#how to get to know your characters better

[that-one-girl2020]

Role Reversal Pt. 7

Saja Boys x Rumi’s Sister! Reader

A/N: I’m so sorry that this one is so late! I tried to write it in time for my 4:30 posting but the characters kept wacking me over the head. This isn’t even proofread so good luck and let me know if there’s any errors. Also, kudos to the anonymous person who suggested the song for role reversal Free!

Synopsis: The boys share their trauma with you. You are not having a great time.

CW: Insecurity, low self esteem, alluding to exclusion, discrimination (?), self mutilation, cursing, etc.

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

Word Count: 4.5k

<< Part 6 || Master List

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

You didn’t tell the other girls about your meeting with Jinu. It was slightly pointless when you had only learned about Jinu’s weakness, is how you reasoned it to yourself.

You kept your distance from Jinu for a while, instead choosing to work on getting the other four to open up. You tried to forget Jinu’s deal proposal. You tried telling yourself that it wouldn’t work, that you would just be sealed away with all the other demons. What chance was there of you being able to stay when you were a demon twice over.

“What’s on your mind?” Hyeon asks softly, sitting next to you as the two of you ate your soft serve ice cream. He had noticed that you had gotten lost in thought, your hand moving the spoon slower and slower.

You sigh. Tempted to tell him what was going on, just so you could get it off your chest, but you couldn’t. That would just be a disaster all around.

“Nothing,” You answered, “Just… thinking about the Idol Awards coming up.” It was true to an extent.

Hyeon hummed. He was thinking about the Idol Awards more and more often now as well. He couldn’t help but dread the Awards, knowing that it was when the others planned to seal the Honmoon once and for all. What would happen to you when that happened? He felt… worried for you.

Hyeon could admit that he felt worried for you because he had grown fond of you. He didn’t know the extent of that fondness but he knew that he liked you. He liked seeing you smile and laugh. He liked just sitting with you and chatting. He even just liked quietly enjoying your presence. What was that feeling called?

“Yeah, me too…” He trailed off, tilting his head back in thought, his eye peeking out from behind his hair slightly as it shifted. “Do… Do you know what will happen to you afterwards…?”

You didn’t need to ask him to elaborate. You both were observant enough to know that the Awards would be where it all coalesced. The two groups would clash and either Gwi Ma would rise once again or the Honmoon would be sealed.

You were quiet for a moment. “I guess it depends on who wins,” You answered honestly.

He hummed in response. It was about the answer he expected.

“Either way…” You spoke softly, trailing off unsurely. “Either way, hopefully it’ll at least be better than before. Either my memories will be gone or I’ll be gone…”

Hyeon gasped softly and looked at you. You smiled a little self-deprecatingly. “Yeah, that’s the deal I made with Gwi Ma in return for doing this…” He didn’t say anything, just looking at you, studying you.

“All of them?” He asked eventually, his voice quieter than usual.

You nodded, “All my human ones.” When he didn’t say anything, you hesitantly elaborated. “I was born in a small village, me and my sister. For reasons that I could never really understand, we were hated. My sister eventually left the village and me behind, searching for a place for herself. Even after making a deal with Gwi Ma to fit in better, to look the part, no one was able to love me for who I was… That’s why I want them gone.” You couldn’t help the tear that escaped your eye, your throat feeling tight. Your hands twitched with the itch to scratch at your arms, a bad habit from centuries ago.

You stilled when a hand rested atop yours.

“I understand,” Hyeon stated. You couldn’t help but look at him a little dubiously. Sure he was a little unique in comparison to other people but normal was boring. “People used to flock to me because of my appearance, they said I was gifted with ethereal beauty. But it was too much for me, I couldn’t tell when people liked me for me or if they were just seeing my face. So I withdrew from the world. Even my parents used me, forcing me to model day after day. So I was glad when the Hunters scouted me but they weren’t very happy when I started covering my face…”

You couldn’t help but rest your other hand over his, your ice cream cup discarded to the side. Words left your lips without permission, softened by the vulnerable air around you two, “I think you’re beautiful, Hyeon. Because you’re kind and observant and you have… a beautiful soul.” You couldn’t help but flush at your own words, scolding yourself.

Hyeon was shocked by your words. No one had ever said anything like that to him before. He felt seen in a way that made him feel exposed. It made him a little scared, but he also couldn’t help but want more of it. So he smiled. “I think you have a beautiful soul too,” He responded simply.

You frowned. You hadn’t had a soul in a long time, if you ever even had one to begin with. Still, you smiled at him, “Thanks Hyeon.” You took a deep breath, standing, “I should go. Before the girls realize I’ve been gone too long…” It was just an excuse. You just wanted away from this vulnerable, safe spot otherwise you would keep talking and never stop.

“Oh,” Hyeon voiced. He could tell that your frame had shifted, less open. You were closing yourself off and it sent a spike of hurt through his chest. But he could understand that you probably felt a little overwhelmed. “See you soon?”

You couldn’t help but smile, “Yeah. See you around.”

You walked away without looking back so Hyeon couldn’t see the frown on your face. And you couldn’t see how he watched after you with worry.

~~~

Kwan was next.

Guilt and shame coiled tighter and tighter inside you as you opened yourself up to these boys, drawing them in with your vulnerabilities like the sticky nectar on the tentacles of a carnivorous sundew. They just didn’t know that the tentacles were curling around them one by one already.

Kwan and you had taken to meeting at the night market at least once a week, just to eat. And bicker. Mostly bicker.

Kwan didn’t know why he kept meeting with you. You were a demon and he was a Hunter. Maybe it was because he empathized with you being judged for your appearance like he used to be as well. But it could also be because of the way you would try any food he put before you at least once. Your eyes would light up and you would hum at the flavor or your eyes would narrow and you would grimace. He looked forward to the time he spent with you. Time where he was just Kwan and nothing else, where he could laugh boisterously, smirk dangerously, and speak sharply and you would just laugh along, roll your eyes, and trade back barbs just as sharply.

However, tonight, there was none of that.

“Kwan,” he looked up when you spoke. You were mindlessly stirring the cup of soup in front of you. “Do you think I deserve to die?”

“Oh. Well shit.”

“Eloquent.”

Kwan quickly shook his head. “Sorry, sorry. You just surprised me,” Kwan tried to quickly process what you had asked him and try to come up with an answer. “Uhm, what brought this up?”

You shrugged, your brows furrowed as you gazed into your soup, “I don’t know, I guess the Idol Awards.”

“Right…” Kwan drawled, rubbing the back of his neck anxiously. “Look, I don’t think anyone deserves to die. Especially not you.”

“Even demons?” You can’t help but ask, looking up at him pointedly.

He sighed, “Look, I was wrong, okay? I didn’t have all the information, I was just doing what I was taught, thinking what I was told to think. But… I don’t think I would’ve chosen differently than you did.”

You looked up at him in confusion. “What do you mean?” Was this it. You wanted to reach across the table and cover his mouth. Tell him that he shouldn’t tell you. Shouldn’t trust you. But you didn’t.

Kwan took a deep breath, “I got judged a lot for my appearance too. After my folks passed, I was passed around the system and no one wanted me. Said I looked too rough, said that I was a delinquent. I was too big, too mean looking. Sometimes I felt like it would be easier to be the beast they all saw but I didn’t give them the luxury of being right. Dancing was the only respite I had. Then the Hunters recruited me. If they hadn’t, I don’t know what I would’ve done, who I would’ve become…” He told you truthfully. It was nice to get it off his chest. To finally say the words aloud. He felt more settled in himself, knowing that there was someone that could relate to his past.

You swallowed harshly. Your fists clenched under the table. Internally you despaired that the boys were trusting you too easily. You wanted to protect them from yourself, from the demon in your head.

For now, you just looked at him and reached across the table to rest your hand on his own clenched fist. He looked up and something in your eyes made him relax, his shoulders lowering. For now, you could just listen and be there for them.

He took a deep breath, “Anyway, no, I don’t think you deserve to die. I think you deserve to live, (Y/n).”

Something tight unwound just a little bit inside you. “Thanks Kwan.”

He smiled, and the two of you continued eating.

~~~

The truth boiled at your lips, begging and pleading to be spilled to these boys who had become a safe place for you. Two more and your mission would be complete, the next time you would see them was during Gwi Ma’s victory at the Idol Awards. Just two more and you could forget, you could forget your human memories and perhaps you could forget them too.

You found Chungae at the same park, at the same bench as always. He was people watching as he usually did but he didn’t look so envious anymore. Whatever he thought that others had that he didn’t, it seemed like he was starting to find it himself. You brought a flower from a flower shop this time so you didn’t risk getting in trouble with the park workers.

“Hey,” You greeted him, leaning over the back of the bench to offer the flower to him. He smiled, taking it from you and you circled the bench to sit next to him.

“What’s this one mean?” He asked curiously. You had taken to looking up random flower meanings and giving them to him, sometimes leaving him to figure it out for himself. Modern flower languages were much different than the language from centuries ago.

You glance at the snapdragon, “Grace and strength,” you tell him. Not really a lie, just not the full truth. “According to the girl at the shop anyway,” you shrug.

He hums, twirling the stem, “Nice.” Chungae can’t help the smile that pulls at his lips as he looks at the flower. It was another to add to his small collection. Every time he received a flower from you, his heart skipped a beat in his chest—a foreign feeling that he hadn’t felt before he started talking to you. It went against all his training and lessons, but he couldn’t muster any care for the rules he was taught.

“Any interesting people today?” You ask him, looking around the park curiously. It seemed like the usual people, the usual stories of happy families, mundane days, and content lives.

Chungae shrugs, “I haven’t been paying much attention,” he admits.

You hum. “Then you found what you don’t have?”

“Maybe,” is all he says. You two sit there for a moment, just observing the world move around your quiet little corner of the world. “(Y/n), why do you people watch?” Chungae remembers how you had asked him that when you first met at the park, but after spending time with you he had realized that you weren’t new to people watching.

You were hoping to avoid the emotional talk but it seemed like you couldn’t no matter which man you spent time with. “I’ve been doing it for a long time, even when I was human. It started as me just being curious, wondering why everyone was so… kind to each other when no one was ever kind to me. I tried to see what was so different about me. But then, after I became a demon, I started sneaking from the demon realm when I could to watch the times change, to watch the people going about their lives, living normally. I suppose I people watch to see what I didn’t and couldn’t have.”

Stop talking. Don’t open up. Move on, don’t let him speak his own honesty.

But it was so nice to share these small bits of yourself with these men, with these people that just accepted the little shards with open hands and gentle fingers.

Chungae was surprised by how much he could understand your reasoning. “That’s why I do it too.” It was too late, the words were in the air and neither of you could stop them. “I grew up with my matchmaker relatives, but they never really showed me any care. I could see the familial, platonic, and romantic love around me but I never experienced it for myself—not from my family, not from friends, not from anyone really. The guys are the first friends I ever had.” He gave a self deprecating snort, “That’s kind of why I started obsessing over social media. It’s also how the Hunters recruited me.”

But the funny thing was that in the time he spent with you, he never got the urge to check his socials. Not once.

You chuckled, leaning your head on his shoulder, “What a pair of losers we are, huh?” You tried to comfort him with humor.

Chungae laughed too, “You’re. A. Loser, Baby~”

You had no idea what he was referencing but you smacked his shoulder, the both of you laughing as he pulled out his phone to show you a video.

For now, things were alright.

But, then again, snapdragons could also mean deception and hidden intentions.

~~~

Jum was harder to get time with, not that you were really complaining about it. The Idol Awards were creeping closer and the other girls were getting more antsy. There was a rough outline for a plan, but the final pieces were needed in order to complete it. Gwi Ma hadn’t summoned you all in a whirlwind of fury and anger that no progress had been made though which meant that he knew of your progress. It made your skin itch with the need to scratch your claws into it.

Jum found you this time. You had gone to the convenience store for some chocolate. Surprisingly, it had become a comfort snack after you had tried it. But you could only have a few pieces at a time or you would have a major sugar crash.

“Hey.” You startled when you heard the maknae’s voice, looking up to see him casually scanning the shelves next to you.

“Hey, Jum,” You greeted him.

He continued looking at the shelves so you went back to looking for your chocolate. Oh, there it is, right in front of you. You grabbed it, awkwardly glancing at Jum. He didn’t seem to care as he grabbed the candy he was looking for and walked away.

“Come on.”

You hurried after him, “Oh, okay, I’m coming with you now, I guess…” You both got drinks, paid and left the store. You quietly walked next to him until you eventually broke the silence, “Did you have something you wanted to talk about…?”

He was quiet for a moment, thoughtful. “The Idol Awards are coming up.”

“Yeah…?”

“And we’re gonna perform the diss track.”

“Okay…?”

“I don’t want to perform the diss track.”

“Oh.” You blinked, unsure of what you were supposed to say in response to that. You didn’t really want to hear the diss track, a song all about how demons deserved to die probably. “Are you going to tell the others?”

He shrugged, “I tried. Everyone was a little conflicted, we started arguing about how everyone’s been so weird lately.”

It was because of you you were sure. “Oh.”

Jum sighed, throwing his head back and rubbing his face, “I’m just so tired of not being listened to. Like, my opinions and my ideas don’t matter because I’m the youngest and I have this fucking baby face. In fact, I’m scared that I’ll never be taken seriously, never be heard.”

You frowned, resting your hand on his shoulder, “Hey, I hear you Jum. I’m taking you seriously.” The two of you have come to a stop, leaning against the brick wall of a random building. “No one ever listens to me either.”

Jum looked at you so you sighed and continued, “Everyone always leaves me behind, I get swept into the background. I’m rarely seen or heard unless someone needs something from me, so I get it…”

Jum intertwines your fingers, holding your hand with his. The tight feeling constricting his chest ever since that morning was finally unwinding now that he was with you. “Hey,” he nudged your shoulder. “I won’t leave you behind if you take me seriously?”

You chuckled, squeezing his hand, “Deal.”

It was nice, for once, to have someone who wouldn’t leave you behind. But it wasn’t the first time you had been promised that. There was still that little spark in your chest that hoped that this time would be different though.

~~~

All the pieces had fallen into place. You didn’t tell the girls yet though. The Idol Awards were tomorrow and you, to put it eloquently, felt like shit. These guys had opened themselves up to you and you were going to throw it back in their faces.

You couldn’t get Jinu’s deal out of your head, his earnest hope for you that you would get to live after all of this. That you would actually get to experience life. So, you decided to meet with him one last time.

The sun was past set but there was still a faint glow of color lingering in the sky. You had sent Arson and Sprite to lead him to where you were waiting, lost in thought. You would keep it short and simple, just tell him that you couldn’t do it. Then you would leave and hopefully not see the guys after.

Your thoughts were interrupted by Arson nudging against you insistently, so you chuckled and scratched his favorite spot behind the ear, making him pant happily as his tongue lolled out.

“How did you end up with these two, anyway?” Jinu asked as he joined you.

You shrugged, “I don’t know, how did you end up with a hundred tiny hats in your closet?”

“Fair enough,” Jinu agreed and the two of you chuckled. “Have you thought about my deal?” Jinu asked slowly. He really hoped that you would agree. He wanted to show you that there was more to life than what had led to you making a deal with Gwi Ma.

You pushed off of the wall, “I’m sorry Jinu, but my hands are tied. I can’t help you.” You crossed your arms, hugging yourself as you avoided his gaze.

Jinu blinked, “Wait, what? What do you mean?” He asked, his shoulders sagging.

“Look, I’ve been betrayed a lot in life. I can’t risk it,” You tried to reason with him.

Jinu shook his head, taking your wrist as you tried to walk away. “(Y/n), you think I’ll betray you? You’d rather continue serving Gwi Ma than helping me and living afterwards?”

You shook his hand off, “You don’t know that’s what’ll happen Jinu, I could get sealed away just like the others. So yeah, I can’t do it. My hands are tied. Why would you try to save me anyway.”

You start walking away, holding yourself together with your arms around your middle. You stop when you hear his voice.

“You know I want you~ It's not a secret I try to hide~ I know you want me~ So don't keep sayin' our hands are tied~ You claim it's not in the cards~ And fate is pulling you miles away and out of reach from me~ But you're here in my heart~ So who can stop me if I decide that you're my destiny?~”

You didn’t face him but you could hear him getting closer and closer. Your heart was pounding. He didn’t make you look at him, he just circled around you, bending down to meet your eyes. Then he took your hands in his.

“What if we rewrite the stars?~ Say you were made to be mine?~ Nothing could keep us apart~ You'd be the one I was meant to find~ It's up to you and it's up to me~ No one can say what we get to be~ So why don't we rewrite the stars?~ Maybe the world could be ours tonight~”

It wasn’t fair. He wasn’t being fair. How could he say all these things when you hadn’t even told him the full truth, you hadn’t told any of them the full truth. But as his voice rose, the whispers in your head quieted and you felt peace and safety and comfort. It wasn’t fair.

You pulled your hands from his, walking away to get some distance between the two of you before turning to face him.

“You think it's easy?~ You think I don't want to run to you?~ But there are mountains~ And there are doors that we can't walk through~ I know you're wonderin' why~ Because we're able to be just you and me within these walls~ But when we go outside~ You're gonna wake up and see that it was hopeless after all~”

When Jinu tried to follow you, you teleported up to the rooftops, looking down at him as he leapt after you, climbing the building swiftly. You jumped away, landing on another roof. You ducked behind chimneys and windows, your voice sounding around the night as you hid from him.

“No one can rewrite the stars~ How can you say you'll be mine?~ Everything keeps us apart~ And I'm not the one you were meant to find~ It's not up to you, it's not up to me~ When everyone tells us what we can be~ How can we rewrite the stars?~ Say that the world can be ours tonight~”

You looked around a corner to see where he was, but then he was right there, his arms on your hips, looking into your eyes. You pulled away, turning to jump to another roof when he grabbed your wrist and pulled you back to him, spinning you into his arms. You swiped at him, and he ducked. The two of you began a dance of you trying to get away and him only pulling you closer.

“All I want is to fly with you~ All I want is to fall with you~ So just give me all of you~”

“It feels impossible~” You argued to him.

“It's not impossible~” Jinu answered.

“Is it impossible?~”

“Say that it's possible~”

Just for a moment, just a brief moment, you dared to dream of what it could be if you agreed. If you just gave in.

“How do we rewrite the stars?~ Say you were made to be mine~ Nothing can keep us apart~ 'Cause you are the one I was meant to find~ It's up to you and it's up to me~ No one can say what we get to be~ Why don't we rewrite the stars?~ Changin' the world to be ours~”

The two of you stopped, on the edge of a roof, the city lights glowing out just beyond you. You were face to face, your chests heaving for breath, just looking at each other. It was everything you couldn’t have.

“You know I want you~ It's not a secret I try to hide~ But I can't have you~ We're bound to break and my hands are tie~”

You walked away, making your way back to where you left Arson and Sprite. “Wait!” Jinu called after you. You jumped down and you heard him follow, landing softly. “Even after all that, you won’t do it?”

You stilled, not turning to look at him. Softly, you admitted, “I’m scared…”

Because you were terrified. If you sabotaged Gwi Ma and the girls’ plan, what would happen to you. And if the boys succeeded in sealing the Honmoon and you ended up on the other side, Gwi Ma would kill you or worse, damn you to your memories for the rest of eternity.

Jinu’s face softened, taking your hand in his gently, “But isn’t it worth it to be brave? I know you’re strong, (Y/n), much stronger than I am. I want you to have another chance at life. Please, (Y/n).” Jinu pleaded with you, turning you to look at him so you could see the honesty in his eyes.

You dared to hope.

“Okay…” You nodded slowly. “I’ll make sure Huntr/x won’t win tomorrow.”

Jinu smiled, gentle, “Then we can all be happy. Thank you, for trusting me, (Y/n).”

“Just… just please don’t leave me behind,” You looked up at him. You felt like an open wound. Like a hurt animal having to trust the kind hand reaching out to it.

His face steeled, “I promise.” He pressed a kiss softly to your forehead. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He started walking away. And the truth roiled at your lips, beginning to leak out, “Jinu,” You called after him. You should tell him. Tell him before he put all of his faith in a demon that could never be loved. A creature born without a soul. But then he would leave you. “Never mind. It’s nothing.”

“If you’re sure,” Jinu double checked.

“Yeah.”

He flashed you a smile and walked away. You watched him go, hope glowing dimly in your heart.

But you had forgotten. For just a moment, you had forgotten.

Blood roared in your ears, the whispers growing louder with a vengeance after having been ignored, your patterns flaring a deep purple and you suddenly fell backwards, landing on stone with a grunt, looking up at a dark sky streaked with souls.

The girls were there, stone faced. “What’s going on?”

Zoey grimaced lightly, whispering, “Turn around…”

You stood, turning. Gwi Ma burned higher than he had for centuries, “It’s funny, I thought for a moment that you believed you could be free.” Gwi Ma laughed, his flames flaring brighter with every chortle.

You grimaced, “Yeah, funny…”

“Because, if you really believed him, if you really thought that you could be free, then you would have told them the truth.”

You fell to your knees, your hands clasped uselessly over your ears as you descended into your memories.

A/N: Carnivorous plants are really cool to me, like the Venus fly trap, sundew, pitcher plant, there’s even a flower that smells like rotting meat to draw flies in. Anyways, sorry again that I’m so off schedule! I also didn’t try as hard for these outtakes because I didn’t wanna make the post any later than it already is.

Outtakes:

Saja Boys: *one by one returning to the tower emotionally drained*

Also the Saja Boys: *Not saying anything about it because you are their emotional support demon*

…

Polytr/x: “So…we’re not gonna do anything about this…?”

You: *conflicted between wanting to complete your mission and not wanting to feel like a piece of manipulative shit* “What do I do…”

Gwi Ma: *King of emotional manipulation and blackmail* “I can do something about this.”

Polytr/x: “Uhhh…”

…

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[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

💝 twst 2025 valentine gift message compilation 🎁

Yes, it’s time—

For preliminary information on what this is and links to the previous years' messages, please check out this post!

This year’s messages came printed on a (horizontally) long piece of paper.

The common theme in all of the 2025 messages is that the sender (you!) invited the character(s) to your Guest Room.

***Spoilers below the cut!!***

Riddle

My dear friend—

Thank you for inviting me to your guest room. I confess I am curious about what it will be like, but you know who you’ve invited, and thus I trust you know how to be a proper host. I won’t come empty-handed, of course. I hope you look forward to this as much as I do.

Trey

Hello, friend—

Thank you for inviting me to your guest room. I’m really looking forward to it. I’ve been thinking of ideas for things to do. What would you say to making some sweets with me?

I could actually use another big kitchen, so if you want to do some remodeling before I come over… Just joshing!

Cater

Eyyy, friendo!

Thanks for the guest room invite. It really made my day, so I figured I’d send you a handwritten letter instead of just DMing by you on Magicam. What would you think of doing a whole guest room makeup for the ‘Cam sometime? You’ll get my Cay-Cay expertise. Next stop: Influencerdom!

Ace

Heya, pal—

Thanks for having me over! It was super fun playing games with you in the guest room. You liked the snacks I brought, right?

Well, I’ll buy you more next time. Consider it my way of saying thanks.

Keep in touch!

Deuce

My good friend—

Thanks for helping out with my study session! The guest room’s such a great studying environment, I made a ton of progress. I should do something to repay the favor… And I will, next time I come over to hang out in Ramshackle Dorm! You’ll just have to wait and see!

Leona

Hey—

Thanks for the guest room invite. It’s not the worst offer, I guess. Always nice to have more places to catch a few Zs.

You’d better have it set up properly for a decent nap when I get there. I expect only the best hospitality from you.

Ruggie

Hey—

Thanks for inviting me to your guest room! I feel kinda bad being on the receiving end of so much generosity, especially after you treated me last time I came over too. I’ll look forward to more of that this time. If you want a good place to start, you could serve some of my favorite sweets and tea? Sheeheehee.

Jack

Hi.

Thanks for having me over. Your guest room’s nice and quiet, perfect for focusing on my PT. If you ever want help hauling something heavy inside, feel free to hit me up. I feel bad not doing something to pay you back.

Azul

My boon companion—

Thank you kindly for inviting me to your guest room. I saw a number of interesting pieces of decor the last time I visited. I hope you’ll tell me all about them this time.

And rest assured, I’ll bring ample recompense for the information.

Jade

My good friend—

I’m honored to receive an invitation to your guest room.

Thank you for that.

You know, my hobby of constructing terrariums has also sparked an interest in interior design. I hope you’ll be sharing some insights regarding what you like to focus on in your own space.

Floyd

Dear Little Shrimpy—

Thanks for inviting me to your guest room. So, what’re we even gonna do there? You should have some games I don’t know, or something else engaging enough to keep me from getting bored when I visit.

Oh, and snacks too. I’m looking forward to this.

Kalim

To my dear friend—

Thanks for inviting me to your guest room! I’m usually the one extending invites, so it made me really happy to have you reach out to me.

I’ll bring a bunch of food and drinks, and we can party until dawn!

Jamil

Hello—

Thank you for inviting me to your guest room. I trust you remember the hospitality pointers I shared last time? Normally I’d tell you to come to me for advice if you need any, but since I’m going to be your guest, you’ve just got to show me what you can do.

I look forward to taking your measure as a host.

Vil

Dearest friend—

Thank you for your gracious guest room invitation. You’re certainly bold to invite me, of all people. That’s a compliment, for the record. Consider your invitation once again accepted. I trust you’ll show me even better hospitality than last time.

Rook

My dear, dear friend—

I must be a lucky fellow indeed, to receive an invitation to your guest room. Merci beaucoup!

Oh, how uncontrollably my heart soars. Would you be amenable to a visit immediately? I hope to find you waiting when I get there.

Epel

Dear classmate—

Thanks for having me over! It was fun snacking and chatting together in your guest room. It’s mighty nice having an open invitation to come hang out whenever I like!

When should I drop by again? I can come by whenever to you’ve got room in your schedule. Just let me know.

Idia

@YOU

thnx for the invite

When you first said I should come by your guest room, I thought I was being punked or sth. Still can’t believe I’m actually gonna go hang out at someone else’s place like some kind of normie lol.

Man, I’m really not used to this stuff. Talk about awkward vibes…

Ortho

Hello, Prefect—

Thanks for having me over! Visiting with friends after school is so nice. It’s like a staple of student life. Would you be okay with me dropping by again sometime? That movie I told you about is available to stream now, so I thought it’d be fun to watch it together. Oh, and feel free to share any recs you have!

Malleus

To my dear friend—

Allow me to extend my sincerest gratitude for inviting me to your guest room. You are the only one who reaches out to me for such things. I graciously accept, of course.

You mentioned before that you’d like to hear me play the violin, yes? Should you wish it, I would be happy to do so. I have every confidence that you will enjoy it.

Lilia

Greetings!

And thank you for your invitation! I haven’t had many occasions to visit friends’ houses over the years, but this feels thrilling, like a part of a youthful school life. I’ll bring some snacks as a gift.

The other Diasomnia students didn’t seem to like them very much, but I assure you, they’re quite delicious!

Silver

Salutations—

Thank you for inviting me to your guest room. I feel bad that I dozed off on your couch without realizing it the other day. If you have trouble cleaning hard-to-reach areas or lifting heavy items, feel free to ask me for help. I’d love to assist in any way that I can. I’ll do better this time.

Sebek

Human—

Thank you for having me over. Your guest room was a suitable enough reading environment. I noticed you had a number of full bookshelves. Are you an enjoyer of books as well? I might be willing to share a personal recommendation, if you’re interested. Consider yourself fortunate!

Crowley

Dear esteemed student—

Thank you for the invitation. When I visited your guest room, I was most impressed with how orderly everything was! I couldn’t be happier to see school property being kept clean and put to proper use. I trust you’ll continue managing your dorm as its prefect with the same amount of care in the future.

Crewel

Dear pup—

Thank you for having me in your guest room. As your homeroom teacher, I was relieved to find it clean and well-kept. Surveying it in person was worth the trip.

Good pup. Your choices in furniture also demonstrated excellent taste. Keep it up, and don’t rest on your laurels.

Trein

Dear juvenile—

Thank you for inviting me to your guest room. I must say, not just any student would invite me into their home. Your guest room was in beautiful condition, with spotless flooring, perfectly washed windows, and wall decor without a speck of dust. It seems you appreciate the importance of cleanliness in one’s surroundings.

Keep upholding those standards.

Vargas

Dear student—

Thanks for inviting me to your guest room!

Heh heh heh, I know the REAL reason you did.

You want to make it the best training gym you can, right?

Sounds like it’s time for me to roll up my sleeves! Consider that something to look forward to.

Sam

Heya, my little imp!

What is up? Thanks for the invite!

Your guest room was positively STYLIN’.

If you’re ever in doubt about what to put in there, feel free to hit up my store. I’ve got every piece of decor you could ever want, in stock now!

Grim

Dear hench-human—

Thanks for inviting me to your guest room. I was wonderin’ why you did, then I saw you changed up the whole place!

That’s my hench-human. You know how to make it look good. As a reward, I’ll share one of my favorite treats with ya.

Call it partner’s privilege, myahaha!

[iamactuallysocute]

Hi! I’m a super fan of your Saja boys work, I love how you curated their personalities! I had a Q about Baby. Since he’s so reserved in a relationship I was wondering what it would look like if the Reader was just… done? Like treated it like the situationship he’s been acting like their relationship is. Sees other people. Him cold shouldering you wouldn’t make you crawl back this time. You could be done with him but he isn’t done with you. Thoughts?

BABY SAJA – LOYALTY IS WASTED ON MEN LIKE YOU!

Emotionally unavailable? Say less, you’re in! Dating Baby was never going to be easy. He’s rude, way too pretty, and emotionally repressed. But you were ready to give him everything. Turns out, the only thing that made him realize your worth was watching other men fight for it.

cw: implied fem reader, toxic relationship dynamics, (mild) gaslighting, neglect, unresolved codependency(love me but also leave me but also love me), reader being sad, one sided love, sexual content(not outright smut, just mentions), jealousy, cursing, chronic “I can fix him” syndrome, this fic may cause you to reflect on your own red flag history, not sure if it’s in character

You try. You really fucking try. You send him sweet texts, patch up his bloodied jackets after the girls almost skin him alive again, cook him food he doesn’t even eat, and still get less affection than that lollipop in his mouth.

He’s not cruel, not really. He’s just… a dick. A dick who treats your relationship like it’s a monthly subscription he forgot to cancel. He doesn’t hold your hand. He doesn’t call you unless he needs something. He ghosts you mid-convo. He doesn’t cheat on you, because that would require effort. He’s not putting energy into anything, least of all love.

He likes you. Wouldn’t date you otherwise. Yeah, no, he does. The bastard’s just… lazy.

Meanwhile, you? You’re a fucking angel. Sweetheart. You bring Baby food, you rub his shoulders, you kiss him goodnight even when he’s pretending to be asleep so he doesn’t have to talk. You try. You try so hard. You give him the kind of soft love songs get written about.

And he gives you… a pat on the head and a muttered “mm.”

You don’t even know how you ended up dating this man. Like, what was the draw? The face? The voice? Sure, he’s pretty, but Jesus, he’s horrible.

Sex? LMAO. When it happens, it’s good, but the foreplay? The romance? The bare minimum acknowledgment that you exist? Missing in action.

And it’s not like you’re asking for the moon. You’re just asking for him to act like your boyfriend, not your emotionally distant roommate who sometimes humps you and then rolls over. You’re a fucking sweetheart. You bake, you compliment, you rub his temples.

Now tell me, why do the other Saja Boys treat you better than your own boyfriend? They’re tripping over themselves to treat you like royalty.

Romance? Brutal. You walk into the room and he’s already halfway undressed, asking what color panties you’re wearing and if he can purr into your thigh. Every conversation turns into some Rated-R bullshit. You could be talking about taxes and he’d be like, “I’d let you audit this dick.”

Abby calls you “babe” even though you’re dating Baby, carries your stuff, flexes in your direction constantly. One time he held your hand and whispered “I’d never ghost you.” It was honestly a little hot. He says dumb stuff like, “You deserve a hundred Baby’s.” (Which, thanks Abby, but one is already too much.)

Jinu? Bless him. Actual angel behavior. He’s an asshole, but he’s nice to you. He’s the only one who doesn’t make it weird. And he never flirts. Doesn’t need to. He has respect, and that? That’s the real panty-dropper.

Mystery doesn’t talk to you so much as sniff and glare protectively. You saw him literally lunge at Abby once for making a yo mama joke in your presence. No one even understood the joke. It didn’t make sense. But Mystery took that shit personally.

The other boys see it. They know you’re way too good for him. That’s why they are all secretly hoping you’ll finally snap, finally say, “Screw this” and let someone else actually treat you like the heaven-sent babe you are.

And yet, you’re still dating Baby.

Still hoping he’ll wake up one day and realize you’ve been there all along.

They’re demons, yeah. They’re evil, yeah. But even evil people can learn to say “thank you” or “you mean a lot to me.” Baby just walks around like he’s doing you a favor by not breaking up with you.

Why are you still here?

Because love makes you stupid. And apparently, so do baby faces.

Let’s start with the time you planned a whole date for him.

You did everything right. You did your makeup soft and glowing, your hair was perfect, you were genuinely excited.

You get there. He shows up forty-five minutes late.

No text. No “running late.” Just shows up like he didn’t leave you sitting there wondering if you’d been stood up. When he finally arrives, it’s with bedhead and an attitude like you’re the one inconveniencing him. Doesn’t even say you look good. Not even a “hi.” You get a half-assed peck on the lips, and then he slumps into the chair like a corpse and scrolls his phone.

You tried to make conversation. “How was your day?” “I thought you’d like the view.” “Want to try this drink?”

All you got back were shrugs. A couple grunts. A “this is too bright.”

And then he disappeared to the bathroom for 20 minutes. You almost cried.

And the kicker? That night ended in sex. Not even romantic sex. Not the kind of slow, passionate “I missed you” sex you deserved. Just… mechanical. He made you cum, sure. He always does. But not once did he look you in the eye while doing it. He didn’t hold you after. Just wiped himself off, rolled over, and went back to checking his texts like your body wasn’t still trembling beside him.

Then there’s the calls. He never calls just to talk. Never sends memes. Never asks how your day was.

But he’ll call you at 1:43am, And like a fool, you go. You show up. You help him. You heal the gashes on his back from fights. You cook him soup at 2am. You bring him fresh clothes. And he’ll thank you with a yawn and a hand on your thigh.

You’ve started wondering if he might actually be a psychopath.

No, seriously. Not the cute “bad boy with trauma” kind. Like, genuinely broken somewhere inside. The guy doesn’t seem to feel things the way you do. You’ll be crying, clearly upset, trying to talk to him about how distant he’s been, and he’ll just… stare. Not a single emotion on his face. Sometimes you think he might be listening. Sometimes he cuts you off mid-sentence and says something like: “You’re being dramatic.” “You always want more.”

And you just stand there, blinking, with your throat closing up and your heart doing that twisting thing like it’s trying to collapse into itself.

He makes you feel crazy for wanting basic human decency.

Why do you stay with someone who doesn’t see you? Why do you keep hoping that one day he’ll kiss your forehead and mean it? Why do you convince yourself that the fleeting glimpses of tenderness are real and not just glitches in the system?

Because you think maybe, just maybe, you can fix him. (And you won’t admit that maybe you’re trying to prove you’re worthy of being loved by someone who doesn’t love easy.)

Still. You look stunning. Like, jaw-dropping, double-take, world-stopping pretty. You walked out that door looking like heaven, ironic, since you’re dating a demon. New dress, soft gloss, that look in your eye that says “I want to be seen. I want to be loved.”

And what does Baby do?

He gives you a five-second glance, mumbles, “You look… fine.” leans in to press a kiss to your lips, and then spends the entire day not speaking to you unless he’s asking where the fuck his lighter is.

You could’ve worn a trash bag and he wouldn’t have treated you any different.

And don’t even get started on the sex.

When it happens, it’s insane. Mind-numbing. He knows exactly what to do with his hands, with his mouth, with his tongue, and yes, that thing he does when he pins your wrists and growls into your neck? A++++. But after?

He rolls off of you. Pulls his pants up, gives your shoulder a tap like “good game”, and either vanishes into thin air or falls asleep instantly.

You lie there, raw, your soul practically floating out of your body, and he doesn’t even give you a cuddle. No forehead kiss. No aftercare. Not even water. You could die and he wouldn’t notice for six hours.

Okay, what’s happening now is that your thighs are still aching. You’re sitting on your couch now. Legs pulled up, arms hugging your knees, watching him dress up. Same shirt he wore last night, now wrinkled at the collar. You’d kissed his neck there. Left a mark. He hasn’t looked at it.

You’re still tasting him in your mouth. Still warm from the morning fuck that started with your whimper and ended with him pulling out, wiping off with a tissue, and heading for the bathroom. No kiss. No cuddle. No “good morning, babe.”

You push up off the couch and make your way over. Soft steps. Bare feet. One of his old shirts hanging off your shoulders, oversized and swallowing you whole. He left it here weeks ago. You wear it more than you should. Hope he notices every time. He never does.

You swallow. Smile. Be sweet. Be you. “You sleep okay?” you ask, voice gentle.

He shrugs. “Didn’t really sleep.”

You nod. Of course he didn’t. He never does. 300 years of insomnia will do that to a demon. You should know by now. You ask anyway.

Your hand grazes his side. Warm palm against the thin fabric of his shirt. He feels solid under your touch, real in a way you wish he’d act.

“You want coffee before you go?” you try again. Light, chipper. Fake.

You could hand him your heart on a plate and he’d just pick out the parts he needs.

Baby finally looks at you, kind of. Eyes half-lidded, still tired, like he’d rather be anywhere else. There’s nothing in his face. No warmth. No guilt.

“No.” he says. “Got stuff to do.”

You don’t ask what. You never do. You stopped asking a long time ago.

He lets out a breath, not a laugh. Just a bored exhale. Doesn’t even smile back. Doesn’t tease. Doesn’t grab your waist and pull you in, the way he used to on rare days when you swore he felt something.

“I’ll text you.” he says.

He won’t.

He reaches for the door. Doesn’t kiss you goodbye. Doesn’t look back.

Leaves it open behind him.

You stand there. In the quiet. One foot still slightly lifted, like your body refuses to believe he actually left without touching you. Without seeing you.

You close the door slowly. Lock it. You step away. Back to the couch. Your body’s still humming from him, skin warm where his hands used to be. And it doesn’t even feel good. Not now.

The one person you gave your heart to? He fucked you, zipped up his pants, and left you in your own bed like a stranger.

Again.

Your phone buzzes. You grab it too fast. Hope flaring like a goddamn idiot.

It’s not him.

Of course it’s not him.

You got up. Showered. Put effort into your hair. Picked the cute outfit. Did your makeup a little soft, a little glowy, just in case he looked at you today. Big, dumb hope, chewing through your insides like it always does.

You even made food for the boys. All of them. Their favorites. You remembered every single detail.

You come in smiling, heart on your sleeve as always. The boys are mid-sweat, halfway through some routine that looks demonic in all the literal and metaphorical ways. Jinu’s barking choreography corrections like a general in tight jeans. Romance is shirtless for absolutely no reason. Mystery’s growling in a corner because someone stepped too close to him. Abby’s stretching, glistening, being a six-foot wall of muscle.

And Baby’s in the back. Ignoring you. Not a glance. Not a smile. Not even a “hey.”

You hold up the bag of food like a little offering to the gods. “I brought lunch!”

They all cheer. Abby fist-pumps. Romance calls you some corny nickname. Jinu nods in appreciation. Mystery smiles at you.

Baby?

Nothing.

He’s already walking off with Jinu toward the speakers. You hear him ask something. His voice is calm, flat. Doesn’t even wobble when he walks right past you.

You shouldn’t be surprised anymore. But you are. You always are. Hope is a stubborn little bitch and you’ve got so much of it.

You set everything down carefully. Label each container. Make sure everyone’s is where it should be. You sit on the little couch tucked in the corner, legs crossed, hands in your lap. All dressed up with no one noticing.

Within ten minutes, they’re all gone. Jinu dragging the others into another room. Baby goes without a word. Not even a “thanks.” Not even a look.

So now it’s just you. Alone again. Like you always are when Baby’s in the room.

You look down at your hands. At your nails you painted this morning, soft pink, little sparkles. You’d hoped he’d see them when your fingers touched his face. When you handed him his drink. When you waved.

But now? You feel small. Embarrassingly small.

You blink hard. No crying. Not here. Not in the same room where you brought him lunch, hoping he’d say something sweet like “You spoil me” or “Thanks, angel.” Something. Anything.

Thump.

A weight drops onto the couch next to you. You blink, startled, then glance over.

It’s Abby. Big, beautiful, sweaty Abby. Drenched in his post-practice glow, shirt clinging to him, biceps looking insane.

“This is fuckin’ delicious, by the way.” he says, mouth full. “You made this?”

Your entire face lights up. “Yeah! Yeah, I—I tried this new chili paste thing with the beef? And I wasn’t sure if it’d be too spicy but I remembered you said last time you liked heat so—” You’re already babbling.

Abby chuckles, still chewing. He bumps your knee with his. “Well, it’s fire. You look good today too, by the way. You did something to your face, right? Like… sparkly?”

You freeze.

“Oh my god! You noticed!” You giggle—giggle—and touch your cheek, glowing now. “It’s highlighter! I tried this new gold shimmer thing with a bit of rose undertone. I wanted to look more glowy than usual, like, radiant but not oily, you know?”

Abby is nodding like you just explained astrophysics.

“Totally.” He grins wider. He has no idea what you just said but he enjoys your company. “Damn, Baby’s dumb as fuck.”

You laugh again, brighter this time. You start talking. Like, really talking. Finally. About your outfit. How you wore a matching bra and panty set just in case today went well. About how you tried a new serum for your undereyes last night and you think it’s actually working. About the new earrings. You tell him about how you painted your nails.

Abby listens. Actually listens. Big head tilted slightly, big eyes on you like you’re the only person in the room.

“You smell nice, too.” he says.

“It’s vanilla sugar whipped body butter! I mixed it with this sandalwood perfume for, like, a soft but spicy vibe!” You touch your neck. “I thought he’d notice. You know. If he got close enough…”

“He didn’t deserve that effort.” he says, voice quieter now.

You sit up straighter. Heart fluttering like you’re seventeen. “Oh—thank you, I guess.” you practically beam.

He’s leaning back, one arm slung across the couch behind you, watching you. Like he could listen to you talk all day. Like you’re not background noise. Like you’re not just some sad girl orbiting around a boyfriend who doesn’t give a single shit.

“I used this serum that smells like peaches—so good. Did a little under-eye thing, you know the patches? Also, I tried heatless curls again—”

“They’re working.” Abby says with a nod. ��Big fan.”

“Right?! I almost gave up on them but I wrapped them differently this time—wait, do you want me to show you?”

And he said yes. Of course he did. Sat there nodding along as you pulled out your phone and showed him your entire haircare routine like he was your best friend, not a ripped, sweaty demon with chopsticks halfway to his mouth.

He didn’t rush you. Didn’t nod absently. He listened.

Something clicked in you that day.

It wasn’t even anything big. No screaming. No tears. No climax. It was just a bite of rice and a simple, sincere “You look good” from someone who actually meant it.

Abby didn’t say it to get into your pants. (Okay. Maybe a little.) But he said it because he liked it, that simple. He saw the gloss on your lips. He tasted the food you made and said thank you. He laughed at your stupid stories and didn’t check his phone once. You talked to him like a person—and he talked back.

It was so simple. So easy. So fucking bare minimum.

It was Abby, actually.

That moment?

That sparkle he saw in you?

You remembered her. The girl you were before Baby started stomping on her heart.

You sat in your bathroom that night, still wearing his shirt, hair tied up, lips soft and raw from being kissed by someone who didn’t mean it. You looked in the mirror and thought:

“What the fuck am I doing?”

You’d been doing everything for Baby. For months. Cooking for him. Dressing up. Bending over backwards just for a scrap of warmth. And what did he give you in return? The bare minimum of dick and a complete lack of eye contact.

You gave him love. Attention. Loyalty. He gave you silence, and a few orgasms.

Now you’re done.

Well, no. Not done.

You’re gonna do it his way now.

You’re not breaking up with him. That’s not how Baby plays this game, so why should you?

You’re going to treat him the way he’s been treating you.

First, no more good morning texts. No more “thinking of you :)” messages. No more “come over and I’ll make you dinner” sweetness.

You let him text you first. When he doesn’t, you go about your day. When he does text, you leave him on read for a bit. Not petty. Just… matching energy.

You mirror him so perfectly it’s poetic.

Then, he comes over one night, no warnin. You open the door. You look stunning. Not for him. Just… because. Your shorts are short. Your skin smells like warm vanilla.

Baby says, “Hey.”

You say, “Sup.” and walk back to the couch.

He follows you, sits down next to you, waits for you to curl into him like you always do.

You don’t.

You sit with your legs crossed, phone in hand, scrolling through photos from earlier. You laugh at something.

Baby asks, “What’s funny?”

You shrug. “Just something Abby said.” You don’t elaborate. You don’t look at him. You don’t fucking fawn.

When Baby finally touches you, it’s out of habit. He moves to pull you in by the thigh, slow, casual, the way he always does when he wants to use your body to feel alive.

But your body’s no longer his playground.

You place your hand on his wrist gently, without anger, and say: “I’m not really in the mood tonight.”

It’s the first time you’ve ever said that to him.

And it’s not even a lie. Because suddenly? The idea of being touched by someone who doesn’t see you makes your skin itch.

He blinks. Like he’s never heard the word no come out of your mouth before.

You don’t give him an explanation. You just stretch, yawn a little, and say, “Wanna watch something?” like the idea of intimacy was never even part of the evening.

You’re finally doing to him what he’s been doing to you this whole damn time.

Nothing.

You show up less.

You speak less.

You still look beautiful—maybe more than ever—but now you do it for yourself. And the boys? They notice.

Romance starts walking in shirtless more often, whispering things in your ear, trying.

Mystery still growls, but he really is more careful with you than with the other boys.

Jinu? Offers to walk you home one night, just to make sure you’re okay.

Abby is an angel. I mean, besides the fact that he eats souls and kills people.

Right now, all you can hear is the low clink of chopsticks in a bowl and the sound of your soft laugh floating through the kitchen, that lovely, glowing kind of laugh that belongs to someone who’s being treated right by someone for once.

And of course, that someone ain’t Baby.

You’re leaned up against the counter, wearing an apron over your sweats. Your sleeves are rolled up, your lip gloss is on point, and you’re holding a spatula.

Jinu? He’s posted up at the counter. Elbows on the marble. Sleeves of his black shirt rolled just enough to show forearms. He’s already half-finished the food you made him—second serving, by the way—and he watches you talk about how you made the sauce from scratch.

You’re glowing. Again.

And Jinu sees it. Loves it.

“Gotta say,” he drawls, licking his chopsticks before setting them down with a clink. “if you keep feeding me like this, Baby’s gonna lose you real fuckin’ quick.”

You giggle. “Don’t start.”

“I’m serious.” he says, shrugging one shoulder like it’s just a fact of life. “Can’t remember the last time I saw you smile like that. Hell, I’m thinking about proposing.”

Oh, Jinu is a fucking asshole.

You swat him with the dishtowel, cheeks warm and heart fluttering.

And that’s when the door opens. You just keep stirring your sauce, biting back a grin. Because you know who that is.

Baby steps in.

He stops.

The scene in front of him? It’s not anything explicit… but it’s worse. You—shining, smiling, eyes crinkled with joy—laughing at Jinu, apron tied around your waist.

Jinu doesn’t even bother hiding the smug face. Just leans back, long and casual in your stool, licking his teeth as he catches Baby’s eyes.

“Didn’t think you were coming.” Jinu says lazily.

Didn’t think.

As in: doesn’t expect him to be here.

As in: you didn’t say shit about him coming.

As in: why the fuck would he be here now, anyway?

“Oh. Hey.” you say. “Didn’t hear you come in.”

Which is a fucking lie. You always hear him. You’ve got Baby-radar like a government op. But you say it like he’s just some dude you vaguely know from work.

