm in their jammies, dragging their feet to bed. Reluctantly, yes. But it did the job, and now it’s just you two.

Your stomach does an excited flip as, in between his mindless smoothing over your skin, Soobin toys with the waistband of your plaid pajamas. Lifting your head from his chest, you look up at him.

“Baby,” he says, taking that hand up and under your shirt. Running the warm, calloused tips of his fingers up the plane of your belly and then just under your breast, he says, “I missed you...”

Sweet and slow, a familiar hunger kindles between your thighs just at the way he says it. You know when your doting husband needs you. Your heart tugs toward him—you need him just the same. Surrounded by the home you’ve made together, made lovely by the scent of Christmas, and in his safe arms, all you want is him.

You tug yourself up from him and the cushions, sliding yourself over his lap so that your two thighs part around his waist and your heat meets his bulge. He’s hardened there already, strained against the fabric and hard against your clothed cunt even through the layers. Sucking in a breath, he supports the small of your back with two sturdy arms.

“Missed you too, Binnie,” you mumble into his neck. You’d said it a few times already, but you think it still isn’t enough to convey what you feel. His hands come down to cup your ass, digging divots into it and pressing you into soft grinds down onto him a few times. Your skin prickles wherever he goes.

When his hands find their way back to the elastic band of your bottoms, you lift your hips and let him tug them off you. It’s an awkward position, and you have to lend him a little help with those and your panties with a snort. He presses his forehead into your shoulder, laughing too.

At a brush of your bare cunt against his cock as he frees it, stood proud between the space of you and against your belly, your smile gives way to soft gasp. The tip of him weeps with pearly beads from the slit. He takes it into his hand taps it against your bud a few times, his free hand at your back, and relishes in the twitching of your hips above him.

With the warmth of his cock lined up with you, he pushes some of your hair out of your face and says, “Hate having to wait all day to see my pretty girl...” His chocolate eyes dart up and down between the sight of you just about to join bodies and your face.

Sinking down on him, letting yourself feel every inch of him anew, you hum agreement. You nestle him all the way down until the tip of him brushes just before the end of your depth, and then you give your hips a few rolls to let your insides adjust to his cock. Soobin’s big—no matter how many times you take him, it’s still a stretch. He doesn’t mind the wait; he sits patiently for you to adjust each time, running his hands up and down your hips just to touch you.

You dig your knees into the cushions and lift yourself off his cock. You let him slip all the way up until the flared tip of him threatens to pop out, letting the moment linger there for a moment before dropping back down on him. His shoulders take the blunt of your weight as you fuck yourself up and down him. “I...wish you didn’t have to work that stupid job...” Your voice permeates the air, above the crackle of the fireplace and the soft smacks of your skin against his.

His fingers dig into the soft curve of your waist where your shirt bunches. Each time you push yourself up, he helps, the corded muscles of his forearms twisting. It’s an intimate dance that the two of you have practiced and mastered, knowing when to give and to take without even the need for words. “I know,” he says, his voice taut. “But... I’m here now, baby. I’m here now. I’ll give you anything you want.”

Your chest feels full at that. You know he means it; he works so hard for you all. The couch cushions are abrasive against your knees, and your thighs burn with a terrible ache, but all that matters in this moment is how he sucks his lips into his mouth and lets his head fall back into the cushion at his back. He rocks his hips up to try and meet you. Each time you bring yourself down on him in a way that has his brow twitching or eyes screwing shut, you aim to find it again—in all of it, you hope he feels you thanking him.

Lifting his head, he tugs your shirt up to watch your tits bounce along with you. Taking his palm over one, he says, “Fuck—miss when these were all full of milk. All heavy for me...” His thumb rolls a pert nipple. Shuddering around a chill, your chest jumps against his hand.

Rather than controlled drags up and down his cock, you devolve into frantic rutting hips and whines. Each roll—back, forth, and in messy circles—nudges his twitching cock right up against that weak spot. Flame rolls in your belly and your thighs.

When you’d been pregnant, your tits had swollen up to produce milk, and they’d never gone back down. Maybe a bit, but never back to what they’d been before pregnancy. Soobin loved it. Not that he hadn’t been content with your breasts before, but you think it was more that he was fascinated that it was him who did that to you. That he had filled you with his cum, and got you round and pregnant. When you’d first started leaking, it wasn’t even you who’d realized. You had been stood in the kitchen with a flimsy grey shirt tugged over your body. When you looked up to see what your husband was up to, his eyes were all glazed over and heavy on your chest, where your shirt had gone dark and wet around your nipples. Before you could hurry off with reddened cheeks to change, he’d pinned you against the counter by the hips to suckle the mess up himself.

“Baby,” he says, voice coming from his throat a hoarse plead, “Beautiful, please, can you give me something for Christmas? Just one thing?”

Hair on your neck damp, you nod frantically. Around his waist, your thighs twitch with exertion and each blazing brush of his cockhead against your gummy walls. You’d give him anything; you’d already grown two children for him.

“You—gonna let me put another in you? Can I please get you all pregnant again?” he grits out, his hair falling out from its styling and over his rose-dusted cheeks. He looks at you heavy-lidded.

Your cunt squeezes him, an answer before you can even form the words. It does a number on you, the way he says it. Because really, you do think that to Soobin, the greatest gift you could give him is to carry his children and to just continue to love him. It’s no different for you; you want nothing more. “Yes, please... I’ll give you as many as...you want, please, just...”

The entirety of your pleading is not even out of your mouth before he’s pressing a strong arm across your back and laying you under him. The cushions accept your back lovingly.

Soobin takes a moment to situate you two. He drags you down by the hips, closer to him, tugs your shirt fully off to let it flutter to the floor elsewhere, tugging his own off in the same fashion, and he pushes your mess of hair out of your face so that he can better see you. And then, melding the bare, warmed skin of your soft chest to his own hard one, he rolls his cock up into you.

It’s slow and tender, like promises of love baked into each grind. He makes love to you in the form of open-mouthed kisses and puffs of breath fanning out over your skin when a deeper thrust has both of you shaken-limbed. In your ears, hot, he whispers filthy nothings.

“Gonna knock my pretty girl up again,” he pants. “Want—you to go around wearing me, big and round. My wife. You look so pretty pregnant... Fuck..” The skin of his chest brushes up against your hardened nipple each time he fucks himself up to you, his hands everywhere as he can’t find where he wants to hold you most. Eventually, he settles on linking his fingers with yours above your head with one hand, and the other splayed over your belly. Right where your belly might be swollen, were you pregnant once more. “Right here... can’t wait—h-oh, shit. Do you want that, baby? Want to give me another?”

Chest and belly tight, you can only manage a squeak and a nod. Through bleary eyes, you take in his face. The soft and masculine angles of his cheeks and jaw, his sweet brown eyes, his pinched brows... and all you feel is safe. Safe in his arms, safe in his love. His body cages you against the cushion, slung over you and delivering languid strokes, but you don’t feel trapped. Not one bit. In his arms, you feel untouchable. Secure beyond a doubt.

Nowhere else, with nobody else, would you rather build a family.

“Soobin, please,” you whine, welcome tears prickling at the corners of your eyes like snowmelt. “Want it so bad... I want it so bad....” Wrapping your legs around his waist, digging your heels into his lower spine, you urge him deeper.

“Okay,” he says. The smacking of your skin punctures the serene air as he picks up the pace. He lets his head fall into your shoulder, stunted breaths falling out as his belly tenses. “Okay, love. Gonna fuck you full of my cum, n’ keep it in there so I know it takes... shit, gonna give you my cum now, okay?”

Face screwed up, you try and roll yourself to meet him, to chase the tightness in your own belly, but he’s got you. With a few more hot stripes of his tongue over your tits and over your neck, and a few frantic nudges right into that spot he’s so familiar with, you go still and then break into full-body shakes. You press your mouth into his shoulder to obscure the sharp, sweet cry that comes rushing out along with your orgasm, worried about waking your sleeping kids. Your thighs twitch and shudder around him, some deep and innate part of your brain taking over through the fog to make sure he cums well and right into you. Fingers and toes curling and splaying through it, you allow yourself to fully feel the sweetness his cock gifts you with.

You don’t doubt that he’ll get you pregnant, cumming in you. Soobin’s seed is heavy and potent. He could knock you up whenever he pleased; the last two times he’d done it, you were surprised how easily it took. Your insides twist up around him harder.

“Fuck,” he half growls, half whines. “Fuck, fuck... Love you, baby... Love you so much...”

He holds you to the couch, fucking you into it as his heavy balls smack against your bottom. And then, spewing murmured expletives and taking your face into a big hand of his to press frantic kisses to your cheek, his hips stutter.

As promised, he spills his cum right into you, right where he knows it’ll reach your womb and give you just what you want. It’s hot and thick against your gummy walls. He holds you through it, taking your hips in kneading hands to hold you still. When you think he’s done rolling his hips up into you to shoot more ribbons, he grinds harder.

Soobin slumps over you, finally stilling. He does not pull out, nor unplug you, though. He wants to make sure his cum stays right where he wants it. His heart thunders a lovely song against your chest, and yours his. He runs long fingers through your hair mindlessly, the both of you basking in the slow fire as it burns through your veins and leaves you lazy.

“Merry Christmas, baby,” he mumbles.

Heart fuller, you hold him closer. “We have so much wrapping to do...” you mumble, trying to blink away your content sleepiness.

He pushes himself off you just to say, “Don’t remind me.” His weight cradles you once more, running appreciative fingertips over your thighs as he says, “Just a little more.”

Who are you to deny him that? You cherish the lines of his face, all soft in the yellowish glow of the tree’s light. Here, in his arms, you let yourself forget about that and anything else but the simple love buzzing in the air.

“Just a little more,” you agree.

﹙⋞ ﹚... back to the 𝓂asterlist

✎୭ ashlynn's note ZOOWEE MAMA!! soobin come over here, let’s recreate this for christmas! pls!

﹙📋﹚ @hmusunoo , @izzyy-stuff , @beomiracles , @joycelyjjj , @sunoolver , @lvrs-street2mmorrow , @apeachty , @fandomtrashsblog , @bewitchless , @yezzns2 , @hhoneyhan , @ethystclove , @darkdayelixer , @calumcxke , @biteyoubiteme , @bamgeutsz , @soobabby , @little-shiny-starr , @bambammtori , @bunniebun-posted , @heeambi , @bunnisoobin , @hwanghyunjinismybae , @bakugosbottombitch , if your tag isn't working, check the mentions part of your settings!

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withlovemark · 3 months ago

Text

“STUPID CUPID”

pairing: fuckboy! na jaemin x secret identity! reader | genre: rom-com | words: 24k+

synopsis -> mr. cupid — anonymous radio host. running the #1 most popular radio show on campus. famous for his thoughtful advice and classified as a true hopeless romantic. na jaemin — photography major, the sweet fuck-boy. described to be affectionate and gentle…but don’t fall for his tactics! once he’s done with you, he’s gone with the wind. your best friend unfortunately happened to be on the receiving end of this. what happens when you find out that the anonymous radio host is none other than na jaemin himself? sweet revenge.

warnings -> tooth rotting cheesiness you’ll roll your eyes, a hundred different synonyms for a gentle smile, pet name unlocked: angel, lots of stolen kisses, there’s only one bed, reader and jaemin are stupid and selfish sometimes, a tiny bit of angst, a hole in the wall, +18, crude language, fuck-boys, mentions of drugs, alcohol, make outs, one night stands, more than one boner, smut! oral-m/f receiving, fingering, slight nipple play, blowjob, handjob, sex, a brief conversation with his cock, jaemin is whiny and vocal and big, masturbation, public sex if u squint.

an -> the first installment of the loverboy series is finally yours. i hope you love (and hate) it as much as i do. i had so many moments in the three months i’ve had with this work where i almost scrapped this as i couldn’t figure out how to progress the story without it being so cheesy. i wanted something grand, something never been done before! but (fortunately) with rom-com, and the amount of lovely fiction out there, everything has been done before. so i succumbed to the inevitable cheesiness and made something i was happy with. hope you enjoy! with love, c.

dear, mr. cupid,

my best friend slept with her crush! problem is, he’s a total fuckboy and doesn’t even remember her. he walks around pretending he doesn’t know her. what can i do to get back at him?

love,

heart

mr. cupid reads the anonymous confession of the day, ready to give his think piece.

“hi heart, hmm,” he pauses, seeming to be in deep thought, “first of all, i think you should be there for your friend. let her know that no man, especially a fuckboy, is worth any of her precious time. as for the guy, let him have a taste of his own medicine, he deserves it. no man should ever treat a woman like that,” he sweetly advises through the radio, making you scoff in disgust.

his fake persona was sickening considering you couldn't even count the number of girls he has been with in both of your hands in just a span of one year.

taste of his own medicine, huh?

two days later, you got all dolled up, looking exactly like the girls you know are his type – all pretty in pink, a cute skirt around your waist, pretty bow adorned on your hair, paired with heels that made your legs look longer.

you couldn’t even recognize yourself when you looked in the mirror. gone were the oversized t-shirts and sweats that usually hugged your body. you were going to make him notice you, one way or another.

it was all part of the plan – it’s simple, really! the entirety fitting in a page in your notebook, titled the downfall of na jaemin:

step one - introduce yourself.

step two - make him fall in love with you.

step three/four - break his heart and reveal to the whole world (university) that their beloved mr. cupid is a phony.

see, easy!

hence, we begin.

you’ve mapped out the trail he took after his first period. and like the mastermind you are, you were right where you needed to be at the right time. walking hurriedly past him and “accidentally” bumping into him, the books and papers in your hand flying out of your grasp, an exaggerated gasp slipping past your lips.

jaemin, quick to his feet, was already on the ground, picking up your fallen items, “sorry about that,” he apologizes.

“no it's okay, i wasn’t looking where i was going, sorry,” your sweet voice captures his attention as he finally gets a good look at you. a devilishly sweet smile growing on his features, eyebrows ever so slightly raising in a way that if you weren’t so observant, you wouldn’t have noticed.

“just be careful next time, beautiful,” he flirts, handing you back your things, the smile on his face never leaving. you fight back the urge to roll your eyes.

“thanks handsome, i’ll see you around?,” matching his energy, voice going softer, eyes flirtatiously but calculatively drooping, as you grab your books out of his hands, making sure your fingertips touch, just a little bit, before turning away and quickly walking the opposite direction.

the boy quickly called out to you, “hey!, what's your name?!”

leaning over your shoulder, plastering on the sweetest smile you can give him, you waved away like you were some kind of princess – classic romantic first meetings.

he watches your retreating figure, a small smile visible on his features. he has half the mind to follow you until the sound of his phone buzzing snaps him out of his daze.

mark: where are u? need help setting up

jaemin: omw

𓏲𝄢

“did we get new students?,” was the first thing that jaemin asked when he entered the room, his friends quickly glancing at his direction before continuing their tasks – setting the house up for the fraternity’s highly anticipated valentines day party that was two days away. it was really the only party (besides halloween, christmas and new year) that they prepared for. all the other ones, didn’t require this much work.

“not that i know of?,” mark — leader of the dream fraternity, music major, the favorite fuckboy. unlike jaemin, he doesn’t hide under sweet pretenses. he tells you what he wants from the beginning, never leaving you doubting his actions. whether or not you continue, is up to you. so you can’t exactly blame him when he breaks your heart in the end.

“huh..,” he ponders.

“why?,” his leader ask, curiosity piqued.

“saw the prettiest girl today, never seen her before,” he says nonchalantly.

