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minholuvr333 · 2 days ago

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soooooo monster skz 👀 werewolf chan??? siren felix?? vampire seungmin 👁️👁️ kyuubi jeongin! incubus hyunjin :000 orc or half orc changbin. jisung as some kind of hybrid (cat? dragon? bunny? who knows ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

Do with this information what you will ✨

monster!skz drabbles i can’t stop thinking about

sweet anon… you opened the floodgates that is my monsterfucker brain. i hope you enjoy my devolve into madness >.< this is a long ass post sorry (not sorry at all btw)

pairing; skz x reader (minho is posted here!)

tw; monsterfucking, fem reader, NSFW!, pet names, unprotected sex (be smart), manhandling, blood drinking, oral (f and m receiving), blood and guts, semi public scene, vague manipulation, abo dynamics, ropes, claws fangs scales and fur (*blushes*), some degradation, biting, branding, temperature play (?), poor y/n is about to be exhausted

bang chan;

it’s late when you first meet him. you’re walking home from a night out, hands pulling your skirt down on the dimly lit street. the full moon gives an eery glow to the otherwise dark, lonely concrete path.

and yes, you know it’s stupid to walk home alone. you know you’re a little tipsy and should have called an uber, but alas, you thought the ten minute walk could clear your head. you had a fight with a friend and felt too heated to get into the stiff air of someone else’s car- so, the chilly night air seemed like a better alternative.

this alternative, however, also included a giant fucking wolf in the tree bank. you still completely when you see it, eyes glinting off the moon light, hunkered down like it waits for prey. your heart drops to your ass, surely, you’re dead. surely, you’re about to be on the morning news, torn to shreds and beyond the point of identification.

the wolf watches you from a distance. when you scoot closer to the corner, ready to make a run for it, the wolf suddenly snaps its head in the direction of the woods. you inhale- it runs off, darting back into the thick greenery.

you run.

the next day you feel like you’re caught in a haze, glowing eyes meeting you every time you close your own. so you think, maybe you need a pick me up. maybe you need a coffee.

the coffee shop is a nice, day-lit walk. the overcast sky and gentle air remind you that you are alive and well- not torn to shreds. not a late night snack for a giant beast. as you’re walking, a body brushes yours. when you turn, a man is staring back at you.

“oh! my bad,” the man says, voice smooth, grin splitting his face and dimpling his cheeks. you feel your heart skip a beat in your chest as he looks over your body. he seems to catch himself, clearing his throat and sticking out a large, scratched hand. his knuckles are bruised. “i didn’t mean to startle you. i’m chan.”

you don’t remember giving him your name, but you love the way it rolls off his tongue. it sounds like a sigh, an exhale, he says your name like you’ve met before. old friends, even.

chan starts popping up more and more, he becomes your best friend. loyal, strong, muscular- fucking hot- he’s the whole package. he’s the type of friend that makes it easy to blur the lines, makes it easy to see how far you can push before he pulls away. but he never does. he pushes back, closes in on you every single time.

chan is acting weird. it’s been about a month since you met, since he became so important to you, and today feels… off. you try to ask him to hang out, but he brushed you off, saying he wasn’t feeling well. instead of taking his word for it, you decide to check up on him.

you’re not crazy. if you didn’t have such a horrible pit in your stomach, such a terrible feeling, you wouldn’t bother him. but it’s nearing midnight and you can’t sleep- restless at the thought of something bad happening. so, you go to his place. you take the spare key from the potted plant next to his door, and you walk in.

chan is on his couch. chan is panting, noticeably sweating, hair mussed from constant tugging. he’s barely wearing any clothes- only boxers- and you pause as you look at him.

chan is alert, snapping his head toward you in a way that’s almost too fast. he stands on wobbly knees, frantically looking towards the night sky through his open window before looking back to you. his eyes are glowing.

“y/n,” chan pants out, brows furrowed. “fuck- go home. now!”

you aren’t quite sure what happens next. one minute, you’re standing in the entryway of chan’s apartment, watching in horror as his body starts to contort in ways that cannot possibly be real. the next minute, you’re slammed into the carpet, claws digging into the floorboard by your head and a snarling set of canine teeth way too close to your neck.

chan- at least, you think it’s chan- is above you. he is growling, sharp and animalistic. between low noises you hear a single word, filled with the need to claim, to mark you. mine.

you would have to be massively fucked up to find this hot- your pussy clenches at the sight of him, though. not quite wolf, not quite human, and you gasp loudly as claws rip through your shirt. fuck, maybe you are massively fucked up.

“you shouldn’t have came here,” chan growls, voice ripping from his throat. “stupid puppy, need your alpha to teach you some respect, hm?” you whimper. chan absolutely demolishes your clothing.

you’re soaked, probably need to pay to get the carpet cleaned, but chan doesn’t seem to mind. he growls, sniffing at your neck right where it meets your shoulder. you feel his cock- large, pulsing, hot- against your thigh and a moan passes through your lips. chan can’t help but rut into your thigh, now nipping at the skin of your neck.

“spread your legs, darling. good girls take their alpha without whining, yeah?” chan grumbles, voice a low timbre next to your ear. you shiver violently, legs spreading open as he lines up with your entrance. no prep, no lube, just your soaked cunt and his precum covered cock to ease the way.

you scream when he thrusts in, you can’t help it. it’s rough, the stretch making your vision blurry. it’s so good. you feel like you’re being split in half, marked and claimed entirely by him. you are chan’s, and in return, he is yours.

“my sweet puppy,” chan moans, rutting into you frantically. his clawed fingers grip your hips hard, sure to draw blood. you hope they leave angry red scratches. you hope your blood stays under his nails forever. you beg, a string of please please please chan please leaving your lips, although you aren’t even sure why. all you know is that your stomach is tightening, hands balling up into fists, and chan’s sharp canines are grazing the fragile skin of your neck.

“gonna mate you- fuck, y/n-“ chan is panting now, teeth grinding together like he wants nothing more than to sink them into you. you want him to so bad, you bare your neck for him. “shit. gonna fill you so full, you’re gonna take my knot-“

chan’s teeth sink into your neck. you moan loudly, the noise ripping from your throat like an animal of its own, and you cum- hard. then chan is cumming too, pumping his load into you and thrusting in to the hilt, a large bump at the base of his cock wedging inside of you and staying there. his knot, probably.

you spend an uncertain amount of time- maybe minutes, maybe hours- on the ground, panting and allowing chan to lick your neck clean. he’s practically purring, hands no longer clawed as they run through your hair. finally, he is able to pull out. you whine, earning a sweet hushing sound from the man as he carries you to lay down. a gentle kiss is pressed to your forehead. you fall asleep laying in your mate’s arms.

changbin;

the last thing you expected when you heard a loud bang on your front door was this.

a man stands towering over you. huge- well over seven feet tall, muscles the size of your head, and the expression of someone that would easily murder you without blinking twice. holy fucking shit, you’re dead.

when he bullies his way into your apartment, opening the pantry door and killing a fucking demon right in front of your eyes, you’re surprised to say the least. a demon was messing with your pancake mix and shit.

the man- the orc, rather, tells you his name is changbin. he’s grumpy- a little pissy all the time. you tell him you’re fine, but he insists on staying around a little longer to ensure your safety. humans are too dumb and fragile to be safe on their own, he grunts. he wants to make sure the threat is eliminated.

he stays with you for months. not only in your home, but physically with you. all the time. honestly, you assumed this would annoy you. you consider yourself to be pretty independent, but you would be lying if you said you didn’t like having scary guard dog privileges.

changbin is bigger than any human man you could ever meet. no one approaches you, no one tries to pick you up when you’re having fun with your friends. changbin is always there, like a statue next to you, ready to fight (and kill) anyone who looks at you wrong. it’s oddly peaceful. you feel safe.

the thing is, changbin does not make empty threats. he told you he would keep you safe, and he has proven that he will. the demon in your pantry was the first instance; the sleazy man in denim staring you down from across the room will be the second.

sometimes, men have no survival skills. you can tell this is one of those times as the man wobbles on his feet, stalking towards you and flopping down into the chair to your right.

immediately, you say you’re not interested. why would you be when you’ve been fucking yourself to the thought of your hot orc bodyguard every night? but the man doesn’t take no for an answer. his hand moves to touch your bare thigh.

it never makes contact. instead, there’s a sickening crack as the man falls from his seat with a loud cry, holding his wrist. you didn’t even see changbin move, but suddenly he’s towering over the figure and raising his fist in the air.

you dart out of your seat, tugging at changbin’s snug shirt and whining about wanting to go home. obviously, murder would be a hard crime to plea innocent for- especially when half the bar is staring in your direction. changbin is still for moments, then he huffs loudly. grumbling, he circles your wrist with two large fingers and drags you towards the exit of the bar.

you can tell he’s pissed. and really, he doesn’t give you a chance to ask him about it. as soon as the door to your apartment is locked, he’s throwing you over his shoulder and taking large strides towards your bedroom. you punch and kick at him, telling him to let you down, but it’s wasted energy. he throws you onto the bed without breaking a sweat.

“ridiculous,” he scoffs, arms crossed and visibly fuming. “can’t even go out of the house without having useless humans beg for your attention.”

then, he’s closer. caging your thighs in between muscular legs and pinning your wrists at your head. “but i don’t have to beg, right y/n?” he asks, voice still tinged with anger. “no, i don’t. you will, though.”

your clothes are ripped away in seconds, the cotton fabric feeling so flimsy under his strong hands. changbin undresses next, leaving you panting and your eyes bulging at the sight of his massive cock. it’s almost as big as your forearm. you’re about to be ripped apart, just like your clothes.

“don’t worry, fragile little thing,” changbin huffs. “i’ll get you nice and wet. ready to take what i give you.”

and he does. changbin’s tongue, large and dripping with his spit, licks a stripe through your already wet pussy. he moans at the taste, sound vibrating your sensitive clit as he moves his tongue and lips. your hands thread in his hair, legs spread wide open around his strong, solid shoulders.

changbin’s tongue fucks into you deeper than anyone has ever been, your own fingers couldn’t even do it justice. he prods at your bundle of nerves, with each press of his tongue fire zips up your spine. he can tell when you get close- legs trying to squeeze around his head but unable to move much- and he… stops.

you whine and cry for more, begging for the release you could practically taste, but changbin doesn’t respond to your cries. instead, one solid arm flips you over in a single movement; you’re on your stomach now, large hands wrapping around your hips and pulling you to your hands and knees.

“have to make sure stupid assholes know who you belong to,” he grunts, hands tightening on your hips. you’ll have finger shaped bruises on your lower stomach tomorrow. the dimples of your back with be marked with purple kisses. the thought brings you that much closer to desperation.

when changbin lines his cock up with your greedy hole, you clench in anticipation. he grumbles in annoyance under his breath, large thumbs spreads your cunt open to make way for his length. then, he slides home.

your eyes roll back when you feel his hips press against your ass, head falling to hang between your arms. his hand stretches over your stomach- palming himself from within your body. fuck.

changbin starts thrusting, hips smacking into your ass and turning it bright red. you hold onto the headboard, hoping it doesn’t break- the bed is creaking. mattresses are expensive. each and every thrust inside you leaves you dripping, and if you were capable of forming any thoughts you would be embarrassed of the wet sounds coming from the place where the two of you are connected.

changbin shifts, long fingers coming to press against your clit and move in tight, fast circles. then he’s groaning, forehead resting between your shoulder blades as he moans, “fuck, you feel like heaven- cum for me, pretty girl. wanna feel you squeeze my cock-”

and then you cum. harder and more earth-shattering than you ever have in your life.

you get impossibly tighter around his length, pussy throbbing with every wave of the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had. changbin isn’t far behind you, pounding into your heat once more before burying himself deep inside you and cumming, stuffing you full.

when you come back down from the clouds, changbin is wiping your body with a warm washcloth. you blink sleepily at him, smiling in your dazed state at the feeling of his gentle movements, as if afraid to hurt you now. when he is done, he climbs into bed beside you. large, strong arms wrap around you like a blanket, a kiss lands in your hair. as you’re dozing off, he mumbles out a last breath into the night air- a promise.

“i’ll always keep you safe, baby. you can count on me.”

hyunjin;

really, you’ve had plenty of stupid ideas in your life. this one might take the cake.

summoning a demon with the intention of trapping it, with the intention of tricking it into hunting someone down for you, is a bad idea. you know that. when your best friend had proposed the idea, handing you an incantation that predated modern latin, you had told him exactly how bad you thought the idea was. but here you are- black candles lit in a circle of salt, a bowl of your own blood resting in the middle.

granted, you probably should have learned old latin pronunciation. or maybe even like, new latin. really, any form of latin. but you didn’t, because the idea was already bad. how could it get worse?

in the end, the incantation didn’t even work. the candles burnt out, your blood remained cold in the ceramic bowl, and you were left with nothing but vague frustration as you cleaned your kitchen floor of the mess.

you lay down for the night shortly after, snuggling under your blankets and feeling the softness of them against your smooth, bare legs. with a sigh, you sleep.

then you wake up- sweating, heart racing, bolting upright to dart your eyes around your room.

you can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong. you feel the urge to bolt from your bed, run out the door and keep running. someone- something- is watching you. you can’t explain how you know, you just know.

then, you see it. from the corner of your dark room, there is a figure crouched in your floor. you sharply inhale when crimson eyes meet your own, the shadow tilting it’s head in observance. slowly, the figure stands.

as it comes into the abysmal light from your window, you can start to make out certain features. elegant legs taking graceful steps, slim fingers attached to large, veiny hands. long, black hair cascades over broad shoulders, and those eyes- blood red, glinting with mischief in the sliver of light.

it’s a man, you think. a shockingly beatiful man. you feel the bed dip as hands press down on the mattress, the figure slowly crawling up until he is caging you in from all sides.

a low hum rumbles in his chest, then, “it has been centuries since i have been called upon, millenniums since the being was so… mouthwatering.”

the man leans in close, stealing the breath from your lungs as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “so tell me, y/n. why did you call?”

oh, so he knows your name. fantastic.

“i… i need to kill a man.” you mutter, doe eyes batting upwards in nervousness. you were much more confident when you went over your script in the bathroom mirror. the man laughs breathily, shifting his weight to trail fingertips down your neck, collarbone, and downward. the fingers stop at your cleavage- right where your tank top starts.

“you called me for a murder? darling, i never get my hands dirty. i prefer to feed on those who are more than willing.”

shit. you really should have learned how to pronounce that incantation.

you gulp audibly, hand shaking as it moves to the demon’s chest. your intent had been to push him off of you, but now that your hand has made contact with chilled skin and strong muscle, you can’t find it in yourself to drag it away.

“do not lie to yourself, doll. why did your heart call to me?” the demon mutters, his hand enveloping your own on his bare chest. he moves your hand down, down further, until it rests at the silk fabric above his groin. your fingers curl into it without thinking.

“maybe-“ your voice cracks, so you try again. to your humiliation, the demon grins. “maybe i wanted… to forget?”

now, the fingertips at your cleavage move further, dragging your top down and off your shoulders- off your body all together. you fight the urge to whine as cool air hardens your pert nipples, the demon locking eyes with you as your shirt leaves your body. his grin widens, dark and warning. your heart accelerates against your ribcage.

“that, i can do. it is what i was made for, after all.”

the demon wastes no time revealing your body, strong hands leaving chills in their wake each time he removes more clothing. next, the silk around his hips unfolds, revealing the biggest, prettiest cock you have ever laid eyes on. and you have never thought a dick to be pretty in your life.

your mouth is watering- the demon coos at you like he knows. his hand wanders into your hair, petting the strands before gripping you tightly and moving forward so that his length is just out of your reach. with glassy eyes and a breathless sigh, you open your mouth for him. and he takes full advantage.

his cock is heavy on your tongue, throbbing when you whine around him and close your lips to suck at the tip. he pushes further in, continuing to use your hair as a guide to push and pull your mouth on his length. he groans, low and deep, when you feel him hit the back of your throat and you swallow.

“good, darling. worship me,” he hums. and you do.

drool leaks from your lips, down your chin, as the demon uses your mouth to his content. when you move a hand up to stroke him, he gently slaps it away with a hush. with one final tug of your hair, he leaves you panting, mouth open, and tears falling from your eyes. you aren’t sure if you are thankful for a breath of air- you want to choke by his hands.

“stop whining, doll. i will give you what you desire most,” he grins, sharp teeth glimmering in the darkness of the room. his eyes are brighter somehow, red pools of blood swirling in otherwise black irises. your legs spread wider, bracketing his sharp hip bones as his length presses to your entrance, running his cock head through your soaked folds and watching you clench around nothing in desperation.

when he presses in, it’s slow. deliberate. like he wants to make sure a space is carved out for every inch. when he is buried to the hilt, hips pressed flush to yours, he lets his head fall back with a sigh- as if embracing a lost lover. he pulls out just as slow, you feel him pulse as just the tip of his cock rests inside your wet, messy hole.

then, his hips snap.

the pace he sets is immediate- bruising, deep, pulling your thighs so that your legs are around his broad shoulders, ass lifted off the bed. his hands grip your hips like he will never let go, the promises of bruises seared into his touch. and you scream, hands reaching for his arms and clawing at his skin, sure to draw blood. instead of a complaint, the only thing to fall from his lips is a long, animalistic groan.

it’s all so much- so many sensations pulling you in so deep you feel like you’re suffocating. one of his hands moves to your nipple, plucking and pinching meanly just to feel the way you clench around him.

the demon can tell when you’re close, it only makes him double his efforts. his claws prickle your hip where they draw blood, he pants and moans loudly when he licks his fingers clean.

“fuck- darling, you taste so good. show me how you feel when you fall apart, when i take what is mine.”

with those words, you’re completely swallowed in pleasure. as you cum, moaning and sobbing and shaking, the demon moans too. his eyes roll back, snapping his hips once more before burying himself to the hilt inside your pulsing cunt and cumming- long, thick ropes covering your walls.

the demon shushes you gently as you cry with the aftershocks, turning you onto your side and slipping in behind you. you’re a mess; sweat covered skin, blood drying on your hip bones, cum leaking from your aching cunt. he doesn’t seem to care, just pushes your hair away from your face and mouths at the place where your neck meets your shoulder.

“you did amazing, doll. perfect for me,” you hear him hum into your back before your eyelids grow heavy.

you black out. you know you do, because when you wake it is to the sound of birds chirping and early morning light. you’re fully clothed, your pjs from the night before hanging off your body- wrinkled, but clean.

that was the hottest dream i have ever had, you think, stretching and groaning when your limbs pop after being still for so long.

you go to the bathroom groggily, still foggy brain barely wincing at the bright lights. when you look in the mirror, you pause.

the back of your shirt has a large, dark red stain. blood. it has to be.

your heart drops to your ass as you gently lift your shirt in the mirror, gritting your teeth as sensitive, aching flesh hits the cold air. then you gasp- wide eyes staring at your back in shock.

right between the dimples at the bottom of your spine, large and dark crimson from dried blood, lies one word. italicized cursive, a stamp on your body that will surely take forever to heal; a brand that will stay scarred long after the pain subsides.

hyunjin.

jisung;

in hindsight, you probably should have done a background check on your new roomie before he moved in.

but really, your intuition is so good! and han jisung did not seem like a murderer or stalker- he seemed like a very strange, very hot, loser.

and for fucks sake, that’s your type.

so he moved in shortly after responding to your craigslist ad, shortly after you met for coffee to get to know each other. and to be fair, things haven’t been bad. just… odd.

jisung might be a little weirder than you had initially thought. the man has a metric fuck ton of trinkets- and hey, you love trinkets! but he brought boxes full of things; little gold coins, gold statues of various animals and deities, ashtrays with golden flecks molded into them. you had initially joked that you were more of a silver girl, jisung had just wrinkled his nose and huffed at you. huffed.

not only does he have a hoarding issue, but jisung is also like, incredibly clothed. all the time.

here’s the thing: it’s the middle of fucking july. there is no reason for jisung to be wearing sweatpants and a hoodie, t shirt tucked in underneath. you sweat just looking at him. and he wears these weird ass contacts- all the time. bright blue eyes were jarring to see staring back at you in your kitchen at first, but whatever. you got used to it.

about a month after moving in, jisung started leaving you gifts. little crystals, flowers that he had definitely picked himself- they were never creepy, he always tried to play it cool, but the blush high on his cheeks made you hide smiles behind your hands. you knew he wanted you to like him, and it was working.

you’re a simple gal- when jisung comes home from one of his late night walks, silently placing a rock next to you (a geode, split open and glimmering delicately in the low light) it makes you swoon a little. when he knocks on your bedroom door and holds out a beautiful silk fabric, emerald green and expensive to the touch, mumbling something about how he had too many clothes and you deserve it, you melt. he’s just too damn cute.

the longer jisung shared your apartment, the more time the two of you spent together. suddenly, you couldn’t imagine your life without jisung. he’s your very best friend. he’s clingy in the same way you are, love language shown in his effort to spend quality time in your presence and give you pretty things. living with jisung comes easy, natural.

you have never seen jisung mad.

he’s a chill guy. a nice dude. he is frustratingly calm all the time, laughing off jabs directed towards him, grinning in amusement when you try to push his buttons. nothing gets under his skin, like ever. and it drives you crazy, because you want to get under his skin- just once. just to see what would happen.

jisung is very adamant about having time alone. part of the reason the two of you work so well living together is because he works from home and you work in an office, meaning he gets to be by himself from 9-5 every weekday. jisung also values honesty. he is incredibly loyal, never leaving your side whenever you’re at home or spending time around the city together, and he expects the same from you. he expects honesty, loyalty, and his alone time.

which is why you plan to break all three of these expectations at once. just to see what will happen.

you have another friend who you love dearly. he thinks you’re a little insane, suggesting your master plan to him, but he also lives for the drama. it isn’t hard to get him on board with your idea. it isn’t hard to call into work and say you’re sick. it is a little hard to look jisung in the eyes and tell him you’re leaving for work that morning- but you hope he will forgive you.

“it’s just a prank, relax,” you huff to your friend, walking down the hallway to your apartment door. he rolls his eyes, whining behind you.

“i literally don’t know this man, he could kill me!”

you laugh in response but say nothing more as you quietly step up to your front door. when you have slowly turned the key, unlocking it, you look back to your friend with raised brows. now or never.

he sighs, grimacing in annoyance before grabbing you by the waist and leaning into your neck. he whispers i hate your guts into your ear before you back into the door, opening it quickly.

you don’t see jisung immediately, but you know he sees you. you giggle and thread your fingers into your friends long hair, trying not to actually laugh at the feeling of his lips pecking your neck. there are no butterflies, no arousal pulls in your stomach, it feels almost clinical- but you pull out your best acting skills to moan softly.

you hear the tv show playing stop as jisung pauses the tv, cursing loudly. when you peak an eye open, pushing your friend away in fake shock, jisung is covering himself with a blanket. for a moment the room is silent. you stare at jisung with wide eyes, fighting a grin as he stares back at you, chest heaving from the unexpected entrance.

“shit, sungie- i didn’t realize you would be home,” you curse, faking an apologetic look and smoothing out your skirt. jisung blinks back at you, stare blank for a moment. then, his eyes turn to slits- head tilting as he looks between the two of you.

“y/n,” jisung states, calm. too calm. “could you tell the other thing to leave? we should chat.”

your friend has his hand on the door before jisung is even finished- coward. he mutters something about hoping your lay is worth his life, and as the door closes you lock it, biting your lip when you turn back around.

it’s too quiet. jisung has his legs crossed under the blanket, whole body covered by the fabric, but his eyes are still pinning you to your spot. when you open your mouth to speak, jisung holds up a hand to stop you.

“you know, y/n, i think this is really funny.” he says, looking entirely unamused. his tongue pokes into his cheek as he shifts under the blanket- uncomfortable in his seat. “it’s so funny that you just- what? conveniently forgot i work from home? forgot i am always here, every weekday? forgot i don’t like having uninvited- pests, in my home? touching my things?”

your mouth is dry. you can’t speak, can only squeeze your thighs together and try to squeak something out. “sungie, i-“

“no. there’s no need for that,” jisung cuts you off again. “you know what i think you’re doing?”

then, he stands. the blanket is left to fall on the ground, and you immediately notice three things.

one: jisung is wearing baggy shorts and a tank top. you have never seen this much honey skin- if your mouth was dry before, now it’s like cotton.

two: jisung is jacked. biceps protrude from his top, strong calves and thighs, huge pecs-

three: jisung… has fucking scales. honest to god scales- red and orange crawling up his arms, down his legs, and peaking out from under his tank top. you flush, suddenly feeling too sweaty in the cool air of the room.

jisung doesn’t stop until he is right in front of you, now looking down at you through thick, dark lashes. his eyes are even orange- bright, with cat-like pupils. that explains the contacts.

“i think, you knew i would be home.” he murmurs, tongue (forked fucking tongue) peaking out to lick his bottom lip. when your breath catches in your throat, he grins- too-sharp white teeth making your knees feel wobbly.

he doesn’t stop talking. “you know i’m always home, you know i don’t like people in my space, and you know i don’t fucking like lying. so you’re either really, really stupid, or you did this on purpose.” jisung leans in closer, eyes practically glowing as he huffs through his nose, agitated. his hand comes up to your neck, holding the side of your throat in his grasp- not applying pressure, just holding, as if to say i could hurt you if i wanted to.

“so y/n, which is it? are you just really fucking stupid?” then, he gives your throat a shake- jostling your head like a doll. “or was it on purpose?”

you’re silent. speechless. stunned and blinking dumbly at your roommate. you can see the vibrant scales on his arm from the corner of your eye, reminding you jisung isn’t fucking human- at least, not entirely. suddenly you feel like an animal, small and weak and trapped in the hunter’s lair.

your pussy throbs. holy shit.

jisung is waiting for you to speak, so you muster what little words you can remember through the fog in your brain. “you- you caught me, ji. it was on purpose.”

jisung’s tongue pokes into his cheek as he raises an eyebrow, head lifting condescendingly. “oh really? and what made you think you could get away with that?”

you flush, thighs squeezing tighter together. jisung notices this time, cat-like eyes flicking down to your legs before they’re back on yours. you clear your throat, his hand briefly squeezes before letting go to simply hold you again.

“maybe i didn’t think i could get away with it,” you whisper, batting long eyelashes up at him. “wanted to know how far i could push before you pushed back.”

that seems to be all it takes. jisung laughs once, nodding as if he had just made a decision in his head. then, you’re being shoved back into the wall- hand on your neck pinning you to the surface. his other hand moves to your top, pulling it down roughly and revealing your hard nipples to the air. you gasp at the sudden shift, but the sound is swallowed as jisung kisses you harshly.

all you can do is moan as jisung kisses you, meanly biting into your bottom lip until your mouth opens and his forked tongue meets yours. the hand not gripping your neck tugs on your thigh and you take the hint, wrapping your legs around his waist and leaning your weight into the wall behind you.

jisung breaks away from the kiss, lips traveling to your neck to bite and lick across the skin. then, his mouth is on the top of your breasts. “you wanna see me push back, baby?” he breathes into your skin, making eye contact with you briefly. “this is me pushing back.”

jisung’s mouth wraps around one of your nipples, sucking it into his mouth. you moan breathlessly, head tilting back into the wall. jisung’s mouth is warm- but it gets warmer. it gets hot, tongue like liquid fire as he kisses across your chest to tease your other pert nipple.

“fuck- jisung, that-“ you gasp, moaning at the heat blooming into your skin. you feel him grin against you, lips pressing a chaste kiss to your chest before he raises up.

“you like that? like feeling that flame, baby?” jisung purrs, pupils dilated to near-circles. you whimper as he flips your skirt up around your waist, nodding quickly.

you do like it, the feeling of his molten tongue leaving a searing trail over your sensitive skin. in your half-delirious state you wish it would leave marks. then jisung moves his hand from your neck, rubbing his thumb up and down your soaked underwear and laughing to himself.

“shit, baby. already a mess and i’ve barely done anything, hm?” he coos, pressing harder against your clit through the thin fabric. you whine, trying to grind your hips into his hand. he takes pity on you, tsking once before finally pulling your panties to the side.

you sharply inhale when jisung’s finger enters you without warning- jisung inhales too, mocking you. the look you get when you raise your head to weakly glare at him makes you clench around his finger. not only is he enjoying this, but he knows you are too. jisung is always so nice, so gentle, but now? seeing him mean and biting, teasing you with dexterous hands and a mischievous glint in his eyes? you’re so turned on it hurts. you need him- bad.

but you know jisung. you can feel his hard cock pressing into the swell of your ass, you know he wants this just as bad as you do. he slides a second finger inside of you and you moan as he curls them, pressing insistently into that sweet bundle of nerves.

“fuck, y/n- you’re putting on such a good show,” jisung grins, fingers moving faster. “my hand is dripping, rockstar.”

you whine, long and drawn out, hands clenching on his shoulders. “god- close, jisung! please, please don’t-”

you feel his lips on your neck, heat licking up your spine as he growls into the skin. “cum, baby. cum all over my fingers.”

you fall apart just like that; your thighs shake, sensitive cunt tightening and pulsing around jisung’s fingers. then, you feel his fingers leave you as something way fucking bigger takes their place.

jisung thrusts his entire length into you in one swift motion that has you sobbing- hands clawing at his shoulders hard enough to break skin while you’re still pulsing from your orgasm. you feel his cock splitting you open, the stretch of it aching in a way that makes you feel dizzy. you’re still throbbing, pussy clenching around his length as you come down from your high, and he doesn’t even give you time to adjust before he’s adjusting his grip on your ass and shifting his hips.