He walks in. Slowly. Warily. Like the air’s changed and he doesn’t know how to breathe it.

“What’s this?” he mutters, eyes fixed on Jinu.

You blink. “Dinner.”

“Didn’t know we were feeding other people now.”

Jinu smirks. “Funny. I didn’t know you gave a shit.”

BOOM.

“He walked me home.” you say softly. “We got to talking. I offered dinner.”

Simple. Sweet. Reasonable. But even you can’t deny the underlying message: He was here. You weren’t. He showed up. You didn’t.

You finally turn back to the stove, as if his presence isn’t worth more than a glance. “There’s food if you want.”

He doesn’t move.

Jinu watches him. Slowly wipes his mouth with a napkin. Stands up. Doesn’t break eye contact.

“Thanks for the meal.” he says, only to you, voice low and smooth. “Bye, Y/N.” And he walks out.

You’re still by the stove, gently stirring the pot even though the heat’s been off for a minute now. You’re not cooking anymore. You’re just… doing something with your hands.

“So.” He says it flat. Lazy. No inflection.

You hum, noncommittal. “Hm?”

“You fucking Jinu now or what?”

You blink. You turn around slowly, calmly, ladle still in your hand, and give him the kind of look that says excuse me, motherfucker? without a single word.

He just leans back against the counter, arms crossed, jaw tight. He looks bored. Like this whole conversation is beneath him. Like he isn’t internally spiraling at the idea of Jinu being inside you.

“You’ve got a problem.” you say, finally, voice cool.

He shrugs. “Just seems convenient. He’s walking you home, sitting in your kitchen, eating your food. Laughing like you two are fuckin’ married or something.”

You cross your arms, ladle still dangling in your hand like a weapon you could use. “Are you actually jealous right now?”

He scoffs. “Jealous?” Then he laughs, but it’s not a real laugh. It’s the kind you throw out when your throat’s closing up and your pride’s bleeding out. “I don’t give a fuck who you hang out with.” he says. “You do whatever you want.”

You tilt your head, your voice still sweet. Too sweet. “Oh, good. ’Cause I do.”

He unfolds his arms, takes a slow step toward you, his babyface looking anything but innocent right now. “You two looked real cozy.” he says, low. “Real close.”

You stare up at him. Calm. Patient. “Not as close as you and your phone every time you’re at my place. Not as close as you and your shitty attitude. Or your silence. Or your fucking selective affection.”

He stares at you. Quiet. Like he’s trying to do math in his head, but the numbers don’t add up because the answer is you don’t belong to him anymore.

But the problem is?

You do.

Not because he deserves you.

Not because he’s earned it.

But because he’s Baby, and he never loses.

“We talked. I cooked. He ate. He left. That’s it, Baby.”

Baby scoffs under his breath. “Mm. Cute.”

You used to look at him like he was your whole world. Now you look at him like he’s in the way.

You sigh, setting your plate down. “Look, if you’re trying to pick a fight because you saw me smile at someone else, don’t bother. You never cared when I cried over you.”

“Whatever.” he mutters, turning away. “Do what you want.”

He lingers at the door longer than usual. Waiting. Expecting. But you just go back to your food. Back to your peace. Back to being a version of yourself that doesn’t revolve around his silence.

He leaves. Quiet. Not slamming the door. Just… gone.

It goes on like that.

Weeks.

You don’t call. You don’t text. You don’t ask where he is or when he’s coming over. You don’t even ask him to come to bed when he does show up, which, let’s be honest, is rare now.

You’re sweet to him. That’s the worst part.

You don’t argue. You don’t snap. You don’t even bring up what he said about Jinu, or the dozens of other things he’s said and done to make you feel like you weren’t enough.

He tells himself he doesn’t care. Every day. Every time you walk past him with that polite little smile. Every time you hug Jinu goodbye a little longer than you should. Every time Romance slings his arm around your waist and calls you “baby girl” and you laugh. Every time Abby gives you his jacket. Every time Mystery offers you the last slice of pizza and hisses at anyone who tries to take it from you.

You’re still everyone’s favorite.

Still their angel.

But you’re not his anymore. Not in the way you used to be. Not in the way that meant something.

And the stupidest part?

He still won’t let go.

He could’ve ended it by now. Could’ve sat you down and been a man and said, “This isn’t working,” or “Let’s take a break,” or something like a grown-up.

But he didn’t.

Because he doesn’t want to.

He keeps waiting for the moment you’ll crack. That you’ll break and come crawling back, like always. But you don’t. You don’t beg. You don’t chase. You just let him be. And you let yourself be. Happy, even.

Right now, Romance is walking you home.

No earbuds in. No phone in hand. No half-assed, distracted glances

No—this man is locked in.

He opens doors. Keeps his hand hovering at the small of your back. Makes sure you walk on the inside of the sidewalk. His cologne smells like amber and sex appeal and trouble.

You’re bundled up in your cute jacket, hands stuffed into your pockets, trying to ignore the way he keeps looking at you like you’re dessert.

He’s walking you home like a proper man, one hand casually tucked into his jacket pocket, the other resting at your lower back, protective. You feel safe. You feel seen. Which is fucked up because Romance is literally the thirstiest demon you’ve ever met and you’re pretty sure he tried to convince you to join him in a shower multiple times.

But tonight?

He’s actually being… good.

Almost.

“I could do it, you know.” he says suddenly, tilting his head to look at you. His eyes glint like sex and sincerity, a dangerous combo. “Treat you better. Make you laugh.”

“Romance—”

“Nah, nah, hear me out.” he grins, stepping in front of you, walking backwards now.(AN: guys take a moment to imagine this I think it’s so sweet) “I’ve watched that idiot make you cry for months. He gets you warm, pulls you in, then freezes the second you want something real. That shit ain’t love, baby girl.”

You exhale a soft laugh, biting your lip. “You done?”

“Almost.” He stops right at the foot of your apartment steps, standing too close. “You’re gold.” he says, voice lower now, serious. “If he doesn’t want to melt for you, let somebody else do it.”

You meet his eyes, those dark, dangerous eyes that promise so much pleasure it borders on pain. You know he means it.

He wants to steal you. He means it.

He wants that cookie.

Bad.

Now your back’s to the door, lips shiny under the streetlight. You’re looking up at him, eyelashes fluttering, and he thinks—fuck it, maybe tonight.

He’s close enough to touch.

And you know he would.

If you leaned in even slightly, Romance would kiss you.

“I’m not a cheater.” you say quietly, smile fading just a bit.

Romance blinks. Looks away, running a hand through his hair. “Then break up with—“ he sighs. “Yeah. I know.”

“I appreciate you walking me home.” you say, keys jangling in your hand. “Really. You’re… good to me.”

Romance raises a brow. “I could be better. You know that, right?”

You nod. “I do.”

Silence.

Romance wasn’t supposed to fall for you.

You were Baby’s. Off limits. That was the deal.

Not that Baby’s ever followed a rule in his immortal, lazy-ass life, but still, there’s a line between stealing your bandmate’s fries and stealing his girl.

Except… you’re not really his anymore, are you?

Not when you’re out here glowing under streetlights, arms wrapped around yourself, laughing at something he said.

You’re not just hot. You’re gold. You’ve got this energy, like you were made to be adored, like kindness made flesh. You ask how his day was and actually care about the answer. You bring snacks for everyone, even when they forget you exist. You patch bruises. Remember birthdays. Listen. Smile at him like you’re glad he’s there.

You’re… the dream girl.

You’re beautiful. Like, stupidly beautiful. And not just in a “hot girl on a magazine” kind of way—no, you’re warm. You’re sweet in a way that makes his chest ache. You tell Mystery his growling is cute. You made Abby a protein-packed lunch after you saw him skip one. You tell Jinu to take breaks when he’s overworking.

You’re… everything.

And Baby has you? Baby, who acts like you’re a houseplant he forgot to water?

He doesn’t get it.

He doesn’t understand how you stay kind after being treated like an afterthought. Doesn’t understand how your lips still curl into that soft little smile even after getting ghosted, dismissed, cold-shouldered, fucked and forgotten.

He chews on his mouth. “For what it’s worth… I hope he pulls his head out of his ass.”

You smile softly. “Me too.”

You press a soft kiss to his cheek. The kind that says “thank you”—not “take me inside.”

And then you’re gone. Door open. Closed. Locked.

Romance stands there. For a long time. Fists in his pockets. Jaw clenched. Whispers under his breath, “Fucking Baby.”

But he gets it.

Hell, if you were his? He wouldn’t let you go, either.

Inside, the door shuts behind you. Soft click.

“Hi.”

You jump, just a little, and turn.

Baby is sitting on your couch. Hoodie up. Legs spread.

“Let yourself in again?” you ask, voice soft but not sweet.

He shrugs. Doesn’t even look at you at first. His eyes are fixed on some random spot on the floor. But he’s chewing his bottom lip, thinking. That’s rare for Baby. Usually he acts, fucks, ghosts.

“You have a good time?” he asks after a long pause.

You stare at him. “Excuse me?”

“Walked you home.” Baby says, like it’s a crime.

“He offered.” you reply simply. “You weren’t around.”

He scoffs. “Right. Must’ve been a real good walk.”

You toss your keys in the bowl, not even looking at him. “It was. Thanks for asking.”

“I—” he starts, but then his voice falters. “You’re acting different.”

You blink. “I wonder why.”

Baby’s quiet now. You can feel his eyes tracking you as you toe your shoes off and head into the kitchen, opening the fridge, grabbing water.

“…You like him?”

You pause with the bottle at your lips. “I like that he talks to me.”

Baby snorts. Leans back on the couch, stretching his arms out like he’s trying to be casual but his whole body’s coiled tight. “He just wants to fuck you.”

“Maybe.” You shrug. Take a sip. “At least he wants something.”

Silence.

A long one.

You finally turn and look at him.

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Then finally he speaks.

“…Do you wanna break up?”

Your stomach dips. You blink. “Do you?”

“No.”

You stare at him, stunned for a second.

He rubs a hand over his mouth. “I don’t want to break up.”

“Then what do you want?”

He looks at you. Like your glow is starting to burn his retinas because he knows it’s not because of him anymore.

“I don’t like it.” he says, low. “Him walking you home.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You weren’t.”

Silence. You’re surprised he’s not taking your soul yet.

“I’m going to bed.” you say gently.

He doesn’t follow.

Doesn’t ask you to stay.

Doesn’t apologize.

Doesn’t fight.

So you walk away.

He left later.

And okay, so, Baby caught on. He caught on to how the guys look at you when you walk into a room.

How Abby practically breaks his neck turning around when you laugh.

How Mystery’s little demon growls actually stop when you pet his head like a feral cat and call him “baby boy.”

How Jinu fucking lingers after he drops you off, arms crossed, smug smirk on his stupid perfect face like he’s just daring Baby to make a move.

And Romance? God. He makes no effort to hide the way he drools over you.

And for a while, Baby pretended he didn’t notice.

Because Baby’s the type who doesn’t give a fuck. The type who could watch the world burn with a cigarette in his mouth and a bored expression on his face. Show an attitude to Gwi-Ma, though he knows it entertains the big fire overlord whatever the fuck that thing is.

And it hit him. Finally. It hit him that maybe the guys didn’t love you just to get back at him. Maybe they weren’t doing it to annoy him, or stir shit, or play their usual games.

Maybe they loved you because you were just… good. Like they struck gold with you.

And he’s been treating you like you’re disposable.

And now you’re slipping through his fingers.

So here he is.

Standing outside your door at 11:47 PM. Hoodie on. Hands clenched. Eyes bloodshot. Breathing weird. With a bouquet of half-wilted, obviously-last-minute flowers clenched in his fist. Not even wrapped in paper. Just bundled together in his hand like he ripped them out of a gas station bucket and sprinted over.

You open the door in a tank top and shorts, towel still on your head. You weren’t expecting company. You sure as hell weren’t expecting him.

He just shoves the bouquet into your chest. “Here.”

Your brows shoot up. “What…?”

“They’re flowers.”

You stare down at the handful of pretty flowers. “…Thanks?”

He clears his throat. Looks anywhere but at you. “They’re real. I think.”

You blink at him. Genuinely speechless. You sigh. Step back. “You wanna come in?”

He shrugs. “Doesn’t matter.”

Which is Baby code for yes, please, please say yes, please I can’t stop thinking about you, please I fucking miss you and I don’t know how to say it because I’m a 300-year-old asshole in skinny jeans who still can’t process human emotion like a real adult.

He walks in like he’s waiting for you to slam the door behind him and tell him to go fuck himself.

You don’t.

You close the door quietly. Take the flowers to the kitchen, grab an old mug (because of course you don’t have a vase, you’re not that domestic), and fill it with water. You hear him sit down on the couch.

“So…” you say finally. “what’s going on?”

He scratches the back of his neck. Looks at the floor. “Nothing.”

You raise a brow. “Nothing made you bring me flowers?”

He shrugs again, classic Baby-style. “Just thought of you.”

“That’s new.”

“…Yeah.”

A beat of silence.

He leans forward, elbows on knees, voice low. “You always look good. Y’know that?”

You blink. “What?”

“You always look good. Even now. With that stupid towel on your head.”

You squint suspiciously. “Are you having a stroke?”

He lets out a breathy, almost-laugh. “Shut up.”

…wow.

“Come to bed if you want.” you say, walking toward your room. “But I’m not gonna beg.”

You don’t even look back. You just leave him there, in your living room, surrounded by the silence he’s created.

In your room, you’re halfway out of your shorts.

He followed. Of course he did. You don’t say anything. You don’t have to. Because if he wants to stare? Let him. He’s the one that gave this up in the first place.

He stands there, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows. Watching you. Silently.

Funny, how now that you don’t beg, he’s starving.

He finally moves, steps off the wall and walks toward you. Still that classic Baby attitude, acting like he doesn’t care even though his jaw clenches tighter every time you arch your back to pull something on.

And then his hand grazes your waist. Barely there. Fingertips brushing skin.

You slap it away. Instantly. Not hard, just enough to say “try again and I’ll bite.”

He raises both hands in surrender, head tilting like, “oh? That’s how it is now?”

And fuck, it’s attractive. The way he lets his tongue press into his cheek, cocky, bratty.

You pull your shirt over your head, slow, knowing full well he’s watching, knowing he’ll pretend not to care. But his eyes betray him.

“Are you gonna say anything?” you say, looking at your dresser.

His arms are crossed, leaning against your wall again. “About what.” he mutters.

You let out a breathy laugh, pulling your sleep shirt on. “Wow. That’s where we’re at?”

“I’m not doing this.”

He’s already annoyed. Voice flat. Defensive. His posture stiffens, like you’re coming at him with a knife and not your heart.

“You’re not doing what, Baby?” you say, turning around to face him. “Having a fucking conversation with the person you’re dating?”

“You wanna fight or something?”

“No.” you snap. “I want something.”

He rolls his eyes. Actually rolls them.

You walk toward him, one slow step at a time, words getting tighter. “I spend my days giving everything I can. I come home, and you’re already here, like I’m just this convenient warm body for you to fuck and ignore. I made room for you, and all you do is act like I’m a fucking option.”

His jaw twitches. “You done?”

“Baby—”

“I said I’m not doing this.”

“No, you’re just gonna do what you always do.” you shoot back. “Shut down, act like I’m annoying for wanting something more than your dick and your bare minimum.”

He snorts. “Yeah, real romantic tone you got there, sweetheart.”

“I was romantic.” you snap, stepping closer. “Remember? I used to wait up for you. Text you goodnight when you wouldn’t answer my calls. I used to bring you shit. Buy you shit. Walk on eggshells so you wouldn’t bolt the second things got even a little uncomfortable.”

He doesn’t look at you.

So you flash him. Pull your shirt up, tits out, confident, shameless.

His eyes snap up to your tits instantly. Wide. Caught.

“I’m listening.”

“Good.” you say, letting the shirt drop. “Because if you don’t do something, if you don’t try, don’t show me that you actually give a shit, we’re done.”

He stares at you. Long. Silent. But now it’s not cold anymore.

Now, it’s panic.

Because you’ve never said that before.

You’ve cried. Pleaded. Begged him to change, to care, to show you even a fraction of the love you’ve always given him.

But now? Now you’re done begging.

Now it’s a warning.

And he knows that you mean it.

“Ball’s in your court, Baby.”

Silence. His eyes are on your face, running over it.

“God. You’re dramatic as shit sometimes.” he mutters. “But you’re right.”

That gets you to stop.

He’s standing there in the middle of your room like he doesn’t even know why he opened his mouth. Hands shoved in his hoodie pocket. Kicking at the edge of your rug like it’s personally offended him.

“You said some stuff,” he continues, voice all low and annoyed. “and I guess some of it was kinda valid or whatever.”

You blink. “Kinda valid?”

He shrugs, not meeting your eye. “Yeah. I dunno. You said a lot.”

You cross your arms, giving him the stare you once reserved for crying in your pillow after he ghosted you for three days straight. “You are so bad at this.”

“Yeah.”

Pause.

“I’m good at killing things. And being immortal. And… I don’t know. Music, I guess.”

He finally lifts his eyes to yours.

You inhale.

And just like that… the air feels different.

Because for the first time since you met him—since you gave him your time, your bed, your fucking heart—he’s not dodging it. He’s not pulling away. He’s just… honest. Moody and bratty and ungrateful, but trying.

This is him, trying.

You bite the inside of your cheek.

“I’ve been a dick.” he adds, quieter. “I know that. But if someone’s gonna fuck this up… I’d rather it be me than someone else.”

God. God.

You stare at him, heart stuttering.

He looks almost bored, almost put-out, but his hands are clenched inside his hoodie pocket. And his voice is just a little too tight.

And for some reason, that’s what does it.

“…You could’ve just said that months ago,” you murmur.

He exhales. A short breath through his nose. “Yeah. Well. Fuckin’ hindsight.”

You look up at him again.

He shrugs. “I treat everyone like shit. You’re not special.”

Your jaw drops. “What the fuck—”

“I mean—fuck—” he drags a hand over his face, groaning like you’re the one being difficult. “You are special. I don’t know what the fuck to do with that, okay? Jeez.”

You blink at him. “Try not being a dick?”

“I am a dick.” he says, voice flat, deadpan.

You squint at him. “…Okay?”

Silence.

He shrugs again. “So yeah. Maybe I’ll do better. Or whatever.”

Or whatever.

“I’m not promising I’ll be good at this.” he mutters.

You smile, soft. Tired. “You won’t be.”

He nods. Accepting that like it’s fair.

“…But I’m not done.” he says. Quiet. “With you.”

You pause. Then nod once. “Okay.”

Settled.

Not perfect. Not even close.

But something.

“You’ve got one shot, Baby.” you say, voice low. “Don’t fuck it up.”

He exhales. Rolls his eyes. Mumbles, “Whatever.”

The next day, at the boys’ place, music’s playing. Abby’s doing push-ups with a resistance band around his biceps for no reason. Mystery’s on the floor eating cold noodles straight out the container with his claws. Jinu’s yelling about posture again. You’re not here. You’re off existing like the angel you are, probably making someone’s day just by breathing.

Baby’s sitting on a folding chair like he owns the air. Lazy. Legs wide. Arms draped over the back. Looking like he’s five seconds from asking someone to peel him a grape.

And then with the kind of exaggerated sigh only a 300-year-old emotionally stunted demon brat can produce, he stands up, walks over to Jinu and lifts his hand.

Palm out. Up. Like a fucking royal.

Jinu, mid-step, doesn’t even look. Just groans and digs into his pocket.

A crumpled wad of cash gets slapped into Baby’s hand.

Baby doesn’t thank him. He doesn’t even blink. He just starts counting. Out loud. Slow. Disrespectfully.

Finally, Jinu pauses his barking just long enough to glare at him. “What the hell do you even need money for, Baby?”

Baby shrugs. Not looking up. “Buying flowers.”

Silence.

“What?” Jinu repeats, like he heard wrong.

Baby lifts his head now. Slowly. Like this is the most normal thing in the world.

“For my girlfriend.” he says, deadpan. “Obviously.”

…

The silence that follows is generational. Ancestral. Thick enough to choke on.

Romance drops his hair tie.

Abby’s eye twitches.

Mystery bares a tooth, chewing slower, like he’s trying to process the absurdity.

Jinu actually freezes, hands out, mouth open.

Baby just tucks the cash into his hoodie. Walks toward the exit like nothing happened.

They don’t speak. But they all look at each other like: “Did he hit his head?” “Did she finally punch the feelings into him during sex?”

And maybe that’s how the world ends.

Not with a bang. Not with a demon apocalypse.

But with Baby suddenly acting like a boyfriend.

Buying daisies with Jinu’s cash.

Love is dead.

So is logic.

So is Jinu’s trust fund.

But hey…

He’s buying flowers.

And honestly?

That’s probably the most growth anyone’s seen from him since the 1800s.

[cheapshrimpysheep]

Dating in a Dream - Leona Kingscholar

SUMMARY: What would his dream be like, exactly the same as in the original story, but with the small detail that he is dreaming that you two are dating?

CHARACTERS: Leona Kingscholar x Reader 🦁🦐

TAGS: Fluff; GN Reader; In a Relationship (kinda); Kiss; Flirting; A little angst; A reader with attitude

WARNING: Spoilers from Book 7 and Leona’s dream (Eng Server)

WORD COUNT: 7.380 words

COMMENTS: This was written as a companion piece to the original dream story, so the parts that are the same as the game are just summarized.

The reader is gender neutral but I use king/queen so you can choose how you prefer to read. When Leona calls the reader 'Queen' specifically, he is comparing the reader to the chess piece.

I also write Neji/Kifaji, you can choose which of the name you prefer to read, the original or the English server version

I hope you enjoy 🦁

Dating in a Dream: Idia / Epel / Rook / Vil / Kalim / Jamil / Floyd / Jade / Azul / Jack / Ruggie / (Leona) / ...

“Aether signal tracking successful.” Ortho announces. “We have arrived at the designated coordinates.”

You, Grim, Silver, Sebek, Ortho, Azul, Jack, Ruggie and Idia’s tablet reach the next dream and you land back in the Sunrise City, the capital of Sunset Savanna, just like in Ruggie's dream.

Checking on everyone after dream crossing, Ruggie was fine, and everyone else looked fine with the exception of Azul, who was feeling dizzy and sick. Silver suggests you all get some rest and get some cool drinks to recover. Ruggie says that, because he's the only guy familiar with the area, he would grab some bottles of water or tea from one of the shops nearby, and Jack offers to help him carry everything.

However, that's when they notice something strange. That was supposed to be the busiest and most crowded part of the capital, but... there was less foot traffic, fewer cars, no stalls at all, and every place that sells drinks had its shutters drawn.

“Excuse me, ma'am?” Ruggie approaches someone to try to find out what was going on. “Could I ask you something?”

“Yes?” the lady says, but as soon as she looks at Ruggie: “Eep, a hyena!”

“What? A hyena?!” Another person is startled too. “There's no food left here! Please, just go away!”

They all ran into their homes and locked the doors. Ruggie assures you all that he did nothing wrong. The city is clearly more desolated than it was in Ruggie's dream. You talk for a bit, wondering what kind of dream would Leona be having. You decide to go to the royal palace, since Leona was one of the princes of Sunset Savanna there was a good chance of finding him there. After making sure Azul felt better and was ready to walk, he stood up and you all changed into your school uniforms. You were about to start walking towards the palace when you heard someone saying your name.

“King/Queen (Y/N)?” A child calls you, weakly.

You turn around and see a little beastchild looking at you with sad and begging eyes. When she sees your face, recognizing you, a smile appears and she run to you to hug your legs.

“Please, your majesty! Do something!” The beastchild begs you, crying and sobbing. “We are so hungry...” the child's tummy rumbles. “Make King Leona give our food back. Please!”

You didn't know what to do, there was so much information and it was such a sad sight. At that moment, the child's mother comes to you and grabs the child, taking her from your legs.

“I am deeply sorry, Your Highness.” The lady tells you, also with sadness in her eyes. “We know you can't do anything.” She doesn't say this in an accusatory way, but as if you were in the same situation. “We know you're trying your best. We know... the herds have moved on.” She looked at you differently when she said this last sentence, as if it meant something more. She bows to you. “Have a safe return home, Your Grace.” The beastwomen turns to leave with the child in her arms.

“Okay, now that the crisis is over...” Ruggie begins by saying calmly. “KING/QUEEN (Y/N)?!” He shouts in disbelief. “King Leona?! Bring back their food? What the heck just happened?!”

“We can discuss this on the way.” Sebek says. “We have to get to that palace AND FAST!”

You all head to the palace while deciphering what you heard from the beast child and the beast woman. The child called Leona king and both she and her mother called you king/queen and your highness. The only explanation was that you were married to Leona in that dream. When they reached this conclusion, everyone looked at each other, especially Jack, Ruggie, Azul and Ortho.

“Leona...?” Azul said with a smile slowly forming as he was holding back. “Leona Kingscholar? In love with a herbivore?” He wasn't making fun of you, he was just quoting Leona himself. “To the point of... hehe, dreaming that he is... married to them?... ha haha HAHAHAHAHAHA!”

He started laughing, but he wasn't the only one, Ortho was laughing too and even Ruggie. That even caught Idia's attention, who had been distracted until that moment doing research.

“I can't believe it!” Idia says through the tablet, with that mocking voice that he certainly wouldn't have the courage to use in front of Leona. “The big, imposing, Oresama type macho man whose romantic interest is the poor, weak, isekaied person with a soft heart?! HAHAHAHAHAHA! Oh, my diaphragm is starting to hurt, hahaha!”

“Man, not even I was even expecting this!” Ruggie says. “But I KNEW something was up! Shyeheehee.”

Only Jack, Sebek and Silver weren't laughing. Quite the contrary, they seemed to be respectfully silent. Jack even seemed to want to smile a little, not a mocking smile, but because he thought that this could be one of the parts of Leona that he admired. Both he and Sebek positioned themselves in such a way as to create a barrier between you, in front of them, and the others who were laughing behind them.

Arriving at the royal palace's front entrance, you didn't encounter a single guard. Ruggie says that normally the lionesses have the whole place locked down tight. Which must mean that something was definitely up in the royal palace.

“Knowing that would give me reservations about simply walking in through the front door.” Azul says. “But since we are in the company of Your Majesty (Y/N)...” He smiles.

You then hear some strange laughter. Quite scary ones. After so many dreams, your team members automatically form in front of you to protect you when things like this happen. Jack and Sebek were now between you and the laughing people.

“Well, well, well. What have we got here?” A hyena beastman says, accompanied by others like him and all wearing the same type of what looked like a traditional guard’s or fighter's outfit.

“Hmm, I dunno.” Another hyena beastman says. “What do you think?”

“These guys couldn't be more obviously delinquent if they tried.” Jack comments. “Are they actually guardsmen?”

“They're dressed in the uniform of the Sunset Warriors, the king's personal team of guardians...” Ruggie explains.

“Wait...” Azul thinks to himself. “If they are the king's personal guardians, then... (Y/N).” He turns to you. “If you truly are part of the royal family, then these brutes will listen to you. They have to listen to you. Try to talk to them, but with confidence, this is very important. Remember, you are the King/Queen.” He smiles smugly.

You gather your courage and take a few steps forward, passing by the boys who were between you and the royal guards.

“Hehehehe! Looks like one of you is eager to be our dinner. Dyah hah hah!”

“I order you to let us pass!” You demand. “Me and my guests!”

“Oh yeah? And who do you think you... wait... you...” They smell the air to better understand your scent and finally be sure. “HEEEP! Y-y-y-your Majesty! We didn't know. W-we thought they were trespassers!”

“PLEASE FORGIVE US!” Everyone bows to you.

You say you forgive them for now and that now that they know who you and the others are they will let you pass... right?

“Hum... We are very sorry, Your Highness, but...” they didn't seem that sorry, a little smile even began to form on their faces. “King Leona ordered us not to let anyone in with you. No matter who it was.”

“What?! Why?”

“Oh, we don't question him, your highness. If it's something between you two, we would never intrude hehehe.”

One of them, who appears to be the leader, pulls you by the hand and hands you over to two other guards. As gently as possible for someone who is pulling you against your will.

“Take them inside!” He orders them. “We'll send the unwelcome guests away.”

And so the guards take you by the arms almost like a prisoner, but with much more care so as not to hurt you.

Once you passed through the doors, you had no more reason to fight against the guards. So they released you and escorted you down the hallway until you crossed paths with someone else.

“Ah, your highness. Welcome back.” An old man with blue and white hair and beard, wearing round glasses greets you with a genuine smile. “How was your walk? Hmm? Are those new clothes? I don't think I've ever seen you in them. But please, don't get me wrong, they look very good on you.”

The guards tell him that they found you outside with foreigners, and they even make up a story that they saved you from them, who were trying to kidnap you during your walk. During this, you hear them calling the old man Neji/Kifaji. As soon as you start saying that part was a lie, the old man automatically believes you.

“Cease you absurdity!” Neji/Kifaji scolds the guards. “I know what orders King Leona gave you. *sigh* You can leave King/Queen (Y/N) with me. You may go back to your posts now.”

The guards nod and turn to leave. However, you notice that they don't seem to have as much respect for Neji/Kifaji as they probably should.

“You were saying that the guards were lying about the foreigners wanting to kidnap you.” He returns to the subject calmly and in an understanding tone. “But you said it was true that you were with a group of people. Do you mind if I ask who they were?”

You tell him that they were your friends and he smiles sadly.

“Friends of yours? Well, it would be a pleasure to welcome them and see you enjoying yourself...” The smile fades, giving way to a slight frown. “If it weren't for your husband's paranoia.”

“Paranoia? Are you talking about that order not to let anyone in with me?”

“That is just the most recent one. I wonder how he knew your friends were coming. Either way... *sigh* I'm deeply sorry, Your Majesty. I believe this was not the life you imagined when you married Prince Leona. Being a king/queen of a country in ruins and without food to feed its people.”

This reminds you of that beastchild who recognized you and hugged you, asking you to help them have food again. You tell him this and it made him decide to go and have a talk with Leona again, to  try to put some sense in his head once more. But not right now. He'll do it later, after he helps you prepare your royal clothes for you to change into. After all, those black clothes must be very hot in Sunset Savanna, no?

You change into a beautiful suit/dress (whatever you prefer) and only after you're ready do you realize that Neji/Kifaji took advantage of you changing clothes to go and have that conversation with Leona.

You follow the voices until you find the two in the throne room, but you don't go in yet. Instead, you stay in a hidden corner, listening.

“Your majesty, you are the only one who can save this kingdom now.” Neji/Kifaji says. “The former king succumbed to illness after many long years, then His Highness Falena and his family were lost in as unexpected accident...”

“Don't bring that up.” You see Leona, wearing an elegant brown suit with gold necklaces and rings. His hair looked different too, his bangs pulled back. “That was a tragedy.” You also see for a moment the dreamer's silver bird around his head. “Not only did we lose my brother, but we even lost little Cheka... Just remembering it makes me want to cry.”

It's hard to decipher if he's just saying it for the sake of it, or if his words are sincere and he's hiding his true feelings with his disinterested attitude.

“Yes, and you became king in the midst of that tragedy and turmoil.”

“Grudgingly. I never wanted the crown.”

“‘I will work through my grief and push onward to the dawn of a new era.’” Neji/Kifaji reminds Leona. “‘I will work hand in hand with my people for peace and prosperity, paving the way to a glorious future.’ That was what you said in your coronation day. Did you mean a single word of that?”

“Excuse me?” Leona says, still unbothered. “I kept my word and paved the way to the future, didn't I?”

Basically, Leona did what he promised, but literally. He pushed through rapid development over the warning of experts and the objections of his people. The plant life has withered, the water's polluted, the wildlife has vanished and there is nothing left to eat or drink. This makes Leona say that he is not like his father and brother, that he would never cater to fools that cling to outdated traditions and customs.

“Your Majesty, you speak too harshly.” Neji/Kifaji says. “The development plan you envisioned was revolutionary, I'll grant you that. But it was out of touch with reality. It simply wasn't possible to implement that plan in the nation we lived in.”

Leona is silent for a second, thinking about what he just said.

“Yes, my plan itself was perfect. Who was it that ruined that perfect plan? The incompetent citizens, that's who. Who are they to complain nonstop when they have no chops of their own?”

“Your Majesty, they're people, not pawns. They vary wildly in capabilities and personalities. They act of their own volition. As king, you should have accepted that and worked with them.”

“What? Why would I work with incompetent idiots? You must be joking. I did everything I said I would. the rest of you better figure it out from here. The last thing I need is to go around cleaning up after idiots.”

Neji/Kifaji accuses Leona of abdicating all responsibility but he defends himself by presumptuously saying that he only offers his leadership to those capable of perfectly carrying out his ideals.

“I've had enough of incompetent fools.”

“You keep speaking of incompetence...” Neji/Kifaji proceeds. “But have you ever recognized a single person other that yourself as competent?!”

Leona doesn't respond.

“Not even your own spouse?”

“What did you say?” Leona gets angry again, but this time it's different.

“Your spouse.” Neji/Kifaji repeats. “Do you also see them as one of your chess pieces? Present just to serve you?”

“Hm he he. Indeed, they are also one of my pieces.” He smirks. “But you're mistaken if you think I only have pawns around me.”

“Oh, yes?” Neji/Kifaji smils slightly, for the first time. “Are they really your queen on this board?”

“Who else would I marry if not a true queen?” Leona smiles smugly.

“Heh heh. The Queen is the most powerful piece in chess. More powerful even than the King itself... is that how you truly see (Y/N)?” He smirks at Leona.

“That would be stretching it too far. Don't put words in my mouth. And Neji/Kifaji... ” The smirk disappeared and Leona glared threatening at him. “If you dare to insinuate that again... I'll fry you up right at the spot and make you be served as our next meal.”

At that moment, they and you hear a commotion outside the palace. You look out the window nearest you and see a crowd complaining that there is nothing left for them there, not even food.

“And I thought things were bad under Falena!” You see Ruggie saying among the crowd. “This is so much worse!” The other protestors agree. “But it doesn't have to be! Give the leadership to King/Queen (Y/N)!”

“We want King/Queen (Y/N)! King/Queen (Y/N)! King/Queen (Y/N)!”

“Buncha loudmouths idiots...” Leona complains. “This is a monarchy, not a democracy. They'd have to get rid of me first. Heh, as if.” He turns to Neji/Kifaji. “Speaking of which, where is (Y/N)?”

“I left them to change their clothes before coming here, Your Majesty.”

“Change clothes? Did they go for a walk again? What have they been up to?”

“That is unknown to me. They returned safe and sound, that's the only thing that concerns me.”

“Liar! You are covering for them... Well, the people are calling for them.” He smirks. “You better go get them.”

“There is no need.” You say, finally entering the throne room and revealing yourself dressed in your royal attire. “I’m here.”

The people continue to protest.

“Ugh... so annoying. How's a guy supposed to nap like this? Get out there and make them pipe down, Neji/Kifaji. Part of a grand chamberlain's job is ensuring their kings/king and queen can live in comfort. I'll do as I see fit. After all, I am still the king.” He smirks.

“Yes, sire. You are still the king.”

“Now get outta here. You're bothering me.”

He withdraws to obey his king's orders.

“And you come with me.” Leona tells you. “We need to talk and that's impossible here with so much noise.”

He walks to the exit of the throne room, into the hallway, and you follow him.

Leona takes you to a large and luxurious living room. You can no longer hear the protests, and when he closes the doors, it seems like a relaxing silence invades the space.

Leona sighs with relief and slumps his shoulders, then he walks to one of the sofas and collapses onto it. Sitting, not lying down. Then he looks at you lazily and beckons you with his finger to sit next to him.

You do so, and as he had his arms stretched out over the backrest, he puts one of them around your shoulders, pulling you against his chest. You thought he would complain to you about the protestors but... He stays silent, just hugging you with one arm while you rest your head on his chest.

“Did you hear?” He finally says after some time, in a worn out tone. “They want you.”

You don't say anything. You don't even know what to say. He looks so much more exhausted than before he walked through that door.

“I know about your rebels.” He says without changing his tone.

“My rebels?”

“The herds have moved on...” He quotes, the same phrase that the mother of that beastchild told you. “It’s your secret phrase. To recognize each other. You created a group against me.”

“Don't be ridiculous.” You straightened up with no difficulty, since he didn't even try to stop you. “Why would I do such a thing?”

“You heard them.” He looks at you with disdain. “They want you to lead them. To take the throne.” He leans toward you like a predator stalking its prey. “To take my place.”

“That's what they want. Why would I want it?”

He pauses and remains in thoughtful silence for a second.

“Why did you want to marry me?” He asks you without emotion in his voice.

“What? I-”

“You were the one who asked me to be your boyfriend, and then to marry you... You appeared here, coming from nowhere, alone, lost and with nothing, not even magic.” He gets closer and closer, speaking through growls, making you slide across the sofa. “We sheltered you in our palace to help you and what have you done?” The pull of your clothes on the sofa fabric doesn't allow you to move very far, and you end up lying down with him on top of you with threatening eyes and teeths. “You made me fall in love with you, marry you, to then steal my throne!”

“Don't be stupid!” You tell him without fear. “Why the heck would I want your throne?! Especially now. Do I look like I want to clean up your mess?”

His face remains frighteningly angry and he growls at you, but you don't seem the least bit concerned anymore. He brings his face close to yours as if he wants to bite you, but then he simply lies down with his head on your chest.

“Heh heh, it was more fun messing with you in the beginning.” He returned to his lazy, laid-back tone in less then a second. “I know why these people are protesting to have you as their ruler.”

“You do?”

He doesn't answer you right away, he just whispers after a few seconds.

“You’re the Queen.”

“What?” You really weren't sure you heard correctly.

He rises, stretching his arms, but still on top of you. His gaze has changed. It's calm, and you might even risk calling it loving.

“You’re the Queen.” He repeats. “That's what I told Neji/Kifaji. The most powerful piece in chess.” The trace of the smile he had disappears and he sighs. “Stronger than the King itself.”

He gets off of you and sits back down on the couch. He gives you his hand to help you sit down next to him too.

“Of course they like you.” He gets up and starts walking to a window. “I'm the guy who left them without food, without water, who destroyed their home.” He stops in front of the window, looking at the dark landscape. “And you're the kind person who listens to them, who comforts them, who wants the best for them.” He wasn't speaking for himself, he was speaking out what he believed his subjects thought. “The poor, golden-hearted herbivore who's trapped with the tyrant.” He smirks. “Heh heh heh. I wouldn't even be surprised if you were completely clueless about what's going on with these protests.” The next words he whispers so you don't hear. “You always had a way of bringing people together... Stronger than the king himself...”

While he was talking at the window with you still on the sofa, you received a message. Leona didn't notice, and when you looked, it was a message from Idia telling you not to try to wake Leona up alone because it could be dangerous for you while you were away from the rest of the group. They would return to the palace again the next day with a plan. Until then, you should just try to stay safe.

He turns away while yawning loudly and you quickly put your phone back away.

“I'm tired. I need a nap.”

He walks towards you, sits on the sofa where you are, a little away, turns around and lies down with his head in your lap and eyes closed. He opens one of his eyes to look at you and smirks.

“You still get flustered by this? Heh heh. Cute... What? It's not like you have anythin’ better to do, right?”

He closes his eye again and relaxes. You look at his ears and decide to take a chance and pet them like you would a cat. And he doesn't complain, quite the opposite, he smiles slightly without opening his eyes and melts at your touch. After a moment, he turns to hug your waist and continue sleeping.

Before dinnertime, Leona separates from you. You start to get hungry and go looking for him or Neji/Kifaji and he is the one you find in one of the corridors. He greets you with a smile, but sighs when you ask him about dinner.

“My apologies, your majesty, but there is no more food in the palace. No meat or vegetables. Not even water.”

That was really worrying and then you remember to ask about Leona.

“King Leona walked away from you as dinner time approached? *Sigh* He probably didn't have the courage to face you. Seeing his spouse hungry and unable to provide them with food... Not even his pride can handle so much.”

“Watch your beak!” A voice suddenly said behind you.

You turn around, neither of you even heard Leona approaching. He had one hand in his pocket and in the other a brown bag that he threw to Neji/Kifaji.

“You know what to do with it.” He turns and walks away without saying anything else.

“Yes, sire.” Neji/Kifaji still responds. He looks inside the bag. “Bread?” He puts his hand inside and takes out another smaller bag. He smells it. “And I think ithis is cheese. How did he...?” He then looks at you and smiles weakly. “Well... at least he's looking out for someone. Come, your majesty, I will prepare dinner for you.”

“What about Leona?” You ask. “And you?”

“King Leona never liked people worrying about him.” He says and then looks at you with another small smile. “And you don't need to worry about me. You're very kind, but... you know I don't need it.”

“What do you mean?”

“We both know this is a dream, your majesty.” He says calmly as you walk through a door into the kitchen and starts preparing your cheese sandwich. “You have nothing to fear. Beings like me have a duty to make the dreamer have happy dreams... but you must have already realized that Leona Kingscholar is making our job practically impossible.”

He finishes your sandwich and puts it on a plate. He asked you to go to the dining room so you could eat at the table. You go through another door and there's a beautiful dining room with a long table and luxurious chairs. You sit alone and he places the plate in front of you. He stands next to you.

“We must eliminate everyone and everything that might wake him up, that is true.” He keeps explaining to you. “But... He is making this a nightmare no matter our efforts. You were, until now, the only person or even thing that managed to lessen his anguish during all this time. The way he created me, from all the memories of the real Neji/Kifaji, does not allow me to continue with my duty to keep him asleep. No matter how hard I try to convince him that he can actually do something to improve this situation, it's useless. There is only one way to make him happy.” He looks at you with certainty. “He needs to wake up. And have you with him when he does.”

When night came, Neji/Kifaji told you that you had the option of sleeping in a bedroom alone if you wanted. He could tell Leona that you didn't feel well enough to sleep with him.

But if you choose to sleep in the same room and bed as Leona, you will enter the room alone as well, lie down on the bed and fall asleep from waiting for him.

You wake up a little later because you feel an arm around your waist and someone behind you. Having seen and heard Leona sleeping so many times, you quickly confirmed that it was him simply by the way he yawned. He pulls you closer and you feel his chest on your back and his breath for a moment on your neck.

If you decide to turn around and look at him, you'll see him looking at you with his green eyes half-closed and with that eyeshine in the middle of a darkness that was only not total due to the weak glow of the moon that entered the room.

“What?” He says lazily and in a deep voice. “You don't look disappointed that I woke you up.” He smirks.

Seeing the way you were looking at him, he pulls you closer again, rubs his nose against yours and only then kisses your lips softly but lovingly. If you allow it, you will make out until you fall asleep in each other's arms.

He was the one who fell asleep first, but you were the one who woke up first.

After a moment of enjoying the sight of Leona sleeping beside you, you try to get up. But as soon as you sit down on the bed and swing your legs out, you feel his arm around your waist, preventing you from getting up.

You caress his cheek or ears and tell him you two should get up. You just hear him mumble and feel him slowly pulling you closer. It is then that you hear a knock on the door and Neji/Kifaji announcing it is time to get up. This makes Leona mumble less satisfied than before.

You two get up and get dressed. When you thought you were both ready, you turned to head for the door but Leona speaks up.

“You sure you're ready?” Leona asks you with a somewhat judgmental look.

You look at your clothes and even look in the mirror again. You genuinely don't know what could be wrong.

“Well, if you think everythin's fine...” he shrugs and walks calmly to the door.

You grab his arm and ask him what you were missing. He doesn't answer you, he just smiles, amused by your frustration. Until you finally order him to tell you what he was talking about.

“Hahahah! Okay, okay. Please, don't attack me. You're such a scary herbivore. Hahahaha!” He mocks you, but then he grabs your cheeks with one hand and kisses your lips passionately and playfully. “Such bad manners for a royalty.” He says with a smirk after the kiss. “Don't even give a proper good morning to their own husband. Maybe you need more etiquette lessons.”

As soon as you arrived at the throne room, you immediately heard the protests of the citizens outside.

“Tch... what now?” Leona says. All traces of good mood he had was gone. “Lately it's been ridiculously noisy. Hey, Neji/Kifaji! You there?”

“You called, sire?”

Leona says that you two are hungry and he orders Neji/Kifaji to bring you food, but he says that there is no food and the two of them start arguing about there being nothing in the castle, much less outside, to eat. They argue as usual until Neji/Kifaji sighs and says:

“I never would have had to suffer such demands under Falena.”

This seemed to be a trigger, because as soon as he finished the sentence Leona jumped towards him and grabbed him by the collar, practically strangling him.

“Don't utter that name!” He threatens him, but Neji/Kifaji isn’t intimidated at all. “In case you've forgotten, that name reminds me of my sorrow all over again. Never, ever mention it in my presence.”

You hear the sound of magic and sand begins to swirl around you like a storm.

“Urgh...! Hahaha... Are you serious about eating me for lunch? Oh, you wouldn't want me. I'd be so tough and gamey and...”

“Leona, NO! Stop it!”

You try to stop him, grabbing one of his arms, but he instinctively throws you back, making you fall and crash against the throne's stairs. As soon as he realizes what he just did, he turns to look at you, regretful, but without letting go of Neji/Kifaji. However, soon after the look of regret gives way to one of anger.

“YOU IDIOT! You think you can save anyone by gettin’ in the middle of a fight, weak as you are?! Learn self-preservation and don't meddle in my affairs again!”

“Unca, nooo!” A child said as the door opened with a bang.

You see a huge white wolf attacking Leona, making him let go of Neji/Kifaji, and only after the shock do you realize it's Jack and the child is...

“Cheka?!” Leona says in disbelief. “No, you're dead.”

Cheka and Neji/Kifaji exchange a few words and both he and you notice that Cheka's voice sounds strange. Meanwhile, Jack gets off Leona and approaches you to help you get up with his snout.

“Why, cheka, I'm a little surprised to see you... alive.” It was obvious that Leona already knew that this wasn’t the real Cheka, or at least not the Cheka from his dream. “Your roaring's improved some.” He smiles smugly.

“You're being mean to all our subjects and Neji/Kifaji. you're a bad king, Unca. This is my kingdom to rule. Step down, Unca.”

“Oh, yes... I would, but there's one little problem with that.” A sandstorm forms again and Leona prepares to attack. “I'm not handin' over the throne to some pipsqueak pretender!”

He attacks Cheka and he breaks down into glitches. He destroyed a hologram. The sandstorm creates a whirlwind that pulls three other people into the throne room: Ruggie, Ortho, and Grim.

“A hyena kid? I've been lookin' out for you hyenas, and this is how you repay me? You bring out a fake Cheka and act like you're revolutionaries? Hah, now that's funny.” He grabs Ruggie. “Treason against the crown is punishable by death. Hope you're prepared to face the consequences.”

You get fed up with all this! Leona prepares to use his signature spell on Ruggie, but you run up to them and get between them.

“ENOUGH!” You shout in his face and suddenly the sandstorm dissipates. “Stop this, Leona! This was supposed to be a dream and you single-handedly turned it into a nightmare!” You grab him by the collar and he finally lets go of Ruggie. “Why do you do this to yourself?! If you're so smart, how come you haven't realized this is a dream? That it's all an illusion?”

“What?! What are you talking about? Are you crazy?” Now he was also arguing with you angrily.

“You are being deceived by Malleus right now! You are losing to a lizard you idiot! Just wake up already!”

The dream begins to distort and Leona moves away from you because of the headaches. But at that moment, a group of guards enter the throne room to protect Leona. Several of them attack you all right away, but Neji/Kifaji uses fire magic to protect you. You fight the guards and as soon as the battle ends you realize that Leona has disappeared.

The world had stopped distorting and Leona had just escaped the palace with some of the guards. Meanwhile, they managed to convince Leona that you had let yourself to be brainwashed by opponents of his regime.

“I understand the stupid subjects,” He mutters just to himself, trying hard not to let the guards hear him. “I even understand Neji/Kifaji... but...” Neither you nor anyone else would ever see this, but despite his expression of wrath, he was trying hard not to shed tears. “...them... (Y/N)... my own spouse?!... Why? Why them too?! Why you too?!...” His throat hurt from holding back the tears. “For better... for worse... to love and to cherish... I DIDN'T LIE! WHY DID YOU?!” He finally explodes in anger and roars.