“maybe she was just passing by?,” haechan — member of the dream fraternity, theatre major, the most popular fuckboy. girls love him. boys love him. he’s funny and charming but also very straightforward. you won’t catch him in a single lie because he doesn’t tell any, even if that means ruthlessly hurting people’s feelings.

“can’t be, her books were from our library,” jaemin reasons, remembering the ‘step by step: how to art?’ book that he picked up from the ground stamped with the university’s seal. maybe you were an art major?

“what does she look like?, i can ask around,” jeno — member of the dream fraternity, architect major, the chill fuckboy. doesn’t really like the whole hopping from one girl to another so he ends up in a bunch of meaningless situationships. his current one has been going on strong – a good new record of four days.

“exactly my type, long hair, soft skin, pretty smile, dressed in the cutest outfit,” jaemin sighs hopelessly, like he was just shot with the lust arrow.

“uh oh there you go again, falling for nameless girls,” chenle smirks, throwing him the streamers he was assigned to put up.

chenle — member of the dream fraternity, business major, the lowkey fuckboy. doesn’t get around as much as the rest but also doesn’t do relationships either and he makes that very clear. no use of pet names, or flowers, or chocolates or anything romantic.

“actually, she was holding an art book. renjun, have you seen anyone today wearing a pink top with a white skirt, a pretty white bow on her pretty head?”

renjun — member of the dream fraternity, art major, the fuckboy by association. only got labeled a player due to his friends. doesn’t actually care too much for romantic relationships, but he will have one night stands here and there, he still has a working dick after all. #1 person to call out the boys if they over step a line but will also fight a girl for his friends.

“didn’t go to class today, too busy setting up,” he shrugs, “leave the poor girl alone jaemin, we don’t need a repeat of last time,” he adds sternly.

“hey!, that one was not my fault, that girl was crazy,” jaemin reasons out earning a snort from jisung.

“yeah, hyung, crazy because she told you she loved you and you said it back then proceeded to avoid her,” jisung — member of the dream fraternity. dance major, the fuckboy in the making. he was in a relationship, once. the girl cheated on him so now he’s decided that love’s not real and is taking fuckboy 101 classes from mark and haechan.

“who tells you they love you while your balls deep in!?,” jaemin practically shouts, “my dick was my brain, okay!, besides who even says i love you to a guy you’ve only been talking to for a week, not to mention we barely talked!,” jaemin quickly defends himself for the umpteenth time.

“yeah, yeah we’ve heard it all before and well…that’s what you get for being sooo sweet,” haechan points out, laughing at his friend.

“that’s why next time you don’t put so much effort in,” chenle adds, joining in on the laughter.

“yeah dude, or maybe next time just tell them you just want sex? it works for me all the time i never have anyone crazy coming in like that,” mark teases, the entire group laughing as they recall the situation.

“well damn! god forbid i actually throw in a little bit of romance before i fuck their brains out,” jaemin sighs.

he can’t help it, he was a romantic at heart.

“fuck your brain out you mean?,” jeno snorts, causing jaemin to chase him around the house, fist ready for a punch.

“be careful! if you break any of the decorations i am not helping!,” renjun yells after them, the rest of the group breaking out into a chaos of laughter.

𓏲𝄢

dear mr. cupid,

i accidentally ran into someone today…my books flew everywhere! i swear some even landed on his feet but he was so kind about it, picking it up for me and calling me beautiful and now i can’t stop thinking about his sweet smile. problem is i don’t even know his name, what should i do?

love,

angel

jaemin’s jaw drops, this has to be his mystery girl…right? how many people go bumping around others and dropping their books?

he found himself liking the fact that his identity was unknown. to you he was just the kind boy who helped you out and not one of the school’s residential fuckboy. he thinks this is somehow a work of fate and was sure he had to thank divine interventions for landing you straight into his lap.

clearing his throat, he starts with his advice, “interesting, what should you do, angel?,” he clicks his tongue, “i think you should go to the place you saw him at, maybe he’ll be there again? who knows, he could have felt the same thing…i guarantee you if he did, he’ll walk up to you and say hi…men are simple creatures, after all. if they like you they’ll do something if not, well, you deserve a better man, angel…”

angel — a pretty name for a pretty girl, jaemin thought.

“and of course to all you lovely ladies out there, advice of the day from your favorite cupid is: never accept anything less than the best…goodnight lovelies,” ending the session for the night.

“angel, angel, angel,” the name glides off his tongue. did he just use mr. cupid to get to you? of course he did, but you didn’t have to know that.

just like how he didn’t have to know that everything was falling into place, exactly the way you planned it.

like clockwork, you end up meeting him at the exact same place at the exact same time, your books safely secured in your bag — it was time to put things in motion.

jaemin spots you first, walking up to you this time, “hi angel,” you turn towards the sound of his voice, taking in his appearance, noticing the camera that hung around his neck.

“y-you listen to mr. cupid?,” you ask, playing dumb, of course he listens to mr. cupid. he is mr. cupid. you just didn’t expect him to bring the persona up at all.

“who doesn’t? it’s the number one radio show on campus,” he smirks, “and thank god i do or else i would’ve never known you were looking for me,” he shoots you a wink and it makes sense to you now how he’s never gotten caught. it’s because he doesn’t hide the fact that he “listens” to mr. cupid. he talks about mr. cupid like he was just a casual listener.

too bad for him, you saw him sneak out of the studio late that one evening, catching sight of the mr. cupid neon sign before the door shut.

you let out a playful laugh, “of course, i guess we have mr. cupid to thank…so what’s your name, handsome?,”

“you truly don’t know?,” it takes every ounce of you not to scoff.

“should i?,” you ask innocently, completely opposite from the rage you were feeling inside.

“of course not,” he shakes his head, “jaemin,” he introduces himself, hand reaching out for a handshake. you give him a soft smile before slipping your hand in his, “nice to meet you jaemin, i’m y/n.”

“not angel?”

“you didn’t think i’d actually tell mr. cupid my real name did you? it would be so embarrassing for me,” you explain and jaemin just shakes his head lovingly.

“do you want to get coffee?,” you ask, making jaemin’s smile grow wider.

𓏲𝄢

dear mr. cupid,

how do I get a fuckboy to fall in love with me?

love,

heart

“it doesn’t matter if he’s a fuckboy or not, to get anyone to fall in love with you, you have to dig deep, find out what they like and get to know them beyond surface level.” - mr. cupid.

the air in the coffee shop was buzzing with the faint hum of quiet conversations and light tunes playing from the cafe’s speakers. you sat across from him, sun rays from the window illuminating his sharp features. na jaemin, the playboy who had stolen hearts without a second thought, was now sitting before you, completely unaware of your secret identity.

“tell me about yourself,” you say as soon as the two of you got comfortable.

“well, i'm a photography major, part of the dream fraternity,” he gives the basic answer, not giving you anything else.

“girlfriend?,” you ask, eyebrows raising up as you took a sip of your drink.

“wouldn’t be sitting here with you if i had one, angel,” he responds smoothly, the use of the nickname he has insisted on continuing to call you rolls off his tongue, making you want to gag every time you hear it. perhaps you should have just given your real name.

instead you force yourself to blush, breaking eye contact like it was all too much, smiling down at your hands.

he finds it adorable of course. from his perspective, he had you right in the palm of his hands, all he had to do was catch you.

“you said you were a photography major…can i see your photos?,” you point to his camera, an innocent look displayed on your face, catching jaemin slightly off guard.

no girl has ever asked to see his work, always only curious about his reputation and seeing him as a challenge – maybe this was your ploy, pretending to care about him just so he would sleep with you.

he almost wants to tell you that you didn’t have to go through all that effort. just say the word and he’ll be in between your legs in a second but this is amusing and he’ll let it drag on for as long as you want.

“hmm, maybe later angel, how about you tell me about yourself first?,” his shit-eating grin appeared as fast as it disappeared and you knew that you wouldn’t be able to crack him so easily. you were prepared for that. in the three years you’ve heard about this boy, you have never heard of him being in love. you knew this would be hard. you had to break down your walls first if you ever wanted to see through his.

“okay, i'm an art major with a focus on painting, my favorite color is pink and i love iced americanos,” you point down to your matching drinks, letting out a soft giggle.

“hey, we’re pretty similar,” you hear the smile in his voice. of course, you calculatively said things you knew he also liked, things he’s mentioned in his show, you were an avid listener after all…before you knew it was him.

“what is it about painting that draws you in?,” he continues.

then it clicks for you — this was his own test wasn’t it?

he was using his own advice against you. he was digging deeper. his own personal trick to get you to fall for him. you give him exactly what he’s looking for.

“i guess i just love watching simple colors and lines all come together to create something beautiful…the way it can be interpreted in so many ways by different people, you know?,” you take a quick pause, making sure he was still listening to you. he nods encouraging you to go on, “the way it can carry emotions, i can look at it one day and feel happiness and then another day i could look at the same painting and feel sadness,” you continue, letting your heart talk for you. the passion you had for art clearly on display.

“tell me more, angel,” jaemin looks at you with a soft glow in his eyes like he's really taking in everything you’re saying and storing it somewhere safe. maybe it was because of how the sun rays hit his eyes? maybe it was genuine curiosity? or maybe he’s just mastered the act of pretending to care? you wouldn’t know. but you do know that it was easy to get lost in his gaze and it makes sense how he has succeeded in making everyone fall for him.

“hmm, i like how you can find a story within each painting if you look deep enough and i love the way that story changes depending on who’s looking,” you finish.

he smiles, a gentle smile — this one different from the grins that you were used to seeing and you knew you hit the spot.

“you know something, y/n? i think you and i are a lot alike,” he starts, “except for me, my photos are my painting,” he reveals a little but not too much, hushed voice, leaning towards you as it it was a secret. maybe it was? maybe it was something he’s never shared to anyone but you? again, you wouldn’t know.

you watch him reach for the camera sitting quietly on his side of the table, and before you could process what was happening the shutter of the flash has blinded you.

“w-why did you take a picture of me?,” you asked in quiet shock.

“i like this story, i think i want to keep it forever,” he casually admits, making your heart skip a beat. he was good and you realize now how tough this could be as you sat there thinking, was it this easy to fall for someone’s words before?

“what do you say angel, you want to go to a party with me tomorrow night?," and just like that, the grin was back on his face, snapping you out of your trance.

the NCTU valentines party – you’ve always heard about it being one of the best parties on campus, whether you’re single and ready to mingle or taken and want to party with your significant other, everyone goes to have a great time: sex, free alcohol, drugs and good music. how could anyone pass it up?

“i would love to,” you reply sweetly.

you needed to get into his room.

after all, you had no physical proof that he was mr. cupid.

𓏲𝄢

“i need to borrow a dress,” you rummage through your best friend’s wardrobe, looking for something pretty and pink.

“for what?,” giselle’s attention snaps toward you, her curiosity at its peak. she doesn’t even remember the last time you wore a dress.

“umm for a party,” you mumble, “excuse me?,” she walks over to you, not entirely sure if she heard correctly, “did you say party? you’re going to a party?!” she practically shouts, excitement bubbling through her.

“calm down, it’s not that big of a deal,” you sigh, still looking through her closet.

“uhm, yes it is! i’ve been trying to get you to a party since freshman year and you always turn me down,” she pouts, “in your own words, ‘parties are sooo lame, i have much better things to do,’” she playfully mocks, earning an eye roll from you.

“i don't sound like that,” you snarked, eyes narrowing at her.

“yes…you do,” she says, pushing you out of her closet and pulling out a pretty pink dress you’ve never seen before, exactly in your size. it was the perfect dress for the perfect girl you were currently playing.

giselle hands it to you with a smile on her face, “here, i bought it for you just in case this day ever happened,” making you chuckle, “i can’t believe you, thank you,” taking the dress out of her hands.

“whose party are you going to anyway?,” she asks.

“uhmm,” you take a second to think about whether or not you should lie but giselle knows you more than anyone else, she’ll see right through your words, so you decide to come clean, “theNCTUvalentinesparty,” you mumble and giselle’s jaw drops in shock, “the wildest party of the year for a party virgin…are you sure about that?,” she asks, voice laced with concern.

“don’t worry, i’m not gonna drink or anything,” you shrug and you see the way her mind works, piecing it all together.

“who are you going with?,” she inquired, afraid that she already knew the answer to the question.

“doesn’t matter,” you gulped, looking everywhere but your best friend.

“oh my god!,” she gasped, “don’t tell me you’re going with na jaemin?!”

“ok, i won't tell you i'm going with na jaemin,” you joked, trying to keep the energy light but you see the way her smile has disappeared into a thin line, eyebrows slightly furrowing.

“y/n-, i told you…you don’t have to do anything,” she breathes out, almost angry.

“giselle, you lost your virginity to him! and then he pretends you don’t exist?!,” you point out, reminding her of his faulty actions and how much he deserves what’s coming to him.

“so what!?, i probably would have lost my virginity to another jerk if not him, at least he gave me a good time,” you actually can’t believe she’s defending him right now, a frustrated expression appearing on your face.

“are you kidding me?! you cried over him for a week!,” you cursed, remembering the time you had to pick up the mess jaemin made.

“yes because i lost my virginity to a fuckboy!…not because that fuckboy was him, it could've been any one of them and i still would have cried,” she explains, “...but i'm over it!, i’ve been over it!,” she yells, arms flinging around, “besides virginity is a social construct anyways i feel much better without that word hanging over my head and since he’s slept with me i’ve had soooo many guys in my dms—,” she reasons out, rambling, almost losing focus until she caught herself.

“—so please y/n,” she snaps her attention back to you, holding your hands “—don’t waste your time on na jaemin and just…enjoy a good fucking party,” she practically begged.

“no,” you reply sternly, letting go of her hands “he needs to know how it feels like to get his heart broken. if not for you then i'm doing this for all the other girls who have cried over him,”

giselle sighs, your stubbornness was always a problem and she knew well enough that once you’ve set your mind on something, nothing can change it, “whatever y/n, don’t come crying to me when this blows up in your face, he isn’t as dumb as you think,” she walks out, leaving you to wallow in your thoughts alone.

𓏲𝄢

dear mr. cupid,

i’m going to my first party ever! how can i make sure i catch the attention of the person i like?

love,

heart

“be safe. don’t let anyone take advantage of you. and for the person you like? confidence is key. wear your head high, flash on your beautiful smile and always be one step ahead.” - mr. cupid.

loud music, red solo cups, couples sticking their tongue down each other's throat, a guy wearing a diaper holding a toy bow and arrow drunk in the front lawn and it’s only 9pm.

this is the infamous valentines day party?

you wanted nothing more than to turn around and go back to the safety of your dorm room, hide under the blankets and binge watch cheesy rom-com movies until the sun comes up.

before you can psych yourself out, an unknown voice makes its way to your ears, “you must be, angel?,” the figure walks up to you, a smirk etched onto his face.

“and you are?,” you ask, already feeling a bit uncomfortable.

“haechan,” he introduces, hand going up for a handshake. he waits for yours but you never give it, only glancing at his hand with a slight look of disgust. quickly retracting it, the boy runs a hand through his long dark hair, laughing it off.

“he was right,” he comments, looking you up and down, “sorry?,” this is by far the most confusing conversation you’ve ever had. you’ve decided you hated parties.

“...long hair, soft skin, pretty smile and dressed in the cutest outfit, you are exactly his type,” he mumbles, sipping from his cup and taking a step towards you.

ahhh so he’s talked about you.

haechan’s figure towers over you and you’re now very aware that he’s an intoxicated man and you’re in nothing but a tight pink dress who forgot to bring some sort of self defense weapon. you hold onto your purse a little tighter, ready to swing if it comes down to it.