“just like that, baby,” jisung pants, snapping his hips forward like he’s starved. “gripping me so tight, that little cunt is greedy, huh?”

all you can do is moan, tears falling from your eyes at the overwhelming pleasure. jisung uses his thumbs to spread your pussy, watching himself fuck in and out of you with a half-manic look in his eyes. he bites down hard on his bottom lip, starting to rub your oversensitive clit in tight little circles while nailing your g spot with every thrust- you might die like this. to your shock, you feel close again.

this time, you barely open your mouth before your orgasm is slamming into you, white-hot and licking up your spine like a fire. jisung groans loudly, forehead falling to your chest, hips moving quicker as his thrusts grow sloppy.

“just like that, rockstar. squeeze my cock- fuck,” he rambles, pistoning his length into you for a few more seconds before moaning and squeezing his eyes shut, mouth falling open as you feel his release coat your aching walls.

you’re still whimpering when jisung pulls you off the wall, shushing you gently as he carries you to his room. you register vague details, like the shiny trinkets littering his shelves and the heaps of soft, silky blankets you’re deposited onto. when jisung crawls into the bed behind you, spooning you under the warm, weighted blankets, you hear him purring.

“next time you want attention, just ask baby.” jisung huffs, rubbing your back tenderly. “i would be happy to give it to you.”

felix;

you have never really liked the ocean.

it’s creepy- being in water that is so vast, knowing you could be swallowed deep in a seconds notice, no one to hear your screams over the roaring waves- it’s scary. you’re much safer on dry land, where you can walk and breathe fresh air.

going on a cruise is genuinely the last thing you ever wanted to do. but your best friend bought the tickets for her birthday, and it would be decidedly shitty of you to say no. so you find yourself here- laying on the deck with your friends surrounding the pool, waves looking darker under the rising moon. the sun had set half an hour ago, and the lull of the waves crashing into the ship has rocked you into a sense of security. your eyes are half closed, breath coming softly.

“psst, y/n,” your best friend shakes you, making you look up sleepily. “i think we’re heading back in. coming?”

you nod, yawning and stretching. “in a second, my leg is asleep. i’ll catch up,” you chuckle, trying to rub the pins and needles out of your calf. you watch your friends head back inside, sighing and leaning back against the cheap plastic chair again.

you fell asleep- like a fool. you don’t know how much time has passed when you blink your eyes open, but the moon is hanging right above you in the sky. you shiver, the chilled night air causing goosebumps to appear on your bare arms and legs.

the thought of being alone, on the ship’s deck in the middle of the night, leaves an eery feeling in the pit of your stomach. you sit up quickly, trying to calm the anxiety in your throat, when you hear someone behind you clearing their throat softly.

your body jerks- head snapping towards the sound so fast your neck pops.

behind you stands a man. a gorgeous man. clear honey skin, long blond hair, full pouty lips. you blink at he waves and draws closer, trying to even out your rapid heart rate. when he sits down gently beside you, you feel much calmer. a deep breath leaves you.

“hello, beautiful. what’s got you out here so late?” a deep, soothing voice rumbles from the man’s chest. you feel your breath come easier, as if his voice is giving you oxygen.

“i fell asleep…” you mutter softly, raising an eyebrow as you take in his body- dripping wet, by the way. “what’s got you soaked?”

the man grins, sharp white teeth and freckled cheeks and crinkles by his eyes. the moon is above you, but you feel the warmth of the sun. you grin back at him, almost subconsciously.

“i just showered,” the man laughs. “can i have your name? i’m felix.”

“yeah, it’s y/n. you showered fully clothed, felix?” you ask, brow furrowed although you don’t feel as confused as you should be. the more felix talks to you, the more you sink into your chair. you could listen to him for the rest of your life.

felix flashes a dazzling grin again, but his eyes seem somehow sharper- like he knows something you don’t, like you just handed him a golden ticket. you barely blink when he shifts closer, shifting your legs into his lap so he can sit in the lounge chair with you. the closeness makes you feel dizzy; a warm, swooping feeling running down your spine.

“enough about me, love.” felix says calmly, thumb running back and forth on your bare thigh. “who left you out here all alone?”

your friends- you had forgot about them. “oh, my friends… i should head back to the room.” you pout, so comfortable where you are.

felix blinks at you like he feels sympathy. like you’re a toddler who doesn’t understand anything about the world around you. he tsks at you, lifting your chin with his index finger and thumb. holding eye contact when he whispers, “or… you could stay with me, right?”

right. you could do that- why didn’t you think of that? felix smiles softly at you, looking proud. it makes your cheeks flush and your stomach clench. felix’s eyes are glimmering, little silver specks of glitter wafting through pools of deep, dark ocean water. the thumb holding your chin moves to your bottom lip, opening your mouth gently. then, he’s leaning in.

his tongue slips into your mouth. immediately, you’re gone. you moan softly into his touch, letting his tongue flick behind your teeth and circle your own like he’s claiming you. his hand tightens on your thigh and before you can really comprehend it, he has flipped your positions so that you are straddling his waist.

“are you gonna fuck me, gorgeous? hmm?” felix hums, smiling when you nod rapidly. his shorts are pulled down, long cock heavy against your stomach as he pumps himself. “go ahead, love. show me how good you can be for me, yeah?”

you whimper, hips grinding against his length as the words wash over you. felix is holding your hip steady, taking his other hand away from himself to move your bathing suit bottoms to the side and reveal your wet cunt to the cold air. you gasp, rocking back and forth and getting more soaked at the feeling of felix’s hard cock between your folds.

you feel so good- too good. you could cum just like this, pussy dripping onto the length of his pretty cock. but felix has different plans, he taps your thigh lightly to get you to stop, lining his member up with your clenching hole, and pushes in.

you feel like you’re drowning- fully seated, feeling his tip kiss your cervix and rub against that sensitive bundle of nerves inside of you. you whimper quietly, circling your hips to get used to the feeling. when felix’s hands tighten against your hips, you slowly start moving.

at this angle, his cock hits your most sensitive spots with every thrust. all you can do is bury your head into the side of his neck, moaning and bouncing on his length, fucking yourself like your life depends on it. you want to feel good, of course, but you want felix to feel better. the thought of giving him pleasure, making him cum, makes you more soaked with every thrust.

“look at me, angel,” felix says, the words rolling off his tongue like a song. he grips your hair firmly, using it to pull your head up.

you moan, the sound turning into a gasp when your eyes settle behind him before you meet his gaze. the boat- you’re still on the boat. you’re out in the open, being fucked within an inch of your life by the most beautiful man you have ever seen.

“what if someone sees us?” you whimper, eyebrows furrowing as you slow to a halt. felix laughs breathily, shifting you on his lap so he can bend his legs.

“let them see, i want everyone to know how good i fuck you.”

felix’s hips snap- his length moving in and out of your ruined cunt hard.

you scream.

you hope the sound is drowned out by the waves- the waves that have gotten rockier since the last time you can recall. beyond the sound of water crashing into the ship, all you can hear is felix, and felix doesn’t seem to care about the waves.

his hips continue to meet your ass, the pace so harsh it might bruise (you hope it does). you’re breathless, but felix is still talking.

“that feel good, baby? tell me, who do you belong to now? who’s pretty little pussy is this?” he grunts, leaning forward to press biting kisses to your chest.

“you- fuck, it belongs to you!” you whine, trying desperately to meet his thrusts. your legs have gone useless, thighs made of gelatin, but you still try. you want to make him feel so good.

“that’s right, baby. all mine to use,” felix groans, hand moving from your hip to your ass. suddenly, there’s a long fucking finger- and it’s pressing into you. right beside felix’s length.

you whine one more time, the feeling of being stuffed full enough to have you blacking out as you cum. your body is in overdrive, spine zipping with lighting, stars bursting behind your eyelids, pussy clenching around felix’s length and finger tight.

the feeling has felix gasping, pretty glittering eyes rolling back in his head as he cums, hot and deep inside you. you feel full to the brim, ropes of the sticky substance hitting your walls and making you throb again. you feel owned.

felix is still inside you when you come down from your high, face buried in his neck. he smells like sea salt and fresh air. you feel him tap your thigh again, causing you to blink at him sleepily, still feeling trance-like. he smiles softly at you, tucking stray hairs behind your ear and wiping tears from your face. when had you started crying?

“are you ready to go home, beautiful?” he asks, deep voice making you feel safe and satiated- warm despite the night chill. you nod softly, leaning into his hand as he cradles your face.

“yeah,” you mutter, yawning. “take me home.”

felix pulls out of you, gently hushing your whines of emptiness. he pulls your bathing suit back into place, scooping you up in his arms. you look out at the blurry scenery, watching as felix walks the two of you to the ledge of the ship. the waves are calm again, brushing the boat like a small animal saying hello. it feels inviting.

“let’s go home, love.” felix hums. and you do.

you go home.

seungmin;

a vampire lives in the creepy old castle on top of the hill by the cemetery. you’re sure of it.

your friend group jokes about this all the time- let’s go say hi to the vampire, i’m sure the vampire at the cemetery would love a snack, etcetera, etcetera. it’s one of the longest running jokes your friends have.

“okay, y/n- i dare you to go say hi to our friendly neighborhood vampire.”

still, it never gets old.

you laugh, running a hand through your hair as your friends whoop and holler, encouraging you to take the dare. rolling your eyes, you say, “what if he doesn’t want my company?”

another friend giggles, “c’mon y/n, don’t be a coward! are you… scared?”

really, that’s how you end up here- at the cemetery gates, one in the morning, your friend group yelling and pointing their phones at you as you walk inside.

“if i die, i’m haunting every single one of you bitches,” you laugh, shaking your head. you turn towards the cemetery, just barely able to make out the shape of the eery, desolate castle in the distant fog. well, it’s now or never.

the further you get into the fog of the night, you start to shiver. it’s cold out, late autumn air making your skin tingle. you’re sure the corpses around you are staying warmer. when you arrive at the foot of the hill, you wipe your sweaty palms against your long skirt and start your ascent.

from afar, the castle is big. up close, standing in front of the long, towering doorway, you realize it is gigantic. the gothic, stained glass windows and cobblestone exterior are beautiful, but the sheer mass of the building has something stirring in your gut. nerves attack your stomach as you raise your hand to knock.

knocking is the most reasonable thing to do, right?

there’s no answer- shocker. it’s the middle of the night, and if anyone truly does live here, they would be asleep. though, you doubt anyone actually resides in the castle. you’ve never seen anyone coming or going, the cobwebs on the door knockers proof of the vacancy. whatever. this was a waste of time.

your phone chimes, a message from your group chat stating go in or you lose!

annoyed, you huff. apparently, this will continue to waste your time.

you steadily grip the intricate door handle, polished stone carved with symbols you don’t understand, and twist the knob. at first it doesn’t budge- but then, a loud creak as it is pushed open.

you grunt with the force you have to exert, but manage to crack the door wide enough to squeeze inside. once you’re in, the door slams shut behind you, sealing your fate with an ominous click. the sudden silence makes your ears ring.

taking a deep breath, trying to ignore your rapid heart rate, you look at your surroundings. to your left is a large living area, deep red silk covers each sofa with yellow vines sewn into the fabric. a matching red rug sits underneath a large, mahogany coffee table, which is in front of a massive fire place. you breathe in deeply, smelling the lingering scent of burning wood.

someone has been here.

you carefully make your way further into the room, running fingers over books lining a shelved wall. no dust- you blink at your fingertips.

turning towards the fireplace, you squat down to hold a hand over the burnt wood. heat emits from the pile, warming your palm. then, you still. you didn’t feel it before, but you do now. something is behind you.

“oh, the spider caught a fly.”

you stand in record time, fighting the black spots dotting your vision as you twist to stare at the man before you. dark, elegant suit pants, a tan silk shirt, and heavy rings adorning calloused fingers. dark brown hair feathers out over his forehead, leading you to stare in shock as he looks back at you with crimson irises.

“well?” the man questions, raising a single eyebrow. “i would start running, little one.”

you run.

your feet stomp against the wooden floorboards as you try to sprint back to the door. when you had came in, it was only a handful of steps. now, it feels like the door keeps getting further and further away. when you successfully make it past the living room threshold you reach a hand out for the polished doorknob.

you hear a ripping sound, followed by an oomf! as you crash onto the floor. looking back you realize-

your fucking skirt got hung on a loose nail.

of course it did. you aren’t the final girl in some fucked up horror movie, this is real life. if anything, you would be the dumb one that dies in the first fifteen minutes.

you hear a low chuckle as the man slowly comes closer, shoes clicking in the silence of the room. you can’t hold back a whimper as he towers over you, feet planted on either side of your hips. you couldn’t move- couldn’t try to run anymore. he would just catch you.

he crouches down, smiling small and sharp and a little cruel as he looks you in the eye.

“that was pathetic,” he mutters. you nod slowly; it was pathetic. “what’s your name, little lamb?”

your voice is shaky when you reply, “y/n.”

“y/n,” the man mumbles, tilting his head as if deciding how it tastes on his tongue. he reaches out a hand, lifting your chin between his pointer finger and thumb. he is holding you a little roughly, making your lips pout slightly as you furrow your brow.

“it is a pleasure to meet you, y/n. call me seungmin. can you repeat that for me?” the man- seungmin- asks, although you don’t feel like you have much of a choice.

“…seungmin?” you whisper, the name foreign on your tongue. you might be delusional, but it tastes good in your mouth- like heady incense and metal.

when he grips your chin harder, sharp nails digging into your soft skin, you wince. that only serves to make him hold tighter, shaking your head slightly. “no whining. do you know why i asked you to say my name?”

you shake your head slowly, eyes watering at his grip. seungmin grins, and your blood runs cold. fangs. honest to god fangs are seated where his canines should be.

a vampire lives in the creepy old castle above the cemetery. you fucking knew it.

“because after i’m done with you, it is the only name you will remember.”

you’re hauled off the ground before you can process the words, and you’re being tossed onto silk sheets before you can even question how you got up the large, winding staircase in the hall so quickly. you yelp as he plops you onto the bed, not harshly but not soft. he treats you like a thing- an object he doesn’t care to break.

seungmin considers you for a moment, eyes dragging over every inch of your body. you feel naked and exposed, fragile and prey-like, and he hasn’t even touched you.

“i will only say this once,” he mutters, hands behind his back as he steps forward. he sits on the edge of silk sheets, looking every bit like some ancient, biblical statue of god. he smirks at you, unable to hold it back, like he can read your mind. and maybe he can- do vampires have superpowers like twilight made them out to?

“i am hungry, y/n,” seungmin says quietly, snapping your focus back to the present. he raises a hand, one singular finger running over your exposed calf. your breath hitches like you’ve been touched with a live wire. the ghost of a smile turns his lips upwards- feeling your reaction to him.

“i am starved,” he continues, fingertip trailing up and up, taking the bottom of your skirt with it. his movements stops half way up your thigh, pausing right before your skirt is moved to expose everything underneath. then, locking eyes with you:

“but you will let me feed, right?”

your chest rises and falls as if you’ve ran a marathon- panting for air and locked in a staring contest with something ancient, magic thrumming through his veins and curling down your throat heavy enough to make air scarce in your lungs.

you’re shaking, terrified, but beneath all the adrenaline and sweat clinging to your skin- you’re fucking soaked.

the realization makes you squeeze your thighs, knees knocking together. seungmin notices- of course he does- his sharp eyebrow raises.

“i need an answer,” he states, monotoned and deadpan, as if he didn’t look between your legs like you were the juiciest steak in the world. you would think he remains unaffected if you hadn’t noticed his blown out pupils; black fills his irises, animalistic and ready to pounce.

you nod, he doesn’t move. “a verbal answer.” he states, reigning in impatience. his fingers move on your leg, just barely raising your skirt more. just enough to reveal the barest hint of your aching core and wet panties.

your head feels heavy, the only thought playing on repeat is please, please, please- though you aren’t sure what you’re begging for. you say it aloud anyway, because maybe seungmin will know.

“i want it,” you say, voice coming out like a whimper. “please.”

the sharp grin you get in response makes you burn.

seungmin takes his time undressing you, as if he hadn’t said he is starved at all. if anything, he is patient. your clothes are taken inch by inch, until you’re left in nothing but the silk sheets around you; you shiver, trying to use the sheet to cover your chilled body.

you don’t make it far- seungmin grips your wrist as soon as you pull the blanket towards you, thumb pressing harshly into your fluttering pulse point.

“don’t try to hide,” he chides, eyes flitting from your own, to your chest and hard nipples, traveling down to your stomach, and finally pausing on your glistening pussy. you clench from the attention, empty and wanting so badly to be full. not only full, but whole.

he settles between your legs, hands coming to spread your thighs wide. you whimper- pitiful, you think. the voice in your head sounds like his.

seungmin is laser focused, leaning down and dragging open mouthed kisses over your neck. you heart stutters when he pauses by your shoulder- and he huffs a laugh into your skin. mean, teasing, like he knows what you’re waiting for.

suddenly you feel long, rough fingers- feather light touch running up from your entrance, circling your sensitive clit, then moving back down. you moan loudly, when your hips jolt to get closer to the touch his hand moves away. he chuckles at your resulting whine.

“what’s wrong, little lamb?” seungmin purrs, hand gripping one of your thighs tightly to hold you open. the fingers of his other hand continue to barely press against you, making you feel more and more desperate for ruin.

“please-“ you borderline sob, hands grabbing his shoulders through his shirt just for an anchor. finally, finally, you feel him move.

two fingers slide into you in one smooth thrust, immediately curling upward with pinpoint precision and making you cry out. seungmin mutters something, you can take it, as he starts pumping and scissoring them. your cunt is soaked- dripping onto the silk bedsheets and ruining them as you hear the wet sounds of his palm hitting your sensitive clit.

seungmin leans in again, mouth ghosting over your neck just long enough for you to clench around his fingers in anticipation. then, he passes by your neck entirely. instead he focuses his attention on your nipples- hard and already too sensitive- pressing his tongue directly to one before closing his lips around it.

you moan loudly, hips grinding down so that his fingers are pushed deeper inside you. seungmin huffs out an amused sound against your tits, the vibration around your nipple causing you to whine and beg for more.

“please, please,” you borderline yell, nails clawing at clothed shoulders. “need more- fuck, need you-“

seungmin slides a third finger into your eager pussy, the stretch sending you spiraling into more fucked-out whining. you feel like you’ve been lit on fire, desperate to have him own you in every way possible. you want his fingers, his tongue, his cock- fuck, you would probably let him carve his name into your ribs as long as he promised to finally fucking bite you.

“so needy,” seungmin hums, lifting from your nipple and moving to give the other one the same treatment. “you gonna beg for it, little one?”

“seungmin,” you whine, feeling the drag of his long fingers against your sensitive walls. you’re close already- you’re fucked. “god, please! i need you i-inside me, please!”

you’re crying. you hadn’t even realized. you are so overcome with need that your body doesn’t know what to do with itself. but then seungmin is shushing you, whispering that he knows exactly what to give you- exactly how to take care of you. then, he’s shedding his clothes.

his cock is mouthwatering.

he is long, curved just slightly at the tip, a blushing vein running under his shaft and precum leaking from his tip. you know you aren’t the only one affected now. seungmin wants you so bad.

he curses under his breath once, spreading your folds to watch as he lines his cock up with your entrance and teases the tip around your aching hole. he leans down to your ear, about to speak.

he pushes in to the hilt in one smooth, deliberate thrust.

then, his fangs sink into the fragile skin of your neck.

you scream. you absolutely shatter around his length, buried inside you as you come undone.

your neck is fucking sore- white hot pain quickly morphing into dizzying pleasure as you feel him pull the blood from your veins. his hips grind into yours, not pulling out. just a dirty rhythm to make your toes curl while he drinks from you.

“fuck, that’s it. squeeze my cock, work for it,” seungmin is moaning, eyes rolling back in his head as you throb around him. you see stars, panting and clawing at his arms hard enough to leave angry red lines. he pulls away from your neck, eyes glazed over as he looks down at you.

he starts thrusting.

the pace seungmin sets is deadly- hips pistoning into you with measured, fast punches. his cock kisses your cervix with every full, deep thrust. you swear you can feel it in your stomach. it’s like your body is rearranging its organs specifically to make room for him.

“please,” you whimper out again, entirely unsure what you’re begging for. you’re fucked dumb. and seungmin knows it, grinning at you with blood stained teeth and still-hungry eyes.

“already fucked stupid?” he asks, looking sympathetic. “unfortunate. i’m just getting started, pretty girl.”

seungmin’s hands move, one anchoring your hip to the bed for easier control, one coming up to your throat to grip you tight. the air fights to pass into your lungs, your moans turning broken and fragile at the added pressure. seungmin’s thumb is right above the puncture wound from his fangs, and when he shifts he presses directly over the still-tender wound in a way that makes your body seize up, squeezing him tight.

your moans grow an octave higher- that feeling sparking in the pit of your gut once again as seungmin drags his cock over that sweet bundles of nerves that makes you melt. he shifts, hand that was on your thigh now coming to circle your clit with precise, sharp fingers.

“gonna cum again, little one?” seungmin asks, huffing in amusement even as he starts to lose the pace of his thrusting. “go ahead. milk me dry, darling.”

your legs twitch on either side of seungmin’s waist, thighs clenching shut around him as you cry out- loud, voice cracking, eyes rolling back. seungmin squeezes your neck once more, a harsh reminder of who you belong to from this point forward.

you cum. hard.

the second orgasm you have makes your vision go white. you can feel seungmin lean back down to puncture your neck, the side he hadn’t already bit, and another wave of pleasure moves through you. your legs shake, vision going blurry, as you weakly grab onto the hair at the back of his neck.

seungmin pulls away, using your pliant body to thrust once, twice more before holding himself deep inside you with a guttural groan, breaking apart while seated deep inside you.

you can feel him throbbing, pulsing with every wave of his orgasm. when you both ride out your highs, the room is silent aside from your panting and seungmin’s quieter, deeper breathing.

he pulls out slowly- you both wince. he disappears for a minute only to come back with a soft cloth, damp and warm where it touches the skin of your thighs. seungmin cleans you up, focused on every bit of the mess the two of you have made.

when he deems you clean enough, he lies down beside you on the wrinkled sheets. your heartbeat stutters as he wraps you in an oversized, silken button down, a large comforter enveloping the two of you right after. he brings a hand to the back of your head, pulling you gently into his chest.

“i have unfortunate news for you, little lamb.” seungmin mutters, lips to your hair. you furrow your brow and look up, not responding. fingers card through your hair.

“i plan to keep you in this bed, forever. you’re mine now.”

seungmin’s fingers trail down, stopping at the fresh puncture wounds on your neck. you gasp, eyes fluttering as he presses down teasingly over the wound.

“til death do us part.”

jeongin;

getting lost in the middle of a forest was not on your bucket list. but if it had been, you could put a little check mark next to it now.

you had laid a trail of flower petals when you entered the forest. all of the townspeople always warn against going in without a clear way out- the winding paths and overgrown flora make even the best cartographer fall into confusion. however, you live on the very edge of this forest- however dense and intimidating it may be, you always follow the tree-line to pick seasonal berries and honeysuckle from the bushes. the forest makes you feel at peace.

today you decided to venture farther in than usual. the season has been bountiful, but rumors detail more forage buried deeper in the intricate canopy of trees- berries you can’t even find unless you dare walk into the unknown. so you picked flowers from your garden, shed them of their petals, and left a colorful trail behind you as you walked into the thick greenery.

you had thought you were lucky. you had thought the petals would keep you from getting turned around. now, so deep into the trees and bushes that all you can see is more trees on all sides, the flower petals you remember leaving trails of liberally are gone. as if swept away by the wind- or picked up as soon as you had placed them.

you sigh as you slouch onto a large tree that had fallen over. you tried going back the way you came, only to feel deeper in the woods. the sun is slowly moving overhead, slowly making way for the moon, and the sweat beading on your forehead is only partially from the temperature.

you’re lost. thoroughly.

oddly enough, you feel less worrisome than you should. the forest has always been a second home to you, now you have just explored farther into its walls and deeper into its crevices. as long as you make it home by sundown, there is no need to fret. the fresh honey suckle in your basket relaxes you, the berries ready to provide nourishment when you feel hungry.

the sun goes down.

you have been wandering for hours- feeling no closer or further away from home than you had been during the day. dusk quickly approaches, every owl hooting and deer rustling the nearby fallen branches makes your heart kick in your throat. you feel faintly dizzy, how had you passed the same tree four times now?

another fallen branch snaps nearby; undoubtedly, another deer trying to remind you it’s time to leave. you step backwards, ready to turn around and walk in a straight line until you can see something that isn’t green, but your heel hits a large root.

a muted thud- just as you trip on the tree root, hitting the damp dirt, ass first.

ouch.

you groan in frustration, pitifully kicking your legs as you squint up through the leaves above you. hours ago, the sun had been overhead. now, the moon takes it’s place, glimmering and twinkling like it is amused by your struggle.

“are you lost?” a smooth voice, quiet and to your left. your head quickly snaps towards the sound, heart beating like that of a wild hare as you look at the crouching figure beside you.

you hadn’t heard him approach, but the man is close now. elbows on his knees, loose fitting pants tied around slender hips with a simple rope. when your gaze tilts upwards, you find a wide, mischievous grin and sharp, white teeth.

the man is gorgeous. jaw-dropping, like he just walked out of ancient greece. The taught muscles of his biceps and large thighs let you know his body matches the gods you compare him to.

the fox-like figure raises an eyebrow, plush lips curling upward in an amused grin. you blink at him, unable to remember what he had said.

“what?”

the man grins fully, laughter curling around your body and settling beside your brain. he reaches a hand out towards you, slender fingers and manicured, pointed nails aiding in getting you to your feet.

“i said, are you lost?”the man hums, dimpled cheeks and mischievous eyes luring you in. you shake your head, smoothing out your dress and picking a stray leaf out of your stockings.

“no! of course not,” you scoff, completely lying. “i just… got a little confused. i’m on my way home.”

the man still grins, undeterred by your uncomfortable posture. he raises his eyebrows at you. “oh yeah? i’m on my way home, too. wanna walk together?”

you pause. normally, trusting a man you don’t know in the woods would be a terrible, horrible idea. but really- this guy seems… fine. maybe your survival instincts are just dulled because he’s hot. and what other choice do you have? wander until a larger animal finds you?

you nod. “sure, lead the way.”

he does lead the way; you watch the man’s broad back as he walks half a step in front of you, hands in his pockets and humming to himself. slowly, you begin to relax. you aren’t really in danger, you will be able to go home.

the trees don’t get any less dense the longer you walk. however, the man suddenly comes to a halt and turns to face you. you jump, almost running into his solid chest, but stop yourself at the last second. when you look up, the moon shines in his glimmering pupils.

“well, you’re welcome to come in. get a good night’s rest then start home tomorrow,” the man hums, grinning still. you furrow your brows, but your eyes widen when you peak behind him. there’s a whole cottage in the middle of the thick, twisting trees.

“you live here?” you ask, incredulous. the man laughs, eyes turning to sweet crescents. his laugh makes your ears ring, like a siren song.

“i do,” he nods, heading towards the wooden door. you follow quickly behind, afraid to be left alone again. “i can get you home, but it’ll have to be when the sun is up. i can’t see well at night.”

you pause in the threshold of the wooden cottage, watching as the man walks into his kitchen and stirs a large, boiling pot. as you cautiously step further into the home, closing the front door, your mouth waters. you smell stew- it smells heavenly.

you shuffle closer to the pot, stomach rumbling. apparently, berries and honeysuckle are not the best source of nutrition when you have been walking aimlessly for hours. the man notices your starved state, wetting your lips as you peek into the large pot. he clears his throat softly.

“you can have some, you know.” the man smiles, pulling two wooden bowls from a shelf above. he scoops a large portion into both bowls, handing one to you.

“oh- thank you…” you smile sheepishly, trailing off as you realize you don’t have his name.

he tells you it’s jeongin.

the longer you spend in jeongin’s presence, legs criss-crossed on a mat beside a large, stone fireplace, the more relaxed you become. jeongin is nice; he is witty, sharp-tongued, yet comforting to be with. you finish the stew fast, stomach full and bones content to rest.

jeongin takes your bowls back to the kitchen. when he sits down on the mat again, his knee brushes yours. the feeling, oddly, makes your stomach swoop.

“y/n,” jeongin murmurs, eyes quickly cataloguing the details of your face, the relaxed state of your body. whatever he finds when he looks at you makes his lips quirk up at the edges.

“are you tired? you are more than welcome to sleep in my bed. i can take the couch.”

you furrow your brows, pouting slightly. jeongin’s eyes flit down to track the movement.

“no way, i can sleep on a couch. it won’t kill me,” you say. you move to twist your body, back cracking as the tension from the day is released. as you groan from the feeling, jeongin laughs softly. his hand comes to gently rub your spine.

“please, your body needs proper rest. you should take care of yourself- if not, you’ll get weak.”

the hand on your back draws lazy circles, making your breath hitch. your half lidded eyes fly open, wide and doe-like. when you make eye contact with the man, sharp teeth bite into his bottom lip. briefly, you imagine them at your jugular.

