#wc: 10.2k

[jeonginsleftcheek]

Dolly VIII

~ part 8 of the Dolly series

pairing: chan x afab!reader

genre: smut, angst, fluff, sci-fi

synopsis: running from the past brought you right back to the beginning.

wc: 10.2k

warnings: paranoia, nightmares, struggles with being infertile, mentions of blood, violence and death, unprotected sex

a/n: this is what y/n's dog looks like

~ divider by @bunnysrph

You were tossing and turning in your bed as the scenes unfolded in your tortured mind. It was the same thing over and over again. The white walls, the tall ceilings, the lab coats, the whirring sounds, the dead emotionless eyes, the clacking of nails against keyboards, the big water tanks with silhouettes of something floating inside them.

Sweat covered your entire body as you struggled to remember just what the hell this place from your dreams was. You were standing there in the long corridor that seemed to shrink and elongate the longer you stared at the heavy door at the end of it. You were wearing a lab coat and gloves and your shoes squeaked against the perfectly clean and scrubbed floor. Your footsteps were slow and heavy, like you were struggling against some force as you walked, appearing to be in slow motion.

Then you heard it.

A scream, rippling through your body and making the hairs at the back of your neck stand as it echoed in the empty corridor. You realized then that it was you screaming, right before your hand touched the door handle.

Your eyes snapped open and you sat up abruptly, your breathing ragged as little beads of sweat rolled down your face. Your hands clutched at the cover around you, holding it in a death grip as you tried to anchor yourself and take note of your surroundings. As if on cue, your dog Asher appeared by your side, his big paws pressed on the mattress as he let out a few inquisitive whines, his head tilting left and right. You let out a little chuckle as your breath evened out and you started petting Asher.

"It's okay, it was just a nightmare." you said and cuddled your dog as he nudged his head against you.

You've had Asher since he was just a small baby and being a bullmastiff he grew into a very big and heavy dog, perfect for someone like you, someone who was living alone and surrounded by the forest. You felt uneasy being alone there but you didn't trust any humans so a protective dog was something you needed by your side.

A sweet and loyal friend like Asher whose entire world is you.

You gave him a few more loving pets before you stood up and went to your bathroom to splash some cold water on your face. The nightmares plagued you for years and the worst thing was that you had no idea if they were real or not. There was an entire chunk of your memory missing, a good three years of your life gone like they never existed. You could only remember bits and pieces but not the entire story. It was as if someone wiped your memory off, like they didn't want you to know something. All you knew was the fear and the anxiety that grew inside you after losing your memory.

You couldn't stand being around people, it made you feel crazy. It was as if they were out to get you, someone, someone was following every move you made, listening in on what you said, what you did. You couldn't trust anyone, not even your loved ones so you left it all and disappeared from their lives without any trace.

You only had a few people who knew your phone number, and that was your mother, your sister and one friend you still somewhat trusted. You rarely talked to them anyways, focusing instead on your dog and your house. It was an old little cabin in the woods and in the last three years you've been here, you worked on it every day, repairing it and tending to your garden, growing your own vegetables and fruit. Even though you couldn't remember those three years missing from your life, you remembered the time before. You knew you were tech-savvy and that you worked for some pretty big companies.

But none of that could ever explain the huge amount of cash in your bank account. You had no idea where the money came from but it was enough for you to live a comfortable life and not have to work ever again. Still, you weren't a big spender, you enjoyed the simple life.

Taking walks with Asher, swimming in the lake, working around the house. Those were your simple pleasures. Yes, sometimes you'd mourn the life you had before. The relationship you had, the man by your side who promised to love you until he found out that you were 'broken' as he said during a heated argument, the venomous words leaving his lips and shooting you straight into the wound that hurt the most, the fact that you couldn't have children, something you yearned for your entire life. The moment your doctor gave you those news, you felt like your entire world came crashing down. And when the man you wanted to spend your entire life with pushed you even further down with his words and the pity in his eyes, like you were less of a woman, it was the last straw.

The last straw after struggling to remember where your nightmares were coming from, why you had this growing paranoia inside you that made you alert of every little sound and every stranger who looked at you for too long, why were you punished with something you wanted so badly being taken away from you.

You left without looking back.

Years later and here you were. Enjoying your peaceful life, the nightmares were plaguing you less and less as time went by. You wrote them all down in a little diary, hoping that maybe one day you'd be able to remember what was ripped away from you. Some days you thought it was better that you didn't remember anything, maybe it was something so horrible that you were better off not knowing what it was. Of course, being a technology lover you had to have a computer, but you were careful about any public accounts you had, changing your name and hiding your location. You didn't want anyone to find out where you lived but you still wanted to be aware of what was happening around you.

"You wanna go for a walk?" you asked Asher as soon as you got dressed, putting on a tracksuit for comfort and easy movement. Your dog perked up immediately, barking happily as he jogged towards you and started pushing you lightly with his head. A series of chuckles left your lips and you grabbed your little bag with a water bottle and snacks for Asher along with a banana that would serve as your breakfast for now.

It was a nice chilly morning, the sun rays were peeking through the trees as you locked up your house and started walking on the familiar path you always took with Asher. He was happily walking along, sniffing around and enjoying the fresh air with you. The sounds of the forest filled up your soul, the birds singing in the trees, the breeze rustling through the leaves, the distant waterfall. It was all so peaceful and you wouldn't trade it for anything.

But, the uneasy feeling you had during your nightmare hasn't left you ever since you woke up. What was behind the door? What was the significance of the number eight? It was written on the door with black ink bleeding down the metal and seeping onto the floor.

There was eight of them.

~

Again. The nightmare was happening again. It was the same long white corridor, the same heavy door at the end of it, the same number eight painted in black ink. Your footsteps were heavy as you struggled to reach the door, to turn the doorknob. A metallic smell filled up your nostrils the closer you got to it and you realized it wasn't black ink sliding down the door, it was dark red blood. With a gasp you gripped the doorknob and swung open the door.

Loud barks brought you back to reality. It took you a moment to realize you were on the ground in the forest, your nails digging into the earth beneath you as you stared up at the trees, seeing Asher hovering over you and barking, nudging you with his head.

"Did I faint?" you questioned out loud, immediately clutching onto your dog who seemed happy and relieved to see you awake even though he was still barking confusedly. "I'm okay, Asher."

As soon as you returned home, you dialed your mother's number.

"Hello?" her familiar voice rang from the other side of the receiver.

"Mom?" your voice came out shaky.

"Y/n?! Oh my god, Y/n!" your mom almost cried out in happiness. "Where are you? Are you coming back home?"

"N-no, I-I can't come back. I can never come back. I just... I just called because the nightmares are getting worse. I thought it was getting better but-"

"That's why you have to come back home and get the help you need. Please, let me be there for you. We'll find someone you can talk to." your mom begged and you could hear the sniffles. She was crying.

"I'm sorry, but I can't. They'll find me." you whispered, looking over at Asher who was finishing his meal. "I have Asher here, I'm not alone."

"I know you love your dog but-"

"I have to hang up now. The call can't be longer than a minute and we are going over that frame of time now. I'm sorry, I love you mom." you said quickly before hanging up. You clutched the phone in your hand and stared at it as your breathing got faster. You needed to write everything down in your diary.

You remembered your friend who you haven't heard from in a long time. She always mentioned some company called BIMT to you but the name meant nothing, you tried and tried but you couldn't remember. Not that and especially not someone named Helena who was apparently the person who opened up the institute. Your heart sped up as you started turning the pages of your diary.

You were always afraid of finding out the truth but something was telling you that it was time for you to make some effort to remember more.

You sat in front of your computer a few days later, hands clutching at the end of the table to stop them from shaking. The nightmares were becoming too much again and on top of the fear they kept feeding inside you, Asher was barking at a particular tree in the forest every time you took the same path for a walk.

It was making your paranoia rise so you started taking a different route. Asher didn't bark at any empty spaces there but you still couldn't shake off the dark feeling following you everywhere. Your hands hovered over the keyboard, it was time to see what this so called Helena looked like.

You typed her name into the search bar and immediately upon seeing her picture come up something twisted in your stomach, gnawed at your insides and made you want to vomit. Disgust filled you up and you quickly exited the page. Did you know her? You must've, judging by the strong reaction your body had upon seeing her. You wished you could remember more, know what happened to you.

You had asked your loved ones and all they knew was that you were working on some secret project at BIMT and that one day you came home completely disoriented, not even remembering your own name, as if you were in some sort of trance. You spent ten days in the hospital stuttering and speaking nonsense about some dolls and about a dead body you apparently saw. They had no idea what the hell you were talking about or what you were doing at the institute, no one knew what went on in there since it wasn't made public.

It left you feeling so frustrated.

You went about your day, trying to shake off the weird feeling of being watched. You managed to get rid of it once you moved out of the city but lately it started coming back. As if half asleep you went through the motions of your usual day; walk with Asher, cooking, cleaning, working around the house, the garden, taking a relaxing bath. And before you knew it night had fallen over the forest, the darkness enveloping the trees and whatever lurked behind them.

You cuddled up in your bed, feeling content under the blankets and with Asher sleeping on the floor next to your bed on his blanket. You knew you were not safe in your dreams though and you dreaded falling asleep. You tried relaxing as much as you could, starting with that bath you took, to now having a little night light and some soothing incense burning in your room. You hoped you'd have calm dreams or rather that you won't dream about anything tonight.

But you were wrong.

Once again, you were in your lab coat walking slowly through the white corridor towards the big metal door. The number eight was still bleeding slowly towards the floor and suddenly you were standing in front of the door with your hand on the doorknob. Something inside you screamed to turn around and leave but you turned the knob and swung open the door. The scream that left your lips echoed all around you. Helena was laying on the floor in an unnatural position, her skin looked bluish and her eyes have almost completely lost their spark.

"Helena!" you screamed and ran towards her, your hands hovering over her body as you had no idea if you should touch her or not.

"Please, keep them safe. Don't let anything happen to them." she grabbed your hand weakly, giving you the key you always saw her wear around her neck. "Give this to Chan when you can. He'll know what it's for." she spoke between breaths and then her hand dropped as you clutched onto the key.

"Hey, grab her!" you heard voices yelling and footsteps running down the corridor and you snapped your head towards them to see a few androids coming towards you with their hands reached out to grab you. You stood up and tried your best to fight them or dodge but they grabbed you and one of them held a huge injection in his hand, lifting it up. You felt a sting in your neck and then there was nothing around you but a black void.

In the darkness, you saw him, your ex looking at you with pity in his eyes. Mocking you, pointing at you, the loud sound of cackling coming out of his mouth, echoing around you and making it seem like there were more and more people surrounding you and laughing at you.

"Stop it! Please, stop it!" you screamed, covering your ears with your palms and shutting your eyes tightly as you begged for the laughter to stop.

You woke up abruptly to the sound of the phone ringing and Asher barking at the device as you breathed hard, your body heated with a thin sheen of sweat over your skin. You stood up quickly and ran to the phone, your hand trembling as you picked it up.

"H-hello?" you shivered at the sudden coldness enveloping your body after you left your heated bed.

"Y/n!" a chirpy voice sounded from the other side and you sighed in relief, it was just your friend.

"Oh, hey." you cleared your throat and opened up your fridge to find a cold water bottle.

"Are you sitting down? Cause you won't believe what I have to tell you." she started and you rolled your eyes, thinking it was some drama she found out by hacking someone's account. You took a big swig of water and sat down as Asher came towards you, letting out a few barks.

"I'm sitting down, what is it?" you inhaled slowly and looked up at the clock, it was a little later than you usually wake up and Asher was probably ready for his walk.

"I know you worked at BIMT and I know you don't remember it but they just recently launched a line of eight sex dolls and well I got one. Long story short, he is sort of alive. And I suspect all the others are too, I hacked into his code and Y/n, it's something that I've never seen before. This code, it's alive. It changes with activity when the doll talks and thinks. It's like the code has a mind of its own and the dolls have conscience, they're not just robots, they feel, dream, think and wish. I don't know who else to ask for help except you, maybe you'd even remember something or know how they were made and why. And what happened to Helena, who is in charge now... Please. The first doll made was Chan, I think you should get him."

As she talked, you felt your body trembling and your ears ringing with the anxiety rising inside you. It was like your dreams, there were eight of them, Helena was there and she spoke about someone named 'Chan'.

It was all too much.

"So, can you take Chan? I think we might have a chance of helping the dolls if you do. Since Jisung was 'sleeping' and supposed to just be used as a sex doll, then the other dolls might be struggling too. I don't think it's right. Maybe they're not completely human... but their heart is beating. They hurt, they feel. They think. They don't deserve to be mistreated."

You thought for a moment and despite all the nervousness shaking you up, something nagged at you to say yes. You felt like you needed to help them, like you held the key to discovering just what was happening in the mysterious institute.

"Fine. I'll help them. I will take Chan." you paused. "What do you hope to achieve once I get him?"

"I'm working on a plan. I'll let you know." your friend said and you exhaled.

It was a lot to process and you knew you'd have to face your past and your fears if you wanted to help these dolls. Asher barked loudly, jumping up and almost knocking you from the bar chair you were sitting on. You let out a chuckle, giving him a few pats.

"We're going for a walk now, don't worry."

As soon as you stepped out of the cabin, taking in the greenery around you and inhaling the fresh air, your mind started to calm down. You took the new route you've been walking on recently, leading to a nice clearing where you could play with Asher. For a moment there you forgot about Helena, BIMT and the dolls and your soul was at peace.

But as soon as you got home and gave Asher some food, you sat down at your computer and opened up the site with the dolls. Upon seeing them, something fluttered in your chest. Especially looking at the Chan and Minho doll. They seemed to stand out to you, their faces seemed the most familiar. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you could see what the Chan doll looked like while smiling. A shiver ran down your spine as you hovered your mouse over his picture. You were really doing this.

A week later, you climbed in your truck with Asher on the passenger seat as you went to pick up the package. You had it delivered at the nearest post office which was a twenty minute drive. You didn't want to order the doll directly to your house, it was too risky. Driving there was soothing, the nature around you and the empty road made you feel like you were the only person there, as if it all belonged just to you. Asher was also happy to be on the passenger seat, his head stuck out the window as he enjoyed the wind.

The package was very large as you expected and the worker helped you get it in the back of your truck. The drive back home was fast.

Somehow, you managed to get the big box in your living room with Asher's 'help' aka him running around your legs, barking at the box and sniffing it and almost making you drop it on your feet twice.

"Asher!" you chuckled in frustration, playfully petting his head before you looked down at the box. Your chest felt tight suddenly and you tried to calm down your breathing as you placed your hand on your heart and started taking deep breaths in.

"Let's do this." you nodded, determined to start facing your past.

After opening up the box and removing the bubble wrap, you came face to face with the doll called Chan. His face, it was familiar and it brought up fuzzy memories and feelings that you couldn't quite put your finger on. You stared at him for a moment before picking up the paper in the box.

Hello,

My name is Chan and I am your protective doll.

I love creating music, working out, spending time in the nature or at the beach. I mostly wear black clothes, making me look like some sort of bodyguard. But don't be intimidated, I'm gentle on the inside.

I am used to taking care of others, so every now and then I need someone to lean on and take care of me as I tend to forget myself.

I hope you'll be the one for me and that you'll come to love me as much as I love you!

It was freaky, the way the doll 'spoke' inside the letter like it was alive. You swallowed as you stared at it, Asher scaring you with his sudden barking. He seemed to be excited, his tail wagging as he jumped around the box and barked at Chan.

"You like him, don't you?" you asked Asher and he kept on barking as if to answer your question. "Alright, I trust your canine wisdom." you laughed and kneeled down to keep unwrapping the bubble wrap. You noticed another paper sticking from the pocket of Chan's jacket so you picked it up.

Hey there, my peach!

I dressed a little nicer for our first date.

I'm looking forward to spending time with you, I hope you are excited too.

"Peach?" you chuckled and shook your head with a slight smile.

You had no idea what to make of all this, you wished you could remember more and know just how you were a part of this and why did Chan dolly seem so familiar to you?

You knew your friend would call you with the plan she had come up with and in the meantime you didn't want to mess with the doll too much, your paranoia made you overly cautious. Thoughts swirled in your mind; what if this was some kind of set up? What if the doll comes to life during the night and hurts you? What if they put a tracking device inside the doll and now they'll find you? The androids from your dream, they were working for someone very powerful, that's what you knew. And someone with so much power could do all sorts of things... But then again, your memory was wiped somehow and the huge amount of cash in your bank account almost seemed like an apology.

You shook your head and decided to put Chan in the guest room. You were too afraid and confused, filled with so many emotions that were swirling inside your gut, rising up and almost making you throw up. You needed to get your mind off of things so you laid Chan dolly in bed with Asher following behind you and sniffing the doll curiously.

"Let's go." you said to Asher and shooed him out of the room before glancing at Chan one more time. With a sigh you closed and locked the door, too afraid to be too close to the suspicious doll. If only you could remember your relationship with it, maybe you'd be more at ease. Right now, you only had more questions in your mind.

You decided to go about your day, working in your garden and around the house, keeping your mind occupied and away from all the anxieties that were swarming in your brain. Hours passed and you were finally in bed, too exhausted to even keep your eyes open. You remembered that Chan dolly was in the next room suddenly and for some reason a feeling of comfort washed over you. You knew him. You were becoming more and more sure about that.

~

Chan sat across from you in a chair with some kind of machine hooked up to the back of his neck, the cables leading to your computer as you typed. He watched you quietly with a hint of curiosity in his eyes while you worked. There was a steady beeping sound filling up the room together with the sound of your fingers hitting the keys on the keyboard. You looked up at him and he gave you a small smile.

"Has the buzzing subsided?" you asked.

"Yes, it's almost gone." he answered.

"Helena will be glad to hear that." you nodded and typed in a few more parameters before Chan spoke up again.

"Is it true that our mother is sick?" the question made you stop in your tracks. You slowly lifted your head from the screen and looked at the confused expression on the doll's face.

"Yes, sadly it is true." you answered, watching as he tilted his head left and right while processing what you said.

"Will she be okay?" he asked, his eyes big and innocent. You sighed, there was still so much to do, so much to add to the code, to feed to the algorithm. He needed to expand, the artificial cell growth needed to be accelerated for everything to work as it was supposed to and mostly for the vision Helena had. It was one hell of a task and you were a part of it, the brilliant team she put together.

"We don't know yet." you answered truthfully.

"Who is doctor Park?" Chan asked suddenly, making you jolt a little.

"How did you hear about all this?" you asked him, leaning back in your chair.

"O-on accident." the doll seemed to become nervous. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop, I was walking by Mother's office and I heard her talking on the phone, saying how she is sick and that there is a doctor Park trying to take away her project, make it into something different."

"Shit." you cursed quietly.

"Did I do something wrong?" Chan asked, the doll showing fear and anxiety on his face. You looked back at the screen of your computer, noticing how beautifully the code was developing and changing on its own. It truly seemed like some kind of magic.

"No, no, you didn't do anything wrong. Everything is okay, Channie." you reassured him with a kind smile which he returned, his brows smoothing immediately.

"I like that nickname." he said thoughtfully.

"Yeah?" you let out a chuckle, the doll expressing something like that was new which meant that everything was developing just as it was supposed to. Now, if only you could help Helena somehow, know that she'll be okay and keep away doctor Park, then everything would be perfect. And the dolls would be ready to be introduced to the world soon, make a life for themselves along with humans.

~

Your eyes snapped open and you blinked a few times, realizing that the sun was rising, the first rays peeking through your window. You sat up in confusion. That wasn't a dream, it was a memory.

You were indeed working at BIMT alongside Helena, helping her out with the dolls. You knew Chan and he knew you. But you still had no idea about the rest of the details like how they were made, what was their purpose and what was your specialty. You couldn't remember what role you played exactly but it must've been something important. You stood up quickly, Asher joining you, already excited for his walk. But before that, you had to check on Chan.

Your hand shook above the handle of the door, the images of the bloody door in the lab from your nightmares flashing in your mind. You shook it off and opened the door. Chan was in the same position you left him and you stood on the doorway for a moment before tentatively approaching the bed.

"Hello. I don't know if you can hear me and I feel more crazy talking to you than I already did before. But I'm gonna help you. I'm not exactly sure how but I know that everything will be okay." you tried to talk to the doll and calm yourself at the same time. Chan didn't move or say anything so you sighed and left the room.

You were still waiting for your friend to tell you what her plan was.

It's been exactly 22 days since you got Chan and there was no changes in his state, he seemed to be completely frozen in space and time. You put him in your living room for a while which proved to be a mistake since Asher wanted to jump on top of the doll and play with him constantly. He couldn't understand why something human-looking ignored him and didn't pet him or play with him. You laughed at your dog's cuteness even though you were nervous that he'd accidentally break Chan. So you put him back in the guest room where he spent those days since you got him.

Your memories were coming back in snippets and you were sure that this doctor Park that kept being talked about in your dreams was an evil person and that the androids who worked for him, the ones that injected you with something when you found Helena's body may be following you or listening in on your phone conversations.

But there was no other way to communicate with your friend. And she had finally called you with her plan. Most of the dolls were already sold out, it was a craze. She wanted you to wake Chan up first like she woke her Jisung dolly up on the computer for her plan to work.

And for some reason you were too afraid to do that.

She called you again two weeks later, when you were losing your mind with torturous nightmares and jumbled memories that you couldn't place in order or even understand what half of them meant. You were losing grip on reality, you had no idea which dream was just that and which one was a memory that actually happened to you.

Your paranoia grew and you needed help.

"Hey there, friend! How's everything going with your dolly? Did you wake him up yet?" your friend asked after calling you.

"Not yet. I'm scared to." you answered, looking out the window.

"Just do as I did. He'll wake up just like Jisung did. And speaking of Jisung, he really wants to see Chan."

Your breath got caught in your throat. People coming here, finding out your address, knowing where you lived...

"I- I don't know about that. What if you get followed here?" you panicked as all sorts of thoughts started swirling in your mind. "I don't want them to find me."

"Who is 'them'?" she asked but you couldn't even explain it all to yourself.

"I can't say. They may be listening, may know Channie is here. I can't risk it anymore, I can't!"

"Please, just calm down! We need to help the dolls, and no one can do it but us, do you understand that? I know that you're scared but trust me, okay?" you heard the desperation in her voice and you knew there was no one else who could help her and the dolls but you.

You sighed and turned around, nervously picking at your clothes.

"Alright. But if something happens-"

"Nothing will happen. Well, nothing bad. I promise."

You weren't very reassured but you knew there was no other choice.

It was time to wake Chan up.

~

You were sitting in front of your computer, one end of the cable already hooked into it as your shaky hand held the other end. You hesitated as you stared at the usb opening on the back of Chan's neck. There was no more time to waste, you had to do this now.

You hooked him up finally, opening up your terminal and typing. Your friend told you exactly what to do to open the code and when you finally had it in front of you, it seemed familiar. You gasped as you looked at the lines of code, it was as if you knew them in your heart. The code was beautiful, so intricate and different than any other program you worked on. You found the factory reset loop and looked at Chan one more time before clicking it.

You waited for a few moments as nothing was happening and the only sounds you could hear was your heart beating in your ears and Asher's little sigh as he dozed off on the carpet. Suddenly, the doll's cheeks reddened and his eyes watered as he gasped for air. You jolted and Asher lifted his head immediately, barking at the doll.

Your eyes widened while you watched it all unfold as he started breathing, coughing, his skin becoming flushed. Chan looked confused and scared for a moment before his eyes landed on you and they mirrored your expression, widening as he stared at you.

"Y/n?" his voice was hoarse.

"C-Channie?" you gasped, you couldn't believe that he remembered you.

Asher was already all over Chan, sniffing him and barking at him, his tail wagging happily. Chan smiled at your dog despite the craziness of the situation and his total confusion. You grabbed a water bottle and gave it to Chan.

He was really alive and you were in complete and utter shock.

"You remember me?" you asked as you fidgeted with your fingers. You had no idea what your relationship with him was other than the little snippets where you saw yourself working on his code, still never being able to see clearly just what you were typing.

"I remember everything." he said and you gasped again.

"E-everything?" you stuttered as you kept staring at him. Chan started petting Asher who was now sitting by his side, trusting him completely, it made you feel at ease.

"Don't you? You don't remember me?" he asked.

"Only bits and pieces. I think my memory was wiped. Helena-"

"I know, they killed her. Well he ordered it, doctor Park. And his little androids did all the dirty work."

"Please, help me remember. I have no idea what I was doing exactly at BIMT." you pleaded, feeling like you were on the precipice of something big.

"You were working on the development of the code, specifically you were specializing in our mental state and sometimes about physical problems we'd feel like buzzing in our ears or itching. We used to come to your office to talk to you and you'd give us tests and then check at the development of the code. You spent a lot of time with me and Minho, we were your main patients so to speak."

"So I was like a counselor or psychologist? But I don't remember ever taking any courses in that... I just know I am good with technology, I know I went to college as a developer. I can't remember much else about my education. And then I remember being with my ex and working for a few different companies. Lately, I remembered working at BIMT and talking to you mostly, but I have no idea what happened overall since I started working there until I stopped. It's frustrating."

Chan nodded as he listened to you speak.

"I would be frustrated if my memory was wiped too. But it wasn't, not like the other dolls' memory was. Because Helena gave me something that would help me remember, she knew what doctor Park's intentions were. She couldn't stop him because she was too weak and sick and we didn't know who to ask for help. Doctor Park scared most of the team somehow, I have no idea what he threatened them with but you were one of the ones that stayed the longest. Though I guess that Park did a lousy job of wiping memory if you are starting to remember things." Chan explained.

"That he did." you let out a chuckle of disbelief, your head was swimming with so many questions. "What did Helena give you to remember?"

"She gave me a usb stick with some code and I used it to protect my memory."

"Were we close? You and me, I mean." you asked after a pause.

"Yes, you were always like a friend to me. You treated us like... Like we were human. You took into consideration our thoughts and feelings. You and Helena were the only people we really felt safe with. I mean, the rest of the team was okay too but they treated us as if we were products." Chan leaned back in the chair as Asher settled down next to him, continuing his nap that was interrupted earlier.

"Wait, so how did this happen? All of you 'sleeping', becoming sex dolls?" Chan blushed slightly at that.

"It was doctor Park. I don't know which modifications he did to our code but we were all unable to move after some time, after Helena died and all the old team was gone, only the androids were left and they worked on us. I just hope my brothers don't remember that part." Chan trailed off, looking at the ground. "Do you know where they are?" he looked up at you.

"I know only where Jisung is. My friend has him, actually she is the one who asked me to get you and help you out. She has a plan on how to help all the dolls break free. We just need a way to contact the other doll owners."

You explained to Chan what the plan was and he listened intently, sitting silent for a few moments before he spoke up.

"I have an idea."

"What is it?" you tilted your head at him.

"We gather everyone in one place. That would be the easiest, wouldn't it?" Chan asked and you nodded.

"Yes, but how would we do that?"

"Simple, we add something alarming into my code, like a mistake and it'll get the attention of BIMT and they'll come get all the dolls. Let them know I'm awake, that we all are even if some of them aren't awake yet."

"Can it hurt you?" you asked and Chan smiled a little.

"No, it will just be like a warning to the institute, I think it's safe to do this."

"Let me call my friend and discuss with her." you said and he agreed.

It was one hell of a long phone call, you forgot about the fact that someone might be listening in as you put her on speaker so Jisung could hear Chan's voice, the poor guy broke down and started crying after talking to Chan, making you feel even more determined to help the dolls break free.

The plan was set and you were ready to make BIMT and doctor Park pay.

The fresh breeze drifted through the leaves and grass, bringing the sweet smell of flowers towards you and enveloping you in a kind of calm state of being. You watched as Chan ran around the field with Asher, throwing him a stick they'd found and Asher running back to bring it to him.

It's been a week since you woke him up and despite all the fears and doubts that tormented you, having him near you and sharing your private sanctuary with him felt natural, as if he's been there forever. You felt safe and protected, Asher loved him and you had someone else to talk to except yourself and your dog. Chan turned to look at you as if he knew that you were thinking about him and gave you that blinding smile that made your heart flutter.

Come evening, Chan and you were sitting down on the couch with Asher by your feet and once again you grabbed your journal and opened it up. For the last few days, Chan has been helping you remember, at least the things he participated in or knew were true. You could then eliminate dreams and expand on the memories, especially if he was there to witness them first hand.

"Hey, what about the key that Helena gave me? In my dream, she gave me that key she always wore on a necklace around her neck and said to give it to you, that you'd know what it was for." you asked Chan.

"She gave you the key?" Chan smiled, looking excited suddenly.

"She did. It's in my nightstand."

"Y/n, that's amazing! The key is for the safe in her mansion. There's money in there, her will, all the documents and papers containing information about us, how we were built from the very beginning to the last code. The instructions on how to build dolls that look and act human is inside that safe and you are holding the key." Chan said as he grabbed your hands excitedly.

Your body warmed up, both from the news and from the contact.

"Everything we need to know is in there? Which means, whoever gets the papers can make more dolls like the eight of you?"

"Yes and just imagine what could happen if it fell into wrong hands." Chan said and looked down at your hands in his, thumbs gently caressing your skin and soothing you even though your heart was fluttering. "We need to find Helena's mansion."

"You don't know where it is?"

"No, some information was scattered among us so they can't find everything out or it would be harder for them to do so. I believe that Jeongin is the one who knows locations." Chan said, still holding onto your hands and you were getting incredibly hot. It's been a long time since you had physical contact with another human being, someone who could hold you and soothe you like he could.

"Making him sound like GPS." you chuckled and Chan let out a laugh before his eyes landed on yours and he tilted his head.

"I'm so glad we found each other again." he said and you swallowed, feeling a little shiver running up your spine.

"Channie... Just how close were we?" you asked cautiously. The fluttering in your chest and stomach increased as your heart sped up and you watched his cheeks heating up.

"Honestly? Very close, I- I kissed you once. Which was very wrong because you were taken but you were so upset that day. You just found out the heartbreaking news that you couldn't, you know." he trailed off as you stared at him confusedly so he continued. "That you couldn't have kids and you got into this huge argument with your ex and started crying while explaining everything to me. And I just couldn't stand to see you so upset so I confessed my feelings and kissed you." Chan said, biting on his lip nervously as he tried to read your expression.

"Back up just a second. I told you about not being able to have kids while I was working at BIMT?"

"Yeah, you found it out not too long before all the shit went down."

"But I thought I found that out after BIMT. Because I remember when I woke up in the hospital and had no idea what happened to me since I worked my last job before that to the moment I opened my eyes. And my ex was there, and we were together for another year or so. And during that time I found out I couldn't have kids." you talked confusedly, trying to connect the dots.

"Wait, what if he had something to do with it?" Chan gasped.

"With what? Me not being able to have children?"

"No, your loss of memory."

You sat there thinking for a moment. If only the two of you knew about your problem while you were still at BIMT and then your memory was wiped before you found out again that you can't have kids...

"That bastard made me go through this horrible shit twice!" you stood up abruptly, anger rising up inside you. "He knew and he was somehow involved and the fucking asshole made me hear the most terrible news twice, take the same hit twice. Fuck!" you kicked the coffee table angrily and Asher barked, confused at your sudden outburst.

"Hey, hey." Chan stood up and wrapped his arms around you. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

"It's not your fault. I should've known, I should've been more careful."

"You can't really blame yourself either, this is obviously something bigger than us. Someone orchestrated all of this and that someone is probably doctor Park. He was after us since the beginning, after Helena's money and legacy. We need to bring him down, find some dirt on him and expose him." Chan talked as he caressed your back in soothing circles.

"Let's work on that code then."

~

In the evening after you bid good night to Chan, you were left alone with your thoughts. Asher slept by your bed as always, watchful of you, giving you the physical sense of security you needed. But your mind was a bad place, everything was starting to connect. All your memories were coming back more detailed and intense, your work with the dolls, how you took care of them, how it felt as if they were your friends, how much effort you put into it all alongside Helena and the rest of the team. How your ex was very secretive and had weird phone calls and would disappear during the weirdest hours, always coming up with some sort of work excuse. Your blood boiled with anger as you felt that you were used like a puppet for whatever grand scheme was happening behind the scenes.

It was infuriating, feeling like your hands were tied back then and how you couldn't stop or change what happened. But, there was still time, the last hope hasn't died yet. You sighed as you tossed and turned in your bed, you needed comfort. You needed Chan.

You remembered spending time with him too, how sweet he was and how fond he seemed of you. Not only did you help him out, but he helped you out too, he was someone you could talk to about anything. You knew it was probably crossing the work relationship between the two of you but you couldn't care less. Chan made you feel good, he made you feel seen and heard.

So you remembered that day you cried to him and the way he kissed you like you were everything to him. A wave of warmness travelled through your entire body and you stood up, leaving Asher in your room as you went to the guest room and knocked gently on the door.

Chan wasn't sleeping either, his mind was also reeling with everything that was happening and his worry for the rest of the dolls grew. He just hopped they were all protected and in the hands of good people who would come to love them and take care of them. He hoped to see them once again, all together like they were once before in Helena's mansion.

"Come in." he said quietly and you walked in, closing the door behind you. "Can't sleep?" Chan added and you shook your head.

"I just keep thinking about everything. All my memories are coming back to me and now I can see more clearly than ever that I was just used for Park's plan." you sighed, sitting down on the bed.

Chan didn't hesitate pulling you into his embrace. You froze for a moment, all the years of isolation and swearing to yourself that you'll never let anyone close were making you want to run away but the warmth of his body and the need for someone to comfort you overtook the anxiety and you let yourself melt into him.

"I keep thinking about everything too. Especially my friends, I'm worried that someone who bought them might be treating them badly. I just hope they're okay." Chan said, a worried expression on his face.

"At least we know that Jisung is okay. And I'm sure whoever bought the other dolls is treating them well. I don't think someone would spend so much money just to throw it away."

"I guess but you never know with people. I just want us to be reunited again."

"Then we will do everything to make that happen." you said and wrapped your arms around Chan's waist. You pressed your head against his chest and listened to his heartbeat.

"Stay here tonight." Chan whispered into your hair and you squeezed him tighter.

The feelings you had for him before were coming back to you, even if it was forbidden or wrong back then, you couldn't help what you felt in your heart. You wanted him.

You looked up at him and desire grew inside you as his eyes roamed all over your face like he was trying to take in every single detail that makes you up. You sat up and grabbed his face, crashing your lips into his without any hesitation. Chan's eyes widened for a moment before he recovered and gripped your waist, kissing you equally as passionately.

Everything disappeared except the two of you, your hands roamed on each other's skin, tugging at the clothes, tongues explored each other's mouths and your hearts started racing fast in unison.

Your hands roamed under his shirt, touching the taut muscles as his hands gripped at your bare thighs, pulling you closer and making you grind against him. You groaned into his mouth, feeling his hot bulge pressed against your own heat and you couldn't help grinding harder against him, jolts of electricity running through your body. It's been so long since you felt wanted and you already couldn't get enough of him.

Chan's hands slid under your shirt, caressing the soft skin on your back and sides as he slowly made his way to your breasts. Your breath hitched when he grabbed them and started massaging them, his thumbs running over your sensitive nipples as his tongue explored your mouth.

You gripped the hem of his shirt and Chan broke off the kiss so you could take his shirt off. Your eyes roamed all over his figure, the wave of warmth inside you growing even hotter. He smirked a little and you gripped at your shirt, taking it off too. He grabbed at your body and swiftly turned you over so you were under him. A gasp escaped your lips as he manhandled you easily, hovering over you.

"I've wanted you for so long, Y/n. You're the only person who made me feel this way ever since I first saw you." he spoke and you shivered, gripping at his shoulders and pulling him down closer to you.

"Please Chan, I need you."

Hearing you say that made his entire being flutter, all he wanted in that moment was to feel you completely, to make you his. His lips travelled down your neck to your chest, paying special attention to your sensitive nipples as he slowly slid your shorts and underwear down, leaving you completely bare and vulnerable.

You spread your legs almost automatically, you needed him more than anything, you needed that connection you've been missing for a while. Chan took off his sweatpants and boxers and you whimpered as you looked at his cock, hanging hard between his legs, dripping and throbbing for you.

"It's been a while..." you trailed off and Chan nodded understandingly, his fingers pressing against your clit and moving in circles. You moaned, feeling yourself getting more wet and shivering as he played with the most sensitive part of you, his fingers sliding down to gather your wetness ocassionally before going back to your clit. His lips were everywhere, worshipping your skin and making you melt into the bed. He slowly pushed two of his fingers inside you as you gripped at his arms, feeling him opening you up and preparing you to take him.

You lost yourself completely in that moment as he brought you to your high quickly after finding that special spot inside you. You were already overwhelmed but you needed more and Chan was getting impatient, he wanted you more than anything.

When he finally started pushing his length inside of you, your entire body felt as if it was on fire and you held onto him as he groaned into your ear and gripped your hips tightly.

"So tight." Chan groaned as he filled you up and you clenched around him, your insides fluttering at the feeling. He paused for a moment, letting you adjust as his hands slid up and down your waist. You wrapped your arms around him and arched into him, needing him even closer. He slowly started to move and your legs wrapped around him, pushing him in deeper.

"I dreamt about you for so long." Chan groaned.

"Yeah?" your brain wasn't even registering completely what he was saying, your senses were focusing on the way his length dragged against your velvety walls.

"The thought of you kept me going in that place. Wishing I'd see you again one day." Chan confessed as he gripped your hips, moving languidly inside you, making you feel every inch of him filling you up.

"I'm sorry I forgot you." your nails dug into his upper back and you let out a moan as the tip of his cock pressed into your sweet spot.

"I'll make sure you never forget again." Chan whispered into your ear before thrusting harder into you and your legs trembled as you held onto him, your eyes rolling back. You completely melted into the feeling of him while he rocked your entire body as you clawed at him. You desperately needed something to hold on to and your nails were dragging up and down his back, leaving red angry marks but Chan loved it. He gripped your hips, getting completely lost in you as you clenched around him and let go while he fucked you through your high and chased his own.

All the pent up feelings got released when Chan exploded inside of you, filling you up and you whimpered at the feeling and the bliss that settled inside you. Both of you were taking a moment to come down to Earth when loud barking from the other side of the door scared you.

"Oh, Asher." you chuckled and Chan let out a snort.

"He'll need to wait for a moment." he added, getting up and making his way to the adjacent bathroom. After both of you cleaned up and got dressed you let Asher in. Your dog barked as if you had abandoned him and betrayed him and only calmed down after both of you gave him pats and called him a silly little pup, even though he was far from little.

He slept next to the bed like always and you slept in Chan's arms, blissful and loved.

The next few days were tough, you and Chan worked on the error code that would draw the attention of BIMT, consulting with your friend and Jisung at the same time.

The day you wrote and perfected the code, you knew that in the moment you activate it, everything will go into motion.

"Let's have a day just for us, forget about all of this." you told Chan, the fear and uncertainty gnawing at your stomach. You had no idea how everything would turn out even after you had planned out everything carefully. You didn't want to be separated from Chan ever again and he felt the same.

"Let's go see the waterfall." he nodded with a smile. You had promised him ever since he woke up that you'll take him there, together with Asher. So, the two of you got ready for the hike as it was a little far and Asher was excited as soon as he heard the word 'walk' come out of your mouth.

The nature around you was exactly what you needed, the fresh air and the song of the birds as you walked alongside Chan, Asher running in front of you and sniffing around. It was a perfectly spent morning, making you forget for a moment about all the shit that went down and was still bound to happen.

As you got to the waterfall, you took a few photographs with your camera, focusing on how beautiful Chan looked when he was happy and simply existing, noticing how soft his eyes would become as soon as they landed on yours.

"Do you think everything will go over well?" you asked as you stared at the mighty waterfall, the water splashing down loudly. Chan wrapped his arms around you and held you tightly.

"It has to. My brothers will be saved, BIMT will go down and nothing will ever separate us again." he spoke into your ear gently before kissing your cheek.

You hoped he was right even if it sounded too good to be true.

So you savored the moment, his embrace, Asher running around with his stick and the beautiful waterfall in front of you, just in case it would be the last memory you'd have to hold on to.

~

It was happening. BIMT had been warned about an error and the site closed after leaving notifications about the dolls being discontinued indefinitely. You were waiting for your friend's call, expecting your phone to ring any moment, but what you didn't expect was a knock on the door.

Your mind swam with possibilities, going to the darkest places immediately, thinking they had found you and were here to grab Chan and take him away from you forever. Asher barked at the door threateningly as Chan stood beside you.

"Does anyone else have your address?" he asked.

You thought back to the time you were leaving the city. The only person you trusted the most was your niece. You weren't that much older than her, only a decade since your half-sister was much older than you and had her daughter young. You weren't really on speaking terms with her and were much closer to your niece who was more of a sister to you than your own. You remembered giving her the address to the cabin in case of any emergencies. You looked at Chan and swallowed.

"My niece, it could be my niece but it means that something bad happened." you shivered and the knock came again.

"Let's just open the door." Chan tried to reassure you.

Your hand gripped the handle as Chan stood beside you protectively, Asher on your other side. But when you opened the door, you weren't expecting three figures standing there, all three of them familiar to you.

"Hi, auntie!" your niece chuckled and you stared at her and the two men beside her completely flabbergasted.

"Hyunjin? Seungmin?" Chan gasped in disbelief to which they reacted in shock too.

"Chan? What are you doing here, bro?" Hyunjin laughed, tears of happiness and disbelief brimming in his eyes as Seungmin muttered a silent 'what the fuck?'

"Wait, you're a dolly too!" your niece gasped and you were pinching yourself just to see if this was a dream or not.

"You're just in time. This is insane. Come on in." Chan said with his eyes still wide, rubbing your arm to bring you back into the present.

The phone rang and you jolted, quickly grabbing it and answering it, it was your friend as you expected.

"Did they come get him?" you asked quickly, motioning for everyone to settle down as Asher jumped around them and sniffed them.

"Yes. I did as we planned. Is Chan ready?" she asnwered.

"Oh, he is ready. You should get here as soon as possible."

"Fuck yes!" your friend laughed and you shook your head.

"Uhm, but..." you trailed off and stopped pacing, looking at everyone in the living room, chattering and hugging each other.

"Yes?"

"We have company." you said.

"What company?"

"Someone who can help us a lot." you smiled and she chuckled and gasped the entire time while you explained what just happened.

You just hopped that your plan would work and that doctor Park would pay for all the shit he has caused. But most of all you wanted Chan and the rest of the dolls to be reunited.

It was time for action.

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[joemama-2]

velvet lies

pairing: gojo x fem reader synopsis: crippling debt and possible evictions have ruined you. working two jobs with no downtime, and a five-year-old son, you really don't know the meaning of taking a break. after continuous questions about his father, you have decided to finally let your son meet his dad. only thing is, he has no idea said son exists. and to top it off, you have not a single clue about what kinds of things will transpire from this sudden revelation. wc: 10.2k DON'T FORGET TO READ PREVIOUS CHAPTER tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, romance, alcohol, classism, mom! reader, lying, abuse, MAJOR angst, slow burn, exes to lovers, (mentions of) cheating, scandals, death, blood, drugs, drama, family drama, miscommunication, blackmail, unhealthy coping mechanisms , depression, manipulation series masterlist < previous chapter< next chapter

“You’re not serious.”

“Himari, please let’s not fight. I said I’d spend the 26th with you.”

“That doesn’t matter!”

She huffs, watching her boyfriend get his shower ready to go out and spend the day with another woman. Bitterness swirls in her stomach, anger threatening to be released if she wasn’t digging her nails into her palms. “You’re spending Christmas with some random bitch and a snot-nosed kid. How do you think that makes me fe—”

“Be quiet.” Satoru says, turning around to face her with a firm frown set in place. “I’ll tolerate you insulting me but don’t disrespect them, especially Koji.”

Himari freezes, her words catching in her throat as she registers the sharpness in Satoru’s voice. His usual laidback tone is gone, replaced with a seriousness that sends a chill down her spine. Her eyes narrow, but there’s a flicker of uncertainty in her expression.  “Disrespect them?” she repeats, her voice tinged with disbelief. “Are you even listening to yourself? You’re choosing them over me, Satoru. On Christmas. What am I supposed to think?”  

“You’re supposed to understand,” he replies, his tone softening but remaining firm. “Koji is my son. I’ve already missed enough of his life—I’m not going to miss any more.”  

“And what about me? What about us?” Himari snaps, stepping closer to him. “We’ve been together for almost two years, and I’ve only just now found out about all this shit. How do you think that makes me feel? Like an afterthought? Like you don’t trust me?”  

Satoru exhales slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. He knows she has a point, but he also knows this argument isn’t going anywhere productive. “Himari, this isn’t about trust. It’s about priorities. Koji needs me, and I’m not going to let him down. Not ever. I just need you to understand that, that’s all.”  

“And what about my needs?” she presses, her voice breaking slightly. “Am I just supposed to sit here and wait for you to decide when I’m important enough to make time for?”  

“You’re important to me,” Satoru says, his gaze meeting hers. “But Koji will always come first. That’s not going to change, Himari. If you can’t accept that…” He trails off, letting the weight of his words hang in the air.  

Himari’s jaw tightens, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “You’re unbelievable, you know that? You waltz into my life with all your charm and promises, and now you’re telling me I have to share you with some other family? What kind of relationship is this supposed to be? I did not sign up to be a fucking step-mother.”

Satoru steps closer, his expression softening slightly. “It’s the kind where I’m trying to do right by my son while still being with you. But I can’t do this if you’re going to make me choose.”  

She stares at him, her chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. “Maybe you already have,” she whispers before turning on her heel and storming out of the bathroom.  

Satoru watches her leave, a heaviness settling in his chest. He doesn’t chase after her, instead turning back to the shower and letting the water run. For a moment, he just stands there, the steam fogging the mirror and blurring his reflection.  

He’s made his choice, and he doesn’t regret it. But he knows the fallout isn’t over yet. He sighs as he steps in, closing the glass door. She’ll come around in a few hours when she’s all settled down, that’s how it always is—so he won’t dwell over it. Besides, he has more pressing matters to take into account. 

Hearing the shower run in the bathroom, Himari has stomped over to the bedroom. Hands fishing the sheets in order to feel for his phone. After some seconds, she finds it. Already knowing the password, she angrily unlocks it and begins swiping and surfing through every app of his. “If you’re cheating on me, Satoru. I swear to god.” She mutters to herself, scowling down at the screen. 

She doesn’t see anything, but she does click on his message with you. It all consists of just talks of the kid. 

Himari scrolls through the thread of messages, her scowl deepening as she reads. The exchanges are polite, straightforward, and almost entirely about your son—pickup times, school updates, doctor appointments. Nothing incriminating, nothing emotional. Just... parental coordination.  

But it still stings.  

Her grip tightens on the phone as her eyes skim over a message from a few days ago, the last message between you two:  

Y/N: 

Thank you for picking him up and the food.  

Satoru:

Of course, he’s my son. Just let me know if you need anything else.

Himari scoffs, tossing the phone onto the bed with a frustrated huff. “Let me know if you need anything else.” she repeats mockingly under her breath. "He’s bending over backward for her, and I’m just supposed to sit here like nothing’s wrong? Yeah fucking right.”  

She paces the room, her mind racing. No matter how innocent the texts look, she can’t shake the feeling of being replaced. It doesn’t matter that Satoru insists he’s doing this for his son—his attention is divided, and she’s no longer at the center of his world.  Her pacing comes to a halt as she glances back at the phone. A new idea begins to form, one she knows is petty but feels justified in her growing anger.  

"If he won’t make me a priority," she mutters, picking up the phone again, "then I’ll remind him of what he stands to lose."  

She opens the camera app and snaps a picture of herself, deliberately angling it to show her figure in the soft light of the bedroom. Attaching it to a blank text, she hovers over the send button.  But something stops her. A hesitation, a flicker of doubt. She’s never had to fight for Satoru’s attention before—he’s always made her feel like she was the only one that mattered.  

Until now.  

With a frustrated growl, she deletes the photo and tosses the phone back onto the bed. Crossing her arms, she glares at the bathroom door, the sound of the shower still running behind it.  

"If you want to play the perfect dad, fine," she mutters. "But don’t expect me to sit around and wait while you pretend I don’t exist." 

Sitting down onto the bed, another form of thought pops in her head. Yanking the phone back into her hands, she presses his photo album. There must be something in here. And so, she scours and scours, zooming in on every picture in fear you’ll be in the background. However, she doesn’t find anything. Only pictures of that little brat who looks like his mirrored version. “Because of you…” she grits, hand tightening around the phone. 

Continuing to scroll higher, she can tell she’s reaching earlier years. Still, the insecurity and fear plaguing her chest causes her to not stop—not until she gets to the very first photo in his album. Then she’ll for sure know he’s still hers. She’s in the year 2015, before she met Satoru. He looks younger, more boyish. She pushes down the endearing feelings she holds towards his younger self and scrolls up. 

Until, she comes across a video. 

The start of it has your face in it and she’s clicking. You’re sitting cross legged on the floor in some Christmas jammies, a Santa hat on your head with a big Christmas tree behind you. She can assume Satoru’s sitting across from you, hearing his voice say, “Okay, go!”

The entirety of the video is her holding back throwing his phone across the room. Seeing you two open each other's gifts, seeing you smile at her man, and seeing her man look at you holding the camera in such a soft way—a way she’s almost never experienced before. 

She’s getting nauseous. 

She almost throws up when she catches a glimpse of you two kissing, saying the words I love you so softly. She quickly clicks out and shuts the phone off when the sounds of low moaning fill the speakers. 

Why does he even still have this? Does he look back on this?

She wants to claw her eyes and ears out of her body. Feeling utterly infuriated at her boyfriend for keeping practically a sextape of his ex even after all these years. You fucking assume, Satoru! Himari sits on the edge of the bed, her arms folded tightly across her chest. Her mind is a storm of thoughts—jealousy, anger, and a pang of something else she refuses to name. Satoru’s insistence on prioritizing Koji and you feels like a betrayal, even if she knows deep down it’s not the same as him being unfaithful.  

Still, she can’t shake the bitterness creeping into her heart.  

She glances at his phone again, her jaw tightening. What does she have that I don’t? The question gnaws at her, even as she tries to shove it aside.  

When the sound of the shower cuts off, Himari straightens her posture, her eyes narrowing. A brewing begins to form—not a vengeful one, but one that will force Satoru to confront the rift growing between them.  Moments later, Satoru steps out of the bathroom, towel around his neck, his damp hair tousled and messy. He pauses when he sees her sitting there, her gaze piercing through him. “What’s with the look?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.  

She doesn’t answer right away, instead standing up and taking a slow step toward him. “Satoru,” she starts, her voice low but steady, “do you even realize how this feels for me? Watching you drop everything for her and that kid?”  

He sighs, already bracing himself for another argument. “Himari, we’ve been over this. Koji is my son. I have responsibilities—”  

“And what about your responsibilities to me?” she snaps, cutting him off. “I’m your girlfriend. I’ve been by your side for years. I’ve supported you, loved you, stood by you. But lately, it feels like I don’t even exist to you.”  

Satoru pinches the bridge of his nose, frustration etched into his features. “This isn’t about us, Himari. It’s about Koji. He’s my son. I missed years of his life because I didn’t even know he existed. I’m not going to waste more time by pretending he doesn’t matter.”  

“And I don’t matter?” she fires back, her voice rising. “That’s what you’re saying, right? That I come second to some kid you barely even know?”  

Satoru’s patience finally snaps. “He’s not some kid, Himari! He’s my blood, my responsibility. And if you can’t understand that, maybe you don’t belong in my life after all.”  

The words hang in the air like a slap. Himari stares at him, stunned into silence, her mouth opening and closing as she tries to process what he just said. Satoru doesn’t wait for her response. He grabs his phone from the bed, slipping it into his pocket, and heads toward the door. “I’ll be back later,” he says flatly. “Don’t wait up.”  

The door slams shut behind him, leaving Himari alone in the room, her anger boiling over into tears she refuses to let fall. In the silence, one thought echoes louder than the rest: 

I won’t let her win. You wanted me to teach you, right? Then I’ll teach you.

Satoru’s already not having a good day. He could put most of the blame on his girlfriend, the other on his parents for questioning why he’s spending the holiday with you instead, and also the fact that there’s traffic. 

Of course there’s traffic. 

It’s a good thing, almost. It gives him some time to himself. It lets him calm his annoyance, the last thing he wants to do is ruin the day for his son. He’s also a little nervous to see you. He hasn’t seen or texted you since your small argument last time, and while he does feel bad, the other part of him still believes that what he did wasn’t wrong. Hopefully—maybe today or another day—he can settle that issue with you truly. There’s a lot of things he needs to settle with you, actually. 

But just like they say one day at a time, one problem at a time. 

His finger taps absentmindedly against his steering wheel as he surges his car forward before stopping again. Sighing, he checks the time. Cutting it a little close. He turns the music up and leans back, sighing heavily. 

But the song on the radio is something upbeat, and it only serves to grate on his nerves. Satoru switches it off with a sharp jab of his finger. The silence that follows isn’t much better, though—it leaves too much room for his thoughts to wander again. 

He wonders if you’ll bring up the argument as soon as he arrives. You’re not one to let things fester, not when Koji’s around, but he knows you’ve probably been stewing on it, the way you always do when it involves him. The guilt creeps in again, and he brushes it off like a pesky fly. He’s good at that—pushing things aside until they’re too big to ignore. That’s why you two are in this mess in the first place, isn’t it?

Well, it’s surely part of it. 

The honk of a car behind him jolts him out of his thoughts. The traffic’s moving again, and Satoru presses on the gas, muttering a curse under his breath. He’s cutting it close, all right.

By the time he pulls up outside your place, his nerves are just frayed enough that he almost considers texting you to say he’s here instead of going to the door. But that feels… cowardly. He’s Satoru Gojo, for crying out loud. He can face you.

He steps out of the car, walking into the complex and up to your apartment. When he knocks on the door, it takes a moment before he hears the faint sound of footsteps approaching. The door swings open, and there you are, looking… tired. But not unhappy to see him, which is something. Adorned in an apron too, how cute. 

“Hey,” you say, your voice softer than he expected.

“Hey,” he replies, trying for a smile that doesn’t feel forced. “Traffic was a nightmare.”

You nod, stepping aside to let him in. The warmth of your home envelops him immediately, and the faint sound of Koji’s laughter from the other room eases some of the tension in his chest.

“How’s he doing?” Satoru asks, his voice low as he glances toward the sound.

“He’s excited. Been asking about you all morning,” you say, crossing your arms but not looking at him directly.

Satoru shifts on his feet, his fingers tightening around the handle of the gift bag. “Yeah, well… I’m here now.”

You look at him then, your expression unreadable. “Yeah. You are.”

There’s a moment of quiet before Koji comes barreling into the room, his face lighting up when he sees his dad. “Papa!”

Satoru smiles, scooping up his son with ease as he walks into the living room, settling down onto the couch. The smell of delicious food fills his senses, eyes closing momentarily with a heavenly sigh. “Smells good, what’s your mother making?”

Koji grins, his arms wrapped tightly around Satoru’s neck. “She’s making roast chicken and cookies!” he exclaims, his voice brimming with excitement. “And I helped with the cookies. But Mama said I ate too much of the dough.”  

Satoru chuckles, ruffling Koji’s hair. “Sounds about right. You’ve got a sweet tooth like your old man.”  

Koji’s giggle is infectious, and Satoru can’t help but feel a swell of warmth as he holds his son close. His gaze drifts toward the kitchen, where the faint sound of clinking dishes and soft humming filters through. For a moment, the tension from the past few days fades, replaced by the simple comfort of being here with his family.  

“You’re late,” your voice cuts through the air, light but pointed. You step into the living room, wiping your hands on a towel as you glance at him. He notices the small smudge of flour on your cheek, but there’s a softness in your expression that Satoru clings to.  His eyes move down your figure, ignoring the fluttering in his heart because you just look so damn cute in an apron. It feels domestic. 

You’re wearing a comfortable dress underneath, hair down with gold jewelry. Satoru physically gulps and tears his eyes away when they linger too long on your smooth legs. “Like I said, traffic.” He replies effortlessly, flashing you a sheepish grin. “But I’m here now, aren’t I?”  

You inhale deeply, lips thinning but you concede with a simple nod. “Food’s almost ready. Koji, go wash your hands. And don’t forget to use soap this time.”  

Koji pouts but hops off Satoru’s lap, darting toward the bathroom. The moment he’s out of earshot, the room grows quiet, the weight of unspoken words settling between you and Satoru.  He leans back on the couch, watching you as you cross your arms and lean against the doorway. “You didn’t have to go all out today, you know,” he says, his tone softer than usual. “I could’ve helped you cook—”

You shrug, looking away for a moment as you cut him off. “It’s Christmas,” you reply. “I wanted it to be nice. For Koji.”  

He nods, understanding what you’re not saying. “For Koji,” he echoes. There’s a pause before he adds, “And for you, too. You deserve something nice, Y/N.”  

Your eyes flicker to his, searching for any hint of insincerity. But all you find is that familiar look—the one that’s both infuriating and disarming at the same time. “You can’t just say things like that and expect everything to be okay, Satoru,” you murmur, your voice barely audible.  

“I know,” he says, sitting up and resting his elbows on his knees. “But I’m trying, okay? I know I’ve been pushing boundaries, and I’m sorry. I just…” He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling deeply. “I don’t want to miss any more of this. Of him. Of you.”  

The words hang in the air, heavy with meaning. You hate when he says confusing things like this because it messes with your head, fooling yourself into thinking there’s something else there. Clearing your throat, you straighten out your light pink apron. “Don’t say things like that.”

The firmness in your tone causes Satoru to purse his lips. Standing up and walking over to you. “I don’t mean anything weird by it.”

“You may not think that, but other people have different opinions.”

“Are you still mad at me from before?”

That always ticks you off—asking such obvious questions with such an innocent face. You think he’s joking, just trying to poke at the bear. But his concerned eyes, brows lifted up—it tells a whole other story. You open your mouth to respond, but Koji’s cheerful shout from the bathroom interrupts.  

“Mama! Papa! I’m ready!”  

You glance toward the bathroom, then back at Satoru. The moment is gone, but the tension lingers. “Dinner’s in ten,” you say simply, turning on your heel to head back to the kitchen.  

Satoru watches you go, a bittersweet mien playing on his godly face. He knows he’s got a long way to go—but for now, he’ll take whatever moments he can get. It’s Christmas, he wants to make the most out of it. And if that means faking it til he makes it, then so be it. 

He’s not the only one faking. 

You three are seated at the circular table in your kitchen. the warmth of the meal and the soft glow of fairy lights draped along the windows creating a cozy atmosphere. Koji chatters excitedly about his favorite Christmas movies as he eagerly digs into his plate, his small hands occasionally reaching for a cookie from the platter in the center. If Koji knew any better, he’d ask why his parents weren’t really talking to one another. 

And unfortunately, he does know better. 

“Mama? Papa? Why are you so quiet?”

Damn kids’ continent, but uncomfortable questions. 

You freeze, the fork halfway to your mouth, glancing at Satoru across the table. His eyes briefly meet yours before flicking back to Koji, his usual confident demeanor faltering under the weight of the question. “Quiet? We’re not quiet, bud,” Satoru says with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He leans forward, propping his chin on his hand. “I’m just too busy stuffing my face to talk. This food is so good.”

Koji tilts his head, unconvinced. “But you always talk a lot, Papa. And Mama, you’re not smiling. I thought today was a happy day.”

Your grip on the fork tightens, the weight of Koji’s words hitting harder than you’d like to admit. Out of the mouths of babes, as they say. You force a small smile, though it feels paper-thin. “It is a happy day, sweetie. Mama’s just tired from all the cooking, that’s all.”  

Koji frowns, his big, curious eyes shifting between you and Satoru. He’s far too perceptive for his age, and it’s moments like this that make it clear just how much he picks up on. Satoru clears his throat, leaning back in his chair. “Hey, how about this? After dinner, we’ll all watch a Christmas movie together. You can pick, Koji. And then, we can open the presents.”  

Koji’s face lights up at the suggestion, but he’s not completely distracted. “Okay! But only if Mama picks, too. We all have to pick one!”  

You manage a soft chuckle, finally taking a bite of your food to avoid answering immediately. Satoru’s gaze lingers on you, and you can feel the unspoken words sitting heavy between you both. “That sounds like a deal,” you say after swallowing. “But only if you promise to eat all your vegetables first.”  

Koji scrunches his nose but nods. “Deal!”  

The rest of the meal is filled with Koji’s chatter, and though you and Satoru exchange a few words here and there, the tension remains. It’s not lost on either of you that Koji’s cheerful energy is doing the heavy lifting to make this feel like the family dinner it should be.  When the plates are cleared and Koji races to the couch to pick out the first movie, Satoru hesitates in the kitchen. He grabs a dish towel and starts drying the plates you’ve already washed, a small gesture that feels too intentional to be casual.  

“You don’t have to help,” you murmur, not looking at him. “I got it.”

“I want to,” he replies simply. There’s a pause before he adds, “I would’ve helped cook too, sorry I came later.”  

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, his expression softer than you expected. “It’s okay,” you admit quietly. “It’s just dinner and opening gifts, I didn’t ask you to.”  

His hand stills on the plate he’s holding. “I know,” he says, his voice low. “But it’s still an obligation of mine, you don’t have to do everything alone. I’m here now, remember?”  

The vulnerability in his tone catches you off guard. The truth to his words cause you to bite your lips, guilt sinking into your bones. It didn’t feel like one of those snide comments, but it had practically the same effect. And you know that he’s here, so he can handle some of your weight. However, it’s nonetheless hard to trust him with it, fearing it’ll be too heavy for him too. Before you can respond, Koji’s voice echoes from the living room.  

“Mama! Papa! Hurry up, the movie’s starting!”  

You sigh, drying your hands on a towel. “Let’s go before he starts it without us.” Satoru follows you to the couch, where Koji has already made a nest of blankets. As the movie begins, Koji snuggles between the two of you, his small hands clutching the remote.  He giggles, snuggling closer to you both, dropping the remote to the table. 

 It’s not perfect, but for tonight, it’s enough. It has to be, it’s Christmas. Although you’re not doing too much this holiday, not that you ever do, it still means a lot to Koji. Because he finally has his dad to spend it with. 

As the movie begins, Koji seems to have other plans. He grabs both of your hands—Satoru’s right and your left— bringing them in front of him and making them mash together. Immediately you tense up, just the slightest graze of Satoru’s long fingers having more of an effect on you than you anticipated. 

You pull away, Satoru’s hand lingers before he soon gets the hint. 

Koji frowns, head swiveling between his two parents. “Mama, Papa, you’re supposed to hold hands! That’s what families do,” Koji says, his little brows furrowing in frustration. His pout deepens, clearly displeased with your reaction.  

You give him a soft smile, hoping to smooth things over. “We are a family, Koji. We don’t need to hold hands to prove that,” you say gently, brushing his hair back from his forehead.  

“But it’s Christmas!” he protests, his small hands still clutching yours and Satoru’s as if he could force them together by sheer will. “Santa says families should be happy and together on Christmas! That’s what they do in the movies.”  

Satoru chuckles lightly, though there’s a hint of something conflicted in his expression as he looks at Koji. “Santa sounds like a pretty smart guy,” he murmurs, his gaze briefly flicking to you before resting on Koji again. “But sometimes families have their own way of being happy, bud. It doesn’t always look the same.”  

Koji seems to consider this, his lips pursed in thought. “Okay… but can we all hold hands just for the movie?” His tone is pleading, his wide eyes impossible to say no to.  

You hesitate, feeling the weight of Satoru’s gaze on you, before finally relenting with a quiet sigh. “I….Alright, just for the movie,” you say, letting Koji place your hand back in Satoru’s.  

Satoru’s fingers brush against yours again, warm and steady, and for a moment, neither of you moves. The contact feels heavier than it should, but Koji’s delighted giggle pulls your focus back to him.  

“See? Now it’s perfect!” he exclaims, snuggling back into the blankets with a satisfied grin. He holds your conjoined hands. 

Satoru hums softly, unintentionally giving your hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze before turning his attention to the screen. The movie plays on, Koji’s laughter filling the room. And while the air between you and Satoru remains thick with unspoken words, for this moment, you let yourself stay in the quiet warmth of your son’s happiness.  

The warmth of Koji’s small hands on top of yours is grounding, even as the tension between you and Satoru buzzes just beneath the surface. You glance at him briefly, finding his expression softer than usual. He’s watching Koji, a faint smile tugging at his lips, but when he catches your gaze, something knowing lingers in his eyes.

You look back at the screen, ignoring the familiarity Satoru’s large hand brings you. It’s familiar but different at the same time. It feels a bit more calloused, proof of his own events he’s faced in his life during the time you were separated. 

And to him, your hand feels just as it always did. Warm, soft, and so perfectly fitting. It’s like two puzzle pieces, or a key to a lock. For a second, he compares how it feels to Himari before mentally chastising himself. That’s probably a fucked up thing to do. But he’s already done a lot of that in his life. His thumb runs smoothly across your knuckles, causing a shiver to run down your spine. 

You want to pull away, but your son is a reminder to keep up the act. 

The movie plays on, filling the silence with cheerful music and laughter, but you can hardly focus. Satoru’s hand is still resting lightly against yours, his thumb brushing against your rugged muscle every so often, whether intentionally or not. It sends a twinge of something—nostalgia, maybe?—through your chest. You shift slightly, trying to focus on the screen, but Koji’s contented sigh draws your attention back to him. He’s nestled between the two of you, his little face illuminated by the glow of the TV, looking completely at peace.

“Are you happy, Koji?” you ask softly, the words slipping out before you can think them through.

Koji nods emphatically, his grin widening. “Yeah! This is the best Christmas ever!”

Satoru chuckles, his voice low and warm. “That’s a pretty big claim, Koji. We haven’t even opened the presents yet. What makes it the best?”

“Because I have Mama and Papa,” Koji says simply, looking between the two of you with wide, earnest eyes. “I don’t need presents or anything. Just you two.”

Your heart clenches at his words, and you feel Satoru’s hand tighten a bit around yours. You don’t twitch away this time, letting the moment settle over you like the soft glow of the fairy lights. Maybe it’s the fact that you’ve been emotional this entire week already, or the fact that Koji is just so happy, but you’re feeling yourself choke up. 

For a brief second, the weight of everything—the arguments, the hurt, the uncertainty—fades into the background. It’s just the three of you, here and now, and maybe that’s enough. “Merry Christmas, Koji,” you whisper, leaning down to kiss the top of his head. Hiding a trembling lip against his white tresses. Your eyes close, forcing your tears to stay exactly put where they are. 

“Merry Christmas,” Satoru echoes, his voice unusually tender. He peers over at you from the corner of his eye, a gut-wrenching twisting at his stomach when he sees your expression. He wants to wipe away the crinkle between your eyebrows with his free hand, but he decides against it—probably not the best thing to do right now. He can only offer you a firmer hand on top of yours, cradling it like it’s a diamond. It’s like a warm quilt, it feels oddly comforting. 

Again, you’re getting nostalgic. Maybe that’s another reason why you feel like crying right now—knowing you only have this fleeting moment. Koji’s smile widens, his hands squeezing one last time before settling back into his blanket cocoon.

The hours pass, having watched multiple movies already. Koji’s on the edge of falling asleep before you carefully wake him up that it’s midnight. He practically jumps right back into action, all former sleepiness gone and relaxes with utter excitement. “Presents! We can open the presents!” He scrambles to the tree, already beginning to pick at the ones he wants to open. 

You smile softly, watching Koji bounce around with excitement, the energy from the day still shining brightly in his eyes. He’s so full of joy, so eager to unwrap the surprises you and Satoru managed to get for him. The sight warms your heart, even as a quiet tension lingers in the room.

Satoru, still leaning back against the couch, watches Koji with a mix of amusement and something more—something heavier. His lips twitch, as if trying to hold back a smile, but the look in his eyes when he glances at you doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Alright, baby,” you say softly, standing up from your spot. “Let’s open them, but remember, one at a time.”

Koji nods, his little hands already tearing into the first present like a whirlwind. He pulls out a small toy car and holds it up triumphantly, his eyes sparkling with delight. “Look, Mama! Look, Papa! It’s just like the one I saw at the store!”

Satoru chuckles and ruffles his hair. “That’s a good one, Koji. I’m jealous. What else ya got?”

You can’t help but smile at the exchange, even as you reach down to grab the next present for Koji. But something still nags at you. The way Satoru looks at Koji, it’s so…heartwarming. It’s a look given only to his child, one a father could only give out. You feel both touched and warm at the same time. 

Tonight is about Koji, about making sure he feels loved and special. And while you and Satoru are at odds, you both are doing one hell of a job of making sure that it comes true. 

As Koji continues to unwrap gifts, the room fills with laughter and the sound of crinkling wrapping paper. Your heart swells watching him, but in the back of your mind, the remnants of the earlier tension refuse to fully fade. The space between you and Satoru feels both distant and strangely intimate all at once.

After maybe an hour, after admiring each gift right after opening it, Koji finishes opening his presents. You both settle back into the couch, Koji nestled between you, holding onto his new toys. There’s figurines—mainly Spider-Man or Avengers based—toy cars or motorcycles, a little rocket ship, hot wheels, a Nerf Gun, new clothes, he really got it all this year. Of course, most of the contribution was from Satoru. The silence stretches, but it feels softer now. The tension, although still there, feels more like a quiet hum in the background, overshadowed by Koji’s happiness.

“Thank you, Mama,” Koji says sleepily, his little voice thick with the exhaustion of the day. “And thank you, Papa.”

Satoru leans in, placing a gentle kiss on the top of Koji’s head. “You’re welcome, bud. Merry Christmas.” He smiles, watching his son begin to put his Spider-Man on top of the motorcycle, sparing a glance back at the tree. It’s then his smile falters. 

“Oh, you forgot two, Koji.”

“Hm?” His son looks up, seeing the two gifts all the way at the back of the tree. Getting so distracted with all his other gifts, he must’ve forgotten about those two. He sets his toys to the side and crawls back onto the floor to reach for the gift bags. Reading the tags, he looks over at you. “Oh, Mama. These are from your friend.” 

When Koji stands up and hands you one of the presents, you’re suddenly reminded. Oh. In a way, you did also forget that Suguru got you and Koji something—just so wrapped up in watching Koji rip apart each of his gifts. You smile faintly, thumbs running over the intricate snowflake patterns. 

“Friend?” Satoru asks, his voice bringing you back to reality. 

Head turning over, you realize that his face has contorted—scrunched up slightly when he holds onto Koji’s gift, reading the name of the receiver. “Suguru?” His eyes meet yours, filled with a tint of disapproval. “When did he get you two something?”

You almost lie, feeling a random burst of gultuness hit you. But it’s gone as soon as it comes. Because Satoru’s voice sounds curlis in a sense, but also suspicious. It makes you feel a little irritated, holding back a light scoff. So what Suguru got you and Koji something? “He came over to drop it off.” 

Maybe that wasn’t the best answer to give. Now Satoru’s body has faced you fully, eyebrow raising like he’s trying to put two and two together. But there’s nothing to put together. “And when was this?”

“A few days ago,” you reply back, firming your intonation. 

Satoru’s gaze narrows ever so slightly, and you can feel the shift in the air between you both. The tension that’s been simmering beneath the surface all evening suddenly intensifies. “A few days ago…” Satoru repeats, his tone now more deliberate.

“Is there a problem?” You ask, mirroring his reaction. 

Satoru bites the inside of his cheek, very obviously holding back on something for the sake of his son and the holiday. Shaking his head and giving Koji’s gift back to him. “Nope, no problem.”

You can’t help yourself as you huff under your breath, focusing back on your son as he opens the gift. He gasps, yanking the tissue paper out and revealing a bright, shiny new Spider-Man action figure. His eyes widen with delight as he holds it up to you and Satoru, showing off the intricate details of the toy. "Look, Mama! Look, Papa! It's just like the new one I saw on TV!" He beams, completely oblivious to the lingering tension in the room. “It talks and makes noises and lights up!”

You chuckle softly, finding his excitement endearing. "It's perfect, Koji. You’re going to have so much fun with that."

Satoru, however, seems distracted. He’s still watching you closely, his expression unreadable, though there’s a faint edge to his demeanor. You can tell he's trying to keep his composure, but his mind is clearly elsewhere.

Koji has almost entirely disregarded his previous gifts to play with his new gift, his attention fully focused on the toy in his hands. 

Satoru clears his throat, the subtle sound pulling you back from your thoughts. "So, Suguru came by to drop off gifts...?" His voice carries a tone that’s almost too casual, but you don’t miss the hint of something more in his eyes.

You hold his gaze, the irritation bubbling up again. "Yes, he did. He’s been kind to us." You can’t help the defensiveness that creeps into your voice. "Is that a problem?"

Satoru doesn’t immediately answer. Instead, he glances over at Koji, who’s happily occupied with his toy. He exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair before meeting your eyes again. "No, I didn’t say that. I just... I just didn’t know he was so involved."

You feel a knot form in your stomach. The subtle way he’s questioning you, the way his posture tenses every time Suguru’s name comes up—he’s feeling something, and you’re not sure how to read it. Before you can respond, Koji looks up from his toys, his voice full of innocent curiosity. “Is something wrong, Papa? Mama?”

You both turn your attention to him, but the tension doesn’t fully dissipate. You force a smile, trying to keep things light. "No, Koji. Everything’s fine." You reach over to ruffle his hair. "Are you enjoying your presents?"

Koji nods enthusiastically, his smile wide. "Best Christmas ever!" he exclaims. He looks down at your gift. “Open yours, Mama. I wanna see what your friend got you.”

You hesitate, still trying to steady your emotions after the tension with Satoru. “Alright, sweetheart,” you say, holding your gift upright in your lap. Gently peeling away the wrapping, revealing a small, wooden box. The delicate craftsmanship catches your attention immediately. 

Koji’s eyes widen in anticipation. “What’s inside, Mama? What is it?”

You open the box, revealing a small silver pendant shaped like a star, its surface engraved with intricate patterns. It’s beautiful—elegant and simple, a perfect fit for you. You trace your fingers over the smooth edges, a soft sigh escaping your lips as you smile at the thoughtful gesture. It comes with a thin silver chain, a small note underneath it. When you pull it out, it reads: 

“For the one who shines the brightest, even in the darkest of times.”

Your heart skips a beat as you read the words. It’s simple, yet so deeply personal. You trace the note with your fingertips, a mixture of warmth and something else stirring in your chest. You always mocked Suguru in the past for being so corny with his words, you never expected to be on the receiving end of them. And you never expected to blush from it either. 

“Isn’t it pretty, Mama?” Koji asks, his voice filled with genuine excitement. “I think it’s sparkly like the stars!”

