#with my hands cradling your face and everything

[akeaaan]

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒

Jinu X fem.reader

And you taste so sweet Leave me wanting more soon as we get out the sheets

It was wrong. So wrong.

A demon hunter falling for a demon?

Unthinkable.

Yet, it happened.

Just like your mother—who once bore the same sin—you did too. Maybe it was fate. Maybe it was a curse.

Lights are turned off Music is on Minds are unlocked This feeling is amazing

You remember the first time Jinu saw the marks blooming like fire across your arm. The room had fallen silent, but your heartbeat thundered in your ears. You’d never felt so exposed.

He didn’t speak at first. He just looked at you, eyes soft but heavy with something unspoken. Without a word, he pulled a piece of cloth from his jacket and knelt down, gently wrapping your arm. Hiding the truth. Protecting you from the world, from your friends, from everything that would shatter if they ever knew.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he murmured, fingers brushing your skin. “Let me carry it with you.”

That was when the walls between you began to crack. Slowly. Dangerously.

You remembered the tension that buzzed in the space between you both, like lightning before the storm.

How he’d grin when you pouted over shared rehearsals— “You look like a kicked puppy,” he’d tease, flicking your forehead.

How he kissed you there, right between your brows, every time you got a move wrong in the studio— “You’re getting better,” he’d whisper. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

How your pinkies secretly interlocked backstage at Mnet when your group passed by the Saja boys. A forbidden moment buried in stolen glances.

And the kiss—

The first time his lips pressed against yours, desperate and trembling. You’d been wounded from an ambushed demon attack, blood on your side and your breath uneven. He held your face like it would shatter.

“You could’ve died,” he whispered, voice cracking. His tears clung to his lashes, unfallen. You kissed him before they could fall.

You remembered him yanking you into a quiet hallway during a fan sign event—risking everything just to feel your lips against his for a fleeting second. “Just one,” he’d said breathlessly. “Just in case we don’t get another chance.”

Liquor is all that we taste Your freckles lead the way I trace your constellations

Your fingers danced over the piano, notes rippling into the stadium like echoes of the life you once knew. The crowd roared. Your face flashed on every screen.

But your eyes searched for a ghost.

And then came the memory—

Now you're gone in the blink of an eye I try to remember what you look like

You remembered the scream tearing out of you, raw and broken, as Gwi Ma’s attack arced toward you. You remembered how powerless you felt, how small. And then—

Jinu.

He stepped in front of you without hesitation, the clash of impact blinding. Your ears rang. Your vision blurred. You didn’t realize you were crying until your feet ran.

“No!” You ran to him—he was already fading. Already slipping. “No, please... Jinu, please...”

He smiled, even then. His hand cupped your face with the last of his existence. “I’d do it again,” he said. “For you.”

Your hands trembled as you cradled his face, your tears spilling freely.

Orion's Belt in the sky Closest thing to you other than my mind

You traced the constellation on his chest, the one you always joked about.

Now it was all that remained.

He faded like a falling star— Gone before you could stop it. Gone before you could scream loud enough for the heavens to listen.

Now you're gone in the blink of an eye I try to remember what you taste like Replaying in my head The smell of your body still in my bed

You didn’t even realize the tear had slipped until it hit the piano keys — soft, but loud in your own ears — a drop of grief interrupting the silence between notes. It pooled in the tiny crevice between E and F, glimmering beneath the harsh spotlight, and for a moment, you just stared.

Then you looked up.

The stadium was glowing. Thousands of fans held up their phones, flashlights flickering like distant stars. Some swayed gently, others clung to their best friends, families, siblings… and lovers.

Lovers.

That’s what you two were — once.

His hands used to rest gently on your waist like you were something fragile, like you might break if he held too tightly. His breath always tasted like some awful mix of stage liquor and cherry lip balm. His freckles — you could never resist them — always reminded you of scattered stars. You used to trace them lazily, half-awake, half-drunk on him.

And now… all of it was just memory.

Hands on your waist Liquor is all that we taste Your freckles lead the way I trace your constellations…

You closed your eyes, pressing the tears back, though they fell anyway. Slipping past your lashes like everything else that had slipped through your fingers.

Your hands didn’t stop playing. Even when your chest ached, even when your throat tightened and begged you to scream instead — you kept playing.

Because this wasn’t just a song. It was the goodbye you never got to say. The apology you never got to hear. The version of love that died the moment he turned away.

I trace your constellations…

The final note rang out, long and lingering — like a heartbeat fading.

And then the crowd erupted.

Cheers swallowed you whole, but none of it felt real. Not without him beside you. Not without his hand reaching for yours in the dark.

He should’ve been here.

But he wasn’t.

And maybe he never would be again.

a/n: angst bcz i love you guys <3

[salemrph]

Salt on your Skin

Summary: You’ve lived your whole life in a sleepy coastal village where nothing ever changes until he arrives. A stranger with silver hair. He shouldn’t matter. He’s just another tourist, just another passing face. But the way he looks you, the way he listens… it makes you feel seen in a way that terrifies you. Between the salt air, the mango-sweet afternoons, and his voice whispering promises you’re not ready to believe, you start to wonder: what if this forgotten place isn’t where your story ends, but where it begins?

Character: Sylus x f!reader / you

Gender — ☆ AU, romantic, fluff, intimacy, slow burn, slice of life, summer romance, sexual content (nsfw), smut with feelings, light angst, Hurt & Comfort

Word count: 19.7k | Reading Time: 77 min | AO3 Sorry that this thing is so fucking long.

🎧 "Salt on your Skin" Spotify Playlist -> A/N: You’ve waited long enough, I won’t keep you. I’ll be hinting at songs I listened to while writing certain scenes. If you don’t feel like pausing to click on each one, no worries—just hit play and enjoy. Sorry that it got so fucking long. It was my intention to create such long fanfic. *In this story, the character referred as "Reader" or "You" is from an unnamed cost village, the specific location isn't relevant to the story. While Spanish is the character's native language, and they mainly will speak it in the story, most of the dialogue will be presented in English for ease of reading. I just display thing in Spanish with translation, for funny moments and relevant emotional dialogue. Also I tried my best to catch the grammatical errors. (＞﹏＜)

Taglist: @blessdunrest @xxsyluslittlecrowxx @voidsylus @thechaoticarchivist @leftpoetrymoon @madam8 @stxrrielle @terriblesoup @mansonofmadness @leftpoetrymoon @jadeloverxd @nutshellera @zaynessdarling @sylusgirlie7 @mothlillies @deathrye @mansonofmadness @peascribbles @pdacex @eolivy

Salt on your Skin

🎧 "Salt on your Skin" Spotify Playlist

You grow up in a small fisherman village, south, nothing spectacular, nothing loud. Sun kissing your skin, salt tangled in your hair, the smell of the ocean was your everyday. Palms swayed lazily in the wind. Cactus grew wild by the roadside. The earth was dry, cracked in places, but always warm. Sand found its way into everything: your shoes, your sheets, your soul. Nothing ever really happened here. Nothing special, at least. Not many people cross this place, just the occasional wanderer and backpacker, drawn in by the silence, the stillness, the illusion of escape.

And it is beautiful. To the outsider, it’s paradise. A hidden postcard painted in blues and golds, for all who pass by and leave, carrying the souvenirs, the sand, and probably a peeling sunburn back to wherever they came from. But you? You never left. Maybe for college and for short trips not far away. You picked a degree because someone said it was practical—but what’s practical in a place where everything moves slowly and nothing ever changes? So you came back with a diploma in hand, a broken heart from some idiot and little by little, you buried your dreams. Right there beside the notebooks you used to fill with sketches of faraway cities and impossible futures. Right beside the plans you whispered under your breath when you still believed your life could unfold somewhere else.

Now you help your parents at the store or your work at the beach bar. You tell yourself it’s not so bad because it isn’t. This place raised you and cradled you. But sometimes… When the sun dips low and the air turns heavy with memory… You wonder what else your life could’ve been. You try not to want too much. Having dreams, in a place like this, is the first way you start to go crazy if they're too big. It feels so difficult to find the right way to break free. 

Your days follow the rhythm of the tide. You wake with the sun, light slipping through the shutters in pale golden stripes, warming the terracotta tiles before your bare feet even touch the floor. Coffee first, always strong, slightly bitter, brewed in a tinny bialetti older than you. You sip it slowly in the kitchen where the radio was always on. The village is small enough that everyone knows your name, your business, and what you looked like in every awkward stage of growing up. You can’t walk five steps without a nod, a wave, or someone shouting: 

“¡Dile a tu mamá que tengo listo su pedido” (“Tell your mom I have her order ready.”)

You smile and keep walking. You help out at the family store during the hotter hours. Selling sunscreen, postcards, cold drinks, cheap towels for tourists who forgot theirs. Sometimes you sit in the doorway fanning yourself with an magazine while your father tries to fix the old A/C and your mother swears in the background. And then there was your second job, unofficial but necessary. Since you've returned, you've been saving, for that eventual emergency plan, if your heart finally found the courage to leave. So you stand in that beach bar almost every day during the high season. 

Plastic chairs half-buried in sand, a fridge that hums louder than the music, and drinks poured from memory. You know who likes extra lime. Who never tips. Who only comes to watch the sunset alone. It’s simple. Predictable. There’s comfort in that. But sometimes, when you’re rinsing out glasses or wiping sand off tables, you catch yourself watching the horizon. Something out there is calling you, something that still believes in the girl who once drew maps of cities she’s never seen. But then you shake it off. Because this is home. This is yours and if nothing ever changes…

Until that one afternoon. 

Is hot like always, so you are wearing shorts and your bikini under the top. Ready to cool off whenever you need. Preparing some drinks, getting ice cubes and cleaning tables. That’s when you notice him. A tall man with sunglasses sitting at one table with an umbrella. He’s definitely going to get roasted with that skin color, you think. You know how tourists are so, you sigh but still you approach with cold iced water and place it in front of him. “If you stay long, please don't forget to use sunscreen. We have some here if you need.”

He just lifts his head slowly behind the lenses. And somehow, you feel like you’re the one under the sun now. He lifts the glass slowly, takes a sip, and sets it down and keeps watching the ocean. A moment later, you hear a soft, almost too quiet “Thank you”. That’s it. 

Weird. You shrug it off. Tourists are strange sometimes. Some just want peace. Others… are well yeah just strange. You go back to refill the drinks fridge and emptying trash cans. Around this time of the year it can be a bit busy, but mostly on the weekends.

A breeze sweeps through, bringing the scent of seaweed and coconut sunscreen. You hum a little, a tune only half-formed, and focus on your tasks. Sometimes you dance behind the bar to some songs. Is a easy way to make the hours pass by and keep yourself busy. But today, a strange feeling doesn’t leave. That sensation that someone’s watching you. Not in a creepy way but more out of… curious. 

Later, you bring drinks to another table, and when you glance back toward him, he’s still there. A notebook sits on this lap in front of him, he’s sketching or writing. You can’t quite tell. Odd choice for this heat. You observe him a bit longer, taking in the silver hair, the shape of his nose, the sharp jawline. The defined muscles along his arms; clearly a sporty guy. In the heat of the day, he’s wearing a black linen button-down shirt and long white pants. The view of him sinks deeper into your mind. One of the fancy tourists, no doubt. But… What does he do here?

A small smile appears on his face. Did he write something funny? You pause mid-step, pretending to adjust the tray in your hands, but your eyes flick toward him again. The pen in his hand stills for a heartbeat. It stirs something in you. Curiosity takes over you with persistent. You wonder what kind of thoughts live in that notebook. You’re about to turn back when he lifts his eyes from the paper and shifts slightly toward you, propping one elbow on the table and resting his head against his hand.

“¿Creciste aquí?” (“You grew up here?”)

It catches you off guard. Did he just speak your language? 

“Sí” (“Yeah, I do,”) you reply, the words came out slow, drawn out by your confusion.

He closes the notebook, the pen slipping between the pages. His sunglasses stay on, but you can feel the weight of his gaze.

“Debe ser genial” (“Must be nice,”) he says, almost wistful. “Crecer con el océano como tu patio trasero.” (“To grow up with the ocean as your backyard.”)

The comment was harmless but… your eyes were still on him, searching for an accent you don’t hear. No, there wasn’t any. It was like he’d lived here his whole life, like he’d sat on these plastic chairs a hundred times, melting under the sun, playing cards with the elders, gossiping with the ladies, and running barefoot through the sand as a child. But you’ve never seen him before.

The air shifts. There’s something about him you can’t place. Maybe you should take a break and get some water. You cross your arms, standing your ground. “Are you just passing through?”

He smiles “Something like that.”

That wasn't an answer, definitely not a straight one. 

“Honestly, you look more like someone who belongs at a luxury resort than in a remote place like this.” Ups… That was a bit too direct. You tilt your head, trying to be a bit more polite this time. “Well, there is not much to see here. I hope you enjoy the quietness though.”

He laughed, and finally takes off his sunglasses. You get lost in his eyes: red, deep, impossible. Like twilight caught in glass. The world seems to slow. The wind rises slightly, brushing against your skin like a whisper, stirring the salt and sunlight around you. You got trapped for a moment that felt more like an eternity. The intensity of his eyes. You blink a few times. You decide to ignore whatever is fluttering in your chest. Your shift just got a hell of a lot more interesting.

“You got a name?” you ask with an arrogant tone, your chin tilted just enough to make it a challenge.

He smirks. “Depends who's asking.”

You roll your eyes. Of course he’s flirting. You know how this goes, always some smooth-talking tourist thinking the local girl is part of the experience: “Wild, free and exotic women.” You could throw up.

Not going to insist if he is that kind of guy…

You huff and turn away as the manager calls you, yelling for more napkins or limes or whatever crisis the little storage shed has today. By the time you come back, the man is gone. A bit irritated, you finished your shift. You wanted to know his name, because those eyes will be hard to forget. But in the end, it's another tourist that comes and goes, so who cares? 

Only… The next day, he’s there again. Same chair. Same sunglasses. Same notebook.

You try not to react. Just grab a tray of drinks and keep your head down. But you feel it, the burn of his attention. The strange, steady way he watches you without saying a word, like he’s reading a story only he can see written on your skin. You can’t exactly kick him out. To be fair, he’s not doing anything wrong. Just sitting there, quiet and scribbling in a worn leather-bound notebook. He never bothered you with more words than necessary, just with his simple order. 

He returns the day after, and the next one too. Day after day. 

You’d notice another group of girls, tourists with their bright bikinis and confident smiles, approach his table once more. Was it already the third time today? They'd lean in, their voices a little too loud, trying to flirt, trying to get his number.

Bored behind the bar, the clinking of glasses and the distant murmur of waves providing a dull backdrop, you'd watch the scene unfold. You'd find yourself absentmindedly munching on some salty peanuts, watching how the girls creatively or rather uncreatively tried to get from him some kind of reaction. But he never paid them much attention. He'd just offer a polite, almost distant smile, and then his gaze would drift past them, straight across the sunlit space, directly to you. It was as if he knew you were enjoying the theater.

This time, he finally gets up, placing the exact amount for his drinks on the counter. He could at least tip me… Asshole. With a casual wave, he said, “See you tomorrow,” before disappearing into the shimmering heat of the afternoon. You hate how that makes something flicker in your chest.

By the fifth day, it’s getting under your skin. You don't even know why it bothers you so much. More than one tourist has spent several days in a row at this bar, but he's different somehow. They can call you crazy, but you have the distinct feeling that he's coming to see you.

“Okay,” you mutter to yourself after drying off your arms behind the bar. “What’s your deal, big guy?” you turn around to him. He catches your eyes. Notebook in hand walking toward you.

“I'm just enjoying the sunshine. Is that a crime, sweetie? ” His voice is smooth, playful. He’s testing you.

You straighten your back. “Don’t call me that.”

He grins, tilting his head. “Then tell me your name.”

You don’t blink. “No.”

He chuckles and shrugs, like that settles it. “Sweetie, it stays.”

“Does that line usually work on all girls?”

He raises a brow, leaning one elbow casually on the bar. “Which girls?”

“Like the ones from yesterday,” you scoff. “Bet you tell all of them they’re special.”

His smile falters for half a second.

“I don’t like wasting my time,” he states, a hint of challenge in his tone. “Are you jealous?” 

You want to roll your eyes so hard they might get stuck. You want to mock his question. But the unexpected flutter in your gut throws you off. Instead, with a frustrated sigh, you toss a dish towel onto the counter and turn away. Organizing the glasses on the shelf. “Order something or move, I’ve stuff to do.”

“You always talk to your clients like that?” he asked casually.

You pause for a moment. Damn him. “Well, you don’t have to flirt with me to get your coffee.” You muttered, your tone as flat as you could manage. There’s a beat of silence. Then, you hear the faintest scoff, more breath than sound. You glance over your shoulder, just enough to catch the slow curve of his mouth. His eyes glint with amusement.

“Who said it was flirting?” He tilts his head. You were already regretting giving him a reaction.. “But…” His voice dips lower, velvet and sin. “...would you like to see the difference, sweetie?” 

Your heart stutters. You scoffed and you pretended not to hear the pet name. And marched off to clean a nonexistent stain on the espresso machine before he could see the flush climbing up your checks. For the rest of the day, you cursed him. And cursed yourself most of all for almost wanting to ask what the difference would feel like.

On your day off, you try not to think about him. Really. You swear you don’t care. You’re just… curious. That’s all. Wondering, maybe, if he showed up again. You imagine him sitting there, legs crossed, sunglasses on, notebook open like always. Maybe he’s gone. Maybe he finally got bored of this sleepy place and your uneven service. That would be good, right? Maybe that means your brain can shut up now. 

I shouldn't care.

You grab your towel, a bottle of cold water, and your favourite pair of flip-flops and head out. Not to the main beach where the kids yell and the old ladies gossip under their hats. No. You take the winding dirt trail, sun on your back, cactus needles lining the path like prickly guards. You duck under hanging branches and hop down the rocky slope, slipping once like always and catching yourself just in time. It's a longer walk, but getting there is...

...is, your little secret. The cove. Small, quiet, framed by cliffs and half-hidden by palms. It feels like a pool but big enough to swim. The ocean is glass today, turquoise and endless. You drop your towel on the warm rock, kick off your flip flops and remove your clothes. This… this is yours. No tourists. No bosses. No strange men with sharp smiles and too many secrets. You dive in, the water cold and perfect, wrapping around you like silk. You swim out until the world goes quiet. Just the splash of your limbs and the lull of the tide.

You turn toward the shore, slick hair clinging to your neck, water dripping down your back. You’re just about to wade out... You freeze. There he is. Sitting on the rocks, on your rocks. You grip the edge of a stone, still in the water. You can't be serious. Of all the places in this world, on this piece of earth, exactly at the same moment as you're here…

“How?” you demand, brows furrowed.

He barely moves, still perched like a damn king on your favourite spot, one leg stretched out, the other bent. White T-shirt and shorts this time, sea breeze tugging at the hem. Of course he looks good. Too good. Effortless.

“How what?” he asks, tilting his head just slightly so the sun hits the curve of his jaw. He doesn’t even take the sunglasses off.

“This place,” you snap. “How do you know about this place?”

“It’s easy when you can talk to people or…” He pulls out his phone and waves it lightly. “You know, you use social media.”

You click your tongue, annoyed. Probably some old tagged picture from a local, maybe even one of yours. Is it really just coincidence and bad luck?

“Fuck you,” you mutter, more at yourself than him. You can’t blame him. But gods, it stings. You embarrassed yourself yesterday, thinking he was flirting with you and now you have to see his face on your day-off. This is a punishment. 

He grins. “I could leave, if it bothers you but you’ll have to say please.”

“You’re such an asshole.” You say without hesitation.

He laughed lazily. “I have heard that a few times.”

You climb out of the water, dripping and fierce, and march right past him, snatching your towel. Drying off your face. “You’re ruining my sacred space,” you declare.

“Sacred, huh?” he murmurs, still watching you. “Didn’t mean to trespass on holy ground. Either way, since I’m here…” He flips open the notebook. “Mind that I stay a bit more? It was a long walk.”

You pause. Half wrapped in irritation and a very dangerous, very inconvenient curiosity. In all the years finding a tourist here, in your place was extremely rare. Some of your friends and people of the village used this place as well. But in the end, most of the time, you're alone here. 

“Do whatever you want,” you mutter, turning your back on him as you dig through your bag for your diver goggles. You don’t look at him again.

You slip the goggles over your head, adjust the strap, and wade back into the water. As soon as you dive, the world changes. The sun dims, the sea hums around you, and everything slows. Fish dart between rocks, flashes of silver and blue. You follow them deeper into the cove, letting the water strip away the heat of his gaze, the smugness of his voice. Down here, it’s just you. Every so often, you surface for air, and he’s still there. Legs stretched out, notebook resting on his knee, watching you like you’re some rare creature he stumbled across and hasn’t figured out if he should leave alone or chase.

The coral shimmered beneath you like a dream, sunbeams piercing the water in long, golden threads. Tiny silver fish darted between sea fans, and swaying anemones moved in slow, hypnotic rhythms. You floated there, suspended in the hush, arms outstretched, breath held tight in your lungs, letting the stillness soak into your bones. Being in the water makes you feel free. All these creatures can swim, leave, and be wherever they want. They migrate without fear, camouflaging themselves with the seabed. You are jealous of such a level of freedom.

Distracted by your own thoughts, you didn't notice the shadow approaching. You turned your head, and there, gliding just a few meters away, was a massive stingray. Its wings undulated as it passed, alarmingly close. You gasped for air. Big mistake.

Saltwater rushed in, burning your throat. You kicked upward, desperate for air, but your limbs felt slow, heavy, panic clawing at your chest. A strong hand wrapped around your arm. You broke the surface with a choking gasp, coughing hard as you ripped your goggles off. You barely noticed you were trembling, clinging to whoever had you, water spilling from your lips.

“Are you okay?” His voice was close.

You nodded through the coughing, breathing in hard, rough gulps. “Y-Yeah… yeah.”

When you finally look up, you don’t find the lazy smirk he always wears. Concern, drawn across his face like a shadow. His brows are furrowed, mouth slightly parted, as if he wants to say something but doesn’t know where to start. His gaze searched your face.

Your mouth parted, breath still shaky, and for a moment, you forgot how to form words. He tilted his head slightly, still holding your arm. You were too close. Close enough to feel the warmth of his breath on your lips. Close enough to see the drop of seawater sliding down his neck, tracing the sharp line of his collarbone. You almost lean in, just a little. The impulse hits you fast and stupid, heat rising too quick. You squirm in his arms, suddenly aware of every inch between you. 

You clear your throat and pull away. He lets go without a word, and you swim back toward the rocky entrance with the energy left you had. You haul yourself out, grabbing your towel and slipping on your shorts. Your heart’s pounding, angry and confused. You want to leave. Double strike. Not only did you embarrass yourself, but he had also saved your life from drowning. If he hadn't showed up… You stopped. 

Fuck… I owe him my life.  

That makes you turn in the exact moment when the sun catches his skin as he walks out of the sea. He runs a hand through his wet hair, squeezing the water out with a slow drag of his fingers. In his other hand, he holds a pair of diving goggles. You were damn right, gods, were you right. Now that he’s standing there in nothing but swim shorts, there’s no doubt about it. His body is sculpted.

Shoulders broad, chest defined, muscles honed from more than just casual swimming. The drops trace delicate lines down his torso, catching the light, glinting like it’s showing off for you. You blink. Your eyes shamelessly are scanning him. He has such a big ass and if that's big, what about his...? You glaze dropped briefly over his crotch. Just a glimpse and then you drag your eyes back up to somewhere safe, somewhere less dangerous at least. 