“really, it’s fine.” you breathe out, pulse thudding against your temples. you can’t pinpoint why, but you feel cornered. trapped.

jeongin’s nails graze your skin through the thin fabric of your dress. while running them lightly over your back, one of his fingers catches on a torn seam. you feel the cut of the thread as his nail snags it, breaking the hemming.

suddenly, the contentment you felt earlier is replaced. while you expect to feel terror, you can’t bring yourself to move away. you realize with startling clarity that you aren’t afraid. your pussy throbs- you’re soaked.

jeongin’s mouth splits wide, like a cat that caught a mouse. self-satisfied, confident in his domain. he lives in these woods; if you chose to run now, he would find you. catch you.

you don’t want to run.

“what made you so quiet?” he hums, tilting his head. “you’re like a mouse, baby.”

you squeak. he laughs.

then, he leans in. whispering right by your ear, “come here. let me show you what these claws are for.”

jeongin pulls you into his lap, leaving you gasping and holding his broad shoulder with shaking hands. with a hand gripping your jaw, claws digging into your cheeks, he opens your mouth and takes exactly what he wants.

the second his tongue meets yours, you both moan. the wood burning in the fireplace behind you crackles, heating the room as your skin breaks out into a sheen of sweat. jeongin uses the hand not on your face to run up your thigh, under your dress, and grip your bare waist in his rough grasp. your hips grind downwards unconsciously- the feeling of claws gripping your skin and his cock heavy underneath you makes your panties stick to your wet core. you want to wake up tomorrow and find nail-shaped marks on your body.

“fuck, i can feel how wet you are, baby.” jeongin purrs, lips turning upwards against your skin as he leaves open mouthed kisses down your neck. “soaking my pants too, hm?”

you shudder, tilting your head back so he has more access to your neck. “please, jeongin- i need you, please-“

“shh, sh, sh,” he shushes you gently, looking at you with pity in his eyes. you whine against him, circling your hips harder and causing his eyelids to flutter softly. “don’t worry, lovely. i’ll give you what you need.”

jeongin lifts you effortlessly, laying you on your back, legs spread wide on the mat below you. he helps you remove your dress, leaving you in your ruined panties and nothing else. his eyes are hungry, starving even though you had just ate. when he glances back up at you, he’s panting.

“you look absolutely delicious,” he moans, hands gripping your thighs and spreading your legs wider. you whine as his head lowers, nipping teasingly at the sensitive skin near your core.

“i just have to taste you.”

jeongin slides fingers into your panties, slipping them to the side before he is devouring your cunt. you cry out at the first pointed, precise flick of his tongue against your clit, trying to close your legs around his head. the thought is useless; jeongin keeps your legs open with his hands, tongue fucking in and out of you at a pace that makes your toes start to curl already.

“please- too much-“ you beg, tears prickling the corners of your eyes as your hands grip thick, dark hair like it is your only tether. you have never felt so close so fast in your life. no slow build, no wave of pleasure, only white-hot, pinpoint pressure that makes your vision go blurry. it feels too good, has your pussy clenching on his tongue before he’s even been between your legs five minutes. it’s embarrassing, how fast you’re hurdling towards orgasm.

you feel more than hear it, the vibration of laughter against your sensitive clit. jeongin is laughing at you- at your pitiful, needy sounds. the thought makes a fresh wave of slick arousal leave you.

jeongin’s tongue moves upwards again, flicking over your clit and encasing the sensitive bud between his lips, sucking on it until your legs are trembling. then, claws dig into your thighs again- you’re reminded the man below you is not quite human.

you break. thoroughly, completely shatter.

your thighs try to snap shut, but jeongin holds them open with rough, calloused hands. his tongue moves through your orgasm, steadily working you until you’re reduced to nothing but whimpers and twitching joints. with one last wide, flat lick to your core, he rises to his knees between yours legs.

“fuck, baby-“ he groans, head tilted downward so he can untie the rope of his pants, pushing the fabric down around muscular thighs. “you’re perfect, needed me to find you, hm? needed me to bring you home?”

you nod faintly, biting your bottom lip harsh enough to taste metal. jeongin is huge- cock pretty, vein running up the underside of his shaft, head pink and leaking precum that makes your mouth water. he notices you looking, a sharp, calculating glint in his eye.

“what is it, pretty?” he tilts his head, looking down at you with half lidded eyes as he taps the head of his cock against your pussy teasingly. “wanna beg for it?”

you whine, clenching at the wet sound of your cunt trying to pull him in. “please! jeongin, i need you- please, please, please-“

he laughs again, has the audacity to lean down and hook his thumb into your mouth just to shut you up. when you try to glare at him through watery eyes, you still completely.

there are three- no, four tails coming from behind the man. you watch the way they curl and sway like a cat, unable to move as more and more pop up. in total, as the fur fans out in a peacock-state, you count nine orange and white appendages springing forth from behind him.

holy fucking shit. definitely not human.

jeongin sees your distracted state, glancing behind himself with little care. when he turns back to you his eyes seem somehow sharper, more aware of his surroundings. more aware of you.

the thumb in your mouth presses down on your tongue, causing spit to pool around your teeth. you blink up at him, eyes wide and expression deer-like.

“still begging, baby?” jeongin murmurs, narrowing his eyes.

against all warning signals flaring in your head, you nod.

the grin you get in return is borderline feral, all sharp canines and pearly white teeth as jeongin lines himself up with your entrance and bottoms out in one long, smooth thrust. you cry out around his thumb, biting down on it in your attempt to ground yourself. the sting of pain makes him hiss, the pace he sets is immediately brutal.

jeongin drags his thumb away from your mouth, dragging your own salvia down your cheek before gripping both thighs to pull your legs over his shoulders. his hips snap in time with your loud cries and his own panting, hitting that sweet spot inside you that makes your heart stutter every time he thrusts in. your hands fumble to grab onto something- anything to keep you stable- but come up short. instead, you can only grab the edge of the mat to pray for sanity.

“fuck, you’re so tight,” jeongin moans, head tilting back to bare his neck. the tails are wrapped around him now, curled like tentacles and fluffed up in a show of dominance. if you were capable of thought, you might think they’re pretty.

“please- j-jeongin, i can’t-“ you babble, whining out the words in between your own moans, pleasure zipping through every atom in your body. your blood pumps in time with his thrusts, your heart beating in his clawed grip. even now, you know nothing will ever compare to this feeling. you’re undoubtedly ruined for anyone else.

“baby, god. you getting close?” jeongin asks, bottom lip once again taken between sharp teeth. you nod frantically, head bobbling as you feel the coil in your stomach tighten for the second time. this time, the feeling builds slower. the peek of pleasure is just up ahead, and all you can do is squeeze your eyes shut and pray that the spiral leaves you still breathing.

jeongin moves his hand and your eyes snap back open with a broken moan. his deft fingers meet your clit, pressing tight, fast circles to the bud of nerves. faintly, you can tell his thrusts are getting sloppier too. less precision, more desperation.

“cum on my cock, pretty.” he groans, fucking into you at a faster pace, using all of his energy to push you that much closer. “fuck me, just like that.”

your body locks up around him- coil in your stomach finally snapping as you shudder through a second orgasm.

it lasts for what feels like decades, pussy convulsing and throbbing around his cock. then, as you’re finally coming down jeongin groans. he thrusts into you once, twice more before burying himself to the hilt and cumming deep inside you.

when the rhythm of your heart finally returns to normal, jeongin pulls out. you almost groan in annoyance, but the feeling of soft warmth enveloping your body has you sighing instead. looking to your left, jeongin looks back at you with puffy lips and pink cheeks. nine tails surround the two of you, cocooned in safety and comfort in the woodland cottage.

you wake up to the bright light of the morning sun. looking around with a furrowed brow, you feel discontent with your cotton sheets and silk pillowcases. the thought of fur and a beating heart still haunts you. had you dreamt the whole thing?

the dense treeline of an evergreen forest still peeks at you from beyond your bedroom curtains. when you finally crawl out of bed, your lower back aches. there are small, claw-shaped scratches littered along your hips. none of this convinces you of the truth, though. no-

the thing that convinces you of reality lays on your kitchen table. your basket, fresh berries and honeysuckle piled on one side. the other holds a large mason jar, delicious stew from your memories seated inside. there’s a piece of parchment attached to the lid, when you pick it up you can feel the warmth emitting from the glass.

when you miss me, come to the forest.

i will find you.

-y.j.

a/n;

this was so tremendously fun to write and i put my whole pussy into it so please lmk what u think :3 /gen i worked on this every day for like two weeks bc i wanted to make sure it was perfect

i can’t stop thinking about jisung being a dragon like im crawling on the floor i need him so bad

requests are open!!

#x reader #skz x reader #han jisung x reader #minholuvr333 #stray kids x reader #lee know x reader #bang chan x reader #changbin x reader #hyunjin x reader #felix x reader #seungmin x reader #jeongin x reader #monster fucker #monster!skz

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adulthumanproblem · 19 hours ago

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Watching Columbo, aka a show from the 70s, made me remember that

It's not supposed to look real, actually. It's not supposed to be hyperrealistic like in irl

It's supposed to REPRESENT

So what of the victim doesn't bleed or there isn't a gun shot wound in his clothes. He just got shot and is now lying on the ground dead. You know what happened. The blood is neither important nor necessary

I've been watching classic Doctor Who too, from the 60s. And you can absolutely tell tsht back then, with TV in its infancy, so much is still just like it would be in a theater play. The positioning of the actors, the way they talk (loudly), the over emphasis. That all came from stage plays, and it's because their voices had to carry through a large room

There wasn't a manual. TV was new, and actors were all theater actors. Only gradually you can see it shift to be less theater and more TV as we know

But the over emphasis and the "added drama" are because everyone involved KNOWS IT'S FAKE. Nobody wants to trick you into thinking it's real. It's supposed to be a story

And I'd argue that knowing it's fake is the point. That's how and why it's entertaining.

Sorry, I wouldn't be entertained if I knew the people dying on screen died irl?? I can't even watch Ben Hur because of the horses

If you can only be entertained if you know something is real, I honestly think there's something wrong with you.

It's similar to gamers who only want hyoerrealistic graphics. I'd rather have a good story. I don't need to see light leave the eyes of the guy I just killed, thank you. Just despawn him please.

I do watch documentaries and even true crime, because it's interesting. But I absolutely also want my fictional stories, tsht I know are fictional, to just entertain me.

But it's no wonder people habe this attitude of "if you like this in fiction, you're a bad person"; if they believe fiction is supposed to trick you into believing it's real, or they only watch what's real, I kinda get it.

They think fiction is 1:1 like reality, or supposed to be. They think people looking at anime girls with unchaste eyes would also look at real girls like that.

But that's not the case. People know it's fiction and not real. And that they're allowed to imagine things they would never ever do irl. That's literally what fiction is for

Thought crimes aren't real. What matters is not what you think, but what you do. How you treat others.

Sorry for the long rant, but let's take a common example: "He says this child like anime girl is really an adult". Okay. So what that tells me is that

A) a fictional character

B) the guy knows she's an adult, and that she can consent (not that it matters because fiction but yk)

I've talked to so many people who don't think that it's okay to have sex with someone who looks young but is an actual adult. And tsht honestly scares me. Because they don't understand consent and who can and can't consent, they only care about optics. That's not a good opinion to have

Anyway, back to the point. Fiction isn't supposed to be realistic or look realistic. Nobody is trying to trick you into believing it's real, and everyone involved knows it's fake, and they assume you do too.

Heck I've seen girlies on Twitter hating on David Tennant of all people, because "he played a bad guy" and "just because he's fictional doesn't mean you can excuse it".

Please people. I beg of you.

preserving this awesome comment before i blocked them for unrelated bigotry

#Rant #Media literacy #Everyone wants to be smarter than everyone else but they end up looking so fucking stupid #If you can't enjoy fiction I don't even know what to say to you

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nepher-forget · 2 days ago

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Tiny Hands, Big Words

Lucy Bronze × Ona Batlle × child!reader

Summary: Ona had to leave for national team duty. For the first time you don't come along but stay with Lucy.

Warnings: upset toddler, mention of dead-beat father.

Masterlist

Orange juice spills on the floor before Lucy even finishes pouring it.

“No, no!” You shake your head fiercely, pointing at the cup Lucy handed you. “Green cup!” you say, stamping your foot. Your still unkempt little curls are flying, hitting yourself in the face.

Lucy kneels, eyes wide. “Green cup?”

You grab a bright yellow plastic cup from the table and hand it over with a victorious smile. The green cup sucked. Mami knew that, but it looked like you had to help Lucy.

“Okay, yellow cup it is.”

“Silly Lucy. green cup is icky.” You say like it's the most natural thing in the world to know that the green cup was the icky cup that nobody should ever use.

“Okay the green cup is icky.” She agrees, sighing and puts the green cup away, pouring you orange juice in the yellow cup just like you requested. “But this one isn't icky, is it?”

You look at the cup for a few seconds, probably considering if it could be icky now. But Mami said to not be too hard on Lucy while she was away. So you nodded a bit.

“Is okay. Best cup is the dinosaur cup… then red, then blue, then yellow. And green is icky.”

You explain your current ranking of plastic cups you owned. You were two so the ranking constantly changed, especially when you got a new one. But ranking cups was an important business matter, how else would Mami and Lucy know what you wanted otherwise.

Lucy nods seriously. “Thank you for telling me. I'll make sure we don't have to see the green cup again.” You huffed, satisfied and nodded. Good thing she was listening to you, because that green cup was really icky and nobody should ever use it in your opinion.

Breakfast is a battle of tiny wills. The pancakes that are “too crispy,” milk that’s “too cold,” and socks that must be “red, not blue.” You're cranky and you know you are. You really don't want to be difficult for Lucy, but you miss you Mami. Mami had to leave for a training camp with the other Spanish girls and since you currently had the first few weeks at a nursery she had asked Lucy to watch you.

At first it seemed super fun, you liked Lucy… a lot. Ever since she moved on Mami was happier and there was always someone to cuddle or play. It was great. You were pretty sure Mami only chose her so you'd get more attention. Lucy was great. She was funny, she played good games and she didn't yell when mad, like some of your Aunties sometimes did. She always sat down so she could look into your eyes and asked what made you cranky. And then she'd help, just like Mami did.

So being home with Lucy for three weeks sounded great. But now that the novelty has worn off and you're nearing the middle of week two you miss your mami. Lucy was great but she wasn't Mami. And today that all was about to come out you were cranky. Way more cranky then you usually were and you just wanted someone to come and fix your complicated and exhausting feelings in your little tummy.

Lucy juggles your tantrums with the patience of a World Cup final. She’s never been so tested off the pitch and she didn't complain. She quietly fixed what needed to be fixed and reassured you that everything is alright and she's here. That you're safe. It somewhat helped prevent a full-blown meltdown, but today was just not your day.

Later, on the living room floor, Lucy watches as you crawl around with a stuffed Triceratops twice your size. You are clinging to it tightly and pull it into a perfect cuddle position before climbing onto its back and grinning.

“Roar!” you shout, clutching the toy tightly as you sat on his back. Happy to play and grinning widely.

Lucy laughs and joins in. “Roar! Dino power! Are you my stompi again?” She asks and kneels down next to you.

Immediately you nod. You loved being the Stomp-a-saurus. It was your favorite game of all time and usually distracted you pretty great. And it did for around five hours. You had great fun tearing the house apart, building a pillow fort and completely destroying it minutes later.

You were babbling happily, mostly English, but also some Spanish mixed in. You also sung a little song about the Stomp-a-saurus you made up over and over.

“I am a little Stomp-a-saurus. And I am stopping around. Rawr. My name is Stompi. And I am stomping around. Rawr. Where are my… Stomp-a-saurus friends? Cause I can't find anyyyyy.” While singing you'd look around for stuffed dinos cause they were stompis friends.

After you sang that song like the 15th time Lucy was getting annoyed. Not because you weren't adorable, because frankly, you were. You were wearing Dino PJs, had messy curls and had pulled on a Dino cape while stomping around. But because that song started getting stuck in her head and she could already see herself singing it the next day at training.

She didn't say anything though. She never would. You were being creative and having fun, morning else mattered right now.

And occasionally in your stampede you turned to her for cuddles, juice or just to check if she was still there. Those little moments were everything, they proved to her that she wasn't totally failing here and that you did trust her.

Nap time arrives with tears and protests. Not loud ones, more like the drawn-out whimpers of a tired toddler who doesn't know they're tired or doesn't want to admit to it because playing is so fun right now.

“No nap.” You mumble, clutching your stuffed dinosaur with one hand and rubbing your eyes with the other. Your cheeks are flushed, your hair sticking to her forehead in messy little curls. You had played hard, the living room could attest for that with how messy it was now. Deep down Lucy knew that Ona would never have allowed you to get so rowdy, but you didn't break anything and now you were tired so she just decided it's okay.

Lucy crouches down beside you, trying not to laugh. “Sweetheart, you’re falling asleep standing up.”

You flop onto the rug dramatically, face buried in the dinosaur plushie. “No.” you say again, voice muffled.

“Okay.” Lucy says softly. “But how about we go lie down together for just a minute? Just a cuddle. No nap.”

That gets you. You peek up at her, considering. Deep down you weren't sure if that was a trap. But you could go for some cuddles and Lucy gave good cuddles, not as good as Mami, but close. Then, silently, you lift your arms. “But only cuddles. No nap.”

Lucy lifts you gently, settling into the big bed with you on her chest with the dino Stuffie beside the two of you. You fuss a little as Lucy tucks a soft blanket around the two of you. It was so warm but Lucy felt so nice and soft. She felt safe and snuggly. Your legs are kicking under the fabric a little. Lucy strokes your back in slow circles and hums a tune.

You look up at her with your sleepy little eyes. “That's not the song that Mami sings usually?” You mumble confused. Ona always sang the same bedtime song for you, but it was in Spanish and Lucy didn't know all the words.

“I know. But it's a special song that my mum sang for me when I was a little girl? Do you think that'd be okay for now too?” Lucy mumbles and strokes your hair adoringly before she adds. “A special song for my special girl.”

You nodded a bit before agreeing quietly. "Okay. Special song please.”

And Lucy obliges and goes back to singing quietly and drawing circles on your back. The melody is unfamiliar but it's still enough to calm you. Maybe because it's Lucy, your Lucy how you dubbed her in your head for months. Maybe because it was so nice and warm but you calmed down. Your big eyes flutter and your breathing slows down.

But then, just as Lucy thinks you're finally drifting off, those big eyes blink open again. Already full of sleep and dropping closed sleepy again before you force them open again. You reach one small hand up and pat Lucy’s cheek with sleepy aimlessness, fingers grazing the corner of her jaw, then resting there like you're making sure Lucy’s still real and still there.

Lucy freezes. She knew that you trusted her and at least somewhat loved her because she was over so often, but this was different. This was what you usually did when you were napping with your Mami. And she wasn't your Mami. She was just your Maid girlfriend of 8 months. For you only 5 months, because Ona had waited with introducing you to her till she was sure it wouldn't be just a summer fling. At first it had stung when Ona had said that, but now she understood. You were so tiny and you needed protection, especially your big heart.

You don't say anything. You just stare at her, lids heavy, hand still pressed to Lucy’s cheek in a quiet, wordless trust. Then you smile sleepy and rest your head on her chest again.

Then slowly, your hand slips away and your eyes close again.

Your breaths deepen and then you finally fall asleep.

Lucy stays quiet just laying in the bed with you resting in her chest sleeping soundly. Ona was trying to get you to sleep alone in your crib, but with how fussy you had been the last few days she didn't care anymore. She would just hold you here, sleeping on her chest where you were safe and sound. Holding you now in her arms and watching you sleep so peacefully… Her heart is completely undone. Because no match, no trophy, no medal has ever made her feel this way before, this soft, this steady, this sure.

She moves a tiny bit, careful not to wake you, and kisses your head. Then gently she adjusted the blanket and pushed the dinosaur plushie back into your arms.

“Sleep well, baby girl,” she whispers.

After nap time, Lucy took you out into the garden to shake off the last of your drowsiness. The summer air was warm and hazy, and she sat on a blanket in the shade while you toddled between patches of grass and clover, dino plush in one hand, a handful of daisies in the other. The summer in Barcelona usually was brutal but luckily for her today wasn't as bad and in the shade it was good. Of course she had also put sunscreen on you.

“‘Nother one.” You chirped, plopping each flower into Lucy’s open palm with uncoordinated pride. At first you had almost ripped out the flowers Ona had planted but Lucy gently reminded you to not hurt Mami's flowers. So now it was clover and grass.

Lucy laughed, she didn't mind the first and grass, tucking the mangled stems into her ponytail like a daisy crown. “You’ve got a good eye, little gardener.”

You grinned and dropped another daisy directly into Lucy’s lap. “Mama,” you said casually, before scampering back toward the small flower patch of wild flowers where you were allowed to play.

Lucy’s heart stuttered. But maybe she misheard. Or maybe it didn’t mean anything.

Not yet.

That night, it’s the crying that wakes her. A sharp, panicked wail crackles through the baby monitor. For a split second she is confused but then Lucy jolts upright, heart already racing as she sprints down the hall barefoot.

You are standing in your crib, tears are streaking down your face, the dino plush dropped at your feet. You're trembling, arms stretched out towards her. Something spooked you, really bad. A bad dream probably. You had them more often than nod. Ona thinks it's cause Lucy always lets you watch those dino documentaries.

Lucy lifts you up gently, holding you close. She can feel your small chest rise and fall against her own. You were breathing heavily and trying to calm down as you pressed against her.

“Hey, hey, I’ve got you, it’s okay,” she murmurs, rocking side to side in the dim light. “Just a dream, baby. I’m here.”

You sob once more, then bury your face into Lucy’s neck, still sniffling. But between her gentle cooing and swaying you calm down. You were safe. This was safe.

And then, in a small, broken voice, you say it again, clear this time. “Mama…”

Lucy freezes. Not out of fear, or panic, but something else. Something deeper. Her eyes fill, her chest aches as she realizes it. You had accepted her. Deep down in your heart you had recognized her. She wasn't just Mami's girlfriend. She was your Mama. Just yours.

“I’m here, sweetheart.” she whispers, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Mama is here. I am not letting you go.”

You cling tighter, one tiny hand reaching up to Lucy’s cheek, patting it softly as if to make sure she's real. Your eyes are wet and wide, your expression still wobbling on the edge of fear and sleep.

“Touch Mama.” you say, almost like a question.

Lucy places her hand over the small one, letting your fingers rest against her cheek as she smiles softly and adoringly.

“Yeah,” she says, her voice thick. “You can always touch Mama. She's yours to snuggle. Just yours and Mami's. How about we get you to sleep with mama tonight? Would that be better?” The tiny nod that followed made her smile gently. “But Dino too.” You mumbled and Lucy just nodded picking the pink Dino Stuffie up.

A few minutes later, you are asleep again in her arms, dino tucked beside you. Lucy doesn’t dare move as she holds you close.

Later that night, when you're fast asleep, Lucy tiptoes into the living room with you still sleeping against her chest. She balances you carefully, grabs her phone off the table and FaceTimes Ona.

Ona answers in two rings, her face appearing on-screen from a quiet hotel room in Bilbao. Her hair is wet from a post-training shower, her hoodie oversized and familiar.

“Hola, amor.” she says softly, then immediately spots you, her sleeping baby, in Lucy’s arms. “Oh. Is she okay?”

“She had a nightmare.” Lucy whispers. “Woke up screaming. I got there as fast as I could. She -” Lucy pauses, voice wavering. “She called me Mama.”

Ona goes very still.

“She said it twice,” Lucy continues. “Once in the garden. But just now, after the nightmare, she said it while touching my face. Like she meant it.”

Ona’s lips part, eyes glistening.

“She’s never… she never trusted someone but me like that.” Ona begins, then shakes her head gently. “Not even once. Not since her dad left us like that." Lucy knew the story. Ona and he had already separated when you were born but around 10 months ago he dropped all contact, refused to pay child support or call. You had been devastated.

Lucy looks down at you in her arms, your curls damp against Lucy’s shirt, thumb now resting near your little lips.

“She wanted to make sure I was real,” Lucy says. “Like she needed to say it out loud. Needed me to hear it too.”

Ona breathes in slowly, wiping her cheek with her sleeve. “You’re doing more than I ever dreamed someone would. You’re her safe place now.”

“I’d give her the whole world if I could,” Lucy whispers.

“You’re giving her more than that,” Ona replies. “You’re making her realize that it's not just Mami that stays.”

#woso community #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso #lucy bronze × reader #lucy bronze fanfic #lucy bronze #ona batlle × daughter!reader #ona batlle × reader #ona batlle #stompi

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tvtimewithanttenna · 2 days ago

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PSA: About The Current Wave of Internet Censorship

(( I know this is a very different post from what this blog was made for, but this is a topic that's important to me.

I'm sure most everyone's heard about the recent wave of censorship on the internet, and about how YouTube will be requiring age verification through ID on August 13th, for everyone. I'm making this post to encourage people to start downloading things.

Download all your favorite music, your favorite videos, important tutorials-- if it's something you'd miss, save it. Just by searching up "YouTube to MP3" you can find ways to do this (just be careful and use adblock, many of these sites are a little shady).

If you use AO3, start downloading all your favorite fics. If you consume adult or mature media, download that too. Download any art you enjoy while you're at it. LGBTQ+ resources and sex ed resources are bound to be heavily affected as well, so make sure to download these too.

People need to fight back. Call your representatives, sign petitions, make noise, keep talking, even protest in the streets if you're able to. Not allowing those in power to rip you away from the things you enjoy is just another form of protest.

Download and preserve what you can. If you have a flash drive (which are relatively cheap and not hard to find) then even better.

I also encourage people to start protecting their online privacy better. If you use the Google search engine or Chrome browser, get rid of them. Brave is great for mobile, but I'm sure there are other options I'm not aware of. For desktop, Firefox is great, but I've recently made the switch to DuckDuckGo and Tor for extra privacy. Ellipsus is a wonderful replacement for Google docs. Do as much as you can to break away from Google, because it collects so much personal data on its users. It's a breach of privacy that people shouldn't stand for.

Things may seem bleak and overwhelming, but that's the goal of the people passing these laws and regulations. They want you to give up, to lie down and take it, so keep fighting. Keep going out of spite alone, if you must.

Thank you to everyone who reads this. Reblogs are appreciated, and even better if you make your own posts about this too. Let's all do our best to fight against this together. ))

- Mod

#⭐ ad break!!#important #stop kosa #online safety act

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solivagant-1 · 15 hours ago

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⋆˙⟡ Let the Light In ⟡˙ ⋆

Ch 6: The Third Sister

Characters: Rumi x fem!reader

A/N: I couldn't for the life of me find the name of the 3rd Sunlight Sisters member so I made one up for the plot. Includes some POV changes. We're almost at 200 followers thats crazy!! Thank you all for the support!! Enjoy!!

Office buildings and crowded streets morphed into rolling hills and farmland behind the train car’s window panes. Celine’s training grounds were more mountainous than the countryside. Here, it was pleasantly rural. Though as scenic as the landscape was, it couldn’t distract Rumi from the directions saved on her phone, which was currently fighting for its life on the train’s built-in WiFi system. Rumi twirled your bracelet in her hand for comfort. The address was typed in a hurry. After the events of last night, Rumi needed answers from someone who was there to witness it all. There was really only one person she could go to, someone who, she hoped, could tell her the whole truth.

It was always difficult for Celine to talk about the past. She would always get that same distant look in her eyes; the kind that Rumi saw in herself every time she made up an excuse to explain to others why she wanted, needed, to be covered up all the time. One question can send Celine somewhere else entirely. And when she came back, what would swiftly follow was a change of subject. If she were lucky, a half-baked answer.

Her mother’s story was like one large 1000 piece puzzle. The only problem was, Celine kept kicking the most important pieces under the couch, stopping Rumi from forming the complete picture. Years later — years of training, of defending, of being under Celine’s care — Rumi’s still kept in the dark. Only now, she’s searching for the light switch.

But unlike her mother’s, the mystery of her father’s identity wasn’t one that kept her up at night. Celine never seemed too fond of him, and now she knows why. Rumi only knew the basics: He was a demon, all demons are evil; at least she believed up until her recent talks with Jinu. Gwi-Ma, however, was the most ruthless of them all. Now she knows the truth about him, but Celine wasn’t the one who gave it to her. If Rumi asked again, would Celine come clean, or create more lies than truths?

Rumi is still coming to terms with the fact that she shares blood with the very thing she’s trained her whole life to destroy. He is also someone Rumi absolutely cannot go to about any of this. Meetings with Jinu behind her family’s back is one thing. Rumi can’t possibly fathom seeking Gwi-Ma out for anything, even if it meant answers. That would be betrayal. The information she gained last night was the most she’ll ever get out of him. He was a threat to the Honmoon, the fans, and her family. And she would not let him win.

A horn blares outside. The weight of the train screeches to a grinding halt at Rumi’s final station. Rumi quickly shoves the bracelet in her pocket as she comes to a stand. Not bothering to bring any luggage, it was only a day trip after all, Rumi hopped off the train and looked around. The station was fairly deserted, but a few locals and travelers milled around. The directions on her phone proved no help to her as a ‘no service’ pop up flashed on her screen in big bold characters.