You nod. “It’s beautiful, sweetheart. I’m sure it’ll look lovely on me,” You slide the pendant into your hand, clutching it for a moment longer before carefully setting it back inside. But, despite your best efforts to keep things together, you can feel the tension building again. Satoru’s look that he fails to hide is getting more on your nerves by the second. He’s acting like he has some right to be upset if his friend is giving you something. He’s acting like it’s a bigger deal than it actually is.

“Are you gonna wear it?” Koji asks, his eyes shining with curiosity. “Papa, won’t Mama look pretty with it?”

You peer over. “Of course, Mama will look pretty with it,” he says with a half-smile that’s forced. “She’s always beautiful, no matter what she wears.”

You scoff this time. What a load of shit. 

Koji squeals, clearly pleased with the answer. “Right, Mama? You’re the prettiest!”

You smile back, feeling warmth in your chest, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Thanks, sweetheart,” you mutter softly, trying to keep things light. 

It’s extremely late now. Koji has passed out in his room with the figurine Suguru got him. Satoru and you have cleaned up in complete silence, the awkward tension intensifying even more now that Koji isn’t here to mend that. There’s only the sound of the soft hum of the dishwasher as it runs. You wipe down the counter, your movements mechanical, each action making the silence stretch longer and longer between you. Satoru stands by the sink, wiping down the wet surface around it with a towel, his back to you. But you can feel his presence in the room like a weight pressing down on the air.

Neither of you says anything, the unspoken words piling up between you both. You can feel the tension crawling beneath your skin, just like before, but now there’s no Koji to distract you, no innocent question to break the silence. Just you and Satoru, both avoiding the inevitable conversation that looms in the background. Until he finally has the balls to do something. “He didn’t tell me he was getting you guys something.”

You pause, staring down at the clean surface. “Why would he have to tell you? It’s just a present.” Your hand moves again, moving onto the corner of the granite. 

Satoru bites his tongue, willing himself not to snark back. He turns his body around, eyes digging holes into the back of your head. “I mean, it’s a little strange.”

“How?”

“Because Koji is my son, you’re my ex.”

“So that suddenly means I’m incapable of receiving presents from other men now?” You whirl around, hands on your hips. “What did you say again? Oh, right. ‘Stop getting mad at little things’.” 

Satoru flinches, his jaw tightening at your words. For a moment, he’s caught off guard, not expecting you to snap back so quickly. But he doesn’t back down. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” His voice is low, tight, as if he’s trying to keep his composure. “I just don’t like how...how weird that feels.”

You roll your eyes. “Right, weird, huh?”

“I’m not trying to argue, okay?”

“I’m not arguing either,” you quip back. “But you have no right to act like this is ‘weird’ when it’s not. You have no right to be even curious about who’s giving Koji and I gifts.”

“No right?” He huffs back at you, lip curling up. “I think I have all the right, Y/N. First off, he’s my son. Second off, we used to date. And third off, that’s my best friend. What kind of best friend—”

“Then maybe you should take that up with him.” You cut him off, chin tilting up. It’s getting harder by the second to keep things calm and composed. But Satoru shoving his fat nose into something that doesn’t involve him is testing every bit of patience you have. “I can get a gift from whoever I want, that’s none of your concern.”

Satoru’s eyes narrow as you speak, his grip on the towel tightening, the vein in his neck twitching with barely restrained frustration. “None of my concern, huh?” His voice lowers, the words coming out sharp. “That’s funny, because it seems like everything I do, say, or feel ends up being your concern, whether you want it to be or not.”

You step closer, your heart racing as the anger rises in your chest, pushing against the barriers you’ve built. “Satoru, I’m done pretending like everything we do is some sort of tangled mess that you have the right to control. You’re not my boyfriend anymore, and Koji isn’t the reason I have to explain every little thing to you.”

“I’m not saying you have to.”

“Then just shut the hell up about it already.”

Silence follows. 

The room feels colder now, the weight of your words settling heavily in the space between you. Satoru doesn’t respond immediately, his jaw clenched tightly as he stares at you, his chest rising and falling as if he’s weighing the next words carefully. He’s frustrated, no doubt, but something else lingers beneath it—something deeper, something that neither of you has dared to address.

You stand there, both of you frozen, the only sound the faint hum of the dishwasher and the quiet rhythm of your breathing. It feels as though time has stopped, the tension so thick it’s almost suffocating. Then, slowly, Satoru takes a breath and places the towel down on the counter, running a hand through his hair. “Fine,” he mutters, his voice much softer now, but still tinged with frustration. “I get it. It’s not my place anymore.”

Your lips purse, feeling slightly caught off guard by his quick reluctance to further escalate things. But that’s a good thing, right? Swallowing down anything else, you nod stiffly. Eyes moving down to focus on anything else but him. Your hands awkwardly fiddle together. 

But he never looks away from you. Mind reeling about what to say or do next, fearing that he did in fact make a big deal out of nothing. It’s just presents, that’s it. But the quiet voice in his head nags at him more and more. But why didn’t Suguru say anything? Isn’t it at least some common courtesy to tell your best friend you’re getting his son and ex a gift? Even a simple text would have sufficed. 

But he didn’t do any of that. So Satoru’s brain feels like he tried to hide it—for a reason? He doesn’t know. Maybe he forgot? Still, he doesn’t like the knot that forms in his gut. 

A calming breath is taken to reset his system, shaking his head. Not tonight, not tonight. His fingers reach into the pocket of his coat, feeling a small, square box. He waits for a few seconds, unsure if he should continue on. Nonetheless, he does. Pulling out the little thing, presenting it in front of him. 

He clears his throat, you look back over at him. Head tilting slightly at the sight of the wrapped box with a tiny red bow. “…what is that?”

“My gift to you.” He murmurs out, holding it to you. 

Your eyes widen, mouth parting. No words come out, feeling a multitude of varying emotions. It all ends with you reaching out for the box, shaking it a little. You hear a small clanking. Asking a stupid question like what is it will just keep your wary feelings alive. So, you carefully remove the light wrapping, slowly like you’re scared as to why you’ll see inside. 

You’re not scared. Just more confused. 

“A key?” You question, holding up the gold key in front of your face. It dangles as your vision focuses back on the man in front of you. “What is this for?”

Satoru watches you, his eyes a mix of uncertainty and something deeper, something more vulnerable. He shifts slightly, hands in his pockets, his shoulders tense as if bracing himself for your reaction. “To your new place.” 

Your heart skips a beat at his words. A new place? Your mind struggles to catch up, trying to make sense of the statement. “My new place?” you repeat, still not sure if you heard him correctly.

Satoru nods slowly, his eyes now focused on the key in your hand. “I’ve been looking for something for you. For Koji. A place where you both can be… comfortable. It’s. A nice neighborhood, enough room. There’s a school next by and there’s open spots left.” His voice is steady, but there’s a tinge of something vulnerable in the way he says it—like he’s giving you space to decide, but also hoping for something more.

A rush of conflicting emotions hits you. You look down at the key again, your fingers curling around it as you try to process what he’s saying. “You… got me a place?” You repeat, still in shock over the fact that he went out of his way to do so. 

He shifts his weight, eyes still on the key. “Not just you. A place for you, Koji… and maybe even me, too. When I come to visit sometimes, there’s four bedrooms, one of them can be used as a spare.”

Your breath catches in your throat. Satoru has always been unpredictable, but this—this is different. It feels like he’s offering something more than just a space. It’s a possibility. A chance. But it also feels like an unspoken question, one that you’re not sure how to answer. “I don’t know what to say,” you whisper, looking at the key again. “Why now?”

Satoru steps closer, his expression softer than you’ve seen in a long time. “Because… I’ve been thinking about it for a while. I know I’ve messed things up too for us, and I’m not asking for anything. Just… I thought it might be a good way to start fresh. For you and Koji. And you guys mean a lot to me, I want you to live in a nice space. Not…not somewhere like this. The people look shady.”

You stand there, the weight of his words sinking in. The offer is unexpected, yet strangely comforting. It’s not just about the apartment or the key—it’s about something deeper, something that might hold the possibility of fixing whatever things were broken.

But then, a quiet part of you wonders: Do I want this?

You bite the inside of your cheek, clutching the key tighter in your hand now. You bite the inside of your cheek, clutching the key in your hand now. The smooth, cold metal feels heavier than it should, like it’s holding all the unanswered questions and unresolved feelings between you and Satoru. You glance up at him, his expression open yet guarded, as though he’s trying to brace himself for any answer you might give.

“Satoru...” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know what to say.”

He shrugs, though there’s an uneasy tension in his posture. “You don’t have to say anything right now. I just...I wanted to give you something. Something that’s yours.” His gaze flickers to the key in your hand. “No strings, no expectations. Just a place where you and Koji can feel safe. If you don’t want it, I’ll still keep it around if you someday change your mind.”

The sincerity in his voice tugs at something deep within you, but it also makes your heart ache. You swallow hard, your emotions swirling. “Why didn’t you talk to me about this first?” you ask, your tone softer now, though still tinged with confusion.

“Because I wasn’t sure how you’d take it,” he admits, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t want you to feel pressured or think it was about me trying to fix everything all at once. It’s not like that. I just... I care about you. And about Koji. And besides, it’s Christmas.” He ends with a small smile, his right dimple peeking out. 

His words hang in the air, filling the silence between you. For a small instant, you don’t respond, your mind racing. This gesture—it’s thoughtful, maybe even selfless—but it’s also overwhelming. You hold the key closer, feeling its edges press into your palm, grounding you in the midst of the emotional storm. Finally, you exhale, your voice steady but quiet. “I need some time to think about this. It’s... a lot.”

Satoru nods, his blue eyes softening. “Take all the time you need. It’s yours, no matter what you decide.” He pauses, glancing toward the door. “Well, I should probably get going.”

Adjusting his coat, he takes one step out the kitchen before you stop him with a hand to his arm. A ring of fire burns up his arm and to his ears, slowly making its way to his cheeks when he looks back down at you. “I…I got you something…too.”

His eyebrows raise, not having expected you to give him something in return. Letting go of his arm, you walk to a small cupboard, reaching in and pulling out a square shaped gift. It’s wrapped in light blue wrapping with a red bow. You hand it to him and he takes it, feeling around. He already has an idea of what it is. 

“Open it when you get back.” You mutter, rubbing the back of your neck. 

He stares quietly for a small time, a hint of a smile almost making its way onto his face again. It’s cute how shy you look right now. Some things never change, do they? He nods, murmuring back. “Okay, thank you.”

With one final hum from you, he heads back to the door. His stomach feeling lighter. You hesitate, watching him turn toward the hallway. “Satoru.”

He stops, looking back at you over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

“Thank you.” Your words are sincere, even if you’re still unsure about everything. “For thinking about us.”

A faint grin tugs at his lips, though there’s a hint of sadness in it. “Always,” he says softly before walking away, leaving you standing there with the key in your hand and your thoughts spinning.

You remain rooted in place, the key dangling lightly in your grip as the door clicks shut behind him. The silence that follows feels deafening. The warmth of the holiday lights around the room does little to ease the cold weight settling in your chest. You sit down at the edge of the couch, staring at the key, your mind replaying Satoru’s words. No strings, no expectations. Just a place where you and Koji can feel safe.

It’s a generous gift, undeniably thoughtful, but it feels complicated—like every other thing in your relationship with Satoru. You know he means well, but the history between you makes it impossible to separate the gesture from the lingering emotions that bind you both. Your gaze shifts to the Christmas tree, now surrounded by Koji’s new toys. You can still picture his bright smile, hear his laughter from earlier in the evening. The thought of giving him a stable home, something truly yours, tugs at your heart. But then there’s the nagging voice in your head, reminding you of the tension tonight—the unspoken conflicts, the unresolved feelings, and the fragile line you and Satoru walk every time you see each other.

You sigh, leaning back against the couch, the key resting in your palm. Your eyes drift to the small silver pendant Suguru gave you earlier. It still sits on the coffee table, catching the warm glow of the Christmas lights. Another kind gesture. Another layer to the mess.

The soft patter of small feet interrupts your thoughts. Koji appears in the hallway, rubbing his eyes sleepily, his Spider-Man toy clutched tightly in one hand. 

“Mama?” he mumbles, his voice groggy. “Why are you still up?”

You quickly set the key on the table, forcing a smile. “Just cleaning up, sweetheart. Is everything okay?” 

He nods, yawning as he climbs onto your lap, resting his head against your chest. “Yes.”

“Did you have a good Christmas?”

“The best Christmas ever.”

You hold him close, brushing his messy hair away from his forehead. “That’s all that matters,” you whisper, kissing the top of his head. But even as you say it, your thoughts drift back to the key—and everything it represents.

Satoru has been staring at the gift—stil wrapped—for about fifteen minutes now. He’s conflicted. Unsure if he wants to know what you got him, or if it’ll bring on something unwanted. The gift sits untouched on the table before him, the wrapping paper shimmering faintly under the soft glow of the Christmas lights. Satoru leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, one hand tangled in his hair as he stares at it. His jaw tightens, then relaxes, his thoughts spiraling in circles.

Fifteen minutes. That’s how long he’s been sitting here, debating whether to open it.

He knows it’s just a gift. A simple, kind gesture. But with everything that’s happened tonight—the tension, the unspoken words, the unresolved feelings—this small box feels heavier than it should. What if it’s something that reminds him of how things used to be? Or worse, what if it’s just a polite, distant gift, a reminder of how far apart you’ve drifted?

He exhales sharply, running a hand over his face. “It’s just a damn gift, Satoru,” he mutters to himself. Yet he doesn’t move, his blue eyes fixed on the box as if it might spring to life and deliver answers to questions he’s too afraid to ask. 

He huffs a reluctant laugh, his hand finally reaching for the gift. His fingers trace the edges of the paper before he carefully begins to unwrap it, the sound of tearing paper filling the quiet room. Beneath the wrapping is a small black box, simple and unassuming. He lifts the top up and it drops to the side. 

His hands still in place, almost beginning to tremble. His breathing shallows, heart thumping quicker than before. Carefully—very carefully—he reaches in. Handling the object with utmost care, bringing it closer to his face. 

Two faces stare back at him. 

His son—undeniably younger, maybe around one year old. He’s being held in your lap, arms secure around his tiny stomach. He looks chubbier, cuter. Wearing a cute Christmas get up. Baby Santa. And when his eyes glaze over to you, he gulps. 

You’re wearing an equally festive outfit. A bright red sweater adorned with little snowflakes and reindeer, a simple black skirt to go with it. Your face is glowing with a smile so genuine, it knocks the breath out of him. Your hair is a little messier, your cheeks flushed with warmth, probably from laughing too much. Koji’s tiny hand clutches at your sweater, and your other hand is raised in a peace sign as you lean closer to him for the photo. 

Satoru’s fingers brush the surface of the photograph, his chest tightening as the memory pulls him under. It looks like a professional photo done, you must’ve gone all out that Christmas. Now, holding it in his hands, it feels like a physical snapshot of a life he had no chance of living in. 

His thumb grazes the edge of the picture frame it’s nestled in. It’s a simple wooden frame, painted white, with the words Our First Christmas Together etched across the top in tiny gold letters.

He lets out a shaky exhale, his vision blurring slightly. He blinks rapidly, trying to push back the emotions clawing at his throat. It’s not just the photograph—it’s what it represents. A time when things were simpler. When the two of you were a family, before everything unraveled. When it was just you and Koji—no room for him. 

The weight of the night presses on him again, harder this time. He feels foolish for hesitating to open the gift, for overthinking it, when you’d given him something so pure. Something so full of love. He pulls the frame in, swallowing hard as he leans back on the couch. He holds it close to his chest. His other hand runs through his hair, tugging slightly as he tries to steady himself. “Why’d you have to go and do this?” he whispers to no one, his voice breaking. He outwardly chuckles—bitter but affectionate. Warm tears sliding down his cheeks and resting atop the wooden frame. His lips press a small kiss to his baby son, and to you. 

Because now, more than ever, he realizes how much he still misses you. And how much he regrets letting it all slip away when he was too young and stupid to think clearly. 

That night when he heads to bed, he sleeps with the picture of his family next to him. Tucked in like it’s a physical being, and in a way, it is. 

taglist is now closed

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[nnon0]

JJH fic recs

other fic rec posts : 1.(active post) 2.

been getting a little hard trying to find long fics to read these days but here are some that i complied in the last month or so :)

(🫀) -personal faves

all these years @domjaehyun

WC: 34.1k

fluff, smut, angst; childhood friends-to-lovers!au, college!au, neighbors!au

Just friends @lonelyharmonies

WC: 22k

Strangers-to-friends- to-lovers!au , college au

what happens when you wake up in someone else’s bed after getting drunk in a party?

(🫀) Only @ppangjae

WC: 21.6k

almost!lovers au

You like to believe crossing paths with Jaehyun after graduation is just pure coincidence. He always comes and goes. But what if he decides to stay? To stick around? To give what was an ‘almost’ a chance?

Romeo roulette @wincore

WC:21.1k

soulmate au, office au, fake dating

if finding your soulmate is the same as a damn game of Russian roulette, you are determined to not pull the trigger at all. except, you know who your soulmate is and he doesn’t—and given a choice to pretend, you find that jaehyun is the lesser of the two burdens to bear.

he fell first and he fell harder @taurusdaylight

WC: 18.7k

Basketball captain!jaehyun, childhood-friends-to-lovers

jeong jaehyun really loves basketball. but also, he’s terribly in love with his childhood best friend of seventeen years, you.

(🫀) all i wanted @yutaholic

WC: 17k

heartbreakers, smut

A year has passed since you last saw your best friend, Jaehyun, but the man who returns is not the boy you once knew and loved. Jaehyun will barely speak to you and you don’t know why, but you both may be exactly what the other needs to mend your broken hearts.

(🫀)The Apple of My Eye @sehunniepotwrites

WC: 17k

school! au , teacher!au , Kindergarten teacher!jaehyun

As a young and handsome kindergarten teacher of two years, Jeong Jaehyun was used to receiving presents during Teacher’s Appreciation Week. This, however, was the first year Jaehyun wanted to give a present of appreciation to someone else—his new and ever-so-lovable teacher’s assistant.

(🫀)song for a little sparrow @ppangjae

WC:13.7k

poet!jaehyun x painter!reader , strangers-to-lovers

As a burnt out painter, you packed one suitcase and flew a one-way trip to Paris in hopes of finding your passion again. In the city of love, the last thing you expected was to bump into a man who doesn’t believe in love. But you do, and you find yourself showing him the wonders of love and falling in love. Just don’t fall in love with him.

I like me better (when i’m with you) @tyonfs

WC:11.8k

friends to enemies to lovers, sports au , smut

there was no one else on the planet that made your blood boil like jeong jaehyun did. you never thought your feelings toward him were anything past pure hatred, but when you were lost in the feeling of his lips on yours and his hands on your body, you couldn’t help but think that maybe a part of you didn’t completely hate his guts. 

Someone to Bring Home @rouiyan

WC: 10.2k

Med student!jaehyun, College au, Brothers best friend , home for thanksgiving

synopsis — “if you’ve been waiting for fallin’ in love, babe, you don’t have to wait on me.” (sanctuary - joji)

Boyfriend material @mochidoie

WC: 6.2k

fake dating au, strangers-to-lovers , slight angst

Although you and Jaehyun had never spoken a word to each other before this class project, he asks you to be in a fake relationship in order to prove to his longtime crush that he is boyfriend material.

Back up Valentine @tyonfs

WC: 2.9k

Spiderman!jaehyun

you don’t have any unrealistic expectations for valentine’s day considering your love life has never flourished, but the least your best friend could’ve done was not summon an intergalactic army of an alien species during your first blind date ever.

SERIES

S.C.S; ayakashi @starlightkun

WC:66.2k

heavily based off yet another otome game, ayakashi: romance reborn ; bc of this, all the lore used in here is inspired by/based on/taken from the lore of the game, not the actual lore of traditional ayakashi/yokai stories

[shy9-29]

❜ THE QUIET BETWEEN US ◟ 양정원

“sunshine x grumpy” - enhypen campus series

✘ Jungwon’s bright smile and sunny disposition make him the perfect foil to your grumpy attitude—until a sudden twist of fate forces you both to face feelings you didn’t know existed. ✉️ wc. 10.2k - pairing 양정원 x f reader (5/7)

🏷️ @kristynaaah @firstclassjaylee @chvconn3 @wonzzziezzzz @sheseung @blvengene @gvtdoll @a3r4-for3ver @sunghoon-cam @luvksnn @aaaaarmiiiiin @blckorchidd @gyulune @zerere @marimariiisblog @pinknjm @bloomiize @flwwon @ziiao @heelovver @hoomin10 @soona-huh @tricky-ritz @starniras @dearestdreamies @tkooooop @xuevkim @deluluscenarios @starboy-library @melodiessvy @steddie-steddie @i-am-not-dal @nct-sticker-127 @elimelbe @wonbinceps @tunafishyfishylike @kitty-won07 @sxie-txt

The campus café buzzed with low chatter, espresso machines hissing, and the occasional clink of cutlery. You stood stiffly by the counter, arms crossed, glaring at your brother like this was the last place on Earth you wanted to be. Which, to be fair, it was.

“This is dumb,” you mumbled. “I didn’t even ask to be introduced to anyone.”

Sunghoon, forever calm and unreadable, simply ignored your protests and nudged your shoulder. “She’s been asking to meet you.”

“Cool,” you deadpanned. “Tell her I said hi.”

But it was too late. A blur of pastel and energy bounded toward you, ponytail bouncing and cheeks flushed. She practically skidded to a stop in front of you, a smoothie in one hand and a cookie in the other.

“Hi! Oh my gosh, you must be Y/N!” she chirped, eyes wide with excitement.

You blinked, then gave Sunghoon the what the hell is this look.

He sighed, giving you a subtle nod. “Y/N, this is my girlfriend.”

She beamed. “Wow. He wasn’t kidding. You really are the same.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Same?”

“Yeah! All moody and mysterious. Like, no offense, but you two look like you walk through thunderstorms for fun,” she said, biting her cookie casually. “It’s kinda cute.”

You stared.

Sunghoon sighed. “I told you not to say that.”

“But it’s true!” she giggled, leaning against Sunghoon like he was her favorite pillow. “You even frown the same way. Look.”

She scrunched her brows, mocking your unimpressed expression. You couldn’t help it—you snorted. Just once. Barely.

She gasped. “Did I just make you laugh? Or was that a cough?”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t get used to it.”

But she didn’t seem offended. If anything, her smile grew bigger. “You’re so grumpy. I love it. You’re like a cat someone tried to dress in a tutu.”

Sunghoon let out a breathy chuckle, and you turned to glare at him, betrayed.

“She’s been like this since she got here,” he said to his girlfriend. “Moved from Busan, acts like Seoul’s a crime against humanity.”

“Because it is,” you muttered. “Too many people. Too many couples. Too much sun.”

Sunghoon’s girlfriend was practically vibrating now. “Wait—you’re from Busan? That makes so much sense. You totally have the accent when you’re mad.”

“I’m not mad.”

She grinned knowingly. “Okay.”

You looked away, sipping your drink just to have an excuse not to answer. Sunghoon watched you with that usual quiet amusement, like he was used to your walls but also knew they weren’t as tall as you pretended.

“Anyway,” his girlfriend said, pulling out her phone, “I’m putting you in the group chat. The one with the rest of the girlfriends.”

Your eyes widened. “What? No.”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow. “You should. Jay’s girlfriend is in it. So is Jake’s.”

“Oh my god, and Jungwon!” she added. “You haven’t met Jungwon yet, right? You’ll love him. He’s sunshine in human form. Literally the opposite of you. You’ll hate him. And then you’ll love him.”

You shook your head. “Please don’t.”

But she was already typing. Sunghoon looked away to hide his smile, and for a moment, you considered throwing your drink at both of them.

And yet, despite yourself… a tiny part of you didn’t hate this as much as you thought you would.

You leaned back in your chair, picking at the sleeve of your hoodie as your brother quietly scrolled through his phone. The late afternoon sun poured through the campus café windows, golden and warm, but you were too busy sulking to care.

“So,” you started, voice flat, “do all of your friends have girlfriends now or what?”

Sunghoon didn’t look up. “Pretty much.”

You scoffed. “What is this? Some campus-wide boyfriend recruitment initiative I missed?”

He side-eyed you. “You sound jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” you snapped. “I’m just… observing. Like you always do.”

He hummed, which was the closest thing to a laugh you’d get out of him. You turned slightly in your seat to catch a glimpse of his girlfriend across the café. She was chatting animatedly with Jay’s girlfriend and giggling about something that involved a lot of hand gestures. You watched her for a second—so bright, so loud, so much.

You wrinkled your nose. “What’s so special about her, anyway? She’s so loud.”

Sunghoon didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he finally looked up from his phone and met your eyes.

“That’s what I thought at first,” he said, voice quieter now, more sincere. “But… I don’t know. She’s different.”

You raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Different how?”

“She makes everything feel lighter,” he said simply. “Like I don’t have to say anything and she still gets me. She’s chaos, but somehow it makes everything clearer.”

You blinked, surprised by how genuine he sounded. He wasn’t usually the type to say much about his feelings, let alone this kind of stuff.

You scoffed again, more defensive this time, and took a loud sip of your drink. “Ugh. I don’t like seeing you when you’re in love. It’s weird. Gross. I hate it.”

Sunghoon smirked and leaned back in his chair, his gaze drifting across the café toward her again.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Me too.”

The café was bustling with soft chatter, silverware clinking, and the occasional burst of laughter. You were already halfway through your iced Americano when the bell above the door jingled.

Your eyes flicked up just in time to see a familiar face walk in—tousled hair, clean-cut uniform, a soft frown like he’d already had a long day. Jungwon.

You blinked. “Wait, is that—?”

Sunghoon’s girlfriend practically bounced out of her seat, waving him over. “Wonie! Over here!”

You turned slowly to your brother, suspicion rising in your chest. “You invited him?”

Sunghoon shook his head with a deadpan expression. “I didn’t.”

His girlfriend was already scooting over, making room next to you on the bench. Jungwon hesitated, then offered a polite nod and slid in beside you, his shoulder brushing yours.

“Hey,” he said, voice soft but clear. “Didn’t know you’d be here.”

You glanced at him, trying not to seem flustered. “Yeah, me neither.”

Sunghoon’s girlfriend leaned toward your brother and whispered into his ear with a mischievous grin, “See? Don’t they look perfect together?”

Sunghoon recoiled immediately, his whole face twisting. “I don’t wanna picture my sister and my friend together,” he muttered under his breath, disgusted.

She just giggled, clearly satisfied with herself, while Sunghoon groaned into his drink and refused to look in either of your directions.

You shifted in your seat, trying to ignore the way Jungwon’s leg brushed against yours under the table. He didn’t move away, and neither did you.

“Sorry if this is weird,” Jungwon said after a moment, glancing sideways at you, then quickly looking away. “Didn’t know they’d both plot behind our backs.”

You let out a soft scoff. “Yeah, that sounds like her.”

From across the table, Sunghoon’s girlfriend was humming to herself while stabbing a piece of cake with her fork, clearly proud of her little matchmaking scheme. Sunghoon, on the other hand, was sinking further into his seat with every passing second.

“So…” Jungwon started again, trying for casual, “how are you liking Seoul so far?”

“It’s… different,” you answered, folding your arms. “Too fast. Too loud.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, I guess it is. But not all of it’s bad, right?”

You hesitated, then shrugged. “I guess not.”

Your eyes flicked up just in time to catch your brother watching the two of you with a narrowed gaze. You raised a brow at him.

“What?” you asked, tone sharp.

He blinked. “Nothing. Just… watching you flirt.”

You nearly choked. “I’m not flirting—”

Jungwon, ever so collected, only smiled faintly and looked down at his drink, a soft pink coloring the tips of his ears.

“I swear, if you try to date one of my friends,” Sunghoon muttered, pointing a finger at you, “I will transfer schools.”

“You’re so dramatic,” you muttered under your breath.

But then you glanced back at Jungwon, who was still smiling, looking perfectly content with how the conversation was going. You couldn’t help the sarcastic edge that slipped into your voice. “Especially someone like him.”

It wasn’t meant to be as harsh as it came out. But when you saw the way his smile faltered, the subtle hurt flickering in his eyes, your heart did an unexpected twist. You hadn’t meant to hurt him—yet, there it was, hanging in the air between you.

Sunghoon nudged you roughly with his elbow, a sharp look in his eyes.

“Careful,” he warned in a low voice.

You flushed and immediately looked away, suddenly feeling guilty. Jungwon’s expression had gone unreadable, and you could practically hear the thoughts swirling in his head.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you mumbled, softening your tone, “sorry.”

Jungwon didn’t say anything right away, just gave a small nod. His usual confident demeanor was replaced with something quieter, more distant.

The tension at the table had definitely shifted, but you didn’t know how to fix it.

Sunghoon just sighed, looking between you two. “Can you two stop making it weird?” he muttered under his breath, though it was more for your benefit than anyone else’s.

His girlfriend, ever the optimist, grinned and fed him a bite of cake. “It’s okay. They’re both just shy. But they’ll work it out.”

You barely heard her, though, because your thoughts were focused on the look in Jungwon’s eyes.

Sunghoon and his girlfriend were in their own little world, laughing and exchanging little inside jokes, completely oblivious to how their playful banter was making everyone else at the table squirm.

“I swear, if you ever stop smiling like that, I’ll—” His girlfriend’s voice was light and teasing, but Sunghoon only smiled softly, clearly used to her rambles.

“You’ll what?” Sunghoon asked, nudging her playfully.

“Make you watch another one of those romantic movies you love so much,” she threatened, a bright grin lighting up her face.

“Ah, anything but that,” he teased back, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I’m practically drowning in romance.”

His girlfriend only laughed and reached over to adjust his glasses, and Sunghoon simply let her, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. The exchange was so natural, so effortlessly affectionate that it felt almost like they were living in their own bubble, too caught up in their little world to notice anyone else around them.

“Ugh, get a room, you two,” you muttered under your breath, not at all interested in hearing about how “adorable” they were being.

Jungwon chuckled awkwardly, clearly trying to steer the conversation in a different direction. “So, uh… what’s your favorite thing to do around here? Any hidden spots in the city I should know about?”

You barely looked at him, instead fiddling with the straw in your drink, the sound of Sunghoon and his girlfriend’s laughter making your ears buzz. You really didn’t feel like talking, not when the couple next to you was being so… couple-y.

You shrugged, keeping your gaze fixed firmly on the table. “I don’t know. Just the usual stuff. I’m not really one for sightseeing.”

Jungwon pressed on, clearly not giving up yet. “But surely there’s something fun you’ve found? You seem like you’d know the best places to hang out.”

You let out a small, dismissive sigh, leaning back in your chair. “I’m really not interested in showing you around, Jungwon.”

Sunghoon’s girlfriend was still on her own tangent, going on about something utterly trivial while Sunghoon nodded along, his smile barely faltering as he glanced back at you and Jungwon.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Y/N? You’re being awfully quiet today,” she said in her bright, ever-optimistic voice.

You tried to force a smile, but it was tight, and you could feel your irritation simmering just under the surface. “I’m fine,” you muttered. “Just… tired.”

Jungwon seemed a bit taken aback by your mood but didn’t press it further, instead focusing back on his drink. Meanwhile, Sunghoon and his girlfriend were still wrapped up in their own bubble of cute moments, exchanging playful glances and quiet words that only seemed to make the atmosphere feel even more suffocating.

You didn’t understand how they could be so effortlessly happy, so comfortable with each other. Sunghoon was always so calm, so distant to everyone, but with her, he was… different.

“Don’t you think they’re a bit much?” you muttered under your breath, barely audible, but enough for Jungwon to hear.

Jungwon hesitated, looking between you and the couple before shrugging. “Maybe,” he said carefully, “but if they’re happy, then what’s the harm?”

“Right,” you muttered, trying to hide the bitterness creeping into your voice. “Good for them.”

Jungwon gave you a sideways glance, his smile a little more unsure now. “You seem really upset. Want to talk about it?”

You shook your head, feeling the discomfort in your chest grow. “No. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Jungwon seemed to understand that you weren’t in the mood for more conversation, but his quiet attempts to make small talk were starting to feel more forced as the minutes dragged on. Meanwhile, Sunghoon and his girlfriend’s voices only grew louder, completely lost in their own happiness as they continued their affectionate back-and-forth.

You felt a twinge of jealousy. You hadn’t been able to experience that kind of closeness or affection with anyone—certainly not with Jungwon, and not with anyone else before. It irritated you how easily Sunghoon seemed to slip into that comfortable, happy state with his girlfriend, making you wonder if you could ever find something like that yourself.

But for now, you were stuck here, watching them, and avoiding any attempts at real conversation from Jungwon.

As Sunghoon and his girlfriend stood up from the bench, her hands instinctively finding his as they gathered their stuff, she glanced one more time at where you and Jungwon sat—him politely sipping his drink, you staring pointedly at anything that wasn’t him.

“We should get going,” she murmured to Sunghoon. “Didn’t you say you had that meeting thing later?”

Sunghoon nodded, throwing one last glance toward you before gently tugging his girlfriend toward the exit. The two of them walked side by side down the garden path, the sunlight catching in her hair and the breeze tugging at the sleeves of Sunghoon’s hoodie.

Once they were a little out of earshot, his girlfriend turned to him, voice low and curious. “So… is your sister always like that?”

Sunghoon sighed through his nose, glancing over his shoulder before answering. “Yeah. Especially around people who are in love.”

His girlfriend blinked, then tilted her head, genuinely concerned. “Why? Is she, like… bitter about it or something?”

Sunghoon hesitated, then leaned closer, lowering his voice. “I’m not really supposed to be telling you this,” he muttered. “But someone she really loved cheated on her. Like, full-on betrayed her. She’s never really been the same after that.”

His girlfriend’s eyes softened. “Oh…”

“And the other half of it?” he added, smiling faintly. “She’s like me. She keeps things in. But instead of being quiet and polite about it, she turns into a little grump.”

They both laughed softly at that, their steps in sync as they neared the sidewalk.

“But I mean…” she nudged him lightly, a playful glint in her eye. “What about Jungwon? I don’t know—don’t they look kinda cute together?”

Sunghoon groaned immediately, dragging a hand over his face. “Babe, please. I don’t wanna hear it.”

“What?” she laughed, looping her arm through his. “I’m just saying! Come on, they just met, but—”

“They just met in person today,” he emphasized. “They don’t even��know each other.”

“Exactly! That’s how it starts!”

Sunghoon gave her a dry look. “You’re lucky I like you.”

She giggled and leaned up to kiss his cheek. “I know. And I know love when I see it, Hoon. Trust me.”

He rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth betrayed him with the slightest upward tug. “Just don’t play matchmaker. I don’t think either of them would survive it.”

“Noted,” she grinned. “But if they fall in love on their own, I will say ‘I told you so.’”

Sunghoon groaned again, tugging her along as they disappeared down the street. First day of school and you already wanted to go home.

Everything about the campus felt off—too bright, too noisy, too… full of people smiling for no reason. Sunghoon’s girlfriend had insisted on showing you around, practically skipping through the corridors like this was her favorite place in the world. You trailed behind her like a raincloud, unimpressed by every building she pointed out.

“And this is the student center! Oh, and that’s the little garden where Sunghoon and I first—”

“Don’t care,” you muttered, eyes flicking away.

She just laughed, clearly used to your deadpan tone by now. “You’re going to love it here. Promise.”

You already knew you wouldn’t.

By lunch, you were desperately scanning the cafeteria for any possible corner to disappear into. You even spotted an empty table by the window—peace, solitude, the dream. But before you could escape, Sunghoon materialized out of nowhere and threw an arm around your shoulder.

“C’mon,” he said flatly. “Sit with us.”

“I’d rather swallow a fork.”

His grip tightened just slightly. “Let’s go.”

So now you were here, wedged between your brother and an empty chair, staring blankly at the loudest table on campus. Jake and his girlfriend were whispering and giggling over some inside joke. Jay’s girlfriend was mid-rant about something academic while Jay leaned back smugly, looking like he invented confidence. Heeseung was playfully bickering with his girlfriend over bubble tea flavors. Jungwon sat across from you, awkward and quiet, stealing glances your way like he wasn’t sure if you’d bite.

You glanced sideways at Sunghoon.

He glanced at you.

Same expression. Blank. Mildly judging. Deeply unimpressed.

The only sound from your side of the table was the soft tap of chopsticks and synchronized sighs.

Sunoo blinked at the two of you from across the table and dramatically clutched his chest.

“Oh my god,” he gasped. “That’s actually kind of terrifying. You two look like serial killers at brunch.”

Jake snorted into his drink. “No, for real. Why are y’all staring like that?”

Sunghoon answered without even blinking. “We’re trying to understand how you all function.”

You didn’t say anything. Just raised a brow, slowly picking at your food.

Jungwon coughed into his hand. “So… do you like the school so far?”

You didn’t even bother looking at him. “No.”

Silence fell over that end of the table while everyone else resumed their conversations. You and Sunghoon returned to your synchronized eating and judging.

Sunoo whispered to Jake, “This is my favorite horror movie.”

Jake nodded. “Same.”

Jungwon tried again.

“So, um…” he said, shifting a little in his seat. “What did you study back in Busan?”

You didn’t even lift your head. “Stuff.”

Sunghoon barely held in a snort beside you, and Jungwon let out a quiet breath like he’d just been elbowed in the ribs.

Jake, ever the peacekeeper, tried to help. “She’s just shy, bro. Takes a while to warm up.”

“I’m not shy,” you muttered. “I just don’t feel like talking.”

Sunoo’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “She’s like if Wednesday Addams and a sleep-deprived cat had a baby.”

You finally looked up at him with the blankest stare you could muster. “I will replace your shampoo with glue.”

Sunoo gasped, scandalized. “Sunghoon, your sister threatened me!”

“She does that,” he said calmly, sipping from his drink.

Meanwhile, Sunghoon’s girlfriend was busy telling Heeseung’s girlfriend about a new nail salon when her gaze flicked to you and Jungwon again. She nudged Sunghoon under the table.

He blinked. “No.”

“You didn’t even hear what I was going to say.”

“Yes, I did. And it’s still no.”

“They’d be so cute together!”

“No.”

“You’re so grumpy sometimes,” she huffed, crossing her arms.

“You’re just loud,” he muttered.

“I heard that!”

You rolled your eyes and shoved a fry into your mouth just as Jungwon finally stopped trying to talk. He tapped nervously at his tray, eyes flicking down to his food. You could feel his awkwardness radiating in waves.

And you hated how it made your chest tighten a little.

The table broke into laughter at something Jake said, and you just sat there in the calm middle of it all—quiet, grumpy, unimpressed. But for the first time that day, you weren’t desperate to leave.

Which was weird. But maybe you could blame it on the way Jungwon kept sneaking glances your way.

Even if you didn’t return them. Yet.

Jungwon had that look again. The one that made you want to throw a pillow at his face and storm out of the room for no reason other than how… bright he was.

“Let’s go camping,” he said, plopping down on the couch next to where you were curled up, minding your own business with a book you were only half-reading. “Like a group trip. All of us.”

You blinked at him, slowly. “Why would I voluntarily spend a weekend in the woods with mosquitoes, uneven ground, and people?”

He grinned, undeterred. “Because it’s fun. And because you clearly need to loosen up a little.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Excuse me?”

“You’re always cooped up in your dorm or hiding behind Sunghoon or glaring at everyone during lunch,” he said matter-of-factly, like he hadn’t just signed his own death warrant. “It wouldn’t kill you to try being part of the group.”

Sunghoon, from the kitchen, muttered, “She only goes to lunch because I drag her there.”

“Exactly my point!” Jungwon exclaimed, pointing at your brother like he’d just proven something. “C’mon, Y/N. It’ll be nice. Campfire, s’mores, nature… friends.”

You stared at him. That smile of his, the one that curved just a little more on the right side, the soft crinkles at the corners of his eyes, the way he was so annoyingly earnest—it made something in your chest itch.

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“You can bring a portable fan and three cans of bug spray. I’ll even carry your stuff.”

“I said no.”

He tilted his head. “Are you scared you’ll actually have a good time?”

You shut your book with a snap. “You’re insufferable.”

“I’ll take that as a maybe.”

“You’ll take it as a no.”

“Sunoo’s going.”

You hesitated.

“And Jake. And Jay. And Sunghoon and his girlfriend. Heeseung and his girlfriend said they’ll come if there’s a real bathroom.”

You looked at him, unimpressed. “You planned this already.”

Jungwon smiled, victorious. “I had faith.”

You sighed, long and dramatic, flopping back against the couch. “Fine. I’ll go. Just to get you off my back.”

“Yay!” he said, like you’d just agreed to world peace.

“But if there’s a single spider—one—I’m leaving.”

He held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

“You’ve never been a scout.”

“Still counts.”

You rolled your eyes, but a small, reluctant smile tugged at your lips when he wasn’t looking.

Spring break hit with the kind of anticipation that had the entire campus buzzing. People were packing bags, coordinating snack lists, fighting over which playlist to use for the drive. It was chaos—in a way that made you want to crawl back under your blankets and pretend the world didn’t exist. But unfortunately, Jungwon’s persistence and your impulsive “Fine, I’ll go” had landed you a spot on this cursed trip.

Everyone was gathered in front of the parking lot early that morning, chattering, yawning, stretching. The two rented vans were parked side by side, engines rumbling quietly as everyone shuffled around trying to load their bags.

You crossed your arms and looked up at Sunghoon. “I’m riding in your van.”

He barely looked up from where he was loading his girlfriend’s duffel into the trunk. “No, you’re not.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

He finally turned to face you, already exasperated. “Y/N, we’re each sharing a van with our girlfriends.”

You gestured to yourself, deadpan. “I am your sister.”

“Not the same thing.”

“You’re telling me you’d rather spend three hours crammed in a van with Jake and Sunoo talking about anime character types while your girlfriend sings along to every song off key—”

“Yes.”

You scowled. “Wow. What happened to blood being thicker than water?”

His girlfriend popped her head out from the side of the van, smile already in place. “Don’t worry, Y/N! I already packed snacks for you and I think you’re with Jungwon anyway.”

“What?”

Jungwon appeared behind you like some overly peppy ghost. “Morning! I put your bag in our van already. We’ve got good air conditioning, just saying.”

You turned to glare at him. “You what?”

Sunoo clapped dramatically from a few feet away. “Ooooh, you’re sharing with Jungwon? This is either the start of a rom-com or a disaster film.”

“I vote disaster,” you muttered under your breath.

Sunghoon gave your shoulder a pat as he slid into the driver’s seat. “Try not to murder anyone.”

You huffed, trudging toward the second van where Jungwon was already opening your door like some boy-next-door prince. He even had a thermos in hand—probably green tea or some healthy crap. You didn’t ask.

“I didn’t agree to share a van with you,” you grumbled, climbing in.

Jungwon just buckled in and smiled. “Well, you didn’t not agree either.”

You stared out the window, jaw tight. This trip was already feeling too long… and the engine hadn’t even started yet.

The vans were all packed, the skies were mostly clear, and it almost felt like things were going to go according to plan. Keyword: almost.

Jake stood beside Van 1, arms crossed, lips pursed as he eyed the group assignments one last time. “Okay, but I still think it’s a terrible idea to put Heeseung and Jay in the same van.”

Jay’s girlfriend, ever the chaos advocate, waved her hand dismissively. “They need to make up. This is the perfect chance. Think of it as forced bonding.”

Heeseung snorted from behind her. “More like forced suffering.”

Sunoo popped his head up from the back of Van 1, cheeks stuffed with snacks. “Can I switch vans? I’ll go with Jungwon and Y/N. I’m great company!”

“No,” you and Jungwon both said at the exact same time.

Sunoo blinked, then smirked. “Wow. Okay. Guess I’ll just keep my charisma to myself.”

You shot Jungwon a glare, but he was already climbing into the driver’s seat of your van—Van 3, aka the loner van. AKA you and him, stuck together for a few hours while the rest of your brother’s chaotic group pretended to function like normal humans.

You didn’t even have time to say goodbye to Sunghoon before Jungwon was already pulling out of the parking lot.

The ride started out in silence. Then music. Then more silence.

It was about twenty minutes into the drive when Jungwon finally broke the quiet.

“So… you probably feel a little out of place, huh?” he said, keeping his eyes on the road.

You shrugged, arms crossed. “You think?”

He chuckled. “Okay, fair. I just mean… they’re a lot to take in.”

“You don’t say.”

“Well,” he said, shifting in his seat, “you’ve probably figured out who’s dating who, right?”

“I’m not blind.”

“Alright. So Van 1—Sunghoon, Jake, their girlfriends, and Sunoo. The stable van.”

You raised a brow. “Sunoo’s the stability?”

“Don’t underestimate Sunoo,” Jungwon said seriously. “He knows everything. I’m pretty sure he could run this school if he wanted to.”

You snorted. “Next.”

“Van 2,” Jungwon said with a grin. “The drama van. Jay, Heeseung, their girlfriends. Basically a soap opera on wheels.”

You glanced at him. “Why? What happened?”

He glanced sideways, then said, “Well… Jay and Heeseung used to be close, until Jay kissed Heeseung’s girlfriend.”

Your jaw dropped.

“Twice,” Jungwon added helpfully. “Once before she and Heeseung were dating, and once after. But Jay swears she kissed him the second time, and she admits to it, but Heeseung won’t let it go.”

You blinked. “And now Jay is dating someone else?”

“Oh yeah. She’s just as chaotic as he is. They’re the perfect match. But she’s also childhood best friends with Heeseung, so it’s awkward all around.”

“Yikes.”

He nodded. “Exactly. That’s why Jake wanted to separate them. But Jay’s girlfriend was like ‘they need to make up’ and dragged them into the same van anyway.”

You let out a low whistle. “No wonder Sunoo wanted to escape.”

Jungwon laughed, and the air settled into something a little more comfortable after that. He explained more as the road wound on—tiny dramas, moments of laughter, stories you’d missed being the new one in the group.

But about an hour in, things took a turn.

The sky darkened suddenly, clouds rolling in like something out of a horror movie. The rain started slowly—just a patter on the windshield—but quickly turned heavy, pelting down so hard Jungwon had to slow to a crawl.

“Uh,” you said, glancing out the fogged window, “should we… pull over?”

“We’re almost at the rest stop,” Jungwon muttered, eyes squinting against the blur. “Just a few more minutes—”

Thud.

The van jolted.

You both froze.

“…Please tell me that wasn’t a tire,” you whispered.

Jungwon sighed, already pulling over. “That was a tire.”

He hopped out into the rain, grabbing his jacket as the wind howled. You stayed in the van, cold seeping into your skin even as the heater ran.

Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen. Then twenty. Finally, he ducked back inside, soaked and shivering.

“It’s too dark,” he muttered. “I can’t see anything, and my phone’s got no signal. We’ll have to wait till morning.”

You stared at him. “You’re telling me we’re stuck here? In a van? In the middle of nowhere? Alone?”

He looked sheepish. “Pretty much.”

You sat back, heart racing.

And for the first time that day, you were truly terrified.

You were shaken. Even though you sat with your arms folded tightly across your chest, eyes glued to the pitch-black forest outside the rain-speckled window, your body was stiff—too still. You didn’t say anything, didn’t make a sound, but Jungwon noticed. He always noticed.

Without a word, he shifted beside you in the front seat of the van, then gently wrapped an arm around your shoulders. His touch wasn’t overbearing or awkward. It was quiet, like him. Patient. Warm.

“You’re not okay,” he murmured.

“I’m fine,” you muttered.

“You’re lying.”

You didn’t argue, because he wasn’t wrong. But you didn’t respond either.

A silence stretched between you, filled only by the steady tapping of rain on the windshield and the occasional creak of the van shifting under the wind. The dark had settled in deep now, wrapping around the vehicle like a second skin.

“I hate being stuck,” you finally said, your voice low. “I hate not knowing what’s going to happen. I hate not having a signal, not knowing where we are—feeling like I’m not in control.”

Jungwon gave your shoulder a soft squeeze. “Yeah… I figured.”

You fell silent again, until he nudged you gently and said, “Okay. Tell me something your brother did that was so extroverted and humiliating that no one else besides you knows about it.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“Come on. Distract yourself. Something Sunghoon did. Spill.”

A reluctant laugh slipped out of you, and Jungwon’s grin widened.

“He once got on stage during orientation week and did a full dance cover of Love Divebecause someone dared him,” you mumbled. “And he actually nailed it.”

“Love Dive? Seriously?” Jungwon tried to suppress a laugh, and failed. “No way.”

“He practiced for three days. I have a video.”

He let out a sharp breath of laughter and leaned his head back against the seat. “Okay, yeah, that helped. I’m feeling better already.”

You smiled, just barely, the tension starting to melt off your shoulders. You almost forgot about the storm outside, the flat tire, the cold. Almost.

Until a sharp crack of thunder split through the sky.

You jumped—physically flinched—and before you could stop yourself, you scooted closer to Jungwon, pressing into his side like instinct. His arm immediately tightened around you, steadying, grounding.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, softer this time. “You’re okay.”

And somehow, sitting there with him in the dark, you believed it.

After a while, the front seats of the van started to feel cold and cramped, and Jungwon, sensing your growing discomfort, suggested quietly, “We can pull out the bed in the back… might be warmer there.”

You didn’t answer, but you nodded, following him as he climbed out of the front. He moved slowly, giving you space but also staying close enough to reach if you needed him. Together, you helped tug the folded bed out from its compartment, laying it flat and spreading one of the extra blankets over it.

You sat beside him on the makeshift mattress, legs tucked underneath you, hands buried in your sleeves. The van wasn’t exactly spacious, but the bed was wide enough to sit shoulder-to-shoulder without brushing—barely.

The rain still drummed steadily on the roof, creating a rhythm that was both soothing and unnerving. You hated storms. Always had.

Then, like the sky had waited for your guard to come down, lightning struck again. Closer this time—followed by a crack so loud the whole van seemed to rattle. You gasped sharply and before you even knew what you were doing, you threw yourself toward Jungwon.

Your hands gripped his hoodie, your body curling into his lap as if you could disappear there, your breath coming in short, panicked puffs. You hated this—how vulnerable you suddenly felt, how raw and open your fear was—but your body didn’t listen to your pride. It just needed safety. Warmth. Him.

Jungwon didn’t say a word. He didn’t tease, didn’t even shift awkwardly. His arms came around you immediately, holding you close like he’d done this a thousand times before. One hand rubbed gentle, soothing circles into your back while the other rested lightly on the back of your head.

Then you started crying.

Not the messy, heaving sobs you’d always imagined people cried when breaking down—but the quiet kind. The kind that slipped down your cheeks without permission, burning and soft. You couldn’t remember the last time you cried in front of someone else.

“I hate this,” you whispered into his hoodie. “I hate feeling like this.”

“I know,” he whispered back. “But you don’t have to pretend with me, okay? Just for tonight… it’s okay to be scared.”

You don’t know how long you stayed like that—wrapped in Jungwon’s arms, eyes closed against the world, tears drying slowly. The storm eventually began to calm. The thunder faded to distant rumbles, and the rain softened into a drizzle.

Then, with an almost comical sputter, the van’s power flickered back on. The dashboard lights glowed faintly. The heater whirred to life. And just like that, reality came rushing back in.

You blinked and pulled away slowly, only to freeze as you realized where you were: practically curled in Jungwon’s lap, your arms still wrapped around him, your cheek resting against his chest.

You moved quickly, almost too quickly, scooting back and wiping your face with your sleeve. The silence that followed was heavy—awkward and thick and way too loud now that the storm had passed.

“I—sorry,” you mumbled, avoiding his eyes. “That was… a lot.”

Jungwon shifted too, but not far. “It’s okay,” he said softly. “Really.”

But you didn’t know how to feel. You weren’t used to people seeing you like that. Especially not someone like him.

And now, sitting side by side in the faint light, with your tears still damp on your skin and the ghost of his touch lingering on your back, you suddenly weren’t sure what scared you more—the storm outside… or the one happening inside you.

The rain had finally stopped, but that didn’t mean you were out of the woods. Literally.

It was 2:07 AM, and the van was still parked on the side of some empty, winding road surrounded by nothing but trees and thick silence. The air inside was warmer now thanks to the heater, but that didn’t fix the flat tire—or the awkwardness hanging heavy between you and Jungwon after what had just happened.

You sat cross-legged on the bed, facing the window, pretending to be way more interested in the foggy glass than the fact that you were very much aware of Jungwon’s presence just a few feet behind you. He was still sitting up against the back of the van, legs stretched out, fiddling absently with the zipper on his jacket.

Neither of you had spoken much since the power came back on. A few quiet “you okay?”s and mumbled “yeah”s, but beyond that? Just tension.

He glanced over at you for what felt like the hundredth time. “So… uh. Still no signal.”

“Shocker,” you muttered, not turning around.

“We’ll fix the tire at sunrise. I can’t see anything in the dark without messing it up more.”

“Mhm.”

Silence again.

You hated this. Not just the situation, but how… exposed you still felt. You hadn’t meant to cry in front of him. You hadn’t meant to let him hold you. And now, it was like that moment had cracked something open, and you didn’t know how to patch it back up.

Jungwon cleared his throat. “Do you want the bed to yourself? I can sleep sitting up or something.”

“No. It’s fine.”

“You sure?”

You finally turned to face him, eyes meeting his. “Can you just… not make it a thing?”

He blinked. “What?”

“Earlier. The crying. The whole… mess. Just don’t make it a thing, okay? I don’t need you looking at me like I’m fragile now.”

Jungwon’s expression softened. “I don’t think you’re fragile. I think you’re human.”

You rolled your eyes, turning back toward the window. “Great. Even worse.”

He let out a quiet laugh, barely audible. “You know, for someone who pretends not to care about people, you sure care a lot about what I think.”

Your lips pressed into a tight line. He wasn’t wrong—but you weren’t about to admit that.

“It’s late,” you said instead. “We should try to sleep.”

You heard him shift behind you, and then the quiet rustle of blankets as he laid down on the far side of the bed, careful to leave space between you.

But even with the silence returning and your body exhausted, sleep didn’t come easy. Not when your brain was still replaying the way his arms had felt around you. Not when every beat of the clock brought you closer to morning—and whatever would come after this strange, vulnerable night you never meant to share.

The hours ticked by slowly, stretching the night into something that felt endless.

The space between you and Jungwon wasn’t very big. The bed was narrow, the van cold despite the heater humming faintly, and somewhere between turning to face the wall and trying to ignore how your thoughts spiraled, you realized you weren’t sleeping at all. Neither was he.

You could tell by the way he shifted every few minutes, quietly clearing his throat or sighing like he was trying not to seem restless. Finally, at around 3:15 AM, his voice cut through the stillness—soft, careful.

“Hey.”

You turned your head slightly. “What?”

“Can I ask you something?”

You hesitated. “…Yeah.”

“When you said you’re scared of being emotionally dependent on people… was that about someone specific?”

You stared at the ceiling. You weren’t sure why your chest tightened at the question. Maybe because you’d let that confession slip too easily earlier. Maybe because this was the first time someone actually followed up instead of brushing it off.

You swallowed. “Not just one person. More like… a pattern.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, gently: “Like what?”

“Like I used to trust people. I’d let them in, even when it hurt. And each time, it ended with me being the only one trying to fix things.” You paused, fingers curling slightly into the blanket. “At some point, I just stopped trying.”

Jungwon shifted closer—not enough to touch, but enough to feel it.

“I’m not trying to ‘fix’ you,” he said quietly. “I just want to understand you.”

Your breath hitched slightly.

“And I know you don’t like being seen,” he added, almost like an afterthought. “But you don’t have to hide around me.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. So you didn’t say anything.

Instead, you turned your body slightly toward him. Not enough to close the distance completely—but enough that he’d know you weren’t shutting him out.

Minutes passed in silence again. But it wasn’t awkward anymore.

At 4:00 AM, the sky outside started to shift, a faint grey creeping into the edges of the horizon. You were still awake, and so was he.

Jungwon sat up first, running a hand through his hair. “It’s almost light enough. I’ll check the tire.”

You nodded sleepily, rubbing your eyes. “Okay. I’ll… come with you?”

He turned back to look at you, his gaze soft but steady. “Only if you want to.”

You gave a small nod, pulling the blanket tighter around you for a second before kicking it off and sliding off the bed.

It was quiet again, but something had changed between you—like a wire had loosened. Maybe things wouldn’t go back to the way they were. Maybe you didn’t want them to.

The air was crisp when you stepped out of the van, the ground still damp from the night before. Dew clung to the grass and your shoes squelched lightly against the earth, but the storm had passed. A faint mist curled in the distance, and the sun hadn’t quite broken over the trees yet—just a soft blue-gray glow painted the horizon.

Jungwon crouched by the flat tire, flashlight wedged under his arm as he examined it. You stood beside him with your arms crossed tightly, partly from the chill and partly because… well, what else were you supposed to do? Last night had been—something. Too much, maybe. And even though he hadn’t brought it up, you could feel the weight of it still lingering between you.

“Looks like it’ll hold until we get to a service station,” he muttered, brushing his hands off on his jeans. “I just need to switch it out with the spare.”

“Need help?” you offered, voice still hoarse from barely sleeping.

He looked up at you and smiled—not that smug, teasing smile he usually wore around you, but something small and warm. “You offering to actually help me instead of glaring at me? Must be a special day.”

You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched. “Don’t push it.”

Still, you knelt beside him and passed him tools when he asked, watching him work quickly and efficiently. By the time the spare tire was secured and you were both sitting on the bumper catching your breath, the sun had finally peeked through the trees.

“Thanks,” Jungwon said quietly.

You glanced over. “For what?”

“For… trusting me,” he said. “Even a little.”

You looked away, watching your breath fog in the cool morning air. “Don’t get used to it.”

He chuckled, not pushing further. “Okay.”

Another pause, then he added, “Do you think they noticed we were gone?”

You groaned. “Probably.”

Jungwon smirked. “Should we lie and say we were attacked by bears?”

You gave him a flat look. “That’s so specific.”

He shrugged. “You never know. Might make us more interesting.”

“You’re already interesting,” you said before you could stop yourself.

You both blinked.

Silence.

“…Forget I said that,” you mumbled, turning away.

But Jungwon was smiling again—bright, proud, but not teasing this time. “Too late.”

And when you both climbed back into the van and started the engine, there was still silence—but it was softer now, like a thread connecting the two of you had finally begun to tie itself together. Not forced. Not rushed. Just… a start.

The campsite buzzed with the sounds of life when you and Jungwon finally pulled in. Laughter echoed through the trees, smoke curled lazily from a fire pit where someone was trying to get breakfast started, and Jake was playing some acoustic guitar on a log while his girlfriend swayed beside him.

You had barely stepped out of the van, stretching your stiff limbs, when Sunoo boltedacross the campsite like a heat-seeking missile.

“Oh. My. God,” he gasped, eyes bouncing between you and Jungwon. “You guys were gone all night. ALL NIGHT. I swear to God, if this is a slow-burn friends-to-lovers enemies-to-lovers surprise-romance situation and you didn’t tell me, I’m going to explode.”

You blinked. “What—”

“Did you guys fuck?” Sunoo blurted, voice way too loud.

Everyone turned.

Jungwon nearly choked on air. “SUNOO!”

You grabbed the nearest camping chair and flung a towel over your face. “We did NOT!”

“Well,” Sunoo huffed, crossing his arms. “With that much chemistry, I’m just saying—”

“Sunoo,” you gritted out through clenched teeth.

He raised his hands in surrender. “Fine, fine, I’ll stop. For now.” But the sparkle in his eyes said he absolutely would not be letting it go.

While you tried to pretend you didn’t just become the headline of the group’s gossip board, Jungwon drifted over to the edge of the campsite where Sunghoon was helping his girlfriend unload a cooler from the car.

Sunghoon noticed him coming and immediately groaned. “No.”

Jungwon blinked. “No what?”

“No to whatever you’re about to say.”

“I didn’t even say anything yet,” Jungwon said, exasperated. “I just—look, I really like your sister.”

“Ew.” Sunghoon looked genuinely distressed. “Ew, stop. Go away.”

“I’m serious,” Jungwon said, trying to keep his voice low and calm. “I’m not messing with her. I just… I want your blessing to ask her out.”

Sunghoon paused. Stared. Then deadpanned, “No.”

Jungwon nodded slowly, lips twitching. “Okay. Well… I actually don’t need your blessing. I was just being polite.”

Sunghoon stared harder. “You little—”

But his girlfriend came up behind him, slipping her arms around his waist and whispering something into his ear. He grumbled under his breath, scowled at Jungwon one more time, and then turned away.

Which Jungwon took as his cue to walk off, hiding the satisfied smirk on his face.

You, meanwhile, were still dodging Sunoo’s very detailed reenactment of how he imagined the night went down.

Yeah. Spring break was off to a great start.

The rest of the day moved in a weird haze of tension and pretending like the night before hadn’t happened.

You avoided Jungwon. Not in a dramatic way—just enough that you didn’t have to look at him for too long. Just enough that when he laughed with the others by the fire, your eyes would skip past him like he was just another log in the pile. Just enough that every time he glanced your way, you quickly turned back to your marshmallow, pretending to be way too focused on roasting it to golden-brown perfection.

Sunoo didn’t make it any easier.

“You know,” he said, flopping down beside you with a very loud crunch of gravel, “for someone who didn’t do anything, you two are acting real suspicious.”

“Sunoo,” you warned, “if you say one more thing—”

“I’m just saying!” He threw up his hands dramatically. “If I were trapped in a van during a thunderstorm with someone as emotionally constipated as Jungwon, I’d cry too.”

You shoved his shoulder lightly, but the corner of your mouth twitched upward.

Meanwhile, across the fire, Jungwon was deep in conversation with Jay’s girlfriend, who was nodding enthusiastically while pointing toward a picnic table. He looked more relaxed now, laughing softly, shaking his head at something she said.

And still, he glanced over at you.

Again.

You turned away, heart twisting a little.

When the sun began to dip, casting streaks of orange and pink across the sky, someone suggested games. Charades. Then Uno. Then some weird camping version of spin the bottle that you absolutely refused to play.

Heeseung and his girlfriend were the first ones to bow out, heading toward their tent after a playful argument about who knows what. Jay and his girlfriend were in their own world, laughing so loudly it echoed through the trees. Jake and his girlfriend cuddling by the fire. Sunghoon was trying to keep his girlfriend from jumping into the lake at night.

And you?

You were sitting beside Sunoo again, who had finally—finally—gone quiet, head resting on your shoulder as he dozed off.

That’s when Jungwon walked up.

His voice was quiet. “Can we talk?”

You didn’t move at first. Just stared at the fire.

Then slowly, you stood. Gently nudging Sunoo off you, you followed Jungwon toward the edge of the clearing, just far enough away to not be overheard, just close enough to still feel the warmth of the group.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “So… are we just gonna pretend last night didn’t happen?”

You swallowed. “I don’t know.”

“I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable,” he said softly. “That wasn’t— I just knew you were scared. I didn’t want you to feel like you had to hold it all in.”

You looked away. “I don’t want to be someone’s challenge.”

“You’re not,” he said quickly. “I swear, you’re not. I don’t want to fix you. I just… I like you. Grumpiness and all. You don’t have to act okay around me. I’d rather have you yell at me and mean it than smile and fake it.”

Your eyes met his. He looked… honest.

It scared you.

So you said the first thing that came to mind. “Sunghoon’s gonna kill you.”

Jungwon smiled. “He already tried.”

You didn’t smile back—yet—but the corners of your lips twitched.

After the camping trip, everything seemed fine at first. The days passed, and you and Jungwon were a little less awkward around each other. You both would talk here and there, but it wasn’t like before—when you could barely stand being in the same room without pretending to not notice his gaze. It was comfortable in a way, like the distance between the two of you had shrunk a little.

The trip had brought something out of you that you hadn’t been ready for, but at least it wasn’t as terrible as you thought it would be. You’d even laughed a few times, exchanged some stories, and you might’ve even caught yourself smiling—genuinely smiling—when he said something funny.

But as soon as you heard it, it felt like all the progress you had made came crashing down around you.

You were in the common room of your dorm, just finishing a group project, when you overheard a conversation between Jungwon and Sunoo.

“I think I’m finally getting through to her,” Jungwon said, his voice lighter than it had been the past few days. “She’s not as cold as she used to be.”

Sunoo’s voice responded, teasing. “Well, it’s about time. She’s hard to crack, but you’ve got this.”

Your heart sank. The words hit harder than you expected. It was a stupid thing to be hurt over, but it felt like you were just a project to him. Another challenge to overcome. Just another box to check off, another thing to fix. Like you were something he needed to conquer and not someone he was genuinely trying to understand.

You thought you had found something real in the small, quiet moments between the two of you—when he’d make you laugh, or when you’d share stories that made you feel a little less like a closed-off puzzle. But now, it all felt fake. You weren’t a challenge. You weren’t his damn project. And maybe, just maybe, that’s what had made you start pulling away in the first place. You weren’t ready to be the thing he worked on. Not when it felt like you were just part of his “I need to fix you” list.

You turned away quickly, trying to push the sting out of your chest as you grabbed your things and walked to your room. The tightness in your chest only grew as you closed the door behind you. You didn’t even give yourself a second to think before you did it: you took your phone out and deleted his number.

You couldn’t look at it anymore. Couldn’t keep seeing his name lighting up your screen. You stopped answering his texts. Ignored his calls. Every notification from him felt like a weight on your shoulders, reminding you that you were just another challenge, just another project to him.

And as much as you hated it, you did the same with everyone else. You didn’t reply to Sunghoon’s texts about your plans for the day, didn’t show up for the usual hangouts with your brother and his friends. You couldn’t bear the idea of seeing them and having them ask where Jungwon was. Where things stood. You didn’t want to answer any of their questions. You didn’t want to be reminded that you had let yourself fall for someone who had probably never taken you seriously.

You didn’t even bother showing up to the study sessions anymore. Every day felt like it was getting harder to keep pretending everything was fine when your mind was so tangled with anger and confusion.

Spring break ended, and with it, the brief but quiet connection you had with Jungwon. He was busy now, the semester starting again. But even as the first day of uni came, you found yourself missing the comfort of those small moments. The awkwardness. The laughs. His presence. But it was too late now. It didn’t matter.

At least that’s what you told yourself every time you ignored his message or silenced his call. 

You hadn’t expected Sunghoon to show up at your dorm. Not with his hoodie half-on and a scowl already forming between his brows. He didn’t say anything at first, just stepped inside like he owned the place and dropped his bag on your bed with a thud.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked, not accusing—just concerned. And that somehow made it worse.

You didn’t mean to say it, not right away. But it all came spilling out anyway. The overheard conversation. The words Jungwon had said. The way it felt like you’d been nothing more than a challenge to him. Something to break through and fix. The way you hated how it hurt.

Sunghoon sat through the whole thing, jaw clenching tighter with every word you said. When you finally fell quiet, his hands were already fisted at his sides.

“He said what?” he snapped, already standing. “That idiot. I swear—”

“Hoon, don’t—” you started, but he was already out the door.

It didn’t take long for him to find Jungwon. He always had a radar for people he wanted to scold.

Jungwon blinked when he saw Sunghoon marching toward him across the quad, his voice sharp before he even fully reached him. “What the hell did you say to her?”

Jungwon’s face fell. “Wait, she heard that?”

“Oh, so you did say it.” Sunghoon’s eyes narrowed.

“It’s not what it sounds like,” Jungwon said quickly. “I didn’t mean it like that. I wasn’t trying to say she was a challenge—God, no. I was telling Sunoo that I finally felt like she was starting to trust me. I was happy. I wasn’t—”

Sunghoon didn’t look convinced.

“I like her,” Jungwon said, more firmly now. “Not because she’s hard to read, not because she’s a mystery or whatever. I like her because… she makes everything make sense. She’s quiet, but when she talks, it matters. And when she looks at me like I’m not completely annoying, it makes my day.”

Sunghoon exhaled and rubbed a hand down his face. “Just fix it. And don’t make her cry again. I mean it.”

Later that evening, there was a knock at your dorm door.

You weren’t going to answer it—until you heard his voice, low and quiet.

“It’s me.”

You opened the door a crack. Jungwon stood there holding your favorite snack in one hand, and in the other, a worn-out poetry book you had mentioned once when you were half-asleep in the van during the camping trip.

“I know you’re mad,” he said softly. “But can I come in? Just for a second?”

You let the door swing open.

He stepped inside, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. “I’m sorry. For what I said to Sunoo. For how it sounded. I didn’t mean it like that, I swear. I didn’t think you’d hear it, but that doesn’t mean it was okay to say.”

You stayed quiet, arms crossed, watching him.

“I talk about you because I like you,” he continued. “Not because I want to win you, or fix you, or prove anything. I talk about you because… I want to understand you. And I want you to trust me enough to let me in. That’s all.”

You glanced down at the poetry book in his hand, and your chest tightened.

After a long pause, you sighed and shook your head. “You’re so annoying.”

He cracked a sheepish smile. “Yeah. I get that a lot.”

“…You can walk me to class tomorrow.”

He perked up instantly, smile blooming like the sun breaking through clouds. “Yeah?”

You rolled your eyes and turned around so he wouldn’t see the way your lips threatened to smile. “But don’t make a big deal out of it.”

“I won’t,” he said, already grinning. “Totally casual. Just two classmates. Walking.”

You shut the door behind him, heart racing in spite of yourself.

The next day, you found yourself back in the cafeteria, still sporting your signature scowl and the sunglasses that hid most of your face. You weren’t exactly thrilled to be sitting with the others again, but at least you had coffee. And you weren’t going to admit it, but you were kind of okay with Jungwon walking beside you—just a little bit.

As soon as you took your seat, Jungwon slid into the chair next to you with a big, goofy grin on his face. He handed you your coffee, still beaming like a dog who had just learned how to fetch.

“Still grumpy?” he teased, nudging your shoulder lightly.

You shot him a quick glance, raising an eyebrow. “Always,” you muttered, but there was something about the way he was looking at you—like you were the best thing he’d seen in a while—that made it hard to keep the edge.

You couldn’t stop the tiny smile that tugged at the corner of your lips. Jungwon’s grin widened like he’d just won the lottery. He looked way too proud of himself.

Sunghoon, who had been sitting across from you, groaned dramatically. “Please don’t do that in front of me ever again,” he said, scrunching his nose as if he’d just watched something gross.

You smirked, giving him a little shrug. “What’s your problem?” you shot back, still amused.

Sunghoon’s girlfriend, who had been chatting with Jake’s girlfriend, turned her head and raised her eyebrows. “Hey, you and I are way worse than that,” she said with a mischievous grin.

Jay, who had been in his own world, suddenly looked up at the mention of “worse.” He nodded in agreement, casually leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, don’t pretend like you and Hoon aren’t way more obnoxious than them,” he added with a smirk, looking at his own girlfriend.

Sunghoon shot him a look that could’ve killed, but Jay only grinned wider, clearly enjoying his role in messing with Sunghoon.

“Can you not?” Sunghoon groaned, resting his head on the table like he couldn’t deal with his friends anymore. “I’m not even here for this. Seriously.”

You chuckled under your breath, feeling a little more at ease with the group around you. It was nice, in a way, to be surrounded by people who weren’t as exhausting as you’d initially thought. But as you sipped your coffee, you felt Jungwon’s gaze on you again, making your chest tighten in that way only he seemed to manage.

“So,” Jungwon started, his tone shifting slightly, “when are you going to admit you missed me?”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips said everything.

You were walking down the hall, scrolling through your phone, when you heard a loud voice—sharp, gruff, and full of irritation. You looked up just in time to see a girl backing away, holding her hands up in apology. She was drenched in some kind of drink, and standing opposite her, was a tall figure with his arms crossed.

It was Niki.

His dark eyes narrowed as he stared at the girl, his voice cold and direct. “You better be more careful next time,” he snapped.

“I’m really sorry,” the girl stammered, clearly embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to—I’ll clean it up!”

He grunted, not looking all that bothered, though the tension in his posture didn’t exactly scream forgiveness. “Whatever,” he muttered, before turning to walk away, leaving the girl still frozen in place.

You couldn’t help but watch as he strode off down the hall, his expression as nonchalant as ever. But there was something about him—something sharp and guarded. It made you curious.

Maybe this would be an interesting story for later. 

Enhypen campus series || wanna read my short drabbles? check out @lynbels

[hyunsvngs]

𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐚! - stepdad!bang chan x fem!reader

wc: 10.2k

cw: chan is your mother's boyfriend and you want to fuck him, chan is 30 and reader is described to be younger & in college, lix is a menace, changbin is a moral compass, you do not care about morals, SMUT MDNI.

synopsis: you're home for the holidays, and your mother - who you can't stand - has a new, young, hot boyfriend. it's such a good idea trying to seduce him.. right?

a/n: it's so here <3 my first commission! i hope u all love it <3 smut warnings under the cut ofc. i also tried a new format with this fic so pls let me know what u think?!?

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

sw: dirty talk, breeding kink, mutual masturbation, daddy kink, unprotected sex, creampies, degradation, cumplay if u squint?, humiliation if u squint?, anal fingering (f rec), oral (f rec), edging maybe briefly, sex with feelings

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You hated going home for the holidays.

You were a rich kid, to put it simply. Your mother loved to leech off the men that she was with, marrying them quickly and trying to suck as much money as she could out of them in gifts and straight up cash before they eventually clued on and left her. It had been why your father had left when you were a mere infant, but you’d always lived in luxury due to the incessant payments that he was forced to give. You’d never met him, but there was a plus side - he was paying your college tuition, where you met your best friends.

Perhaps if you thought about it a bit more you’d realise that the only reason you went to college was to get away from your mother. She pissed you off, sauntering around the house in silk kimonos with a maid trailing behind her, pausing to look in mirrors so that she could choose where her next round of botox would hit. She frustrated you beyond belief, but you still had to go home for Christmas. Annoyingly early, too, because she had a surprise for you.

Okay, well, it wasn’t a surprise. She’d FaceTimed you a week earlier, an irritatingly wrinkle-free face popping up on the screen as she sipped mulled wine and revelled in your absence. She had a new boyfriend, she said. You’d love him, she said. Your opinion matters most to me, she said. The last one you knew to be a lie. God, you hated her. 

Still, you lugged your suitcase through the front door and huffed, booting the side with your foot to try and shake some of the snow off. No surprise, she hadn’t helped you in from your taxi. She hadn’t even come to get you from the airport a mere twenty minute drive away. You dropped the suitcase on the floor, giving it another kick just for good measure, and then you were trudging into the kitchen. You’d heard voices from there, so it had to be them.

“Oh, honey!” Your mother chirped upon seeing you. You couldn’t see the face of the man washing dishes behind her, his white shirt sleeves rolled up and back facing you. You didn’t care anyway. “You made it home safe, then.”