“Thank you,” you say almost too low “For helping me...” You hesitate.

“No need to thank me.” You started coughing again. He made you sit down and handed you your bottle of water. Having him so close, you realized he looked worried. So you hadn't imagined it before. You should worry about yourself, but your eyes couldn't stop scanning his features. Yes, his nose really was beautiful. The length of his eyelashes, the faint dark circles under his eyes. Was it because he didn't sleep well, or were they natural? What did he even do? Was he some kind of businessman? No, he looked more like a model. Thousands of questions crossed your mind…

It's not your business.

But still...

“How can I compensate you?” you asked, finally recovered.

He paused, then took his own towel, draping it around his neck. “Help me explore this place.”

“The village?” you asked surprised by such an absurd request. “There’s nothing to explore.”

“There is,” he replies, calm as ever.

You frowned. “What would that be? This place has like… three alleys and a very enthusiastic goat.”

“Sweetie, isn’t exploration what you do when you don’t know what you’re looking for?” There it was again, that smug little note in his voice. 

“You always talk like that?”

His smirk sharpened, eyes glinting with mischief. “Do you always look at someone’s crotch?”

Your mouth fell open, he noticed. You straightened, refusing to give him the satisfaction to admit that you did it. “Fine, I’ll be your guide.”

He smirked, unabashedly pleased. “Good. So, should I stick with Sweetie or start to calling you Miss Guide now?”

You shot him a dry look, already turning away. “Try it, and I’ll kick you off a cliff.”

He laughed, unbothered. A beat passed, your steps crunching against the sand. “How should I call you?”

“Sylus,” he said simply.

You nod, repeating it silently in your head. 

Sylus.

And for some reason, hearing it made something shift—this is like the opening page of a fresh new book. And you’ve never been great at turning down a good story.

Days pass like waves and a little too easy to get lost in.

At first, you meant to show him the typical tourist stops—the scenic overlook, the main plaza, that one beach every guidebook lists first. But after the second spot, he leaned close and said, “I’ve seen all of these before. Try harder, sweetie.” So you started to improvise.

You showed him the old boat wreck tucked behind the rocks, half-sunken, forgotten by time, but not by you. The kind of place only someone who’s grown up here would know. Then came the spot with the best grilled fish and amazing fresh fruit juice, and the owner who winked at you every time like she knew something you didn’t. You take him to the cliffs no one climbs but you, another one of your secret places to scream into the wind and feel free. He stands at the edge, hands in pockets, peering down like he’s measuring how far he’d fall. Asking if you were really going to kick off the cliff. “It’s still an option,” you muttered, but your lips betrayed you with a smile. 

Both walked down to the pier, where the old fishermen had already settled in for the morning, as they always were, lined up with their tattered hats and leathery skin, smoking, drinking cheap beer, swapping stories that blurred the line between memory and myth. It was also one of the best spots to jump into the water when the tide was right.

Sylus seemed genuinely interested in their fishing; leaning in, asking questions, even tossing out a few jokes that made one of the men laugh. You watched him exchange words with ease. If he was one of those rich types, shouldn’t he have more expensive hobbies? Golf, yachts, or something with polished marble and champagne? One of the old men turned toward you suddenly, his voice rough with years and sea air.

“Me agrada tu amigo” (I like your friend!) he shouted, grinning through missing teeth and raising his beer in salute.

Sylus, just slips into your days without ever asking to. It was stupid how easily he fit into the cracks of your life. He starts waiting until your shift ends, arms crossed, a lazy smile on his lips like this is normal. It's definitely making your days more entertaining, if it weren't for the fact that the neighborhood is starting to notice. Of course they do; someone always does. You ignore the comments as best you can.

“¿Quién es ese muchacho tan guapo con el que anda?” (Who is that handsome boy you are walking with?)”

“He’s paying me to be his guide.” You said to the people every now and then. It’s not a lie. It’s also not the truth. You don’t explain more. You don’t want to. This town is small and whatever this is between you and him, it’s yours. Reacting too much to the gossip spreading like gunpowder, would only lead to more of them. You really don't want to start a fire.

“Who said I'm paying you?” he leaned closer, an amused murmur in your ear as he caught your quiet deflection.

“Be quiet and let me handle the gossip,” you hissed back, not breaking your stride.

“I'm fine with that, but under one condition.” You stopped mid-stride, your heart giving a nervous jump. He smiled and tugged you a bit closer. “You can't lie to me.”

“Why would I do that?” You tried for nonchalance, but your voice felt thin.

“Well, if you lie…” He stopped, turning dramatically toward the group of old ladies playing cards. They were perfectly set up in the shade in front of one of their houses, colorful hand fans fluttering against the heat, their eyes already on you.

Oh no.

“¡Señoras, soy su nov—!” (Ladies, I'm his boyf—)

“Shut up!” You lunged, grabbing his shirt, the fabric bunching in your fist. Panic flared in your chest. You could see your entire calm world shatter, crackling into chaos, if he blurted out something like that. “Fine, fine! I won't lie to you.”

“Smart decision, sweetie.” His smile widened, all innocent charm, but his eyes held a glint of triumph.

You let go. “Asshole,” you murmured back. 

You pretended not to notice but it’s the little things. The flutter moments that sneak past your defenses and settle under your skin. The way he always calls you sweetie. He knows it annoys you, but says it anyway, just to watch that fire light in your eyes. How he's always too close. A finger under your chin, forcing your gaze when you try to escape his. You tell yourself it's annoying. You tell yourself you don't enjoy it.

You reminded yourself, every time he brushed against you “by accident,” every time he leaned just a little too close to whisper something entirely unnecessary. You reminded yourself of it especially when your heart started beating too fast in his presence, when your body began to crave that warmth. You were just enjoying the game while it lasted. A little spark. A little summer mischief. That was all this was. Because people like him… They didn’t stay. He was a tourist, and the charming ones always knew how to play his cards. They were all promises but vanished at the end of summer. And you? You wouldn’t be stupid about this. You weren’t going to fall. 

...Right?

One night, you're sitting on the sand, barefoot, toes buried, only a small flame between you, driftwood fire crackling soft, heat licking your knees. The stars are bright, the kind of sky you only get in places forgotten by noise. You tilt your head and catch him watching you. The shadows from the fire dance across his face, making it harder to read his expression.

“Do I have something on my face?” you ask.

His lips twitch. “Yeah. Starlight.”

“Sure...” You shift a bit. “Are you ever going to tell me what you’re doing here?”

He exhales, slow, like he’s been waiting for that question. But instead of answering, he says:

“What do you dream about?”

It doesn’t surprise you. He always does this, twisting the conversation back to you. You stare into the fire. You think about it and somehow he has this calm way to let you pour out your heart. Without judgement, he listens or asks how you feel about everything. About how you wanted to leave, once. How you almost did. About books you read and lifes you imagined. About how sometimes peace tastes like salt… And sometimes, it tastes like regret. 

You could talk with him for hours, discuss thousands of scenarios like you've never done with anyone before. It feels like the dirty gears of those buried dreams are being dusted off with each word he said. Sylus tells you some stories about what he has seen, eaten and experienced already. He points out the things you would like, places he would show you. The collection of vinyl he has, how he enjoys playing the piano. The familiarity he has with you is overwhelming. He teases you, makes you angry, he flickers his finger against your forehead when you say something stupid. He has been even helping you with everyday chores like the other day:

The market is buzzing. Colorful umbrellas flapping in the breeze, baskets full of delicious fruits and vegetables stacked in uneven towers, the scent of grilled spices and fish so rich it makes you hungry on the spot. You weave through it like you always do, with a tote bag swinging at your side. Sylus is less graceful, dodging kids with sticky fingers and getting bumped more than once by old ladies with strong elbows. He clearly doesn't like to be in the crowd. 

“You sure you know where you’re going?” he teases, glancing at your bag. “Or are we just wandering until you collect enough mangoes for a year?”

“I always know where I’m going,” you reply smugly. “And don’t judge my mango obsession. They're better than whatever bitter fruit you probably grew up with.”

“I prefer oranges.” He plucks one mango from a pile and holds it up, golden and soft. “This one’s bruised.”

“Don't be so picky. That means it’s perfect,” you snatch it from his hand. “Bruised fruits are sweeter. You know nothing.”

He laughed. “Teach me, then.” He buys one cup with fresh cut fruit at the same stall and spears a piece with a toothpick. He chews, then nods thoughtfully. “You’re right. They are perfect.” Your stomach growls, loud enough to make you wince. 

Sylus glances at you, then casually offers the cup, holding it out. “Do you want some?”

You hesitate for a second, somehow it feels more intimate than it should. But then you take the offered bite. Your fingers brush his and his gaze lingers, just a moment too long.

“You like it?” he asks, voice softer now.

You nod, chewing. You try not to smile as you pay for the mangoes. Before your hand even reaches your wallet, Sylus slips in, handing over the change to the vendor. You narrow your eyes, but he’s already walking. By the time you're heading back toward home, your tote is filled with groceries, the fruit cup now shared between you, and the sun is heavy over your shoulders. Sylus walks beside you, glancing at his phone for a moment, then back at you.

“I need a moment,” he says, stepping under the awning of a closed stall, voice already lowering as he answers a call. You nod and wait a few steps ahead, settling into the shade of a tree with a sigh, adjusting the straps on your bag. 

Minutes later a tourist approaches, clearly lost, holding a map and trying to look confident.

“Hi! Sorry… Em… do you know how to get to Playa Baja?”

“Yeah,” you say, automatically switching into your helpful voice. “Go back to the main road. Take the bus from there, near the bakery. Is a 20 minutes ride.”

He grins. “Thanks! You’re local, huh? Makes sense, only locals are this kind.”

You laugh politely. “Sure.”

But before he could say more, the tourist glanced over your shoulder, and he caught Sylus’s stare. He backed off quickly with a smile faltering, then cleared his throat and stepped back. “Enjoy your day.” And disappears as quickly as it appeared.

Sylus stands there, phone now tucked away. 

“Huh. That was fast,” you say.

He shrugs. “Wasn’t important.”

You finally reached your house and the family store below it, the familiar babble of domestic chaos greeted you before the front door even opened.

“Just buy another one, you stubborn old man!” your mother’s voice echoed from the back.

“No, this one’s fine!” your father snapped, followed by a loud Clank Clank, as he smacked the side of the ancient A/C unit again.

You sighed and pushed the door open. “Really? Still fighting over that thing?”

The store was warm, stuffy, and smelled faintly of dust and cleaning spray. You dropped the bags on the kitchen table with a loud thud before stepping into the shop. Sylus follows you silently, scanning the familiar chaos with calm eyes.

“¡No puedo más!” (“I can’t take it anymore!”) your mother snapped from behind the counter, wiping sweat from her forehead with a dish towel. “Tell your father to buy a new one before he sets the store on fire.”

You sighed. At the sound of another figure entering with you, both of your parents looked up. Your mother’s gaze immediately fixed on Sylus. She blinked, surprised, eyes traveling from his silver hair down to his clean, fancy clothes, pausing on his calm expression. A stranger in her home and he comes with you? Not common. But as always, she gathered herself fast. Her tone shifted. 

“Excuse us for the shouting,” she said quickly, brushing her hair back. “Can I get you something to drink?”

Her eyes met Sylus’s, just for a moment, and something changed in her face. A flicker of quiet recognition, curiosity… Then she turned to you, wandered over with a little smile playing on her lips. 

Oh no, she's already imagining things.

You rub your eyes. That mother smile. The one that knew too much and said nothing for now. Sylus very politely and kindly declined your mother's invitation, then he stepped closer to where your father stood grumbling beside the A/C unit.

“Mind if I take a look?” he offered casually, nodding toward the old machine.

Your father blinked at him, thrown off, giving space and the screwdriver. “¿De dónde sacaste a este muchacho?” (“Where did you get this boy?”) he whispered to you.

You smirked. “Me ha estado siguiendo como gato callejero. Creo que me ha cogido cariño.” (“He's been following me around like a stray cat. I think he likes me.”)

Your dad huffed a laugh, still eyeing Sylus like he wasn’t sure whether to be suspicious or impressed. He stays by your side, arms crossed, ready to judge every move Sylus made. The machine was old, rusted at the edges, and had a habit of rattling like it was possessed by a ghost. Most people wouldn’t dare touch it without at least cursing first. He knelt beside it, examined the wires and casing with quiet concentration, then reached into the toolbox without asking where anything was.

There was a soft click, a sharp spark, and then the hum. Not the loud, wheezing death-rattle it usually made. A smooth, low vibration and cool air drifted out. Everyone froze. Your father blinked and moved to press his hand to the front of the unit like he couldn’t believe it was real.

Sylus stood, brushing dust from his hands. “It’ll work for now,” he said casually, glancing at your dad. “But you should definitely buy a new one.”

Your father opened his mouth, probably to argue but stopped.

“¿Una cerveza, muchacho?” (“A beer, boy?”) he asked, already moving toward the fridge. “Por lo menos para agradecerte.” (“At least to thank you.”)

“And you’re staying for dinner,” your mother added before Sylus could respond, her voice final, already thinking about the menu she would display tonight. “Is there anything you don't like to eat?” 

“Mamá…” you said in a tired tone, shaking your head. 

“We need to thank him properly,” she chirped.

Sylus hesitated, looking between them, then over at you, as if silently pleading for a way out. But you just smiled, leaning against the counter with one eyebrow raised, thoroughly enjoying the moment. Your father was already asking for a detailed explanation of how the miracle worked. And if he also knew how to fix cars.

“Looks like you’ve been adopted,” you said sweetly. “Good luck.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, but there was a flicker of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You expected him to fumble—thought he’d slip up on the names, or get awkward answering your dad’s too-bold questions. You wanted him to flinch a little, if only for your own petty satisfaction. But somehow, he didn’t. He was smooth and polite. Your mother was enchanted in less than ten minutes, practically glowing every time he addressed her with a soft “señora.” And when he mentioned liking fishing? Your father lit up like it was Christmas morning.

You sat there in quiet horror as your dad leaned back in his chair, nodding thoughtfully. “Lo quiero como yerno.” (“I want him as a son-in-law.”) You nearly choked on your water. Your soul left your body. 

“Papá…!” 

Sylus set his glass down gently and said, perfectly composed, “We don’t have that kind of relationship” Then, with the faintest trace of dry amusement, he added, “She actually threatened to push me off a cliff earlier.”

Your dad let out a booming laugh. “That’s love!”

Your mother gasped and you slumped in your chair, face in hands, absolutely done.

Later, when the plates were cleared and your parents had gone off to debate which neighbour had the best tomatoes this year, you tugged Sylus out onto the back porch. The sky was a soft indigo now, stars starting to blink awake. Crickets chirped. The kind of summer night that made everything feel special. 

You leaned against the railing, arms crossed. “Don’t listen to anything my dad said.”

Sylus leaned next to you, hands in his pockets, lips twitching with amusement. “What, about wanting me as a son-in-law?”

“Yes, that.” You groaned. “I’m so sorry.”

“It was... funny” His voice softened. “And... nice. Being around that much love. The way he looks at you. The way your mom knew you were lying about not being hungry.” He smiled faintly. “It’s loud, chaotic—and kind of wonderful.”

You glanced up at him, and something in his eyes made your chest ache.

“They raised you well,” he added quietly.

You tried to brush it off, but your voice cracked slightly. “How was your childhood?”

“Different.” He looked out into the trees. “I struggled to survive.”

You nodded, unsure what to say. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

"Don’t be." He patted you head, his voice was strangely comforting. 

“Well, you can always come back,” you offered, suddenly nervous, removing his hand embarrassed. “They’ll be happy to see you again.”

He turned, eyes finding yours.

“And you?” he asked.

“Eh?” 

“If I leave… would you be sad?” Your stomach flipped. But instinct kicked in, and you played it off with a shrug. True... He will leave... 

“Not unless you start tipping me at the bar.”

He chuckled. “Is that so?”

“And also, you shouldn’t drink every day either. You’ll die young.”

He turned to fully face you now, clearly amused. “Oh? So now you’re worried about me?”

You tried to hide your smile. Sylus laughed softly, but you could still see the warmth in his eyes.

Under all that tension. Your feeling is accumulating points of reward each time he leans in too close. When he hands you over a bottle of cold water. When he pulls out the chair before you sit in the restaurant or when he lets you use his lap as pillows to sleep on the beach. And in those moments when you see his smile, like now, under the flicking bonfire and his features are so soft as clouds drifting over the sky. You wish you had never met him because one day, probably soon… he’ll be gone. You should’ve known better. 

The ache in your chest is already blooming. Not sure if you won’t be able to bury it after he leaves, you choose the only thing you can. Make the moment yours before it’s gone. You stand, fingers brushing the hem of your shirt, peeling off layers of doubt with every piece of clothing. The air is warm, soft against your exposed skin. The flame crackles behind you, but the sea calls louder.

“I’m going to swim,” you say, calm, even if your pulse isn’t. You glance back over your shoulder, half naked by now. “Coming?”

He blinks, just once, surprised. But that smirk; god, that infuriating smirk; returns quickly.

“You’re bold,” he says, shacking his head but his hand catches your arm gently, his glowing red eyes hold you in place. “Are you sure?”

You raise an eyebrow. “About swimming? Yeah.” You know he is not asking about that. 

The last piece of clothing drops to the sand. You walk into the water, until it's covert over your naked body and you submerge yourself entirely. He follows, doing the same. You can feel him behind you before you even turn. His fingers, tracing the curve of your back, a feather light touch that sends shivers up your spine.

“What is your deepest desire?” You hesitate. You could lie. You’ve lied before but somehow, with him, it feels… pointless. He sees through it already. “Sweetie,” he says, his breath hot against your neck. “Don’t lie to me.”

“…I want to leave this place,” you admit. His hand holds yours beneath the water, while his arm wraps around your waist. 

“Why haven’t you?” he asks.

You stare out at the horizon, the darkness of the night merge with the ocean, and the stars shimmer almost on the water. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m afraid.”

“What would you do?” His voice is closer now. Lips brushing your wet hair.

“I want to see the world,” you whisper, lifting your free hand toward the sky as if you could touch the stars. “I want to know what it feels like to really live.”

He presses his lips on your shoulder. “I can give you that.”

You huff, half a laugh, half a shield. “Yeah, sure. Is that a promise… or just another pick-up line?”

His fingers tilt your chin gently toward him. His lips graze your cheek, your ear. You close your eyes briefly enjoying the prickling sensations of him, of your feeling surfing over your skin. 

“Don’t lie to me,” you echo back.

“I’m not,” he whispers, his thumb brushing your cheek, lingering as it slides over your lower lip with the faintest pressure. Your mouth parts instinctively, you feel the urge to chase his thumb with your tongue, but you hold back. His gaze locks onto yours. “I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”

His thumb rests there a heartbeat longer, then trails down, tracing your jaw, your neck. You turn toward him slowly, pulse climbing, not sure if you're bracing for something or hoping for it. Sylus just pulls you a touch closer, fingertips resting at your waist, holding you steady. He leaned in, slowly, giving you a few agonizing seconds to pull away. You could still stop this. He’s giving you the chance.

The kiss it’s not like in the stories. It’s not gentle. It’s every unsaid thing burning behind your ribs. You melt into it before you even realize. Fingers gripping his shoulders, heart racing like it’s trying to escape your chest. You didn’t want this. You didn’t mean to want him. But his mouth fits too easily, and your resolve slips, undone by the sheer gravity of wanting. And your soul be damned, suddenly, all the rules you'd set for yourself over years: no feelings, no attachments, no hopes… Shatter with the fire inside your chest. Fuck. You don’t want him to leave and that terrifies you more than anything.

Sylus was hungry for you, that much was clear. He kissed you then with an intensity that doesn't match what you were expecting. You’ve met selfish lovers before. Men who touched you like a reward, a prize, like they earned your body just by showing up. Sylus let you lead. And when you kissed him deeper, testing limits, pressing your bare body against him in the water, feeling how hard he was. His grip tightened at your waist, drawing you closer until there’s no space left. Yet he still didn’t cross the line. He wanted to, you felt it. You reached out, your fingers brushing against his hard cock pressing on your belly, and your body burned with desire. Your hand wrapped around him, the impressive length and thickness of him filling your palm, even through the water. A soft gasp escaped your lips as you stroked him, pulling him further into the kiss. Your tongues met with a urgent dance as they swirled and tangled, exploring every curve of each other's mouths. His hand, now tangled in your wet hair, pulled your head back slightly, deepening the angle of the kiss even further.

Then, with a soft, ragged breath escaping him, he broke the kiss. His eyes were heavy with unspoken longing. “As much as I desire you. I want to give you more than just this…” His voice was low, aching with restraint, as he gently removed your hand from his length. Then he kissed you—deeply—like he needed you to know how much he wanted you, how much he was holding back. Yet, he still made you dress and walked you home in silence and left you at the door. He kissed your hands, then pressed another, lingering kiss on your temple, and whispered a soft “Good night”. 

The ceiling fan carved the silence in soft, slow turns. Outside, the ocean whispered secrets to the rocks. A dog barked once, far off, then silence settled again. The air carried the scent of sea and distant charcoal fires into his room.

Sylus sat on the edge of the bed in his rented apartment, your kiss still ghosting his lips. The notebook lay open in his lap, pages filled with observations only he would understand. His handwriting wound through sketches, your fingers curled around a drink, the curve of your smile when you weren’t watching, the weightless joy that flickered in your laugh. He stared for a while at the half-finished line, heart heavy with a feeling he hadn’t expected to grow so fast, so deep.

“You kissed me with your whole heart trembling in your chest, and I felt every piece of it trying to crawl into mine.”

Sylus hadn’t meant to kiss you tonight. His fingers dragged slowly across his lower lip. He closed his eyes, replaying the moment in silence. Your skin against his, the sound you made when his hand slid to your waist. The way you leaned in, offering more than kisses. You would’ve given him everything if he’d let you. But he stopped it. He breathed through the tightness in his throat. He wanted more than just the heat of a passionate night. More than a fleeting moment tangled in sheets and whispers. He wanted your yes in daylight. He wanted your smile with no hesitation behind it. 

The pen hovered. He turned to a fresh page.

“I wanted to give in. To drown in you, in that moment, in everything we both tried to silence. But if I touch you like that… if I let go… I want it to mean something neither of us can take back.”

His jaw clenched. His heartbeat had yet to settle.

“I don’t want to be a moment you regret. You deserve love that doesn’t ask you to run. So I’ll wait. Even if my hands ache from not holding you. I’ll wait, because I already know what I want. I want you.”

He set the pen down gently, running his thumb along the notebook’s inner spine. The ceiling fan is still slicing the dark above him. And though the bed was empty, every part of him was still holding you, still feeling the shape of your body against his. Sylus leaned back, letting the notebook rest against his chest. 

[Notebook]

“You called me arrogant today but your face was all red. Later, you walked closer. Closer than you usually do. You’re so cute.”

[pressed hard into the paper]

“If I ever could taste the salt of your skin on my lips…” 

[Margin note, stained with coffee]

“I tried not to watch your mouth when you called my name.”

[With a small cat sketch]

“Sometimes you act like a cat… Probably I can lure you with mangos and a feather. I should start to call you Kitten.”

He hadn’t planned to stay this long in your town. But his soul was already settled down to your side. He came here for a reason… Something he hasn't told you yet but he hopes to do soon. For now, you made the days longer in the best way. And the nights? They stretched on without you. His gaze drifted toward the dark window, where the reflection of his own silhouette blurred with the night beyond. How long could he stay here? Another week? Maybe two weeks? Could he pretend, just a little longer?