“back off, haechan,” jaemin’s deep voice echoes from behind you. his familiar presence brings you a sense of comfort. you’d take him over this random guy in front of you any day. though you’re not entirely sure it’s better.

“just introducing myself,” haechan smirks, raising his hands in mock surrender as the taller boy steps up beside you, “see you later, angel,” haechan bids his goodbye, walking back into the loud frat house.

“sorry about that, he gets a little too confident when he’s drunk but he’s never physically hurt anyone…just a whole lot of talk really,” jaemin snaps your attention back to him.

“physically?,” you question, head tilted.

“well, i can’t say the same for emotionally, he’s a heartbreaker you know?,” jaemin chuckles, taking a step closer to you.

“and you’re not?,” you look at him quizzically, smirk on your lips, challenging him.

“you look really beautiful, angel,” he ignores your question, choosing to lean in and compliment you instead, playful smile on his lips, “stick close to me tonight okay, you don’t want another heartbreaker getting near you,” he whispers, sending goosebumps throughout your skin.

jaemin watches you intently, “now, c’mon…let’s go inside,” he leads the way to the entrance with you following right behind him, head held high.

if you thought the outside was bad, the inside of the house was a whole different nightmare. the music booming filling up every corner of your mind, sweaty bodies bumping and grinding against each other, more lip locking, not entirely sure who’s paired up with who, everyone just kissing everyone, one side of the room chanting “shot, shot, shot,” the other side carrying someone on the keg stand. the air was thick with the stench of alcohol and a mix of different flavors of vape smoke, hitting you all at once. you were definitely out of your element, panic settling in the pit of your stomach.

jaemin quickly senses your discomfort, your feet frozen to the ground, wincing as you look around the room, taking it all in. he walks towards you, gently lacing his fingers around yours, “just stay close to me, okay, y/n?,” gone was the smirk that you swore was glued on to his face, eyes full of concern. you nod, tightening your grip around his hand before he led you deeper into the room and into the kitchen where there were less people.

“ahh, there they are, took you guys long enough, i thought you may have just led her right to your bedroo-oW,” haechan fumbles over after the guy next to him punched him in the stomach, “what the fuck, mark?,” he groans in pain, mark ignoring him.

“please ignore hyuck, he’s had too much to drink…i’m mark,” mark smiles at you, he seems normal enough. this time you accept the handshake, “im y/n,” you reply, shooting him a quick smile, “i thought his name was haechan?,” your eyes darted between the three boys, pointing at haechan who was still soothing his pained stomach.

“haechan when he’s flirting, donghyuck to his friends,” mark says, clearing it up for you.

“you don’t have to tell her that, we’re not friends,” the boy chimes in and you agree, “he’s right,” making him perk up, “on a second thought, maybe we can be friends,” he says cheerfully, “sorry about my behavior, y/n,” he drunkenly apologizes, pout on his lips and you’re confused at the sudden change in his behavior.

“praise him once and he’ll do anything for you,” jaemin explains, chuckling at his friend’s antics and handing you a cup, “drink?,” he asks.

you eye the red cup suspiciously, “it’s just coke and henny,” jaemin says, taking a sip out of the cup to let you know that it’s safe to drink. you appreciate the action, “thanks,” you say, taking the cup from his hold and taking a sip. the taste was absolutely repugnant and you try your best to not let it show on your face.

“oooh that’s basically a kiss,” renjun from your art class walks in, teasing, and your eyes almost bulge out of their sockets. there’s no way he’s here right now? renjun was so polite and proper, what the hell was he doing here?

you realized now that you actually had no idea what happens in your university. too absorbed in your own bubble to know who’s friends with who, “ooooh jaemin and angel sitting on a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g,” haechan sings making the boy’s chuckle as you tried to hide your face behind the red solo cup.

jaemin shoots you a smile before getting dragged away by mark to the other side of the room, creating more mixed drinks for the party, leaving you with haechan and your fellow art classmate.

“hey, i’m renjun,” he walks up to you casually earning a slight nod from you, “you must be angel?,” he questions and all you do is nod, downing your drink, trying to ignore the burning in your throat, “okayy?,” he eyes you suspiciously and you’re afraid your cover has been blown until haechan grabs his hand, “don’t stare at my friend, it makes her uncomfortable,” he steps in and suddenly you’ve decided that haechan is your favorite.

“let’s go look for jisung, i still gotta teach him how to do that tongue thing,” haechan says, grabbing renjun and mark out of the room. you don’t even want to know what tongue thing they’re talking about, just grateful for the fact that renjun was finally gone.

“woahh, slow down angel,” jaemin makes his way back to you, taking the cup out of your hands, “what?,” you didn’t even realize you were still drinking it, too caught up in trying to not get caught.

“you finished it,” he says, almost proud, chuckling at your actions.

“oh…,” you sigh, looking at the empty cup. well, that’s not good. you’re not exactly a pro when it comes to alcohol and you can feel it catching up to you now, the heat in your face growing as a carefree laugh slipped from your lips, “i guess i did.”

jaemin finds you absolutely adorable, “let’s go dance, angel,” grabbing both of your hands and dragging you out of the kitchen, into the crowded living room, a strong hold around your waist, making sure you don’t trip amongst the crowd of people.

the music sounds so much better with the alcohol in your system. for a moment you let yourself enjoy it as you swayed to the beat, singing at the top of your lungs, jaemin right behind you, hands on your waist as your bodies were pushed closer and closer until there was no longer any space in between you.

maybe you understand parties now? you have never felt more free than you did now, all the worries and anxiety that came from school completely leaving your body. the only thing on your mind is the alcohol and jaemin’s warm hands electrifying your waist.

he turns you around in his embrace, coming face to face with his huge smile, “are you having fun!?,” he yells over the loud music.

the red heart shaped lights flashes around the room, illuminating his features, making him glow.

mr. cupid’s words ringing in your ear — be confident.

and so with the help of liquid courage, you wrap your hand around his neck, the smile on your lips never leaving as you made the first move, pulling him towards you, and catching him by surprise, “yes,” you whisper against his lips before finally connecting like they were magnets.

his lips were so soft against yours, jaemin quick to lead like this was a rehearsal he’s rehearsed a million times.

if you were to ask him, he knew you wouldn’t last long — this whole act of pretending to care about his photography. he’ll give you credit for being clever, for letting the romantic in him live for a couple of hours but at the end of night he is who he is. you want one thing from him and he wants one thing from you. he knows how this goes.

his hold on your waist tightened pulling you even closer, the growing bulge in his jeans felt hot against your thigh. one of his hands made its way to your cheeks, thumb softly grazing your cheekbone as he deepened the kiss, tongue swiping at your bottom lip for entrance. the taste of alcohol and spearmint lingers as your tongue meets – he was a good fucking kisser and so dangerously intoxicating. he lightly bites your bottom lip, slowly pulling away and making his way down your neck.

“what do you say, we take this up to my room, angel?,” he whispers, sucking the sensitive spot right below your ear, earning a light moan from you. the mention of his room reminds you of why you were here in the first place. that’s the location you needed to get to. you nod, giving him the go signal, the smirk back on his face as he led you up the stairs. you hear the hollers of the people around you. to them, you were going to be another name under his belt and you’ve never felt more sick to your stomach than now. to think, for a brief moment, you were actually having fun with him.

as soon as you entered the quiet of his room, the only sound that filled the air was the faint hum of music drifting from downstairs, helping you think a lot more clearer. jaemin’s lips were littering kisses down your neck, body trapped between his large figure and his bedroom door. this was enough.

“jaemin-,” you sigh, “yes, angel?,” he murmurs against your skin. you lightly push him away, “i-i don’t want to do this,” you mutter out, looking down at the floor, making sure you look embarrassed from your actions.

jaemin immediately stops, taking a step back and giving you space, “that’s okay, we don’t have to do anything,” you look up at him, expecting to see an annoyed expression at you wasting his time but all that greets you is a quiet shock on his face, a momentary confusion before his eyes turned upwards, kind and gentle. the same genuine smile you briefly saw at the cafe making an appearance and it surprises you.

“sorry,” you whispered softly.

“no need for apologies, y/n, you didn’t do anything wrong,” he says gently, grabbing your hand and leading you to sit on his bed. you take note of the way he calls you by your actual name when it matters.

“uhm can i get you anything?,” he asks you sweetly, a little awkward.

this entire situation has got you wondering if he was more like his fake persona in real life…but you can’t be blinded by his sweet actions. this is his tactic.

ladies and gentlemen — the sweet fuckboy.

“could you get me a glass of water?,” you ask and he quickly complied “of course, i’ll be right back, make yourself comfortable,” he smiles at you, still that same genuine smile and you almost believe it.

the sound of the door shutting has you on your feet in no time, ignoring the dizziness and blurred vision that came with the alcohol.

you quickly look around his room for any signs of mr. cupid, taking note of his bare walls — absolutely nothing that leads to him being the anonymous radio host.

making your way over to his dresser, you rummage through his drawers, shutting the first drawer as soon as you opened it, the space filled with packets and boxes of condoms and a bottle of lube. the next drawer you opened, to your luck, was his underwear drawer, you shut that one tight as well. you quickly look through each one, not finding a single thing, eyes quickly scanning the room, heart beating quicker as you feel yourself running out of time and then you see it…a box hidden at the bottom of his desk tucked all the way in the back…jackpot.

you open the box to pictures of him at the studio, the mr. cupid neon sign logo right behind him as he sits prettily behind the microphone. you find yourself laughing like a maniac, here it is! proof!

you can finally take him down.

quickly taking one of the pictures, you neatly tuck it in your purse before placing the box back where it belonged, running back to his bed to compose yourself, feeling like you just ran a half marathon.

𓏲𝄢

“that was quick,” jeno snickers as jaemin enters the kitchen, grabbing you a cold glass of water.

jaemin shakes his head at his friend’s comment, “we didn’t do anything, she actually told me to stop,” he explains leaving both of them dumbfounded.

“really?,” chenle inquired, a puzzled look on all of their faces.

“really,” jaemin confirmed, “i told you, she might be different,” he smiled a lovesick smile and they knew their friend was in trouble – he was letting his hopeless romantic side win once again.

“you’ve only known her two days, jaemin,” jeno reminds him, “how can you be so sure?,” he challenged.

“well, if she was like the rest, i would be inside her right now,” jaemin points out, earning a playful punch from the two boys.

jaemin was used to girls wanting him for one thing and one thing only – bragging rights.

it’s not a secret that he was known for only sleeping with the hottest, prettiest girls on campus. in turn, he has been a personal target for them, feeling justified and confident when jaemin gives them the time of the day and well, how could he pass up the offer?

they used him for reputation and he wasn’t a saint. he used them for easy sex. everyone wins. after a while he stopped trying to remember their names but the hopeless romantic in him lives on through his persona. he tries his best to add in a bit of romance but no girl could even fathom the idea of one of the fuck boys falling in love. no girl could even trust him to do so. only one girl told him she loved him but how could she? when all she knew about him was that he was incredibly good in bed.

so this, right now, the rejection he just received from you – it feels sweet on his tongue.

jaemin notices your disheveled appearance as he walks back in his room. you’re still sitting where he left you, sweat trickling down your forehead. he glances around his room, concern creeping into his voice, “you okay?”

were you okay? hell yeah, you felt fucking great you could hardly control the giddiness seeping out of you.

“i-uhm, don’t think the alcohol is settling in my stomach properly,” you lie. well, it was a half truth. the alcohol coursing through your system doesn't feel as great anymore and now that the adrenaline has worn off, an overwhelming wave of nausea hits, leaving you feeling sick to your stomach.

“c’mon, drink this,” he makes his way over to you. the cool water is refreshing, but it does little to ease the churning in your stomach.

jaemin grabs something on his desk before making his way behind you, gently brushing your hair out of your face, carefully tying it up into a ponytail. he was surprisingly really good at it and you can’t help but wonder how much practice he’s had.

he kneels before you, gentle eyes matching his kind smile, “not much of a party goer are you?,” earning a soft nod from you, “it’s my first party” you confess, earning a shocked expression from him, “i shouldn’t have given you that cup,” he sighs, grabbing one of his jackets and softly placing it around your shoulders.

“let’s get you home, angel,” he says sweetly, placing a soft kiss on your forehead before helping you up and leading you out of the fraternity.

𓏲𝄢

“you really don’t have to walk me all the way to my dorm,” you say again for the third time.

“i told you y/n, i’m not letting you walk home alone, you’re drunk—”

“i'm pretty sober now! i really am okay!,”

“—and it’s late, i don’t feel good about leaving any woman out here at this hour,” he insists, tightening the hold he had on your hand. with his caring nature, he reminds you more and more of mr. cupid.

it’s confusing. or maybe it was still the alcohol?

“well, here we are,” you point to the building of your dorm room, “thank you for walking me home, i'm sorry i crashed your party so early,” you apologize, taking note of the time, it was almost midnight.

“there will always be another party,” he shrugs, not at all caring about missing out on the fun, “thank you for showing up by the way, for letting me walk you home and–,” his hands finding that same spot around your waist, “happy valentine’s day, y/n,” eyes gazing into yours, voice barely a whisper, “can i kiss you goodnight, angel?”

instead of the usual teasing tone that accompanied the nickname, this time it was soft, calm, almost hypnotic.

he was so close, invading all your senses, and you couldn’t help but close your eyes, fingers clenching his shirt as you waited, heart racing…you’re definitely blaming this on the alcohol.

jaemin takes this sign as a yes and soon enough his lips were on yours in a slow, intimate kiss — different from the rush kisses you’ve shared earlier that night.

before it could get deeper, jaemin pulls away, leaving a soft kiss on your forehead, eyes fluttering open, “goodnight y/n,” he says, soft smile on his lips and your breath catches in your throat, unable to speak, “g-goodnight, jaemin,” you whisper.

he finally lets you go, but doesn’t leave until he’s sure you’re safely inside.

his lips still seem to linger on yours as you stood there, body pressed against the door, replaying everything that just happened.

𓏲𝄢

“STOP!-,” you point at the mirror, “what are you doing!…stop it now!,” you tell your reflection, who was looking back at you with a giddy smile.

“you’re still thinking about the kiss, i know you are!,” you talk to yourself and you swear maybe you’ve finally lost it.

“you can’t do this! this is part of his game plan and you have your own!,” you continue, arms flinging around like a crazy person.

“stick to the plan!,” you huff out, grabbing your laptop and shooting an email to mr. cupid.

dear mr. cupid,

i found that sweet guy i told you about. we spent valentine’s day together and i know this is cheesy but there were butterflies and all. i wanted to thank you for the helpful advice. please don’t read this out loud because i know he listens to this show and this is a bit embarrassing to say.

love,

angel

the next morning was a saturday and lucky for you, you had no saturday classes which meant you could go run to the safety of the art studio and paint to your heart’s content.

a way to debrief and just be yourself, shut your mind out from the rest of the world, even if it is just for a couple of hours. ditching the cute pink outfits, you settled for your go to paint splattered oversized t-shirts, matching your oversized sweatpants, hair in a messy bun, ready for the day.

as soon as you stepped outside, the sunlight blinding your eyes, a familiar voice hit you, halting you in your tracks, “good morning, angel!,” na jaemin stood before you, radiant as ever, eyes sparkling, smile beaming.

oh…why the hell did you bring him here last night?

now he knew exactly where you lived. now he knew exactly what you looked like. the real you, anyways. the alcohol truly was a horrible idea because him showing up here unannounced was something you didn’t plan for.