“Yeah. The taxi driver was super nice and let me call him mum,” You quipped. She furrowed her eyebrows, lips pursed. 

“Okay, you’re being weird already,” She mumbled, and then shook her head, shrugging it off. She walked to the man by the sink, spinning him around by his slender waist to display him to you. “This is Chan!”

You felt silly, stood in the kitchen doorway in oversized clothes and covered in ivory snow. The man’s eyes found you, shocked by your mother’s harsh manoeuvring, and he blinked with surprise at your figure. You blinked with surprise, too.

Chan was hot. Incredibly so, actually, and he looked young. Younger than your mother, with a big nose you wanted to ride and plush lips parting as he raised one hand to wave at you, still wet with soapy dishwasher. You wanted to lick him clean. The white shirt he wore stretched across broad shoulders, and the sleeves were fit to burst around incredibly toned biceps. You allowed your gaze to wander down, eyes focusing on the thick thighs in the black dress trousers he wore. 

There was no way this was real. “Okay,” You burst out laughing, eyes darting between Chan and your mother. “And, who is Chan? A friend? A colleague? He’s not your boyfriend.”

Chan’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “No, I am. I’m your mother’s boyfriend, sweetheart.”

His voice was deep - too deep, deep enough to haunt your dreams and those late night sessions you had in your bed with your trusty vibrator. This was going to be trouble. You were going to be trouble.

“You’re shitting me,” You couldn’t get the amused smile off of your face. No fucking way. Your mother hadn’t bagged that. “You’re fucking with me. You have to be. Mum, he’s closer to my age than he is to yours.”

“I’m thirty, actually,” He mumbled, looking sheepish. Your mother stared at you in shock, jaw dropped at your brazenness. 

“I rest my case,” You concluded, nodding decisively. When the two of them just continued to stare, you bristled slightly, starting to hop from one foot to the other. Awkward. “You… are you actually together?”

“Yes, honey,” Your mother confirmed, still looking shocked. You scoffed.

“Okay, I really need to go, actually,” You gushed, turning around to leave the kitchen. “I’m- I’m going to my room. Really nice to meet you, Chan, really.” 

Shooting upstairs, you completely ignored your suitcase still leaking snow all over the hardwood floors and darted into your bedroom. It still looked exactly how you’d left it, band posters all over the walls and teddies littering the end of your bed. You threw yourself on top of the mattress, fingers yanking your phone out of your pocket and clicking the button on the most recent group call on FaceTime. Immediately, your college best friends picked up.

“There’s already a problem?” Felix scrunched his nose up, face way too close to the camera. Changbin was on the other side, face looking confused in the little square designated to him on your phone screen.

“I just met my mother’s boyfriend.”

“Oh, right, how did that go?” Changbin questioned, tilting his head to the side. You caught sight of your face in your own little square, flushed and appalled.

“He is thirty years of age, Changbin,” You began. Felix gasped, tiny hand moving to cover his mouth. “He is thirty years of age, and he is really fucking hot.”

“Oh my god,” Felix mumbled, muffled behind his hand. “Oh my god, you have to fuck him.”

Changbin choked on air. “She has to- No, Felix, no!”

“No, I can’t do that. It would be fucked up,” You mused. Or.. “Wait, would it even be that fucked up? He is closer to my age. I hate my mother.”

Felix’s hand fell, and he giggled before speaking in his trademark goblin voice - “Fuck him.”

“Don’t!” Changbin shrieked, his phone shaking in his hand. “I really think this is a bad idea.”

“I think it’s a great idea,” Felix grinned, looking smug. “I’d do it.”

“There’s not a lot you wouldn’t do,” Changbin retorted. Felix stuck his tongue out at him. You, however, were silent, musing on the situation and staring at your wall. Could you do it? Changbin noticed, sighing. “Baby, please no.”

You licked your lips, nodding. You could do it. You wanted to do it - needed it, even. Those biceps were going to plague your life forever otherwise. “Operation fuck my mother’s boyfriend is a go.”

Felix screamed in delight. Changbin ended the call.

SATURDAY

It was time. Your mother was out at brunch with some friends, and you had plans to invade Chan’s personal space because you had a feeling he’d be too polite to tell you otherwise. You knew he’d set up the spare room as his own home studio, because your mother had delighted in telling you how Chan was a super successful music producer and was often tinkering away in there these days. You were going to let yourself in, try to get to know him a bit.

The knock you landed on the door was anything but subtle. Your fist rapped on the door and you heard a little hum in response, so you swung open the door, eyes landing on Chan hunched over his desk. He looked even younger like this, beanie pulled down over dark curls and headphones positioned on his head. He continued to stare at the file on his computer, head bobbing absentmindedly, so you strode up to him and tapped him on the shoulder.

He spun around on his computer chair, blinking confusedly at you. “Oh, hello.”

“Hi,” You beamed. “Sorry about last night. I was rude. I was feeling kinda weird, y’know, with the travelling.”

“No, I completely get it,” Chan put his hands up as if to diffuse the atmosphere. You nodded, still smiling. Chan stared at you when you didn’t respond instantly, and you crossed your hands behind your back, pressing against the plaid pattern of the dress you’d chosen for today. It was all part of the plan - the tight, short dress was perfect for seduction. He looked down at your chest, before clearing his throat, reverting his gaze to your eyes. “Um… did you need something, by the way?”

You gasped, as if remembering. “Oh, yeah! I did. My mother told me you were a music producer, and I was really curious. I was wondering if you’d show me some stuff…?”

It was Chan’s turn to smile, nodding excitedly. “Of course. Here, put these on.”

He linked two fingers around his headphones and handed them to you, to which you obediently put them over your ears. He was quieter now, but you could still slightly hear him mumbling as he found a spare chair for you to sit on. Your eyes scanned the files, eventually fixating on a file titled Drive. That one had to be dirty.

“Okay, so. I have this one, it’s my most recent one, and-”

“I want to listen to that one,” You cut him off, pointing at the song. When you turned to look at him, he was biting his lip nervously, pink tinting the ends of his ears and his cheeks. “What is it, Chan?”

“You- that one is a little, uh… heh. A little inappropriate.”

Unsurprisingly, you darted over his desk to grab the computer mouse and double click on the file. Chan squealed, but you ignored him, listening to the song. You were right. It was dirty, the two singers crooning about something that was a thinly-veiled innuendo about driving. It took you a second and then you clicked. One of them was Chan. This was Chan singing, on a song about sex. God, could he get any hotter?

You slid one of the ear cups off of your ear, turning to Chan with a shit eating grin. “This is you singing? You’re really good, Chan.” You weren’t lying. He was really good, and it had you wondering why he was a producer and not singing.

“Yeah, well, it was just an experimental track. Me and my mate were just messing around,” Chan mumbled shyly, hand scratching the back of his neck. You tried to avoid staring at the way his biceps tensed in his tight t-shirt at the movement. He was still blushing, but you had to kick it up a notch.

“It is kinda inappropriate, though, isn’t it?” You chirped excitedly. Chan’s lips parted, as if he was looking for something to say. His eyes stared into your own, piercing and dark and all-consuming. “I think you’re a little dirty, Channie.”

Chan’s eyebrows furrowed at your use of the nickname. “That’s- you can’t say that. That’s inappropriate.”

“What?” You feigned shock-horror. Play dumb. “I can’t call you Channie? Why not?”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” Chan groaned, pointing an accusing finger at you. You giggled anyway, jumping up and slipping the headphones back onto his head. You made sure to trail your fingertips down his neck after doing so. He shivered noticeably. You smiled.

“That was super good, Channie, thank you.”

You didn’t miss his groan of disbelief as you bounded out of the room. You had him, and it was easier than you’d expected it to be.

SUNDAY

Something was happening. You weren’t sure what, just yet, but something was happening. Chan was acting a little weird after what happened the day before, and you’d already caught Felix and Changbin up on the nonsense plan you had. 

“I think you need to accept that this is just down to you having a fat crush on him and severe daddy issues,” Changbin mused, and you gasped. He was right though. This wasn’t completely about getting back at your mother in a sick, twisted way. You wanted him.

Phase two of your plan was underway as soon as you caught sight of him on the sofa. He was watching some cheesy Christmas movie, your mother tinkering away in the kitchen - when had she ever cooked? - so it was prime seducing time. He had one of the thick throw blankets over his lap, fingers playing with the fluffy fabric absentmindedly. You hopped into the living room in your short pyjamas, frowning at Chan when you felt the goosebumps on your legs.

“Whatcha watching?” You asked, making him jump when he realised your presence. He smiled nonetheless, motioning to the seat next to him, and you took it. You perched and ensured that you left no room between you both.

“Some cheesy film. The woman’s marrying a prince, I think.”

“Sounds awful. I can’t wait to watch it,” You smiled, and Chan chuckled, relaxing on the sofa. You managed to make it five whole minutes before you were rubbing your hands up your legs, trying to create a semblance of warmth. 

Chan turned to you, frowning. “Are you cold, sweetheart?”

“Yeah,” You whined, pulling your legs up into your chest. “‘S cold in here, right?”

“C’mere,” He mumbled, reaching for the end of the blanket and throwing it over your lap. You hummed contentedly, inching a little closer under the guise of the cold weather. The blanket was warm. You were kind of jealous he’d been in such comfort this whole time while you’d been thinking of ways to get his cock inside your mouth. 

“Thanks, Channie,” Chan only nodded, continuing to watch the film. You had a feeling he was pretending to be so focused on it, given you weren’t sure he even knew the plot before your arrival. 

You squirmed on your seat, thrashing each way until you found yourself comfortable, hand splayed over Chan’s knee. He tensed under your touch. 

“You’re touching me, sweetheart,” He warned, his voice low and deep. You shivered, turning to him.

“Am I?”

“You are. You’re touching my leg underneath the blanket, aren’t you?”

You hummed. “Is that okay, Chan?”

Chan turned to you, his eyes not even holding any sign of shock. He knew what game you were playing, you realised, and maybe he was playing along. He licked his lips, head back against the sofa, and then he shrugged dismissively. 

“It doesn’t bother me.”

You left your hand there for the whole film. 

MONDAY

The showers at home were something you’d missed. The ones in college didn’t quite cut it - not even now that you lived with Changbin and Felix in your own student home. All three of you were young adults, after all, and that came with you being a little too messy.

At home, you didn’t have to worry about mess. Your mother had cleaners employed with your dad’s money anyway. Admittedly, you realised you were being a little spoiled, so you’d learned to clean up after yourself. The showers were still better, though. Bigger, and the water pressure hit you just right. 

Especially when you detached the shower head and pressed it to your clit. You felt pathetic. You’d only tried to seduce Chan for two fucking days, and there you were, legs shaking at the thought of him. Maybe it was the chase that got you feeling hot, or maybe it was the fact that you might actually be getting somewhere - you might actually be getting close to fucking him, muscles bulging as he ploughed into you. 

It had you pressing the shower head harder, your spare hand coming up to pinch your nipple. You whined, bucking your hips into the water stream. The steam was all over the bathroom by now, staining the shower with condensation and making your skin feel pruned and flushed. Or did you feel flushed from the thoughts of Chan? Maybe he’d fuck you the way you liked. He must have experience, you assumed, being a few years older than you. You thought about how he’d make you feel, how he’d touch you, and how you’d feel in his arms. You thought about how you’d feel when you came, and what it would be like to be with him. You wanted to feel him so badly.

Was he as big down there as he was everywhere else? Sure, he’s not too tall, but he’s every part a man. That much was clear. Would he bend you in half, pushing you into a mating press and fuck you raw the way you liked, cumming inside and letting you call him daddy and-

You wailed, legs trembling with one last buckle before you were cumming. You felt wet, too wet even just from the shower, and you belatedly realised you’d have to wash again. Ugh. This plan needed to end, like… yesterday. 

Coming out of the shower freshly washed, you wrapped a towel around your figure and checked the time on your phone. Your thumb slipped around the screen from the condensation in the bathroom, but the plan was going well. If you left the bathroom now, then hopefully Chan would be heading to bed, and he’d catch you in your towel. Ideally, he’d be so hot for you that he’d just have to have you, and then you could get the thoughts of him out of your head.

You burst out of the room in a flurry of steam and movement, almost tripping over your own feet when you noticed that it had actually fucking worked. Chan stood stock still at the other end of the hallway, his eyes fixated on the way the towel wrapped tightly around your chest, at risk of falling. You smiled, waving innocently, and he stalked towards you. He was seeing red. You could tell from the way he cornered you, crowding around you with the small advantage he had on your height.

“You need to stop this,” He mumbled, eyes looking at your mother’s bedroom door. He was playing a dangerous game. You were, too, and you both knew it. “I’m dating your mother. You need to stop this, sweetheart.”

“Stop what?” You tilted your head, acting confused. “I just had a shower.”

Chan scoffed, shaking his head. “I fucking heard you in there.”

Oh. You couldn’t hide your smirk that time. “Yeah, I missed that shower head. Why were you perving on me, Chan?”

Chan rubbed his temples. He wasn’t wearing a beanie today, only a hoodie and baggy joggers. You liked it. You could see his hair like this, dark and curly and frizzy on his head. He looked cute. Wait, what?

He took a deep breath. His eyes moved to fixate on you, tongue running over his teeth. “Why would I be perving on you?”

“Oh, don’t lie,” You crossed your arms over your chest. Chan’s eyes moved down to stare at where your tits bulged over the towel. “I bet you stood there for ages, cock hard in your cute joggers, listening to me moan in the shower. That’s a little fucked up, no? Thinking about your girlfriend’s daughter like that-”

You were cut off by him pushing you to the wall, lips slamming into yours. He bit into your mouth instantly, letting out a deep groan and hands moving to grab your ass through the towel. You let your lips part in a whimper, pushing your tongue into his mouth and running your hands through his hair. It was a filthy exchange of tongue and teeth, and by the end of it, you were gasping, grabbing him by the waist and trying to pull him closer. You pulled away, breathing heavily and your eyes still locked on each other. You both stood there, not speaking, as you both processed what you had just done. You both knew it was wrong, but you wanted it so bad.

Chan stepped back, breathing out a heavy sigh. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

You watched in shock as he turned around, walking into your mother’s bedroom and leaving you there. You were wet again. This was getting ridiculous now. 

In your room, Felix screamed so loud you had to turn the volume down on your phone. Changbin choked on air again. 

TUESDAY

You hadn’t seen Chan all day. You presumed he was in his studio, working away on another track while your mother was in work. You were bored. Felix had been spending time with his family, and Changbin was out doing rich kid things that you could sympathise with. Thrashing around on your bed, annoyed and huffing, you decided you were just going to go and annoy Chan. It was your newly favourite pastime to get under his skin.

Stalking down the stairs to his studio, you paused when you heard a voice. Not just one voice, two voices. Was your mother there? No, no way. She never goes into that room, it’s his work room. You’d been in there though. You tried to suppress a grin at that realisation. 

The other voice was a man’s. Chan had a call on speakerphone, judging by the tinny effect covering the unknown male’s voice and Chan humming every so often. Who was the other man? A colleague, or just a friend?

“It’s fucking ridiculous, mate,” Chan groaned. You could barely hear him, and you held your breath, coming closer to the closed door. “I want her so bad, and it’s so wrong. I- I kissed her last night, Minho.”

There were a few yells from the other end of the phone. “You kissed her?! Chan, you fucking animal. You want her so bad, just fuck her. She’s clearly hoping that’s the outcome here.”

You grinned. You were.

“She’s- it’s outrageous. She walks around in practically nothing, and she’s got such a tight fucking body, man. She makes my dick so fucking hard, I’ve never felt anything like it before. Even when I met her, in the kitchen, she was-”

Chan cut himself off with a sigh. ‘Minho’ hummed, waiting for him to continue.

“She’s so bratty. She’s exactly the type of girl I would’ve gone for, before I met her mother.”

“Seriously?” Minho questioned, and Chan agreed. “You have to do it.”

“Minho-”

“No, Chan. I’m serious,” Minho’s voice was firm. “If she’s fucking you up this bad, you can’t have liked her mother that much, yeah? Just do it. You know it’s going to happen anyway.”

“It’s-” Chan began. You could imagine him rubbing his temples in distress behind the door. “She’s younger than me. I don’t want her to feel as though I’m taking advantage, y’know? The ball’s in her court.”

The ball has always been in your court.

“It sounds like she wants you to take advantage, to be honest,” Minho erupted in a fit of giggles, and you found yourself almost laughing along. Minho was annoyingly right. You only hoped he could get rid of that stick up Chan’s ass and get you a good dicking down.

It meant it was time for the next phase of your plan. You assumed Chan had wanted you, embarrassingly so, but you weren’t quite sure until he’d kissed you the day before. After hearing this conversation? Well, you had to do it.

You returned to your room, scribbling a quick note on a piece of paper. If Chan found this, which he would, it meant that he’d come to your room tomorrow night and you could maybe talk about what the fuck was going on. The sexual tension was too much for you, and now you knew he felt the same. Why were you beating around the bush? You had to make something out of this.

You ignored the stuttering of breath you heard when you slid the note under his door, and returned back to your room with a cocky grin.

WEDNESDAY

Chan hadn’t mentioned the note. You didn’t think he would, but you felt disappointed nonetheless. You’d woken up in the morning, eaten breakfast with him and your mother - cringing when he kissed her on the cheek when she left for work - and you’d even done the dishes yourself, letting him slip off to do some work in the studio. It was prime time for him to mention what you’d written, and he hadn’t. It was pissing you off.

Still, good things come to those who wait. You were confident. Felix had been egging you on all day over text, Changbin had been sending random upset emojis. It was perfect. 

Settling on your sheets at night, you felt a little pathetic. You’d lit a few candles, left the curtains just right on the window so that the moonlight billowed in, and Chan hadn’t arrived. Maybe he hadn’t received your note. No, there was no way - you practically heard his response through the door when he saw it slid under. He got the note. Perhaps you’d made him uncomfortable, made him withdraw from you despite all the progress you’d made. Why had you put in so much effort? You didn’t like him, not like that. Or did you? You felt ridiculous, almost like a child waiting for-

A knock on the door brought you out of your self-loathing thoughts, and you jumped up, swinging the bedroom door open. Chan immediately crowded inside of your bedroom, pressing the door shut softly. You stood there in silence, taking him in. He looked cosy, in a baggy hoodie and plaid pyjama bottoms. It was hard to believe he was dating your mother, especially when he looked so vulnerable like this - dark, curly hair still slightly wet from his shower, and his eyes blown wide with an unreadable emotion while he looked at you.

Chan sighed. “You’re really playing with fire. Do you know how this could look, me coming into your room at night? Do you know how wrong this is?”

You faltered. For the first time since meeting Chan, you felt as though he was angry at you. “I- I heard you on the phone, Channie. I thought you wanted me too.”

You watched in awe as Chan crossed your bedroom, groaning and throwing himself onto the bed. He was hard, erect in his bottoms. You blinked confusedly. He was hard just from being in here?

“I do want you,” Chan said, but it was muffled, hidden behind his hands that he had placed over his face in distress. He let them fall to his sides, staring up at the ceiling. “I want you so bad that it’s pissing me off beyond belief. I know what you’ve been doing too, trying to seduce me. It’s so pathetic it makes me feel hot, y’know?”

You giggled, following his journey across the room and settling next to him on the bed. You sat cross legged, comfortable in your long pyjamas. The candlelight flickered, casting a glow over his face, and he turned to look at you. He licked his lips, and then he let out a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief.

“This is ridiculous-”

“It’s ridiculous that you haven’t fucked me yet,” You responded, quick as a flash. Chan leaned up on his forearms, raising an eyebrow at you. Now was the time. You had to say it. “You know how bad I want you. I touched you up on the sofa, and you let me. You wanted me to, I think. Correct me if I’m wrong, and I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, but-”

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable, and you’re not wrong,” Chan admitted. You could see the blush on his cheeks despite the dimly lit room.  He took a deep breath before continuing. “I want you, too.” 

Chan shot across the bed, leaning in and kissing you deeply, his hands tangling in your hair. It made you wet beyond belief that he just felt like he knew what he was doing, hands travelling down to your waist to softly press you into the sheets. His tongue swept into your mouth, pressing against yours and you whimpered, making him groan into the kiss. When his hands went up to your hair, he intertwined his fingers in the strands and pulled, making you gasp and let out a heady, hot breath. He pulled away, lips parted when he stared at you. 

“You are such a horny little thing, it’s so hot,” He mumbled, lips pressing to your neck. He bit your skin sharply, making you keen and spread your legs, allowing him to position his hips between your thighs. The movement pressed his bulge into your core, and you tried not to shift and move your hips in a rhythm of pleasure. His fingers traced over your skin, and he chuckled, a low, sexy sound that made your heart race. He pulled back, leaning back on his legs and staring at you, eyes blown wide with lust. “I want to see you touch yourself.”

You paused. “What?”

“I want to know what you like. Show me how you make yourself cum, and I’ll fuck you tomorrow night. How’s that sound?” He was propositioning you, teasing you, and you were falling for it - hook, line and sinker. 

You gave him a nod. Right. Touching yourself for him - that was something you could do. This was just another Wednesday for you, you loved putting on a show, especially for a man who was rock hard and obviously desperate for you. But with Chan… why did you feel so fucking nervous all of a sudden? You'd spent your whole day waiting to fuck him, and he’d taken back the power, thrown a wrench into your plans.

You leaned back on your bed. How did you sit sexily? You were stuck in your own head.

Chan moved backwards, hand moving over his clothed erection. He’d spread his legs, thick thighs parted for you to see the promising bulge between them. "Pretend I'm not even here, sweetheart," he said, eyes blown wide with lust. You almost rolled your eyes. Easier said than done, when he was sitting there with his dark curls and his thick, kissable lips and his impossibly huge bulge. “Touch yourself like you’ve done before. Show me how you make yourself cum, and I’ll fuck you tomorrow, I promise.”

Fuck it. You'd never let an attractive man break you down yet, and that wasn't going to change. You nodded timidly, hands moving to grip your breasts through your shirt. It made you sigh, and Chan responded with a noise of his own when you impatiently rucked the fabric up to above your chest. Sucking two fingers into your mouth, you whined when you traced the wet digits around your pebbled peak teasingly. 

“Ah, ‘s- I’m sensitive there, Channie,” You mumbled, and he nodded as if he was making a note for it for later. You trailed your fingertips across your nipples, pinching and twisting them almost painfully just to make your hips cant up into thin air. You were too impatient to do this how you normally would, so you scratched your fingernails down your tummy and shoved a hand in your pyjama bottoms. You were met with slick, wet folds, fingers sliding around in the mess you made. 

“Show me,” Chan said, eyes trained on where your hand disappeared beneath the fabric. “Show me that pussy. You’re meant to be showing me everything, remember?”

“Show me yours and I’ll show you mine,” You huffed, and Chan shook his head in disbelief, grinning. You were shocked to see he actually listened, though, pushing his joggers down to his thighs and letting his erection spring out. It was impossibly hard, pearlescent drops accumulating on his cockhead and you licked your lips subconsciously. “I wanna-”

“No,” Chan cut you off, hand moving to wrap around his cock in a tight fist. He was long, thick and heavy between his thighs and you felt your pussy clench sadly around nothing. “Show me your pussy. I’m not asking again, let me take a look at it.”

You whined, pushing your pyjama bottoms down to reveal your slick core. Your clit was swollen, throbbing with need just from a few kisses and Chan’s general presence, and you could feel a rivulet of wetness sliding down between your lips. Chan groaned in approval, hand quickening on his cock just slightly.

“Spread it, show me your hole,” Chan said, and you moved your thighs further apart for him. Reaching down with two fingers, you moved them into a v-shape and spread your folds for him. Your hole quivered under the inspection, leaking more wetness and Chan’s eyes were hyper fixated on it. “Oh, baby. That looks tight. Has no one ever fucked that little pussy right, huh? Tell me.”

“N-No,” You shook your head, thighs quivering when you finally let two fingers rub over your clit. You started with a blistering pace immediately, making your toes curl into the sheets and your back arch upwards. “No, I- it’s only boys from college, I don’t-”

“Ah, I see. You need someone older, yeah? More experienced?” Chan questioned, his breath coming out heavy with every tightly fisted movement on his cock. You whined, nodding, and then you were breaching your hole with two fingers immediately. The stretch made you groan, head falling back against the pillow. “Is that why you tried to seduce me, yeah? Wanted to have my cock stretching you out just right, wanted to call me daddy while I made you cry?”

God, he’d got it. He was right on the mark. “Yes, y-yes, I- I wanted to, oh, I wanted to call you daddy, and- and feel you inside me, and oh, Channie, please-” You cut yourself off with a moan, perhaps too loud as you curled your fingertips up against your g-spot. Chan threw his head back, letting out a grunt as he pinched his cockhead almost painfully. 

“Say it then, baby. What’s stopping you?” He polished the head of his cock, moaning before he took it into his tight grip again. His precum served as lubrication, his hand now making wet slick sounds on his thick length. You gasped when he moved his free hand to his balls, rubbing calloused fingertips over them and letting out his own gasp. “Beg me for my cock. I know you want it, look at you. Fuckin’ desperate, yeah? Beg daddy for his big cock.”

“Oh, daddy,” You whined, moving your free hand to rub over your clit. Everything was so wet, sliding around your pussy and you were honestly surprised you could feel anything - but it felt so fucking good, having him watch you like this, learning what you liked so he could replicate it. “Fuckin’- daddy, daddy, please, can I have it? Been good, doin’ what you asked, I- hnnng, daddy, oh my god-”

“No,” He smiled, a cocky grin while he rubbed one hand over his cock and the other over his heavy balls. “No, baby. Not tonight. Make yourself cum tonight, and daddy will help you tomorrow.”

“I- need more, need more, I-'' Chan surged over the bed, leaning over your figure to press his lips against yours. His tongue dominated your mouth again, and you could feel his closed fist hitting your stomach as he worked himself to his orgasm. The sensation had you whining against his plush lips, fingers thrusting quicker into your pussy and your other hand sliding around your clit messily. When he pulled away, lips digging into your bottom lip teasingly, his lips were quick to move to your neck to suck some dark purple marks into the skin. You felt yourself trembling, your body tense as you felt yourself getting closer to the edge. Your fingers stroked your walls faster, pussy fluttering around your digits in delight, and your mouth opened in a gasp as you felt your body tense and tremble with pleasure. “I’m g’na- g’na cum, gonna cum, please, can I? Can I, daddy? Can I cum for you, please?”

“Yeah, baby,” He huffed, eyes rolling back into his head. He was practically drooling onto your skin, lips parted against your neck as you whined and thrashed on your bedsheets. “Cum for me. Been good for daddy, haven’t you? You can cum, baby, c’mon. Show me how pretty you are when you cum.”

You fell apart around your own fingers, your orgasm crashing through you like a wave. Your thighs tensed with your orgasm, your pussy clenching down impossibly tighter around your hand and flooding down to your knuckles with your cum. You begged and pleaded, your voice a barely audible babble as your body shook with the sensation. 

Finally, when you’d just felt like you were coming down, Chan pulled your wrist away from your pussy. The movement left you empty, your walls still clenching down except now it was around nothing, and you whined, bottom lip quivering in need. 

“Hands off,” He sighed, hand slowing down on his cock. He was trying to last longer for something - you weren’t sure what, but you let your other hand drop from your clit obediently. “Daddy’s gonna cum on this wet little hole, baby, okay? You gonna let me cum here, mark you as mine?”

“Yes,” You moaned, nodding. You couldn’t think of anything better, actually. “‘M yours, I’m yours, daddy, gimme.”

“Dirty thing, perfect little girl,” He grunted, and then he was positioning his cockhead at your hole. With a few more movements, increasing in speed, you watched as his face screwed up in pleasure. His hips bucked, and with a final thrust, he came. You felt his cum drip down your hole as he groaned through his orgasm, thick white cum plastering your pussy. It was definitely the sexiest thing you’d experienced, but you still felt a little disappointed - why couldn’t he have just done it inside you?

“Wan’it,” You whined, pulling your legs back. Chan chuckled upon seeing the pout on your lips. “Why couldn’t you- in me, wanted it in me, daddy.” 

“Greedy bitch,” He mused, and then he was delving down to your core. Your mind went blank when his tongue licked fat stripes up your folds, collecting all of his cum and your wetness in his mouth. You briefly thought you could cum from this, very quickly judging by the way he knew what he was doing, but he simply leaned over you and grabbed your jaw. 

Oh. You let your lips part, tongue lolling out of your mouth obediently, and he spat the mixture of your cum into your mouth. You felt him lick into your mouth again, groaning at the taste of your pussy and his load. He smiled against your lips and pulled away, your eyes wide as you tried to process what had just happened. 

Chan’s lips curved in satisfaction at your state, your chest still heaving with a blotchy rash that bore the truth of what you’d been up to. He ran his thumb over your bottom lip, and then he was standing up and leaving the room, bottoms barely pulled over his hips. You laid there, feeling an intense mix of pleasure and confusion.

What the fuck just happened?

THURSDAY

You hadn’t even processed what had happened last night. In all honesty, you’d run out of the house in the morning under the premise of a coffee date with friends you didn’t even have. You just sat in the cafe on call with Changbin and Felix and screamed way too loudly for a public area. The whole cafe knew of your predicament by the end of it.

Upon your return home, you’d beelined to your room and kicked the door shut as quietly as you could. Unfortunately, your foot slipped on the floor and you’d ended up face down with a groan.

Turning over onto your back, you huffed at the offending item that had caused your decline to the ground. A piece of paper met your eyes, neatly folded and written on with what looked like black Sharpie when you’d finally unravelled it.

Three words. Three words that changed your life and let you know that what occurred the night before had really happened. No, not ‘I love you’ - it was simple, a scrawled ‘your room, tonight’. It did happen. You touched yourself in front of Chan, and he was planning on coming back to your room to continue what you’d discussed.

You wanted to squeal and kick your feet, but beneath it all, you felt panicked. This plan had gone too far, and you’d perhaps started to think about spending time with your mother’s boyfriend - actual time, not just sexually charged meetings. It hurt a little bit, a pang in your chest when you remembered that what was happening really was just sexual. Your little arrangement being anything else just wasn’t fathomable.

Chan was interesting. He was a fucking music producer, for god’s sake. That was just straight up cool. That, and he was older than you - you did have raging daddy issues like your friends had said, after all. His friend had sounded funny on the phone, which meant he had to be funny, too. 

All things serious, you didn’t really know much about him, but you wanted to know. Felix had encouraged you to find out, and you felt like you owed it to him - or yourself, you weren’t sure. 

The knock on your door once the evening fell brought you out of your reverie. Chan didn’t wait for a response, swinging your bedroom door open and walking straight in as if he owned the house. You huffed at his demeanour, yet your eyes were still fixated on the way he walked over to your bed with intent. You threw your phone to the side. Felix would have to wait for your half-typed text message. 

“Back again so soon?” You quipped, and he raised an eyebrow. He was only in grey joggers, the thin material highlighting his thick dick imprint between his legs. The fabric hung low, showing off the body that you knew he worked so hard for. His chest was honey toned, yet covered in light, sparse freckles - you wanted to make yourself acquainted with every single one. You felt a little overdressed in just an oversized t-shirt and shorts.

Seeing the frustrated expression on your face, Chan’s own face fell. “Do you not want me here?” He said, voice no more than a whisper. “I can go, if you don’t want to see me tonight. I just thought-”

“I do,” You nodded, finally raising yourself from your position lying down to sitting up cross legged. Chan laid on the bed in front of you, one arm propping his head up. He gazed at you for a few moments, and you could see the relief in his eyes at your words. “I do want to see you tonight. I want to see you like… a lot. Don’t you think it’s weird though? I’m your girlfriend’s daughter, Chan, and we’ve kissed and- and done other stuff, and-”

He scooted over so that he was next to you, and you leaned into him subconsciously. He pulled you in with his arm around your shoulders, broad and muscled. You felt content, comfortable and most of all safe. It was a feeling you’d never felt before.

“I don’t think it’s weird,” Chan hummed, his chest vibrating beneath where you’d landed when he pulled you in. He chuckled, then, his hand moving to your hair comfortingly. “Okay, maybe it is a little weird. I’m just very interested in you. I know you heard me on the phone to Minho, and yes, you are my type - I want to know more about you. Like, even beneath the sexually charged tension, heh.”

Oh. You licked your lips, eyes fixated on a random spot in your wall. “You do?”

He nodded. “I do.”

You couldn’t help yourself. You raised your head, surging over Chan’s body to press a kiss to his lips. His hair was soft when you ran your hands through it, despite random curls getting caught in your nails and causing him to groan at the pain flooding through his scalp. His hands went to your waist, licking into your mouth while he effortlessly pulled you on top of him. The show of strength had you whimpering into the kiss, hands moving down to his jaw. It clenched and unclenched while he had full control over your mouth despite you being on top. 

You pulled away with a wet sigh, moving downwards to kiss at his neck. He groaned underneath his breath at the sensation of your lips on his skin. Your bed squeaked awkwardly as you moved down it, too quick for the old springs to handle. It felt naughty, kissing him like this in your childhood room - it felt even dirtier than the night before had, and you hadn’t done anything yet.

“I need you, Chan,” You whispered, nipping at his collarbone. “Need you. Please.” 

He gasped as he felt your tongue trace the outline of his collarbone. He flung one bicep over his dark eyes with a deep sigh, allowing you to kiss and bite all over his skin. He looked like he was trying to control himself. You didn’t want him to.

Your hips started to grind against him, and you placed your palms flat on his chest. Both of Chan’s hands moved back to your hips with a surprised noise, but he didn’t stop you. His dick was hardening in his joggers, and it was providing the best clothed friction to your aching, needy clit below your pyjama shorts. You saw how big it was before, yet the length of it still shocked you when you slid your clothed core up and down the shaft.

“Daddy,” You whined, hips starting to buck frantically. You were sure that you had never felt this needy in your life. “Daddy, daddy, I want you so bad. You turn me on so bad, make me feel so hot, please-”

“Baby,” Chan groaned, his head falling back against your pillows. The soft pink bed sheets juxtaposed completely with what you were doing, and juxtaposed completely with him - Chan, the muscled man with dark hair who wore black and grey clothes constantly. It was as if he was corrupting you, and he was in a sense, being so much older. “Baby, c’mere, come and lay on the bed. Let daddy eat you out, yeah?”

“No,” You shook your head, hips still moving on his erection. Chan’s chest had started to accumulate a thin layer of dewy sweat, slick on his skin and making you want to lick it off. “I want your cock. I don’t wanna wait, I don’t wanna wait, please, just put it in, I’m wet enough, I promise.”

He knew you were babbling, incoherent in your haze of lust, but he still entertained you enough anyway. You spread your legs wider when his hand met your thigh, and then he was pushing two fingers beneath your shorts. He was met with your slick folds, and you gasped at feeling the touch of his fingertips, calloused from years of working with music.

“Oh, fucking hell. Dirty girl, dirty fuckin’ girl,” Chan moaned, his eyes almost rolling back into his head. “This pussy’s so fuckin’ wet, baby. All we did was kiss. Are you that much of a slut for me? Are you that much of a slut for your mother’s boyfriend? That’s filthy.”

“Yes!” You wailed, nodding. You reached down, canting your hips backwards a little bit so you could spread your thighs wider before hooking your fingers in your shorts and pulling them to the side. The movement revealed your pussy, clit swollen at the top of soaking wet folds, covering your drippy hole. “I wan’it so bad, so bad, so bad, please, please. Just push it in, make it hurt, I don’t care-”

Chan shoved the fingers of his spare hand between your parted lips, effectively shutting you up. “Shut up. You’ve got to prove to me you deserve it, baby.”

With those words, he was pushing a finger past your entrance. It breached your hole easily, the digit sliding through your wetness and curving up past your g-spot. Chan shook his head in a mixture of disbelief and shock, and then he was pulling his finger out. With a quick movement, he’d yanked his joggers down and let his cock spring out. The coarse hair was trimmed above his long, thick shaft and you couldn’t help but imagine the type of friction that would give your clit - you couldn’t wait.

“You were right. That slutty pussy is wet enough,” He mused, pulling your hips over his bare cock. Your pyjama shorts were slightly in the way, and you pulled them aside even more, letting your folds leave wetness over his shaft. “Lower yourself on it. Stretch yourself out. Slowly.”

You did as he asked, lowering your body onto his length. You felt the stretch immediately. You moaned, loud and ringing off of your walls. You didn’t give a shit if your mother heard. Fuck, you needed this. You wanted to bounce all over his cock until there was nothing left and your hole could do nothing but remember the tight fit. Trying to sit down quicker, Chan grabbed your hips, stopping you while only half his length was in you.

“You're gonna hurt yourself like that, sweetheart. That hole is so tight around me.”

“Please, daddy,” Your head fell into the nape of his neck. You wriggled yourself in his tight hold, trying to get more of his length in your pussy. He shook his head against you, chuckling.

“You want it? Fine, but don't fucking cry to me when it hurts,” Chan said, letting go of your ass. You realised he'd been holding you up, and within a millisecond you'd slammed down onto him. You wanted to scream, the stretch more than you could take. He laughed again, raising his eyebrows at you mockingly. “Too big?”

"N-No, perfect," You retorted. He moaned, spreading his legs and placing his feet flat on the mattress. More. More. Fucking more. You began to raise on him, expecting to ride that perfect cock, but he started to thrust up into you at an unrelenting place straight away, his balls slapping against your ass. You moaned incoherently, almost babbling, hands digging into his toned biceps. He leaned up to nip at your neck, and then he was pulling your t-shirt off of your body.

“No fucking bra?” Chan laughed in disbelief. His mouth went straight to your nipples, biting and sucking on the hard peaks. You jostled on his lap with his thrusts. You wanted to rub your clit, but you felt like he probably wouldn't let you. “Knew you were fucking filthy, sweetheart. You didn't even care about me going raw, did you? You want my load in that dirty hole. And now I find out these pretty tits were only one layer away from me…”

His voice trailed off. You whined, leaning down to try and kiss him again. He shoved his two fingers back in your mouth, making you suck on them. His bruising sucks caused your nipples to hurt, and you fucking loved it. You knew he was marking you up and you'd just have to deal with it.

You tried to start riding him. He didn't let you, manhandling you off of his cock.

“Daddy!” You whined in protest. Chan chuckled. He lifted you and manhandled you so your back was facing him on your bed, and you immediately repositioned yourself so you were face down, ass up. He reentered you in one swift thrust, causing you to jolt in surprise.

“Fucking tight pussy,” He groaned, thrusting into you with the same vigor as before. You almost screamed, but managed to just moan incoherently. The mattress creaked, the sound of old springs ringing around the room. “Fucking dirty hole. Listen to that, sweetheart. Can you hear how wet your cunt is for daddy's cock? For your mother’s boyfriend’s cock?”

You tried to stop whining and moaning to hear what he was pointing out to you, hearing wet slaps. Your cheeks burned with humiliation, fingernails digging into the mattress. You knew you were dripping for a fact now. You could hear it, you could hear everything, his balls slapping against your clit as well as the wet noise of his heavy cock reentering you. 

You threw your ass back against him, trying to get the tip to hit that special spot inside of you. 

“I think that asshole needs me too, sweetheart,” Chan laughed mirthlessly, his hands resting firmly on your ass, encouraging your bouncing. You moaned in response, clenching your pussy tight. He was going to ruin you for everyone. You'd have to just keep coming back for more. “You want daddy's finger in there? You want me to finger your asshole?”

Oh, yes. “Please, daddy, need to be full,” You said, wiggling your hips against him. You vaguely registered him reaching around you and making you suck on the fingers that had previously been in your mouth. He was going to fill both of your holes, and he moaned loudly at the sight of you sucking his fingers. There was no way that the whole house hadn’t heard you both by now. You hoped they were sleeping.

You sighed in ecstasy, feeling the fingers begin to move inside your ass. His thrusting was now hitting your g-spot in your pussy, given the added pressure from being full in both holes. You felt the orgasm finally begin to build. You liked the way he wasn't rushing you to cum, not like those younger college boys. He was taking care of you and just having good fucking sex. “Feels so fucking good, daddy. Feels so good.”

You were now semi-incoherent, your words all joining together in one long moan. Chan loved it, judging by his moans. His cock was pulsing inside you. You wondered if he was close. You wanted him to fill you up to the point where it was dripping out of you. 

He pulled out of you again, grabbing your leg with one strong hand and flipping you onto your back. You were out of breath from the exertion, despite him doing all the work, and he looked fully composed save for the thin sheen of sweat on his body.

“Feels good, baby?” He asked, looming above you. You squirmed feeling your sweaty back rubbing against the blanket uncomfortably, but you nodded anyway. You wanted to please him. He looked down at your writhing body, letting out another groan. “So fucking sexy. You don’t know how much you fucking killed me, teasing me like that. Touch that pussy for me again, show me.”

He started pumping his shaft quickly, still staring down at you. You reached down with one hand and immediately pressed two fingers against your entrance, collecting the slick gathering outside before diving straight in. You curled your fingers against that spot inside of you, whining out. It wasn't enough. Not after having that fat cock in you. He definitely had ruined you for everyone else, including yourself. Nothing was ever going to feel the same again. 

“Mmm. Looks so wet, sweetheart. Daddy wants a taste, is that okay?” Chan questioned, moving back onto his knees. You pulled your fingers out and tried not to cry at the loss.

“Please, daddy. Wanna cum in your mouth,” You slurred out, pushing his head towards you. He moaned into your pussy, taking his fat tongue and licking one wet stripe up your slit. He pulled your pussy back, exposing that throbbing clit to him, and placed one lick directly onto your button. "Fuck, daddy, feels so good! Suck it, please, suck it. I - please - need to cum so bad!"

“Need to cum, huh, sweetheart? I'll make your little pussy throb for me and then I'm putting my cock right back in that tight hole, where it belongs,” He spoke. He thrust two fingers into your slit, much thicker and longer than yours. You spread your legs, holding them up against your chest. You literally almost purred when he started moving his fingers, curling them up into that spot and sucking on your clit whilst he did so. It wasn't going to take long. The man was clearly amazing at every part of sex. 

You focused on the feeling of his wet tongue rubbing up against your clit and writhed, feeling closer and closer to the edge. He knew what he was fucking doing. Your thighs started to shake, taking everything in you not to just let them go from your hold and clutch around Chan’s head. You wanted him to permanently live between your thighs. Your eyes clenched shut, a deep sigh leaving you. 

“Fuck, I'm g’na cum,” You mumbled out, chest heaving and flushed a shade of crimson. Chan pulled away, causing you to whine. You pouted, reaching up to grab his shoulders. "No, no! You said I could. You said you would help me.”

“What I said was that I'd make it throb for you and then I'm sliding back right in here, sweetheart. Be good for daddy, you'll get to cum,” He positioned his length at your core again, sliding right back into home. You both moaned, and he was fucking you in a mating press this time, almost as if you were a couple in love. You wished you were, and realised this was definitely your favourite position so far. The man fucked like an animal and now he was fucking you like he was going to breed you, and you loved it. He reached down with one hand to rub your clit rapidly, trying to bring you to the edge. “This is my fucking pussy. My favourite fucking pussy, my only girl, the only pussy for me, okay?”

“Fuck!” You cried of overstimulation, hands still wrapped around your legs. “G’na... getting close again, gonna-”

“Cum then, sweetheart, flood my cock. Make a mess for me, come on, do it," Chris encouraged, breathing heavily next to your ear. His eyes were focused on where he was entering you over and over again, taking note of the white ring of slick that had formed around the base of his cock, soaking the hair that rested there. You scrunched your eyes shut, feeling overwhelmed with bliss. “That's it. That's my good girl.”

White hot ecstasy overtook your body. You wanted to squirm, but with the pressure of the muscular man on top of your body, you had nowhere to go. You focused on the feeling of his slick chest rubbing against your sensitive nipples, whining and moaning as the orgasm coursed through your body and made it feel like you were being electrocuted. 

“Fucking clenching on my cock, shit,” Chan groaned, his hand falling away from your clit once your breathing had began to calm slightly. His hands went down to grab your hips, and before you knew it, he was lifting your hips up and fucking you senseless, treating you like a toy. “W-Wanted to be soft with you for our first time, sweetheart. I'm not normally like this, not at all, but this fucking pussy is driving me insane, fuck... I need to fill you up. Will you let daddy fill that pussy with my cum, sweetheart? Let me breed you, make you mine?”

You nodded quickly, unable to speak at this point. Your hole felt raw, sensitive and fucked open, but you needed his cum in you. You thought you might die if you didn't get it soon. His tip jabbed into your g spot incessantly, almost causing you to cum again, but you subconsciously knew you couldn't take another orgasm at the same level as the previous one. You might die. 

“Fucking- g’na breed you, sweetheart. Gonna make you mine. G-Gonna give you a baby, g’na fill you up, fuck!”

With an animalistic growl, Chan’s head dropped to your neck, biting into the skin there and definitely leaving a mark. You felt his hips still and cum flooded out of the tip of his length, flooding your hole with a new sense of wetness. You sighed with content and laid there until Chan’s breathing calmed, his body weight fully on top of you and yet not uncomfortable. 

“I have to be honest about something,” Chan sighed. You looked up at him from your position on his chest, and he looked down at you with an apprehensive look. He looked a lot shyer than he did moments before, when he was fucking you senseless and calling you a slut - he was blushing now, embarrassed. You were sure that’s what you liked about him. “You’re- it’s like you were made for me. I don’t know what the fuck to do, heh. I’m falling for you, I think.”

You blinked, leaning up to rest inches away from his face. Got him. You’d got him. “Well, that’s okay, Chan. You’re closer to my age anyway, right?”

[noctiva]

Sweet Thing [PT. 1]

Toby Rogers x f!reader (NSFW)

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WC: 10.2k

Summary: Church on Sundays, a quiet daily life on your family’s farm, and the chirp of crickets to lull you to sleep every night. You had a nice, simple life. That is, until you found yourself entangled with a miscreant from another state. You should’ve listened to mama.

CW: 18+ content, mentions of religion + religious imagery, questioning faith, descriptions of violence and gore, alluded sexism, americans written by a canadian lmaoaoao, female masturbation, manipulation, sort of toxic relationship, loss of innocence, loss of virginity, explicit sexual content, corruption, salirophilia, unsafe sex, semi-public sex, dirty talk, pretty plot heavy - you gotta suffer a bit before Toby makes an appearance, but once he doesss, LORD

Part 2

Reminder to separate reality from fiction! Some of the acts written here are definitely not recommended to imitate. Be safe!

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NSFW under the cut! Minors do not interact!

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“Did ya’ see? The old fence out front got knocked down again.”

Sat at your family’s wooden kitchen table, you push around the scrambled eggs on your plate absentmindedly. It’s a morning like any other. The sun just barely peeking over the horizon, illuminating the dew drops on the crops outside. A crisp chill in the air before the sun warms up the sky.

Your father sits in front of you at the head of the table, dressed and ready for the day like he always was - complete with his suspenders and hat, dirtied blue jeans stuffed into his work boots. Your mother sat next to him, looking lovely - as expected. You sometimes wonder how early she truly woke up, with the way her hair was always perfectly curled and her makeup was spotless before the day had even started.

Your brother sat next to you. Jameson, or ‘Jamesy’ as everyone called him - your family’s crown jewel. He was strong, capable, and smart enough that he really could’ve done something with himself if he really wanted to, but he didn’t. He chose to stay here, much fonder of the smell of dirt and manure than that of gasoline and city smog.

It wasn’t much, but it was comfortable. Easy. For you, at least. Your father and Jameson tended to most of the farm work - harvesting and replanting crops, milking the cows and slaughtering the pigs. All you had to do was collect the eggs from the chicken coop in the mornings. And all your mother had to do was homemake and look pretty (which, truthfully, was probably a lot more difficult than you were giving her credit for).

It was all you had ever known, ever since you were a little girl, but you were content with that. You doubted it got much better than this anyway. Even if it did, the cost was probably far too great.

“Again?” Your mother frowned, polished pink nails clinking against her coffee mug as she raised it to her lips. “That’s the third time this month, ain’t it?”

“You bet.” Your father huffed back to her, lips twitched down into a scowl you had learned to look past. Downturned lips under a bushy greying moustache, you couldn’t reminder the last time his face had changed. Maybe it was stuck that way. “I’m gettin’ damn tired of fixing it.”

You watch as he stabs a few pieces of fresh made sausage onto his fork, before shovelling them into his mouth.

“I fixed the fence last time, Pops.” Jameson pipes up as he leans back in his chair, the old wood creaking under his weight. He crosses his arms over his chest, the navy blue flannel he was wearing rolled up to his elbows.

It was such a run of the mill, mundane conversation, that you were barely even paying attention. The words were more so floating around your ears than actually entering them - the food in front of you going cold the longer you pushed it around. You could name countless other days that has started just the same as this one.

That didn’t mean it was bad, just… Growing stale. After nineteen years on this same old plot of land, everything was. Jameson had his driver’s license and ventured out often, spending nights god knows where only to return with a stupid grin and a flush on his cheeks. You… Well, you didn’t go anywhere. The farthest you wandered was to the old willow tree just outside of your family’s property. Any further, and you’d get an earful from your father.

Which was strange, because you were the eldest, but you suppose that’s just the way life is. Maybe one day you’ll turn out just like your mother - continuing to never wander far, dedicating your time and energy to make some regular farm boy happy. That’s probably the plan.

“Yeah, because I just said - I’m damn tired of fixin’ it!” Your father drops his fork back onto the table with a clink. His plate was clean. Just like your mother’s. Just like Jameson’s. Unlike yours. “I didn’t spend two weeks breaking my back putting that thing up just for it to be knocked down every fuckin’ Tuesday.”

“Language.” Your mother chastises in a soft hiss, shooting your father a narrow look out of the corner of her eye. The pearls hung around her neck showed their lustre the best in the morning sun, as did the absolute rock placed in the centre of her wedding ring. With her fingers clasped around her mug, she lets out a sigh before continuing. “I reckon it’s that new family that moved in at the end of the road. You know, the Rogers?”

Finally, your interest is piqued, and you look up from your plate to gaze curiously at your mother as she rambles on. “None of these things were happening before that lot showed up, and I heard their boy is a real piece of work. They only moved out here to try and keep him outta trouble.”

“Yeah? Where’d you hear that?” Your father asks, voicing the question you had been silently wondering yourself. You watch with interest as your mother takes a sip of her coffee before answering - steam billowing up from the mug.

“Word gets around. Saw Darleen when I was runnin’ errands at the market.” She hums softly. “They moved in right across the street from her and Tommy.” She sets her mug down before standing up and pushing her chair in. She picks up her plate, then your father’s, then Jameson’s. When she reaches yours she eyes it quizzically, obviously taken aback by how little you’ve actually eaten. “You’re not done, are you darlin’? You’ve barely made a dent.”

Your eyes widen a little as they lift to meet hers, before you sheepishly brush a few strands of hair off of your shoulders.

“Oh, I’m just not hungry today, mama.” You answer back softly, giving her a little smile. “Woke up on the wrong side of the bed I suppose.”

She raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow at you, studying your face for a few moments. Probably to try and determine whether or not you were lying. You weren’t. You knew better than to try and slip a lie past her.

“Alright.” She breathes out, before collecting your plate as well. “But you’re not skipping supper. Can’t have you going all frail on us.”

You watch as she carries the plates towards to kitchen sink, setting the three empty ones on the counter before scraping yours into the compost under the sink. You can’t help but feel just a little bad about it, knowing that she had been the one to get up early and cook it - only to end up shovelling it into the waste bin. “Anyway, as I was sayin’-“ She however, doesn’t seem phased. But then again, she never did. “The Rogers, they’ve been all over the place because of that boy of theirs. Darlene says he’s got a whole shopping list of medical problems, so they’ve been flying state to state ever since he was a baby to try and get him patched up.”

The faucet squeaks as she turns it, warm water gushing out and starting to fill the sink. Then she turns, grabbing her apron off of a coat hook next to the fridge before fastening it on. “Don’t know what he’s got, but it doesn’t really matter. Apparently he’s been a bad apple ever since he hit puberty. Lyin’, stealin’, the whole lot. Lived in Colarado for a little before he stole a cop car. Paid his bail and moved him out here.”

“You sure love your gossip, don’t you, ma’?” Jameson snorts, shooting you a look out of the corner of his eye that has you letting out a soft giggle.

“It’s not gossip, Jamesy.” You mother sighs. She picks up his plate, and rinses it under the warm water. “It’s talk. Everyone talks around here. What else is there to do to pass the time?” The same thing is done to the other three plates before she’s pouring soap onto a sponge. “Besides, it’s good to talk. Keeps you aware.”

“Aware of what?” You ask, your eyes following her hands as she scrubs grime from the dishes. Just like she had done every day since you could form a memory. Your father’s calloused hands had never even touched a dish in his life. You didn’t even have to ask to be sure of that fact. Which, again, was just the way things were.

“Of what’s going on around us.” She hums softly, not sparing you a glance as she worked. “Of the people you don’t wanna mix with.”

“Well how can you know you don’t like them if you’ve never even met ‘em?” You question again. Where this boldness had come from, you weren’t entirely sure, but questions just kept bubbling up in your mind like popped corn. You suppose you should just keep all these thoughts to yourself, but then where was the fun in that? You needed something to keep your mind lively, even if it was just a hoard of ‘what if’s’ and ‘what could be’s’

This tidbit about some family of strangers was the most excitement you had gotten in weeks.

Your mother’s hands still, and then she’s pausing at the sink to look at you. And that’s all it takes, one look to know you’ve taken a step too far.

“I know enough.” She answers back to you, with a tone of finality in her voice that immediately shifts the atmosphere in the room. You can feel it, and so could your brother, if the way his shoulders tensed up was anything to tell by. “I know enough to know that I don’t want the likes of them hangin’ anywhere around here. Anywhere around you, specifically.”

“Me?” You ask, still pressing through you know it’s a dangerous route. Her warning though, just had your imagination running even more rampant. “Why just me? Jamesy’s the one always goin’ out at night. For all you know he’s probably already met the kid.”

“Have not.” Jameson snaps back immediately. He turns his head and deals you a warning glare, probably a suggestion to not throw him under the bus again. “Rogers is weird. You’d never catch me hanging around him.”

Oh?

“That right?” You push, narrowing your eyes right back at him. The calm morning vibe had long since diminished, leaving plenty of room for something much more volatile. “And how would you know if you’ve never met him?”

You watch as Jameson’s eyes widen a little, his fingers twitching into fists once he’s realized his fatal slip up. Got him, you think, as your lips stretch up into a sly smile. Somehow, the look in his eyes only grows colder, before he’s looking away from you with a scoff.

“Alright, damn, I’ve met him before.” He confesses with a huff. “But don’t worry ma’, I don’t pass the time with him. He’s…” He pauses for a moment, struggling to come up with the right word. “Freaky.” He settles on. “The typa guy that your gut just tells you to stay far away from.”

Your mother hums in satisfaction at the answer, resuming her previous actions as she rinses off soap in the sink. “He’s a gnarly lookin’ fellow too. Face all scarred up, practically torn to shreds on the left half of it.” He turns to look at you again, and then raises finger to point square at your face. “Bad news.” He snaps. “That whole damn family. Ma’s right, and you should listen to her. You’ve got no business bein’ around him. I can’t think of a single intention he could have that would be good.”

“Alright, Jamesy, gosh.” You finally concede, crossing your arms over your chest. Unable to conceal the frown twitching at your lips. “I wasn’t gonna, anyway. Was just curious.”

“Like hell you were ‘just curious’.” He snorts, giving you one last warning glance before standing up. “Curiosity turns into ideas, and ideas turn into actions.” He pushes his chair in. “Ain’t that right, pa’?”

“Right on the money.” Your father hums. He looks to you, meets your eye, and you know right then that this little fight is over. You could argue with your mom, and you could bicker with Jameson - but you knew better than to fight with your dad. So you zip your lips, give him a curt little nod of understanding, and the matter is dealt with.

The curiosity, however, lingers.

Breakfast is finished with, and after helping your mother wring out the fresh washed clothes, you pin them up to dry outside. The sun has finally made its full appearance, painting the whole world gold and blessing your skin with its warmth.

A soft, cream coloured maxi dress hangs off of your body - lacy, flowing, complete with bell sleeves. It was the type of thing that showed off the fact that it wasn’t you who got your hands dirty. Your hands were soft and nimble as they pulled your hair up and off of your neck, pinning it in place with a claw clip. You pull a few strands out to frame your face, before turning to look at your mother. She was just finishing hanging up the last few articles of clothing, dressed in something rather similar to you - though hers boasted a robin’s egg blue tone.

“You look lovely today, mama.” You tell her as you take a few steps towards her, bare feet pressing into the soft blades of grass below you. She looks up to meet your gaze, and you smile to yourself when you catch the way her eyes softened. She always looked so much younger when she smiled. It was like a glimpse at the young girl she used to be - the one who giggled softly and blushed at compliments.

“Thank you, darlin’.” She hums, lips curved upwards minutely. Once the last garment is hung, she wipes her damp hands against the front of her dress. “Why’re you kissing up? Trying to make me forget about the stunt you pulled at breakfast?”

Well, yes, but you didn’t think you were that obvious.

“I didn’t pull a stunt.” You laugh softly, clasping your hands behind your back. A soft breeze blows by you both, tousling the hair you had just made presentable. “I really just wasn’t hungry. Promise.”

“Oh, that’s not what I’m talking about.” She places a hand on her hip and cocks her head to the side. She had this way of peering into your very soul when she looked at you. A result of being born from her very flesh, maybe. Or perhaps you were just too much like her. “Got Pa’ and Jamesy all riled up. A woman’s got to realize when to bite her tongue sometimes, you know.”

“I was just askin’ questions.” You huff, lips tugging into a pout as you gaze up at her. “It’s not often someone new comes around here, can you blame me for wanting to know more?”

It’s silent for a moment as she studies you, her eyes narrowing minutely.

You can see it in her eyes as a million different thoughts pass through her mind, before she’s letting out a huff and settling on one. Closer, she approaches, until she’s standing right before you. Then, she reaches a hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear gently. Her fingers are soft, yet so cold.

“Listen to me, okay?” She breathes out. You can tell that she’s trying to keep her expression neutral, but you can still see it when a crease begins to form between her brows. “I know you’re at the age where you’re startin’ to want things, growing up into a woman right before my eyes.” She pinches your cheek gently and lets out a little sigh. “But you’re still my little girl. I’ll be damned to hell if I let you run off with some miscreant.”

“I wouldn’t, mama.” You frown, eyebrows scrunching up at her words. Despite that, you reach up to touch her hand softly with your own. “I just wanted to know more about him. I don’t have many friends around these parts, you know.”

“I know, baby, and I’m sorry for that.” Mirroring your own expression, her lips twitch downwards. “But you don’t need to be friends with someone like him. You’re a sweet thing. You need someone who matches that.”

She pulls away and purses her lips, before crossing her arms over her chest. “If you don’t believe me, trust Jameson. He’s met the boy.” Somehow, neither warning is swaying you. You weren’t one for rumours. Would much rather see the horror for yourself and be the judge of it, than just blindly abide to hearsay. For all you knew, he might just be a little off kilter, but a notch too far for your tight knit community to accept.

Maybe, he was just as lonely as you were. Maybe, he also just needed a friend. “We all just want what’s best for you, okay?” Your mother continues when she notices you’ve gone silent - getting lost in a mind that she just knew was growing more and more dangerous with each passing moment. “You need to listen, just this once. You’re a smart girl, act like it.”

Act like it. You’d sure as hell try.

By the afternoon, you’ve finished up lunch and were slipping on a pair of sandals by the back door with a wicker basket hanging from your arm. It was a lovely day outside - all blue skies and warm wind - so it was much favourable to the stuffy quarters of your family’s little homestead. Besides, you really felt like you needed a little time alone after being hounded for the greater half of the morning.

“Where are you goin’?” Your father asks, sat at the dining table with a newspaper in his hands. An ashtray sits in front of him, packed with ash with a smouldering smoke rested precariously on the edge.

“Found a patch of lemongrass out by the willow.” You hum back to him, offering a smile once you’ve fastened your shoes and stood up straight. “Last time I was there it was just shy of being long enough to pick. I think I’ll be able to grab some today.”

“That so?” He reaches forward and picks up his abandoned cigarette, slotting it between his teeth before settling back into his chair again. His calloused fingers rub against the thin paper in his hands as he turns to the next page. “Ma’ would probably like that for the roast shes cookin’ up tonight.” His gaze floats over to you once more and he lets out a soft huff. “Don’t dirty your dress again. Got an earful from ‘er last time she had to scrub grass stains from the knees.”

“I won’t.” You laugh sheepishly, but it’s a half-baked lie. You never try to, but somehow you always find yourself coming home with dirt on the hems and moss caked into your knees. You had an affinity for lying beneath the old willow, sinking into the soft patch of grass below whilst sun shone down on you through the gaps in the branches. Nature wasn’t as gentle as you were though, and always left you sullied by the time you walked back through your front door.

But that was alright. You’d just have to do your own laundry next time. Surely that would make up for it.

The sun heats your skin once you step through the door and skip down the steps of the back porch. The gentle sound of wind chimes meets your ears, a soft melody that brings a smile to your face even as you drift further away from the source. The wind carries you as you pad through the soft grass that made up most of your backyard, bordered with a slew of different crops.

Tomatoes, peppers, sweet peas - basically every vegetable your mother wanted constant free access to. Your favourites, were the potatoes- a variety spanning from golden russets to deep purple yams. It was simply the most fun, on the rare occasion that you’d convince your father to let you slip into a pair of Jameson’s old overalls and pluck each nugget from the ground with your bare hands. Dirt under your fingernails, mud on your elbows, sinking your hands into the earth that kept you fed and provided for.

You make a mental note to try and get him to let you next time. You pass the vegetable crops and venture out further, through the plowed land that served as a home for your father’s pride and joy - his corn field. Spanning acres, what felt like miles and miles of husks waiting to be peeled, the scent so fresh and sweet as you trudged through it. If there was an easier route to get where you needed to be, you didn’t care. Wading through the leaves and stems was a simple pleasure you wouldn’t deny yourself. It tickled as they brushed against your bare skin, stray hairs from the cobs catching in your hair and being carried away by you.

It’s a trek for sure, but it was the length of the journey that calmed your mind. The distance from your home that freed you, at least for now.

By the time you get to the willow tree your shows are caked with dirt, and the bottom hem of your dress is dusted brown from the earth it dragged against. Predictable. You have to hop the small fence that serves as the boundary line for your property, and once your feet land on the other side your heart feels lighter.

You had just barely left home, and yet you felt so far away. It was a euphoric feeling, to be all on your own.

Walking closer, you drop your basket on the ground before sinking into a crouch then flopping onto your back. You hadn’t lied to your father, there was a patch of lemongrass close by that was probably ready for picking, but that was your secondary motive in all honesty. The primary motive, was this. Lying beneath the willow with weeds in your hair, moss staining your dress, dirt sinking into your stockings when you slip your sandals off.

The breeze is warm, and the air is warmer. When you close your eyes and stretch your arms above your head, you feel like a cat stretching out in a spot of sunlight - relaxed, content. Free. You could spend hours like this, and you have before. Lying here until the sun went down and sent a chill through your bones. Sinking into the earth, letting it claim your body as its own for a few hours.

Whenever you die, you wish to be buried here. To have the roots of this tree wrap your corpse in an everlasting embrace. Keeping you close. Winding into your ribs and filling the space where your heart once was. It had been there when others hadn’t. It had watched you grow up, and absorbed your tears into its bark. You were one. A piece of you wound into each ring in its trunk.

You stretch your limbs, then bringing a leg up to bend at the knee. Your dress rises dangerously high, lace against your thigh. Exposing skin never seen, to air that would never speak of it. You bring your hands up to your face, cheeks rosy from the sun, and you hold them there. You can feel how warm you’ve become. How the sun has blanketed you in its heat, providing you with the comfort you so deeply craved.

It was times like these, that you felt guilty for calling yourself lonely. You had the sun, and the earth, and the willow that stood sturdy no matter what storm ripped past. You had all these constants, and they should be enough.

But they’re not. Not even close.

You want the warmth of hands. Hands, that loved you and held you close. Hands, that brushed upon places you had never shown another, imbuing you with a heat you couldn’t produce yourself. You wanted breath that brushed against you softer than the breeze did, causing goosebumps to rise despite the temperate nature of it.

You wanted arms to snake around you like these roots would when you were long gone. Curling around your body, constrictive yet grounding. Tight enough to make your breath shallow.

You wanted a man.

A real one. One who knew what you wanted, and abided to it. One who would kiss the souls of your feet, just to make sure every step of yours was blessed by his protection.

You wanted to feel, taste, love someone who held you just as dear.

But it was slim pickings, in a place like this.

You reach into your cleavage, fingers clasping the warmed metal of the crucifix that rested there. You knew it was sin, but was it not also human nature? Were we not born to crave one another? How else would this species live on?

How could one live, without the embrace of another? How could one die, never experiencing it? You wondered sometimes if you would. If you’d take after Mary, and leave this earth as a virgin unsullied.

Your pastor would probably say that was a blessing of the highest honour. You would call it punishment.

You needed it. Craved it like a starving dog craved a bone to slobber on. You could only imagine how it would really feel, but you were sure that your mind didn’t come close to reality. You didn’t have enough information to accurately picture how calloused palms may feel against your soft skin, or how blunt teeth may feel as they bite into your neck.

The crucifix feels hot in your palm, almost like it knows it’s in the grip of a sinner. But you just hold it tighter, like strengthening your grasp may make up for your lack in faith.

Forgive me, Father, for I am just a woman. Your other knee comes up, bumping into the one next to it. Your hair splays beneath you, like a halo surrounding this fallen angel. Is it truly so wrong, to want to be loved in the highest form?

You feel the breeze hit the backs of your thighs, exposed with your legs drawn close. You wonder if the soft tickle is similar to how it would feel if it were someone’s fingertips instead. Your thighs twitch just from the thought.

Would they touch you like you were something holy? Would they whisper your name in your ear like you were gospel? Would they take you apart, just to remake you in their image?

Would they love you? Truly?

Could you find love in a place like this?

You aren’t even thinking as the cross slips from your fingers, in favour of trailing your fingers against the exposed neckline of your dress. Across your collarbones, yours fingers sweeping over the swell of your chest. With eyes closed, you sink into it, grass in your hair as the pads of your fingers skirt against your warming body.

You were a woman, but were you? Were you not just still a girl, blind to the pleasures hidden from you? You could touch yourself all you wanted, but would it ever be the same?

You wouldn’t know until you felt it for yourself.

You rest your palm on your stomach, right over your womb, curling your fingers gently into the soft material of your dress. You wouldn’t dare venture lower - not with the cross hanging around your neck. You would press your thighs together though, as if it were less of a sin if your hands left the ordeal unstained. You press them together tight, shifting, trying to generate any form of stimulation to placate you.

It works, a little. Enough to send tingles up your thighs. Enough to make your stomach flip. It was just shy of pleasure, so it couldn’t truly be wrong, right?

You shift again, rubbing your thighs together more as your fingers grip the fabric between them tighter. You can feel it. The heat, just barely brewing. So close, but just out of reach. You could have it, if you just slipped your hand down lower.

No one was watching. No one would know.

God would. But would he turn a blind eye, just this once?

You had always, always been good. Would one sin damn you? If so, where was the fairness in that from a god supposedly so compassionate?

If you repented, would it all be erased?

Even if you didn’t, what was the difference? You knew it was wrong either way.

(Or did you?)

You’re just taking the bait, slowly sliding your hand down lower, lower - towards the hem of your dress. Towards a place that was simply a gateway to hell if you laid your fingers on it. You were just about to give it all up, succumb to your desires and worry about repentance later. But then-

“A-Ah, shit. I didn’t expect to see anyone a-around here.”

Your entire body jolts, eyes flying open and being temporarily blinded by the sun. Before you even look at who’s just spoken to you, you’re sitting up and tugging your dress back down to your ankles. It didn’t matter who it was, that voice was a man’s. Low, gravelly. Soft, and wracked with stutters, but a man nonetheless.

A man who had just undoubtedly seen you, mere seconds away from indulging in your wicked desires.

Once you’re completely sure that any bare skin is far out of sight, you finally look up, and immediately your eyes widen.

It’s a man alright, just five feet away (give or take). He stands tall, or maybe it’s just an illusion because you’re still sat on the grass. Brown hair, fluffy and unruly - visibly knotted even from the distance between you. Honey brown eyes, freckles spotting the bridge of his nose and trickling down his cheeks. A bandage on the left side of his face, placed right next to the side of his mouth.

You’re speechless. Speechless as you look up at him. Speechless as he takes a hesitant step forwards. Cautious. Restrained. Like a person approaching a scared animal. Maybe that’s exactly what you were.

Baggy jeans hang off of his hips, ripped at the knees and visibly well worn. A slate grey shirt hugs his torso, covered mostly by the dark brown flannel shrugged over top of it. A black baseball cap completes the look.

The look of trouble. You can sense it before you even open your mouth. Or, it could be that you were just being presumptuous, considering that this was the first man who had spoken to you (besides your father, Jameson, and your preacher) in years.

“I didn’t expect to see anyone here.” You murmur back once you’ve found your voice, sitting up more as you eye him curiously. You just can’t tear your eyes away from him. Away from everything that makes him so much different than you. The wrinkles in his clothes, the stubble on his jaw. The way he carried himself - shoulders square with his hands tucked into his pockets. “This is my tree.”

“Your t-tree?” The man laughs and raises an eyebrow, taking another step forwards that has your entire body tensing up. Not that close in the grand scheme of things, but far too close for your comfort. “I didn’t know people c-could c-claim trees around here.” He tilts his head to the side. “B-Besides, isn’t this unclaimed land?”

“Technically.” You narrow your eyes up at him, trying to gauge his intentions. He looked harmless, but was he? Was anyone? “But I’ve been coming to this tree for years and never had another soul wander close.” You cross your arms over your chest. “Therefore, it’s mine.”

“Y-Yeah?” The man shifts from one foot to the other, and you’ve noticed that he’s rather fidgety. Shifting, twitching, like something inside him was trying to burst free from his body. “I-I’ve been coming here too though, and I-I’ve never seen you.”

“You have not.” You argue back immediately.

“I ha-have too.” He laughs softly, eyes warming at your immediate defiance. It was cute, how something that looked so sweet seemed to have so much bite. “C-Come here all the time when home gets buh-boring. Have since I m-moved in.” You watch curiously as his shoulders jolt, a strange sudden motion that had you raising an eyebrow.

“No you haven’t.” You press as you cross your arms over your chest. You’ve never seen this man, not even once. You knew that it wasn’t possible for you to keep an eye on this place all the time, but the chances of never running into him? Slim. Incredibly slim. For all you knew, this was all just a ploy to gain your trust. “I’ve never seen you ‘round here. I’d know it if I did.”

“Oh, s-so you’re here 24/7 then?” He snorts, rolling his eyes minutely. He takes another step closer, then another, so quickly encroaching on your bubble of personal space. “Or, w-what? You g-got cameras set up?” He makes a show at looking upwards and peering through the leaves, sarcastically scanning the area. You narrow your eyes.

Before you can say anything else, he’s already crouching down before sitting against the grass next to you. Still with a few feet in between, but the action makes your eyes widen nonetheless. You can observe him so much better now. How his eyes looked so dark until the sun hit them, and suddenly they were transfiguring from molasses to pools of honey. The slash in his eyebrow, a scar that left a permanent gap between the hairs. His eyelashes, quite long for a man you thought, fluttering against his cheek every time he blinked.

He smelled like pine and tobacco. It wafted over to you, like a beckoning call to get closer. You wouldn’t. “Can’t we share?” He asks you, leaning back on his palms and turning his head to the side to meet your gaze. You avert your eyes immediately. “I th-think you’re being selfish, keeping something so nice all t-to yourself.”

“And I think you’re being entitled.” You mutter back to him, lips twitched down into a frown.

You watch as he lets out a snort of laughter, a sound that caused his expression to crinkle. Little creases appearing at the corners or his eyes and the bridge or his nose.

“M-Maybe I am.” He shrugs. He tilts his head back, fluffy brown strands of hair falling into his eyes as he looks up through the leaves to the blue sky above. “Or, maybe I just want some c-company. It’s lonely around he-here.”

And for the first time during the conversation, you feel like you can’t argue. Because he was right. It was lonely around here. Agonizingly so. Bringing forth the type of loneliness that sunk into your bones like rot, festering more and more each day. Until one day, the sun rose, and you were completely infected. Numb to the melancholy around you.

That day hadn’t come upon you yet, but you feared you were close. “Y-You got a name?” He asks when your response is mere silence, and your eyes flicker up to meet his.

You know you shouldn’t tell him. Names… They held a lot of power. Transformed strangers into acquaintances. Opened a door that couldn’t easily be shut. If you told him, you couldn’t so easily brush him off if you ever saw him again.

Your name was a snippet of who you were. Something not to be taken lightly.

And yet, you find yourself uttering it out anyways. Soft, carried away by the breeze around you - but he hears it. He hears it clear as day.

“Puh-Pretty.” He hums back to you, lips twitched up at the corners in a way that made your heart flutter. A feeling so foreign to you, that it immediately elicited panic in your mind. “Suits you. Y-You’re a pretty thing.” Again, your heart skips a beat. Were you dying? Your pulse has skyrocketed and was doing flips in your chest. Surely, you must be dying. Before you can attempt to get a word out in response, he’s speaking again. “I’m T-Toby.”

Toby. It’s a nice name, soft and boyish. You mill it over in your brain a few times, imagining how the syllables would taste on your tongue. The craving is too strong to stay silent.

“Toby.” You murmur back to him, testing out the sound as it leaves your mouth. You like it, you decide. “Is that short for somethin’?”

The man - Toby - raised an eyebrow at you and lets out a soft chuckle. It’s a nice sound, deep and smooth, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Very quickly, the distain you had felt for him when he first approached was fizzling away. Even if your mind was on edge, your body was so clearly craving the presence or another. Still a few feet between you, but now you were itching to minimize the space a little. Not enough to touch, of course not, just enough to… Observe him better. Your curiosity was, once again, getting the better of you.

But how could it not? The man beside you was a bundle of unanswered questions, just waiting to be dug into. This was just the excitement you had been looking for.

“I-If you must know…” Toby answers with a dramatic sigh, making your lips twitch as you try to contain a smile. You fail, and his grin only widens when he sees your lips curve. Got her. “It’s short for T-Tobias. Tobias Rogers.”

You can practically hear the glass break when the light atmosphere is shattered.

Rogers? Like… Rogers, Rogers?

The very same that your entire family had spent the greater half of the day warning you to stay far away from? The criminal? The ‘bad news’? The ‘freak’, as Jameson had so eloquently put it?