The phone buzzed softly against the table. Its glow carved a cold line through the room.

Kieran.

Work never stayed quiet for long. He looked down at the page again, absently tapping the pen against the margin. The light of the phone blinked again. He turned it face down. Let the darkness swallow it.

“Not tonight,” he murmured.

Tonight, Sylus wants to stay in the dream a little longer.

You didn’t sleep much that night. Your mind was racing, what a strange man. No, Sylus isn’t like other men. Since that night, not much has changed. He still shows up at the bar. He still ordered his usual, except that the amount of alcohol had decreased. He walks you to your home after your shift and takes you to some new corner of this forgotten coastline. Some days it’s a long lunch in a neighbouring village, sharing fried fish and watching old fishermen untangle their nets. Other days it’s a walk through ruins or abandoned train tracks where he tells you stories that feel like lies but you can’t quite call him out on them.

You'd spent afternoons together where he’d saved your life, snorkeling together in the cove. You'd watched fish drift by, swum alongside turtles. But beneath the surface of those moments, the intensity between you had grown, a horrible static electricity building, filled with desire and agonising restraint. Yet, you haven't kissed again or he hasn't tried it either. You really want to taste that fire once more on his lips, desperately, but the fear of getting hooked overwhelms you in those moments and yet, amidst all the tension, he keeps your close. 

A few days later, just after you’d flipped the last chair onto the table and wiped your hands on a dish towel, you found him leaning against the counter. “I need to head into the city tomorrow,” he said, voice casual, but something in his tone tugged at your attention. “Just some business. A couple of hours' drive. 

You look to the sides, confused. 

“Do you need my bless to leave?” you joke.

“No. You said last time you haven’t been there for a while.”

“Yes, I did...” you say still moving from side to side, cleaning up. He takes out his phone and pulls up an image of a poster he saved from who knows where. Then he slides his phone over to me. You stopped what you were doing, and you look at the picture even more confused than before. “Looks interesting. That kind of vintage bookshop really suits you. Would love to see it.”

Then, after a beat, his voice dropped a little, almost hesitant:

“I’d really like your company...” he stopped. He didn’t look at you right away. Just tapped his fingers lightly against the counter, like maybe he wasn’t sure what you’d say. And for a second, your heart stuttered, wondering why that small invitation suddenly felt so big. “I want to ask you out.” You stopped what you were doing, and you look at him even more confused than before. You opened your mouth, searching for words. Are he...?

“I— We’d stay the night,” he added quickly, almost stumbling over the words. “Would be a shame not to enjoy the city.”

You didn’t answer. Can that be a good idea? Going alone with him somewhere else? Spending a night... together? Wait... You're not sure about anything right now. Did he asked your for a date? 

“Can I think about it?” you ask, your voice softer than you intended. Your heart was beating a frantic thousand times per hour.

He nods once, a small smile tugging at his lips, as if he understands more than you’re saying. “I’ll be waiting for you here in the morning,” he replies.

You brought it up to your mother later that night, expecting a lecture, maybe a little Catholic guilt or dramatic sighing, or even a heartfelt monologue about reputation. Instead, she practically threw you out of the house. By morning, she’d stormed into your room, yanked the curtains and told you to get in the shower. Breakfast was already waiting, and by the time you were dressed. Your backpack was packed and waiting by the door. You stood there, speechless.

“Go,” she said, waving her hand like she was shooting a fly. “My beautiful and intelligent daughter… You’re a grown woman.” Then she gave you that nostalgic mom-look. The one that makes you feel like she’s seeing your five-year-old self and not the woman standing in front of her. “I’ve seen you around him. You light up.”

You gawked at her. She kissed your cheek and shoved two lunch boxes into your hands. “Just… be smart, okay? And use protection.”

“Mamá!” You laughed, heart pounding in that strange mix of nerves and excitement. 

She winked, shoved you toward the door, and muttered, “And if he hurts you, I will find him.”

He drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the open window, sunglasses hiding his eyes, hair tousled from the coastal breeze. The warm air rolls through, that kind of afternoon that tasted like freedom. You tapped through his playlist, surprised to find a mix of old ballads and moody instrumentals, jazz and classic. An old soul. 

“This is tragic,” you exhale. “Do you only listen this kind of music? Who are you, the Godfather?”

He shrugged. “It helps me think,” he said smoothly, as if brooding jazz was a requirement for plotting international deals or crimes.

With a small grin, you scrolled until you found something upbeat—something from your childhood that made your shoulders instinctively roll. The rhythm of the village, the kind of song that dragged you out of your chair whether you wanted to dance or not.

♫ Bachata en Fukuoka ♫

“You know this one?” you asked, teasing.

He didn’t answer. He sang. Badly. You burst out laughing because his voice was deep, slightly offbeat, and he only knew every third word. But gods, he was trying. Your chest ached in the strangest way.

“Please stop,” you gasped between laughs.

“I’m giving it soul,” he argued. “And you’re not any better.” You stick out your tongue and turn the volume up, smiling so hard your cheeks hurt. 

When he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, grinning, you caught it—that angle of his jaw in the sunlight, the muscles of his forearm flexed against the wheel, veins drawn like rivers under skin. The line of his throat as he tilted his head back slightly, mouth curved around the chorus. His lips… again you felt your breath catch. Shit. You turned toward the window quickly, letting the wind cool the heat rising up your core and mind.

The city rose out of the horizon hours later. You hadn’t been here in a long while. You shifted in your seat, suddenly hyper aware of everything. Sylus pulled up to the hotel. You stepped out of the car and instantly felt underdressed. Marble floors. Velvet armchairs. Staff in suits. And the chandeliers were huge, golden things that looked like they belonged in a ballroom, not in a lobby. You wrapped your arms around yourself slightly as Sylus handed over the keys to the valet. At the reception desk, the woman behind the counter lit up the second she saw him.

“Mr. Qin. Welcome back.”

Welcome back? You glanced at him, but his expression was unreadable. Then she turned to you with a professional smile. “And welcome to you as well, Missus Qin.”

Your breath hitched. Missus Qin? You opened your mouth to correct her, but Sylus just smiled, clearly amused about your flustered expression with silent satisfaction. He didn’t correct her. Instead, he took the room key, slid your bag over his shoulder, and placed a gentle hand on your back, guiding you toward the elevator.

“Why did she call me that?” you muttered, trying to sound nonchalant. You weren’t sure if it worked. He didn’t answer. “Sylus?”

“Must’ve been a mistake, sweetie,” he said, voice rich with mischief. You gave him a look. 

The suite was stunning. High ceilings, city view, modern decor with soft touches of luxury, everything immaculate. 

“We’re staying in the same room?” you asked, half amused, half testing him.

“Since you’re Missus Qin today,” he said with a smirk, pulling off his sunglasses and setting them neatly on the table, “it’s only logical you stay here with me.” He gestured to the sofa, far too expensive to actually be comfortable. “I can sleep there, if it makes you more comfortable.” Then, almost teasingly, “Or I could book another room… if you’d prefer distance.”

You rolled your eyes, but the way your pulse stuttered was entirely unfair. “I will survive one night. Also you’re paying for the room.” Then, to break the tension threatening to tighten your chest, you added with a smirk of your own, “If you snore, I swear I’ll kick you off the bed.”

He huffed a soft laugh. “I’d expect nothing less.”

You turned away before he could see your grin. He checked his watch as you lounged near the window, sipping from the complimentary bottle of water. The city shimmered below, heat caught in the glass.

“I need to head to a meeting soon,” he said, checking his phone. “It won’t take long…” You looked up at him. “Would you like to accompany me?

Your brows lifted. “Why? Isn’t it a business thing? Nop. I’m not dressed for that.”

“That shouldn't be a problem.” Then, with a glint in his eye. “We can go shopping.”

Your mouth opened slightly. “I… I don’t—”

He stepped closer. “I asked you to come with me. Let me spoil you a bit.”

You blinked. “This feels like Pretty Woman… The rice guy who—” you avoid finishing the sentence, while you blush… You’re reading too much into it. He laughed but still he flicked his finger gently against your forehead.

“Hey!” you protested, rubbing the spot with a scowl that didn’t reach your eyes. “For what was that?” 

“Don't overthink it.” He smirked. “Come on. Follow me.”

The hotel’s boutique was quiet and elegant, tucked just off the main lobby. Every item looked carefully chosen. Every mannequin poised. Every price tag… conspicuously absent. You picked a dress—fluid fabric, a cut that hugged you just right, something that made you feel both effortless and elegant. He plucked a pair of heels from a nearby display, held them up with a faint smile, and nodded once, like it was obvious they were yours. Even if you had insisted, even if your hand had reached for your wallet, you both knew it was pointless. The dress, the heels, probably cost more than your savings account held. At the counter, while the attendant folded the items with gloved hands, Sylus leaned in, the heat of his breath grazing your ear. 

“Being Missus Qin,” he murmured, voice velvet-smooth, “means being more greedy. Can you handle it, my love?” That last word just rolled off his lips, and your cheeks instantly flared. You had to practically twist away to try and mask the grin threatening to take over your face. He chuckled softly, clearly pleased by your reaction. He carried the bag himself as you walked out, your heart still trying to recover from that one line.

“Go change,” he said, gesturing toward the elevator. “I’ll be waiting.”

By the time you returned, dressed and flustered, Sylus was already deep in conversation with two well dressed young men. His sentence slowed mid-syllable the second you stepped into view.

“You look…” His voice dipped lower. “…beautiful.”

The two men turned to look at you with perfectly timed curiosity. They introduced themselves as Luke and Kieran—identical down to the sharpness of their suits and the easy confidence in their smiles. But it didn’t take long to notice the difference: Luke had a warmer gaze and Kieran was quick-witted, his charm more playful, layered beneath sarcasm and quick glances exchanged between them.

Despite your confusion about who they were or what kind of business was Sylus doing with them. They treated you with quiet respect, never once making you feel out of place. Their ease around Sylus said more than their words, they trusted him. Completely. Which made you wonder again: what kind of man was Sylus really?

You sat together in a private business lounge. You stayed silent, hands folded in your lap, unsure where exactly to place yourself in their conversation. But Sylus didn’t miss a beat. Even while talking about contracts and acquisitions; about someone needing to sign off on a property, timelines, numbers that blurred together. And still, his attention didn’t drift far from you.

Without glancing, he reached out and pulled your drink a little closer, as if sensing you hadn’t touched it. A minute later while still speaking, something about closing dates and a stubborn signature, his hand slid the menu toward you with a gentle nudge. You looked up but he was still mid-sentence. The way his pinky brushed yours briefly. How, when your posture tensed just slightly, he shifted his knee until it touched yours. You weren’t sure if it made you feel more comfortable or more exposed.

At some point, a set of blueprints and renderings were spread across the table; floor plans, materials, and elegant, dark-toned interior designs. You leaned forward, tilting your head. It was sleek, yes. Sophisticated, expensive. But also… cold.

“Too much black marble,” you said, nose scrunching slightly. “Is it an apartment or a villain’s lair? Who is going to live there?”

The conversation paused for a breath. Sylus blinked, lips parting faintly. A beat later, Luke chuckled. Kieran raised a brow in amusement. Sylus turned his head slowly to look at you and the faintest smile ghosted across his lips. 

He adjusted one of the pages, letting you see the whole layout again. “How would you distribute it?”

And after maybe other two hours, Luke and Kieran stood up, gathering their documents with ease and that lingering air of familiarity.

“When will you come back, boss—?” Luke started to ask, but was promptly elbowed by Kieran, who gave him a look.

“Dude! Don’t you check the situation?” Kieran hissed under his breath, nodding slightly in your direction with an exaggerated arch of his brow.

Luke blinked, then followed the gesture, finally catching on. “Oh. Oh. Ooooh…”

Sylus exhaled through his nose then replied with that measured calm that somehow still carried authority. “I still have a few things to take care of.”

Kieran bit back a smirk. Luke straightened, saluted poorly, and muttered, “Message received.”

The way they deferred to him made it obvious, they weren’t just associates. They were his employees. Loyal ones. And the way he held their respect without needing to raise his voice or assert control told you everything about the kind of leader he was.

And just like that, they were gone.

♫ Grecia ♫

You smile “I like them.”

Sylus laughed, already loosening his collar as he sank into the seat beside you, his shoulder brushing yours.

“That’s good” he said, with that familiar glint in his eye. He tilted his head, voice low and easy. “Now... what do you want to do?”

You didn’t have a plan, but Sylus seemed to know how to make the hours stretch. The city buzzed around you, alive but not rushed, soaked in golden light as the sun melted behind the towers. You’d already walked for hours, through markets full of spice and music, narrow alleys lined with vines and hidden bookstores, quiet plazas where street musicians played like they didn’t care if anyone listened. He bought you a tiny ring from a vendor who didn’t even take cards, “just to see if it fit”. 

At a corner café, he ordered two lemon sodas and claimed the tiny mosaic table beneath a jacaranda tree. The breeze carried soft music from someone’s open window, and for a moment, everything slowed down. He tapped his glass to yours, watching you over the rim with a look that made your skin feel warmer than the sun. You laughed at something he said—something dumb and half-flirty. He leaned back with a smug grin, the corner of his mouth tugged higher with every note of your laughter. His eyes sparkled.

“Are you flirting with me, Sylus?” you asked, aiming for teasing but missing the mark. 

His smile widened, then he tilted his head, one brow arched, a flicker of something triumphant in his gaze. “I told you you’d notice the difference,” he said softly.

Your heart jumped in your chest, as it had tripped over itself trying to catch up with the moment. You looked down, suddenly fascinated by the edge of your napkin. The heat in your cheeks gave you away, the quick breath you took, the smile tugging at the corner of your lips no matter how hard you tried to keep it in check. You felt embarrassed but also happy. So many emotions rushed through you at once it was hard to name them all. Something was clear as day, you wanted to hold onto this moment for a bit longer.

Sylus brought you to that small bookstore from the poster, and stepping inside, its quiet atmosphere and crooked rows of worn shelves immediately embraced you like a sanctuary. Dust floated in lazy golden stripes through the high windows, and the smell of old paper settled in your lungs. You wandered aimlessly, fingers brushing spines, pretending to read while your thoughts raced. You found Sylus in the poetry section. He hadn’t said a word, just stood there, back to you, his frame relaxed and strangely at home among the faded covers and soft silence. When he sensed your presence, he turned. His finger was pressed against the page, underlining a single verse in the middle of the poem.

“I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,”

“in secret, between the shadow and the soul.*”

You swallowed, something catching in your throat. Sylus finally met your eyes, reading the short poem in calm voice.

“So close, that your hand on my chest is my hand…”

“So close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.*”

*(Pablo Neruda - 100 Love Sonnets) 

The book stayed open between you two, but everything else, the shelves, the world blurred around the edges. And then he added, softer still, “That’s what it feels like. With you.”

A few stray cats lounged on stone benches, and small paper lanterns had already begun to glow in anticipation of evening. You walked along the edge of a garden square after that. He slowed his steps to match yours. His fingers brushed yours once… then again… until, without ceremony, he reached down and took your hand, lacing his fingers through yours. Your heart feels relieved when you feel his warmth.

A loud, unmistakable growl echoed between you, making you freeze. Your stomach betrayed you. “Dinner’s on me.” he said, thumb stroking across your knuckles in a quiet rhythm.

The restaurant he chose was tucked away, elegant without trying. Dim lights, floor-to-ceiling windows framing the city’s slow descent into night. The staff greeted him with too much familiarity, calling him Mr. Qin with polite bows and smiles that told you this wasn’t his first time here. You looked around. Velvet booths. Every guest was a portrait of tailored wealth. But across the table, Sylus didn’t blink at the opulence. The waiter poured wine, announcing its origin with elegance. Sylus barely acknowledged him. 

You didn’t know how to hold yourself here. How to sip the wine without second-guessing the angle of your wrist, how to sit without wondering if you were taking up too much space. What am I doing here? The thought came uninvited. This wasn’t your world. You never imagined sharing a table with someone who ordered without glancing at the prices. 

“Do you want to leave?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Umm?”

He leaned in slightly, elbows resting against the tablecloth, eyes still locked on yours. “You’ve gone quiet,” he said. “You always get quiet when you’re overthinking.”

You hesitated, then offered a small, breathy laugh. “Is that so obvious?”

“To me? Yeah.”

“No, it’s fine,” you said, lifting your glass. “It’s just new. That’s all.” You took a sip, then smiled, a little crooked but warming. “And you did said you were going to spoil me… so I’m taking advantage. I plan on eating a lot of dessert.”

That finally made him smile. 

The food was exquisite. The wine had begun to soften the edges of your nerves. He made you laugh and in that moment, you let your guard down. You reached for your glass, felt the soft weight of his gaze settle over you, and let yourself believe it was okay. If you can stay in this fantasy a little longer, so be it. You've spent too much time avoiding long-term love affairs. Only short encounters with those who weren't going to call you when they left. After college, that jerk broke you into a thousand pieces, and since then, your heart has become an icy shell. Yet, Sylus had found a way to chip at it, digging into the ice and creating a space within the cracks where he'd slipped through.

Yes, maybe it was time to let down all the defenses, and let someone like him... really in.

And then she walked in. A woman who looked like she belonged on a billboard: long hair, perfect lashes, crimson lips, and the kind of curves sculpted by some cruel god. She paused near the bar, eyes scanning, and landed too long on Sylus. Your heart twisted, a sharp, unwelcome knot of something you refused to name. She didn’t glance at you once. Why would she? You could still feel the ocean in your hair, the faint scent of sunscreen still on your skin from earlier. You felt small. Ordinary. Like a summer girl dragged into a winter party.

Sylus was… He was someone in this world. You were someone who worked at a beach bar. Who folded towels. Who knew every corner of a sleepy coastline but had never walked in shoes like hers. You knew it was stupid to feel that way. You knew it. But that didn’t stop the doubts from crawling into your mind. Or the whisper in your ear that said: You don’t belong in this story. You’re not special.

If he wanted to be with someone else, you knew he'd just do it. He was too honest, too direct for anything less. But that didn’t mean he hadn’t made a mistake with you. Even if he had asked you to come with him. Planned this trip. Bought you a dress. Treated you like you were someone important to him.

You forced a smile and took a slow sip of wine. Pretended like nothing inside you was shifting and unraveling. Keep it together, you told yourself. Don’t let him see it. But deep down, the quiet part of your heart was already breaking off into questions you didn’t want the answers to.

What if I’m just temporary? What if I’m not enough?

And across the table, Sylus’s gaze lingered on you. That scared you even more. Because if he saw all that insecurity in your eyes and chose to walk away… You weren’t sure you could blame him.

Sylus noticed it the moment your smile shifted. The way your shoulders dipped just slightly, the flicker behind your eyes as you reached for your glass. He followed your gaze and found her. The woman at the bar.

When you stood and excused yourself, your smile polite but paper-thin, he waited only a moment before rising too and walked over. The woman blinked up at him as he approached, lips already parting in a smile. She clearly thought she’d won. After all, a man like him didn’t just glance at someone like her and do nothing. In her mind, men like Sylus always fall for her.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said smoothly, the corner of his mouth lifting just enough to be polite. She offered her name like a gift, tilting her chin, lashes fluttering with well-practiced charm. Sylus was already typing with one hand in his pocket. A quick search. That’s all it took. Her name wasn’t just a pretty label wrapped in lipstick and entitlement. It came with strings. Connections. Family ties woven through business and media. An old-money name known for its reach, and also its scandals.

He nodded once. “Let me get straight to the point,” he said, his tone smooth but sharpened at the edges, “I find it hard to enjoy my dinner when someone is making my wife very uncomfortable.”

Her eyes widened, then narrowed and with a scoff masked as a laugh, she tilted her head toward your empty seat. “That little thing is—”

“I’ll say this once,” he said, still polite but his eyes were already burning with a cold fury. “Don’t ever look at me… or my wife, again. If you want to keep your status intact.”

She adjusted her hair so that it fell over her back, and grimaced in disgust. “Who do you think you are?”

Sylus stepped in slightly, just enough to tower, casting a shadow that wasn’t there before. The soft light caught in his eyes, turning them darker. Crimson heat cooled into something unholy. His stare sharpened, he changed to a wolf, ready to kill. “I’m someone you don’t want to challenge,” he said quietly.

And in that silence, she took a step back. Sylus walked away and sat back down, sending a quick message to Luke. He replied with a thumbs-up emoji and an Already on it, boss.  

But when you returned, something in you was still pulled taut. And so the rest of the evening unraveled almost in silence. Now, walking through the winding streets back to the hotel, the heat of the day had faded into a softer warmth. The city hushed beneath golden streetlights. A tinny vendor’s radio spilled music into the night.

♫ Qué se siente que me gustes tanto? ♫

The lyrics landed first in the air, then in your chest. Sylus didn't wait long to bring up the subject. He couldn't leave it like that.

“You really think I’d look at other women when you’re across from me?” His voice was low. 

You stiffened. You kept your gaze fixed forward, on the uneven cobblestones, refusing to meet his eyes. “Don’t know what you mean.”

Silence stretched, and it made you squirm. You didn’t want to admit it, that spark of fear, the ache of never being enough. You were proud. You’d never ask to be chosen. 

His voice dropped even lower, “My beloved…” he called you, the words were softer than the fading music and gentler than the evening breeze that just barely stirred your hair. The sound wrapped around you, and made your heart be even more confused. You stopped walking, rooted to the spot. This was bad. Really, really bad. If you let yourself fall for him now, truly fall, there’d be no way for you to untangle yourself from his beautiful, complicated world.

And yet, when he reached for your hand, you didn’t resist. He pulled you into his arms, and pressed your face into his shirt, soft cotton that smelled like a special mix of wood, spices and leather. Is the first time you really noticed it. Is intoxicating. The music still played behind you. Your eyes stung. Sylus felt your breath against his chest, the tension running through your spine, so he pulled back just enough to look at you. 

“Dance with me,” he said, not really asking.

“Now?”

“Why not?” he murmured. His hands found your waist, pulling you close as you swayed in place gently with the rhythm. The world around you blurred. 

Warmth settled between your rips, your hands finding his with ease. For a moment, there was no one else. Just the hush between lyrics and the quiet longing. His thumb moved in lazy circles against your lower back. He could feel the tremble in your body and he held you tighter. You didn't know where to pour all the overflowing feelings. You wanted to lean in, to taste the comfort of his lips again. His gaze dropped to your mouth, then shot back to yours, holding you captive. In that moment, you wondered if, behind those intense crimson eyes, he also carried his own silent insecurities. And if he, like you, knew the fear of giving his heart away.

Sylus leaned in, hummed low with the melody, his mouth brushing near your ear. The verse slid back in, whispering as he echoed the lyric:

“¿Y si te doy mi vida?” (What if I give you my life?)

The words melted into your skin, and with them, the fear grew bigger. What if, for a moment, you put your fear aside? What if, for a moment, you dared to give in to all your emotions?

Please...

What would it feel like if your feelings were reciprocated? Your heart were hammering in your ears, beating so fast you hadn't felt like this in years.

Don't hurt me...

The moment stretched. You stepped a breath closer, and his hand pressed you more firmly against him. You had stopped dancing. Your eyes darted all over his face, searching for an opening.

Kiss me...

His phone buzzed loudly in his jacket pocket, shattering the moment. He didn’t move at first, his forehead nearly touching yours, but then he sighed and stepped back with a quiet, frustrated sound. The sudden space between you felt colder than it should have.

“Give me a moment,” he murmured. 