“what are you doing here?,” you say, almost harshly.

“i thought you would be hungover, so i brought you tea,” he says, walking over to you, finally taking note of the cup in his hand, “i promise you this is the only remedy you need to get rid of any headaches, proven and tested,” he smiles proudly.

you wait for him to say something about your appearance – a snide remark, a look of disgust, anything that shows his feeling of indifference but all you were met with were his eyes that for some stupid reason, can’t stop shining as he looks at you.

“thanks,” you say, grabbing the cup, “i’m busy right now though, so i’ll just take this and be on my way,” you finally shoot him a quick smile before turning around and briskly walking away.

“hold on, angel!,” jaemin yells out, quickly jogging up to you, making you curse under your breath. there’s no way you’re going to the art studio now.

“jaemin, i would really like to just have a me day,” you force out a smile before he could say anything else.

“of course,” he nods, completely understanding, “i-just, i-,” for the first time since you’ve met him, his confidence falters a bit, words getting lost in stutters.

“-is everything okay?,” worry laced in your voice. you can’t help it. this was abnormal behavior coming from him and you had a tendency to care too much.

he gives you a shy smile, “everything’s okay and i promise to leave you alone, i just need to ask for your help,” he finally says, you look at him quizzically, urging him to explain, “i have a project due at the end of the month, the theme is ‘recreating romantic cliche scenes,’ it’s exactly how it sounds…i was hoping you could be my partner,” he finishes, expectantly waiting for your answer.

“why me?,”

“there’s no one else i want to do this with but you, y/n,” he quietly confesses, cheeks turning pink, slightly embarrassed – different from he's usual flirting.

truth is, jaemin saw your confession in mr. cupid’s mailbox this morning. it was his final confirmation. you truly were different from the rest and he can’t help but feel those butterflies you were talking about.

you ignore the way your heart skipped a beat. it would be weird to say no, besides you have yet to accomplish step 2 - make him fall in love with you. so you answer with one word that captures jaemins attention, a smile of gratitude on his lips, “ok.”

as promised, jaemin left you alone for the rest of the day after asking for your phone number and an agreement to meet on monday which is when you would start. you agreed on one scene per day, a total of three scenes for his project.

you can’t expose him just yet and this project is the perfect way to stop finding excuses to meet up with him. it’s easier this way. the more time you spend with him, the more you can play the perfect girl.

the faster you can get na jaemin to fall in love with you.

𓏲𝄢

jaemin: hi angel, i'll meet you tomorrow at 7pm at the cafe at 127th street, wear something cute

the text message pops up on your phone on sunday night. you ignore the slight tingle in your stomach seeing his name on your phone.

the cafe at 127th street was a vintage coffee/bar, popular for its retro style and smoothies. you already know the kind of cliche scene he has prepared – sharing a smoothie.

y/n: can’t wait! see you there, jaemin <3

dear mr. cupid,

how can i tell if the guy i like, likes me back?

love,

heart

“if a guy likes you…you’ll know it, not a single doubt will cross your mind. you’ll see it through his actions, hear it in his words. he’ll share with you things he’s never shared with anyone else,” - mr. cupid.

the sound of 80’s love songs hit your ears as you entered the cafe. seeing as it’s a monday night, the space wasn’t filled and as loud as it usually is on weekends – most of it being taken up by retired senior citizens coming for a good time, away from the crowd of college students this place usually brought.

jaemin waves at you from the red booths, his angelic smile on his lips, the one you’ve grown accustomed to seeing. the smile that annoys you because of the feelings that were starting to appear every time you saw it.

you notice the camera has been set up to face the booth you will be sitting on, proper lighting placed around it to really illuminate the space, “hey, quick question,” you ask, greeting him. he gives you a quick side hug, before letting you ask your question, “since this is for your photography class, shouldn’t you be behind the camera?,” you wonder.

“well, photography is also all about the proper lighting and the editing which is the main focus for this project,” he answers your questions while clicking buttons on his fancy camera, eyes focused on the task at hand, “—and besides, if i have to take pictures of you acting these scenes out with someone else, i might crash out,” he winks at your direction, earning a playful eye roll from you.

“okay so what am i supposed to do,” you await his instructions, standing awkwardly.

“just wait a while, i’m still waiting on that chocolate smoothie,”

“ahhh so we are doing the ‘sharing a smoothie’ scene?,” you ask, eyes full of curiosity. he sends you a smile of confirmation, finishing his set up as you continue to watch him work. his eyes flickering around his camera, making sure everything is perfect. in a quick second, the flash of the camera blinds you.

“sorry angel, practice shot,” he smiles apologetically as you got up to see the photo he took. he moves to the side a bit, giving you room to see behind the lens. “oh my god, i look ridiculous,” you giggle at the expression you were making, a light shock on your face as you were staring not right at the camera but the figure behind it, “you look beautiful…as always,” jaemin whispers by your ear, a small smile starting to form on your face as you take note of all the colors and shadows the camera has picked up, “it looks really pretty,” you comment and jaemin observes the way you're taking every detail in.

you turn your face towards him, finally realizing how close he was to you. so close to the point you could remember the lingering feeling of his lips on yours. you could feel yourself leaning in when the waiter’s voice snaps you back to reality, the chocolate smoothie being served.

jaemin instructs you on what to do. sitting right across from him, the chocolate milkshake placed right in the middle of the table in between you, one straw for him, one straw for you.

“ready, angel?,” he asks you from across the booth, starting his countdown “…3, 2, 1…” as soon as he reached 1, you both leaned in, taking a sip out of your separate straws, eyes locked together, FLASH, you held your breath, making sure not to move, only focused on the warm brown eyes that seemed to look right into you.

after making sure the camera captured the moment perfectly, you finally break away, giggles erupting from both of you as you reach over to wipe the whipped cream that painted the corner of his lips, before getting up to check the picture.

“looks good to me,” you say, opposite to jaemin sighing next to you, “there’s a glare on the corner,” he comments, his attention to detail spot on as you looked a little closer and noticed exactly what he was referring to.

“let’s take it again,” he instructs, ordering another chocolate milkshake.

“jaemin, can’t we just drink from the same one?,”

“no, the whipped cream is already a mess,” he pouts and you respect it.

as an artist yourself, his attention to detail was admirable and you find yourself liking this serious side of him. how much time and effort he puts into it — completely opposite from the way he treated his relationships. this was a side of him you’ve never heard of, a side of him that you wished to know.

the waiter comes back again, serving a new set of chocolate milkshake, snapping you out of your thoughts as you make your way back into the booth, ready to pose for the camera.

this time the picture turned out perfectly. you can tell by the way jaemin's eyes lit up like a child on christmas day, the way his smile grew on his face before turning to you and nodding his head in approval.

you find yourself getting lost in him. he was so beautiful like this — indulged in his work, an innocent glow radiating off of him, “come, take a look,” he invites.

immediately, you could see the difference. you’re not sure what he did, which buttons he pressed to make this picture turn out like this but it looked straight out of a movie scene and he hasn’t even edited it.

the two of you spent the rest of the night finishing the two chocolate milkshakes, listening to whatever song people chose to play on the coin jukebox. at one point, jaemin even got you dancing with him, joining the crowd of elderly’s on the dance floor. he shows off his silly dance moves, like he was one of the grandpa’s in the cafe.

“you’ve got a charming young man, my husband was exactly like that when we first met,” a lady whispered in your ear, a blush appearing on your cheeks at her comment.

“he’s not really my man,” you confess to her, smiling sheepishly.

“oh but he will be sweetheart, no one will act that foolish if they weren’t interested,” she points out, directing your attention back to jaemin, who was already looking right at you before joining the grandpa’s dance battle, making sure you were watching every move he made — making you laugh like you’ve never laughed before.

the night ended with him walking you to your dorms, a soft kiss placed on your lips before the two of you bid your goodnights. you swore your cheeks hurt from smiling too much.

and what’s worse? you couldn’t blame this on the alcohol. you walked up to your room with a heavy heart. the weight on your shoulders getting heavier as you remembered this was all part of the plan and there was no way you were going to lose to his charms.

𓏲𝄢

dear mr. cupid,

i like his serious side. i hope he’s serious with me too.

love,

angel

the next day, jaemin tells you to meet them at their frat house for the next scene. you hoped to god, renjun wasn’t there. you’re not entirely sure how you were going to hide from him this time around. but just to make sure he doesn’t recognize you, you amp up the makeup a tiny bit more, completely opposite from the minimal to none makeup you usually go for during classes.

you rang the doorbell once before coming face to face with none other than renjun himself – of fucking course, just your luck.

“hey, it’s you,” he greets you and suddenly you’re frozen in place, does he know?

“you’re not much of a talker are you?,” he asks, eyeing you up and down, “uhmm-,” you try to find your words but not a single sentence escapes your lips, your heart beating rapidly in your chest.

renjun sighs, definitely weirded out, “he’s upstairs,” he says before stepping aside and letting you in, it takes you a second or two to find your steps, walking into the house. it was much bigger now that no one was around and surprisingly, it was clean, like it wasn’t filled with boys 24/7.

“-it’s so clean,” you weren’t aware you said it out loud until renjun’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts.

“ahhh and she does talk,” renjun grins,” jaemin’s a clean freak so we have to keep this space clean or he starts nagging,” he explains and you nod in response. that was definitely a fun fact.

“anyways, just go up the stairs, i think you already know where his room is,” he smirks, before walking away and leaving you to it.

as soon as he was gone, you felt like you could finally breathe. he didn’t know it’s you. shaking your worries away, you make your way up the stairs, knocking against the door you remembered.

“come in,” you hear jaemin’s voice from the other side before turning the knob and entering his room. it looked exactly like the night of the party.

he immediately lights up as soon as you enter, attention focused on you, as he greeted you with a kiss. it was starting to get ridiculous how much your heart skips a beat every time his lips touched yours.

you weren’t really expecting to be kissing him this much to begin with but that doesn’t stop you from kissing back, your lipstick staining his lips, “sorry,” you giggled as you gently wiped it off of him.

“that’s okay, pink is my color anyways,” he says before stealing another quick peck. at this rate, you’re not entirely sure who was making who fall in love anymore.

“okayyy,” you push him back playfully, chuckling, “what scene are we doing today?,” making jaemin wiggle his eyebrows as he made his way to his closet, pulling out a vintage boombox.

“where the hell did you get that?,” you ask, inspecting the old device.

“i have my ways,” he winks, “so…you ready to win me back?,” he smirks and your jaw drops, “i have to be the one holding it?,” you ask, flabbergasted. boomboxes aren’t exactly the lightest objects in the world and you barely had any arm strength. for god’s sake you were a painter, your hands were as gentle as a feather.

“you’re my muse angel, you gotta be in the picture,” he flashes you an apologetic smile in a way that he wasn’t really sorry, instead finding that pout on your lips amusing.

so now you’re here standing a little outside the porch of his steps, boombox over your head, as jaemin angles the camera from the balcony, capturing you perfectly…well, not quite, “wait, the sun is in your eyes!, move to the left a little bit!,” he shouts from the second floor, as you quickly follow his instructions, “is this good?!,” you yell back, earning a nod of approval from the boy.

he takes another snap and another and another – this time around, you curse his attention to detail, your arms starting to burn, back starting to ache, legs getting tired from standing for so long with the heavy boombox over your head, “jaemin, are we almost done!,” you yell out, annoyance seeping through you.

“just one more shot angel, i promise!,” he shouts back. and so you do one more shot for him, posing in the way he wanted and just like he promised, it was finally over.

jaemin hurries down the steps of the fraternity house as you head back inside, “sorry, that took longer than i expected,” he says, gently taking the boombox from your hold, swapping it instead with a cool glass of water he had readily prepared for you.

taking a napkin, he carefully dabs away the sweat that has formed around your temples, “it’s okay, did the pictures turn out okay?,” you ask, offering him a warm smile.

“come see for yourself,” his hand envelops yours, tugging you up the stairs and onto the balcony where he had been standing. and just like the diner photo, this one also looked exactly out of a rom-com movie.

“wow, guess it only takes an amazing photographer for me to look like a lead in a movie,” you compliment and jaemin can’t help but grin from ear to ear, your praise going straight to his heart.

“well, a photographer also needs a beautiful muse, so thank you,” he smiles warmly, “and since you went through all that trouble for me, i want to show you something,” he says shyly before taking your hand in his once again and leading you back to his bedroom.

you make yourself comfortable, sitting on his computer chair as he rummages through his shelves, looking for something. after a minute or two, he takes out a large book and slowly, hesitantly, makes his way over to you, carefully landing the book on your lap.

“what’s this?,” you ask, curiously inspecting the outside of the book.

“that day in the cafe, you asked to see my photos,” you realize now that what you were holding was a photo album.

“i’ve never really shown them to anyone before so please be kind to me,” he says, rambling nervously, “of course constructive criticism is always welcome and you don’t have to like it,” he chuckles softly, trying to play it cool, hoping you won’t notice how loudly his heart was pounding in his chest.

“jaemin, you don’t have to show me this,” you say, your breath catching in your throat, heart aching.

for the first time since all of this began, you realize that jaemin is being entirely sincere with you. and here you are, sitting on his bed, taking up space, with a knife hidden behind your back.

“y/n, i want to show you,” he admits, “you’ve been entirely honest with me and i’m ready to do the same,” he says, nudging the album in your hand, wanting you to finally open it.

if only he knew.

you couldn’t take looking into his warm brown eyes any longer, focusing instead on the photo album.

finally turning a page. the first picture that greets you is of a woman that resembles the man in front of you, a shining smile on her face as she sat on a picnic blanket, the green scenery behind her making it look like she was straight out of a fairytale.

“that’s my mom, most important person in my life, she loves going on picnics,” he quietly comments, snapping your attention back to him, you give him a smile, “she’s beautiful jaemin, you captured her perfectly,” your voice faltering, before turning to the next page.

you recognize the next picture was of the boy you met during the party - mark, his name was. holding a guitar, and just like his mother in the previous page, he had a happy smile on his face, clutter of music sheets surrounding him.

the next couple of pages were all the boys you recognize from his fraternity, each one sporting a look of contentment in a place where they seemed to belong.

jaemin watches you flip from page to page, taking in the way your eyes would widen, the small smile that would appear in your lips as you looked over every photograph. his heart pounding in his chest. he wanted to impress you.

you turn and turn, getting to the photos where he was in, with his family and his friends. the sweet smile that he would share with you all marked in these pages. you realized those were your favorite. you wanted to paint it. wanted to capture every detail and keep it to yourself.

then, at the very last page was the picture of you – sitting in the cafe, on that very first date the two of you had.

you felt like you lost the ability to speak, just staring at the photo, guilt creeping in your heart. you didn’t deserve a place in these pages yet here you were… and he has managed to make you look as beautiful as the rest, like you were a part of everything good and true in his life.

“why am i on here?,” you shakily whisper, trying to push back the lump forming in your throat.

“these are all stories i want to keep forever,” jaemin softly whispers, “and i told you y/n, i like this story,” you turn to look at him, reading him. looking into his eyes, you see nothing but honesty.

the boy in front of you has finally let his walls down but you don’t feel an ounce of accomplishment. none of the feelings of gratification that you were supposed to be feeling came. the thoughts of revenge so far back in your mind.

instead you sat there, the butterflies in your stomach coming to life as you inched closer, closing the space in between you and capturing his lips in yours. jaemin quickly responds, kissing you back just as sweetly. the gravity of the moment hanging in the air.

“i'm guessing you like it?,” he asks.