Toby sees it when your lips part in shock, and the colour slowly begins to drain from your face. Rosy cheeks swapped for a shell-shocked pale tone. It’s staggering, how quickly your mood flipped just from the mention of his name alone. He furrows his eyebrows, and tilts his head to the side a little. “D-Damn, is it that bad? We can just stick to T-Toby then.”

You swallow thickly and take a breath, your eyes locked on his face - practically impossible for you to tear away. He couldn’t be the same person, right? You were being presumptuous.

Jameson had described him as a ‘gnarly looking fellow’, and he didn’t look like that to you. There were a few little scars here and there on his face, but nothing enough to warrant such a grim description. Your eyes drift, catching on the bandaging covering a solid portion of the left half of his face. You wonder what lay beneath it. Was it ‘torn to shreds’ just as your brother had said?

“Why are you all bandaged up?” You blurt out, unable to contain yourself. You just had to know. You felt like you may burst or you didn’t.

You watch as Toby’s lips tug even further down, his eyes flashing with something you couldn’t quite describe. The closest match would probably be shame.

“Manners, much?” He mutters as he catches your eye. “That side of my f-face ain’t pretty. I’d rather k-keep it covered.” He pauses for just a moment. “Especially around s-someone like you.”

You hum softly in response, but you’re nowhere near satisfied by his answer. You needed proof. Proof that your luck truly was laughable, and that sheer coincidence was making a fool out of you. If it was true, and this was who you had been warned about, it’s almost funny how you didn’t even need to try and seek him out. He found you.

Was that fate? Was it God delivering him to you?

And if so, could he truly be that bad?

Unless-

Toby watches you, waiting for your next move as he reached up with his left hand to absentmindedly pick at his bandage. His hands were littered with scars too, the skin on his fingertips red and raw. Nails bitten to the bone. You wonder, against yourself, how they would feel against your skin. They looked so much different than your own soft, unmarred hands. Rough and worn. Battered to such an extent that left you wondering how they had become that way. Not even your father, a man who worked the farm day in and day out, had hands like that.

Would his touch be as rough as he looked? Or would he be gentle, so to preserve your fragility?

-Unless it was a test of faith.

“You can show me.” You speak back to him, pushing your hair over your shoulder as you lean to the side a little. Just barely bridging the distance between the two of you. Testing the waters. “Promise I won’t make fun of ya’.”

That earns a snort of a laugh out of Toby, before he’s shaking his head softly in disbelief.

“I’d sure hope n-not.” Toby chuckles, then pulling his hand back down in favour of leaning back against it once more. “Not today though, darlin’. You’re j-just starting to used t-t-fuck! -to me.” You watch curiously as his shoulders jerk, his head cracking to the side in a way that both looked and sounded painful. Of course, he catches onto your worried gaze pretty quickly. “S-Sorry.” His face crinkles up in embarrassment. “It’s, uh-“ His hand lifts up to wave around absently. “This thing I got. T-Tourette’s.”

And suddenly, you get it. You don’t think a place like this would take kindly to someone like him, regardless of what his true nature was. He was different. Different in a way that wouldn’t so easily be glossed over by people who had been set in their own ways for far too long. Barely any outsiders were accepted warmly into your close-knit community, and so one that was so clearly a contrasting force? Not a chance.

But you weren’t put off. Weren’t scared or disgusted like every other member of your community seemed to be. If anything it made you angry at them. For being so unforgiving, though forgiveness was the very thing they nodded along to when the pastor preached about it.

What hypocrites.

“S’Not a problem.” You wave him off, offering him a kind little smile. He deserved it, you think. Everyone deserved to be treated kindly, but him especially. You could just feel it in your bones, that compassion wasn’t something Toby was often dealt. He was probably far lonelier than you. You don’t suppose you can blame him, for trying to find a connection with someone else, though he had startled you at first. At the end of the day, that’s all you wanted as well. “Don’t gotta be sorry about it. ‘Specially if it’s something you can’t control.”

You shrug softly, then meet his gaze as a gust of wind sent your hair into a flurry.

And though you didn’t know it, that would be the exact moment when Toby fell for you.

You were… So kind. So kind, gentle, and sweet. And so pretty too. The way the sunlight was hitting you right then made it look as if you were glowing - golden rays hitting your unblemished skin like the sun was created simply to shine a spotlight on you. You looked like an angel. Maybe you were. With your sparkling eyes, fluttering lashes, and flowing white fabric draped over your body, the only thing you were missing was a pair of wings.

His fingers curl into the grass beneath him, accidentally ripping out a few blades in his grip as he tries to reign in his thoughts. How could someone so lovely live in this place? Riddled with bigotry and sour expressions. How had they not tainted you? And did he even deserve to be in the presence of your purity?

Probably not. He met your eyes again, so warm and inviting. Definitely not.

“Y-You’re a sweet thing.” He mutters softly, tilting his head to the side a little. “Has anyone ever t-told you that?”

“My mama, sometimes.” You giggle, now fully scooting closer though you can so clearly hear the words your mother had spoken to you just this morning. ‘You’re a sweet thing. You need somebody who matches that.’ Grass smears against your dress as you shuffle towards him, leaving lime green stains against cream fabric. Sorry mama, for more reasons than one. “Y’know, she warned me about you.”

Toby’s breath hitches in his throat as he watches you approach him, finally eliminating the space he had created to be courteous. He could smell you now - fresh linen and lavender - and he could pick out all of the tiny features on your face that made you… You. He could see each little flyaway strand of hair that went into a frenzy whenever the breeze hit you. He could imagine the warmth of your skin when his eyes fixated on the rosiness to your cheeks.

He’s so caught up in how dizzyingly beautiful you are up close, that he nearly misses what you say completely. When the words do register though, his eyes are flicking back to meet yours as a frown tugs his lips downwards.

“W-Warned you?” He raises an eyebrow. “‘Bout what? I didn’t d-do nothin’.”

“Didn’t you?” You giggle softly and narrow your eyes at him playfully. Even if he was trouble, it was so fun to talk to somebody that wasn’t directly a part of the circle you had grown accustomed to. It was exciting. So many unknowns that it made your blood simmer with the need to dig in deeper. “It’s a small town y’know, people talk.” You pull your knees up to your chest and rest your forearms on them as you gaze up at him. “Locals are sayin’ you’re a criminal. And my daddy’s convinced you’re the one who keeps knockin’ down our fence.”

You nod your head in the direction of your property, to which Toby’s gaze follows. Immediately, his expression morphs into one of sheepish realization.

“Hmm… Y-Yeah, that might’ve been me.” He laughs softly, a cocky little smile playing at his lips. “Tell your ‘daddy’ he built his f-fence too close to the- the road. Pretty easy to lose control on g-gravel streets.”

You snort out a laugh and roll your eyes. You’d probably spit in your father’s face before ever criticizing one of his creations. Still though, the thought is funny to you.

“So it was you.” You grin up at him. “Are the rest of the rumours true then? Did ya’ really steal a patrol car?”

His eyebrows shoot up immediately, a look of bewildered amusement coating his expression.

“Christ, country folk are s-scary. How’d you know th-th-“ He draws out that first syllable for a couple seconds, like the word is hard for him to form. After a couple tries, he gets it. “-that?”

“I told you, people talk.” You laugh softly as you lean back on your hands. Your shoulder brushes against his just minutely, but it’s enough contact to raise goosebumps on your arms. “So is it true?”

Toby scoffs softly, before glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. You’re so close now. Welcoming him into your personal bubble so easily, looking up at him with those sweet doe-like eyes. For just a split second, his eyes flicker downwards towards your cleavage - smushed together from the way you were sitting leaned towards him, presented so beautifully in that silken white fabric.

He just knew that you had to be so soft. Could already imagine what your breasts would feel like against his palms - cushy warm flesh, yielding to his hands. He could only dream of what you would sound like it as he did it too. With a voice so soft and lovely, you’d probably sound like heaven itself as you breathed out little whimpers and moans.

He bet that you’d be shy about it. Refusing to meet his eye, flushed pink and pretty as you tug at your bottom lip to try and keep all of your noises at bay. But you wouldn’t stop him. No… You probably look up at him with both desperation and embarrassment clouding your eyes, before you hesitantly tugged him in closer.

Maybe he’d make you beg for it, just to see you squirm. Just to see your eyes shine with tears of humiliation.

He could imagine how your thighs would quiver when he gently pushed them apart. How you’d gasp when he touched you for the first time. How pretty your skin would look, with splotchy red marks and indentations from his teeth.

He could imagine ruining you. Tearing off your wings with his bare hands.

You were a sinful temptation, and you didn’t even know it. Looking up at him like he was the perfect picture of a good man. He wasn’t.

He was rotten. Had been since birth, most likely, because he couldn’t remember a day in his life where misfortune didn’t follow him. He was careless, impulsive, brash, and short-tempered. He would taint you the second you touched, infecting you with the decay hollowing out his bones.

He wanted to do it anyway.

“A-And if I did?” He asks with a sly smile, leaning into you with full intentions - just to see how you’d react. He’s delighted when you don’t move away, but he does feel how you instinctively tense up at the pressure of his shoulder pressing against yours. So timid. Had you ever been touched? “Would it ss-scare you off?”

You can feel his warmth through your clothing. The contact point where his shoulder meets yours being so warm in comparison to the rest of you. His bicep presses against yours when he shifts a little, and you can feel the lean muscle hidden under his flannel. What would it feel like to really touch him? To feel his muscles flex under your grip?

It’s barely anything. Just the slightest contact, but your head was already spinning. You don’t think you’ve ever been this close to a man, and your body was very clearly elated by the prospect. Hormones? Human nature? You weren’t sure what it was, but you were absolutely captivated by every little thing about him. You were trying to stay restrained, but these depraved thoughts just kept worming their way into your brain and speaking louder than the rest.

Would it scare you off? No, you knew that it would only entice you. You could feel it, how the idea of his misdeeds was only making him seem that much more desirable to you.

Trouble. Bad news. Then why did it seem so exciting? Why did he set your mind alight?

Maybe his natural charisma was a trap. A trap that you were so easily falling for, like a mouse too fixated on the prospect of cheese to see the danger.

“No.” You hum, tilting your head upwards to look at him better. He was very handsome. Sharp features but soft eyes. Shaggy, unruly hair, and yet it looked so silky. Stubble on his chin and along his jaw, framing his already captivating face. You were already in too deep. You could tell. “I’m not so easily scared. I’m not some delicate flower, y’know.”

Toby raises an eyebrow at you, clearly not convinced. And though he really was trying not to scare you off, the urge to push just a little bit further was getting harder to ignore. He could see it in your eyes, how receptive you were. Skittish, a little shy by nature, but clearly still wanting more. If you didn’t, then why hadn’t you moved away? Why were you the one to close the distance initially?

You were prodding at his personal space like a scared little kitten. Curious, but still on guard. Could he break down your walls a little? Would you let him get closer?

Toby lifts his hand up, his moments fluid and confident as he reaches down towards your face. Your eyes widen immediately, breath catching in your throat as his hand approaches you. Gently, like he’s scared to break you, his fingers brush the skin of your cheek before he tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

Your cheeks heat up immediately, momentarily frozen in placeby the tender contact. It’s like he’s cast a spell on you, and only once his hand leaves you does it break. Still though, you’re left shell-shocked with shaky breathing as his touch retreats.

“Aren’t you?” Toby asks, leaning back on his hands once more. He can’t hide the smile on his lips as he observed you - so flustered by the smallest touch. You were definitely innocent. From that reaction alone, he’d be surprised if you’d ever been kissed before. Just like that, his mind started whirring with images or what if would be like to do so. Guiding you, slow and gentle. Showing you the ropes. “You sure l-look like one.”

You feel dizzy. Your skin tingling like he was setting you on fire with just his eyes alone. He was looking at you in a way that made your lungs feel tight. Amused, and yet tainted with something deeper. Something darker. Something you had never encountered before. Heady. Carnal.

You couldn’t quite tell if you were intimidated or enraptured.

All you knew, was that your heart had never beat quicker than now. “But… Yeah, I m-might’ve done that.” Toby continues, knowing you’re probably too ruffled to respond properly. “Among other th-things.”

Trying to regain your composure, you swallow thickly and take in a shaky breath. You didn’t want him to know just how easily he was sending your mind into a frenzy. Little did you know, he already did.

“Why?” You ask softly, eyeing him curiously. What did he want from you? What did that expression mean?

Toby hums softly, reaching up to scratch the stubble on his jaw before answering.

“For fun, I g-guess.” He breathes out, sending you a playful grin that made your stomach flip. “Mostly just t-to- to piss my dad off.” You watch his hand as it moves, your skin still tingling where it had touched you. You wonder if he’d do it again. “He moved me out h-here hoping it would calm me d-down, but it just made it all worse. It’s so boring out here, I’m more restless than- than ever.”

He tilts his head down, smiling down at you. “What do you do around here f-for fun?”

You’re a little caught off guard by that question, and it’s hard not to shrink under his gaze. If he really wanted to, it would barely take any effort to close the rest of the distance between you. That possibility, is enough to make you squirm.

“For fun?” You repeat back softly. “Um… Come here?” You laugh sheepishly and look up towards the leaves above you. An easy escape from his paralyzing gaze. “Water our crops.. Read, help my mom sew up old clothes.” You shrug. “Not much else.”

“Really?” Toby asks incredulously, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. That sounded like such an agonizingly boring life, it nearly made his skin crawl. “You don’t d-do anything else? G-Go anywhere?”

You shake your head, before looking to him once more.

“Nah. My daddy doesn’t like it if I wander off somewhere he couldn’t easily find me.” You shrug. “That fence right there is our property. This is as far as I go on my own. Mama takes me to the market sometimes though, and my whole family goes into town for church on Sunday.”

That just makes Toby’s frown deepen. It seemed to him like you were being kept on a leash, hidden away from every interesting thing that life had to offer. How were you not so incredibly restless? Had you lived your whole life this way? Confined within the fence posts of your family’s property.

“That’s… Not right.” Toby speaks back to you slowly. “There’s a whole world out there. D-Don’t you want to see it?”

“Well, of course.” You murmur softly, gaze dropping down to where your hands were folded on your lap. It was strange, having someone agree with what you believed were just troublesome thoughts. Thoughts that had been shot down since you were a child, never once indulged in or encouraged. “But it’s not what you think… They’re just trying to keep me safe.”

“I think it’s exactly w-what I think.” Toby argues back, his eyebrows furrowed. “They don’t want to keep you safe, they want t-to keep you- you- fuck! -contained. Controlled.” His words make your shoulders tense up. “You’re an adult, r-right? Why’re you letting them treat you like a kid?”

“I’m not.” You frown, to which Toby merely scoffs.

“You are.” He protests. “It’s your l-life, you know? Not theirs. Y-You should live it.” He leans his head down lower, practically caging you in as he encroaches on your personal space. “Or are you t-too scared?”

“I ain’t scared.” You snap back at him, eyes narrowing up at him.

“No?” He laughs, eyes crinkling in amusement. You were so cute, it made his chest feel tight. He could definitely understand the need to protect someone like you. God forbid you fall into the clutches of someone like him. “T-Tell you what,” He grins down at you. “If you’re really not scared, l-let me take you out tonight.” Your eyes widen, and you just look even cuter. “I’ll pick you up in my truck. D-Drive you around. Show you a bunch of places I think you’d l-like. How’s that sound?”

Scary. Perfect. Dangerous. Exhilarating.

Like a recipe for disaster.

“I… I dunno if that’s a good idea.” You mumble. “I’d have to sneak out. And… If my daddy saw you trying to take me away he’d probably shoot ya’.”

Toby barks out a laugh, tilting his head back and taking in a wheezing breath like you had just told him something hilarious - and not a threat against his life. A few more giggles slip past his lips before he’s able to contain himself, and he lets out an amused sigh before looking back to you.

“I’m sure h-he would.” He chuckles. “But I’ll take that risk.” His laugh is so warm and addictive, it’s hard for you not to break into a grin as well. “S-Sneak out after he’s sleepin’ then, if you’re so w-worried about me. And I’ll pick ya’ up here, just to be safe.”

He really didn’t quit, did he? His insistence was more charming than anything else though. The idea of him wanting to spend more time with you this badly, was something that made your heart skip a beat. “If he somehow still manages t-to catch you, and he d-does put a hole in my head, I’d still say it was worth it.”

You want to. You really want to. And how the hell are you supposed to stay rational when he’s staring down at you with the warmest brown eyes you’ve ever seen? You’re trying to fight it, but it’s futile. You know you’re going to say yes. It’s a golden opportunity. When’s the next time you’ll be offered freedom like this?

“Okay.” You find yourself muttering out, the wind whistling in your ears and rising goosebumps on your arms. Or was it because of him, and how his aura was so effortlessly subjugating? “Okay.” You repeat, louder this time, almost like you’re trying to convince yourself that you’re truly giving in.

But the smile that Toby gives you in response? It makes all of the apprehension dissipate. He smiles at you like you’ve just offered him the world. Eyes gleaming, expression wrinkling with elation.

“Yeah?” He grins, then nudging your shoulder lightly with his own. “I’ll show y-you a good time, p-promise. And I’ll get you home safe. N-No one will be the wiser.”

“You better.” You giggle. ““I’m taking a big risk for you, you know. Never done anything like this.”

He bet you hadn’t. Bet you wouldn’t know a good time if it stared you in the eye. He could teach you so much. Teach you everything, and more. And maybe, if you liked him enough, you’d let him keep you.

Maybe you’d let him get you out of here, show you what life’s all about, as if he knew. You could figure it out together.

“And for that I-I’m grateful.” He smiles, leaning into you a bit more. “I’ll pick you up a-at midnight, right here.” He was already practically buzzing with anticipation. “Y-You better not stand me up.”

“I won’t.” And you’re leaning right back into him, because it just feels right. Feels like something you need.

“Good.” Toby hums, feeling so satisfied with himself he almost feels guilty. Almost. It’s hard to really, when he’s got someone like you sinking into him so easily. He knew he couldn’t give you what you deserved, but he was sure he could give you something better than you were accustomed to.

That was enough, right?

You probably didn’t even know what a good man acted like. “Then I’ll see you a-at midnight. Wear somethin’ warm.”

You would, though you weren’t sure if you would even need it. Just being around him seemed to make your skin heat up.

Your brother was right, he definitely was trouble.

But maybe that was exactly what you needed.

—————————————————————————☆

getting part one up then working on asks!!

I’ve just really been wanting to get this one out here,, everyone say thank you to ethel cain for placing this idea in my mind!

part two is where all the goody goody will be, and I’m hoping to get it up by next week maybe?? Idk we’ll see

thank you for reading! and thank you to all of my new followers who have been so kind <3

[necessiteez]

HONGJOONG SMUT FIC RECS LIBRARY

disclaimer: I do not own any of these works and they do not represent the real kim hongjoong. all rights belong to the respective writers who made them.

all pairings are hongjoong x reader only.

further info is already stated in the main Library.

✶ - favorites

╔═ second♕floor ═╗

「 ✦ Pirate!Hongjoong ✦ 」

✶ Let Me Take You Away - @ithinkilikeit-reactions (wc 3.7k)

✶ Pirate King: Kim Hongjoong - @cookycherry (wc 4.5k)

Sea Superstitions - ithikilikeit-reactions (wc 8 .8k)

My Lady - @seongsangssbitch

Lost at Sea - @acupoftaewithsomesuga (wc 6.9k)

Pirate Joong - @hyetiny

Pirate King - @cybrsan (wc 7.6k)

A Selfish Desire - @hwashotcheeto (wc 4k)

🆕✨ Shiny New Toy - kitten4sannie (wc 2.1k)

「 ✦ Best Friend!Hongjoong ✦ 」

friends to lovers trope

✶ Tell Me to Stop - @tenelkadjowrites (wc 4.4k)

Acorns - sa_honey on ao3 (wc 4.3k)

Marigold - @yoongiseesawmp3 (wc 12k)

✶ The Best Friends Code trilogy feat. Seonghwa - tenelkadjowrites

Heavy on Your Tongue - @swallowedbymadness (wc 4k)

We Ransacked the City series, multi-chapter feat. Seonghwa - tenelkadjowrites

🆕✨ Between Friends - anyamaris (wc 3.4k)

「 ✦ Academic!Hongjoong ✦ 」

includes College Student! Hongjoong, Professor! Hongjoong, school setting

Fire & Flames - bustdownyunho on ao3 (wc 5.8k)

✶ Motivate Me - @hwaightme (wc 10.2k)

Hideaway - @minisugakoobies (wc 7k)

Teacher Seonghwa + Student Hongjoong male reader - @star-suh

Study Buddies - halflinghoney on a03 (wc 2.4k)

✶ Can't Stand You - @domjaehyun (wc 3.7k)

✶ Training Wheels - @luvt0kki (wc 10.7k)

Rule #4 - @k-hotchoisan (wc 6k)

King's Play - @atzfilm (wc 4k)

A Special Kind of Heat Delivery - artof-seonghwa (wc 2.4k)

「 ✦ Idol!Hongjoong ✦ 」

✶ Good Girls Don't ONGOING - halanote on ao3 (wc 22k)

Work Life Balance - evphoria87 (wc 1.6k)

Drunk in Love - barnesbabee

✶ All Yours - forhongjoong (wc 4k) HAS GOT TO BE THE OLDEST WELL-WRITTEN SMUT I KNOW SO THIS ONE IS SPECIAL

In the Wings feat. Seonghwa - sanjoongie (wc 2k)

A Night In implied poly - @written-in-flowers (wc 3k)

✶ 2 Soon part 1 - @03jyh23 (wc 12.8k)

✶ 2 Soon part 2 - 03jyh23 (wc 11.5k)

✶ Man-Spreading - barnesbabee

🆕✨ Bouncy - flurrys-creativity (wc 1.8k)

🆕✨ [11:07] Secrecy - hanatiny (wc 1k)

「 ✦ Roommate!Hongjoong ✦ 」

✶ Movie Night - @severetimetravelnerd (wc 2k)

✶ Deal - @hongism (wc 10.3k)

Declaration - tenelkadjowrites (wc 9k)

✶ Don't You Want Me? - @yeonjuns-beanie (wc 7.4k)

Ass So Fat, Hit that From the Back gen reader, only Hongjoong is turned on - orphan account/abandoned (wc 2.9k)

Exhibition and Voyeurism feat. Seonghwa - hobi-is-golden on ao3 (wc 3.6k)

🆕✨✶ Got a Thing for You - ilwonuu

「 ✦ Mafia/Gangster!Hongjoong ✦ 」

All I Need - @cocobeanncteez

Princess feat. San- @teeztheflag (wc 4.6k)

For Your Entertainment - @atiny-piratequeen (wc 4.3k)

5:31pm - @mingishoe

✶ A Rose is A Rose feat. Seonghwa - @daddyfordaeddy (wc 3.5k)

Guns and Roses - @baekhvuns (wc 5.4k)

✶ Cheating w Gangster!Seongjoong feat. Seonghwa - @thelargefrye (wc 2.6k)

✶ On the Rocks feat. Seonghwa- @kitten4sannie (wc 2.7k)

Backfired part 2 - ateezreactionsandscenarios (wc 5k)

🆕✨ Unbroken - hanatiny (wc 7k)

「 ✦ Hongjoong Working Different Jobs ✦ 」

includes photographer!Hongjoong, barista!Hongjoong, writer!Hongjoong, doctor!Hongjoong

* photographer!Hongjoong

Picture Perfect - @ikigaitsuki (wc 6k)

Something to Say - themoonlightfae on ao3 (wc 5.9k)

His Muse - firepoppyqueen on ao3 (wc 1.4k)

* writer!Hongjoong

✶ Mr. Write series, multi-chapter, writer!Hongjoong - @1117feverlessdreams

* cafe owner/barista Hongjoong

Iced Coffee barista!Hongjoong- xoexoxhoe

FFF Day 14 feat. San - sanjoongie (wc 2.6k)

「 ✦ Hongjoong in fantasy/historical/mythical setting ✦ 」

Rendezvous with Destiny royal advisor!Hongjoong - alxdelusional (wc 6k)

Do You Believe in Fate? Hongjoong with magic, multi-chapter - @lettersfromaphrodite (wc 42k)

Starseed: Perfect Love male reader, King!Hongjoong - thelargefrye (wc 3.7k)

His Majesty's Responsibilities King!Hongjoong - @xirenex (wc 8k)

✶ Forbidden Fruit Hades!Hongjoong - nateezfics (wc 2k)

Day 19 Bard!Hongjoong feat. Knight!Seonghwa- @multiwreckedmess (wc 6.3k)

The Spoils of War, Chapter 2: Hongjoong the Queenmaker multi-member, King!Hongjoong - fullspectrumfangirl, stitchdragon on ao3

Die for You royal guard!Hongjoong - @beginningofwonderland (wc 7.4k)

I'd Rather Burn nobleman!Hongjoong - latte-fairytaekwoon (wc 6.2k)

✨🆕 ✶ New World mad prince!Hongjoong, HEAVY ANGST - @sorryimananti-romantic (wc 27k)

「 ✦ Hongjoong in the Fashion Industry ✦ 」

includes Fashion Designer! Hongjoong, Model! Hongjoong, Fashion Company CEO! Hongjoong

✶ The Met and the Aftermath - @angiesmagicspace (wc 5.7k)

✶ Perfect Little Pet Cruella! Hongjoong @armysantiny (wc 5.9k)

✶ Business Attire - @nebulousbrainsoup (wc 4.5k)

Perfect Design - @sector-i-closed

Be My Muse - sanjoongie (wc 1.2k)

Untitled - @cherrysoojins

The Model - @doritochoi (wc 1.7k)

✶ High End - @songmingisthighs (wc 2k)

Mistletoe feat. Seonghwa - justthere4kpop (wc 2.4k)

「 ✦ Something's Wrong with Hongjoong ✦ 」

includes Villain!Hongjoong, Evil!Hongjoong, Perv!Hongjoong, Yandere! Hongjoong and dubcon themes. ⚠️ I don't support non-con fanfics

An Eye For All Things Sweet - @sugarcherriess

Textbook perv!Hongjoong - @ateezinmymind

Crimes of Passion: Gotham au Intro - @thetypingpup (wc 5.4k)

* Yandere

Desire - @lovesanmotion

Indulgence - @mint-yooxgi (wc 2k)

The Villain part 1 - @yourfatherlucifer (wc 1k)

The Villain part 2 - yourfatherlucifer (wc 1k)

˖ ࣪⭑last updated 06/05/24 ˖ ࣪⭑

[spikedfearn]

All That's Left Is Yours

Part III

Walter "Lion" Kaminski x fem!reader

summary: Walter Kaminski doesn't know how to be loved without bracing for impact. A washed-up fighter living out of motel rooms and underground leagues, he's spent years surviving hits—in the ring, from his brother, from the world. But when you, a runaway with a sharp mouth and a sharper gaze enters his orbit, everything starts to tilt. The closer you get, the more Walter fears what his hands—trained to hurt, never to hold—might do.

wc: 10.2k

a/n: aaaaand that’s a wrap!! I’m honestly tearing up writing this because this fic is my baby—maybe my favorite thing I’ve ever written. Thank you to everyone who has read, reblogged, screamed, sent kind messages, or just quietly followed along. Your support has meant the world to me. I also want to give the biggest thank you to Liz @fuckoffbard for being there through every step of the way, for listening to my rambles, and for beta reading every single part with so much love and care. I couldn’t have done this without you. 🖤

Disclaimer: You DO NOT need to watch Jungleland to read this fic but I highly recommend giving it a watch, Jack absolutely crushes it!!

warnings: emotional trauma, PTSD, chronic pain (arthritis), memory loss, abusive family dynamics, sibling codependency, toxic sibling relationship, past drug use (mentioned), past physical abuse (mentioned), canon-typical violence, fighting/violence, objectification, implied sexual coercion (non-graphic), betrayal, trauma bonding as a form of intimacy, hurt/comfort, unhealthy coping mechanisms, unsafe living conditions, sub!Walter, praise kink, unprotected sex, fingering, creampie, oral (m!receiving), emotional breakdowns, angst with smut, crying during sex, abandonment, homelessness, food insecurity, depressive episode, intense emotional conflict, slow reconciliation, bittersweet flashbacks, miscommunication, groveling, found family, domestic fluff, rebuilding trust, pregnancy, soft ending

likes, comments, and reblogs always appreciated, please enjoy!!

Fic Masterlist/Main Masterlist

Part III: When the Chips Are Down

Every nerve in your body felt exposed, scraped raw, as you walked down the rough pavement. It was cracked beneath your shoes, littered with cigarette butts and loose pebbles that crunched like broken glass with every tired shuffle. Your backpack straps dug into your shoulders, heavier now than you remembered packing it, like you’d filled it with stones instead of the bare essentials that made up your entire life. You curled your fingers tighter around the worn nylon straps, gripping so hard your knuckles ached, as if that small action alone could hold your pieces together.

The night air was stifling—thick with humidity, carrying the sour bite of gasoline fumes and something acrid you couldn't quite place. Sweat gathered along your spine, dampening the fabric of your shirt, and you felt the dull ache of exhaustion settle deep into your muscles, bone-weary and stubborn. Your body wanted nothing more than to collapse, but your heart was beating too fast and too loud, each thud echoing in your temples like an unrelenting drumbeat.

You didn’t turn around. You couldn’t. Because if you looked back at that motel room door, you might falter. You might weaken. You might see Walter standing there, lost and silent, holding a paper flower like a final, fragile promise that neither of you had ever managed to keep.

You pushed forward instead.

You passed the motel's battered sign, its faded letters barely illuminated by flickering bulbs, casting weak shadows on your path. The distant hum of traffic murmured low, cars passing along the nearby highway like ghosts in the night, their taillights blurring red and dim, never slowing, never stopping, never noticing the girl drifting alone on the sidewalk.

Eventually, the sidewalk gave way to dirt and weeds and patches of grass yellowed by neglect, crunching softly beneath your shoes. You passed empty storefronts, their windows darkened, shuttered tight behind metal grates. A convenience store sat on the corner, neon signs blinking coldly: 24 Hours, ATM Inside, and Beer & Wine. You considered going in, buying something—anything—just to have somewhere bright and ordinary to linger for a minute, but the harsh fluorescent lights felt too harsh, too exposing, too real.

You kept moving.

Your throat felt thick, tight like a clenched fist, and every swallow was painful. You hadn’t cried yet; you weren't sure if that was because you were too proud or simply too exhausted to even try. The night stretched ahead of you, vast and unknown, and the city around you felt emptier than ever before. Lonelier. Like every shadow was watching your slow, uncertain steps with quiet, indifferent eyes.

Eventually, your feet carried you to a bus stop bench, its plastic seat cracked and marred with graffiti. The lamppost above flickered weakly, buzzing intermittently, casting warped shadows across the sidewalk. You sat down carefully, setting your backpack beside you, wrapping your arms around yourself tightly, like it could somehow hold you together. The cool night breeze rustled through the trees overhead, leaves whispering secrets you couldn’t hear, and the stillness felt suffocating.

Minutes passed, or maybe hours—time blurred when there was nowhere left to be.

Eventually, your eyelids grew heavier, your body aching for rest, and you leaned your head back against the cool metal shelter behind the bench. You couldn’t sleep here—not safely—but the quiet, steady rhythm of your own breathing lulled you anyway, dragging you toward the edges of unconsciousness. Your body slumped slightly, caught between awareness and exhaustion, lingering in that hazy, uncertain space where dreams felt too dangerous and reality hurt too much.

You knew you'd have to move soon. To find somewhere safer, less exposed, before the city stirred awake again and people began to notice you. But for just a moment, beneath the flickering streetlamp, alone in a world that didn't know your name, you let your eyes slip shut.

You told yourself you'd rest, just briefly.

You told yourself you'd be fine.

But even in that fragile half-sleep, you felt a quiet tear escape, slipping down your cheek to land silently on the cracked sidewalk below.

You were so damn tired.

Dog-tired.

And the night had only just begun.

The bell above the door jingled like an old wind chime, delicate and tired. It was barely past six when you pushed into the diner, but the place was already alive in that soft, slow way only early mornings could be—faint clatter from the kitchen, the sizzle of bacon on the griddle, and the low murmur of a country song crackling from the overhead radio. The air smelled like burnt coffee, grease, and maple syrup, the familiar combination clinging to your clothes like a memory.

You took the booth by the window. Same one as before. Like muscle memory.

The seat was still cracked vinyl, cool against your legs through the thin fabric of your jeans. The table was sticky at one edge, someone’s dried syrup thumbprint long fossilized into the Formica. Outside, the street was waking up slowly—headlights ghosting past, a jogger in neon gear puffing by, the flick of a newspaper being tossed onto a porch by an unseen hand.

Inside, everything felt hushed. A little sacred, almost like a ritual.

You didn’t order anything. Not at first. Just stared out the window, the horizon beyond it, past the frame of condensation fogging at the glass. You waited. Like always. Hands curled around the edges of the table, your fingernails digging into the laminate as if that could somehow keep your heart from folding in on itself.

The waitress—same one every morning—clocked you immediately. She didn’t say anything at first. Just topped off the coffee for an old man sitting two booths over and passed by with a nod. Her eyes were tired but kind, hidden behind half-slipped readers and crow’s feet that deepened when she smiled. She wore her gray hair twisted up in a no-nonsense bun, a faded pink apron wrapped around her midsection, and her sneakers squeaked against the old linoleum whenever she moved. She smelled like cinnamon gum and lavender lotion, and she had a way of speaking like she already knew you’d been through hell and didn’t need reminding of it.

After about twenty minutes, she brought you a cup of coffee without asking. Set it down gently in front of you, along with a small creamer and two sugar packets.

You nodded once. She nodded back. That was the routine now.

You stayed until the sun fully crested the buildings, until the street traffic picked up and the diner got louder. Until the smell of fresh hash browns and eggs made your stomach cramp with hunger you couldn’t quite afford. Sometimes you ordered toast. Sometimes you said nothing at all.

Always, always, you looked at the door when it opened.

And every time, it wasn’t him. The bell would jingle. Your heart would stutter. And then it would be someone else—a mechanic, a nurse still in scrubs, a man in a suit reading a paper.

Never him.

On the third morning, she dropped a chipped mug of black coffee on your table and said, “Morning, sugar. I’m Luanne, by the way. Figured it was time we weren’t strangers.” She placed a small, crumpled napkin on the table too, like she was trying to be subtle. When you opened it, you found a warm blueberry muffin inside. Still steaming. A little cracked on top. Real fruit in the dough, not the dry processed stuff.

You looked at her, brows knit. “I didn’t—”

“It’s on the house,” she said firmly, like she’d rehearsed it. “Don’t go getting your hackles up, sweetheart. Least I can do.”

You hesitated. Then gave her the smallest nod of gratitude.

“Got a soft spot for strays,” she added, a little quieter now. “Comes from having been one.”

You didn’t say anything after that. Just picked at the muffin slowly, your stomach still twisted up with knots but grateful all the same. The first bite was warm and just sweet enough to make your eyes sting. Not because of the taste—but because it reminded you of every morning you’d sat here hoping for something that never came.

Walter.

His name felt like a stone in your throat.

On the fifth day, Luanne set down a plate in front of you—two scrambled eggs, toast, and a wedge of orange.

"Eat," she said simply, folding her arms across her chest.

You looked down at the food. Then back up at her.

“I didn’t order anything.”

“No,” she agreed, “but you look like hell, and I won’t sleep tonight knowing I let you starve on my watch.”

You blinked, still sluggish from another night of bad sleep and the emotional whiplash of expecting—hoping—Walter might finally walk through the door. That somehow, this would be the morning he sat across from you and explained, or apologized, or at least looked at you like he wanted to.

He didn’t.

He never did.

The bell above the door had become cruel in its consistency—ringing with every stranger who entered, each time a false promise that was never delivered.

You’d stayed in that booth—the one closest to the window—for six days. Same seat. Same view. Same ache in your chest. You barely touched your phone. Didn’t bother checking for texts or calls. You knew better. You knew if he was going to reach out, he would’ve done it by now. Still, you kept showing up. Still, you kept watching the door.

Luanne noticed.

You kept the coin he gave you in your hand. The one he pressed into your palm with that small smile, like it meant something. You couldn’t stop flipping it. Thumb, finger, flip. Again and again. A nervous tic. A prayer. A goddamn ritual at this point.

That morning, Luanne slid into the booth across from you. No preamble. Just eased in with a grunt and a sigh, her knees cracking, the kind of sound that made you wince in sympathy. She was off the clock, her apron unknotted, her cardigan a little oversized and full of pills.

You froze, mid-flip.

“Sweetheart,” she said softly. “You don’t gotta keep waiting by the door. He’s either gonna walk through it…or he ain’t.”

You looked away, jaw tight, thumb pressing the coin harder into your palm until it bit the skin.

“I’m fine,” you lied.

“Course you are,” she replied, not unkindly. “But just in case…I got a spare room.”

Your head jerked up.

“It ain’t much,” she went on. “Twin bed. Clean sheets. Bathroom down the hall. Lock on the door. You’d be safe.”

You stared at her. “Why would you—?”

“Because someone did the same for me once,” she said with a shrug. “And I remember what it’s like to be young and out of options. You don’t gotta explain a thing. Just until you figure things out.”

Your throat burned. You didn’t say yes. Didn’t say anything. But when she stood, she placed a small silver key on the table beside your cup and slid the muffin napkin back over it like it was nothing.

You stared at that key for a long time.

That night, after another hour pretending not to cry in the booth long after closing, you walked home with Luanne. Her place was just a couple blocks from the diner. Upstairs from a bait shop, of all things. It smelled like cedar and peppermint oil and had creaky floors that groaned in the quiet. Her guest room was cramped, tucked beside a closet stuffed with old coats and boxes labeled “Jimmy’s Baseball Cards” and “Xmas Shit.”

But the bed was soft.

The sheets were clean.

And the shower had hot water and more conditioner than you’d seen in a month.

You stood under the spray until your skin was red and raw, until your thoughts blurred, until your knees shook. You pressed your forehead to the tile and remembered his voice. His weight. His arms around you when he fell apart.

You didn’t sleep much. But it was the first night you felt warm in a week.

You bought a bus ticket for the next day.

It didn't matter where. You just picked the one with the earliest departure. Anywhere west. Anywhere but here.

Because hope was cruel. And Walter? Walter had made his choice.

You left the key on the kitchen counter with a note that said nothing more than “Thank you.”

And then you packed what little you had, zipped up your bag, and started walking.

Walter hadn't slept since you'd left.

Not really. Not deeply. The kind of sleep he managed was fitful at best, a thin veneer of unconsciousness easily cracked by passing traffic or the buzz of a motel light that refused to stop flickering. Every hour felt stolen—brief slips into darkness that left him more exhausted than if he'd stayed awake.

He lay flat on the stiff motel mattress, staring up at a water stain on the ceiling, his eyes burning and red-rimmed. The wallpaper, once pale and yellowed by decades of smoke, now seemed to close in tighter every night, shrinking the room into a cage that squeezed the breath from his chest.

The air was heavy, thick with humidity that clung to his skin, pressing sweat into the grooves of his forehead and down the tense muscles of his neck. He could hear the muted sounds of the motel: distant arguments, muffled televisions, doors slamming open and shut. None of it mattered. None of it reached him, not really.

His fingers twitched involuntarily, curled at his sides. They trembled constantly now, not just when he tried to use them—like his body was finally rebelling against the years of punishment he’d forced it to endure.

He brought one shaking hand up slowly, spreading his fingers in front of his face, studying them in the dull lamplight. They were swollen, knuckles bruised and joints stiff from untreated injury. They were the hands of a fighter. Of someone who'd spent his life swinging and losing, gripping onto things that slipped away no matter how hard he tried to hold on.

But right now, empty and shaking, they just looked like the hands of a man who'd lost everything that mattered.

Walter turned his head slowly, eyes falling on the small dresser next to the bed. A crumpled origami flower sat there—wilted paper petals bent and crushed from how often he'd opened and closed his fist around it in the last few days. He hadn't let it out of his sight since you'd pressed it into his palm and left him standing there, helpless, mute, unable to speak the words he should have said.

He swallowed hard, throat tightening painfully.

He kept replaying that night over and over again in his head like some twisted loop. The way your voice cracked. How your eyes had welled up, unshed tears glistening under the cheap motel lamp as you told him you couldn't stay.

He'd stood there, frozen, rooted to the spot, unable to move, unable to beg you to stay. Every word he'd needed to say had lodged in his chest, suffocating him silently.

And you'd walked out believing he’d chosen Stanley. Believing he hadn't chosen you.

Walter's jaw tightened painfully. He pressed the heel of his shaking hand against his eyes, as though that could somehow force the memories away. But they stayed sharp, vivid, cutting through him again and again.

He remembered how your hands felt against his skin. How you'd traced his bruises, touched every scar, every sore knuckle, as though memorizing them—as though you saw more than a broken fighter, as though you'd found something in him worth keeping.

And he'd still let you walk away.

It wasn't that he hadn't wanted to stop you—God, he'd wanted nothing more—but he'd felt chained down, weighed by loyalty and guilt, tangled up in a lifetime of feeling responsible for Stanley's failures.

Stanley, who would never learn, who would always gamble, always lie, always destroy whatever he touched. Walter had spent his whole life cleaning up Stanley's messes. But this one—this one had cost him something irreplaceable.

You.

Walter sat up slowly, joints protesting every movement as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. The floor felt gritty beneath his bare feet, dirt tracked in from outside, sticking to the soles. He rubbed a hand roughly over his face, scraping at the week-old stubble that covered his jawline.

He needed a shower, needed a shave, needed sleep, needed anything that could dull the ache lodged in his chest.

But most of all, he needed you back.

He’d spent days searching for you already—days spent walking aimlessly, scouring bus stops, shelters, parks, anywhere he thought you might go. His memory had begun to betray him; street names blurred together, diner signs became indistinguishable, addresses turned to nonsense numbers and shapes in his mind. Frustration was building into desperation. Every dead end felt like a cruel joke the universe was playing on him, payback for letting you go.

Walter forced himself to his feet, swaying unsteadily. His muscles burned, his joints creaked, but he moved anyway. He crossed to the tiny, cluttered table under the window, littered with take-out containers, empty coffee cups, and a phone book left by the motel management.

He flipped through the pages again, scanning the same lists of diners and cafes he’d studied obsessively for days, hoping something would spark a memory, something would break through the fog that clouded his mind.

His breath quickened as anxiety coiled tight in his chest. His heart raced, sweat prickling at the back of his neck as he stared down at the endless, identical black ink entries. None of them meant anything. None of them brought him closer to you.

His vision blurred suddenly, stinging with tears he stubbornly refused to let fall. Instead, he slammed the phone book closed with a harsh sound that echoed in the silence. It toppled off the table, falling to the ground with a heavy, final thud, scattering pages across the carpet.

Walter stood there, breathing raggedly, staring at the mess. He was running out of options. Running out of time. He didn't even know if you were still in town. Didn't even know if you were safe.

And he knew, deep in his bones, it was his fault. Every moment of your suffering, your fear, your loneliness—it was because he'd let you go without a fight.

He sank back onto the edge of the bed, head bowed, shoulders trembling slightly. The origami flower sat inches away from him, fragile and broken.

Just like him.

For a moment, the motel room closed around him, silent and suffocating, like a tomb he couldn't escape. He closed his eyes, forcing a breath into his aching lungs.

“I’m gonna find you,” he whispered hoarsely to the empty room, to no one at all. “I swear to God, I’m gonna find you.”

But the promise rang hollow, empty, echoing back at him like mockery.

Because he knew if he didn’t find you soon—if he didn’t somehow break through the haze that clouded his memory—you would be gone forever.

And he'd have no one to blame but himself.

Walter didn’t realize how badly he was unraveling until Stanley barged into his room two nights later, all swagger and indignation, smelling like cheap booze and cigarette smoke, moving like the floor was spinning beneath his feet.

Walter was hunched over the edge of the motel bed, a half-empty bottle of whiskey dangling from trembling fingers. He’d given up pretending it could numb him, given up pretending it could erase the memory of your face, your voice, the ghostly warmth of your hand in his.

Now, he drank just because it burned his throat, because the sensation reminded him he was still alive, even if barely. The bottle nearly slipped when the door crashed open, rattling on its hinges.

"Christ almighty," Stanley drawled, his accent thickened by liquor, the vowels heavy and lazy. "Ain’t you a sorry fuckin’ sight. You plan on mopin’ round here forever or what, brother?"

Walter’s jaw tightened at the word brother, that word Stanley always wielded like a blade—something sharp and binding and painful. He lifted his head slowly, eyes bloodshot and dull.

“Leave it, Stanley. Just fuckin’ leave it.”

Stanley laughed, sharp and bitter, stumbling into the room like he owned it, kicking the door shut behind him with the heel of his boot. The sound echoed like a gunshot. He moved closer, swaying a bit, eyes narrowed and mean, looking Walter up and down as though he barely recognized him.

"You’ve turned proper soft, ain’t ya? All this poutin’ over some fuckin’ runaway?” He snorted, eyes glittering cruelly. “Didn’t peg ya for the sort to get strung up over some little nobody from nowhere. Thought you was tougher’n that."

Walter was on his feet before he even realized he’d moved. The whiskey bottle hit the carpet with a muted thud, spilling amber liquid into a dark, sticky puddle.

His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles throbbing with the force of it, joints aching from days without proper rest. Anger surged hot and dizzying, his pulse roaring in his ears, louder than his own ragged breath.

“Watch your fuckin’ mouth,” Walter growled, voice tight and low. "You ain't got no goddamn right talkin’ ‘bout her."

Stanley smirked, cocking his head mockingly, his voice dripping with contempt. "Why? You think she’s special? Think she’s any different than any other girl who got smart enough to see ya ain’t shit? Hate to break it to ya, Lion, but she gone ‘cause she realized you ain’t nothin’ more than busted knuckles and empty promises."

Walter’s control snapped.

He lunged forward, grabbing Stanley roughly by the collar of his stained shirt and shoving him back hard against the peeling wallpaper. The flimsy wall shuddered with the impact, rattling the lamp on the nightstand, knocking an empty glass to the floor. Stanley's eyes widened in surprise for just a second, then narrowed again, defiance flaring like a spark.

"Fuck you," Walter spat through clenched teeth, voice raw, shaking with barely controlled rage. "You think you know shit about me or her? She’s gone ‘cause of you. ‘Cause you don’t give a damn who gets caught in the wreckage as long as you walk out untouched. You sold me out, sold her out—”

Stanley twisted violently in Walter’s grip, pushing back, anger darkening his face. He shoved Walter hard, forcing distance between them, breathing heavily.

"I did what I had to fuckin’ do," Stanley growled, voice cracking under the strain. "You think shit’s easy, huh? Think I ever wanted to end up like this? Fightin’ over fuckin’ scraps and scroungin’ in the dirt just to keep our heads above water?"

Walter’s chest heaved, his breaths coming ragged and quick. "It’s your own goddamn fault we’re here. You drag everyone down with ya, Stanley—every fuckin’ time—and you don’t care who ya hurt long as you save your own skin."

Stanley barked a harsh laugh, bitter and broken. "Oh, an’ I suppose you think you're better, huh? Think you ain’t just as fuckin’ guilty? Least I own up to who I am. You sit there all high an’ mighty, actin’ like you ain’t stood by an’ let it happen. You watched her walk out that fuckin’ door same as me."

Walter's breath hitched. The words hit him harder than any punch, struck him right in the raw, tender spot he’d tried desperately to ignore. His gaze dropped to the floor, blinking rapidly, eyes burning.

“You know nothin’ ‘bout me, Stanley,” Walter finally muttered, voice tight and quiet. “I been cleanin’ up your messes my whole damn life, thinkin’ if I just tried hard enough, you’d finally fuckin’ change. But all you ever done is drag me down with you. First the dog, now her—hell, you’d sell me too, wouldn’t ya, if it meant savin’ your own ass?”

Stanley’s lip curled, eyes cold and narrowed. “Don’t act like you didn’t let me, Lion. You knew who I was from day one. You chose to stay. You chose this, same as me.”

The silence stretched out painfully between them, tense and brittle. Walter felt a sick, hollow ache blooming deep inside him, a familiar emptiness that settled heavy in his chest.

“You ain’t never gonna change, are ya?” Walter said finally, quiet as a confession, voice shaking with grief more than anger. “I keep hopin’, keep waitin’, but you’ll just keep ruinin’ every good thing I find, won’t you?”

Stanley said nothing, jaw set stubbornly. His eyes flicked away for a second, shadowed with something unreadable—regret, resentment, or maybe just stubborn denial. Then he shrugged, turning back toward the door, dismissing Walter completely.

“Grow up, Lion. This's the real fuckin’ world. You keep lettin’ yourself get tied up with strays, you gon’ end up just like ‘em,” Stanley muttered darkly, stepping over the spilled whiskey bottle, glass crunching underfoot as he reached for the doorknob. “Fuckin’ alone.”

The door slammed shut behind him with brutal finality, leaving Walter standing there in a suffocating silence.

Walter stared at the closed door, breathing hard, heart aching, fists still trembling at his sides. Stanley’s words echoed cruelly in his head, a mocking chorus of accusations and bitter truths he’d spent years trying to ignore.

His legs gave out suddenly, and he sank down onto the floor beside the spilled whiskey, staring numbly at the broken shards of glass glittering around him.

Stanley was right, he realized bitterly. He’d stood by, allowed everything good in his life to slip through his fingers, all in the name of loyalty to someone who would never change. Someone who didn’t care.

Walter swallowed hard, throat tight and burning, eyes blurry with unshed tears.

He’d lost you because he hadn’t fought hard enough. Hadn’t spoken loud enough. Hadn’t held tight enough.

He’d let Stanley take everything that mattered—first his pride, then his dog, and finally you.

And now Walter sat on a motel room floor, hands empty, heart shattered, alone in a silence more painful than any punch he’d ever taken.

And all he could think was how desperately he wished he’d chosen differently.

Walter’s world shrunk down to fragments of streets, half-remembered turns, faded signs blurred by exhaustion. He moved like a ghost, drifting from place to place, his body weary and dragging, but driven by something frantic and feverish.

He barely recognized his own reflection anymore when he caught glimpses of himself in dirty shop windows and cracked mirrors. Sunken eyes rimmed red from sleepless nights, stubble thick and uneven along his jaw, bruises darkening under his skin like storm clouds—he looked like he’d been dragged through hell and left stranded in the wreckage.

He felt worse.

Days blended into nights and back again in a cruel, endless cycle of searching. He wandered from diner to diner, combing through every corner of town, desperate to find the place you’d once sat together, smiling over cheap coffee and toast. He kept hoping something would spark his memory, unlock the cage around his mind, and lead him back to the moment he needed so desperately to reclaim.

But each diner was wrong.

He stood in doorways, blinking against fluorescent lights, the smells of grease and burnt coffee turning his stomach as disappointment crashed over him. He sat in booths, gripping menus like lifelines, desperately trying to force something—anything—to look familiar. But nothing did. Each place felt empty and strange, filled only with faceless strangers who stared curiously at the man hunched in the corner, hands trembling around an untouched cup of coffee.

Time stretched and distorted. His sense of direction and clarity frayed, unraveling thread by thread. Street names mixed together, becoming meaningless strings of letters and faded signs. Landmarks dissolved into vague shapes, blurring at the edges, impossible to hold onto.

Walter moved through the city, lost in more ways than one, losing track of days, meals, and hours, guided only by the persistent ache lodged deep in his chest.

His hands shook worse every day. Arthritis and exhaustion tangled together, leaving his joints swollen and knuckles stiff, pain radiating sharply up his wrists with every small movement.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten properly. The weight melted off him, leaving his clothes hanging loose, the denim jacket you’d once curled into now feeling too big on his frame.

He checked his phone repeatedly, desperate to call you, but the service had been disconnected days ago. No money. No minutes left. He’d spent his last dollar paying off Stanley’s debt—another sacrifice, another loss to add to the pile he’d willingly stacked higher and higher. Now, even if he knew your number by heart—which he did—he couldn’t dial it, couldn’t hear your voice, couldn’t even beg for a second chance.

Walter felt trapped inside his own head, memories swirling together into an agonizing, disorienting blur. His brain fought him at every turn, refusing to reveal the diner’s name, the street, or even a hint of something concrete he could cling to. It felt like punishment. Like penance. A cruel cosmic joke reminding him of everything he’d allowed to slip away.

By the seventh morning, Walter stood outside yet another diner, this one on the edge of town. The lights inside glowed softly, illuminating empty booths and silent tables. His reflection in the glass doors looked hollow, haunted, pale beneath the harsh streetlamp. He took a deep breath, pushed the door open, and stepped inside.

A bell jingled softly overhead, delicate and mocking.

He walked to the counter slowly, every step an effort, every muscle aching in protest. A woman stood behind the counter, older, silver hair pulled back tight, sharp eyes appraising him warily. She looked familiar somehow, though Walter couldn’t place how or why.

“Coffee, hon?” she asked gently, noticing his worn-down state. Her voice was kind, but guarded, cautious.

He nodded numbly, sinking onto a cracked vinyl stool that creaked beneath his weight. The air smelled like sugar and grease, bacon lingering from the breakfast rush, stale coffee mingling with cleaner. His hands curled around the warm ceramic mug she placed in front of him, grateful for its heat seeping into his aching fingers.

“Looking for someone?” she finally asked, her voice low, hesitant, like she knew she was opening a door that might never shut.

Walter stared down into the dark surface of the coffee, watching steam rise and curl like smoke. “Girl. About this tall,” he murmured, holding his out to show her, voice rough and barely audible. “Been lookin’ everywhere for her.”

The woman watched him carefully, eyes narrowing slightly. Recognition sparked, just for a moment, flickering behind her cautious gaze.

“Name?” she prompted, voice even softer now.

Walter swallowed thickly, his throat suddenly burning. “She ain’t from around here. Came in town with me a while back. Lost track of her…I need to find her.”

The waitress folded her arms slowly across her chest, expression unreadable. “You Lion, by any chance?”

Walter’s head snapped up sharply, heart pounding violently against his ribs. “How’d you know—”

“Lucky guess,” she said evenly, though her tone told him it was anything but. She studied him a moment longer, then sighed heavily. “You took your sweet time showin’ up.”

His breath hitched painfully, hope flaring hot and sharp in his chest. “You seen her? She been here?”

The woman hesitated. Walter leaned forward desperately, voice cracking with emotion. “Please. Just tell me—tell me she’s okay.”

The waitress’s expression softened slightly, sympathy seeping into the careful mask she’d worn. “She’s gone, hon.”

Walter felt his heart plummet, stomach twisting violently. “Gone?”

“She was here every damn morning,” the waitress continued quietly, voice thick with gentle accusation. “Same booth by the window. Waited hours for you every day. Barely ate. Barely slept. Finally figured you weren’t comin’ and bought herself a bus ticket outta town. Left just today.”

Walter’s hands shook uncontrollably, coffee splashing onto the counter, droplets darkening the white porcelain. Panic surged through him, drowning everything else. “Bus? Which station? Where’d she go?”

The waitress shook her head softly. “Don’t know exactly. Just know she headed west. She needed out. Said somethin’ about not waitin’ around anymore.”

Walter stood up abruptly, stumbling backward, breath coming in harsh gasps. “When? How long ago?”

The woman hesitated briefly, eyes full of regret. “Couple hours at most.”

He bolted toward the door before she’d even finished speaking, desperation coursing through him, adrenaline numbing the agony in his joints as he burst onto the dark sidewalk. The early morning air hit him sharply, cool against his overheated skin, lungs straining with each breath.

West.

He had a direction now. He had a chance, however small, to catch you before you disappeared completely. His heart raced wildly, desperation driving him forward, feet pounding against concrete, joints screaming, pain forgotten beneath the overwhelming fear of losing you forever.

He didn’t know exactly where he was going or how he'd get there. He had no phone, no money, nothing but empty pockets and a heart stripped bare. But he couldn’t stop now. Couldn’t turn back. Because stopping meant losing you permanently, watching the only good thing he’d ever known disappear beyond his reach.

And Walter had already lost far too much.

So he kept running, kept pushing forward, breath ragged, body trembling, tears stinging his eyes, hope the only thing left driving his broken body onward.

He would find you.

He had to find you.

Because you were the only thing worth holding onto, the only chance left to make things right, to fix what he'd broken.

And Walter wasn’t sure he could survive losing you again.

It's not until he ducked into a nearby Starbucks to ask the barista where the nearest station was when his eyes caught it—one of those little postcard racks stationed by the counter.

Most were glossy tourist shots of Golden Gate fog and painted cable cars, but one, near the back, was different. A battered white lighthouse perched on jagged cliffs, waves foaming below, Bodega Bay written in curling script at the bottom.

He didn’t breathe for a second. Because just like that, he was back in the motel room that smelled like old radiator heat, sweat, and something sweet-sour from the vending machine pie she left half-eaten on the table.

It was stuffy, the kind of heat that clung to your skin and made the sheets feel damp. The ceiling fan ticked with every lazy rotation, like it was counting down to some end neither of them could name.

Walter lay on his back, one arm tucked behind his head, the other wrapped around your waist. Your skin was warm, the soft press of your hip snug into his side. Your leg draped across his, your breath fanned across his chest. He could still feel the aftershocks of what you'd just done—every nerve settled into a thrum beneath his skin. A peaceful ache. Like he'd finally been let into something sacred.

His fingers traced the curve of your spine without thinking.

He hadn’t said much since. Wasn’t sure he could. Not when every time he looked at you like this—bare, open, calm—his throat cinched up tight around all the things he didn’t know how to say.

You broke the silence first, voice low and sleepy, tracing one of the old scars on his chest.

“…Was that from a fight?” you asked, her fingertip ghosting over the pale ridge near his collarbone.

Walter huffed. “Nah. Wrecked my bike when I was ten. Hit the curb chin-first. Split my whole damn face open and had to get staples. Stanley told me I looked like Frankenstein.”

You chuckled against his chest. That laugh—quiet and curled with mischief—was quickly becoming his favorite sound.

“You kinda do.”

Walter smirked. “Yeah? You’re the one spoonin’ Frankenstein, sweetheart.”

He felt you grin against him, the way your body relaxed into his a little more.

A pause.

Then, “If you could go anywhere, where would you go?”

The question caught him off guard.

He blinked at the ceiling, the fan’s shadow casting lazy, circling arcs over cracked, uneven plaster.

“…Anywhere?”

“Yeah. No rules. No money. No Stanley.”

The name hit a little harder than he expected. Like a slap in the dark. His fingers curled tighter against your side without meaning to.

He hesitated. Not because he didn’t want to answer, but because the answer felt…foreign. Like trying to remember a dream you barely had.

“I dunno,” he said at last, voice low and rough. “Ain’t really thought about it like that.”

You shifted beside him, chin resting on his chest so you could look up at him. “Really? Not even once?”

Walter met your gaze, and the vulnerability in your expression made something stutter in his chest.

“I don’t exactly live in the kind of world where daydreams make much difference.”

Your expression softened.

But he wasn’t trying to brush you off—not tonight. Not when you were here, and warm, and real.

“If I could, though…” He shrugged a little. “I always thought it’d be nice to run a laundromat.”

Your brows jumped. “A laundromat?”

Walter laughed. “Yeah. What?”

“You’re shitting me.”

“I ain’t!” he said, grinning now. “Think about it. It’s quiet. Predictable. People come in, drop their mess, sit quiet a while, and leave. No fights. No fire drills. No cops. Just a radio hummin’ in the corner, a couple snack machines, and me, not gettin’ yelled at.”

You laughed again. “You sound like a grumpy old man.”

He rolled toward you, pinning you a little with the weight of his arm across your waist. “Grumpy old men don’t make you come like I did.”

You elbowed him, laughing louder now, and he grinned at the sound. But the grin faded.

Because even in that moment, he knew it was borrowed time.

“I like the idea of somethin’ slow,” he said. “Somethin’ that don’t ask much of me. I never had that, y’know? Was always Stanley barkin’ orders, or makin’ messes I had to clean up. I just…want a life that don’t cost so much.”

You stared at him for a long moment before rolling onto your back.

“Bodega Bay,” you whispered.

Walter furrowed his brow. “Where the hell is that?”

“California coast. Foggy. Quiet. Small town, like something out of a dream.”

He turned on his side to watch you.

���It smells like salt and old books and fresh bread,” you said, smiling faintly at the ceiling. “I saw a picture once. A lighthouse. Paint was chipped. Waves crashing. It looked…lonely. But not sad. Like it didn’t need anything.”

Walter reached out and brushed a knuckle down her jaw.

“Still want to go?” he asked.

You nodded. “More than anything.”

“Why haven’t you?”

You hesitated. Then, “Because I kept waiting for my life to calm down long enough to go. It never did.”

He could feel something twist in his gut. A deep, slow pull.

“You should go,” he said. He didn’t even think before the words left his mouth.

Your head turned. “Come with me.”

And there it was—the moment he couldn’t stop playing back, even now.

He wanted to say yes. God, he wanted to say yes.

But he didn’t. Couldn’t. Didn’t know how to untangle himself from the mess of Stanley, from the weight of all the years he spent trying to fix what was broken.

So instead, he just looked at you.

You sat up slightly, reached toward the nightstand, and picked something up—a crumpled napkin, folded awkward and careful into the shape of a flower.

You took his hand and placed it in his palm.

“I thought you were gonna toss that,” he said, voice quiet.

“I couldn’t,” you whispered. “Not when you made it for me.”

His fingers curled around it like it meant more than it should.

“You keep it,” you told him. “Just… promise me you won’t throw it out.”

Walter stared at you.

“I won’t,” he said. And he meant it.

Then he kissed you—slow and full of everything he wasn’t brave enough to say. It wasn’t hunger this time. It wasn’t about heat or urgency or skin.

It was grief.

It was the shape of a goodbye.

And in some fucked-up part of him, he knew it’d be the last moment like this he’d get.

He just didn’t know how soon it’d all slip away.

The Greyhound station was washed in the gray-blue tint of a too-early morning, the kind that crept in through dusty windows and settled heavy over everything like fog. The kind of light that didn’t wake you gently—it just reminded you that the night was over.

You'd been there since just after six.

The waiting room stank of mop water and old gum, tired grease from the all-night burrito truck parked in the lot, and the faint metallic scent of nerves. Somewhere, a vending machine sputtered behind scratched glass and made an angry whirring sound every few minutes like it might just give up altogether. The overhead intercom kept announcing boarding calls in a half-dead garble, crackling with static, like even the station itself couldn’t be bothered to stay awake.

You were sitting stiff on a plastic bench near Gate 4, legs curled under you, your backpack pulled into your chest like a shield. The vinyl seat stuck to the backs of your thighs when you shifted.

Your coffee—if you could call it that—was still in your hands, now cold and stale. Burnt. You’d stopped sipping it a while ago, but it gave your hands something to do. Something to hold. Something to grip so tightly your knuckles had gone white.

You couldn’t keep still. Your knee bounced. You tugged the hem of your sleeve down over your fingers. You kept checking the cracked analog clock above the departures screen, even though time barely seemed to move at all.

Every time the front entrance doors groaned open, you looked up.

And every time, it wasn’t him.

You weren’t even supposed to be here anymore. By now, if you’d kept walking—if you’d gotten on the earlier bus—you’d already be halfway down the coast. You wouldn’t be stuck in this purgatory, ears straining for the sound of his voice in a crowd that didn’t know you. You wouldn’t be praying for something you told yourself you no longer believed in.

But you couldn’t go. Not yet. Not until the very last second.

You turned your face away from the entrance, stared out the smudged plexiglass window. The light was changing now, brightening from gray to the dusty-gold haze of early sun. Outside, the world continued as if yours hadn’t broken.

A couple argued over car keys in the parking lot. A kid dragged a wheeled suitcase shaped like a dinosaur. A bus hissed and rolled off into traffic, and your breath hitched at the sound of it leaving.

Another door opened. You didn’t look this time.

“Bus to Bodega Bay boards in twenty minutes,” the intercom muttered overhead.

Your grip tightened around the cup. The name stung.

Bodega Bay.

It sounded like a postcard, like a wish. Like something made up. A place that existed in daydreams and foggy longings and pillow talk—not real life.

But you remembered.

You remembered the motel bed. The scratchy sheets, the AC rattle, your legs tangled with his. The night after he’d patched you up, kissed your bruised skin soft like penance.

You remembered the weight of his arm thrown across your stomach, the thump of his heartbeat against your back, the quiet in his voice when the adrenaline had drained and all that was left was him.

You’d been laying there together in the dark, half-draped over each other. And you’d whispered it into the hush like a secret.

"If you could go anywhere," you’d asked, voice so low it barely stirred the air, "where would it be?"

He’d been silent for a moment. Thoughtful. Fingers still drawing lazy, tired shapes on your hipbone.

“I dunno,” he said, soft. “You first.”

You’d hesitated, then whispered: “Bodega Bay. I looked it up once in a travel magazine when I was fifteen. It was some article about the coast in autumn. Said it was the quietest town in California. Said it smelled like salt and firewood. Like someplace nobody would find you unless you wanted them to.”

His voice was barely a rasp when he spoke next. “Sounds peaceful.”

You rolled over to face him, your noses almost brushing. “What about you?”

That crooked smile of his had been faint, but real. “A laundromat,” he’d said, a little sheepish, like he was embarrassed to even admit it. “Silly, I know. But I always thought it’d be...I dunno. Simple. You open the doors, people come in with dirty things, and leave with clean ones. Doesn’t ask much. Doesn’t need much.”

You remembered laughing, but only a little. Because it wasn’t silly. Because it made perfect sense.

Because for all the things Walter was—restless, damaged, fierce—he was still a boy who wanted something quiet. Something that didn’t hurt.

And now, all you could think about was that line. People come in with dirty things, and leave with clean ones.

You weren’t sure where you fell on that spectrum. If you were the stain, or the machine.

Another fifteen minutes.

You wiped under your eyes with the sleeve of your hoodie, not caring who saw.

You’d already bought the ticket.

You told yourself you’d leave if he wasn’t here by the time they called final boarding.

And you told yourself you weren’t hoping.

You lied.

He hit the pavement running.

Shoes slapping concrete. Chest burning. Palms raw from where he'd tripped earlier scrambling off the wrong bus. He nearly collided with the door as it wheezed open—too slow, too goddamn slow—and shoved his way into the Greyhound station with the urgency of someone being chased by something no one else could see.

Walter’s eyes flicked fast over the room.

To the left: a mother wiping jelly off a toddler’s cheek.

To the right: a couple sharing headphones, heads leaned together.

Dead center: a man snoring into his hoodie.

No sign of you.

His chest was already heaving, shirt clinging to the sweat that had bloomed beneath his collar. He hadn't slept. Hadn’t eaten since yesterday. Hadn’t stopped moving for longer than ten minutes since the waitress told him, “She’s at the station—go, before you miss her.”

He’d gotten the name from her lips like a goddamn miracle, and now every beat of his heart felt like it might burst through his ribs.

And then—he saw you.

You were standing in line at Gate 4, profile turned toward the window. Same coin-colored hair he’d brushed back from your face a hundred times in his head since you left. Same hoodie she always tucked her hands into when you were nervous. Same backpack he’d watched you zip closed with trembling fingers the night you walked out of his life.

His mouth parted.

His legs didn’t move.

For a split second, he couldn’t. Just looked. Like he wasn’t sure you were real.

God, you looked tired.

Not just in your body, but in your posture. Like every inch of you had sunk inward. Shoulders slouched. Eyes hollow. Like all the light in you had dimmed and dulled and flickered out somewhere between motel room and morning coffee.

He couldn’t stand it.

He started walking. No, moving. Pushing through bodies. Apologizing without stopping. Shoving past a man with two duffel bags and narrowly avoiding an entire rolling suitcase. He didn’t care. Didn’t stop. Not until he was three feet behind you in the line, heart pounding like gunfire in his ears.

And then he said your name.

Soft. Just once.

You didn’t turn.

So he tried again. Louder this time.

“Hey.”

And this time, you did.

You turned so slow it felt like the whole world bent around the movement. Eyes wide. Face unreadable. Your lips parted, but no sound came. Just breath. Just disbelief.

You stared at him like a ghost. Like something you thought you'd buried and now had to grieve all over again.

He stepped closer. Swallowed hard.

“Don’t get on that bus.”

Your throat worked once. “What the hell are you doing here?”

His voice cracked. “Came lookin’.”

“How’d you even find me?”

“Went through the goddamn phone book.” He laughed, but it was breathless. Shaky. “Went to every diner in the damn county tryin’ to remember which one it was. You’d think I’d remember the place I first saw you smile.”

You blinked. Didn’t say anything.

He kept going.

“I—shit—I know I fucked it. I know that. But I’m not lettin’ you walk away. Not without sayin’ it.”

“Saying what, Walter?”

His voice was hoarse when it came.

“That I love you.”

You looked like he’d hit you. “You don’t get to say that now.”

“I didn’t know what to do when you left. I didn’t know how to pick between you and my fuckin’ brother and by the time I realized I should’ve picked you, you were already gone.”

You folded your arms. “You didn’t come after me.”

“I did!” His voice broke, too loud. Heads turned. He lowered it. “I did. Just…not fast enough. I’ve been tryin’ for days. I used what I had left payin’ off the piece of shit who tried to lay hands on you. My phone’s cut off. I didn’t even know where to start. But I’m here now. And I know it ain’t enough, and I know you don’t owe me anything, but I need you to know I love you.”

The driver called “Final boarding—Bodega Bay!” from the gate.

Walter looked at the bus, then at you.

“Don’t go.”

You swallowed so hard it hurt. You were already crying. Silent tears. Your lips were trembling, and you shook your head once.

“I can’t go back to that motel,” you whispered. “To Stanley.”

“You don’t have to.” Walter stepped forward. “He ain’t part of this no more.”

“What changed?”

“You did,” he said. “You showed me what peace looks like. What home looks like.”

The intercom crackled again.

You turned your head, looked at the bus.

Then looked back at him.

Walter took something from his pocket.

Held it out in his palm.

The origami flower. Crumpled now, weathered, but still intact.

“I kept it,” he said. “I kept everything you ever gave me.”

The clock was ticking.

The driver started closing the door.

Walter’s voice dropped. Almost a whisper.

“Please don’t get on that bus.”

And for a second—

One impossible, soul-stretching second—

The entire world held its breath.

And in that collective, cosmic inhale, you didn’t hear the shuttle door close behind the last passenger.

Didn’t notice the quiet click of the driver’s clipboard or the way he paused, gave you one last look like he knew, then turned back to his wheel.

Didn’t hear the soft cough of the engine warming up or the whine of the brakes easing out of lock.

Because all you could hear was him.

Walter.

His breathing.

Shaky, desperate, real.

You turned around slowly. Like it hurt to look. And maybe it did. Because there he was—standing in the doorway of the station like something half-dreamed and full-broken. Sweat at his temples. Hands on his thighs like he’d been running. Shoulders heaving with the effort of holding himself together. One step away from collapse.

Your chest cracked like a fault line. You didn't cry yet. Not quite. But your jaw ached from holding back every word that wanted to escape.

You blinked once.

Twice.

His lips parted first.

“I’m sorry.”

Two words. That’s all it took.

Like a match dragged slow across stone.

You flinched.

And he took a step forward, careful like you were made of glass and one wrong move would send you scattering across the floor.

“I’m fuckin’ sorry,” he said again, thicker this time, voice fraying. “I shoulda run after you. Shoulda followed the second you left. Hell, I wanted to. But I—”

He looked down like he couldn’t bear to meet your eyes.

“Truth is, I ain’t never been good at goin’ after the things I want. ’Cause I figured I didn’t deserve ’em.”

He laughed once, bitter.

“But that’s just coward shit, ain’t it?”

You opened your mouth but nothing came out.

So he kept talking.

“You were good to me,” he said, softer now. “Better than I’ve had any right to. And I didn’t know what to do with that. I didn’t know love could feel like...like not bein’ scared all the fuckin’ time. Like breathin’ easier. Like wakin’ up with your back to someone and not wonderin’ if they’re gonna leave.”

His voice broke on the last word. Just gave out.

You looked at him then. Really looked.

And you saw it all.

The dark rings under his eyes.

The cracked lips.

The dried blood at his knuckles.

The man who used to sleep with his fists clenched now standing open-palmed in front of you—offering.

“I dunno if I can be perfect,” he said, eyes shining. “But I’ll be better. I swear to fuckin’ God, I will. For you. Just tell me where and I’ll be there. I don’t care where you go—Bodega fuckin’ Bay or goddamn Mars—I’ll be there.”

You stepped forward.

Your fingers trembled as they reached for his collar.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“I ain’t.” His hand cupped your cheek, thumb rough and shaking. “Look at me. I ain’t lettin’ you leave thinkin’ I didn’t want you. That I didn’t love you. ’Cause I do. I fuckin’ do. And I don’t wanna live in a world where you ain’t in it.”

That broke you.

Finally.

Your breath caught like a sob in your chest and the tears came, fast and quiet, slipping down your cheeks in hot, messy trails. You closed the gap between you and pressed your forehead to his. Your voice was barely a whisper.

“I was gonna go,” you said. “I really was. I bought the ticket. I packed my bag. I thought if I could just forget you, I’d be okay.”

Walter’s voice was a rasp.

“But you couldn’t.”

You shook your head.

“I couldn’t.”

And then he kissed you.

And it wasn’t clean or easy or sweet.

It was everything.

Salt and tears. Smoke and rain. Coffee and motel soap. The raw ache of wanting and waiting and almost losing. Your lips fit like a promise. His hands shook as they cupped your jaw, slid down your back, held you so gently it made you want to scream.

You clung to him like drowning.

He held you like home.

“I’ll fix this,” he murmured against your mouth. “Whatever it takes. I’ll give you peace. I’ll build you a life. We’ll get outta this goddamn town and I’ll open a laundromat and you can paint the walls whatever color you want and we’ll get a dog who won’t listen to me worth shit and I’ll bring you coffee every mornin’—the cheap kind, the good kind, whatever the fuck you want.”

You laughed through your tears, clutching the front of his shirt.

“And you?”

“What about me?”

“What do you want?”

He looked at you like it was the easiest answer in the world.

“You. Always was you.”

A long silence.

Your heart beat against his chest.

“I was scared,” you whispered.

“So was I.”

“But I think we can do it.”

He leaned down again, kissed the side of your jaw, the edge of your mouth, your temple.

“I know we can.”

You pulled back just enough to look him in the eye, swimming in the blues of his irises, watching his lips curl as he added, “let’s go.”

“Where?”

He smiled.

“Home.”