You wrapped your arms around yourself, suddenly chilled despite the warmth of the night. Your mind is a mess. Even with the overwhelming urge to kiss him, your mind, predictably, had already strayed, lost in its own labyrinth of thoughts. Tonight was beautiful, but what did it mean tomorrow? And what if—what if this was just how he made any girl feel special? That thought struck harder than you expected.

By the time you reached the hotel, your mood had changed. The heat between you had been replaced with the chill of doubt, creeping in from all sides. You stand in the middle of the room. Barefoot, feeling small. You look over to the bedroom, then to him. You see your reflection and notice how the joy you felt this morning just disappeared with the day. You feel pathetic. 

“Are you upset?” You shake your head. “I thought we agreed you wouldn’t lie to me.” he said softly, removing his watch, and placing down his phone on the table then opening a few buttons of his shirt. “Say whatever's on your mind.”

Your heartbeat echoed in your ears, louder than the silence between you. The distance wasn’t physical space; it was the weight of all the words that still hung, unspoken, in your chest.

“¿Y si te doy mi vida?”

His hand brushes yours. Your fingers twitched, desperate to reach for him. Your throat feels tight, as if you were suffocating. You're actually terrified. Because you want him, desperately. Not just the heat of his kisses, not just the easy laughter or the wild, thrilling mystery that he is. You want to actually love someone for once, truly. And it’s him. Fucking God, it’s him. But if he leaves… If he goes back to wherever he came from, with his smirk, his rich laugh and silver hair… Your heart will shatter and go straight back to that frozen, numb place. And you’ve only just started to thaw. You flinch. You meet his gaze in the low light. His expression is serious, no, even worse…  Disappointment, sadness or something in between. 

“I’m not… lying.” You lie.

He watches you a second longer, then slowly moves even closer to you. His movements are careful. His fingers wrap gently around your wrist, and he guides your hand to his chest, on his warm skin. A fast, steady rhythm beneath. His parted lips hover just above yours. The same lips you kissed a few nights ago, when you told yourself not to care. When you whispered: Let’s just have fun. It doesn’t have to mean anything.

But now…

Now, your thoughts are overflowing with him. Mornings, nights, in the quiet moments between customers, between dreams, you think of him. In his presence, somehow, you found the courage to admit out loud that you want to leave your home. The paradise with its palms and sleepy routines. That you want more. To go somewhere, do something, be someone. And still… even if he’s offered you all that, you’re terrified. Terrified he could simply use you. Terrified that things won't work out between you, and you'll be back to square one, heartbroken again. 

“What do you really want?” he murmurs. His gaze is piercing you, you want to avoid him. If you let him… if you let yourself. The knot in your chest seems to struggle your heart to death. It hurts so much. You blink fast, trying to clear the sudden blur in your vision. Your throat tightens, making it impossible to swallow. “Why aren't you saying anything?”

“I—” You take a deep breath, trying to reduce the growing anxiety in your chest. “We should sleep,” you whisper, you’re one breath away from breaking. 

“Don’t—” he starts, his voice rough, as if he’s about to say something that might shatter the last bit of distance between you but he stops. He swallows whatever it was, a visible effort, and just hugs you for a long time. 

The silence settles again, but this time it’s louder, pressing in on you. And for a long while, neither of you sleeps. You want to cry out all the pain, and ironically, let him comfort you, wipe the tears from your face, and promise you that everything will be okay. The bed feels too big and far too small at the same time. You close your eyes, trying to ignore how closer Sylus was. 

After that, every passing day carves the question deeper into your mind: What happens when he finally leaves? It gnaws at you more with each sunset. You keep telling yourself not to get attached. You’ve had flings before. Summer heat, wandering hands, promises made in the dark that vanish with the morning sun. You’re not new to that rhythm. 

However, Sylus remembers the way you like your coffee. That you hate papaya. That your first kiss wasn’t anything magical, just wet and awkward behind a middle school building. That you used to get bullied for being too loud, too intense, too weird. He knows that you chew your straw when you're nervous. That you hold your breath during horror movies. He knows you have a birthmark between your shoulder blades you pretend to hate but secretly hope someone finds beautiful. That you’ve never told anyone the exact moment you stopped believing love was safe. 

By now, it’s been fifteen days since you met him and in that time he knows more than you ever told anyone. Tonight, he’s sitting on his usual spot, sleeves rolled to his elbows as he skims a finger across the rim of his whiskey glass, he hasn't touched. You’re closing the bar tonight. There isn't anyone left on the beach. You join him wordlessly, sinking into the chair in front of him. You glance over. His eyes are fixed on the ocean, jaw tight. Something’s off. 

“…Sylus?” you ask softly.

He doesn’t answer right away. Just exhales through his nose. 

“I’m leaving…” he finally says. There it is. Your stomach knots. You knew this was coming, didn’t you? You swallow hard. 

“When?”

He looks at you then, and his eyes, those burning red eyes, look tired. No, they look unexpectedly sad. “Tomorrow afternoon.”

The silence that follows carries the heavy weight of all the unsaid things. You nod, pretending it’s fine. You’re fine. This is how it should be, how it always ends. You swallowed the bitterness of the coming farewell, the pain that had flooded your entire body, and the crushing sadness of never seeing him again. Maybe you'd screwed up. 

“At least I have one less customer to serve,” you quip, a thin attempt at humor.

He huffs a breath, a sound that's a tired mix of amusement and resignation. “I… didn't expect to stay so long.”

You nod again. He reaches for your hand, his fingers wrap around yours. 

“I told you I’d give you everything,” he says, and his voice is serious.

“What does that even mean, Sylus?”

Why me? Who are you really? What happens after this?

He lifts your hand, presses a kiss to your knuckles. 

“It means,” he says slowly, his eyes holding yours, “if you want to leave this place. If you want to see the world, say it.”

You stare, breath caught in your throat. “You’re asking me to just… go with you?”

“I’m offering you a way out.” He smiles then, soft and utterly unreadable. “Your choice.”

The smell of herbs and something baking fills the air. You hear the soft clatter of your mother’s steps as she moves from counter to stove. You sit there in the dim light of the kitchen, elbows resting on the table, the ghost of Sylus’s offer still echoing in your chest. You want to ask her, but you can’t put your words together.

She passes behind you, then stops. Set something down gently on the table. You glance at it. A photograph. Slightly bent at the corners, colors a little faded with time. You are in a yellow swimsuit with flowers, front tooth missing, two uneven braids. One hand gripping a tiny shovel, the other clutching the hand of a boy, frowning, clearly not thrilled to be holding yours.

“Do you remember that summer?” your mother says, her voice light, amused. You don’t answer. Just stare at the photo like it might rearrange itself if you look long enough.

“You met that boy,” she continues, “and I remember you told everyone you were going to travel the world with him.” She chuckles under her breath. “You always wanted to go beyond the horizon. I don’t know what happened to that dream but…” she pauses, and her voice softens. “You know... Your father and I—we can live alone.”

You look up. She’s already turned her back again, kneading something, hands working like they always do. You huff. You even haven’t said anything but she already knows what is oppressing your heart.

“I just thought it was cute, how serious you were,” she adds. Then, quieter—like she’s saying it to the dough. “Who knew he’d grow up to be so handsome…”

Your breath catches. You look down at the photo again. At the boy. You hadn’t made the connection. Same frown. Same eyes. That stubborn, restless energy in his bones. 

Sylus. 

No wonder he could speak your language so well. You stare at the picture, fingers tracing the edges. Was that why he was here? If you have forgotten about that, has he too? Could it be...?  

You lay on your bed, eyes wide open, ceiling fan spinning slowly above you, offering no peace. How did you forget him? How did he slip through the cracks of your memory? You remember the summer, vaguely. You remember falling, scraping your knee, building sandcastles. But him? Not really. Maybe your brain, like your heart, had tucked it away for safekeeping.

You throw off the sheet when the first rays of sunlight appear behind your curtain. You take the photo and slip it into your pocket and walk out. The path is still etched into your bones, even after all these years. Past the old mango tree, down the narrow stretch of dirt between fences, and through the tall grass that tickles your legs until the world opens up. 

The beach. You find the spot. The place where your little hand held his. You sit down in the sand, cool grains sticking to your legs. The sky is bruised with the first light of morning, deep pinks and soft golds stretching across the horizon. The ocean glitters just for you. You pull the photo out, staring at it again. 

You don’t hear his footsteps at first. 

“I wondered if you’d remember.” You look over your shoulder. “You kept the picture,” he says, sitting beside you.

You hold it up. “Why didn’t you tell me?” The ocean murmurs beside you, waves licking the rocks with that slow, lazy rhythm that feels almost too intimate for this moment.

“Would you have looked at me the same way, if I’d said it on day one?” His gaze lingers on the horizon. His thumb brushes over his knee, slow and distracted. “You didn't seem to remember me at all.” He paused. “I thought… if I added more weight to all of this, you'd pull away.”

You stare at him, lips parted, heartbeat louder than the sea.

“I didn’t want to overwhelm you,” he finishes, finally turning to face you. “But I think I might have, anyway.”

You look down at the photo in your hand then at the man beside you. Maybe you stayed because some part of you was waiting. Hoping. Hoping he'd come back. And then it clicks. Like a lock turning after all these years. You did make a promise. You both did. You remember the salty wind in your hair, the scraped knees, the laughter. The little boy frowning at the sun, then reaching for your hand and whispering something like:

“When we’re older, let’s explore the world. You and me. I’ll came back.”

You huff. Then laugh, low and disbelieving.

“So you came here to find me?” you ask, glancing at him.

“No,” he says, eyes still fixed on the horizon.

You squint at him. “Then what was it?”

He’s silent for a moment. 

“I’ll tell you. But first… I want to here your decision.”

“Does my choice change your secret?”

“No,” he repeats.

You press your lips into a fine line. A choice. Yours. The word echoes through your chest. Panic rises in your throat, a quiet flutter of fear. You’re not sure what you’re waiting for, some sign or burst of clarity, but maybe the truth has been there all along. Leaving because of some old promise would be stupid, but... you had waited for an excuse, for something that would finally pull you out of your comfort zone. You’ve been scared. Of leaving, of staying. Of wanting something too much. But this… him. It hasn’t felt temporary in a long time. You exhale. The nerves are still there, fluttering like butterflies wings under your skin. But somewhere deeper inside of you, already knows the answer. 

“I want to leave and see the world,” you squeeze his hand. “But also... I want to be with you.”

His head turns slowly, and he looks at you with tenderness. His hand closes over yours. With the sun rising and the sea singing low beside you, you realize you’re choosing something that feels like destiny.

“I'm glad to hear that.”

“Now…” you whisper, “your—”

Sylus laughs under his breath, then draws you in. His mouth meets yours with a softness that steals the air from your lungs. You feel the tremble in his exhale, the way his fingers tighten slightly. Your hands find his chest. The world narrows to the taste of him, familiar, new and everything at once. He barely parts from you, his forehead brushing yours, his nose nudging yours.

“I never stopped thinking about you,” he murmurs, lips brushing yours. “All these years. I wanted to find you.” A pause. “Coming here wasn’t planned, I almost gave up,” he admits. “I was just taking a few days off. And then… I found you.”

There’s a softness in his expression, an openness that makes your soul leave your body. For you, he’s not just a visitor anymore. Not just a beautiful man passing through. He’s the ache in your chest that finally has a name. He’s the silence that felt full instead of empty. You grip his shirt, holding onto him like he might vanish if you let go.

The sun crowns him in gold, dawn spilling across his skin, catching in his lashes, turning him into something you could never explain to anyone else. You kiss him again, this time with everything you’ve been holding back. He answers with equal fervor, hands cradling your face. The world tilts, and for a moment it’s just breath and warmth and the ache of something too big for words. The kind of kiss that means yes. He breaks the kiss with a soft, disbelieving laugh, eyes impossibly bright as if he can’t quite believe this was happening. Without warning, he rises, sweeping you into his arms effortlessly. Your laughter bubbles up, wild and breathless, muffled against the curve of his neck as he spins you around. 

The door barely clicks shut before you’re on him again, tangled in each other. Clothes fall in a trail behind you. His fingers slide under your shirt, tugging it over your head as his lips find your neck, dragging a sigh from your lips. The trail of clothes grows behind you, scattered and forgotten, urgency pulsing beneath every touch.

The relentless desire for the feel of your bare skin against his, already warm and damp with your rising heat, was getting both of you into an intoxicating high. A thirst as overwhelming as hours without water in the desert.

You kiss him slowly. First his lips, a deep, soft sigh shared between you, then lower, down the sharp line of his jaw. Your mouth drifts to the curve of his neck, tasting the warmth there. His breath hitches,when your tongue traces the hollow of his throat. You can feel the tension building, a taut wire humming through his body, every muscle pulled tight…

Sylus tilt your head, eyes burning in desire. You just smiled, making him sit on the bed. You knelt before him. He exhaled sharply. You kept going, placing soft, wet kisses down his chest, over each ridge of muscle, pausing to press your mouth against the places that made him twitch, and made him whisper your name. 

“You don’t need to…” he started, his voice thick with unspent lust, but your lips had already closed around his leaking cock. His head fell back with a low groan. Your mouth moved with intention. You wanted to savor this—him. You hollowed your cheeks just enough, letting your tongue glide along his length, feeling every small shudder ripple through him. His hand drifted to your hair only holding, enough to ground him as he unraveled.

“S-sweetie…” he murmured, his voice roughened, broken open by pleasure.

You didn’t stop. You owned this moment, every agonizing, beautiful second. The taste of him was rich, musky, utterly intoxicating, a flavor that filled your mouth and settled deep in your throat. The way he fought to keep control and still offered it to you completely, without reservation. He was yours like this—silent except for the sounds you pulled from him, the way his hips shifted with restraint beneath your hands.

Your lips wrap around his thick cock, feeling the slick heat. You split over him, taking him deeper in. Tears pricked at your eyes, because of the sheer effort and the overwhelming sensation. Yet you enjoyed it so much, you wanted more. 

Sylus can barely breathe, every nerve ending screaming. He feels his control fraying, a thin thread about to snap. His hips twitch, wanting to thrust into your mouth, but he holds himself rigid, a strangled sound catching in his throat as the pleasure threatens to overwhelm him entirely. You pull back, and a thin line of breathless laughter escapes him, as if he can’t believe what you were doing to him.

You wiped your mouth delicately, lingering for a moment to lick away his taste still on your lips. Then you kissed your way back up his body, over his taut stomach, up his chest, hovering just above his lips.

“Still think I’m not greedy enough?” you whispered, your voice husky. He looked like he wanted to worship you and surrender at the same time. His answer was a kiss that made the whole room spin.

He didn't give you time to continue. Sylus made you lay down on the bed, his knee nudging between your legs, creating a space just for him. His eyes, dark with fervent hunger, scorched your flushed skin as he leaned in. He kissed your collarbone, then the hollow of your throat, his lips playing with your breath, before his mouth drifted lower. He took your nipple between his lips sucking on them, making your back arch and a gasp in response to that. You felt the sudden gush of your own wetness, a hot, insistent tide rising, your whole body with a pulsing need to have him. 

“Let me... return the favor,” he murmured and then he disappeared between your legs. 

Your eyes rolled back in your head. His hot tongue danced over your swollen, damp pussy. The taste of you, sweet and musky, filled his mouth, a heady rush he craved more than air. It felt so terribly, impossibly good. “So wet...” he purred, the words vibrating against your sensitive skin. Your whole body tensed, an electric current shooting through you. He gorged himself on your wetness, every lick, every suck deepening his own hunger.

He kept you firmly in place, his hands on your thighs, devouring you with an intensity that stole your breath. Your moans grew louder, and uncontrollable sounds ripping from you. You grabbed fistfuls of his hair while your other hand clenched the sheets, twisting the fabric. “Sy— Fuck...!” Your breath was a mess, short-circuited, ragged gasps. You were going crazy, right on the edge, especially when he pressed his tongue deep inside you.

“Sy— I'm… aahh… mm…” Your words were broken sounds, lost in pleasure.

The vibration of his own moan against your dripping pussy was the cherry on top. You were about to cum on his face when he pulled back. You let out a small, frustrated whine.

“What…” he murmured, his tongue flicking hard against your clit. “...Do you…” again, a deeper, swirling lick that made your hips arch instinctively. “...Need..?” You couldn't form coherent thoughts; how could one man be so impossibly good at this? “Tell me.” He pressed a hot, claiming kiss to your inner thigh, sending a shockwave through your entire body. You couldn't even articulate if you wanted him inside you, or if you simply needed more of his impossibly talented tongue.

“Be honest,” he whispered, the words punctuated by tiny, insistent bites on your inner thigh. His nose then brushed against your clit, drawing a sharp gasp from your throat. "You smell so good," he purred.

He kept you on the edge, pushing you further with every lick, every suck. You writhed beneath him, your fingers twisting in the sheets, desperate to articulate the overwhelming need. Sylus continued to feast, drawing out your pleasure until your pussy screamed for something more, for him.

“I... want.. you…” The admission ripped through you.

“As you wish” he breathed, and the certainty in his tone was an aphrodisiac, sealing your fate.

Every breath, every motion feels etched in starlight. When he finally thrusts into you, the wet, full slide of him ignites a deeper fire, driving even further, lost in the vast extent of your desire. A whimper tears from your throat, your nails drag burning trails down his back, and then, without quite thinking, you sink your teeth gently into his shoulder, desperate, loving bites that pull a gasp from him. You murmur something incoherent against his damp skin, something silly that dies on your tongue. He chuckles, breathless. 

His entire body is on fire with the profound pleasure of being inside you, feeling you stretch around him, so wet, so impossibly tight. Sylus pressed harder, deeper inside you, with the urge to bury himself completely, never wanting to let go. His warmth floods you, mingling with your own burgeoning sweat, dissolving the last threads of hesitation. “Fuck,” he rasps, a rough, breathless sound against your ear, his voice full with his own spiralling pleasure, "you feel so incredible.” 

You feel every inch of him: solid muscle, steady breath, the faint shiver that betrays his own restraint. Letting out a long breath, you fully surrender to his embrace. Your legs wrap around him almost instinctively, drawing him in tighter. His mouth devoured yours, tongues tangling, wet and insistent, mixing tastes of hunger and the lingering salt from his skin, a flavour of absolut, undeniable devotion. You move together, slow at first, building a rhythm that pulls you both under.

He moans your name against your ear. The world narrows as the heat of his skin grows. The sound of your breathing tangled together is getting louder, and the steady rhythm he finds between your hips makes your vision blur. He feels you clenching around him, demanding more. His thrusts are smooth, sensual, purposeful. He’s trying to memorize the shape of your body from the inside out, imprinting himself onto you. 

Each movement sends sparks up your body, makes your chest arch, your breath catch, your thoughts dissolve into nothing more than him. “Sylus…” you whimper against his neck. Sweat glistened and rolled over the planes of his chest, catching in the silver hair that trailed down his lower stomach to the base of his cock.

The wet slap of skin echoed the deep, rhythmic thwack of his hips meeting yours, and the raw longing burning in his eyes is almost too much to bear. You cling to him, your hair sticky against your own body, as well as the weight of all your feelings: your fear, your yearning, your surrender, everything coiling tighter into every powerful roll of his hips.

His mouth brushes your ear as he promises you things you can’t quite hold yet, but desperately want to believe. “Please…” you gasp, the word lost in the rising tide of climax. “Sylus…”

“If… you keep saying my name like that...” he moaned, so shaky and broken it barely sounded like him. “I’m not… ah… going to last long.”

The desire rised between your bodies like a storm about to break. You couldn't hold back; the dam of all your emotions was seconds from bursting. And with a few more relentless movements, you came, shuddering violently over his cock, gasping for breath as if you’d been drowning. You cried out with a wild, untamed sound you'd never made before, a full-body surrender that spilled into a rush of shared liquid.

Your body trembled beneath him, and still he didn’t let go, maintaining the rhythm, anchoring you both in the eye of the storm. He presses his forehead to yours, breathing hard, his fingers brushing your cheek with tenderness. He could feel every tremor in your frame, hear the racing beat of your heart, echoing his own.

Sylus pulled back slightly, only to thrust in harder. His cock, already thick, hardened further, pulsing with a fierce demand inside you. He needed more. His own climax, so close just moments ago, was now a conscious chase. Each powerful plunge was a desperate claim, a primal need to consume and be consumed. 

He felt the nails of your fingers digging into his back and it only drove him further. The way your face twisting in pleasure, of your body arching in that first, explosive climax coursed through him, intensifying his own need. He hadn't expected to go so fierce with you the first time. But your tongue, your hands, your raw surrender had provoked him beyond anything he’d anticipated. He sighed. He needed to come. You were pushing him past every limit. 

You felt him hit your sweet spot, driving you wild again. Your body arched up to meet his every brutal, perfect demand, instinctively answering the raw desire in his every thrust.

“Sylus...” You cried out, and the sound of his name on your lips was a direct path to his soul.

“Relax. You can handle it,” he choked out, his hips driving relentlessly. The wet, furious slap of skin against skin became the only sound in the universe. Your legs clamping again around his waist. His muscles bunched and flexed beneath your fingers, shimmering with sweat, as he hammered into you, faster, harder...

Just as his body tensed for release, he pulled back a fraction, you hear his choked question against your ear: “Can I come inside you?”

“Mmm-hmm... yes!” you whimpered, your body arching. “ ’m taking... the pill...”

His body tensed with renewed power, and he slammed into you, picking up a new tempo with a desperate urgency. He was rock-hard inside you, pushing you toward a second climax even as your head spun with the intensity.

Until a desperate moan tearing from his chest as he poured himself into you, filling your core. You let out a load moan, your own climax exploding through you, pulling you violently with him into the sweet oblivion. He collapsed against you, heavy and spent, his breath ragged against your neck, his fingers digging into your hips, still clutching you. 

After, your bodies remained impossibly tangled, bathed in the hush of the room, slick with shared heat. You felt weightless and pinned at the same time, his leg tangled with yours, Your heart still raced a frantic rhythm barely believing what just happened. The sheets are a mess, but neither of you moves. His arm is heavy across your waist. His breath fans gently against your temple. You stare at the ceiling, too full of feeling to speak.

Then, his fingers found your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek with feather-light care, he turned you toward him. You looked at him and found no trace of the usual smugness in his face but rather a profound softness you hadn't seen.

“I hope you know…” he said, his eyes flickering side to side, almost vulnerable. “…this wasn’t just for fun.”

You stared at him, the unexpected softness in his gaze disarmed you. The overwhelming tide of emotion swelled within you, a chaotic mix of the shattering intimacy you'd just shared, the fierce longing that had coiled inside you since that trip to the city, and the startling realisation that Sylus had been holding back too. You felt it now, in every inch of your body, lingering on your lips…

“Yes, I know, but—” you blurt, your thoughts instantly slipping out in a rush. “But I’m also a disaster! I overthink everything, and I say stupid things. I’m going to ruin this, I know it, even though I don’t want to. I’ll probably just cry and then analyse every breath we’ve shared because I can’t stop myself—and I won't be enough!”

Sylus blinks once, then twice, clearly caught off guard by the sudden rush of words.

“And maybe I’ll run or say something stupid because that’s what always happens when something actually matters and this...  You... You matter so much I can’t even breathe right and I— I love you so much…” Sylus’s eyes widened, freezing on your face. You haven't realised what you just said. “...and it’s terrifying because if you leave I won’t know how to be okay again. And I don’t think I’ll even know how to want anything else after this... after you... and, and...”

Then, his hand finds yours beneath the sheets, firm but gentle. He laces your fingers together and pulls you slightly closer, grounding you with his gaze.