Rumi was able to discreetly ask for directions from a local before walking down a dirt road that leads up to a nice one story cottage. The sound of childlike laughter flows out the windows like a sweet melody. With a deep breath, Rumi knocks. Voices quiet down. Not a moment later a woman in her early forties cracks open the door. The woman freezes, eyes widening as if she were staring at a ghost.

“Rumi?”

The woman steps back and opens the door fully. She wears simple lounge clothes. Her curly hair is pulled back in a single bun. “It’s really you.” the woman marvels. “You’ve grown so much. Come in, come in.” The woman gestures for Rumi to come inside. She leads her into the living room and tells her to take a seat while she ushers two small children to their rooms.

“I keep up with all your Huntrix songs. That Golden one might be my favorite. Tea?” She holds a teapot. Rumi declines.

Finally Ji-Hyun, the third member of the Sunlight Sisters, sits on the couch. “I wanted to be there for you…and I was, at first. You’re probably too young to remember though.” She laughs, reminiscing, “I think I still have a few baby photos of ya want 'em.”

Rumi bunched the fabric of her hoodie with her hands. Here she goes. “What I want is to hear the truth about my past.”

“No more beating around the bush huh?” Ji-Hyun leans back. “I figured you’d find me eventually. I didn’t want to pressure Celine into seeing me again.”

Ji-Hyun leans back against an armchair. “Though I’m afraid you’re going to hear a very fragmented version of it. Because everything that happened? I was kept out of a lot of it.” She takes a breath. “Back then, the Honmoon was stable. We thought we would be the ones to turn it gold. There was only one way to break the Honmoon, and that was to break us.”

—

Your alarm rang exactly at 7.

You yawned loudly, automatically stretching out your sore limbs and cracking a few bones in the process. The events of last night came rushing back. You sat up, more alert now that you remembered you brought Rumi home last night. Though she was nowhere to be found. Your hand pressed down on the spot where she slept. It was cold to the touch. The only evidence of her being here was her lingering scent of her favorite shampoo and a post it note stuck neatly to your nightstand.

You forced yourself out of bed and read it: “Thank you for last night, it meant the world to me. Needed to run an errand. Cover for me? Love, Rumi.”

You chewed your lip. A goodbye like this seemed uncharacteristic of her. You could only chalk it up to the events of last night.

You woke up inexplicably in the dead of night.

It took a moment for your eyes to adjust. Groaning softly, you rolled to your side and noticed something was missing. The space next to you was cold. Your palm pressed down on the sheets, and you felt just the faintest bit of warmth. The room was still dark. The light under your bathroom door wasn’t on either. Rumi was missing, but she hadn’t been gone for very long.

The faint echoes of voices stream through your open window. Your legs toss over the side of the bed as you get up to peer outside.

Rumi was speaking to a man with the same patterns as her. He stood confidently, a stark contrast to Rumi’s tense shoulders and brandished weapon. You couldn’t make out what they were saying, but figured it’d be in your best interest to keep quiet.

The man said something that set her off. Her voice carried through the Honmoon’s barrier, just as it did in the bathroom. He says something that causes both of them to look up in your direction. You duck behind a wall in the nick of time. Curiosity had the best of you, but if you stood around for any longer, surely you’ll be caught. You took that as a sign to slip back into bed.

The window creaks behind you. Soft footsteps hit the wood floors, so quiet that if it weren’t for the window you almost missed it. Your eyes cracked open wide enough to see the almost disheartened look on her face. Rumi said nothing after crawling back in. Maybe she didn’t see you. You wanted to comfort her, but didn’t want to give away the fact that you were awake the entire time.

With your eyes closed, you threw an arm around her waist. She flinched before letting you relax against her. Rumi let out a small huff of a laugh. Mission accomplished.

You willed yourself to sleep before she could suspect a thing.

Between the mysterious man and the weird note, you really just hoped Rumi was okay. You couldn’t shake off your growing anxiety.

—

Ji-Hyun led Rumi to a small study at the back of the house. The more privacy the better.

“When your father came into the picture, we did not know him as Gwi-ma. He was a lighting technician for one of our venues.” Ji-Hyun shakes her head. “He entered our lives so seamlessly. Him and your mother had an instant connection. I didn’t have much of a problem with it. He was kind, romantic, and he seemed like a great fit for Miyeong. But Celine,” she chuckles, “I bet she wouldn’t have felt so strongly if she did not feel the exact same way for your mother.”

Rumi, quite literally, bluescreens. Malfunctions, if you will. Celine? And my mother? An error message pops into her head that says she’ll need appropriately one hour to boot back up again. Except an hour of processing time isn’t the kind of luxury she has right now.

Ji-Hyun grins at Rumi’s confusion. To her, it was no different than the expression she had in childhood when something new didn’t make sense to her the first time around. Knit eyebrows, jaw dropped, she hadn’t changed much.

“Ever since their trainee days. Celine always put others before herself. So when your mother began talking about this man who caught her eye, Celine pushed her feelings down, thinking it would just pass. She watched from afar as they grew closer and closer. As brave as she is, she couldn’t face the war between her heart and mind. She didn’t fight for her. And that was how she lost her.”

Adrenaline buzzes in the air around the Sunlight Sisters as they race backstage. Another concert for the books, another day of strengthening the Honmoon. Celine goes straight for the couch to catch her breath and calm her racing heart. Ji-Hyun plops herself down before a vanity, immediately reaching for the makeup wipes.

Miyeong is the last to join. She bounces in with a pep in her step, singing praises about everyone and heading straight towards the couch. Miyeong pulls Celine in for a side hug and rests her head in the crook of her neck. The corner of Celine’s lips twitches as she tries her best to hold back a smile.

Miyeong sighed, her breath fanning against the curve of Celine’s neck. “You were great out there, Cece!” Celine disliked nicknames, but didn’t seem to mind when it came from Miyeong.

“As were you.” Celine simply murmurs.

“She was more than great,” a voice cuts in. In walks him, standing tall and proud with a bouquet in his right hand. Miyeong springs back up to her feet, and Celine instantly misses her warmth. He pulls her into a hug. His smug eyes meet Celine’s over Miyeong’s shoulder. He smirks and leads her away from the rest of the group.

Ji-Hyun watches the scene unfold from the sidelines, not noticing the look he shot at Celine before leaving. She gives Celine a knowing look, one that she catches onto quickly. Celine stares straight down. “My feelings… they will pass.”

“You keep saying that.” Ji-Hyun hands her a plastic water bottle. “And yet, it’s been ages.” Celine grips the water bottle so tightly it looks like the cap will burst clean off. “If Miyeong is happy, I’m happy. There are more important things to worry about.”

“Gwi-ma knew of her feelings and used them against her. This was his way in. If he could break Celine, break your mother, the Honmoon would fall with them. Celine felt a deep shame growing within her. She was closeted, and felt guilty for feeling such a way for someone who, she believed, didn’t have a chance with. And so with each day that her shame grew, so did the voices in her head. Every whisper of his plagued her. She was strong enough not to let them control her. She’s so resilient…but it only pushed Gwi-Ma into finding another way to torture her.”

“The day your mother told us she was pregnant with you, I’d never seen Celine look so…so defeated. She put on a smile and was there for Miyeong. Every time she saw them together, the thoughts in her head only became worse. That she would never be good enough to be Miyeong’s, that she should be ashamed of how she felt, I’m sure there were plenty more she never told me, but those were the ones she heard the most.

Their old training grounds were a sanctuary from the public eye. It was Celine’s favorite refuge. A place to train, to ponder, to simply be. Celine and Miyeong sat side by side under a massive tree older than both their ages combined. It provided enough shade to shield the two of them from the summer heat.

“He wants her to have a strong name. A powerful name. One fitting for the daughter of a Hunter.”

Celine lightly scoffs, as she often did whenever Miyeong brought him up. “And what do you want?”

Miyeong gazes at the horizon. “I want something based on my name, maybe a combination of mine and his.

Celine liked the former more than the latter. “Ryu Miyeong. Miyeong…Ryu…Ryu Mi. Rumi.” She looks down at Ryu for approval.

“Rumi.” Miyeong whispers, placing a hand on her belly. The action earns a soft kick and Miyeong can't hold back a smile. “I think she likes it.” Miyeong brings Celine’ hand to rest upon her stomach. The baby kicks once more, Celine grins.

“Rumi.”

“Rumi?”

Ji-Hyun calls for her attention. “Still with me?” Rumi nods, still trying to keep up despite the truckload of information she’s getting. “Good.” Ji-Hyun returns to the story.

“Miyeong went into labor when I was out demon hunting. Celine stayed with her while I was gone. She rushed her to the hospital and contacted him to hurry. I can’t tell you how this moment played out since I was waiting outside the delivery room. But Celine and Miyeong told me that the second he held you in his arms, something in him changed. And I don’t mean the typical ‘I’m a father’, but something far more sinister.

“He became a lot more distant, disappearing to who knows where for hours at a time. He wasn’t the same soft spoken man from before. Miyeong didn’t have the strength at the time to fight with him, so we were there every step of the way. It wasn’t easy. Celine did so much for Miyeong and you: changing diapers without gagging at the smell, feeding you at night so Miyeong wouldn’t need to get out of bed. But with you having a demon for a father, there were signs.”

“Rumi’s always so quiet. She doesn’t cry often, and she’s starting to sleep through the entire night. What an angel she is! I’m gonna need to put a bell on her when she starts crawling.

“I always find her in the strangest places. Yesterday, I swore I had set her down in her crib, but I found her laying on the couch. Pregnancy brain fog, I guess…?”

“She’s so…warm. The doctors say she isn’t ill, but she’s always burning up. Call it mother’s intuition, but I just know something is wrong.”

“Eventually Gwi-Ma grew tired of Miyeong’s constant questioning. One night while she slept, he stole you from your crib and brought you to the demon realm.” She sighs, shaking her head. “Miyeong confronted him, Im still not sure how. He teleported to her in his same human disguise, but she knew better. He offered to exchange her soul for yours, letting you live in the overworld while she stayed in the demon realm. His goal was to use you as a weapon. A child bearing demonic heritage and hunter abilities would give him unimaginable power.”

Ji-Hyun sighs, “We were at a loss. If he took you, you’d grow up with the intent to destroy the Honmoon. If he took Miyeong, we’d be weaker. We weren’t ready to train the next generation. It was a losing game, and Gwi-Ma had been manipulating the odds since day one. Miyeong had to make a choice..”

Celine leaned back in her office chair with her legs crossed. Tomes old enough to be considered relics scattered across her desk. Celine pushed her pair of reading glasses further up on her nose, scanning through another segment about demonic powers when the door to her study slammed open. “Ji-Hyun, I told you I needed time to think…Miyeong?”

Miyeong leans against the doorframe to catch her breath. Celine slams her book shut and rushes to her. Her eyes fell on the bundle in her arms. She pauses, eyebrows knitting together. It can’t be. “How did you…?”

“I don’t have much time to explain everything, he’s giving me just enough to talk to you.” Miyeong carefully places Rumi down on a cushioned sofa.

Celine’s heart drops to her stomach. “Miyeong, you didn’t…”

“I made a deal,” she confesses, “my life for hers. It was the only way.”

“The only way? The only way?! Miyeong, this is a foolish trade.” Celine paces the floor. “You can still call it off. We can do something–anything else, but not this.”

“Celine,” Miyeong stops her panicked pacing, “you know deep down there isn’t.” Celine looks away, blinking harshly. She pulls Miyeong in for a bone crushing embrace. Her shaky arms wrap around her shoulders in an attempt to keep Miyeong from seeing her tears. She holds on for dear life, as if she’ll disappear this very second.

“I can’t lose you.” She whispers.

Miyeong’s eyes soften. “You won’t. I’ll always be with you.” To Celine’s dismay, she pulls back, cupping her cheek. Celine leans into the touch. Miyeong turns Celine’s head to face Rumi.

“Protect her. Protect what’s left of me, and I will never be far away. I’ll be right here,” her hand slides over Celine’s heart, “and right here.”

Celine’s hand clutches Miyeong’s, keeping it against her. “We can still fix this.” Miyeong tilts her head to the side, nodding as if someone were speaking into her ear. “I’m on borrowed time. Whatever you do, no matter how you feel, don’t come looking for me. Don’t rescue me, don’t fight for me. Just…go on with your life without me.

Miyeong shoves Celine off her just as magenta flames engulf her body. “No, no!”

“For Rumi.”

Celine’s hands grab onto nothing but air. Miyeong’s gone. She was too late. Celine looks down at her trembling hands in betrayal, silently cursing them out for being too slow—Cursing at herself for being too slow. All the reflex training in the world and she still couldn’t stop it.

Rumi’s wailing breaks the silence in the room.

“Miyeong?” Hearing the baby cry, Ji-Hyun rushes in, hoping to find the two of them. But there’s only Celine, and baby Rumi laying down on the couch. Celine’s gaze hardens. With Ji-Hyun now in the room, she wills herself to snap out of it. Now is not the time for panic. She wipes at the few shed tears that escaped during her trance. Our thoughts and fears must never be seen repeats like a mantra in her head.

“We’re going to bring her back.”

“...I can’t blame her for choosing to stay. Now, as a mother myself, I’d go to the demon realm and back for my own children. But at the time, neither of us would ever let her make that sacrifice, especially Celine. She was the one who insisted on bringing Miyeong back herself. But for a plan like this, we needed help. Celine would venture into the demon realm to save Miyeong while I stayed back to protect the Honmoon. I called upon our predecessors for support. We expected a full scale invasion now that he believed there were only two of us standing. I couldn’t take the chance of his subjects overpowering me.”

“I didn’t think going to the demon realm would be possible.”

“It was only possible because of her will to keep the two of you safe. When the first demon that night tore through the Honmoon, Celine forced his body into our world and jumped through the portal before it could close. What happened after I only know from bits and pieces of her explanations. What I know for certain is, ever since she jumped, she was never the same.

Celine’s body hit the ground with a loud thud. The portal she ventured through spewed her body out at the edge of a crowd. She brushed rubble off her cloak as she stood. Her heart pounded upon seeing the sheer amount of demons in front of her—All claws and teeth. She stepped backwards until the heel of her shoe dipped in water.

She turned and caught her reflection in a murky pool. Bright yellow contacts glinted in the water. Pigmented purple patterns crept up her arms and neck, drawn earlier with a little help from Ji-Hyun. Her only weapon, a machete blessed by a shaman, hid underneath her cloak. It was all she had for protection. This realm was a place where the Honmoon did not reach. Her powers are weak here, and she needs to rely on physical weapons in case the worst happens.

Her reflection ripples. The head of a water demon pokes out, its face half submerged as it looks up at her. Celine gasps, tightening the cloak around her body before walking away

She avoids looking at the wall of pink flames burning on the top of a rock platform as she weaves her way past different demonic forms. A voice yells out from a small hut, a voice she can pick out from any crowd no matter how large.

Celine stealthily creeps her way towards the direction of the tent. Two demons stand at the entrance with weapons as long as her body, but the back is left unguarded. Celine slips through the flaps and lets out a sigh of relief when she sees her.

Miyeong’s tugging at the binds that keep her tied to a post. She lets out small grunts with every tug but stops when she looks behind her. “Celine?” She whispers.

Celine wordlessly drops down to untie the knots. “I should have known you’d come looking for me. I told you it wasn’t safe. You could’ve been caught, gotten hurt, or even—“ her words die out in her throat as Celine pulls her into a hug so tight Miyeong nearly topples backwards. Celine melts into her embrace, allowing herself to feel whole again just for a moment.

“I’m going to get you out of here. Wear this.” Celine hands her a spare cloak similar to the one she’s currently wearing. As they walk, Celine explains to her the plan. “We suspect Gwi-Ma will be launching an attack. We’ll find a demon to tag along with, and when we step through the portal, we’ll be back home.”

Miyeong’s hand finds Celine’s as they walk. News of her disappearance was already starting to reach them. Murmurings in the crowd grow louder.

“She escaped.”

“The woman tore off her restraints.”

“She can be anywhere, start searching!”

Just a bit further—

A clawed hand grips Celine by the shoulder. She lets out a breath, her pupils dilating with panic. She turns and looks up at the 6ft tall demon. He scrutinizes her: She doesn’t smell like the dead, the rosy flush in her cheeks looked a little too warm. And those patterns…they were lifeless. They didn’t glow when she was pulled back. The demon knew immediately what she was. “Intruder!”

Celine slices a gash along its stomach before the demon’s club could reign down her. At the sound of his cry, more demons began to encircle around Celine. The two women separate. Miyeong was pushed to the edge of the crowd while Celine stood her ground. “Go!” She shouted.

The image of Miyeong running away gets blocked by a water demon heading straight for Celine. At the very least, she knows Miyeong is out of harm's way, even if it’s just for the moment.

Celine’s cloak falls to the floor. There was no use in hiding now. She needed her full range of motion anyways. Nothing can stop her from protecting Miyeong.

Celine’s blade slashes through demon after demon, each death creating thick clouds of pink dust until the mist engulfs the space around her body. There’s too many. She could no longer see what was in front of her. Glowing yellow eyes were the only indication of where to strike next.

Her eyes strain against the haze. The fog begins to clear up as muscles cry out from over exertion. Celine feels a presence behind her and strikes without looking. She pauses when her blade pierced through something solid. A choked gasp, a thud on the ground. Celine’s expression morphs to one of horror.

Ryu crumbles to the ground, the sharp blade impaling her center. “No!” Celine drops to her knees before her. “No, no, no, no, no, Miyeong? Miyeong—“ her voice cracks as Celine cups her cheeks. Miyeong’s eyes are lidded, her hands hover over the wound.

“Celine.”

“I didn’t mean…I thought you were one of them I–”

“Celine.” Miyeong tries to steady her voice, but it comes out just as weak as her body is. Her gaze meets Celine’s panicked eyes. “I–I can carry you…I can still fix this. I just wanted you back.”

“We both know this is it.”

Tears fall down Celine’s cheeks as she shakes her head. She smoothes Miyeong’s hair out of her face, letting her hand linger on the side of her cheek.

“I should have known not to sneak up on a hunter. You always hated surprises.” Miyeong lets out a sorrowful mix between a laugh and a sob. “I stand by everything I said. Protect Rumi, no matter what.” Her hand clasps over Celine’s.

“You’ve always been my dearest friend.”

“Miyeong, I lov—“

“No!” A voice roars out. She turns, Gwi-Ma is coming to a stop in his human form. “Miyeong,” he gasps, kneeling down next to her. He looks at the wound, then at Celine, his eyes as fiery as his natural form.

“What did you do!?”

Rage builds within Celine as he squats down next to her. Miyeong’s dying breaths should not be wasted on him. The dimming light behind Miyeong’s eyes distracts him from Celine’s murderous glare. She can end it right here, right now. One quick movement forward and she can slit his throat.

Miyeong makes a sound that causes Celine to look back down. Their eyes meet.

“Go.” Miyeong mouths.

Celine allows herself one final moment to memorize Miyeong’s face one last time. They say you should always remember the best versions of your loved ones before they pass, but Celine has a feeling this moment will haunt her for the rest of her life. With a heavy heart, Celine doesn’t waste a second longer. She closes her eyes and inhales, running past a hoard of demons in the direction of an opening portal. Salty tears stream down her face. She slashes through demons as she runs, no longer caring about what it is she’s killing. The light for the portal becomes closer and closer, before zipping closed abruptly.

Gwi-Ma appears before her, his eyes burning through her very soul. “You don’t deserve the mercy of death by my hand,” he starts, "Instead, I want you to be reminded of that moment every day for the rest of your miserable fucking life. I want you to suffocate under the guilt of what you did, of who you are. You are going to feel so vile that I won’t feel the need to be in your ear any longer.”

He snaps his fingers, and a portal opens up to him.

“Run.”

Celine makes a break for it. She flies through the portal and her feet hit the ground with a soft thud. She breathes. Then, rightfully, lost it.

“Her wails were loud enough to be heard from miles away. They lasted for days, some cries louder than others. On the nights where Celine managed to get some sleep, she would wake up in the middle of the night screaming, calling Miyeong’s name, sometimes yours. When we finally put up the tombstone, that’s where she would sleep. She felt undeserving of a bed. And even though there was no body buried underneath the grass, Celine felt closer to Miyeong this way.”

Ji-Hyun reaches for Rumi’s hands. “She’s hard on you because she knows firsthand how easily he could sink his claws in your mind. It happened to her, and she didn’t want the same for you. Hiding this from you…it's not just her way of protecting you from the truth, but herself of the pain she’s caused. I know in your heart you understand.”

—

At midday your phone lit up with a text from Zoey.

Urgent!! Emergency!! Come to the dorm┏( ゜)ਊ゜)┛

Panic coursed through you. You dropped everything and rushed to the penthouse, your mind ran a mile a minute over what could possibly be wrong. Zoey’s never used the word urgent with you before. Maybe someone was hurt, you didn’t have the medical training for something like that. The agonizingly slow ride up the elevator couldn’t have felt longer. When the doors opened, you bolted out, eyes settling on the scene before you.

The smell hit you first. The intoxicating aroma of freshly made food wafted through the room. Porcelain plates and bowls were spread out on the table like a captivating buffet. Zoey waved from her spot at the table. Next to her, Mira lifted her chin as a nod to greet you. Zoey bounces off her seat to bring you to their table.

“Come, sit down and eat with us!” You take a seat, “This was the emergency you were talking about?” At least they’re safe, you think to yourself.

“Yes! Technically this is an emergency. We can’t finish this alone. Rumi’s off seeing Celine about something so we needed to call in reinforcements. Here, try the japchae, it’s to die for.” Zoey places some on your plate for you. She rambles on about who made what with every dish she recommends. She doesn’t stop when your plate gets full, and you’re mentally making a list of what to try next. Just as you’re about to take a bite, Mira’s voice breaks your train of thought.

“So what are your intentions with Rumi?”

You pause mid chew. You didn’t expect this to turn into interrogation of all things. The homey food, Zoey’s energetic mood, all things that lulled into a false sense of security. “Why—Why do you ask?”

“I’ve never seen Rumi interested in anyone,” Zoey smiles fondly, “She always says she’s too busy to consider being in a relationship. But with you, it’s different. It’s so exciting!!”

“You should’ve seen her this morning when we started asking about you.” Mira shakes her head with a smirk. “She got so red when we asked if anything happened between the two of you last night. I don’t think she even realized she was smiling once we stopped teasing her.”

“Like she was glowing.” Zoey adds, smiling at Mira before turning to you. “She’s our family, and besides Celine, we’re the only one she’s got. We just don’t want you to break her heart.”

“If you do, I’ll—,“ “We’re good judges of character!” Zoey exclaims, “And I’m sure you’ll treat her well. But you should also know that I have five whole notebooks filled with tactics to rip apart—"

“I think I get the idea guys.” You laugh nervously, gulping down some water.

“Things have been pretty off with her lately, she hasn’t told us what, and we are starting to think maybe it’s because she’s realizing she has feelings for you. But don’t tell her we said this to you, okay?”

“There is one more thing we should add.” The two become serious in an instant. “Since you’re our assistant manager and work closely with Bobby, we thought you should know about our relationship.” Mira smiles at Zoey with a fondness you've never seen. Zoey stares back with a similar expression.

“We haven’t been together for long,” Mira starts, “We started dating a little after the meet and greet. Only Bobby knows.”

“And some people on the PR team too,” Zoey flushes. “We really need to give them a raise.”

“Rumi doesn’t know?” You look between the two of them.

“Yeah, it’s a miracle she’s that oblivious.”

“She’s been so stressed with the Saja Boys and the idol awards coming up. We’re planning on telling her once everything’s settled down. But we wanted to tell you now because we wanted you to hear it from us, not Bobby or one of the PR team members.”

That makes sense. “Thank you for telling me about this. I know relationships as idols can be difficult, especially between same sex couples. It means a lot to have your trust.”

The two smile at you. The three of you go back to eating over light conversation. Mira and Zoey banter the most, now at ease with showing affection around you. Mira’s hand intertwined with Zoey’s and you can’t help the smile creeping up your face. The image however conjures just the slightest bit of jealousy—not for them, but of what they have. Your mind drifts back to Rumi, hoping she’s okay wherever she is.

—

Rumi spent a whole hour outside the cottage taking everything in. She probably experienced all 5 stages of grief twice as she paced around a small garden. At first she wanted to deny it all, but there really was no use in doing so. Then, she was angry. Angry at Gwi-Ma for starting all this, angry at Celine for killing her mom even though she knows it wasn’t intentional. Most of all, she was angry at circumstance; the what ifs clouded her mind as she thought about how differently things could’ve turned out if there were more honesty. That had her thinking about her own situation, which led her to skip bargaining and go straight to depression.

She laid down on the grassy floor until it felt like time no longer existed. At one point she almost fell asleep with Ji-Hyun nudging her awake to come back inside before Rumi gains a new nasty sunburn.

Ji-Hyun had prepared lunch while Rumi was outside processing. She slid a box of all old pictures across the table towards Rumi’s direction. It was filled to the brim with small Polaroids of Rumi as a baby and in her youth.

Rumi flips through the stack of loose photos. It was still a lot to take in. The pictures of her and her mother collected dust at the bottom of the box. The rest were either stand alone photos of just Rumi or her posing with Celine. There were very few of her and Ji-Hyun together, and even less featuring all three. Rumi stops on one particular photo, and needs to bring it closer to her face for her to believe it.

This can’t be.

A young Rumi sat cross legged on a wooden bench with a small shark plushie in her lap. Her bashful smile wasn’t directed at the camera, but rather at a person. Another girl’s arms hooked around her shoulders in a playful hug. The Polaroid captured Rumi’s widened eyes right as yours smiled directly at the camera, directly at her in present day. Rumi holds the Polaroid in her hands like it’s something sacred.

“When was this?”

Ji-Hyun looks up from the photo in her hands. “I can’t forget that day even if I tried.” She sighs wistfully, picking up the photo. “That was the incident that broke the camel’s back.”

Idols’ Recitals—An annual event sponsored by big name production agencies as a way for aspiring idols to find likeminded individuals who share the same dreams and passions. Or more commonly known as: A way for parents to rub elbows with different companies early on. Networking events such as this were common at this point in your life. This is your second year at age seven, so you can basically classify yourself as a certified expert now.

You noticed her because it was a hot summer’s day.

She was the only kid who, instead of wearing a pastel dress or a simple t-shirt, wore a shirt with sleeves that stopped just below the elbow. You briefly questioned her outfit choice before turning back to your parents who were socializing with their adult friends.

“I wanna play with her mama. She looks sad.” Her nose crinkles when she sees who it is you’re pointing at.. “Why don’t you go play with the other children? That one right there…she's a bad omen.”

“Bah, let her. If they make friends, we’ll get to talk with the one woman here who’s worth our time.”

Mingling with the other kids only made you feel alone. On the surface they were fun; they played games with you, made easy banter, but still held the typical snobbishness you’d expect from these types of families. You were only half paying attention to the conversation until the topic turned to the girl who’s been sitting alone on a bench this entire time.

“Who is she?” You can’t help but ask. Most of the people around you you recognize, be it because of last year’s event or because you ran in the same circles. You’d never seen her before. You would have definitely remembered someone with such a pretty hair color.

“That’s Rumi. Everyone thinks she’s weird, but she was raised by the Sunlight Sisters, her mom was one too. My parents told me that I should try to be friends with her. But she doesn’t want to talk to anyone. What a freak.”

The young boy’s words angered you instantly. Who was he to talk badly about someone for no reason at all? This was the perfect time, in your opinion, to use the words your parents often said as insults. “That’s mean. You’re a piece of shit for calling her that.” You smile proudly, reveling at how the boy spat out his drink all over his shirt. Consequences be damned. You didn’t care about her status, her idol potential, she was a kid like the rest of them.

Not wanting to make a scene, you stomped off towards the deserts table. You’d never hear the end of it if his parents told yours. You glanced over your shoulder towards Rumi.

Someone dressed like that would surely be warm. You lifted open a nearby cooler. Before you laid an assortment of different packaged ice creams and popsicles. The cold ice stung your hand as you reached for two small mango flavored popsicles. You found your way to the mysterious purple haired girl and sat down. She looks at you with surprise; no introduction, no pleasantries, just you sitting as if the two of you were longtime friends.

You hold out a popsicle to her. “It's hot. This will cool you down.” After she takes it, you rip your own open. “You’re Rumi, right?” you ask.

“I am, what about you?”

“I’m Y/N.”

“Thank you, Y/N.”

“Why do you look so sad?” “I’m not sad.” Rumi opens the packaging of her popsicle. “I feel like I shouldn’t be here. My aunt brought me here to meet people, but everyone seems so…” she sighs.

“How come you aren’t with the others?” she asks. You shrug, “I don’t like them. They’re very mean. I don’t like being friends with mean people. What about you? How come you aren’t with them?”

Rumi shrugs. “I think they’re scared of me. They all say nice things, but they act differently.

You plop your comfort toy right on her lap. “Sharks look scary too, but a lot are actually sweet. I want you to keep him. His name is Tails.”

“Like from Sonic?”

“No, he’s a nurse shark, not a hedgehog.” You point to the end of the plushie, “His tail fin is like, as long as his body,” You spread open your arms to demonstrate how long. “My nanny bought him for me when we went to an aquarium together. I hold him when I’m scared or nervous, and now he gets to be there for you too.

Rumi looks up at you. Her eyes were glossy. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think she would start to cry. She hugs the plushie close to her chest and murmurs a small thank you.