“And where is that?” you asked, confused—not because you didn’t understand the word, but because you had never had one. Not really. You always thought a home had four walls and a roof that didn’t leak, a front door that locked, a fridge full of food and someone who left the porch light on. Something fixed. Something solid. Something you could touch and point to and say that’s mine.

But when he answered—

“Wherever you are.”

—something inside you broke open. Because suddenly you understood. It wasn’t the walls or the roof or the door. It was him. The way he looked at you like you were the only thing he needed. The way his arms felt more like shelter than any place you’d ever been. That was home.

He was home.

Epilogue: All-in

The bell above the laundromat door jingled softly as you walked in from the early afternoon drizzle, wiping your feet on the worn mat by instinct now. The air inside was warm and soapy, thick with the familiar scent of lavender detergent and sun-dried cotton. The machines hummed in their steady rhythm, spinning clothes in circles like time itself was gently resetting. Outside, the fog clung to the edges of Bodega Bay, where gulls wheeled in lazy arcs and sea mist curled into the alleys between buildings.

Walter looked up from behind the counter, one hand wrapped around a chipped mug, the other rubbing absently at his wrist—a lingering ache that hadn’t quite gone away, though the flares were fewer these days. He smiled the moment he saw you. That slow, crooked grin that still managed to knock the wind out of your chest like it did the first time.

“You forget your dryer sheets again?” he asked, his New England accent curling around every word, teasing.

You scoffed, toeing the door shut behind you. "I live here, dummy. Everything in this place is technically mine too."

He leaned forward on his elbows. "Then technically, I should be usin' your mug."

You wrinkled your nose at the thought. "You already steal all my socks."

He chuckled, eyes glinting. You crossed the room and let him pull you into his side, the swell of your belly pressing gently against him. His hand slid instinctively to rest there, thumb stroking the curve with the kind of reverence that made your throat ache. The baby kicked and he blinked, like it never stopped feeling like a miracle.

The laundromat had been open for six months now. Business was steady—locals came in with gossip and salt-stiff linens, tourists dropped off bulk loads before heading to the beach. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was clean, it was his, and it was honest. Every scuffed tile and chipped paint corner held proof that he’d started over.

He’d ripped out the broken vending machines with his own hands. Painted the walls a soft blue you picked together. Set up a little corner with a bulletin board and bookshelf where kids could sit while their parents folded shirts. Sometimes he made repairs with his bad hand anyway, even when it hurt, just to prove he still could.

And every evening, when the sun melted into the Pacific and the tide whispered up against the rocks, he locked the front door, flipped the sign to CLOSED, and walked home with you.

Home was a small cottage tucked behind the laundromat, wrapped in ivy and morning glories. It had creaky floors, a wood-burning stove, and windows that rattled in the wind—but it was yours.

He fixed the porch railing while you picked out curtains. You planted rosemary and sage in the windowsill box. You argued over where to hang the framed photograph of your first week there—the two of you soaked to the bone from rain, laughing over a busted umbrella.

He didn’t talk about Stanley. Not anymore. There was nothing left to say. No calls. No letters. Just a final voicemail deleted without being played. And a silence he chose to keep.

But sometimes you caught him staring out toward the edge of the ocean, quiet, thoughtful. You never pushed. He always came back to bed.

The puppy—Bean, short for Pinto—was sprawled out in a patch of sun behind the dryers, snoring. You’d surprised him with her after the first ultrasound. Said it was practice. He’d rolled his eyes and called you a sap, then spent twenty minutes on the floor rubbing her belly while pretending not to get choked up.

“You’ve got a visitor,” Walter murmured now, nodding toward the door as it creaked open.

It was a neighborhood kid dropping off her mom’s uniforms. You gave her a wave and promised to save her one of the strawberry sodas from the back fridge. Walter went to help her count quarters while you leaned against the counter and watched him.

His shoulders were broader now. Healthier. He smiled easier. Laughed deeper. Still had a temper, but you knew how to talk him down from it.

Later that night, you lay on the couch, your head on his lap, his fingers tracing gentle circles on your temple. The baby kicked again, and he murmured something soft you didn’t catch. You closed your eyes and let yourself believe it—that this was yours. Not just borrowed. Not just temporary.

Forever didn’t have to be loud.

Sometimes, it sounded like a washing machine cycle.

Sometimes, it looked like fog rolling over a sleepy bay town.

Sometimes, it felt like a hand resting on your stomach, steady and warm.

You finally got to keep something.

And it loved you back.

[theonottsbxtch]

PREACHER’S DAUGHTER | MV1

an: can you tell i have an amazing music taste, anyway i’m finishing up a lot of my wips this weekend therefore be ready for a bit of stuff to come out!! i need to update my master list

warnings: domestic abuse, religious themes obvs

wc: 10.2k

Max was never one for church.

Never believed in any of that.

But God, would he get on his knees for a girl.

He couldn’t even remember when he first saw her—it was like she’d always been there, glowing in a way that made his chest tighten and his palms itch to touch what he had no business reaching for.

She was perfect in that untouchable kind of way. Always smiling, always polite. The kind of girl who said "please" and "thank you" without sounding fake. She had a laugh that could make angels jealous and a silver cross around her neck that caught the light just right, like some divine shield.

And Max? He was everything she wasn’t. Grease under his nails, a cigarette always tucked behind his ear, and a devil-may-care attitude that had sent half the town clutching their pearls. He’d been watching her for weeks now, maybe months. The way she walked, her little rituals—Bible study on Wednesday nights, choir practice on Saturdays, and the absolute certainty that she’d be on her family’s porch every evening at seven, helping her mom snap beans or some other domestic chore that Max couldn’t wrap his head around.

She didn’t belong in his world. Hell, she probably didn’t even know it existed. But that didn’t stop him from wanting her. No, needing her.

It was the way she looked so... pure, he supposed. Untouched by the grime and shadows he carried around like second skin. And it wasn’t just her innocence he wanted to wreck. It was the thought of making her his—really his. Of seeing her in his world, in his trailer, on his bike, wearing his marks, not that dainty little cross that probably smelled of Sunday mornings and lavender soap.

Max didn’t follow her. Not exactly. But he always seemed to know where she’d be, and tonight wasn’t any different. Wednesday night Bible study. He parked his beat-up car down the street from the little white church, hidden enough to keep from drawing attention. Not that anyone would think twice—it wasn’t like he blended in with the choir crowd.

The stained-glass windows glowed softly, warm light spilling out into the cool evening air. He could hear the faint hum of voices, maybe a hymn being sung, as he leaned back against the hood of his car and waited. He lit another cigarette, the flicker of the lighter briefly illuminating the sharp lines of his face.

When the front doors finally swung open, he straightened, tossing the half-smoked cigarette onto the pavement and crushing it under his boot. She was the last to leave, as he knew she would be. Everyone else had trickled out in pairs and groups, chatting and laughing as they headed home. But she stayed behind, always locking up on her own.

Tonight, she was struggling with a box full of what looked like hymnals and Bible study materials, juggling it while trying to fit the key into the heavy wooden doors. Max could see the way her fingers fumbled, her brow furrowing in frustration.

Before he could think better of it, he started across the street. The click of his boots on the pavement caught her attention, and she turned her head sharply, her soft eyes widening as she saw him.

“Need a hand?” he asked, his voice low, almost teasing.

She hesitated, her gaze flicking from his face to the box in her arms and then back again. He noticed how she clutched it tighter, like she wasn’t sure if she should trust him.

“It’s fine,” she said quickly, her voice as soft and sweet as he’d imagined. “I’ve got it.”

“Doesn’t look like it,” he said, stepping closer. Before she could protest, he reached out and took the box from her. Their fingers brushed, and the contrast hit him like a punch to the gut. Her hands were soft, smooth, and clean, while his were rough, calloused, and stained with grease that never seemed to wash off.

“Thanks,” she said reluctantly, looking up at him. He noticed how small she seemed compared to him, how her cross caught the light even in the dark.

“You’re the boy that fixes Daddy’s car,” she said after a beat. “From the shop in town.”

Max raised an eyebrow, surprised. “Didn’t know you knew me.”

“I don’t,” she said quickly, her cheeks flushing. “I just… heard Daddy talking about you. Said you do good work.”

He smirked at that, carrying the box like it weighed nothing and setting it gently down beside her. “Guess I’m a little famous, then.”

She laughed softly, and it was the kind of sound that made something deep in his chest tighten. She reached for her key again, this time managing to lock the doors without the box in her way.

“Thanks for the help,” she said, stepping back and brushing her hands against her skirt.

“Anytime,” he replied, his grin widening. He leaned against the doors, watching her as she adjusted her bag over her shoulder. “What’s your name?”

She hesitated for a moment, her lips parting as if she were about to answer, but then she shook her head. “I should go. My family will be waiting.”

And just like that, she was walking away, her head held high, her skirt swaying gently with each step.

Max watched her until she disappeared around the corner, his grin fading into something darker, more determined.

“See you around,” he muttered under his breath.

Because he would. One way or another.

Max didn’t see her again for days, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t on his mind. She had a way of lingering there, like the scent of rain after a storm—clean, fresh, and completely out of place in his world.

The more he thought about her, the more he couldn’t shake the way her voice had sounded when she’d called him "the boy that fixes Daddy’s car." There was no judgment in it, no disdain. Just a simple observation, like she hadn’t even realised how different their worlds were.

But Max knew. Oh, he knew.

She was the preacher’s daughter, for God’s sake. The girl who probably spent her nights reading scripture and praying for sinners like him. And he? He was the guy people crossed the street to avoid, the one mothers warned their daughters about. He’d left home at fifteen, slept on park benches and under bridges until he’d scraped together enough to buy that rusted-out trailer. He worked double shifts at the garage, spent his weekends drinking cheap beer with guys who wouldn’t bat an eye at a bar fight, and had a reputation that kept most people from looking him in the eye.

He wasn’t good enough for her. He knew that.

Didn’t mean he didn’t want her anyway.

The next Wednesday, he found himself back outside the church, parked in the same spot as before. He hadn’t planned it—at least, that’s what he told himself. But when he saw her again, her laugh carrying across the parking lot as she said goodbye to the last of her Bible study group, he felt that same pull in his chest.

This time, he didn’t approach her. Not yet. Instead, he leaned against his shit box car and watched as she locked the doors, her movements quick and practiced. She wasn’t carrying anything tonight, but she still seemed to pause for a moment, glancing around like she could feel his eyes on her.

He ducked his head, pretending to light a cigarette even though it was already burning. When he glanced back up, she was gone.

The next few days passed in a blur of oil changes, engine repairs, and sleepless nights. Max couldn’t shake the image of her—the way her hands had brushed his, the way she’d looked at him like she was trying to figure him out.

By the time Sunday rolled around, he couldn’t stay away.

He parked his bike a few blocks from the church, out of sight, and watched as families filed in for the morning service. They were all dressed in their Sunday best—dads in pressed suits, moms in floral dresses, kids squirming in their fancy clothes.

And then there she was, walking up the steps with her family. She wore a white dress that stopped just below her knees, her hair pulled back in a way that showed off the delicate line of her neck. The silver cross around her neck gleamed in the sunlight, and Max found himself staring at it, wondering what it would look like tangled with the chains he wore.

Her father was at her side, his hand resting protectively on her shoulder as he greeted the congregation. He was everything Max wasn’t—clean-cut, well-spoken, a man who commanded respect just by standing there.

Max stayed until the doors closed behind her, then turned and walked back to his bike.

He didn’t know what he was doing, or why he couldn’t just let it go. All he knew was that he’d see her again.

And when he did, he’d make her notice him.

Max didn’t plan to follow her after the service, not really. But when he saw her step out of the church alone, her family nowhere in sight, curiosity got the better of him. She walked with purpose, her hands clutching a small book—probably her Bible, he figured—and her expression calm, like she knew exactly where she was going.

He stayed a block or so behind, keeping his footsteps quiet on the pavement. She didn’t seem like the type to sneak off after church, and yet, here she was, turning off the main road and heading toward the park.

When she reached a shaded bench near the pond, she sat down, smoothing her dress before opening her book. Max hung back, watching as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and began to read, her lips moving silently.

He couldn’t stop himself. Hands shoved in his pockets, he sauntered over, his boots crunching on the gravel path. She looked up as he approached, her eyes widening for a moment before settling into something softer, almost expectant.

“I told my daddy I saw you,” she said, closing the book and resting it on her lap.

Max raised an eyebrow, his smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And what did he say?”

“That I shouldn’t hang around with people like you,” she replied simply, her voice steady, but her fingers fidgeting with the edge of the book.

He stepped closer, leaning down slightly so they were almost at eye level. “But I don’t see you running,” he whispered, his voice low and teasing.

Her cheeks flushed, but she held his gaze, her expression unflinching. “I’ve noticed you, you know,” she said, tilting her head. “You’re always… around. Outside the church. Watching.”

He straightened up, rubbing the back of his neck. “Can’t help it,” he admitted. “You’re hard to ignore.”

She blinked, her lashes fluttering like she wasn’t sure what to make of that. Then, to his surprise, she smiled—a small, hesitant thing that made his chest ache in a way he wasn’t used to.

“I’ve been praying for you,” she said softly, her hands tightening on the book.

Max couldn’t stop the chuckle that escaped him, low and rough. “Praying for me, huh? What for?”

“That you’ll find peace,” she said simply, her voice so earnest it made him pause.

He looked at her, really looked at her—the way the sunlight caught in her hair, the way her fingers trembled just a little against the leather cover of her book, the way she seemed so fragile and so unshakable all at once.

“Peace,” he repeated, the word foreign on his tongue. “You think that’s something I’m missing?”

Her smile grew just a fraction, her eyes softening. “Don’t you?”

For a moment, he didn’t know what to say. He wanted to laugh it off, to brush her words aside like they didn’t hit somewhere deep and uncomfortable. But the way she was looking at him made it impossible.

She shifted slightly on the bench, her hands resting in her lap as she looked at him. “Everyone finds their way,” she said softly, her voice carrying the kind of conviction that made Max’s chest ache. “One way or another. You just have to be willing to see it.”

Max wanted to scoff, to tell her he didn’t have a “way” to find, but the words died in his throat when he noticed it—a faint bruise just below the cuff of her sleeve, barely visible as she adjusted the book in her lap. His eyes narrowed, the casual smirk on his face fading.

“What happened there?” he asked, nodding toward her arm.

She followed his gaze, quickly tugging her sleeve down to cover the mark. “Oh, that?” She gave a small, nervous laugh. “It’s nothing. I play volleyball sometimes with the girls from church. Just got a little too close to the net.”

Max didn’t buy it. The way she spoke, the way her fingers tightened on the fabric of her dress—it didn’t add up. But he didn’t push. Not yet.

“You sure about that?” he asked, his tone light but his eyes sharp.

She nodded quickly, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. “Positive.”

The silence between them stretched, and Max could feel the distance growing, even though they were sitting inches apart.

“I should get home,” she said suddenly, standing and smoothing out her skirt. “It’s getting late.”

He watched as she picked up her book and slung her bag over her shoulder, the hesitant smile she gave him feeling more like a goodbye than a see-you-later.

“You walking?” he asked, standing as well.

She nodded. “It’s not far.”

He didn’t offer to walk her, knowing she’d probably say no. Instead, he stayed where he was, watching her disappear down the path until she was out of sight.

The next Wednesday, Max found himself back at the church. He hadn’t planned it—at least, that’s what he told himself—but when he saw her locking up the doors again, he couldn’t stop himself from approaching.

She glanced up as he stepped up to the doors, her face lighting up with a mixture of surprise and something softer that made his chest tighten.

“You’re here again,” she said, her voice carrying a hint of teasing.

“Couldn’t stay away,” he replied, leaning casually against the doorframe.

She hesitated for a moment, then tilted her head toward the doors. “Do you want to see the inside?”

Max raised an eyebrow. “You offering to give me a tour?”

“Maybe,” she said with a small smile. “If you’re interested.”

He didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. Show me.”

She unlocked the doors and pushed them open, leading him into the dimly lit sanctuary. The air was cool and quiet, the kind of silence that felt heavier than normal.

“This is where we hold services,” she said, gesturing toward the rows of wooden pews. “And over there is the choir loft.”

Max followed her, his eyes drifting over the stained-glass windows and the simple but elegant decor. It wasn’t the kind of place he ever pictured himself in, but being here with her made it feel… different.

“And where do you ask for forgiveness?” he asked, his voice low as he stepped closer to her.

She paused, then turned and led him to the front of the church. “Here,” she said, motioning toward the altar. “This is where people kneel to pray.”

Max’s gaze flicked from the altar to her, and for a moment, he couldn’t help the thought that slipped into his mind. The idea of her on her knees, not in prayer but for him, sent a rush of something dark and hungry through him.

She knelt down, her hands clasped in front of her as if demonstrating. “You just… let it all out here. Whatever’s on your heart, you bring it to God.”

He didn’t say anything, just watched her, his throat tightening as the image burned itself into his memory. He wondered, fleetingly, what she’d look like if she weren’t here for forgiveness but for him.

“You going to try?” she asked, looking up at him, her expression earnest and full of trust.

He shook his head, forcing himself to focus. “Not my thing,” he muttered, stepping back.

She stood, brushing off her skirt. “Maybe one day,” she said softly.

Max wasn’t so sure. But he’d come back, if only to see her again.

He didn’t ever think he’d see her in his stomping ground, ever.

The garage smelled like oil and metal, the kind of earthy, gritty scent that clung to Max no matter how much he scrubbed his hands. He was leaned under the hood of an old Chevy—her dad’s car—when he heard the soft jingle of the bell above the shop door.

He straightened, wiping his hands on a rag as she stepped inside. Her presence was like sunlight cutting through the dim, grease-streaked world he lived in.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” he said, leaning against the car and smirking. “Ain’t I usually the one picking you up?”

She stopped a few steps in, her hands clasping the strap of her bag. “I left some college work in my daddy’s car,” she said, her voice steady but careful, like she wasn’t sure how to navigate him in this setting.

Max raised an eyebrow, tossing the rag onto a workbench. “Well, aren’t you lucky I’ve got it right here.”

She hesitated, her eyes flicking to the car before meeting his. “Can I…?”

He stepped aside, gesturing toward the passenger door. “Be my guest.”

She nodded, walking over and leaning into the open door to retrieve her things. Max’s eyes flicked down before he could stop himself, catching a glimpse of her skirt riding up as she bent over, exposing plain white cotton panties that clung to her hips.

It was innocent, unintentional—but it made his pulse spike, his throat tightening as he quickly looked away. His hand clenched into a fist, nails biting into his palm as he forced himself to focus.

Then he saw it—a jagged gash on the side of her thigh, red and raw against her pale skin. His smirk faded, replaced by a frown as something twisted in his gut.

“You gonna tell me what happened there?” he asked, nodding toward her leg.

She froze for a moment before straightening, clutching her notebook tightly against her chest. “Oh,” she said, glancing down at the cut. “It’s nothing. I was playing with my brother in the park, and the ball rolled into some bushes. I went to get it and scratched myself on a branch.”

Max folded his arms, his gaze sharp and unrelenting. “You’ve got an awful lot of bad luck, don’t you? First volleyball, now this.”

Her eyes darted to his, wide and a little panicked. “It’s the truth,” she said quickly, but her voice wavered just enough to betray her.

He stepped closer, his presence looming as he leaned in, his voice a low whisper. “Lying’s a sin, you know.”

Her lips parted, and for a moment, she looked like she might crumble. But then her shoulders straightened, and she lifted her chin, defiance flashing in her eyes. “I believe you should worry about the long list of sins you’ve racked up,” she shot back, her voice trembling but firm.

Max smirked at that, the sharp edge of his grin making her swallow hard. “I thought you were praying for me,” he said, his tone almost teasing but laced with something darker.

She stared at him, her hands tightening on her notebook until her knuckles turned white. “I should go,” she said finally, her voice clipped.

“Don’t let me stop you,” he replied, stepping back just enough to let her pass.

She turned and walked out, her steps quick and purposeful, the door swinging shut behind her with a jingle that felt louder than it should have.

Max watched her go, the tension in his chest twisting into something heavier. He didn’t believe her for a second. But the look in her eyes—the mix of fear, defiance, and something else he couldn’t quite name—made him want to figure out exactly what she was hiding.

And he would. One way or another.

A few days later, Max was leaning under the hood of yet another clunker when his manager strolled over, clipboard in hand.

“Got a favor to ask,” the older man grumbled. “Preacher’s too busy to pick up his car. Needs it dropped off at his place.”

Max straightened, rubbing his hands on a rag, his pulse quickening at the mention of her house. He didn’t even have to think about it.

“I’ll do it,” he said casually, masking the eagerness bubbling under his skin. “Got time.”

His manager raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? You’re sure?”

“Yeah.” Max tossed the rag aside, the corner of his mouth tugging into a grin. “Consider it handled.”

By the time he pulled up to the preacher’s house in the old Chevy, the sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon, casting the house in a warm, golden light. He killed the engine, climbing out and leaning against the car for a moment.

That’s when he heard it.

The sound drifted through the open window—a soft, mournful piano melody that sent a shiver down his spine. It was beautiful, haunting even, and he knew immediately that it was her.

He stood there, listening, his chest tightening as each note seemed to carry a weight he couldn’t quite place. Then, as the song trailed off, he forced himself to move, stepping up to the door and knocking firmly.

The music stopped. A few seconds later, the door creaked open, and there she was.

She looked different. Vulnerable.

Her hair was loose, falling in soft waves over her shoulders, and she was wearing a simple pair of pyjamas—pale blue cotton shorts and an oversized t-shirt that hung loosely on her frame. She blinked up at him, clearly surprised, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.

“Hey,” he said, his voice quieter than usual. “Brought your dad’s car back.”

“Thanks,” she said, her voice soft and a little hoarse.

His eyes drifted lower, and that’s when he saw it—a dark, fresh bruise blooming along her forearm, just visible under the edge of her sleeve.

His chest tightened, and before he could stop himself, his hand reached out, his rough fingers brushing against the tender skin.

She flinched, but not away. Her lips parted, her eyes flicking up to meet his, wide and uncertain.

“What happened?” he asked, his voice low but laced with tension.

She pulled her arm back, wrapping it around herself like a shield. “I’ve been sick,” she murmured, her words hesitant. “That’s why I’ve been home. Just… clumsy, I guess.”

He didn’t believe her. Not for a second.

“Sick, huh?” he said, his voice edged with scepticism.

She nodded, but the way her gaze darted to the floor gave her away.

For a moment, the air between them felt heavy, charged with something neither of them seemed able to name. Max’s hand hovered at his side, aching to reach out again, but he forced himself to step back.

The sound of heavy footsteps broke the moment, and Max turned just as her father appeared in the doorway.

“Evening,” the preacher said, his voice warm but commanding, his eyes flicking between Max and his daughter.

“Car’s good as new,” Max said, holding out the keys. “She’ll run smooth for you.”

“Appreciate it,” the preacher replied, taking the keys with a nod.

Max hesitated, glancing at her one last time. “You know where to find me if you need anything. Always here for you to rely on the car.”

His words were meant for her father, but his eyes stayed on her, making sure she understood the double meaning.

The preacher didn’t seem to notice. “Thank you, son,” he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a crisp bill. He handed it to Max with a firm handshake.

Max nodded, pocketing the tip without looking at it. As he stepped back, the preacher gave him a polite smile before closing the door firmly, leaving Max staring at the wood grain.

The following morning sun filtered weakly through the dusty blinds of Max’s trailer, casting long shadows over the cluttered space. He was sprawled on his bed, one leg hanging off the side, barely awake when he heard it—a soft, hesitant knock at the door.

For a moment, he thought he was imagining it, the sound so light it could’ve been the wind rattling the screen. But then it came again, firmer this time.

Grumbling under his breath, Max swung his legs over the side of the bed, rubbing a hand over his face. He shuffled to the door in nothing but his boxers, too groggy to care about decency.

When he pulled the door open, he froze.

There she was, standing on the cracked wooden steps of his trailer.

She looked like she’d stepped out of another world—her crisp white blouse tucked into a pale blue skirt that swayed lightly in the breeze, her hair perfectly combed and pinned back. But her eyes were red-rimmed, her cheeks blotchy, and there was a tremble in her lip that told him she’d been crying.

Her gaze flicked downward, catching sight of his bare chest and boxer-clad frame. Her face flushed pink, and she quickly looked away, clutching the strap of her bag so tightly her knuckles turned white.

Max blinked, his grogginess evaporating in an instant. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice rough from sleep.

She didn’t answer right away, just stared down at the ground like she couldn’t meet his eyes. He stepped back, holding the door open wider. “You wanna come in?”

She hesitated for a moment, then nodded, stepping over the threshold.

As she entered, the contrast between her polished appearance and the rough, lived-in state of his trailer couldn’t have been starker. The cramped space was cluttered with tools, half-empty coffee mugs, and a laundry basket overflowing with clothes. She looked out of place, like a dove dropped into the middle of a storm.

Max closed the door behind her, leaning against it as he crossed his arms. “You okay?” he asked, his tone softer now.

She stood in the middle of the room, her arms wrapped around herself. “I… I didn’t want to stay at home,” she said quietly.

The way her voice cracked on the last word made his chest tighten.

“What happened?” he asked, stepping closer but keeping his distance, giving her space to speak.

She shook her head, her fingers gripping her bag tighter. “I… I snuck out,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “I couldn’t stay there anymore.”

Max’s jaw tightened. He wanted to ask why, but he already knew. He’d known for weeks.

Finally, she looked up at him, tears brimming in her wide, frightened eyes. “It’s my daddy,” she whispered. “He… he hits me.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy and raw.

Max’s fists clenched at his sides, his whole body going rigid. “How long’s this been going on?” he asked, his voice low and tight.

She looked away, her gaze darting to the corner of the room as if she could hide from the question. “As long as I can remember,” she said finally, her voice barely audible.

Max swore under his breath, running a hand through his hair. He wanted to punch something, to drag her father out into the street and make him pay. But more than anything, he wanted to make her feel safe.

“You should’ve told someone,” he said, his voice softer now, though the anger still simmered just beneath the surface.

Her eyes snapped back to his, a flash of fear and desperation in them. “I couldn’t,” she said quickly. “I can’t. If people knew, it’d ruin everything. My daddy’s the preacher. People look up to him. They’d never believe me.”

Max stepped closer, his rough hands itching to reach out and touch her, to ground her somehow. But he didn’t. Not yet.

“You don’t have to go back there,” he said firmly. “You can stay here. No one’s gonna hurt you while I’m around.”

Her gaze softened, her lips trembling as she whispered, “Why do you care so much?”

Max let out a low, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “You think I can just stand by and let this happen? After everything I’ve seen…” He paused, meeting her gaze head-on. “You’re not like the rest of us. You don’t belong in a place like that.”

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, the space between them felt charged, heavy with unspoken words. She looked like she might say something, but then a tear slipped down her cheek, and she wiped it away quickly.

“I shouldn’t have come here,” she said suddenly, backing toward the door. “I didn’t mean to bother you—”

“You’re not bothering me,” Max said firmly, cutting her off.

She hesitated, her hand hovering near the door handle.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” he said, his voice softer now, almost pleading.

She looked at him for a long moment, her eyes searching his face as if trying to decide whether she could trust him. Finally, she nodded, just barely, and let her hand fall away from the door.

Max rubbed the back of his neck again, his eyes never leaving her face as she stood there, caught between leaving and staying. He could see the battle in her—wanting to run but needing something, someone, to anchor her.

“You can stay here tonight,” he said, his voice steady but gentle, like he was trying not to spook her.

Her eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, she didn’t respond. She looked around the cramped trailer, at the cluttered counters and the sagging couch, her delicate hands gripping the strap of her bag like it was a lifeline.

“I don’t know…” she started, her voice faltering.

“No one’ll bother you here,” Max said, stepping closer. “You’ll be safe. And if you want to leave in the morning, you can. No strings.”

She bit her lip, the hesitation etched in every line of her face.

“But…” she whispered, looking up at him, “I need to go to Sunday service.”

Max blinked, surprised by the sudden shift in her tone.

“While I’m mad at my daddy,” she continued, her voice growing steadier, “I still have to go. I can’t not be there. It’s… it’s important to me.”

Her words hung in the air, a quiet plea wrapped in conviction.

Max nodded without hesitation. “I’ll take you,” he said simply. “First thing in the morning.”

She blinked up at him, a flicker of relief crossing her features. “You promise?”

“Yeah,” he said, a faint grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Scout’s honor.”

That drew a small, hesitant smile from her, though it quickly faded as her gaze dropped to the floor again.

“I’ll stay,” she said softly, almost like she didn’t believe the words herself.

Max exhaled, the tension in his chest easing just slightly. “Good. Make yourself at home,” he said, gesturing vaguely around the trailer. “It’s not much, but it’s better than where you came from.”

She nodded, her movements stiff and unsure, like she didn’t quite know how to exist in this space.

“I gotta get to work,” Max added, glancing at the clock on the wall. “But you’re welcome to stay as long as you want. Bed is yours, and there’s food in the fridge—though, fair warning, it’s mostly leftovers and beer.”

That earned him a faint, almost amused look, and he felt a strange sense of satisfaction at the sight.

“I’ll be fine,” she said quietly.

Max hesitated for a moment, then reached out, placing a hand on her shoulder. His touch was light, careful, but firm enough to ground her.

“You’re safe here,” he said, his voice low but certain.

She nodded again, her gaze flicking up to meet his, and for a moment, the silence between them felt warm, comforting.

“I’ll be back in a few hours,” he said, stepping toward his makeshift bedroom grabbing some clothes and slipping them on. “If you need anything—anything at all—you call me, alright? Danny down the road has my number, he’s got the graffiti all over his trailer.”

“Alright,” she replied, her voice steadier now.

With one last glance over his shoulder, Max stepped out into the morning light, the door clicking shut behind him. As he walked toward his beat-up car, a strange mix of emotions swirled in his chest—anger, protectiveness, and something else he couldn’t quite name.

She’d taken a risk coming to him, and he wasn’t about to let her down. Not now. Not ever.

Max worked through the afternoon with his head barely in the game. The thought of her in his trailer—his space—kept creeping into his mind. He couldn’t shake the image of her standing there, looking so out of place, like she belonged somewhere far away from this rundown world he inhabited. The image of her soft eyes and trembling lip haunted him as he fixed engines and cleaned up at the shop.

By the time he came back to the trailer, the evening sun had already dipped behind the horizon, casting a pale, dusky glow over everything. He turned the key in the door, the familiar creak of the hinges echoing in the quiet.

And then he froze.

The trailer didn’t look the same.

It was spotless.

The clutter on the counters, the dirty dishes, the laundry piled up in the corner—all of it was gone. The floor was swept, the counters wiped down, and there was even a faint smell of something cooking, something hearty and savory. Max took a step inside, his eyes scanning the room as if he was seeing it for the first time.

And there she was, standing in the kitchen.

She had slipped into one of his old band t-shirts—black and faded with the edges curling up—and paired it with the skirt she’d worn earlier. Her hair was still down, a little messy from the day, but there was something about the way she moved around his space that made her seem... at ease. She was focused on the stove, stirring something in a pot, humming quietly to herself as if she belonged.

Max felt a sudden knot in his stomach, a wave of desire mixed with something deeper—something protective. He swallowed hard, his gaze dropping down to her legs, exposed beneath the hem of the shirt, and then back up to her face. She didn’t notice him at first, too absorbed in what she was doing, and he took a few moments to just watch her.

She looked so out of place in his world—his messy, cluttered world—but at the same time, she fit perfectly.

She caught sight of him, and a warm, almost shy smile spread across her face. "I wasn’t sure what you liked, but I found some stuff in the cupboard. It’s not much, but I thought… I could make you something."

Max’s chest tightened at the sincerity in her voice. He had no idea she could cook.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” he said, his voice rough with something unspoken. He stepped further into the trailer, noticing that she’d even made the bed. The blankets were neatly arranged, the pillow fluffed, the whole room looking like it belonged in some kind of hotel. It felt... new.

She shrugged, a little embarrassed. "It's the least I could do. You’ve been so kind to me... I wanted to help, in some way."

Max ran a hand over his jaw, fighting the urge to reach out and pull her close. Her presence was intoxicating, her gentle kindness disarming. The way she stood there, so effortless in his space, made something inside him shift. His heart beat faster as he moved toward the kitchen, unable to resist the pull of her.

She turned back to the stove, unaware of the war going on inside him. He couldn’t help but glance at the way her shirt rode up on her thighs, the curve of her hips, and the soft skin of her exposed legs. His mind flashed to earlier—when she’d stepped into his trailer with those wide eyes, trembling and vulnerable. And now, she was here, looking like she belonged to him in ways she probably didn’t even realise.

His hands clenched at his sides. He needed to calm down.

“You didn’t have to clean everything up,” he said, trying to focus on something other than how badly he wanted to kiss her, touch her, feel her beneath his hands.

“I don’t mind,” she replied, her voice soft. “It felt wrong to just sit around, so I figured I could do something. It’s a mess here, but I… I wanted it to feel like home for a bit.”

Home.

The word hit him harder than he expected. Max didn’t know what it meant to feel at home. His life had always been a constant hustle, scraping by, living in his car, barely getting by. But here, with her, in the middle of this trailer—he felt like maybe he could understand it, just a little bit.

She stirred the pot again, and Max took a deep breath. His body was tight with the need to do something—to touch her, hold her—but he fought it down.

He stepped closer, casually leaning against the counter. “You sure you’re okay with all this?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light, casual.

She glanced at him, her eyes soft but unreadable. “I’m okay,” she said, her voice just above a whisper. She seemed to hesitate for a moment before continuing, her gaze steady. “I just… I don’t know what to do anymore. I’m scared, Max.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut, and before he could stop himself, he reached out, his fingers brushing the back of her hand. Her skin was soft, delicate, and his pulse skipped in response. She didn’t pull away, but she didn’t look at him either.

Max leaned in just slightly, his breath catching in his throat as he whispered, “I’ll keep you safe, I swear.”

There was a moment of silence. And then, in the quietest voice, almost as if she were speaking to herself, she whispered, “I believe you.”

And in that moment, something inside Max shifted completely. He didn’t just want her. He needed to protect her. To keep her from harm.

The tension in the air was thick, and he knew if he didn’t walk away now, he wouldn’t be able to control himself. His hand lingered on hers for just a second longer before he pulled away, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Let’s eat,” he said, trying to mask the urgency in his voice, trying to ground himself again.

Max didn’t have a proper dining table—hell, he barely had enough room for his sofa—but tonight, that didn’t matter.

He took a seat on the old sofa, and she settled beside him, carefully placing the plates of food between them. The smell of whatever she’d made filled the air—something simple but satisfying, with just a hint of warmth that made it feel like a real meal. It was the first time in a while that Max had felt something other than hunger when he sat down to eat.

As she set her fork down and looked at her hands, she murmured something under her breath, her voice soft and steady. Max was halfway through a bite when he realised she was praying.

He watched her quietly, noting the calmness in her demeanor, the way her hands were folded neatly in front of her. Her lips moved with the words, a quiet reverence that made the air in the room feel still, almost sacred.

When she finished, she looked at him, a small, shy smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Sorry,” she said, her cheeks flushed. “It’s just… habit.”

Max shook his head, swallowing the lump in his throat. “No need to apologise,” he said, his voice softer than usual. He found it cute—no, charming—how she prayed before every meal, how that simple act of faith seemed to give her some semblance of peace. He had no idea what that kind of peace felt like.

They ate quietly, the sound of forks scraping against plates the only noise between them. There was something almost intimate about this simple moment—the way she sat beside him, the way she kept her space but still seemed to fill the room.

It wasn’t long before Max’s mind started to wander again, and his gaze drifted down to her hand as she picked up her glass of water. He noticed the ring on her finger, the simple silver band catching the light.

“What’s that?” he asked, his voice casual, though his stomach clenched slightly.

She looked down at it, almost absentmindedly, before meeting his gaze. “It’s a purity ring,” she said, her voice quiet, almost reverent.

Max froze, his fork half-raised to his mouth. A purity ring. The thought hit him like a punch to the gut, a wave of something dark and primal swirling beneath the surface. She wore it like a promise, a promise to stay pure, to wait for marriage, to avoid the kinds of things he’d spent most of his life seeking out—things he wasn’t sure he could even offer her if she wanted them.

His thoughts scrambled, his chest tightening. He forced himself to swallow the lump in his throat and shifted on the couch, trying to ignore the tightening in his jeans. He couldn’t help himself. The idea of her—innocent, pure, wearing a ring like that—drove him mad. It made him think things he shouldn’t, things that went against the very core of who she was.

He cleared his throat, trying to distract himself from the thoughts swirling in his head. “I, uh… I think you should take the bed,” he said abruptly. “I’ll crash here on the couch.”

She gave him a soft look, her expression kind, though there was something in her eyes that told him she wasn’t used to accepting charity—or favours of any kind.

“Thank you,” she said, glancing at the bed and then back at him.

She stood up, taking both their plates to the sink and left him in the makeshift living room.

Max settled back onto the small couch, but sleep didn’t come easy. He was restless, his mind too filled with thoughts of her, her innocence, her sweetness, and that damn purity ring. Even though there was a whole doorframe separating the two of them, the room felt too small. His chest too tight. His body too aware of everything that was happening in that tiny space between them.

Eventually, he shifted again, sighing in frustration as he tossed the blanket off of himself. The couch wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was too small for someone his size. He needed to stretch out.

A few minutes later, he heard the soft creak of the floorboards. He turned his head slightly, squinting through the dim light. She was standing in the doorway, her silhouette outlined by the faint glow of his beside table.

“Max?” Her voice was soft, tentative.

He sat up, blinking. “Yeah?”

“I—uh, I can’t sleep,” she admitted, stepping further into the room. “And you look... uncomfortable on the couch.” She hesitated, then bit her lip. “Would you, um, want to sleep in the bed with me? Just... just for tonight?”

Max felt his breath catch in his throat. He should’ve said no. He knew he should’ve. But she was standing there in his shirt, her hair falling messily around her shoulders, and her eyes—those soft, uncertain eyes—were pleading with him in a way that made him feel like he was the one who needed her comfort.

“Are you sure?” he asked, voice tight.

She nodded, her hands trembling just slightly as she pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Please. I just—” She paused, biting her lip, as if searching for the right words. “I don’t want to be alone.”

Max’s heart twisted in his chest. He could’ve said something else—told her it was fine, that she should rest, or something like that. But he was done with pretending he didn’t want to be close to her, to feel her next to him.

“Alright,” he muttered, standing up. “But, uh... let me put on a shirt.”

Her eyes widened slightly, and he could’ve sworn he saw the smallest flicker of a smile on her lips. “Okay,” she whispered, turning her back to give him some space.

He grabbed a random shirt from the pile of clean laundry on the floor, pulling it on over his bare chest, and then slipped under the covers beside her. She had already crawled under the blankets, pulling them tightly around her.

Max settled in beside her, keeping a careful distance at first. But the bed was small, and it didn’t take long for her to inch closer. He could feel her warmth at his side, the soft rise and fall of her chest with each breath, the delicate scent of her hair mixing with the familiar scent of his worn sheets.

The morning light filtered through the thin curtains of the trailer, casting a soft glow across the room. Max slowly woke up, his eyes still heavy with sleep. He shifted slightly, feeling the warmth of her body pressed against his side. Her head rested on his chest, her soft breathing filling the quiet room.

For a moment, Max just stayed still, letting the comfort of her closeness wash over him. His arm had instinctively wrapped around her while they slept, and he could feel the warmth of her skin beneath the thin fabric of his shirt.

But as his body began to wake up fully, so did a familiar discomfort: the pressure of his morning problem, straining against the fabric of his boxers. His breath caught, and he tried to shift subtly, hoping she wouldn’t wake up and notice the situation. She didn’t. She just remained nestled against him, her breath slow and steady.

Max let out a slow breath, trying to ignore the growing tension in his body. He kept his arm around her for a moment longer, relishing the softness of her against him, before reluctantly moving it.

Her movements eventually stirred him from his thoughts, though. He felt her shift and heard her small, quiet sigh as she began to stir. She slowly pushed herself up and away from him, the weight of her head leaving his chest.

Max watched as she stood up, stretching lightly before walking toward the small kitchen area. The simple act of her moving around his trailer felt domestic, a little surreal. He never imagined a girl like her would be here, in his space, making herself at home.

She turned on the old coffee maker and started washing the dishes from the night before, humming softly to herself. Her bare feet moved across the worn linoleum floor as she worked, picking up the plates, scrubbing them clean with a kind of focused determination. Max watched her, a little mesmerised by the way she went about everything with ease. She was so domestic, so... pure.

After a while, she glanced over her shoulder, catching his eye. “I hope you don’t mind,” she said quietly. “I usually make something nice on a Sunday.”

Max shook his head, trying to get his bearings. “I don’t mind at all.” His voice was still rough with sleep. “Thank you.”

She smiled softly and got to work, preparing eggs, toast, and whatever else she could find in his meager supplies. Max sat up, rubbing his eyes. He watched her as she moved, the way her shirt clung to her in all the right places, how she seemed so comfortable here despite how out of place she looked in his world.

Eventually, she finished up with the dishes and turned to him. “I need to get ready for church.” Her eyes softened a little, as though she could sense the hesitation in his. “Can y—“

“I’ll take you. I just don’t have a car right now. It’s in the garage.”

Her eyebrows lifted slightly, and for a moment, Max thought she might protest, but instead, she just nodded. “Okay.”

He took a quick shower and threw on some old jeans and a t-shirt. He didn’t exactly have a wardrobe that screamed “church-going,” but it was the best he could do. He wasn’t there to make a statement anyway—just to get her there and make sure she was safe.

When he stepped out of the small bathroom, he found her already dressed in her Sunday best—yesterday’s shirt and skirt with a cardigan she must have pulled out her bag. Her hair was perfectly styled, like she’d just walked out of a church bulletin. She looked so out of place in his trailer, so polished and pristine compared to the worn, dirty space they were in.

Max grabbed his helmet and walked over to her, holding it out. “Here,” he said, the words laced with a slight smirk. “You’re gonna need this.”

She looked at him curiously but didn’t argue. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. You’re not walking to church, and you’re definitely not riding behind me without it.” He grinned, clearly enjoying her discomfort.

With a small, reluctant smile, she took the helmet from him, adjusting it over her head, the loose strands of her hair sticking out slightly. Max handed her the extra jacket he had and then motioned to the door. “Let’s get going. I’ll get you there early so no one sees you.”

She nodded, slipping on the jacket and walking toward the door with him. Max grabbed the keys to his bike and headed outside, securing the helmet on her head.

The engine of his old bike roared to life, the sound rattling the air around them. Max felt the familiar rush of adrenaline, the wind in his face as they drove, but his focus wasn’t on the speed or the feel of the bike. It was on her, sitting behind him, her body pressed close to his, the weight of her on his back both grounding and electrifying him.

They took the back roads, keeping a low profile, making sure no one would notice them together. Max didn’t want to bring any attention to her. He didn’t want anyone to see her with him, not yet. She was too pure, too innocent to be caught up in his world.

They arrived just before everyone else, the small church looming in front of them as the sun began to rise. Max parked the bike in the back and cut the engine, then turned to look at her.

“Thanks for coming with me,” she said softly, slipping off the bike.

Max nodded, watching her walk toward the steps of the church, her figure straight and composed. As she walked away from him, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of something—something he couldn’t quite name. It was a mix of jealousy, admiration, and something darker that he didn’t want to acknowledge.

He didn’t know why he stayed in the parking lot. Maybe it was the quiet that clung to the air after the service ended, or maybe it was the feeling of something unfinished between him and her. He waited, watching as the congregation filed out of the church, families chatting, some with smiles on their faces, others with the weight of the week still on their shoulders.

He saw her mother, walking alongside her brother, exchanging a few words with the other churchgoers. But no sign of her. His gaze swept over the parking lot once more, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. Maybe she had stayed behind for a little longer.

Minutes passed, and Max’s unease grew. She hadn’t come out.

Frowning, he swung his leg off the bike and walked toward the church’s front doors. He didn’t know why he felt compelled to check on her, but something in him insisted. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled, as if sensing danger.

Max approached the side of the church, his boots scraping the gravel beneath him. A faint voice reached his ears—just a whisper at first, but then it grew louder, more frantic. It sounded like shouting, distorted by the walls of the building, but it was unmistakably hers.

His heart skipped a beat.

He moved quickly toward the sound, pushing open a side door. The hallway inside was dimly lit, the walls cold and echoing with every step. He followed the noise, barely hearing his own footsteps as he crept closer to the source.

And then he saw them.

She was on the floor, her hands trembling in front of her, her back hunched as though she was trying to make herself as small as possible. Her father was standing over her, his voice a low growl of fury, loud enough to rattle the air between them.

“You’re a dirty slut!” he spat. “You’re going to hell for what you’ve done!”

Max’s blood ran cold, and for a moment, he didn’t think.

With a quick motion, he stepped forward, his voice calm but cold. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

The preacher spun around, his face twisted with rage, recognizing Max.

“Stay out of this, boy,” the preacher growled, his hand still raised in the air.

But before the preacher could make another move, she stood up, her breath ragged, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and something else—hope? Maybe it was desperation.

Without a second thought, she ran toward Max. She didn’t hesitate, her arms reaching out to him as if he were her only anchor in the storm.

“Max,” she whispered, almost too softly to hear, but Max felt the weight of it all the same.

Max put his hands on her shoulders, turning her so that she was standing slightly behind him. His eyes never left the preacher, his voice steady.

“You know, preacher,” Max began, his voice low and measured, “God loves justice and establishes equity.” He tilted his head slightly, as if recalling something. “Psalm 99:4, right? I’m sure that’s a scripture I heard your daughter read once in Bible study. Can’t be exerting your authority in such ways, can you?”

The preacher’s face went red with anger, his hands balling into fists. “Get out of here, boy. This is none of your business.”

Max didn’t flinch. “You’re right,” he said calmly. “It’s none of my business. But I’ll make sure it’s yours.”

He motioned to her. “Go wait by the bike.” His voice softened just for her, the harshness fading away. “Go on, I’ll be right there.”

She hesitated for just a moment, looking at him like she wanted to say something, but instead, she turned and walked quickly toward the door. Max watched her go, his heart pounding in his chest.

The preacher made a move to stop her, but Max stepped forward, his patience snapping.

“Don’t you ever touch her again,” Max growled.

The preacher lunged at him, but Max was faster, his fist connecting with the preacher’s jaw before he had a chance to land a blow. The sound of the punch echoed in the small hallway, and the preacher staggered backward, his hands gripping the edge of the wall for support.

Max stepped forward, his voice cold. “I don’t care who you think you are. You put your hands on her again, and I’ll make sure you regret it.”

The preacher was on his knees now, his face a mixture of shock and fury. Max didn’t wait to hear more. He turned on his heel, walking out the door to find her standing by his bike, waiting as if she hadn’t just been on the receiving end of a storm.

He nodded to her, not saying anything more, his mind racing with the anger he’d just unleashed. But all he wanted now was to get her away from here, away from him.

“Let’s go,” he said softly, handing her the helmet.

She didn’t say anything as she put it on, but the silent understanding between them spoke volumes. Max revved the engine, feeling the rush of power beneath him as he led her away from the church, away from the hell that had just erupted there.

The ride back to the trailer was eerily quiet. Max could feel the tension in the air between them, thick and heavy, the weight of everything that had just happened hanging between them. She sat behind him, her grip tight on his waist, but there was no laughter, no playful banter like there had been before. It felt like the world had shifted somehow, and the silence stretched endlessly as they rode.

Max didn’t glance back at her. He kept his eyes straight ahead, focusing on the road, but all he could think about was what he’d just done. He knew he’d put himself in danger, confronting her father like that. He didn’t care. But for the first time, he couldn’t ignore the burning question: What did he really think he was doing?

The only sound on the road was the roar of the engine beneath them, a constant reminder of the distance they had yet to travel. Every twist and turn of the road seemed to reflect the turmoil inside of him, but he had no words for it, no way to express the chaos in his head.

When they finally pulled into the trailer park, the sun was low in the sky, casting long shadows across the worn pavement. Max parked the bike and cut the engine, the sudden silence of the world around them making the tension between them all the more palpable.

They didn’t speak as they walked inside, the door creaking as it opened into the small, dimly lit space. Max stepped aside to let her enter first, but the moment the door closed behind them, she removed the helmet and her composure seemed to crumble.

She stood there for a long moment, just breathing, as if she was trying to collect herself, but it was clear she wasn’t okay. Max watched her, his heart tightening when he saw the tears beginning to well in her eyes. She couldn’t hold it back anymore.

Before he could say anything, she collapsed into him. Her body shook as she buried her face against his chest, her sobs muffled against his shirt. Max’s arms instinctively wrapped around her, pulling her in close, his own breath shaky from the unexpected surge of emotion he felt at seeing her so broken.

“It’s okay,” he whispered softly, his voice a soothing murmur. “I’ve got you, shhh.”

She didn’t respond, just continued to cry, the sound raw and heartbreaking. Max gently ran his hand down her back, trying to comfort her in the only way he knew how. He wiped the tears off her face with his thumb, brushing her hair back from her forehead. His chest tightened with every sob that wracked her body, every quiet sob that he couldn’t take away.

“Don’t cry,” he said quietly, though his words felt powerless against the pain she was clearly feeling. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I swear it, sweetheart.”

She pulled away slightly, her tear-streaked face making his chest ache even more. Her eyes were wide and vulnerable, a rawness that shook him to his core. She didn’t say anything; she didn’t need to. He could see everything in her expression, the hurt and confusion and fear.

Without a word, Max guided her to the small bed in the corner of the trailer, not sure what else to do. He wanted to fix everything, to make her feel safe, but he knew that wasn’t something he could do with words alone.

They sat on the edge of the bed, and she let him help her lie down. He crawled in next to her, his arm draping over her shoulders as she curled up against him. The space felt small, but it was warm. She was warm.

Max didn’t say anything as he laid beside her, his chest rising and falling with every breath he took. He just held her. The silence between them was heavy, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was quiet, like the calm after the storm, both of them lost in the stillness of the moment.

Her breathing eventually slowed, her sobs quieter now, though her body still trembled slightly from the emotions that had flooded her. Max stayed close, not letting go. His fingers gently traced the outline of her arm as he held her close, not knowing exactly what to say to make it better, but knowing that being there, holding her, was enough—for now.

“I’m here,” he whispered again, his voice soft and unwavering, as he placed a soft kiss to her forehead. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. Not anymore.”

Then a weird thought came to Max as he watched hee sleep in his arms.

She’d prayed for his peace.

And while he wasn’t a believer.

He sure as hell felt at peace.

part two out now!

[doitforbangchan]

All Bark and No Bite - 19

oops i couldn’t wait for the weekend 😅 happy 4th of july to my fellow american homies 🫡🫡

Masterlist /Series masterlist

Chan x reader (y/n) x ot8

ABO!Nonidol!SKZ Alternate Universe

Previous - Next

Chapter warnings: Afab/fem reader, smut, unprotected p in v, oral (f + m), kissing, Dom!Chan, Dom!Minho, Dom!Seungmin, Sub!reader, subspace, threesome (m/f/m), Double penetration (mouth and Vagina), 2min being absolute deviants, face smacking, choking, crying (a TON), Dacryphilia, voyeurism, spanking, sir kink, dirty talk, pet names, spit, cum eating, fluff, angst, cursing, violence, blood, threats, broken bones, (sorry to all the wooyoung stans- this hurt me to write), Chan is not a good guy here but he’s hot so 🫠🤷🏻‍♀️🤷🏻‍♀️

WC: 10.2k

Sun beams streamed into the room, the early morning light dancing across your lids as you woke up. You groggily creaked your eyes open then instinctually reached your hand over to find your alpha- though you found the spot empty. Chan's side of the bed was cold, he had to have been up for far longer than you.

Click 

Clack

Click

 There was a quiet clicking sound that filled the room. It was the first thing you really took notice of as you came to your wits.You rubbed your eyes and lightly lifted your head up. In the corner of the room at his laptop sat Chan. He was still in his underwear that he wore to bed and he was typing away at the keyboard in front of him. He hadn’t noticed that you had awoken yet, so you observed him for a few minutes. His brow was furrowed and he kissed his teeth. 

The alpha typed away for a few more minutes, then he sighed in frustration and threw his head back. It was at that moment he noticed you were awake, looking at him with sleepy eyes. He smiled at you with a tender look. “Good morning, gorgeous.”  

“Mmph. Morning Channie. What are you doin?” You swung your legs over the side of the bed and reached your arms up in a stretch. 

He sighed again and turned back around to his computer. “Just some work that couldn’t wait until after the weekend.” He wouldn’t tell you that he had gotten up early to do some digging on Wooyoung and had gotten fed up when he didn’t find anything of note then checked his work emails. “There's a buyer who wants to see a huge property a town over.” 

You padded slowly over to your alpha and draped yourself over his shoulders, nuzzling your face into his neck. “That must be exciting for the company.” 

“Mmhm, it’s a really expensive piece of land. The buyer wants to get this deal done asap and is sending me over there tomorrow to meet with them. On a fucking sunday.” He huffed and rolled his eyes.

 You could feel his frustration radiating out of him so you brought a hand up to his head and ran your fingers through his curls, trying to comfort him. You felt him physically relax and you let out a gentle purr. “M’ sorry alpha. You work so hard for your company, you deserve some time off.” 

He snorted, “Yeah like that’s going to happen anytime soon. I’ve already taken too much time off the last few weeks thanks to a certain someone.” He playfully kisses your arm that was wrapped around him then leans into you. “My old man understands how important bonding with an omega is so he’s been lenient but since I’m the one that's going to take over the business I have to make sacrifices sometimes. Being able to provide a comfortable life for you and the pack makes it all worth it though.” 

“You’re a good man, Chan.” You kissed his neck again, your scent sweetening with your pure love for him. The smell was so heavenly it made his eyes almost roll into the back of his head. “I am so lucky to have the most perfect Alpha as my mate.” 

Chan tried to hide his bashfulness and the dusting of pink that appeared on his cheeks by turning his head but you managed to catch a peek anyways. You giggled and reached a hand to pinch his cheek. He shook his head and laughed along with you. “Don’t tease me! And don’t pretend you're not the perfect one, my little omega.” He turned and gave you a kiss on your lips this time and hummed. “I do have to get back to this for now though my love. Not much longer.” 

“Anything I can do to help?” You stood but kept your hands on his shoulders, massaging them lightly. 

He turned back to look at you with a smirk and his eyes shining with mischievous intent, “Wellll there's one thing I can think of…” 

“Hmm,” You hummed wearily, “what’s that Channie?” 

“Cockwarm me while I work.” 

You choked on your air intake. That is certainly not what you had in mind. “You- you want me to do what?” 

He patted his lap cheekily, making you look down to notice his member hardening in his boxers. “Come on pretty omega, take a seat on alphas dick and keep me company. That would really help me get some work done.” His grin was teasing as if daring you to do as he asked, as if you truly had an option. 

You licked your lips as you felt your panties dampen instinctually. You weren’t naive enough to think it would help him that much or that his intentions were pure but you also weren’t going to deny your alpha anything he desired- which right now was you.  

Your hands fell from his shoulders as you circled around to the front of his chair. You held eye contact with him when you crouched down in front of him and reached for the hem of his underwear. His gaze was sharp as he took in your every miniscule movement,brown orbs  already dilating like a beast of prey. Your breath was shaky when you hooked your pointer fingers into the hem and slowly pulled them down his thighs until his hard length sprang out and slapped against his stomach.  

You stood up again and this time pulled your own panties down, letting them fall to the floor as you stepped out of them. Chan licked his teeth and patted his lap once again. “Your throne, my queen.” 

That made you huff a laugh and eased your nerves a little. 

“You’re a dork.” 

 Bracing your hands on his shoulders you positioned yourself to be straddling his lap and he helped you line yourself up. With a deep breath to prepare for the stretch, you sank down onto him and engulfed him completely. Your eyes screwed shut and you let out a whimpering moan. Chan sighed blissfully when you were fully seated, his strong arms pulling you into his chest. 

“Thata girl.” 

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and gave him a small grind. He held back a moan, instead tutting at you. “Uh uh baby, just sit still f’ me and keep me warm.” 

Settling into a good position the both of you let out a content sigh. You kept your head buried into the crook of his neck while he let go of you and went back to his laptop. You closed your eyes and relaxed into him, trying to pass the time with a nap. The both of you managed to sit like that for about a half hour. You did your best to focus on napping but you were beginning to get needier and needier. Chan was doing a good job at keeping a poker face and typing away as if you weren’t clenching and leaking all over his dick. 

Your thighs started to burn from the position you were stuck in so you tried to subtly adjust to relieve some tension, but the movement made you push him deeper into you. You let out a quiet moan when you felt him twitch inside of you and couldn’t help but shift your hips, making your walls drag against him which caused him to moan in return. 

“F-fuck baby, can’t go moving your hips like that.” 

“M sorry, you just feel so good.” You whined in his ear. You could feel your slick dripping out of you and onto Chan's dick,“S’deep in me, feels so good alpha.” 

He let out a growl at your words, his resolve quickly crumbling. “Feelin’ needy now, baby? Can’t even sit here and be good, you need your alpha to take care of you?” 

You nodded rapidly, clenching around him tightly at his words. “Uh huh. I tried to be good for you Alpha. I sat here as long as I could.” 

“Well it’s a good thing I’ve just answered my last email then huh?” 

With no warning the man beneath you lifted his hips to buck into you, making your back arch as you moaned. “Nnnnghh alpha!” 

“Hold on to me baby.” 

You did as you were told, tightening your hold on his shoulders. When he felt that, Chan put his hands under your spread thighs and gripped the meat there. He used his strength to lift your body up then brought you down again. You felt every ridge and vein of his cock rub against your walls, making you whine and throw your head back. 

Chan used your body as if it was his own personal fleshlight, lifting you up and down over and over again. His panting in your ear sent shivers down your spine. The alpha relished in the feeling of your slick dripping out of you and falling down to his thighs, the sloshing making him want to pound into you even harder. Your little breathy ‘ah’s filled the room along with the sounds of your ever accumulating slick.

“Fucking hell omega, you’re taking me so well. Nice and tight and so fucking wet. Is that slick all f’ me?” You were too caught up in the pleasure, not registering that he had asked you a question. The alpha halted his movements, making you let out a desperate whine that turned to a cry when he laid a sharp slap against your butt. After he smacked it he grabbed a handful of the tender flesh and squeezed. “I expect an answer when I ask you a question.” 

“Yes yes! M’ so wet for my alpha.” You began to cry as you tried to bounce on his dick but he kept you stationary. He gave your ass another hard slap, this time groaning when he felt you clench down on him even as you hissed from the pain. “Please alpha, need to move, need to cum please.” 

He hummed in thought as if weighing his options. You couldn’t stop your squirming as you tried to gain more friction but his hold on you was too tight. Just when you were about to cry again he delivered one more stinging strike to your skin, then roughly fucked up into you and resumed his previous pace. 

Your nails were clawing into his bare shoulders as you felt your high approaching quickly. You started nibbling on his neck hoping to stimulate the man even more than he already was and it seemed like your efforts were not in vain. 

“Fuck omega, I’m getting so close, need to feel you cum on my cock then alpha will give you his knot. You want alphas knot, pretty girl?” His voice was throaty and rough and it made your eyes roll with how sexy it sounded as it sent you even further into that deep subspace that only he could send you too. The alpha could make your brain fuzzy with a single look; when he fucked you it sent it into overdrive. 

“Uh huh, wan’ your knot.” Your words were slurred, barely making it out of your mouth before he changed up the tempo and made his movements more of a deep grind into your core, hitting your special spot and also letting his pelvis rub perfectly against your clit. “Fuck oh my god gonna cum. Alpha m’ gonna cum!” 

“Go ahead, baby. Make a mess on my lap.” 

With his permission you let go and felt the snap within you, your pussy tightening around him as you came. “Ngggggghhhhhhh Channie! Alpha!” 

There was a deep rumble from within the man's chest as he gave into his instincts and started rutting up into you harder than ever before, making you scream at the overstimulation. He gave you three more rough thrusts before you felt his knot begin to inflate within you, locking himself into place within you and warm spurts of his essence coated your walls. You couldn’t stop spasming and squirming on his lap as you felt him fill you to the brim. 

After a few moments Chan seemed to catch his breath but you couldn’t stop shaking and whining. He let go of his hold on your thighs and ass, bringing one hand to the back of your head as he stroked you to soothe you. “Shh baby, you’re ok. I’ve got ya.” He gave your cheek a gentle kiss and he pumped out calming pheromones. It took you a few minutes to finally come back down to earth. When you came to your senses you lifted your face from his neck, both your face and his neck were wet with your tears and you looked dazed. “Are you ok my love?” You nodded with a ‘hmfp’. He chuckled at how cute you were. “Did alpha fuck you too good?” 

You nodded again and felt your face heat up at his words. “Mmhmm. So good. Missed alphas cock.” 

“My baby is turning dirty!” He mocked a gasp in shock. “You’re spending too much time with those heathens, they’re corrupting you.” 

You giggled and kissed his cheek, “I think it’s you who's doing the corrupting around here Channie.” You tilted your face to align with his and you gave him a deep kiss on his plump lips. His tongue invaded your mouth and mingled with your own, giving you a taste of each other. 

He pulled away with a loud ‘mwah’ and rubbed your noses together, making you giggle and peck his lips again. You could feel his knot beginning to deflate, so the alpha adjusted his hold on you to lift you up gently and pull you off of his member. You hissed when you felt him leave your body, the knot not yet down completely so it gave you a small tug as it left you. That pain turned to relief when you were able to move your legs- the appendages burning from the held position. 

Chan helped you off his lap and to your feet. Your legs felt like jelly and almost gave out but he was there to catch you and steady you. “Easy baby, gotta be careful after a rockus love making like that.” His tone was cocky and he grinned the same way, making you roll your eyes and stick your tongue out at him. “You watch that little tongue of yours omega, you stick it out too much and something may just come by and snatch it!” He made a quick pinching motion at your face making you squeal and back away from him. 

“You can’t have it, it's mine!” You pushed his hands away as they reached out to grab you again, both of you unable to control your laughter. “Get away you monster!” 

“Monster? Oh no baby, I’m the big bad wolf.” He grinned evilly and wiggled his fingers at you. “And if I catch you I’m gonna eat you up.” 

“You won’t eat me!” You backed away further and towards the door while still keeping your eyes on him. Just as your hand reached the doorknob he pounced, making you shriek. “Ahhh no no no!” You wretched the door open and flew out of the room, the alpha hot on your tail.

“Where ya goin little red? Don’t you wanna play with the wolf?” He reached for you but you barely made it past his fingertips.

“No thanks! I don’t play with monsters!” You managed to get down the hall to the bathroom in the hallway, closing it and locking it a mere second before your alpha got to the door. “Yes I made it! Take that you dirty wolf!” He pretended to scratch at the door and you stuck out your tongue again at the door. “You can’t see it but I’m sticking my tongue out at you!” 

You could hear him chuckle and scratch at the door again. “Come on out and play with me some more little omega. Give this wolf another taste of you.” Both of you knew he could make you come out if he really wanted too, but the chase was more fun. No sense in ending it with an alpha command. 

“Nuh uh, I’m fine here.” 

“Hmm, I’ll get my hands on you eventually, little red. I am a patient wolf.” The playful bite in his tone sent a quiver through your body and your brain fuzzy. It made your hands twitch and you almost opened the door for him. Almost. 

“We’ll see about that. Now get outta here so you don’t listen to me pee!” 

He just laughed and then you heard his footsteps walk away from the door. 

Coming out of the bathroom after doing your business and brushing your teeth you caught a glimpse of a stocky figure rounding a corner down the hall. 

Changbin 

You sped after him reaching your hand out before he could go into his room. “Binnie, wait. Where have you been? Are you ok?” 

His head spun around to you then quickly back around, not looking you in the eye and seeming nervous. “Hi Y/n.” 

“Y/n? Since when do you call me by my real name?” You were confused and honestly a little hurt and it showed in your voice. You reached a hand out to touch his shoulder but he jerked it away, still not looking at you. “And why won’t you look at me? Have I done something wrong?”

That made him whip his head back to you, balking at you. “You get borderline assaulted because of me… and you ask me if you did something wrong? Are you serious?” 

“Oh Bin..” You knew he would be taking it hard. “I’m fi-” 

“Don’t say you're fine or it’s ok like I know you’re about too. It’s not ok, Y/n.” He put up a hand and cut you off. His hard gaze went back to the floor. You could just barely see his lash line fill with unshed tears. “Nothing about me being a shitty alpha to you is ok, so let’s not stand here and pretend it is.” 

You shook your head, a deep furrow in your brow. “Binnie don’t say that-” 

“It’s true! If I had been more aware -paid more attention to you- then you would have never been grabbed, let alone touched at all. I selfishly put my own wants before your needs. A good alpha wouldn’t have let that creep touch you.” His voice was raised and harsher than you had ever heard it. Usually he was loud with laughter and fun; it felt unnatural and made a pit settle in your stomach.

Now your own eyes were filled with liquid and all you wanted was to comfort him. “Changbin, it’s not your fault. Will you look at me please?” He still refused to look at you, choosing to keep his head down instead but you did see him sniffle a little bit.

“I don’t deserve to look at you.” 

“Seo Changbin” You tried to make your voice as hard as possible and you put your hands on his cheeks tilting his head back up and making him look at you. “Look at me. I. am. Fine. Do I look hurt? Do I seem like something is wrong with me?” 

“No..” He mumbled, a tear escaping his eye. You were quick to wipe it away with your thumb. 

“Then why are you beating yourself up about it, huh? I am here safe with the pack. Safe with you. We are all here together safe and sound, isn’t that all that matters?” 

“Only because Minho stepped in.. If he hadn't, who knows what could have happened to you.” By now the tears were streaming down the man's face, wetting his cheeks and your hands that still held them. 

“Changbin, that is enough! You are a great alpha and I have no doubt in my mind you would have come to my rescue soon enough. And it doesn’t matter who got there first anyway, what is important is that you and I are both here together. So please, please stop being so hard on yourself. It’s breaking my heart. I cannot bear to see you so upset.” You meant every word and looking in your glassy eyes he knew you did. He knew you weren’t one to lie. 

The alpha couldn’t hold it in anymore and released a quiet sob, attacking you into a much needed hug. “M’ so sorry baby. I love you so much. I don’t know what I would have done if he had hurt you.” 

Even though you were also crying you attempted to sooth him, your hand going from his face to his back as you held on to him. “Shh it’s ok. I love you too, Changbin. My sweet, wonderful, handsome alpha.” 

He sobbed even harder, his grip on you tightening as he tried to get as close to you as possible. You let him hold on to you for as long as he needed, the both of you crying and comforting the other. After a few minutes he slowly pulled back from the hug, instead choosing to bring your mouths together for a tender kiss. You practically melted into his kiss, his soft lips molding with yours. Even though there was no teasing or tongue involved it was just as deep and full of passion. 

This time it was you who pulled back first, your hands coming back up to his face and wiping away the remaining wetness from his perfectly rounded cheeks. “No more tears from you, I can’t stand to see you in pain.” You whispered, giving him your most sincere eyes. 

“Now you know how I feel when you cry.” He replied just as quietly. Changbin gave you one last quick peck then let you go completely, stepping back from you and a pink tinge appearing on his cheeks. He cleared his throat and you couldn’t help but to giggle. Of course you giggling made him join you; your laugh was just that contagious. 

The mood was instantly lightened, the tension visibly lifting from the alpha as he calmed down. But there was still a question remaining in your mind. “Binnie, where did you go last night? I didn’t sense that you came home, I was worried.” 

“I uh,” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, “I just spent the night walking around the woods. I was too ashamed to face you or Minho, so I thought it was easier to just walk home from the carnival to collect my thoughts.” 

You nodded in understanding, grabbing his hand and rubbing the back of his knuckles. “I’m just glad you came home at all. Chan told me he had talked to you but he didn’t specify what he had said so I was scared he had given you an unjust punishment.” You noticed the grimace in his expression. “Wait, did he? What did he say to you?” 

Bin shrugged as if it was no big deal but the crack in his voice gave him away. “Nothing crazy… He just took away my gym privileges for a while.” 

You quietly gasped and pulled him into another hug, “Oh Binnie, that’s horrible I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s ok Baby, all it means is I have to work out at home. Give ya a show.” He flexed his muscles at you, giving you a wink and making you laugh. 

“How about you come give me a show right now? I need to take a shower and you could join me if you want.”  You made a show of biting your lip dramatically and wiggling your eyebrows. 

Changbin burst into that high pitched laughter that you loved so much and nodded his head. “I could definitely use a shower after being outside all night.” 

You sniffed him and made a fake disgusted face, waving a hand in front of your face. “Yeah I’ll say.” 

“Hey now don’t you start bullying me! You’re turning into those jerks!” 

“H-O-T-T-O-G-O. YOU CAN’T TAKE ME HOT TO GO!” 

It was about three hours later after your shower with Changbin (which to your surprise did not turn sexual), and you were just finishing up sweeping the kitchen floors after you cleaned up breakfast while listening to music. You wanted to get a few things done today; feeling energized and needing to dance it out while you cleaned up. You offered Changbin to help you but he was exhausted after his night meandering the woods. 

“H-O-T-T-O-G-O, snap and clap and touch your toes

Raise your hands, now body roll, dance it out, you're hot to go” 

You did as the song said, bending down and body rolling, getting lost in the music. You were so thankful there was a radio in the kitchen. A low whistle from the kitchen entryway scared you, making you turn in fright and a hand fly to your chest. 

“Seungmin, stop scaring me!” 

The beta snickered, leaning on the wall. “Can’t help that we keep meeting like this little puppy.” His darkening eyes raked over your form, subconsciously licking his lips. He had observed you dancing for a few minutes before he whistled; drinking in the sight of you in a little maroon skirt and one of his t-shirts. Don’t get him started on the little peek of your little purple panties that he got to see while you were bent over. It was enough to make a grown man cry. 

A grumbled ‘hmpf’ left your lips and you crossed your arms, clearly unamused. “I don’t know if you have some sixth sense but you always seem to know when I’m distracted.” You narrowed your eyes playfully at him. “You obsessed with me or something?” 

Seungmin scoffed and pushed off the wall, coming to stand right in front of you and keeping eye contact. “More than you know, little puppy.” His gaze was so intense it made you backup a foot until your back touched the edge of the counter, where the beta put his hands to cage you in. His eyes flickered to your lips then back to your own and he leaned down ever so slightly. 

Your lids began to close in anticipation of his kiss, but it didn’t come. Instead you were surprised again when you felt his hands go down to the back of your exposed thighs and you were suddenly lifted off the floor. “Seungmin!” You shrieked, and smacked at his shoulder. 

“Calm down pup, don’t go throwing hands I’m just putting you on the counter.” 

As he said he lifted you and seated you promptly on the counter behind you. Your legs were dangling off the side and Seungmin got another peak at your underwear.  

“You drive me crazy enough to throw hands so really I don’t think I am to blame.” You stuck out your tongue at him and he rolled his eyes, then pinched you quickly and backed away snickering. “Ow!” 

“Dramatic omega.” He wagged a finger at you in jest, laughing again when you huffed. The man turned and opened the freezer, pulling out two mini popsicles. “Put the claws away or you won’t get one of these.” He waved one around in front of you. 

You made grabby hands at the sweet treat , giving him your best teasing pleading voice. “Gimme please!” You cheered when the beta handed you the frozen pop. “Hell yeah!” 

Without wasting any time you unwrapped the treat and started to eat it. You hummed in satisfaction as you took in the flavor. Blue raspberry; your favorite. Seungmin just watched as you ate your pop lost in your own world. He felt the tent in his pants grow tighter as you sucked and licked the phallic ice pop and were oblivious to the show you were putting on for him. 

“That looks good, where’s mine?” 

Both you and Seungmin were pulled from your thoughts by Chan who had walked into the kitchen. 

“Uh” The beta stuttered, then pointed to the freezer. “I picked them up the other day, do you want one, Chan?” 

Chan had taken notice of you both before he even spoke, already getting a read on the younger male's dominant and lusty energy. Well, that, and he watched as Seungmin couldn’t take his eyes off of your sinful mouth or your panties that were on display. 

“Hmmm, no thanks Seung. But I may just steal a taste of yours, baby.” The alpha smiled cheekily as you happily stuck your treat out for him. He stuck his tongue out as if he was going to take a lick, then he chomped down quickly on your pop, biting off a large chunk. 

“NO HOW COULD YOU?!” You yelled, shocked at the sudden loss of your popsicle; your now blue mouth open and eyes wide. “YOU SAID YOU WANTED A TASTE! A TASTE!” 

Both boys were laughing at your plight as you stared down at your now almost gone pop. “M’ sorry my love, alpha will buy another whole case while I’m out, just for you. How’s that sound?” He brought you into a hug with you still sitting on the counter as you pouted. 

You perked up at the idea of your own box- then his other words registered in your brain. “Wait where are you going?” 

“Just gotta go run an errand. I won’t be too long.” There was something malicious behind his usually kind eyes, it was so subtle but you and Seungmin both caught it. Chan laid a kiss to your cold lips and gave your knee a pat. “Be good for Minnie, I’ll see you soon omega.” He winked then he was out of the room. 

You looked to Minnie hoping he would give you an answer to the alphas behavior but instead you found him already staring at you. Or more specifically the melting ice in your hand. The juice was dripping down your fingers now and you cursed softly when you noticed the mess it was about to create. 

Before you could grab a nearby towel to clean it up your wrist was grabbed by warm fingers. “M-minnie?” 

The beta plucked the stick from your hand and threw it in the sink a few feet away- the wood making a quiet thump as it landed. Seungmin took the hand that was in his grasp and lifted it up to his face and stuck out his tongue. You held your breath as he slowly licked up the dripping juice that lingered on your fingers. The action was so erotic and abrupt that you felt a flood of slick form in your underwear. 

Seungmin held eye contact while he licked and sucked each individual finger, and you were too entranced to move even an inch. Only after each finger had been ~thoroughly~  cleaned by him did Seungmin let you go. He licked his lips and smirked down at your still dumbstruck expression. “That was pretty tasty. I wonder what other sweet treat you're hiding from me.” 

The boy dropped a wink at you then he fell to his knees in front of you; his hands went to your bare thighs, where they made quick work of pushing your skirt up and out of the way of his next meal. He groaned at the sight of the wet patch of the front of your panties, making you feel self conscious and you threw your palms over your face. “Seungmin! We’re in the kitchen! We can’t do this here!”

He scoffed, “No better place to eat than in the kitchen.” You could feel his hand leave one of your thighs, then you felt the rough pad of what you could assume was his thumb on your clit, rubbing you through the purple material and making your hips buck on reflex. “Looks like you want it too, huh pretty puppy? Gonna sit like a good pup and let your master give you a treat?” 