“Leaving me is not an option,” he says, eyes steady. “I won’t accept that.” The intensity in his gaze sends your heart stumbling all over again. You feel your face heat up so fast it’s like someone struck a match across your skin. “After all,” he murmurs, and there’s the faintest ghost of a smile on his lips, “you love me…”

You froze. Did you say that…? The words echoed, loud and clear in your mind, burning with the fresh memory of the confession torn from you just moments before. Mortified, you yanked the covers up and over your head like a kid hiding from a nightmare. “God, why am I like this?” you mutter from underneath.

He laughs softly, leaning over the mound you’ve become. “Don’t hide under the blanket, Kitten,” he murmurs, leaning over the mess of linen you’ve become. “I remember everything you said.”

“I’m not hiding,” you protest, voice muffled and absolutely unconvincing.

“Oh?” His tone tilts into that familiar, playfully smug edge. “You’re not hiding. Enlightened me then…” his fingers pinch a corner of the blanket. “What exactly are you doing?” He gives the covers a tug, but you cling to them tighter.

“And why are you calling me Kitten, now?” you protest, struggling with him.

“It suit you” he laughed. 

A brief, silly struggle ensues and before you know it, he’s won. He slips beneath the blanket with you, pinning you down, his bare chest warm against yours. You yelp as his mouth finds yours again in the dark, laughter caught between kisses.

“Don’t be so fussy, Kitten,” he murmurs against your lips, smug and soft all at once. “You already said it.” You turn into his chest, breathing in his scent, your hand clutching the fabric of the sheets between you. He wraps his arms around you tighter. “Now let me show you what that means to me.” He murmurs, and before you can respond, his lips find yours.

A kiss that speaks in quiet declarations: I heard you. I see you. I’m not going anywhere. His mouth brushes over yours once, then again, softer, slower. His hand cradles your jaw, thumb tracing your cheek, and you melt into him, the warmth of his chest, the strength of his arms, the steady thrum of his heartbeat under your palm. The moment stretches between heartbeats, soft and suspended. Then you sigh, the weight of reality pressing lightly on your chest.

“It’s a shame we can’t stay like this too long.”

“We have plenty of time” he said, pressing his again hard cock against you. 

“You’re not leaving today?” You lift an eyebrow, already suspicious. He keeps kissing your neck. “Sylus…” you warn, your tone dropping.

He pulled back, hovering over you. “I guess you can say I lied.”

“What?”

“Leaving today was… an option.”

Your mouth falls open in disbelief, you push him from you, scandalized. “Liar!”

“But,” he drawls, he caught your wrist effortlessly, tugging you back against the bed with ease. “I still need to get on a plane this week. Which means, my beloved…” he kisses your knuckles with infuriating calm, “we have the whole day to ourselves. And enough time to pack your things.”

Your heart skips, a flustered mess between outrage and joy. “You’re assho—”

“I know,” he smirks, utterly shameless, pulling you into a kiss that tastes like victory and sweet devotion. 

The days after, the sun rose just like it always did—but everything felt different. You packed quietly, folding memories between cotton shirts and worn-out sandals, tucking away pieces of your old life with a strange sense of calm. Your mother hugged Sylus tightly at the door, laughing as she told him, “You always were handsome, even back then as a boy.” He smiled, a little shy for once. Your father gave him a few heavy pats on the shoulder, nodding solemnly. Take care of her.”

And just like that, you left. With nothing more than a suitcase, enough to pack everything important to you. You had always known this place wouldn’t hold you forever. Your heart had been beating against its walls for years, aching for something just out of reach. But it was also a cage, painted in soft colours and built from everything you loved and yet couldn’t stay for.

Sylus didn’t rescue you. He gave you a reason, an option to leave. Before your courage could shrink back into doubt, before the weight of comfort could drag you into settling. He was a spark, and you were dry wood pretending not to be waiting for the flame.

You found out later, that the blueprint you once saw, the one that made you wrinkle your nose and tease him over his terrible taste in dark interiors… was a real apartment. A place he had already bought. For both of you. Just in case you said yes. He had designed it with the quiet precision only he possessed. Room for you to make it yours. 

You slowly began to accept every piece of him. His shadows. His impossible expectations. His infuriating smirk. His softest silences. And he, in turn, accepted yours. Your doubts. Your fear. Your stubborn heart that had always longed to run.

Months passed. Then years. And with each one, your love with Sylus deepened. He never tried to clip your wings, instead, he helped you build them stronger. He stood by you, through every new city, every strange adventure, every late-night doubt. He pushed you when you forgot how powerful you were. With him, you became the woman you were always meant to be: strong, radiant, free.

One day, when you were ready—truly ready—he knelt before you, eyes bright with unshed tears. You said yes, the word trembling from your lips like a vow the universe had always been waiting to hear.

The bell of the church rang across your small village, echoing through palm trees and sun. Rice flew through the air, laughter danced on the breeze, and petals rained down on two people irrevocably in love. You stepped out in white, hand in hand, heart in heart. When he kissed you under the sun, tears mixed with sweat and ocean memory, and he whispered against your lips: “I love you.”

A/N: If you’ve reached this part — congrats! I hope you enjoyed the story. I did my best to portray Sylus as true to character as possible in this scenario. It’s quite a challenge to take him out of the whole LADS universe.

Depending on how The Taste of Apple and Pomegranate evolves, I’d love to write an epilogue. I honestly feel like this story could easily have two parts.

But, well… work and life exist, so we’ll see.

Still — I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comment section, and I hope to see you in future stories!

What If "Salt on your skin" were a movie?

Want more Sylus in your life >> MASTERLIST

[hoondrop]

Head Pusher! Enhypen

cw: mean enha, desperate jake, oral (m! receiving), rough themes.

Jungwon

You're bent backward over the bed, head hanging off the edge, throat stretched open as Jungwon slides his cock down slowly. His hand cradles the back of your head like he's being gentle—but it's a lie.

“Just like that, baby,” he murmurs. “So fucking good with your mouth full.”

You gag, moaning around him, but he only shoves deeper, breathing harder when he sees your throat bulge around him. His palm keeps your head still when you try to squirm back.

“Don't move,” he whispers, voice tightening. “Be good—let me fuck this pretty little throat.”

You claw weakly at his hips as he starts thrusting. Your spit slicks down your neck, tears streaking toward your ears. When you choke too hard, he just shudders.

“Oh god. Do that again.”

When he cums, he presses all the way in and holds you there, cock pulsing deep inside your throat.

“Swallow it. Every fucking drop. That's my baby.”

You’re still coughing when he kisses your forehead and whispers, “You took it like you were made for me.”

Heeseung

Heeseung grins as you wrap your lips around his cock—but he’s already got a hand in your hair, already setting the pace for you.

“You gonna suck me off like a good little slut today, or do I have to make you?”

Your mouth is full before you can answer. He slams your head down, choking you in one go, and lets out a filthy groan as your throat convulses around him.

“Shit. I forgot how tight your throat gets when you panic.”

You try to pull back for air, whimpering, but heeseung just laughs.

“Nuh-uh. You’re not going anywhere.”

His grip is unforgiving, thrusting up to meet your mouth until your face is wet and red, eyes rolling back.

“God, you’re fucking crying,” he pants, hips stuttering. “So pretty like this. Let me ruin your throat.”

He cums with a ragged breath, holding you down so his cum pours straight into your mouth. You gag—but swallow—shaking.

“That’s it,” he moans. “Keep drinking... my messy girl.”

Jay

Jay doesn’t play. The second you open your mouth, his hand grabs your jaw and forces you down until you're choking.

“Don’t tease me,” he growls. “You know what I fucking want.”

Your eyes water instantly, his cock shoved deep as his hand presses on your skull like he’s trying to break you. You cry out weakly, but it’s muffled by the stretch of him inside you.

He starts fucking your face, growling as you gag and sob around him, spit dripping all over your chest.

“You think you get to pull back?” he hisses when you try to push away. “No. You don’t stop until I say so.”

He holds your face in place, using your mouth until he’s shaking, panting, eyes wild.

When he cums, he buries himself deep and grinds his hips in small circles, growling, “That’s it. Take it. Choke on it. That’s all your mouth is good for, huh?”

Jake

Jake’s hand is already trembling on your head when you wrap your lips around him. He moans instantly, breath hitching, "Oh fuck, oh my god—please, don't stop."

He’s not even controlling the pace, he’s begging, thrusting into your mouth with such desperation that tears spill down your cheeks almost immediately.

You whimper, trying to back off to breathe, but he gasps, “No, no—please, stay. I need to finish in your throat. I need it.”

His hands push you down shakily, his cock twitching violently as your throat clenches. He’s mumbling under his breath, filthy, needy.

“Wanna see it leaking from your mouth. Wanna watch you swallow it all.”

When he cums, he practically cries. Hips stuttering, hands gripping your hair like he’ll fall apart without you.

“Oh fuck—I’m cumming—I’m cumming—I’m—!”

You swallow around him, and he moans helplessly, whispering, “So good to me. You’re fucking everything.”

Sunghoon

Sunghoon stares down at you with one hand tightening in your hair and the other gripping your chin.

“You want it?” he murmurs. “Then take it.”

He forces you down hard, and your body jolts as his cock slides into your throat like a punch. You gag violently but he doesn’t stop.

His palm rests flat on your head, keeping you in place as your throat convulses around him. He watches silently, lips parted, breathing calm even as you cry and shake.

You try to pull away and he snaps, slapping your cheek.

“You think you get to decide when I stop? This mouth is mine. Understand?”

He holds your head still and thrusts hard, your nose pressing to his pelvis over and over as he uses you like a toy.

“Choke on it. That’s what you’re for.”

When he cums, it’s violent—hips jerking, cum shooting down your throat, his hand forcing you down every time you try to breathe.

“Not done,” he growls. “Stay. Take all of it. Swallow. I want to feel your throat work for me."

Sunoo

Sunoo moans when your mouth touches him, already holding your hair in a tight grip.

“So good for me,” he coos. “Wanna feel that pretty throat stretch.”

He guides your head down slowly—then shoves deep once he’s halfway in, and your body convulses. You gag loudly, eyes rolling, and he *gasps*.

“Oh my god. You sound so fucking good when you struggle.”

You try to rise, coughing, but he hums sweetly, “Nuh-uh, baby. Not done. Be a doll and let me finish in that pretty mouth.”

He starts grinding slowly into your throat, murmuring filth between each breath.

“Messy girl. My little fuckdoll. Gag on it. Gag harder—yes—just like that.”

When he cums, it’s long, warm, and thick, dripping past your tongue. He watches you drool around it and whispers:

“Don’t spit it out. Swallow it. All of it. C’mon, be my good little slut.”

[uncuredturkeybacon]

𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝚕𝚊𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚑 || 𝚔𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚗 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which you and kate didn't mean to soft launch

The morning before game day feels exactly like every other morning in the second year of your WNBA career — slow, sleepy, quiet. Kate’s already up before you, slipping on her hoodie and pulling her hair into a lazy bun as she pads around the kitchen, humming some vaguely familiar country song. You watch her from your spot on the couch, half-asleep under a blanket you never remember unfolding, cradling a mug of coffee she definitely brought you without asking. That’s just how it is. That’s how it’s always been.

Since Iowa. Since sneaking hand-holding on buses and late-night FaceTimes during long road stretches. Since the tears when her name was called on draft night and the breathless laughter when yours followed a few picks later. Since the Valkyries took you both — different teams at first, then finally, together again. Five years now. Two as pros. One married. But no one knows that part. Not really.

The league knows you're close. Your teammates definitely know. Close can be everything and nothing all at once. Best friends. Roommates. Ride-or-dies. Married? That one’s been just yours.

Until today, maybe.

You’re walking into Chase Center like you always do. Grey sweats, Jordans, one AirPod in, badge swinging from the lanyard they gave you your rookie season. Kate’s already gone in ahead — she always stops for every staffer she knows, and she knows all of them. You hung back, scrolling on your phone, texting your brother something dumb about his fantasy football team. Normal. Easy.

You don’t even realize someone’s filming her until you round the corner and hear her voice first — bright, full of that familiar midwestern cheer, just a little too excited for a morning shoot.

“Man…,” she’s saying, face animated. “A little dramatic right now, you know.” Her eyes are wide, her dimples deep.

“Do you have a favorite?”

“Chelley’s my favorite,” she says, head tilting, right hand clotting the strap of her backpack.

“Who do you want next off the island?”

She laughs, not wanting to name any names, left hand sliding out of her pocket to cover her face. 

“I think there’s a specific person who has caused a little bit of drama  in the villa and she might need to go. No names.” And when she laughs, there it is — silver. Not flashy, not big, not center-staged, but unmistakable. Her wedding band.

“Understood.”

“See you guys!” She walks away, jogging up the steps, waving goodbye to the woman like they’re old friends.

You take a breath. Step forward. The same girl turns toward you, phone already lifted. “Hey! You mind if I ask you something quick?”

You shrug. Smile, keep it casual. “Shoot.”

“Do you watch Love Island?”

You laughed, short and dry. “Unfortunately.”

“Unfortunately?”

“I get pulled in every time. It’s, like, a toxic little ritual now.”

You moved your hand to mimic a spinning wheel—an endless cycle—and for just a second, your left hand slipped out of your pocket. The camera caught it. The light it. The dainty silver band, delicate against your skin, practically glowed under the overhead light near the door.

It was barely a second. But it didn’t need to be more than that.

Your team wins the game, able to lock the other team on defense, making their lives harder. 

That night, you drove home in silence together. Her hand on your thigh. Your fingers loosely wrapped around hers. The night sky bled over the Bay Bridge as the stars glistening the skyline, and you rolled the windows down just enough to smell the salt in the air. It felt like the calm before the storm.

You lived in a quiet apartment near the marina. Two bedrooms, open kitchen, soft white walls lined with framed jerseys and photo booth strips from a million years ago. Home.

You were in the kitchen reheating pasta when Kate wandered into the living room, phone in hand. “Babe?”

“Mhm?”

She sat on the couch, brows furrowed. “Did you check TikTok yet?”

You frowned, spooning pesto around the bowl. “No, why?”

“Uh…” She turned the phone toward you. “We’re kind of blowing up.”

You set the spoon down and walked over, wiping your hands on a dish towel. The WNBA’s official TikTok account had posted a video captioned,

“Two bombshells have entered the Arena. Kate Martin & Y/N Y/LN give us all the Love Island USA tea!”

The clip was barely a minute long, clips switching between you and Kate. Her laughing. You denying it. But what the fans noticed wasn’t your answers.

It was the rings.

The comments were already in chaos.

Kate blinked at you, mouth half-open like she was trying to laugh but hadn’t quite committed. “So…”

You leaned over the couch arm and kissed her temple. “So.”

“You think they’ll let us stay mysterious after this?”

You reached for her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “They’ll try. But I think the ring did the talking.”

She looked at you. Really looked. The way she did when you said I do in front of three people on a foggy hike during a vacation, both of you crying like idiots. The way she did after the draft, waiting for your name to be called, heart thundering.

“I don’t mind,” she said finally. “I kind of… like that they know.”

You smiled. “Me too.”

Your phones buzzed again and again that night. Mentions. Edits. Old clips from college resurfacing. Conspiracy-theory TikToks unearthing that one photo of you holding hands in the background of a locker room celebration your senior year.

You let it all happen.

For the first time in five years, you didn’t rush to shut the door behind you.

You sat on the couch together, legs tangled, bowls of pasta growing cold. Kate pulled you close, tucked her face against your shoulder, and sighed softly into your hoodie.

“Wife,” she murmured. “Guess the secret’s out.”

You kissed her hair. “About time.”

[withmyloveasyourgarden]

─ FLUSH OUT THIS FIRE FROM MY VEINS

BUCKY BARNES x F!READER

Summary: You're convinced that your feelings for your teammate and friend are one sided but when you're doused in a mysterious powder on a mission, it suddenly seems like that might not be the case after all.

Warnings: 18+. Sex pollen fic. Oral (fem receiving). Piv.

Word Count: 4K

A/N: A little re-write of an old fic :)

You felt feverish.

A savage burn flaring to life in the depth of your bones. It's in your blood, the branches of your lungs, rushing outwards to eat at every part of you like the spread of a wildfire before it settles hot and heavy in your gut.

It rips a gasp from your mouth as something wicked pierces through you, all primal need and desperate hunger, legs buckling like toothpicks at the cramp that swiftly follows and nearly sends you crashing to the ground if it wasn't for Bucky being right there.

"Woah, what the hell." He curses when he has to dive to catch you, the shadow of a frown creeping over his face when you practically swing from the cradle of his arms before you manage to regain your footing. "What's the matter with you?"

Beneath the harsh clip of his tone, you can hear it. His worry, his concern, packed tight around every word he grits past his teeth as you sway.

It's in his eyes, a streak of dark that bitters their natural warmth and narrows them to slits like that will help him peel back your layers until he can find the cause of your distress.

You want to tell him you're fine but you can't. You can't lie, not when his touch is on you.

Not when every nerve in your body is single mindedly attuned to this strange tingling stemming from his fingers sweeping up your back, circling around your arms and holding you firmly to his broad chest. He's too close but also somehow not enough, and it's all scrambling your brain, your eyes screwing shut because this is Bucky.

Because as much as you try to deny it and bury it way fucking deep down, your teammate is gorgeous and maybe the reason you were always joint at the hip isn't just the fact you're knitted together through blood soaked loyalty and trauma - but also the fact you're just that little bit in love with him.

And right now, every less than innocent thought you've ever had about the man is currently crashing against the wall of your skull and making the ache between your thighs pulse hotter.

If you don't move away, you could ruin everything.

Clawing feebly at his hands to release you, "It's the powder." You whimper. "It has to be. Probably one of those chemical weapons we were warned about."

That makes him go rigid.

Alarm subtly bursting across his face as his eyes rake over your body, no doubt measuring your symptoms against the ones he could remember from the files - the tremble in your legs when you escape his hold and stumble back over a gnarled root, your soft grunt of pain as your back hits a tree and you sink in a heap to the floor before he can reach out and snatch you back to his chest.

His brow furrows deeply, but then he's shaking his head. "They were just theories. Nothing was ever confirmed that they'd managed to actually create them."

"Does this look theoretical to you, James?" You growl. "It fucking hurts."

You curl in on yourself, fingers dragging through your hair and head hitting your knees as a fresh bloom of agony slashes through your belly and radiates out to the far reaches of the rest of your body.

There's silence. A beat, then two, then the vicious crunch of leaves under heavy boots. You glance up and Bucky is pacing, the tense set of his shoulders and furious tick in his jaw making you swallow hard as he mutters to himself before blue eyes snap to you.

"You absolute idiot." He hisses.

**

You were an idiot.

One with good intentions you could argue but definitely an idiot.

It had only happened because you'd both been distracted, because rather than paying attention like the seasoned heroes you supposedly are, you and Bucky had been bickering - like always.

'We're wasting our time here.'

'Shut up, James.'

'Why do you never listen to me, doll? I already told you the facility is a dead end, they've already cleared everything out.'

'And I already told you there could still be something left or it might not be as abandoned as we think, now shut up.'

You'd been in the middle of whirling around to flick him in the forehead, the way you know he despises, when you'd heard it. The quiet little clink of metal rolling over the floor behind you, the sound sending ice slashing down your spine before you'd burst into motion.

You'd snatched at Bucky with frantic hands, ignoring his stunned look before you'd shoved him with all your might back through the doorway you'd both just entered through.

Surprise had been the only reason you'd been able to unbalance him enough that he'd hit the ground and when his eyes found yours again you witnessed every emotion that flared across his face - confusion, understanding, followed by unfiltered horror.

The widening of his eyes as the fear flooded through and turned his movements wild.

You'd smiled at him sadly, a look that only made him lunge harder to reach you before you'd forced the heavy, steel door shut - slamming your entire weight against it for good measure so he couldn't get in no matter how hard he slammed his metal fist against the surface of it and screamed.

There'd been a moment of stillness, your forehead resting against the door, the beginnings of an apology on your tongue.

Then the canister exploded.

And you were so fucking confused because there had been no searing heat, no force that burst you apart like confetti.

Instead, you were covered in ocean blue powder, the sweet scent of it shooting up your nose, clogging your throat and making you splutter and choke whilst you glanced down stunned.

It was everywhere.

Your hair looked like a cotton candy disaster and your lashes were caked, bright little particles fluttering around your face every time you blinked.

Bucky had been furious when you'd opened the door.

Meeting your meek offering of a soft "hey" with a look like you'd committed the ultimate betrayal, like he'd been ready to explode and chew you out for even thinking of sacrificing yourself for him.

His nostrils flared, the soft blue of his eyes drowned out to a near black with rage before he'd blinked and they'd clouded with confusion.

"Why do you look like a smurf?"

**

It had itched first.

Barely coming off despite both yours and Bucky's efforts to dust you off once you'd got deep enough in the jungle to be considered safe.

You could feel it with every step you had taken, like a chalky film coating your body, mixing with your sweat and making your fingers clench with the desire to claw at yourself until you bled.

Then you burned.

And you'd tried desperately to hide it.

But Bucky was so acutely observant that from the very first gnarled root that seemed to suddenly appear on the jungle floor with the sole intent of tripping you up, his eyes had remained unflinchingly trained on you.

He'd watched your legs grow weaker, stumbling over nothing whilst they struggled to hold your weight, watched as the sweat beaded on your skin when the powder became acid in your veins and your expression turned dazed and nervous.

He'd murmured your name, soft and low in his suspicion. "You okay there, doll?"

It was a far cry to the way his tone slices at you now, the fury leeching into his eyes when he shoves a rough hand through his dark hair and points accusingly at you.

"You knew." He growls. "You knew something wasn't right with that powder and you didn't say anything."

"Didn't want to slow us down."

He scoffs, incredulous. "How's that working out right now, genius?"

"Jesus christ, Bucky!" You spit, an explosive shock of pain racking through your form and snapping the last fraying nerve of your patience. "What do you want from me - an apology? Is that it? You want me to say sorry for trying to save your ass, for dragging you in there in the first place? Or maybe I should apologise that this weird powder trying to kill me is such an inconvenience for you. I am so goddamn sorry, there, are you happy now?"

Your voice cracks on a sob at the end, a pang of horror flooding through you when your vision blurs and salt spills down your cheeks. How embarrassing.

But it stops Bucky dead, the violence of his rage burning out in a blink to be replaced by frantic worry.

He's right in front of you in seconds, knees hitting the dirt harshly and you almost scold him for it, your concern for him beating back the sudden longing you feel to climb into his lap and press yourself in deep. But then his fingers are on you, sweeping back the hair plastered to your cheeks and gently snatching at your chin to force your eyes on his.

"Hey– hey, don't cry, I'm sorry, okay?" He breathes, eyes darting over your face before he swallows hard. "You're gonna be fine, sweetheart, just tell me how I can help– tell me what you need."

His words curl warm in your chest, dripping down like syrup and gathering low in your belly as your thighs clench.

When you gaze at him, drinking in the thick girlish lashes, the shadow of stubble that frames the full pout of rosebud lips, your fingers begin exploring before you realise you've even lifted your hand. Palming the rough scratch of his jaw and pressing tentatively against the swell of his bottom lip whilst your teeth sink down on your own.

You shake your head despite yourself. "You don't know what you're asking."

There's no ignoring the way his throat bobs, the hitch in his breath as he watches you watch the slide of your fingers over his mouth. Pupils expanding and petal pink tongue darting out to taste the salt of your skin as he wets his lips.

"Tell me."

**

It's so much.

Overwhelming and not enough in the way that leaves you torn between shoving him away and yanking him closer to beg for more. Each stroke of his tongue is molten, desperate and messy as he seeks to soothe the ache ravaging your body.