“Your Majesty, I'm so glad you're safe.” The guards who intercepted you the day before run to meet their king. “Things are looking pretty dicey right now. We should find somewhere to lie low for a while.”

“Ah, you guys... At least YOU won't turn your back on me.”

“Heh heh... That's right, Majesty.” Darkness surrounds them all, the ground turns into black goop and the same happens to the NPCs' skin. “We're your only true friends. And everyone else is your true enemy. Even the ones you think you love. We'll turn the world upside-down as many times as it takes. Yes, as many times as it takes...”

Leona lets himself be swallowed by the darkness and shortly after you all arrive and jump into the black goop after him.

You all end up at Savanaclaw, more specifically, at the Spelldrive Stadium in their dorm.

“Oh, what a terrible tragedy.” Leona was wearing his dorm uniform again. “Who could have foreseen panicked crowds charging right into Diasomnia's procession of players? Much less trampling THE Malleus Draconia along with all their other competitors?” He smiles smugly. “But we must all rise to the occasion and triumph in this spelldrive tournament. It's what he'd want. Right?”

“So, in this scenario where the Savanaclaw students succeeded in sabotaging Malleus in the spelldrive tournament?” Jack asks.

“Looks that way.” Ruggie confirms. “Seems like this is happening just before the tournament starts.”

You guys talk about that dream and Leona, and Ruggie and Jack say that Leona is the type of person who's never satisfied. Probably no matter what he achieves, whether in real life or in the dream, he'd get bored quickly and lauch right into the next thing to complain about. However, both Ruggie and Jack conclude this with a smile.

“This version of Leona Kingscholar has recollections of his life at school.” Ortho says. “That means it's possible to make him aware of clashes with reality and deliver a mental jolt.”

“And most of the people involved in the spelldrive tournament are right here.” Ruggie complements. “How's about we put on a show?”

Meanwhile, Leona was talking about their next game being against Octavinelle and commenting that they were such small fry they could beat them blindfolded. Azul appears, along with Silver and Sebek who reveal that they, Malleus, and the other Diasomnia students are all fine and in condition to play in the tournament. And all thanks to Azul. Confronted by Leona, Azul just says with a smirk that he signed a more favorable contract, a basic good business practice.

“What in blazes...?” His dream begins to distort. “Why am I getting déjà vu from this? Hrgh!"

“Leona?” The Ruggie with inky black skin asks. “What's wrong?”

“He's waking up from a dream.” The real Ruggie arrives along with Jack.

“Two Ruggies?” Leona looks from one Ruggie to the other. “And, a dream...? Agh! What is this? My head...!”

Leona begins to remember what happened that day, including the colar that Riddle put around his neck and him saying that he would never become king no matter how hard he tries.

The darkness begins to do their job of trying to protect Leona and keep him asleep, so you attack them. After defeating the NPCs and them dissolving into black goop, Jack and Ruggie tell Leona to remember who he really is and then the dream breaks.

Leona wakes up as always, complaining, this time about him not remembering that whole ridiculous plot, your scraggly faces not being the first things he wanted to see when he opens his eyes and asking Jack not to yell in his ear.

“I got a delicate constitution, y'know. You should wake me up more gently.”

“You star grumbling the moment you wake up...” Ruggie says. “That's the Leona I know, shyeheehee!”

“Hey, Ruggie. You've got some explaining to do. What's going- ?!”

The earth begins to shake and the ground is covered in black goop. The dream was collapsing. You all prepare to escape the dream, when you are caught in the darkness and begin to be pulled in.

“(Y/N)!” Everyone shouts.

Grim automatically jumps towards you, but Leona stops him by grabbing him by the bow around his neck. Grim rants at him as if he's stopping him from saving your life, and for a second, his snout looked a lot like it did when he attacked you the night before he was taken to S.T.Y.X.

“You idiot!” Leona says, seriously. “You think (Y/N) wants you to go down with them?!”

He throws Grim for Jack to catch and rushes to you. He first grabs one of your arms, then holds you by the torso, wrapping his arms around your waist. Although this causes him to be trapped in the darkness as well.

“Rgh! This isn't just your weight. There's a powerful tug... Ah, crud. Guess you can't win 'em all...”

“What? What are you going to do?!” You ask, afraid he'll leave you.

He brings his face close to yours and looks you deeply in the eyes.

“Win this one for me, my Queen.” then he turns his face away from you. “JACK! CATCH!”

He pulls you out of the darkness and makes you fly until you land in Jack and Silver's arms. The last thing you see is Leona sinking into the darkness with a smirk. Since he was the dreamer, he still had a chance to save himself, but you didn't, so you all left the dream, whether you wanted to or not.

When you return to Leona's dream, you are back in the devastated, gray Sunset Savanna of the beginning of his dream. But regardless, you, Jack and Ruggie were just happy to see him safe and sound, and him wearing the Savanaclaw uniform showed that he was still awake.

“I never thought I'd see Leona of all people dive into darkness on someone else's behalf.” Azul says with a smirk. “Could this be the power of love?” He was holding back laughter.

“How brave for someone who can be dehydrated at a touch to open his mouth like that.” Leona replied with his own smirk.

“I can see why you're housewarden of Savanaclaw. That was an incredible show of bravery.”

“Yeah, yeah...” Leona shrugs it off and turns to you. “You. We need to talk. Come with me.” He starts walking away from the others. “If someone follows us, won't get out of this dream alive.” He says without stopping walking or turning to look at any of them.

You follow him to a huge rock where the others can no longer see or hear you. He leans against the rock and crosses his arms, casually.

“I remember everything.” He says, impassively and looking you in the eyes. “I was dreaming that we were married.” He analyzes your facial expression, but it doesn't take a genius to know what your little smile means. He smirks. “You didn't need to sleep with me, you know?”

You can't hide how flustered you are.

“He gave you a choice, didn't he?” Leona continues, with that smug smile. “You could have gone to sleep in another room...” He pushes himself off the rock and starts walking around you. “...But as soon as I went to bed...” He stops behind you and whispers in your ear. “...I find you there.”

You turn to face him with a smug grin of your own.

“Well, you didn't mind that either.”

“Why would I?” He takes a few steps forward, slowly, making you take a few steps back too. “I was dreaming that I was your husband...” Your back meets the huge rock and he leans with his forearm next to your head, bringing his face close to yours. “You think I wouldn't want to sleep with my spouse too?”

He looks from your eyes to your lips, but then he looks to one of your shoulders as if he's actually looking behind you. The smile slowly fades and he straightens up.

“I'm sorry.” He says, simply and with that neutral expression.

“What?”

“When I pushed you. You fell against the stairs...” For the first time, he looks away from you. “I'm sorry.” He repeated in a low tone but with genuine regret, at least for his standards.

You say it's okay, that he wasn't being completely himself and that he was going through a complicated situation. You've visited enough dreams to know that the dreamer doesn't necessarily act like themselves in their dreams.

“You can't use that excuse from now on.” He tells you, determinedly. “You can accept that dream as an isolated experience. But if something like that happens again, you won't give me excuses. You'll leave! No looking back. Understood?” He orders you.

You agree with a smile. That was his way of caring about you and protecting you. But with a smirk you ask if that means you can ask him for something to make up for what he did.

“Hm?” He smirks back. “What you mean? You just admitted that I was a victim too. I was going through a difficult situation and wasn't being myself. Your words. Forgiving me in this context was the least you could do for your crush.”

“Oh yeah? I came here to save you, and I even made your dream less of a nightmare for a moment. YOUR crush should get a reward for that at least. It would only be fair.”

“Wasn't that night reward enough?”

“Y-you weren't being yourself. I want a reward from the real Leona.”

“Hehe. Fine. If my Queen insists.”

He holds you by the waist, pulls you towards him and kisses your lips, hungrily. He slowly pushes you with his body to bring you back against the large rock behind you, without taking his lips off yours.

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

[riricatria]

Hiii~

"Moments of Weakness" as in the reader suffering critical aura damage by being difficult with the yanderes. This is the second part for the post carrying the same name! If you want more, the previous one can be found right about here. I hope you have a good read ~(˘▾˘~)

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Characters include: Aventurine, Boothill, Gallagher, Dr. Ratio, Mr. Reca and Sunday (pre-AE) CONTENT WARNINGS INCLUDE: Yandere content (BUT this on the much more wholesome end of it. It's fluffy and sort of hurt/comfort!), cisfem!Reader, unwanted touching, manipulation, reader gets a good bonk on the head in the BH one (there's blood), alcohol mention in the Gallagher part, reader is nakey in the Sunny one but there's nothing sexual.

˗ˏˋ ★ Aventurine

The quiet shuffling of cards scraping against each other is the only thing that can be heard in the room you and Aventurine share. It’s a deliberate thing on his end: Though you’re lying on the hotel bed with your back turned to him, the mere sound is enough for you to understand the message without him having to even say anything. 

It’s clear as day; he’s trying to lure you into playing with him again for whatever bet he’s feeling like setting on the game today. It’s always a tempting offer to accept: He promises you all kinds of things if you manage to win against him. The only issue is that, without fail, you have lost every single time, no matter how much thought and strategy you have put into it. It’s not even about skill anymore — though admittedly, he’s much better-versed in that field as well — but his luck is simply unbeatable. 

”Hey, I know you’re not sleeping”, Aventurine sings from where he’s sitting at the table, elongating the last syllable of his words with an annoying lilt. 

”I’m not gonna play with you”, you turn him down before he can even propose the activity itself. 

”Come on, not even for a little bit?” he coos at you. ”I know you want to.”

”I don’t”, you shake your head against the pillow you’re resting on. 

”What’s all this, now?” you hear the chair creak as he stands up from his seat. ”You’ve been so gloomy lately. Is something wrong?”

You are wrong, you want to respond to him, but speaking it out loud would serve no purpose. His ego is practically untouchable: Nothing you say could wound him deeper than a mere graze on the surface. 

Your bed shifts as Aventurine plops beside you on the mattress. You don’t offer him any reaction; not even as much as glancing at him over your shoulder. Instead, you pull further into yourself, bringing your knees to your chest and curling up in a fetal position. 

Unsatisfied with your lack of enthusiasm, Aventurine brings his hand to your hip. There, he moves two of his fingers along your curves, pretending as if his hand was walking down the dip of your waist, the bend of your elbow, the back of your neck. It tickles a bit, and after a few moments, you have to reach your arm over your side to swat his touch away.

”There you are”, his striking eyes lock with yours as you raise your head from the pillow, scowling at him. ”What’s with the sulking?”

”...”

”Come on, now”, he intones, reaching for your face and gently moving a stray piece of your hair behind your ear. ”I have a really nice stake for this one.”

”... Like what?” 

You hate how easy it is for him to pique your curiosity. With how capricious he is, one would think that you would try your absolute best to stay away from his antics, but the reality is usually quite the opposite.

”Well”, he says. You can hear the smirk in the ring of his voice. ”I was thinking we could take a trip to the Golden Hour again. How does that sound?”

It sounds nice. It has been a while since he has last taken you anywhere — for leisure, anyway: He has been drowning in work lately, and in consequence, there haven’t been many opportunities for the two of you to go out on “dates”, as he calls them. 

”... What do you even want to play? Strip poker?” you ask him in a dry tone.

”Oho, are you offering?” 

”I’m not.”

”Bummer”, Aventurine shrugs with a smug look on his face. ”I was thinking Blackjack. Just like back at the casino that one time, remember?”

”...”

”Heh”, he lets out a chuckle. ”Do you want to deal or does the job land on me yet again?” 

”Hold on, what do you get if you win?” 

You prop yourself up on your elbows, looking at him with your brows furrowed. There’s a dangerous glint in Aventurine’s eyes.

”Hmm, let’s say...”, he muses, tapping the tip of his chin in a thoughtful manner, ”fifteen minutes of cuddling for every hand you lose. You’ve got ten rounds to beat me.”

You purse your lips together.

”Deal”, you say. 

Without delay, Aventurine briefly shuffles the deck in his hands before dealing the cards in between the two of you on the bed. Abiding by the rules, he sets one of his upside down while giving you a couple with their face up. 

You count the total. It’s 15. 

”Hit”, you utter. 

”Very well”, Aventurine responds.

He picks up another card for you from the pile. With a theatrical curve of his hand, he lands it beside the other two. 

You stare at the symbols on the thing, then count the tiny, askew squares once, twice, thrice — there’s no mistaking it. With uncontrollable excitement, you point at the six of diamonds with your mouth hanging open. 

”That’s 21!” you exclaim with more joy than you were planning on. ”I win!”

”Oop, would you look at that”, Aventurine leans down lower to inspect the card, squinting his eyes. ”Fair and square. The Dreamscape is calling.”

”Do we leave right now?” you ask, already swinging your legs off the bed with your eyes sparkling. 

There’s an odd, complacent look on his features. 

”Take it easy, now”, he says, wagging his finger back and forth at you. ”We’ve still got nine more rounds left.”

”Huh?” your smile falls. ”But I won? It’s 21?”

”I didn’t say we wouldn’t play the rest, now, did I?” Aventurine grins at you, evidently holding back his laughter. ”Come on, settle down.”

”But you...!”

You glare at him with your mouth ajar, but as you play back the conversation in your head, his ploy becomes painfully clear to you. You’re about to raise your finger at him, to curse him to the deepest pit of the planet as the chagrin burns on your cheeks, but the man has already started dealing the next round of cards. 

Your total goes over the limit with your first hit. 

”That’s 15 minutes to the counter”, Aventurine swipes his tongue over his teeth. 

Similarly, you lose the next round, the third, the fourth, the one after that, and every single one until the very last hand. It’s like every loss is another stab at your pride: He even scores five perfect blackjacks back-to-back without as much as batting an eye. Twisting the knife in the wound, he makes sure to keep an exact count of how long the agreed-upon cuddle session is going to last, speaking the time stamps out loud. 

By the time the last hand of cards has been dealt, you have rested back down on the bed, barely even paying attention to the game anymore. You watch with very little interest as he lands two Jacks on the bed, beating your measly total of 18. 

”And that one’s a win for me as well”, Aventurine states, tapping the tip of his finger against the ornate illustration of a knight on the card he just flipped over. ”Game over.”

You don’t delight him with a response. Instead, you roll over on the bed, once again turning your back to him with a deep pout on your face. It doesn’t deter him from enjoying the moment to his heart’s content, though:

”That makes, let me think... A little over two hours, does it not?” he leans over your form to catch a glance at your expression. ”We might have to cut it down to only an hour and a half, though. We won’t have much time to spend in the Dreamscape, otherwise.”

You bury your face in the pillow. 

”Hey, don’t be like that”, Aventurine pets your arm, lying down behind you on the bed. ”It’s what you agreed to. You can take a nap if you’d like, I don’t mind.”

As he snakes his arms around your waist and pulls your back flush against his chest, you promise to yourself that you’re never, ever going to entertain his whims again. 

˗ˏˋ ★ Boothill

You’re pretty sure you weren’t far from the verge of passing out a second or two ago. The stars that adorn your field of vision flicker in and out like sparklers, making it difficult to focus on the sight ahead of you — which happens to be Boothill’s chest. 

After having pulled away from yet another one of his crushing hugs, he took matters into his own hands. You’re aware he doesn’t like it when you refuse his affections, but you didn’t exactly expect him to jerk you back to him with enough force to mash a boulder. Consequentially, as a result of more than one unfortunate factor, you ended up banging your head right against his chestplate. 

You fall on your knees in front of him, sinking to the floor while clutching the middle of your forehead with both of your hands. Not only does the spot throb terribly, but as you draw your fingers back to check the extent of the damage, there’s a distinct, red smear on them. 

”Fudge!” Boothill swears, to the best of his ability, kneeling down to your level. ”Why’d you do that?”

”I didn’t-!” you speak through a clenched jaw, but it’s difficult to concentrate on anything else but the pounding ache. ”You-, ow-ow-ow-”

You bring your hand back over the wound as you see Boothill reach for your face. 

”Lemme see that, Sugar”, he takes hold of one of your wrists and attempts to yank it away from the injury, but you don’t allow him to: Instead, you pull further into yourself to shake off his touch. 

”Don’t touch me!” you yelp at him, although the words come out as more of a plea rather than a demand.

Letting out a frustrated huff, Boothill resorts to trying to peek at your wound through the gaps between your fingers. Catching sight of the blood, he hisses through his razor-sharp teeth, scrunching his face up a little. He doesn’t seem to quite know where he should put his hands because they’re hovering all around you, unsure where to touch or if to even touch at all. 

A thin trail of blood crawls down the bridge of your nose. Boothill’s expression only grows more concerned, and as he tries to reach for you yet again, you land a slap on his hand. 

”Sugar, you’re blee-”

”I know, I know!” you whine with your eyes squeezed shut. ”Just give me something to... I need something to put on it...”

”I’m not sure we’ve got anything for that in here”, Boothill scratches the side of his head in a fretful manner. ”Didn’t prepare for situations like this, bein’ a cyborg and all.”

More blood dribbles out of the wound. A droplet slides past your brow and nearly makes its way into your eye. You try to wipe it away but only manage to smear both your face and the end of your sleeve in the deep red. Boothill watches the sight with his face screwed as if he was the one in pain. He lets out a vexed sigh.

Before you can shield yourself, he reaches for your hand and forces it off your face. You let out a startled squawk and attempt to fight him off, but instead of allowing you to, he lands a strong arm on the back of your waist and locks you in place. Using his free hand, he pushes your hair back. Sparing little thought to how your eyes have widened up in alarm, he leans in uncomfortably close to inspect the injury. He softly grazes his fingers against the border of the contusion, tutting his tongue.

”Fudge”, he curses yet again. 

Without delay, Boothill slides his hand under your thighs and hoists you up from the ground. There’s so much momentum in the movement that you nearly hit your head on the low ceiling of the room. He mutters out a half-hearted apology before adjusting his grip on you, balancing you on the crook of his elbow with you holding onto his head for dear life. With inhuman strength, he carries you towards the bathroom. 

Kicking the door open so hard it slams against the wall and almost falls off its hinges, he sits you down on the edge of the bathtub. He grabs one of the bright-coloured towels off the side of the sink, bringing the thing under the tap and soaking it in cold water.

”Alright, hold still for a bit”, Boothill tells you as he kneels down in front of you with the piece of fabric in hand. 

Gently, or rather, as gently as he’s able to, he dabs the towel around the gash on your forehead, wiping the blood off to the best of his ability. Despite how each of his touches stings, you let your defensive hands slowly fall to your lap.

He isn’t exactly careful with his actions. With each pat against the wound, his metallic fingers knock against your skull in a careless manner. He doesn’t seem to grasp the extent of his strength, to a certain degree: While he visibly takes a little caution to tone it down in your company, occasionally, you end up with unintentional bruises and marks on various parts of your body — much like now. 

After a while, Boothill pulls the towel out of your face before examining the outcome of his efforts. 

”Don’t know what I’m gonna close that up with”, he speaks his thoughts out loud, drumming the pads of his fingers against the tub’s ceramic. 

”I can-”

”Nope, you’re gonna stay right where you are, Sugar”, he interrupts you before you can even voice whatever suggestion you had. ”We used to have some tape or somethin’ layin’ ’round here, right?”

He spins on his heels before making his way back to the sink with the wet cloth in hand. He carelessly lays it over the sink’s edge before flinging open the doors of the cabinet above it. He rummages around for a bit before pulling out a roll of wound tape from inside. 

”Alright, hold your hair back for me, yeah?” he instructs you, snapping off a small piece of the material. 

You do as you’re told, brushing your fingers past your hairline and pulling the strands back. Not waiting around, Boothill goes for the finishing touch and glues the tape over the lesion. For good measure, he rips another slice of the tape off the roll and crosses it over the first in an X-shape. 

He leans back from you to inspect the result of his work. An amused snort slips past his teeth. 

”Ha, you look like one of them forkin’ shooting targets with that on your forehead”, he chuckles, poking his index finger on the bridge of your nose, right below the wound. 

You front at him in response. He closes his eyes for a moment, and his smirk simmers down a tiny bit. 

”You better not give me any more attitude in the future, you hear?” he says.

Though the words are spoken as a bit of a joke, you don’t miss the implication behind them. Boothill sets his hand on your knee, giving it a few, comforting pats. You let your hair fall back over your face. 

˗ˏˋ ★ Gallagher

You’re not sure if you could get a single sound out of your mouth, even if you were to try your absolute hardest. It feels like a bunch of flaming matches have been tossed into your windpipe. You didn’t even know it was possible to get sick while in the Dreamscape, yet that’s how you’ve ended up; with your throat burning and your voice gone. 

You’ve spent the past few hours simply lying down on one of the benches in the bar’s back room. Due to your ailment, you haven’t had much energy for moving around, and besides, you don’t feel like roaming about the public area: There isn’t that much to see, and more importantly, Gallagher is there. The bar already closed a fifteen minutes or so ago, and he’s most likely busy setting everything up for when it opens again. 

You know that he’s most likely aware of your current state — you’ve been hacking your lungs out for the better part of an hour, and the man isn’t deaf nor is he stupid — but even so, he hasn’t taken the time to come check up on you. 

It’s not that you want him to, necessarily, but for how much he pesters you in general, it’s a wonder that he hasn’t slid in the back room yet to inquire about your condition. You can already hear his condescending tone mocking you for your trouble, telling you ”how adorable for little old you to catch a cold”, and even the mere thought has you rolling your eyes. Given his nature, the entire thing would be funny to him, more than anything: You don’t think you could stomach all the remarks he has in store for you right now.

You prop yourself up in your elbows with a sigh. The shiny, leather surface of the bench is starting to feel a bit uncomfortable against your side. Moreover, it’s getting a little chilly. Coincidentally, all of the blankets have been left in the public area for the customers — perhaps a purposeful deed on Gallagher’s end. 

Your mouth is dry as a desert, to the point that it hurts. Looking around the room you’re holed up in, you come to find that he hasn’t left you with anything drinkable, either; the only liquid in your general vicinity is a bottle of hard liquor, and although technically being a beverage, you doubt it would serve the purpose of quenching your thirst. You wish Siobhan would drop around for a bit again: She’s much nicer to spend time with than your captor, being a woman and all, and with her, you don’t have to fistfight your own ego when asking for basic necessities. 

Carefully, you get on your feet and make your way to the door with dragging steps. For a moment, you ponder if you could manage for a little bit longer, but with how your throat aches, you decide that ultimately, confronting the man is a better option than suffering with your malady. 

As quietly as you can, you slip into the public area. Judging from the clinking sound coming from the other side of the bar desk, your guess is that Gallagher must be behind the middle wall that divides the spacious room, still occupied with something. He doesn’t seem to have noticed your presence just yet, and you take advantage of that.

Tiptoeing closer to the counter, you spot an unopened can of lemonade next to a few empty bottles of wine. The sight is awfully tempting, to the point that your mouth musters up the last bits of saliva you have left in favour of allowing you to drool. 

You try to catch a glimpse of your captor past the middle wall, but alas, you’re unable to. Deciding to go for the steal nonetheless, with your eyes set on the can, you sneak closer to it, grab it off the desk, and-

”It’s good to see you up”, Gallagher’s voice rings in the silent room. ”Doing well?”

As you raise your gaze, you come to see him peeking out from the other side of the rounded counter. He wears the same, smug smirk as always, looking down at you with a hint of curiosity in his expression. 

Your eyes widen. You’re about to greet him with a flavourless ”hi”, but even as your tongue forms the syllable, no voice comes out. Immediately after, you cough out, planting your hand over your chest in an effort to stabilize yourself. 

”Something wrong?” Gallagher quirks a brow at you, making his way over to where you’re standing. 

You try to mouth out an answer to him, saying ”my voice is gone”, but as you’re unable to produce a sound, you resort to moving your hand along your throat horizontally, attempting to convey the message via gesturing. Looking at his expression, you come to find that he has understood the problem, but true to his style, he isn’t going to let you live your trouble down just yet. 

”Hm, what’s that?” he leans down with his hand cupped around his ear. 

Biting on the bait embarrassingly fast, you put your best effort into trying to yell out at him, but the only thing that comes out is a tiny, pitiful wheeze. Desperately, you point at the can on the counter. 

”I’m not sure what you’re getting at”, Gallagher sighs with a shit-eating smirk on his face, shrugging his shoulders to really sell the performance. ”You need to use your words, I’m afraid.”

”I need water!” you mouth at him with a pitiably wretched frown on your lips. 

Gallagher lets out an amused sigh in response. He then closes his eyes and places his hands on his hips.

Apparently, your little show is pathetic enough to get through to his heart, and he gives up the act with a low chuckle. You nearly wince away from him as his large hand lands on your shoulder. 

”Do you need a drink?” Gallagher then asks, cocking his head to the side. 

You nod fervently. 

”Alright”, he says. His touch pulls away from you as he proceeds to hop over the counter and back to the bartender’s side. ”What would you like? Sweet? Spicy?”

You frown at him with so much attitude that he has to let out yet another laugh at the sight. Though, instead of teasing you further, he picks up something from the shelves under the bar desk. A deep blue blanket is tossed at you. 

Without another word, Gallagher starts picking out bottles from the ledges on the wall, setting them on the counter in a neat row. You drape the soft fabric over your shoulders and sit on one of the bar stools. 

The scene looks like you were a customer being served, almost. You follow his movements as he pours different ingredients into a tin shaker before sealing it up tight. He then joggles the thing around in a theatrical manner, spinning it in his hand, pitching it into the air, giving it a good whirl. After he deems the results suitable, he takes out a tall glass from one of the cabinets and tips the liquid in it. For good measure, he finishes the drink up with a striped straw. 

”There you go”, Gallagher slides the glass over to you. 

Though, for some reason, he doesn’t let go of the base. You give him a questioning look, softly tilting your head to the side with your brows knitted. 

”Hm? Not even a ‘thank you’ for a job well done?” he sighs with a mocking lilt in his tone. 

You fold your arms over your chest, pouting. You reach for the drink despite his taunt, but he pulls it further away from you before you can even touch the thing. 

”Ah-ah-ah”, he shakes his head. ”Come on, Darling, show me a little gratitude, will you?” 

You resist rolling your eyes at him. For a moment, you debate whether or not you should just drop the entire thing and let him play his games alone, but then again, the drink smells so good you could melt through the ground. As much as you can’t stand the man, you need to admit that he understands his field to a T. 

So, with the last bits of your self-respect leaving you, you avert your gaze and mouth out a ”thanks” with a slight bow of your head. Accepting the gesture, he finally lets you have the glass. 

”You’re welcome”, Gallagher gives a soft pat to your head as you bring the straw to your lips. 

˗ˏˋ ★ Dr. Ratio

You’ve been stuck on the same page of the book you’re reading for the better part of ten minutes. The tome in your hands is not even a particularly intriguing piece of literature — it’s one of the few that Ratio allows you to spend your free time on: He has made it clear to you that you are not to waste your leisure on something as vain as fiction. 

The only issue is that you don’t exactly seem to be in the piece’s target group: It’s full of scientific jargon and bizarre words you have never stumbled upon in your life. It’s clearly meant for people well-versed in the topic, and unfortunately, you don’t happen to be a part of that group. To be exact, the book is a collection of various research papers and theses surrounding some mathematical formula relating to space travel — at least from what you’ve gathered. You would be lying if you said that you’re having fun with it, but then again, anything is better than having to stare at the wall while the man works on yet another treatise. 

For one reason or another, Ratio doesn’t permit you to leave the room while he writes despite not sparing the least bit of attention to you. You have a designated chair in the corner of his office that you are to sit on: Not that there’s anything much for you to do in the crammed space, anyway, but he made it known to you that he can’t stand how you ”rummage around like a brainless origami bird”. So, essentially, the only thing you are allowed to do is sit still, look pretty, and wait for him to finish whatever he’s doing, much like now. 

Ratio sighs out loud, tapping his pen against the tabletop in an agitated manner. He then abruptly stands up from his seat, scribbles yet another mathematical formula on the chalkboard behind him, and sits back down. No matter how many times he has already repeated the same routine today, you always jump at the sudden movement. 

Stifling a huff, you sink back into the book in your lap. Antiparticle, equidimensionality, multivariate... Nope, you can’t make any sense of the text, even as you read over the jawbreakers a dozen times. It’s as if you were trying to read an entirely different language. 

You wonder if Ratio would mind if you were to take a nap on the floor. His only requirement for you is to stay quiet and still, anyway, and sleeping would technically fit into aforementioned conditions. Besides, the book served as an excellent sedative: It’s safe to say that reading it managed to spend the entirety of your brain’s capacity in a mere half an hour. 

You smack the thing shut with a thud. As you do so, you happen to spot a pair of feet at the top of your field of vision.

Your heart nearly jumps out of your throat as you raise your head and come to find that Ratio is now standing right in front of you, staring down at you with his usual, blank expression. Barely managing to stifle the yelp that almost slips out of your mouth, you look back at him with wide eyes. 

”Doct-, Veritas”, you correct yourself before the wrong name makes it past your lips, subconsciously leaning away from his form. Unlike with everyone else, he doesn’t take kindly to you referring to him by his formal title.

The man doesn’t respond to you. Instead, his gaze flicks to the tome resting on your thighs.

”Do you have the faintest idea what you’re reading about?” he then asks. 

”Well, um... I do, sort of”, you gather the book in your arms and pull it to your chest in a protective manner.

”Hm”, Ratio lets out a bland huff. ”What is the purpose of the third formula?”

”Eh?” 

”The third formula. Explain it to me.”

”...”

You lift your legs on the chair, turning your body away from him with heat rising onto your cheeks. 

”Hand it to me”, Ratio then demands, holding his hand out with a beckoning gesture of his fingers. 

”But you said-, you said I could read it!” you argue against the request, but despite your demur, he simply reaches for the thing and yanks it out from your grasp. 

He flips the tome open on the page you were reading moments ago, quickly skimming over the contents with his eyes.

”The variable?” he questions, turning his attention back to you. 

”What?”

”What does the variable refer to?” 

”... I don’t know.”

”I thought so.”

”Can I have it back?” you plead, reaching your hand out towards him. ”I don’t care if I don’t understand it, I just want to-”

Your words are cut short as instead of handing the book back to you, Ratio grabs you by the wrist and pulls you off your seat. You let out a small, surprised sound in response, but it does nothing to dissuade him from his new-found objective. In long strides, he drags you over to his desk. 

”Sit down”, he instructs you in an indifferent tone. 

Not daring to disobey him any further, you promptly take a seat in his chair. The next second, he slams a clean sheet of paper in front of you on the table. In his eloquent handwriting, he scrawls a string of numbers and letters on it. 

”Find the derivative of this function”, he commands, insistently tapping his finger against the table, ordering you around like you were one of his poor subordinates. 

Ratio slides the pen in your hand. Expectantly, he plants his hand down next to the paper, urging you to get to work.

With a bewildered expression, you stare at the row of symbols in front of you. Even as you try your best to concentrate on what he has written, your focus strays immediately: You’re painfully aware of how his sharp gaze is piercing a hole through the back of your head. As an additional challenge, he places one of his hands on your shoulder, silently raising the pressure even higher as he looms behind you like a bad omen. 

Despite reading the line of symbols over, again and again, you’re unable to grasp even the first step of the solution. You don’t consider yourself to be from the daftest end of the population, yet he always manages to make you feel like an idiot, regardless of the matter at hand. 

”Nothing?” Ratio quirks his brow.

You look back at him with a lost expression on your face, timidly shaking your head. 

Letting out a disappointed sigh, Ratio motions you to get up from your seat. You obey the request without delay, allowing him to sit on the chair instead. Though, rather than having you stand beside him, he pats his thigh. 

”Huh-, oh-”

Your movements are a little too slow for his taste, and the man tugs you to him by your arm, urging you to take a seat on his lap. With how much Ratio breaches about patience, there are a certain few things that manage to get him quite tetchy, you have noticed. 

He slides one of his hands around your lower back, and with the other, he begins making notations on the paper. 

”Here is the formula”, he underlines a section of his writing, nearly crossing out another with how intensely he performs the action. ”Apply it.”

It’s a familiar one, you come to find; he has taught it to you before. Moreover, it’s one of the simple ones, too. You swallow.

With a faintly trembling hand, you get on with the task. Resting the pen against the paper, you begin writing out the steps for the solution. Though it takes you a minute or two and a few trials and errors, you manage to tackle the problem without too much difficulty — all the while tormented by his dissecting gaze, no less. 

You turn your head to the side to face Ratio with a shy smile tugging on the corners of your mouth, equally as terrified as you are triumphant. He sees your work over with a captious eye, carefully going over each letter you have written. It’s only as the crease between his brows smooths out that you dare to let out the breath you’ve been holding in. 

”Not bad”, he says. 

You flinch a tiny bit as the hand on your waist moves to the back of your head. There, he caresses your hair, silently praising you for your performance before letting his arm fall back into its original position. 

”Let us move on to the next one”, he then declares, writing yet another function below your answer. 

˗ˏˋ ★ Mr. Reca

You jolt awake. 

As your eyes shoot open, you come to notice that you’ve raised your hands in front of your face in your sleep, as if fighting something. Your skin is clammy with cold sweat, and for a moment, you’re unable to hear anything, other than your own heartbeat hammering away in your ears. Feeling something sticky on your cheek, you swipe your fingers along the bottom of your eyelid. You find that, yet again, you’ve been crying in your slumber.

You can’t recall the last time you’ve slept without having a nightmare beyond imaginable horrors haunt your rest. Or, more specifically, the last time you’ve gotten proper sleep without being encased in Reca’s arms. 

Propping yourself up on your elbows, you squint your eyes and peek at the entrance of your shared bedroom. You can’t really see much in the darkness, but judging from the stripe of light pooling in from under the door and the faint sound of footsteps in the room behind, it’s safe to say that the man is still awake. 

For a moment, you concentrate on evening out the rhythm of your shallow breathing. You can’t even remember what the nightmare was about anymore: It has proven difficult to keep track of your dreams since the amount has been piling up for a good few days now. Each one has been more terrifying than the last, and out of respect for your own mental well-being, you haven’t exactly been inclined to write them down. Moreover, it’s the time frame that is of more interest to you, anyway: The nightly horrors appeared around the same time as you started refusing Reca’s affections. 

It has to have something to do with his supposed Memokeeper abilities, is your best guess. The matter of his side hustle has only come up once or twice in your conversations, and you’re not exactly sure what the title means in practice, but if your own experience is anything to go by, he possesses particular skin in a certain, taboo field — manipulating memories, that is. You don’t have anything to prove it with, but you’re quite certain that your nocturnal episodes are of his doing: They’re a tad bit too... cinematically rich to be the handiwork of your own subconscious. 

You’re tired, so very tired. As much as you don’t want it to, the accumulated fatigue is starting to affect you: It’s getting more and more difficult to focus on anything during the day, and you’ve been particularly irritable which isn’t a particularly favourable trait to have when having to deal with someone like Reca. His frog companion, especially, has been getting on your nerves lately: You were this close to smacking the stupid thing off his desk the other day. 

Rubbing the remaining doze out of your eyes, you decide that you’re not ready to revisit the nightmares just yet. Instead, push yourself up on the bed.

Careful not to make a sound, you swing your legs over the edge of the mattress and stand up, straightening the hem of your top. Taking care not to step over anything in the darkness, you tiptoe your way to the door. With a final look at the dim outline of the bed behind you, you wrap your fingers around the handle and twist the lock open. 

Reca is sitting on the couch in front of the living room table, legs crossed and a pen in hand. He twirls the thing between his fingers with a bit of a pensive look on his face, but as he notices you peeking at him through the ajar door, his expression lights up. 

”Oh my”, he utters, setting the pen down beside the piece of paper he has been working on. ”Isn’t it quite late for you to be up, Dear?”

You could say the same about him. The man stays up until the early hours of the morning, invested in his movie scripts and whatnot, you’re not really sure. His habits have proven to be a bit of a headache for you: You would prefer it if he were the one to go to sleep first — that way, you wouldn’t have to fight his arms off of you during the night — but for some reason, you haven’t had the willpower to stay awake past nine in the evening. You suspect that he, once again, has got a hand in the matter, but as is with the dreams, there’s not much you can do about it. 

Reca awaits for you to speak with a soft tilt of his head. As you refuse to delight him with the sound of your voice, he closes his eyes with the usual, faint smile on his features. 

”No matter”, he sighs, briefly correcting his posture before leaning back against the couch again. He pats the empty spot next to him. ”You’re more than welcome to join me.”

You stand in the doorway in your nightwear, still as a statue. Swallowing down the piece in your throat, your lips press into a thin line.

”... You’re doing it”, you speak in a quiet tone, as if unsure of your own words. 

Reca raises his brows. He pulls away from the table and turns his body towards you. 

”I’m not sure I follow, Dear”, he says, gazing at you with an unmistakable flicker of intrigue in his keen eyes. 

”The dreams”, you wrap your arms around yourself, shivering from the remnants of the nightly chill in your limbs. ”You’re the one making me have them.”

Reca lets out a sigh. Running his hand through his hair, his deep red eyes lock with your.

”That’s quite the accusation”, he responds with a strange lilt in his tone of voice. 

”Make them stop”, you demand, straightening your back in an attempt to make yourself appear more resolute — though the effort fails to live up to its purpose.

Truth to be told, the man elicits a very particular kind of fear in you, and you’re not thrilled to be faced with the current scene. His gaze sharpens, and his smirk deepens. The subtle shift in his expression tells you that the conversation is about to take a less-than-savoury turn. 

”Now, now, Darling. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves”, Reca idly drums his fingertips against the tabletop as if plotting something. ”I’m sure you understand there’s a reason behind the horror shows in your dreams?”

”... What do you want from me?” 

You stare him down, clutching the sleeves of your top with a, no doubt, terribly pitiful expression on your fatigue-worn features. He looks back at you without much of a show of sympathy, instead observing your reactions with his usual, prying sort of curiosity. 

”I thought I made myself quite clear”, he then says. 

Gracefully, the hand he has rested on the table glides down to his side where he yet again pats the cushions; this time, with more insistence. 

You glare at him with as much hostility as you can possibly pack in a single look. Though, the strategy doesn’t seem to be working: Not even batting an eye, Reca stands his ground, unwavering. 

Bargaining, negotiating, threatening… Even appealing to his soft side never works with him. Nothing ever works with him. 

”... You promise to make them go away if I...”, your voice dies down into a whisper, and the sentence is left unfinished. 

”But of course”, Reca assures you, giving an answer to your question nonetheless.

He reaches to the other side of the couch for the pillows that line the armrest. Picking one up, he fluffs the thing a little before leaning it against his thigh. 

You hate how tightly he has you wrapped around his finger. It’s beyond humiliating, but at the same time, he offers you everything you need — at the price of your dignity. You frown.

Slowly, you take one step, then another. Hanging your head low to save yourself from the embarrassment of meeting his eyes, you make your way across the room, all the way to him. Without a word, you climb onto the couch and plant your head on the pillow he has set out for you. 

”There you are”, Reca exhales as you settle yourself on the cushions. ”Just a moment, just a moment.”

Your head shifts along with his movements as he straightens his back, ridding himself of his coat. He gently shakes the article of clothing out before laying it over your form. 

”Sweet dreams, Dear”, he bids you.

His hand lands on the crown of your head. Idly, he begins playing with a stray strand of your hair. His fingers glide along your scalp in soft, comforting motions, drawing out intelligible patterns and curves. With each caress, your eyelids grow heavier and heavier, and before long, you drift into slumber, accompanied by the quiet sound of a pen scraping against paper. 

˗ˏˋ ★ Sunday (Pre-AE)

”Give me my clothes back.”

”I don’t see a reason for that.”

”Sunday, give me my fucking clothes back.”

”Quit with the foul language, please.”

”Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck.”

”This is your last warning. Is the current punishment not enough for you?”

”It doesn’t even say that in the rules.”

”It’s something to be added, then, perhaps.”

You sit in the farthest corner of your room, having put as much distance between you and Sunday as possible. The metal bars of the cage dig into the bare skin of your back, cold and unforgiving. Though you’re not inside the thing, at least for now, you almost wish that he had thrown you in there instead of leaving you out in the open. With your knees slotted against your chest and your arms wrapped around your legs, you’re just barely able to shield the private bits of your naked body from his prying eyes. 

He sits at the table a short distance away from you, absorbed in the book he’s reading. His gloved fingers turn the page without haste: He’s simply passing time while making sure that you get the most out of your punishment. 

You think it must be his favourite form of “disciplining” you. Yes, it’s true that you tried to take the clasps off one of your shirts for mischievous purposes, but even if you hadn’t, he probably would’ve found a way to get you in trouble regardless. It doesn’t really show in his demeanour, but he looks to be incredibly delighted with the turn of events: If the subtle, complacent smirk on his face is anything to go by, Sunday is enjoying the present situation way more than he would like to admit. 

Discreetly, you try to reach your hand in the cage to grab the blanket lying inside it. However, you don’t even get to touch the thing: As if knowing exactly what you’re up to, Sunday raises his gaze from his book, and a single look from him is enough to have you draw your fingers back. 

The stalemate must have lasted over an hour by now. You refuse to give up your little act of defiance, and alike, he hasn’t budged the slightest bit. You tried to go for the bedsheets at first, but he didn’t let you do that, either. It’s not that he’s actually physically restraining you from doing it, but there’s a certain, nasty trick he has available to him: As irritated as you are, having him use the Harmony on you isn’t worth the amount of amusement you would get from looking at the knit between his brows. 

Though, as much as your spite is keeping you from thinking about it too much, you can’t escape from the sheer humiliation of the situation. You despise how much power the man holds over you, and furthermore, he isn’t exactly skilled in concealing his sadistic hunger for forcing you under his boot. Moreover, even with the abundance of your wrath keeping you warm, the natural consequence of being bare is that it’s starting to feel a bit chilly in the room. 

”This is getting quite ridiculous, don’t you think?” Sunday then sighs as if having read your thoughts, closing his book with a dull thud. 

You don’t respond to him.

”How long do you plan on drawing this out for?” he asks, propping his chin up against the back of his hand.

”For as long as it takes for you to give my clothes back”, you mumble into the mound of your knee. 

”Well, you’re going to have to wait a while, then.”

”...”

You pull your thighs closer to your chest. Goosebumps are rising on your skin from the draft that occasionally breezes through the room. You could swear that the air conditioning is a tiny bit louder than usual — you wouldn’t put him above a trick like that — but then again, there’s a much more obvious reason for the chills that rake your body.

Sunday looks down at your huddled form in silence. There’s a certain tint of interest in his calculative gaze: Though you’ve never quite gotten used to the nerves that come with having his undivided attention on you, this time around, it’s even more daunting. You bring your legs closer together to make sure he isn’t seeing anything he’s not supposed to. 

He stands up from his seat. The chair creaks against the floor as he sets it back under the table in his wake, and then, he makes his way to you. He kneels down to your level, not paying mind to how you pull further into yourself as he approaches.

His hand grabs your jaw, causing a yelp to slip past your teeth. The grip isn’t exactly crushing, but it’s still tight enough not to leave anything unsaid. 

”You have two options”, Sunday informs you, brushing his gloved thumb over your lips. ”You may either apologize for your actions and regain your privileges, or you’re going to spend the night in the cage without the bedding. Have I made myself clear?”

You attempt to tear your face away from his hand, but he seizes you right back. Tilting your head back by your chin, he makes you look him right in the eye. Despite your initial conviction, you can’t help the way your gaze strives to stray away from his own. 

”I...”

You start the sentence out of unease, not really knowing what you’re going to say, and your voice dies out after the first word. Sunday awaits for your answer with his brows raised in an expectant expression. 

”Let’s hear it, then”, he encourages you.

Your gaze drifts to the corner of the metal cage that’s visible to you in the awkward position. Quickly going through your choices in your head, you contemplate whether or not you have enough willpower to sleep on the cold, hard ground for the entire night. 

Though you try to repel the feeling to the best of your ability, you can’t stop the embarrassment from creeping up your neck as Sunday observes you at your most vulnerable, silently flaunting his authority over you. There isn’t a single crack to be found on his features: In this realm of things, the man simply cannot be won against. 

”I’m... I’m sorry”, you whisper out an apology.

”For what?” he presses. 

You resist the urge to bury your face in your hands. Tears of abasement prick at the corners of your eyes, and your lips purse up to a thin line. The words lodge sideways in your throat.

However, before you can even begin the process of swallowing your pride, the hand on your chin moves higher. Sunday tenderly holds your face, stroking his fingers along the curve of your cheekbone. 

”I suppose that’s enough for now”, he then speaks, giving you a faint smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. ”You’re forgiven.”

Your mouth falls ajar as you’re about to question him, but at the last moment, you stop yourself. He seems to be pleased with your show of acquiescence, and he rewards you by tenderly petting the crown of your head. 

”You’re quite lovely when you’re obedient, I must say”, he adds with a light, mannerly chuckle.

You don’t fall for the trap. Instead, you retreat from him, ridding yourself of his touch.

Seeing as you don’t offer him any further reaction, Sunday lets out an airy, somewhat content sigh. He proceeds to unclasp the golden brooch off his shoulder before sliding his coat down his back. He neatly folds the lavish piece of clothing over his arm before handing it to you. 

You accept the gesture in a heartbeat, ditching the last bits of your fury in favour of receiving the tiniest slice of warmth in exchange. Though you see the amusement in his gaze, Sunday refrains from commenting on your actions. Instead, he stands up, briefly dusty off his pants, and turns towards the door.

”I’ll be back in a bit”, he informs you as he watches you drape his coat over your shivering body. 

You don’t answer him. Relishing the residue of his warmth that lingers in the fabric, you finally allow your head to slump against your knees.

A/N

Here you go! I love you too anon, mwah (~˘▾˘)~

PLEASE excuse the fuckass title picture for Reca. I usually use the E4 pictures for the banner, but for certain reasons, that wasn't available for him, so I had to take a random quest pic of him and put a blueish filter over it. There was the same sort of a problem with Ratio as well: All of his art is nice and good, but his E4 is of him with the plastered head on and I was not gonna have that shit on the post (👁‿👁). I settled for the E3. Cheers.

Anyways, shoutout to all the darlings that know how to derive functions.

[usagimygoatfr]

anything for love part 2 - sophia laforteza x reader

synopsis: everyone knows you don't play when it comes to katseye, especially their leader.

☆ミ mentions of death, torture, killing, blood, gore, minors DNI.

wc: 900+

an: the characters portrayed in this fanfic do not reflect the characters in real life.

part 1

short ragged breaths, faint wirring buzz, and the blasting sound of the song 'Gabriela' from a speaker phone followed by a high pitched cheer fills the room. y/n's eyes mirrored what looked like a seven year old getting a lego set for christmas. pure, raw happiness. anyone can literally see sparkles forming if you look close enough. she sat on the floor—phone in her left hand, legs crossed, as she watches Katseye's new music video 'Gabriela' for the fifth time in a row.

"oh my, god. the best part's coming!" she squeals. her eyes glued to her phone, waiting for sophia's turn to be in the center. her teeth catching her bottom lip in anticipation.

"p-please."

y/n's vibrant smile dissolved. her warm, doe eyes sharpening at the plea. she cranes her neck, pausing the video. "i don't recall giving you permisson to talk." her tone laced with threat.

y/n sets her phone aside. the thick, bright pink bunny phone case sophia got her nestling the device. she dusts off the nonexistent lint from her pants as she slowly walks past the woman shivering on the chair. y/n's shea butter moisturizer clad hands (as per sophia's request) makes contact with the cold metal shears resting on the table. she tests the grip.

firm. comfortable.

sophia did always mention to get the best of the best to avoid any accidents.

"you sure love running that mouth of yours, don't you?" y/n asks. the woman didn't know if it was a rhetorical question or not. even so, she was too scared to answer. she hears you let out a spine tingling chuckle.

"now you're quiet? after you disrupted the best part, you're staying mute?" she can practically hear the thin line of patience snapping in your tone. you sauntered towards the woman, shears in hand.