You didn’t answer him while you sat in contemplation, but that was not what Seungmin wanted. You gasped when your hands were yanked away from hiding you and his rough fingers gripped the underside of your chin, squishing your cheeks harshly. 

“I asked you if you were gonna be good for me, don’t act like a mutt and answer my question.” His growled words held a warning in them and you knew better than to test his patience right now. 

“Yesh Seunminf.” You answered the best you could with your smushed lips, eyes already glassy and begging for his mercy. 

“Good girl.” 

His signature smirk returned to his beautiful face and he let your face go then brought his attention back to your center. This time he decided to not waste anymore time, and he dove in face first to your clothed core. Seungmin nosed your clit through the fabric and it had you gushing even more. He was breathing deeply as if trying to absorb as much of your pure scent as possible and you could see a hint of his eyes rolling back into his head. It made you want to hide behind your hands again but you didn’t want to risk the repercussions. 

He hummed when his wet tongue stuck out and he pulled your panties into his mouth, sucking your essence out of the fabric. The act was one of the lewdest things you have ever fucking seen; it made your body burn with both embarrassment and titilation. 

“Minnie” You couldn’t stop the moan that escaped when he kept licking into you, making obscene grunts as he feasted on you and made your underwear beyond soaked. As good as it felt it was not enough. You craved more. “Minnie please.” 

He ignored your plea, instead he dug his face even further as he suckled your panties into his mouth. The beta was getting lost in you- in your pussy- it was his favorite thing in the world (everything about you was, really). He kept at it until he felt your thighs squeeze against his head. 

Seungmin pulled his face back and glared at you for interrupting him. “Thought you were gonna behave.” 

You whimpered and bit your lip. “M’ sorry Minnie. Didn’t mean too. Just need more.” 

“More?” He scoffed, “My greedy puppy wants more? You think you deserve it?” 

You nodded rapidly, rushing your words out.  “Yes, please. Been good.” 

He huffed in contemplation, then he surprised you by ripping your soaking underwear off your body and suddenly you were hoisted from your place on the counter. “Fine, I'll give my puppy a real treat then.” He crashed his lips into yours, his mouth instantly devouring your own. You moaned against his lips and you felt him smirk again, and he nibbled on your tongue, making you squeal from the light pain. 

Thinking he was going to set you down on the ground you had no time to react before you found that the beta had basically thrown himself down onto the ground on his back, and hauled you down with him so you were sat atop of his chest. Then he gave you an expectant look. 

“Uhh” You were utterly confused, “I dont…I don’t know what…” 

Seungmin rolled his eyes and sighed, “Thought it was pretty obvious.” He motioned to his face. “Sit on my face.” 

“Huh?” 

“Sorry. Please sit on my face.” 

The casualty of his request was staggering; it left you in absolute shock especially since he had requested it in the kitchen. That was the biggest hurdle that you were having trouble getting over. “But..We’re in the kitchen… during broad daylight where anyone could walk in on us... Maybe we should go up to your room?” 

Your defiance was starting to irritate the beta, his eyes hardening even further and he let out a growl. “I don’t give a flying fuck where we are or what time of day it is. I will fuck you whenever and whereever I want. Now scoot your ass up here and sit on my fucking face and let me eat your pretty pussy. I’m done asking.” 

You yelped when his hands harshly gripped your thighs and he forcefully dragged you up until you were hovering over his awaiting mouth. The grip he had on you only tightened when he immediately dug his face into your core, making you gasp at the contact and your hands flew to his hair to balance yourself or you would have risked falling over.  

“Oh my god, Seungmin!” You couldn’t help but rock your hips as you moaned and called out his name as he lapped at your center; greedily swallowing down the nectar that flowed freely from you.  By now his nails were embedding themselves into your skin with how hard they were digging in, trying to keep you still so he could enjoy his meal. “M-minnie, s’good.” 

“Mmmmmm” He hummed and slurped at you obscenely, his lips encircled your clit and you felt the vibrations hit your sensitive nub. You jerked and spasmed when he gave your clit a teasing nip with his teeth. He chuckled when you tried to get away from the painful pleasure and held on even tighter; so tight you could feel the blood begin to rush from the wounds his nails inflicted. “Nope, you’re staying right here.” 

The slurping and moaning was so loud that honestly you were surprised someone else hadn’t already walked in to find you in this compromising position. Though the music was still playing so the tunes must be drowning out your obscenities. You looked down at the boy beneath you and his face was hidden by your skirt, the flimsy material hiding his rapturous expression. 

“So fucking tasty.” The beta mumbled, his words muffled,  feeling himself become almost drunk on your ambrosia. “Most delectable pussy I’ve ever tasted.”  

“You really have no fucking shame, do you Seungmin? I can smell what you're doing from outside.” 

Your head had been thrown back in pleasure so you hadn’t noticed a new arrival to the kitchen, nor had you noticed said arrival leaning against the counter a few feet away watching your fucked out expression for at least five minutes. 

Seungmin growled from under you, feeling possessive over his bounty. “Go away Minho. We’re busy.” 

The elder beta snorted a laugh, “Yeah I can see that.” Minho waltzed over to where Seungmin laid on the ground and crouched down in front of you. He reached out and lifted the skirt that hid the boy's face, meeting the mean glare that the younger boy was sporting; though Seungmin never stopped his ministrations. Minho flipped the skirt back over the others face and stood again. 

Minho took in your glassy eyes and the little whimpers that escaped your lips with every suck and swipe of the younger boy's tongue. He noticed the way your mouth puckered subconsciously as if it were searching for something. Minho reached out and cupped your cheek in his warm hand, his thumb running along your open bottom lip. 

“M-min” Your voice was pleading, though you didn’t know what you were asking for. 

“Mmm what do you need omega?” He cooed at you condescendingly, already having an idea but wanting to piss off the other beta. “Need me to take care of you too?” 

“I said go the fuck away you asshole. She doesn’t need anything from you.” Seungmin all but snarled at Minho, his voice raspy and wet from the juices in his mouth. 

“I wasn’t asking you, Seungminnie. I was asking our beautiful omega.” He stroked your cheek and kept looking down into your watery eyes, holding deep eye contact. “And by the looks of it she needs a little more stimulation. So what do you say, Baby?” 

You didn’t want to upset Seungmin but you needed something more. With trepidation you nodded your head, and grabbed onto the man standing in front of you. 

“M-more, Minho. Please.” 

He tsked, “Is that what you call me, omega?” 

Was he really about to embarrass you in front of Seungmin? 

He looked down at you with that domineering gaze and a flicker of arrogance on his face.

Yes. Yes he was. 

“Sir.” You whined, trying to keep your voice low. 

“Hmm? What was that, I couldn’t hear you. You’ll have to speak up like a big girl.” 

Seungmins tongue buried particularly deep into your hole, making you moan and lurch forward into Minho who held you steady. 

You took a deep breath and blinked back tears. You raised your voice a few octaves and held him tighter. “Sir, need something. Please Sir.” 

“Oh my fucking god” You heard Seungmin murmur in disbelief at the nickname you called Minho. 

“That’s my good girl. Here you go baby.” The patronizing beta ran his thumb along your lip again before forcefully shoving it into your open mouth. Instantly you started sucking on the appendage, it being just what you needed for your oral fixation. You hummed around the digit and lathed your tongue on the pad of it. 

Your hips started bucking even more and your whines got louder. You could feel your high approaching at a rapid pace now and apparently the two men could tell you were close. Just as you felt the knot begin to tighten within you, Seungmin gave your clit a big suck into his mouth and that was the kick you needed. 

The welled up tears started to leak down your face as you came, and your eyes fluttered shut at the delicious pleasure that went through your whole body. Your eyes snapped back open when you felt a sharp sting on your cheek and Minho was glowering down at you still with his cat-like eyes. 

“Look at me while he makes you cum. Don’t you dare look away from me.” He hissed and shoved another finger down your throat, making you choke. 

You fought to keep your eyes open as you came, shaking and whimpering from your place on Seungmins face. The slurping from below got louder as your sweet essence was dranken up by the beta man. The sound was downright filthy. 

Finally, Seungmins tongue had stopped moving within you and had returned to his own mouth. He gave you a moment to finish shaking then he scooted you down so you sat on his stomach once again. Minho let his hands fall from your face as he drank in the fucked out sight of you. 

Seungmin lifted his head from the floor as he comfortingly ran his fingers over the small wounds his nails left. His face was drenched in your slick, the liquid dripping down his chin as he sat up slightly and his tongue shot out to catch the drippage. He made a show of groaning at the taste of it when he licked his lips. 

“Mmm delectable.” 

You felt your face heat up as the mortification caught up with you. You peeked up to see Minho still standing there watching your every move and you couldn’t bear to look him or Seungmin in the eye so you cast them down instead. 

“What’s the matter, puppy? Are you embarrassed that Minho Hyung caught you out in the open acting like a dirty mutt in heat for me? Or are you upset you didn’t get to cum on my cock instead?” 

The teasing words had you whimpering and you involuntarily clenched your thighs around Seungmins waist. Seungmin was growing more and more open to the help of Minho, seeing how desperate it had made you and he knew the new possible ways to play with you were endless. 

Minho bent down and got close to your face as he fake pouted. “Aww I think she wants you to fuck her properly, Minnie. Look at her writhing at the mere thought of it.” It was true, you were fidgeting and you could feel even more slick gathering from your pussy and onto Seungmins shirt. “Poor baby needs your dick, Seung.” 

They both grinned at each other mischievously, both betas locking eyes in a silent understanding. This was going to be so fun.

The maps on Chan's phone alerted him that his destination was on the right hand side. The alpha kissed his teeth as he threw his phone on the passenger seat, then opened the door and stepped out. This was his last and most pressing matter of the day and he was ready to get it over with. 

Stepping up to the doorstep of the small house Chan knocked on the door and waited. After a minute the door was opened to a familiar face. 

“Chan, what a surprise! What can I do for you?” The elder man had a kind smile and seemed genuinely happy to see Chan. 

“How are you, JYP? It’s been awhile.” Chan shook hands with the beta man and he peered past the door for a moment. They exchanged quick pleasantries but Chan declined the offer to come inside. “Oh no thank you, I can’t stay long. I was actually looking for Wooyoung. I heard he was staying with you and wondered if he was in?” 

“My nephew? Yes he is in right now, I’ll get him for you.” Chan smiled and thanked JYP. “WOOYOUNG YOU HAVE A VISITOR!” 

A thundering of feet could be heard walking through the house and then Chan got his first in-person look at Wooyoung. The beta was slightly taller than Chan was, and he had long arms but he was on the lankier side. He noticed the smile fell from Wooyoung's face when he saw just who was at the door for him. Chan heard him whisper a quiet ‘shit’, and he had to bite back a devilish grin. 

“Hi, my name is Chan. I was wondering if you had a second to speak with me.” He noticed the hesitation on the boy's face, so he pressed the order a tad harder. “It’ll only take a minute.” 

Wooyoung was shoved out the door by his uncle, who gave him a pat on the back. “ Of course he has plenty of time! Chan does alot for this town, so be polite Wooyoung.” With that the elder man shut the door and gave them some privacy.

Chan could see the nerves that laid within the boy; the twiddle of his fingers and the anxious run of his tongue on his lip gave him away instantly. Good, he should be scared. 

“Nice to meet you Wooyoung. Changbin has told me alot about you.” 

“O-oh. Changbin is a good friend.” 

The alpha hummed in agreement, nodding. “He is. He is a good man and a great pack mate.” Chan took a subtle step closer to the beta. 

“Did Changbin send you here?” Wooyoung asked, mentally running over what Bin could have said to Chan. 

Chan clicked his teeth, and shook his head. “Nah. I came of my own volition. I actually had a question I wanted to ask you.” 

“Ok, what is i-” Before Wooyoung could finish his question, Chan's hand shot out and grabbed onto the younger man's throat. Suddenly Wooyoung's face was shoved forcefully against the wood of the house, his nose smashing and he could feel the crack of his bone and blood start to drip out. 

Chan snickered at the noise of pain Wooyoung let out and he tightened his grip on his neck. Chan dug his nails sharply into the skin and he felt the betas windpipe beneath his fingers. He got closer to Wooyoung until his broad body was trapping him against the wall.

“Do you like being grabbed, Wooyoung?” Chan seethed but kept his tone relatively calm, albeit a bit menacing. “Do you like it when a stranger that's stronger than you puts his hands on you?” When the beta didn’t answer Chan yanked him back and re-shoved his bloody face into the wood and made the beta hiccup from the pain. Chan's other hand had a tight hold on Wooyoung's hands and he kept them locked behind his back so he couldn’t fight back.

 “Let me tell you something, motherfucker. Changbin is a good man. But I’m not.” Chan increased the pressure on his neck, the beta letting out a choking gurgle as the blood flooded his mouth. “And I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty. So this is going to be your only warning.” Chan lowered his voice to an ominous sneer. “If you ever put your filthy fucking hands on my omega or my packmate again, I will rip your arms from your torso and throw them in the woods for the bears to eat.” 

Wooyoung squirmed and moaned in pain, his airways closing more and more with each passing second. For a split second he wondered if he would ever escape. Suddenly all the air he had been searching for came rushing back to him as he was released. Wooyoung fell to his knees and his hands flew to his neck as he coughed and sputtered, the blood of his face flying in specs everywhere.

“The only reason I haven’t done so already is out of respect for your uncle, who has been a pillar in our society. Be grateful he was able to save you… This time.” Chan stepped back and straightened himself out. “Go clean yourself up before you make too big of a mess on that poor man's porch.” 

With that Chan stepped off the porch and left the beta crying and sputtering, and slipped back into his car. He drove away without so much as a single glance back- as if the ordeal hadn’t even occurred at all. 

“Ngghhh” You gurgled out the best you could around Minho's cock but it only came out in a slobbery whine. His member was pistoning in and out of your mouth as he held your hair, using your face to get himself off but also making you incredibly horny. 

Seungmin was still under you but now instead of his face you were sitting atop his dick reverse cowgirl; the thick appendage sliding in with reckless abandon. Your thighs were burning but the divine pleasure of being used by them was too delicious for you to care. The sloshing from both your pussy and your mouth makes you dizzy and your brain mushy- you had no choice but to give yourself over to them completely (much to their- and your- delight).

“Feels so good, your pussy is always so damn tight. My dirty pup. So fucking good for us.” Seungmin could feel the way your walls clenched around him at the praise and it made him moan loudly. He cursed and his own hips started to quiver with the impending orgasm. 

“The best omega we could have asked for.” Minho was next to praise you, his head thrown back and his breathing hard. He himself also was not far from cumming. He groaned at the sight of your tears continuously leaking down your cheeks and mixing with the saliva on your chin. 

Minho opened his eyes when he sensed another presence nearby. Or to him it was more like a pest lurking around. Big boba eyes peered slowly through the threshold, hoping to catch a good look at what was happening in there, his cock twitching in his pants. Minho bit back a grunt, and he called out to the boy. 

“Get outta here Jisung, go jerk off somewhere else you pervert.”

A squeak left the younger boy and he turned around, bumping into his accomplice that seemed just as alarmed at being caught. Felix. He could hear them scurry down the hall together and rolled his eyes at their antics. It didn’t seem like you even noticed they had appeared or left at all.

For the two betas this was sort of poetic. A few weeks prior they had been at odds about you- and now here they were, coming together because of you, both with a common goal in mind; ultimate pleasure. 

“Touch your clit, baby. Make yourself cum on my dick, get me all messy with your slick pretty girl. I wanna be soaked in it from head to toe.” Seungmin requested through his moans and you did as he said, your nimble fingers traveling down your body and to your aching nub. You spasmed and whined when you made contact with it, which in turn made your walls quiver around Minnie's length. 

Minho's hand that wasn’t in your hair was on your now bare breast, fondling the heaving flesh and pinching at your nipple. You cried louder when he pinched particularly roughly on your already abused nipple. It was the final push you needed before you came for the third time today. You gasped and choked on Minho's length, making him pull out of your mouth so you could breathe. 

When you came your walls clamped down on Seungmin and triggered his orgasm, the betas hips stuttering as he filled you with his essence. “Fuuckkkk holy shit, so tight puppy.” 

The view of you both cumming together was too much for Minho and he stroked his member quickly in front of your open mouth, “So hot, what the fuck” he said through clenched teeth as his high came forcefully and his cum spurted out of the tip and onto your face, some of it getting into your open moaning mouth. 

All three of you were quite a sight, all shaking and crying with pleasure together in the middle of the kitchen. You and Seungmin were both covered in cum and slick, the combination of the two leaking out of you and all over the beta man's thighs and onto the floor. Minho couldn’t help himself and he leaned down and ran the fat of his tongue along your cheeks, collecting the salty mixture of your tears and some of his cum, and moaning from the taste. 

After a few moments all three of you were able to collect your breath and calm down. You were drifting in deep space and barely registered Minho's arms scooping you up and off of Seungmin. You let out a quiet hiss when your thighs were able to move from the held position. 

“Shh it’s ok baby. I know you're sore, we’ll take care of you.” Minho cooed and set you down on the counter again. “Hold still f’ me baby.” He used a damp rag to clean the remaining semen off of your face. You sat perfectly still as he made you sip a cup of water provided by Minnie. After every sip you took you were rewarded by pecks on your lips and a soft ‘good girl’. 

 After you finished your water you were scooped up again but this time by Seungmin. He had pulled his shorts back up but you were still completely naked as he carried you through the halls and to Chan's bathroom and to the massive bathtub. 

The two of you bathed together as you slowly came back down to earth. The beta smothered you with kisses and made sure to clean you thoroughly. It was just what you needed after the rough fucking they had put you through, even though you enjoyed it immensely. 

Minho was in the kitchen cleaning up the mess when he heard Chan come in and head into the kitchen, a grocery bag in his hand. Chan noticed the blush on the betas cheeks and the mop in his hand, a knowing smirk coming across the alphas face. 

“Make a mess?” 

Minho eyed the specs of blood that stained Chan's shirt and raised a brow. “I could ask you the same.” 

Chan shrugged and set the bag on the freshly cleaned counter top, pulling out a brand new pack of popsicles that he promptly stuck in the freezer. “Just went to clean up a mess, actually.” 

The beta hummed in understanding. “Baby is in the bath with Seung. She is feeling really delicate right now so I’d change my shirt if I were you.” 

Chan shot him a grateful thumbs up and headed up to his room, tearing his shirt off before he entered. He could hear you giggling and the sound of the drain from his bathroom so he quickly shucked on a new shirt then went into the adjoining room. 

“Stop Minnie!” You were laughing as you playfully pushed Seungmin away as he tried to tickle your sides. You were sitting on the counter as the beta dried you off after your bath. 

“I can’t help it, rules are rules, I have to tickle you after a bath. I can’t change the law, omega.” 

“You liar! Stop your nonsense!” It was then that you noticed Chan enter the bathroom. “Alpha!” You beamed and reached a hand out as a plea for help against the beta.

“I’ll save you, my love.” He laughed and dramatically grabbed Seungmin by the shoulders and shook him, making the beta laugh even louder and try to hold on to you. Chan was able to pull Seungmin away and held his arms as the younger boy struggled. “I got him, run baby!” 

You wrapped your towel tighter around you and hopped off the counter, only for your legs to give out after you took a single step and you plummeted to the ground. Your thighs were so sore you couldn’t even walk. 

At once both boys stopped playing and rushed to your side, with Chan hauling you up into his arms. “Are you ok baby?” 

You nodded, giggling and burying your face into his chest. You noticed that he wasn’t wearing the shirt he left in, but you decided not to bring it up. “Yeah I’m fine. My legs are just too weak right now. You guys really did a number on me.” You didn’t miss the low five Chan offered Seungmin. “Hey!” You smacked his shoulder and he only laughed harder. “You guys are ridiculous.”

Seungmin realized he was still borderline naked; with only a towel wrapped around his waist- and gave you a tender kiss as you sat in the alphas arms. “I’m gonna go get dressed. I’ll see you in a little while, pup.” 

Nodding you returned his kiss, “Ok Minnie. I love you.” 

“Love you too.” He felt his face heat up as he murmured the sentiment, glaring at the alpha who smirked at him and wiggled his brows. “Oh fuck off Hyung.” 

“Loooovee youuuu Minnniieeeee” Chan drawled teasingly as the younger passed him, cackling when Seungmin flipped him off as he left the room. Chan carried you to his bed and set you down on the soft sheets. Then he gathered a tank top and a pair of his boxers for you to wear. 

“How was your day, Channie?” You asked him once you were dressed. 

He tossed his head back and forth with a grin. “I had a pretty good day. And by the smell in the house I could say you did too.” Your face heated up and you pouted. “You won’t be pouting for long, omega. I got you something special while I was gone.”

That perked you right up, eyes showing your excitement. “Really? What is it?” 

“Close your eyes.” You did as you were told, screwing your lids shut tight. You heard him shuffle until he was on his knees on the bed behind you. Ever so slightly you felt the coolness of a metal chain fall around your neck, and you could feel Chan clip it behind you. “You can open your eyes now my love.” 

You snapped them open and instantly looked down at the necklace. Hanging down on a little silver chain was a ‘C’ made of rose gold. You cradled the pendant and turned to face your alpha, your lip wobbling. “Oh Channie. I love it. Thank you so much.” You launched yourself into him and wrapped him in your arms. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.” 

Chan felt sheepish all of a sudden, holding on to you just as tight. “You’re welcome, baby. I know you have my bite but I wanted you to have another little piece of me with you always. Somewhere I can stay close to your heart.” 

You were literally melting at his words, your heart feeling light in your chest as you squeezed him. “I love you Channie. So, so much. I’m so grateful to have you.” 

“Aww baby, I love you too. More than words could express.” He kissed the top of your head. 

Chan couldn’t imagine his life without you in it, he loved you so much. Hell, you were soulmates for crying out loud. He would do anything for you. Care for you, love you, protect you. And nothing and no one was going to take you from him. That he was certain. 

“Oh and I picked you up another pack of popsicles.” 

“Fuck yeah!” 

Looks like omega got eaten after all 😁And chan turned into quite the wolf didn't he 🐺😈

Comments and reblogs are very much appreciated!

Also if any one wants to chat about the story or share predictions please send me an ask!!

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[jarofstyles]

The Favor 9

Hey... Sorry it took me a minute. I've decided this is definitely not the only club scene for them because there's a lot I want t explore with them. Part of me wants to apologize for adding so much in but I hope you guys love them as much as I do!!! They are one of my all time favorite pairings to write.

Also don't worry Im working on getting rid of Danny lol

Series Masterlist

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WC- 10.2k

Warnings- dom/sub dynamic, BD/SM, Exhibitionism, voyeurism, degrading, choking, sir/daddy kink, pet/puppy nicknames, name calling, slight Mean Dom H mixed with soft Dom tbh, tiny bit of humiliation kink, aftercare is in the next part I promiseeeee

Y/N was buzzing in her own skin. 

So much was happening in her brain that it felt borderline overwhelming. She stood in Harry’s bathroom looking into the mirror with her hands on her face, just to confirm that she was, in fact, a real person. 

The night prior had been intense. A lot, but in a good way. Something had shifted between them, as she suspected, but neither of them were truly ready to talk about it. Harry was instead, a lot more affectionate which… to be honest, she hadn’t expected. It was a glorious change, feeling his hands or eyes on her whenever she was in a room with him. He’d had her sit on his lap while he proof read something on his laptop, his hand stroking over her stomach and underneath one of his shirts that he’d put on her after their bath the night before. There was no urgency to talk, Y/N leaning her head on his shoulder and relaxing into the warm, fresh smell of the man she was so connected to whilst scrolling on her phone. He’d made them breakfast and ordered them lunch, but she had noticed a distinct lack of kissing. 

It made her wonder if she pushed a bit last night, asking for one. Somehow she doubted it considering he had been the one giving her kisses the last few weekends together, but there was a weird seed of dread in her stomach that reminded her that at some point the weekend would be over and the warm place she had in the pool of Harry’s warmth would dry up and she’d need to come back up for air. To go through the week without seeing him, except maybe for a lunch, when she had grown so needy for his mere presence. He was attentive even when they weren’t physically around, more than the man she had called her boyfriend, but it still didn’t feel like enough. As weird and freaky as it sounded, she wanted to crawl under his skin somehow. Get as close as possible. 

Tonight they’d be going to the sex club. Something she was both excited and nervous about, the weird feeling in her chest making her wonder which one outweighed the other. Harry had communicated very clearly that this first visit was going to be rather tame- or, as tame as a sex club visit could be. They’d watch a scene he had pre chosen, a voyer couple in a room open to exhibitionists. Before that, they’d mingle and he would introduce her to some of his friends he had there. 

One thing she wasn’t too sure about though, was getting too close to anyone he had played with before. Y/N, while not historically jealous, found her skin crawling with ants at the idea of having to be around someone else who knew how he tasted, how he looked when he came. Sure, he wasn’t officially hers, but it felt like it more than she cared to admit. That had added on to her anxiety but it wasn’t something she wanted to openly admit to him yet, so she kept it under wraps for the time being.

He’d done something nice for her and got her a dress. A cute little thing, lacy and white. A sweetheart neckline and strapless, she was hoping the strapless bra was going to do its job- but then again, she kind of hoped maybe it wouldn’t. Maybe he had chosen the dress for ease of access. The idea of him slipping down the top and playing with her in front of other people had her wet the moment she thought about it. 

Her panties, though, were noticeably missing in the ensemble. When she asked about them, his smirk had rose on his lips. “Who said you were getting any?”

So all in all, she was a complete and utter wreck of hormones and anxiety. 

Freshly showered, she had fixed her hair and sat staring at herself with her makeup half done. Another of the dominant’s shirts hung off her shoulders. He had a vanity that was cleared of anything but her stuff, which was nice, but another flare of jealousy had worked its way through her. Who else had used this vanity for this exact thing? Who else had been getting ready for him to take them to the club to play with them in the way that was so uniquely Harry? 

It was no right of hers to be jealous or possessive when she was still in a relationship, though it was one she was having her doubts about. Her phone remained empty of any texts from him. The longer he put it off, the less she cared about what he had to say. Anger wasn’t really there considering Harry had been giving her plenty of attention, but still. Her brain was craving the quiet only the Dominant had managed to give her. 

“Alright?” His sudden appearance made her squeal, jumping in her chair. Clutching her ever beating heart, she looked at him wide eyed in the reflection. Where the fuck had he come from and how long had he been there? 

“Fucks sake, H.” She wheezed. “You need some sort of bell or something. How long have you been standing there?” Where she expected a laugh, she got none. His brows furrowed and his lips pursed, he turned the chair towards him and lifted a hand to tilt her head up. “For a minute or two. I was waiting for you to notice but…” Eyes scrutinized her face. “You’re nervous.” 

There wasn’t much she could hide from him. To be fair, she hadn’t planned on it, but it was still annoying, borderline unsettling on how he could read her like an open book. “A little. It’s not a big deal though.” 

“We don’t have to go yet, if you aren’t ready. We don’t have to go at all.” His voice was soft as he kept his face placid, clearly trying not to sway her either way. It was yet another confirmation to her that he actually did give a fuck about her well being. 

The idea of not going at all, though, made her shake her head rapidly. Wouldn’t that mean they would cut off their arrangement? As selfish as it was, she couldn’t give him up yet. She couldn’t give up the orgasms and the kisses and the praise, just as much as she didn’t want to give up the daily texts and jokes and pictures of Buttons when she was back at her own place. “No! It’s just, it’s a little intimidating. That’s all.” She sighed, leaning into his hand. That seemed to soften him a bit, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip as he tried to gage her. 

“What about it has got you intimidated?” 

It felt oddly good having him standing over her, petting at her. His gaze soft, looking down at her as he tried to make her feel comfortable but undeniably in control of the situation. Of her. 

“You know people there, mostly. But the whole thing. I know we’ve gone over what we’re doing but it feels bigger the closer we get there. Y’know?” She puckered her lips over the pad of his thumb, watching as his smile tipped the corner of his lips. These tiny acts of intimacy were going to be the ones that ruined her. “I’m very excited. It’s what I’ve wanted, you know? And I kinda think that makes me put more pressure on the expectation.” 

Harry hummed in his throat, nodding along to her observations. It made logical sense and she knew it, but seeing him agree made her feel a little better. Maybe she wasn’t overreacting after all. 

“It is intimidating. It's taboo, in a way. Something that’s going to shock your system. You don’t go many places with people being so open sexually around you. It isn’t so blatant until the shows start, but even then. It’s the sort of stuff you're used to fantasizing about, and to see it right in front of you can be a lot to take in. Seeing people on leashes, or full body spandex, masks, all of that. It’s new to you, so I expect it to be intimidating to you. But may I offer you a few pieces of advice?” 

Y/N would lick his shoes if he asked in the right tone of voice, so she nodded. She wondered if she would get away with it, and his eyes did narrow, but he chose to let it go. 

“The only person I’m going to be focusing on when we go is you. I have some friends, yes, and I’d like you to meet them and their submissives, but I’m not expecting you to make best friends at the first meeting.” He started, ever so slowly pushing his thumb into her mouth. Testing the waters. Like second nature, she began to suck lightly on the tip of it as he continued talking, the tip of her tongue brushing the pad of his finger. “But the real advice I have is to let go. Let me control the night. I’ve got you, I’ve got everything you need to do up in my head. All you’ve got to do is follow directions. If I tell you to say hello? Say hello. If I don’t, you don’t. If I tell you to sit on my lap, you sit there. Tell you to get on your knees, you do it. If I tell you to suck my cock, you do it. Because everyone else there is doing the same thing, if not, they’re there to watch it happen. There’s nothing you need to worry that pretty little head about.” His eyes darkened slightly as she took his thumb a little further into her mouth, blinking up at him. “Okay? Daddy’s got you.” 

Somehow it worked. Some of that anxiety melted away, realizing he was fully serious. All she needed to do was listen to him. That was the backbone of all of this. 

“You’re in control. You’ve got the power to color out, you’ve got the boundaries and I’m just there to make sure you’re tended to properly. Remember what I said, hm? Me being in control is only because you allow me to be.” 

That had been something she learned more and more as the time passed by with him. As incredible as it felt to have him be in charge, she had the ultimate say so. She could color out at any moment. There was no reason not to trust him because he had never given her a reason not to. 

“Your safe word isn’t just for sex, either. Anything you want to stop tonight, you tell me. I know you’ll be good and remember that, but I just need to remind you before you hand yourself over to me. I will never be disappointed or angry because you need a break, or you don’t want to do something. I care about you a lot more than I care about nutting off or showing off to people.” 

In truth, Harry would never forgive himself if something happened and she ever felt unsafe with him. It was a team effort, yeah, but he did think he was good enough at reading her that he would be extremely upset if he didn’t predict something like that. Y/N did run a bit anxious sometimes. He’d been able to get her to a point where she completely let go for him, and he wanted to repeat that pattern over and over until the weight that she felt on her shoulders lessened. As strong as the woman was, he wanted to help take some of it on his own back. 

His thumb pulled from her mouth with a soft ‘pop’, the dominant ignoring the whimper and smearing the sweetness of her saliva over her chin. It was the world’s highest honor to see her eyes round out for him, to watch her track his every moment like the eager pet she had proven to be for him. Knowing she wanted to please him made him feel more powerful, more fulfilled, than he had been in a very long time. Showing her off was something he had been more than looking forward to doing, but there wouldn’t have been any use in doing it if she wouldn’t feel equal enjoyment. “Are we okay, Sweets?” 

“Yeah.” She sighed, the sigh exhaling against his damp finger. “I gotta finish getting ready though. You have my outfit picked out on the bed?” 

“I do.” He nodded, lightly fingering a loose tendril of hair that brushed her cheek. “And you’ll be wearing that black peacoat over it. Should keep you nice and warm.” Tilting her chin up, he placed one of the first kisses of the evening on her pouty lips before smoothing his thumb back over her mouth. “You’ve got time, darling. Don’t worry.” 

—--

Y/N felt marginally better as she held on to his hand, clinging for dear life on his wrist with the other as they waited at the front entrance. 

There had been quite a lot she expected from a club dedicated to kink. Karma was as sensual and mysterious as ever, but the front of a closed hair salon letting them in had been a shock to the system. If she hadn’t known any better, she would have thought Harry had lost his mind until he opened the back room door and exposed an entirely different aesthetic. A black and gold elevator, black marble floor and red curtained walls. That had to be a bitch to dust. 

With a key card, he placed it on the gold plated button pad and it opened for them to step inside. Now that she was in the elevator she could hear some music, some people, but nothing she could have ever expected from the street view. Privacy was very important to them, as she could tell. “They’re going to put our phones and my keys into the locker and we’ll get them on the way out. It’s for everyone’s privacy, but there are staff in there to ensure you have an out if you need it.” Unwinding their fingers, his grip changed to her jaw to tilt it up to look at him. The casual dominance had her knees weak. How did he manage to do it so seamlessly? “We’re gonna check out coats, and then we’ll go in. You are safe with me, Pet.” His tone was gentle, reminding her again how he had been the best thing to wander into her life. There was no saying shit just to say it. The man wanted to assure her, drill it into her brain, that he was completely here for her and everything they did was because she wanted to do it. 

As intimidating as it was, she swallowed the lump around her throat and gave him a nod before allowing him to take her coat off.  Standing in front of a hostess and the man who worked the coat check in her little outfit had made her a little stiff at first, but the moment she heard the quiet curse under his breath, their opinions didn’t matter. 

He had chosen a maroon babydoll for her to wear tonight. Satin cups clung over her breasts while it transferred to a tight knit mesh-like material that flowed over her body and hit her upper thighs. The panties had been a bit of a different choice, rather simple silk ones with lace trim. She’d expected lace, a g string, something else but they were really nice. It wasn’t overtly sexual, but it made her feel sexy as she had tugged them up her thighs and settled the waistband on her hips. The outfit had surprised her a little considering she had thought maybe he’d want her to wear something completely form fitting or restrictive, like spandex or leather, but instead he’d gone with something more flowy and light. Maybe he was starting them soft for the first time, but it was the sexiest she had felt so far in her life. 

“You look incredible.” He mumbled, placing the coat numbers on the counter with their phones and his keys. “Fuck me.” Lithe fingers traced over the straps, the feather light touch stopping at the necklace he’d chosen for her tonight. A simple gold chain with a heart. At first she had thought he would give her one of those collars, but she wasn’t sure how that worked. 

“I was going to give you the one with my first initial, but I was saving that.” The admission made her eyebrows raise. Why hadn’t he done that? “I wanted to ease you into it, and for some reason you’ve been turnin’ me into a possessive son of a bitch. Wasn’t sure I’d be able to keep composure if it was on there like that… But I don’t think that matters too much now, anyway.” 

Harry had always known he was attracted to Y/N in otherworldly, almost inappropriately intense ways. While he could be a jealous man, he hadn’t felt it to this degree. Irritated that she didn’t have his name on her neck or a traditional sign of ownership. He was a weak man when it came to her, but he didn’t mind when he could see her preen slightly over his words. The one thing that was soothing his inner caveman was the fact that she had marks from him on her body. Love bites blooming from the swell of her left breast and one he’d sucked on the right side of her neck, a few little bruises from his fingers digging into her hips… They were little badges of honor. 

He’d caught her this morning, admiring them in the foggy mirror. He’d come to bring a fresh towel before she got into the shower and watched quietly as she ran her fingers over the marked skin, the tiniest little smile on her lips that made his cock twitch. If they hadn’t had plans to come here tonight he would have bent her over the counter and gave her more. That silent appreciation at the tiniest hints of ownership meant more than she would ever know. 

“I can wear it next time.” She peeped, meeting his eyes. “I like this one too, but… I like the other idea.” 

The silence was loud for a moment as he observed her, the admission making her look a little flustered. Every day it seemed they were slipping into something far more serious than they’d set out to, but the unspoken words lingered under their tongues. It wasn’t the right time to discuss. “Noted.” Thumbing over her chin, he nodded at her before tucking the tickets from the coat check into the pocket of his pants. “Come on then, Pet. Let’s have a look.” 

—-

Y/N’s eyes were wide as they took in the vast room around her. 

Holy fuck. Harry hadn’t been kidding about it shocking her system. 

His hand held the back of her neck as she was guided towards the bar, where she was warned didn’t sell any actual alcohol for safety reasons. It matched and exceeded her expectations upon first glance. 

The stage was set up with some sort of bench, but it was obvious they’d come before the show had begun. People milled about, laughing and talking as if nothing abnormal was happening- like the woman in her all spandex dress chatting to the bartender, drink in one hand and chain in the other. Connected to the other end of the chain was a man on his knees for her, leather mask covering everything but his eyes and mouth. Not far from her in a booth across the way, a man had a woman on his lap with his hand down her top, playing with her tits and keeping a conversation. 

It wasn’t extreme, no, but it had her a bit spooked. Even more so when she looked to the side and saw a girl on her knees and her face buried under another woman’s dress. So he hadn’t been kidding- it really did happen anywhere. 

Heat flushed over her chest as she averted her gaze, blinking rapidly as she tried to calm her heart. It wasn’t a bad thing, she didn’t think, because she could feel herself becoming excited. Just a walk through and she was warm in her tummy, feeling that anticipation climbing all the way up her throat. She had to wonder what Harry was going to surprise her with tonight. 

“Alright?” He mumbled, turning to face her as they approached the bar. The promise of a sweet, sugary mocktail had been enticing but now her curiosity was wanting to take over. “It’s not too bad, is it?”

“No, Sir.” She shook her head, meeting his eyes. The hand on the back of her neck gave a subtle squeeze, pulling her a little closer. “It’s… I’m curious to see what else goes on, but I think it’s interesting.”

“A lot of things are happening in the rooms. The main stage show isn’t anything too extreme, but the rooms are different theaters on this level, and playrooms on the top level.” The split level was apparent to her now, reminding her a bit of a hotel lobby she’d stayed at once on holiday. Rooms surrounding the top with a walkway that looked down while the bottom was an open concept until it split into four hallways. The place was truly beautiful, albeit a bit intimidating. “What did you want to drink?” 

Y/N looked over the menu with curious eyes, smiling lightly when she saw someone had made a plethora of fruity and sweet concoctions modeled after bubblegum, blue raspberry, cherry, all sorts of stuff. There were more tame things, pina colada and mint julep, but considering she was experimenting tonight she chose something she normally wouldn’t. “Can I have the cotton candy one, Sir?” 

“You may, yes.” The subtle correction had her face flushing for a moment, but she could see he was teasing a little from the dimple threatening to break on his face. God, he was so gorgeous.

It was always apparent that Harry was handsome, but seeing him like this was a whole different experience. His shoulders were bigger, back straighter, a more controlled and poised version of him was at the helm. Was this his best self? Being a dominant, taking and guiding her? He’d said multiple times he liked taking care of people, liked being in charge, so it must feel really good to have her eyes on him at all times. 

When she’d brought up that she’d read a lot about people in her books had dominants that preferred them to avert their eyes, but he’d scoffed at it. In opposition, he’d told her to keep her eyes on him at most times. Joked about it soothing a bit of his ego, but she wasn’t sure how much of it was really a joke at this point. Either way, there would be no complaints about that when the man looked as good as him. Sharp jaw and nose, dark lips, eyelashes that pissed her off because they were so pretty… The man had a way about him that reminded her of classical art. 

When the bartender came over he was greeted with a smile, which he reciprocated with a small one of his own before ordering her the drink she wanted and himself some sort of iced tea thing. She had no clue, considering she was a little busy zoning out. His hand had started to subtly massage the back of her neck and her eyes had glazed over a bit, being pressed into his side making the scent of him increasingly soothing. Perhaps he was doing it for that exact reason, but that was why he was in charge. He knew what to do to calm her nerves. 

As soon as the bartender walked away, he turned back towards her. “And how are you feeling?” Eyes dipping over her body, Y/N swallowed as she knew exactly what he was talking about- and why he looked so damn smug. 

He’d helped her put a plug in before they left. The smallest one, but it had still worked her up a significant amount. There had been something weirdly erotic knowing that he would know why she was shifting around. Trying anal for the first time the night prior had been a mind meltingly good experience, making her even more eager to try new things. It had always been a fantasy of hers, but she hadn’t realized just how good it would feel. How full and connected she would be with it- but again, that was possibly just a Harry thing. He had made the simplest thing far more pleasurable. 

“Good.” She nodded, watching his eyes linger on her breasts. He’d spent time after their sex last night kissing on them in appreciation, letting his lips hover over the marks before he lotioned over her body. Physical touch had to be his top love language, she had deduced. “I, um… It feels weird when I walk. But not bad, Sir.”

“Mmm, I know. You’re walking a bit differently, but you’ll grow used to it. Even more so, I think you’re going to learn to love it.” Adjusting the strap that seemed to be slipping down her shoulder continuously, he let his touch linger. “You’re going to be my good girl and let everyone see how perfect you are, aren’t you?” The tone of his voice dropped into a deeper one, her body reacting to it as she leaned into his touch. “I can’t decide if I want you perched on my lap all night, or if I want you on your knees in front of me.” Clicking his tongue, he shook his head. “Decisions, decisions.”

“Whatever you’d like me to do, Sir.” She replied, though there was no true preference. Y/N was aiming to please tonight, subconsciously feeling the pressure to prove she could be a good submissive for him. 

“Oh, I know, pet. You don’t have a choice in that.” He laughed under his breath. “Precious girl. Don’t you worry about a thing. I’ll tell you to sit and speak like my good Pup, alright? You just stick to me.” 

Y/N a few months ago would probably try to fight his words and the condescending tone because that was what was expected of her. Y/N a few months ago would ignore her body when it reacted to those words. Y/N now, though, let her eyes widen and simply agreed, because deep down that’s what she’s been wanting to do. 

When the drinks arrived, her eyes widened at how pretty it was. A soft pink with some sort of glittery shimmer in the drink, the movement of the liquid catching the light. It was by far the most beautiful drink she’d ever seen in her life, and she didn’t want to waste a drop. Holding it in her hand, she let Harry wrap up with the bartender before turning back to her with a new look on his face. “C’mon, it’s time t’say hi to some people. Best behavior.” With a slight pinch to her chin, he led her off.

Harry’s familiarity was evident in how easily he navigated the club. Winding through people with polite nods and greetings, he radiated the now familiar air of power. It was a little different here, though. While he always held the power in the bedroom, there was something that had snapped on his face when they walked in the room that had her ever curious about his past experiences here. Experiences she wouldn’t ask about for her own sake of delicate feelings, but things that he must have done, said, experienced in this secret cove of underground pleasures. 

Yes, it was a bit whips and chains-y, but there was a classy layer to it that she liked here. The weird feeling of belonging settled in her gut as his hand squeezed the back of her neck, keeping her close as they approached a slightly elevated section. Her mind was going a million miles a minute, taking in every bare tit, every collar, every hand wrapped in hair and laugh in the room as he led her up towards their destination that she had almost missed it completely.

Thankfully she caught herself as Harry gently urged them to a stop right in front of a booth full of people. Semi circular, the tabletop was a bit far from the booth itself- but it was clear why as she looked down at the people. 

There were two people on their knees of their perspective dominants. A brunette with her cheek resting on a blonde woman’s knee, fingers brushing through her dark hair and sparkling nails catching the light as she did so had particularly caught her eye. Instead of a tight outfit like the domme at the bar, she had on a powersuit. Her eyes didn’t look down towards her submissive though giving her physical attention, sharp hazel eyes looking over Y/N like a examination. 

“Isn’t she delicious, Styles?” She purred, cat like grin painting her red lips. “Who is she? I know you’ve been gone for a bit… is she why?” The woman seemed pleased at the prospect of Harry having a new submissive, even if she looked at her like she could eat her for lunch. Her face felt hot as she looked up at Harry, the ghost of a smirk on his face. 

“She is.” The confirmation had the people at the table grinning which caught her a bit off guard. They didn’t know she was temporary and he seemed in no rush to tell them- and neither was she. Maybe they could play pretend here, like she was really his and he wanted to keep her for good. The first of many times they’d come together for as long as they felt so inclined. “This is Y/N. She’s been a wonderful little pet for me. My favorite.” A hand fondly ran over her hair, a little smile on his lips now as he was happy to show her off. “She’s a little new to this, but very eager to learn. So tread lightly, yeah?” 

For some reason the information being told didn’t offend her. Maybe if someone else here seemed like it was funny to them, if they’d scoffed, did anything but look understanding she would feel that shame, but they didn’t. They simply nodded, letting Harry slip into the end of the booth. “On my lap for now, Pet.” He patted his thigh, holding his ringed hand out for her to take.

Y/N could feel eyes on her as she nodded, a quiet ‘yes sir’ leaving her lips as she was adjusted over his lap, legs over his thighs as he wound his arm around her waist to keep her body steady. “Say hello.” The words weren’t disguised as a request. It was clearly an order. Why did she find it so hot? 

“Hello. It’s nice to meet you all.” She peeped, leaning into Harry’s touch as he gave her a squeeze of reassurance. It was pretty clear on who was a dominant at the table, versus the submissive. Two were on their knees, two sitting under their dominant’s arms, and one in a similar position to Y/N. 

“Is it your first time here?” A man asked this time. His voice was softer spoken but there was an edge to him that screamed that he was in charge. It was a little similar to Harry in which he looked kind, but anyone with sense would know not to question their particular brand of authority. 

“It is, yes. H-Sir was helping me adjust before I came here. He is the best teacher.” Throwing in a bit of praise for the dominant had the desired affect, lips brushing her cheek in a chaste kiss. 

“What are your thoughts? It’s intimidating, isn’t it?” The woman from before asked curiously, though the hungry spark didn’t leave her eye until Harry spoke to her. 

“I’m not sharing her, Cara.” He said lowly, his hold tightening on her. “She’s not on the menu. Look but don’t touch.” There was a slight edge to his voice though it wasn’t hostile quite yet. Secretly, Y/N let herself preen over the possessive nature being shone through. Knowing he had no desire to let anyone else have a taste of her was beyond comforting- which, she knew was entirely ironic considering the context in which they met.

“Oh, boo.” She sighed. “You’re very beautiful. Harry’s not fond of sharing his chips either so I should have known, but there’s no harm in trying.” The demeanor shifted slightly to something lighter. “My girl likes to have playmates sometimes, but we’re a little picky.” 

Y/N could only imagine. If Harry expressed desire to add someone in for a scene she wouldn’t be too fond of letting just anyone in… but then again, she didn’t want to share in at all in the first place. It wasn’t a closed minded thing, more so the idea of someone else taking his attention away from her making her stomach ache. 

“It’s good to be picky.” Harry nodded. “But my girl isn’t up for shared scenes. I don’t think I’ll ever want to share her.” Fingers brushed over her cheek, still cool from his drink. “I don’t think anyone can blame me for being selfish with a beauty like this.” 

Heat flooded her body, a shy smile on her lips as she looked at him and watched his eyes darken. His pupils dilate. There was no question in her mind that there was truth to his words in this way she had just witnessed them, but it still felt unreal. “You wouldn’t want to share me either, would you?” The words had been softened just for her consumption, the moment being looked over by the others who began talking amongst themselves. For them, though, they were in their own little bubble. 

“No, sir.” The whisper matched his own volume, but the answer made him pleased. She could tell by the look on his face, lightening her own mood just by that alone. Y/N never knew how much she would truly enjoy this sort of thing, never understood how much Harry would change her life, but she was here now and it felt far more intense than one could imagine. 

“Then we’re settled, yeah? They can watch us, but m’not gonna let them touch you. Nor me.” The addition made her giggle, though it was cut off when he caught her lips in a soft kiss. Gentle pressings over her mouth, she counted three before he pulled back and rubbed over her chin. A wistful look followed, his eyes full of contemplation as he looked her over. Back and forth, his thumb swiped the remnants of the kiss before he let himself out of the mindset, leaning back into the booth. “Since you’ve had your greetings, I want you on your knees for me.” Reaching behind him he got a little cushion, dropping it on the floor. Spreading his legs out, he motioned for her to get between them. At least he was thoughtful with her poor knees. 

Y/N was weirdly excited for it. Slowly sinking down and settling with her heels touching her bum, she looked up at him expectantly as he watched her get settled in her new position. It felt… right, being here. Like this. Looking up at him as he spread his legs and looked down at her with a practiced patience on his face. “Sit quietly like a good girl. We’re going to go watch that show in a room in 20 minutes. If you can behave here, I’ll make sure you cum tonight.” 

Y/N knew what he meant. Not to provoke him and get him hard. As much as she wanted to do that, wanted to mouth at his cock and be a brat so he’d force it in her mouth,’or her over his lap to redden her ass, she wasn’t quite that brave yet. Tonight was to prove she could be a good girl for him, the best she could be. Maybe if she was good enough, he’d tell her that he was keeping her. 

Listening to his order, she rested her cheek on his thigh and closed her eyes as she found herself in the situation the other woman had been when they’d arrived at the table. His fingers sprawled through her hair as he talked quietly amongst friends, twirling tendrils between his digits as he got to the ends of it. Every so often the submissive could feel his eyes look down at her, which had her opening her eyes and smiling up at him. The pleased expression he had each and every time had her wondering if he knew what went through her mind. 

If he told her to break up with Danny? She probably would. If he confessed that he had feelings for her, that he wanted her as his real partner, submissive or not, she would release herself from the other relationship she was having major doubts about anyways and go to him. Belong to him seriously.

Even being on her goddamn knees in front of him at a kink club, she felt more appreciated than she ever had. Even when he called her a dirty bitch, a nasty whore, a cockslut, she felt more worshiped and heard and ultimately cared for than she ever had. Harry listened to her. There was never a singular time since they’d started this arrangement that he hadn’t thought about her wants or safety in great detail. He hand fed her fruit he sliced by hand after scenes, brought up juice to her mouth and whispered to her to have sips after he was finished ruining her body. He broke her apart, yeah, but he built her back up again. Even better than he had first found her, if she was being honest. 

Never in her life has she felt as heard, scene, and adored as she did when Harry gave her aftercare. When he texted her through the week to make sure she had a good day. When he asked her her favorite color the first day they met and made sure she had light pink straws in her drinks each and every time. Harry paid attention to her. Not just in scenes, where he seemed to pick apart her every reaction and know just how much she could handle, but last night too. He could feel her upset, did what he could to fix it. Proved yet again that he was the better option of the two.

What was stopping her? 

Fear. Not of Harry, not of Danny, but fear of losing this feeling. She’d end up alone again, wistful for this exact scenario where she knew she couldn’t get it again. No one else would be able to make her feel the way Harry felt in her body and her mind and that was fucking terrifying. Admitting that only to potentially be rejected was worse than staying in a bad relationship. Maybe she was a coward- she knew she was- but she needed his promise. His words. Too many times in her life she had been let down, let her heart hurt and chip and bruise. A rejection from him would shatter her heart and all the work she had put into mending it and the wall she had tried to build up to make her softness toughen up a bit would be inconceivably damaged. 

Times like tonight, meeting his eye and watching him tuck her hair behind her ear as she rubbed her face against his knee, she swore she could see the golden flecks of longing in his eyes too. When they were in bed after their scenes and his arms wrapped around her so he could haul her back into his body, she could feel inklings of something more under her skin. Even when he’d greeted her last night with a kiss in his driveway, a kiss she knew would lead to nothing sexual and just a genuine token of affection, she had felt that something was more with him. And yet she was frozen with fear every time she went to ask him how he felt about her. Terrified that he would reject her and their entire dynamic would be screwed. 

Little did she know, he had the same dilemma.

Watching her nuzzled into him, sitting so fucking perfect and pretty and meeting his eye with those gorgeous fucking smiles, she looked so content with him. Like she was made to be in this exact scenario. He’d never felt more proud of having someone on his arm, and yet she wasn’t actually his. He just wasn’t sure how much longer he could last without spilling those feelings towards her.

His holdback was the fact that she was the one in a relationship. She’d tried to mend things with Danny, but part of his confusion was knowing if she did it because she wanted to or if he had stupidly pushed that by trying to do the right thing about it when she expressed her resentment towards him. All he wanted to do was make the girl happy. It was only a few months of knowing her. He shouldn’t feel this much, so soon. 

Realistically he knew that it was likely because they shared such intimate parts of themselves with one another. This dynamic, lived in even if only on the weekends, was intense and serious and Y/N leaned into every bit of it with an eagerness only matching her nicknames sake. A puppy. So fucking sweet, she’d roll over and show belly if he asked her to right now, but instead she was content with her face on his leg and his hand in her hair. 

His mind wandered to what it could be like if she left the other man. If she walked away and went into his arms, let him show her how he could treat her so much better. What she didn’t know as well was he was still holding back a bit. Emotionally, more so.  

His heart felt like it was in his throat when he grazed his fingers past her cheek, watching her lashes lift off her cheek so she could give him her eyes. “You’re bein’ perfect for me, Pet.” He murmured, watching as she preened. His words always seemed to have a significant effect on her but the girl was slipping into a more submissive state with him here. It was his job to take care of her, to show her the things she’d been missing out on and desperate to experience. “Are you ready to go and watch?” 

“Yes, Sir.” She lifted her cheek from his knee and angled her head back, allowing him to tap his fingers over her chin and get a smile from her. Everything felt more loaded than they could talk about right now, but she was doing exactly what she needed to do. Falling into line so perfectly that Harry really didn’t have much he needed to correct. Pride filled his chest as he let himself smile back at her, nudging her to stand up. 

“Lets go then. Stay with me.”

—-

Y/N wasn’t sure what she expected in this scenario, but she knew there was nothing that would be realistic in her mind that could have prepared her for this night. Walking into the room where the scene had already begun, Harry held the back of her neck and led her towards a loveseat in the back. The throple on stage weren't paying anyone much mind, the room half full as the sounds of a masculine groan filled the air. The stage was lit with two doms and a sub, all beautiful in their own right. 

She stayed quiet as she waited for directions from Harry, eyes on him as he settled himself on the seat. He didn’t speak, instead grabbing her waist and turning her around to sit on his lap. Back against his chest, he spread his legs and hooked one each of her thighs over his own to sprawl her out. The position left her rather exposed too, but the thrill of it caught in her chest as she felt the thick of his cock against her ass and his arm wrapping around her waist. 

“Look at them.” He mumbled, keeping his tone quiet. “Watch.” With his chin against her shoulder, he slid his fingers over her thighs. Up and down, the touch slightly distracted her from the performance going on up the stage. It was becoming very apparent that her devotion to the Dominant was deeper rooted than she’d thought. All this time she’d been anticipating this, but all she could do was think about him and his hands on her. 

“How does it make you feel?” His lips grazed the shell of her ear as he looked towards the show himself. “They make a nice little show, don’t they? Is that something you’ve thought of?” In front of the girl on her knees stood the Domme and other Dominant. The Domme’s hands held a leather leash connected to the collar of the girl, wrapped around her fist as the other hand gripped the submissive’s ponytail to bob her head on the man’s cock. Y/N did her best to pay attention to the performance in front of her, the wet heat between her thighs getting more intense as his fingertips brushed up and down the exposed, vulnerable flesh of her inner thigh. Images of it being them flooded her brain, the barriers breaking as his lips nestled right underneath her ear, puckering just so. 

In her vision, there would be no Domme. The scene would include just him and her, his hand wrapped around the leash tight as a show of ownership. Her collar would be prettier, something more suited to her personally. Maybe a pink leather or more of a chain with a heart charm like she’d seen on one of the other subs at the table, but it would be one he picked out special for her. His fist would have her locks wrapped around it like a secondary leash, using her mouth and showing off just how much she could take. Ideally, it would be after she trained a bit more to take him deeper. She loved the idea of people being able to watch her, to see her take him down her throat. Being able to see how well Harry handled her, how she listened to him, the dynamic between them. Maybe at some point she’d be able to be a bit more bratty and get punished for it- having him fuck her throat as a punishment, or use his hand against her ass. 

“Hm? I asked you a question. Answer me.” He muttered, nipping the delicate skin of her neck. “Tell me what’s going on in that pretty little head. Can almost hear it from here.” 

Y/N swallowed, leaning further back into him as she tried to unfurl her tongue to tell him. “I-I like it. I’m thinking about us up there, Sir.” Keeping her voice quiet to be respectful to the throuple, she tried to be loud enough for him to hear. It was hard with how shaky her voice felt, his fingers trailing over the edge of her humid panties. It was hard to think straight with him touching her, his scent all over and his mouth on her neck and the sound of the praises from the Domme, the submissive choking slightly on the Dominant’s cock. 

“You are?” He sounded intrigued. “Hm. I think you’d look pretty up there. What part of it is making your poor cunt wet like this?” Fingers tapped against the damp gusset of her panties, teasing with the light touch. It wasn’t enough to make her feel much relief, but the knowledge his hand was there was enough to make her swallow back a whimper. “I know you love my attention, but I’m starting to think you’re a bit more of an attention whore than I thought.” 

The light degrading made her dizzy, the arm around her waist lifting to grip her throat lightly. “Keep talking, Puppy. Quietly.” 

It was hard to keep talking but she tried her best. It was a little unnerving to realize just how much mental power he had over her, but she knew she was safe. Maybe she felt a little pathetic that such light touches had her in a tizzy, but this whole night had been edging, hadn’t it? This was the main event, watching people indulge in the taboo pleasures like it was a theater show while her own Dominant teased her over her panties. “I-I like that she has the collar n’stuff, and people are watching her choke on it.” She whispered out, breathing getting a little harder as he nudged her clit lightly with his thumb. Rhythmic back and forth, just a tiny hint of his touch but it was enough to make her want to buck into it. Harry was making her feel insane, but the entire thing was playing into it. 

Watching them on the stage, knowing other people were around that could see her being spread open and touched like this, the way Harry was hard under her ass, it all had her tummy hot and head fuzzy. “And I like that they’re bein’ a little mean to her. Makin’ fun of her, Sir.” Her tongue felt a bit too big for her mouth as she admitted to those things. The condescending teasing of the Domme to the Submissive each time she failed to take the full length down her throat had sent a zing to her cunt, imagining Harry calling her those names and giving the mean encouragement to get her to do her very best in front of all the other people. 

“Christ, you’re a whore.” Harry laughed incredulously into her neck. “You want to be degraded like that in front of other people? Because… I know for a fact you can’t take all of my dick into that throat. S’a bit too big and as cockhungry as you are, I think you’d be a little embarrassed about not being able to do what you should be able to.” The twinge of shame melted into arousal, his thumb nudging her clit a little harder. Was it a reward?  She didn’t know, but she didn’t want it to stop.“As for the collar…” Fingers uncurled from her waist , moving up to collar her throat. “I think a better one would be better suited for such a slutty puppy. Jus’ didn’t realize you needed to be leashed too.” 

His smallest finger went underneath the necklace that served as a collar for the night, tugging lightly at it. “You’d need to belong t’me properly for that. I don’t collar up just anyone, baby. Is that something you really want?” It was probably not the correct time to dip his toes into the question of a more serious arrangement, but he wanted to hear her answer. 

“Uh-huh. I want it so bad, Daddy. I can be so good for it, I’d love it.” Her whine was a little too loud, a coo leaving his lips as he lightly applied pressure at the sides of her throat to shut her up. The answer, the fucking eagerness of it had his cock twitching against her ass and his heart pumping a bit harder. Maybe it was just a heat of the moment thing, but the vulnerability of the moment had him doubting it was some sort of illusion. 

“Mm. We can discuss that when you’re not so worked up and soaking the pretty panties I got you. You need to keep your voice down, be respectful.” The warning was twofold. He had to table that conversion or he’d get his hopes up far too soon. The slip up of honorifics, though, had been intriguing. “I’m Daddy right now, hm?” 

“Mhm.” She attempted to nod as his fingers lightened their pressure. “Touch me, please. I’m achy.” Squirming slightly in his arms, another squeeze to her throat had her freezing in place before his other hand decided to ease down the waistband of her panties. 

“I don’t know how I feel about you making demands, Pet, but you’re making quite a fucking mess.” His voice dropped, feeling her pulse in his fingertips. “God, you’re gonna cum so fuckin’ quickly. I can feel it.” Y/N was drenched, his thumb finding her slippery clit to rub in light circles. “It’s a little too much for your filthy whore mind, isn’t it? Sitting at my knees, acting like the perfect little submissive for me… Seeing all those pretty people playing, dressed up so nice. And now Daddy’s brought you to a nice little show. You paying attention?” He urged her attention towards the show. “He’s gonna cum on her face, just like I’ve been dying t’do. Or are you more aroused at the knowledge that anyone can look over and see your pussy being pet like a desperate slut?”

Yes, yes, yes. All of the above, check all the boxes. Y/N would beg more if she could find it in her brain to talk, but it felt so good. The light grip at her throat making it slightly harder to breathe, how he was talking hushed into her ear and the vibrations made her feel even more squirmy, his fingers on her cunt, she just felt like she was dreaming. Like this was some sort of high before the ultimate one, looking to the side and catching a few eyes on her. She’d made a tiny bit of noise before, surely making people aware that she wasn’t behaving, but it felt all too real now. 

“And now you’ve gone dumb for me. I need an answer from you, Angel. Need a color before I make you cum.” He nudged her face to the side, lips resting against the corner of her own. “Color?” 

“Green. I’m so good, I-I…” She panted, eyes glazed but looking into his own. They were hooded, dark, and it was obvious in all ways that he was aroused too. He showed more restraint than she did, but he wasn’t unaffected by it all. “Sir…” With little thought to consequences, her own hand came up to the back of his head and pulled him closer so she could press his lips against his. 

Harry didn’t usually kiss in the club. He didn’t like them being seen in that way most of the time, feeling that those were supposed to be shared for more private and intimate moments- but Y/N had a way of making him throw a lot of his prior rules and regulations out the window. Didn’t she? He groaned quietly, licking into her mouth, trying to ignore the hot spark of arousal in his cock her hands tugging his hair closer to her had given him. For a moment, he gave in and enjoyed the taste of her tongue and the uncoordinated mess that was their kiss. He took the moment to slip two fingers into her cunt, curling them into her slick hole to get her to gasp. Hot and tight, he held back another moan at the feeling of her cunt fluttering around the intrusion. It was one of his favorite feelings, her breathing picking up against his mouth. 

The broad hand around her throat tightened again, making her eyes peel open again. Wet mouth illuminated by the red lights around the room, he panted against her open lips. “Remember your fucking place. You want a kiss? You ask. You aren’t in charge. I am.” He growled, trying to keep his voice down as he fucked his fingers into her. “I’m the one in charge. Not you. I choose if you cum or not, I choose if you get kissed or fuck. Your body is mine to play with. You’d do well to remember that, or you’ll be the next one on that stage.” He grinned maliciously. “And I’ve got a reputation to uphold. I won’t be as nice as I’ve been before.” 

Letting up on the grip, he swallowed her gasp with another kiss. 

It was moments like this that Y/N could see it. She could see this being her life, this being her night out with him. Instead of dingy bars with sports games she didn’t give a singular fuck about, she could be here watching shows and learning, she could have Harry’s fingers deep inside of her, his cock inside of her, whatever he chose, giving her pleasure that was immeasurable to what she’d ever known before. A literal wet dream came true. 

Y/N couldn’t respond, nodding lazily as the slick sound of her cunt being fucked with his fingers slicked up by her arousal became slightly audible. The throuple on stage was the loudest sound in the room, but underneath it all she could hear exactly what he was doing to her. It was humiliating to be this wet, to be this close to orgasm from a few minutes of his fingers thrusting in and out of her, a bit of choking, his whispers against her ear, a few people peering over at them and she loved it. His hand around her throat, keeping her tight to his body, and she felt the most free she’d ever been. 

There was an attempt to warn him, his fingers prodding right at her spot and her legs beginning to tremble as she squirmed slightly on his lap, but he could tell she wouldn’t be able to be quiet. He’d have to force her to be. “Let go. Make a mess on my fingers and be fucking quiet.” The dominant let her take another deep inhale before he returned his fingers to the sides of her neck, applying pressure exactly where she needed it to steal the rest of her breath. 

Y/N could see spots in her vision as she came. If he wasn’t stopping it, she probably would have sobbed out as she shook in his arms. Cumming hard and fast, hips bucking into his hand, his words cooed softly against her ear and brought up chills against her skin as the vibrations added to the sensations that tossed her over the edge. 

“There you go, stay nice and quiet. Cum all over my fingers, you perfect fuckin’ girl.” He coaxed, pressing them against that spot over and over again whilst his thumb rubbed her throbbing clit. She could feel the contractions of her walls around him, a deep breath being taken as he eased up on her throat to make sure she recovered, but he didn’t stop his prodding. “Work through it. People just saw that, yeah? Saw how good you are, amazing and how quiet you can be. Saw how beautiful you are when you cum for me. Such a precious angel.” Little kisses were pressed to her sticky skin, her mind pleasantly fuzzy and a little empty as his words soothed the orgasm that rocked through her body. “There we go, sweet girl. Y’did perfectly. Took your reward so well, yeah? You were made for this.” His praise added another layer of warm, fluffy comfort to the pleasant feeling that coated her body, the words echoing in her brain. All she could think about was how good she had been, how good it had felt. Good, good, good. She was a good girl and Harry was proud of her. “Gonna take you home in a few, baby. Just let you get a good cuddle in first, clean you up and sneak out of here. We’ll come back and you can see our new friends again.” 

This whole thing had pleasured her. Not just the orgasm, but the entire place. Her head had felt calm since she’d settled at Harry’s feet, quickly getting over nerves and settling into that feeling of correctness. Ease. It felt like she belonged here, even with the underlying anxiety. With anyone else but Harry she wasn’t sure if she would have felt that, but it had just been another experience he had made positive for her. Of course he did. He was perfect. 

He’d walked her through it, held her hand, helped her know what to expect but- She’d known she would like this sort of thing. Y/n had always thought about it, but actually experiencing it was a whole other beast. One she wanted to experience again, and again, and again- If Harry would let her.

[musouie]

[ 𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙜. . . ] 𝓗𝓐𝓜𝓐𝓡𝓣𝓘𝓐 — Driven by a desperate need for redemption, you undertake a perilous quest to capture the ancient and formidable King of Curses.

Yet, the true challenge lies not in seizing him, but in breaking him. His submission, whether voluntary or not, hinges on stripping him of all his malevolent energy — the dark force fuelled by his unbridled sexual power.

| RATED R language, smut, dubcon, somnophillia, monster-fucking, wc. 10.2k

| ⓘ credits: divider by @/cafekitsune, event hosted by @luv-lies, ntfx temp by @/chrollogy

an. lost the plot after 8k words. ignore this fact. for my sanity. please… (ALSO HUGE THANK YOU TO LUVIE FOR INVITING ME TO THIS EVENT!! i wish it turned out better than it did TT but thank you nonetheless. eternally honoured 💗)

Father always believed you were destined to be a great samurai.

He was certain that the kami — the gods perched upon the mountaintop — had willed it, for you conquered and devoured your sister in the womb, and were born on the breath of your mother’s last. 

“My little dragon,” he’d always whisper, eyes alight with something feral. Perverse. “You’ve fended for your honour since your very dawn.” The cleft of his cheeks would deepen; the wretched scar would warp. “Such might, such terrible might it takes to slay your own before you even bear a name, before your eyes have tasted the sun!”

But was it might? Or a savageness folded into the flesh; wedged between the hollows of your ribs and forced to dwell, fester—

“You were forged in blood, little dragon.”

—consume.

Still, as mighty as he believed you to be, you could never bear his retellings of your slaughters. Bile would claw its way up your throat, mercilessly coat your tongue with haste, and your stomach would always churn — innards coiling and twisting about themselves — knotting around the ugly head of shame that had long rooted itself in your gut; inevitably blossomed into something rotten.

(Its odour was so deeply foul, putrid and heady)

For you, savage as you were, had nearly killed him, too. 

(Putrid. Putrid and heady.)

It was so long ago, and still you trembled as though it were yesterday. Then, you were weak. Starved for strength. Hardly of eleven years when he had thrusted a katana into your small hands.

“Charge at me,” he had commanded, his own weapon drawn.

“F-Father?”

“Charge at me!” 

“W-What if—what if I hurt you?” Your voice had cracked, then was lost beneath your nervous swallow. “This is no wooden toy.”

He’d huffed. “You’ve been given what you need, little dragon.”

“But this blade—it thirsts. It will spill blood; w-will wound.” Kill.

“Then let it wound me! Let it bite if I am weak enough to feel its teeth.”

Your head had begun to shake. Slowly, at first, before it deepened with an intensity near violent; voice drawn thin around a high-strung whine. “I-I cannot. I will not. It is madness for m—”

“I will father no coward,” he had hissed, spittle collecting in the cracks of his lips. “Submit to the blade or master it!”

Your breaths were short gasps, then — curt and ragged — dragged from your lungs. “I cannot do it.”

There was a pause, and then a snarl. A low, furious thing, of storms and high winds and ire. “Well then, you must learn.” 

And in the blink of an eye, the steel of his katana had ventured to kiss your neck, greedy and blood-thirsty, sentient only through its master; ruthless just as he.

You remembered little of what happened between then — when the fire within your father had surged; when his steps had ceased and a metallic scent — cloying and smothering — clung to the air. 

You remembered that you’d closed your eyes — your face pinched tightly, stitched together with unbridled trepidation — and thrusted your arm out in a protective stance as you let out a shrill cry: the cry of a boar.

The cry of a warrior.

And you remembered the sharp clang, the strike of steel clanging against steel, and then, the foreign warmth that spurted along your skin. From the bow of your lips to the curve of your brow, you had felt it, and it felt you — as it slid down your nose, clung to the seams of your lashes, trickled onto your tongue.

Salt and honey and ruin.

Blood and blood and blood.

It had pooled inside your mouth, poured down your throat with little regard to how you squirmed — thick like tar, sweet like sap from a tree, heady like mead — and you whimpered at its sheer warmth. At its taste. The corruption it promised beneath.

(How could such warmth spring from a thing so dark?)

Your body had trembled, then, and you had wished nothing more than to spit it up, rid yourself of it. But oh, you were so weak, and your mind so feeble, and your tongue ached for more — for the warmth.

And so, you had swallowed it. As though it were sacred nectar, milk from the heavens. The finest wine. Salvation. You had swallowed. And like a babe that clung to its mother's bosom, you did not let up — could not bear to. Not when every part of you had felt cradled by fire, pressed into the womb of the sun itself.

You'd drank, mouth twisted, eyes closed tight, until your body hummed, until your soles had left indents in the soft earth, until you were his blood and it you —

(How could such warmth spring from a thing so dark?)

— until you heard a strained gurgle, a gravelly rumble, a shift in the air and the thump of something hitting the ground.

You’d opened your eyes slowly, carefully. And rightfully so, when you did —

(The warmth had been snuffed, your tongue had stilled. The hunger had ceased.)

— you had wailed.

Your katana was buried deep in your father’s gut, the hilt quivering as though it wept, too, at the horror — the savagery — that had been wrought. Soft whimpers had spilled past your lips, in sick tandem with the crimson river that gushed from the gash in his flesh, and you watched with wide eyes as the fire in his own fizzled out to something darker. Something familiar. 

Your chest had heaved. 

“I-I’m so sorry, father. I’m so sorry, so sorry. Sorry–” Your clammy hand tightened around the hilt, moved to free it from his quivering innards, but his own quickly engulfed yours. Squeezed it tight as he’d uttered, “Leave it.”

But his blood still poured. 

With a vice-like grip you clung to the hilt, hands engulfed by tendrils of red and riddled with blooms of gore and hate for the fissure they had carved into your father. You had carved into your father. With the expertise of a barbarian. A savage.

He had stared at the deep gash in his abdomen, almost transfixed by the blood that stained his silken kimono, before he drew his eyes to you: trembling on the bloodied training grounds with horror tumbling from your lips. 

And then,

with his chest stuttering slowly,

and the colour seeping from his skin,

he had...smiled.

Wide and warped and carved along his face — the smile of a boar (whose tusks abrasively chafed against his lips at the foreign intrusion.)

It’d bested the stretch of his fluttering eyes, his stained teeth, his gums — his red, red gums, bright with blood from hacking coughs — a grotesque thing that split his face like a second wound.

(It was this smile you had feared more than his wrath.)

Somewhere amidst his dwindling lucidity, he had closed the distance between you, hands seeking and outstretched. For his child, his beast — his beautiful, beautiful beast. He’d clasped your wet cheeks in the cusp of his paws, smearing his blood against your tears, rubbing them into your pores and crevices — his gift to you. 

And all you could do was tremble. 

Like the feeble flame of a candle, you had trembled.

“Wild,” he had slurred after a moment, tongue heavy and clumsy and viscous with the wine of his mouth. “And with so much promise.”

His thumb leisurely traced the peak of your fluttering, bloodied eyelids, urging you to stop your tears, then retraced the path once they were thwarted.

(His gift, his gift.)

Yet, your skin burned where his blood had smeared upon it.

His thumb had stroked your skin once more and you sniffled, felt the trembling begin to abate despite the singing of your flesh, the oscillation of your body, the guilt that clawed and clawed and clawed.

The need to lurch back from his touch had begun to dwindle as you realised that he cradled you not out of fear — but acceptance. Father admired your strength, however brutish — however untameable it might seem. For it took on a shape of a different kind in his mind. One more jagged.

“You’ve conquered another of…your clan,” he’d whispered weakly, blood gurgling from the clefts of his lips. “I begged the kami for a son that would become a great warrior, and I weep at their heedfulness, for they have granted me you — who was made in their image. Speaks...in thei– their tongue.”

But you were born a girl.

A weakness, in these destitute lands.

He’d frowned momentarily, as though the thought, too, had just occurred to him. He’d hummed, winced around a groan, his bones and flesh straining to force his mouth to its familiar shape.

“I can make a warrior of you yet.”

𓆩✧𓆪

Your journey began in the winter.

The cruel, harsh winter, where beasts are left to starve.

Starve, after they’ve torn through all they can ravish, gnawed at the splintering bones of carcasses, shredded through the withered foliage; left the already suffering land barren —

they are left to succumb to the hunger, 

or turn their teeth on each other.

“You’ve gotten weak, little dragon.” Father muttered, his sake cup half-empty and neglected on the worn chabudai between you. Your gaze flitted down to the small table, lingered on the drink, and then shot to the side as you slowly bowed your head in deference, scarcely suppressing the twitch of your jaw; the slight baring of your teeth — that were clenched and ground against one another until only dust remained. Sand, in the cavity of your mouth.

“Is it the weather? A fever? A poison?” Hues of red and pink licked at his cheeks — prickled down to the nape of his neck — as they often did with all men affected by drink and the chill of the winter. “Ah!” he gasped, feigning surprise as his eyes narrowed to slits. Seeds of contempt, lines of ire. “Perhaps it is your indolence. Oh — no,no  —  I suppose not. You have been busy duelling those with half your skill, and tenderising your tongue with cheap ale, haven’t you?”