He hauls you to your feet, buries you into the rough bark of the tree beneath the relentless press his hips, fingers digging in your jaw and fisting your hair and when he pulls sharp it spills a ragged moan from your lips to his as the spark of pain shoots straight to your needy cunt.

You can feel his grin, that brief flash of cockiness that is so Bucky that you're almost tempted to give him shit for it. You don't.

Instead, you wrap your arms around his neck, suck the plump flesh of his lip into your mouth and score it with your teeth whilst you rock shamelessly against him. There's a lewd pop when you release it, swollen and slick, that makes you both shudder.

"Please,” you rasp, “I need you."

He chokes, a low growl rumbling from his chest, his grip on you tightening, and then it's gone just as suddenly when his hands move down. Palming at your breasts whilst his mouth works its way down your jaw with soft kisses and stinging nips of his teeth.

"I've got you." He murmurs. "Gonna make you feel good, doll, make all that pain go away, I promise."

There's a sweetness to the way he says it. Mixing with the heat, the lust. You hear it, the thing he always tries to hide, tries to run away from - the simple fact that Bucky Barnes cares. Deeply.

Enough to give you himself to save your life despite the fact he sees you as nothing more than a teammate, a friend maybe at most.

And beneath all the wild hunger and aching need, the truth of what this is makes your heart hurt.

But you can't focus on that right now, your unrequited feelings have to wait because the effects of the powder are changing again. The flames morphing to feel like knives beneath your skin, jagged and piercing, and forced harder through your system now Bucky's touch has ignited your need.

You'd crumble if he pulled away. His name is already on the tip of your tongue ready to burst forth and beg him for more, more of his fingers, more of his mouth. More of him.

And it's like he can sense it, that chaotic desperation sweeping through your chest. Because suddenly his hand has slid inside your pants, peeling away the drenched fabric of your underwear and then, oh. Bucky slides a knuckle through the soaked folds of your cunt and your mind goes in a tail spin, your body jolting like a livewire in his arms.

"Fuck." He groans. "You're so wet."

He sinks his fingers inside you, curls them nice and deep so he can stroke that part of you that threatens to make you sob, your nails biting deep into the leather of his jacket with the iron grip you have on his shoulders.

He rubs at the aching peak of your clit and pinches your nipple, his mouth lapping the sweat from your throat whilst you cry out when you flood his hand. Every spark of pleasure he drags from you is a balm, the knives beneath your skin turning blunt, coated in cotton wool.

There's still a fire in your veins but it's twisting, morphing into something you're desperate to chase rather than run from and it's like you can't get there quick enough.

"Oh my god–"

He knows. You don't know how, but he understands immediately, like he already knows your body far better than you do.

He pulls back to look at you, drags his lips away from the seal they've placed upon your neck so near black eyes can stare directly into yours.

"Do you need more, baby? Just tell me and I'll give you it. I'll give you anything you want."

It hits you low in the gut. His eagerness to please when you've always known him to be so stubborn, the boldness of his hunger and his want streaked across blazing eyes and swollen lips - the erratic mess of his hair where your hands have raked through.

You must nod because his easy smile shifts wicked and he's on his knees before you can blink, yanking off your boots and dragging your pants down your legs before he presses them apart.

He sucks in a breath and looks up at you for just a moment, a brief slash of awe in his gaze as his fingers trail over your bare thighs, his hands squeezing the globes of your ass.

Then he winks and he's shoving his face between your legs, his tongue sweeping through the slick mess of your cunt before you can properly brace yourself. Your back hits the tree with a sharp knock and you squeak, the noise swiftly dissolving to a broken moan when he hitches your leg over his shoulder and buries his mouth deeper.

It's feral the way he eats at you, laps hungrily at your arousal like he's starved for it before he seals his mouth to your throbbing clit and sucks. You almost buckle when he presses his fingers back into you, when he crooks them just right and grazes his teeth lightly over your clit until you're practically soaking his face.

It feels like your entire body is clenching. Your muscles aching and stomach drawing tight, hips grinding against his mouth whilst you fingers catch at his hair to press him closer until he groans into your flesh.

He must be able to feel it, the way you're winding up like a tightly coiled spring, all of that volatile energy gathering in your centre just waiting to burst you wide open.

"That's it, sweetheart." He urges, voice rasping. "Cum for me."

You choke when it slams into you. His name a strangled cry in your throat as the pleasure climbs high and hot until it crests violently. Blacked out vision and static in your ears, enough fire in your blood to set the world around you ablaze.

And Bucky doesn't stop until you're gasping, until you're boneless and trembling beneath his hand that is buried in your thigh, holding you up. Still encouraging you to rock against his face until every sensation but pleasure is stripped from you and there's an endless stream of tears sliding down your cheeks.

When he eventually pulls back, your cheeks flame.

He's a mess, hair in disarray and the lower half of his face coated in you. He wears an expression you've never seen before, something dazed and proud, soaked in longing.

It makes you reach for him, makes you give in to the quivering muscles of your legs so you can sink down into his lap and drag his mouth to yours.

His hands come to cup your cheeks, thumbs sweeping the curve of your jaw whilst his lips glide bruisingly sweet over yours. "Good girl." He murmurs tenderly, the deep edge of it making you shiver. "How do you feel?"

"Better." You sigh softly, weakened by relief. "Thank you."

His mouth quirks slightly. Eyes turning endlessly warm, drifting down to where his thumb is pressing against the swell of your lip, rubbing at the spit slick shine. "My pleasure."

The air grows charged when he glances back up at you. It bloats with something intense, less wild than before but more gripping, something that makes your heartbeat break out in a gallop when he breathes your name and swallows hard.

There is panic in your chest suddenly. Dread for what has him looking at you so nervously, what he might say, nausea over what you must say first because without the pain clouding your thoughts the realisation of what you've done is very quickly setting in and god, what the hell are you supposed to do?

Do you apologise and attempt to act professional about it?

Do you pretend that it never happened at all?

You don't know if you're capable of doing either, not right now. Not when you're so in love with him and feeling like you've been cracked open by the softness of him after giving you the best orgasm of your life.

“Bucky, I–” You begin hesitantly, but before you can utter another word, you're gasping. Your stomach seizing up tight and sore from the brutal force of another, much worse, cramp.

His arms close around you when you drop your face into his neck, nosing at his throat in an attempt to douse the heat searing at your insides with the comfort of his scent.

"Hey." He soothes a hand over the back of your head, sweeps his fingers over your neck and down your sides to massage the muscles that have gone rigid with agony. "It's okay, you're gonna be okay."

"It hurts– I can't–” You whimper, frustrated tears threatening to spill over your lashline if you close your eyes against the pain. “I'm so sorry, Bucky, I need more."

"I know, baby, let me help– fuck."

He inhales sharply when you roll your hips over the thick of his clothed cock, your body shifting and rocking, searching, until he's pressed hard against you, the wetness between your thighs smearing over his jeans.

"I need you inside me, please." You beg, teeth scraping his throat, heart lodged somewhere in your own when he grasps your thighs with a curse and ruts up into you.

"Shit, okay." He hisses. "Come here."

**

You can't catch your breath, the sharp burn of it stuck inside your chest makes you light headed with every push and pull of his thick length inside you, stretching you open. His pants are shoved down around his thighs, his skin glistening in your slick as you clench and burst warm and wet around him.

You're beyond words, mouth dropped open and back arching, half delirious with need and pleasure as your friend fucks your brains out in the middle of the jungle whilst there's a jet probably only minutes out from the safehouse you're both supposed to be at, and you can't even bring yourself to care.

Instead, your hands are clawing at his jacket, a desperate whine building your throat, ‘closer, Bucky, please– I need you closer’, and he goes without a fight. Hauls you up until you're crushed tight against chest and hitches your thighs higher over his hips whilst his fever-hot mouth latches over your clothed nipple.

"Jesus christ." He groans into your skin. "You feel so fucking good."

You cry for him when he drops a hand to your clit, torturously slow strokes timed with each deliberate roll of his hips. There's blood roaring in your ears, the obscene slap of skin against skin loud in the otherwise silence as Bucky drowns out the effect of the powder with every climax he rings out of you.

"Oh fuck." You gasp as you press your face to the heated skin of his neck. There's molten heat beginning to ooze through you, thighs shaking and pleasure swirling low in your belly when he uses all that enhanced strength to move you over him exactly how we wants.

"Look at me." He urges, a gruff rumble through his chest as he throbs inside you. He grips the back of your neck and squeezes, shoves his brow against the side of your face to nudge his nose at your cheek as his voice hinges on a rough plea. "Look at me, baby, please, let me see you."

You can't deny him, not when he's coaxing you from your hiding place in his neck with the soft drag of his lips over your shoulder and the deep, honey-slow rock of his hips. And god, you just know you're a mess when you peel back, pupils blown wide and hair plastered to your tear soaked face.

You feel chafed raw, an exposed nerve being plucked like a guitar string and maybe you'd be embarrassed and eager to hide as much as possible if Bucky wasn't looking at you like you've somehow slammed through the hard shell of him and cracked him open.

It brings that feeling back again.

The one that leaves the air swelling warm and sweet and electric when your eyes lock with his. Tentative fingers drift over the swell of your cheek, his thumb drifting to press into the pillow of your lower lip and it feels like you're choking. Words rushing to the tip of your tongue that you desperately try to swallow before they burst free and change everything.

Only just as you think you've managed, Bucky changes everything for you.

It shudders out of him, his admission a choked gasp as the pleasure builds and your movements turn frantic. "I love you."

It takes you both by surprise, your mouth dropping open and his eyes blinking wide.

You're rendered incapable of responding because you're suddenly shaking apart with the hot burst of a climax, the intensity of it all dragging him along with you as he makes a wrecked noise low in his throat and spills deep.

When he trembles against you, you can see it past heavy lidded eyes.

The bloom of fear snaking through the pleasure.

That part of him that tells him to draw back, to throw his walls up, because he doesn't know how to handle the possibility that he's ruined one of the few good things he has in his life. It ripples across his expression, fearful and nervous, and it's your turn now to soothe him.

So you do.

You comb your fingers through his dishevelled hair, mold yourself against him and kiss him until he moans and goes soft and slack in your arms. The whole time, pressing the truth of your feelings into him like a promise, an oath that brands you both.

I've got you.

I love you too.

[lotsofluvz]

LADS MEN AS DADS ⋆. 𐙚 ˚

how are the lads men as dads?

warnings none, just fluff

note i been trying to write as much before my semester starts n make me miserable. enjoy n luv ya! <3

ZAYNE

He cried when he finally saw his daughter as you cradled her in your arms after labor. After nine months, he is able to see the mini version of him and you. He can’t be any happier.

He is the strict type of dad (for the most part) but has a sweet spot for his princess. How can he say no to her sweet face? He can’t. He feels bad whenever he has to say no to her, but for the most part, your daughter wins over his heart.

It can be difficult to have time to spend with his family, especially with his line of work, but he always makes sure to not work once he arrives home and devotes himself to you and your daughter.

If she gains interest in anything related to medicine, I can see him teaching her various knowledge about it. He will buy her books, CDs, DVDs and many more related to science. He can’t pass up the opportunity to bond with her and his love for medicine.

RAFAYEL

He definitely cried the entire labor and when the nurses gave him your daughter. More tears fell down when she grabbed his pinky finger. He is beyond thankful for you giving him such an amazing gift, and he will forever treasure it.

He is the chill dad and is notorious for spoiling his princess. She wants new shoes? Bought it. She wants a new toy? Bought it. She wants ice cream? Bought it. She could ask him once, and she will get it. He can’t help it; she wants his princess to be happy.

He gained a new muse once you told him you were pregnant. He has portraits of you every week as she grows in your belly. Once she was born, he never stopped painting the both of you. He even bought a separate place for his paintings of his two favorite people because it was getting cramped in your home.

SYLUS

He was surprised when the two of you went for a regular doctor's appointment and the doctor told you that you were carrying twin girls. Sylus was ecstatic, to say the least. He asked Luke and Kieran to buy all the necessary nursery items. You have to scold him about purchasing too much for girls before they were even born.

If you think he was spoiling the twins so much before they were born, prepare for the amount of spoiling he is doing once his princesses are born. All they have to do is bat their eyelashes or look at something for a few seconds, and he is buying it already.

He is a hands-on dad, like the time you had an important meeting, and so did he. Instead of asking Luke and Kieran to look over the twins, he decided to bring them to the meeting itself. His business partners are all looking at him and the two girls in his arms. He is completely unfazed by the looks they are giving him and continues on explaining. He is more focused if his girls are comfortable throughout the meeting. He is the ultimate girl dad.

CALEB

He was so excited to learn that you were carrying twin boys. He bawled when the twins were born as you carried them in your arms. He can't believe two healthy boys came out of you, and he can't stop staring at them. He is so lucky to have you in his life and to have you gifting him with boys who shared the same features as their mom.

He is an easygoing and protective dad who loves his wife and twin boys so much. He always had a picture of you and the twins in a frame on his desk. He knows his life of work can be stressful, but he always makes sure the boys get to spend at least an hour or so every day.

He is the one who sparked the interest of the boys in planes, and they always loved going to their dad's job site and looking at the big planes. He is glad that the twins shared a likeness for planes, the same way he loved planes when he was younger.

He is always there to defend his boys, especially when they started to play soccer. A kid pushed one of the twins, and it took almost everything in him to not punch the kid's dad. After practice, he treated his wounds and bought them ice cream.

XAVIER

He initially wanted a girl so he could have a kid that looked like you, but he was gifted with a son who looked like him instead. He was kind of nervous when the nurse gave him the baby, but once he had him in his arms, he wouldn't stop staring and caressing his small cheeks. He repeatedly thanked you as he cradled your son.

He is the laid-back type of dad. If his son wants to try something, he will fully support him. He even taught him how to play board games, even if your son is clueless and mostly just laughing at his dad while pretending to playing. Although you refused to let him or your son near the kitchen, especially since he isn't particularly good at cooking or baking.

They became instant sleep buddies; you will always see them lying down and cuddling each other. Xavier is really good at calming him down and making him fall asleep; hence, you gave him the job of tucking your son in every night. There were instances when you woke up in the morning and he wasn't beside you. Instead, you saw him sleeping in the nursery room with him in his arms.

[wynnevee]

Hello! May I please request a comfort!fic were reader gets injured during a mission and bob comforts her? I’m a sucker for comfort fics haha

forever

bob reynolds x reader

note: of course!! i hope you enjoy :)

synopsis: the request

warnings: ankle injury, smoke inhalation, fear, unedited and barely proof read

“you’re okay, you’re okay, just breathe.”

“i’m trying, buck, but there’s smoke in my lungs,” you manage through coughs, each one making the pain in your chest worse.

bucky cradled your foot in his hands, turning it gently to asses the damage—truthfully, it most likely is not worse than an ankle sprain, maybe a fracture, but you’d fought on it for too long, and the blazing heat of the room made everything feel about 1000% worse.

“okay, there’s an exit out the door on your left, just down the hallway,” bob’s voice sounds, and you can’t tell of the cracks are a malfunction from your ear piece or his vocal cords. “john and ava are waiting outside, yelena is held up in the east wing, she’ll ride home with alexei. doctors are ready for you the second you arrive.”

“thank you,” you manage, although weakly, your throat tightening around the words like a vice.

without a second’s hesitation, bucky hoisted you into a bridal carry, turning your face into his chest as he ran out, dodging the flames and wreckage. once you reached the car, ava was quick to hop out and open the door, and bucky sat down in the back with you laid across his lap.

finally, you managed a few deep breathes of fresh air—even the smell of sweat and john’s too-strong cologne was a welcomed relief.

you passed out a few seconds later.

when you awoke, it was in your bedroom, and it was so dark that for a moment, you’d thought it was all a dream. that was until you attempted to sit up realized your foot was elevated, and your chest still aching.

“oh thank god.”

you turned to see bob, sat up next to you. there was a book open in his lap, open about a third of the way: little women, your night time read of the month.

“did you lose my place?”

it took him a second, but bob choked out a watery laugh. “no, no, i just… you usually read it at night and i thought maybe i should read it to you.”

you hummed, looking up at him, mind still hazy. he was so pretty.

bob looked back down the book nervously; over six months together and heartfelt conversations still made him bashful. “you really scared me.”

you smiled sadly. “i’m sorry.”

he looks up, quickly shaking his head. “no, no, none of this was your fault,” he clarifies, taking a beat before continuing. “you just haven’t had a close call like that in a while. i mean, gunmen and supervillains, you can handle, but fire? that’s hard. and then you passed out, and—”

you shake your head, cupping his face in your hand, trying to ignore the way your body ached with each movement. “i’m okay. we’re—”

you cut yourself off with a sudden cough, and you quickly flipped on your back, bob rushing to help you sit.

“hey, hey,” bob soothed, rubbing your back, and holding you as you bent forward. after a moment, he lifts and maneuvers you into his lap, allowing you to lean on him as you struggle for oxygen.

it takes about a minute for you to finally settle down, and by that point, you’re exhausted. you lean back on bob’s chest and waiting for his warmth to heal you.

“‘m sorry, honey, you shouldn’t have to comfort me right now,” he whispers, kissing your head softly. “what— what do you need? there’s water on the nightstand, do you need—”

you shook your head. “just you.”

bob hesitated, but nods, slowly leaning back into the pillows. “you have me. forever.”

you peel open your eyes, looking up at him with a teasing smile. “forever, huh?”

he flushes. “maybe.”

you adjusted your head on his chest, nuzzling a bit to fill every one of your senses with him. “forever sounds nice,” you admit after a moment. you manage to look up at him, warmth rising to your cheeks. “what does your forever look like?”

he holds your gaze, but he’s not looking at you—it’s more like he’s looking inside of you, like he is all consumed. “you.”

though his voice is gentle, lacking in any possessiveness you may have expected in such a statement, you feel it in your bones. and just like that, it’s as if the ache has lifted from them.

“well… yeah, you said that, but what else?”

bob shakes his head. “no, just you. and a cat, maybe, or a kid, or maybe just yelena living in our attic like a hermit,” he shrugs, “whatever you want. i want it all as long as it’s with you.”

you swallow thickly. “wow.”

silence.

“what is your forever?”

you take another beat, your mind, body, and soul still realigning. “well, it’s hard to argue with that.”

he laughs, kissing the top of your head once more, fingers still dancing along your spine. you sat in the comfortable silence for a while. it may have been five minutes, or ten, or maybe an hour; time felt pretty flexible with bob.

“you want me to read to you?” he asked softly.

you nodded. “but you have to back up to my spot, i want to know what happened with jo and laurie.”

you fell asleep before he even finished the chapter, still exhausted from the day. however, as you drifted off, you couldn’t help but think of your forever, and how you hoped it looked like just this.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Locked Out of Heaven 12

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, power imbalance, age gap, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your father invites a work friend to the neighbourhood barbecue.

Characters: Nick Fowler (Dad’s friend trope)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

Music flows from unseen speakers. The boat rocks slightly as Nick makes his way back. You crane to see him as you lay on the beach blanket, the sun beaming down on the lazy stir of the waters. 

He lowers himself next to you and sighs. He bends his arms behind his head. You can’t help but notice how the muscles bulge, not just his biceps but his chest. He’s so perfect. 

He slowly turns his head to look at you. You wince and give a sheepish smile. He shifts onto his side, keeping himself propped up on one elbow and tickles along your side. 

“Come here,” he moves closer, his hand crawling along your stomach. “You look so good, baby, you know that?” 

“I... do? I mean—You do too.” You flutter your lashes as you stare at him. “Sorry, I...” you giggle and it sends a flurry through your guts. “I’m sorry, I—I—don’t know what to do.” 

You cover your face, mortified at the confession. He grabs your left hand and gently moves it away. You drop your other and stare up at the sky, just below the glare of the sun. He guides your hand to his chest. 

“You don’t have to do anything,” he drawls. “You just chill. Be you.” 

He pets your cheek with his knuckles. He leans in even closer. You lock up as your eyes meet his. They are even bluer than the sky. You gulp and he tickles down your throat. 

“Princess,” his lips brush yours. “I need you so bad.” 

“Oh,” you bat your lashes. 

“Can I have you? Pretty please?” He begs. 

“Ummm...” 

“All of you? Please. It hurts, baby. You don’t want me to hurt, do you?” He rubs his thumb along the front of your throat, his breath fluttering over you. 

Your heartbeat pounds like thunder. You press your fingertips into his chest and nod. Your tongue sticks the roof of your mouth and you cough out your answer. “Y-yes.” 

“Yeah? You want me too?” He rubs his nose against yours. “Tell me you do.” 

“I... I want you,” you pet his chest. “Nick, really, I do.” 

“Mm, I’ve dreamt of you saying that.” He growls and slides his hand up to the side of your head.  

His thumb and index form a vee around your ear as he cradles your skull. He tilts your head and kisses you. He plunges his tongue past your lips and groans as you close your eyes. Your heart races as the noise of the slapping waters and the music fade to a drone. 

The world zeroes in on you. Your skin is on fire, your blood is ice cold, and your nerves vibrate. You slip your hand up around his shoulder and moan into his mouth. You’ve never felt anything like this. You can feel everything so much. 

He turns his body as he smothers you. He slides his arm under your head as he turns his chest parallel to yours. His fingertips massage your scalps as he drinks you in. 

His pushes his pelvis against you, rocking slightly. He hooks a leg around yours and pulls it away from your other. He trails his hand down your neck and tickles along your chest. He gropes you as you feel along his neck, the tendons taut with his hunger. 

He lifts himself and plants his knees between your legs. He holds himself just above you as his lips slip away from yours. He kisses your cheek and jaw, pecking along your neck as you squirm. His breath sends shivers over you as he descends. 

He traces your collarbone with kisses and buries his face in your cleavage. He kneads you through the fabric and teethes at your skin. You moan as a whirlwind swirls behind your rib cage. You can hardly breathe. 

He nuzzles you as he follows the strap of the bikini behind your neck. He tugs until the ribbon slackens. You gasp and try to catch the top before it falls away. You cover your self as he licks the curve of your tit. 

“Princess,” he rasps and you look down at him. His eyes blaze up at you. “You said I could...” 

“I... yes,” your arms are stuck for a moment. They won’t obey. Finally, you peel your hands away. He purrs and dives back in. 

He flicks his tongue around your nipple and you squeal. The sensation tangles in your core. You heave and arch your back. 

You catch the back of his head and urge him on. Your fingers twine into the thick strands of his hair. You look down at him, lifting your head higher to see him, the silver threads in woven through shining in the sun. There's a flicker of doubt though it fades into the flames of his touch. 

He nibbles on your pebbled bud before he parts and tends to the other. You moan and drop your head down. You bend one leg as your cunt clenches needily. He laps and licks and nips as you melt into the blanket. 

He fondles your other tit as he drags his mouth lower. He leaves a smear of saliva along your stomach, teasing you as he wanders back and forth, nibbling at those places that make you twitch or whine. 

He traces the edge of your bottoms with his nose then tugs with his teeth. You gasp and wriggle as he snarls. He pushes the tails of the coverup away from your thighs and loops his thumbs in the ties along the side of the suit. You quiver and reach to stop him as a glimmer of doubt fogs your eyes. 

“Nick...” 

He hushes you as he pulls until the knots loosen. 

“Nick, please... I’m... scared,” you puff out. 

“Baby,” he slowly drags the suit down. Your hands shoot down to cover your pelvis. He tuts and catches them, pulling them away. “Why you scared? Huh? I’m not hurting you.” 

“I... I...” you stammer. 