“Are you gonna watch the talent show?” You ask. She nods, her brain bobbing up and down, “I didn’t sign up to sing though. Did you?”

You bite the inside of your cheek. It’s rare you have a large audience when you sing. Being in front of such a big crowd wasn’t easy. “Yeah, I’m a little scared.”

“Then me and Tails will promise to cheer you on.” That makes you smile. You knew at the very least your time slot was at 2:30, which was less than 15 minutes from now.

An older woman stops in front of the two of you. “Rumi! I see you’ve made a new friend. Wanna take a photo together?”

She looks at you, wondering if you were okay with the idea, okay with being considered her friend. You smile at the camera and lean into her side. Rumi holds Tails in her lap and smiles, looking right at you. The bright flash blinds your eyes, and you can’t help but let out a small laugh.

You hear your name be called out from inside, most likely by your parents. You quickly turn to Rumi with wide eyes. “I have to go now. Wish me luck. See you soon.”

“Bye, good luck…” Rumi says shyly before you depart.

When you find yourself back inside, your parents rush to get yourself prepared. You go over the song: an old lullaby with words you didn’t fully understand but had studied the days leading up to the event. Your parents expected nothing but perfection. It was just a lullaby, but it felt like life or death.

They left you backstage to go on next. A door backstage was left ajar that opened to the back of the building. Warm sunlight filtered through. Small dust particles floated through the air. You tried your best to calm your nerves, your mind drifting back to the friend you made earlier. She and Tails would be there to cheer you on. You got this.

A commotion outside distracts your focus. Was that…yelling? You still had a couple minutes before going on. You peeked around the corner and saw two women arguing, with Rumi caught in the middle. Both women look familiar, but you can’t pinpoint from where.

“You never listen. These are things you’re supposed to discuss with me.”

“She’s young! And stays cooped up in the mountains all day with you all the time. She needs to live a little, meet people her own age who share the same interests and goals as her.”

“Have you forgotten she’s already starting to show? She can be exposed in a place like this. You don’t seem to realize that Rumi isn’t…she isn’t a regular kid.”

“Don’t you want her to be human?”

Celine stiffens. Human, the very thing this child can never truly be. Her heart aches for Rumi, but the fact remains. Celine needs to protect Rumi from herself and others, and the only way to do that is through Rumi’s future generation of hunters. But there’s no future for her or the Honmoon if people find out what she really is.

“You know something like this is a risk we can’t take right now.”

“So we sacrifice her childhood?”

“Don’t you ever talk to me about sacrifice.” Celine grits out. She rubs the bridge of her nose with two fingers. “How are we supposed to maintain the Honmoon when we can’t even raise a child.”

“Maybe that’s the problem. We can’t…we can’t do this together anymore, not like we used to, not without her.” Ji-Hyun tightens her arms around herself. “We’ll split the work. You and I both know we can’t do this alone. We’ll sing a few songs, slay some demons, and return to our separate lives. You will raise Rumi, and we can stop acting like we can stand being in the same room anymore.”

What’s left of Celine’s heart cracks a little. They’ve tried so hard for so many years. Celine can’t help but feel like she’s failing Miyeong again from beyond the grave.

“Look, we can’t protect the Honmoon alone. But you need to protect her, or else Miyeong’s sacrifice will be in vain.”

Ji-Hyun storms off. Celine smoothes her heart over her shirt. She whispers, to herself, to the void: “I can’t do this without you, Miyeong.”

Celine collects herself with a deep sigh. She looks back and sees that Rumi is no longer with her.

“Rumi?”

Celine looks around, but there’s no sight of the purple haired girl. Impossible, she was just here. “Rumi?!”

Rumi’s back pressed against a sturdy tree trunk. She sunk to the floor, mud clinging to the fabric over her knees. Her arms hugged her new shark plushie as she desperately tried to wipe away the few tears streaming down her cheeks. You looked between her and the curtain wall, and deemed it was more important to help a friend in need than to impress a bunch of strangers. You walked up to her once the other woman left.

She watched as you plopped down next to her wordlessly. Your presence helped her breathe a little easier. Rumi hastily wiped away a few remaining tears and sniffed. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to see you perform."

“It’s okay. I was going to go on, but you looked like you needed a friend. This is more important.” Knowing your parents, there would be countless opportunities for you in the future. You would just have to endure the consequences of skipping this one time.

“What did she mean when she said you’re not human?”

Rumi chews her lip. She can’t say it, Celine told her she can’t tell anyone about what she is. “It’s just something she says.”

“Okay.”

You remain quiet, not exactly sure what to say to comfort hurt, and instead let Rumi lead the conversation. Your hands pick at the grass, tearing out small blades from the earth one by one as you wait.

“I live with my aunt Celine because my mom died.” Oh. Rumi brushes back the fabric of the plushie to reveal its small beaded eyes. “She died when I was a baby. Auntie Celine and Auntie Ji-Hyun don’t get along very well, I’m pretty sure it’s my fault. I feel like such a burden to them.”

“You aren’t a burden.” You reassure Rumi. “We haven't been friends for very long, but I know you are kind. And if you’re here, then I’m sure you’re talented too.. If…if it helps, sometimes I wonder if I’m like that for my parents too…but I know they love me, and I’m sure your auntie does too. In her own way.”

“Sometimes I don’t think she does.” Rumi admits.

You frown, unsure of what to say. It's rare you’re given the chance to comfort others like this. You’re not used to talking about such heartfelt topics. Your mind runs a mile a minute with ideas until you suddenly find yourself saying…

“I love you.”

Rumi blinks. “What?”

“I said I love you.”

“But…we don’t know each other.”

“I love the ocean. And I love music. I love…ice cream, cats, and the rain. So why can’t I love you?”

Love has always been conditional for Rumi. I love you, Celine would say, but never about her demon side. I love half of you, but not all of you.

But with you, you say it so easily, as if it were as easy as breathing. Before she can say anything in return, a voice bellows out from another side of the building.

“Y/N!”

Your mother.

Your eyes widened in pure childlike terror. “I have to go! But, uh, believe in yourself! Goodbye, I love you!” You race off towards the direction of your mother’s voice, leaving Rumi feeling so much better.

You were later reprimanded for both dirtying up your clothes and missing your performance on purpose. But it was worth it. As you expected, they managed to secure you another time slot from a kid who didn’t show up. You didn’t see her face the rest of that day, or in the few years after. With how in a rush you were, you never found a means to stay in contact.

Vague flashes come to Rumi the more she stares at the photo. Her memory was blurry.

“Actually, I think I have something for you.”

Ji-Hyun disappears back into her study and comes out holding that same shark plushie shown in the photo. She looks down at it and sighs.

“The responsibility, for both the Honmoon and you, fell onto both of us. But I just…couldn’t. I was tired. And I couldn’t trust her. I couldn’t call her sister anymore.”

Ji-Hyun sets the plushie down on the table. “I…regret not trying harder to keep us together. We took a break in our careers to raise you, but we both had incredibly different ideas on how to do so. When your patterns began to show, she fed you the idea that they should be something to be kept hidden. I didn’t agree with this. At the time I couldn’t articulate why, but as a mother now, ideas like that will do no good for a child.”

Ji-Hyun places a comforting hand on Rumi’s. “You’re special, Rumi. I accept you for who you are, and I’m sorry you couldn’t grow up with that same kind of acceptance.” She pulled Rumi in for a long hug, the kind of hug Rumi’s waited years for.

They stayed like that for as long as Rumi needed.

—

It was now time for Rumi to bid farewell and return to the dorm. Hours had passed with her phone turned off, it was about time to finally face reality again. Ji-Hyun offered to walk or drive her back to the station, but Rumi declined, wanting to use the time to think things over. Her movements feel sluggish. Not tired-sluggish, but the same kind of slowness that makes her feel if she were dreaming. The whole day doesn’t feel real to her. One life changing afternoon later she’s hopping onto the train in a trance-like state, acting like a zombie as she trudges to her assigned cabin.

She flopped back onto the cushioned seats. Rumi’s mind was still reeling from all that she learned. A bone-deep exhaustion settled over her. She’s tired of running, tired of hiding. She needed to come clean. To her family, to Celine, and most of all, to you.

But more than anything right now, the relief of just a bit of closure relaxed her tense muscles. It didn’t take long for her to succumb to a much needed nap.

—

Rumi jolted awake after a sharp turn smacked her head against the window. She groans softly and squints at the time on her phone. 4:15. She looks around and pushes herself up to her feet, still groggy.

She needs coffee. And to stretch her legs.

Earlier she passed by a cafe bar in one of the train cars. Rumi stumbles out the cabin doors to venture out, passing by other private cabins until she finds herself in an open seating area. The hoodie’s drawstrings enclose around the sides of her face before ordering. Her fingers tap on the counter absentmindedly while she waits. One particular conversation draws her wandering attention.

“Rumi’s always been my bias!” A teen exclaims from a small table right as Rumi’s given her drink. “I always felt connected to her and now I know why!”

Another joins in, “This just proves Huntrix is my favorite K-pop girl group.” She smiles to herself, taking a sip of her coffee.

“I can’t believe they’re all gay!”

Rumi spits out her drink.

Taglist: @blazemaster4014 , @ang3lz-lov3 , @rainbowmess823 , @honney-bonny , @tell-me-whyyyy-am-i-here , @thestarseternal , @tinysoap , @pr0bablyr0se @coraldiplomatvoidhoagie-blog , @solardvst , @mvskedxrtist , @rileigh519 , @buzzinkhaleesi , @drpepperobsessed , @mysticsportsflapfriend , @left-and-right-up-and-down , @loftilydirevoid , @severelyuniquereview @wickedpyro, @fruityg0rl , @rinapomu , @kisekiworker , @nev-valkyriesdottir , @notheroverthinker , @velvetinkbym , @tyresedidjsfart , @beaflyy , @rujinuuuu , @stuxxnioe , @dyziot

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moran-with-a-g · 14 hours ago

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I want to add and clarify - you can and should learn about issues that can personally affect you and/or people around you, like policies by your government, for example. If you personally have the power to affect those issues - by voting, for example - you should learn about them.

And even if that issue doesn't affect you. Even if it's in an entirely different continent, and you don't know a single person from them - you're still allowed to go and learn about the issue and form an opinion.

This post is about issues you DON'T understand, that have NO direct affect on you and on people you know personally. Even if they potentially can affect you at some point.

But you, as an outsider to those issues, with no lived experience of it, should make sure:

You're getting your information from credible sources (TikTok is NEVER a credible source. If they link their source, read it in its entirety. This is the same for twitter, Instagram and Tumblr. You need to be careful about who you trust), and from unbiased sources, or at least not just from ones that are biased towards one side.

You're talking with people who are actually being impacted. Find someone (preferably IRL that is personally affected by, or has family and/or friends who are personally affected by those issues. Preferably more than one person, and not all on one side.

That your voice is not doing more harm than good. If you echo an opinion of someone else, even if it's someone you trust, and they echo someone else, who echoed someone else, you have no idea where that opinion actually came from. And all those people repeating opinions they heard by others, that do not bother doing their research on the issue, they're extremely vulnerable to propaganda.

That you're not treating your opinion as an immutable thing. You can always gain context that will change your mind, and you need to be able to open your mind to that. Always have a bit of doubt about your stance, and be open for new perspectives. Even if you will never end up changing your mind, even if your opinion goes down in history as the correct opinion to have and you were on the "good" side of history, be open to change your mind.

I want you all to read the post again, but notice these words:

Friendly reminder that you're not required to publicly take sides in any geopolitical conflict you don't understand.

You don't have to have an opinion, but you can have one. It doesn't have to be a public one, but you're still allowed to have it. It's about geopolitical conflicts, not about things directly affecting you. And it's about issues you don't understand, not ones you researched.

So the questions you need to ask yourself are:

Am I voicing this opinion because I feel pressured to, or did I make the decision to do so?

Do I feel confident enough in my opinion to voice it publicly?

Does it affect me or someone I know in any way?

Have I done the proper research to develop an informed opinion about the issue?

I saw you, people in the notes trying to shame others for wanting to stay out of conflicts. And even if they affect them personally and directly, a person is allowed to say "I don't have the mental capacity to engage with this and form an opinion". You don't know what a person is going through in their daily life, and not everyone has the spoons to deal with his.

And it's especially true for conflicts you have no stakes in. Is it important? Yeah, most conflicts are. And having outside support can be crucial. Are you, the person reading this post, solely responsible for every single geopolitical issue the world? No. The human brain is not meant to handle that much pressure and understand major scale catastrophes when they don't affect you.

Have the time? The mental capacity? Learn about this issue and see how you can help. But also ask yourself, why this one? Why not another? Am I being pressured by my peers to form an opinion? Do I know anyone who will be affected by this? How do I actually contribute to the cause? Are there any other causes I could contribute to more, for any reason?

You CANNOT care about every single cause in the world, even if you wanted to. You have a life to live, and other people don't get to live the life they want like you do, but that doesn't mean you don't deserve to live your life and that you have to sacrifice your mental health for them, donate all you have to them, etc. If you can't dedicate enough time to understand the issue, and research to make sure you're not spreading misinformation, don't do it.

But you can learn. You just have to understand that it takes a lot of time and effort most people don't actually put into their activism. They follow the lead of someone they trust has done their research for them.

Friendly reminder that you're not required to publicly take sides in any geopolitical conflict you don't understand.

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to-the-beginning--the-end-waits · 13 hours ago

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Please And Thank You

Summary: Working as a receptionist at a flower shop that serves as a front for organized crime, you find yourself falling for San. The family’s most polite and terrifyingly effective enforcer who says “please” and “thank you” and always apologizes for the inconvenience.

Fandom: ATEEZ

Pairing: Choi San x Reader

Genre: Romance, Dark Comedy, Mafia AU, Fluff with Dark Themes

Warnings: Violence (bone breaking/torture, not in detail), organized crime activities, dark humor, mentions of blood/injury, morally ambiguous characters

====================================

You’d been working as a receptionist at a quaint little flower shop, which used to be a regular flower shop, before the owner sold the business to the mafia. Then your employer changed from a 60 year old lady to 28 year old Mafia Don. You thought that would be the end, but apparently Kim Hongjoong, the boss, wanted the flower shop to keep it's business. So, your job continued being the same, the only exception being the back room being used for some meetings that you'd rather not be a part of.

You got used to the noise of bones breaking, nails getting pulled, scary threats being passed around by very scary macho men. That was until, Choi San got assigned to your flower shop's back room meetings.

Exactly three weeks later, you first witnessed San’s… unique approach to enforcement.

“Excuse me, sir?” San’s voice drifted from the back room, polite as always. “I’m terribly sorry to bother you, but could you please hold still? This will only take a moment.”

CRACK.

“Thank you so much for your cooperation! I do apologize for any inconvenience.”

You nearly dropped the bouquet of roses you were arranging. Through the slightly ajar door, you could see San, all broad shoulders and perfectly styled black hair, standing over a whimpering man whose leg was bent at a very unnatural angle.

“Oh! I’m so sorry you had to hear that,” San said, suddenly appearing beside you with that devastating smile of his. Not a hair out of place, not even breathing hard. “Please don’t mind the noise. Would you like me to turn on some music? I have a lovely classical playlist that you might like.”

You stared at him. He was still wearing his pastel pink apron that read “Bloom Where You’re Planted” in curly script.

“San,” you managed, “did you just”

“Break his kneecap? Yes, I’m afraid so.” He untied his apron with practiced ease. “He was three weeks late on his payment to Mr. Kim. Very inconsiderate, really. But don’t worry, I made sure to explain the situation thoroughly before proceeding. Consent is important, you know.”

“Consent? For breaking his-”

“Well, informed consent,” San clarified, hanging his apron on its designated hook. “I always make sure they understand exactly what’s going to happen and why. It’s only polite. Speaking of which, I know you're not supposed to, but Wooyoung is not answering my calls and I couldn't contact anyone else, would you mind helping me dispose of- I mean, escort our guest to his vehicle? Please?”

This was your life now, apparently.

====================================

Over the following weeks, you began to understand that San’s reputation in the family wasn’t built despite his manners- it was built because of them. There was something absolutely terrifying about a man who would apologize profusely while destroying your ability to walk.

“I’m really, truly sorry about this,” you heard him telling someone during a particularly busy Tuesday. “But you did threaten Mr. Kim’s daughter, and I simply cannot allow that to slide. I hope you understand. Could you please place your hand flat on the table? Thank you ever so much.”

The sound that followed made you wince and accidentally squirt floral foam all over Mrs. Chen’s funeral arrangement.

“Oh dear, are you alright out there?” San called. “I heard a commotion. Do you need assistance? I’ll be right with you!”

“I’m fine!” you squeaked back, frantically trying to clean up the mess before he could see.

But it was too late. San appeared in the doorway, surveying the disaster with concerned eyes. Behind him, two of Hongjoong’s other men were dragging out what appeared to be an unconscious body.

“Oh my, what a mess,” San tsked sympathetically. “Here, please allow me.”

He immediately set about helping you clean, his movements efficient and gentle. It would have been sweet if not for the fact that his knuckles were split and bleeding.

“San, your hands-”

“Oh, these? Don’t worry about it, please. Just a minor occupational hazard.” He smiled that bright, dimpled smile that made your heart do stupid things. “I should probably clean them up though. Wouldn’t want to get blood on the flowers. That would be terribly unprofessional.”

You watched him rinse his hands in the small sink, humming what sounded like a lullaby under his breath.

“Can I ask you something?” you said finally.

“Of course! Please, ask away.”

“Why are you so… polite? Even when you’re…” you gestured vaguely toward the back room. You already got used to the violence, that was regular occurrence. What caught you off guard was his very polite demeanor while perpetrating the said violence.

San considered this seriously, drying his hands with a clean towel. “Well, my mother always taught me that good manners cost nothing,” he said. “Just because someone has chosen to cross the family doesn’t mean I should abandon basic courtesy. Everyone deserves to be treated with respect, even if I do have to break their bones afterward. It’s not personal, you see.”

He said this as if it was the most logical thing in the world.

“Plus,” he added, hanging up the towel with precise care, “people remember politeness. If you’re going to send a message, might as well make it memorable, don’t you think?”

You had to admit, he had a point. You’d certainly never forget the image of San in his floral apron, apologizing sincerely while snapping someone’s wrist.

====================================

The day you realized you were completely gone for this ridiculous man was the day he brought you coffee.

“I noticed you seemed tired,” he said, setting down a perfect latte with a little foam heart on top. “I took the liberty of getting your usual from the café down the street. I do hope that’s alright? I can get you something else if you prefer.”

You looked up from the books you’d been balancing -because apparently your job description had expanded to include light accounting- and felt your heart melt a little.

“San, this is so sweet, but you really didn’t have to-”

“Nonsense! It’s my pleasure. Really.” He settled into the chair across from your desk, looking unusually hesitant. “Actually, I was wondering… that is, if you wouldn’t mind… could I perhaps take you to dinner sometime? Please?”

The way he asked, shy and hopeful and still somehow devastatingly attractive, made you forget momentarily that this man’s day job involved bone breaking.

“I’d love to,” you heard yourself say.

His face lit up like Christmas morning. “Really? Oh, that’s wonderful! Thank you so much! I promise I’ll be a perfect gentleman. Would Saturday work for you? I know this lovely little place that does excellent pasta. Very romantic. Completely legitimate business, I assure you- no money laundering or anything of that nature.”

Only San would think to specify that a restaurant wasn’t a money laundering front.

“Saturday sounds perfect,” you said, taking a sip of your latte. It was exactly how you liked it. “But I have one condition.”

“Anything! Please, name it.”

“No breaking anyone’s kneecaps during dinner. It might ruin the mood.”

San laughed. A bright, genuine sound that made your chest warm. “I solemnly promise. Scout’s honor. Although,” he added thoughtfully, “I was never actually a scout. Is it still binding? I wouldn’t want to mislead you.”

God, you were so whipped for this silly guy.

====================================

Saturday arrived, and San picked you up in what was definitely a suspiciously expensive car for a flower shop employee but normal for an enforcer, wearing a perfectly tailored suit that probably cost more than your rent.

“You look absolutely stunning,” he said, offering you his arm like a proper gentleman. “Thank you for agreeing to this. I’m really quite nervous, to be honest.”

“Nervous?” You couldn’t hide your surprise. “You break people’s bones for a living.”

“Well, yes, but that’s different,” San said reasonably. “I’m very good at that. Dating, however… I’m rather out of practice. I do hope I don’t mess this up. I’d be absolutely devastated.”

He opened the car door for you with a soft “Please, after you,” and you were struck again by the surreal nature of your situation. This morning, you’d watched him explain proper bone setting technique to a very frightened loan shark. Tonight, he was worried about using the right fork at dinner.

The restaurant was indeed lovely and completely legitimate as far as you could tell. San was the perfect date; attentive, funny, and genuinely interested in everything you had to say. He asked about your family, your dreams, your favorite books. He told you about his own childhood, his love of cooking, his inexplicable fear of butterflies.

“They’re so unpredictable,” he explained seriously over dessert. “You never know which direction they’re going to fly. It’s deeply unsettling.”

“More unsettling than your job?” you teased.

“Oh, absolutely. At least with work, I know exactly what’s going to happen. Very straightforward. Someone doesn’t pay, I ask nicely for them to reconsider, and if they refuse, I break something non essential. Simple cause and effect. But butterflies? Pure chaos.”

You nearly choked on your tiramisu. “Non-essential?”

“Well, yes. I’m not a monster,” San said, looking slightly offended. “I always start with fingers or toes. Work my way up to more important joints only if absolutely necessary. It’s about graduated consequences, you see. Very important to be proportional in these matters.”

He said this while carefully adjusting your napkin because he’d noticed it slipping.

“You’re incredible,” you said, and meant it.

San’s cheeks turned pink. “Thank you. That’s very kind of you to say. I do try my best.”

====================================

Three months into dating San, you’d grown accustomed to the duality of your boyfriend. At home, he was soft and sweet, bringing you flowers from the shop (secretly putting the exact charge to the safe, of course) and cooking elaborate meals while humming off key. He remembered every little thing you mentioned, left you cute notes in your lunch, and once spent an entire evening braiding your hair while you watched movies.

At work, he remained the family’s most effective enforcer, just with slightly more spring in his step.

“I’m really sorry about this, Mr. Park,” you heard him saying one Thursday afternoon. “But you’ve been skimming from the family’s cut, and that’s simply unacceptable. I hope you understand. Could you please choose which hand you’d prefer to keep functional? I don’t want to make that decision for you, it seems presumptuous.”

You shook your head and went back to arranging the new shipment of lilies. Your boyfriend was absolutely insane, and you were completely in love with him.

“Darling?” San appeared at your side sometime later, somehow managing to look both dangerous and adorable simultaneously. “I’m finished with work for the day. Would you like to grab some ice cream? Apparently there’s a new flavor at that place you like- lavender honey. I thought you might enjoy it.”

“That sounds perfect,” you said, letting him help you out of your apron. “Good day at work?”

“Oh yes, very productive. Mr. Park has agreed to return the money he borrowed, plus interest. We came to a very amicable understanding.” San’s smile was bright and innocent. “He was surprisingly cooperative once we discussed the situation properly.”

You decided you probably didn’t want to know what “discussed the situation properly” entailed.

As you walked to the ice cream shop, San’s hand warm in yours, you reflected on how strange your life had become. Six months ago, if someone had told you you’d be dating a psychopath with manners who broke bones for a living and apologized for it, you’d have recommended therapy.

Now? You couldn’t imagine being with anyone else.

“Penny for your thoughts?” San asked, swinging your joined hands gently.

“Just thinking about how perfect you are,” you said honestly.

San stopped walking and turned to face you, his expression soft and vulnerable in the golden afternoon light.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “For accepting me as I am. I know I’m not… conventional. But you make me want to be the best version of myself, even if that version still occasionally involves strategic bone breaking.”

“San,” you said, reaching up to cup his face, “you’re the kindest, most considerate person I know. The fact that you also happen to be a terrifying enforcer just makes you interesting.”

He leaned into your touch, eyes closing briefly. “I love you,” he whispered. “If that’s alright with you.”

“It’s more than alright,” you whispered back. “I love you too.”

When he kissed you, soft and sweet in the middle of the sidewalk, you could feel his smile.

Later, as you shared lavender honey ice cream and San told you about his plans on how to reorganize the flower shop’s inventory system, you decided that maybe unconventional was exactly what you’d been looking for all along.

After all, anyone could date a normal guy.

But how many people could say their boyfriend always apologized before breaking kneecaps and said please?

The End

#ateez fic #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #kpop fic #ateez scenarios #kpop x reader #ateez imagines #kpop imagines #ateez fluff #ateez fanfiction #mafia!ateez #kpop scenarios #kpop fanfic

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wildstar25 · 2 days ago

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WoLGraha Week 2025 - Day 5 - Song

"My love is of course a woman of many talents. With that in mind it may be a surprise that her singing abilities are rather... up for debate. However not even Arsay, who readily admits to her vocal performances being heavily criticized in the past, can fight back the urges drawn forth by a well loved song. It is my opinion that to be witness to the unfettered joy that bursts forth from her lungs, in all it's ear-piercing and off-tune glory, is a boon. One that makes my own heart wish to sing in harmony."

#ffxiv #wolgraha #wolgrahaweek #wolgrahaweek2025 #g'raha tia #arsay nun #graharsay #y'shtola rhul #graharshtola #I had already done a gpose about G'raha singing and playing songs to arsay in the past and i wasnt vibing with the idea of doing that again #so I went with this route instead #im sure the cool thing would be to say oh of course my oc can sing but its way more funny if arsay wasnt that great at it #Girl lived on a ship for 6 years and would get roasted whenever she tried to lead a shanty lol she knows shes not good at it #she holds back but yknow sometimes a song is just too much of a banger and she belts out high notes she cannot hit lol #and you can't tell me g'raha isnt the type to sing a little song on the way back from the library because he is #n of course I had to sneak shtola in another one of the prompts this week #this is all just a big graha loving his wife moment tbh #she could sound like a dying animal (and sometimes does) and hed still want to sing with her because sharing moments with her #is whats important. its everything to him y'know?? seeing her happy and carefree. thats one of lifes greatest joys.#also plz ignore arsay wearing the wrong earing I was mixing glam plates and noticed too late the ears got glamed over

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makeitworse · 3 days ago

Text

𝒯ASTE

── only he can get you, no matter what it takes.

tags : f!rea x jeongin. 2.6k wc. slight age gap (~3 yrs). obsession. resolved tension. ginger innie🤤. oppa kink?. suggestive. 18+

♬ : taste - stray kids,, hallucination - i.n

notes : for angel’s bday bash! 🧁 thank you for trusting me w innie, have the happiest birthday <33

JEONGIN was in over his head.

he knew it well. drowning in it, actually. suffocating in this sharp, all-consuming craving for the one girl he had no business even glancing at twice.

you were like intravenous drugs draped in a dress — specifically the little black one that’s been haunting him since the night he saw you in it — carved right into his bloodstream with no hope of getting clean. withdrawals hit whenever you were gone too long, and yeah, he wishes that was an exaggeration. but it’s not. it’s a sick and embarrassing and a bad fucking joke.

you’re the forbidden fruit after all. untouchable, holy. and yet simultaneously the serpent — smug and enticing, knowing full well what you’re rousing in him. watching him fight a war within himself to not give everything else up for just one taste.

god, did he want to bite.

the punchline? well, of course it was you. had to be you. the funniest, smartest, prettiest damn girl he's ever met — the one person he’s wanted this bad ever in his life. the one person he shouldn’t want in any way beyond passing smiles and brief catch-ups, such as: "nice to see you again, chan says you’re well.”

because you weren’t just any girl. you’re his leader’s baby sister. and jeongin was so impossibly, helplessly fucked with no solace in sight.

the line wasn’t just clear — in fact it was lit up in neon signage, outlined in barbed wire, and tattooed across chan’s knuckles. from the start, he’d been firm with the group to behave when it came to his sisters. it’s important to him to keep family and work as seperate lives. can you imagine if you came crying to him about some idiot breaking your heart, and the guy chan had to kill was one of his own??

so sisters: off-limits. anyone looking for a quick, accessible death would just have to click follow on your instagram. but it’s not like jeongin was gross about it, right? chan’s watched him grow up. he’s not some pervert.

well, in the strict definition of it.

it doesn’t help when you walk into a room and your eyes find jeongin first every single time, wearing that damned smile like you know just what he was dreaming of last night. when you greet him with a hug that he’s not allowed to return, hands roaming all over his back like it’s your right while he’s been fossilised in place.

and especially when you tilt your head and call him oppa, giggling it off when heat rushes to jeongin’s face (and other places). it should be studied just how hard he gets just from that word in your mouth.

he’s the youngest in the group, used to being babied and teased. but you flip everything he knows on its head. you glance at him with those sweet eyes, all sugar and bad intentions, and suddenly he was some creepy oppa ogling a younger girl. and you just knew, didn’t you? you had to. literally no one calls him that. especially not like how you do.

it was a maddening game of push and pull, a standstill at what are we? — at least, on his end. you’d throw him a bone to keep him hooked: like laugh extra loud at a joke he made even when his voice cracked. to keep his heart, among other parts, confused and starving and pumping with blood.

one day you were curled up next to him on the couch, knees and shoulders bumping his, any polite space he tried maintaining gone in the second after. and by the next, you were barely looking his way, laughing with one of the others like he wasn’t even there.

he couldn’t figure you out even if there was a gun to his head. and that’s what made this dangerous. because if this was all him — just hopelessly drooling over his leader’s little sister, and you didn’t feel a thing in return — then what did that make him?

and you know what’s worse? he chooses to risk it all and still want you tomorrow. and the day after. and over and over until the running in circles makes him crash out. he hopes you make the first move or perhaps chan just takes him out before it reaches that point, though.

he watched you with the others once: with hyunjin and felix. laughing, nudging, leaning in way too close like you do all the time with jeongin. you were just being friendly, sure. that’s what you’d say if your brother came storming in. but it gnawed at jeongin’s chest all the same.

because who’s to say you weren’t like that with all of them? with anyone? who’s to say that if any of them leaned into it the way jeongin thinks about — snagging the bait and flirting right back — you wouldn’t let them have you? they were taller, older, cooler. more collected in ways jeongin was still learning how to be. maybe chan would even approve of one of them. felix seemed a good fit: a mature guy with a clean track record, sensible enough to keep his hands to himself until he had a ring on it.

so suddenly, everything jeongin thought you shared started to feel small. that maybe what you had wasn’t special, but rather some passing game you play when you’re bored — when none of the better options were around.

that’s when it occurred to him. he wasn’t going to let it be anyone else.

even if it hurt. even if it utterly ruined him. even if it meant sobbing at your feet while you crushed him over and over again with a soft smile that said try harder. whatever it took, jeongin would make you his. you’d look at him and only him, even if he had to bleed for it. especially if he had to.

for weeks now, jeongin’s been acting like a moth to the sun. hovering you like a flame he doesn't have the balls to touch, close enough to feel the heat but not get burned. he pursues you in the only ways he can without crossing the bewared lines; polite compliments, glances that linger too long, brushing his knuckles on your hand when no one’s looking. not too forward. never enough to be obvious. but enough to make him feel like he’s doing something with these feelings, to channel all of the pent up energy he’s too ashamed to release in the night by himself.

and apparently, it’s too much. because the others are starting to notice.

one afternoon in the practice room, he overheard seungmin telling hyunjin about a funny tiktok you had sent him. he didn’t think they were allowed to talk to you outside of in person. it had him sulking for the rest of rehearsal, short with seungmin specifically, until they wrapped up for the day and he cornered jeongin.