“That—”

“You’ve ruined my reputation.” He let out an incredulous laugh. “A drunkard!” He gasped. “The kami — the almighty — have bestowed upon me a drunkard child!” 

You winced. Bit the inside of your cheek. 

“Forgive my insolence. Father.”

But you could tell by the weight of his sigh, that quivered with mockery, that an apology of that nature was far from what he sought. He leaned back until his spine met the wall, rested there comfortably — the structure his perch, his throne. His pillar.

“You beg for forgiveness too easily, girl.”  His tongue was too loose — or perhaps too heavy — and dragged his words into an elongated drawl. Made them stick on the blade of his disgust. You heard a rustle and then a scoff, and then so suddenly a cold finger was pressed to your forehead with enough force to leave a mark. “Straighten your spine.”

You did. Swiftly. And by doing so, you met his sneer. Razor sharp. Venomous.

“Such an obedient little dragon,” he purred, patting your cheek lightly despite the way his fingers curled, before he pulled away. Almost — just. And then absence. Restraint. “So why do you not do what I wish? Why must you make a fool of me? Mock me?  Me, who has given you your wings.”

Your lip had begun to throb.  “I’m–”

“Do you care for me so little?”

“That is not—”

“Do you seek to punish me?”

Sometimes, you wryly thought to yourself. But that was not the case now. You were careless, and you are young, and you yearned, and that, you feared, was the extent of your grievance. Your mouth parted to say as much, but so swiftly, and so predictably, you were cut off. Smothered. 

“Wasteful, wasteful! That is what you are — all you are! Twenty years of waste!” Father scarcely took a breath; shot on and on and on, spittle flinging all about. “I have paved a path for you — the kami have paved a path for you — and you, as insolent and useless as you are, have veered from it and done as you wish.”

As the last word left his mouth, your teeth pierced the fragile skin of your lip. Tore it, then shredded it, as though it were nothing. (You were nothing.) 

Iron trickled onto your tongue, a steady stream. Warm, bitter. When father got like this — reached this point of madness. There was nothing one could do but bend the knee. Submit. Give in to the voracious cycle of being pushed and pushed  and pushed. Until only dust remained.

You swallowed.

“What do you have to say for yourself now?” Your father growled, and everything began to sting.

“I’ll…do better, Father. I will.

“A hollow promise I’ve heard a multitude of times.”

“I swear it.”

He scoffed cuttingly. “On what? Your flesh or mine?” 

“Mine, father. Mine.” 

He studied you, his lip curling as though he saw something he didn’t quite like. “You—cannot be trusted. Not after the shame you have brought upon our house, upon me.”

You watched as he rose to his feet slowly, unsteadily.

Bent, swaying.

Drunk.

Still, he commanded a particular power over you, and you kept your distance — even as he approached. Your eyes sought refuge at the corner of the room, settled on the thread-bare tatami, the worn shōji sliding doors, riddled with tears and hazed with cracks; anything but the starving predator. You tensed when he neared, fingers pressing crescents into the meat of your shoulders, seeking.

He stared at you, analysed you, registered all there was to pick apart and feast upon: all of the imperfections and weak points and fraying threads and brittleness. From the creases of your brow to the tremble of your lips and the tight clench of your hands, balled into fists around the linen of your hanten. 

(Could he smell your fear? Could he taste it? A preview of all that you could offer and then some?)

He stared,

sniffed,

squeezed, 

and then, with a gravelly scoff, wrenched his hand from your skin — as though scalded — and strode for his chamber doors, his sandals slapping against the floorboards in time with your drubbing heart.

There was a shuffle, a pause — and something sharp in the air that you were at a loss to identify, though you knew, instinctively, that it was dangerous. Aged. You didn’t turn as he walked away, just kept facing his wall —his pillar, until his chamber doors slammed shut.

It seemed a beast had made its move, at last; left puncture wounds in your neck, bruises along your flesh. 

Perhaps not all would starve this winter. 

𓆩✧𓆪

That night, you had awoken to a cold hand cradling your cheek. Large, peppered with scars, coarse.

It was a hand you’d felt a plethora of times (struck across your face, grabbing at your hair, tightening about your neck) and instinctively, you flinched, eyes fluttering open. As you jerked, it lifted — freed you — moonlight hazy about its outline until your breathing grew static, and your body began to unfurl. Ease.

“Father?” The hand returned. Cupped your chin, then. As it curled around your jaw, you heard a light grunt above you, and the shadow — the man — began to materialise, and with him came a familiar scent. “Father.”

His fingers smelt of ale, his touch reeked of smoke; and under it, caged underneath the weight of all you wished him to be — all he had to be — was a father. A scent not nearly as sweet, not nearly as satisfying, not nearly as potent — but one your weak constitution could relish nonetheless.

His thumb stroked the high edge of your cheekbone with unusual tenderness, and you stared at him — his outline, nothingness — with probing eyes. ‘What are you doing?’ balanced on the tip of your tongue. It dangled, swung, breathed in and out as it hung on a thin string of saliva (or perhaps unease, apprehension). But you were a samurai. You adapted, not poked. And more than anything, you feared what would happen if you shattered whatever it was that gathered in the air — heady and oppressive, yet… sickeningly warm. 

You reeled it back in.

“It is very late.” Father murmured. And though you couldn’t see him, you could feel his eyes on you, seeking. “Even the cicadas are silent.”

You hummed, nuzzled your face against his paw. Indulged. “What time is it?”

“Hours before the sun will rise.”

You hummed again; peered into the darkness. Ignored the roughness of his thumb against your flesh. “Is…something wrong?”

There was a lengthy silence after your question, and after a minute, you began to wonder if there was truly anyone there at all. It wouldn’t be the first time you dreamt of your father — of this foreign tenderness. Of being cradled and cherished, in lieu of the harshness you often felt was inescapable, embedded in the soles of your feet and the stone of your wretched, beating heart.

The harshness that trailed everywhere. 

You lifted a hand and felt for the one that gripped your chin, grasping at bruised knuckles. Solid, real. There. Your thumb glided to the inside of his wrist, felt for his pulse, let out a sigh as you felt it thrum steadily beneath the pad of your finger.

He was there.

And as it had in your dream (dreams, plural), his hand slid along the side of your neck — large enough to encircle almost entirely; a thick, fat noose — and settled at the junction between, caressing it. Squeezing lightly.

Once. Then twice.

This must be a dream.

His motions were restrained, languid. Near painful as you waited for more, chest tight — stiff, only for it to never come: more. His touches remained light, harmless, and between them, he released a sigh, sake heady and trapped in his breath. You held your own.

Inhale, exhale.

(Hold.)

Inhale, exhale.

(Hold.)

And then, fingers lifting from your warm flesh, he spoke. After so long, you’d forgotten why he had at all. “Much, little dragon. There is much that is wrong.”

Your brows furrowed, your lips twisted. “What is it, father?”

“The kami…have spoken to me. Revealed their will.”

Slowly, you sat up, brought your knees to your chest and leaned close; your ear, hungry, angled just below his lips as though chasing his secret. The furrow in your brow deepened. “And what revelation did they grant onto you?”

There was a mirthful kind of sound from your father, something like a laugh, perhaps the crackling of flames, or a throat meshed together by blood and covetousness. And then you felt him lift a hand — saw it amidst the shadows; large, calloused, peppered with scars — to your face again. “Skin of stone, flesh of my flesh.”

Your mouth felt heavy when you spoke, sluggish and strange. Heady with metal and bile. “I... I don’t understand.”

And you could almost hear the ‘you wouldn’t’, as his eyes reflected the moonlight and gazed at you. Bottomless. Ensnared by a milky white. A waltz of dreams and nightmares; everything and nothing.

Something glinted as they leered upon you, a glimpse of cruel, steel sharp teeth. And you weren’t sure why, but somewhere you thought — no, hoped — that it would remain as it was: an illusion. A trick of the light (or perhaps lack of). But oh so predictably it moved, a line of ivory — glistening. Sheathed behind a thin curtain of skin and spit.

With the little sliver of light, you could see his scar — his wretched scar — warp and twist. Contort. “Rise. Rise, and I will show you, make everything clear. Will enlighten you, little dragon.”

That was all it took.

(Fool.)

You were too curious —

0r perhaps too mindless, 

to competently sense when you had gotten too close to the fire. To know that you should pull back one warmed, once the heat had grazed your fingertips and wrapped around you — grown in fervour, licked at your skin and seared it. Lapped and lapped, until your metacarpals were charred — and even still, 

— you’d obey. Linger.

Woefully so.

𓆩✧𓆪

You’d been riding on horseback since dawn — since you followed your father from your chambers and he helped you onto his prized mare’s saddle, whose coat rivalled the night. 

It was near sunset now.

In all that time, he had yet to enlighten you on what message he had received. On what had led him to embark on this journey up the mountain in such haste, such desperation, despite the bite of the frigid weather. 

Many times you had wanted to prod, sought answers — the hunger for it all growing ferocious by the minute. But each time your lips parted around a question, a dryness would settle in the canal of your throat, and the wind, it seemed, always blew a little harsher. Carried your words in a gust to the precipice of the mountainside and flung it; flung it into the pitch-black nothingness waiting just beyond. Into the abyss.

So, you said nothing. Allowed your curiosity to wane as your trembling arms encircled your father’s burly back and you clung to him, snow beating against your face and a sharp wind whipping through your hair, leaving you wild looking — dishevelled — and with cold-bitten cheeks.

This close, you could see his chest stutter, could inhale his ale-tainted breath — could smell his sweat, sharp, and somehow rotten. Some part of you revelled in it, because with the scent came warmth — and whatever residue of his own that still saturated in the fur of his deerskin was enough for you; a minor boon. A blessing.

Yet still, you were growing weary of the cold, the dull ache of hunger, and the rawness in your throat from heaving and panting, over and over and over again, like an old, weathered dog. So desperate were you to feel some semblance of relief; it translated through you burying your nose deep in his fur cloaks, a numb hand grabbing at your own cloaks to shelter the weaker parts of your body from the punishment of the elements, shivering into his solid form every now and again. 

Your father, on the other hand, seemed unbothered by the assault; didn’t bat an eye — even as the wind blew his ragged travelling cloak with a beastly determination, the chill raking about his skin like cruel talons, as if begging him to turn around and flee. 

But, it seemed as though nothing would halt him, nothing would hinder him, as he wound up the icy path. Further, and further, and further, until there was nothing but winter all around — the only source of comfort: one another, and a black horse.

More than an hour had passed when the sky shifted, dwindling to a purplish-blue hue, like that of a plum. And finally, above the thicket of frost-coated trees, he brought the mare’s pace to a leisurely trot.  “We are nearly there.” 

Before you was the same scene of white — nothingness — but amidst that bleakness, which contrasted so starkly, you could see something dark just ahead. A speck, amongst vastness.

You nodded, a gesture unseen, and tightened your grip about his abdomen. “Will —” you licked your lips, mitigated their dryness. “Will you tell me what is going on?”

There was a shift beneath you as your father urged the horse around a bend, and for a few seconds you braced yourself, nails digging into his rough flesh as your body leaned. He let out a gravelly grunt. “The kami—they have…provided me insight of an…opportunity…for your redemption.”

Your body readjusted. “...Redemption?” “Your actions have not gone unnoticed, little dragon. They are…unhappy, as I am unhappy.”

“Father—”

He whipped his head behind him and you paused, met his glare — ice and scorn and all the sharp things you sought refuge from. If you had a tail, you’re certain it’d be erect, rigid and pointed. Instead, your spine straightened and you thickly swallowed, and as his head swivelled back to the path before him after a tense moment, that familiar sour taste returned to your tongue. Putrid—

“All we wish is to guide you back onto the right path, away from corruption. Simple as that. You are...” He paused. And for a second, the only sound that could be heard was the howling wind. “...very valuable to us.”

(Is that all you were?)

“But—”

“Do not argue, girl.” He all but spat. “Would you test my patience even now? After all you’ve done? All you haven’t?”

And as the words left his mouth, your face, frozen as it was, began to twist. Twist and twist, like you’d bitten into a lemon, features pinched and pulled taut — rendering you gruesome-looking beneath the moonlight. Wretched, like something caught ahold of you. (It hardly had to fight. You suspected it’d been there all along. Waiting, lurking. Creeping.) Your grip around your father’s abdomen tightened, nails digging, biting, cutting—

“Where did I go wrong…? Where did I go wrong? How did I end up with such a pathetic child?” He gnashed his teeth, a jagged rock lodged deep in the back of his throat — in the base of his stomach; bleeding, throbbing. “I have failed as a father…and in equal measure, as a servant of the kami.”

Your nails bit deeper.

There was something that stirred in your belly, in its centre, that grew more ferocious as he went on. And believe, he went on, and it grew, and he went on—

“We are fortunate the kami are so forgiving. Without them…what would we be? Pariahs, ostracised from our kind?” He shook his head, a sliver of a raspy laugh leaving his lips. The ale. You smelt it again. “But — do not misunderstand. They are strict with this most merciful of gifts. Do not doubt the danger that will strike us — and it will. It will — if you refuse the chance they so graciously have presented before us.”

And then the mist had waned; all had become clear. Shame. What you had felt was shame. The kind of shame that clung to the underbelly of one’s skin, thick and oily and all-consuming, such that when the heat of the sun returned, it stung.

“I do not want that for us….for you, little dragon.” He murmured, hands tugging on the mare’s reins as the speck came closer into view, and materialised into the mouth of a cave, barren and yawning. “Which is why you must do it. For us. For your future.”

Something hung heavy in the air, coiled and waiting.

You knew then — despite how much you wished it otherwise — that you had no choice in this matter.

As it had once before, your fate had been decided for you.

You relented. “...What must I do?”

This time, your father spared no hesitancy. The second after the question tumbled from your lips he slowed his horse, brought her to the mouth of a winding path that opened up to the cave, nestled snug between two crags. With the tap of his heel against her side, he brought her to the entrance, whereupon she came to a complete stop, shaking her mane and letting loose a long, quivering neigh.

"Inside." Your father nodded, his head gesturing to the entrance, wide enough for four men, side-by-side, to pass through without a hindrance. “There lay an akuma.” Demon. “This is what the kami demand of us — sacrifice the akuma, in return, they will bless us with their benevolence and favour for eons, in every undertaking.”

Tendrils of mist slithered from the mouth of the cave, billowing, writhing, as though they were alive, seeking, begging to be sated. It wrapped around the horse's limbs, trickling down her flanks, collecting into droplets. When she raised her foot, so too did they raise. 

Father turned to look at you fully. "It will be no match for your skills."

Against your will, your tongue prodded your inner cheek and retreated, as though bitten. "But—"

"No buts!" Your father growled, low, his large hand settling on the nape of your neck in the same way he did when you were younger. His palm encompassed most of the area, thick fingers curving along the back of your skull, enveloping you completely. Claws grazed your jawline and pressed, insistently. “It is this — or nothing.”

His eyes bore into your, the moonlight lending them a cruel lustre. Stiffly, you nodded — bobbing. Over and over. Your jaw worked, tightened, and then, eventually, loosened; tension receding in increments, as though reluctant to free itself.

A moment passed,

Then two,

And finally, you exhaled, long and heavy.

He gave your neck a rough squeeze. You returned the favour, closing your eyes — steeling. And as you began to peel apart one layer of flesh, one after the other, something slid out in its wake. A stoniness. Your nerves turned to clay. The stone wall erected itself.

When your father urged you from the saddle, you obeyed, your stiffness almost immediately melting away into a supple elegance of a body as your feet sank into the snow. With an additional hand to your back, he nudged you closer. To the mouth, the veil — to the unknown. Away from him. "Go."

A hard stare, the pinch of a claw into the curve of your neck, and your chin raised, taking in as much air as your tight, small chest could handle. Your shoulders squared, muscles rigid under his touch, but made no move to do or say anything further.

(Loyal little child, you were.)

You kept silent and offered nothing.

Not even as he tossed his precious katana by your feet. An offering.

Not even as he nudged you again; teeth clenched, jaw set.

Not even as he wrenched his claws, dragging you close, just to hiss out a final 'go'.

Not even as you took a single step forward, and then the next, and the one after that, sinking deeper, sinking further, the tips of your feet numbed, the tips of your fingers burning; a poor grip around the scabbard, that would not steady.

And when the dark engulfed you completely —

Not even as you tripped, fumbled, felt the soft, sharp caresses of frost against the backs of your legs, biting, taunting. Not even then.

As you heard your father's mare take off, trampling in the snow, whinnying behind you --- you realised he offered no formal goodbye. What if he never saw you again? His weak little child; so helpless and foolish. How would he know if you had succeeded? And yet, that had been nothing of importance as the pace his steed's hooves tramped increased with each stride.

You unsheathed his katana and drew your cloak tighter about you, eyes fixed on the darkness. There was only one thing you had wanted him to say:

Thank you for freeing him. Thank you for freeing you.

You were right, as always:

You had never truly been his child.

Only his tool. His beast.

Your feet scraped against the blackened floor of the cave, hands scrabbling against rock and stone alike to guide yourself as your sight dwindled more and more; a fog seeping and creeping, strangling the coordination from you. But the chill didn't abate with distance — and perhaps, all at once, it dawned.

How were you supposed to find anything in here?

You shakily inhaled, inhaled again as your other senses strained themselves to the limits, screaming — heaving; you tasted and felt your way around, a method to a madness. As your mind travelled further and deeper, an uneasiness grew in your guts and bloomed in the empty cavity of your chest, until all at once, it bled out. And you feared, with sudden desperation, that something terrible lurked beyond, where you couldn't see.

One wrong step, a misjudgement of any kind, and—

That thought brought your feet to a pause. Your neck creaked with the way your head tilted — ear facing the dark. But that was all. No other sounds save for your own laboured breathing that rushed through the mouth-piece of your scarf.

Why wasn't there anything? Anything at all?

Just how vast was this place?

Creaking your neck further, you listened — sought out, searched for anything that'd give your ears a tune, any sound to signify, any sound at all — anything.

But it didn't come. Nothing. Just your ragged breathing. The scuffling of snow and your feet. Nothing else.

So you resumed your steps, hands against the wall to steady your own blindness, and further down the mountain you delved. Deeper into the womb of it all.

Further and further,

Deeper and deeper.

The temperature of the cave walls began to change and slowly, steadily — you realised they weren't as cold anymore. The more steps you took, the warmer it got. Warmer and warmer, until it became unbearable. Almost as though you were being suffocated by an invisible cloud of heat; you could barely breathe. It became heavier, thicker, and it cloyed and churned at your chest, weighed it down, made the air you pulled into your lungs feel like cement bricks rather

 You were drowning — at least that’s what it felt like (You’ve never droned in your life, but if you ever were to, you’re certain this would be the feeling. A feeling of pure panic as one fights against an intangible foe as it steals their breath

You began palming at the interior of the womb, chapped fingertips failing to find a grip as you began to wheeze, throw a coughing fit, twist and turn — anything to regain your breath.

With an exhale, you crouched, grounded yourself with a fist full of dust and rock and gulped. Brought your fingers to the thick-coated fur and, you pulled, and pulled, until all that remained were thin sheets draped along the curve of your waist and chest, the rest, tossed behind you;

then you went straight into your descent

After a few long minutes of scrambling — body propelling itself with one arm thrown forward, the next, in sequence — you began to taste something like moss in your mouth. Sweetened by the saliva that seemed to pour more with each hurried inhale, every thumping, desperate heartbeat.

(Is this what death tasted like?)

You lost count of how many breaths you took, how many seconds, minutes, how long exactly, before there was nothing more than this wretched taste on your tongue, and a husk — a dried-out husk. Your night clothes clung to you like a second skin, translucent and dark where perspiration pooled — but it felt like nothing. It felt like there was no barrier between you and the warmth of the womb, seeping and seeping and seeping and —

(Where were you?)

Pushing your hand against the smooth ground to push yourself up, you fought another coughing fit, coughed and spluttered — dribbles of spittle leaking from the corners of your mouth.

Beady sweat gathered like morning dew atop your lip.

Swollen tongue clicked. Swollen lips parted.

It was then that you noticed something else, some semblance — or maybe just an imprint of one — of another (for it was a thing of mystery, more like an infernal tickle, a suggestion of sensation, a sensation which — much like this stifling atmosphere — you had no choice but to acknowledge). It came and went in a flash, vanishing — fleeting. A figment, of course. Certainly. It must, in your delirious state.

For what could explain the red eyes that suddenly appeared before you? A breadth away from your own?

You sputtered again and wheezed, shook violently as your diaphragm rattled, and with it, your slowing heart. Perspiration pooled. Coursed, as did the saliva from your maw as you drooled and drooled, and spluttered, spluttered and shook and —

Wasn't this hell? Was this it? Had you been condemned to hell?

Your lips moved, made a silent vowel; formed an indistinct vowel. No sound followed, only a dull huff from somewhere above — distant. The womb pulsed, contracted, and you found yourself cheek down on the cave's floor.

(And that was it. Wasn't it?)

You hadn't a strength in you left to do anything but let it happen.

'Allow yourself to drown', they'd said — those spirits whose lips were joined at the base. Where it all started. Where it was destined to end — right there, within the cave; inside the very womb, the belly that gave birth. The umbilical cord cut; the promise broken.

This was what they wanted of you, and so this is what they will get.

At the end of the day, you had not been your own ---

-- and a beast is never offered a merciful death. 

Your eyes, with little grace, fluttered closed. And then, there was darkness.

𓆩✧𓆪

“Do you know what an akuma is, little dragon?”

You shook your head no, eyebrows drawn near. “A…kuma? What is that?”

Your father smiled, “A demon. A mighty one. An ancient one. They’ve walked on this earth long before man, long before anything. We humans used to pray to them, sacrifice ourselves to them to appease their bloodlust, worship them like gods."

"Gods? Why would you think they were gods?"

He shrugged. "Power. That is the only thing one sees. Whether it's a dragon god or a golden deity with six wings. A god is a god. Power is power."

You fiddled with the sleeve of your hikimono, fluttering nervously. "So why do we not worship them anymore? Why the kami?"

"One had more power than the other. Scattered and banished the akuma all over the land and bound them to their graves."

Your gaze fell to your lap, face unreadable. "...why are you telling me all of this, father?"

"Do you know what would happen if their graves were unearthed?"

Your brows pinched. "I..."

You stilled as something was placed in your hands. Peering into your open palms, you stared at the small pouch. You tipped it over, emptying its contents into your hand. Your stomach roiled uncomfortably as you traced your eyes over the jagged shape of bone. A smooth piece. Too large to be human. The thought should have eased you, but your throat only felt as dry as a parched field during a long, hard drought. Your fingers closed around the bone and you tightened your grip, allowing the sharpened ends to sink into your flesh, ground you. "Where is this coming from, father?" you whispered. "What is this?”

"If one manages to unearth their grave -- their prison, the demon becomes bound to them. Unable to cause any harm to the one who set it free, rather, it will be grateful." His smile made your blood run cold. "Forever in their debt," he said.

"...Debt..." You opened your hand, eyeing the bone that was pricking your skin.

"Yes," he murmured, watching you. "All they can do, is kill for you." His smile widened and he leaned toward you. "And that, my child, is true power."

"Akuma don't come cheap, little dragon," a gentle smile ghosted his lips. His hands reached to touch your cheeks, making you flinch. He seemed not to notice, his thumbs smoothing the backs of your ears, hands cradling your face and neck.

Your bottom lip quivered as a burning heat grew behind your eyes. Your hands, unconsciously, held onto his yukata, bunching the fabric until your knuckles grew white. "Then w-what d-do they...require? Surely there is some price you must pay for these," you swallowed the knot that formed in your throat, "these mighty beasts?"

His lips pursed, something akin to sadness --or was it pity? Restraint? "You'll soon learn, little dragon. You'll soon learn"

𓆩✧𓆪

There was a searing heat against your neck, like a flame held too close.

Except it didn’t burn, necessarily. It felt hot, yes. But a pleasurable sort of hot…

What a strange thought.

Hot. Heat. Warmth. Comfort. Pleasure—

That wasn't supposed to be the first thing to enter your mind when you opened your eyes. Not when everything ached, hurt in a manner that was visceral. Made it near impossible to focus on the simple act of cognition; of breathing.

But there it was again.

An encompassing comfort that defied sense.

There was pain — and then there wasn’t. Fleeting -- yet not, existing in a nebulous limbo between one and the next.

There was the coarse, hard earth beneath your cheek and yet — despite how uncomfortable it should be, should be making your wounds bleed more, sting and hurt and hurt, you could not bring yourself to move from the comfort and warmth of your spot, and found you didn’t particularly have the mind or desire to care as that strange presence pressed up closer to the back of you.

Wet warmth latched against your skin, suctioned and dragged; from the curve of your jugular to that sweet point behind your ears that had the smallest of hums crawling up your throat — escaping without permission, a mere, gentle gasp that slipped through, eased.

Another suckle against the juncture of your nape — sharp, pointed, almost possessive — and you writhed, writhed against the surface below you; arching your neck more into what could only be teeth. Teeth that bit and grazed. Nipped. Then lathered. Tongue to lick the aftermath.

And how sweet it was — the soft, wet lick.

You tilted your head forward and rolled your hips. Once, twice — a tentative back and forth, coaxing. Searching. An open-mouthed pant followed and you pulled one knee to the side — an invitation, beckoning.

If this was indeed hell, then so be it.

Above the cover of your lashes, half-hooded and misty, something flashed briefly, as though a fire had sparked, glowed. A red so lucid that a sickly warmth trickled from your stomach and settled somewhere lower — somewhere between the junction between your legs, warm, slick, as something tightened and then flexed.

"Good." It hissed. "That's it, good."

Another lick, and this time it was deeper. Thicker. Something coated your neck, slathering, searing — the burning warmth spreading. Slipping and gliding lower and lower and lower still, towards the hollow space between your breasts. Your breaths picked up their tempo and soon, the pace became desperate, hectic. With a hefty jerk, a large hand grabbed hold of your chest and kneaded. Heavily. Thick fingers curled, squeezed, kneading once, and then twice, as if they wished to carve indentations. Indents to claim. 

And you'd allow yourself to be claimed. You would, you would! For this blissfulness for a millenia you'd allow it, succumb to it, surrender your soul to the flames of ecstasy, to the scorching, consuming; the being whose touch was bereft of solidness and whose shape and mass could not be given form, save for those fiery eyes that pierced and hovered and searched—

(Fiery eyes...?)

A asp escaped you and your eyes, swollen and heavy-lidded, struggled against their weight as you peered above and they shot open completely. Red met yours, eclipsed it, as your entire frame began to jerk, pulling itself up from where you'd previously lain. But to no avail. Something clamped around your shoulders and brought your chest back down.

"So restless," The voice came from all sides, ringing and reverberating. As did the fire that enveloped its entire surroundings in a stifling heat, bringing moisture to your forehead, to the tip of your nose and brow. In fact, everything felt damp, and your senses were muddled by that smell alone, musky, woody — a faint coppery sweetness with the sharp edge of rot underneath. "Be still." It commanded.

"Demon." Was all you managed, throat raw. Your brows drew together as you attempted once more — unsuccessfully — to pry yourself free.

There was nothing but silence for several moments, and for those moments you simply stared at one another — as if neither of you truly expected the other to exist in reality. A small breathy whine passed through your chapped lips and you wriggled again, reaching towards the abandoned blade to your right, but the creature pressed its immense weight on top of you, clambering, scraping and grasping ahold of any limbs you extended.

"Such a cute, tiny thing." The akuma murmured. There was a faint echo to the baritone — an undertone of mockery and cruelty, a gentler cadence and an almost child-like lilt. "I see this time they sent a frail little thing. My, have all the mighty grown weary?" He leaned closer, and you could hear the grin spread along his face despite not being able to see a thing. "Or are you...a treat?"

When his eyes descended down upon you, his entire body soon to follow as though his own size had become a hindrance, the wetness between your thighs trickled outwards to stain the clothing you still had on, and his nostrils flared in return. "Ohh," It seemed that was enough of an answer for him. "It has been so very, very long since I had a treat." His nose dipped to your groin (You could tell by the snuffle and the subsequent nuzzling), his eyes, a stark shade of crimson, staring back into yours all the while. 

And they smiled. Smiled so brilliantly the fire intensified, flared up to the cragus ceiling and down to the slickened floors — the red fire, for there were tongues of it — not just the dancing orange and yellow, but the red. Hot, fiery, violent red flames.

You inhaled a shaky breath as the hand pressed your lower stomach flat and slipped below your sodden sash, and just like his nose, its long, thin fingers brushed across the outer length of your slit — teasing. "S-stop!" You attempted a feeble shake of your head, eyes flying over the demon in attempts of visualizing. His image, his shape, anything. But the more you peered the less you saw; the fuzzier his silhouette grew — wavering. Murky.

"Oh?" Was it your eyes or did his figure, too, warp and twist; stretch beyond comprehension? The heat. This terrible heat. "Why do you shy away?" It felt as if something, an invisible finger, traced along the seam of your underwear, along your swollen labia. "Do not lie, precious little sacrifice." It whispered and again, his weight shifted, following the hand between your thighs, the fingers yanking your soiled garment aside — baring all to the open air.

"You reek of pheromones. That mouth, panting so. Sweet little cunt dripping, clenching, yearning—" Another fiendish grin. "Yearning to be filled."

"No..." Your eyelids grew heavier, mouth running dry. "Do...not touch me with your...with your...w-wretched hands." You forced. 

A breath fanned against the quivering skin of your thighs. Warm. Warm. Like everything else.

"You offer yourself to me on a platter," One arm wound about a leg, and tugged, twisted it to the side — as far as it'd go — before it stilled. "Scantily clad and wandering through my domain. And I...am the wretched one? Mmm?"

His tongue was on your skin now. Warm. Your eyes fluttered to your side as you sought your katana once more, fingers scrambling blindly against the ground — reaching, feeling, searching.

"That is the problem with man." His tongue returned again; only this time it slid up, leaving a slither of slime as it did so and then down, curving with your thigh to sweep at your clothed folds. "You give in too easily."

Your fingers continued to move about, drawing figure-of-eights over the rugged earth — until finally, the tip of one curled and clutched what must have been its hilt. Clenching your grip, you wrapped your remaining fingers around the pommel as best you could. A weak whimper crawled from the cavern of your mouth, escaping as a throaty sob that stuttered from your lungs. "Off," Your nails pressed so firmly against the surface they cracked and bent. "Get off. Get off of me! Filthy demon! Kami above, hear me—"

"They can do nothing." Came the casual reply, tone so chilling it had you clamping your lips together in spite. "Here, I rule. Here, no gods or goddesses listen,"

"---hear my cry and free me from this prison." You continued anyway, squeezing your eyes tight, fingers trembling around the weapon as you attempted to raise it overhead; its tip aimed directly at him.

(but did this voice hold power anymore, after everything?)

His tongue lapped at your clothed cunt again and he moaned. "Your gods," his voice deepened. "Have forsaken me," There was a noise — almost a gnarl and an exhale. "As they have forsaken yo---."

Your father's katana crashed against the back of the beast, his scales or his armour, and a growl — an unholy, vibratory growl erupted, rumbled the walls; the cave itself. "Little girl," His snarl sounded and his grip on your hipbone tightened. A fresh wave of pain bloomed, had the tears welling, trickling down the curve of your temple. You could sense a hesitation in his grasp, as it twitched and flexed. Before at last, his movements loosened.

In an instant, the sweltering heat, the mummifying haze, the mind-numbing stupor, the world ceased. Abrupt, and rather painful. For a moment the world stopped altogether, and then resumed. Except, you were the only being amidst the ruins. Not the voice, and not the fire.

Your lungs, they creaked as you dragged a sea of air back into your lungs, eyes fluttering as you did, flitting through the cave — taking a few moments to adjust before they continued the chase, frantic, searching. You could see properly again, and with that clarity, you did, in fact, clutch your sheer robes to your body, and readjust the small scrap of cloth that dangled between your legs. That was now stretched; stained.

“It was…you...” you whispered, legs shuffling as you rushed to put space between you and the akuma, who lay where you left him. On his knees, now that you could see. "...that made everything hazy. Messed with my mind and my vision..."

He didn't so much as twitch. His profile - fuzzy still – remained turned away from yours, yet his chuckle clearer than ever. As though he were beside you. "That I am guilty of…human. Though your lust," he murmured lowly. His tone, mirthful, despite the injury to his shoulder. "is entirely your own."

Hissing, you stumbled against the cave’s wall, wiping the mix of tears, sweat, grime and blood off of your upper-lips. "No, your demonic energy played a part. It messed with my concentration. H-had me confused—" you felt your cheeks begin to flame with both anger and embarrassment, eyes lowering to your lap where you sat cross legged.

He scoffed. “Confused? Are your people not made of lust? So hungry, you humans are." He didn't turn around but you sensed his stare upon your person. And from what you could see through the flickering flames, his teeth appeared unnaturally pointed, slightly crooked in nature. "Little girl. What a lovely morsel you were. My mouth salivates."

"...Then come claim your meal." You took your sword into your shaky palms and forced it above you. Your muscles burned with the simple act. "For I will die fighting you and your ilk."

A rough and low rumble reverberated and your face contorted in confusion when he threw his head back and laughed. An animated laughter, it was. But more than anything it sounded wild, like the whines of a pack of hounds — and nothing quite human. "Yes, I will have a taste of your sweet marrow." He murmured and it appeared the fire went out, suffocated. Blackened. And there you were once again, staring into the abysmal void.

"But I will take it on my own accord. That I promise, my pretty morsel."

You watched as he rose unsteadily to his shadowed feet, legs buckled, and his body grew tall, then taller as he stumbled towards the opposite wall — where the darkness was thickest. And you weren't certain if your vision had deceived you, if your fear had mingled and the ill-timed play of light and dark had simply been playing tricks on your tired eyes — but as you watched him settle against the wall, an eye flashing briefly before it closed once more, and a grin pulling taut across a deformed set of teeth, you shivered.

"Pretty girl.” He murmured. “Pretty sacrifice. Your… taste lingers."

Another gargle of a chuckle and,

"You belong to me now."

𓆩✧𓆪

You cradled your father’s katana to your chest as the hours passed, eyes straining against the darkness for any move the akuma might make. 

Your breaths came out even and faint from your nose — measured, as you listened closely. Every muscle in your body was taut, rigid, but the beast stayed exactly where he was. Silent, unmoving — just the occasional sigh and rustle.

It didn’t occur to you, until his sighs grew further and further in occurrence, that the akuma may be asleep.

Did demons…sleep?

Your mind spun as you racked your brain for all your father ever told you of them — all the stories you’d heard. Perhaps this is all some trick to lure me closer, you thought, fingers growing clammy as you remembered the press of his body on yours, the heat on the curve of your throat.

(The heat between your legs).

Scoffing, you pushed the intrusive, shameful thought away with an edge of reluctance — not caring for why, as you glanced back towards where the akuma was last. Whether he was feigning or not, you knew you'd never have an opportunity like this again. He'd only grow more hungry, you more anxious, and so with an inhale — short, sharp — you struggled to your feet and took a tentative step towards him, minding your footing.

You wondered to what extent the creature was hurt by your weapon. He seemed as though he were genuinely hurt, but that could be another ruse, another ploy to gather you within his maw and bite down. Devour you in one. You lifted your leg, balancing precariously on the sole of your right foot and strained your eyes, glowering through the black as you saw the outline of a large, tanned leg. Then another.

Two legs, then a large torso and a head resting on a bulging chest — all features and details carved in stark shadows.

Curious, you moved closer.  Saw tufts of pink hair on his arms, on his  head,, noticed that he was shirtless, and there were little pink hairs there too. You looked at his large hands, and squirmed as you imagined those large things on your body.

Moved closer. Rubbed your thighs together as you saw his lips. Mouth parting slightly.

Only a breadth away and his eyes snapped wide. “I can smell you, morsel.” you staggered back watched as he smiled crookedly and the wound began to meld.

“What–”

“You taste divine.” he licked his lips, long, forked tongue shooting out to the air. “Are you offering yourself to me this morning ... how generous.” he drew the s’ as his tongue flickered. “But I said I wanted to take you on my own.”

“I…I did nothing of the sort.” you murmured, placing your hand over your forehead as a dizziness overcame you, a heat licked at your nape. "S-Stop it." you waved your hand as though that would keep him at bay.

"Stop what?''

"Stop making it so damn hot in here." you wheezed. "You are putting a spell on my.."

"Is that right?" Another lick at the corner of his lips, another flash of red. "So delicate. Like a piece of glass." he mocked as he pulled back. "You stepped into my space, morsel. Do you...yearn for my tongue again?"

You shook, watched as his wound meshed together as a slick grew between your legs. "Do not. D-do not change the topic,"

"You tasted wonderful." he cooed, taking his time as he trailed his gaze up and down, a low purr erupting from the pit of his stomach. "Such a pity you do not share in our desire." He snarled softly and rose to his feet.

You backed away. "Desire?" You mumbled under your breath and for a second it occurred that perhaps his intention hadn't been as nefarious as you first thought — and to your surprise, the mere concept made your nipples pebble. "D-desire." you breathed out and immediately felt sick with yourself.

“I am going." You spat suddenly, flushing, not caring if the beast meant to harm you or not. For your instincts spoke louder and despite how rational this thought sounded in your head, something didn't quite sit right. With anything. With him, and his words. Even now. "My task was to...to..."

You continued to back up, and he continued staring at you with a smile. "...terminate you..."

His jaw shifts as he observes you retreating with slow steps. His entire presence feels very much predatory, the grin that spreads from ear to ear unsettling, a light shimmer of red peeking through the flesh. "But,"

He stalks forward, slowly, deliberately.

"Perhaps I can bargain with you. Offer something better."

"You do not have anything that interests me." you stated flatly, heart racing a million paces per second as you twisted and pivoted to flee, finding the opening at the mouth of the cave with newfound hope.

He ignored you. "Give me your energy, your body and your soul, and I shall offer you a head to take home."

"Are you in a position to barter?" You answered back just as promptly, stepping over the small and rocky slopes that brought you closer towards the exit.

You did not hesitate, and he did not answer either, which for some reason left your mouth slightly dry, even as you neared the stone steps you had first climbed down, and the faint beams of moonlight peeked through the pine needles, casting its glittering light in your surroundings.

"Just think it over."

And you did. Had no other choice to. Over the next week Sukuna tried to get you to surrender your body and soul (on multiple occasions you awoke to him stroking his cock right before you, moaning loud enough to shake the cave’s walls. Too bad you felt far too weak to even touch yourself.), and even though the latter seemed very easy, the thought of offering yourself, of surrendering what was considered sacred to him — and thus a forbidden fruit, became a frequent and desirable one. You allowed yourself to consider how it would feel to belong to him, how it would feel to surrender to those pointed incisors and fanged maw — perhaps his tongue, too.

No one will know, whispered the little voice inside of your head. It was just you and him and you nd the cold and you and your thoughts. For so long you were lost in those very thoughts, that the first twinge of hunger had you gasping, bending over and clutching your middle in an effort to try and stifle it. But it didn't. It merely grew sharper. Fresher. More persistent.

Over the following week your body weakened, it was expected, considering you had next to nothing to eat since you were in the mountains — save for the odd fern, few pine branches that resembled needles and the rotting bits of fruit you found. They were hard as stones, but still edible to some extent.

To the demon, this had not gone unnoticed.

"Must you suffer needlessly?" he had asked you on the eighth day. A taunt, and yet, an opportunity, nonetheless. "In doing so, does it satisfy you?" He took a few paces closer, his bare feet quiet along the dirt. You shrunk into the wall. "You cannot survive much longer, not in this winter, nor in this cold. Your frail little human body will not."

"You know not of my resolve." you stated simply, edging away when he walked forth.

Sukuna halted mid-step and curled his lips to show his teeth, to display that pointed fangs and a forked tongue that resembled a serpent's. "No," he sneered. "I know not." He stopped when he reached the centre of the cavern and rested against the large rock that held a permanent fixture in the core. "But there is that about you..."

He smirked. "That...smell." Your breath hitched, and his smirk grew. "You will not last much longer."

And you knew he was right. You were so weak. So hungry. While it seemed he grew stronger and stronger. 

"Aren't you lonely in this pit of fire?" Came a lilting chime, before you felt the caress of claws upon the hem of your kimono. "Little, useless thing."

The heat in the room seemed to grow. Grow and grow. The heat between your legs—

“Aren’t you hungry?” The akuma whispered. “For I am. Very, very hungry.”

You groaned weakly, lifting a hand to swat at him. “I…am not.” 

Stuttered breaths hitched in your throat as fingers crawled up the flesh of your thigh, trailed across the soft, delicate expanse of it — 

trapped, you knew, between a devil and a rock, and under that devil's stare, his hungry gaze, and the sediment. 

His long fingers reached for your kimono and shoved it up your thighs, made it easier to access your glistening cunt, and he took a claw and dragged your panties to the side.

“I can smell you, human.” He sung, a smirk on his lips. “You will enjoy this. It will be…” he paused, tongue flicking out, tasting your scent. “...a wondrous feeling.” 

Warm, thick saliva dripped and puddled around the crux of your thighs, his long, inhuman tongue delving itself between your slickened folds and poking into you, testing, sampling. You shivered and whimpered at the pressure of his rough tongue, how it seemed to reach every part of you, make you warm.

“D-Do not.” You forced out weakly, despite the fact that your hips lifted to press yourself closer to his mouth. The akuma simply ignored you, continued running his tongue through your folds as his grip on your skin tightened. Huffing and puffing as you dampened his face and oh— you are certain that this was hell. A fiery ball of heat that you were trapped in. Condemned to.

It was ludicrous, really, that in a time like this all you could of in a time like this was that your father would despise you. You didn't think of how you’d get home—beat the demon, slay him and drag his heavy head down the mountain.

All you could think of was your father, and your father, and your father and—

“Oh!”

The demon turned you over onto your stomach, forced your legs wider as he continued to prod at your hole. The sheer pleasure was far too much for your weakened  body, and it brought a surge of tears to your eyes. Your legs began to tremble and spasm, even more so as that ache in your core began to swell.

“You’re loving this, aren’t you?” The demon mumbled against your folds. “Despite how you writhe and fight you’re enjoying this.”

You could only manage a strained grunt.

“It’ll be worth all the trouble, human.”

Trouble…never would there be a more fitting label. This was trouble. His large hand running along your skin and squeezing your hips was trouble. His mouth moving away from your body… trouble. And certainly, the feel of his hand along your hips; something flared and soft prodding at your hole…was trouble.

Your body was weak, and your mind was tired, yet the akuma still managed to hold you upright. He moved his hands from your hips and further up your back, his claws digging into the soft flesh of your shoulders and slowly, carefully, the akuma pushed himself inside of you.

The feeling was indescribable. As though a piece of heaven had descended from the heavens and blessed your body, and as his cock sunk deeper and deeper inside you, you felt a wave of pleasure hit you.

You had never been with a man before, but this was different. He was not a man.

"Oh." You cried out, the sound echoing through the cave.

The akuma's claws dug further into your flesh, the sharpness of them almost breaking the skin. "Good, isn't it, morsel?"

You groaned, and he took that as an affirmation. Oh, how it felt so good, so right, to give in.

"I will take care of you, my little morsel," the akuma purred. "I will keep you safe, and warm, and fed."

"What do you want from me?" You asked, and he laughed.

"Everything."

Your squirmed, breath hitching. "…My soul?"

"Yesss," he hissed. "Your soul, your body, your energy. All of you."

He thrusted harder, his thrusts growing faster, harder, and you gasped at the pain, at the pleasure. He was so big, stretching you completely, and the way his cock slid in and out of you was almost hypnotic. Mouth ajar, drool dribbling down the corner of your lips, you could not help but moan.

"A-And if I refuse?" You wouldn’t. You couldn’t.

He smiled. Devilishly. As though he knew this too. "You won't"

A squelching sound filled the room, the akuma's cock sliding in and out of you, and you could not help but gasp, moan, at the feel of his thick cock inside you. Stretching you. Leaving you breathless and wanting.

"That's it, morsel," he hissed. "I'm going to fill you up, make you mine."

"Oh, God," you moaned, the akuma's thrusts becoming harder, faster, and you could not help but cry out, his cock slamming into you over and over again.

"Yes," he growled, his thrusts becoming more erratic. "Take my seed, morsel."

And you did.

He came with a roar, his cock pulsing, and you could feel his seed filling you. It was warm, and it was thick, and it was everything you had ever wanted.

"Fuck," you moaned, the akuma's cum dripping out of your pussy, and you could not help but frown as you felt his grip grow harsher, practically hearing the way his body hummed with new power.

"You are mine," he growled, his voice deep and animalistic, and you could not help but nod, the akuma's words washing over you.

"Mine," he repeated, and you nodded, the akuma's cum dripping down your legs, and you could not help but smile, the akuma's seed filling you, and you could not help but moan, the akuma's cock twitching inside of you.

"Yours," you whispered, the akuma's claws digging into your skin, and you could not help but shiver, the akuma's hands roaming your body.

"Mine," the akuma growled, and you could not help but smile, the akuma's warmth spreading throughout your body. His power: your power.

"Mine."

----

abrupt ending because i've genuinely been stumped on how to finish this TT. but thank you for reading x

[faestunna]

in the river to pray

remmick x f!reader

SUMMARY: He laid his claim on you that first night. Weeks later, he comes to take what’s his, leaving his own curse upon your soul.

WC: 10.2k

WARNINGS: dub-con themes, religious themes/religious guilt, fingering, vampirism (death, blood, transition), minor blood play, use of hive mind, violent/brutal death scene, descriptive language, marking/claiming, minor angst, smut (18+ ONLY); masturbation, rough sex, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), crying, choking, slight size kink, slight dumbification, squirting, creampie, cockwarming

A/N: my first official and original remmick one shot, and i was very inspired by thestrals from hp. i had to change it up a little, but i think it works :) i've never written this many words and idk if i will again but i had fun writing this! there’s a lot of people to thank for this so here we go: thank you to all @flixpii, @madkingcrowley, @confetti-cakemix, and @jaythewriter for beta reading, your enthusiasm meant the world! thank you to @iceemochaa, @vcmpbyt, @matrixfangs, @sinandguilt, and @eternalstrigoii for encouraging me to even write this!! i’ve definitely missed someone, i had so much help/motivation during the month it took me to write this. enjoy!

visualizer | masterlist

thestral a magical species that can only be seen by those who have witnessed death

likes, reblogs, and comments are always and greatly appreciated! this post is 18+ only. minors do not interact.

It came like a whistle in the wind, bending to the will of the trees surrounding your home.

A phantom. A shadow looming outside your window. A presence at the threshold, ingraining itself to your soul while it waited.

Sweet Lamb.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d tell your father what plagued you. Beg him to take you to the preacher. Beg the preacher to free you from this torment. Beg the Lord to forgive you because you’ve been dreaming of sins.

And it felt so good.

Eventually, you let it in. Stood there at your door looking as if you’d seen a ghost.

There’s a warmth beside you in your bed now, tracing over your body and snaking towards your legs. It knows you like a second skin. Knows just where to touch, where to pull.

You feel me, don’t you?

Eyes dancing over the darkness of your room found nothing. No one.

It spreads to the curve of your thighs, reaching higher than you knew was right. Tendrils that slip past the nightgown that covers you, leaving you bare, but never cold. The warmth stays. Pressed to you so close that you almost believe its words.

You’re not alone.

Never alone. Not when you felt it reaching that inner depth, swirling around the center of you so deliciously.

You opened yourself to it. That gentle force that rocks your core until you’re left babbling back. “I feel you,” you whisper. “I want more.” It laughs back.

More, darlin’? Anything for an angel.

That pressure over your sweet bud strengthens, and it leaves you blooming. Flames of hell ignite across your skin. But it burns so delightfully. Your legs spread even further.

“Fuck,” you let out in a breath. Cursing like you never had before.

The burning turns into a searing. Iron branded on your skin. “I-I’m…”

I know. Let it out all over me. Let the Lord hear you.

You gasp at a sting near the base of your neck, a gentle nip into your skin. Jaw slacked open. Chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. A sense of heaven washing over you like a pulse as the sheets turned soaked beneath you.

The blanket tangled around your leg fluttered, but there was no turn of the air in your room. And you felt the warmth slowly disappear.

Ghostly fingers trailing down your skin until you were cold again. But still, you weren’t alone.

Let him send you down with me.

Your eyes shoot open. And suddenly, you’re sickened with clarity.

A nightmare. A dream. Everything you wanted felt so good to take, and in doing so, you’d surely damned your own soul.

You’re a woman possessed. Forget your father, and the preacher. No one could save you now from the demon that’d pulled you under. Water and guilt filling up your lungs.

You lay awake that night.

The moon bleeds silver light onto your floor boards. Your eyes turn red as you watch, waiting to feel another warmth again. But it never comes. You waited. So still you probably looked dead.

Deep down, there was something you’d never confess:

It was the most alive you ever felt.

The next morning, you wake with the memory of it and dried remnants of a slick between your legs. The smell of sweat in the air. The sound of a voice whispering into your ear forever etched into your mind.

You rise from your bed almost drunkenly. Intoxicated with sin. The ground doesn’t feel right underneath you, as if you’re floating an inch above it.

Something churns in your stomach. Rapid footsteps to the bathroom sink are still soft so as not to wake your father.

You lurch over the basin and gag, but nothing comes out.

The sink croaks as cold water spurts. You splash onto your skin, hoping to remove the remaining flush on your cheeks. Evidence of your crime.

And that’s when you see it. Staring at your crazed reflection in the mirror.

Upon your neck. Almost completely imperceptible.

Two minuscule bumps, red, warm, and tender to the touch. They could somewhat pass as mosquito bites, but you knew well of what it was. The devil had left his mark on you.

You don’t sleep at night.

When the sun sets, it shuts its eye on your tranquility. And the demon threatens to appear again. You pull the covers to your chest and lay flat against your bed. You moved your bed to the corner. Lets you see all of the dark around you, not a spot to be missed.

Sometimes, you think it’s come. A slight breeze from the hall or a creak in the floor.

But it never did. No ghost harnessing itself to you.

Your eyes only drift shut at the earliest peek of dawn. You only wake when the air turns hot in the late morning.

The days remain the same. You run to the town to get groceries. You ride your bike past the bridge. You braid the choir girls’ hair.

The other young women in town are engaged, or already married. Swept away as soon as they were old enough. But you find peace in solitude. At least, you tell yourself you do.

You think nothing of the night two weeks ago.

And how it knew how to speak to you. How to feel you. How to provoke every part of you that you denied yourself.

It took you in a chokehold.

And you begged it to continue.

When the memories crept to the front of your mind, you pushed them back like it had never even happened. But you were denying yourself.

And for what? Glory?

What could be more glorious than the way that warmth opened you? The spirit of something beyond the world you knew—settling inside your heart, riddling you with curses and sinful reveries.

You sauntered through the front door somewhat like a ghost yourself. Stomach still full from an early supper. Sweat clinging hair to your skin.

Outside, half the sun casted a golden glow across the land. The boots on your feet were suddenly heavy as you passed the hall.

“Is that you?” Your father calls out.

You stop in your tracks. The radio plays a gravelly broadcast of a song your mother used to sing.

He sits in his armchair. He won’t let you leave until you’ve come and said goodnight. And promise to pray. “How was your walk?” He calls out once you stand in the doorway.

“Fine,” you say breathily. “The ferns are growing in double this year. And the honeysuckles smell sweeter.”

Your father hums. It’s silent for a long moment. You hope there’s nothing else to be said.

Until he speaks again.

“Are you alright?”

Maybe he really did know you better than you thought. Maybe he’d know this whole time of how you’d disgraced yourself. Ruined. Maybe he’d overheard you that night, realized it was lust laced in your voice.

Or maybe he could see the devil in your eyes right there as you glared at him in silence. “Of course, I am, daddy.” His face softens.

You haven’t called him that in years.

“Well…I just worry, is all.” He pats the armrest once. “You look like you ain’t slept a lick.”

A smile twitches across your mouth. The hair around your face is dry now, strung out in different directions.

You look like a mad woman.

Perhaps you are.

“I’m fine, daddy.” The song on the radio ends. “I promise.”

You turn back to the hall. Your father doesn’t speak another word.

The sky turns dark outside your window And the routine begins. Exchange the cotton dress you’d stolen from your mother’s wardrobe, untouched for years, with a nightgown hemmed with lace. Rinse your face—let the water into your eyes because you’re too afraid to close them.

Pull the covers to your chest. Lay like you’re on your deathbed. Waiting. For too long you watch the moonlight shift throughout the night.

But it wasn’t your fear keeping you awake.

It was the addicting taste of temptation. Of lust again. And it tasted of sweat, tears, and something ancient that you couldn’t place.

Your skin felt the air thicken first. Then, your heart.

And you heard it again.

Left you aching for more, didn’t I?

You would’ve gasped if your chest hadn’t suddenly locked in fear. Your eyes darted across the room.

Nothing. No gentle breeze.

Though the voice continued, you felt no warmth like before. You were alone.

“You’re in my fuckin’ head,” you whispered.

I’m everywhere inside you, lamb.

You thickly swallowed.

“Why come back?”

How couldn’t I? When you tasted so sweet?

Your bones turned to butter. Melting right back into the bed just like you had that night. The mere mention of what you’d felt…

Gonna have to do it yourself this time, sweetheart.

Eyes closed, your brows furrowed as you mindlessly slid your hand down your stomach, hovering just above your mound. “I don’t know how.”

Sure, you do. Just do as I say.

A beat. An invitation. One that you accepted.

Put your fingers where I had mine.

Your middle finger touched yourself first. Landed perfectly over that pearl. Your pulse throbbed into your hand as your fingers slid through your folds and gathered your slick.

“Oh- fu-uck,” your voice trailed off, determined to stay quiet again.

That’s it, angel. I’d have you screamin’ if I was there.

Without a command, you dug your palm into your clit. Bucked your hips involuntarily, leaving the springs underneath your mattress squeaking.

You heard its chuckle.

Ain’t that cute. Don’t even need my help, now.

“Don’t leave,” you pant quietly. Fingers rubbing over as much of you as possible.

You remember that night, don’t you?

What I did to you…how it felt.

You nodded. Your entire figure shook under your own touch. To be in control of your pleasure was an indescribable power. With your eyes shut, the memories still burned into your mind begin to guide your hands.

The tip of your finger prods your hole. Traces the velvety opening just past the brim, collecting a warm wetness that reaches your palm.

Taste it.

You hesitate. Put your fingers into the light and watch them glisten with your own sin.

Go ahead, dove.

Its words beckoned you like an inner calling. You do as you're told. You bring your hand to your mouth—still hesitant—before brushing over your tongue. Your lips involuntarily tighten around your finger. 

The flavor isn’t anything you’ve had before. A strange taste of what it meant to feel good. To defy what you’d been told was wrong. 

To be right. 

You didn’t care if it was sinning. And you didn’t care if this temptation was dragging you down. You want this pleasure forever, to feel it sink into your bones. 

Without command, you pressed your hand to your cunt again. The heat of the sun in your hold. You don’t hesitate anymore. Push not one, but two fingers inside. 

A moan—soft but deep like it came from the very core of you—escapes past your lips. Your other hand flies to cover your mouth. 

Well, if that ain’t the most heavenly thing I heard. 

So, you don’t stop. 

Instead, you huff heavy, muffled breaths into your palm as your other hand works inside you. The sound of your own slick nearly echoes across the room, even under your gown and blankets. 

Curl ‘em, just gently.  Want you to feel what I feel. 

You curl your fingers upward, your back arching at the pleasure. Your chest falls heavy as you try to breathe quietly. It chuckles at you. 

You close to it, ain’t you?

You rapidly nod. A subtle shake to your legs because you hardly imagine your hand as your own anymore. 

Say it. 

“I—” you sputter out, louder than you’d intended. You were desperate for that feeling again—the one that left you trembling in the dark and questioning your own sanity. 

You don’t feel crazy anymore. And if you are, then so be it. “I’m so fuckin’ close.”

Now, you’ll do as I say, yeah?

The voice has changed, and you only notice it now. It’s still the same deep tone that whispered sins to you like lullabies, but there’s a drawl—it matches yours. 

You nod again. “Y-Yes.” A heat builds up around your hand. It’s coming, and you softly smile at the thought of it. 

Then, stop, sweet girl. 

You don’t know how you obeyed. Pulling your hand away from you, instantly feeling empty despite the fire coursing through your blood. So close, and yet so far. The euphoric feeling ripped from you like a threat. 

“No!” Your other hand shoots straight to your mouth. You pray your father has drunk himself to sleep tonight. 

A low laugh. 

It’s alright, angel. 

“Please.” It comes out muffled through your palm. Your cheeks burn, a single, cold tear sliding down them. Your fingers inch towards your cunt again. 

Now, don’t go ruinin’ it, darlin’. Only one who’s gon’ have you shakin’ is me. 

The only thing ruined was your impending release. 

You do as I say. 

But you don’t listen anymore. 

Dig the heel of your palm into your cunt again. 

It continued to urge you, command you, to stop. But without the force of it upon your body this time, you saw no threat.

“I told you,” you say quietly. “You’re just in my head. A fuckin’ curse draggin’ me to hell. But I don’t care anymore.”

It makes a sound like a sneer. A test. A bit more temptation. Amused at the sight of you now grinding your hips into your own hand, chasing after that desperation again. 

Oh, sweet lamb.  I’ll do more to you than that. 

It coos as your brows furrow. Your veins are hit with waves of shock, leaving you whining into the sheets. A warmth runs over your hand—that feeling again. And this time, guilt doesn’t follow. No overwhelming chaos of regret to salvage what purity was left of you. 

You ignore it now. Laugh in a sweaty haze, drunk off of your release, as it whispers its goodbye. 

You’ll be beggin’, girl.  No one can save you now.  No one but me. 

You aren’t afraid anymore. At night, you lay in bed with a craving for more, eyes glued to the window like it’ll will the ghost back. 

But it never comes. 

Three nights pass, and on each, you pull another orgasm with your own hands, the memory of its voice coaxing you through it. It’s not the same as having it speak to you, of folding under its will. 

Nevertheless, each night you fall asleep with a blush settled over your cheeks. You stay quiet. Your father doesn’t question you again. He only looks the other way when you walk by. If he knew what you’d been doing in the dark, he would’ve thrown you in hell himself. 

You suppose his silence is safe. 

And it all goes about the same. Ride your bike into town and near the bridge. Get groceries for dinner. Braid the choir girls’ hair. 

You aren’t followed anymore. Nothing lurks nearby. For the first time in weeks, you feel free. 

The most rotten and ruined part of you. It felt glorious. 

But your own hands weren’t enough to bring that spark back into you. Never like it did. It knew you better than you knew yourself. And since it had made no appearance since the night you defied it, you decided to take matters into your own hands. 

Charlie Maywell. 

A boy your age who worked down at the mechanics shop. He was rough and dirty and spoke with the grit of men twice his age. Most importantly, he was popular among widows. 

He was a whore, to put it bluntly. A sweet one. He never broke hearts or left them weeping in the middle of the night. 

He couldn’t hurt you.

It only takes a cigarette and honeysuckle rubbed over your wrists to convince him. You figure he hasn’t been with a girl his age in some time. 

Maybe that’s why he looks at you like you’re gold. 

He lifts your dress so delicately from your frame, eyes going wide when your tits hit the bare air. He doesn’t spend nearly as much time devoted to you as you would’ve hoped, but you’ll take what you can get. 

You would’ve preferred to be in a bed. Not pressed against some wall in a back alley where there’s a slight reek of trash. 

You gasp when he ruts into you. It isn’t the stretch you felt before, but you’re not empty anymore. Charlie lifts your leg over his arm and leans in, pressing you closer to the wall. 

“God, you feel good,” he says into your ear. It’s not right. It’s not the voice you’ve been imagining every night. The voice you were starting to miss. 

“Where can I—?” He looks down. It’d hardly been three minutes. 

You aren’t anywhere as close as him.

“You can do it on my leg. Just wait.” You close your eyes shut. Charlie’s hips stagger against yours in restraint, desperate to follow your command. 

Behind your shut lids, that night comes back to you like a reflection in the mirror. 

You remember its warmth, its force and power over you. How it dragged you underwater and dangled air in front of your face. Only to pull you back up with a breath of a new life. 

A taste for more. 

Charlie leans over you, the corner of his neck now surrounding you. Too close for your comfort. He groans, “I can’t…”

Your fingers dance over your mound again until they reach your clit. And you work yourself like you never have before. Furiously rubbing over your folds as his cock drilled into you. 

Your eyes open at your release. The same moment Charlie pulls from you. Drips all over your bare stomach, and you quickly wipe it off with your dress. 

His chest heaves. “Damn,” he lazily smiles, stepping away from you. 

You fix your skirt and politely smile. It’s shy, as if you hadn’t just felt the rawest part of him. 

You don’t speak to Charlie Maywell again. 

He’s there, outside the mechanics shop. Rolling a tire down the street. Fixing a neighbor’s engine. And every time you pass, he looks at you. Nods. You do the same, and that’s all it is. An unspoken agreement. 

And it still doesn’t return. No creak in the porch floorboards, no tapping at your window. No voice calling out to you like a starved man with eyes on a feast. 

Two days pass, and it becomes a little lonely. Your own hands can’t even satisfy your urges anymore. 

Instead, you sleep. Maybe it’s your body’s instinct of replenishing itself from the weeks you spent awake. But anytime a moment turns dull, or your core aches for something you can’t relieve, you shut your eyes. 

You don’t dream. It’s nothing but black settled over your surroundings like a cloak of ink. A constant shadow.

It looms. 

A heavy fog hangs low above the ground in the morning. Gray like curling smoke. It lines the forest floor outside your window with a thick shield. There’s a veil of condensation over the grass, but you don’t remember it raining. 

Strangely, it’s the perfect day. You step one foot outside, stunned to feel the noticeable lack of humidity in the air. Even a gentle breeze. 

The middle of July, and the sun doesn’t glare down your neck as you ride into town. Your bike even splashes into a puddle. It’s refreshing against your legs that gently pedal.

The sun never comes out. Not a single piece of the sky peeking from the clouds. It looks like rain again, but you don’t go home. 

You go to the market. 

Buy the best-looking basket of strawberries. Some sweet cream and honey. The brown paper bag crinkles in your arms back to your bike. 

You smile and greet a few neighbors passing by, but the streets are nearly empty. It’s innately peaceful in a way you haven’t felt for a long time. 

But still. Something follows. 

Branches out around you, twisted with vines and thorns, piercing your skin until it draws blood. You occasionally slow to glance behind you, but there’s nothing. No one. 

You take a path down the woods. A paved road that you’ve ridden before. Above you, the trees create a thick canopy. Small droplets filter through the leaves and land lightly on your skin. 

The moment is sweet again. But you still can’t shake the haunting feeling of a breath down your neck. 

The only way you ground yourself is to the quiet flow of the stream nearby. A flow that soon turned into a gentle rush. The river. You hear the sound of your mother’s voice in your head. It’s a pleasant surprise from the ghostly one that’d been haunting you. 

She sings to you. 

Oh, brothers, let’s go down.  Let’s go down, come on down.  Come on, brothers, let’s go down, Down in the river to pray. 

Running your small hands inside hers through the water. The riverside, a sandy, muddy space between the water and forest. It gleams in the sun.

You approach the bridge and stop to turn back around on the path. Glance down at the river to see maybe a sliver of sun. But now, it only reflects the murky sky. 

And your mother’s voice suddenly stops. 

Replaced by another one. 

A rough one. Coughing and gasping. 

“H-Hey,” it calls out, hoarse but wet. A real voice. Not from a memory or a nightmare. 

You peer over the edge of the road. The land gently slopes down. At the bottom, where the bridge meets that patch of sand by the river, something rustles in the leaves. 

Slow, careful steps guide you down. The hem of your dress becomes wet from the low-lying fauna. 

A figure lays against the brick of the bridge. Below its feet is a trail of burrowed-out, disrupted sand. Like it’d been running and flailing in it. 

You’re careful not to slip on the leaves when you hear a soft gargle. 

“P-please,” it chokes out, and your feet now rush to the bottom. 

Once they touch the sand, they stop. Your body goes cold. Your own heart is motionless  in your chest from an overwhelming shock. You don’t hear the river anymore. Your lungs have suddenly forgotten how to breathe. 

Blood—an excessive amount—drapes over the sand. It runs down the brick wall, where the body leans. 

Charlie Maywell. 

He’s nearly unrecognizable from the red coated over his face. His work shirt damp with it, the ends of his hair at his chin crusted. And right underneath, his throat gleamed. Fresh. 

Raw. 

An open wound gushed blood onto his chest. The same one you had your head against two days ago. 

“Oh, God,” his jaw shakes when he sees it’s you. The flesh of his throat bobs with his cry. “P-please. You gotta help me.”

You don’t say anything. Not you as you can’t even take a breath. 

There’s too much red. And the stench of it hangs heavy in the air. It even follows the trail in the sand to the river. You’re suffocating. 

“Hey, hey,” he coughs out. Somehow, his words are still gentle. “It’s okay. You just gotta—” Charlie sputters. “C-cover it.” He takes his own palm and places it over the wound. 

His lips—the ones you’d kissed—shake. “Like this.”

But through the cracks between his fingers, the bleed seeps. It stains the fabric of his sleeve, and you watch the faintest remnant of hope fade from his eyes. 

“Please,” he cries. 

He’s begging you. He’s listening to his own heartbeat slow. 

Charlie shakes his head the best he can with a mangled neck. “N-no, please.” The blood coats his teeth and tongue. It drips down to his chin. “Don’t leave, p-please!”

His voice grows weaker. And you back away. Just a step. You watch his chest rise and fall, and then…nothing. His mouth parts open like a ghoul, eyes wide and lifeless. 

You scramble on both hands and feet back up the hill. The leaves slide under your palms. 

You reach for the side of the road like it’s an anchor. Pulling you back for air, gasping and clutching onto the asphalt. 

The bag of groceries falls to the side when you pull your bike up and swing your leg over the side. The basket of strawberries breaks open, and they tumble down the slope. Red running against the dirt. 

Blood seeping into the sand. It’s still there, in your mind, pooling around Charlie’s body like a sadistic grave. 

It’s darker now, the clouds now a deep, threatening, angry gray. And the far distance, in the wall of the trees that surrounds the road, two specks of red glow. They don’t move. 

They blink. 

Your feet move faster than your mind. You follow the path the way you came, wind whistling through your hair. It forces the tears welling up in your eyes to fall. The severity of it all threatens to hit you then. 

But you don’t let it. Not until you stumble into your bedroom, your bike left by the front door. 

You collapse onto the bed. The scent of fresh honeysuckle and sin is still strong. But even in the quiet of your house, Charlie’s voice rattles in your head. 

“Please.”

“Oh, God, no.”

It stays, even after your eyes drift shut.

You wake in the afternoon once the shock dissipates from your system. It’s odd that your father hadn’t shaken you awake for breakfast, but when you saunter into the living room, it’s empty. 

He must’ve left for a good day’s work. 

Something lingers in the air. It follows you like a ghost. Reeks of death and everything wrong. 

You can still smell the blood as you splash your face with cold water. It does little to refresh your mind, because nothing could ever make you forget Charlie’s body by the river. 

His voice, begging. His eyes, pleading. His mouth, sputtering blood. 

You see it in your own reflection. For a split second, he’s there. Standing behind you, in a crack in the bathroom mirror.

You don't scream or gasp. If he’s there to take your soul, you won’t fight. 

There isn’t much to take anymore. 

The next second, he’s gone. A blink of an eye, and you’re alone again. 

You try to remember what that voice told you:

You’re not alone. 

And where was it now? Had you upset it? Had you scared it away? As the day before comes back to you in fragments, you remember the glow of red in the forest. 

Watching you like eyes. A predator stalking its prey. You wish it would just attack already. 

You walk into town. It takes twice as long, but you can’t stand to look at your bicycle. The dirt road crunches under your boots. Most noticeably, yesterday’s unusual weather hasn’t disappeared.

No beam of hot sun on the back of your neck. No sweat dripping down your cheek. 

Just the strangely still air and the weight of fog. 

Although it feels like morning for you, the rest of the town continues about their day. The wives sort through the peaches and berries at the market. A clerk signs something off for a truck driver. Children play hopscotch and jump rope on the sidewalk. 

Everything is right. 

Until something cuts through the air. 

A wail—sharp and ear-piercing like it could shatter the windows—comes from outside the police station. All the eyes on the street turn towards it. You stop in your steps. 

Because just outside the station, parked on the side of the road, is an ambulance.

You don’t miss a beat. You know what—who—is inside of it. An ambulance is a way of hope, like there’s still a chance for poor Charlie Maywell. But you see it for what it is. 

A hearse. 

Your lower lip trembles. People on the street begin to murmur. 

A woman, with dark hair pinned up into a bun, runs from the station to the ambulance. She sobs as she tries to pull the doors open. She bangs on the windows with her fists. 

“Give me my son!” She shouts. A man wraps his arms around her. Pulls her back to the station. 

The story lives on to be a legend in the town. How Mrs. Maywell cried for her son in the street that strange gray afternoon. How her husband couldn’t hold her back. How they fell to their knees when they dragged poor Charlie’s body out.

Covered with nothing but a sheet. The slope of his nose piques under it, and below his head, is a horrific splotch of red. 

Your eyes dart around you—maybe your guilt is so strong that everyone knows. But the people don’t look at you. 

They watch, for a long time, as Mrs. Maywell cries. 

“They had to drag her back home.” Mr. Kline says at the bank the next day. Sorting the  bills in his hand like he wasn’t holding a thousand dollars.

Eventually, it comes out quick enough for the whole town to know. Charlie Maywell was ripped apart, mangled and mauled. A blood-soaked mess by the time the cops found him. Had his body rotted a few days more, he would’ve been unrecognizable. 

Your father only speaks of it once. Hunched over his radio, a beer in his hand. “No more walks. Or bike rides.”

You blink once. Guilt gleams over your eyes, but he can’t bring himself to look at you. You don’t know which one of you failed the other.

“Yes, daddy.”

You kiss the top of his forehead before bed. 

Charlie Maywell is buried the following week. 

His casket—a big, dark-oak thing—is closed. Covered with white roses and wildflowers. The preacher stumbles over his words, cut off by quick sniffles and long breaths. 

At the front, near the altar, and closest to Charlie, sat his father. Alone in the pews with the whole town behind him. Eyes wide, stricken with horror at the floorboards like he’d just seen war.

And perhaps he had. 

Perhaps, in some way, you could’ve stopped it. Saved not only Charlie from his fate but his father from this grief. 

The choir girls sing. You can’t look at them. 

You can’t look at anything other than your hands in your lap. Even if they never had been dirtied, the blood was still on them. A stain of a nightmare come true. 

“Please!” 

Charlie’s voice still speaks to you like he’s just over your shoulder. His breath still fans against your skin. Then, it comes back to bite. 

“Please. You gotta help me.”

The nave shudders, and so do you. 

Mr. Maywell leads the walk to the cemetery, a full congregation behind him.  Every townsperson gathered to mourn. 

Apart from you, who slipped out the back door when the rest crowded at the front. You hid by the side of the church as their footsteps dragged against the sidewalk. 

Home is all there is. You walk down the path you know like the back of your hand. The town is tainted now. All of its buildings and people, veiled by a shadow. Forever corrupted by the death of poor Charlie Maywell. 

When you reach the porch steps, he is hardly at the back of your mind. 

“Don’t leave, please!”

Your palms fly to your ears; you’re drowning in his screams. You rush across the threshold, the screen door hissing behind you. Down the hall, past the kitchen to your room. 

It does little to offer comfort now. Your pristine white linens drip red until your mind stops deceiving you. 

With the door shut behind you, your back slides down against it until you crouch on the floor. You hug your knees to your chest. In it, your heart races and stammers. No amount of deep breaths or mind games can steady it. 

You trade your black cotton dress for your nightgown. The lace lining is something of purity and innocence. It’s wrong to wear it now.

You don’t sleep. You hardly ever close your eyes. The hours pass, and you lie awake with a heavy soul. You imagine them lowering the casket into the earth as Mr. Maywell weeps. 

Blood in the sand. Crusted over his skin and hair. His tears leaving two clean streaks through it. 

And you walked away. 

The memory is pressed into your soul now.

Outside your window, the clouds still blanket the sun and sky. You only realize the evening approaches when it all goes blue. The kind of blue that runs a shiver up your spine. 

You didn’t kill Charlie. 

You simply left him for dead. 

And you don’t try to decide which one is worse. In the end, a young man is dead, and you’re coated in his blood. No matter how many times you’ve scrubbed yourself clean. 

Eventually, you’ve sunken into the mattress so far you can feel the wooden beams underneath it. You rise and swing your feet over the side. 

There’s dried tears lining your face. You don’t remember crying. You stay there, sitting on the edge of your bed 

And then—the whistle in the wind. 

Distorted and hushed. But direct, like it was only meant for you. 

Sweet lamb. 

Your eyes widen. 

It’s been weeks since it left you. You’d told yourself it was gone for good. Bid farewell and never looked back. 

Yet here it was. 

Don’t be afraid.  Won’t you come outside?

It possesses you, or some dark corner of your mind that wants to give in. Your feet carry you down the hall and back to the screen door. 

You almost gasp. 

In the distance, far off across the dirt road where the trees loom over you, a figure stands. You can hardly make out his face through the mesh. The door hisses open as your bare feet step onto the porch. 

Slowly. Steadily. Watching him watch you. He’s still too far away, but you’ve never seen this man in town. 

The ground is dry and soft beneath your feet as you wander further from your house. Every bone in your body screams at you to go back, but his gaze hasn’t left your body since you appeared in the door.

You approach him close enough that you can see the faintest blue in his eyes. His hair is dark and tousled, falling in uneven strands like he carries the night with him.

The sight of you is something else—hair ruffled from bed, faint bags under your eyes, and a grayer complexion that only came with remorse.

“You poor thing,” he says, a tilted smile on his face. 

The sound of his voice floods you with clarity. Your knees almost buckle and your stomach twists because this man—whom you’ve never seen before—is more than familiar. 

He emanates an ambiance of warmth, one that you’ve felt before. The very one you ached for when it was gone. 

“It’s you.”

The words fall from your lips with a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. 

He doesn’t answer you. He doesn’t need to—you feel it in your bones that this man is your ghost. He simply turns on his heel and enters the forest. 

You wait for a moment. Frozen like you’re petrified, but strangely, you’re not afraid. 

He glances over his shoulder at your figure near the road. Furrows his brows and calls out, “Come on, now. Ain’t nothin’ in the dark besides me.”