You shiver even as the sun beats down and speckles your flesh with sweat. Even as you feel flames consuming you from within. Even as his warmth floods into you. 

“Hush, baby, I got you.” 

He pushes himself back and gets on his stomach. He frames your pelvis with his hands, his thumbs petting the short tuft of hair along your vee. He hums and bows his head, inhaling your scent and exhaling it back on you. His breath dampens the wiry curls. 

He buries his nose into you, rolling his head, and tilts back as his tongue swipes along your lips. You gape down at him as his eyes flick up to meet yours. He purrs as he delves deeper, his cool tongue gliding between your hot folds. 

You bite your lip and drop your head down as you moan. The melding of hot and cold flows through you, unfurling from your core. You twitch and dig your nails into the blanket beneath you. 

He spreads his tongue wide and drags it up your cunt, tasting you with a hum. The rumble that rises from his chest stokes the swelter inside you. You arch your back deeper, pushing into his mouth and push your heels down into the floor. 

His mouth laps loudly as he groans and growls rise from him. He feels around blindly and takes your hand. He puts his on his head. Instinctively, you urge him on, clutching him as you rock your hips. 

His tongue flicks around your clit and he teases lightly with his teeth. He seals his lips around your swollen bud and sucks. You cry out and spasm. You heave and thrust your chest out, your body contorting like an ocean tide. 

You yank on his hair as he tends to you. His hand crawls up your thigh, his other slipping beneath your bottom as he gropes you. He tickles your leg up to the crease of your cunt. 

He moves his head in tandem with his tongue. He eats you up as he pokes along your entrance. He rubs you as the slickness glosses over his finger. He grunts as his finger dips into you, as if surprised by how easy it is. 

He pushes in, just the tip, then draws back out. He smears around your juices then delves back in. A little deeper. He pulls in and out, further with each plunge. You quake and clasp onto his head with both hands. 

His tongue circles your clit as the pressure pulses in that one spot. He curls his finger inside of you, rocking his hand slightly as the weight thrums. You gulp and gasp, fighting to catch your breath.  

You tear your hands from his head and slap your palms on the floor. You lift your head and shoulders and squeal as the tension bursts and spills from your core. He keeps going, guiding you through your orgasm as you writhe and whimper. 

You fall back down, panting, legs quivering, heart thumping. He turns his head back and forth, rubbing his beard against you as he hums. He drags his chin along your folds and slowly raises himself up to look at you. The dark hair along his jaw glistens with you. 

“Mm, princess, you’re so sweet,” he growls and licks his lips. 

He looks down, his finger still inside you. He pulls it out and flicks it between your folds. He trails back to your entrance and presses another fingertip there. He wiggles two fingers into you. You groan and reach weakly to stop him, barely grazing his forearm. 

“Please,” you murmur. 

He pushes in to his knuckles. You bend your legs as he kneels between them, watching his hand as he wiggles his fingers inside you. He turns his hand and puts his thumb to your clit. You squeak. 

He tilts his hand steadily, falling into a rhythm. He squeezes so the heat twists between his fingertips. He bends over you, hand still moving, and he kisses you. You can smell and taste yourself on his lip. You shudder and run your hands along his shoulders and down his arm. You squeeze his bicep and moan into him. 

Your walls clench him as you cum again. You nearly bite his tongue as the waves crash down and consume you. Your turn your head and he presses his lips to your cheek. He chuckles as he feels you clinging to his fingers. 

“Baby, you’re doing so good,” he slithers. “Huh, that feel good?” 

“Yessss,” you drone as your lashes flutter. 

“Mmm, good girl,” he kisses you before he sits up again. 

He slides his fingers out of you and wipes your juices down your leg. You lay weak and quivering, the coverup is wide open around your naked body, the bikini hanging below your chest, the bottoms crumpled between your thighs. Each breath rises and falls heavily. 

He raises himself on his knees and hooks his thumbs under his waist band. You stare. You can’t look away. He stretches it away from his body and around his rigid length. He pushes them down his thighs and stands to strip entire. 

His dick bobs before him as he looks down at you. You stare at it. It’s... well. You think it looks pretty big. You peek down at your body and put your legs together. You don’t think it will fit. That though makes your stomach ripple. Inside? 

He gets back to his knees next to you. He takes your hand and pets your knuckles. He kisses them as he caresses your palm. He examines it like something precious as he pushes it flat. 

He guides your hand down to his dick as he kneels beside you. His chest strains as he curves your fingers around him. Thick, firm, the veins swollen and hard against your palm. He pumps you down and back to his tip. He quakes against the motion. 

“Mmm, princess, do you feel how much I need you?” He growls. 

You blink and nod as he keeps your hand moving slowly; down, up, down, up. 

“Slow, like that,” he purrs. “You keep going, baby. Gotta make sure we’re both ready.” 

He drops his hand away from yours and looks down. He watches you play with him. You see how his stomach tightens as he braces his thigh. He groans and chews his lip. 

Your gaze falls to your hand. You’re enthralled by the sight of what you’re doing to him. You squeeze harder and he groans. His breath juts out of him in short puffs. His nails dig into the muscle of his thigh. 

“Yeah, like that,” he goads. “Just a little more...” 

[truthfultales]

Reader x Halsin –

Buried In You

Unaccustomed as I am to writing reader-insert smut (my focus tends to lean toward more emotionally nuanced intimacy ^^), this is something of an experiment - I hope it lands. EDIT: Ended up expanding the ending slightly, as it felt something was missing. I wanted to involve his scent, as well as the nest his chest forms. His warm tenderness behind the solid physique. (And I did feel the need to add even more reverence, while also underlining the hint at Breeding.)

Link to Ao3

___________________________________

– Buried in You –

There’s something ancient in the way Halsin touches you – not practiced, not polished, but instinctive, like moss growing toward light or rivers carving stone. His hands roam your skin with reverence and hunger braided together, calloused palms spreading heat along your thighs as he guides you into his lap like a blessing he’s waited seasons to receive.

You straddle his hips, and when you reach between your bodies to guide him to your entrance, his breath catches – a sharp inhale, like the first time he breathed forest air after captivity.

“You’re sure?” he asks, voice deep and tight with restraint.

You answer by sinking down on him.

The stretch steals your breath – slow, thick, endless. He fills you inch by inch, the way roots claim the soil, until you’re seated fully, hips flush, stuffed full of him. Halsin groans beneath you, head falling back against the bedroll, jaw clenched, golden eyes fluttering shut.

“Gods, you’re–” He shudders. “You feel like the forest itself. Hot. Wet. Alive.”

You stay there a moment, impaled and trembling slightly from the sheer fullness of him. He’s so deep it borders on overwhelming – not painful, but intense, grounding. You feel stretched open, not just physically, but claimed. His hands find your waist, holding you still as he breathes through it.

“Look at how well you take me,” he says, voice a growl now, roughened by arousal. “Like you were carved to fit me.”

You begin to move – slow circles of your hips, grinding instead of bouncing, letting him drag along your walls with every pass. Halsin’s grip tightens. His cock pulses inside you. He’s losing composure by degrees, undone not by roughness but by the softness of it – the intimacy. The unbearable pleasure of being inside you and watching you take him.

Every thrust is a low, drawn-out stroke that has your cunt fluttering around him. You’re soaked, every motion squelching softly between your thighs. He slides in deep, kisses your cervix, and you gasp –sharp and helpless. Halsin’s voice breaks.

“Oh, love,” he moans. “You feel like the first bloom after frost. Like spring come too early.”

The words break something in you.

You ride him harder, chasing the rhythm that makes your vision blur –and he meets you, hips snapping up to bury himself deeper, each stroke slapping wetly as arousal coats your thighs. His praise comes fast now, unfiltered:

“Perfect. So tight. So good for me – gods, you’re drawing everything out of me–”

You clamp down around him, and he knows.

His hands shoot to your hips, slamming you down onto him, and he buries himself to the hilt with a ragged groan. His cock throbs inside you as he comes, heat spilling deep, thick, warm – filling you in waves that pulse through his whole body. He holds you there, his arms tight around your back, as if anchoring himself to the earth.

He doesn’t pull out.

You stay locked together, chest to chest, your cunt still fluttering from aftershocks as his cum seeps from around his cock. Halsin cradles your face, kisses your temple, still buried in you.

“I’m not done with you,” he whispers against your skin. “Not until I’ve filled you again. And again.”

His hands soften – one trailing reverently up your spine, the other slipping between your thighs. With patient worship, he begins to circle you there, slow and deliberate, coaxing another wave from you while you’re still trembling from the first. His other hand cups your breast, his mouth lowering to take the soft weight into the heat of his mouth. You arch into him, caught between comfort and desire, between grounding and flight.

You breathe him in – the sharpness of his sweat, the heat of it mingled with the familiar scent of woodsmoke and pine needles and the faint, earthen tang of crushed herbs clinging to his skin. His chest, broad and furred, is your sanctuary now; you drag your palms through the hair there, luxuriating in the primal warmth of him. Even the dark scent beneath his arms – wild, musky – makes your blood hum.

Halsin’s golden eyes open as he feels you rise again, slow and sure as the moon tide.

He watches your face as if it were sacred, memorizing every flicker of expression – the flush across your cheekbones, the way your lips part around a breathless sound you try to swallow. One hand remains at your back, steadying you, while the other continues its quiet devotion between your thighs, coaxing the storm building beneath your skin.

“You are… wonder,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “More than I thought the gods would ever let me touch.”

Your forehead meets his, and your hips roll once more. It’s not urgency that drives you now – it’s worship, tethered to the quiet understanding that this moment is not a flame but an altar.

A prayer in motion. Your worship, unspoken but aching in every breath, reaches its peak in that shattering stillness, your body clenching around him as if to draw him into your very soul.

You tremble in his arms, boneless and burning, clutching at him as if the world might fall away without his weight against you. And in that sacred pulse – those final, reverent contractions – you feel his seed drawn deeper, claimed by your body with the same certainty as breath filling lungs, or roots drinking rain.

He holds you through it, murmuring praise into the curve of your neck, his voice like low thunder, his breath damp against your skin. There is no rush to move, no need to explain. Only the quiet miracle of being fully seen – and still wholly wanted.

At last, you sink fully into him, your limbs draped over his, breath slowing, your heart settling into the rhythm of his chest. You feel his hands still resting on you – warm, grounding, protective – as if to say, I am still here. I will remain.

Outside, waves lap against the dock. The fire at camp crackles, dimming to embers. The stars have begun their slow wheel across the sky, unnoticed.

He doesn’t move, and neither do you. There is nothing left to chase. Only the stillness after the bloom, the peace after the rain.

Halsin presses one final kiss to your brow – soft as moss, deep as root – and whispers, "Sleep, my heart. We’ll delight in each other again, soon. You are safe."

And with his heartbeat beneath your cheek, the world feels as it should – quiet, and full.

[cherry-amores-blog]

Title: “Come Home”

❥︎Pairing: !Platonic Dad Dick Grayson/Nightwing & Reader

❥︎ ︎Content Warnings: !None

❥︎ ︎Summary: You ran away from home.

❥︎Author notes: If you like this work and would want to see more, my requests are open.

The fight with your dad had been loud, sharp, and unresolved. Neither of you had backed down. Neither of you had said sorry.

You’d gone to bed angry that night—face turned to the wall, chest tight with the kind of frustration that had nowhere to go. You didn’t cry, but it was a close thing. And sometime after midnight, when the silence in the apartment became unbearable, you grabbed your bag, slipped out the window, and disappeared into the dark.

You hadn’t meant to stay gone.

But one day turned into two. Two turned into three.

And now, it had been nearly five.

No calls. No texts. Not because you wanted to punish him, but because you didn’t know what to say. You didn’t even know why you’d left, not exactly. Everything had just felt so heavy, and you’d needed to breathe.

You didn’t know that every night since, Dick had been sleeping on the couch with his phone clutched in one hand and your hoodie balled up in the other. You didn’t know he’d barely eaten, barely slept, too afraid that if he did, he’d miss the moment you finally came home.

And then… he heard it.

The unmistakable soft thud of your bedroom window closing.

Dick sat bolt upright, heartbeat spiking, vision blurry with sleep. But the moment he registered what he’d heard, he was on his feet and moving, barefoot, breath caught in his chest, like any sudden movement might scare you away again.

He stopped in the doorway to your room.

You stood there in the dark, facing away from him. Your shoulders were trembling. Your knees were scraped raw, like you’d tripped more than once. Mud streaked your jeans, and your eyes were red, even though you refused to look at him just yet.

The sight knocked the wind right out of him.

His voice cracked as it came out. “Where were you?”

You flinched, not at the words, but the pain in them.

“I…” Your voice was small. “I just needed to get away. I wasn’t thinking.”

He stepped closer, slow like he was afraid you’d vanish again.

“You’ve been gone for days,” he whispered, throat tightening. “Days. I didn’t know if you were-” He couldn’t finish it. Just shook his head and let out a shaky breath.

You turned, finally facing him.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

And then you stumbled forward.

Dick caught you without hesitation.

His hands came up, one cradling the back of your head, the other pressing your face to his chest in a firm, protective hold. His arms wrapped around you like he could shield you from the world or from himself and every mistake he thought he’d made.

“I was so scared,” he muttered, voice low and rough in your ear. “You’re all I’ve got, you know that?”

You nodded against him, crying now, arms tight around his ribs.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered again. “I didn’t know what to do. We fought, and I didn’t know how to fix it, and I just-”

“Shh,” he murmured, pressing a quick, solid kiss to the top of your head. “You’re here. That’s what matters.”

He held you for a long minute, just standing there in your room, like he could anchor both of you back to reality through the silence alone.

Then, he slowly pulled back just enough to look down at your legs.

“You’re bleeding,” he said, voice soft but steady. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You nodded again, letting him guide you over to sit on the edge of your bed. He crouched down in front of you, grabbing the first aid kit from your nightstand drawer like he’d done it a hundred times before. You winced as he dabbed gently at your scraped knees with antiseptic, but he didn’t say anything—just worked in quiet focus, like patching you up was the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

When he finished, he sat back on his heels and looked up at you.

“I’m sorry, too,” he said. “For the fight. For not listening. For letting it get that bad.”

You bit your lip, tears slipping down your cheek again. “I didn’t mean to leave forever.”

“I know,” he said, reaching up again, this time to gently pull your head back against his chest.

“Just… promise me you’ll come to me next time. No matter how mad you are. No matter how bad it feels. Just come home.”

You nodded against him, breathing in the familiar scent of his jacket, the feel of his heartbeat under your cheek.

“I promise.”

And this time, you meant it.

[angel-writes-skz-here]

Seduction

Prof! Minho x Student! Reader Synopsis: Minho's in town for Christmas break and he's got some questions that will need answers. Warnings: SMUT, unprotected p in v (Shocker! Fr be safe) oral (both rec.), fingering, pet names, soft Minho, romance. A/N: Christmas in June, my sweets! I apologize for the wait! But chapter 5 is here! I'll try to have chapter 6 out soon! Just bare with me! Ignore any mistakes, I'll proof read again later. Merry Christmas in June, y'all!! 😉 Xoxo💋

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Merry Christmas

The sunlight from the morning peers in through the curtains of your living room, waking you up. You feel a pair of hands around your waist, the memory of everything from the previous day flooding back. You smile to yourself as you feel Minho shift in his sleep. Your hand lightly goes on top of his; cradling it.

You gently turn in his arms, his face looking peaceful as you study it. You smile as you notice his brown hair in his face, his lips slightly agape and a small bit of drool on the pillow underneath him; the way his body subconsciously contorted to fit yours swells your heart.

You run your fingers through his hair gently, watching him stir and a small smile creeps onto his face. You breathe out a giggle before his eyes slowly open. You both smile at each other; it’s like you’re in your own little world.

“Good morning,” you whisper.

“Good morning,” he smiles.

“I have some shopping I have to do today,” you mention as your eyes scan him.

“Can I come?”

“I’d love that,” you smile. The two of you get up and as you head off to your room you notice Minho grabbing his keys.

“I left my stuff at the hotel last night,” he mentions sheepishly.

“Thought I might kick you out?” you playfully ask.

“I wanted insurance, yeah.” He shrugs honestly. You smile and nod understandably.

“Well, you can get your stuff, because you’ll be here with me this week,” you smile as you walk up to him, cupping his cheek.

“If you want to be, that is,” you whisper and he grins.

“No where else I’d rather be.”

He pecks your lips before leaving to grab his things.

-

The two of you arrive at the mall, hand in hand, walking around. It's nice to be out in public, together, physically showing affection for once.

“It’s so busy,” he comments.

“Yeah, Christmas around here isn’t nearly the same as it in Korea,” you inform him.

“How so?”

“Eh, it’s more family oriented, everything practically shuts down. People spend time with family at home opening gifts, sharing meals together, it’s really nice.” You smile sentimentally as you walk into the next store, making the final purchases for your family.

“So, am I allowed to join your American traditions?” he asks cautiously.

“I don’t see why not, my parents and I do Christmas at their house that evening and on Christmas Eve. So, we can do dinner and I’ll let them know I have a friend joining me.” You say as you pull out your phone to send a quick text to your mom.

“Friend?” He quirks a brow with a smirk.

“I think it’d just be easiest to say friend, for now, I mean, I can’t say, “hey mom here’s my former professor from Korea that I fucked before he was my professor,” you say and he nods with a small chuckle. He peels off from you a little, looking at a few things, as you finalize your purchases.

“Ready to go?” you ask, bags in hand, grabbing his attention from the clothing rack.

“Huh, oh yeah. Let’s go,” he smiles.

“Hey, do me a favor, take these to the car, would you?” you ask as you round a corner. He smiles and nods, heading out to the car giving you enough time to slip into the jewelry store. There’s no way you were letting him go without at least one gift on Christmas morning.

You glance at the watches, finding the one you think would suit Minho the best. You purchase it quickly and you feel your phone start to buzz.

“Hey,”

“Hey, I um, I think I’m lost.” He chuckles looking around not seeing you.

“Ok, well I won’t be long, can you get back to the car?” You ask as you eye the lingerie store.

“Yeah, are you sure you want me to wait?”

“Yeah, I’ll be out soon.” You smile.

“Ok,” he says simply before hanging up.

You walk into the store, instantly spotting the red bow tie lingerie. You smile as you think to yourself how sweet it would be, making love by the fire place, the warmth of the room surrounding you, the two of you together finally on the same page, no one trying to hurt the other, the only thing on either of your mind’s simply being pleasure and closeness.

You quickly purchase it along with a new bottle of perfume, smiling to yourself like an idiot. You make your way to the car, hiding the watch in the lingerie bag.

“What did you buy?” He asks, rolling the window down as you head to the trunk.

“Some perfume I found on sale,” you say simply. Minho feels a slight disappointment but masks it and nods.

“Let’s get home, I still have to wrap,” you say as you enter the car again.

-

The night goes by quickly, Minho ordering pizza and, poorly, helping you wrap gifts. He gets into a fight with the tape, flicking his hand like a cat, only getting it stuck worse to his hands and now sweater. You can’t contain your giggles as you watch him and catch his hand, the heat from the small fireplace hitting your back.

“Have you ever even wrapped a gift before?” you ask through fits of giggles.

“Yes,” he pouts, his brown hair falling in his face.

“Well why don’t you get me some more wine,” you say as you get the tape unstuck. He purses his lips and hops up with your glass.

“Want some more pizza?” He calls from the kitchen.

“Uhhh,” you say as you fold up the last corner on the gift, “Yes please!” you say as you place it under the tree.

“Now tomorrow is Christmas Eve,” you remind him as he brings back your drink and pizza and sits down.

“Meaning we spend the night at your parents’ with family watching movies, baking cookies and having a good meal. I remember.” He says confidently. You smile.

“Good boy,” you wink and he quirks a brow.

“Excuse me?” he says as he moves the wrapping paper and backs you onto the floor.

“I said. Good. Boy.” You punctuate each word with a tap to his nose. He smiles down at you, eyes traveling between yours.

“I’m happy,” he whispers softly. You smile at him, stomach twisting with excited anxiety.

“Me too,” you whisper as you notice the light from the fire casting a golden glow on his face. Minho gently presses his lips to yours, sighing against you.

Later that night, once you’re sure Minho is asleep, you’re able to wrap his watch, hiding it towards the back of the tree so he wouldn’t notice it.

-

The next night you’re surrounded by family and friends, something about it feeling more nostalgic than you remember years previously. The laughter, the young kids running around and watching the Santa tracker; all of it feels warm, familiar, almost final.

Everyone welcomes Minho with open arms, practically making him feel like part of the family.

“So you two met over in Korea?” your mother asks as she stabs a piece of food with her fork, her eyebrows raised suspiciously.

“Yes ma’am,” Minho answers.

“How?”

You smile nervously at your mother.

“He offered to tutor me for this psychology class I had gotten behind in, and we just hit it off. Became friends and kept in touch.”

“So, you shared the same class?”

“Yep,” you smile.

“Funny I never heard you mention a, Minho,” she says cautiously hoping she pronounced it right and Minho nods, “before.”

“Oh yeah, well it was a last-ditch effort to stay but ultimately I thought it better to come home and ya know, I’ve been busy since I got back.” You smile and eat your food nervously.

The dinner continues on, everyone having wonderful conversation, so much so you don’t hardly eat. Except for the few bites taken earlier so you could stuff your mouth and not have to talk to your mom.

As the family begins making cookies, Minho whispers in your ear.

“I’ll be back, ok?” You look at him concerned, not noticing your mother’s watchful eye.

“Are you ok?” you ask quietly and he nods, desperate to kiss your forehead but he resists, simply squeezing your hand out of sight of the family.

“I won’t be long,” he says and grabs the car keys. He leaves without another word.

Sometime later Minho returns, helping decorate the cookies with your little cousins, the sight swelling your heart as he helps them pipe the icing. The kids pick on him a little and he laughs, getting them back, starting a mini icing war that ends with you having to clean both Minho and the kids up. The two of you smile at each other, the moments between you still surreal.

-

“We’ll see you guys’ tomorrow afternoon, ok?” your mother says before kissing your cheek and hugging Minho.

“You treat her well, you hear me,” she whispers in his ear firmly. His eyes widen slightly and he looks at your mother.

“I’m sorry, I,”

“We’ll see y’all tomorrow.” She smiles like nothing was said, bright and happy, and helps you out the door.

“What’s wrong?” you ask noticing the paler look on his face once outside.

“She knows,” he says.

“She thinks she knows.” You correct.

“She always was good at that though. Picking up on the little things. But it doesn’t matter,” you shrug as you approach the car.

“The only way she’ll know, is if we tell her.”

-

You pull into your driveway, and Minho instructs you to stay put until he comes out to get you.

You quirk a brow at him as you watch him run inside and you giggle as he runs back out soon after and opens your door for you; helping you out of the car like a gentleman.

“What the heck are you doing?” you giggle. He doesn’t answer just leads you inside out of the cold.

When the door opens you notice your living room fire place is going, candles are lit and there’s soft instrumental music playing. You stop, your breath catching in your throat as you feel Minho’s hands rub up your arms and help you slide off your jacket.

“What did you,” you look back at him, a soft expression on his face.

The room is covered in candles, the fire place going, drinks and snacks out for you,  and fairy lights strung around the room.

“I had an idea and wanted to surprise you,” he smiles and pecks your lips before putting your jacket up for you. You walk in, the scene intimate, suddenly remembering the lingerie you bought.

“Give me a few minutes,” you smile and run back to your bedroom. You clean up a bit, get yourself dressed and spray on some perfume before you walk out in a silky red robe, and Minho’s brows raise.

“Wow,” he says and you watch his adams apple bob in his throat. You smile at him your heart beat erratic as you slowly step into the room.