"i love it," you confess, just before he pulls you in for another kiss, feeling his smile against your lips.

𓏲𝄢

jaemin walks back into the fraternity just right after dropping you off. head all up in the clouds, a love arrow happily pierced right into his heart as he hums a tune. he’s loving the constant goodnight kisses, loving the thought of being able to kiss you forever.

“jaemin–,” a voice strictly calls out to him, bringing him back to reality.

“yes, my lovely friend, renjun,” he sighs happily, sitting across from him on the living room couch.

“how long have you known, angel?,” renjun inquired.

“a week now, why?,” jaemin asks, nonchalantly. if he was here to tell him that he was being a hopeless romantic again then he doesn’t really want to hear it. this time he knows it’s different.

if the butterflies in his stomach weren't proof enough, the messages you leave for mr. cupid sure was.

“there’s something off about her,” renjun comments, making jaemin roll his eyes, “oh c’mon, you say this about every girl im with,” he points out. renjun has always been picky with the company his friends kept so this wasn’t really new to him.

“i’m serious jaemin, she seems familiar but i just can’t place my finger on it,” renjun ponders, earning a scoff from the younger boy, “there’s no placing your finger on anything, she goes to our university, you’ve probably seen her walking around campus,” he reasons out.

“whatever jaemin, just be careful,” renjun advised before walking out of the living room and up the stairs.

jaemin shakes his head, thinking back to the memory of you looking through his photo album and once again, find himself humming, smiling at the ceiling. there was absolutely nothing anyone could say to ruin this for him.

dear mr. cupid,

i think i'm falling for him.

love,

angel

you hated yourself that night.

𓏲𝄢

jaemin leads you to the parking lot, hand in hand. you inspect the location, wondering what romantic scene he had planned out for the last scenario. you’ve been dreading this moment, realizing that it’s soon coming to an end. every tick of the clock leads you to step three: breaking his heart.

you stop in front of a silver car, your brain not connecting the pieces together. turning to the boy right next to you with a set of curious eyes.

“we're going to a new location for this one,” he explains, opening the car door up for you. you don’t question it, somehow you trust him enough to hop into the passenger seat.

jaemin ensures you're securely buckled in before stealing a quick kiss, leaving a surprised flush on your face. with a smile, he jogs around and settles into the driver’s seat, putting the car in drive and hitting the gas.

you sat in silence, gazing out the window as the scenery shifted, the soft hum of the radio barely audible, allowing your mind to wander.

as you reflected on the past few days, each quiet moment seemed to lead you back to this – the heavy weight of dread and guilt slowly taking over.

the once alluring idea of revenge now tastes bitter on your tongue. you expected it to be difficult, but you never anticipated that the true challenge would be the way he’d quietly capture pieces of your heart and how you didn’t mind it at all.

in fact, you liked it. you liked being around him, liked his stolen kisses, his stories, his gentleness, the warmth that he left on your skin with every touch, his laugh and most of all, that stupid sweet smile he always seems to be sporting around you.

you’ve replayed it in your mind a thousand times, torn between the devil and the angel on your shoulders, unsure if this plan is worth risking the bond you've built with him. but every time, the same side wins — the side of pride, the side that tells you this is all still a lie. and if it’s not, then the truth remains. this relationship was born from anger and hate.

jaemin interlaces his fingers around yours, grabbing your hand, bringing you back in the car with him, “what are you thinking about?,” he asks softly. even without looking at him, you can see the smile on his face, the gentleness in his tone.

“just thinking about where we're going,” you lie, staring at your interlocked fingers that somehow seemed to fit like two perfect puzzle pieces.

“hmm, we’re going down south, to busan,” he answers and your eyes almost bulge out of your head, “what?!,” he chuckles at your expressive reaction, “jaemin that’s like a 4 hour drive,” you sulk in your seat, hand still in his, “why do we need to go that far?”

“for rain,” he shrugs, bringing your hand up to his lips as he placed a soft kiss upon your knuckles. you fight the urge to smile.

“what exactly do you have planned, loverboy?,” you tease him, pushing all your previous thoughts to the side and focusing on this moment.

“oh you know, pretty rain, pretty girl,” he tosses you a look, confirming your thoughts. he was planning to do the ever so famous rain kiss.

“if you wanted to kiss me, you don’t even need to ask,” you teased, earning a playful laugh from him, “-will keep that in mind, angel,” he winks.

the rest of the car ride was spent singing to whatever was on the radio, learning each other’s favorite things, sharing fun stories and a few more stolen kisses, some of them coming from you.

it all felt comfortable, almost like you were always meant to be here with him by your side. eventually, sleep crept up on you, leaving jaemin in the warm silence, eyes occasionally drifting to your figure, finding peace in the calm as he drove.

the next time you open your eyes is when you finally get to the location jaemin had in mind. it was cloudier here, the sky already casting a soft gray hue. jaemin sets up his equipment, preparing for the rain, while you rush to assist, quickly placing everything into the makeshift set. the lush green landscape stretches around you, the open field decorated with blooms of pinks, whites and yellows, while the river in the distance adds a cool touch of blue. you’re not entirely sure if the camera could capture the beauty of nature but you trust jaemin will find a way to make it come to life.

the rain came at the perfect moment.

jaemin decided to hit record on his camera instead, explaining how it’d be easier for the two of you, since he didn't have to run back and forth to take the picture.

he led you to the right spot, flashing you a smile before his hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer and without wasting another second his lips were on yours. heart immediately racing in your chest as you move in complete synchronization, lips chasing his as he took the lead.

the rain continuously pouring over you.

when you could no longer breathe, you pull away, giggles erupting from both of your chests.

the rain pours harder and harder. jaemin feels like he’s been struck by lightning, your giggles melodically ringing in his ear.

he pulls you back in again, kissing you gently, so intimately, like he forgot there was a camera a couple feet away. every kiss, he loses himself in you, melting under your fingertips and for the first time in forever he says words he’s never said to any girl.

“i really like you, y/n,” he confesses, the words floating in the air, replacing the sound of the rain thumping on the ground, filling every corner of your mind. he rests his forehead against yours, warm brown eyes filled with sincerity, making you unable to breathe.

and just like that, the other side won — the side that has fallen for him. the one that believes this is real. the side that likes hearing your name slip from his lips, the stolen kisses, the warmth of his hand in yours, the laughter and of course that sweet smile forever etched in your mind.

you don’t want to let go of any it.

instead, you decide to throw your four step plan out the window, casting away all thoughts of revenge that once burdened your heart.

in that moment, you felt light, free.

the rain fell in an endless rhythm, drumming against your skin, soaking every inch of you, but you barely noticed it as you kissed him again. this time with a passion that made it feel like your life depended on it.

he’s a dream you couldn’t bear to lose, a fleeting moment you feared would vanish the moment you opened your eyes. but then you feel him smile against your lips, warm hands tightening around your waist as he pulls you even closer and you’re reminded that this is real and exactly where you want to be.

you stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s embrace until the cold slowly crept in, seeping through your clothes.

the rain never letting up.

𓏲𝄢

jaemin did not plan this well at all. besides the fact that he didn’t think to bring extra clothes, the light showers the weather app had predicted had turned into a brutal rainstorm and it was getting harder for him to drive, the droplets continuing to pour heavily on the car window.

“angel, we’re gonna need to stop and stay overnight somewhere,” he suggested in which you quickly agreed to, prioritizing safety. which is how you ended up sitting on the bed with nothing but the bathrobe that came with the hotel, your clothes drying in the bathroom that was currently occupied by none other than jaemin, himself.

the hotel only had one room available and of course, like this was all a part of your doom, that available room happened to have only one bed.

you’ve already taken your shower, washing off the remnants of the cold rain sticking to your body. now that you're in the safety of the warm room, waiting for the boy to finish, your mind can’t help but wander at the possibilities the night held. you’re not entirely sure you could stop yourself if he decides to advance. in fact, you’re not entirely sure you could control yourself around him.

shaking the thoughts away, you finish drying your hair before getting under the bedsheets and tucking yourself in, making sure your robe hugged tightly around your body.

grabbing the remote from the bedside table, you switch the t.v. on, hoping the noise could drown out the nerves. you settled on the channel playing harry potter and the goblet of fire, forcing yourself to focus on the movie instead of the boy that was as naked as you just on the other side of the bathroom door.

jaemin steps out of the bathroom a couple minutes later, his robe hanging loosely around his body, a bit of his toned chest exposed to the cool air. you try not to stare for too long as he walks around the room, eyes on the t.v. he quickly shuts off the lights before finally settling on the chair, farthest away from your side of the bed, “i love this movie,” he comments, your heart pounding in your chest at the sound of his voice, somehow raspier in the night.

the effect he had on you was absolutely insane. you’ve had sex before, had a couple tricks up your sleeve but nothing like what you’ve heard about jaemin. the fact that he was amazing at sex was a known fact throughout the entire university, girls always giggling about how they had the best night of their lives and how they couldn’t walk the next morning.

turning your head towards him, you’ve realized how engrossed he actually is in the movie that’s playing and it makes you feel silly. jaemin has never made you do anything you didn’t want to do and not once has he ever crossed a line. you really needed to get your head out of the gutter.

“why are you sitting all the way over there? this bed is big enough for both of us you know,” you say, capturing his attention, reminding him of the fact that this bed is a queen sized bed.

he sends you a soft smile, “i’m a gentleman, angel”

“oh please,” you scoff playfully, “we’re both adults, we can control ourselves,” you point out, completely contradicting your thoughts and burying yourself in a bigger hole. it’s not that you were trying to provoke him, it’s just that he was the one who paid for the room and you would feel absolutely awful if he had to squeeze himself in the chair, that was obviously too small and uncomfortable, the whole night.

you pat the empty space beside you, “c’mon, i won’t bite,” you playfully tease.

unbeknownst to you, jaemin was in a way tougher spot.

he accidentally caught a glimpse of your pink lacy underwear, the one you left behind in the shower, tucked in between the rest of your clothes, and couldn’t get the image of you in a matching set out of his head. then his mind started to get a little out of control, if your underwear were here then that must only mean you were completely naked underneath that white robe.

he had to relieve himself in the shower, hand wrapped tightly around his hard cock, biting back his moans as his mind brought him to images of you. he thought jerking himself off in the bathroom would help push away all his desire for the rest of the night but as soon as he stepped into your room and saw how small you looked, tucked into the queen sized bed, he felt his cock twitch under his robe again. which is why he had to resort to turning off all the lights in the room, afraid you would see his boner poking out. then he sat there, focused on harry potter, as he tried to drown out your presence.

but now, you’re inviting him to take up the space next to you and god, you have absolutely no clue what you’re doing to him, it’s unfair. he feels disgusted at the fact that all he could think about is how much he wants to fuck you.

he really needed to get his mind out of the gutter.

slowly, he got up. surely this would not help his case but he didn’t want you to think he was a horndog that couldn’t control himself. he usually was better at this. it was just the fact that it was you and he wants you so bad. needs you. all those lingering touches and kisses finally catching up to him.

he focuses again on the screen ahead, the t.v. illuminating the dark room, light bouncing off of your faces as you sat in silence, just watching the movie play out. though if you asked him what just happened in the scene, he wouldn’t be able to tell you. his mind racing with anything that could help soften his dick.

at one point it got way too hot beneath the sheets and you made the mistake of releasing your arm out from the under and onto the bed, right next to where jaemin’s arm was lying. you try to ignore the heat radiating off of his body, try to ignore the rapid rhythm of your heart. pulling away would be suspicious so you kept it there.

jaemin’s eyes flicker from the t.v. to your hand. you were so close, all he had to do was move his pinky and his hand would be in yours.

his self-control was becoming thinner with every second that passed and before he even realized what he was doing, his pinky moved — bumping into yours and in the next second he had your hands locked together.

he turns his head towards you only to see you were already looking up at him, starry eyes locked on his for a second before you quickly turned away, blush creeping up your cheeks at being caught.

he can’t help himself anymore, moving away from the headboard and lowering himself down to the pillows as he turned his body in your direction. this time, when he turned to look at you, you were only a couple of inches away from him.

“angel,” he whispers. you cautiously turned your head towards his, knowing that there was absolutely no going back from this. the tension in the room has got you clenching at nothing and you were getting sick of it. you wanted him and you’re not entirely sure why you were holding back, considering the confessions you shared earlier.

jaemin takes a second to study your face, memorizing every freckle before he let his eyes finally dart down to your parted lips, “i really want to kiss you,” he confesses into the night air, like it was a secret no one else was allowed to hear.

“i thought i told you if you wanted to kiss me you don’t even need to ask,” you quietly tease and that was all jaemin needed to hear before giving in to the cravings of the night, harry potter long forgotten as he finally pressed his lips on yours.

he kisses you once, twice, three times before his tongue darts in begging for permission. your mouth immediately parting as you gave him access, tongues moving in melody.

the make out session grew heavier and heavier, fingers finding their way through his hair, lightly tugging, eliciting a messy whine from him, his moans sending tingles throughout your body. “fuck, y/n, i need you,” he groans against your lips and you couldn’t agree more.

you wanted his hands all over you, regretting how tightly you tucked yourself into the blankets. swiftly, and with jaemin’s help, you pushed the blanket off of you, never once breaking the kiss, leaving both of you in your robes. the lack of the heavy covers made it easier for your hands to roam, wandering down to his chests as jaemins hand settled on your back, a little bit above your ass, pulling you so close you could feel his bulge against your clothed core.

“take this off,” he demands, untying your robe and pushing it off of your shoulders, jaemin quickly tossing it somewhere across the room before hovering over you.

he takes a moment, taking you all in for the first time, practically drooling at the sight of you, you’re so beautiful to him. it’s as if an actual angel was right in front of him and the thought of him ruining you makes his cock twitch. he didn’t even know he could get this hard.

“jaemin, please do something,” you say, starting to feel insecure under his gaze. your small voice snaps him out of his daydream. “you’re so fucking beautiful,” he praises before his lips latched onto your nipple, sucking, licking, making your back arch towards him, moans slipping past your lips, other hand playing with the other bud, twisting, pinching and you feel like you could cum just from that.

“f-fuck jaemin, want you please,” you sigh in pleasure, hips bucking up in response to his actions.

“what do you want, angel?,” he asks, teasing you and it takes every ounce in you not to pounce on him.

“i want you to touch me, p-please,” you don’t even care how desperate you sounded right now.

“i am touching you, angel,” he was loving this way too much. the way you were unraveling underneath him and he hasn’t even touched the neediest part of your body.

“lower,” you plead, earning a smirk from him, “hmm, right here?,” he asks, his hand, wandering down to outline the curve of your waist and landing on your hip, rubbing soft circles around your love handles. you don’t know how much more teasing you could take, your pussy dripping with arousal, “lower, please,” you cry out, “tell me where, angel, want to hear it from you,” he grunts against your ear, leaving marks all over your neck, “i want your fingers inside of me, please,” you plead for the third time.

“anything my angel wants, she gets,” jaemin playfully whispers before his fingers found its way to your folds, rubbing up and down, “so wet already, all this for me huh,” he praises, your head nodding vigorously in response, “only for you, jaemin.”

happy with your response, his finger slides into you, finally giving you what you wanted. even with your pooling arousal, you were still so tight around his digit, making him curse. he curls his finger, immediately hitting that spot that made you see stars, eliciting a high pitched moan from you, pussy clenching even tighter.

“fuuck angel, im gonna need you to open up for me,” he slides another finger in, curling and scissoring againsts your walls, pleasure coursing through your veins, he was so so good.