"open your mouth." you demand.

the woman's eyes widened in horror. it didn't take a genius to figure out what y/n would do if she follows her orders, she knew she has no other choice, yet she chooses to disobey. she shakes her head frantically, her eyes brimming with tears as she stares at you, hoping for forgiveness.

however, this only fueled your anger. "are you deaf? i said open your fucking mouth." your tone was sharp, commanding. she knew if she disobeyed again, you'll make her pay for it.

reluctantly, she does as she's told. you nearly pried her mouth open with how slow she opened it.

"so fucking slow." you murmured mostly to yourself, but you knew she heard it. you grab her cheeks, your fingers pressing against the gap of her teeth to ensure her mouth doesn't snap shut. the pain from how you manhandle her eliciting a gurgling sound from her throat. "stick your tongue out."

the woman chokes on a sob, her eyes rammed shut as she obeys. finally. there was no use in fighting against you.

___________________________________________

there was an ongoing twitter space hosted by user 'adelawife' with 50 listeners. only she was speaking. "yeah, right. sophia should have never debuted. adela was clearly the better leader between the two of them. she's such a hardworker, her talent in singing and dancing surpasses sophia's by a mile! have you even seen the documentary? she debuted because she's a nepo baby. they did my girl dirty!"

___________________________________________

y/n cranes her neck towards the bright pink device, her eyes squinting to check if there were any notifications she might have missed while she was occupied. she sighs, thankful that there weren't any. usually by this time sophia and the girls are either out for dinner or having late rehearsals.

a raw, horrifying scream nearly breaks y/n's eardrums. red, metallic liquid squirting out of the woman's mouth, coating her newly bought shears and shirt. the woman felt like her skin was being lit on fire. she squirms and squirms as blood gushes out of her mouth, the rope binding her burning her skin as she continues to try and break free. adrenaline coursing through her veins, her eyes glued to her freshly pruned tongue decorating the floor. y/n still held her cheeks in a dead grip.

she tries to say something, make out any words she can with her tongue severed off.

y/n looks at her in disgust, her hand leaving the woman's cheeks. "even with your tongue cut off, you still don't know how to shut up?" she wipes the blood coating her hand on her already stained shirt.

the woman whines, groans, gurgles a response. y/n can barely make out the words "kill me.".

y/n lets out a sigh. "be quiet for five minutes and i'll end your suffering." she orders, leaving no room for negotiation. she walks towards her phone, picking it up from the floor and unlocking it. she returns to her original position—legs crossed, phone in her left, not-soaked-with-blood hand, and a smile that can brighten a whole room. the sound of the woman's panting now masked by the guitar instrumentals in 'Gabriela".

"god, she's amazing. they're all amazing! i cannot believe daniela was serious about marrying a waymo." an incredulous laugh escaping from y/n's lips as stands up. a notification from sophia catching her attention.

weverse live in an hour

hurry up

i love you

yoonchae wants pistachio ice cream. pick some up on the way

y/n's eyes widened, her body stiff as she reads the message. "oh, i need to hurry. let's get you—" her words dying in her mouth as she sees the now lifeless woman in front of her.

y/n groans, "great. and here i thought i get to at least use my new toy on you."

"guess i have to use it on user48373."

an: finally, a part 2. we cheer! this is for @alleyangelss, i will be expecting my flowers tomorrow. lmk what you guys think. i love seeing your comments, makes me feel all giddy :]

[obsessivevoidkitten]

The Cure For Grief

Male Yandere x Gender Neutral Reader CW: Dubcon, drugging, kidnapping, gaslighting, mental abuse, manipulation, grief and mourning, non-main pairing character death, general yandere behavior Word Count: 1k (Repost because I literally left out 15 percent of the fic earlier. Commission for @tiny-mimi, I hope you all enjoy it.)

After the accident you were put into a psych-ward. You didn’t really remember it happening at all. Apparently there was a fire that you barely escaped from in the dead of night destroying your home and killing your loved ones. The doctors said you were just suppressing your trauma.

They must have been right about everything because for the first few days you were very much out of it, it took a week before you started to come to your senses. And then you felt the unbearable grief hit you like a massive way crashing down on you from all directions all at once, threatening to drown you.

It had been months since then. Sometimes you’d wake up in the middle of the night to the sounds of screaming and a raging fire. You could even hear your late husband Robert saying he loved you. It was all so clear.

You had never had the most pristine mental health so it wasn’t exactly a surprise that your memories and grief haunted you like a looming specter. It was proof that you were in the right place.

The medical staff included a personalized mental health team for you. A psychiatrist, therapist, and a couple of nurses. They were all kind but pretty detached compared to mental health professionals that you had visited before.

All except for Piers, your main nurse. He was always very kind, he even had kind green eyes you could get lost in, complemented by angelic blond hair. He listened to you better than your therapist. He was very gentle and had an amazing intuition about you and your thoughts. It was almost a bit freaky, but you figured he just had a lot of experience tending to psych-ward cases.

You didn’t think twice about his casual touches, pats on the shoulder and back pats, you had shared with your therapist how badly you wanted to feel touch and just be held and feel safe. You guessed Piers could just tell. He was quite remarkable.

When you told Piers you hated the food there he went out of his way to smuggle in some of your favorites. To comfort you and hopefully cheer you up a bit. It really helped. It was surprising how far such a small gesture could go.

In no time you were co-dependent on him, talking to him about almost everything. It probably wasn’t healthy but it happened so gradually that you didn’t notice at all. And he was fine with it. He had told you a lot of stuff about his life too, struggles he has had, current problems he was going through, tragic tales of loss to relate to yours.

You still thought about your late lover, but the pain became easier to deal with. Just a touch lighter of a burden. You felt guilty. You like you were betraying him just by feeling the pain a bit less intensely. Like it meant you didn’t love him as much as you should. And you still struggled with survivor’s guilt too.

Piers was your crutch during the times when your guilt and sorrow became too much. It ebbed and flowed like waves.

Thank God for Piers.

You still heard the sounds some nights but felt like Piers was helping to heal you. Though you were clearly in no state to be released.

Late one evening, after lights out, Piers kissed you passionately on the lips after having shared a moment playing a board game. You leaned into it for a moment before feeling bad and pushing him away.

It was just too soon. What would Ryan think?

Well, after another couple months still being haunted and feeling more alone than ever and just in need of human touch you decided that Ryan would want you to try and move on. To be happy. If the advice had come from Piers you might have thought it was self-serving. But it was your therapist that opened your mind to that insight.

Though the therapist certainly did not know a staff member had kissed you. You shared with him only that you had thoughts of someone who wasn’t your husband.

The next night you were the one who kissed Piers. He slowly shed your clothes and prepped your entrance meticulously to make sure he could slip into you with nothing but pleasure for the both of you. It was as passionate as it was tender. Your new lover knew how fragile you were and wanted to take it at your own pace, opting to let you ride him.

Your hands rested on his chest as you lowered and raised yourself on his substantial cock. His hands caressed your sides gently before getting just a bit more assertive as his hands roamed to your ass, lightly groping it as the two of you made love.

You trembled as you came but continued rocking gently into his cock until he came shortly after. You collapsed on top of him and nuzzled into his chest lovingly.

When you mumbled about worrying about being caught he told you not to worry about and he would take care of everything so you smiled and went to sleep.

As he held your sleeping form he was more sure than ever that it was all worth it. Having you under surveillance and learning everything about you, using his vast billionaire wealth to have you abducted and drugged to make your memory hazy, disappearing your husband, paying vast amounts of money to turn a building into a fake hospital, paying people to act as patients and doctors, playing the recorded voice of your husband as you slept along with sounds of fire, having your “therapist” tell him every little detail you shared so he knew your thoughts and could worm his way in.

When he met you he was immediately intrigued. Just a small chance encounter. Seeing you from afar. He couldn’t place exactly why but he was drawn to you. But you had a life. A husband. But it didn’t matter now. You trusted him and were all his now.

[ghostboyravenight]

I’m literally getting responses like “this is so insensitive to abuse victims and suicidal people who use Harry Potter as a safe space” and you know what? I’m going to refrain from immediately rolling my eyes and clapping back with an “I don’t care” because fuck it… I’ll try to be sympathetic to their situation. Believe me, I’ve been there! And I understand how certain media can feel like our only way out sometimes, but the thing is… it actually can’t be your only way out, particularly if it’s directly contributing to the harm of other people.

If reading Harry Potter fanfiction is genuinely the only way that someone is keeping themselves from suicide right now, then fine. Keep reading it. Obviously, keeping yourself alive is the main priority, but for your own sake, that cannot be a permanent solution. That is an extremely dangerous situation you are in at the moment, and Harry Potter will not rescue you from it. Your brain is telling you right now that something needs to change, and I can’t tell you what that thing is, but I can tell you that reading fanfiction is not going to be the solution. It may be a stepping stone or a crutch that you can use to get to the solution, but it will not save you. That has to come from you.

And furthermore, you really need to ask yourself why you find comfort in Harry Potter. The racist, homophobic and mean-spirited messaging are not subtle in those books, so what are you finding comfort in that you’re not able to find in other magic-related media that doesn’t screw over every goddamn minority in existence?

I’m not telling people to drop their books immediately the second they read this post, but I am saying you need to begin the process of unpacking your trauma instead of clinging on to the things that brought you comfort as a child, and if you’re still in a terrible situation, then please try to find a healthier piece of media or hobby to help you through it. When I was younger, I started creating my own characters to cope, and it helped me so much more than other people’s media, because I had full control over it! The more control you can give yourself, the easier your situation will begin to feel, and OCs can be a fantastic starting point. You can even try to write your own book or story designed specifically to comfort you, and it can be as self-indulgent and poorly-written as you want it to be, because it’s for you. It’s only for you. You have the ability to be your own comfort, instead of relying on someone who would never attempt to comfort you in real life. You don’t owe her your pain, or your trauma or your life. Those belong to you, and you can decide what to do with them. This honestly goes for all media at this point, because there’s only so much of yourself you can put into someone else’s work before it actually becomes detrimental to your own mental health if you feel like you have no other options outside of it.

I genuinely want to say this in the nicest way possible, because I’m directing this at the people who have spoken about being in awful, abusive situations and finding comfort in the Harry Potter world:

There are other options, and those options will be better and healthier. Harry Potter is a very pessimistic series at times, and JK Rowling’s own mean-spiritedness comes through in the writing constantly. Not only that, but the abuse that Harry faces is not treated as seriously as it should be, so it ends up encouraging escapsim as the only means of survival, which may be okay for its young readers— to an extent— but not if you’re old enough to need more than that.

And finally, at a certain point, your own trauma and abuse simply cannot excuse you from the harm that engaging with Harry Potter causes to other people. If the only thing you’re doing is secretly reading fanfiction at night in your bed, then whatever, I can’t stop you from doing that. I’m not in your house. But giving her money, borrowing her books (because the libraries will buy more copies if you do that) or even drumming up attention online by talking about it or publishing more creative works for it, is all harming real people who have to live with the consequences of your actions. JK Rowling has already stated that she counts the money she gets as support for her views, and she uses that money to fund anti-trans legislations in the UK.

Even if you’re not funding her, even just running a marauders-themed blog is giving her works attention, encouraging others to get involved with her works, allowing her to retain the power she holds over the British government. It is not worth it. There is other media out there, I promise. You can even create a Harry Potter inspired OC if you really must, just please consider dropping that series.

It will get better. I am here to tell you, as someone who has been through it, that it will get better. And until it does, you will find other safe spaces. You will find other comfort media, and it will be so much healthier for you, because you won’t have to deal with the guilt of engaging with it.

Harry Potter is not worth remaining static for. And quite frankly, there is only so much sympathy I can offer you, because I care a lot more about the harm she is causing to trans people and people of colour with her despicable bigotry than I do about your childhood trauma, and until you care more about them too, you still have a lot of work to do in unpacking your own bigotries. I can offer you other options, and I can offer you an understanding of where you’re at right now, but ultimately it is up to you to decide where your priorities lie.

I’m just saying if Daniel Radcliffe, the literal protagonist of the Harry Potter franchise since the age of ten years old, was able to disavow JK Rowling and move on from the HP universe then actually what the fuck is anyone else’s excuse. There is no one else on the planet who can say their entire childhood was HP more than that guy and he still cared about trans people more than the average tumblr user who says “we’re protesting by making all her characters queer and trans!!” like you can do better. You should do better.

[ailesswhumptober]

Prompts for AI-less Whumptober 2025

It was tough to pick from all you guys' amazing suggestions, but we managed to end up with a lovely list of prompts to work with, AND not a single repeat prompt from last year which we found quite important. Additional info + plain text versions of the prompts can be found under the cut.

FAQ and Rules

What sort of content can I create for this event?

You can create whatever you want (fic, art, edits, etc). Any fandom is allowed, as well as OC stuff. NSFW is allowed, but please tag your content accordingly! The only thing not allowed is AI-generated content.

Do I need to make 31 things to participate?

Oh heavens no! You can make as much or as little content as you like, skip days when desired, or combine prompts (so for example, write something that covers a prompt from day 1, 2, AND 3). You don't have to do the days in order either, go wild! To be considered a 'completionist', you only have to make sure that at the end of the month, you've covered 31 prompts from 31 different days, but whether you do that in 31 works or just 1 is up to you. Your works can be separate onshots or one continuous fic.

How do I interpret these prompts?

Creativity is the name of the game here! If you don't understand a prompt, feel free to send us an ask about it. However, the important thing is you're free to interpret the prompts however you want. For example, 'heat' could be literal (fever, heatstroke, burn wounds) or figurative (somebody getting heat for something). The dialogue prompts are allowed to be slightly rewritten to fit better for the character whose mouth it's coming out of. As long as you're having fun!

What are these alts about?

If none of the three prompts of a particular day are your cup of tea, you can swap them out for an alt prompt of your choice. This will count as having covered that day for completionists.

How do I tag and is there an AO3 collection?

It suffices to tag your work with #ailesswhumptober for us to see and reblog it! Please also tag nsfw, since we'll be using that tag too. Tagging the day is optional but does help the mods along.

There is an AO3 collection to add your fics to. It will be revealed and linked here closer to the start of the event.

That should be all. If you have any additional questions, check our pinned or hit us up in the ask box. Or join our discord maybe, whumping can be a great group activity!

---

Plain text versions of the prompts:

October 1

Collapsed lung, Contusion, "Well, that shouldn't have happened."

October 2 

Amputation, Gunshot, "It's not worth your life!"

October 3 

Secondary drowning, Compartment syndrome, "Please don't leave me!”

October 4

Frostbite, Heat, "I can make it all better."

October 5

Torture, Withholding aid, "How do you want me to punish you?"

October 6 

Self-inflicted injury, Rocky recovery, "If I tell you what they made me do, you won't be able to look at me the same."

October 7

Starvation, Foodborne illness, "They put something in my system, I can't think straight."

October 8

Hit and run, Adrenaline, “I can’t stop!”

October 9

Emotional manipulation,  Cassandra truth, “You asked for this.”

October 10 

Blood poisoning, Hypoxia, "What were you thinking?"

October 11

Sleep deprivation, Whiplash, “Be careful, they’re watching us.”

October 12

Dislocation, Dizziness, “Don’t pass out on me.”

October 13 

Ransom, Tranquilizer, "I trusted you!"

October 14 

Self-surgery, Unconsciousness, "Look who's awake."

October 15

Came back wrong, Cannibalism, "You weren't supposed to die first."

October 16

Leashed, Painful shapeshifting, "Hold them down."

October 17

Drug side effects, Desperation, "It's fine, I can walk it off."

October 18

Captivity, Loss of powers, "Do you even know how to use that?"

October 19

Broken bone, blood loss, "When I finish patching you up I swear to god I'm gonna kick your ass for making me worry about you."

October 20

Irredeemable, Before it starts/After it's over, "I didn't react the way I should have, I'm sorry."

October 21

Stranded, Search and rescue, "You really think they're gonna look for you?"

October 22

Estranged, Changed dynamic, “Who did this to you?!”

October 23

Restraints, Obsession, “Aren’t you feisty?”

October 24

Denial, Working through the pain, “What have you done to yourself?”

October 25

Magical bind, Pinned down, "And what do we have here?"

October 26

Defanging/Declawing, pulled feathers, “This should teach you to behave next time.”

October 27

Sensory overload, Catatonic, "Don't pretend to understand."

October 28

Hospital/Doctor’s visit, Medical power of attorney, "Why can't I remember?"

October 29

Childhood trauma, Guilt, "I didn't mean to."

October 30

Cleaning injuries, Labored breathing, “Don’t ever scare me like that again.”

October 31

Body horror, Enucleation, "I am the monster you made me!"

Alt prompts:

1) Mutation

2) Knife/Gun to the throat

3) Nonhuman pet whumpee

4) Chronic condition

5) No-win scenario

6) Blinded

7) Memory trigger

8) Mercy

9) "This isn't how I wanted you to find out."

10) “Get yourself out of here! I’ll be fine.”

[telephoniii]

HI HI HI HI HI HI HIIIII (you’re so cute with the way you write)

How would Floyd, Ace, Deuce, Sebek, and Kalim react to a (female, preferably) reader that LOVES touching? Like she’s ABSOLUTELY loves physical affection and touch and had a personality like kalim, except she’s not dumb. Just very happy-go-lucky.

Jumps on her friends all the time, cuddles (even if it has to be forced), good bye kisses… yk?

Tytytyty!!!! 💕💕💕

BUT YOU'VE BEEN SO OUT OF TOUCH

☆彡 in which you love physical affection

ace, deuce, sebek, floyd, kalim x fem!reader (separate)

word count: 200 per character

tags: fluff, can be romantic or platonic, possible ooc, floyd leech almost kills reader (lovingly)

a/n: on a side note, i absolutely LOVE katseye rn. i had to make that reference in the title. anyways, i hope you enjoy :>

ace trappola

He's into it. Not in a perverted way or anything, he just enjoys physical affection too. He'll hug you right back with a big ole grin. Ace is definitely a bit of a douche though so he'll make jokes like, "Wow Prefect, just say you love me already," if you hold his hand or give him a kiss on the cheek. The only thing he's not into? The cuddling. You're going to have to chain him down to get him to do it. Cuddling is for saps and nerds; neither of which he is. If you do manage to get him to cuddle with you— probably through some sort of bet— he demands to be big spoon. Being little spoon has never felt right to him. Don't fall asleep while cuddling with him. This absolute jerk will pick you up and, if he's in a silly mood, throw you on the ground off the bed or couch. He thinks it's the funniest thing ever. Ace doesn't mind seeing you physically affectionate with everyone if you two aren't together. Why? Because he knows he'll still get his hug and kiss even if you're giving it to Loosey Deucesy first. Nothing to be jealous about.

deuce spade

You're gonna give this poor boy a heart attack with your affection. He's not used to girls being so openly physical with him and he's definitely going to need some time to get used to it. Deuce won't deny you of any touch, but he'll be shaking literally the whole time. Handholding? Your hand is going to be dripping with his sweat, sorry. Goodbye kisses? He's going red in the face about to explode. Deuce will get used to it with time. But emphasis on the time cause it'll take a while. When it comes to cuddling, he prefers to be the big spoon, but doesn't mind taking the little spoon spot if you want him to. He might just feel awkward about it. He's strong enough to catch you when you jump on him, but please give him a warning. Or else he's going to panic and both of you are going down. It kinda saddens him to see you act this way with everyone and not just him, but when he hangs out with you the thought immediately vanishes since it's just your personality and he likes you for you. The last thing Deuce would want is for you to have to be someone you're not around him.

sebek zigvolt

Cease this behavior at once, human!! You think a low-life, magic less human such as yourself deserves his affections?! Oh, he'll show you! Yeah. Needless to say, he doesn't take the affection well at first. It isn't until he sees Malleus accept your touches without complaint will he even consider the idea of allowing you to do such things. You thought Deuce was awkward? This guy is worse. He's never even held hands with a lady before. His grip when he does is going to be overly tight. When you hug him, he won't hug back and he'll go really stiff. And when you kiss him goodbye he darts away immediately after. Hey, better than him pushing you off, right? This doesn't mean he doesn't like you. This guy is just a bit hopeless when it comes to things like that. He doesn't understand how that sort of touch comes so easy to you! And he also can't fathom why he kinda enjoys it. Watching you act this same way with other people makes him more open to receiving your touch. After all, if mere humans could accept it without complaint, then he easily could too! Please keep being affectionate with this guy, you're warming his inexperienced heart.

floyd leech

Thinks you're challenging him and nearly kills you with a death hug. He's giving you everything you're giving him except twice as rough. Oh? A kiss on the cheek for him? He's biting your cheek. Floyd thinks it's all just play. Since you're affectionate, he takes it as a green light to be as rowdy with you as he wants. This man is going to be hugging and spinning you till you're so dizzy you can barely stand. If his behavior makes you stop being so affectionate, he's going to get really sad and upset. You started this game! Now you don't wanna play anymore? Boo, no fun. Have Azul and Jade talk to him, he'll settle down. If you start giving him back the affection in tiny bits, he'll do the same thing. He'll actually cuddle with you instead of wrapping you in a blanket and hugging you till you nearly suffocate. Floyd will just hug you back as normally as he can instead of giving you the ring around the rosey experience. Floyd won't say it, but he really does appreciate you still being affectionate with him even after his aggression. Not many have the balls to do all that with him, so it makes him super happy that you do.

kalim al asim

The less aggressive version of Floyd. He's going to absolutely LOVE you! There's not many people in NRC who are affectionate so he'll cling to you where ever you guys go. Want a piggyback ride to class? He's got you!! Kissing him goodbye on the cheek? So fun! He wants to do that to you too! Honestly he's going to be down to give you a piggyback ride literally anytime, any place. Jump him anytime and that boy is going to be ready. Kalim is going to consider you his ultra best friend next to Jamil. Speaking of which, Jamil is going to get sick and tired of hearing your name out of this kid's mouth over and over again. He loves how affectionate you are and he can't help but tell everyone! You two are kinda perfect together honestly. You balance out his stupidity. Kalim loves loves LOVES cuddling! No one else cuddles with him so he's going to be raving when you do. Wants to be the little spoon every time. He's a spoiled one, he's used to being protected. He'll happily switch spots though if you ask! Anything and this man is at your beck and call. Aside from Jamil who hardly counts, you're his first real friend. Please treat this boy nicely.

[loveroffemmes]

Could you maybe do something where Shauna is well - Shauna - in the wilderness. But she gets sick, and gets uncharacteristically whiny and clingy to her reader gf? Reader finds it adorable but everyone else is just like ??? The sniffles was all it took to calm down OShauna Bin Laden??

Burning Up | Shauna Shipman x Fem! Reader

summary: one-shot of shauna getting sick and acting unlike herself by being unbelievably clingy and soft.

masterlist (requests = open)

“Don’t get too close to Akilah, she’s sick and coughing all over the huts.” Mari warned, using her petty remark to cover up her worry for her teammate. 

“Ugh, is that why we have to carry all this food to the animals? I’m so used to Akilah doing this that I forgot how annoying it is.”  

“Shauna was supposed to do it, but I haven’t seen her all day and there’s no way I’m approaching gaywad’s hut. I get that she’s your girlfriend and all, but…” 

Before I could defend Shauna or even our relationship, Mari and I were both cut off by a soft voice coming from Shauna’s hut, “(Y/nnnnnn)?” Shauna’s voice rang out from her hut. 

“Shauna?” I questioned and Mari took a step back from the hut as if I was about to poke some kind of beast.

Shauna’s head poked out from her hut, her shoulders covered with the pelt of fur draped over her, “(Y/n)?” Shauna sniffles, pulling the makeshift blanket tighter around her. 

I shove the food into Mari’s arms who wastes no time in firing off a string of complaints to me as I make my way towards Shauna’s hut, “Shauna, are you okay?” I peek into Shauna’s hut to see her wrapped in our entire supply of fur pelts and random tattered blankets. She’s shivering and wrapped up to the point where I can barely see her face. 

“Sick.” Shauna mumbles back, not bothering to turn to look at me. Shauna lifts her mountain of blankets up and pats the spot next to her on the ground. 

“Shauna, I’ll get sick if I lay with you.”

Shauna whines, completely out of character for my usually scary girlfriend, “I need you, (Y/nnn).” She replies, her words trailing off into another whine. 

I sigh, giving into Shauna’s demand. How could I not? I’ve never seen Shauna so needy, so vulnerable, and so…un-threatening…

I lay down next to Shauna and she quickly throws the blankets over me. She cuddles into my side, laying her sweaty head down onto my shoulder, “S-Shauna, you’re burning up!” Shauna ignores my concerned remark and continues to bury her face deeper into my neck. At this rate, I was going to burn up from the heat of Shauna and her mountain of blankets and pelts, “Have you been drinking water?” I ask and Shauna shakes her head. 

“Haven’t left the hut.” She murmurs against my neck. 

“I’m going to go fetch you some water.” I reply, attempting to sit up, but Shauna swiftly wraps her arm around my torso, pulling me flush against her and making me unable to get up. 

“Stay with me, please.” Please? A demand with a ‘please’? This is new. 

“It’ll just be a second, Shauna.” I plead, “You need water to get better.” 

“I don’t want to be alone right now, (Y/n).” Shauna sounds weak and I can’t help but give in to her request. I sit there with her while she drifts off next to me. It doesn’t take very long, I think the heat of her illness is wearing her out. Once I’m sure Shauna’s asleep, I sit up. I carefully remove her arm from my waist and gently place it next to her. I slowly get up and make my way to the opening of her hut. I look back and hear Shauna’s quiet snores and continue leaving, knowing that she’s still asleep. 

I grab a mason jar and some of the water we had boiled and fill up the cup. I had only been gone a minute before Shauna’s head pokes out of her cabin once again, “(Y/n)? You left me.” Her sad, weak voice calls out for me. 

Natalie and Mari approach me, staring confusingly at the seemingly kind Shauna peering out from her cabin, “Shauna’s acting…different.” Natalie says, her and Mari watching Shauna with similar stunned impressions on their faces. 

“What’s wrong with her? Did someone tranquilize the bear?” Mari asked as Natalie bit back a laugh. I elbowed Mari and she groaned, “What?! Last week she held a gun to Melissa and this week she’s begging for her girlfriend to come cuddle her and you expect me to not question it?!” 

Van and Taissa leave their shared hut, glancing at Shauna who’s impatiently awaiting my return, “Who woke up Crazy?” Van asks and Taissa nudges her with a laugh. 

“The better question is why she hasn’t barked any orders at anyone all day.” Taissa commented. 

Our whole group stared at Shauna whose only response to the onslaught of teasing, which she could clearly hear, was, “Come back to bed, (Y/n).”

“Okay, seriously, what is wrong with her?” Van asks, her joking tone now faltering.

“My theory is still tranquilizer.” I rolled my eyes at Mari’s comment. 

“I was going to say a body-swap scenario.” Taissa added, her girlfriend snickering at her reply. 

“It’s freaking me out.” Natalie said and the group simultaneously agreed. No one was able to take their eyes off of Shauna, they were all acting like it was some kind of anomaly. 

“I think it’s cute.” I reply, smiling as I watch my girlfriend beckon me over. 

Taissa, Van, Natalie, and Mari all share a ‘what the fuck’ look which couldn’t be farther from mine. I can’t help the stupid smile plastered on my face or the fact that my heart was beating so fast that I was worried the girls’ might hear it. 

I didn’t bother to listen to the rest of the remarks made; instead, I made my way towards Shauna’s hut with a glass of water in my hand. Shauna’s face immediately lit up upon seeing me approaching. 

Once inside, I directed Shauna to sit up, which she did. I could tell her whole body was weak and that all she wanted to do was lay down and rest, but I was glad that she was listening to me for once. I grabbed her chin and lifted the glass to her lips, helping her tilt her chin back to take a sip of the water. As soon as the glass was about half empty, I placed it on the floor outside of Shauna’s hut. 

“C’mon, (Y/n).” Shauna’s sleepy voice hummed out, lifting the blanket up once again and patting the spot next to her. I wasted no time in returning to my previous spot next to her. Shauna scooted closer to me, placing her head on my chest and draping her arm over my torso again. I wrapped my arms around Shauna, bringing her as close to me as I possibly could. 

“You make this – the wilderness, the flu, everything – more bearable, (Y/n).” Shauna sleepily mumbled against my chest. Before I could respond, Shauna was already softly snoring in my arms.

[wonyology]

Blueprints Of Us (m!reader x IVE's WONYOUNG) - part V

part I - part II - part IV - part IV (finished)

masterlist

Summary: A heartbroken architect. An ambitious girl. They didn't know each other existed - until the day they met in Hong Kong. What began as a pleasant encounter slowly turns into something neither of them planned: a connection, and perhaps... a new beginning.

tags(?): fluff, angst, some "dangerous" details but not over the line (i don't write smut), i don't even know man

WONYOUNG x yourself/Original Male Character

Word count: ~16.9k

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ 

The first thing you registered was how cold your nose felt. The second was the weight of her leg slung across your thigh, tangled in the blanket Wonyoung clearly fought for during the night. Her hand was tucked somewhere under your shirt. She wore your t-shirt, the one she’d stolen to sleep in last night, claiming her pajamas “didn’t feel right”. Typical Wonyoung.

Outside, it was still a bit dark. 6:21AM. Barely 7. You could see the faint outline of rooftops dusted with snow, glowing blue from the streetlights. Seoul was in its winter mood - everything felt muted and a little too cold unless you were buried under a shared blanket. Wonyoung was still asleep, breathing slowly as one cheek squished against your chest, her lips slightly parted. Her hair was a bit messy, strands falling in every direction. You would've laughed if your chest wasn’t aching from how stupidly pretty she looked like that. 

Your phone buzzed somewhere under your pillow but you didn’t reach for it. Instead, you brushed your thumb along her back, slow, under the fabric of your t-shirt. Wonyoung flinched just a bit from your touch, groaned softly and nuzzled closer.

“You’re warm, oppa.” she muttered, voice hoarse.

“You clingy, baby.”

“I’m cold,” she pouted against your chest.

“You’re literally wearing my t-shirt, princess.”

“Okay.” she paused. “But emotionally cold. I need physical warmth to compensate.”

You let out a laugh.

“So dramatic in the morning.”

She poked your stomach under the blanket.

“So grumpy in the morning. Better get used to it, oppa.”

You then caught her hand gently, brought it up to your lips and kissed her knuckles. That shut Wonyoung up real fast.

“...Oppa.”

“What?”

“You can’t do boyfriend stuff this early.”

“Kinda late for warnings, Wonyoung-ah.”

Wonyoung buried her face back into your chest and groaned.

“Let’s just not get up, oppa. Call in sick. Say you caught feelings and need recovery time.”

“Barom-hyung would tell me to grow up.”

She tilted her head up to look at you. “What if I say it’s my fault?”

“Maybe he’d tell me to take a week off and stay by your side.”

“See?” Wonyoung beamed. “Smart boss.”

You looked down at her, hand playing with her cheek. “You’re warm now?”

“Yeah.”

“Then I should get up.”

“Never.” she said, closing her eyes again. “You passed your exam. I deserve more cuddles.”

You sighed then wrapped your arms around her tighter - not because she asked, but because she needed. Because in that quiet Seoul December morning, in that apartment, you couldn’t think of anywhere else you wanted to be. 

6:50AM

You had barely shifted the blanket off when Wonyoung let out a dramatic groan and reached up, arms locking tight around your neck.

“Where do you think you are going, oppa?” she mumbled.

“Making breakfast.” you said, half sitting up.

“No, you’re not.”

Wonyoung pulled herself into your lap like gravity didn’t apply to her. Her legs hooked around your waist, knees pressing into your sides and her arms clung tighter until her entire body was pressed to your front - chest to chest, cheek resting on your shoulder.

“I gotta make us breakfast, baby.”

“I’m cold.” she said, muffled.

“You have the blanket.”

“I want you, oppa.”

You tried to stand but Wonyoung didn’t budge, her legs just tightened around you like a warning. You groaned, hands automatically settling on her hips, then sliding lower to support her thighs and the ridiculous length of her legs.

“Your legs are too long, Jang Wonyoung.”

She smirked against your chest. 

“Not my fault I was built for wrapping around you, oppa.”

You didn’t answer. You were too busy walking toward the kitchen, one clingy gorgeous girlfriend still wrapped around your torso like a deluxe human scarf. Her lips brushed against your collarbone lazily, like she was also possessive while sleepy.

“Baby, you know I actually need my hands to cook, right?”

She lifted her head just enough to look at you - eyes still heavy with sleep, but her lips curved into a smug little smile.

“Multitask, architect-nim.”

You rested Wonyoung gently against the counter for half a second so you could grab a pan - only for her to pull you back in, legs tightening again. 

“Baby…” you laughed under your breath. “How am I supposed to cook like this?”

She leaned up, eyes twinkling.

“Figure it out, oppa. You’re smart. You design buildings for a living.”

You sighed, already giving in. With one arm still holding her snug against you, you reached for the pan again. Only this time, your free hand slid down instinctively, gripping the underside of her thigh and landing firmly on her butt to steady her weight. Tight. Secure. Functional. Just like how you design your buildings. Maybe a little too confident.

Wonyoung froze and tilted her head, expression loaded with judgement.

“Oppa.” she said, voice low. “Are you using this as an excuse to grab my butt?”

You didn’t even look down at Wonyoung.

“It’s something called structural support, baby. I’m an architect.”

“Structural support?” she repeated. “You’re not designing a building, you’re holding your girlfriend!”

You adjusted your grip slightly tighter, unapologetically. 

“You’re a skyscraper with legs so you need support. Like that Garak Tower East in Secho-gu.”

Wonyoung took a moment to process. She tilted her head as she tried to visualize the building - sleek, modern, all glass and curves just in the right places. Sexy in a high budget, skyline defining kind of way-

“Yah!” she smacked your shoulder, laughing. “Did you just call me tall and curvy?”

“I complimented you, in architectural terms.”

“That wasn’t a compliment, oppa.”

“And you’re mad about it because…?”

“Because you compared me to a building.”

“A beautiful one…” you said casually, reaching for the butter while still holding her body against yours with one hand. 

“Iconic. Structural integrity unmatched. Elegant. Sexy…”

Wonyoung groaned and buried her face in your neck, laughing.

“You’re so annoying in the morning, oppa.”

You grinned. “Nope. I’m professionally trained to appreciate good design.”

She slapped your chest lightly and bit her lip, trying not to smile.

“You’re so full of it.”

“And yet…” you paused, leaning down to kiss her temple. “You’re still wrapped around me like I’m the only heater in Seoul.”

Wonyoung then exhaled.

“I’m only allowing you to grab my butt like this because you’re cooking, oppa.”

You looked down at her with a smirk. “So it’s a conditional privilege?”

“Exactly. So use it wisely, architect-nim. One wrong squeeze and you’re done.”

You laughed and shifted your grip lightly but still respectful.

“Got it, princess. Grab with honor. Squeeze with consent.”

She snorted. “You’re lucky I love you, oppa.”

“Okay. And you want to brush your teeth also in this position or what?”

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

The space smelled like fresh paint and saw dust, mixed with the faint scent of leftover eucalyptus from that one bouquet Wonyoung refused to throw away. The place was almost done. Shelves were installed, the counter was being lacquered tomorrow and the lighting fixtures were already humming softly overhead. The vision she along with Hyewon and Yena’d dreamed about was nearly a reality. You pushed the door open, letting in a gust of winter air and snow with you. The inside was warmer - just enough to melt the cold from your skin. You spotted Wonyoung immediately.

Wonyoung was kneeling on the floor sorting through a box of display jars. Hyewon was by the window wrestling with curtain rods and Yena was… doing some Yena thing. You dropped your bags near the entrance and called out.

“What chaos am I facing today?”

Wonyoung looked up, eyes lighting up instantly. “Oppa!”

She stood - a bit wobbly from sitting too long - and skipped over, wrapping her arms around your waist.

“You came!” she mumbled against your chest.

“I brought drinks. And help, if you guys need.” you offered, holding the takeout tray up.

Yena spoke from across the room. “I only care about the drink, oppa.”

You grinned and set the tray on the table before leaning in to kiss Wonyoung’s temple as she stole the cup labeled with her name.

“You shouldn’t be working after work.” she said softly, glancing up at you with 

You shrugged. “I’d rather be here.”

“Ooh, a domestic man.” Hyewon snorted, twisting something into the wall and pretending not to be jealous. “Someone wife him up already.”

Wonyoung raised her eyebrows like she was already doing exactly that then tugged at your jacket.

“Come with me, oppa. I need help in the storage room.”

“What’s in there?”

“A warzone. And too many vases.”

Yena called out. “Don’t go, oppa. It’s cursed back there. You’ll never return.”

You followed your girlfriend anyway, chuckling as you ducked past the curtain that separated the back room from the main space. It was a bit dusty and stacked from floor to ceiling with boxes, bubble wrapped glassware, and unused display pieces. Wonyoung clicked on the light, shook the drink in her hand and looked at you with the most innocent expression.

“I want the tall shelf moved against that wall. And those baskets sorted by size. And the flower foam unpacked and labeled.”

You stared at Wonyoung, disbelief on your face.

“You said I shouldn’t work after going here from work, baby.”

She smiled. Sweet. Deadly. 

“I meant your real job, oppa.” she lied, sipping her drink again. “This is your side job. With me.”

You squinted at her. “You’re evil, baby.”

Wonyoung grinned, stepping in closer, her voice low and dripping with fake innocence.

“I’ll cuddle you so hard and kiss you until you forget your name, oppa.”

You stared. “Keep talking…”

“Mmm.” she then dragged a box toward you with her foot. “I’ll even give you a massage on your back.”

You picked the box up without breaking eye contact. 

“You know exactly what you’re doing, Wonyoung-ah.”

“I do.” she said sweetly. “And you love me for it, oppa.”

About thirty minutes of unfair work later, the curtain rustled as Wonyoung peeked into the room again, sipping the last of her drink after she’d just sentenced you to unpaid manual labor. You were crouched in the corner, taking some rest after labeling everything, stacking baskets like those Pinterest boards. The tall shelf was perfectly aligned against the wall. It looked professional.

She blinked. “You actually finished, oppa?”

You stood up with a groan and cracked your neck.

“I have a literal architecture degree. I can sort baskets and stuff, baby.”

Wonyoung stepped in, glancing around. “Wow… it’s actually nice.”

“Maybe a thank you would be nice.”

She stepped closer to you, casually cupped your face and kissed you on the lips. It was soft, quick and just smug enough to count as gratitude and manipulation.

“Thank you.” she said sweetly and immediately grabbed your wrist.

“Now come help me with the espresso machine, oppa.”

“Again?” you groan, dragging your feet behind her.

Wonyoung didn’t even look back.

“It’s the last thing. I promise, baby.”

“I love how you’ve started calling me baby too.”

She glanced over her shoulder with a smirk.

“You call me that a hundred times a day, oppa. I’m just matching your energy.”

You scoffed. “No, you’re weaponizing it.”

Wonyoung hummed, knowing how powerful she was. 

“Because if I say it, you get all soft and do whatever I ask.”

“You make me sound so easy”.

“Aren’t you, baby?” Wonyoung said, batting her lashes as she tugged you along by the wrist.

You laughed under your breath, mainly because she was right and you hated that it worked every single time. Just as the two of you emerged from the back, still mid argument, Yena glanced up from where she was.

“Get a room, you two.” Yena said flatly.

“We have one.” Wonyoung replied without missing a beat. “But right now, he’s helping me move the espresso machine.”

“Are you trying to show him off?” Hyewon asked, raising an eyebrow from across the room.

“Absolutely, unnie.”

“Not so subtle now, huh?” you said.

“Duh.” Wonyoung then dragged you to the counter. “You’re good looking, you’re useful and you do things in silence.”

“She just called you her pet, oppa.” Yena snorted.

You looked at Hyewon and Yena. “Is no one gonna protect my dignity here?”

Wonyoung casually patted your chest like what Yena just said was a confirmed fact.

“What dignity, baby?”

You blinked at her.

“Wow.”

Yena cackled. “You love it here, oppa.”

You let out the deepest sigh of your entire post grad life and got to work again. An hour passed. Then another. Somehow, you were still there with Wonyoung as Hyewon and Yena had gone home 20 minutes earlier - sleeves rolled, hand slightly bruised, espresso machine installed, half the decoration rearranged twice because “the lighting was off”. By the time you finally slumped onto the little loveseat near the window, it was almost midnight. The city outside was quiet. Snow dusted the sidewalk in soft streaks. Wonyoung sat beside you, legs tucked up, sipping the hot chocolate she made for you. She had just worked you to the bone for almost four hours straight. She then turned to you when you leaned back, eyes fluttering shut. Her gaze dropped and froze when she saw the faint bruise along your hand. Her whole energy changed in an instant.

She reached for your hand instantly, brushing her thumb over the spot.

“You should’ve told me when it hurt, oppa…”

You peeked one eye open, smirking.

“You were too busy yelling at me about symmetry and spotlight angles.”

Her face fell immediately, all the sass and bossy energy from earlier melted off her features - replaced by quiet guilt that hit her like a punch to the gut.

“I didn’t mean it, oppa.” she said softly. “I didn’t think I was actually pushing you that hard…”

You didn’t let Wonyoung finish. You wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her in until she was against your chest.

“Hey.” you rested your chin on top of her head.

“It’s okay. I’m doing it for you.” you murmured. “It’s your dream. And if it means I carry some boxes or take a few bruises, I’ll do it. Everytime.”

Wonyoung let out the softest breath - it sounded like she was holding back tears but didn’t want to make a scene.

“...Still, tell me next time, oppa. I don’t want to hurt you, even if I’m excited.”

You smiled into her hair. “Deal.”

Wonyoung mumbled. “Good. Because you’re mine, oppa. Not disposable.”

You let out a quiet laugh.

“Maybe you could apologize by giving me that massage and cuddling me to death when we get home. You promised.”

“Of course, I promised.” she pouted.

You nodded, dead serious.

“I’ve been emotionally manipulated, physically overworked, and I got a battle wound.”

Wonyoung giggled softly, then kissed your jaw.

“Fine, oppa. I’ll cuddle you until you beg me to let go.”

“Sounds like heaven.”

She stretched, then stood up slowly, hand holding yours.

“Come on, architect-nim. Let’s lock up.”

You groaned as you stood, your back cracking like bubble wrap.

“I better get that deadly massage. I’m serious, baby.”

“You’ll get kisses every ten minutes, oppa.” she said, grabbing your jacket off the rack. She shook it out, then slipped it over your shoulders and tugged the zipper up all the way.

“And a hot pack. And maybe… maybe, I’ll feed you snacks in bed.”

“Now that’s true love.”

Before she could reach for her own things, you grabbed her gloves from the stool by the door.

“Gimme your hands, baby.”

She held them out obediently, palms up and you slid the gloves on for her - slow, careful, tugging each finger into place like she was fragile. Her nose scrunched a little.

“You’re babying me now?”

“It’s only fair. You baby me tonight, I baby you forever.” 

Then you paused. Her cheeks were pink from the cold. So you leaned in to cup her face in both hands and rubbed her cheeks gently with your palms to warm them up. Her lips parted slightly at your action, then you leaned in to kiss her - right there in the quiet shop entrance, just a breath of snow drifting past the glass. Slow and warm. 

“Let’s go home. It’s late.”

Wonyoung looked up at you - glowing and full of warmth - before turning to hit the lights. You helped her close up the studio until the place was bathed in a soft mix of streetlight and moonlight. And then the door clicked shut behind you. 

The street outside was nearly empty, snow falling light and slow like something out of a drama. Your boots crunched against it as you walked, one arm over her shoulders, her body close to yours under the purple puffer jacket. You two didn’t talk much on the way home. The vibe was nice and romantic. You looked down at her as she leaned into you, hair brushing your chin.

I love you so much.

You were in love with Wonyoung, with her cute chaos and elegant charm, her soft apologies and shameless flirting. With the way she worked you to the bone and still made you feel like the luckiest man in the world too. So you held her tighter. 

Two lovers, walking home just shy of midnight.

Hands warm, hearts warmer.

After quick bowls of ramyeon, shared rice crackers on the couch and warm showers, it was somehow 2AM. That’s how you ended up here: face down on the bed, shirtless, barely alive. And Wonyoung? Wonyoung was perched on your lower back, wearing one of your oversized t-shirts. Her legs were on your sides, hair tied up. Her phone rested on the edge of the bed, some massage tutorial playing at half volume.

“Okay…” she mumbled, tapping the screen to rewind. “They said circular motion here…”

You groaned as she pushed her palms into your shoulder blades - surprisingly firm for someone who spent most of her days arranging delicate petals and yelling about shelf placement.

“Oh wait- okay… that’s actually… fuck, that’s good.” you mumbled into the pillow.

Wonyoung giggled, smug as hell.

“Language, oppa. You’re in my care now.”

You grunted. “You swear sometimes too.”

“Barely.” she replied, in that annoyingly innocent and lovely tone that made you want to roll over just to glare at her - if you had the energy to move at all right now.

“Likes that makes you morally superior, baby.”

“It does.” she said, proudly. She then shifted to press into a spot just under your shoulder blade and made you shiver. Full body, involuntary. Wonyoung definitely felt it. It was so obvious she had to gloat.

“Do you think I’m that weak now, oppa?” she asked, her voice low and dangerous.

“No… I take back everything I ever said about you bei- being weak…”

Wonyoung grinned, palms circling slowly over the same spot. 

“That’s what I thought. People who do floral works have strong arms, baby. I lift vases and buckets of water all day.”

“Hot.” 

Wonyoung laughed proudly. That one word gave her the courage to lean forward until her chest pressed against your back, lips brushing your ear as she whispered.

“If you think that’s hot, oppa… wait until I’m on top of you and not massaging.”

You froze. From how fast your heart stopped, how much that one sentence sent heat crawling up your neck. Your breath caught, your fingers curled slightly into the sheets. And for once tonight, you forgot how to speak. There was an obvious pause before your voice came out as you tried to drag it up from the pit of your throat.

“Don’t do that to me, baby.”

You could feel Wonyoung smiling on your back, slow and satisfied. She leaned even closer, chest pressed more firmly against you, arms curling loosely around your shoulder.

“What exactly do I do to you, oppa?”

You clenched your hands in the sheets. 

“You’re the one who said I was strong, oppa.” she kissed your neck lightly. “I’m just using my power to heal you right now.”

You let out a breath - shaky and helpless. No words. You couldn’t say anything to her, not when your brain was static and your heart was trying to escape from your ribs. And then Wonyoung went quiet for a second, choosing her words wisely.

“You know I’ve never done this before, oppa.”

Your body tensed just slightly as her tone had changed, but not out of worry.

“Not like this… Not sitting on someone's back and teasing the hell out of them while also kind of wanting to kiss every inch of their back.” she said.

“I’ve never felt like I could. Before you, oppa.”

That got you. You turned your head a little to catch the side of her face, flushed, eyes focused on your spine since she couldn’t meet your gaze yet. Wonyoung then exhaled through her nose.

“You make me feel safe enough to be annoying and clingy.”

Even though your chest ached with how real she was being, a smile was tugging at your lips.

“You know I love you, Wonyoung-ah.” you murmured.

“I always thought if I got like this with someone, they’d think I was too much. Or dramatic. Or needy. But you-” her voice dipped. “You just act like it’s normal, oppa.”

You reached back, blindly, until you found her wrist. Your thumb brushed over her skin softly.

“It is normal with the right person, baby.” and then.

“I love when you’re annoying and clingy.”

That earned you a shaky laugh from Wonyoung.

“I wasn’t fishing for a comment, oppa.”

“Didn’t say you were.” You smiled into the pillow. Then came a pause as her hand slowly traced slowly all over your back - no tricks, no teasing. Maybe that touch was her way of saying ‘You’re mine’ without needing to speak. Then, quietly.

“I think I want to be with you for the rest of my life, oppa.”

You stopped breathing. It wasn’t dramatic or planned. Wonyoung just said it like she’d already decided. Maybe the truth had been sitting in her chest for weeks, maybe a few months and it slipped out in a moment she felt safest. You stayed still, not wanting to miss a second of this. Everything about this. The sincerity of her voice, the warmth of her touch…

“You mean that?” your voice was barely there now.