“is there something going on?” seungmin asked, tone flat like he already knew the answer. jeongin doesn’t answer, pretending to look for something in his bag, which gets an eye-roll from the older of the two.

“okay, you’ve been acting like some guard dog whenever someone says her name.” seungmin crosses his arms with a sigh. “you do realise we’re all not allowed to do anything, right?”

jeongin shrugs it off, giving a snicker that comes out hollow. he’s already been mulling it over — obsessively, relentlessly — and the guilt doesn’t stop him. hasn’t, won’t. not when it looks like he’s making progress. or maybe he’s hallucinating it all.

because lately, you’ve grown bolder and somehow colder all at once.

you’ll catch his eyes lingering and raise a brow, like you’re daring his gaze to drift lower. and sometimes it does. you’ll sit beside him, thigh brushing his and hand landing on his leg for a millisecond, only to face away like you didn’t feel him tense up under your touch. you even whispered that damn oppa in his ear once, around the corner and out of sight, then darted back into the room with everyone before he could even respond — leaving him flushed and half-hard and furious at himself.

tonight, he can’t take it anymore.

there’s too many people crammed into the living room of this damn house. he’d been pouting in the corner since changbin left him to go take a shit (seriously, who does that at a party?). bass was thumping through the walls, music drowned out by all the laughter and drunk chatter. jeongin hadn’t gotten there yet. he’d only had enough to feel warm, loosened at the edges. buzzing from two beers and the rush of knowing you were here, somewhere else in this house, probably charming the hell out of some guy who wasn’t him.

and like some pussy-whipped idiot, he downs the rest of his drink and pushes through the crowd in search of you. changbin can find some other company.

he wades his way to the kitchen, stumbling in on hyunjin kissing some girl sitting on the counter, and he looks twice only to make sure she’s not you — thank god.

it’s not long before he does find you: catching sight of your hair through the window near the bathroom, standing outside on the porch. you’re leaning on the railing, red cup in one hand and phone in the other; and he can make out enough of your screen to tell that you’re texting someone.

something in jeongin snaps.

maybe it’s just because you’re alone, which he really didn’t think he’d find you as — but he doesn’t spare himself a second to think. just slides open the screen door, heavy eyes landing on you as you turn to the noise. there’s hot needles prickling under his skin as steps to the railing, tongue buzzing with the taste of all the words he’s been swallowing for far too long.

he mimics your lean beside you. not quite touching yet. “didn’t expect to find you out here,” he says casually, like it’s not a lie and he was checking the whole house for you. “got tired of it?”

you hum. “meh. just needed some quiet.”

you don’t even glance at him. jeongin points to your phone, gaze flicking down to make out any words. “who’re you texting?”

you swiftly shut off your phone. it’s enough to get your attention, at least — as you stand up straighter, facing jeongin with a smirk. “why? jealous?”

jeongin lets out a dry laugh, cracking his knuckles as a nervous fidget. “should i be?”

you don’t answer. just keep staring at him with that crooked grin.

he shifts, voice seeping lower. “where’s chan? i saw him with you earlier,”

you shrug, glancing back into the house. “talking to minho, i think.”

something claws at his chest, jagged and desperate. it’s meant to ease him, knowing chan’s not in the vicinity. but it only makes his pulse come quicker. you’re here, alone, and your brother’s not looking for you.

you sit your drink on the railing and start to pick at your nails, bored. “is that all you came out here for?”

jeongin’s jaw flexes, and he knows you catch it in your peripheral because he can see your smirk edging wider. you’re living for this shit. instigating, prodding. always waiting to see how far he’ll go.

“i can’t do this anymore,” his words come out breathless. you blink at him, face stilling.

jeongin soldiers on through his conscience screaming at him to shut the hell up.

“i don’t care if this messes everything up. chan. the guys. all of it. i don’t care.”

your lips part slightly, whether in disbelief or anticipation. he steps closer.

“either you kiss me or hate me,” he goes on, fist involuntarily tightening from the adrenaline. “but i can’t keep doing this fucking middle ground where you pretend you don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

there was something raw in his eyes — unfiltered, devoted. it almost hurts to look at. seeing the effect you’ve got on him in full force without any polite restraint. you could just walk away, decide it’s too much for you. you could’ve laughed in his face and left him there in his shame. he would’ve let you.

but instead, you step into his space.

you fist his jacket collar, tugging him towards you until his body’s almost pressed flush against yours. your breath fans jeongin’s cheek, and you’re close enough for him to clock the wild flicker in your eyes.

he’s driving you just as mad.

your voice comes as barely a whisper. “really want me that bad, huh, oppa?”

jeongin swallows hard, gaze darting between your eyes and lips. “didn’t you know?”

his mouth is dry and his voice is shaky but he can’t find it in him to care. especially not with how you’re looking at him through your lashes like you could eat him up.

your lips come to the shell of his ear, and he audibly gulps when you breathe him in there, the cologne scent mixed with the alcohol making your head foggy.

“i won’t tell,” you whisper, extending a pinky to his chest. his brain short circuits, and he’s frozen still for a second while he realises you’re literally giving him permission to go ahead and chan won’t find out. initial shock over, his pinky’s hooking around yours, and in the next breath you’re closing your lips around his.

it’s immediate and heated — a crash of mouths, teeth, hands all over bodies. no pause or teasing anymore. just hungry and frantic movements like you’ve been thinking about it just as long.

jeongin whines onto your lips when your fingers thread into his hair, when you parted your thighs to wedge his knee between your legs. his hands gripped your waist like he’s anchoring himself, or maybe holding you in place like he’s still scared you might not want this.

you pull soft noises from jeongin as you kiss him, but when your tongue slides past his lips and against his, he groans down your throat.

things heat up real quick after that. you ground yourself down on his knee, and he gasps as your thigh rocks against the painfully hard tent in his pants.

jeongin’s been a patient man. he didn’t rush, even when he was close to begging you for one chance. but now, now that he’s gotten to taste you — tongue swirling on yours, his hands under your clothes — he realises that it’s still not near enough to satisfy how starved he’s been.

he’s thought about kissing you, of course. wanted to lean in and press his lips to yours whenever you found yourselves alone in a room together. and while this is hot, and he’s insanely hard for how you’re rutting against his thigh right now, this isn’t what he’d been losing sleep over thinking about. what he’d been barely restraining from fucking his fist over in fear of disrespecting you.

with a one track mind, jeongin’s guiding you back into the wall, far enough from the glow of the lights inside, your bodies concealed by the night. he breaks the kiss only momentarily, pressing a kiss to your jaw, your neck, hiking your shirt up to pepper kisses onto your bare tummy.

and before you register it, jeongin’s already on his knees, fingers twitching at your hips and chin sitting on your abdomen — big, glossy eyes looking up at you. for permission, you realise.

because this is what he’d been fantasising about. this taste.

and when you nod, he smiles like he’s fallen in love on the spot. maybe he has.

“please be my girlfriend,” he pleads hoarsely, fingers hooking around your waistband.

you just chuckle, planting a hand in his hair and ruffling it.

“i’ll have to ask my brother.”

mlist · taglist 〃

@lightinbug @sherrayyyyy @ttturnitup @rafesbunniebby @strhwa @orphicarchive @lightinbug @pinkpunkdynamite @hydeonysus @velvetmoonlght @shinygubbins @ateez-atiny380 @sunnysidesins @nervousaggressive @madebybec @estella-novella @felixlsworld

@fenya-scribbles @emmiesoverthemoon @skzophreniic @leriexoxo @breakmeoff @pixie-felix @angel-writes-skz-here

#angel's skz birthday bash #stray kids x you #skz x reader #yang jeongin x reader #jeongin x you #jeongin x reader #jeongin fanfic #yang jeongin #stray kids #i.n x reader #in x reader #i.n stray kids #stray kids fanfic #stray kids fluff #jeongin #stray kids x reader #angel's skz brithday bash

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jungkoode · 11 hours ago

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since pov reversal requests are open… can we get chapter 8 (when he eats her out) in jungkook’s POV? i’m so curious bout his thought process there… 🥺 🫶🏻 ilu thanks mother of goblins

Fuck Me Up; Chapter 8, Jungkook’s POV.

warnings: cunnilingus, smut, explicit themes, jungkook being smug, past toxic relationships reference / past abuse implied.

pairing: jungkook x f!reader | rating: 18+ | genre: roommates, fwb, e2l

wc: 5,6k words | main story index | wattpad | taglist | AO3

It’s nagging at him.

Has been all fucking night, actually. Like a splinter under his skin that he can’t quite dig out, working its way deeper every time he tries to ignore it.

Jungkook stares at the ceiling of his room, jaw clenched tight as the realization gnaws at him with relentlessness.

He didn’t eat you out yesterday.

The thought makes him groan into his pillow because what kind of fucking amateur move was that? What kind of—Christ, he’s better than that. He knows he’s better than that. But somehow, in all the heat and desperation of having you pressed against that window, he’d completely forgotten one of the most important parts.

The first part.

His mind drifts back to January—that first night when he’d had no idea who you were, when you were just some girl with an attitude and the kind of legs that made him want to do stupid things. But fuck, the second he’d gotten his mouth on you? The second he’d tasted that slick heat between your thighs?

You’d been so goddamn responsive. Warm and wet and perfect, your back arching off his mattress as you’d grabbed fistfuls of his hair and told him exactly how good he was making you feel.

And afterward, when you were both catching your breath, you’d looked at him with those sharp eyes and said something that had burned itself into his memory.

“That's—ah—what happens when you eat someone out properly,” you’d murmured, all breathless and satisfied.

And he had chuckled, had said: "I’ll keep that in mind."

But had he kept that in mind yesterday? Had he fucking hell.

Jungkook drags both hands through his hair, tugging at the strands in frustration because he’s an idiot. A complete and utter idiot who got so caught up in the moment—in the way you’d looked at him, in the heat of your body against his—that he’d skipped right over the thing he knew women loved most.

The thing he’d been craving for months.

Because that’s the real problem here, isn’t it? It’s not just that he forgot. It’s that he’s been thinking about it ever since January. Thinking about the way you’d tasted, the way you’d felt against his tongue, the sounds you’d made when he’d found that perfect rhythm. It’s been driving him half-insane, living in the same apartment as you, smelling that vanilla scent everywhere but not being able to do anything about it.

Until yesterday, anyway. When all his self-control had finally snapped and he’d gotten to touch you again, to hear those sounds again, to feel you fall apart in his arms.

But he’d rushed it. Gotten too eager, too desperate to be inside you, and now that oversight is eating at him like acid.

He rolls over, pressing his face into the pillow as another wave of frustration crashes over him. Because it’s not just about the sex, is it? It’s about doing it right. About proving to himself—and maybe to you—that he’s not the same guy who used to let Mia walk all over him. That he knows what he’s doing now, knows how to make you feel good, knows how to—

God, he’s pathetic.

Jungkook sits up abruptly, running his hands over his face as he tries to shake off the spiral of thoughts. But they keep coming anyway, relentless and insistent, reminding him of every detail from that night in January. The way you’d looked at him afterward, satisfied and a little surprised.

He wants that again. Wants to see that look on your face, wants to hear you tell him how good he is, wants to prove that yesterday was just a fluke and he really does know what he’s doing.

The clock on his nightstand reads 8:47 AM, and Jungkook finds himself wondering if you’re still asleep. You probably are—it’s Saturday, after all, and you’ve never been much of a morning person. You’re probably curled up in that bed of yours, hair messy and face soft with sleep, completely unaware that he’s been lying here for the past hour thinking about all the ways he wants to wake you up.

The thought makes his dick twitch with interest, and he has to bite back another groan because this is getting ridiculous. He’s a grown man, not some teenager who can’t control himself. But something about you just gets under his skin in the worst possible way, makes him want things he shouldn’t want and think things he definitely shouldn’t be thinking.

Like how much he wants to knock on your door right now. How much he wants to see if you’ll let him fix his mistake from yesterday.

But that would be crazy, right? Showing up at your door at nine in the morning just because he can’t stop thinking about the way you taste?

That’s the kind of thing Mia used to do—boundary-pushing, manipulative shit that always left him feeling off-balance and guilty.

Except… this isn’t the same thing, at all because there’s no control or manipulation in his thoughts.

In all honesty this is just about wanting to make you feel good. About wanting to do better than he did yesterday.

At least, that’s what he tells himself as he gets out of bed and pulls on clothes. That’s what he tells himself as he makes his way down the hall toward your room, heart hammering against his ribs with something that might be nerves or excitement or both.

Griffin appears from somewhere, winding around his ankles with a soft meow, and Jungkook scoops him up automatically.

“Come on,” he murmurs to the cat, who purrs and settles against his chest. “Let’s go wake up Phoenix.”

Because if he’s going to do this—if he’s really going to show up at your door like some kind of horny morning person—he might as well have an excuse ready. Something that sounds reasonable and normal instead of I’ve been lying awake for an hour thinking about eating you out.

Yeah. Griffin’s a good excuse. Griffin’s perfect.

The door to your room is cracked open just enough for him to slip inside without making noise. Griffin jumps down from his arms immediately, padding over to investigate something under your desk, and Jungkook finds himself standing there like an idiot, just… looking at you.

You’re sprawled across the bed on your stomach, one leg kicked out from under the covers, hair a complete disaster across the pillow. And your mouth—Christ, your mouth is hanging open just slightly, soft little puffs of air escaping with each breath.

It’s ridiculous. You look absolutely fucking ridiculous, and he has to bite his lip to keep from laughing because if you could see yourself right now, you’d probably murder him just for witnessing it. Miss Sarcastic-Comment-For-Everything, passed out like a drooling mess at nine in the morning.

But even looking ridiculous, even with your hair sticking up and that little spot of drool on the pillow, you still smell incredible. That vanilla scent is stronger in here, concentrated and warm, and it hits him like a punch to the gut. Makes his mouth water and his dick take interest because fuck, he remembers exactly how that scent tastes.

Sweet. Warm. Perfect.

His brain supplies the memory before he can stop it—the way you’d tasted that night in January, slick and ready and so goddamn responsive under his tongue. The way you’d grabbed his hair while your stiletto dug in his back; the way you’d arched your back and made those sounds that had him harder than he’d ever been in his life.

Yeah. He definitely needs to fix yesterday’s oversight.

Jungkook moves closer to the bed, and Griffin chooses that exact moment to meow—loud and demanding, like the attention-seeking little shit he is.

“Shh,” Jungkook whispers, but it’s too late.

You stir slightly, face scrunching up in that way it does when you’re annoyed about something, even in sleep. Your mouth closes, and you make this little grumbling sound that shouldn’t be as hilarious as it is.

Time for the wake-up call.

“Finny,” he tries first, because it’s cute and he knows it’ll irritate you.

Nothing. You’re still dead to the world, completely oblivious.

“Nexus.”

Still nothing, though your eyebrows draw together slightly like you’re having some kind of dream. Probably about strangling him, knowing you.

“Phoenixa.”

A slight shift, your leg moving under the covers, but you don’t wake up.

Stubborn even in sleep.

“Nyx.”

This time you twitch, and he grins because he’s getting somewhere.

“L’Oréal Paris?”

That does it. Your eyes fly open, and you jolt upright so fast you nearly launch yourself off the bed.

The look of complete confusion and outrage on your face is priceless—hair sticking up everywhere, eyes wide and unfocused, mouth still soft from sleep.

“What the actual—” You scramble to sit up, yanking your covers around you like they’ll somehow protect you from his presence. “Why are you in my room?!”

And there it is. That sharp edge to your voice, that immediate defensive response that makes his dick twitch with interest.

Because Christ, even first thing in the morning, even looking like you just survived a tornado, you still manage to sound like you want to eviscerate him.

It’s honestly impressive.

“Just came to get Griffin,” he says easily, settling onto the edge of your mattress like he belongs there. “But decided to wake you up since I was already here.”

You groan into your pillow—actually groan like he’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to you—and try to smother yourself with it. Like that’ll somehow make him disappear.

It won’t. He’s not going anywhere until he gets what he came for.

(Unless you actually kicked him out and didn’t want him there because he understands the concept of boundaries, but something tells him that’s not what’s gonna happen.)

“Also,” you mutter, turning just enough to glare at him through strands of messy hair, “L’Oréal Paris? Seriously?”

He grins because he’s actually pretty proud of that one. “What? Thought it was clever. You know, since I called you Nyx, and it’s a makeup brand, and—”

“I got it.” You roll your eyes so hard it looks painful. “You’re not as witty as you think you are.”

But you’re fighting a smile—he can see it in the way your lips twitch, the way you try to hide your face in the pillow.

You think it’s funny, even if you’d rather die than admit it.

“I don’t know, Phoenix.” He lets his voice drop just a little, watches the way your breathing changes at the shift in tone. “You seemed pretty impressed with my wit yesterday.”

The flush that crawls up your neck is immediate and telling, and Jungkook has to adjust his position on the bed because watching you get flustered is doing things to him.

Especially when he knows exactly what you’re remembering—the way he’d talked to you yesterday, the things he’d said while he was buried inside you, the way you’d responded to every filthy word.

“Get out of my room,” you mumble into the pillow, but there’s no real heat behind it.

“No can do.”

You peek at him from under the pillow, eyebrow raised in question, and he grins because he’s got you curious now. Got you engaged instead of trying to hide from him.

“Where even is Griffin?” you ask, and Jungkook glances over the room to find him—to no avail. He isn’t here.

“Oh, he left like five minutes ago. Guess he got bored waiting for you to wake up.”

You whip the pillow off to stare at him, and the look of pure indignation on your face makes him want to laugh. “So why are you still here?”

He shrugs, aiming for casual even though his heart is hammering against his ribs. “Stuff.”

“…Stuff.” You stare at him like he’s lost his mind. “Literally leave me alone.”

But you don’t actually try to make him leave. Don’t throw anything at his head or physically push him toward the door. You just faceplant back into the pillow with a dramatic sigh that makes him want to grin.

“Come on, Nini.” He tests out the new nickname, watches for your reaction. “It’s Saturday. Nine AM. There’s so much to do. Enjoy the day.”

“The day can enjoy itself without me.”

You burrow deeper into your sheets like you’re trying to hibernate, and something about the stubborn set of your shoulders, the way you’re so determined to stay in bed when he wants you awake and responsive, makes something click into place in his chest.

This is it. This is his chance to fix yesterday’s mistake.

“Ah ah, none of that.” Before he can second-guess himself, he’s grabbing your sheets and yanking them away.

The yelp you make when the cold air hits you is satisfying as hell, and when you lash out with your foot—trying to kick him like some feral cat—he’s ready for it. His hand wraps around your ankle, and he uses your own momentum against you, pulling you down the bed toward him in one smooth motion.

Now you’re flat on your back beneath him, staring up with wide eyes as he cages you against the mattress. Your sleep shirt has ridden up, giving him a glimpse of smooth skin, and this close he can see the rapid flutter of your pulse in your throat.

This position—Christ, this position is doing things to him.

Reminds him of January, of the way you’d looked when he’d had you pressed against that mattress. The way you’d felt under his hands, warm and pliant and perfect.

“Well,” he murmurs, letting his voice drop as his eyes flick over your face. “This feels familiar.”

It does. It feels like exactly where he wants to be—hovering over you, watching the way your pupils dilate, feeling the subtle shift in your breathing as awareness kicks in. You’re trying to play it cool, trying to maintain that sharp edge, but he can see right through it.

You want this just as much as he does. You’re just too stubborn to admit it.

“Rogue, what are you—” The words die in your throat as he dips his head down, mouth finding your nipple through the thin fabric of your sleep shirt.

The sharp intake of breath you make goes straight to his dick, and he has to resist the urge to grind against you because that’s not what this is about.

This is about fixing his mistake. About proving to himself that he knows what he’s doing.

About getting his mouth on you properly this time.

“C’mon,” he murmurs against the damp fabric, feeling the way you arch slightly beneath him despite your efforts to stay still. “You gave me only one last night. You can do better than that.”

It’s a direct callback to January, you both know it.

When you’d come apart three times with him—one under his tongue, two on his dick.

He’d loved it. Loved the satisfaction afterwards, the way you had genuinely enjoyed it.

Had slept like a baby, too.

“What makes you think I can—”

“Three.” The word comes out rougher than he intended, loaded with memory and want. “You gave me three that night, Phoenix. You’re crazy if you think a guy would forget that.”

The way you go perfectly still beneath him tells him everything he needs to know.

You remember too. Remember exactly how good it had been, how he’d made you shake and gasp and beg for more. The memory is written all over your face, in the way your pupils dilate and your breathing goes shallow.

Good. He wants you to remember.

“Come on,” he coaxes, moving to your other nipple, letting his teeth graze just enough to make you gasp. “I’ll make it quick. Promise it won’t take more than five minutes.”

It’s cocky as hell, and he knows it.

But he also knows he can deliver on that promise, especially with how responsive you are, especially with that vanilla scent making his mouth water and his hands shake slightly with want.

“You’re too sure of your—” You cut off with a strangled sound as he bites down just a little harder, and the broken noise you make is perfect. Exactly what he wanted to hear.

“C’mon, yeah?” His voice has dropped lower without his permission, gone rough with need because being this close to you, smelling you, touching you—it’s doing things to his control. “Say yes.”

He can see the war playing out across your face. The way you want to say no on principle, want to maintain that sharp edge you always keep between you.

But you also want this—he can see it in the way you’re looking at him, can feel it in the subtle shift of your body beneath his.

“…Okay,” you finally grumble, and the grin that splits across his face feels like winning the lottery.

Because that’s it. That’s all he needed. Permission to fix this nagging feeling, to do what he should have done yesterday, to get his mouth on you properly and prove that he remembers exactly how to make you fall apart.

The anticipation is already making his hands unsteady as he settles between your legs, hooking his arms under your thighs to pull you exactly where he wants you.

And Christ, you smell incredible from here—vanilla and warmth and that underlying scent that’s just you, just Phoenix, just everything he’s been craving for months.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips because his mouth is already watering, and he catches the way your breathing hitches as you watch him.

Yeah. This is exactly what he should have done yesterday. This is exactly what’s been driving him insane all night.

“Take these off,” he says, voice already gone rough with want as he looks up at you through his lashes.

But instead of complying, your hand shoots out to grab his hair, pushing his forehead back. “Hold up, I just woke up—”

The confusion that crashes over him is immediate and sharp. “And?”

You’re looking at him like he’s insane, like he’s missing something obvious, and it takes his brain a second to catch up.

Self-consciousness. You’re worried about—

“It’s been like, nine hours since I showered, let me just—”

You try to wiggle away, but his grip on your thighs just tightens automatically because no. Absolutely not. He’s not waiting another second for this, not when he’s been thinking about it all night, not when you’re right here and willing and perfect.

“Stop being weird about it,” he says, and he means it.

Because what the hell does he care about showers or time or any of that bullshit? You’re here, you’re warm, you smell incredible, and he’s been craving this for hours.

“Rogue,” you tug his hair harder, trying to make him back off, “I’m literally all sweaty, I need to—”

He yanks your hand away from his hair, pinning it to the mattress beside you because he’s done with this conversation. Done with delays and excuses and overthinking.

“So?” The word comes out rougher than he intended, loaded with want and impatience. “I like my breakfast marinated.”

The look of pure shock that crosses your face is priceless—eyes wide, mouth falling open slightly, a flush crawling up your neck that tells him exactly how his words affected you.

And fuck, the way you’re looking at him now, scandalized and turned on despite yourself, makes his dick throb with interest.

“You’re disgusting,” you manage to choke out, but your voice is breathless, aroused, telling a completely different story than your words.

Perfect.

“Mhm. Now take them off.”

His fingers are already hooking into the waistband of your shorts before you can protest again, and this time you don’t fight it. Don’t try to stop him as he drags the fabric down your hips, over your thighs, until you’re bare and spread out in front of him like his own personal feast.

“That’s better,” he sighs, and it is.

It’s so much better, having you like this—naked and waiting and his to touch however he wants.

The soft chuckle that escapes him is pure satisfaction as he leans in to press his lips to the inside of your thigh. Soft at first, testing, but when you don’t pull away he lets himself really taste you. Salt and warmth and that underlying sweetness that’s been haunting him for months.

His thumbs rub slow circles into your skin as he works his way higher, pressing kiss after kiss to the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, and he can feel the subtle tremor that runs through your body with each touch.

And then he pauses, just long enough to look up at you through his lashes, to catch your eyes and hold them as his tongue flicks out to wet his lips.

The first taste of you—that long stripe up your slit—makes both of you gasp. You, because it’s sudden and electric and perfect. Him, because Christ, he’d forgotten how incredible you taste.

Your hands fly to his hair immediately, fingers tangling in the strands like you’re trying to anchor yourself, and the slight sting of it just makes him want more.

He hums against you in appreciation—can’t help it, really, because this is exactly where he wants to be. Exactly what he’s been thinking about all night.

The vibration makes you jerk slightly, makes your grip in his hair tighten, and he grins against you because he can already tell you’re trying not to make noise.

Stubborn girl. He’ll fix that.

“What’d I tell you yesterday about holding your sounds?” he asks, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes, that challenging eyebrow raised.

Your response is immediate, that sharp defiance he’s grown addicted to: “You’ll have to earn it then.”

Perfect. Fucking perfect.

The grin that spreads across Jungkook’s face is wicked and entirely too pleased with itself as he dips back down without another word.

Because that’s exactly what he wanted to hear—that challenge, that stubborn refusal to make this easy for him.

It’s what makes the victory so much sweeter when he finally breaks you.

And he will break you. He knows exactly how.

The tip of his tongue brushes against your clit in the lightest possible touch, barely there, just enough to make you aware of what’s coming. He keeps his eyes locked on yours as he does it, watching for that subtle shift in your breathing, that tiny flutter of your lashes that tells him you’re already fighting the urge to react.

There it is.

Your pupils are already dilating, that sharp focus in your eyes starting to blur around the edges as he traces lazy circles around your clit with the tip of his tongue. Never quite touching it directly, never giving you enough pressure to actually get you there, just teasing until your hips start to shift restlessly beneath him.

He can feel the tension building in your thighs where his hands are gripping them, the way your muscles clench and release as you try to stay still. Try to maintain that control you’re so desperate to keep.

And the best part? Yoongi won’t be back from his early studio session for hours. Which means you can be as loud as you want. Can scream his name if he does this right—and he’s definitely going to do this right.

His tongue flattens against you, dragging a slow stripe from your entrance to your clit, and the way your breath hitches—sharp and surprised—makes his dick throb in his jeans.

The second hum of satisfaction that vibrates against you is involuntary—he can’t help it when you taste this good, feel this perfect under his tongue. His mouth is already watering for more.

Your grip in his hair tightens at the vibration, fingernails scraping against his scalp in a way that makes him groan softly against your skin. The slight sting of it just spurs him on, makes him press closer, lets his tongue delve deeper.

He starts a rhythm then—slow, deliberate circles around your clit that have you trying to press closer to his mouth, your hips shifting despite your best efforts to stay still.