“i need to taste you,” he warns before he was diving into your pussy, mouth sucking and blowing against your clit, lapping up your juices, catching your breath, “holy fuck, jaemin,” your stomach clenches, heat traveling all throughout your body as you feel your orgasm coming to a close embarrassingly soon.

“i-m gonna come, baby,” the new pet name drives jaemin absolutely crazy, fingers practically moving at a speed of light inside your walls as he continued to suck on your clit, “go ahead angel, come for me,” he moans against your pussy, the added vibrations rolling your eyes back as you lost the ability to moan, head falling backwards, mouth wide open as you came.

jaemin coaxes you through it, savoring every drop before his lips were back on yours, pulling you back down to reality as you taste yourself in his tongue.

“you okay?,” you hum in approval, a smile taking over your features as you kiss him back, hands quickly untying his robe. jaemin quickly responds, pushing the last piece of clothing away, cock springing free.

in one swift motion, you push him back down to the pillows, taking the lead as you straddled him, “your turn,” you whisper, a light shock appearing on the boy’s face before he settled into the bed, getting comfortable. one of his hands coming up to support the back of his head as he watched you, the other roaming all over your skin, a smirk displayed on his lips.

you were fucking nervous, you’ve never been this upfront in the bedroom but due to how much experience he had, you wanted to show him that you could keep up.

“want to make you feel good,” you whisper in his ear, making him shiver, he swears you were going to be the death of him. your lips found its way to his neck, decorating him with the same pinks and purples you’re sure he has left all over your body.

jaemin was very vocal, already whining under your touch, helping you completely push away any of the remaining worries you had. your fingers found it’s way around his nipples, lightly squeezing and you realized how sensitive he was as he squirmed below you, hips immediately thrusting up, “fuck, angel you’re gonna kill me,” he whines and you can’t help but let out a soft giggle as you travelled lower and lower, hand softly wrapping around his hard length, earning a breathily groan from him. you understood now why your body really needed to open up. he’s huge and you were definitely intimidated.

you start by kitten licking his tip making jaemin hold his breath as you stare up at him, his eyes completely blown out. you can tell how much restraint he’s trying to hold on to to not shove his cock down your throat. you don’t tease him for too long before finally taking his length in your mouth, sucking on his tip, jaemin’s groans immediately increasing as his hand found its way to your hair, gripping tightly, orgasm already creeping up.

you bobbed your head up and down, tears brimming in your eyes at his size. he has no idea what you’re doing to him, how you managed to have him coming undone in seconds, body shaking under your touch. no girl has made him cum this fast before, “fuck angel, i can’t last,” he manages to mumble in between heavy pants. the words encouraging you as your hand finds its way around his balls, gently cupping.

you barely touched him before he was toppling over, cum shooting down your throat with no warning, making you choke.

your hand continued to work him through his orgasm as you cleared your throat. jaemin had to practically push you away, “angel, please stop, i need to feel you,” he groans, pulling you back up to his lips and kissing you passionately.

carefully, he switches the position, having you under him once again. he reaches out for his wallet placed on the nightstand, taking the pack of condom and ripping it open with his teeth before placing it on his already semi hard cock, “god, look what you do to me,” he grunts.

your hand rubs up and down his thighs as you watch him swipe his length between your wet folds, the tension in your stomach building up once again.

he wraps your legs around him, kissing you slowly, so intimately, “i really fucking like you, y/n,” he admits for the second time that day, sending you what has now became your favorite smile.

“i really like you too, jaemin,” you reply, pulling him closer as he aligns his cock against your entrance.

jaemin wasn’t a fan of missionary but god, you’re so fucking beautiful, he wanted nothing more but to look at you when he entered, watching your face contort as you adjust to the size of his large cock, harmonized moans mixing in the air.

for the first time, he finally understood all the sentiments his friends in relationships would say — this feeling was so different from the regular hook ups. the passion, the intimacy of it all. you were so dangerous to him and yet he was obsessed with the way you have him wrapped around your finger.

he loves the way your eyebrows furrowed in between pleasure and pain as he bottomed in, your walls finally hugging the size of his cock, sucking him in deeper and deeper. the way your lips fell into moans once he started thrusting in and out of you. your eyes shutting as he increased the pace, faster and deeper and always hitting that spot that got your head rolling back, toes curling. the way you gripped his back as he rubbed harsh circles around your clit, sending you to overdrive. the way your body went completely limp against the pillows, face in complete bliss as your walls tightened around him, sucking him in. his abs clenching in response, a guttural moan from his throat escaping, reaching a high he’s never felt before as he burrowed his face into your neck to control his shaking body.

you enjoyed the feeling of his skin against yours, reveling in your shared orgasms. staying that way for a minute or two, his body heavy against yours before he snuck in a gentle kiss to your lips.

you hiss as he pulled out, already feeling empty without him. he fucked you so good that all you wanted to do was slip into the peaceful darkness, sleep begging to take over.

the distant hum from the t.v. continues, playing the credits, as the rain pounded on the windows filling your ears. you feel the bed dip beside you as he moved around, feel the soft cloth against your pussy, wiping away your arousal, feel him take the spot next to you once again, shutting off the t.v and pulling you close to his chest.

“goodnight, angel,” he whispers, gently draping the blanket over your bodies, before placing a soft kiss on your temple and finally letting sleep consume you.

jaemin wakes up the next morning, your figure right next to him. it was strange, waking up to a person but he liked it — liked that it was you.

the sunrise peeks through the curtains as the memory from last night vividly replays in his head. he softly pushes away the layers of hair that have covered your face, taking in your angelic appearance as your chest rises and fall to a steady rhythm, sleep still hugging you.

he starts tracing the outline of your cheekbones, fingers softly grazing the curve of your nose, down to your lips. he takes in every detail, taking a mental screenshot.

your eyes flutter open at his light touches, “take a picture, it’ll last longer,” you tease which you figured was the wrong thing to say to a photographer as soon as the words lef your mouth, jaemin wasting no time to reach for his phone and snapping a shot.

“oh my god! i was kidding, i look like a mess,” you scream playfully, bringing the blanket over your head and covering your face in embarrassment, earning a laugh from the boy beside you.

he tugs the blanket off of your face, “you look even more beautiful in the morning, angel,” he compliments, making you blush.

the rest of the morning was spent well — shared selfies, slow kisses, lazy sex, touches lingering all over your skin, an innocent shower with millions of stolen kisses, laughter and more stories.

everything truly felt like a dream, like you were sitting on a cloud occupied by only two. hands never leaving the other’s as jaemin drove back to seoul, the car ride filled with sweet nothings.

𓏲𝄢

jaemin was worried sick. it’s been two days and you haven’t reached out to him. his texts being left on delivered. fear was starting to creep up on him in the form of doubts and mistrust. he thought maybe you were exactly like the rest and you did only want him for sex and now that it’s done, you were also gone and he was nothing but a fool being hit by his own karma.

he realizes now that he’s too deep into this, that it’s too late now to take it all back. too late now to make sure you can’t hurt him. he’s never given anyone this much control over him and he was absolutely losing it.

his phone dings and he scrambles to pick it up, hoping that this time it was you on the other end. his prayers being answered when your name pops up, letting out a sigh of relief.

my angel: jaemin i’m sorry…

his heart races in his chest, not entirely sure what you were apologizing about. he watches as the three dots appear on the screen, an indication that you were still typing.

my angel: i’m sick :(

my angel: i think the rain finally caught up with me

he reads the message, feeling absolutely awful and guilty that his mind could even taint your image like that. that he could even let doubts fill his head.

all he wanted to do now was take care of you.

on the other side, you were really regretting staying out in the rain for so long as you sat in your bed rotting, body burning up, head hurting, nose red, throat dry. it’s been two days since you last saw jaemin and you missed him…a lot. but you didn’t want him to catch your virus so now you’re here, hanging on by a thread as he spammed your inbox with messages filled with tips on how to get over a cold quickly.

the next morning, after asking around, jaemin finds himself knocking on your dorm room’s door, a bag containing hot soup and medicine in hand.

he couldn’t stand the thought of doing nothing so here he is, ready to be your nurse for the day and cure you back to health.

the door swings wide open only to reveal a familiar face, “jaemin?,” the girl with long black hair asks, head turned like a curious puppy.

“uhmm,” he mutters, quickly racking his brain for information, searching for a name he definitely knew. he remembers her face, remembers the fact that they shared a night together but he can’t quite pinpoint who she is exactly.

for a second, he thinks he’s in the wrong room, until her voice breaks him out of his thoughts, “are you looking for y/n?,” she asks.

he nods in response as she gestured to the door across the room, “she’s in there,” she said before stepping aside, letting him in and quietly shutting the door behind him as she hurries into her own room.

jaemin stands there, bewildered, if she was your roommate, who he’s sure he definitely knew, then surely you must have known who he was when the two of you first met. surely, you’d heard about his reputation. so why did you say you didn’t know him?

the sound of a cough coming from behind your door snaps him back into place. when doubt clouded his mind yesterday, he turned out to be terribly wrong. pushing the confusion aside, he steadies himself and gently knocks on your door.

“giselle, don’t come in, i’ll get you sick,” you respond, the raspiness of your voice evident.

your roommates name echoes in his ear as he finally unlocked the memory of who she was – the girl who told him she loved him. the girl he said the words back to…on accident.

he quickly pushes the memory away, turning the door knob as he finally makes his way inside your room, eyes scanning the space. he notices the various trinkets scattered on shelves, paintings and posters adorning the walls, books stacked in neat chaos, brushes cluttered on your desk.

“jaemin?,” you manage to croak out, eye squinting at the bright light coming from the living room. you’ve been pent up in the dark for too long, the only light coming from the small lamp on your desk. your hair sticks up in every direction and you had absolutely no color on your face. you look like a total mess. but somehow, seeing you like that only makes his heart skip a beat.

god, he was down bad.

“hey angel, i brought you some chicken noodle soup, it’ll help you feel better,” he says softly, completely forgetting the thought of giselle as he sat on the edge of your bed, taking out the bowl he had prepared.

“jaemin, i’m gonna get you sick,” you pout, hiding under the covers to try and contain your virus, earning a soft chuckle from the boy, “angel, i’m pretty sure you’ve already contaminated the air in this room,” he points out, playfully poking your side until you came out from underneath.

“you don’t even have a humidifier,” he teases, reaching over to smooth down your messy hair before bringing the spoon filled with the hot soup to your lips. you let out a resigned sigh, rolling your eyes, but a smile tugs at the corners of your mouth as you give in.

he spends the rest of the evening taking care of you, checking your temperature, making sure you take the proper medicine. his quiet care speaking louder than any words could.

carefully, he tucks you both in, ignoring your sleepy protests about him catching your cold as he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close, your head resting against his chest. it's warm, safe, and comfortable. so comforting that the next minute, sleep takes you, carried off by the side effects of the medicine and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

𓏲𝄢

the sound of clutter jolts you back to reality, waking you up from your slumber. blinking slowly, you spot jaemin’s figure hunched over, quietly gathering the things he must have knocked over, “you okay?,” you groggily question, rubbing the sleep away.

“sorry angel, i accidentally bumped into your desk, i’ll clean it up, don’t worry,” he says softly, already rearranging your things back into place.

but then you see it – a little too late. your stomach drops, everything inside you stills. instantly you knew your world was about to crumble down, “wait, jaemin–” you call out, urgency creeping into your voice, but he was focused on the task at hand.

jaemin picks up the fallen journal, a photo slipping out from between the pages.

it takes him a second to process that the person in the photo was his own reflection but once he did, everything shifts – there he is, staring back at himself, the mr. cupid sign right behind him.

a wave of realization crashes over him, bringing all his doubts to the surface, “why do you have this?,” he demands, turning around to face you, the photo gripped tightly in his hand.

the guilty expression on your face was enough to shatter any remaining illusions – he knows he’s been playing the fool. he should’ve known that this was too good to be true.

in a flash, jaemin flips through your journal, looking for answers, “jaemin, don’t!,” you get up, ignoring the way your vision momentarily blurs, threatening to pull you under. but you were too late. jaemin has stumbled across your four step plan.

“the downfall of na jaemin. step one - introduce yourself. step two - make him fall in love with you. step three and four - break his heart and reveal to the whole world that their beloved mr. cupid is a phony,” jaemin reads out loud, his entire figure rigid as he connects all of the clues, his mind replaying every memory like it was some sort of cruel punishment crafted just for him.

“you didn’t think i’d actually tell mr. cupid my real name did you? it would be so embarrassing for me,”

dear mr. cupid, i'm going to my first party ever! how can i make sure i catch the attention of the person i like? love, heart / “not much of a party goer are you?,” earning a soft nod from you, “it’s my first party” you confess.

the way you walked out that saturday morning he brought you his hangover cure, ditching the pink outfits because you knew he wasn’t going to be around.

renjun voicing out his suspicious concerns and telling him to be careful.

the door opening to giselle, a girl he had sex with at a random party. the same girl that was standing just outside your bedroom door – your roommate.

every single moment, every confession, every word that he believed to be true led to this – your four step plan, cold and calculated, had no other intention but to hurt him.

every ounce of trust he’d placed in you, every bit of affection, it was all nothing but a step forward.

every time he was being honest, you only showed him what he wanted to see.

he didn’t know the person in front of him. all he knows now is that this is all a lie.

“jaemin, please let me explain,” you plead, voice shaking as you fight back the tears that were daring to escape, taking a cautious step towards him, unsure if he’ll let you get any closer.

he meets your gaze, pain and betrayal flashing all over his features – raw, gutting, all-consuming and gone in a second.

his face goes stone cold, “there’s nothing to explain,” he says, each word cutting clean, final.

“have fun with step four, y/n,” he mutters, voice deep with frustration before tossing your journal and the now crumpled photo to the ground. without another word, he storms out of your room, angrily slamming the door behind him, your heart dropping.

you rush after him, voice breaking as you cry out, “jaemin, please,” you grab his hand, desperation flooding your every movement, holding on tight, trying to make him stay, “it’s not what it looks like, please,” at this point you don’t stop the tears from flowing. you don’t care anymore. you just can’t let him walk out the door.

the loud ruckus catches your best friend’s attention. giselle quick to join you in the living room, eyes wide with concern, “what happened? is everyone okay?,” she asks, frantically looking between your broken expression and jaemin’s seething anger.

her presence was enough to pull your focus away, jaemin taking the opportunity to yank his hand out of your grip and finally making his way out.

you tried to follow him out but before you could take another step, your body finally gave up on you and you came crashing down the living room floor.

jaemin hears the sickening thud of your fall and giselle’s frantic shout of your name. for a brief moment, he hesitates, just long enough to almost turn back and check if you’re okay…but he doesn't.

blinded by rage, jaemin stormed into the fraternity house and without a second thought, his fist crashed through the living room wall, no longer able to contain his anger. he was seeing red.

“dude! what the fuck?!,” chenle yells, everyone turning their heads in surprise. but what shocked them the most was the next scene — watching their friend drop to the floor, quiet sobs escaping his lips as he burrowed his face into his hands.

jeno was up in no time, making his way over, “what happened?,” he asks, checking his friend for any injuries.

“you were right, renjun,” jaemin choked out between his broken sobs, feeling absolutely defeated.

the room fell silent as everyone turned to face renjun, wanting for an explanation, “y/n, isn’t who she says she is,” jaemin muttered, wiping tears that refused to stop. he felt pathetic — so this is what heartbreak felt like.

he wouldn’t wish it on anyone, not even on his worst enemies.