She nodded against your back. “Mmm.”

“You feel like home, oppa. I didn’t know it could feel like this with someone.”

That did something to you. It cracked something open deep down - something had been locked up for a long time, and Wonyoung’d just walked into your life and gently broke it wide open. Instead of fear, all you could feel was peace and her love.

“I want that too.” you said softly. “I promise I will try my best for you, Wonyoung.”

The bedroom was now filled with a soft and thick feeling. Her hand never stopped moving on your back, like she was tracing the weight of those words into your skin. Then, barely above a whisper.

“You already are, oppa.”

You closed your eyes and sighed. Nothing but warmth in your body now. Her body on yours, her breath against your neck, her love wrapping around you like a second blanket. Until she decided to ruin it.

SMACK.

“OW! Wonyoung-ah- seriously?”

“Flip over!” she demanded, already bouncing off your back and standing on the floor. Pure cuteness and chaos in her voice. 

“Enough emotional intimacy for one night, oppa. Time for deadly cuddles.”

“You hit me so hard, baby.” you muttered but still rolled over slowly. “I’m losing feeling in my spine.”

“You’re about to lose all feeling once I latch onto you like a koala in mating season.” Wonyoung said it completely seriously. With no shame. And you had the audacity to fall even harder for her. She climbed back on top like she owned the bed and your soul, yanked the blanket over the both of you and immediately wrapped herself around you.

“You better not move, oppa.” she mumbled against your collarbone. “I’m in position and too comfy now.”

Your hand instinctively slid up and down her back, her skin warm under your touch.

“You didn’t even give me time to wear my shirt. It’s winter, Wonyoungie.”

“Exactly~” she nuzzled deeper into your chest. “It’s winter.”

“Baby.”

“Oppa~”

Uh oh.

You heard the danger in her tone. 

“It’s Saturday.” she continued, voice soft and layered with fake innocence. 

“The studio’s closed for now. You’re not working. You basically study everyday already. So why would you prep for that boring architect test thing tomorrow when you could stay in bed and warm me like a good boy?”

Your brain short circuited.

“Good boy?” you repeated.

“Mm.” Wonyoung hummed sweetly, tracing a finger along your collarbone. “My good boy stays right here and keeps me warm and gives me kisses when I ask.”

“I’m a grown man.” but you were malfunctioning. Your protest was weak.

“And yet you’re still under my command, oppa.” she tilted her head. She then slowly moved forward, lips barely brushing your ear, her voice honeyed and low as she continued to attack.

“Just admit it, oppa.” she whispered. “You’d rather stay here all day and let me suffocate you with affection than stare at blueprints or designs… Or your nerdy architect stuff.”

You were defeated. Exhausted. But hey, very much in love.

“Fine… you win.”

“I always win, oppa.”

“I take the day off. Happy?”

Wonyoung beamed, pulling the blanket tighter around the both of you.

“Estatic. Now hush and cuddle me like you mean it.”

You let out a breath, let her bury her freezing feet between your legs and pulled her in closer. Her head was tucked under your chin, hand resting over your chest as she claimed her territory.

“Don’t call me ‘good boy’ again. That’s dangerous.” you mumbled into her hair.

“I call you whatever I want, oppa.” she whispered back with her smug grin. You knew you were done for, without a doubt.

You blinked awake to an empty bed. No warmth by your side. No Wonyoung draped across your chest. No mumbling or sleep kicks. It was quiet. The clock read 8:12AM. You groaned into the pillow, reaching across the sheets for Wonyoung’s warmth. Still warm. Still faintly smelling like her shampoo. No sight of her. But then the bedroom door swung open. There she was.

Jang Wonyoung.

In a black body hugging dress, lips glossy, hair cascading down her shoulders in effortless waves like she was about to do a Vogue cover shoot in your shared apartment. She stood framed in the doorway looking like she hadn’t just destroyed you both physically and emotionally last night.

“Wake up, oppa~” her voice was bright, bossy and way too casual from someone who dressed like that for breakfast.

“Brush your teeth. We have movies to watch and breakfast to eat.”

You sat up slowly, squinting at the sudden presence and your girlfriend  standing in the doorway.

“Damn…” you mumbled, voice rough from sleep “Why do you look like that, baby?”

Wonyoung smiled, one hand on her hip which allowed the dress to hug every curve like it was made only for her. 

“Like what, oppa?”

“Like- fuck…” your voice cracked slightly as you sat up straighter, rubbing the back of your neck. “You’re so beautiful.”

Her lips curved, pleased but trying to play it cool.

“I know. But I like to hear it from you.”

Then she casually walked over to your side of the bed. Bunny slippers on her feet, hips swaying, the black dress hugging her in all the right places like sin disguised as breakfast. Her hair caught the morning light just right.

Oh my fucking…

You pushed the blanket off and sat up slowly, still shirtless and barely conscious but instantly weak for her. You instinctively leaned in, reaching for her waist, wanting nothing more than to pull Wonyoung in and bury your face in her stomach. Just to ground yourself and breathe her in. But the second your arms brushed her sides, she pressed one palm flat against your forehead and held you back like a misbehaving dog.

“Nope.” her tone was sweet but lethal. You blinked at that, confused and offended. Wonyoung just smiled, lips all glossy and powerful.

“Brush your teeth and wash your face first, oppa. Then you can hug me.”

“Just one hug, Wonyoungie.” you said. You were still a bit asleep and completely love drunk. You were way too weak for Wonyoung to be standing there in that dress. So, naturally, you leaned forward again - arms stretching toward her waist like your soul needed contact.

Smack.

Her palm met your forehead in a light, warning tap. It didn’t hurt but enough to put you in your place. Your head tilted back slightly from the light impact as you looked at your girlfriend, stunned. Wonyoung stared down at you, attitude shifting suddenly. Her sweetness was still there - buried under a new layer of firm, unshakable authority. Her hands went to her hips, eyes narrowing.

“Oppa.” she said, loud and clear. “Don’t make me say it again.”

“Okay…” your voice came out soft. Obedient. A little terrified.

She raised an eyebrow, satisfied. 

“Good~”

Then she spun around, her slippers tapping confidently as she walked out of the room after asserting her dominance. And maybe you should’ve let it go. Maybe. But no. The mischief hit you fast. You smirked, leaning off the bed as your eyes followed the curve of her hips in that damn black dress. Too good and dangerous. Your hand then rose just slightly to aim for a harmless, barely there smack on her butt - just enough to make your presence known. Equal parts flirty and payback, right? She denied you affection and threatened your sanity before breakfast, it was only fair. But Wonyoung stopped mid step and turned back calmly, glaring at you. Her eyes then found your raised hand midair, caught red handed in mischief. Her glossy lips pressed into the faintest smirk. You were busted.

“...Hi?”

Her eyebrow lifted, enough to warn you. The tiny, terrifying arch sent a shiver down your spine.

“Don’t even try it, oppa.” she said. Dead serious.

“Okay.” your voice cracked a little as you dropped your hand down. But Wonyoung wasn’t done. She narrowed her eyes and stepped back closer to you.

“I swear, oppa. If you touch me before you’re clean-” she leaned in slightly. “-you’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

You didn’t argue. Shower. Toothbrush. Face wash. The bathroom tiles were icy against your feet, but thankfully the water was still a bit warm - just enough to survive the Seoul winter without crying. You showered like your life depended on it. When you finally stepped out, all dried and dressed in the comfiest sweater you could find, you padded to the living room. Breakfast - toast, eggs and a cute little bowl of strawberries - was already waiting on the coffee table. Wonyoung was sitting on the couch, flipping through movie options with a coffee mug in hand. Her legs were folded beneath her, skin glowing. You cleared your throat. She looked up.

“Can I please hug you now?”

Wonyoung blinked. Then her lips curved into something between a smile and a smirk - sweat, pleased but still holding power.

“Did you brush, oppa?”

“Yes.”

“Face?”

“Washed.”

“Shower?”

“With your eucalyptus body wash. I’m the cleanest man in the whole world right now.”

She narrowed her eyes, unconvinced. She then took a slow slip of her coffee and then put her legs down with flair, crossing one leg over the other as she stared at you like a queen who was considering whether to pardon a criminal.

“Let me smell.”

You stepped forward cautiously and leaned down toward Wonyoung on the couch, angling your neck so she could check it herself. You expected a quick sniff, enough for her to say “okay” and open her arms. But no. Wonyoung leaned in slowly, lips curving into a smirk. Her hand came up to rest on your chest - not pushing you away or pulling you in closer. It just rested there to control the moment. And then, she pressed her nose tight into your neck. It wasn’t soft or subtle. It was a full inhale, right against your skin - hot breath and the scent of her lip gloss lingering just below your ear. Goosebumps spread like wildfires across your back and arms. You actually shivered.

“Wonyoung-ah…” you breathed out. She didn’t flinch but even nuzzled closer. 

“Mm.” she murmured. “You really did use my body wash.”

“Yeah. I- uh… I did.”

She leaned back finally, eyes half lidded and pleased beyond reason. Her lips glistened with that damn gloss and her voice dropped to a smug whisper.

“You smell like eucalyptus and submission, oppa.”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

Wonyoung smiled and opened her arms. “Come here, you whipped idiot.”

You crashed straight onto the couch, face falling right into her lap. You buried your face into the soft fabric of her dress, right against her stomach, arms wrapping tightly around her waist like Wonyoung was the safest place on earth. Your actions caught her off guard for a second. Then she eventually melted. Her hand slid into your hair automatically, nails gently scratching your scalp as you clung to her.

“Oppa.” she laughed under her breath. “You’re so dramatic.”

“You tortured me by making me wait forever."

“It was only thirty minutes, baby.”

“Forever.”

She giggled, the sound soft and wicked. She knew exactly how powerful she was and planned to use it until you were nothing but a puddle in her lap. Her fingers continued to comb through your hair. Her other hand calmly reached for her coffee again and sipped it before speaking.

“I really have you wrapped around my finger, right oppa?”

You didn’t deny it. Laying there, head buried against her stomach, arms draped around her waist, you just sighed.

“Like a ribbon.” you muttered.

“Mm.” Wonyoung slid her hand under your chin and tilted your face up. Before you could react, she leaned down and kissed you on the lips - warm, soft, tasting like coffee. 

“And you love it so much, oppa.” she whispered. You just groaned into her mouth and nodded, fully defeated.

Eventually, you both shifted - plates were pulled onto your laps, coffee mugs safely placed on the table. The movie started playing quietly in the background, some lighthearted romance you barely registered because you were stupidly basking in how stupidly happy you felt. At some point, you ended up in her lap again - obviously. Wonyoung had one arm draped across your shoulders, the other reaching into the bowl of strawberries on the table. She picked one, twirled it gently between her fingers for a second then dangled it just above your lips.

“Open.” she commended, already grinning. You tilted your chin up and parted your lips - obedient, too in love to care. She popped the strawberry into your mouth with a pleasant hum then brushed her fingers along your cheek with ridiculous delicacy.

“Good boy.” she said casually.

You paused mid chew. “Baby, you gotta stop calling me that.”

Wonyoung turned her head slowly, a knowing smile spreading across her lips as she picked another strawberry from the bowl. 

“Why?” she asked, pretending she didn’t have a single clue on what kind of effect she had on you. “You don’t like it, oppa?”

“I like it too much.” you admitted, slumping further into her lap. “It short circuits my brain.”

She pouted in fake sympathy, twirling the next strawberry in her fingers like a cat with a mouse.

“Mmm. Poor baby. All soft and squishy just because I praised you a little.”

“Wonyoung-ah.”

“Oppa.”

You look up at her, exasperated. Wonyoung raised the strawberry to your lips again.

“Now open.”

You groaned but still obeyed. She popped it in your mouth and smiled. After a moment, her hand slid from your shoulder to your jaw, thumb playing with your chin. She tilted your face up and leaned down, resting her forehead against yours.

“But you really are my good boy, oppa.” she whispered. You knew you were done for.

“I need some rest.”

“You are already resting.” she giggled and kissed your forehead. “On my lap.”

And that’s where you stayed for a while, the outside world was nothing more than a snowy hum beyond the curtains. Eventually, the day drifted forward as morning turned into afternoon. Wonyoung then had to get up, brushing a kiss to your temple with a whisper of ‘I have some arrangements to prep, oppa’. You, of course, followed. You wanted to be on her lap for the rest of the day but instead, ended up sitting on a stool in the corner of her little work area. Your phone but in your hand, thumb lazily scrolling, but your eyes? Fully on Wonyoung. 

She was standing at her work table, trimming the ends of a bouquet with clean precision. Her hands moved like muscle memory across bunches of fresh rose, lavender, baby’s breath and ranunculus. Her focus, her calm, her grace - all of it did something to you. You’d seen Wonyoung do this a hundred times - but something felt different this time? Maybe it was the way she stood. Maybe it was the way she wore that dress. Or maybe it was just Wonyoung. 

You played a random playlist on your phone, low and lazy, just to fill the quiet. Then, as if the universe was in on your feelings, ‘Flowers’ by Johnny Stimson came on. The soft bassline. The lyrics. The vibe.

You can open up to me

Show me what's inside

Mother nature made us to intertwine

She shifted slightly on her feet, the black dress then pulled taut across her hips. You lost the ability to breathe normally. Your fingers tapped against your knee, pretending to scroll on your phone. But your eyes were watching the way she moved - the care, the skill, the control. Everything Wonyoung did was controlled. And everything about you was unraveling. You stood up.

Lavender elixir so

Full of pheromones

Gimme one taste and you're gone

You walked over to her. Wonyoung didn’t flinch - she just kept trimming stems like you weren’t about to lose your mind. You slipped behind her, hands gently sliding around her waist, resting low on her stomach. She took no time to relax into your touch, head lightly leaning against your shoulder.

“You’re still wearing the dress.” you mumbled, lips grazing the edge of her ear.

“Mmm.”

“And you expect me not to do anything?”

Wonyoung smiled, but her eyes were focused.

“You haven’t done anything, oppa.”

You kissed her cheeks. Once. Then lower, her jaw. Then the side of her neck, barely brushing your lips there.

What if I can't get you out of my thoughts?

What if my seasons don't change?

What if you forget to forget me not

And we fade away?

The lyrics filled the air, sinking into your skin the same way she did - subtly, then all at once. You felt her breath catch, just enough. 

“You smell nice.” you whispered, fingertips grazing the fabric over her waist. Wonyoung finally set the scissors down. She turned around to face you. Her face was unreadable as something was brewing underneath.

“Don’t tempt me, oppa.” she whispered.

You leaned in. “Too late.”

Her hands slid into your sweater, gripping the front of it as you kissed her - this time slower, deeper, a kiss that curled your toes and left no room for second thoughts. You pulled Wonyoung flushed against you, the table behind her nudging the base of her spine as you devoured her mouth.

You're my little flower

Blooming in the night

Only for an hour

The northern lights

The lyrics played in the background like a confession neither of you could say out loud just yet. But it was felt. All of it. Her hands curled tighter into your sweater. Your fingertips danced down her back, slowly tracing the shape of her waist again-

And that’s when she pulled back. Lips parted. Breath trembling. Eyes glazed with everything she was feeling but couldn’t say.

My Casablanca sweetheart

Nectar so divine

Baby, you're the best part of my life

You swore the air shifted when she looked at you like that. The moment hung there, delicate and electric. Wonyoung’s voice was soft. Barely above a whisper.

“You always kiss me like it’s the last time, oppa.”

“I mean, every time I kiss you feels important.”

Wonyoung stared at you for a beat, lashes fluttering. Then, with a breath that felt heavier than it should’ve been, she reached up and pressed her hand gently to your chest.

“Sit down.”

“...What?”

“I have to finish this, oppa.” she said, laughing through the tension, voice still shook lightly. “Before I scold you again.”

“C’mon, Wonyoungie.”

She smiled sweetly, turning back to her bouquet, snipping stems like nothing had happened. “I’m protecting you, oppa. From me.”

There was absolutely nothing you could say to that. You just sat down, knees feeling like pudding. 

The rest of the day felt like something out of a dream you never wanted to wake up from. She worked. You helped. She kissed your cheek when you passed her the right vase. You played her favorite songs on low volume as Wonyoung was deep in her work like a Renaissance muse - your muse.

Dinner was something simple. Delivery, because neither of you could be bothered to cook after all that emotional cardio. You ate on the floor, in front of the couch as Wonyoung leaned her head on your shoulder, both of you wrapped in a big blanket. There were quiet laughs, shared bites, forehead kisses between jokes.

By the time you and her made it to bed, the world outside had gone still. You were laying there - soft light from the bedside lamp casting a warm glow, blankets heavy and comforting. Wonyoung curled into your side, face pressed to your shoulder, fingers trailing lightly over your chest. That’s when you turned your head slightly and asked.

“What’s gotten in you, baby? You’ve been different, today and last night.”

Wonyoung went quiet for a bit to think about it. Then she mumbled, shy but smiling.

“Maybe I just love you so much I couldn’t hide it anymore, oppa.”

Really?

You pulled her closer.

“...Maybe keep it not hiding then, baby.”

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ 

From December to early and mid February, your relationship with Wonyoung turned quietly serious even as your lives got even heavier. You were preparing for the last stage of the architecture license exam - which meant longer nights bent over drafting boards, wrist sores from holding a pencil for hours… People had warned you it was brutal. You knew how crazy it was. But it still managed to hit you harder than you ever expected. 

Wonyoung didn’t just witness it - she adapted to it. She brought heat packs when your hands were cramped, massaged your shoulders while reading flower order lists, cooked when you forgot to eat. She even dropped by your workplace with lunch on the roughest days, always smiling like it wasn’t a big deal. Everybody there was jealous. Of course they were. She fitted into your mornings, stealing bites of your toast, reminding you to blink when you stared too hard at lines. At night, you’d come home to Wonyoung humming while she worked on her floral studio dream, cheeks flushed from the cold. You owed Wonyoung. A lot.

Despite the weight of it all, you still made time to live. Christmas was spent with her family, warm and familiar. Her parents showered the two of you with gifts. Wonyoung never left your side, not even when her cousins grilled her about your future wedding. She just smiled and held your hand tighter. New Year’s Eve was quieter, just the two of you kissing on the rooftop of your shared apartment with thick jackets while the Seoul skyline lit up with fireworks. 

Then 설날* came, and you introduced Wonyoung to your parents. It was your turn after all. She wore a soft toned hanbok, bowed respectfully and called your mom ‘eomoni’ with no hesitation or difficulties. Even though she offered to help, your parents wouldn’t let her step inside the kitchen - insisting their ‘precious future daughter-in-law’ should just sit and rest. She even made your relatives laugh and didn’t even flinch when your aunts cornered her with questions. By the end of the night, your mom pulled Wonyoung aside, held her hands tightly and said ‘You’re a blessing to our son’. And your mom wasn’t wrong at all. Not one bit.

*설날/seollal: Korean new year.

One day, the snow hit harder than usual. You’d heard it all over the news - record low temperature, public transport stalling, several small businesses forced to close for a few days. You texted Wonyoung during lunch, asked if she was staying warm. No answer. When you came home from work, jacket still dusted in snow, you found her on the couch - curled up, knees to her chest, sleeves pulled over her hands. Her eyes were red. She’d been crying. Your heart sank.

“Wonyoung-ah?” you called gently, moving toward her. Wonyoung didn’t look up at first. Just shook her head like she didn’t want to talk about it. But when you knelt in front of her, her eyes finally met yours - glassy, full of frustration and exhaustion. 

“They pushed the inspection again, oppa.” she said. “Everything’s delayed until March.”

Wonyoung’s voice cracked just enough to split something open inside your chest. 

“I know it’s not that big of a deal but-” she continued, trying to convince herself. “But I had everything prepared. I had it timed for orders, I sent emails, I made schedules, I-” her breath hitched.

“I work so hard, oppa.” she whispered, her lips trembling. “I gave it everything- I was so close…”

You didn’t wait. You scooped her into your arms before she could even fold in on herself, lifting her gently and sitting down with her on your lap. Her body curled into yours instantly, like she’d been waiting for permission to fall apart. Wonyoung buried her face in your shoulder, her arms wrapping around your neck so tight it nearly choked you but you didn’t care. Her entire body was shaking now. Harsh, quiet sobs punched out of her chest. You held her through it all, one hand smoothing over her back, the other cradling the back of her head. Wonyoung was fragile, precious.

After a while, her sobs started to soften. It was still there, still aching but quieter. She shifted just enough to up at you, eyes swollen and glassy, nose a little red. 

“I really thought I could do it, oppa… I thought I could prove to everyone I wasn’t just all talk.”

You brushed your thumb across her cheek, gently wiping away the wetness there.

“You already did, Wonyoung-ah.” you said softly. “You are doing it. Delays don’t erase the work.”

She blinked, tears pooling again. “But it feels like I failed.”

You let out a soft sigh, brushing the tears away with your knuckle as you looked at her - eyes puffy, lips trembling, so heartbreakingly beautiful even in her lowest moments.

How are you still so beautiful?

“Wonyoung-ah… I face the same shit at work too.” you said. 

“Designs get pushed back, clients ghost, a lot of them are obnoxious, permits take months. One time I worked three straight nights for a client who changed their mind after the deadline, remember?”

Wonyoung shifted, blinking up at you through glassy eyes.

“You were there for me, weren’t you?”

She stayed silent but nodded.

“If I hadn’t met you, I would’ve quit architecture and become a dog walker in Gangnam.” you said dramatically. “Or like, join a cult and scam people on the street.”

That finally did it - a tiny laugh burst out of her, choked a bit by the remnants of her crying. Her hand flew up to cover her mouth, embarrassed. Her hand flew up to cover her mouth, embarrassed. 

“There it is!” you whispered. “That’s my girl.”

She immediately buried her face in your chest again, hiding. 

“Stop it, oppa.” she mumbled. “I look so gross right now.”

You laughed, tightening your arms around her, lips brushing the top of her head as you whispered.

“You don’t. Not even a little.”

She groaned into your chest. “My face is puffy, oppa.”

“Still the most beautiful girl I know.”

“My nose is red.”

“Cute.”

“My make up is ruined.”

“Hot.”

Wonyoung squinted at you, a look of sadness and disbelief on her face. “Hot?”

You nodded, completely serious. “Devastating hot.”

She let out a half sob, half laugh sound and smacked your chest weakly. “You’re such a liar, oppa.”

You caught her hand before she could pull it away and brought it to your lips for a soft kiss. 

“You know I never lie about you, Wonyoung-ah.” you murmured. “Especially not about how beautiful you are.”

That shut her up again. Wonyoung knew if she said anything back instantly, she’d cry even harder. So instead, she just melted into you, arms wrapping around your waist again. You leaned your chin against the top of her head, pulling her close like she was made to fit there.

“I’ve got you, Wonyoung-ah. For as long as you need.”

That night, you didn’t let her lift a finger. You cooked while Wonyoung sat on the couch, wrapped in a blanket like a sulking princess. She kept trying to help but you gave her that look every time and she finally gave up with a small pout. You even massaged her shoulders after, forced her to drink warm tea and stayed by her side all night. It was all good again, for a while. But as March loomed ahead, so did the weight of reality.

Her floral studio opening was finally opening - design books finalized, stock delivered, invitations prepped and promotions starting to roll out. And you? You were a few weeks from the last stage of the architecture license exam - the hardest thing you’d ever prepared for. Real hand drafted design work, timed constraints, performance pressures… It demanded everything.

And suddenly, everything felt too full. The space you two once treated like your treasure was overflowing with flower buckets and tracing papers. Everything from two different professions were spilling into each other, no clean lines, no negative space. Two passionate people. Two overachievers. Two deadlines clashing in the same apartment. The arguments weren’t big. Just… sharper.

Like when Wonyoung moved your drafting weights off the table and you found them on the kitchen counter, buried under her wrapping paper. Or when you forgot to screw the cap back on floral tape and it dried overnight. She didn’t yell at you. She just sighed and kissed you, saying it was fine. But that long, slow kind of sigh made your chest feel too small. 

There were times you’d both laugh it off. Many times. Except when it didn’t.

-

One night, you were hunched over the dining table again - your third sketch of the day was already half erased, smudges climbed up your wrist like bruises. The sharpener had jammed. The ruler was gone. Again.

“Have you seen my ruler, Wonyoungie?” you asked, not even bothering to look up.

Wonyoung didn’t answer at first. You heard a soft clink. She was in the corner, trimming stems into a metal bowl.

“You left it on the bed, oppa.” 

You blinked.

“Why would I leave it there?”

She didn’t turn around. “I don’t know. Maybe you were measuring in your dreams, oppa.”

You paused, pencil mid air. The sarcasm didn’t hit cute this time. You stared at the half done section in front of you, jaw tight.

“Okay…” you said, voice flat. Wonyoung finally turned over. She was wearing one of your old sweatshirts, sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Her eyes met yours across the room - the usual spark wasn’t there.

“I was joking.” she said, quieter this time. “You’re kinda tense lately, oppa.”

You sighed, pressing the pencil down onto the table a little harder than needed. “I’m sorry, baby. It’s just… this stage is eating me alive.”

Wonyoung didn’t say anything right away. She just nodded and looked down at her flowers, fiddling with her scissors.

“I get that. I really do. But it feels like you’re mad at me, oppa.”

Your head snapped up. “I’m not- Wonyoung-ah. I swear. I'm just tired and I feel like I’m not doing enough. For this exam, for you…”

Wonyoung’s eyes flicked up at that.

“Don’t say that, oppa. You’re doing everything you can.”

She then set the scissors down with a soft click and walked over slowly to you. You stayed frozen in your chair, pencil still in hand, but your grip softened as she came close. Wonyoung crouched next to you, resting her chin on your thigh.

“You’re tired. And I know this exam is killing you.” she said gently. “But please don’t think I need more from you, oppa. You being here and trying hard already means everything, oppa.”

Your hand reached out automatically, fingers brushing through her hair.

“I feel like I’ve been snapping too much lately.” you admitted, the guilt was eating you up.

She nodded but her smile was soft. “You have.”

“Sorry…” you winced.

“But you’ve been hugging me in your sleep. Kissing my shoulder before you leave for work. Carrying my flower vases even when you look like you’re gonna collapse…” she took your hand. “So I forgive you, oppa.”

You exhaled like you’d been holding your breath for days.

“Come here.” you tugged her into her lap. She climbed into your arms without hesitation, arms wrapping around your neck.

“I love you.” you said against her hair.

“I love you more, oppa.” she whispered back. “But if you erase that drawing again, I will definitely scold you.”

You laughed into her shoulder, everything feeling a bit lighter again.

-

It started small, like always. 

You’d just come home from work, drained and quiet. Wonyoung was at the table, her laptop open and a notebook of arrangement ideas on the side. She looked up at you and smiled.

“You didn’t reply to my text, baby.”

You blinked, taking off your coat. “What text?”

She then turned the screen toward you - a photo of a new flower sample. “I sent it hours ago, oppa. I ask what you thought.”

You stared at the screen, mind blank for a second too long. Then you rubbed a hand over your face.

“I’m sorry, Wonyoungie. Work was hell today. I must’ve missed it.”

Wonyoung’s smile faltered a little, just a second. “You always say that lately, oppa.”

Her words weren’t cruel. They were soft and honest - which made them sting worse.

“I didn’t mean to ignore you like that, baby.” your voice was tighter than you intended.

“I know.” she replied quickly. “But it still makes me feel like I don’t matter sometimes, oppa.”

You sighed, not in anger - just exhaustion. 

“Wonyoung-ah, everything’s hitting me at once right now. I’m trying to be okay at work, at the exam, at being… with you.”

“So now I’m just another thing on your to-do list, oppa?” she flinched.

That one hit too hard. You looked at her sharply.

“That’s not what I want.”

“I didn’t say it was, oppa.” her voice cracked at the edges now. “But it’s starting to feel like it.”

Silence quickly settled, thick and cold. Your heart was loud in your chest, but you couldn’t find the next words. Maybe not yet. Not when both of you were teetering between tired and hurt.

Maybe this one wouldn’t end in a soft kiss and forehead touch.

Maybe this time, one of you had to walk away to breathe. 

-

This one started differently. It started with a question.

You were in the middle of sketching out something, you didn’t even remember what it was - pencil tucked behind your ear, back hunched, neck aching. Wonyoung peeked around the doorframe. Her eyes were tired. She held a small stack of flower mockups and a printed draft.

“Oppa.” she said softly. “Can I show you something real quick?”

You didn’t even turn around. “I’m kinda in the middle of something, baby.”

Wonyoung hesitated. “It’s just the layout for the welcome table. I can’t tell if the lettering feels too busy.”

“I’m sure it’s fine.” you said, still sketching.

Silence. Then came a light sigh.

“Nevermind, oppa.”

You froze. Something about the way Wonyoung said it made your hands pause immediately. But you didn’t say anything. You didn’t turn around. Instead, you pressed the pencil back to paper and kept going. You kept sketching for another minute. Maybe two. But things didn’t make sense to you anymore - the lines, the measurements. You were thinking about her voice. The way Wonyoung said nevermind like she knew exactly how this would go. So you stood up. Wonyoung was in the bedroom. She wasn’t crying. She was crouched beside the rolling cart, restocking twine and tags into labeled compartments like nothing happened. You leaned against the doorframe.

“Hey, baby.”

“What, oppa?” she didn’t look up.

“I’m sorry.”

 Her hands didn’t stop moving. “For what?”

“For brushing you off, earlier.” you swallowed. “I wasn’t trying to. I just- my head’s all over the place.”

Wonyoung gave a small nod but it didn’t feel like forgiveness. “You always do that, oppa.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You didn't.” she said. “It just feels… I don’t know, familiar.”

“What do you mean, Wonyoung-ah?”

She finally stood up. 

“It means this isn’t the first time. Me coming to you with something small, something that probably doesn’t matter to anyone but me and getting nothing as an answer from you while you do your thing, oppa.”

“I told you I was in the middle of something.”

“And I told you it would take just a few seconds.” she said, voice sharper now. “That’s all I needed from you, oppa. Just look for a few seconds.”

“I do care.” you shot back. “Do you think I enjoy being like this? I’m not ignoring you, I’m drowning.”

“So am I!”

Wonyoung’s voice cracked for the first time, that scared you more than if she’d yelled.

“You think this thing isn’t eating me alive, oppa? You think I don’t want to pause everything and just… be with you? But I can’t because I’m trying to make my dream happen. And sometimes I need you to see it, oppa.”

You were quiet. Chest tight.

“I do, baby.”

“I think we’re both just trying so hard not to fall apart. Somewhere in that, we’re just let things get between us too much.”

You stepped forward, slowly. “I don’t want that.”

“Neither do I, oppa.” her voice was smaller now. “But I’m scared that if we keep doing this - hurting each other without meaning to, it’s just gonna…”

You reached for Wonyoung’s hand. She let you.

“I don’t know how to do this perfectly, baby. But I want to try my best with you.”

She let out a shaky breath. 

“I’m sorry too, oppa. For getting mad at you. And guilt tripping… pushing when you’re clearly just… barely hanging on.”

You pulled Wonyoung in gently and she leaned into you with no resistance.

“I love you.” you murmured in her hair.

“I know.” she whispered. “I love you too, oppa.”

There was nothing dramatic about it. No grand moment, no magic reset. Just two people, a little bruised, arms wrapped around each other in the quiet and hoping that was enough. Maybe for now. 

The next morning, you were making breakfast when Wonyoung leaned over the counter in your oversized hoodie, pressing her cheek to her arm while she scrolled through messages on her phone. The window was slightly opened. You could hear a bird singing outside. The air smelled like butter and coffee. Everything felt almost normal like the fight last night hadn’t happened. She smiled a little when you passed her a plate. 

“Is this even edible, oppa?”

You smirked. “I checked this time, Wonyoungie.”

She took a bite and gave you a dramatic thumbs up. You laughed, low and tired. But at least it was something - nice and peaceful. There was a moment, just then, where everything softened. Where she looked at you and you looked back, it felt like you were back to when these things didn’t matter. And then your phone rang. You stepped out of the kitchen, answering it in the hallway with one hand pressed to the temple. 

Fuck… Not now.

Wonyoung watched you from her seat. You knew she could tell something was wrong. 

“Wonyoung-ah…” you said carefully.

“What was that, oppa?”

You came back to the kitchen, slowly. It felt like you were stepping into a room you’d just set on fire. She was still at the counter, thumb hovering over her phone, eyes on you now. You hesitated.

“They want me in Pohang. Friday morning.”

Her face didn’t move, but something in her shoulders shifted. 

“For how long, oppa?”

“Three to four days…”

You could see Wonyoung counting in her head. Her lips parted but nothing came out. You kept talking like maybe if you filled the space fast enough, you could soften the blow. 

“I’ll be back by your opening. I’ll take the earliest train, baby. I swear. I- I’ll leave straight after I finish everything.”

She blinked. Still not saying anything.

“Wonyoung-ah… Please say something.”

She set her fork down, too gently.

“You said you’d be there, oppa.”

“I know…” you said. “And I still want to be. I just… I can’t promise the timing.”

A long silence stretched between you. Wonyoung looked at everything but your face.

“You’ve missed a lot of things lately.”

“Baby, I haven’t-”

“You have, oppa.” Her voice was scarily calm. “Little things, big things. I didn’t bring them up because I knew you were trying. I know you’re trying.”

“It’s always bad timing.”

You winced. “That’s not fair.”

“No.” Wonyoung stood up now. “What’s not fair is spending weeks planning something I’ve dreamed about for years, and knowing that even on that one day that’s supposed to be about me- you still might not show up, oppa.”

“I’m still trying. I’m doing everything I can to be there.”

“I don’t want you to try.” she snapped. “I want you to be there. Like you said you would. Like you always promise.”

Your voice dropped, sharp. “And what do you want me to do, Jang Wonyoung? Say no and risk my job? Ruin everything I’ve worked so hard for so you won’t feel abandoned for a day?”

Wonyoung recoiled. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for you to immediately regret it. But she was already turning away, arms crossed like she had to physically hold herself together. 

“I think this relationship might be a mistake, oppa.”

You froze. The air left your lungs.

“C’mon, baby. You don’t actually mean that…”

Still no answer. She didn’t deny it. That hurt you, really bad. So the words ripped out before you could stop them.

“You know what? Maybe it is. Since all I care about is stupid buildings and that fucking license exam.”

That was just enough to fuel Wonyoung’s anger. She glared at you, things hadn’t been okay for the last month now. It was time to release it all. Her eyes were sharp, jaw clenched, tears not even falling anymore.

“FUCK YOU, Han Haejoon.” she said. “You think you’re the only person who’s been working hard in this house? What I do is just some shitty girl’s play?”

You laughed. Bitter, ugly. 

“What the hell are you even saying? God, Wonyoung-ah, I’ve watched you obsess over every goddamn petals and call it a fucking ‘business plan’.”

Her mouth dropped open, stunned. “Are you fucking serious right now?”

“Yes. I. Fucking. Am.” you shouted. “I’m tired, okay? I’m so fucking tired of acting like your opening is the only thing that matters while I drown in deadlines and other shit. I have to keep pretending like I’m not falling apart too.”

“Well guess what? You’re not the only one. You’re just the only one allowed to show it.”

You didn’t know what happened at that moment. Were you just too tired to say something back? Was what Wonyoung said the truth? Nothing came out. Wonyoung wiped at her face quickly, like she was angry the tears were finally coming. 

“You’re a fucking coward, Han Haejoon. Do you know that?”

And that was it. The whole apartment went quiet. She walked into the bedroom and closed the door behind her. It wasn’t hard or loud. You stared at the ceiling. Your hands were trembling, chest on fire. You didn’t talk for the rest of the day.

The next few days that followed were silent and slow, wrapped in a tension that didn’t scream- it just sat there. Heavy. Distant. You two avoided each other. Not deliberately, not cruelty. It just naturally happened. Wonyoung stayed mostly in the bedroom, while you retreated to your shared collection room - the one filled with pieces of your life together: Legos, pop ups, her books, a dusty stack of photobooth strips of you two… It used to feel warm. Now it felt like exile.

You slept on the floor with your hoodie pulled over your head, back turned to the door. She didn’t come in. You didn’t expect her to. The apartment felt too big and too small at once. Once, in the hallway, Wonyoung looked like she might say something. But your dumbass turned away before she could even speak a word. On Tuesday, you couldn’t draw. You couldn't study. You sat with your pencil pressed to the paper and didn’t get anything done. From the bedroom, you heard her practicing her opening speech. She sounded steady but you knew. She wasn’t.

Friday morning, you found breakfast waiting on the table in the collection room. Rice. Rolled eggs. Seaweed soup. Your favorite spoon wrapped in Wonyoung’s favorite floral napkin. No note. Just food and care. You stared at it for a long time. But you didn’t eat. It felt like accepting it would mean everything was fine again. But then again, you weren’t sure why this was happening. Everything was so nice and peaceful just a few months ago. You weren’t sure. You didn’t want to overthink too much so you got ready and went straight to work. Her breakfast was still there.

That night, your train was scheduled for 8:30. You packed your bag slowly before dragging your feet to the bedroom. Wonyoung had already cleaned the breakfast. You should’ve eaten it. You should’ve done things differently. The guilt wouldn’t stop humming under your skin. The door creaked open gently. She was sitting on the bed, eyes on her phone. No matter what happened, no matter how hard you both fought, Wonyoung was still the most beautiful woman in your eyes.

“Baby.” you said, voice quiet. “Can I come in?”

Wonyoung didn’t give you an answer. So you stepped in anyway. You stayed near the door since you were scared getting too close might piss her off even more or scare her off.

“I’m sorry, Wonyoung-ah.” you said. “For it all. I should’ve eaten it. I’m sorry for being such a jerk. I didn’t mean any of it. I was scared and tired.”

Silence.

“I know this relationship means a lot to you. It does to me too. I… I don’t want to lose you, Wonyoung.”

You took a breath and stepped closer. You reached out slowly, fingertips grazing her shoulder. She flinched, that was enough to make your hand drop right away. You backed off, like you just touched someone that wasn’t yours anymore.

“I’m really sorry, baby.” you said again. “I know I haven’t been good at showing it lately, but I really love you. I’ve always loved you. I really appreciate the trust you have in me… I’m stupid for acting like that the past weeks.”

Wonyoung didn’t say anything.

“I’ll be there for you, okay? No matter how hard things are… I promise I will try for you, Wonyoung-ah.”

Wonyoung still sat there, closed off. So you stepped back, grabbed your bag from the hallway and closed the bedroom as quietly as you could. You stole one last look for the last time. Still nothing. So you left. 

And when the door clicked shut, Wonyoung finally broke. She folded over slowly, like her body couldn’t even hold it in anymore. Her hands pressed to her eyes, knees drawn in, shoulders shaking. Not because she was mad or she didn’t forgive you. But because she missed you already. Wonyoung didn’t want things to end like this. She cried because she still loved you too much. And now she didn’t know what to do with that love anymore.

 ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ 

You had barely slept. You stayed behind after the Pohang review long after everyone else had cleared out, doing everything you could to make sure you could leave without any guilt. Things thankfully worked out. Then Monday came. You managed to catch the first KTX back to Seoul, arriving back at about 7AM.  Your eyes were burning, body aching from too many hours in a suit. You didn’t go home or change. You just made one stop - at the little flower shop where you bought Wonyoung flowers on your first dinner together. Then you headed straight to the studio, still holding your breath, hoping you weren’t too late. You two hadn’t texted each other since that day, but somewhere deep down in you, you knew you could still fix this. That it wasn’t too far gone yet. 

The studio smelled like fresh flowers and sweet coffee. Someone had opened the front windows just enough to let Seoul’s spring breeze in. Ribbons fluttered gently from the display hooks, soft music hummed under the murmur of guess. It was everything Wonyoung had dreamed about. Warm petals, clean decorations, the faint bite of lavender from the candle burning on the counter.

Outside, the signage Hyewon and Yena’d agonized over for months now hung proudly above the door. Below it, a small welcome table was already covered in business cards, pastries, and iced teas. Yena had overtaken the center table, buzzing and hyping every guest like she was getting commission. Hyewon stood behind the counter, managing receipts and trying not to fold every time someone complimented the bouquet wall. But you didn’t see Wonyoung out front. Her parents were. And then you decided to walk in. Still in your suit and tie. In your hands was a modest bouquet of the same flowers you bought her on your first dinner together. You bowed quickly to her parents. Her mother blinked in surprise before breaking into a warm smile. Her father pulled you into a hug without any hesitation. “You got back just in time.” he said quietly, patting you on the back. “Good.”

You nodded, too choked to respond. Yena then spotted you. She hurried over, eyes wide.

“Oppa?” she said, her voice made it sound like you weren’t real. “She’s in the back room. Wow… You really came.”

You smiled at her, barely, and walked toward the half open curtain that led to the room. Inside, Wonyoung stood by the prep table, arranging a handful of freesia into a narrow necked vase. 

Her hair was loose, falling in soft curls down her back. She wore a white satin dress - the one you swore made her look like she belonged on a magazine cover. The hem swayed lightly as she moved, brushing against her calves, elegant and effortless. She hadn’t heard you come in. You just stood there, admiring her for a moment. You then crossed the space between you and wrapped your arms around her. Wonyoung startled, tense under your touch then stilled. It only took her a second to realize it was you. Your scent, your arms, your heartbeat right against her spine. She didn’t pull away this time.

Wonyoung turned around slowly, fingers still damp from trimming stems. Her eyes met yours and held. You reached out, offering her the bouquet. The same flowers from your first dinner together, back when things were simple. Just slightly wilted. She hesitated for a second then took them without a word. Wonyoung held them to her chest like she wasn’t even thinking. Her body moved before her mind could catch up.

“I’m sorry, baby.” you said. “For everything. I didn’t text you the past few days… I was stupid for that. I made you feel like you weren’t important when you’re the only thing that’s ever felt certain to me.”

Her expression didn’t give away much. Her eyes flicked side to side, then back at you. Her tongue pressed to the side of her cheeks - once, then twice. That same little tic she had whenever she didn’t want to react too quickly. Wonyoung was taking her time, trying to stay composed. She still didn’t say anything but her fingers adjusted slightly on the bouquet, like she was holding it tighter. And then she spoke.

“You really came back.”

A pause. She smiled. It was small and tired, but it felt real after everything. You couldn’t help but also feel the corners of your lips twitching.

“I missed you, oppa.”

You opened your mouth to say something else. Maybe  another apology - one of many still stuck in your throat. But Wonyoung stepped forward instead. She reached up, fingers slipping around your tie and tugged you down gently and kissed you. And just like that, it was finally perfect again. It was enough. Your hands flew to her waist, pulling her in like you didn’t want to risk losing her again. Wonyoung laughed into the kiss, quiet and breathless, and you didn’t care how messy it was. Everything had been crashing down around you for weeks. But now, in this moment, it finally st-

“Hey…”

You both froze. 

Hyewon stood in the doorway, holding a tray of mini croissants, blinking slowly like her brain was still buffering. Her voice was casual, but her expressions were not. Eyes wide. Mouth slightly open. It was enough to confirm she saw everything.

“I was just…” she said, stepping further inside toward the guest snacks table. “Croissants. Yena said we were low.”

You and Wonyoung didn’t move. Still a little breathless. Still holding each other. Hyewon glanced over her shoulder.

“So you’re back, oppa.” she said, almost teasing. “Wonyoungie almost cried this morning.”

Wonyoung groaned softly, dropping her forehead to your chest. “Unnie…”

You felt her laugh against you. And you held her a little tighter.

You decided to stay for the rest of the day, even if she didn’t ask you to. You manned the cash box when Hyewon needed a break, helped Yena tie ribbons on bouquets - even when she bullied you for your ugly ties. You cleaned the floor when they got just a bit messy. You ran drinks to guests. You helped them fix the card reader when it suddenly didn’t work. Wonyoung didn’t say much but her eyes found you, often. A glance here. A smile there. Fingers brushing your arms as you two passed each other in the back room. It was easy again.

By the time the last guests left and her parents waved goodbye, Hyewon and Yena shoved the two of you out the door - citing ‘go refuel your love’ as the reason. The sun was already starting to dip behind the buildings. The air had cooled down. Her sandals clicked softly on the pavements as you two walked together home, steady and light. Suddenly, it felt like the whole of Seoul had gone quiet just for the two of you. Like two main characters in a rom-com, having the time of their lives down an empty street in New York - that kind of feeling. Everything golden, suspended, a little too perfect to be real. And yet, somehow, it was.

Wonyoung looked up at you, eyes a little tired but glowing in that way that only happened when she was truly happy.

“Oppa.” she said, squeezing your hand. “You looked weirdly domestic today. Like hot. In a husband kind of way.”

You laughed. “Weirdly? So I’m not hot on usual days?”

“Not in the using scissors and tying ribbons kind of way.” she shrugged and giggled.

“Okay… I see how it is. Me doing domestic labor does something to you, huh?”

“Kinda.” Wonyoung replied, trying to sound like she wasn’t very obviously flirting. “Might make you wear an apron everyday now, oppa. You never wear one when you cook.”

You stopped walking. Wonyoung turned to look at you, confused. “Huh?”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you just leaned forward and grabbed her by the waist in one swift move.

“Ah- Oppa!” Wonyoung yelped, laughing as her feet left the ground. You spun her once, then tossed her lightly into the air, just enough to make her squeal and swat your shoulder midair. She landed back in your arms with a thud against your chest, breathless and giggling.

“You’re insane, oppa!” she gasped.

“You started it, Wonyoung-ah.” you said, holding her tighter, forehead pressed against hers. Wonyoung couldn’t stop giggling now, her laughter echoing down the street like something from a dream. And in that moment, you didn’t care about anything but her.

A couple walked past on the other side of the street - maybe teenagers or in their early twenties, holding hands, sipping from a shared cup. The girl nudged her boyfriend, who glanced over and smiled.

“Joonhyuk-ah, that’s so cute.” the girl said.

“Yeah, they look happy.”

You heard it. So did Wonyoung. She groaned into your chest, smiling. “Oppa…”

You grinned, kissing the top of her head. 

“Let them watch, baby.”

But just as you started walking again, the guy across the street stopped.

“Hold the cup, Asa-ah.” he said.

Wonyoung peeked over your shoulder, confused - until the girl let out a squeal. The guy had scooped her up, threw her in the air and shouted-

“I LOVE YOU, ENAMI ASA!”

Right there. On a public street. No hesitation. The girl shrieked and hit him playfully, both happy and terrified while still clinging to his shoulders.

“YAH!! Are you crazy, Seo Joonhyuk?” 

“YES.” he yelled back, throwing her in the air lightly again. “I’m crazy in love with you!!”

You and Wonyoung just stood there. Stunned and silenced. And then, you both burst into laughter. It was the full body, bent over kind of laughing. Wonyoung clutched your arm, trying to stay up right. 

“I can’t- I ca- breathe, oppa.”

“This is crazy.”

“You did that, oppa.”

You looked at each other, grinning like two fools and totally in awe of the ridiculousness of it all. And something about it - the moment, the absurdity, the beautiful display of love on a Seoul street - just made the world feel like a better place. Happier. Wonyoung reached for your hand again.

“We should do that again next time, oppa.”

“Oh yeah? You want me to yeet you into the air while screaming my love for you in the middle of Gangnam next time?”

“Might be hot.” she smirked.

You squeezed her hand. “Noted, baby.”

The two of you kept walking - hearts full, steps in sync, caught up in a rom-com that didn’t need cameras or scripts to feel alive.

 ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ 

The next few weeks passed in a quiet rhythm you both learned to cherish. Wonyoung steadily settled into her new job. There were bad days - long ones, exhausting ones - but she was getting stronger. More sure of herself. 

And you?

You prepped for the last exam like your life depended on it. Late nights, early mornings, scribbled drawings were everywhere on your desk. Wonyoung stayed patient with her quiet support, sometimes sliding a cup of tea onto your desk or falling asleep beside you with a book open on her chest. Then the day finally came.

Exam day. 

You walked into that building with your stomach in knots and your brain already aching, but you did it. You finally got through it all. And when you walked out - shoulders sore, nerves fried, tie loosened around your neck - she was there.