Your breathing is getting shallower, little puffs of air escaping your lips as you fight to stay quiet, and Jungkook finds himself getting lost in the sounds.

The tiny gasps you can’t quite suppress, the way your breath catches when he hits a particularly sensitive spot, the soft whimper you try to muffle by biting your lip.

It’s all going straight to his dick, making him grind unconsciously against the mattress as he works you over with his tongue.

Because this—this is exactly what he’s been craving. The taste of you on his tongue, the feel of you coming apart beneath him, the knowledge that he’s the one making you feel this good.

His tongue speeds up slightly, flicking over your clit with more ambition now, and he watches as your eyes start to flutter closed. But no—he wants you to look at him. Wants to see the exact moment when you break.

The soft sound of frustration you make when he pulls back slightly—just enough to make you chase his mouth—is perfect. Makes your eyes snap open and focus on him with desperate, needy heat. And the way you immediately lock onto his gaze without hesitation makes something smug and possessive curl in his chest.

Jesus. Even without words, you know what he wants.

He rewards you by latching onto your clit properly this time, sucking gently while his tongue continues those maddening circles. The combination has you arching off the bed, a strangled moan finally escaping your throat despite your best efforts.

There’s the sound he’s been waiting for.

His tongue works faster now, alternating between broad strokes and precise flicks, building a rhythm that has your thighs starting to tremble around his head. He can feel you getting wetter, slicker, your body responding to him in ways you can’t control no matter how hard you try.

And you are trying.

He can see it in the way you’re gripping the sheets with one hand while the other stays tangled in his hair. You’re still fighting it, still trying to maintain some semblance of control even as he systematically destroys it.

But your eyes—Christ, your eyes are telling a completely different story. Dark and desperate and so fucking hungry as you watch him work between your legs. Like you can’t decide if you want to push him away or pull him closer.

He knows which one you really want.

His tongue finds that perfect rhythm—the one that made you come so hard in January that you actually screamed—and he watches as recognition dawns in your expression. Watches as your mouth falls open and your breathing turns ragged and desperate.

The broken gasp that escapes you makes his dick pulse with need, but you don’t finish whatever you were going to say because he doubles down, tongue working your clit relentlessly while his hands grip your thighs hard enough to leave marks.

He’s not gentle about it anymore—can’t be, not when you taste this good, not when you’re responding like this.

Your back arches off the bed completely now, head thrown back as you fight a losing battle against the pleasure building in your core.

And Jungkook—Jungkook is in his element. This is what he’s good at, what he was born to do. Making you fall apart with nothing but his mouth and his stubborn determination to prove he remembers exactly how to wreck you.

He can feel you getting close—the way your thighs start to shake, the way your breathing turns sharp and desperate, the way your grip in his hair turns almost painful.

You’re right there, right on the edge, and he knows exactly what you need to tip over.

But first—first he needs to see your face when you realize he’s got you. Needs to see that moment when you understand you’re about to come apart completely and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.

So he glances up, catching your gaze as his tongue continues its relentless assault on your clit. And when he sees you looking back—sees the desperate need in your eyes, the way your lips are parted and your face is flushed with arousal—he smirks.

Smirks knowingly, tongue never faltering as he holds your gaze and lets you see exactly how satisfied he is with your reaction. Like he’s saying gotcha without words. Like he’s saying I told you I’d make you fall apart and look how right I was.

The effect is immediate and devastating.

Your whole body goes rigid, thighs clamping around his head as you cry out—loud and desperate and completely unguarded. The orgasm hits you like a tsunami and Jungkook works you through every second of it, tongue never stopping as you shake and gasp and grab at his hair like you’re trying to ground yourself.

But he doesn’t let up. Doesn’t give you a chance to come down or catch your breath. He keeps going, keeps sucking and licking at your oversensitive clit because he’s greedy for it. Greedy for your sounds, for your reactions, for the way you’re completely at his mercy right now.

He can feel you trying to push his head away, your hands weak and shaky against his scalp, but he just grips your thighs tighter and continues his assault.

Because it’s not too much. It’s exactly what you need, exactly what you’re craving even if you can’t handle it. He can tell by the way your body responds, the way you keep getting wetter even as you tremble, the way your hips still cant up to meet his mouth despite your oversensitivity.

He wrings every last aftershock from your trembling body, every last gasp and whimper, until you’re completely spent and boneless beneath him. Only then does he finally pull back, finally gives you mercy.

His lips and chin are wet with you, and he wipes them with the back of his hand as he looks up at your fucked-out expression.

Your eyes are unfocused, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath, and there’s something deeply satisfying about seeing you like this.

“Told you I’d make it quick,” he says, voice rough and smug as he sits back on his heels.

The self-satisfied grin on his face is probably insufferable, but he can’t bring himself to care.

Because he did exactly what he set out to do. Fixed his mistake from yesterday, proved that he remembers how to make you fall apart, tasted you properly the way he’s been craving for months.

Mission accomplished.

He stands up, running a hand through his disheveled hair as he adjusts the obvious bulge in his jeans.

Not because he needs relief—though Christ, he’s hard enough to cut glass—but because seeing you like this, knowing he did this to you, is satisfaction enough for now.

This was about you. About doing it right this time. About proving that some things are worth the wait.

And judging by the way you’re still trying to catch your breath, still looking at him like you can’t quite believe what just happened, he’d say mission fucking accomplished.

The bulge in his jeans is just a side effect he can ignore. He came here to eat you out, and he did. Simple as that.

You scramble for words, still catching your breath, and he can see the exact moment confusion overtakes the post-orgasm haze.

“You… Huh…”

“Nah,” he shrugs casually. “Just had a craving.”

The chuckle that escapes him is soft, satisfied, as he shrugs one shoulder. Because that’s exactly what it was—a craving he needed to satisfy.

And now that it’s satisfied? He feels fucking fantastic.

“Good now,” he adds simply, and means it completely.

That restless, nagging energy is gone. Replaced by pure contentment and the kind of smug satisfaction that comes from a job well done.

He got what he came for, proved what he needed to prove, and fixed what needed fixing.

The fact that you’re staring at him like you can’t comprehend what just happened is just the cherry on top.

“What… is wrong with you?” you finally manage to croak out, voice still shaky and breathless.

He grins—actually grins, because nothing is wrong with him. Everything is exactly right.

“Didn’t eat you out yesterday. Felt off.”

Your face burns redder, and he has to bite back another chuckle because yeah, you get it now. You understand exactly what this was about, why he showed up at your door at nine AM with some bullshit excuse about Griffin.

“Get out of my room.”

“Already going,” he says, backing toward your door with that same satisfied grin.

Because he is. No reason to linger now that he’s gotten what he came for. The nagging is gone, the craving is satisfied, and he feels like he could take on the world.

“Got what I wanted.”

And he did. Exactly what he wanted. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Piss off.”

“Mhm.”

He pauses at the doorway, hand on the knob as he throws one last look over his shoulder. Not because he wants anything else, but because the view of you—completely wrecked, hair a disaster, still trying to catch your breath—is pretty fucking spectacular.

“By the way?” He grins wider, that smug satisfaction practically radiating off him. “You taste better in the morning.”

And then he’s gone, closing the door behind him with a soft click, leaving you to process what just happened while he goes about his day feeling like a man who’s just accomplished exactly what he set out to do.

No regrets. No second thoughts. Just pure, uncomplicated satisfaction and the knowledge that he’d fixed yesterday’s oversight perfectly.

Sometimes the simplest solutions really are the best ones.

137 notes · View notes

rika-mmendmethings · 3 days ago

Text

Terms & Conditions Apply | Sylus

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

₊⊹ Synopsis: What begins as a financial lifeline quickly transforms into an emotional labyrinth once you agree to become both the surrogate and ova donor for the Qin family. With an entire year remaining under their roof, you begin to unravel the hidden truths behind their seemingly perfect façade. Worse still, you find yourself confronted with things that were never outlined in the terms and conditions.

₊⊹ Pairing: Sylus x Reader

₊⊹ Content: Subject to change as we progress further into the story. For this chapter: none, a little suggestive I think.

₊⊹ Word Count: 2.9k

₊⊹ Notes: Ngl this is currently my fav Sylus series to write. I'd like to mention two things before we start: one that the reader is written as a closed off character and second, I'm not encouraging cheating with this series. Cheating is merely a PLOT DEVICE used here and that too not between the main characters. Anyways, hopefully you enjoy this and decide to tune in for the series. My asks are open if you wish to know more about this series. Lmk if you wish to be added to the tag list for this ♥

₊⊹Tag list: @emeebos @nm4565natty @blessdunrest @chiikasevennn @bbrriisshhttii @gingybimby @sadmonke

You wake slowly, your eyelids heavy, the light filtering through the tall, sheer-curtained windows too soft to belong to your apartment. As your senses return, you realize the surface beneath you isn’t your worn mattress but a bed far too plush, wrapped in high-thread-count linens that whisper luxury with every shift. The room around you is expansive — larger than your entire living space back home — its ivory walls accented with delicate molding, and the ceiling high enough that it makes you feel slightly smaller than you are. A muted gold chandelier hangs overhead, not grand enough to be ostentatious, but enough to say you’re somewhere important.

You sit up carefully, instinctively bringing a hand to your head. Your fingers find the bandage, snug around your forehead, and the sting beneath it flares just enough to confirm it wasn’t all a dream. The memory of yesterday claws its way up — gunfire, blood, the child’s cry.

Before you can piece together your thoughts, the door opens and two young men step inside, identical down to the smallest freckle on their cheeks. They each carry a cardboard box, setting them down in the far corner with the rest of a growing pile. One box lands a little too hard and pops open slightly. You spot a familiar cardigan tucked within — yours from your apartment.

Your confusion intensifies, gaze flitting between the half-open box and the two young men, who now step toward your bed with an almost theatrical air. One bows with exaggerated flair, the other dips into a low curtsy, miming the gesture by pinching at the sides of an invisible gown. When they notice the mismatch in their greeting, they quickly swap, the bowing twin now curtsying and vice versa. You blink. Then, despite yourself, a small laugh escapes you. The moment is so ridiculous, so misplaced in the ornate quiet of this unfamiliar space, that it breaks through the lingering fog of yesterday’s violence.

The twins beam at your laughter, clearly pleased with themselves. The one who had bowed first says cheerfully, “I’m Luke,” while the other adds, “I’m Kieran.”

Together, they chime, “We’re twins!”

You smile, still half in disbelief, and tilt your head. “I noticed,” you reply, sarcasm lacing your voice more out of habit than any real annoyance.

Neither seems offended. Luke continues, “We were told to move all your belongings here. According to the contract, this is now your residence for one year.”

Your smile fades a little as clarity returns. The implications settle into your chest with a quiet weight. Your mouth moves before you’ve had a chance to check the words: “So you work for—”

“Me.”

The new voice cuts through the room with quiet command. You turn your head toward the doorway and find Sylus leaning against the frame, arms crossed, the ever-present calm in his eyes somehow softer today. He nods toward the twins, who immediately snap to attention.

“Luke. Kieran. Off you go.”

Luke salutes with a grin while Kieran places a fist over his chest in mock solemnity. You bite down on your lower lip, shoulders trembling as you struggle to suppress the laugh bubbling up at the hilarity of the situation. It's no use. When the twins cast each other an incredulous side-eye and begin muttering something about mismatched gestures being a disgrace to identical siblings as they retreat from the room, their bickering seals your undoing.

A laugh bursts from you, rich and unrestrained, rolling out in waves as your body leans back into the headboard for support.

You don’t notice Sylus crossing the room until the mattress dips beside you. The laughter dies in your throat as you flinch slightly at the sudden proximity. He doesn’t speak at first. You feel the light touch of his thumb beneath your eye, wiping away a tear born not from sorrow, but from your intense laughter. The gesture is unexpected, intimate in a way you’re not prepared for.

You freeze, unsure of how to respond. He notices your posture stiffen and withdraws his hand without comment, leaning back slightly, supporting himself on his arms.

“As beautiful as your laugh is,” he murmurs, “so too is your tendency to endanger yourself.”

You’re thrown off, and it’s both because of the compliment and the implications of yesterday’s events. You expect a lecture, another impersonal reminder about savior syndrome and legal obligations to stay away from trouble.

Instead, he leans in, inspecting the bandage on your forehead. His hand grazes the edge of it, not to touch the wound, but to assess how well it’s held. You brace for the reprimand. But what comes next is something else entirely.

“Sometimes,” he says softly, “it’s alright to prioritize oneself... sweetie.”

You stare at him, blinking slowly, unsure if the painkillers are still messing with your perception. Sweetie? From Sylus Qin? The man who'd just yesterday declared he'd sacrifice you for a child without a blink, now using endearments and offering uncharacteristic gentleness?

It’s disarming.

You watch him, but Sylus doesn’t meet your gaze. His fingers retreat from your forehead and fold back into his lap, his body angled ever so slightly away from you.

You sit up straighter, trying to regain some emotional ground. You glance toward the pile of boxes the twins had carried in, attempting to divert the topic. “Very subtle of you to kidnap my apartment.”

Sylus props his head on his hand, stretching one leg out lazily. “Terms of the agreement. Page four, paragraph seven: ‘relocation to secured residence during pre-gestational and gestational periods to ensure maximum protection of surrogate and potential offspring.’”

You tilt your head, narrowing your eyes. “I thought that clause meant installing security cameras or maybe assigning a bodyguard. Not — this.”

“I don’t do halfway protection,” he replies, voice low and even. “After yesterday, you shouldn’t want me to.”

You consider that for a long moment, letting his words settle. He’s not wrong. The image of the gun, the screams, the blur of violence — it’s all fresh, but more distant now, wrapped in the cottony fog of safety. And Sylus, for all his unnerving presence, had kept you alive.

You rub your forehead absentmindedly and a question slips out of your mouth, “Did you bandage me yourself?” Sylus only raises a single brow, his lack of response registering as a yes in your brain.

“You didn’t have to bandage me yourself,” you say after a beat, your voice softer. “You were bleeding more than I was.”

Sylus shrugs. “You’re under contract.”

You scoff. “So are your household staff.”

He turns to look at you fully then, his gaze lingering. “They didn’t jump in front of a bullet.”

The room holds still again, thick with unspoken things. Then, he stands — all composure and control once more, the softness evaporating as if it had never existed.

“The hospital sent the final report from the evaluations yesterday while you were asleep. Mikayla’s been waiting to have a word about it with you. Your hormone therapy starts tomorrow. Mikayla will be overseeing that part — she insisted.”

You nod, watching his carefully composed face. “And you? What will you be overseeing?”

Sylus pauses at the doorway, his back to you. His next words are soft, but clear: “You.”

He exits without looking back.

Your heart trips a little.

You freshen up after Sylus leaves, the cool splash of water on your face helping to clear the lingering fog from sleep and painkillers before stepping downstairs. To the far right, the kitchen is warm and inviting, a gentle golden light pooling over the countertops where Mikayla stands, stirring a pot with measured care. The scent of something savory drifts toward you, coaxing your stomach to growl in protest.

You approach silently, and she looks up, her eyes brightening with a smile that carries a trace of amusement. “Good morning — or evening, if we’re being literal,” she greets you.

You nod in acknowledgement and slide into the dining area beside the kitchen, the chair scraping softly against the polished floor. Settling in, you plop your head into your hands, elbows resting on the smooth surface of the table. Your feet swing slowly beneath it, the motion almost meditative as you take in the quiet comfort of the moment.

A long silence stretches between you, woven with the soft bubbling from the stove and the occasional clink of utensils. Then Mikayla breaks it, her tone praising. “It was very noble of you, you know?” She pauses, gauging your reaction, then continues, “How you took it upon yourself to save that little boy.” Her eyes soften, and she adds quietly, “After you fainted, his mother came to us in tears, begging us to pass on her deepest gratitude to you for saving her son from harm’s way.”

The weight of her words settles like a balm on your chest, easing the tight knot of doubt that had begun to grow as you wondered if you had taken the right decision or not. You relax into your seat, the warmth of human kindness a contrast to the cold edge of fear still lingering beneath your skin.

Mikayla’s steady voice trails on, “Don’t mind Sylus’ words. He’s always been a bit too thick-headed to understand humanity properly. I’m sorry if he berated you for jumping in front of a bullet like that.”

You instinctively reach up to the bandage on your forehead, fingers brushing reverently over the soft cloth. A flicker of a smile tugs at the corner of your lips, but you don’t correct her about how her husband had done the exact opposite. Somehow, you decide it’s better to let her believe what she does. Instead, you offer a half-hearted smile and a casual shrug, the gesture saying everything and nothing all at once.

Without breaking stride, Mikayla passes you a bowl of freshly made tomato soup, the rich aroma filling the air between you. Her hands move deftly, chopping vegetables on a wooden board with practiced ease as she speaks again. “I got your reports. The doctors say you’re perfectly fit — mentally and physically — to carry the baby.” Her voice carries a note of quiet triumph. “And there’s more good news. Your ovulation period is just around the corner. I think the insemination process will begin in a day or two.”

You take the bowl in your hands, letting the comforting warmth seep into your palms. The ceramic is cool but steady beneath your fingers, grounding you. As you hold it, your nails tap a slow rhythm against the surface, a small sound beneath the uncertainty of what’s to come.

The soup warms your chest as the silence between you and Mikayla stretches, not awkward, just companionable. The kitchen, with its softly humming fridge and faint scent of caramelized garlic, feels like a quiet refuge rather than a wing of the sprawling, high-security home you now evidently live in.

You’re halfway through slurping the last of your bowl when Mikayla, still tending to the sizzling pan, speaks without turning. “You’re taking this well. Sylus being a criminal and all.”

Your eyes widen as the spoonless bowl hovers mid-air. You set it down with a sheepish clink on the marble counter, cheeks warming in embarrassment. Only now do you notice the polished steel cutlery laid out neatly in the center of the table after slurping the soup directly from the bowl.

You tug at the frayed string poking from your sleeve, pretending nonchalance. “I mean... it was a shock,” you admit, “but not a massive one. Sylus always gave off vibes like that.”

Mikayla lets out a light laugh, crisp as the popping oil in her skillet, and you grin, pleased by her amusement. You lean back into your chair, fingers drumming a slow beat against the soup bowl’s rim.

“Besides,” you go on, “I saw you talking to the cops after everything. Figured you were in law enforcement. If you married him, I guess his crimes aren’t the kind that make him... you know, public enemy number one.”

She places a lid over the pan with a soft clatter and turns to face you, arms folding loosely as she leans against the edge of the countertop. Her expression is unreadable for a moment — somewhere between thoughtful and amused.

“You’re right,” she says. “I’m a retired deepspace hunter. Spent the better part of a decade dealing with wanderers across wormholes. After all that, Sylus’s little habits of money laundering here and there felt... quaint.”

You blink, unsure if she’s joking, but her smile lingers and you decide to take it at face value. She’s magnetic in an effortless way — kind without soft edges. Before long, you’re deep in conversation, moving from favorite foods to childhood scars, bad first kisses to long-lost dreams.

And for once, you talk freely.

It’s unfamiliar territory, this act of sharing. Most of your friendships had dissolved like paper in water — brief, beautiful, and ultimately untraceable. The real world, especially your work life, hadn’t exactly left much room for connection that wasn’t transactional.

But Mikayla is different. She listens without trying to fix you. Laughs without dominating the moment. You find yourself smiling, often and quietly, as you sip what remains of your soup. Somewhere in the middle of her retelling of a botched mission in some cursed territory, a new sound cuts in — a soft, escalating patter.

Rain.

You both turn instinctively toward the sound. It’s heavy, striking the windows in waves, drumming across the roof with that chaotic rhythm only storms can claim. Mikayla sighs, her head falling back gently as she presses a palm to her forehead.

“I can’t believe I forgot,” she groans. “I left my cacti outside — put them in the sun earlier, and now they’re probably drowning.”

You lift an eyebrow, amused by the sudden urgency in her voice.

“Can you do me a favor?” she asks, already stepping toward the drawer near the door, presumably looking for something she never finds. “They’re in terracotta pots — no proper drainage. Four of them, lined up by the front lawn. I’d go myself but these vegetables—” she gestures helplessly toward the stove. “Please?”

You nod easily. “Sure.”

“Thank you, thank you,” she breathes, already turning back to her cooking. You don’t wait for more. There’s something comforting about the rain that’s hard to resist anyway. You skip the umbrella holder by the door — half on purpose — and step barefoot into the cool, drenched world.

The rain greets you in full force, thick drops smacking against your skin, soaking through your sweater in seconds. You shiver but smile, padding across the smooth stone tiles of the front path until your toes touch the edge of the lawn. The cacti are exactly where she said — four of them, small and stoic, their needle-lined arms raised like stubborn little soldiers in formation. You crouch, lifting them one by one, emptying out what water you can and placing them carefully beneath the porch overhang.

By the time the last one’s safe, your hair clings to your face, your sleeves sag, and your cotton pajamas have become second skin. Still, instead of heading back inside, you just stop.

And stay.

Your arms stretch slightly outward as you tilt your face to the sky, eyes fluttering shut. The rain feels like clarity. You laugh, quietly at first, then louder as you step toward a forming puddle and stomp through it like a kid with no audience. Another follows. Then a twirl. No choreography, no logic — just joy, stripped to its simplest form. You haven't felt this kind of weightlessness in... years, maybe.

Unseen to you, someone is watching.

At the far edge of the porch, Sylus stands still, partially shaded by the lip of the archway, a black umbrella raised over him — though not by his own hand. The doctor beside him thumbs through a leather-bound pocketbook, murmuring notes under his breath as the pages flutter in the breeze.

But Sylus isn’t listening.

His gaze is fixed solely on you — drenched, dancing, smiling like you’ve never smiled in his presence before. There's no form to your movements, no poise, no performance. Just you, existing fully. And in that rare, unguarded moment, something shifts in him.

He hadn’t lied this morning. Your laugh was beautiful — more so because it wasn’t frequent, and most definitely not meant for him.

His eyes trail lower before he can stop himself. The cotton clings to the soft curve of your thighs, your hips, the slight lift of your backside as you turn sharply in place. A flicker of heat licks down his spine and settles. He looks away abruptly, clears his throat.

It’s the rain, he tells himself. It makes everything stick. It’s biology, not want.

But then your head tilts back and your arms spread wide, and you laugh again — spinning until your body loses balance and you catch yourself mid-fall, feet splashing in a shallow puddle. And something in him wavers. Not in the body, somewhere more dangerous.

His tongue presses to the inside of his cheek. The doctor, glancing up from his notes and immediately catching on, clicks his tongue once and says dryly, “Getting the semen sample won’t be that hard now.”

Sylus turns his head slowly, shooting him a withering look. But the man is already walking toward the doors, unbothered, leaving only the faintest smirk behind.

Alone again, Sylus drags a hand down his face, a low groan pressing into his palm. His skin is warm — embarrassingly so, warmth blooming in his ears that he refuses to name. The rain continues to fall, but he stays where he is — watching you, and he smiles, just barely.

Check out my other works if you liked this ♥

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beomiracles · 1 day ago

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𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 태현 coming late august 25'

Your father talks about people like Taehyun. With venom that laces his tongue, he tells you about the filth of a world you can only imagine — and Taehyun is the worst kind. He is the kind of darkness that clings to your soul as it pulls you down with him; forcing you to join him when the day of doom finally comes.

thief!taehyun x cultist!reader (f)

⚠︎ cult-centric (reader is quite literally a member of a cult), manipulation, brainwashing, unreliable narrator, old social norms, misogyny, verbal abuse, blasphemy, forced marriage, internalised gaslighting, theft, burglary, smoking, character death, coercion, loss of virginity, based during the 1960s.

... hello guys, I originally teased this fic in November last year, whoops. anyway, this time around we're fr. me and cam have been locking in so hard this past week and I've got such an immense amount of this done already, however I won't be able to finish before the end of this week, and after that im going away for two weeks to see Josi, hence the late release date, I trust you guys will be patient enough to wait for me though, much love serene 🪶

current wc: 27k — estimated final wc: 40-50k

╰ taglist for this fic is open! join through my inbox or by commenting under this post (regular taglist is automatically added, excluding those who don't read dark content)

TEASER (reader discretion is advised) teaser wc — 1.1k

“Daughter.”

His voice is a low drawl, one that makes a shiver crawl up your spine as he addresses you. Swallowing down the lump in your throat, you give him a subtle nod, nails digging into the back of your hand as you reply: “Father.”

He doesn’t speak right away, his eyes lingering for a moment too long to be comfortable. You knew that father could see right through you, that there was never any point in trying to deceive him for he could tell without you even opening your mouth to speak. The sound of his chair creaking rings through your ears when he leans back, gaze trailing over the crowded bookshelves for a moment before coming to a stop.

Reaching a hand out, his lean fingers grasp a book you recognized with dread. It was not one you were allowed to keep in your room, but he had still made you read it — over and over, for as long as you had been able to. You vividly remember being perched on his lap as a child, following along his pointed finger as he read aloud. As you grew older you were prompted to do the same, this time following your own finger as you read to him.

Its cover was dark, as were the contents written down. The bindings are fragile, carefully tied by your father’s own hand, as he had all the books your community read. They were sacred that way, crafted under his touch and created with his knowledge.

This book in particular was important. Not because it told you how to live, but because it told you how to not. He never named this book, but he would speak of it with uttermost distaste. It was the book of non-believers of course. The one that explained their foul and impure ways. Sin, filth, sex, theft, lying and lack of devotion, or even worse, devotion to someone who wasn’t him.

The book has always made you uncomfortable. Its words were harsh as it described the non-believers as nothing but mere animals. If your father had his way, he would have them all put down — in the most cruel of ways possible.

Why had he brought this book forward now? Your mind instantly goes to Taehyun, fear slipping onto your otherwise emotionless face. There was no way he could know, was there? But there was nothing your father didn’t know, nothing that went past his keen senses. It was only a matter of time until he found out about the darkness that lingered around you.

Last night you let Taehyun get close, too close. You had felt his breath on yours, his thigh brushing against you — leaving no escape for the darkness that tainted him. And you had let him, you hadn’t pushed him away; in fact you had opened the window for him. Once again you had let him inside your home, the most sacred place in the world. You had tarnished it. It was your fault.

Your father knew. You were certain. The way his piercing gaze fixated on your sweaty face, the anxiety rolling off of you in waves the way it always would when you knew you had misstepped, when you had done something wrong.

His finger trails the spine of the book, turning it slowly in his hands. “Do you recognize this?” It’s a trick question, for there was no way you could mistake that book for anything else.

You nod, “Yes, father.”

He hums, the sound low and deep in his chest. “Then you know why it is important”, he drawls, eyeing you with intent that has you refraining from squirming in your seat. Of course you knew its importance. It taught you everything you needed to know about the non-believers. It taught you what their sins were, what was going to happen to them when doomsday rose upon you.

That very book was the reason you had begun fearing the non-believers in the first place. But it was also the source of your curiosity. There was so much the pale pages left out, so many unanswered questions. Father says that only the information valuable was written in the books. Your questions were stupid and therefore disregarded. Non-believers didn’t feel the way you did, they had no remorse, no conscience.

Your father opens the book, flipping through it for a moment, already familiar with its layout. He pauses, eyes stuck to a particular page. Your heart drums in your chest, blood rushing through your body as you await his next move. — Then he places the open book in front of you, finger pointing to the top paragraph of the page.

“Read this for me.”

Your gaze zeroes in on the words, your stomach sinking at the familiar lines. The ones he had made you read so many times before. Yet today, on this particular occasion; everything was different. You clear your throat, eyes flitting up to meet his for a brief moment before returning to the page.

“He who sins is not a man, but an animal. Made out of flesh and bone but bleeds not the same blood as us. His sins are punishable, not by law but by truth. Such an animal earns no salvation when doomsday shall rise; and he will suffer a fate worse than death.”

Your voice cracks as your eyes drop to the next paragraph, throat closing up at the familiar words written out before you. But your hesitation only adds to your father’s impatience, and you feel his gaze on you — demanding you continue. So you do.

“A man who associates himself with a sinner, will tarnish his own purity. The man who confides in an animal like that will, too, suffer the same fate a non-believer would. He becomes the animal he despises by letting their darkness taint him, and is punished the same.”

Your hands are trembling when you finish. Sweat pearls on your forehead, surely glistening under the warm light of his desk lamp. You look up to see your father watching you, lips pressed into a thin line as he listens to you speak. When you’re finished, he gives a curt nod, but does not attempt to take the book from you.

“And do these words mean anything to you?”

The question makes you freeze, the fervent beating of your heart coming to an abrupt halt as your jaw slacks. He was questioning you — you could feel that now. He could sense the darkness within you, he knew that you were losing yourself to something beyond his grace, something you could never come back from.

You blink once, then twice — forcing down the tears that prickled at your eyes. “They do", you whisper, the admission almost silent in his small office. The shadows seemed to draw in closer, licking along your arms and hovering above you, waiting to swallow you whole. They know you would let them; just as you had let Taehyun.

#beomiracles ₊˚⊹ ᰔ #taehyun fanfic #txt fanfic #taehyun imagine #txt imagine #taehyun x you #taehyun x reader #txt x you #txt x reader

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winter-soldier-buck · 2 days ago

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heart by heart ♡ b.b

pt. 5

pairing: thunderbolts!bucky barnes x singlemom!fem!reader

warnings: softnesssssss with a touch of smut (MDNI pls). and angst, naturally

word count: 6.4k (holyyyyy)

author's note: y'all writing smut is not my forte, but i tried. also...sorry in advance for the ending 😬

series masterlist

~☆~

requests and asks for this series ARE open :)

Wakanda - May, 2018

“I feel like you’re trying to get rid of me,” you teased while approaching the sliding doors of the high-tech lab.