And so you follow him. A generous space between the two of you. He doesn’t urge you to hurry. You don’t ask him to stop. The bottom of your nightgown, brown with dirt, brushes against your ankles. You step over fallen branches and roots. They threaten to scratch and pierce your soles, but you never flinch. 

You watch him. Treading through these woods like he knew them. And since you do know them, you know where he’s leading you. 

The riverside pokes through the gaps between the leaves. The ground turns into a steep decline, and you grasp onto nearby branches for support. 

He hears your steps slow and extends his hand to you, “Careful here.”

When you take his hand, the cold of skin runs through your own, spiking your blood and tracing your spine. He smiles at your surprise. 

You step over a fallen log and feel soft sand under your feet. Twilight now hangs over you, filtering the forest and the river in a deep blue. The water laps at the shore in small waves. 

You saunter towards it. He stays among the tree line, his eyes fixated on you. He waits for you to move. 

But you don’t. You stand there, watching how the rising moonlight illuminates the water. 

In your gown, you seem like the ghost now. 

He silently steps towards you until his hand can reach your sleeve, settling on your shoulder. “You almost look pure in this, dove,” he plays with the lace. “But I didn’t bring you here to be pure.”

Carefully, he bunches the gown and lifts it up to your hips. You instinctively raise your arms so he slides it off of you. The humid air melts against your skin. 

His fingers grace the side of your arm. They trail up the skin until they brush your jaw. 

“Christ,” he whispers when your eyes meet his.

Your lips part gently, but the words don’t come right away. “What are you?” 

He smiles at that. A hint of awe as his eyes drag down your figure. His other hand places itself lightly upon your waist. 

“What do you think?” He asks, his eyes quickly meeting yours before taking in your body again. “I thought I was just ‘n your fuckin’ head’.”

He mocks your ambitious words from that night weeks ago. 

You swallow thickly, unable to speak. 

He leans in closer and audibly inhales through his nose. He smells you. “Do I look like I’m in your head right now, sweetheart?”

Your eyes flutter shut for only a moment. The fabric of his shirt brushed against your bare chest. 

“Do I feel like I’m in your head?”

“No,” you breathe. You glance back at him to see his eyes fixated on your neck. He’s nearly caged you in his hold now, and you don’t fight it. 

“That’s right.” He nods once. 

His cheek touches yours when he smells you again. The grip on your waist grows tighter before his fingers grab your chin. 

“You do as I say, yeah?” 

You nod. Slipping into obedience like a dog. 

His hands shift your body towards the river, resting heavily on your shoulders. The water reaches your toes, cold and fresh. But when you look down at it, you can still see Charlie’s blood flowing along. 

“Walk in there, now,” his voice flows gently to your ear. “Don’t look back until you feel me there with ya.”

You don’t move right away. Not even with a gentle nudge of his hands. Hypnotized by the rippling glow of the water, you can feel him waiting. For you. 

“You said that no one can save me,” your voice is stronger now, nearly as solid as the rocks lining the river. “No one but you.”

You turn only slightly. He stands in the corner of your eye.

“Save me from what?”

He gently smirks. Not mockingly or even hungrily, but with adoration. A hint of excitement for what’s to come soon. 

“You’ll see.”

His hands on your shoulders prompt you towards the river again, and this time, you obey. The sand turns coarse as the water runs deeper. It bites at your skin with every step you take, but you don’t stop. 

Not when it chills your inner thighs. Not even when the surface of it reaches the curve of your breast. 

Behind you, back on the shore, you can hear something like a shuffling. Metal clinks. Quiet steps track through the sand for only a moment until a splash. 

And the entire river shifts. Afraid. 

The water is warmer now that you’re acclimated. You run your hands through it and feel it pulse between your fingers. 

Then, a breath. 

Hot but comforting at your neck. A warmth envelopes you again. 

And he chuckles. “Look at me.”

You turn. 

His skin is pale under the moonlight. It catches every sharp line of his torso, casting soft shadows in the dips between lean muscle. There’s a faint sheet of sweat over his collarbones that highlights the curve. His chest and broad shoulders are noticeably still, and you realize he isn’t breathing. 

Nor is his heart beating. 

“What are you?” You whisper like the Lord can hear you. Like it isn’t already too late for your soul. 

He cups water in his calloused hands and pours it over your exposed skin. You shiver, and he smiles. “Is that how you speak to strangers?”

One hand settles on your lower back.

“You’re not a stranger.”

“You’re right,” he hums, amused. The hand runs down to the curve of your ass, taking as much of it as he can into his palm.  “I’m not. A stranger wouldn’t know to do this.”

His other hand suddenly appeared at the roots of your hair. He clenched his fingers and pulled, tilting your head up at him. Baring your neck to the moon. 

You steady yourself with your hands on his chest, holding back a moan from slipping past your lips. 

“Easy, now,” he grins. “I won’t do nothing ya don’t like. I know that Maywell boy couldn’t please you, but I ain’t like him.”

A tear runs down your cheek. Your eyes widen in horror, but not shock. 

“You killed him,” your voice shakes. From both fear and from the weight of the truth you already knew. “Didn’t you?”

His eyes gaze into yours so softly it’s almost impossible to believe he could do such a thing. 

“I had to.”

“Why?”

He breathily chuckles like your naïveté like it’s adorable. “For you.”

Your brows furrow. “What?” Your lip curls in confusion. You begin to back away for air, but he’s caged you in now.

“You let me in that night. Remember it, sweet girl?” His lips are dangerously close to your skin. “Let me inside of you. Felt every inch of your soul. That’s a bond you can’t break. Couldn’t just let ya go after that, darlin’.”

Words don’t seem to come to you. You can hardly process a thought. His eyes hold yours, unblinking. “What?” You tremble. 

“You still don’t get it,” he chuckles. “I saved you.”

There’s a pause before you speak, but you don’t hesitate. “You didn’t save me,” you spit. 

His amused smile falters. 

And his clutch on your hair tightens as he pulls you down past the surface of the water. Cold rushes in past your lips and nose. It gasps around your skin. You breath is caught in something between heat, want, and fear. 

Fear that he could take your life. 

Want for him to take more. 

Because there’s something about him—ancient and unspoken—that unfurls the thought of an element beyond life and death. 

And whatever it is, it brings you relief. Solace for the darkness you’ve been carrying. Cleansed. 

When he pulls you up, you break the surface with a shattering gasp. Your hair, now soaked, sticks to your body like a mold. His face is inches away from yours, and there’s a red gleam to his eyes. 

There’s no reason to fight. Not when you can feel your soul succumbing to him. 

But you do. Your hands on his chest push him from you, startling him to release the grip on your hair. With your heart thumping faster than it ever has, you try to swim through the flow of the river. 

Something at the bottom scrapes your ankle. Despite the sting, you rush to the shore, where he laid out your white nightgown upon a smooth, flat rock. 

You’re close. Close enough that if you extend your arm, you can reach it. 

Until a force much stronger than you grabs at your leg. A grip that’ll surely bruise the skin. And then, another settled on your hips. 

His chest is warm pressed against your back. He locks you in his hold again, lips just barely brushing your ear. The sound of his sneer is something both evil and intimate. 

It falls from his lips like poetry as he lets the smell of your blood absorb into his soul. His fingers latch themselves softly into your flesh. Behind you, something hard and heavy presses against your flesh.

He holds you steady, but your breath shakes. “I don’t fear you.”

The corner of his lips curl. You feel it on your shoulder. Then, a swift, clicking sound like blade against blade. His chest vibrates with his words. 

“You should.”

Two rows of unnaturally sharp teeth break past your skin. Slicing clean and deep. A jolt tears through your body, a confusing mixture of slight pain and intense pleasure. 

You instantly gasp, hands grabbing at his arms—but not for him to stop. 

You pull him closer. 

“Christ, that’s good,” he says almost drunkenly when he pulls from you for just a moment. He recognizes a moan come from you. “Of course, you like that. You know why?”

His tongue licks at the wound where blood flows. Digs his blunt nails into your side. 

“Because you’re mine. I made sure of it that first night.”

He groans low in his throat, starved yet restrained. His hold on your body grows tighter, hands splayed over your ribs. He drinks reverently. For the slightest taste of something sacred. 

He doesn’t make a mess. Only two small streaks of blood run down the space between your breasts. When he pulls away again, now for the last time, he sighs like a madman. 

Your strength is practically nothing against his. And you don’t even try to fight him as he walks you to the riverside where the large rock sits.

The water now rests just at your hips, leaving your skin to gleam under the moonlight

“I won’t drain you—not yet,” he says like a prayer into your neck, pressing kisses against your blood-stained skin. “Not until I fill up every inch of ya, just to leave you empty and beggin’ for more.”

A breath hitches in your throat. 

With secure arms, he turns you to him, his blood-covered lips trailing across your jaw. The rock slopes perfectly to align your back against it. It’s smooth and cold and wet as he slides you up.

Once you feel the lace of your nightgown underneath you, you clutch onto it like it’ll save you. 

He lurches towards you, grabbing you by the thighs and dragging you back to him. 

You’re pinned down by the hips, the nightgown being the only barrier between you and stone. But before he lowers himself, he grabs your bleeding ankle. 

A deep inhale through his nose, first. Then, he licks with his tongue flat against your skin. There’s hardly even a faint trace of blood left by the time he’s done. 

The night air is cool against you, but the warmth returns when you feel his breath against your slick. 

A single string of drool runs from the corner of his mouth.

His chin is still lathered in red—the same red that slowly runs down your body, curving around your breasts. 

“You been dreaming of me, sweetness?” He asks while leaving graceful kisses along your thighs. Trailing closer and closer. He doesn’t let you respond before he acts.

He licks. One bold stripe through your folds. 

His eyes burn into yours as he watches them lull into the back of your head.

You cry into the dead of night when he seals his lips to your bundle of nerves, his tongue still working to lap at you. Without thinking, your hand flies to his hair, digging into the roots. 

But you loosen your grip quickly. Afraid that you’d somehow hurt him. 

“Go ahead, dove. Show me how you want it.” Hesitantly, you use his dark curls to guide his head. He chuckles only once into you. “Fuckin’ filthy girl, usin’ my tongue to feel good.”

A moan croaks from you as you grip your nightgown beneath you.

“You don’t know how good you taste, honey.” The noises—slurps and licks and open-mouthed kisses—are obscene in the night air. 

You feel a fingertip, rough and wide, prod at your hole, circling the rim before plunging past your entrance. 

“Fuck, Remmick!”

He nods, pumping his finger quicker every second. “Could stay here all day tasting this sweet cunt.”

Another digit threatens to stretch your opening, and you roll your hips into his hand, pulling his head closer so the pressure on your clit blooms. Your thighs violently shake and squeeze around him when he adds a second finger. 

He growls, “Keep ‘em open, girl.” The roughness of his tone matches the pace of his fingers. “Eyes, too. Want you to watch me when I make you come all over my face.”

“Oh, God,” you whine when your eyes meet his. 

Because they now glow. Red. 

“He can’t hear you now, darlin’,” he smirks and pulls his mouth and fingers away from you. He takes them in his mouth and hums at the taste. “Not when you’re sinnin’ with me.”

Remmick rises. The blood on his face is nearly completely wiped away by something else that glistens in the moonlight–you.

His brows furrow at the sight of you, lips pursing like he’s looking at his own masterpiece. Red smears the inside of your thighs, the curve of your ass, even your mound. 

“Just absolutely filthy…” he whispers to himself. 

The skin of his knees digging into the rock under your nightgown. He lifts you like it’s nothing and drags your hips to where his cock hangs heavy and wide between his legs. 

Your jaw trembles as you stare at it. The tip is red and leaking as if he’s about to burst. He chuckles at your gaze. 

His hands, much larger than yours, just barely wrap around it. “Come here, pretty girl,” he says as he begins to stroke it with his palm. 

Something tight forms in your chest when you look down at the small space between you two—where he slides the tip through your glistening folds. He hisses and rubs it against your swollen clit. His head tilts back. 

“I’m gon’ ruin you,” he says towards the sky before looking back down at you. “And I’m gon’ be so gentle, you won’t even realize ‘til it’s done.”

The head of his cock pushes past your entrance once, and his hips retract. Only to push himself deeper. Then, again. And again. A tortuous cycle–taking every inch of his length until you feel the base of him flat against your clit. 

He groans when he’s fully inside. “Can feel you openin’ around me, angel. Slowly, but surely.”

You don’t make a sound. It’s almost impossible when you can barely take a breath. Your jaw hangs open, eyes fixated on where the two of you connect only to flutter closed when he begins to thrust. Tears collect and threaten to spill.

“Go ahead.” Remmick fills up every space inside of you in a way you’d never felt before. Not even that first night. “Cry, darlin’. Cry all you want, let the river wash it away.”

His hips buck for a moment like broken restraint. He bends down closer to your face to kiss a tear that slips down your cheek. His hands are firmly planted on your hips, and he uses the grip to lift you up just a little, opening your insides in a new angle.

You shiver when he reaches a new depth. It doesn’t seem possible for him to go any deeper. 

“There we go,” he smiles. He begins to move faster. Sharper. With more precision and vigor like he’s trying to find every spot inside of you. 

“I–” you try to say before he forces a moan from you. 

The pace quickens. With every thrust, Remmick draws himself from you nearly completely before shoving himself back inside. 

Your body is completely limp as he ruts into you, skin slapping to a delicious rhythm. 

“Miss me when I was away?” Remmick chuckles as he pants. Not once do his movements slow or falter. 

You nod rapidly, eyes squeezing shut because, even as he fucks you right there like he’d been doing it his whole life, the mere girth of him is still too much to bear. “You w-were gone for s-so long.”

“Oh, I know, darlin’,” Remmick half coos.

His hand grabs you by the chin, forcing you to look at him. Suddenly, his eyes turn dark. “Now, you see me, don’t you girl?”

You see him.

You feel him. It’s more than just a ghostly warmth leaving its trace in the night–he’s making his claim on you now. 

“Saw that poor boy by the bridge all bloodied up…” His hand drifts down to your neck, his fingers squeezing just enough to leave you searching for air. “Got you wonderin’ what kinda monster would do such a thing…”

With his hand around your throat, Remmick pulls you up closer to him.

“...What he could do to you.”

Your brows knit. That familiar burning starts in your thighs before pooling around your center.

The tip of him surely leaves bruises against your cervix. He licks at your neck again, right at the spot where he’d drank from you. Every thrust into you pulls another strangled sound from your lips. 

You look up at him, not in fear or anger–but desperation. You want more. The trees seem to breathe as they listen.

“P-please,” you manage to choke out. 

A chuckle rumbles deep from his chest. “Well, look at you,” he rolls his hips against yours. “Pleadin’ for me to give you more, yeah? You close, ain’t you?”

You nod.

“Bet you didn’t think anyone could make you feel so good bein’ split open,” he rests his forehead against yours. Your bodies sway along with the rapid pace he sets. “That boy sure as hell couldn’t.”

Your eyes go wide and, despite the waves of pleasure coursing through you and pulling you closer to the edge, you’re confused.

But Remmick smiles knowingly. 

“Oh, I seen it all, darlin’. He didn’t fuck you like this, did he. He didn’t have you writhin’ and beggin’ all over him.” Remmick’s eyes drift down at his cock spearing into you. “Hurts my heart to know you wasn’t enjoyin’ yourself. He didn’t deserve to see you like this–”

A beat.

“—In all your glory.”

His grip around your throat tightens. His eyes glow red. 

“Only I get you like this, ain’t that right, dove?” You nod and try to muster out a yes, but it comes out like an incoherent babble. His lips hover at your ear. “Say it.”

Your back arches from the rock. Something inside you twists and pulls and threatens to snap. 

“Y-you’re the o-only one…” Your senses are too heightened to control yourself anymore. And the way you look up at him with glassy, pleading eyes is enough. 

The pad of his thumb presses over your swollen clit for just a moment, and you burst. 

Your vision goes out as you see only black. You convulse against him like the only thing keeping you awake is the rhythm of your heart.

He stays buried inside of you, furiously rubbing over your bundle of nerves. “That’s it. That’s a good girl,” he praises you as if he wants more. 

And he takes it from you anyway. 

You hear him faintly whisper “Christ” to himself as he shoots his load into you.

His hips suddenly still while his release rushes through him. The grip on your throat loosens, and with the sudden surge of a full breath of air, you open your heavy eyes. 

Only to see how his abs glisten and shine with something other than water. Some droplets even soak your lower stomach.

You’d gushed all over him. 

“That’s right, angel,” he says with a breath. “That’s all you.”

Remmick runs two fingers through it, collecting as much as he can before guiding your mouth to them. You take them without hesitation. Wrap your lips around them, swirling your tongue to taste your own release. 

“Ain’t that sweet.” He chuckles.

His touch is different now. 

It’s still marked with something ancient and violent, but with you, he’s gentle. He carefully sits you up on the rock, but he doesn't pull himself from you. 

He stays buried almost as deep as possible, leaving a weight inside you. But is isn't a burden.

“There’s just one more thing to do, angel.”

You cock your head. “What do you mean?”

His fingers brush over the puncture wound on your neck. It’s beginning to bruise now. His gaze at it this time isn't with hunger or even lust.

There's a hint of awe. Some kind of longing like he'd truly been waiting for this moment.

“I fucked all the good outta you, and you still don’t understand," he hums a chuckle. His lips are only inches away from your throat, his hands splayed at your back to keep you up against him. 

You involuntarily tilt your head to the other side, baring your neck at him. He brushes your hair off your shoulder. His breath is warm on your skin with every word he speaks.

“You’re mine, darlin’. Always have been.” He wipes away any remaining tears. “Always will be.”

Your gasp echoes through the forest. It shakes the flowing river. His teeth pierce you again, this time with an excruciating, burning heat that leaves fire in your veins. It spreads through you like a promise.

Sealing your fate.

Your hands grasp at his shoulders, clawing at the skin. Not for him to stop, but merely to ground yourself as he drains you of nearly all sustenance. 

He growls and groans into you. The weight of his body pins you down to the rock. You’ve nowhere to run. You don’t try to, anyway. 

Your skin is ablaze. Every cell in your body seems to ignite. For a moment, in your agony-ridden state, you question if it will ever end. But eventually, the color fades from you.

And soon, so does the pain. 

“R-Remm…” you begin to say. It fades into a breath.

A last one.

You wake to the gentle stream of the river. The stars seem to be watching you amidst the dark void of the sky. Waiting. Anticipating to see a girl as sweet as you born into something new.

The breeze doesn’t blow against bare skin anymore. The sheer lace of your nightgown tickles your neck again—but when you look down, you notice that the hem is stained a marvelous red. Your stomach growls at the sight of it, and you realize then, you’ve never felt so hungry.

Nearly starved. 

It isn’t solid rock beneath you anymore, either. Instead, you lay upon the soft, lush grass, the sandy riverside only inches from your feet. 

He stands at the shore. Dressed neatly as if nothing even happened. 

You walk to him with gentle steps. The sand collects in between your toes. 

Once beside him, the water laps at your feet. He doesn’t immediately look at you. His gaze is fixated on the water, though you wonder if his mind is somewhere else.

The river runs gently. The moon whispers to the stars. Your own audience in the sky. You’ve become something of the night yourself. You can feel it in your bones. 

He’s unusually quiet. 

“I see you, now.” You say plainly.

He’s silent for a moment. Letting the words hang in the night air.

“You could see me since you watched that Maywell boy die,” he finally says. It’s soft, but he somewhat scoffs, low and heavy like the words are meant to be against himself.

“No…” You shake your head, still trying to grasp what you were trying to say.

It isn’t just Remmick standing beside you. And now, he isn’t the demon that’d haunted you and lured you in. It’s far more than that.

It’s the picture of war flashing before your eyes. Canons and blood and fire. Men begging for their lives with screams. It’s the image of disease, something twisted and cruel running rampant through its victims, their coughs echoing through your mind. Ballrooms, pubs, cities, and farmland. In all of them, one variable stays the same–him. With more lives lived than you can count. 

It’s the sight of him–the same as he is now–running through a field of tall grass. His eyes are wide in horror. The only thing running through his veins is fear. The sound of his screams bleeding into the night until he becomes the very monster he feared.

Drifting through the centuries as a ghost. Alone and forced to the darkness, never to be seen by the sun. Never to be seen by anyone, for that matter.

Until you.

You turn to him then. You picture that face–chiseled and aged not by nature, but by heartache–in the memories that now take up your mind. 

“I see you now.”

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[gunwoo-bh]

The Night Shift Epilogue [Min Yoongi x f!Reader]

MIN YOONGI x F!READER UniStudent!Yoongi AU SUMMARY: You chose a boring, quiet job at your campus’s 24-hour library for a reason: it kept you away from drama, gossip, and parties. It was positively uneventful. Until it wasn’t. 18+ MDNI cw: so much fluff, so much love, happiness all around, as usual lots of swearing, reader and yoongi are so soft for each other, warning for kissing because they love kissing. wc: 10.2k A/N: HERE WE ARE! The final chapter. I just want to say a HUGE thank you to all the love this series has gotten and while the main story may be over, this doesn't mean I'm done with these characters. I still plan on writing drabbles or Yoongi POVs. Might even open up my asks to some requests if anybody has any. I am excited for what comes next. After some rest, I do have an idea sitting in my brain that I am excited to explore. I hope you enjoy this final chapter. ;D

THE NIGHT SHIFT

EPILOGUE

FOUR YEARS LATER

“Eunhye is gonna give him so much crap…”

You snort, “I would give him crap too if it was any other day!” 

“Why is today stopping you?” Yoongi jokes.

You click your tongue, “It’s his wedding day!”

The rhythmic ticking of the indicator keeps you aware of your surroundings, turning the wheel as you make the turn. Yoongi’s laugh crackles on the speaker.

“Won’t stop the bride…”

You laugh out loud, “That’s about to be his wife so, I don’t think much can stop her anymore.” 

“You on your way now?” 

“Yeah, I just left the hotel and I’m hating on this traffic right now.”

“This is why you and I are the early ones…usually.” 

You sigh, shoulder checking quickly, “Yeah, well, someone had to go and forget the rings at the hotel so here I am, less than an hour before the wedding and I just picked up the rings…”

“I can’t believe Seokjin forgot them.” You can’t help but laugh too when you hear his laugh. 

“He had one job!”

You sigh, “Okay, baby, I am gonna hang up now so I can focus on the drive back. Tell them I am trying my hardest to make it back before but I can’t promise anything yet…”

“I will. Please drive safe?”

“I promise.” You can just imagine him pacing in whatever room he’s in. 

“I love you, see you soon!”

“I love you too!” He waits until you hang up first and you immediately dial Hwayoung’s number next, listening to it ringing until her happy and mildly anxious voice answers.

“Hiiiiiiii…please tell me you have them.”

“Rings are obtained.” 

“Oh thank fuck,” you burst out laughing, “Eunhye was willing to commit murder for this.” 

“Oh? Was she willing to risk Namjoon seeing her in the dress to kill Seokjin?” You tap your wheel as you wait for the light to turn green. 

“Uh, yeah. I don’t blame her.” Hwayoung laughs. “Your man is anxious for your return by the way, it’s all very cute.”

Blushing, you clear your throat, “Oh, is he now?”

“He hasn’t seen you in your dress yet, right? You’ve been with the wedding party all morning?”

“Uh-huh…” you sigh in relief when cars begin to move, “haven’t seen him since this morning. He’s gonna be fine…he gets to see me for the rest of the day.”

“Babe, I love you so much, but he is absolutely itching to see you. I am not even kidding you.” 

Hearing her speak about him this way, knowing you can’t see him and that all you want to do is be with him right now makes you despise having been the last one to leave the hotel the first time around before you had to go back. 

“Well, I just got off the phone with him. I am trying to make it back as quick as I can…”

“We know, and Eunhye loves you very much for that.” You ‘awe’ at her words. “Okay, I’m gonna let you drive in peace. See you soon, be safe now!”

You don’t even get a word in before she hangs up, shaking your head as you see the roads opening up. Finally. The love you hold for the people in your life is almost overwhelming because of how unconditional it all feels. 

This being the second wedding this year, Seokjin and Sohee having tied the knot a few months prior, puts you face to face with the reality of how much life has changed for everyone these last few years. You have to face just how much you have evolved as a person. Grown up. 

Therapy all those years ago had changed so many things for you, and to this day you continued attending sessions bi-weekly at least. You learned so much from facing your inner demons and fears, no longer avoiding them like you did before. It made you a better communicator and you have become a rock in your friend group in a way you never could have imagined, while also continuing to put your mental health first. It was a tricky balance but you are proud to say you mastered it.

But you weren’t alone in all of this.

You have a group of friends, no, not that. You have a family that is far bigger than the one you were born with. Now at twenty-six years old, you have everything you could have ever hoped to have. 

As you wait, yet again, at a red light you take a quick glance at the logo in the middle of the steering wheel. 

Your very own car. 

When Yoongi had offered to teach you how to drive three years ago, he was met with a resounding no and excuses, left and right. But he’s good at coaxing you out of that anxious cocoon you often bury yourself in when faced with new things. And with a little bit of effort and patience, from both of you, he taught you how to drive enough to have the confidence to follow every methodical step needed to obtain your license. 

It took you a year to achieve that goal, but at the end of that year you weren’t only met with your license but with a gift you still chastised your boyfriend, and parents, about–the car you’re sitting in right now. You love the little SUV he bought two years ago, a year after he had just purchased his own vehicle. 

It’s incredible the things you two have accomplished as a couple. How you’ve helped each other. 

Pulling up to the venue some time later, you find a spot to park the car and you make sure to not forget the rings in it as you run as fast as your heels will take you. 

Navigating the small crowd of guests present to watch Namjoon and Eunhye say ‘I do’, you spot Hwayoung and Eunji waiting for you as they take you to where Seokjin is to deliver the man the rings he forgot. 

You enter the wedding party room where Seokjin runs to you, thanking you profusely as he hugs you as his wife looks on in amusement. 

“Yeah, we’re all just lucky I was the last one to leave the hotel and that I was still close…” You gently place the rings in his hands. “Don’t…lose them.” 

He laughs and slips them into his pocket safely, “I won’t.”

You grin as you hug him again, shaking your head, “I’m shocked I made it back this quickly…”

“I’m really glad you did. I honestly thought I was a dead man.” He confesses, making you snort as you push him playfully. 

Turning around to scan the room you stop in your tracks when you see Yoongi leaning against the wall with a glass of champagne in hand. Excusing yourself, your feet carry you to where he stands as you twirl to show off your dress. You curtsy playfully before stopping in front of him. 

“That’s my girl…” he pushes off the wall, wrapping his arm around you as he pulls your body flush against his. “You look gorgeous, by the way…That dress is…” he gives you a low whistle and you smack his shoulder. 

“Stooooop.” You shake your head, skin flushed just from his words. 

At almost twenty-eight, Yoongi was the most handsome he had ever looked but again, you don’t think you’ll ever get tired of seeing him change and grow. His hair was slightly longer now, shaggy and long enough for a half-bun on some days and to tuck behind his ear most times but your favourite? Long enough to tug when you were intimate. 

“Can I kiss you or am I ruining some makeup?” He waits impatiently for your answer, constantly glancing at your lips. 

“Just kiss me.”

He doesn’t wait another moment, pulling you up and your heels make that action far easier than ever as he captures your mouth in a kiss. You bury your hand in his hair and pull him closer, his hands slipping up the length of your back and pressing between your shoulder blades. 

You pull back for air, nose to nose, “Hey…”

“Hi.” 

Pulling away to stand next to him, Yoongi hands you a flute of champagne as you sip it gently. You still never drank much but some champagne or wine on certain occasions warranted a little bit of drinking from you. 

“How long did they push it back?” 

“Not long. We’re just waiting on the okay before we go sit down…” he wraps his arm around your waist, tucking you in his side. 

You check him out, eyes languidly travelling from his feet all the way to his eyes as you grin, “You look handsome in your suit…” Your hand settles on his chest. “Scratch that, you look hot.”

His cheeks turn red within seconds as he scoffs, “You keep doing that and making me fucking blush, what the fuck–”

“Gather ‘round! We’re asking everyone to go find your seats, we’re about to start!”

It’s Namjoon’s dad.

You’re grinning proudly at your boyfriend who chugs his champagne and yours down, with you protesting that decision but he simply makes a face at you, taking your hand in his as you walk out. 

And just like everyone you find your seats, your hand reaching for his left one as you place it in your lap. You ply his fingers apart as you wait for the ceremony to begin, looking down to see how he pushes his hand down to grab your thigh. You gasp softly and grin, giving him the don’t start look as you return your focus on his hand. 

Resting your left hand on top of his, you smile as you stare at your rings. 

You aren’t engaged or married, no, but about two years ago, on that second anniversary, he bought the both of you ‘couple rings’ to wear. As a promise of a future you both wanted. Some would even call it a promise ring but he had chosen to wear one too. 

“I want people to know I’m taken without even asking.” 

The words, then, made you blush and fall in love with him even more when you didn’t think that was possible. 

You look back at him and Yoongi just smiles at you, like he knows something you don’t. 

At almost 1AM you are driving back to Seoul to go back home from the wedding. 

Yoongi is driving your car back as you drift in and out of sleep, fighting to stay awake and to keep him awake enough for what little is left of your drive. He holds your hand the entire drive back, humming to whatever music is on the radio. 

You don’t realize how much longer there is in the drive because one moment you close your eyes and the next Yoongi is carrying you in his arms, and you’re at your place. You groan when he gently puts you on the bed, leaning on your elbows as you rub your face.

“Are we back?”

“Mhm, just got back.” He’s taking his coat off, placing it over one of the many boxes in your room. “You think you can be awake enough to get ready for bed?” 

You whine, falling back on the bed as he chuckles, “Sure. I guess I could.” You groan as you sit and stand up, turning your back to him, “Unzip me, please?”

He approaches you, gathering your hair as he moves it over your shoulder. He stops moving and you glance over your shoulder when you feel his lips ghost the skin at your neck. You sigh loudly, “I’m barely touching you…” he whispers. 

“Doesn’t matter…” you exhale deeply, “we’re four years in and I will forever feel this way whenever you do that…I promise you…”

His chuckle is low and hoarse, “Way to boost my ego…”

“Mhm, we really don’t need that now…” He grins against your skin, you can feel it. 

He pulls the zipper down, helping you until it pools at your feet. You step out of it as you remove all your unnecessary jewelry, but not the ring, obviously, and find some clothes to wear to bed. 

Everything being gathered in boxes has proved inconvenient these last few days, because as careful as you have been to label everything, somehow you can’t find anything. 

“How much packing do you have left to do?” 

You grab one of his stolen hoodies, slipping it on as you point at your dresser, “That and the storage under the bed. I can definitely do that tomorrow, easy…”

“When are the people coming to pick up the furniture you sold?” He removes his tie, changing into sleep clothes.

“In the afternoon. Around 2?”

He rubs his sore shoulder, “I’ll make sure to be there in case they need help…” 

“Sounds good…” you slip some shorts on, “when are the movers coming the day after tomorrow? Did they confirm the time with you?”

“At 1PM. They say everything will be moved in by dinner time.” He walks over to you with a soft smile, gathering your face in his hands. “Keys can get picked up that same morning after nine.” 

Yeah, you still had a hard time believing this was happening.

Yoongi and you were moving in together in a brand new place. 

“You wanna go together to pick them up?” He asks.

“Of course.”

It had been an easy decision to move in together. It had been discussed many times over your years together considering you never spent nights apart after your first year together. He essentially lived with you and the girls these last two years especially when Namjoon had moved in with Eunhye, and Hoseok was also almost always over at yours. 

Telling the girls had been the emotional part because even though all of you knew these changes were happening, it still meant that you had reached the end of an era together but entering a new one. 

Hoseok and Hwayoung had found a small studio apartment and were moving out at the end of the month. Jungkook and Eunji were moving in together with the singles of the group, Taehyung and Jimin, in your soon-to-be old apartment. 

“Namjoon was apologizing right until the end that they planned their wedding this close to our move-in date…” Yoongi looks at your reflection as you wash your face. 

“Oh? It was easier for them to plan their honeymoon, no? He does realize we won’t be holding it against them, right?” You rub moisturizer over your face, staring at him. 

He shrugs, “He wanted to be there to help us. I told him we’re just glad we get to see them tomorrow night before they’re off…”

You grab your body lotion but he takes it from your hands, nodding to the counter as he wraps his arm around you to lift you on it, your legs dangling in front of him. He applies some to his hand and grabs one leg as he lathers it up and down the length of it, focused on making sure it’s evenly spread. 

“That’s very cute of them, they literally just got married and they’re sorry they can’t help us? Pffft.” He grins, briefly glancing up to you before applying the lotion to your other leg. 

“You know, you’re like a little sister to him now. Whenever he has to tell you no, it breaks his heart a little…” You smile softly, looking at his hands. “He’ll make it up to us even though he really doesn’t need to…”

“Thank you…” He looks up to you then quickly to your legs.

“Anytime.” 

He washes the excess lotion off his hands, leaning over to kiss your temple, “Ready for bed?” 

Nodding firmly, you extend your arms out as he places each of your legs around him and you tightly wrap your arms around his shoulders. You giggle when he pats your bum, burying your head in his neck as he brings you to bed for your second to last night here. 

You throw the tape on your bed when you’re done closing up one of your last boxes. 

You step back, looking at what’s left of your bedroom. Walls are bare and so is every piece of furniture except your nightstand. You grab one more box and sit down on your bed as you remove the drawer, wincing at the amount of crap you’ve thrown in there.

You dig through the accumulation of random objects until your eyes lock onto it. The box. You break out into a smile the moment you see it, opening it in your lap as you’re met with a stack of blue post-its. 

Including the very last one you’ve received. 

FOUR YEARS AGO

When you wake up the morning after, you feel exhausted but your shoulders feel light as you rub the fatigue out of your eyes. You stare at the ceiling, reaching out to the empty spot next to you as you sigh loudly.

Where is he?

You sit up, glancing down to your naked body as you begrudgingly get out of bed. Finding clothes proves easy when you simply grab his t-shirt, far too big on your small figure as it covers past your ass. You slip your underwear back on, shuffling out of the bedroom to the kitchen where you’re met with your boyfriend. 

 “Are you making us breakfast?”

He’s startled, turning around suddenly, “Jeez, when did you wake up?” 

You stretch as you wander over, “Just now…”

He finally takes in your appearance, inhaling deeply and exhaling through his teeth as he smirks, “Wow.” 

You glance to yourself then back at him, “Oh fuck off.” 

He tries to hide the smirk behind his hand, “Why? You look…really fucking good…”

Your body grows warm, shaking your head as you avoid his eyes, “I feel really fucking good…”

Yoongi grows smug, turning back around to lower the temperature on the stove, “With that out of the way…” he looks back at you, softly checking on you, “how are you feeling after our talk last night?”

You pad over closer to him, leaning against the small island separating you two, “I’m okay. A lot to figure out but one thing at a time, right?”

“Mhm.” He nods. “Is counselling helping?”

You nod, “I was…resistant at first, I was probably just stubborn.” He chuckles, grabbing a tangerine from the fruit bowl as he begins peeling it. “But I hate to admit that my appointment yesterday left me feeling pretty…light? Does that make sense?”

He hums, “Yeah, it makes sense. Therapy does that. You love and hate the feeling, right?” 

You groan, “I really do! Because why is talking about my deepest, darkest worries and feelings so bad…yet so good?!”

He laughs, your favourite kind of smile adorning his face, “That’s the magic of therapy.”

Pouting, you take a piece of tangerine he hands you, “I guess…”

He turns back to stir the pot, grabbing bowls and cutlery as he plates the side dishes and food, with your help you place the entire spread on the small living room table as you settle in for breakfast. 

“Thank you for cooking.” You glance lovingly at him.

You both dig into your food and you moan at how tasty it is, not realizing how hungry you have been since the night before. He chuckles, his mouth full, every time you moan. 

“You gotta stop making that sound…” 

Your eyebrows quirk, feeling playful, “Why? Reminds you of last night…”

He coughs, choking on his food as you giggle, “...stop.” 

You laugh as you take a sip of your water, “I’m glad I was a bit dumb last night…” you confess. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I was gonna go grab food and come find you, but…I was tired so I decided I’d go nap at yours when I showed up. I thought I’d have plenty of time to get up and come back to meet you…” you let the sentence die, blinking softly, “Wait.”

“Mhm?” 

You put your chopsticks down, “Why were you home when I got here? You should have been at the library…”

He doesn’t look as caught off guard as you expect him to be. He simply stands, urging you to follow him as you follow after him. He stops halfway to his room and grabs your hand, tugging you with him as he lets go.

Standing there, you watch as he rifles through something in his drawer. He stops moving altogether for a moment before turning to face you. 

“So, I was looking for a hoodie the other day,” he pauses, playfully glaring at you, “but I should have known you’d stolen it,” you grin, “so, when I was looking for it I found a hoodie I hadn’t worn in a while…so I decided to take it and in the pocket I found…” he opens his hand, palm up, to reveal a crumpled piece of familiar blue paper. 

“A blue post-it?” He hums. “Babe, I’m sorry to tell you but it isn’t new, that’s like our thing…”

He’s grinning, a twinkle in his eyes, “It is…” you frown as he clicks his tongue, “except, it is pretty unique compared to the other ones…”

You’re curious now, “Why?”

“Because it’s the only one you haven’t read…” 

You gasp, blinking rapidly, “Baby?”

“Mhm?”

“Is this what I think it is?” He grins as he nods. “Can I?” 

“I wouldn’t be giving it to you if I wasn’t sure,” you reach for it but he pulls his hand back, “because I was planning on showing that to you last night but I wanted to make sure you wouldn’t find it…”

Your eyes are glued to the paper as you nod, “Mhm, that’s very sweet. Can I please…?” 

Snorting, he sighs, “I’m trying to be sweet…”

“You always are, you just underestimate how much you are. Gimme. Please.” You hold out your hands.

He squints as he stares at you, mouth open as he utters the smallest scoff, “Impatient and sweet, all at once. You are magical I swear…” 

You smile, “I love you very much, can I?” You point at it. 

“I just need you to know before you read this that I wrote this when I felt really confident about it…but then I saw you, and thought…no way you’d say yes so…” he sighs as he hands you the crumpled paper. 

You delicately uncrumple the paper, glancing at him one more time as you finally get to read the words he’d written on what could have been the second post-it, the one that never was until now. 

It’s not a tangerine, but…maybe instead we can grab some food and talk more? 

Maybe, make it a date?

A smile immediately spreads to your lips when you realize how quickly he wanted to ask you out, sniffling as you bite your lower lip. You stare at it for a while, reading the words over and over. 

You laugh, emotions bubbling up in your chest, “You really did like me for that long?” 

He nods, “Yeah, I liked you before we even met.”

“When…how?”

He chuckles, walking closer to you, “We actually briefly met once before that day in the library.” You look astonished to hear that. “I don’t think you’d remember, I had a different hair colour then but you helped this girl in my class when she dropped all of her stuff, and I had seen you before, around…” he blushes, “I thought you were pretty. Always did. But you reassured her when she felt silly for being clumsy and you were…you are still radiant…and I was looking for a reason to be helped…”

You gasp as you realize, “The library, that night…”

He nods, “Yeah…”

“You planned it all? Ahead of time?” 

“Yep.” He’s shy as he stands there. “I’d already read the book for class. I actually had a copy in my bag at the time…” 

You’re stunned into silence as you stare at it for far longer than you should.

“You were gonna ask me on a date?”

He’s nodding, “Yeah, I was…”

“Why didn’t…you?” 

He hisses, like the answer that pops into his mind hurts, “Because I saw you and I convinced myself there was no way you’d say yes…”

You snort, “But I did say yes.”

“Well, evidently.” You thwack his chest, Yoongi grabs your hand when it comes into contact with him. 

You stare up at him, “I would have said yes, y’know?”

He scoffs, “I know that now! But then? I never could have imagined you wanting to go on a date with me.” 

You grab his face in your hands, “Well, I’d go on dates with you again and again. Let’s make sure our life together is a lifelong date…”

He frowns, scrunching his nose as he laughs, “Lifelong date…Sounds like a plan.”

PRESENT

The memory is vivid in your brain, one you cherished and would cherish for the rest of your life. Just like these post-its. 

You secure the lid back on as you carefully pack it into the box, continuing and finally finishing your packing. And as you stand in the middle of it, it actually feels empty for the first time. Nostalgia hits you in different ways as you take in the emptiness. Many of your firsts and best memories have happened in this room, and this apartment too. 

You grab your phone, taking a photo of your empty room before sending it to Yoongi.

You [12:02 PM]: [image]

You [12:02 PM]: Finally done! 😮‍💨I’ll just wait for you to get here to make food. 

You know he’s going to answer quickly and just like expected, he begins answering. 

Yoongi 🧡🍊[12:04 PM]: I’ll be right over, I’m buying fried chicken for lunch. I’ll get you the usual. ♥️

You grin as you stare at his text because really.

How did you get so lucky?

Laughter rings loudly in the restaurant.

The energy is electric. Everyone is laughing with full bellies and plenty of alcohol flowing. Your heart is full, happy and relaxed as you scan the full table. 

It is filled with almost every person you love most on this planet. 

You sit snug into Yoongi’s side, still taking bites of the pork belly left on the grill in front of you. With his arm around your shoulders you safely secure yourself the best spot in your opinion. It is the weirdest feeling on the planet to think of how quickly things have changed between your group. 

Hard to believe there wasn’t even a group like this years ago.

Namjoon stands as he clinks his glass, making everyone groan at how sentimental he’s been recently but he knows how appreciated he is for it. 

He clears his throat, “I want to start off by thanking everyone for pulling everything together so fast for our…really sudden wedding. Without you we have no idea how we could have pulled this off,” he feels his wife grab his hand as he locks eyes with her sweetly, “and for that we’re so grateful to have friends such as you.” He raises his glass and everyone cheers, taking a sip. 

“And we’re also celebrating a lot of changes, are we not?” Everyone glances around the table. “Did we all have to grow up so fast? Like, damn.” 

You shake your head, quietly chuckling as you look at your hands in your lap. You feel Yoongi press a soft kiss to your temple as you look at him, meeting in a quick kiss. 

“But I also want to congratulate my best friend,” both Yoongi and you snap your heads towards Namjoon, “because I can finally say it. I’m proud of you. You’re starting your second year for your doctorate, you’re moving tomorrow–”

Eunhye speaks up quickly, “We’re still so sorry we can’t be there by the way!”

Everyone laughs, with Yoongi trying to hide the blush that’s creeping up his cheeks, as Namjoon continues, “And my favourite part of this entire thing for you?” Yoongi frowns, tongue in cheek as he squints at his friend’s growing grin. “You finally got the girl.”

Everyone cheers loudly, the both of you grow flush as you smile but you’re startled when Namjoon calls your name, “You have no idea how happy I am for you two. And I’m really happy because even though Yoongi and I aren’t actually brothers? I’m glad I get to have you as my sister-in-law some day…”

You start feeling tears brimming, touched by how loved you feel. You feel Yoongi squeezing you tighter against him as you nod to Namjoon. 

“I’m also gonna stop being emotional now so we can get back to drinking and eating, but I also want to recognize that so many of us are going through changes. Hoseok, Hwayoung?” They smile. “Congrats on moving in together soon too. Jungkook, Eunji? Make sure Jimin and Taehyung don’t turn the place into a party house…” he teases, earning himself some protests.

He turns to you guys one more time, “Have a good move in day tomorrow! We can’t wait until we get back to be able to have dinner together at your new place! Treat us well, huh?”

You all laugh and with one final cheer you all return to your eating and drinking. You feel Yoongi’s hand squeezing your thigh as you smile at him so bright. 

“Mhm?”

“I love you.” 

Your breath catches in your throat as it does every time he says those words, “Really?”

“Of course.” He smiles faintly. 

“I love you, too…” you whisper as he kisses your forehead.

You grab some meat and bring it to his lips as he takes it from you, gratefully nodding in thanks to you as he chews while looking at your friends. You note how he gives Namjoon a quick nod, his best friend returning with a sly smile tugging at his lips. 

“Does it feel weird to be leaving your apartment by the way?” Sohee asks you. “You’ve been there for a while, no?” 

“Yeah, it kinda does. I thought I’d be more nervous about moving in with someone new and without Hwayoung and Eunji, but we’ve basically been sleeping over every night for the last three years, just at his or mine…Now, it’ll just be ours.” You turn your head to proudly look at him as he nods. 

Yoongi chuckles, “I won’t lie, I’m worried some days I’ll be too tired that I might go back to my old place out of habit…” 

Everyone laughs, “If you ever get a text from me late at night it’s probably because I’ll be looking for him…” Yoongi knows you’re teasing but he squeezes your thigh tighter and higher as you gasp softly, hoping no one notices. 

“Don’t worry,” he kisses your cheek, lips close to your ears, “with you in our home, I don’t think I could ever forget where home is…”

You make a face, “When did you become so cheesy?” 

“Hey!” He looks offended as you break out into a smile, Yoongi fighting not to but his lips curl in the slightest. “You’re not nice to me.” 

“What do you mean? I’m plenty nice…” you lean into him, resting your chin on his shoulder. 

He grabs your face and everyone awes at you two as you share a kiss.

A few hours pass, getting late now when you all begin leaving. You’re standing outside when Yoongi says goodbye to Taehyung and Jimin, and you are waiting by the car.

“Hey.” Namjoon’s deep voice startles you, bringing you into a warm hug as he pulls back. “I’m really glad I got to see you before we’re off.”

“I am happy that we made all of this work. You and Eunhye have to come over when you’re back from your honeymoon and once we’re settled in.” You insist with a small tug at his sleeve. 

“We will.” Namjoon clears his throat. “When are you starting the new job?”

“Two days after the move.” You sigh, nerves visible on your features. “I’m so fucking stressed out.”

“Why?” 

“Because I started last year at a school and now I’m already moving on to a hagwon*, I feel like I’m missing out on the experience…” You look pained as he squeezes your shoulder. 

“Hey, stop that. You were recruited for a reason, no?” 

You pout, “Yes, but honestly there’s just something really intense about being recruited. Like…the expectations are higher.” 

He smiles, “And you’ll ace them. Give yourself time to adjust and you’ll rock it. You did great in your first year of teaching, you’ll do great there too.” 

You suddenly feel arms wrap around your waist, gasping at the intimacy of the touch as Yoongi hugs you. You’re so startled that you forget how to speak, mouthing the air as Namjoon laughs.

“Wow, bro. You guys have been together for how long and you still make her lose her ability to talk?” 

You yelp, reaching and smacking Namjoon as he laughs, “Don’t make fun of me!” 

“It’s sweet that you guys are just still so in love.” Namjoon looks proudly at you two. 

You’re pouting as you lean against Yoongi’s body, slouching into it, “I don’t know now, I think it might be getting old now that we’re about to move in…” 

They know you’re joking, because you wouldn’t be pouting like this if you were serious. 

“Liar…” Yoongi whispers in your ear. 

You shiver and elbow him, “Stop.” 

“But as I was saying,” Namjoon starts, he looks at you, “you are gonna do amazing at the academy. I’m super excited for what comes next for you, and for you guys…”

He walks into the both of you, squishing you between him and Yoongi as you whine, smacking Namjoon’s back until he pulls back. You say goodbye to his wife and wish them a good trip as you watch them walking away. 

You feel Yoongi nuzzling your neck, “You okay driving us home?” 

“Mhm,” you nod, “I had nothing to drink tonight.”

He hands you the keys to his car as you smile, “Let’s go home…”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes! Of course. God, you guys are gonna be so busy. The least I can do is buy coffee and breakfast.” Sohee insists as she pays. 

You’re headed to Yoongi’s apartment since the movers are going there first and to yours later. It’s just a little past 10 a.m. now, and you’ve just returned from picking up the keys to your new place with Yoongi. Sohee had offered to buy everyone food and coffee, and you went with her for company but to thank her for her generosity. 

“You’re so sweet. We really appreciate it. And I mean it, without you we wouldn’t be here.” 

She smiles, nudging you playfully, “It’s a big day for you. I remember when Seokjin and I moved in together we were stressed out of our minds. You’re so calm, you’ll be fine…”

“Oh, I’m freaking out inside and I will probably stress way later…” You laugh, rubbing the back of your neck nervously. 

“You scared of living with Yoongi or is it just how big a change it is?” She asks, grabbing the coffees as you take the bag of food from her. 

Shrugging, you open the door for her, “I honestly never saw this for myself…not this early in my life…” 

“Moving in with a boyfriend?”

You hum, “Or even having a boyfriend for long enough to be able to move in with…” 

It’s mildly embarrassing to admit that you never thought you’d be likeable enough to meet someone who could fall for you like Yoongi has. 

“But here you are.” She smiles as she nudges you playfully. “I’d say, you two are the next ones engaged and married…”

You stutter as you smile, “Not yet but some day, I’m sure…” 

She bites her lip, “Have you thought about it? Marriage…”

You can’t hide the smile that spreads, “We’ve talked about it…”

She giggles, “And?” 

“It’s happening someday for sure, but life right now? Too busy.” You smile, glancing at her as she hugs you. “We’re not engaged yet!” 

“I know! I know! But with our wedding, Namjoon and Eunhye’s wedding having just passed…I’m in a very wedding mood and knowing my friends are most likely next makes me really happy…” You love her excitement for life but also her support. 

“I love your love of weddings…” She giggles as you walk back to Yoongi’s place. 

Entering the apartment, it feels odd to see it as empty as your room feels. In the living room Yoongi, Seokjin, Jimin and Taehyung are all stacking boxes and furniture closer to the entrance to make it easier when the movers come. 

You hand out breakfast to your friends, walking to Yoongi last as you rub his back and he turns to you with a soft smile, “Here.”

He takes it from you, “Thanks, baby…” he stands at full height, grabbing the back of your head and pressing a kiss to your forehead. You lean into him and he wraps his arm around you, tugging you closer. “You okay?” 

Nodding up at him, “I am. Just happy.” 

You share a look, the same thought passing through your heads at that moment. We're really doing this. You feel how his hand squeezes your waist rhythmically, swallowing thickly as he looks at you. You’re both nervous about what comes next but the fact that this signals the beginning of the rest of your lives appeases that nervous energy you’re feeling. 

You’re beaming when you stare up at him, “Just really happy…” 

When the movers are done at Yoongi’s, they head to your apartment to grab your things before finally taking everything to the new place. You stay behind to clean what remains of your room and to help Jimin move in while Yoongi, Seokjin, Hoseok and Hwayoung all go to your new home to help unpack. 

Jimin had protested, insisting you go enjoy the process but you didn’t want to leave him alone to move everything in. 

“I’ll help him. It’ll be over quick and I can come back after. I don’t want him to do it alone…”

Pouting had convinced your boyfriend to let you go, feeling his hesitance in not having you there to move things in. 

“You’re too nice. Don’t stay too long, you need to enjoy this process, okay?”

You finish mopping the room and cleaning the floorboards as you wipe your forehead, looking proudly at your work as you call out for Jimin who slides into his room with a gleeful smile. 

“Welcome to your room! It is clean and ready! I flipped the mattress over, it was steamed wash yesterday so maybe make sure it’s not damp…the furniture you wanted is all here. It’s clean and empty. You just gotta move your things in now.” 

He walks into you for a hug as you wrap your arms tightly around his tiny waist, “Thank you! You should be in your new home with that boyfriend of yours but instead you're here helping me, and Taehyung.” 

Shaking your head, “Hey, you guys have been so helpful with helping us plan this move. I’m glad I get to be of help and there’s nothing better than helping your friends…” 

He smiles as he pulls back, “But now, listen to me…” he cups your cheeks as he pulls back, “go home and get settled in. And enjoy that boyfriend of yours. I’m really happy for you guys…” 

Your cheeks feel warm, nodding as you hold onto his arms, “When we’re settled in and I’ve gotten settled at work? You all come over for dinner. It’ll be our treat for you guys…”

“Yes, ma’am!” He gives you the most playful of salutes and a wink. “Now, go. Today?” he stops as he stares at you. “Is the start of the rest of your life.” 

You mouth the air, “Wow.”

Jimin frowns as you huff a laugh, “What?”

Shaking your head, you bite your lower lip, “I was just thinking that earlier today. The start of the rest of my life…”

He playfully nudges you, “Go. Go start it.” 

You laugh as you wrap your arms around him one final time, squeezing him until he starts tickling your sides. Both pulling apart, you grab your purse as you head out into the living room where Taehyung, Jungkook and Eunji are assembling a new bed frame for Taehyung. After many hugs and good wishes you finally start walking to your new home. 

It’s a solid thirty minutes away but you need this walk to just come down from the intensity of the day. And for that, nothing better than to speak to your mom. Dialing the number and putting the phone to your ear. You smile so broadly when you hear your mom’s voice. 

“Mom!”

“Oh, my baby girl. You’ve been so busy today! Are you home now? Have you eaten?”

You can’t help the childish giggle that leaves your mouth, “Mooom!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. You must be so tired…”

“I’ll be tired when I get home. There are still some things to do…” You rub the soreness in your neck. 

“How did it go?” 

You smile, “Really well. The movers were all on time for everyone. I don’t know how we managed to coordinate everything so perfectly but…” you sigh. 

“That sounds intense. Is everyone settled in now?” You hum.

“Yes! I’m just leaving my old place. I felt bad just leaving and not helping Jimin, Taehyung and Jungkook get their things in…so I stayed to help. I’m headed home now…I’m sure Yoongi and I are gonna be up late trying to do as much as possible…” 

“Remember to eat, mhm? And try to rest too, I know you start your new job soon but try to rest too…” 

“I will. We want to try to get…kinda settled enough tonight so that we can relax the day before I start at the academy…” you wince, your nerves about your job making your stomach feel uneasy. “Ugh. I’m so nervous, mom…” 

“About the academy?”

“Mhm.” 

You hear her click her tongue, “Honey, you were recruited for a reason. There’s always an adjustment period. You’ll adapt and be an amazing teacher there!”

“You’re my mom. You’re supposed to say these things…” You pout. 

“Aish. If I wasn’t in Busan, I’d be next to you smacking you for saying that. You know I love you but if you do something silly or you can improve? I will be honest and tell you. In this case? Nothing. You’re going to learn so much…Give yourself a chance.” 

“Mom?”

“Yes?”

“I love you…” 

You hear her intake of breath, smiling softly as you wait for the inevitable, “Yah…don’t make your mom cry. Silly child.” 

You burst out laughing, covering your mouth, “I just said I love you, that’s all!”

“I love you, too…God,” she sniffles, “I’m so proud of you. Look at you, moving into your own home with your boyfriend. You have a good job. Your life is moving just the way any parent wishes for their child…” 

“Oh god, don’t even continue this–”

“Next you just have to get married–”

“Mom!”

It’s her turn to burst out laughing, “I’m your mom I have to tease you a little! After all, it is going to happen…You two are just waiting, right?” 

She snickers when she hears you groaning, “Moooom!”

She knows you’re not annoyed by it because you’re laughing, trying to sound irritated but it doesn’t come across that way. 

“Okay, okay! I am gonna stop. You have to let your mom tease you.” 

“Mom, I swear…the moment Yoongi puts a ring on my finger? You’ll be the first to know.” You remind her of the promise you make every time she teases you this way. “Is dad with you?”

“No, he’s actually off to help fix Mr. Yang’s boat. He was having issues…” 

“Well, tell him I am gonna call later tonight. I wanna talk to him.” 

She hums, “Oh, call him in the morning, honey…After you’re rested a little. You said earlier you’d be unpacking and settling in tonight. He’ll want to talk to you for a while I’m sure…”

“Dad? Have you not met your husband? He hates talking on the phone for longer than fifteen minutes…” You glance around your new neighborhood, taking in the stores and restaurants that will become part of your new routine. 

“He’s going to want to speak with you for longer I’m sure. You have so many exciting things happening and you haven’t spoken to him on the phone in a bit. He’ll want to hear all about it…” There’s a playful lilt to her voice. 

You concede, “Fine. I’ll call in the morning while we’re having breakfast.” 

“Make it a video call, all four of us.” You shake your head. “I want to see you and Yoongi in your new place. Video tour!”

You laugh, “Yes, mom! I will make sure of that.”

“Good. Your dad and I will be waiting on that phone call.” 

You look up at your new home, seeing the lights on as you stare and smile contentedly, “Okay, that sounds good. Mom? I’m just getting home so I will hang up now, but I promise I will call in the morning to give you a tour of the place.” 

“Mhm~. That sounds great. You make sure to eat, okay? And rest too! Don’t stay up all night unpacking.”

You grin, “Yes, mom! I promise you I won’t.”

“Okay, honey, have a good evening. Say hi to Yoongi.” 

“I will. I love you, say hi to dad, please!”

You fight over who gets to hang up first until she does, making you laugh as you walk up the stairs leading to your home. 

Home. 

Even as you stand at the gate, this doesn’t feel real. And maybe it won’t for a while. When Yoongi and you had gone in search of a new place to stay you hadn’t intended to get a home. 

Right as you had been about to sign a lease for an apartment in some high rise building, your realtor, and friend, Sohee, had one more showing that she had to convince you to come visit. You had both been set on that one apartment and you were ready to just go for it. But you could thank Sohee for the rest of your life for insisting on showing you one final place. 

When she drove you to a nice quiet neighborhood filled with homes, you had been unsure at the time. But as it turns out, her grandparents were moving in with her sister seeing as maintaining their home was too difficult for them. And Seokjin had initially wanted them to rent and eventually buy the home, but Sohee enjoyed the place they already had. She tells you she knew if there was anyone that deserved a shot at it, it was you two. 

On the outskirts of a Hanok** village, mixed in with more modern infrastructure was a beautiful, quaint Hanok house that had housed generations of growing families, including Sohee’s. 

Even before stepping inside you had spoken against a home yet because of the costs but she had tamed your concerns very easily by insisting you take a tour.

“Just…look at it. Get a feel for it. And then we can talk, okay?”

You smile at the memory because of how right she was to insist. The home was beautifully renovated recently enough to accommodate her grandparents better years prior. A beautiful two bedroom home with a small private yard in a nice neighborhood. It felt too good to be true and you remember looking over to Yoongi in shock, because your heart was now set on this. 

“There’s no way we can afford this…”

He looked heartbroken too. You both had fallen in love with the home and walked back out to Sohee with solemn looks. But she had to surprise you. 

“I spoke to my grandparents and they’ve agreed to this…they’ve willingly signed the paperwork already as long as you two say yes.” 

You would rent to buy the home until you were able to pay it off, like a mortgage, or until you could pay the amount in full. Whichever worked best for you. Their only condition for agreeing to leave their home was that it had to remain in the family. And Sohee, the kind human she is, explained to her grandparents that Yoongi and you were family. 

And according to her, no more explanation was needed. 

You gently touch the wooden framework as you push the gate open, smiling as you shut it. Walking up to the door you key in, calling out for Yoongi as you remove your shoes. 

You smile softly as you take in your new home. Even at twenty-six, something such as a home makes you feel like such an adult. Like you’re actually doing this whole adulting thing right. 

“Yoongi!”

You call out again but hear nothing. Maybe he’s showering?

You place your purse on the ground, walking down the length of the short hallway into the living room and kitchen. It is not as messy as you expected. The boxes are neatly stacked in the corners, each divided per room. You glance around with still no sign of your boyfriend as you take your phone to see if he’s messaged. 

Of course. 

Yoongi 🧡🍊[7:14 PM]: Went to grab us some food! We need energy to take on unpacking 😮‍💨

You stretch, shuffling towards the fridge to see if there’s anything in it but you look to the kitchen island. You snort right away when you see because of course Min Yoongi would pull this off one more time. 

Laughing to yourself, you reach over to grab the tangerine that sits on a blue post-it. You grab the piece of paper and grin.

Welcome home, my love <3

Biting your lower lip, you hold the post-it in your hand over your heart as you revel in feeling loved by Yoongi. You’re still holding onto it when you resume your walk to the fridge, opening the door to find it fairly empty apart from some water and some cut up fruits. Pouting at the disappointing find, you shut it and walk to your couch when your phone buzzes on the counter where you left it. 

You check it and frown at the message. 

Yoongi 🧡🍊[7:18 PM]: Left you a surprise in the bedroom, go take a peak ♥️

You glance to the closed door leading to the master bedroom then back to the text, chuckling as you do what he says. You drag your feet tiredly to your room, twisting the knob and swinging the door open as you’re met with a sight different from what you expected.

The bedroom looks almost fully put together, a few things aside but what strikes you the most are the fairy lights hanging on the largest wall opposite of where you’re standing. What’s even more striking is what’s stuck to the wall. 

Blue post-its. 

All neatly placed in a grid like formation, five rows of four post-its each with something written on them. As you quietly walk closer, you look at the first one and recognize it right away.

Night shifts are tough…tangerines are good for energy, and for a snack.

MYG

You flick your gaze to the second one and feel your chest tighten. 

It’s not a tangerine, but…maybe instead we can grab some food and talk more? 

Maybe, make it a date?

You don’t know when you feel a tear crawl down your cheek, but you sniffle as you smile. You read each one and you notice then, the final post-it on the fourth row is unlike the others. 

Place the post-it you just got here, please. 

You laugh, removing the placeholder and placing the last one. 

Welcome home, my love <3

Your fingers gently stroke that one for a moment, looking around your room as you smile. Your eyes drift down to the final row of four post-its and you gasp, hand flying to your mouth as you stop a sob from escaping. Your heart beats out of your chest, heaving heavily as you reread them over and over. 

Each carries one word, spelling out what you least expected. 

Will you marry me?

You stare for so long, all your senses are jumbled by the flurry of emotions your feeling, and because of that you don’t even hear the noise behind you until you look down to your phone to text Yoongi.

“Would you?”

You jump, startled out of your mind with your hand still against your chest as you turn around. Yoongi stands in the doorway, leaning casually against it with the gentlest and most loving smile on his face. 

“Marry me?” 

He licks his lips nervously, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down multiple times as he looks at you. You notice his hand behind his back as you open your mouth to speak but you’re still too stunned.

He steps forward, stopping in front of you as he glances down at you and you meet his gaze. He makes you jump again when he drops to one knee and suddenly it all feels more real, emotions bubbling up into happy tears as you cover your mouth. 

“I know already what that gorgeous brain of yours is thinking,” he grins, looking up at you and grabbing your hand, “I know we agreed to wait to get married and I still stand by that, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be engaged while we do that. And I want to be…engaged to you. To call you my fiancée.” 

He breathes out deeply, his nerves showing now that he’s right there on one knee before you, “So, I am gonna ask you again,” he smiles, chewing on his lower lip before he asks again, “will you marry me?”

You’re full on crying now, squeezing his hand as you sniffle when you laugh as you nod, “Of course. Yes! Yes, I will marry you…” 

He exhales loudly, laughing when he finally hears the answer he has been dying to hear out of you. Relief washes over the both of you as you fall to your knees too. 

“Shit! Are you okay?” He’s laughing, reaching for what you assume is the ring when he pulls a small bag out of his pocket. 

“I’m fine, I’m more than fine…” you’re laughing, hands shaking as he takes the ring out of the small velvet bag. Your breath catches in your throat when you see the gorgeous yellow gold engagement ring with beautiful diamonds adorning it. It is exactly everything you could have hoped for in an engagement ring. 

He takes your left hand in his and slips the ring on your ring finger as you fling yourself into his arms, making the both of you fall as you cover his body with yours. Your lips are sealed to his, kissing him over and over as you laugh between each peck. He sits up as you remain seated on his lap, looking down to the ring on your hand. 

“How…what…why…when?” 

He laughs, gathering your face in his hands as he pulls your mouth to his in a heated kiss, nibbling at your lower lip as you moan. 

“Babe…Yoongi…” you tap his shoulder as he reluctantly pulls back. 

“Yeah?” 

“Was this sudden or planned?” 

He grins, watching you from under hooded eyes, “Planned. For a while. I knew I wanted to but…this felt like the moment.” 

“You proposed…”

He laughs, “And you said yes.”

“My mom is gonna freak out…” you remark as you go back to staring at the ring. 

“She did talk to you, right?” 

“Yeah…how’d you know?”

He looks proud, “I told her. I told her I was proposing today.” 

Your jaw goes slack, “So…so, you mean, when I spoke to my mom on the way home…she knew you were gonna propose to me?” 

“Mhm.” he nods. 

“When did you tell her?!” 

“About three months ago. Remember I said I needed to go out of town for the day for some research paper?” 

Your eyes widen when you remember that moment clearly, “Yeaaaah…?”

“Sorry, babe, that was a little lie. I took the train to Busan and I uh,” he starts blushing, rubbing the back of his neck, “I went and asked your parents for permission to marry you…”

You can’t help when your heart swells at his words, because how could you not feel that way when he tells you this?

“I can’t believe she knew the entire time and she still found it in her to tease me about us getting married.” Yoongi must find the look on your face funny because he snorts, cupping your cheek as he pulls your mouth to his. 

“I love you…”

You whimper against his lips when he kisses you again, “Fuck, I didn’t think I could love you any more than this…”

He smiles as he kisses you, his lips so soft against yours as you pull away. You gently cup his cheek and look at him as he lies under you, his eyes filled with adoration and astonishment at being engaged to you now. 

You collapse next to him, falling on your back as you look back to the wall where his proposal remains.

“Where did you find these?” You point. 

“That wasn’t part of my original plan for the proposal. But I was just going through some boxes to get an idea of what went where…and I found the box where you kept all of those.” He points to the wall. “Then I made up my mind about how to propose…”

You smile sweetly as you stare back at the question on the wall, leaning into his side as you push yourself up to kiss his cheek, “There’s something missing…”

He frowns, “Huh?” 

“Wait here…”

You shoot up from your spot as you run back out to the kitchen, rifling through boxes and cursing under your breath with every new box you pry open. You’re sure Yoongi is probably having a field day listening to you make a ruckus and swearing, only squealing when you finally find them. 

Post-its. 

You grab a marker from the counter, scribbling on the post-it and rushing back in the bedroom.

Yoongi is standing in front of his thoughtful proposal, looking over his shoulder to you as you sprint back in. You hide one hand behind your back, walking up to him. 

“I think it’s about time I partake in this…”

He’s confused but curious, “And what is this, exactly?”

You hold up the now bright orange post-it you have in hand, but the writing is facing you as you speak, “This. Don’t look yet, please.”

He chuckles as he turns around, pressing his back to yours as he waits until you walk around to face him once more. You snake your hands around his waist and hug him, craning your neck to look up at him. 

You’re now looking at your fiancé in your new home as you begin this new chapter in your life together, and like every new chapter that begins, there needs to be an end. 

“Your proposal will be the last blue post-it we use.” He frowns. “I think it really represented our entire relationship until now and maybe it’s not the last post-it ever, but as we’re entering a new chapter in our lives, let’s use a different colour. Let’s mark these new chapters in our lives with different colours to remind ourselves just how much we’ve changed.”

He starts smiling at you as you continue, “Because all of this can be something we can show our kids someday…” He blushes at that, inhaling deeply. “This makes one heck of a story…”

“So,” he clears his throat, “can I look at this magical last post-it?” 

You giggle, wetting your lips as you nod, “Mhm. You can.”

He doesn’t move yet, no. He waits a moment before he pulls you closer to kiss you, breathing against your mouth, “I love you. So much…”

You nuzzle his nose, biting your lower lip, “I love you too…” he’s about to lean in to capture your lips in another kiss when you playfully push him. “Check the wall, baby…”

He chuckles, stubbornly stealing one more kiss from you. He doesn’t let go of you when he twists both your bodies around to look back at the wall. And as you watch his eyes scan every single post-it, going down memory lane just as you do until he reaches the question he posed earlier to you. 

And next to the last note, there sits the post-it you just put up.

You watch as the grin grows on his lips, nodding gently as he glances down to you quickly then back to the wall at the end of a chapter and the beginning of another one. 

On that orange post-it marking a new beginning sits one single word. 

Your answer. 

Yes.

A/N: Again, I would love to thank everybody for the love this series has gotten. I will continue to be grateful for the continued support! :D I am not done with these two, ever. I still have much to write for them.

*hagwon: refers to a private educational institution, often likened to a cram school or after-school academy (taken directly from google)

**hanok: traditional Korean house, characterized by its wooden framework, typically built with stone and earth (taken directly from google)

engagement ring 💍 photo link here

tag list: @muchwita @kam9404 @ot72025 @lalazilz @janeelizabeth1216 @rinkud @yngisstuff @lolpanda94 @angelicbunnee @wubbz05 @illicitelle @legendarydreamqueen @flyxfall @mintmango-min @moorepls @gojomyoneandonly @yoongiiuu93 @wobblewobble822 @michaela0901 @ariakamil @watchingover-hypegirl @lovesvt17 @misschelliejeon @niieceyy @this-most-assuredly-counts @ronaa33 @yoonminv @meghanacloud @petroogorodnik @existentialzaddy @illnevertrustmyselfagain

Post separator credit to @hyuneskkami

[hyunsvngs]

𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐲 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬

synopsis: your childhood best friend, the prince lee felix, is due to be betrothed in an arranged marriage organised by his mother. the problem is, you're her top choice - and you're also secretly madly in love with him.

status: ongoing

[please view specific chapters for warnings! this work is 18+ MDNI]

1: fairy flowers [wc: 10.2k]

2: sugarplum [wc: 16.2k]

3: pixie prince [wc: 10.4k]

total word count: 36.8k

© hyunsvngs, est 2023. all rights reserved.

[noctiva]

Intro ♡

hi, you can call me mads!

I’m an author who likes to write nasty things so be warned of that before you start browsing my blog lmao

I’m 22, love love loooooove creepypasta, and have an unhealthy obsession with toby rogers. He’s my boyfriend (REAL!!!). Because of that, most of my writing is about him lolssss but if I’m feeling freaky I may dabble in the other creeps

I write like 97% NSFW so if u are a minor pls turn back these are not the droids you’re looking for

long story short, I’m extremely self-indulgent and just write things bc I wanna place toby in as many different scenarios as possible. He’s my muse fr.

I am down for requests though! My ask box is always open o(｀ω´ )o [DISCLAIMER!! I am very slow when it comes to requests! be patient with me lols <3]

Requests are open again!

Commissions are closed!

Things I’ve written! (TBA)

Toby Rogers

General Headcanons

Relationship Headcanons

Playlist

NSFW Alphabet

Flesh + Blood - [NSFW!] Toby Rogers x F!Reader (wc: 10.1k)

Pincushion - [NSFW!] Toby Rogers x F!Reader (wc: 6.7k)

Sweet Thing - [NSFW!] Toby Rogers x F!Reader

Part One (wc: 10.2k)

Part Two (wc: 24.4k)

Under Your Skin - [NSFW!] Toby Rogers x F!Reader (wc: 4.1k)

A Change Of Heart - [NSFW!] Toby Rogers x F!Reader (wc: 6.5k)

Clouded By The Smoke - [NSFW!] Toby Rogers x F!Reader (wc: 5.4k)

Part Two/Epilogue (wc: 3.4k)

Behind Closed Doors - [NSFW!] Toby Rogers x F!Reader (wc: 12.8k)

Mini Fic - Drummer!Toby x Groupie!Reader [NSFW!] - (wc: 3.02k)

Requests!

Toby Rogers x GN!Reader w/ OCD and intrusive thoughts

Catharsis (wc: 2.5k)

Toby Rogers x F!Reader [NSFW!] - Sleepy head turns him into a whimpering mess

A Little R & R (wc: 6.3k)

Toby Rogers x F!Reader [NSFW!] - Toby with an intox kink gets his girl all messy and needy for him

Dilation (wc: 7.6k)

Toby Rogers x F!Reader [NSFW!] - Toby and reader meet at a concert and get freaky in the bathroom

The Afterparty (wc: 9.7k)

Toby Rogers x F!Reader [NSFW!] - Toby reallyyyy misses his girl after a long mission, so he makes sure to let her know

Nectar (wc: 7.1k)

Toby Rogers x F!Reader [NSFW!] - A really heated argument leads to angry sex in the woods lol

Unbearable (wc: 8.4k)

Toby Rogers x F!Reader [NSFW!] - Reader thinks it’s really hot when Toby smokes. Toby indulges her.

Inhale, Exhale (wc: 7.3k)

Toby Rogers x F!Reader [NSFW!] - They got a breeding kink. Need I say more.

Fulfillment (6.5k)

Headcanons!

Yandere!Toby Rogers Headcanons

Vampire!Toby Rogers Headcanons

Bully!Toby Rogers Headcanons

PuppyHybrid!Toby Rogers Headcanons

Toby Rogers NSFW Headcanons - Masturbation

Toby Rogers NSFW Headcanons - Giving + Recieving a Blowjob

Toby Rogers x Vampire!Reader Headcanons

Toby Rogers - Kissing Headcanons

Commissions!

Toby Rogers x Proxy!Reader - Hatefuck in a forest lol

Training Day (wc: 6.7k)

Toby Rogers x Proxy!Reader - Little fight for dominance leads to getting overstimulated as hell

Stress Relief (wc: 6.7k)

Eyeless Jack

General Headcanons

Playlist

Drawing Pins - [NSFW!] Eyeless Jack x F!Reader (wc: 8.0k)

Headcanons!

Eyeless Jack NSFW Headcanons - Masturbation

Eyeless Jack NSFW Headcanons - Giving + Receiving a Blowjob

X-Virus

General Headcanons

Seeking An Immediate Response - [NSFW!] X-Virus x F!Reader (wc: 17.4k)

Drabbles

Everything here can be found under the tag #noctiva yaps!

Newer rants/drabbles can all be found under this masterlist!

—————

How would Toby react to a reader with a sensitive gag reflex? [NSFW]

Toby with a hyperfem gf [NSFW]

Toby with a more ‘masculine’ gf

How would Toby react to a s/o who loves animals so much that they’re always bringing them home?

The poly!ticcijack saga: 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. [NSFW]

What would happen if Jack stole Toby’s girlfriend?

How would Toby react if his s/o brought home a kitten?

Puppyhybrid!Toby x Puppyhybrid!Reader [NSFW]

Toby with a chubby gf [NSFW]

Toby’s jealousy issues

Toby as a dad

Toby’s breeding kink [NSFW]

Bondage with Toby

Toby and Jack fighting over reader [NSFW]

Being Toby’s childhood best friend and making your way onto the proxy’s hitlist

Jack and Toby’s favourite sex positions [NSFW]

Toby’s favourite things to call his s/o

How would Toby and reader get together?

Toby with an unrequited love

What type of video games does Toby play?

How would Toby take care of reader if they’re sick?

Reader is artist!Toby’s muse

Making out with Toby in his truck

How Toby and Jack would give aftercare [NSFW]

Dom Toby + over the knee spanking [NSFW!]

Toby + dry humping [NSFW]

Toby with a trad goth girlfriend!

Toby if reader wears a sundress ;) [NSFW!]

Would Toby let his gf do makeup on him?