Wonyoung.

In the brightest little dress you’d ever seen, like she had bottled sunlight and poured it all into her dress. A pearly cream dress embroidered with clouds, a curved moon and a sun, hugging her figure like it was made for her. In one hand, she held a bouquet - you weren’t lucid enough after the grueling exam to name a single kind of flower, but in your haze, you could tell Wonyoung made sure they had to match with her outfit. From the wrapping paper to the color palette. She made it herself. You could tell. You blinked hard, overwhelmed.

What would I do without you, baby?

Wonyoung stepped forward without saying anything at first. She just held the bouquet out with both hands, smiling softly like this was what she'd been waiting to do all day. You took it with trembling hands, eyes still locked on the most beautiful woman in the world.

“Congratulations on surviving, oppa.” she said gently. “You did so well!”

Before you could answer, before you could think, Wonyoung leaned in to kiss you. Right there. Outside the exam center. On the pavement where other examinees were dragging their feet and chugging vending machines coffee. For a second, you forgot how drained your body was. You forgot the test, the future, the stress. All you knew was her. When Wonyoung pulled back, your brain was completely blank, except for her. You heard some groan passing by.

“Fuck, even his girlfriend is hot?”

Another guy muttered under his breath. “I just bombed that test and now I gotta watch this shit.”

You couldn’t help it - you laughed. Louder than you meant to and quite shameless. Yeah, architect life was brutal*. Yeah, you were pretty sure your soul was still in that room. But even somehow, even in all that mess, you got lucky.

Real lucky.

*Shout out to all my architect readers (there seems to be more than I think lol)

Wonyoung then gave your tie one last gentle tug to fix it, then pulled back with a gleam in her eye. 

“Let’s go, oppa.” she said, sliding her arm around yours. “I booked dinner at SIGNIEL Seoul.”

She smirked. “81st floor. Window view.”

Your jaw dropped. 

“Is that why you insisted I wear my nicest suit and drive here instead of taking a taxi this morning?”

“Mm hmm.” she said sweetly, already dragging you toward the parking lot. “I wasn’t about to let you stumble into luxury looking like a zombie, oppa.”

You laughed, still dizzy from the kiss. “I don’t deserve you, baby.”

“Correct.” Wonyoung replied quickly. “But you do try really hard, oppa. So I love you a lot.”

Dinner there was something else, like a dream. The restaurant was perched high above the city, everything seemed like a living painting. Seoul glittered below, endless and golden. You barely made it to the table. The second you sat down, Wonyoung leaned over to unclip your tie and pour you water like she’d done this a hundred times. She liked taking care of you but… tonight felt nicer somehow. She then pushed the menu toward you gently.

“You’re allowed to order more than one thing tonight, oppa.” she said. “Or, you know, everything.”

You laughed. 

“You earned it.”

You hadn’t even realized how tired you looked until Wonyoung reached across the table to fix your hair - smoothing the strands on top. She couldn’t help herself after all.

“You look good in dress shirts, oppa.” she added, voice low. “Even when you look half dead.”

You laughed again. “I might cry into this steak tonight. baby.”

“That’s fine.” she said, flipping through her own menu. “Steak’s a good choice. Nice to know you still know what I like even after that grueling test, oppa.”

You leaned your cheek into your hand, watching Wonyoung like she was the only person left on earth.

“Wonyoung-ah. What would I do without you?”

She didn’t look up and just smiled. She clearly knew. 

“Probably forget to eat and wear ugly socks to work.”

The rest of dinner felt like falling in love again. The kind of love that was warm, steady or constant. Everything felt too nice, too expensive, too magical for someone who’d spent the last month drowning in architecture license exam stress. Wonyoung was glowing across from you. In that effortless way she always did when she was doing something she loved. And tonight? That thing might be dinner with you. She made you drink water every ten minutes. She cut your steak when your wrist looked like it might give out. She made you take photos together at the table, saying “You’ll thank me later, oppa” while resting her chin on your shoulder as the waiter snapped a few pictures. When desserts came - two little cakes, with ‘congrats oppa’ scribbled in chocolate - she clapped like you’d won the lottery. You watched her eyes light up with every bite, every teasing remark. You listened to her talk about the studio, about how Yena dropped a vase and blamed the wind… Wonyoung filled in every space you hadn’t realized had gone quiet in your chest lately.

After dessert, you leaned back in your chair. You were already imagining crawling into your bed the second you got home. But then, Wonyoung stood up and tugged at your hand.

“C’mon, oppa.” she smiled. “Let’s go to the rooftop. I want to show you something.”

“Rooftop?”

“It’s pretty. Trust me.” she nodded, tugging you toward the elevators.

And of course you did. So you followed her - up, up, past many floors, through the hallway that got quieter and fancier the higher you went up. You noticed her pace change when the elevator hit the hotel suite level. That little bounce in her step. The way Wonyoung bit her lip to hide a smile.

“Wait, baby. This isn’t the rooftop.”

She stopped in front of a sleek white door and pulled out a keycard from her purse. You were shocked.

“No way…”

Wonyoung beamed as she tapped the card and swung the door open. Inside? A suite. A ridiculously beautiful, corner window, high ceiling, imported soft bed kind of suite. You could see the whole city from here, even the Han river looked like it was twinkling for the two of you.

“Wonyoung-ah, you booked a room for this?” you spun around to look at her. 

Wonyoung didn’t answer you right away. Instead, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around you, pressing her cheek to your chest. You felt her heartbeat, calm and steady. She looked up at you.

“Do you remember our first dinner, when we just got back from Hong Kong?” she asked.

You blinked. “Uh… yeah?”

“After dinner, we went to my house.”

You nodded slowly. “Right…”

She smiled. “When you left, I kissed you twice. On the cheeks, right oppa?”

You chuckled. “Yeah. And I tried to kiss you on the lips.”

Her brows lifted, lips pouting as if she were saying ‘exactly’. 

“I stopped you.” Wonyoung said softly, pulling back just enough to look at you properly. 

“And I told you to wait your turn.”

“...Baby, are you suggestin-”

“Shh, oppa.” she reached up and placed her finger on your lips. Her voice was steady.

“We’ve been together for almost a year. And this is my first relationship and… everything, I guess. So I was scared at first. I didn’t know how to open up like that - physically, emotionally, all of it.”

You stayed quiet and listened.

“But you never rushed me, oppa. You always respected what I needed. You held me when I cried, stood by me when I was at my worst. You made me feel safe and loved.”

Her eyes didn’t waver.

“And now I’m ready, oppa. I want to be with you tonight. Not because I owe it to you. Because I love you. And I trust you.”

You just stood there, stunned and overwhelmed and so, so in love. Then finally you nodded.

“I love you, Wonyoungie.” you whispered. “More than anything.”

Before you could even say anything else, Wonyoung kissed you - soft at first, then deeper, hungrier until you were stumbling backward and falling onto the bed with her following right after. She crawled into your lap, hands sliding up to unbutton your shirt with a confidence that made your breath catch. Even in this dream-like state, you pulled back just a little, fingers brushing her wrist.

“Wait… do you have protection, baby?” you asked, voice low. Wonyoung didn’t answer as she reached over, opened the drawer on the bedside table and pointed inside. Your heart did a full somersault. You looked at her - flushed, glowing, eyes locked on yours.

“Why are you acting so confident if this is your first time?” you smirked, raising a brow. 

That got her.

Wonyoung’s face twitched as she darted her eyes to the side for a second before she tried to recover. 

“I don’t know…” she mumbled, slurring her words. “I guess-”

She didn’t get to finish. You flipped her over smoothly, catching the soft gasp that left her lips as her back hit the mattress.

“I got it from here.” you murmured, leaning down. Her fingers dug into your shirt, breath hitching as your hand slid against her waist. That was it, the moment everything melted away. 

Just the two of you, finally meeting in the middle. 

No more waiting.

Just love - messy, honest and overwhelming love.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ 

The next morning, the sun filtered in slowly and hazy through the curtains, shining softly on the sheets. Seoul was still quiet this high up, everything was just a hum below you. Your eyes opened to the sight of her bare shoulder, warm against your chest, fingers still resting where they fell sometime during the night. You almost didn’t want to move. That would ruin everything.

I could get used to this…

Then Wonyoung stirred, her voice muffled against your skin.

“You were… something last night, oppa.”

You let out a quiet laugh, arm tightening around her waist.

“You say that like I wrestled you.”

“You kind of did, you monster.” she teased, voice raspy. “And you’re lucky I let you.”

You glanced down at Wonyoung, strands of her hair splayed across the pillow, that flush still lingering on her chubby morning cheeks.

“Lucky, huh?”

She nodded sleepily. “Mm. One wrong move and I would’ve sent you back to that exam room, oppa.”

You laughed under your breath, hand moving to play with her cheeks. 

“Was I too… rough on you last night?”

Her eyes cracked open just slightly. “Uh… a little.”

“Baby-” your smile faltered.

“But in a good way.” Wonyoung cut in, grinning lazily as she snuggled closer. “Don’t get all guilty on me now, oppa.”

“Okay, just checking.” you let out a breath, relieved.

She hummed. Then after a minute, she said.

“You’re now required by law to take care of me for life, oppa.”

You just laughed. “What law?”

“Mine.” she mumbled, poking your bare chest. “No backing down now, Han Haejoon. That was… a legally blinding act of love last night.”

You laughed again, this time so hard it even shook Wonyoung a bit. 

“What logic is this, judge Jang?”

“Shh.” she yawned, pulling the blanket higher. “I don’t make the rule, oppa. Now take care of me. You are now sentenced to be by my side for life.”

And with that, Wonyoung tucked herself fully against your chest, already drifting again. This girl had just sentenced you to the best punishment ever and went straight to sleep.

“Guilty.” you whispered.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ 

You didn’t even get the chance to check your exam results first. Wonyoung found out before you did. She barged into your work space with her phone, yelling “Oppa, you passed!” while shoving the screen to your face. You were still processing the word PASS when she started crying, already on the phone with her parents to break the news like she’d been the one who took the test and became a licensed architect. Then, she even called your parents, beaming while she shoved the phone into your hand. From that day on, life got… better.

Her floral studio kept growing. You, now finally a licensed architect, had a steady and growing career at the studio. There were nights you came home too tired to even talk, mornings you overslept together and laughed through the chaos. But you built a rhythm - coffee in the morning, bickering in the grocery aisles, late night delivery food while she wrapped orders on the floor while you revised designs on your tablet. You fought sometimes. Of course, life had to happen. But it was over dumb things and never stuck. You two loved harder, apologized faster and made time for each other.

Two years passed like that. Not fireworks everyday but something much steadier. Real love. A relationship that made room for both of you to grow. And then one night, you looked over at Wonyoung - wearing an oversized hoodie, folding pamphlets for a wedding fair, nose scrunching as she was hyper focused - and something inside you just clicked. You weren’t getting any younger, and honestly, it also felt like the right thing to do. Obvious, even.

You were going to propose.

You wanted to get married. 

You would go to Wonyoung’s parents’ house alone, without her, to ask for their permission to propose to her and spend the rest of your life with her.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ 

Her dad set his teacup down gently, the soft click echoing throughout the spacious living room. You sat straight, knees politely together, heart pounding. The living room was cozy, warm with afternoon light. Her dad looked at you for a long moment. 

“So, Haejoon-ah.” he said finally, voice low. “You want our permission to propose to our Wonyoung and be our son-in-law?”

You nodded slowly, hands resting on your knees.

“Yes, abeonim. I’ve loved Wonyoung for a very long time. I really appreciate you guys treating me like I was part of your family whenever I come to visit or stay with her. That means a lot to me. You guys know how I treat and treasure Wonyoung. And… I want to spend the rest of my life with Wonyoung - with your blessing.”

There was a soft pause before her mom came to your side. She crossed the expensive looking table in seconds and wrapped her arms around you from the side, pulling you into a tight hug. Her voice cracked right beside your ear.

“Oh, Haejoon-ah. Of course. Of course.” she pulled back to look at you, eyes glassy. “You’ve always been family to us. I’ve been waiting for this moment for so long. Please propose quickly, hmm? I can’t wait anymore. I’ve been dreaming about grandchildren since you two started dating.”

You let out a breathy laugh, heart so full it almost hurt. Her dad shook his head fondly.

“She’s serious, you know.” he said, smiling. “She already showed me baby hanboks the other day.”

You bowed your head, eyes burning in the best way.

“Thank you, abeonim. Eomeonim. I promise I will try my best.”

Her mom nodded through a sniffle. Her dad raised his tea cup one more time.

“Well then.” he said. “It’s time you start planning something special. Our daughter deserves nothing less.”

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

It was a quiet Sunday afternoon. Rain tapped softly against the windows, and Wonyoung had just curled up on the couch. Her hair tied back, no makeup - just warm and cozy, tucked against the armrest with her legs folded up like a cat. You’d bought the ring a month ago. You had it hidden in the back of your drawer behind an old architecture model. You’d check it every few days like it might disappear if you didn’t. 

Well, today felt right.

So you sat beside Wonyoung with your sketchbook in your lap, pretending to flip through it. She glanced at you lazily, eyes still soft from a nap.

“Can you look at something for me real quick, baby?” you asked, keeping it casual. “New sketch idea.”

“I’ll be brutal, oppa. Don’t cry.” she teased.

She reached for the sketchbook with no hesitation, resting it across her knees. Wonyoung flipped open the cover, expecting blueprints. Concepts. Another half finished draft of whatever you’d been obsessing over this week.

But instead, Wonyoung found herself. 

A pencil drawing of Wonyoung in the kitchen, arms elbow deep in a flower bucket. Her hair was messily tied up. The caption scribbled at the bottom said.

First week moving into her apartment, she was a bit mad that I got some water on her ribbon.

She blinked, confused but still turned the page. Then another drawing.

Wonyoung standing in the back room at her floral studio, doing her things. You still remembered that scene like it was yesterday.

She didn’t know I would come back that early. She didn’t know how hard I ran.

Page after page, it kept going. Small moments. Big ones. Her asleep on your chest. Her on the floor, giggling after your little play fights. Her waiting for you after your last exam in her dress, holding the flowers she arranged herself.

Then came the last page. You, kneeling on the ground.

Sketchbook-you had one hand extended, a ring box open in the center of the page. Below it, in your neatest, straightest hand drawn typography.

Will you marry me, Jang Wonyoung?

Wonyoung stared at the page for a moment, frozen. Then she looked to the side. You were on one knee, for real this time as you held out the box you’d been hiding for a month. You had been gathering up courage for a month now. Her eyes widened. One hand flew to her mouth, the other still gripping the sketchbook like it could steady her. Her chest rose and fell, shaky. You held the box a little tighter now, heart pounding so loud it felt like it filled the room.

“Wonyoung-ah” you said, voice trembling. “Will you marry me?”

Wonyoung let out a choked laugh, a mix of joy and disbelief, and set the sketchbook aside with her shaking hands. She leaned down and crawled toward you on her knees, t-shirt slipping off one shoulder.

“Are you serious, oppa?” she whispered, eyes glossy, a grin breaking through her stunned expression.

“I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life.” you nodded.

And then she was in your arms - hugging you so tightly the box almost slipped from your hand. Her face was tucked into your neck, shoulders trembling.

“Yes, oppa…” she said. “Yes, oppa. Of course, I’ll marry you.”

Life was crazy. Love came at you fast. You didn’t know what to expect. Still, you wouldn’t change it for anything. 

From a heartbroken man in Hong Kong to a married licensed architect. 

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

The first morning of your honeymoon came fast too. You woke up slowly, eyes adjusting to soft golden sunlight. The bed was so soft. For a few seconds, you just lay there - staring at the ceiling, heart full, body aching in a good way, wondering how the hell life got you here. And you turned your head toward the couch.

There your wife was.

Wonyoung, curled up on the window side couch in a fluffy robe, hair twisted up in a towel, legs tucked under as she held a small glass of fruit in one hand, nibbling casually. The city behind her didn’t mean anything to you now, it was just there to emphasize her beauty. She looked so good your heart didn’t know how to feel anymore.

“Morning, husband.” Wonyoung said with a grin, biting into a strawberry and raising her brow like she’d caught you in a crime scene. Her voice was warm and low. “Sleep okay?”

You laughed, still a little breathless from everything. From her. From last night. From the fact that this was all real - that you really got to call Wonyoung your wife now. The world kept moving but you felt like time had stopped in this hotel room. Wonyoung, in that sunlight, in that robe, looking at you since you were her future, her ending. The one you’d been fighting for, hurting for, working for.

You finally got Wonyoung.

You married Wonyoung.

And every version of you - the stressed architect, the deep in love boyfriend, the guy who almost lost her on the floral studio opening day - all dreamt of this moment. 

Hey, you made it.

The blueprints weren’t done. Not even close.

But they had never felt more complete. 

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ 

the series finally ended... idk how to feel lol. hope u guys enjoyed it. my 2nd series in just 2 months. crazy!! shout out to all my architects again!!! i giggled a lot writing it lol

[juneofdoom]

June of Doom 2026 ⚡︎

Hola, Doomers! Ask and thou shalt receive: here be the June of Doom 2026 prompt list for all your doomsday planning! All the good stuff's below the cut!

Previous Dooms: 2023 || 2024 || 2025

What the heck's a June of Doom?

This is a month-long prompt challenge/ list/ event/ thing that focuses on whump, angst, hurt/ comfort, and the like. Despite the air of doom it exudes, this challenge is very relaxed—your mod knows life happens but you still want to be part of your fandom(s), and sometimes you can't just sit down 30 days in a row to write/ art/ create. So, this list is out stupid early every year so you have the chance to prepare and particiapte! It's never too soon to Doom!

Rules

Tag your stuff with appropriate warnings, plzkthnx.

AI-created content is highly discouraged and frowned upon. I have no way of "checking", but I respect the time and effort people put into their crafts and encourage everyone to do the same. This isn't a contest for best written or prettiest art — it's a challenge, so challenge yourself.

Be cool. We're cool here. Don't like, don't read. Don't start none, won't be none. If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say it. Let people be happy. 💕 (But if someone's comin' at you within the confines of this challenge, let me know ASAP.)

FAQ

You can participate with original and fan works!

You can do so with whatever medium you want!

You can combine this challenge with other challenges!

You can start/ finish this challenge whenever the heck you want! And I'll reblog it here if you tag the blog, even if it's not June!

You can use one, some, or all of the prompts listed for a given day however you want! The point is to be creative!

You can mix and match prompts from different days!

If nothing on a certain day is inspiring you, there are 15 alternate prompts this year consisting of last year's most popular prompts!

Angst, hurt/comfort, and lighter/funnier forms of whump are welcomed and encouraged! Torture takes many forms! :)

I'll post reminders and such as we get closer!

[AO3 Collection] - open late May 2026

And don't forget to tag @juneofdoom so I can reblog all of your amazing stuff here! (I typically only check the #juneofdoom and #june of doom tags during the event, so tagging the blog itself is the best way to ensure I see it and share it!)

If you have any questions, comments, shout outs, ideas, or just need some encouragement, inbox me anytime, June or not!

Have fun, Doomers! ⚡︎

2026 Prompt List ⚡︎

"Stay down." | Rules | Unfair Fight | Dehumanization

"You have to let me go." | Dying Alone | Drowning | Blame

"Give me another chance." | Trapped | Misunderstanding | Deception

"I won't leave you." | Dragged | Natural Disaster | Blankets

"It's no use." | Lost at Sea | Grief | Coughing Blood

"You're next." | Forced to Watch | Claustrophobia | Denial

"Can you hear me?" | Adverse Reaction | Fever | Buried Alive

"Don't you dare." | Protective | Revenge | Collared

"I made a mistake." | Crying | Friendly Fire | Broken Glass

"Where am I?" | Blind | Overthinking | Handcuffs

"Maybe it's better this way." | Left for Dead | Pressure | Anxiety

"Don't lie to me." | Last Wish | Hidden Injury | Stabilization

"I just want to forget." | Revealed Secret | Touch Aversion | Lost

"You'll have to do better than that." | Servant | Darkness | Trembling

"Watch out!" | Earthquake | Sandstorm | Flood

"Take me instead." | Kidnapping | Curse | Whimper

"I'm worried about you." | Nightmares | Missing Time | Concussion

"How long have you been like this?" | Withheld Medication | Below Zero | Weak

"Whatever happens…" | Major Character Death | Carry | Regret

"I'll be fine." | Self-Surgery | Crutches | Sprain

"This isn't over." | Heatwave | Spite | Dissociation

"You're still you." | Disability | Recovery | Quiet Company

"But you promised!" | Plea | Innocence | Unreliable

"Why are you looking at me like that?" | Drugged | Insecurity | Dislocation

"This is all my fault." | Confession | Fool | Pushed Away

"You're only making it worse." | Flare | Virus | Poison Ivy

"You're pathetic." | Kneeling | Muzzled | Manipulation

"No one can hear you." | Asphyxiation | Photograph | Stalking

"Trust me." | Forbidden Love | Doubt | Mind Control

"I thought you were dead." | Near-death Experience | Explosion | Guilt

ALTERNATE PROMPTS

"Are you scared yet?"

"I'm so sorry."

"Hopefully."

"You'll be okay. Maybe."

"Stay with me."

"Don't move!"

"I'll never stop."

Injury Reveal

Obsession

Bruises

Locked Door

Touch Starved

Bedridden

Scream

Bite

[wyngigi]

coming out of my cave to scream about this omfg. u evil genius i didnt think your writing could get even better than it already was?? something about how you write characters and construct them so perfectly in such a compact way where i can still know exactly who they are im amazed as always! absolutely adore my domestic seongjoong they give off mitch n cam vibes from modern family😭 im literally on the edge of my seat waiting for more yunho is utterly insane in the best way ever the last scene with all three of them was done perfectly i could not imagine a better cliffhanger, his dialogue and their whole dynamic is everything to me

three’s company — smg & yjh ⭑.ᐟ

⭑ bf!mingi x gf!reader x bestie!yunho ⭑ planning to buy a house, get married and start a family within the next few years, you and mingi are the blueprint for the perfect relationship— until one of yunho’s infamous stories about his intriguing sex life gets stuck in your head for a little too long, and has you curious about spicing up your own sex life. ⭑ smut minors dni, praise, oral/both ways, p in v, degradation, choking, mention of toys, overstim, voyeurism? heavy on dom/sub dynamics, reader is a switch and so is mingi, yunho is a dom, very experimental/educational vibe, mxm ⭑ part one of ? / wc 21.4k ⭑ — this idea came to me late at night and plagued me until i finished writing it. i am obsessed with this trio, this dynamic. i love them so and i hope you do too <3

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Yunho faced the two of you from the twin blue upholstered couch across your living room, his brows slanted, upper lip raised in clear disgust. “Iron Man 2 clears the entire verse, best MCU movie to date.” 

You faced your boyfriend with a smile, eyebrows raised, expression saying ‘Are you really gonna take that?’

Lopsided front teeth poked out from his pink, plump lips, a smile that was fighting to keep itself hidden. Mingi shook his head and leaned back, his heavy palm sliding over your knee, “Can’t argue with that, excuse me for wanting to watch Endgame.” 

“Psychotic suggestion for movie night,” Yunho says and a disbelieving huff of a laugh falls from his lips right after, “Excuse me for not being in the mood to cry.”

“What if we watch a romcom?” You look between the two who give you wary glances, but don’t respond. “If we’re going to watch a Marvel movie, we’re starting from the beginning and not watching anything else until we finish all of them. Is that something either of you want to commit to?” 

They both shrug as if you have all the time in the world, because you do. Every Friday night Yunho came over with snacks and soda in tow, sometimes beer if he had a particularly shitty week, and the three of you sat around your living room shooting the shit until you decided on a movie. It was an unspoken thing, your movie nights, your weekly hangouts, they’d started almost immediately upon moving into your shared apartment with your boyfriend, Mingi, and simply never stopped. Rarely did a week go missed. 

You huffed a heavy breath, sinking back into your couch, snuggling up to Mingi. You slid your gaze over to Yunho who held the remote, “What are you waiting for? Everyone knows the first watch is The First Avenger.” 

Yunho didn’t respond, but instead pointed the remote toward the TV, his hand completely swallowing the device beneath his palm as he searched the movie and put it on. You tugged the blanket that laid over the back of the couch over yourself and Mingi, laying your head over his shoulder, letting your arms wrap around one of his, letting his warmth seep into you. It’s been years since you’ve seen this movie, since any of you have seen this movie probably, yet your brain wanted to do anything else but pay attention. 

With it being days after your period ended you were now nearing dangerous territory, ovulation week, a week your boyfriend adored yet had to physically prepare himself for. You resembled a fucking hormone monster for a long five days, needing your boyfriend at all hours of the day to tame the fire that would not die down inside you. Before Yunho came over Mingi had already taken you six ways to Sunday, you only stopped because Yunho trudged inside your apartment with a six pack and a face contorted with grief. 

Another situationship over, he’d said. Not amicably, either. 

You didn’t see the big deal, she wasn’t anything special, the girl he was hooking up with six months ago that he ended things with was better for him than this one. But Yunho is Yunho, somehow still a glutton for punishment as if it didn’t completely offset how he was with women, how he fucked. Not that you knew from experience, but from the stories he’s told while five beers deep, lounged out in your living room, complaining to you and your boyfriend, you’ve learned some things. 

Things you could not think about right now. Not while your body was begging you to make a baby, not while you were literally laying on your boyfriend, not while Yunho was sitting just across the living room.

Right now was not the time. 

But would it ever be the time to think about your boyfriend’s best friend’s sex life?

It’s not that you inherently wanted Yunho. You couldn’t possibly deny a gorgeous man’s beauty, but it wasn’t about wanting Yunho. It was the stories, he never should have opened his fucking mouth– how he naturally slips into dominance with every woman he sleeps with, no, he doesn’t slip, it’s intentional. 

Yunho is a Dom. How he instructs, how he expects submission, how he corrects, how he tames. 

Your sex life with Mingi was far from dull, Yunho and his stupid stories should be miles from your mind, but you can’t control the thoughts, especially not right now. You untwist your arms from around Mingi’s bicep, letting your palm fall to his thigh, his bare skin feeling like velvet. So soft despite the hair that grew sparsely in that area, you’d give anything to let your tongue lick up the skin, to watch his eyes roll back, to hear his deep groan as you suck a mark into him.

Your thighs tightened at the thought, eyebrows twisting because you know Mingi could feel it, and how he shifted beneath you confirmed it. You tilted your head, peeking up at him with a sheepish look through your lashes, just to be met with a disapproving crinkle between his brows. 

You could basically hear his thoughts, Don’t even think about it. You almost pouted. I need you. Now. He shook his head once. Not here.  You looked toward the hallway where your bathroom was, that led to your bedroom. We have plenty of options.  He glanced at Yunho, then back at you. When he leaves, I’ll take care of you.  You held his gaze, I can’t wait that long.  He didn’t back down. You can, and you will. 

You huffed, shuffling to the side, putting inches of space between yourself and your boyfriend. You caught the sideways glance from Yunho which lasted all of a millisecond before his eyes were back on the screen, watching the movie again. You pouted, arms crossing over your stomach, legs propped up on the coffee table in front of you that was littered with empty bottles of beer and half-filled chip bowls. 

Mingi clearly wasn’t going to crack, and you could hold onto your anger until it killed you, so you leaned onto the armrest of the opposite side of the couch, the pillow shoved beneath you not giving a shred of the comfort your boyfriend’s body did. You kept your eyes trained on the screen, brain whirling in frustration and arousal, letting yourself daydream about Yunho’s debauched sex life until your eyes inevitably closed. 

You woke to fingers hooking into your waistband, sliding it down your thighs with careful precision, like he didn’t want to wake you. You lifted your hips anyhow, welcoming the head of black hair between your legs, eyes still heavy and low-lidded with sleep. Mingi looked up at you through thick lashes, gaze heavy, his lips slightly parted, as if he’s been waiting for this. 

“He just left,” he said like an excuse as your sweatpants hit the floor, black panties folded into the gray fabric, a contrast to your deep hardwood floors. Your back arched on command as he bent down, laying on his stomach, strong arms hooking under your thighs. 

“Mm, needed this pussy just as much as she needed me,” he didn’t dare glance back up at you, eyes zeroed in on your center, leaning in just as your legs parted. He started slowly, tongue slipping through your folds, his eyes softly shut, ripping mewls from the back of your throat, low and grumbled, muddled with sleep. 

Your hand flew to his hair as your chin tipped back, your neck digging into the uncomfortable armrest, the pillow beneath you doing nothing to soothe the ache. You didn’t care, you barely noticed, not with your boyfriend’s head between your legs, lips wrapped around your clit, sucking just the way you liked. He groaned as you pulled on his roots, tongue flattening against your folds, sliding upward to draw circles into your clit. 

You sighed, staring at him through heavy lids, watching as his face contorted in pleasure, how his hips rutted into the cushions at the end of the couch. He pulled a hand from beneath your thigh, ripping his mouth away to spread your folds with his fingers, finally glancing up at you. Noticing your expression, he let out a huff of amusement, lips tilted in a smirk, “Have a good nap?”

Eyebrows knitted in pleasure and anticipation, you nodded, lips parted, fingers that fell to the couch gripping at the fabric. He chuckled as he inserted the tip of his middle finger into your center, earning a gasp from you. With his focus back at your core, he asked, “What had you so worked up?” 

You were thankful he kept his eyes down, you couldn’t control the way your eyes widened ever so slightly, couldn’t hide your reaction to the last question you’d expect him to ask. You wished you could avoid the question, you couldn’t answer honestly and say that you were daydreaming about his best friend’s sex life.

You stuttered, “S-Steve Rogers was on the screen.”

He paused, looking back up at you with his eyebrows raised, “Steve Rogers had you ready to fuck me in the bathroom with Yunho, of all people, here?”

You cracked a smile, it was kind of funny, even funnier that it was believable. “Can you blame me?” 

“No,” he bid you one more amused glance before he slipped his middle finger inside you, “I can’t.”

You gasped a moan, back arching again, hips bucking up to meet the length of his finger. He pumped it inside of you once, twice before he was curling it, the pad of his finger rubbing up against that spot inside you that made your bones feel like jelly. You were loud now, moans slipping from your lips one after another as he built up a rhythm, his finger curling into you with each thrust, putting pressure where you needed it. When he brought his lips back down to suck on your clit your hands flew to his roots again, holding him there, broken cries leaving your lips, he was so fucking good at this. 

He knew how to coax you to orgasm better than you did by now. You supposed after being together for years, he should. You gasped when his teeth grazed your clit, hips bucking into him, curses flying from your lips. “F-fuck,” you hissed, “Yes, Mingi, just like that.” 

He grunted in response, feeling your walls tightening around his finger, quickening his pace, the rhythm you needed to push you over the edge. Your legs shook around his head, your breath catching in your throat, shakily inhaling with each wave of pleasure as he brought you to orgasm with ease, movements he’s been perfecting for years now. 

“Please tell me you’re planning on fucking me again,” you gave yourself no rest, staring at him through glassy eyes, your body heavy and slightly spent, you didn’t even know what number orgasm you were on today. 

“I don’t know if my dick still works,” he sat back on his calves, pulling your body towards him with your hips. One fluid movement, so easy, he was so strong, he could throw you around if he wanted to, god, you wish he wanted to. 

You rolled your eyes, arms reaching in front of you to wrap around his biceps, letting your fingers slip beneath the sleeves of his tee shirt as he bent down, bringing his face to yours. “I watched you hump the couch two minutes ago, Mingi.”

“Hey,” he pulled back before you could attach your lips to his, “Don’t make fun of me for that.”

“What?” You smiled, head tilting to the side, “I would never.”

He pouted, bottom lip jutting out, wet and plump and soft, your arms slid up to flatten your hands around his shoulders, pulling him back down. “I think it’s sexy that eating me out makes you desperate.” 

He finally kissed you, tongue slipping into your mouth, letting you taste yourself. You hummed, stretching your legs to lay them over his thighs, pulling him into you, where he rutted his hips into yours the second you made contact. You kissed for a while, letting your tongues sloppily lick into each other’s mouths, your hands flying into his hair again, his hands sliding down your torso. You let your mind drift as you kissed, thinking about how he pulled you into him so easily, how much he could rough you up if he wanted to, if he had a dominant bone in his body. 

Mingi is a lot of things, but you would never say dominant is one of them. Over six feet tall and so fucking strong, Mingi seemed intimidating until the moment he opened his mouth. Sweet, caring, eager to please, Mingi would do anything for you. He’d fight wars for you, swim across the ocean, you shouldn’t want anything more. You shouldn’t want anything different. 

And you don’t. Not really. 

Mingi is perfect how he is, you wouldn’t want him any other way. But curious you are, and you couldn’t help but wonder what he’d be like if he treated you like a pet rather than his girlfriend. Would he be anything like how Yunho describes his encounters? Would he be strict, would he control when you came, how you came? Would he choke you, slap you, take you in any way he wanted, instead of what you wanted?

What you wanted was to be fucked, and as Mingi slipped his sweatpants halfway down his flexed thighs and lined himself up with your center, you knew what you wanted would always be his top priority. Song Mingi didn’t know what the word selfish meant.

You didn’t deserve it, you acted like a brat earlier, huffing out of annoyance and putting physical space between you because you didn’t get what you wanted. But instead of punishing you, instead of fucking you only to get himself off, of denying you the pleasure of another orgasm, Mingi woke you up with his face between your legs. Because he knew you, what you wanted, what you needed, and Mingi’s life’s pleasure is making you happy.

You cried out as he sheathed himself inside you, nails painting crescents into his biceps, your eyes flying to the back of your head, flushing out your entire thought process. No, Mingi is perfect, the way he carves himself space inside you as if it’s the first time, every time, is more than you could ever ask for. He leaned back down, barely attaching his lips to yours, only the sounds of your breath and skin slapping against skin to be heard in your living room. 

With his hands still wrapped around your hips he tilted them upward, fucking into you harshly, angled to hit that same spot inside you, he wasn’t in the mood to draw this out and you couldn’t blame him. You’ve been insatiable all day, when you woke up, in the car earlier, against the kitchen counter before Yunho came over, you wondered if he had anything left to give you. You slid your hand down between your legs, drawing quick circles over your clit, your jaw falling slack, lips unresponsive against Mingi’s. 

“Gonna cum for me already, hmm?” He tried his best to sound like he wasn’t completely losing it, voice strained yet still teasing. His hips stuttering told the truth he tried to hide, he was just as close as you were. 

“Yes,” you whispered into his mouth, voice high pitched, on the cusp of orgasm, your hips meeting his thrusts like you couldn’t get him deep enough. 

He let his forehead press against yours, both surfaces coated in sweat, mixing together in their meeting, getting a glimpse of his fucked out face was enough to send you over the edge. Your knees tightened around his torso as you came, moans guttural and unabashed, embarrassment might’ve crossed your mind two years ago. But now he’s seen everything, he’s heard everything, he aches for it, if you aren’t cross-eyed and crying into his ear, he knows he isn’t hitting it right. 

“Yes, baby, that’s it, so fucking good,” he praises, hands gripping under your thighs, pressing them back, bending you in half. “Gonna fill this pussy up.”

Chest heaving, mouth ajar and unable to close, you could have finished again at the sight of him. Sweat sticking his hair to his forehead, the muscles surrounding his hips peeking out from beneath the hem of his tee, bottom lip tucked between his teeth, Mingi was a vision, a sight to be seen. 

“Please,” you begged, voice whiney and desperate,  “Wanna feel you cum inside, I need it.”

His thrusts turned erratic, smacking into you harshly, a deep groan leaving his lips as he emptied himself inside you, fingers holding onto your legs tight as he came. Where you wouldn’t usually notice the sharp pain of his grip, your senses were on high alert, the feeling making you moan with him, the pain mixing with the comforting warmth of his cum filling you up. Hypnotizing, addicting, for a moment you thought maybe this wasn’t ovulation brain– maybe this was something you were really curious about.

Maybe something you really wanted to try. 

He keeled over, lips finding yours again, palms softly running over where he’d just gripped onto you, soothing the area. Your skin burned under his touch, you wanted him to do it again, harder this time, maybe wrap one of his pretty hands around your throat– 

“You’re cut off for the night,” he said into your lips, then pressed a kiss to your cheek. “No more sex.”

“Boo,” you wrapped your arms around his neck, crossing your ankles over his back, “If I keep you here maybe you’ll get hard again.” 

He laughed into your cheek, heavy and genuine, “You’re terrifying when you’re ovulating.”

“Says the man who just came inside me,” you pressed a kiss to his hair, then loosened your grip on him. “You want a baby more than I do at this point.”

He shrugs as he sits up, pulling out of you, “Sue me.” 

“We have a timeline, Song Mingi.” 

Sundresses, swim trunks and margaritas surrounded you, all of your friends bouncing around Seonghwa and Hongjoong’s massive backyard, a ridiculously sized plot of land behind a farm-style rancher that they bought just last year. 

Don’t mind the setup, Seonghwa said, We’re still renovating!

Meanwhile an inground pool enclosed by several feet of perfectly laid concrete took over the space just outside the back door, a tiki bar, a patio with a full grill, a table and chairs, couches, a fucking fire pit… We’re still renovating, your ass. It was both perfect and absolutely ridiculous how much they have it together in contrast to yours and Mingi’s one bedroom apartment two towns over. 

They wanted to be the house, the place where all your friends and families gathered, the permanent hosts, and damn, did they succeed. They’ve been planning Wooyoung’s going away party ever since he broke the news of his job offer three states away, a bittersweet gathering, both in congratulations for Wooyoung’s raise and sadness that such an important voice in your friend group would be so far away. You hoped it wasn’t permanent, the selfish part of you hoped he hated it and came back to you guys immediately, he was the biggest light amongst you, one of your favorite people to be around, but you were also proud of him for his success, his hard work paying off. 

You could hear him laughing now from across the lawn, chatting with his girlfriend, Sana, Jongho and his girlfriend Jihyo, about god knows what, the sound warming your heart while breaking it simultaneously. You’d miss him more than he knew. 

“Want another, my love?” Mingi came up behind you where you sat, pressing a swift kiss to your cheek, stealing your glass out of your hand. 

You nodded, “Yes, please,” and watched him scurry off toward the tiki bar, Yunho and his date sitting at the teal colored stools lined up on the outside. You watched Yunho’s head turn toward Mingi, how he got off his stool to follow Mingi behind the bar, no doubt to help him make you another margarita. 

You turned your head back to the group lounging on the couches, Yeosang and his girlfriend Tzuyu, Hongjoong and Seonghwa, San and his boyfriend Jongin, everyone in the middle of a conversation you had accidentally clocked out of. You crossed your leg over your other one, fixing how your sundress laid over them, trying to ignore the sweaty stick of the summer heat on your skin, the alcohol that warmed your blood doing nothing to cool you down. 

Past seven, the sun was still annoyingly bright and agonizing, your hair tied up atop your head, probably matted at this point from the time you spent in the pool earlier. 

“...I keep telling you that you need to fire him,” San says to Hongjoong, his top lip bent in irritation, “He’s nothing but a lazy nuisance. If he messes up one more deal, I’m gonna talk to him myself.”

“He just started, San,” Hongjoong shook his head, “Cut the man a break.” 

San sips his whiskey instead of responding, his hand laying over Jongin’s knee, and it’s the reminder you needed as to why you initially clocked out of the conversation. You hated when they started talking business– even if that’s how all of them remain close, minus Wooyoung and Jongho, who are old college friends of Mingi and the others. They were all college friends, the group of them in the same fraternity, still close as ever post-grad, even now that so many of them work at the same firm. 

You loved when your parties and hangouts stayed free-spirited, light hearted, less talk about work and more stories from their college party days. Those stories you loved, especially the ones that included your boyfriend, the ones that told you exactly who he was before he met you. Not one story was surprising, though, he’s the same lover boy he’s always been, back then just included a lot more keg stands.

You let your eyes drift again, moving back to the tiki bar, where you caught Mingi, Yunho and his date walking towards where you sat around the fire pit. You shot them a tight lipped smile, grateful they were coming to join in on the conversation, hopefully derailing it to something more enjoyable. 

“Wooyoung!” Seonghwa called across the lawn, “Why don’t you guys come join us?”

You grabbed your glass from Mingi as he sat down next to you, thanking him before you took a sip. Cold and refreshing, just what you needed to cool you off, tequila and summer was your favorite combination. Yunho sat down beside Mingi, and you watched as his date propped herself on his knee, her hands folded in her lap, crinkling the fabric of her pretty sundress. Yunho sat back, one hand holding his beer, the other haphazardly laid on her thigh as if it was nothing.

You wondered if that’s something he told her to do, or if she chose to sit there herself. There was space next to him, even more space on the couches across from you, surrounding the fire pit. Was that a part of it? Yunho’s game? Maybe it’s not a game, a lifestyle rather than some joke, a clear show of possession so everyone in the circle knew she belonged to Yunho. 

Your tongue poked out to swipe over your bottom lip, ripping your eyes away from the pair, shoving the curiosity down. You turned into Mingi, crossing your other leg instead, your entire body leaning into him. You wondered if Mingi would ever ask something like that of you, maybe he would if he ever got jealous enough. 

Mingi isn’t the jealous type, though. He never has been. He has full trust in you, and that trust outweighs everything, lingering eyes of others, shameless flirting that you never caught on to. Even that one time where Yeosang’s hand lingered on your forearm for a little too long after too many drinks, telling you how gorgeous you looked in blue, Mingi still didn’t care. He nodded his head with an excited smile and said, I know, right?

You wondered what Yunho would do in that situation. Would he rip your arm away, take you into an unused bedroom, a storage closet even, and remind you who you belonged to? Would he leave marks, trailing from your jaw to your chest, to show who owned you if they stepped too close? 

Mingi nudged you with his shoulder, pulling you out of your thoughts, and you looked up to his concerned expression, giving him a small smile. He quietly asked, “You okay? Tired?”

You shrugged, “Was just thinking.”

He leaned over, kissing the top of your head, “Don’t think too hard, I’m starting to see steam coming out of your ears.”

You smiled, a huff of amusement leaving your lips. You don’t even know where you had been staring, if it was at anyone, you needed to control your thoughts, but they were starting to plague you. Especially when you caught Yunho holding up his beer bottle an inch above where it rested on his thigh, how his date immediately caught on, taking the empty glass and standing up to get him another. She was his date, it’s not like she was his girlfriend, someone who knows him well enough to understand his body language without a word being spoken.

The more you saw, the more you understood, the more it made sense. They were playing, even now, in front of everyone. You didn’t like the burning in your gut, the sting of jealousy, the interest it brought you, how a part of you wanted to try being in her situation. If you could be good, if you could pick up on cues so easily, so fast, if you could please. Will she be rewarded for it later? What does that look like? 

You ripped your attention away again, blinking, staring down at your margarita held between your fingers. You could be completely wrong, all of this could be innocent, she could be sitting on his lap because she wanted to be there. Maybe she got him another beer because she was being a good date, doting on him. You could be sexualizing it for no reason, which changes the burning in your gut to a burn of shame, embarrassment that you’re sitting with your entire group of friends, once again pondering over Yunho’s sex life. 

“What do you say we play beer pong, for old time’s sake?” Wooyoung’s loud voice washed over you like a bucket of cold water, grabbing your attention. Groans and laughter were mixed among the group, and Wooyoung tilted his head, his smile growing larger. 

“How old are we?” Jongho smacked his arm, sitting on the side of the chair Jihyo was sitting in, one thigh on either side of the armrest, “Twenty?” 

“Come on,” Wooyoung begged, his lips bending to a pout, “When’s the next time you guys are going to see me?” 

“Guilt tripping us into playing beer pong,” San shakes his head, a smile on his cheeks, dimples out on display, “Very you– And it worked.” 

Wooyoung cheered and Sana turned her gaze your way, meeting your eye, shaking her head with an amused smile on her face. You mirrored her expression, letting your eyes slide to Jihyo and Tzuyu, all four of you mentally preparing to sit on the sidelines while your boyfriends got trashed. All of you would have to deal with their hangovers in the morning. 

An hour later, you and the three girls plus Jongin were all seated just off to the side of the beer pong table, where all eight boys were loudly playing, laughing, or taunting the ones currently in the middle of a game. You listened to the commentary just as much as you were watching the game unfold, your ear catching every other sentence, laughing when one of them made a remark that was out of pocket, but the five of you currently in the midst of conversation didn’t have much attention left to give the game behind you. 

“...And she said she was not giving him the ring. It’s fucked up,” Sana sat back in her seat, her arms crossed over her bikini top, in the middle of telling a story. “She said she’d rethink it if I stayed with him for over a year after we move away, but I don’t believe her one bit.”

“Maybe she’s telling the truth, she’s probably just watching out for her son,” Tzuyu smiled at Sana, ever so optimistic, always looking at the bright side. Her brown hair laid in long braids down her shoulders, far past her bikini top, the tips just caressing the hem of her denim shorts. You tightened your lips, that was not what Sana wanted to hear right now. Wooyoung’s mom has never liked Sana, and you’re starting to think she never will. 

“It’s crazy how she thinks she can control your relationship, I mean, Wooyoung is twenty seven. He’s far past the age of her coddling him,” Jihyo added with her face twisted in disgust, that was what Sana wanted to hear, Jihyo was always good at fulfilling whatever idea Sana came up with. The two of them were a pair, the moon and the sun, where Jihyo appeared harsh and was sweet as candy, Sana was bright and colorful until she bared her teeth. 

“I know!” Sana said, a little too loudly, nervously glancing at the table behind you to check that none of the guys heard her, blonde hair moving with her. You’ve always been on Woo’s mom’s side, you always expected him to end up with someone… Nicer. He deserved someone who would treat him like a king, but in a way, you supposed Sana did treat him like one. Anyone else who wasn’t Wooyoung, though? That was a different story.

“I’m sure she’ll give in,” Jongin added, an encouraging smile on his face, he knows Sana just as well as you do by now. A linen button up laid loosely over his shoulders, the white a contrast to his golden, sunkissed skin. Him and San must have spent a lot of time at San’s beach house this summer. 

This was always the dynamic between you, the partners. Jihyo genuinely believed what she said to Sana, Tzuyu was supportive, and Jongin tried to keep the peace. You kept quiet, you weren’t much of a liar, and your brain couldn’t be farther from Sana’s impertinence.

Your knee bounced, margarita watered down and loosely held between your fingers, Yunho’s date was glued to his side at the table behind you. She didn’t leave him once, not when Tzuyu invited her to sit with you, not when Yunho was actually playing the game. She respectfully declined with a bashful smile, cheeks rosy and chest gleaming with a sheen of sweat, then she stayed hung off of Yunho’s arm like an accessory.

It was beginning to fucking consume you. Was that one of his rules? Was she not allowed to leave his side, stuck there to be his personal waitress? Was she getting off on it, too?

Was the reward really worth it? 

“Hello?” Jihyo tapped your knee, pulling your attention again, her smile amused as if catching you off guard was the funniest thing in the world. 

“Sorry,” you tried to smile, tucking your hair behind your ear, “Did I miss something?” 

“I asked how Mingi is, how you guys are,” Sana smiled the same way Jihyo did, “What’s got you so out of it today?”

You forced a chuckle, “My bad, I didn’t get good sleep last night, the margaritas are making me sleepy.” A lie so easily told, white lies you could handle. “We’re good, thinking about moving into something bigger soon.”

“Oh?” Tzuyu asked excitedly, “You guys have been in that apartment for years, are you thinking about renting or buying?” 

A two-story, white house, with three bedrooms and an open floor plan, yes, you were thinking about buying. You fought to not glance behind you, keeping your eyes trained on Tzuyu, “If we can get a good loan for a mortgage, we’ll own.”

Tzuyu cheered, her grin bright and wide, “I’m so happy for you, me and Yeosang always talk about how perfect you guys are together. Do you think he’s planning on proposing this year?” 

You smiled, a shy giggle escaping you as you stared down at your margarita again, “I think so.”

“Your wedding is going to be gorgeous,” Sana adds from across the small table between your chairs, “If it’s anything like how you decorate your apartment– and the bridesmaid dresses, don’t even get me started.”