“who’s y/n?,” renjun looks around, confused, earning a light punch from donghyuck, “angel, dude,” he whispers under his breath like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

renjun pieced it all together in an instant. he knew you looked familiar, he just didn’t know you were that familiar, that you were the same girl who sat behind him in art class — you disguised yourself so well, you fooled even him.

he watched his broken friend on the ground, jaemin’s figure slumped against the wall he’d struck moments earlier, lips trembling, tear-streaked face buried in his hands.

𓏲𝄢

“renjun, please just let me talk to him,” you ask for the umpteenth time. it’s been three days since your fight with jaemin and in those three days, his friends have done everything in their power to keep you away, rightfully so.

when you showed up to the fraternity house, ready to explain your side and apologize, haechan immediately shut you down, slamming the door in your face.

when you saw him in the university’s cafeteria the next day, jeno was right next to him in an instant, pulling him away before he could even see you.

every single message you sent him was left on delivered, every call going straight to voicemail. you were desperate to reach him and renjun was your only access. he couldn’t exactly ditch class to avoid you.

renjun rolls his eyes, scoffing, “again, the answer is no, angel,” he says sarcastically, the nickname dripping with venom, his tone laced with disgust.

you wince, desperation creeping into your voice, “i just need to explain and i promise i won’t ever show my face again.” your eyes are full of conviction, pleading for a chance to right your wrongs.

he sighs. truth is, him and the boys have no idea why jaemin was so upset, only telling them that you lied to him about who you truly were but what does that even mean?

after mulling it over he finally says, “his showcase is on friday at the university’s gallery, 3 p.m., he has to be there for his project which i’m sure you know all about,” he pauses, “you can talk to him there if he wants to but all the boys are gonna be there too,” he warns.

renjun and the boys practically hated your guts but they also know how important you’ve become to their friend, otherwise he wouldn’t be sat at home, moping around, watching rom-coms as a form of self destruction, muttering “love is a lie,” every time the two characters get together in the end.

“thank you,” you nod in understanding, your gratitude mixed with a quiet tension.

“let’s get something straight y/n,” he says, his tone hardening as he starts to walk away, “i’m not doing this for you.”

with that, he leaves you standing at your station, the weight of his words sinking in.

𓏲𝄢

the university's art gallery buzzed with life, lined wall-to-wall with projects from various photography majors. you hadn’t expected such a crowd, the room filled with chatter and laughter as the bright lights illuminated the spacious room.

you take your time, making your way around, palms clammy and heart pounding as you move through the room, quietly practicing the speech you've prepared for days. gone were the sparkly pink outfits and the persona that came with it. replaced by just jeans and a plain t-shirt. you continued weaving through the art gallery, the panels shifting from artist to artist, until you finally reached his.

jaemin’s name stood boldly against the wall, his project titled, “stupid cupid.”

your breath caught as your eyes dropped to the description beneath it:

“love in the movies feels effortless and looks beautiful but all those picture-perfect moments turn out to be nothing more than echoes of a love that was never real to begin with.”

the word’s, achingly beautiful in their bitterness, struck like an arrow piercing your heart. you scanned the pictures on the wall, trying to contain your emotions.

each image held a memory, fragile and glowing – the moment in the cafe, the boombox in your hand, the kiss in the rain, now looping endlessly in video, truly playing like a haunting echo of what once was.

you stood frozen, emotions tightening in your throat, eyes brimming with tears as you wanted nothing more than to step into that scene and live in the moment just a little longer.

you wipe the tears from your cheeks, steadying yourself. you had an apology due, you couldn’t let another day pass without telling him everything you wanted to say. this was possibly your only moment and you weren’t going to let it slip away.

your eyes searched the crowded room, until they landed on him.

jaemin stands a little further back, deep in conversation. you recognize mark and jeno right next to him along with some girls from campus who were obviously flirting with him, one of the girls laughing a little too loudly and you almost scoff.

taking a deep breath, you force your feet to move, making your way through the crowd, heart pounding.

mark notices you first, eyes widening for a split second as he immediately grabs jaemin’s wrist, steering him further away from you, “hey winter! have you met my friend, jaemin?,” mark calls out, his voice ringing loud and clear, every word sharp and intentional.

jaemin looks at him suspiciously before greeting the new girl in front of him. you catch the subtle glance of the previous girls lingering behind, clearly disappointed that he walked away.

you cursed under your breath, frustration mounting, they really won’t make this easy for you.

“what are you doing here?,” a voice to your right captures your attention.

“donghyuck!,” you quietly exclaim in surprise, a hand to your heart.

“haechan,” he corrects immediately, “so what’s the angel in disguise doing here?” he laughs like he just said the funniest joke, “god that’s a good one, gotta tell the boys about that,” he snickers to himself, completely lost in his own amusement.

every conversation with him felt like some weird episode you didn’t sign up for. you still couldn't figure out how he managed to charm everyone. his mocking tone was grating, but deep down, you knew you’d earned it.

“i’m just here to apologize,” you sigh, too tired for an argument.

“huh, you’d think you’d get the hint after all the text messages and calls jaemin ignored,” he says, voice dripping with malicious amusement, “don’t flatter yourself too much, y/n, you’re not special, this is just what he does, you were just another girl who fell for it,” he taunts, his words sharp like a dagger before he walked away, leaving you in your thoughts.

they’ve been trying to stop you from reaching him and you’ve had enough. all you wanted was to have a chance to fix things. so you abandoned the careful apology you’d been rehearsing and did the one thing you hadn’t planned.

you called out his name.

your voice rang out, echoing through the large room as the chatter slowly diminished. one by one, every head turned in your direction, but you only saw him.

jaemin's eyes locked with yours and for a split second, something softened in his eyes. then, just as quickly, the wall was back up and that cold, unreadable mask slipped right back into place.

you ignore the hush whispers around you, even the one that cut through clear as day, “wait…she’s the girl from his photos..,” as you slowly walk towards him.

jaemin doesn’t utter a single sound, doesn’t make an effort to move away, he just watches as you approach, silent and unmoving, until you were standing just a few feet away.

“hi”, you begin, your voice barely above a whisper. you ignore haechan’s mocking chuckle, as he now stood next to jaemin.

“im sorry!,” you blurted out, not wasting another second. jaemin doesn’t flinch, doesn’t react, only looking at you like you’re a stranger.

“alright, you said it, you can go now, we’re a bit busy,” jeno cuts in, sharp and dismissive, a devilish smirk on his face as he spoke for his friend. the audience snickers in the background…but you weren’t finished.

“i’m sorry i lied to you,” you say a little more composed this time, standing your ground.

a shaky breath escapes you as the words you’ve been dying to tell him tumble out.

“i hate iced americanos, i hate the color pink and i definitely hated you…at first,” your voice cracks slightly, but you push through it, eyes locked on his.

you don’t care about the stares or the whispers or the way you knew this moment will be dissected by everyone watching – none of it matters, only him.

“and i know, i know everything must feel like a lie now. i wouldn’t blame you if you never believed another word i said,” you laugh bitterly, pushing away the ache in your chest.

“i only did it because i thought it was the right thing to do, i thought you deserved it for leading so many girls on…it’s stupid, i know,” your gaze softens, slightly shaking your head as your voice drops to a fragile murmur, regret and embarrassment written all over your face.

you look up at him once again, his expression still as hard as stone but it doesn’t stop you from saying your next words.

“—but i also know that i’m in love with you,” you quietly confess, the words rolling off your lips for the first time, hanging in the air – honest, bare, terrifying but all so right.

you notice the flicker of something behind his eyes that betrays the coldness in his expression. something almost soft. but it’s gone as soon as it came.

“i’m in love with you,” you repeat, hoping.

“and i'm sorry that we started out this way but this is me, the real me,” you continue, voice shaking as you ignore the lump forming in your throat.

“i prefer iced matcha over iced americanos, my favorite color is white and i have completely, stupidly fallen for you,” you finish your speech, letting the last words hang there, raw and unguarded. there’s nothing left to hide behind, no more reason to pretend.

this is your truth.

the room is silent – so silent that it felt suffocating. not a single person dared to speak, no one even moved, everyone holding their breaths with you, waiting for something…anything.

finally, jaemin takes a step forward, each step he took was slow, deliberate. his expression unreadable, eyes still cold, and you can’t tell if he’s angry, hurt or just tired of it all.

he stops in front of you, close enough that you can see the way his jaw clenches.

“well, angel,” he say, voice low and quiet but cutting all the same, the nickname sounds nothing like it used to – no warmth, no teasing. just ice.

“this was fun,” he snickers, a cruel smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, one that doesn’t reach his eyes.

it wasn’t the smile in his photos – it wasn’t the smile you fell in love with.

“-but that was all it ever was,” he continues and you feel like someone has just punched you in the gut.

“thank you for letting me use you for my project,” he adds, his tone light, casual, like it’s just another throwaway line in a script he’s already performed before.

“but you, of all people, should know–,” he leans in just a little, voice dropping, and for a second his warmth consumes you until his words turn everything cold, “-i never fall in love.”

his friends start chuckling at the back, the crowd joining in. other’s looked at you with pity having fallen for the boy in front of you but you didn't pay attention to them. you don’t even look at them. you’re still staring at him and you don’t buy a single word.

not with the way his hands are clenched at his sides. not with how his voice trembled, just barely, when he said never.

he’s lying. protecting himself the only way he knows how – by pretending not to care. trying to convince himself more than you but even knowing that doesn’t dull the sting. tears prick at the corners of your eyes, blurring the sharp lines of his face as you blink them back, forcing yourself to stay composed.

you nod once. small. almost imperceptible. a silent acknowledgment. not of belief but of acceptance.

then, carefully, you pull out the white envelope tucked in your back pocket, “this belongs to you,” you say, voice soft, barely hanging on. you hold it out to him and then you turn.

you don’t look back, running out of the gallery – out of the stares, out of the suffocating stillness that had begun to close in on you.

your vision blurs completely now, hot tears streaming freely down your face. you can’t breathe. you’re not sure if you even want to.

jaemin watches you retreat. he doesn’t call out, doesn't make an effort to stop you. he just watches.

only when you were finally out of his sight, he felt it – that sharp swell in his lungs, the ache in his chest unraveling into something hollow and brutal.

he thought it would feel satisfying to hurt you the way you hurt him. he thought having the last word would fix the damages of his broken ego and piece back the heart you shattered. but as you left he realized that parts of it were still in your hands.

the crowd begins to break apart, quiet murmurs replacing the earlier hush. now that the show’s over, their entertainment has ended and one by one, they leave, continuing on with their day, until he’s standing there alone, the envelope in his hands.

he opens it slowly, like he’s afraid of what’s inside, even though some part of him already knows.

and there it is. the photo. the one you stole from his room. the one in your four step plan. his secret.

for a split second, all he can feel is the surge of anger and betrayal, remembering everything that has happened in the past two weeks. his heart pounds in his chest, a sharp sting of violation threatening to overwhelm him.

but then, something shifts.

he looks at the photo again and it hits him – you’re giving it back to him. you’re not using it. you’re not following through with your plan to expose him. you had returned the evidence with no strings attached. you were telling him the truth.

the confessions you made, your voice trembling with sincerity, resonating in his mind.

renjun snaps him back to reality, the rest of the boys next to him, “hey, you okay?” he asks his friend, tone sharp with concern.

he forces a half-hearted laugh, voice laced with self-deprecation. “i feel like absolute shit,” he quickly tucks the envelope in his pocket, hiding it away from prying eyes, mind still reeling.

“well, i know just the cure for that,” haechan teases, slinging an arm around his neck. “a pretty girl and some drinks,” he continues, his voice is playful, trying to pull jaemin back to the surface and he’s grateful for the distraction.

“yeah, come on,” mark chimes in, grinning. “we gotta celebrate your gallery’s success!...party at the dream fraternity tonight!” he calls out, his enthusiasm infectious as cheers erupt from the crowd, a wave of excitement sweeping through the room.

jaemin feels disconnected from it all, but he can’t ignore the energy around him. he shakes his head, finally allowing himself to breathe. maybe they’re right. maybe a party is exactly what he needs. maybe he can continue to pretend that this doesn’t hurt him until it finally doesn’t.

𓏲𝄢

jaemin can’t get it up.

“i thought you were supposed to be good at this?,” the pretty girl from the gallery comments, making him sigh in frustration.

“just give me a second,” he grunts, furiously pumping his cock up and down, hoping a miracle would happen. this has never happened to him before and he’s beginning to get really worried.

“you said that five seconds ago,” she cuts in, looking at him with those judgmental eyes, like he doesn’t fucking know he said that five seconds ago. the urge to run to the doctor’s getting stronger with every second.

“you know what? just get out,” jaemin says annoyed, tossing her clothes back to her as he made his way to his bathroom, not caring at all about the girl sitting on his bed. he hears the girl scoff, followed by shuffling and a, “thanks for absolutely nothing!,” before his door slammed shut.

jaemin rolls his eyes, hopping in the shower, the lingering touches she left behind felt sticky and gross on his skin. he knew she wasn’t going to tell anyone, knowing her reputation was also on the line and he didn’t even feel bad. the girl should’ve known he wasn’t in the right mind for some ego boosting. or maybe she should’ve tried harder for him.

yikes. maybe he did deserve the heartbreak you served him with.

as he stood there, under the hot shower, his intoxicated mind can’t help but wander back to you and the time you’ve spent together.

he can’t help but remember that morning of your first night together, the innocent shower you took together as he admired your body – thoughts of your scent consuming him, the way your lips left trails of kisses, soft skin against his.

then he feels it, his cock hardening.

all it took was the memory of you, “you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he scolds his dick.

“really?, a pretty girl on your bed and absolutely nothing from you and just one thought of her and you’re up,” he talks to his member, feeling absolutely crazy before his hand got to work – mind flashing with scenes of you and only you.

hopping out of the shower, jaemin feels a little more refreshed, his mind clearer than it was a few shots of alcohol ago. the party outside his bedroom door has now died down.

he picks his clothes up from the ground, ready to toss it into his hamper, when the envelope peaks out, reminding him of the picture.

he takes it out again, staring into his own image, the slight crumple on the top left marks the photograph, evidence of his anger. he sighs as sadness takes over once again.

flipping the image, he sees your handwriting, words that you have left behind just for him. words that has signified the mark you left on his life.

dear jaemin,

thank you for showing me this side of you. im sorry.

love,

y/n, angel, heart

it was your last confession and right away he knew what he had to do.

𓏲𝄢

“hi my lovely listeners, it’s mr. cupid here on a surprise live session, i couldn’t prolong this any longer,” jaemin’s voice filters through the mic, softer than usual.

he pauses, a shaky breath pulled in as he braces himself for the inevitable, “i haven’t been completely honest with you.”

there’s a beat of silence and then, “i have been keeping a secret and lately i’ve realized how much secret’s hurt.”

“so today, im finally telling you who i am,” jaemin continues, fingers tightening slightly around the mic stand as he braced himself.

“i am mr. cupid, your #1 go to for all things love and heartbreak but i am also third year, photography major, member of the dream fraternity,” he takes a quick pause, finding his courage, “my name is na jaemin,” he finally confesses into the microphone.

the words land like a stone thrown into still water, rippling through the space between him and the hundreds of people listening.

his inbox immediately lights up, emails flooding in. he could already see the previews. lots of surprised listeners, lots of angry listeners.

his phone quietly flickers by his side, messages from the boys swarming his screen as the group chat blows up — all of them shocked and confused.

he would have to deal with all of that later.