“I’m not,” Shuri chuckled, although she tried to keep a straight face. “I quite enjoy your presence, my friend. However, you should return to White Wolf. It’s important.”

You raised an eyebrow at her in suspicion.

“Does it have to do with why everyone seemed so tense when I came in here?”

Shuri exhaled.

“Yes, but I cannot say more than that. Try not to worry. My brother and Okoye are on their way to your hut. They will fill you in. You should go be with Bucky.”

You continued surveying the Princess of Wakanda for a moment before slowly nodding, even though her words didn’t necessarily make you feel better about the situation.

“Shuri,” you spoke softly, then paused. “Something bad is happening, isn’t it?”

Call it intuition, but there was no denying the immense amount of dread you’d been feeling for the past little while. Shuri only confirmed that notion as she held your gaze for a moment, then let it fall to the ground.

“Something bad could happen,” she corrected before stepping around the large table she stood behind, only stopping when she was standing in front of you. After giving you a small smile, she put both of her hands on your biceps and gave a reassuring squeeze. “If it does, we’re going to need all the help we can get. You know if it weren’t serious, my brother would continue to let you two be unbothered and at peace.”

Again, you nodded—this time in understanding.

“Of course. It was just a matter of time before something would catch up to us. But, I’m thankful for everything your family and people have done for us, Shuri.”

“I know, Y/N. No matter what happens, Wakanda will always be open for you.”

Shuri smiled, then pulled you in for a hug, which you gladly returned. Then, after a quick goodbye, you went on your way to find Bucky.

Wandering through Wakanda and interacting with its people never ceased to amaze you, regardless of residing there for almost a year. Uprooting your life to move to the hidden nation wasn’t easy, but you didn’t regret it. You needed such a relocation after your life was flipped entirely upside down.

It’d been over two years since you were kidnapped by Baron Zemo and thrown into the absurd world of the Avengers, thus learning about the dark, harrowing past of Bucky Barnes.

As expected, things were complicated immediately following that traumatizing experience. It was a whirlwind of processing everything that had happened and what it all meant moving forward.

The months after that event were the most difficult. It took time for you to determine where you stood regarding Bucky and the Winter Soldier aspect of his life. You were terrified of the unknown, but Bucky had made it known that, as he went forward with creating a new start for himself, with solace to do so in Wakanda, he wanted you to be part of it. After weighing your options, you ultimately listened to what your heart was telling you and decided he was worth believing in, and you didn’t need to be afraid.

That he could move past that part of his life, and how you wanted to be there to witness it.

Your year-long solo travelling in Europe was cut short following the incident with Zemo, and within a week, you returned to your Aunt’s house in the United States. You played off your sudden homecoming as being homesick, making sure to leave out the details of being abducted by a psychopath and feeling conflicted about your amorous feelings toward a former brainwashed assassin.

However, your Aunt was the closest thing you had to a parental figure since your father had died while you were in university, and she knew you quite well. It didn’t take her long to get you to confess about the man who made you want to extend your initial one-month stay in Bucharest to eight months. When you decided not to pretend like Bucky was never part of your life, she supported you during your time of commuting to and from Wakanda while Shuri worked on a way to reverse his Hydra conditioning.

After a year of exhausting back-and-forth travel, you began residing in Wakanda permanently with Bucky.

You didn’t realize at the time, but your constant presence and unwavering support for Bucky helped him during his recovery process. There was never a doubt that you would eventually join him to begin a proper life together once T’Challa and Shuri deemed it safe enough to do so.

Despite your life completely changing all because of a man you became friends with after meeting at a street market, you still didn’t regret a thing. You loved Bucky, despite his trauma and flaws.

Soon, you emerged from the forest and smiled softly at the hut you and Bucky resided in together. It was nothing like what you were used to living in at home in New York or the various hostels, apartments and hotels you stayed in during your time in Europe. However, it was a space that became a home you and Bucky created together. To you, it was perfect.

The area around the hut was always peaceful and quiet, surrounded by a quaint farm and only disturbed by children from a nearby village who enjoyed interacting with, or even tormenting, the American couple living there. They meant well, and it wasn’t uncommon for you to conspire with them when it came to playing a prank on Bucky.

Nonetheless, on this particular day, no children were running around the hut, nor could their laughter and voices be heard from nearby. Instead, near a large wooden cart, Bucky stood looking down at an open rectangular briefcase. Around him stood T’Challa, Okoye and members of the King’s Guard.

All of their gazes fell on you as you approached, and you weren’t long getting up to speed on the impending threat of a warlord named Thanos.

~*~

New York City, USA - Late 2027

Deafening silence filled the common room as two fierce presences stared each other down from where they sat at the large table across from one another.

At one end of the table sat Bucky, his metal hand surrounding a still steaming mug of coffee as he leaned against the back of his chair and raised an expectant eyebrow at his opponent, waiting for them to crack. At the other end sat Penny, her head just barely visible above the tall surface, but still with an unwavering gaze. The only noise coming from her was each time she reached for another Cheerio to munch on, but not once did she look away from Bucky as she did so.

“How long have they been like this?” Ava asked quietly, taking a sip from her freshly poured cup of coffee as she leaned against the cupboard in the nearby kitchenette, joining the rest of her teammates.

“Gotta be at least five minutes,” Walker answered, not looking away from Bucky and Penny.

Ava scoffed.

“That seems excessive.”

“It honestly feels longer,” Bob spoke up, then glanced at the others. “One of them has to break soon, right?”

“If the little one is as stubborn as her father, I doubt it,” Yelena responded with a shrug.

“They are bonding!” Alexei boomed, grinning widely.

To everyone’s surprise, not even that wavered Bucky or Penny’s attention from the other.

“This is the strangest father-daughter bonding I’ve ever witnessed, that’s for sure,” Ava muttered, but still, even she couldn’t deny the entertainment the pair sitting at the table were providing as she sipped her coffee again.

Then, Yelena gasped dramatically. “Everyone, shush, it’s happening.”

It took everything in Bucky not to crack a smile. Listening to his teammates from where they watched nearby and not reacting was one thing. Keeping a straight face as he stared at the eyes of a small human, eyes that were identical to his own, while she did the same, was a whole other thing. But Penny was amused by their stare down, and he wasn’t about to be the one to lose.

However, maybe letting her win wouldn’t be so bad. She already had him so wrapped around her little finger, it hurt.

“Penny,” Bucky said, voice even while Penny remained emotionless. Then, with his right pointer finger, he started motioning a circle around his mouth. “You’ve got jam, like, all over your face.”

That fractured her stoic expression.

“Nooooo,” Penny giggled, but still made sure to reach up and use the back of her hand to wipe around her mouth just in case there was some leftover mess from the toast she had eaten earlier. When she saw that her hand was clean, she scowled at her father. “You lying, Bucky.”

Bucky chuckled as he stood up and placed both hands on the table.

“All is fair in love and war, sweetheart. And you look just like your mother does when she loses arguments.”

Penny’s brows furrowed even more at Bucky, but he could see the smile dancing on her lips. However, before anyone could say anything more, someone else entered the room.

“What about me losing arguments?” You asked as you combed your fingers through your hair, which was still damp from the shower you’d just taken.

“Oh, nothing,” Bucky replied, grinning as he stepped away from the table.

“I think he’s implying that you’re dramatic when proven wrong… and a sore loser,” Yelena chimed in. “Also, that Penny gets that from you.”

You pursed your lips while watching Bucky approach you.

“Damn. Lying to your daughter this early in the morning? That’s crazy.”

Bucky smirked, then swiftly leaned in to peck your lips before continuing toward the kitchen to put his now-empty mug in the sink.

“Saying she’s just ‘mine’ whenever she acts like you, but you don’t want to admit to it, doesn’t do much to plead your case, babe,” he replied casually without even glancing over his shoulder.

“Yeah, babe,” Penny repeated as she carefully climbed down from her chair so she could go over to where you stood.

“Hey,” you gasped dramatically, placing a hand over your heart before picking her up and tickling her sides. “That’s Mommy to you. And you’re supposed to be on my side, Miss. Not Bucky’s.”

Penny’s giggles filled the room, and no one was able to keep themselves from smiling as they observed the little ray of sunshine.

“Does she really have to leave?” Bob asked, a small pout on his mouth as he glanced between you and Bucky.

“Yes,” you sighed once you stopped tickling Penny, then got her situated to hold her comfortably against your hip. “We gotta go home. A week is a long time for us not to be in our own space. Although we have loved staying here, thanks to you all.”

“You sure it is safe, though?” Alexei questioned, then looked at Bucky exasperatedly. “Bad guy is still on the loose! We can’t have anything happen to our tiny girl, Winter Soldier.”

Bucky sighed and ran a hand over his face.

“I’ve checked the apartment over three times,” he started. “Each day, for the last week. I still haven’t found a single clue that’d lead us in any direction to figure out who broke in. They didn’t leave a trace.”

“Our front door got replaced yesterday,” you added. “There just isn’t any reason for us not to be there anymore. It’s our home.”

“But danger!” Alexei emphasized.

“You can’t expect them not to go home,” Ava stated, clearly trying her hardest to keep a cool demeanour. “I can go back to not being woken up by giggles and tiny footsteps running up and down the hallway each morning.”

“Please,” Walker scoffed. “Don’t act like you didn’t phase in to be less than a foot away the moment she started climbing down from the couch last night, ready to catch her if she fell.”

Ava’s glare turned cold.

“She could’ve gotten hurt, Walker!”

“Penny thought it was hilarious how you just appeared,” Bob chimed in before all members of the New Avengers, apart from Bucky and Yelena, started bickering with each other over how much they enjoyed having Penny around.

You and Bucky briefly smiled at each other, amused by the chaos, before Yelena stepped away from them and spoke up again.

“As you can tell, we’ve all become rather fond of the tiny human,” she said, then looked at Penny. “You'd better not be away for long, little one. I don’t think I’ll be able to deal with all of them and Bucky moping around because they haven’t seen you.”

“Hey!” Alexei, Ava, Bob, and Walker all shouted toward her at the same time, making Bucky roll his eyes, but you noticed the smile still tugging at his lips.

Penny also giggled as she leaned against your shoulder. She didn’t understand what they were bickering about, but she thought every person in that room was hilarious and loved being around them.

“It’s alright,” you started. “We’ll be back very soon. It’s Penny’s birthday on December 12th. I’m sure she’d love for you all to be at her birthday party, right, Pen? That’s only two weeks away, we’ve gotta start planning.”

“Ya!” Penny exclaimed as she lifted her head from your shoulder and clapped her hands together. “Birthday!”

You glanced back at the New Avengers and had to hold in your laugh as each of them looked at Penny with nothing but pure endearment.

“That’s it, I gotta go,” Ava quipped as she started walking toward the entryway. “If I don’t, I’m going to be real upset watching her leave.”

“Who knew the Winter Soldier could help make such cute human?” Alexei grumbled and followed after her.

“Because he managed to land someone way out of his league,” Walker called after them, then looked back at you. “If you or Penny ever need anything, you know where to find us.”

“That I do,” you replied, nodding as he exited the room as well.

“I’m so glad they all decided to squeeze in their daily ‘let's insult Bucky’ time before you left,” Bucky spoke sarcastically as he approached you and Penny. “Well, are you two ready to head out?”

“I think so,” you answered, then glanced at Penny. “What do you say, little girl? Ready to go home?”

“Mhm,” Penny hummed in agreement.

“Can you say bye to Yelena and Bob? And that you’ll see them soon?”

“Bye bye! See yew sooooooon.”

Then, unpromptedly, Penny put her entire palm over her mouth before pulling it away quickly as she puckered her lips together. It was her way of blowing a kiss goodbye.

Bob and Yelena wasted no time pretending to fight over who got to catch her kiss, making Penny giggle like crazy, yet again, which was clearly the reaction they were going for.

“Bye, Penny, you and your mom get home safe,” Bob said while waving to her once more.

“Oh, I’m sure Bucky will see to that,” Yelena claimed.

“Sure will,” Bucky stated, then looked back at you. “Shall we?”

“Lead the way,” you responded, smiling as he pecked your lips again.

Bucky then glanced back at Yelena and Bob as he went over to pick up yours and Penny’s bags from where they sat by the entryway.

“Alright, I’ll see you two later. I’ll be back in time for the briefing this afternoon.”

With that, Bucky exited the room while you and Penny followed. However, you made sure to say another goodbye to Yelena and Bob, thanking them again before leaving completely. They both kept silent until they were sure you or Bucky wouldn’t hear what they said next.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about them going back to their apartment,” Yelena explained once she heard a door from down the hallway close, indicating the family of three was truly gone.

Bob nodded.

“I do too,” he admitted. “I think Bucky does too, but he’s trying not to overstep.”

“Exactly. But we shouldn’t worry. People will die before Bucky lets anything happen to either of them.”

“It won’t be just him fighting for them, either. We’ll do it as a team.”

~*~

“Ok, I think it’s secure,” Bucky said from where he stood, hands on his hips, while glancing over your apartment's new door.

“Didn’t think it was the other three times you checked?” You teased as you finished putting away the last of the groceries you’d just stocked up on since you and Penny were finally home. Bucky turned to look at you, shooting a gaze as if to say not to push him on the matter. In response, you rolled your eyes at his dramatics, then closed the fridge door before making your way over to him. Immediately, you stepped into his embrace, and Bucky wasted no time wrapping his arms around you. You did the same, hugging his middle while placing a soft kiss on his chest. “Relax, Buck. We’re going to be okay being back here. You’ve already made sure of that.”

“I know,” he replied, kissing the top of your head. “I just worry.”

“I know you do. And you know I’ll call if there’s anything you need to worry about.”

You leaned back to look up at him with a serious expression so that he knew you meant business. Bucky smiled, then leaned down to catch your lips in a soft, slow kiss.

“Of course,” he mumbled against your lips before moving his hands to your waist, tightening his hold on you while deepening the kiss.

You couldn’t help the small moan that left your mouth as your back gently came in contact with the wall and began sliding your hands up Bucky’s body, eventually tangling one of them in his hair. You craved for him to be closer somehow.

However, before the two of you could get too out of hand, a loud thump sounded down the hallway.

“Uh oh!” Penny gasped from her bedroom, making you groan as you reluctantly pulled away from Bucky.

“One of these days, we won’t be interrupted,” Bucky chuckled and continued grinning like a fool as you reached down to weave his fingers with yours and lead him toward Penny’s room.

“Pen, what happened?” You asked while entering your daughter’s room, still holding Bucky’s hand.

“My picture, Mama,” Penny replied from where she stood next to her dresser, then pointed to the top of it. The framed picture of Bucky that normally resided there was gone. However, due to the way Penny moved to glance behind the dresser, you assumed it didn’t go far.

“Oh, Bubba, did it fall? Let me get it for you.”

Penny attentively watched as you moved the dresser forward a little bit and reached behind to grab the frame that had fallen there. Once you had ahold of the picture, you brought it toward yourself to glance at before handing it to Penny, unable to prevent the smile that formed on your lips as you took in the picture of Bucky.

“I see?” Penny asked, making your smile grow as you passed it to her.

“Do you remember who that is?” You inquired.

She looked at the photo for a good moment, her little eyebrows furrowing as she studied it before glancing at the man still in the doorway, leaning against the frame.

“My Bucky.”

You sighed, knowing she still didn’t understand that Bucky was her dad.

“It is. Is that also your dad?”

“Mhm,” Penny responded and handed the picture back to you. She then turned and reached for one of the stuffed animals that resided on her bed, completely unfazed by your questioning. It was nearing her naptime, so you weren’t surprised when she started climbing onto the bed.

Shaking your head slightly, you placed the picture back onto her dresser before looking back at Bucky.

“Getting her to make the connection might be harder than I thought,” you said.

Bucky smirked.

“I’m not worried,” he responded. “Any relationship with her is perfect to me, whether she calls me ‘dad’ or not.”

You smiled again, feeling extremely endeared by his words.

“Well said, Barnes.”

Bucky winked at you, making you roll your eyes before glancing back at Penny, who was slumped against her pillows, looking at you tiredly and unimpressed that you were still in her room.

“How dare we?” You asked and started making your way toward Bucky. “We mustn’t disturb Penny’s naptime.”

Penny grumbled in response, then dramatically rolled over, hugging her stuffed white wolf to her chest.

Bucky started laughing.

“She really is your daughter,” he teased, knowing how seriously you took getting your beauty sleep.

“Oh, don’t even.”

You glared at him, but he continued laughing as he stepped back into the hallway. Rolling your eyes again, you quickly checked over Penny’s room and made sure the monitor on her bedside table was on so you could hear if she woke, then followed after Bucky.

After exiting the bedroom, you quietly shut the door behind you, then turned to face him so you could make a sassy remark, but Bucky had other plans. Instantly, his right hand cupped your jaw while the other gripped your waist, pushing your back gently against the wall, just like he had no more than 10 minutes prior out in the living room, as his lips met yours hungrily.

You gasped in surprise, but responded immediately, placing your hands on his chest, then sliding them up so you could wrap your arms around the back of his neck and deepen the kiss.

“God, Y/N, I want you,” he stated after making out for a few moments, and you knew what he was implying.

Smirking as you bit down on your bottom lip, you then tilted your head to the side, challenging him.

“Then have me,” you replied casually.

His eyes darkened with lust, emitting nothing but pure desire as he kissed you again, then pulled back mere inches as he glanced at Penny’s door.

“Do you think we have time?”

You smiled softly, then linked your hand with his and started leading him further down the hallway to your bedroom.

“Won’t know if we don’t try.”

Once inside, Bucky was sure to quietly shut the door behind him before swiftly turning back to you and bringing his lips to yours again. There was a sense of urgency in the way he moved, his hands gripping your waist and pulling you close so that your bodies would be pressed together before they slid lower and squeezed your ass. You smiled cheekily against his mouth while looping your arms around the back of his neck again and holding tight as he lifted your legs to wrap around his waist, not once breaking away from kissing you as he carried you over to the bed.

Your back delicately hit the mattress, and it wasn’t long before you felt the coolness of Bucky’s metal hand brush against the right side of your stomach, leaving tingles along your skin as he started lifting the t-shirt you wore up over your head.

A small pout formed on your lips as he pulled away, but you didn’t take your eyes off of him while he stood up and pulled his sweater off. The sunlight pouring in from the window behind where Bucky stood at the edge of the bed seemed to illuminate him as he loomed above and looked you over. He appeared ethereal, and you didn’t even try to hide the way you gawked at his buff, naked upper body.

Well, until your gaze landed back on his face, and you noticed him smirking arrogantly.

“Like what you see?” Bucky asked haughtily.

“Don’t piss me off,” you grumbled in response as you shifted from lying on your back to your knees so that you could be closer to eye level with him.

Bucky chuckled, but promptly kissed you again, helping as you mindlessly worked on undoing the pair of black jeans he wore.

He kept making out with you as his jeans hit the floor before stepping out of them and joining you on the bed so he could lean you back onto the mattress again. While hovering above you, Bucky expertly balanced on his metal forearm while tugging down your jeans and undies with ease, only moving away from your lips and into a somewhat straddling position so that he could make sure he rid you of your clothing entirely before discarding them onto the floor.

Once that was done, Bucky looked at you again and had to pause. Seeing you already breathless and waiting— no. Wanting, needing him to continue was a sight he thought about constantly during those three years away from you. A vision he craved and finally had again. Not a single part of him doubted the absolute hell he would raise if someone or something came between him and seeing you like this. He wouldn’t make the same mistake of not being the person who got to make you feel this way twice.

“Buck?” You spoke softly, bringing him out of his trance. “You alright?”

“Perfect, actually,” Bucky responded, then hastily positioned one of his legs between yours and lowered himself so he could nip and suck the sensitive skin of your breasts that threatened to be fully exposed from the cheap, lacy bralette you wore.

A breathless moan left your mouth as his hand took over, massaging one breast while his lips spoiled the other. Then, as if a switch flipped, Bucky ripped the flimsy fabric and tossed it onto the ground with the rest of your clothes. You gasped and looked at him in disbelief, but couldn’t say anything to scold him because once your gazes locked, you saw how he looked at you like you were the only being in the world he cared about and felt like the wind had been knocked right out of you.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered, but given his tone, you knew he was dead serious. “I was a fool for ever leaving.”

“We’re here now, James,” you responded, using Bucky’s first name as a way to make sure he paid attention to what you were saying. “Together. There’s no reason to dwell on the past if we’ve decided there’s a future for us to work toward.”

Bucky went to reply, but you sat up slightly to kiss him again before he could. Luckily, he took the hint, and soon he began leaving a trail of kisses from your lips, along your jaw, then down your neck. He continued affectionately pressing his mouth to your shoulder and across your collarbone, nipping occasionally to savour the moans you made. The lower he got, the more spaced out his kisses became, but he still made sure to show love to each breast, just above your belly button and again on your pelvic area.

Then, without warning, his mouth latched onto where you were craving him most.

“Holy fuck,” you gasped at the sudden attack, causing your upper body to arch off the mattress. In response, Bucky draped his metal arm over your lower half to keep you pinned down as you squirmed beneath him, but remained unfazed as his tongue circled your clit. You struggled to catch your breath, feeling slightly embarrassed at how you could already feel an intense knot forming in the lower part of your stomach, just begging to be unravelled. It’d been a dreadful three years of trying to catch that same feeling alone with your fingers and various toys, but they were nothing in comparison to the actual thing. And, just like you believed before he left all those years ago, you started feeling convinced no one would ever make you feel as satisfied as you knew the man positioned between your legs could. “Bucky, oh my God.”

Your left hand desperately tugged at Bucky’s hair, pleading that he didn’t stop, while your right hand smoothed over your boobs, only pausing to pinch your nipples. Bucky continued lapping at your core, sucking and licking your stimulated bundle of nerves, while losing all level-headedness as he basked in the moans and obscenities that left your mouth.

After a few more moments of eating you out, he slid two fingers into you and started pumping, but didn’t falter the movements of his mouth while doing so.

To put it simply, you were a goner.

“F-fuck, Bucky!”

The knot in your stomach snapped as your orgasm washed over you in an intense wave of pure bliss. Your body trembled beneath Bucky’s arm, but he kept you pressed to the mattress while his mouth guided you through the remainder of your undoing. He savoured the taste of your release on his tongue.

When Bucky finally pulled away, you were panting but still watched as his face appeared above the rapid rise and fall of your chest. The area around his mouth was wet with a slick, clear substance, and he made sure to lock eye contact with you as he licked around his lips in what seemed like slow motion.

“You taste better than I remembered,” he quipped, making you let out a breathless chuckle as you allowed your head to fall back against one of the many pillows on your bed.

You felt incredible and couldn’t help the way your eyes fluttered shut as you lolled in the moment. However, the mattress dipped as Bucky crawled across the surface toward you and soon had his mouth back on yours. The tanginess of your release consumed your taste buds while you moaned at the sensation of his tongue dancing with yours again. The two of you continued making out for a minute before Bucky pressed himself against your thigh to show just how hard he’d gotten, and you knew you both were far from being done.

Not that you minded, though.

Once you and Bucky were all sexed out, the two of you lay in bed together with Bucky’s arm protectively wrapped around your middle, your back pressed against his front. The two of you felt the most content either of you had experienced in a really long time, and, soon enough, a peaceful rest relieved you both of any external worries for the time being.

The following hours after waking up were spent settling back into your apartment and having some one-on-one time with Penny. Bucky stayed for a little while longer, being sucked into Penny showing off her favourite toys once she woke from her nap, before he eventually had to return to the Watchtower.

After Bucky left, you made dinner for yourself and Penny, then the two of you watched The Lion King together, which, of course, she chose. Once the movie was over, you ran a bath for Penny, then got her all ready for bed. She fell asleep fairly quickly and without issue, which you knew had to do with her happiness for getting to sleep in her own bed again.

The rest of your evening was spent getting caught up on laundry and doing chores around the apartment. Just as you finished loading the dishwasher, your phone buzzed from where it sat on the kitchen island. Immediately, you reached for it, thinking it was Bucky calling, but much to your dismay, it was Caleb.

You stared at the screen for a moment, heavily debating whether you should answer or not.

Caleb had texted you since running into him in Central Park, wanting to connect, but you kept making excuses for being busy instead of properly ending things. He didn’t know about the break-in, that you and Penny spent the last week staying with the New Avengers, and definitely had no idea that you and Bucky were back together. You felt terrible about it all because you did like Caleb, but he wasn’t Bucky. He deserved to be let down, and you couldn’t keep dragging it out.

Taking a deep breath to calm your growing nerves, you accepted the call.

“Hello,” you greeted hesitantly.

“There she is,” Caleb’s charismatic voice flowed through the speaker. “I honestly didn’t think you’d answer, Y/N. How are you?”

He was such a nice guy, and you truly felt terrible for the way you’d been ignoring him. Your mind raced with ways you could go about having such a conversation as you began pacing the kitchen.

“I’m good, Caleb. Hope you are too. And I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ignore you and make it seem like I stopped caring without a proper explanation. A lot has gone on.”

A moment passed before Caleb continued.

“I figured as much. Is it brave of me to assume someone else came along? Or, better yet, came back around?”

“Something like that,” you admitted and exhaled deeply. “I wanted to talk to you about it. You deserve to know where I’m at because I do care about you as a person. I just didn’t know where to start.”

“Who says we can’t still talk about it?”

“Well-.”

“Not over the phone, Y/N. Why don’t you meet me for a drink? I’m on my way to a bar not too far from your building.”

“Oh, uh,” you stammered. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“As friends,” Caleb continued. “For old times' sake.”

You glanced at the time to see it wasn’t that late and sighed.

“I don’t know, Caleb. Penny’s asleep.”

“I won’t keep you for long. Please? If you’re going to be officially cutting things off with me, I think I deserve to have a glass of whiskey in my hand while you do it.”

He was joking around, which you knew, but you still felt guilty about everything. So, after thinking it over for a minute, you caved.

“Ok, fine,” you said. “But only if I can get someone to come over in case Pen wakes up.”

“Of course,” he agreed. “Let me know what the plan is, and I’ll let you know which bar.”

After you hung up the phone, you texted the group chat you had with Gwyn and Ivy to see if either of them would be willing to come down the hall to your unit and hang out for a bit while you went out. Unsurprisingly, both girls wanted to come over. Given how much they adored Penny, you knew they didn’t mind you asking, but still, you felt bad doing it.

Gwyn and Ivy arrived at your apartment within 15 minutes, making themselves at home, wearing sweats and with snacks, like they had done so many times before. You were transparent with them about what you were going out for and how you shouldn’t be long at all, which was also why you didn’t get dressed up to meet Caleb, either.

Before you left, you also filled Gwyn and Ivy in on the whole process of getting a new door and how you and Penny had no plans to move. That led them to want to hear all about the reason why a former congressman-turned-member-of-a-superhero-team was suddenly around a lot more, which you also promised to fill them in on once you returned.

The bar Caleb said to meet him at wasn’t far, which you were relieved by because it meant it wouldn’t take long for you to get back home, regardless of how the conversation went. As you were leaving the apartment, you texted Bucky to let him know what was happening, since you felt no reason to keep it from him. However, when you saw the three bubbles indicating that he was typing appear on the screen for a few moments, you tucked the phone into your coat pocket. You already knew that agreeing to go out with Caleb wasn’t the best idea, and you didn’t need Bucky to reiterate that before you even got to the bar and psyched yourself out of letting the poor guy down easy.

Soon, you rounded one last corner, and the bar Caleb sent to you came into view. The area wasn’t super well-lit, and the bar was a bit on the dingier side, with not a lot of people outside, but you didn’t let that stop you. At least you knew you wouldn’t have to stay for long.

As you approached the bar, a figure stepped out from the shadows near the entrance with their back to you. At first, you didn’t think much of it, but then you noticed the tailored black jacket as they continued walking away and realized who it was.

“Caleb,” you called to him, so he’d know that you arrived and the two of you could get this drink and chat done with. However, he didn’t respond. Instead, he kept walking and eventually turned a sharp corner down what appeared to be a small alleyway to the side of the pub. Furrowing your eyebrows, you continued after him, but stopped at the entrance of the alley when you spotted him standing, still with his back to you, about 10 feet away. “Hey, are you alright?”

Silence.

A wave of dread washed over you as you observed him continue standing still and not say a word. Something about the situation didn’t sit right with you at all, but you couldn’t shake the thought that maybe he was in some type of immediate danger and needed help. So, you stepped into the alley.

“Caleb, you’re scaring me. Is everything ok?”

Suddenly, he turned to face you with his signature charming grin.

“It is now, darling,” he replied, making you stop.

Before you could say anything else, a set of heavy footsteps rushed up behind you, and a pair of strong arms wrapped around your neck from behind. You struggled against the attacker and went to scream. However, your cries were muffled by a white cloth that the person pressed firmly over your mouth and nose.

A sweet-smelling odour emitted from the cloth and consumed your senses as you continued your fight, but gradually, your limbs started to feel heavy. Squirming against whoever held you in place became harder as your mind turned foggy. You didn’t understand what was happening, but soon, you felt your body go limp and everything went black.

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