You waved a hand, ignoring the bridesmaid comment, “I won’t, I’m not jinxing it. Who knows what might happen?”

You catch Jihyo as she rolls her eyes, “I wouldn’t be surprised if he proposed tomorrow, you’ve been together longer than any of us. You’re the OG girlfriend.” 

That ripped a laugh from your chest, it’s true, you’ve been with Mingi long before any of the other guys’ partners entered the picture. Jongin interrupted, “I could help you with a mortgage loan, you know, my dad’s a banker.” 

“When the time comes,” you nodded toward the brown haired man with kind eyes, then finally let your eyes fall to the table behind you, seeing who was playing now. 

Who might still be glued to their date. 

Mingi and Yunho were playing Yeosang and Wooyoung, a cocky smile on your boyfriend’s cheeks, a lazy smirk on Yunho’s. They must be winning. 

And his date, her dark hair up now, in a claw clip behind her head, two pieces fallen out and framing her face perfectly. She stood just beside Yunho, her drink clasped in her hands, barely a sip drank from the clear glass. You wondered if she was allowed to drink, or if that was one of his rules, too. 

Your lips pursed and you stood up, legs bringing you to your boyfriend before you could think about it. You slid in between him and San, the dimpled man throwing an arm over your shoulders, “You come to play?”

You smiled up at him, shaking your head, “Just wanted to watch.” 

“Wanna watch me win,” Mingi added, shooting you a wink, then tossed the ball across the table, sinking it into one of the red solo cups filled with water. 

You clapped with the rest of the boys, your grin wide as a low whistle left your lips, staring down the table at Yeosang and Wooyoung who wore red cheeks and sour faces. The difference in the amount of cups left standing made it clear who was winning, not that it surprised you, Mingi was always more competitive when he had Yunho by his side. 

You watched as Yunho’s date tugged on his wrist, whispering something into his ear, and he nodded down at her. She silently excused herself, dress flowing in the breeze as she walked across the patio, inside the back door. 

You watched, and then your legs were moving before you could stop yourself. You followed her in, just as she was draining her glass into the kitchen sink, one of her hands on her hip. 

She turned to you as the backdoor snapped shut, surprise on her face, eyebrows raised and lips parted. “Oh! Sorry, I would have left the door open for you.”

Ah, fuck, she’s nice. You smiled, walking across the hardwood floor, your sandals smacking with every step, “No biggie, I don’t think I’ve introduced myself yet, I wanted to say hello.” You introduced yourself, a smile on your cheeks, “Not in the mood to drink?”

She glanced down at the empty glass in her hands, then at the sink, then up to you. She laughed nervously, “I'm a slow drinker, it got watered down, not all that tasty anymore.”

You slowly nodded your head, “Totally get that. Did you need help finding the bathroom?” 

She looked around Seonghwa and Hongjoong’s kitchen as if you reminded her why she walked in here, the bathroom nowhere to be found. She smiled again, her cheeks rosy and squishable, face completely bare beside mascara, she’s adorable. A perfect, submissive girl. “Yes, please, that’d be great.” 

“Down that hallway and to the right,” you pointed to the dark hallway and she thanked you, setting her glass down in the sink and scurrying off in the direction of the bathroom. When she was out of eyesight, you pouted, you don’t know what you expected from coming in here, but you definitely didn’t learn anything new. You took a sip of your margarita, setting a hand on the kitchen island for purchase, your mind whirling. You wanted to know. You wished you could just ask. 

The door opened and closed behind you and you turned to find Jihyo walking in, her own cheeks red from the seltzers she’d been sipping on, the summer heat she’s been basking in all day. She smiled at you, eyebrows popping up in surprise and confusion, “Girl, what are you doing in here? You’ve been acting weird all day.”

Your lips pulled to one side, you wondered if Jihyo had any experience in this area, if she and Jongho ever explored in the way you’re curious about. If anyone in your group has done some experimental shit, it’s Jihyo. “Can I ask you a question?” 

Her face turned serious, quickly walking closer to where you stood, gathering her dark hair behind her head to pull up into a bun. “Of course, is everything okay?”

“Yes, yes,” you said, shaking your head, loosing a quick, heavy breath. “Is Jongho ever… Rough with you?” 

Jihyo paused in the middle of tying her hair, cocking her head to the side. “What do you mean ‘rough’?” 

You scrunch your lips, trying to reword the question properly in your mind. “Have you ever experienced… Like, a dominant guy? That kind of role, in a relationship?”

Jihyo’s lips curved upward, a devious smile on her cheeks, eyebrows wiggling. “You thinking about spicing things up with Mingi?” 

Your cheeks warmed, you looked down at the hardwood floor in embarrassment, then back up to her. “Possibly. I’m just curious, I guess.”

“Then yes, Jongho can be rough sometimes, but only when I purposely pissed him off or made him jealous or something. The relationship I was in before I started dating Jongho, though…”

Your entire face lit up, she giggled as she noticed. 

“He was a very strict man, but not in a gross way, more so in a… Domineering way, I guess, everything I consented to. He thought it was sexy to control unsexy aspects of my life, what I wore, how I acted, what I did, who I talked to. In bed, he was a fucking freak.”

Your eyes filled with stars, you asked, “In a good way?”

“Oh, absolutely. He’d tie my hands behind my back, attach a spreader bar between my knees, or put a vibrator on me and leave the room until he was satisfied with how long I’d been in there by myself. Then he’d come back in and fuck me like I hadn’t already came a gazillion times.”

You released a shaky breath, toes digging into the soles of your sandals. It sounded so… appetizing. 

“He was fun, that whole relationship was fun,” she smiled brightly, you almost felt bad about making her reminisce on something she loved so much, but clearly didn’t have anymore. 

You couldn’t stop yourself, asking, “Why’d you break up?”

“He cheated on me,” she rolled her eyes, “Ruined a good thing. Fuck him.”

“Fuck him,” you nodded your agreement, cheeks warm, your whole body warm… You imagined Mingi tying your hands behind your back, attaching something between your legs to keep you from closing them, fully in control of your body and your pleasure. The thought was so hot, you could see it in your mind, you licked your lips as if it was happening now. 

“I gotta pee, I’ll be right back,” Jihyo’s eyes flew back to the hallway, in the direction of the bathroom. Just as you started to warn her about Yunho’s date being in there, she bounced back out, apologies on her lips about being in there for so long. She was barely in there for five minutes. 

You followed her back into the backyard, not stopping by the table again, but sitting yourself back in your cushioned chair, legs crossed, slowly sipping your margarita. You didn’t want to see her fall back to Yunho’s side like a lost puppy dog. 

God, you needed to get a grip. The girl didn’t do anything to you. Jihyo’s story filled your head again, but instead of imagining Jihyo and the mystery man, it was you and Mingi, a vibrator strapped to you while he sat back, watching, analyzing, telling you no when you begged him to cum. 

When Jongin pulled you back into the conversation you were barely paying attention to again, your body physically shook off the thoughts, a chill cooling off your very blood. 

You really needed to get it together. 

“I have something I need to tell you.” 

Almost a full week after Wooyoung’s going away party, another movie night with Yunho under your belt, you couldn’t let these feelings fester for any longer, you were losing your fucking mind. Night after night, your boyfriend has rocked into you, sweet words on his tongue, soft caresses to your face. As much as you enjoyed it, you felt guilty for your feelings, for wanting more, something different. Admitting it was a start.

Day after day you’ve done little things, almost unnoticeable things trying to get his attention, trying to spark an ounce of jealousy. You made a comment about how good San looked at Wooyoung’s party, how he looked like he’d been hitting the gym– Mingi had given you puppy eyes, asking, “Should I start going to the gym more?”

You felt so guilty you dropped to your knees then and there, feeding praises into his ears, worshipping his body, vowing to yourself to never make him ask you a question like that ever again, to never make him feel self conscious or worth any less. The whole encounter left you feeling icky. 

But maybe another route would work. 

Just yesterday you asked him, What would you do if someone hit on me at the bar?

He furrowed his brows and said, Tell them not to do that, I guess?

You were getting nowhere like this, and it was frustrating. Granted, you probably should have just opened up and told him your feelings the moment these thoughts started crossing your mind. 

Mingi turned over in your bed to face you, eyes sparkling, staring at you like you were his whole world. You needed to bring this up delicately, propose it in a way that wouldn’t leave him feeling like he wasn’t doing enough, that he wasn’t enough. You didn’t want to pressure him into anything, either. Asking him to slap you around was strangely feeling meticulous, you sucked your bottom lip between your teeth, eyebrows furrowed in focus and fear. 

“Is everything okay?” He asked, eyes glossed over with worry, he shuffled a bit closer to you in your shared bed, needing your warmth to soothe his own nerves. 

“Yes, baby, everything’s fine,” you smiled weakly, your arm stretching across the sheets to lay your palm over his cheek. “I’m just nervous to say what I need to, or ask my question, I guess. I don’t want you to feel like I’m unhappy, or that you aren’t doing enough, but… I’ve been thinking.”

He mirrored your smile, teasing, “You know what I say about you and thinking.”

A huff of a laugh left your lips, smile growing stronger, “I’m serious, Min.”

“Okay, I’m sorry,” his smile grew too, genuine and light, he’s always been good at diffusing situations, easing your stress. “Hit me.”

“Funny choice of words, actually,” you start, and the crease between his brows shows itself. “Do you ever think about… Being a little rough with me?”

He lifts his head up off the pillow ever so slightly, surprise flashing in his big brown eyes, “Like, when I’m fucking you?”

“Yeah,” you watched his face morph into confusion, “Throwing me around, saying mean stuff, choking me a little, maybe even slapping me–”

“Slapping you?!”

“I don’t know!” You shuffle in your bed, sitting up straight, tucking the baby pink comforter in your lap, hands mindlessly playing with the fabric. Staring down at him, voice coated in shame, you asked, “Do you?”

He blinked a few times, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Finally, he says, “I don’t think I have ever, once in my life, thought about hurting you.”

“Does it freak you out if I say it’s something I might be curious about?” You lay a hand behind your back, using your arm to support your weight. Mingi shifts too, sitting up beside you, still staring at you like you’re a math equation he can’t calculate. 

“It doesn’t freak me out, I–” He shakes his head once, as if he’s trying to figure out his own feelings, what to say. “When did you start thinking about… this?” 

“The night we watched that Captain America movie with Yunho,” you answer honestly, staring into his eyes, trying to get a read on him. He looks down at his lap, thinking, counting, before he looks back at you. 

“Dude, that was like two weeks ago,” he says, horror in his voice, “You’ve been sitting on this for that long?”

“It’s not a big deal if it’s something you aren’t interested in,” you wave a hand in front of you, trying to fake nonchalance, but there was no way to prove to Mingi this isn’t important to you if it took you this long to say something. He knows you far too well. 

He glances up at your ceiling, moving his lips, scrunching them to either side of his mouth, thinking. He finally looks at you, a gleam in his eye that you couldn’t place, “You really want me to be mean?”

“I–” Now it was your turn to look like a fish out of water, and then you realized this was the time to admit it, to tell him what you want. With defeat heavy in your voice, you said, “Yes, I do.”

“Okay,” he breathed, nodding slowly, “I can try.”

“Really?” you raised your brows, staring at him in surprise as if you expected him to say no. But this was Mingi after all, always eager to please, the man who would walk through fire for you. 

“You’ll have to, like… Tell me what you want in more detail, what to do, I mean.”

Your entire face lit up, eyes wide, grin bright, you jumped over the mattress to swing your arms around his neck and your thighs around his hips. You kissed his entire face, perched in his lap, mumbling thank you thank you thank you and he giggled beneath your assault, wrapping his arms around your back, holding you close. 

“Do you wanna do this, like… Now?” He asked when you stopped peppering smooches to the tip of his nose, his voice not quite uneasy, nervously curious. 

“We could,” you shrug, arms still hung over his bare shoulders, “We haven’t fucked since last night.”

“God forbid a day goes by where we don’t have sex,” he teases, his hands sliding down to your ass, squeezing lightly. 

You gasp, dropping your hips to drag against his barely clothed crotch, smirking when you feel him half-hard beneath you. “There should never be a day that goes by where we don’t have sex.”

“As long as you’re still you, there won’t be,” he says, still teasing as he presses his lips to yours, soft and sweet, normal. You sink into him, letting your hips drag over him in a slow but intentional rhythm, allowing your mind to ease, releasing soft gasps as his hands slide up your body, under your shirt. 

No, you didn’t need to do this right now. You didn’t want to. You wanted him, close to you, feeling his warmth and his weight anchoring you, to set the thoughts you’d finally gotten off your chest free. You told him, you’d talk about it, you’d plan, you’d do it. He said yes. God, you love him. You let your hands slide up his biceps, fingers dancing over the sides of his neck, cupping his cheeks to hold your world in your hands. 

“Not tonight,” you whisper into his lips, forgoing an explanation he didn’t need, “I changed my mind. Tonight, I just want you.” 

He smiles, bared teeth pressing against your lips, soft and comforting, home. “Yeah? You sure?” 

“We have time,” you pull him closer, chest to chest, elbows hooked over his shoulders and hips still rocking as if he’d feel the truth laid bare, in your skin, in your breath, in your bones. He didn’t need to change, you didn’t want him to change, if things stayed like this you’d still spend forever by his side. “We have forever.” 

He kissed you again, only breaking it to tug your shirt over your head, tossing it somewhere behind you, hands gliding up your skin with precision, feeling every dip and curve of your body. As if to burn it to memory, as if he didn’t know it already, as if he hasn’t worshiped every inch of your skin before. “I love you,” he murmured into your mouth, bodies still too close to be considered separate. 

“I love you,” you whispered, barely breaking the kiss, eyes closed and heart aching with how much love for him it contained. 

Another Friday, another movie night, another story told by Jeong Yunho. 

Except this time, you and Mingi were more versed in his area of expertise, your listening was active, asking questions, looking deeper. Where you once sat nodding, periodically saying mhm and no way, you were now asking him to explain, asking why. And because Yunho is Yunho, he answered every question with honesty, even over-explaining when your brow quirked too high for his liking. When he read the question on your tongue. 

For the past several days, you and Mingi have been doing research. Articles from legitimate blogs on the internet, books from the library, romance novels pulled from your bookshelf, Mingi had said, “If I’m going to do this, I’m going to do it right.”

You hadn’t quite explored yet together– meaning he hasn’t necessarily slapped you around just yet. He’s taken it slow, tugged on your roots during a blowjob, extended your orgasm by ripping his fingers away at the last second, he even called you a slut once. Just once, though. And he apologized after. 

You didn’t think you could possibly be any more in love with him, but seeing him learn for you, express genuine interest in something you asked for, you couldn’t wait for the wedding  Sana was running her mouth about. But that could wait. For now, you were still exploring, experimenting, basking in the relief of getting this off your chest and doing something about it. You never want to withhold information from your boyfriend again, and Mingi might go into cardiac arrest if he finds out you’ve been sitting on your feelings ever again. 

Mingi’s been honest with you. He’s told you his doubts, his fears, that he’s petrified of doing something wrong, not knowing his own strength and hurting you, saying something vile that he can’t take back. You’ve taken them all in, easing his worries by offering him solutions, reminding him why you’re taking it slow. To set boundaries, to plan, to play, to find out if this is something he’d even enjoy. If either of you would enjoy it. 

Because in theory it sounds wonderful, a wet dream coming from the pits of your ovulation, but to put it into practice… What if either of you hate it? What if your sex life is forever tainted because you’re trying to fix something that isn’t broken? 

Clearly, you’re both overthinkers. But luckily, you’re both good at soothing each other, and Mingi has reminded you the two times that you’ve brought this up that nothing could destroy your sex life, the two of you were made for each other. There wasn’t much room for stress after that. 

Yunho came over with a smile on his face this week, a telltale sign that things were going well with his newest partner. Walking inside empty-handed and talkative, he cracked a can of beer from your refrigerator, starting his story from the beginning as his long legs brought him to your living room. He was playing with her at Wooyoung’s going away party, a detail he left out when he was over last week, when he was too engrossed in the freshness of dating her to get down to the nitty gritty. 

This week he was exploding with things to tell you both, his mouth running a mile a minute, sharing things you nor Mingi asked him to, but didn’t mind hearing. Especially not now. 

“The rules I made with her are different than the ones I’ve made with others,” splayed across the couch he always sat on, Yunho’s Spot you and Mingi call it, a leg hung over the armrest with the other stretched in front of him, he sat lazily, relaxed. Yours and Mingi’s apartment was always a comfort to him. 

“Like how?” You had your head laying on the godforsaken armrest, pillow beneath your head actually providing solace for once, your legs stretched over Mingi’s lap at the other end of the couch. He studied Yunho as he listened, hands on your bare legs, eyebrows bent only enough to imply focus. You knew it was more than just listening to his words, he was memorizing them, saving them for later. The sight made a soft smile live on your cheeks. 

Yunho sucks a breath through his teeth, brows rising as his head tips back in thought, silver hair a contrast to the deep charcoal of the cushion behind him. “She can only wear dresses around me, when we’re in public she has to ask permission to leave my side, she can’t drink unless I allow it, hmm… Oh, I banned bras. And panties.” 

You crane your head to see him over the armrest, mouth gaping and teeth poking out in a smile, a giggle leaving your lips. You fought the urge to say I knew it, instead reiterating, “Bras and panties?!” 

“What’s the point of it, though?” Mingi asked, and Yunho directed his gaze to his best friend, his eyes smiling just as brightly as his lips. Mingi glances between you and Yunho, “All the rules, they just seem… Inconvenient.” 

“Inconvenient for who?” Yunho raises his eyebrows, “Would it be inconvenient for you if your girlfriend walked around without a bra, without panties, in a dress?” 

“Not inconvenient for me, inconvenient for her,” Mingi should have just added duh at the end of his sentence. Yunho knew what he meant, but Mingi couldn’t read between the lines of his answer. Your tongue poked your cheek as your eyes danced between the two men. 

“Then you know the point of it already,” Yunho’s grin was sly, his head tilting ever so slightly, as if he knew why Mingi was questioning him. He never has before. 

Mingi’s lips fell into an O shape, you watched him put the pieces together in real time, another laugh leaving your lips. Mingi glanced at you for a second before his eyebrows knitted again, turning his head to look back at Yunho, “Why couldn’t she drink?” 

“Because it’d make her have to pee, and she has a piss kink,” you knew he was answering honestly by the look on his face, the ease of the words leaving his mouth. “It denied her of having the fun of toying with me and saved me the punishment of fucking her in Hongjoong and Seonghwa’s bathroom.” 

Your jaw dropped as your head whipped around the armrest, gaping at Yunho, “You’d really do that?” 

“If she disobeyed me?” He raised his brows, “In a heartbeat.” 

“In their bathroom?” Mingi’s eyes were as wide as yours, the corner of his upper lip bent upward in disbelief. 

“I would have done it in front of all of you if I had the consent of everyone in the room.” He said it so casually, too casually, as if this was normal, common. It could be these days, for all you know. 

Yours and Mingi’s eyes meet as surprise and intrigue cross his features, as if he was picturing himself doing it. As if he was curating a list of rules for you, too. You assumed you wouldn’t have to wash as many pairs of panties from now on. 

Mingi’s eyes trailed back to Yunho, you watched him swallow, the gulp of spit passing down his throat. “And when you say punishment…” 

Yunho smiles, daring and wicked, his eyes flaring with amusement. He sits up straighter, white tee pressed against the back of the couch, ankle crossed over his knee, he wouldn’t let your rare curiosity go to waste.  

You change spots, too, laying your head on Mingi’s lap instead of your legs, propping them up on the criminally uncomfortable armrest. You made a mental note to start looking for a new couch. Mingi lays a hand in your hair, not moving, just resting, as if he needed to touch you to feel grounded. 

“The humiliation,” Yunho released a dragged out breath, as if he loved the word, loved its meaning, the action. “I would have put her over my knee, made her tell everyone watching what she did, why it was wrong.”

Mingi blinked, his lips parted, as if he couldn’t fathom why in the world Yunho would do that. “You’d let everyone see that? See her?” 

Yunho shrugs, “If everyone was into it.” 

“She obeyed you though, right?” You ask, and he raises his eyebrows in your direction, acknowledging you, “Does she get, like… Rewarded for that?” 

Yunho smiled, a proud look sitting on his face, a soft nod of his head. “Of course she does, well, she did.” 

You raised a brow, imploring him, and his smile grew as if he could read every thought in your mind. “You two are curious tonight.” 

You can feel the embarrassment in your cheeks, and as you look up to Mingi, you see a faint blush spread over his nose. If you could see his ears from where you laid, you’d bet they tipped red, too. Neither of you are being shy with your curiosity, and it was clear. 

Yunho didn’t wait for either of you to answer, “I’ll bite. We didn’t even get back to my place, to be honest. She got to finish twice in the car, another three times when we got back for good behavior.” 

A huh? ripped from your chest, a disbelieving sound, just as Mingi screeched, “Five?!” 

You thought back to when she went to the bathroom at the party, how she tugged on Yunho’s wrist before she went inside, how he nodded toward her in allowance. You wonder if you’d be willing to let it be taken so far, or if you truly just wanted to be slapped around. You supposed you would if five orgasms were waiting for you afterward. 

“They weren’t easy, don’t say it like that,” Yunho waved a hand, long fingers bending the air around him, “I was forcing them out of her by the end of it. She likes overstimulation.” 

You peeked up at Mingi again, whose lips you think were going to stay permanently parted for the duration of the conversation, with his thick, deep eyebrows touching his hairline. He was shocked— so were you, even if neither of you should be, you’re no strangers to multiple orgasms in a session. But five, for good behavior, a reward like that, it almost made you hand your boyfriend a notepad and a pen and say Yes, I want that. 

Yunho’s laugh sends a shiver down your spine, your body involuntarily jerking at the noise, head shifting in your boyfriend’s lap. It sounded borderline condescending, which you weren’t sure if you were making up, or if it was on purpose. Your eyes widened as you felt it, the fucking boner Mingi was sporting beneath your head. He knew you felt it, you could see it all over his face, the blush you thought was from the nature of the conversation, no, he was horny, and Yunho didn’t seem like he was anywhere near done with the conversation. 

Realization hits that Mingi must be thinking about doing that to you, and he’s hard. You might have started jumping for joy if you didn’t have to explain to both men why. 

“You guys look like you’ve never heard anything like this in your life,” Yunho’s laugh is still showing on his cheeks, the way his head is tilted, his eyebrows slightly raised, smugness oozing off of him. “I’ve told you stories before.” 

“Yeah, but…” You cut yourself off, swallowing down the answer you were about to give. He didn’t need to know you were experimenting, or attempting to. No one needed to know. “It’s just crazy.” 

“Yeah, you’re crazy,” Mingi adds from above you, the both of you nodding your agreement, hiding why you’re both so god damn affected. His clothed cock pressing against your head, having to pretend like it isn’t there, Yunho so easily talking about how he punishes and rewards his partners, how arrogance seemed to be possessing him, it was all too much. 

Yunho raises his brows, his smile still present on closed lips, as if the two of you were transparent. Completely see through, thoughts and feelings laid bare for him to see. If you could peer into Yunho’s mind you might see that he’s enjoying this, that he knows exactly what he's doing, toying with the two of you might be the most fun he’s had in months. 

He can see how pathetic the two of you are, you’re wearing it. Too many ideas are brewing in his mind, ones he’s positive he can never verbalize, but if the two of you kept looking at him like that…

“I’ve told you worse, remember when that one girl thought it’d be funny to flirt with that random guy, when we all went out to the club? It was back in February I think,” Yunho’s glancing between you both now, like he doesn’t want to miss a single reaction painted on your faces. “I tied her up and left her alone in the bedroom, in the dark, for an hour?” 

You gulped. You remembered this story. Mingi was only growing beneath you, he remembered this story, too. 

“She was a crying fucking mess by the time I went back in, so wet, didn’t take any prep at all for me to fuck her. She didn’t cum once that night. Never did that shit again, though.” 

Your breath hitched in your throat. You think of a few weeks ago, when Yunho was once again across from the two of you, when you put space between yourself and Mingi, a part of you hoping he’d fuck the brat out of you. You couldn’t even imagine Mingi tying you up and leaving you alone, he’d probably be crying before you would, or he wouldn’t even leave the room. But the thought of it… If he could… You crossed an ankle over the other, trying to create some kind of pressure between your thighs, friction to alleviate your core that was beginning to throb. 

Mingi’s grip tightened ever so slightly in your hair and you knew he was showing you the restraint he was quickly losing, that he needed you. Your eyelids fluttered at the feeling. 

“How did you get into this? This, uh, lifestyle,” Mingi’s voice was shallow, his mouth drying, he was feeling it just as much as you were. You don’t even know if you heard his question let alone the answer, not when you could feel his cock under you, begging to be touched, probably leaking, the tip red and aching…

Mingi pressed a finger to your cheek and your lips fucking parted. He was only trying to get your attention. “You okay?” Mingi asked, need flashing in his eyes, an unspoken question, a statement. Oh, Yunho has done it now. 

I need you.  You blinked. Now? A small nod. Now. Get him out. 

“Not feeling too good, honestly,” you pouted, letting a hand fall across your forehead, “Do I feel warm to you?” 

Mingi’s lips scrunched trying to hide his smile, you were the better liar out of the two of you. His palm hit your forehead, “Hm, you do feel warm.” 

“Let me feel,” Yunho crossed the living room in a quick stride, his hand falling to your forehead fast, before you or Mingi could think up a silly excuse. His hand damn near laid from ear to ear, sending a spark of something through your entire body. “Damn, you are warm.”

He needed to get out, now. You give him a weak smile, “Must be coming down with something, I’m sorry to cut the movie night short.” 

He shakes his head, then clasps Mingi’s hand, and goes to grab his keys off the coffee table, “Don’t worry about it, there’s always next week, Iron Man can wait. Feel better.” 

“Thanks, Yun,” you call after him, tucking your smile away until you hear the front door close— 

Mingi pounces. Strong arms tugging you onto his lap, assaulting your lips with his own, rough palms slipping under your shirt, thumbs hooking into your waistband. There was no time to waste. 

“Fuck,” he cursed into your mouth as you rolled your hips against him, shorts dragging against his sweatpants, and you smiled at his sensitivity. “Fuck, I need you.” 

“Yeah?” You rolled your hips again, harder this time, “That bad?” 

His fingers tighten on your hips, digging into your skin, his jaw going slack, mouth unresponsive against yours. You let your hands feel up his chest, his shoulders, his neck, lips ghosting his jawline as he guides your hips against his. 

His head tilts back as your lips attack a sensitive part of his neck, right below his ear. His voice comes out deep but breathy as he says, “Wanna make you cum five times, too.” 

Excitement shoots up your spine. You sit back, hands resting on his shoulders, a grin on your cheeks, “Do it, then.” 

He scoops you off his lap and falls to his knees, a muted thump was heard as cotton covered skin hit the hardwood of your floor, he laid you on your back as if you were fragile, made of glass. Your legs parted after he slipped your shorts off anyway. 

You kept your hands in his hair as his tongue worked you open, your first orgasm coming quickly, easily, praises falling off your lips, skull digging into the floor beneath you. Mingi didn’t stop, though, not as his black locks ran taut between your fingers as you pulled in an attempt to get him away, when the pleasure became too much. 

It was on purpose, the pleasure was fucking blinding, pleasure and pain, the sting of your orgasm that never fully finished turning into another, a pit in your stomach that ached with every swipe of his tongue. Your hips bucked, trying to chase him away, attempting to overpower strong arms holding you down by the bone. 

“Mingi— holy shit,” you cried, eyes wide and staring down at him where he was doing anything but looking up at you. Focused, tongue moving in perfect circles, flicking at your clit with enough precision to tell you he wasn’t letting up. Your movements seized, joints locking up, breath getting caught in your throat as he pulled you under, forcing another orgasm to wash over you. 

He ate you through it again before you were keeling, abdomen clenching, body jerking enough to where it was annoying for him to keep holding you down. His lips let go with a pop, sucking in a deep gust of air as your bones went fluid, body sinking into the hardwood floor. 

Mingi smacked his teeth with plump, swollen lips. He lifted himself up by his arms, saying with a steady voice, “Turn over.” 

You opened your eyes again, staring at hunger incarnate, “On my knees?” 

He lifted himself farther, sitting on his calves, wrapping his fingers loosely around your ankles where they sat planted on the floor. Again, he said, “Turn over.” 

You blinked, “I can’t if you’re holding my ankles like that.”

In a quick motion, he pulled you toward him, forearm scooping under your back, and your palms were pressed to the hardwood floor in a second’s time, knees stinging as the deep swirls of oak stared back at you. You hissed, “Fuck, that hurt.” 

Hands that were already sliding up the backs of your thighs paused, “You okay?” 

You smiled, thinking of all the limits you’ve discussed in the past weeks, your safe word, what to do in case you couldn’t say it. “I know what to say if I’m not.” 

“Good.” 

Your elbows hit the floor as his fingers slipped inside, his other hand holding onto your ass, squeezing your skin. “O-Oh my God, Min,” you cried, letting your forehead drop to your open palms, your back arched up into him as his fingers hooked into you, hitting that spongy spot inside, your toes curling, shins lifting off the floor. 

It was overwhelming. Yunho had left barely ten minutes ago and you’d already came twice, Mingi working you up to a third without any reprieve. You could hear the smile on his face as he asked, “You gonna cum again? Gonna be good for me?” 

You wailed as his fingers assaulted the spot, slipping in and out of you, curling, massaging, your body jerking at every movement he made. He sucked in a breath before he pulled his hand off your ass, letting it fall back down with a heavy smack, “Answer me.” 

Your moan was treacherous, loud, somewhere between a score of pleasure and a cry of pain as you came again. Weaker this time but still as blinding as the first, you shook, he hit you. Not as hard and not as confident as he could be, it was still pain mixing with the pleasure, a cocktail of endurance and emotion, a step forward. 

“Baby,” you could barely hear as both hands soothed your ass cheeks, rubbing circles into the skin. “Answer me, my love, need you to say something.” 

You weren’t sure if your consciousness was still inside your skin, or if you were floating somewhere beyond. 

His hands hooked into the crevice where your hips met your thighs, pulling you backward into his lap, moving and dropping you as if you were light as a feather. He was moving too fast, your brain could barely keep up, overwhelmed and overstimulated. You sunk into him, the smell of him pulling you back down to earth, the heat of his cheek pressed against your head warming you. “I’m okay,” your voice came out weak, lagged, tired. Your knees burned, but the fire he had lit inside your belly blazed. 

“You swear?” He took your chin in his hand with care, forcing you to look up at him, concern bubbling wildly in his eyes. 

You nodded, “I swear. You can keep going.” 

He kept you in his lap, his hands moving slower now, uneasy. Fear bled into you with every touch, under your tee, as he unclipped your bra, even fumbling with the clasp. You could taste his nerves. 

But his cock still stayed hard beneath you, pressed up against your back. After he tugged off your shirt and bra you faced him, bare legs wrapping around his hips, your boyfriend fully clothed where you sat naked, but not uncomfortable at the difference. You let your lips crash into his again, picking up speed, trying to show him your hunger when his had gotten foggy, masked with fear and concern. 

He let you lead him, tongue dancing with yours, his hands sliding over your skin with more confidence now, more pressure. You smiled into him, “You still owe me two more.” 

He matched your smile, “And here I thought we were past your insatiability.” 

You let your bare center drag over his clothed length, gasping when it brushed against your clit just right. “I want you inside me.” 

“I’m supposed to be telling you what to do,” his hands fell to your hips, grinding you against him harder, grinning when your head fell to his shoulder. 

“Then tell me how you want me to ride you,” you mumbled into covered skin, your hands sneaking beneath the hem of his tee, fingers tracing his toned abdomen. 

“Why do you get all the power?” He placed his hands under your ass, lifting you to shift onto his knees, you yelped when he stood up, easily holding you steady through the movement. A show of strength, a display of dominance, one that sent all the blood on your body straight to your still pulsing clit. 

You clung to him on the walk to the bedroom, your arms hooked around his neck, adrenaline thrumming beneath your skin. All the daydreams you’ve had and research you’ve done was paying off now. This was better than anything you could’ve imagined. 

He threw you onto the bed before he tugged his shirt over his head by the collar, pulling his sweats down just enough for his cock to spring out. Standing before you in all his glory, Mingi’s cheeks were pink, eyes glossed over and hazy, hair shooting out in four different directions atop his head thanks to your incessant pulling. God, he was fucking beautiful, you sat up on your knees and crawled towards him, wanting to taste—

He stepped back so you couldn’t reach, his right hand wrapping around the base of his cock, squeezing when it was already red and leaking, just as you imagined. You pouted. He raised his eyebrows. “You want my cock, don’t you?” 

You met his eyes to find arrogance, something you’ve only seen on your boyfriend a handful of times. You swallowed down the thrill, nodding your head, “Yes, I want it.” 

He pumped the length of his cock, a groan sneaking out of his lips, his head falling to the side, eyes fluttering shut. You gasped at the view, your eyes trying to catch the full length of him, not knowing where to look, not wanting to miss anything. Slowly, he built up a rhythm, and you whimpered from your spot on the baby pink comforter. 

“Please, let me,” your eyes stayed glued to the way his hand dragged down the length of his cock, how his tip leaked beads of precum, lubing up his hand. He ignored you. “Mingi, please. I need it.” 

He groaned instead, his hand pumping faster, until he finally opened his eyes. In a low, lazy voice, he moaned, “Fuck, feels so fuckin’ good.” 

Your mouth hung open at the sight, he really wasn’t going to let you touch him. Was it because you told him to fuck you? He really thought you were taking the power from him? 

“Please, Mingi,” you were whining now, fists balling at the comforter beneath you, eyebrows furrowed and bottom lip jutted outward. 

He tsked. “Get down here. On your knees.” 

You’ve never moved faster in your life. Sitting on your calves before him, knees burning again, hands in your lap, staring up at him with every hope in the world, you waited for instruction. He wasn’t fucking around. 

He pumped his cock faster, palm circling the tip, squeezing his hand as stuttered moans poured from his lips. He wasn’t even looking at you, eyes focused on his cock, “Open your mouth.” 

With your tongue out you sat up on your knees, eyes glued to his cock, waiting for his cum. Your cunt throbbed between your thighs, three orgasms weren’t enough, you needed more, you needed him, his cock filling you up, to cum around it. His moans grew in pitch as his wrist jerked faster, stuttering, his hips bucking forward into his hand, his eyebrows knitted together. It took everything you had not to slip a hand between your legs. At least you were a quick learner. 

He came with a loud groan, ropes of white hitting your tongue, your nose, your cheeks, your eyebrows. You moaned with him as you felt the warmth on your skin, swallowing him down, licking your lips to catch what you could. 

“Good girl,” his voice had dropped another octave, as if he was getting comfortable in his rank now, dominance surrounding him like an aura. You smiled up at him, stars in your eyes as he took his thumb to your face, scooping his cum off of your cheeks, nose, eyebrows, then promptly shoved it past your lips. 

You gagged at the sudden intrusion, but swallowed him down anyway, lips wrapping around his thumb to suck it clean, tongue sliding against the underside. He patted your head with his other hand, a small smile sitting pretty on his cheeks, “So good for me, baby. Kiss me.” 

You stood up on wobbly legs and kissed him, he could probably taste the gratitude on your tongue, how much you fucking loved this, loved him. He moved to sit back on the edge of the bed, never breaking the kiss, hands on your waist, tongue licking into your mouth to taste the leftover remnants of his release. Your knees planted into the mattress as you climbed on top of him again, a hand between your bodies, slipping his cock between your folds, spreading the wetness where it gathered. 

“Holy shit,” he gasped out, breaking away from your lips to glance down between you, “You’re so fucking wet.” 

“That was so fucking hot,” you said in the same tone he used as he looked back up to meet your eyes, “You’ve never done anything like that before. I’m dying.” 

He huffs a laugh into your lips, “Dying is dramatic.” 

You kissed him again, “And I meant it.” 

You dragged your core along his shaft, sliding over his length, and he hisses into your mouth in overstimulation. You smile, “Now you know how it feels.” 

“Sit on it,” he grabs his cock with one hand, your hip in the other, completely ignoring your remark, “Now.” 

You cursed under your breath at the tone of his voice, at the desperation and order mixing together, how badly he wanted you, needed to feel you, yet overstimulating himself to do it. His cock was already hard again in his hand as you lined yourself up on top of him, hands bracing yourself on his shoulders as you started to sink down slowly, taking him inch by inch with ease. 

The sound was deafening, how pathetic the two of you sounded, the whine-coated moans cracking from your gut. Your nails clawed into his shoulders, eyes screwed shut at the stretch, at how easily he slipped inside. His voice was strained, “Too fucking tight, gotta open up for me, relax.” 

You were too excited, your joints locked up from adrenaline and anticipation. You took a deep breath, letting your body relax, unlocking your limbs, forehead falling forward to rest against his. His hands come up to your waist, rubbing circles into your back, “There you go, my love, you feel so fucking good.” 

You whimpered at the praise, hips bucking forward involuntarily, “Can I move?” 

“Go ahead, baby,” he said, letting go of your waist, leaning back against the mattress on his elbows, “Show me how badly you wanted to ride my cock.” 

Your jaw went slack at the words, hips immediately picking up and dropping back down on him, your hands sliding up your stomach to pinch at your nipples. You bounced on him slowly at first, watching his face contort in pleasure, letting the sound of him guide you, encourage you. Eyebrows slanted and lips parted he moaned and moaned, hips jerking into you every few thrusts, silently telling you to pick up the pace. 

“Mingi,” you breathed, a hand on his abdomen, using it to balance your pace, “Choke me?” 

His eyes widened, “I— I don’t—”

You reached an arm forward, this was one of his unsure areas, where he was scared of his own strength, of hurting you seriously. You wrapped a hand around his throat, fingers pressing into the sides, “Like this.” 

The moan he released stopped you completely. It happened in slow motion, the squeeze of your fingers, how his lips parted, his eyes rolling into the back of his head, how you pulsed around his cock at the sight, at the sound. 

Now it was your turn to widen your eyes in surprise, “Oh.” 

He brought his hand up to wrap around yours, his hips fucking up into you harshly, overwhelming your nervous system, shattering your god damn mind. Oh, he really liked that. You couldn’t fight the smile breaking across your cheeks, your words coming out jagged through his thrusts, “You liked that?” 

He whimpered, broken through the pressure of your fingertips, and a small, shy nod of his head. You just wanted to show him how. Encourage him to do it himself. This opened another door completely. 

You released him after a moment and he took a deep breath, eyes wild, gasping out, “Holy shit.” 

You nodded with a wicked smile, your hips picking up the pace, “You really liked it?” 

“Do it again,” he whispered, pushing himself up by his forearms, pressing his chest against yours as you changed your speed, rocking against him, a dirty grind against his cock as your fingertips danced over his throat. 

You leaned in, whispering, “Kiss me,” against his lips, and he did, his mouth following your lead, up until you tightened your grip around his throat and pressed into the sides with light pressure. 

“Fuck,” he whimpered against your lips, the sound broken and raw, and his jaw went slack again, his eyelids fluttering, his cock throbbing inside you. You could have fun with this. 

You dropped your hips against him harshly, making him jolt into you, not a thought behind his fucking eyes as they widened, “So desperate, I told you to kiss me, didn’t I?” 

“I can’t,” he cried, eyes closed, chin tipped back, “Feels so fucking good. Harder, please.” 

You laughed in disbelief as you picked up your pace, the begging felt good, great even, your body consumed by another pleasure entirely. This was incredible. Maybe you could understand why Yunho does what he does, the sheer pleasure he must feel from breaking his partners down, having them at their wits end beneath him.

Having Mingi like this was unexpected but so fucking hot, even under a spell his cock was still hitting that perfect spot inside you, making you moan in tandem with him, a song of pleasure and worship filling the room, masking the noise of skin slapping against skin. 

You let him go to brace your hands on his shoulders and his head fell against your chest, lazily kissing at your skin, his hands coming behind you to graze his fingernails down your back, making you hiss out at the sting. “Shit, Min.” 

He whimpered again, making your hips stutter as you tried to ride him harder, faster, clenching around his length, and his fingers clawed at you deeper. Your back arched, “Yes, feels so good inside me, you’re so fucking perfect.” 

“Need you to cum,” he said against your chest, a mumble of words, barely comprehensible. He glances up at you through his lashes, eyes sparkling and vulnerable, “Need to feel you cum, need it. Wanna fill you up.” 

Your face twisted in pleasure, at the look on his fucking face, “Oh— Oh my God.” 

You clenched again and he whined, “Fuck, I’m gonna fucking cum.” 

“Wait,” you barked out, rushing a hand between your bodies to rub at your clit, “Hold it.” 

His head tipped back, his features scrunching together, hands slipping down to your hips to squeeze, to guide you into fucking him harder. Deeper. 

You gasped out a cry as you drew quick circles on your clit, still bouncing on him with the same rhythm, “F-Fuck, I’m so close, fuck, Min.” 

“Yes,” he encouraged, “Cum for me, wanna feel it. Wanna feel you cum around me, please baby, give it to me.” 

Your hips stuttered as you felt your high hit its peak, Mingi whining at the loss of rhythm, leaning back on his elbows to fuck up into you, his legs pushing against the bed frame surrounding your mattress. Your orgasm crashed over you, sending you forward, body folding in on itself as your vision went white, ears ringing as your body collided into his. 

Mingi cried out, hips bucking and jerking into you to get himself off until he filled you up with his second load of the night, a sigh full of pleasure and contentment escaping him as he finished, his joints finally unlocking, laying flat against the bed. 

After a moment his arms curled around you, pulling you up, laying your head on his chest from where you landed awkwardly over him. His hand went into your hair, rubbing lazy circles into your scalp, pressing his lips to the top of your head. 

“Did I kill you?” He asked, voice teasing, and you grumbled a noise in response. “We can talk about it tomorrow if you want, but we still have to get you all cleaned up. Don’t fall asleep yet.” 

You stuck your tongue out, licking the patch of his skin that was just beside your mouth to show him you were awake, making him shuffle in discomfort. He let out a small, disgruntled sound of surprise, “Eugh, don’t lick me.” 

“Are you serious?” You picked your head up ever so slightly to see his face, which didn’t look disgusted at all. 

A sweet smile sat on his cheeks, one not embarrassed, not shy, not regretful, but happy. You could have sighed in relief if you weren’t absolutely exhausted. He faked a pout, “You look so tired, and I still have one more orgasm to give you.” 

He laughed when your face twisted in surprise and fear, you don’t think you even have the strength for a shower. 

But because Mingi is perfect and knows you better than you know yourself, he ran the two of you a bath. 

And you talked. A little. 

But he definitely ripped that fifth one out of you. 

You did end up talking about it the next day. 

And the day after that, and the day after that, for two weeks. It seemed you and Mingi couldn’t stop talking about it, that night, his words, his assertiveness, how he jerked himself off onto your face, how your hands wrapped around his throat. It quickly snowballed into more, the two of you turning into monsters, it was as if your insatiability had grown a twin and possessed your boyfriend. 

“I don’t know what happened,” at your favorite coffee shop in town the next day, the two of you sat cozied up in a booth, laptops out, but the last thing you were doing was working. “Something inside me, like, opened I guess. You put your hand around my neck and I thought I was gonna cum on the spot.” 

With your cheek in your palm, you swirled your straw in your coffee cup, the doc you had open on your laptop screen long forgotten. “You really never thought you’d be into anything like that?” 

Mingi shrugged, bringing his attention back to his screen, he drew mindless circles on his keypad with his finger. With his eyes on his laptop, big navy frames sitting on his nose, he admitted, “I don’t know, I never really thought about it.” 

“Funny how I was trying to show you how to choke me,” you teased, lifting your head from your hand, straightening in the booth. “And here we found out something new about you.��� 

He rolled his eyes, a shy smile growing on his cheeks, still not looking at you, “Yeah, yeah, I owe you one.” 

“No, not at all,” you shake your head, “We should just see what happens. What the vibe is when we’re in it, you know?” 

He meets your eyes, cheeks dusted pink, “You’re okay with it? Like… If I asked you to do that to me again, you’re okay with it?” 

Your eyes nearly bulged out of your head, was he embarrassed? You leaned forward, keeping your expression serious, “Song Mingi, that was one of the hottest things I have ever seen you do. One of the hottest things I’ve ever seen, actually.” 

His eyebrows raised in surprise, as if he wasn’t expecting that answer. You smiled, hoping it came off as reassuring as you needed it to, “You’re not the only person that learned something about themself last night.” 

His lips curled up at the edges, lopsided smile crawling across his cheeks, “I still wanna try doing it to you.” 

“Good, because so do I,” you leaned back in the booth, still smiling, and you hoped his chest felt lighter, because yours definitely did. 

The next morning, he beckoned you awake by peppering kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, your lips, but his hand sliding between your legs is what had your eyes finally opening. 

You hummed in delight, sleepy mind curating nonsense to mumble as you stretched your arms over your head, spreading your knees to welcome to intrusion, the skilled fingers that knew exactly what they were doing. 

Silently he worked you open, pressing kisses to your lips, slipping his tongue into your mouth to really get you there— he forced the taste of an orgasm on your tongue before he ripped it away, popping his fingers into his mouth instead. 

You almost cursed him out for it, eyes wide, jaw dropped and pissed, but he just smiled.

“Be good for me today and you can have the rest later.” 

You wore a scowl the entire day, even if thrill was coursing through your blood, excitement for what awaited you at home. He texted you mid-day while you were hard at work at your desk, asking for a present, a sexy picture in your job’s bathroom mirror. 

You swallowed down your embarrassment, ears burning as you sped to the bathroom, eyes darting all around your office to make sure no one noticed, that no one saw you. An absurd fear. 

Relief washed over you when the bathroom was empty and you quickly pulled your skirt down to your thighs, your ass laying right over the hem, plump and picturesque. You took a few, sending them all to him immediately, feeling scandalous and prideful that you’d done something so sexual in your job’s bathroom, and didn’t get caught. 

He sent back a picture of the print of his cock through his slacks, his hand squeezing the base, his veins popping through his pearly skin, the watch sitting on his wrist making it so much hotter. With a caption just as incriminating as the photo, you salivated, tongue swimming in saliva as your thighs squeezed together beneath your desk, lip caught between your teeth. 

Your body burned as you set your phone down, barely able to concentrate on your work as you completed your day, fighting with your mind to keep focus. By the time you got home he was waiting for you, already hard, stripping the skirt off your hips before you’d fully made it through the threshold of your apartment. 

Five seemed like a lucky number for you two now, how many times you’d finished on various places of his body, on his fingers, his tongue, his cock, his thigh. The fifth came to you with his palm wrapped around your throat, squeezing harder than you ever thought he would, confidence oozing off of him as he drilled into you with your back against his chest. 

The next day you seemed to switch places. You tapped into that side of yourself you just met, making Mingi a mess beneath you, tears and sweat and saliva, you took it all in stride with a smile on your face, eyes blazing with a wickedness Mingi’s never seen on you before. It was experimental and fun, fumbling hands and stuttered words, Mingi submitted to you even if you weren’t fully confident in your dominance. 

You’d never degraded anyone before, much less your angelic boyfriend, it was a true fight to come up with nasty things to say, but that’s where your research had come into play. If either of you had an ounce of consciousness inside of the bubble you’d created together, you could probably pick apart where each and every piece of your words, actions, where everything had come from. 

You two had become obsessed, every waking moment had turned sexual, doing and talking, talking and doing, you couldn’t get enough of each other. You started to feel silly for thinking your sex life would be ruined when, if anything, it had gotten better, somehow more active, because you both had turned insatiable. Mingi couldn’t make fun of you anymore, not when he was just as fucking horny as you were. 

As deep as you were in it, the learning, the experimenting, something tugged at you. Maybe it was how you couldn’t grow fully confident in the weeks you’ve played, how you fumbled your words still, or when your hands didn’t quite know where to go, what to say, when to pull away. You knew learning never truly stopped, especially with something as severe as tapping into BDSM dynamics, but you found yourself stumped more than once, and that was enough to consider researching more. 