“i want to take this moment and apologize,” he continued, voice soft but firm, “to every girl i’ve hurt, every person i made feel disposable…i’m sorry. i wish i could remember all your names but the truth is, part of me was that player, part of me liked being that player,” he sighs in embarrassment, the weight of it all sinking in.

“—and i’m sorry for hiding behind this persona, for pretending i had it all figured out while calling out the very things i also did,” he continues, a bittersweet feeling rising in his chest.

he took care of this radio show, he wouldn’t have climbed the #1 spot if he didn’t. but every truth must be revealed someday.

“—i need you to know, i meant every word i’ve ever said on here. the advice, the stories, the moments where i told you to believe in love even when it hurts…that was all real. i was just too much of a coward in real life to admit that i wanted that too,” he continues, feeling lighter with every word.

“there’s a girl i met recently,” a nervous chuckle slips from his lips as he runs a hand through his hair, gaze unfocused, lost somewhere far beyond the studio walls.

“she knew who i was, from the very beginning” he rambles, “she had this four step plan to make me fall in love with her…the last step of her plan was to expose me but she never followed through with it,” a quiet moment passes.

“somewhere along the way, she fell for me anyway…the player, the romantic, the scared, complicated mess,” he shakes his head, a halfhearted smile tugging at his lips.

“i always thought that i had to be one or the other, turns out i was just waiting for her to freely be who i truly am,” a heavy sigh leaves him, full of everything he’s carried alone until now. his thoughts catching up to him.

“—and i really need to follow my own advice and get her back,” the words left him in a rush as he finally reached his own conclusion.

love was a strong word and unfortunately it took him a while to accept that this is what it was and it was all he wanted.

without another word, he abruptly ends the session. running out of the studio, finally seeing things clearly.

he runs, lungs burning, heart pounding. he ignores the students who were still outside this late hour, calling out his name, calling out mr. cupid, until he finally reaches your building, sweat forming around his forehead, as he tries to catch his breath.

he knocks on your door, practically pounding on it, adrenaline rushing through his veins, nerves and excitement coursing through him at the thought of seeing you again only to be met with none other than your roommate.

“oh, if it isn’t mr. cupid,” giselle greets him, voice laced with mockery, her expression twisted with subtle disdain.

“you know i was wondering why y/n was so adamant on getting revenge, i thought it was just because of what you did to me, turns out you’re not just a huge player you’re also a pro liar,” giselle continues, a pointed look on her faced, eyebrows furrows, lips pointed.

“pretending to be mr. sweet angelic guy just to be a fuckboy behind the scenes, man, how did you fool everyone?” she chuckles, almost disbelievingly.

jaemin shifts uncomfortably, his confidence briefly faltering, “giselle, im sorry,” he says, catching the girl off guard, “i do remember our night together and i’m sorry…i shouldn’t have said those words so lightly, i wasn’t thinking, just putting my needs first,” he confesses, completely owning up to his actions.

she blinks, then lets out a small, surprised laugh, “it’s fine, i just wanted to give you a tough time for what you did to y/n at the gallery,” she says, “besides, i used you that night too, we both win,” she shrugs, really not caring, “i would actually prefer it if we never talk about it again.”

jaemin nods, a quiet gratitude in his eyes for her unexpected grace, “is y/n here?,” he asks.

giselle ponders for a second or two, studying him, eyes narrowing slightly, reading him like a book until she nods, “second floor of the art building,” she says.

“thank you,” he breathes, already turning, “wait jaemin!,” giselle stops him in his tracks, “you hurt her again and i will kill you, okay pretty boy?,” she says with a sugar-sweet smile, almost like she didn’t just threaten him. it wasn’t a question, not really.

he chuckles, not entirely sure if she’s joking or not, either way, he would not like to find it.

“wouldn’t dream of it,” he replies, flashing her a smile before sprinting off.

𓏲𝄢

jaemin stepped quietly into the art room, spotting your back to him as your fingers worked like magic, brushing smoothly against the canvas seated on your easel, completely immersed in your work. he notices the iced matcha sitting on the table to your right, your paint-stained jeans and oversized t-shirt on display, hair in a messy ponytail.

even with your back turned to him, you looked so at ease, like the world had melted away and left only you and your art behind. he stood still, taking it in, wishing he had his camera with him.

content hums slip past your lips as your hand glided from your palette and the canvas. then he notices what you’re painting and he can’t look away, transfixed by the way you captured the scenery of the luscious green landscape blurred by the gentle rain, the pink and whites of the blooming cherry blossoms, opposite to the gray hues of the clouds floating on top.

it was like he had stepped into that day once again. almost like he could feel your lips on his again.

he clears his throat before finally finding his voice, “that’s beautiful.”

your head turns quickly, jumping slightly at the sound of your intruder’s voice, eyes wide with surprise. you weren’t exactly expecting anyone else to be here this late.

“jaemin?,” you question, voice uncertain, wondering what he was doing here at this hour.

“hi,” he smiles sheepishly, hands awkwardly tucked in his pockets, almost shy, as he walks closer to you, your breath stuck in your throat.

“you uhm…you have paint right here,” he points at his own cheek, mirroring the spot on yours as you quickly tried to wipe it away, missing completely.

“not quite, here let me-,” before you could protest, he closed the gap, licking his thumb and wiping the smudge away from the apple of your cheek. the moment was so intimate, his light touch igniting that spark all over again.

“thanks,” you whisper before taking a step back and trying to ground yourself.

“what are you doing here?,” you asked, voice soft.

“i was looking for you,” he responds like it was the simplest truth in the world.

“i-i thought you didn’t want to see me again?,” you say, brows furrowed in confusion.

“i thought that too,” he admits, “but as soon as you left, all i wanted to do was see you again,” he continues, looking for any signs of rejection on your face.

“how did you know i was here?,” you ask, puzzled, you never brought him here before so you wouldn’t expect him to even know it.

“i asked giselle,” he replies simply, leaving you confused, your brows knitting, “you talked to giselle?”

he chuckles slightly before saying, “i actually stopped by your place first and you weren’t there and then i got an earful from giselle about being mr. cupid and now i'm here,” giving you a quick rundown of what happened.

“wait, what? i never told her your secret,” you say, wide eyed. that’s when he realizes then that you had no idea what happened in the last hour.

“i uh…i actually finished your four step plan,” he explains and you’re left speechless, “you didn’t have to do that,” you murmur, voice soft.

“no, i did,” he quickly retorts, “it was time,” a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips.

“he wasn’t all a fake persona, you know?,” he exhales, voice laced with honesty.

“i know,” you say quickly, eyes meeting his. “i saw him,” voice filled with sincerity, “fell in love with him,” you whisper into the night air, making him look up, hope flickering behind his eyes.

“i thought i had to hide that side of me,” he admits, “i’ve been very aware of the whole fuckboy label and yeah…i got caught up in the ‘cool’ image of it all. it was easier to be who everyone expected me to be, it’s stupid, i know,” he smiles softly, his words reflecting your confession.

“but that’s not why i came here tonight,” his eyes find yours, unwavering.

“i'm sorry about what i said earlier at the gallery,” he adds softly and you shake your head before he can go on, “it’s okay jaemin, i get it, i know why said it, it’s not like i didn’t deserve it,” you reassure him.

“no,” he says, a little firmer this time, “it’s not okay because it wasn’t true and i'm tired of all the lies between us so…here it goes,” he takes a breath, almost like he’s steadying himself.

“you’re not the only one who fell,” he says, a quiet smile forming, tender and nervous,“i did too.”

“—and i’m pretty sure i hit the ground way before you did,” he pauses.

you looked at him like he had somehow brought the stars to you and that was all the courage he needed to continue.

“i think white looks perfect with pink, i’m not a big fan of matcha iced tea but i’d still love to see my glass of americano sitting next to yours, and i am completely, stupidly, undeniably in love with you,” he confesses, voice steady and full of conviction, “that’s what i should’ve said earlier.”

you blink, heart pounding, the corners of your lips lifting into a smile you can’t fight, every emotion rushing to the surface.

“better late than never, right?,” you softly tease, making him chuckle before finally taking a step closer. this time, you don’t move away.

“you told me i didn’t have to ask,” he whispers and then he kisses you, soft and certain, and full of emotion.

for the first time since he walked out of your bedroom, angry and overwhelmed, jaemin feels like he could finally breathe again.

his hands gently make their way to your cheeks, deepening the kiss as yours clasped around his neck, pulling him in closer.

“god, i love you,” jaemin whispers against your lips as he moves down to litter kisses on that spot below your ear, eliciting a breathy whine from you.

“i love you too,” you whisper in his ear, large hands making their way behind your thighs as jaemin picks you up, sitting you on the long wooden table, now eye to eye level, his lips were back on yours in an instant, as he stood in the place between your legs.

you could feel his growing bulge against your thigh, making you dizzy, “jaemin, i need you,” you whine desperately. he gives in to your request quickly, no longer wanting to deny the pleasure coursing in between your bodies.

unzipping your pants, he slides it down, before pushing your panties to the side and shoving two fingers in, “so fucking tight, angel,” he groans as his fingers curl drawing out breathy moans from your lips as you tried to be as quiet as possible, afraid someone would walk in. usually no one was here during this time but you could never be too sure, you were still in a public place after all.

you could feel the tension in your stomach rise, heat starting to travel down to your toes, but you needed more, “please, n-need you now,” you plead, “you sure angel? it might hurt,” he grunts, his fingers brushing your walls repetitively, trying to prepare you as much as he can.

no longer able to wait, your hand reached for the wallet in his back pocket as you took out the condom you knew he always carried.

jaemin’s pants falls to the ground, pooling around his ankles, his boxers soon to follow as you wrapped the condom around his throbbing cock, the warmth of your hands making him groan into your shoulder as he tried to control the urge to bust right then and there, “have i told you how much effect you have on me?,” he grunts.

“show me,” you whisper, kissing that soft spot below his ear.

“you make me so fucking crazy,” he says, looking you in the eyes as he pushed his tip in your entrance. you bite back your moans, the expression on your face between pleasure and pain as you looked up at him, trying your best not to shut your eyes at the way he was slowly expanding your walls, pussy molding to the shape of his large cock.

“fucckk, you feel so fucking good,” he compliments as he bottoms in, tip kissing your cervix, your shared moans mixing in the air as you burrowed your head in his shoulder, leaving trails of wet, sloppy kisses, trying to distract yourself from the pain of the stretch.

“missed your pussy so much,” he whines. carefully, he pulls the hair tie out of your ponytail, letting your hair fall freely down your shoulders as he starts thrusting, setting a slow pace. you were so incredibly tight around him, he knew he had to be gentle, “so fucking pretty,” he whispers, watching your every reaction.

“d-don’t stop,” you sigh, getting used to his size, as he continues to thrust in and out, the slow pace becoming more addicting with every push. jaemin’s warm hands gripping your hips, massaging slow circles around your thighs, the added pressure adding on to the coil tightening in your stomach as your body arched up, hips starting to move in rhythm with his.

“faster, jaemin,” you moan. his name spilling from your lips immediately increases his speed as your hands rest on the table, trying to stabilize yourself. moans heighten as the sound of skin slapping echoes throughout the room. you don’t even care about wandering ears anymore, or what would happen if a professor happened to catch the two of you in this position.

all you cared about was this high — the way his cock seemed to be made for you, hitting that spot that makes you feel like you’re sitting on a cloud as angels sang all around you. jaemin feels the same way, absolutely lost in the feeling only you could give him.

it was getting harder to keep it together as he starts losing his rhythm, “i’m c-close, angel,” he grunts, finger finding your sensitive bud, rubbing slow but harsh circles, “cum with me, please,” he groans and it was enough to snap the coil in your stomach, eyes rolling back, pussy gripping his cock as you gave into the pleasure that is na jaemin.

𓏲𝄢

it’s been a week since that night that brought you back together. a week filled with “i love you’s,” and everything sickeningly sweet.

the boys have all apologized to you, spilling repetitive sorry’s about their behavior. forgiveness came easy. especially since you knew they were only like that because of how much they loved him and you were happy jaemin had people like them on his side.

mr. cupid became “love, na jaemin” — jaemin decided to continue it after emails upon emails of request from his viewers to come back. this time, he promised complete honesty, no longer hiding behind the fake persona. the show was back to #1 spot within a day, everyone loving this side of him even more.

there were still parties, almost every night, but instead of sneaking around with random women, jaemin had you by his side every single time — hand wrapped in yours, playful stolen kisses all over your skin, dancing and laughter. and in the days where you couldn’t go to a party, he’d simply have fun with the boys before retiring into his room alone, preferring to facetime you on the phone.

today, jaemin surprised you with a picnic. the sky was painted with soft blues and golden sun, a warm breeze curling through your hair as you sat on the picnic blanket in the park. he pulls out a bag filled with two mini canvases and a small set of watercolor.

“what’s all this?,” you giggle, as he hands you your canvas.

“i saw it on tiktok, we have to paint each other and then show each other the results,” he explains excitedly, a sparkle dancing in his eyes, like a kid getting a new toy.

“winner gets whatever they want!,” he continues, explaining the rules as you laughed, “you know i’m gonna win, right?,” you tease, raising a brow.

“hey! you’ve never seen me paint, you don’t know that,” he cutely defends himself, a pout on his lips.

“okay baby, you’re right, sorry,” you giggle, kissing his pout away, frown instantly melting into a bright smile.

“quit distracting me, angel” he said softly, grinning as he picked up his brush.

the two of you fall into a comfortable silence as you start, eyes flicking between your painting and each other. the air was filled with quiet focus and unspoken affection. you could feel it in the way his gaze lingered on you, the way your fingers moved slowly, like trying to capture every piece of him with love.

but while you were focused on painting him, jaemin had a different mission entirely.

he knew you were going to win, of course you were. this was just his little ploy to finally make you his girlfriend. a week has been long enough and he was starting to go crazy every time he wanted to call you his girlfriend but couldn’t. he’s never wanted to the boyfriend title so badly in his life.

he kicked himself over and over, wondering why he didn’t just ask you during his confession but that night was powered through by overwhelming emotions of love, hope and desire that the words had slipped his mind.

since then, nothing had felt romantic enough and you deserve to be asked properly…in the most special way. and he has finally figured out how.

after a couple more minutes of painting you break the silence, “i think im done,” you announce, setting your brush down with a satisfied smile.

he glances up at you, pretending to be busy as he continues to paint the background of his artwork, “hmm, give me one more second,” he chimes before adding his final touch.

“okay, you ready?,” he wiggles his eyebrows as you nod, your heart fluttering.

3…2…1…

you both flip your canvases, showing each other your board. your eyes immediately widen as you process the words written on his board in bold, messy paint: will you be my girlfriend? — decorated by a ton of pink and red hearts.

a happy squeal escapes your lips as you launch yourself at him, sending him back onto the picnic blanket. you pepper his face with soft kisses, laughter bubbling from both of you.

“yes, yes, yes, of course i’ll be your girlfriend!” you say happily, dreamily. he was laughing too, arms wrapped around you, holding you close like he never wanted to let go.

“by the way, i want to go to busan again,” you smile up at him, letting him know that you still win. he breaks into a soft laughter, “whatever my angel wants, my angel gets,” he says, kissing you softly, sweetly and full of promise.

jaemin swears he’s in heaven — laying under the open sky with the girl of his dreams, the girl who he loves and loves him, and the word finally echoing in his heart.

𓏲 the end.

—

an: ahhh! if you’ve made it this far thank you so so much for reading <3 i wish you all find yourself a na jaemin (the real na jaemin of course, he’s better than the one written here lol >.<) while i have you! please please please help me decide who’s story to write next by voting here -> click!

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