Especially the night when you and Mingi had fallen into your sheets, a mess of lips and tongues and nails, waiting for the other to take the lead. Fighting for dominance but never winning, leaving room for the other to take charge, to set the tone for how the session would go. Ten minutes of kissing and muttering filthy words in each other’s ears, you knew he was feeling it, too. 

Above you, he paused, lips parted and hands planted beside your head, chest heaving with adrenaline and slight confusion. You stared at each other for a moment, reading the feelings in each other’s eyes, before a laugh erupted from Mingi’s chest and had you giggling along with him. 

“Shit, are we plateauing?” He flopped down next to you on his back, amusement laced in every word, eyes never leaving you once. 

You giggled more, letting your head fall to the side to look at him, tilted smile on his lips and deep, hooded eyes. “I’m not gonna lie, I was kinda hoping you were gonna toss me around tonight.” 

“That’s funny, I was kinda hoping you were gonna edge me until I cried,” he responded plainly, as if the words spilling from his lips weren’t completely filthy. You both laughed before you let out verbal breaths, a sound to fill the comfortable silence, then met each other’s eyes again. 

“Well?” You asked, raising your brows at him, “What the hell do we do now?”

Neither of you knew, and you didn’t have an outlet to turn to. Instead you fucked slow, back to your roots, praises and kisses and soothing touches that felt incredible but still didn’t scratch the itch. The two of you needed more, something to help when you were both feeling submissive, looking for the same type of pleasure. 

It wasn’t something you needed. No, you think it might be… Someone. Another person to help. The thought left you feeling uneasy. 

You and Mingi have never once talked about opening up your relationship to anyone. Not once in your years together have you discussed a threesome, it’s been years since you’ve experienced a shred of jealousy, never once an inkling of disloyalty. Yours and Mingi’s relationship was the poster for perfection, and opening the door to someone else, even if it was all purely sexual, for education purposes, felt… Weird. Strange. Unwelcome. 

Even if you were to say yes, who the hell would you ask? You only know one Dom, one person with enough experience in this area to help you. You forbade the thought for days to come. 

Until it happened again. 

The two of you weren’t as rough this time, kisses pressed to skin and hands slipping between legs, but it was still there. Mingi was whimpering into your mouth, a sound you’ve learned came from a very specific mindset, when he needed to be taken care of, when he was feeling needy. 

And you had a long fucking day. 

Your boss had assigned your team with a project that wasn’t anywhere near your area of expertise, accompanied by a deadline that didn’t seem humanly possible. When you had brought it up to him, he was not nice, stern and angry with you for not ‘doing what you get paid to do’ when this particular assignment was under his job criteria. It wasn’t fair, you had stress bottled up inside you from your head to your toes, you hadn’t even had sex on your mind today let alone coming home to dominate your boyfriend. 

Your skin burned with every touch Mingi gave, you so badly wanted him to flip you around, take you with no prep, laying harsh slaps against your skin with a hand wrapped around your throat, you wanted these feelings fucked out of you. If you were going to fuck, you wanted to be fucked. There was so much negativity built up inside you from the day you yearned for your mind to go blank, to fall into that corner of consciousness where you didn’t have to be. Where Mingi made decisions for you, where he decided what was best. 

“What’s wrong?” With his eyebrows furrowed in concern he pulled you into his chest, hands cradling your cheeks with soft palms, as if you would break in his grasp. 

Fuck. Your throat tightened, your bottom lip jutted outward, your eyes closing to try and force the tears ripping their way through your ducts down. Mingi held you closer, threading a hand through your hair, scratching his nails into your scalp to soothe you, “Baby, what happened? What’s wrong?” 

You sobbed into his chest, guilt racking through you with every breath, you didn’t know what to do. So consumed with the stress of your day and now Mingi wanted you to perform for him, you couldn’t do it. You didn’t answer at first, and he didn’t pry, he laid you down with him instead, letting you cry into his chest while rubbing circles into your back, kissing your head every few minutes, holding you close. 

“I’m sorry,” you finally choked out, eyes opening only to see his tear-soaked tee before you. 

He moved his hands to cup your cheeks again, holding your head up to look at him, thumbs swiping under your eyes to paint your tears onto your skin. “What’s wrong, my love? Did I do something?” 

You shook your head in his hold, “No, no, it’s not you. I just had a really long, fucked up day, and I can’t…” Another sob ripped from your chest, “…I can’t do this tonight.” 

“Baby,” the word laced with the ache from his own chest, he continued, “You don’t need to, you never need to, we don’t have to do anything.” 

You sniffed, you couldn’t imagine what you looked like right now. Mingi’s seen worse, though, he’s seen everything. You pouted, involuntarily sniffing up the last of your cries, voice still broken and uneasy, “That’s the thing. I want to, I just don’t want to think, I want you to take my mind off of it. But I think you want the same from me.” 

He blinked at you, concern and thought drinking up every inch of his face, he didn’t know what to say, either. It was a crossroads. He couldn’t just say Okay, I’ll dominate you tonight— it wouldn’t feel right. You wouldn’t want him to, either, you only want it if he wants it. Just like he only wants it if you want it. 

He looses a breath, running a hand through your hair again, thumb swiping under your eye with his other hand, “Why don’t I run us a bath, order some takeout, and we can sit and watch a movie? Then tomorrow when we’re clear-headed and you’re feeling better, we can talk about this. What to do when it happens.” 

You nodded into his hands, bottom lip quivering, because God, you were so fucking lucky. He washed every inch of your body in the steaming hot water, massaging into your shoulders, your scalp as he washed your hair. He had you smiling and giggling by the time you got dressed, after he ordered takeout, and then the two of you talked about your day. He listened actively, he hated your boss already, now that dislike just ran deeper. You watched a comedy, both laughing and talking through the whole thing, cuddled up next to each other before you fell asleep on the couch with every limb on your bodies intertwined. 

“Wait, so you’re both switches?” Yunho faces the two of you in his spot, feet planted on the floor, elbows resting on his thighs with his fingers interlocked. His eyebrows laced together in focus as he listened to your story from the beginning, ready to guide you, to give the advice you asked him for. 

You and Mingi knew you weren’t going to get anywhere from websites, informational books or romance novels, this was a problem you needed to speak to someone about. A real life human with knowledge, experience, the one person you both know and trust to help you with your little problem. The decision to ask him didn’t come easy, days were spent talking it out, the pros and the cons of opening up your sex life enough to let someone peer inside. None of your friends knew a single detail about yours and Mingi’s sex life, it wasn’t information you gave away easily. 

But this? This felt necessary. 

You sat with your legs crossed on your couch in your comfiest clothes, and Mingi sat stretched out beside you in an outfit that nearly matched yours. Yunho had walked inside complaining about his latest conquest, a six pack in his hand, ready to drink and forget all about it, maybe pass out on your couch. He was even dressed for the date he was supposed to go on, slacks and a long linen shirt, the top three buttons unbuttoned. Clearly, coming here was a last resort, or an answer to his own problems. 

Until you and Mingi bombarded him with your own. 

Yunho seemed excited to dive into your sex life, though. From all the stories he’s told, he’s barely ever gotten a detail out of one of you, one sided experiences shared without ever getting a glimpse inside of what you two do when you’re alone. He set the six pack down on the second shelf of your refrigerator and sat down in his spot across your living room, urging you two to spill. 

“I guess so?” You look at Mingi and then back to Yunho, “I don’t know how else I’d describe it. It depends on the night.” 

Yunho smiles in disbelief, “I would have never expected that. If I had to guess, I’d say you’re the dom, and Mingi’s your sub.” 

“He’d love it that way,” you joked, nudging Mingi with your elbow, the six foot man beside you who wore the gentlest smile. “All of this started because I wanted him to throw me around a bit.”  

“Hm,” Yunho sits back on his couch, crossing a leg over the other, his arm stretching across the back. “That’s a lot to discover, you haven’t been doing it for long, then?” 

“A month and some change, I believe,” your boyfriend nods in Yunho’s direction. “At this point I think we’re just confused. We’re extremely similar and our feelings line up more often than they don’t, it’s hard to differentiate when one of us wants to be the one in control. Or doesn’t want to be, in our case.” 

“Wait, wait,” Yunho raises a hand, “Let me see if I’m getting this right. The issue at hand is that neither of you want to be in control?” 

“Sometimes,” you add, “Not all the time. The issue is what to do when that happens.” 

Yunho laughs, and it’s a shrill sound that slithers down your spine, ringing in your ears like a wake up call. You think you can read the words in his mind, on his tongue, the easiest solution here, and it terrifies you when he actually says it. 

“Why don’t you just call up a third when it happens?” 

So simple. So easy. Like you and Mingi haven’t been together for years, like your sex life was some measly thing you could invite others into, as if it meant nothing. That was dangerous territory. 

But you suppose you’ve been in dangerous territory for over a month anyhow. 

You glance at Mingi who seemed to be thinking the same thing as you. He’s the one who turns to Yunho and says, “I don’t know if that’s something we’d be comfortable with.” 

“Including someone else… Opens doors,” you add, fingers fidgeting where they say in your lap, uneasiness oozing off of you. 

“Doors that we haven’t even knocked on, let alone opened,” Mingi nods, and the comfort of his thigh pressed to your knee feels necessary. 

Yunho tilts his head, “It doesn’t need to be some big thing. You guys are exploring, figuring shit out, it doesn’t hurt to have someone else to guide you. And scratch the itch.” 

You pull your lip between your teeth. That wording, how casual he’s treating the sentiment… You and Mingi were planners, since the beginning of starting this adventure, you’ve talked everything out from day one. Yet as you glanced at your boyfriend, the transparency in his eyes, how he seemed to be contemplating it, too. 

Something was nagging at you, saying maybe inviting someone else in is the right option. Yunho was the one with experience, he’s guided people before. 

He’s guided people before. 

“Do you know anyone who would?” Mingi asked as your eyes skimmed over Yunho. Broad chest, long legs, strong thighs, you’ve never really looked at him. You know he’s gorgeous, but you’re too in love with Mingi to notice when someone looks like that. This could work. Your head tilted, the pearly chest peeking out of the white linen shirt lined with a silver chain, eyes dropping to his slacks clung to every muscle in his thighs. This could definitely work. 

Yunho smacked his teeth. “Are you kidding me?” 

A smile played at your lips as a bubble of excitement erupted in your gut. Every single story he’s ever told comes rushing back to you, every minuscule detail— Is he thinking what you’re thinking?

“You two have zero structure. As much as it doesn’t need to be a big deal, you should still invite someone that you trust.” Yunho meets your eye as he finishes his sentence, and you watch as he realizes, catching a glimpse of the amusement on your features, he knows. 

“I trust whoever you trust, Yun,” Mingi says plainly. “I trust you the most.” 

You and Yunho stare at each other, lost in some kind of nonverbal contemplation, who was going to tell Mingi what both of you were thinking? He jerks his chin in the direction of your boyfriend, the action so small it was almost unnoticeable, his eyes saying Go ahead. 

So you do. 

“Min,” you say quietly, turning to look at him, and Mingi meets your gaze with an absentminded look. As if Yunho couldn’t hear, you ask your boyfriend, “Why don’t we ask him?” 

Mingi’s face contorts into bewilderment. “He can hear you— I— Are you crazy?” 

You look at him, really look at him. We trust him.  Mingi’s face doesn’t change. He’s my best friend.  You pull your lips together in a line. He’s the only Dom we know. He can help us.  Mingi glances at Yunho, then back to you. Are you sure? You smile. I’m sure. 

When you both looked back at Yunho, his face had completely morphed into something different. Stronger. Thrill is racing in your blood, excitement and nerves combined encouraging the trickle of sweat beneath your clothes. You didn’t give yourself a moment to think, not about what could go wrong, not even about what would go right. Just sitting across from him had your mind floating, staring at that corner of your consciousness where you were everything and nothing all at once, waiting. 

Mingi said something. You weren’t listening. 

Yunho sat deeper into the couch, knees spread and outstretched in front of him, a smirk on his lips. “God, I thought you would never ask.” 

Amusement still rippling in your eyes, impatience sitting shallow beneath your skin, you blink, “What do you mean?” 

“The night you were ‘sick’?” He bends two long fingers on each hand around the word, “Don’t think I didn’t know why you kicked me out. What my words were doing to you both.” 

Your body flushes, he even felt your temperature that night, yet he knew the whole time? Smirk still etched into his skin, he says, “You both looked at me like you wanted to eat me alive. Like you needed me to put you in your place.” 

The breath that leaves your lungs is staggered and Mingi catches it, he could probably feel the arousal radiating off of you, smell the wetness pooling between your legs. You wanted this more than you realized, you think, and you hoped he did, too. 

“Is that what you’d do?” The words stumble out of your mouth before you can think about them, “Put us in our place?” 

Yunho meets your eye again and his gaze laid upon your body is all consuming, like being under a microscope, as if he can see the brat that laid dormant between your ribs. Voice swimming with simplicity and clean control, he says, “If you give me a reason to.” 

He shifts his focus to your boyfriend and you feel colder without it, “Do you want this, Mingi?” With eyes on him and him alone, still exuding confidence and strength, he asks, “Or is it just your pretty little girlfriend that wants me?” 

You and Mingi both gasp. Holy shit. Mingi stared, lips parted, you were sure his mind was going a mile a minute about all the things that could go wrong, how he hadn’t done any research on this. 

Hold on, Yunho thinks you’re pretty? 

“I’m nervous,” Mingi responds, his voice small, brushing his pinky finger against your thigh, but keeping his eyes trained on Yunho. Ignoring the pretty little girlfriend part doesn’t surprise you at all. With a little more confidence, he says, “We should talk about this.” 

“We will talk about it,” Yunho nods, “I wouldn’t do this without talking about it first. I need to know your limits, boundaries, what you’re comfortable with. I need to know if you want it most of all though, Min.” 

Mingi turns to you, a fire in his eyes, one that you couldn’t place specifically. Nerves or arousal, stress or excitement, they could burn either way. With an even smaller voice, low and raspy, he asks, “Are you sure about this?”

“I trust him,” you say just above a whisper, “If you don’t want it, we don’t do it. Period.” 

“Baby,” he squeezes his eyes shut, dropping his head down, voice smaller than you’ve ever heard it, “I want it so fucking bad.” 

You smile, peeking to look at Yunho, giving him a quick nod. You turn back to Mingi, excitement laced in your words, “Then let’s do it.” 

“I need to hear you say it, Mingi,” Yunho cuts in, voice slicing through the room, an order. Mingi’s cheeks are bright pink as he stares at his best friend across the room, fingers fidgeting with the strings of his sweatpants, nervous. “Don’t be shy with me, I know everything about you, Min. I’ve seen your worst, and I’m still saying yes to fucking you.” 

The huff of air that leaves Mingi slices through the room like a knife. It relayed every thought he was keeping trapped inside, every feeling he wasn’t sure if he should feel, as if he released the last bit of apprehension so the truth could lie bare. He looked at Yunho as if he handed his pride over to his best friend to hold between his long fingers, as if one harsh squeeze would leave Mingi ashamed for the rest of his life, as if he’d lose Yunho if this went all wrong. 

Mingi swallowed, “I want this.” 

Yunho smiled, “Great.” And as if he could read Mingi’s thoughts, his expression just as well as you could, he added, “You won’t regret it, I promise.” 

Mingi nodded, leaving silence to lay over the room like a blanket. You steal a glance at your boyfriend, the both of you seeming to be thinking Well? What now?

Yunho answers your thoughts once more, “Tell me what you’ve done, what works, what doesn’t. Any boundaries, hard limits, things that are an immediate No.” 

You purse your lips, trying to rack your mind, because in all seriousness you really haven’t tried all that much besides choking, some light power play and orgasm denial. 

When you nor Mingi answer right away, the smile on Yunho’s face only grows, sly and knowing. “You guys are like two virgins sitting across from me. Say something.” 

As if the one sentence took the edge off completely, you smile, and the lock on your vocal chords open. “We’ve just played around with choking, denying orgasms and stuff, some degradation. Nothing crazy.” 

Yunho nods, “Okay, impact play? Spanking, slapping?” 

“I did that once,” Mingi raises a finger, a nod of his head. 

“I don’t really know what I’d be into or not into,” you shrug, “Do you have, like, a list?”

“What, like a survey? Check off the box next to each kink if you’re into it?” 

That rips a laugh from your lungs, “Fuck you, I don’t know. I don’t even know what there is to say no to.”

Yunho’s smile is somewhere between amused and plotting, eyes thinned and menacing. “Okay, then tell me what is an immediate Yes. What you do want.” 

You purse your lips again, but Mingi answers first, the confidence in his voice taking you completely by surprise. “I like being choked, and I like when she’s mean to me, but nothing too mean, more like when she calls me names. I don’t know about being spanked or slapped.” 

You nod, “Choking and names, yes. Spanked and slapped also yes.” 

“Okay, we’re getting somewhere,” Yunho nods, “When you say names, you mean slut, whore, etcetera…” 

You and Mingi nod, saying yes simultaneously. 

“And we’re both okay with orgasm denial, how about overstimulation?” 

“Yes,” you say in unison with your boyfriend once more. 

“Then let’s start there,” Yunho leans forward again, elbows on his knees, legs spread before him. “I won’t be too harsh with you. If you guys are still interested in exploring, then we’ll save it for next time.” 

He’s already thinking about next time?! 

“Have you figured out a safe word already?”

You and Mingi nod, but Mingi says, “It’s kiwi. We googled safe words and it said fruits are good words to use.” 

Yunho tries to ignore his amusement but his smile leaks through the mask, “Kiwi, okay. I can kiss you both, touch you both, there’s no limits when it comes to that, either?” 

You and Mingi both shake your head. You add, “We’re yours to do whatever you want.” 

“Good,” Yunho says, then turns to you, back to the demeanor exuding strength and power, “For starters, never say fuck you to me again, unless you want to watch me ruin your boyfriend while you sit in the corner, watching.” 

Your breath hitches in your throat, your body stilling, heat erupting beneath your skin. The thought of him touching Mingi without you, doing anything without you present, active… a shiver racks down your spine, eyes wide and alert. You nod, then squeak, “Understood.”

“So sweet,” Yunho smiles, “I’m gonna have fun with you. Come here, pretty.” 

You glance at Mingi, who looks like a deer caught in fucking headlights, eyes wide and slightly panicked, lips pulled into a line. His face seemed to say, He wants to do this now?!

You hold his stare, Should we?

His eyes fly to Yunho, then land back on you, his jaw tightening as he thinks. You can see the thoughts form, the churning of contemplation in his mind, but you watch as they soften, chocolate eyes melting under the heat of his best friend. His lips perked up at the corners, but his eyes told you he wasn’t completely sure, “Don’t keep him waiting, baby.” 

You swallow but still stand on shaky legs, sauntering across the room, around the coffee table, approaching Yunho who shifts as you come closer, body sinking into the couch and spreading his knees. His face is too calm and collected, too casual, as if he’d truly been waiting for this, as if he’d seen this picture in a dream. You stand before him, socked toes wiggling against the hardwood as he looks you up and down, eyes catching on your big tee, staring where it swallows your shorts beneath. You were not dressed for the occasion, but he didn’t seem to care. 

“Come on,” long fingers hit the top of his thighs, patting muscles and clothed skin, his slacks bunched where his thighs met his pelvis. “Sit.” 

Your heart thumps beneath your chest as you sink a knee on either side of him, your head immediately turning to look back at your boyfriend. Yunho catches your chin with his hand before you catch a glimpse, his voice stern, “Eyes on me.”

You didn’t think you’d be apprehensive– every bone in your body was screaming yes, but the thighs beneath you were so different from Mingi’s, more narrow, just as strong but more slender, a lankier build than your muscle mass of a boyfriend. The difference had your body confused, your muscle memory warped, but your muscles relaxed in his hold, submitting to his grip on you, long fingers hooked on either side of your jaw. You stared into the well of bronze below his brows, lighter than Mingi’s, but hardened with steady control. 

“Do you still want this?” His voice was low, almost a whisper on your skin, “Be honest. We can just watch a movie, try again another time, or never talk about it again.”

“I do,” It took a single hammered heartbeat to answer, “I want this.”

He smiles again, sweeter this time, “Then kiss me.”

He guided you toward him with his fingers still wrapped around your jaw, his lips softly melting with yours, and the feeling was… Strange. Smaller than Mingi’s but just as soft, you adjusted, allowing him to take the lead, following his lips as his hand traveled to your cheek, taking up every inch of space from your jawline to your ear. It was dizzying, Yunho kissed like he was already undressing you, inside you, passion and lust and conjoining, you could feel every intention behind it. It didn’t take long for your hips to rut against his. 

As good as it was, it was still weird. Being with one person for so long but enjoying another, guilt nibbled at your soul, at every ounce of blood in your body that circulated only for Mingi. His hands dropped to your hips, palms covering bone, fingertips digging into plush skin, moving you against him. Your lips still followed his, body pliant for him, your arms flying to his shoulders to keep you steady. 

Yunho pulled away after a moment, back relaxing into the cushions, hands laying softly on your hips, he averted his eyes to your boyfriend who sat across the room. 

“Min,” you turned your head as Yunho called his name, eyes widening as you took in the view of your boyfriend. Body stretched out before him, jaw locked, eyes glazed over, still somewhere between horny and hesitant. “Come here,” Yunho’s voice was softer now, control still tangled within his words but he’d mixed in something calmer, soothing. 

Mingi loosed a heavy breath as he stood, taking the seat beside Yunho, his limbs locked and rigid. You met his eyes, trying to understand what laid below the surface, and for the first time in years you couldn’t read his mind. Yunho’s head still hung lazily over the couch, his eyes raking over his best friend, his thoughts you couldn’t place either. 

Yunho’s hand reached out to touch Mingi’s face, his thumb caressing his smooth, pink cheek, a small smile sitting on Yunho’s face as he touched him. Yunho locked a laugh inside his chest as Mingi shuddered, his voice quieter now, “Wanna kiss me?” 

Mingi looked like he saw a ghost. Rapidly blinking, his lips opening and closing, yet leaning into Yunho’s palm resting on his cheek. Mingi nodded once, and that was all Yunho needed to lean in, to attach his lips to Mingi’s. 

Your lips parted as theirs met, a rush of adrenaline seeping into your bones as they kissed, softly at first, questioning and experimental. Your eyes widened as their kiss deepened, Mingi’s body turning to face Yunho, a rough palm coming up to cup Yunho’s cheek, the two of them holding each other. 

It was… Passionate. You wondered if Mingi was feeling the same things you did, the guilt, unease, the feeling of it all being foreign. It didn’t look like it, but you wondered how you looked kissing Yunho, if it appeared anything like this. The heavier it grew, the higher your temperature raised, a blazing heat consuming you as every nerve ending sparked. Watching Mingi kiss someone else— Yunho of all people— had you even more confused than you were before, horny but jealous, enjoying the show but wishing they were touching you, too. 

Yunho’s hand slid down to Mingi’s jaw, grabbing it the same way he grabbed yours, you watched as his fingertips turned white with pressure, his grip tightening to ignite jealousy in your fucking soul. You rolled your hips at the sight before you, unsure if it was to get their attention or if it was because of the bucket of arousal that had been dumped on your head.

A hand left Mingi’s jaw to slide up your thigh, to rest on your hip, urging you to continue. You leaned forward at the attention, your hand reaching under Yunho’s unbuttoned shirt by the collar, fingers caressing his collarbone to his shoulder. Your lips followed, tongue licking up his neck, tasting sweat and Yunho as you kissed his jaw, the two still making out just above your head. 

Yunho’s hand slid up to your waist beneath your tee, still keeping the other hand on your boyfriend’s jaw, somehow appeasing both of you simultaneously. You think about what he said– God, I thought you’d never ask– It finally clicks that he’s been waiting for this. He wants it just as much as you two do. The thought makes you smile into his skin, your other hand playing with the buttons of his linen shirt, wanting to feel the skin beneath it, wanting the wall between you gone. 

Yunho finally breaks away from Mingi, both hands coming to your hips to still you, and you pull away from his neck. Both you and Mingi stare at him confused, waiting for instructions or compliments or degradation, you weren’t sure.

You would have never expected what actually came out of his mouth. 

“That’s enough for tonight,” he leans back into the couch, eyeing the two of you carefully. You glance at Mingi who wore swollen lips and furrowed brows, you were sure you looked the same. 

“That’s it?” Your eyebrows knit together, “Just some kissing?” 

You were baffled. Yunho smiles, “Just some kissing. Now you’ll know if you really want it, with me.”

“I know,” Mingi counters immediately, “I know. I want it, now. With you.”

You nod your agreement, “I know, too. I want it, Yunho.”

Yunho’s smile just grows, sly and wicked as per usual, “Think on it for a few days.”

You can feel him hard beneath you– You stare at him with wide eyes, eyebrows furrowed, jaw slack. The arousal sliding through your veins was begging to be released, the arousal for him, for what comes next. You sputter, blinking rapidly, “I– We don’t need to think. Are you serious?” 

He laughs. Not condescendingly, one genuinely full of amusement, “I’m serious, baby.” His hands grab at your hips, lifting you to place you on Mingi’s lap instead, “Next time.”

You look at Mingi who shares the same expression, confusion and surprise, blue-balled. You look at Yunho who’s getting up from the couch, “You don’t want to?”

He stands before you then glances down at his clearly hard cock pressing against the material of his pants, “I clearly want it, but I know you two. You don’t do anything on a whim, everything is planned out, even sex. Think about it, talk about it, and call me.”

It was as you had jumped into the ocean, freezing water washing over you, waking you up while simultaneously putting you down. You blink at him, he was right, he knows the two of you far too well, but for once you didn’t need to think it through. You knew down to the essence of your being that you wanted this, wanted him, wanted to see what he’d do with you. Wanted to feel it.

“Don’t look at me like that,” He tilted his head, pouting, “I promise I’ll come back and fuck you stupid if you want me to.” 

Oh, you burned at his words, you wondered what other filthy things could leave his pretty lips. Mingi spoke up before you got the chance to whine, “You’ll come when we call?” 

Yunho nods, “I promise. We have, like, twelve more movies to watch, anyways.”

You groan, you forgot about your Marvel Marathon. “God, this is gonna be endless.”

“You have no idea,” He winks, fucking winks, and you sink into Mingi, fighting another groan. 

He turns, grabbing his keys from the coffee table, and starts for your front door. He waves a hand as he approaches the door, calling behind him, “I’ll be waiting for your call!”

You and Mingi look at each other as he slips through the door, a thousand words going through your minds, but you speak first. “We are calling him tomorrow.”

Mingi laughs, head tipping backwards, his whole body falling into the couch. “He’s such an asshole, but he’s right. A correct asshole.”

“A correct asshole,” you huff, laying on top of your boyfriend, sinking into his warmth. “I’m horny.”

“Good thing I got a lil’ jealous seeing you kiss him,” Mingi says, his hands sliding up your waist, under your tee– His tee. “Come here.”

“You? Jealous? I’ve been waiting for this day.”

masterlist

[stardustshuji]

　　❛❛ 𝐓𝐎𝐊𝐘𝐎 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐓, 𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐁.

ꗃ sum. a collection of tokyo's hottest summer tunes! featuring mitsuya takashi, hanma shuji, kisaki tetta, kokonoi hajime, and inui seishu. get to know them intimately in these new hit tracks!

tags. fem!reader. smut. all characters are written in their adult timeline (20+). pwp. unprotected sex. body writing. dictation. mirror sex. degradation. dark content - knife play (hanma). bondage (r). blindfolds. sensory deprivation. overstimulation. dry humping. inui cums in his pants. dumbification. objectification. praise.

a/n. this one is dedicated to all my fellow shuji simps <3 i finished this a lot faster than i thought i would so i'm happy! happy saturday folks!

ꗃ : side a / side b / side c

☆ track #1: mitsuya takashi 　— feat. mirror sex

“you’re not allowed to look away.”

takashi’s voice is as smooth as velvet, deceptively soft. you’re kneeling in front of the floor length mirror, back pressed to his chest, your body bare save for the words scrawled in neat, elegant script across your skin.

mine.

beautiful.

takashi’s.

each one traced with the precision of a seamstress, in takashi’s own hand— delicate lettering in smudged black ink, from your collarbones to your stomach to the soft curve of your inner thighs. he’s meticulous with the placement, purposeful.

“you don’t get to ignore how pretty you are when you’re like this,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “you don’t get to hide.”

his hands coast up your sides, thumbs grazing the outline of his handwriting, and you shiver. he watches your face in the reflection, lilac eyes gleaming, half-lidded and hungry.

“now,” he says, his tone tipping into a command, “read them to me.”

you hesitate, your heart thudding in your chest, but he doesn’t give you the chance to stall. one hand drops between your thighs, slender fingers slipping through the slick heat already gathered there. the other wraps around your throat, not tight, just firm enough to anchor you there— your gaze pinned to your reflection.

“go on. start with the one on your stomach.”

you swallow thickly, your mouth suddenly dry. “…takashi’s.”

he hums in approval, his lips curling into a smirk as the pad of his index finger circles over your clit. “and?”

you move onto the next— “beautiful”— your voice shaky. he makes you read them all, every filthy little claim he’s made on your body. by the time you reach the last one— “mine,” written right below your navel— you’re practically sobbing the word.

takashi exhales a pleased laugh. “see? told you you’d look pretty saying it.”

and then he’s pushing inside you, slow and deep, one hand still on your throat. you’re forced to watch the way you take him— how your mouth falls open, how your face twists, how your trembling fingers clutch at the edge of the mirror for balance.

“keep your eyes open,” he groans, “and tell me how good i look fucking you.”

☆ track #2: hanma shuji 　— feat. knife play

you should know better than to tempt him.

but sometimes, when the air feels too still and his attention drifts too far, you crave the sharp edge of his attention, to watch his amber eyes darken with something cruel. something dangerous.

and now you’re paying the price for it. you’re already naked, wrists bound above your head with a length of worn black leather. he’s got you flat on his back, sprawled open on the mattress, and he tilts his head as he admires his handiwork.

“scared?” his voice lilts, sweet and almost innocent, but it’s laced with something mocking beneath it. 

his pocket knife gleams in the dim lighting in his bedroom as he presses it flat to your sternum, the cold metal making goosebumps erupt across your skin. he slowly drags it down, and your stomach tightens beneath its touch. 

you flinch— just a twitch, small and instinctive— but it doesn’t go unnoticed under shuji’s watchful gaze. his eyes flick up to your face, and he tsks, his lips curving in a grin too wide to be of any comfort.

“relaaaaax, angel face,” he drawls, voice thick with condescension. “you trust me, don’t you?”

your silence is a mistake, one that shuji pounces on like a predator sensing weakness. the blade dips lower, skimming over your stomach before trailing toward your inner thigh. 

he taps the tip against the soft flesh there. once. twice. then, slowly, he begins to draw small, deliberate circles just shy of your cunt. 

“or is this what gets you off?” he muses aloud, golden eyes glittering with sadistic delight. “that’s what i love about you.”

his tongue swipes along his lower lip, his gaze locked onto the panic bleeding into your features. “you don’t beg me to stop. nah, you get wet over it— you fuckin’ eat this shit up, don’t you?”

his laugh cracks through the stillness, breathless and mean. it chills the back of your neck, prickles heat along your spine.

because you know what comes next— and shuji knows you’ll take it. 

☆ track #3: kisaki tetta 　— feat. sensory deprivation

you can’t see him, but you can feel him.

the blindfold over your eyes is tight, crimson silk cool against your heated skin, tied neatly at the base of your skull. your arms are bound behind your back, wrists raw from struggling, knees pressed to the floor. you're vulnerable in every way tetta likes: gagged, aching, humiliated. 

entirely at his mercy.

you don't know where he is in the room. that’s part of the game. all you can do is wait— straining your ears for even the faintest sound, your breath coming in shallow pants behind the gag. the silence is deliberate. weaponized.

you flinch when the floorboards in front of you creak. “i like you better like this,” tetta announces from above you. “on your knees. stripped down. obedient.”

he circles you like a vulture, the sharp scent of his cologne catching in your throat. and then— nothing. another long, pregnant pause with no touch, no sound. your pulse pounds in your ears, your body coiled tight with anticipation.

then— click.

you flinch again when the cold tip of a metal pointer grazes your back, tracing down your spine one vertebra at a time. he watches you with clinical detachment, humming as he follows its path with his gaze until it lands on your ass.

“you’re so reactive,” he notes, not out of affection, but observation. “even without sight, you’re still desperate to please.”

he crouches beside you now. you can feel his presence pressing in close, his breath fanning across your cheek. you make a sound behind the gag, involuntary, unsure if it’s fear or arousal anymore. both live so close together when it comes to tetta.

“how pathetic,” he whispers, almost fond.

the pointer taps lightly against your inner thigh, tracing higher until it nudges between your folds. you shudder, and he chuckles low in his throat. 

“good,” he whispers softly, the praise smooth and poisonous. “stay quiet for me. take what i give you like the good little whore i know you are.”

☆ track #4: kokonoi hajime 　— feat. dumbification

you’re not sure when you stopped thinking.

maybe it was after the second orgasm. maybe the third. maybe it was the moment his fingers curled just right and pulled a sob from your throat— when your brain short-circuited and never quite recovered.

whatever the case, your mind is long gone— hollowed out and hazy, your jaw slack and eyes glazed over, your body nothing more than a pretty, pliant thing draped across satin sheets.

you’re limp beneath him, still pulsing around the last echo of his touch. your breath comes in broken pants, your chest rising and falling as your body struggles to keep up. you’re trembling from overstimulation, but you don’t ask him to stop. you wouldn’t even know how.

kokonoi’s fingers tangle in your hair as he yanks your head back, forcing your eyes to meet his. there’s a sneer on his lips when he sees your fucked out expression. 

“god, look at you. not a single thought going on in that head, is there?” he clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, shaking his head. “what happened, doll?”

his grip tightens, just enough to make your scalp sting, and you let out a soft, broken little noise— nothing articulate, just air and desperation. the sound only makes him laugh.

“no thoughts, no words. just drooling all over yourself,” he muses aloud, tipping your head to the side like he’s examining merchandise. “you’re not even embarrassed, are you?”

his other hand travels down your torso, the blunt drag of his nails raising goosebumps in its wake. he traces the curve of your waist, the dip of your hip, until his fingers slip between your legs. 

“you’re making a mess,” he scolds you. “leaking all over the damn place like a broken toy.”

he slaps your pussy lightly, the impact just enough to make your hips jerk and your eyes flutter back.

“that all it takes to shut your brain off?” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “a few fingers and a little praise and you’re just a wet hole for me to use? something soft and warm for me to fuck.”

he leans in, his lips brushing your temple. “that’s okay. you don’t need to think— i’ll do all the thinking for you.”

then he’s inside you again without warning— deep and mean and relentless, your body bowing as you let out a moan you don’t even register making.

“that’s it,” he grins, his hips resuming a brutal rhythm. “my perfect little fuckdoll.”

☆ track #5: inui seishu 　— feat. dry humping

you’re still wearing your panties.

that’s what gets to seishu the most— the thin cotton barrier pressed tight to your cunt, soaked through and clinging to the curve of you, but still technically in the way. your thighs are spread over his lap, your hips rocking in slow, languid circles as you grind down against the bulge in his jeans.

“fuck,” he breathes, his head tipping back against the headboard. his hands grip your waist, his knuckles pale. “just like that, baby.”

he’s already hard— has been since you first climbed into his lap, all big eyes and coy little smiles, the kind you only wear when you’re planning to ruin him. and you have, thoroughly. his pulse is racing, his jaw is locked tight, and sweat is starting to gather at his temples.

still, he doesn’t stop you. not when you lean in to mouth at his throat, not when you roll your hips harder, until the friction has both of you gasping.

“shit— fuck,” he groans, hips stuttering up against yours. “you’re gonna make me cum.”

your eyes widen down at him as you lose your rhythm, blinking down at him in shock, but seishu doesn’t seem to notice, grabbing your hips and grinding them for you. his brows are drawn tight, mouth parted as he chases his high with reckless, desperate thrusts.

“you feel too good,” he pants, breath hitching as your panties smear slick across the ridge of his cock. “fuck, baby, i can’t—”

he shudders.

the first wave hits him hard, his whole body tensing beneath you as he cums in his pants with a ragged groan, his hips jerking up involuntarily. warmth spreads between you, the wet heat of his release soaking through the fabric and sticking to your panties. 

you freeze above him, lips parted in stunned silence, and for a beat, the room is quiet save for the rush of both your breathing.

then seishu slumps back against the headboard, eyes fluttering open to meet yours. 

"shit, okay... your turn."

[emeraldserenade]

There For You ~ Robert "Bob" Floyd

synopsis: Your fiancé left you three months before you find out your pregnant. Thankfully, Bob's, and the others, are there for you

tw: fem!reader, pilot!reader, angst, pregnancy, reader gets an abortion (if you don't agree with abortion, just stay off my page. It's a basic human right that everyone should have access too. Thanks), reader's call sign is Mystic, reader's mom was an alcoholic and reader doesn't drink because of it, anti-abortion protesters, barely edited.

fic, ficlet, drabble, request

Do you think Maverick ever wishes he would have listened to Goose at the volleyball nets and stayed for one more game just so he would have had just a little more time with Goose before his death? (I'm sorry for making you think about this but I can't get the idea out of my head)

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You had come to Miramar with a fiancé, your engagement ring displayed on your left hand. "Hey, Mystic!" Natasha had called over to you when you walked into The Hard Deck that first night.

Bob had saw you right before he made a shot causing him to miss it. He swore you were the prettiest woman he had ever seen, but he wasn't an ass. Bob would never go for a taken woman, even if his heart stuttered every time you smiled. "Hey, Phoenix," you smiled at her and gave her a hug before you were introduced to the others.

"You still haven't gotten married?" Natasha asked and you sighed with a small frown.

"Not from my lack of trying. I swear, every time I bring up the wedding he gets weird," you told her and Bob just wanted to see you smile again. He found himself never wanting to see you frown, but he did and said nothing.

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You were all asked to stay at Miramar, and everyone said yes. "How's Mr. Mystic going to like another move?" Natasha asked, there was an undertone to her voice that everyone picked up on. One that made it clear she was asking another question.

"He'll bitch and moan about it probably," you replied before rubbing your forehead. The entire time you had been with the Daggers, they had all heard about how your relationship with your fiancé. Jake had made the comments no one else seemed brave enough to say.

"He doesn't like the moves?" Jake spoke up again.

"Not since the last one, he made me extend my stay at Oceana a year," you told Jake, you already had your suspicions about what was happening.

"You sound checked out of your relationship," Jake pointed out and you heard the others trying to shush him.

"No, no, he's right," you told the others. "I checked out a month ago," you admitted.

"What did he do?" Natasha asked. "You are the most loyal person I know, it's literally your character flaw," she added on.

"I'm pretty sure he's cheating on me," you said it so plainly that it made everyone a little unnerved how much it seemed you didn't care. "I should have seen it coming," you muttered before walking off.

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"I'm a single woman again!" You announced as you walked into The Hard Deck, your finger no longer weighed down by the ring. Your friends cheered for you and you slumped down into the seat next to Bob.

"You ok?" Bob asked, knowing you may not be.

"Mostly, kinda sucks. I was sure I would have been married by now when I was little," you told him.

"You'll find someone who's worthy of you," Bob told you and you smiled over at him.

You turned down every celebratory drink offered, you weren't one to drink. Your mom was an alcoholic and you didn't want to worry about one drink snowballing into something more. But you did take the shirley temple that Natasha and Bob offered with a smile.

"So, Bob," you turned towards him and Bob had to actively fight the blush that tried to move up his neck to his face.

"Yeah?" Bob questioned, cracking open a peanut and offering it to you.

"Is your reason for not drinking as depressing as mine?" You were just trying to get to know him a bit better.

"Uh, no," he gently shook his head. "I just don't like how it makes me feel so out of control of my own actions," he told you.

"Ah, so a normal reason," you nodded before lightly laughing. "So what's with the peanuts?"

"I just like them," Bob shrugged and you nodded slowly.

"You wanna ask a question?"

"Why'd you stay with your ex so long if you had emotional checked out?" Bob couldn't help but ask and you raised both of your eyebrows.

"Wow, right to it," you muttered but kept talking before Bob could apologize. "I wasn't ready to admit I no longer loved him," you told Bob.

"What made you realize you didn't?"

"I'm not sure yet," you told him but it was a lie. You knew exactly what made you realize that you no longer loved your ex fiancé, it was the man you were sitting with.

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You were three months into your stay after the uranium mission when you realized it. You realized that you hadn't had your period since before the mission and you had to take the test.

You were standing in your bathroom in the shirt Bob had let you borrow after work one day when yours ended up covered in coffee. The test sat on the sink, the two pink lines unmistakeable. You stood there for who know how long, an hour and 32 minutes, before moving through your morning routine.

You noticed the few things you had been writing off. Your morning nausea, the way your pants seemed tighter, the way you were craving strange things. You harshly sighed through your nose when you walked into the ready room.

A harsh wave of Jake's cologne hit your nose and you violently gagged, making everyone look at you. "You ok, Mystic?" Pete was in the room but you weren't late.

"Uh, yeah, I'm fine," you waved it off. You knew no one believed you but you just moved to your seat by Bob and relished in the fact that his cologne seemed to have the opposite effect of Jake's.

You listened to what Pete was telling everyone before rolling your eyes at something stupid Jake said. It was all normal and you were able to forget about your little dilemma for the time being.

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The end of the day resulted in your breakdown, the one you hadn't allowed yourself to have. It was another wave of Jake's cologne that cause you in, you gagged again. "What's wrong? Are you overcompensating for your feelings?" Jake asked with a smirk and you weren't sure why that's what made you break, but it was.

"God, not everything's about you! I'm pregnant and your cologne fucking stinks," you shouted before freezing. You couldn't look around at anyone but you moved to rest your hands on your stomach. Your flight suit being pushed against you perfectly for everyone to see the small bump.

"What? Are you sure?" Natasha asked. If you had looked towards her, you would have seen Bob's expression. His brows were drawn tight and his hands were in fists next to him. Bob wouldn't admit it, at least not at that moment, but he hated the thought of your carrying the child of someone who wasn't him.

"Yeah," you whispered, looking down.

"Are you keeping it?" Jake took a few steps back and waved the air around him away from you. He may be an ass at times, but he wasn't going to make you anymore uncomfortable than you were.

"I don't think so," you whispered again, slightly curling in on yourself. You walked away before more questions could be asked, you just wanted time for yourself.

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It was a bad idea, you thought as you stood outside Bob's apartment. You had told Pete that you were going to the clinic today and he insisted you take someone with you. He left the choice up to you, you thought about Natasha but Bob living in the same apartment building.

You knocked before you could convince yourself otherwise. You were wearing a bagger shirt you had and a pair of shorts. Bob opened the door in a soft looking shirt and a pair of jeans, what he normally wore before changing at work. "Y/n? Are you ok?"

"Will you come to the clinic with me? Pete said I shouldn't go alone and that whoever I choose can just text him for the day off," you explained, wringing your hands together.

"Yeah, come in. I just need to do some things before we leave, if we have time," Bob opened the door and you stepped in.

"Yeah, we have time. The appointments later today, I just wanted to catch you before you went to work," you told him, moving to sit on his couch.

"Can I ask why me? Why not Phoenix?" You watched as Bob moved into his kitchen and finish the dishes you assumed he was doing when you knocked.

"We live in the same apartment complex, but you also are just a steady calm I can count on. I think I'll need that," you admitted quietly. You didn't tell him it was also because you were slowly falling for him, or that you were wanting to spend alone time with him.

You and Bob kept idle conversation as he moved around his apartment. Pete didn't hesitate to tell Bob that it was all good to take the day off and you were thankful for that. The small voice in your head was telling you that Pete would try to make you take Natasha dissipating in an instant.

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Bob held your hand the whole way into the clinic, the shouts from the protesters made you flinch towards him. Bob was steady in every step, letting you lean into him. The volunteers from the clinic walked around you two with umbrellas to help shield you from the protesters, but Bob being there with you helped more emotionally.

You were thankful that the inside was quieter. Bob had let go of your hand to open the door for you, but you stopped directly inside holding your hand out until his laced back with yours. The two of you walked up to the counter and you just kept your hand in Bob's. "Hi, what's the name?"

"Y/n y/l/n," you told her and finally let go of Bob's hand to dig in your purse for your IDs. Bob seemed to understand that you still wanted his presence by the way his hand landed on your lower back, his thumb rubbing up and down slightly.

"Just fill this out and bring it back up, ok?" The lady smiled at you and you nodded. Your hands slightly shook when you took it but you tried to steady them with a smile. You let Bob lead you to two more secluded seats and sat down, the tablet was balanced on your lap as you clicked through the questions.

"This makes it feel so real," you muttered and Bob placed his hand on your shoulder.

"No matter what happens, I'll be right here," Bob assured you and you were thankful for him. You finished the questions, took the photos of your state ID and military ID (for insurance reasons), and Bob took it back to the counter for you.

"You can say no, but will you come back with me?" You softly murmured when Bob sat back down, his hand landed on your thigh right above your knee.

"If they allow me, then I'll be there," Bob told you and you nodded. You shifted slightly and leaned your head on his shoulder. You two sat there like that until they called you back, you were thankful that they allowed Bob to go back with you.

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The appointment was a mess of a check up, your options, and them doing something before giving you the pills. "Just take that and then you should..." you zoned out as she started talking about your symptoms. You were given a cup of water and you took the pills and downed the water. The doctor let you two go and Bob held your hand the entire way back to his truck.

The protesters had left at some point, either by choice or not, and you were thankful. You were already on the verge of another breakdown, that would have been the tipping point.

"Do you want to stop for lunch?" Bob gently asked and you nodded.

"Can we get burgers?" You questioned. "Greasy ones, like Five Guys greasy," you added on.

"I know this great local place," Bob told you and took a right at the light.

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You sat in a booth of some mom and pop burger shop almost 15 minutes away from your apartment. The greasiest burger you've ever seen in front of you with fresh fries. You grabbed it and took a bite before looking up at Bob with wide eyes. "Bob, you're an amazing man," you muttered before diving back into your food.

Bob let out a chuckle before focusing on his food. You two ate in silence with both of you stealing looks at the other. At some point you had run out of fries and Bob ordered another order for you. You two shared the third order and even got milkshakes before leaving. "Want to head back?" Bob was looking at you as you two got buckled into his truck.

"Yeah," you nodded, grabbing your milkshake as he started the car.

The drive back wasn't as quiet as the drive earlier. You were actively singing along with the radio, even trying to get Bob to join in with you. By the time you got back to the complex, you were feeling better. You didn't want to be alone but you couldn't ask Bob to keep spending time with you. "Want to come watch a movie? I have popcorn," Bob offered.

Bob had noticed your behavior over the last week since you figured out you were pregnant. You had actively tried to stay around people and Natasha had admitted that you had stayed with her most nights. Everyone noticed how you didn't enjoy being alone with your thoughts too long but no one knew how far to go until you were uncomfortable. Bob realized you seemed to be comfortable with just about anything he did.

"Is it weird to say I want to watch something sad?" You asked, clearly open to watching a movie with Bob.

"As long as it's not a dog movie," Bob warned you and you smiled over at him. He did not like the look you had in your eyes.

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Your return to work was just as plain as you wanted it to be. Once you assured everyone that you were ok, everything went by as normal. Or mostly normal, you found yourself drifting towards Bob more.

You let it happen for almost two months before your tipping point hit. You were in Bob's apartment before work for breakfast when you blurted it out. "I like you, wait no. I'm falling for you, it was slow at first but it's not very slow anymore," you told him, your eyes trained on the table.

"Thank god," you heard Bob breathe out and you looked up at him in shock. He had moved to the seat next to you and you closed the distance. Bob deepened the kiss and you gasped into it, allowing him to slip his tongue into your mouth. He tasted like the syrup from the pancakes and coffee he had been drinking.

"Think the others will shout they knew it?" You joked as you pulled away, your voice breathless.

"Probably, but we can worry about that later. Let's just eat," Bob told you, pulling your seat right against his so he could put his hand on your thigh. Only this time, it was higher and dangerously close to where you wanted him to touch you.

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