“Technically, you don’t get presents till Christmas morning,” you tease, “But I figured in Korea, it’s already Christmas Day.” You walk up to him, wrapping your arms around his neck and his hands come to your sides, holding you close as he dips his head down, connecting your lips. Your fingers tangle in his hair and soft moans are exchanged.

You step away from him, slowly undoing your robe revealing the outfit you’d bought earlier that day.

Minho’s breath catches in his throat as he stares at you, and the silk ribbon that leaves little to the imagination. You let the robe fall off your arms into a puddle on the floor.

“Well,” you pause, “Come unwrap your gift,” you smirk as he races over to you, your lips reconnecting in a heated kiss and a soft giggle escapes your lips at his excitement.

Minho’s hands are steady as he looks down, your foreheads together, and he undoes the ribbon, watching it fall off your chest.

He whimpers at how beautiful you look. Truthfully, he’d forgotten just how beautiful you really are and his hands cup your chest, thumbs brushing over your buds as your head falls back, soft moans coming from you.

“Come here,” he says and places you on your back, the heat from the fire place keeping your frame warm.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says as his eyes travel down your body, noting the small piece of what the store called ‘underwear’ is covering you. He kisses your lips again, taking his time, worshiping, loving your body as his lips slowly travel down to your jaw then your neck. His teeth graze your skin, drawing goosebumps as his tongue flattens over your skin, a soft moan leaving you. You feel him smirk against your skin as he leaves open mouth kisses down to your collar bone, softly sucking at your flesh. You squirm beneath him as he kisses his way down to your breast, flicking his tongue over the hardened bud. You bite your lip, watching as his mouth closes around it, sucking slightly as he kneads the other with his hand, sending waves of pleasure to your core.

“Min,” you moan. He looks up at you through his lashes, gently biting the sensitive area. You hiss, watching him smirk as he lets go, giving the same kind of attention to the other; not in a rush. Savoring you like you’re his last meal.

He kisses down your stomach, lips dragging against your skin; peppering kisses at your waist line, teasingly. He can see the wet patch on your panties, and he chuckles to himself.

“You want me, don’t you baby?” you nod with your lip between your teeth as you watch him.

“Please,” you beg and Minho closes his eyes at your breathy tone, feeling his pants tent up. He removes his shirt quickly before settling between your legs, kissing up your inner thighs, nipping at the doughy flesh.

Your hips left near his face on instinct, and he hooks his fingers into your panties, pulling them down and discarding them to the side. His tongue is warm and wet against your core, and you both sigh as he makes contact.

“So good,” he whines into you, nose bumping your clit as he takes a deep breath. His tongue works magically, hitting all the spots that make you tick, watching and listening, figuring out your body; making it his mission to know it like the back of his hand. He smirks as his tongue circles your bud, feeling your hips roll against his face.

“God, Minho,” you gasp as his tongue enters your hole and your back arches off the plush rug underneath you. You grip onto his hair and roll your hips as his tongue goes in and out, tasting- treasuring you.

“Wanna live here,” his voice is muffled against you. His breathing gets ragged as his hips start to grind against the ground, desperate to get friction. His tongue moves to side, adding more a little more pressure, the two of you making eye contact. He reaches for your hand, rubbing circles onto the top of it.

“Minho,” you whimper as you feel the coil tighten in your tummy. He adds two fingers with his other hand, curling them up and he pumps them in and out, quickly matching the speed of his tongue making your head spin.

“Please keep going,” you whine as your hand goes to your breast to stimulate it, causing you to buck your hips as Minho swipes his tongue harder against your clit.

“Fuck I’m gonna cum,” you whimper.

“Cum for me, kitten. Cum on my tongue,” he mumbles against you and you cry out as the tightening in your stomach explodes, your body arching as he takes you through it, never stopping or slowing down.

“Such a mess,” he moans into you as he cleans you up. Your hips buck when he brushes your all too sensitive clit. He kitten licks, moaning at the taste and your face flushes.

He hovers himself over you, kissing you; allowing you to taste yourself with his chin and lips still glistening.

“Fuck I want you,” he groans as you palm him through his pants. He pulls back to undo his pants and slide them down along with his boxers. You sit up and your hands reach for him, tongue flattening as you tease his slit.

“Oh fuck,” he moans as his head is thrown back. He moves to sit down, your legs intertwined as he watches you. You pump a few times with your hand, watching him. His eyes flutter close as you squeeze him, teasing the slit once more with your thumb.

“Fuck stop teasing me,” he breathes out a laugh. You oblige, slowly sinking your head down.

You hear Minho sigh and feel his hand come to back of your head, resting in your hair. You swirl your tongue around the head as you come up, sucking on it harshly, causing his hips to buck.

“Fuck if you do that I won’t last,” he growls. You bob your head up and down again, creating a steady pace, Minho’s hips bucking up into you every once and a while. You pump what you can’t fit in your mouth, his moans and groans causing more arousal to puddle between your legs. You moan around him, sending vibrations through his body. He chokes out a moan, head tipping back as you hollow your cheeks and suck faster, desperate to get him to his release.

“Fuck you feel so good,” he whines as you feel him twitch in your mouth.

“God keep going,” he groans as you begin to taste more and more of his salty precum on your tongue.

 “Ah shit, fuck I’m gonna cum.” He says and you moan, encouraging him and he does with a loud groan. He paints your throat a shade of white as his ropes spill down your throat, making you swallow everything, happily.

He gasps for air, chest rising up and down. You giggle at him, seeing his fucked-out expression.

“Something funny?” He asks a playful glint in his eye, and you simply smile at him as he gently tackles you back down to the floor.

“My girl,” he whispers before sliding in slow, eye contact being made the whole time. When he bottoms out the both of you sigh, the feeling other worldly as you feel the stretch and he feels the warmth of your body.

“God this feels perfect,” he whispers in your ear.

“Like you’re made for me,” he says as he starts a slow pace, thrusting slow and deep, making you feel every inch of him. You look into his eyes as he does, bodies and souls connecting as one.

“You take me so well,” he mumbles before planting a kiss on your forehead, resting his forehead on yours as he starts to pick up the pace, causing you to gasp and your mouth to make the ‘o’ shape, your back arching you into him.

“Feel good?” he asks in your ear.

“So good,” you whimper arms coming around his shoulders, nails slightly digging into his skin. His head falls to your shoulder, nipping at it.

“Minho, fuck,” you gasp as he hits your sweet spot hard.

“Yeah, baby?” He asks.

“I wanna ride you, please,” you whimper as you feel him slow down. He gently pulls away from you, only to pull you with him in his lap, helping you position yourself on top, slowly sinking down on him.

You whimper in response, and he holds you close, bare chests touching as you take a moment to get comfortable.

Slowly you grind your hips, bouncing up and down, causing your chest to bounce in his face. The new angle has your world stopping. Time doesn’t exist, life isn’t real and Minho is the only thing keeping your tethered to earth at this point. Quickly you begin to feel the coil in your stomach.

“Fuck you look so beautiful using me like this,” he says before sucking on your chest, one hand coming down to rub your clit making you scream as you hold onto his shoulders.

“Cum for me baby, cum on my cock,” he says and brings you down for a fervent kiss.

“Minho,” you whimper against his lips and Minho’s hand comes up to your throat, squeezing lightly.

“Fuck,” you let out in a high-pitched voice as your body explodes causing you to shake, and Minho thrusts up into you as he notices your rhythm failing as you go through your orgasm. You gasp for air once breathing becomes possible again, and Minho finishes right after you.

You’re both breathing heavily as you come down, sitting together, bodies as one, holding each other.

You hide your face in the crook of his neck, suddenly feeling very vulnerable.

“What’s wrong,” he asks, a slight chuckle in his voice.

“Just want you,” you say against his neck.

“I’m not going anywhere, baby girl.” He whispers into your hair as he kisses the top of your head. The two of you sit together for a moment, the low hum of the music creating a nice ambiance. Minho checks the clock and smiles.

“Merry Christmas, baby.” He whispers in your ear. You pick your head up, and look at him slightly confused.

“It’s midnight.” He smiles as he points to clock hanging up on the wall. You turn your head and check it.

“Merry Christmas.” You smile at him before pecking his lips and disconnecting your bodies.

Minho helps you get cleaned up grabbing a towel and warming it with water. Gently wiping between your legs and wiping himself off.

“How about a bath?” you suggest as he slides on his sweat pants.

“Actually, I wanna give you your gift.” He says as he hands you your robe.

“Huh?”

“Well, one of them,” he mentions as he unzips his suit case.

“It can wait till morning.” You try to stop him.

“Actually, it can’t.” he says as he pulls out an envelope and hands it to you.

“What is it?” you smile.

“Open,” he encourages and you pull out a certificate, your heart swelling and your breath catching in your throat.

“Minho,” you whisper as your read the paper. He smiles nervously.

“Come on, we should be able to see it.” He takes your hand carefully, grabbing you a pair of pants and a coat and you step outside into the quiet night. You look up into the sky and see it, your star.

“There, right beside the big dipper handle, you see it? Just beside it, shinning bright.” He points and you smile.

“I can’t believe you had a star named after me.” You whisper as you hug his side and look up at it.

“No matter how far apart we are, we can always be connected through this.” He whispers as he kisses the top of your head.

“Thank you,” you whisper and share a sweet kiss before heading back inside.

The two of you opt for a shower, washing each other off along with the sticky remanence of earlier activities.

In bed the two of you are curled up, staring at each other.

“So what does Christmas day look like?”

“Similar to what we did, but we get to have our own celebration in the morning.” You smile as your thumb rubs his cheek.

“And we get to watch cheesy Christmas movies and make breakfast and just chill the first half of the day.” You explain. He smiles and nods kissing your forehead.

“Good night,” he whispers.

“Good night,” you say and close your eyes.

-

The next morning you wake up to the sound of pots and pans banging together. It’s just past 7am and you slip on your proper pj’s and slippers and quietly watch from door way of the kitchen as Minho tries to figure out your appliances. He’s going back and forth from his phone trying to figure out how to make you something.

You watch as he puts the eggs in a bowl then looks back to his phone. Grabs the bread; back to his phone. Then whisks the egg, back to his phone and repeats the process until he has an egg-soaked piece of bread ready for the frying pan.

“Morning Master Chef,”

“Aish!” he jumps and drops the bread into the pan.

“You scared me,” he says you smile as you walk over to him and look at what he’s doing.

“Nah, no, back!” he says swatting the air with a spatula.

“Woah, what’d I do?”

“Go to the living room, I’ll be there soon.” He motions for you to leave. You smile to yourself as you turn on the tree, noticing a few more gifts under it than what was there when you went to bed.

You quirk a brow but wait for Minho to finish breakfast as you turn on the tv. Not long into A Christmas Story Minho brings out breakfast for the two of you; French toast with syrup and powdered sugar.

“It looks delicious.” You compliment and he watches as you try the food. You moan as the sweet taste hits your tongue. Eyes shutting.

“This is so good,” you assure him and he smiles, feeling relieved he did it right.

“I added some vanilla to the egg mixture for added flavor.” He explains.

“Recipe?”

“Did that one on my own.” He says proudly.

“Thank you, baby,” you smile as the two of you eat and half way watch the movie.

“So, places really do shut down today?”

“Mhm, you’ll see it later when we go to my parents’ house.” You smile.

After breakfast you help Minho clean up the dishes and the two of you sit down in front of the tree.

Minho distributes two boxes your way, and smiles.

“What in the world have you done?” you giggle.

“Just open them and see,” he smiles, innocent excitement taking over. You nod and grab his gift from the back.

“Here’s yours.” You smile and he looks flabbergasted.

“When did you,” he looks up at you confused.

“Yesterday,” you shrug.

“You go first!” you say and motion for him to go. He’s about to argue with you but instead doesn’t fight it and tears the wrapping paper off the box. He opens the box revealing the sleek and stylish watch. He pauses for a moment, emotions trying to get the better of him.

“I remembered how you always wore a watch to class,” you begin, “And I remembered our last night together, I saw it on the night stand and it looked warn. So I found this,” you mention and he doesn’t speak for a moment, shock over taking him.

“If you don’t like it we can take it back and you pick out what you do like,” you ramble and Minho leans over and kisses your lips.

“Shut up, I love it.” He says still in disbelief at the beautiful gift. He carefully takes it out of the box and puts it on.

“It’s beautiful, y/n. Thank you,” he says lowly. You smile, proud of yourself.

“Ok, he says as he blinks his eyes quickly, “You’re turn.”

You pick the box up with the red wrapping paper and undo it, revealing a small box. You open it to see a chain with an ‘M’ initial on it. It has your birthstone in the bottom right corner and his in the upper left. You grin as you hold up letting the light hit the jewels.

“When did you find this?”

“I found it in a shop a month ago, when I started planning my trip here,” he admits, a light blush painting his cheeks.

“You held on to this for that long?”

“Kept it nice and safe, yeah.” He nods.

“It’s beautiful, put it on me?” you ask as you take it out of the box.” He nods and you position yourself on your knees and allow him to drape the jewelry on your neck and he clasps the necklace together.

You smile as you look at the last box. You take the paper off the box and open it, revealing a delicate key.

“What, I have the key to your heart?” You giggle sweetly.

“No, well yes you do, but that’s a key to my house.” He says slowly. Your heart rate speeds up.

“What?” you ask, voice slightly pitched.

“I want you come back with me,” he says as he takes your hand. Your brows raise and your mouth falls open slightly.

“What do you say?”

Tags:@breakmeoff @thatonegirlonhere @thelovelybireader @channieehrtz @voicesinmyhead-rc @girlblogger-04 @sea1884 @kissesmellow21 @lily409 @kttb @esterxioo @pinkkiluvvmina @slutformyloveleeminho @yaorzu-blog @only14hsng @sillylittlecat1 @unstasia @peskybirdysya @minniesverse @stay5life @chezzeballs300 @t-leeknowwsaurus

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[viennajoell]

Wherever You Land

Summary: After an unexpected trade to the Flyers, Trevor faces an uncertain future until you make it clear you’re going wherever he goes.

Word count: 482

Warnings: none :)

The house was too quiet.

Trevor sat at the edge of the couch, hands cradling his phone like it might ring again and take it all back. But it wouldn’t. The trade was real. Anaheim was in the rearview, Philadelphia waiting ahead.

When you stepped into the room, you could read it on his face before he spoke. “I just got the call,” he said, voice flat. “Flyers”

Your stomach flipped. “Philly,” you echoed softly.

“Yeah,” he exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s a lot. I mean… new team, new city. Everything’s gonna change. Again.”

And you heard what he didn’t say aloud that for the first time in his career, he was going to do this without familiar faces or long-time teammates. Anaheim was going to be in the past tense.

Your fingers brushed his arm, and he looked up at you like he wasn’t sure what to say next. “Trev,” you began carefully, “you’re not going alone.”

That earned a small, almost disbelieving laugh. “You’d come with me?” he asked, brow furrowing like he couldn’t quite process it.

“Of course,” you answered without hesitation

He stared at you as if you’d just told him the most surprising thing in the world. “That’s your whole life you’d be leaving,” he finally managed. “Your job. Our apartment. Friends. Everything.”

You knelt in front of him, hands on his knees so he couldn’t look away. “And my whole life is you too,” you said simply. “That doesn’t change because of a trade. Wherever you go, I go. Okay?”

Something in his face softened some mix of relief and disbelief. His hands covered yours, grip gentle but sure. “God,” he murmured, voice a little rough, “I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear that.”

You brushed a thumb along his knuckles and offered a small smile. “That’s what I’m here for. Philly’s a big move, yeah but we’ll figure it out together.

He leaned in, resting his forehead against yours for a long breath. “I don’t deserve you,” he whispered.

You kissed him lightly, heart aching at the weight on his shoulders. “You don’t have to,” you replied. “I’m just choosing you. Every time.”

And for the first time that day, with your hands in his and the promise between you, the idea of Philadelphia felt a little less impossible.

[sturniphone]

How would Matt react to Bunny thinking he's cheating because he's been staying later at work and kind of neglecting her???

the second he sees that broken look in her eyes, matt’s done for. he pulls her right into his arms, holds her so close she can feel how fast his heart is beating like he’s panicking at the thought of her hurting like this. and once she tells him why—❝i thought you didn’t want me anymore❞—he just shakes his head and kisses her, all over, soft and desperate.

❝never. don’t you ever think that. you’re my girl. my everything.❞ and then he’s full on swearing it ☹️ voice low, hands cradling her face, eyes all glassy like it physically hurts to know she felt unloved.

❝i’ll stay home more. i promise. fuck the office, i’ll get my work done here with you in my lap if that’s what it takes. hell, if i do have to work late—you’re coming with me. wear your jammies, bring your plushies, take a nap on my stupid office couch. just be with me.❞

he presses their foreheads together, whispering over and over how much he loves her, how lucky he is, how nothing is more important than making her feel safe and wanted. and from then on? she’s not just part of his life. she’s folded into every single piece of it.

[ashthesalamipiece]

Hi! I love all your writings, they're amazing!!

Can I ask for a continuation of that kiribaku x reader one where they came home to the reader after she gave birth on their house?

Like I would love more kiribaku dads, and all of them trying to figure out what to do with this VERY unexpected miracle.

Welcome Home, Baby Boom

Pt 1

Pt 2

The apartment felt different.

Same furniture. Same walls. Same dumb key rack Bakugou insisted on mounting himself (crookedly, which Kirishima pretended not to notice). But now, everything felt… softer.

Quieter.

Until the baby started screaming.

“OH MY GOD, WHAT DID I DO?” Kirishima practically shouted, holding the newborn like she was made of glass and guilt. “I JUST PICKED HER UP, I SWEAR!”

“She’s probably hungry,” you said, barely keeping your eyes open as you shuffled toward the couch in fuzzy socks and a nursing tank. “Or bored. Or tired. Or existentially aware that life is meaningless and taxes exist.”

Bakugou stared at you. “The hell is wrong with you?”

You flopped onto the couch. “No sleep. No filter.”

The baby kept wailing. Kirishima looked ready to cry too.

Bakugou sighed, rolled his shoulders like he was heading into battle, and reached out. “Give her here, shitty hair.”

“She doesn’t like me—”

“She screams at everyone. That’s her thing.”

Carefully, Bakugou took her from Kirishima, cradling her with surprising gentleness. You watched him, the way his brows furrowed in focus, the way his fingers tapped softly against the little swaddle.

He looked terrified.

And also like he’d set the world on fire to keep her safe.

“…She stopped crying,” Kirishima whispered.

“I know,” Bakugou whispered back, staring down at her like she was both a miracle and a bomb with a very cute face.

You reached out, curling a hand around Bakugou’s thigh, grounding him. “You’re doing great.”

“She’s not… screaming. So that’s a win.”

“You’re a natural,” Kirishima said, brushing his thumb across the baby’s little fist. “Even if you did suggest naming her Explosion Murder Princess.”

“She’ll earn that name,” Bakugou muttered.

You leaned your head against Kirishima’s shoulder. “We still don’t have a name.”

Bakugou’s mouth opened. Kirishima immediately raised a finger. “No. No. We are not naming her anything that sounds like a pro wrestling move.”

“Fine,” Bakugou snapped. “Then what? You wanna call her Fluffy Rainbow Kitten-chan or something?”

“…Katsuki.”

“…I’m just saying we need balance.”

“I’ve got a list,” you said, pulling your phone out with one hand, the other still resting against Bakugou’s leg.

They both leaned in.

“Okay, how about… Sora?”

Kirishima smiled. “Cute.”

Bakugou tilted his head. “Sky. Not bad.”

“Or Ren?”

Bakugou shrugged. “Better than Ashblaze.”

Kirishima smiled. “Definitely better than Ashblaze.”

You smirked. “Oh, here’s one you won’t like.”

“Try me.”

“Yui.”

Silence.

“…Okay, that one’s actually nice,” Bakugou admitted. “Short. Cool. No one’s gonna mess with a Yui.”

“She’s gonna be surrounded by pro heroes. Who’s gonna mess with her anyway?”

“I just like being prepared,” he grumbled, adjusting her swaddle like he was already planning her battle strategy.

Eventually, you all settled onto the couch. You curled between them, legs draped over Kirishima’s lap, baby asleep on Bakugou’s chest. It was quiet again—except for the soft breaths of the newest member of your chaotic little family.

Kirishima spoke softly. “This is really happening, huh?”

You nodded. “Yeah. We’re parents.”

Bakugou snorted. “We’re screwed.”

You smiled. “Totally.”

Then the baby hiccuped.

Bakugou froze. “What does that mean?! Is that a warning sign? Is she gonna throw up on me?”

Kirishima grabbed a burp rag. “Emergency protocols activated!”

You laughed until you cried.

And maybe it was the exhaustion. Or the hormones. Or the way both your boys were now dads and trying so hard not to mess up…

But in that moment—sitting in your slightly-too-small apartment, holding a baby none of you had seen coming—it felt like the start of something big.

Messy. Loud. Terrifying.

But big.

And beautiful.

[koyagifs]

one day at a time

pairing:: yeosang x reader genre:: angst with comfort au:: 9th member | idol synopsis:: what should of been a normal comeback because your worst nightmare. word count:: 2.4k warning(s):: poly relationship! sensitive topics such as: unexpected pregnancy, miscarriage, medical emergency, emotional trauma/grief, mental health struggles.

lemon drop era

You had no idea you were pregnant.

The cheers from the crowd still echoed faintly in your ears as the adrenaline of your first live performance of Lemon Drop faded—but something was wrong. A sharp pain curled in your stomach, making your breath hitch. Panic bubbled in your chest as you staggered offstage, eyes searching until they landed on your stylist.

"Something’s wrong," you gasped, stumbling toward her. Your hands clutched your abdomen, your vision blurring with tears. Behind you, the boys’ voices called out in alarm.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” your manager asked, her hand landing on your shoulder. Her voice was gentle, but laced with worry.

“My stomach—it hurts. So much,” you cried, your lip trembling.

She crouched slightly to meet your eyes. “Honey, have you gotten your period recently? You know stress can make it hit harder.”

You blinked, brain fogged. You hadn’t even thought about it. Everything had been so hectic with comeback preparations that your own body’s rhythms had fallen to the wayside.

You shook your head slowly, trying to remember. Then you felt it—warmth between your legs. You looked down.

Your clothes were stained.

A sob tore from your throat before you could stop it. Whatever strength you had left crumbled with it.

“Yn—hey, hey, it’s okay,” someone tried to say, but it barely registered. Everyone around you looked panicked, voices blending into static.

“I want Yeo,” you whispered, and then louder—pleading. “Please. I want Yeosang.”

He was there instantly, arms wrapping around you, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m here, baby. I’m here.”

“I-It hurts,” you whimpered, clutching his shirt.

“Okay. Breathe with me, yeah? Just follow my lead.” His lips were close to your ear, his breath steady. “In... and out.”

You nodded weakly, tears still falling, trying to match his pace. It helped. A little.

Through your blurred vision, you saw your manager gesturing for Hongjoong to follow her. Yeosang held onto you tightly as Hongjoong reappeared, his face carved with concern.

“We’re going to the hospital, okay? Just to make sure everything’s alright. Take my hand, baby.”

With trembling fingers, you reached for him. His hand was warm and steady as he guided you out.

—

“We’re so sorry to inform you... but it appears that you’ve had a miscarriage.”

The words didn’t register at first.

It felt like the room collapsed around you, a weight pressing on your chest so heavy you couldn’t breathe. The doctor kept speaking, but everything turned to static. You stared down at your belly, hands limp in your lap.

You had a child.

You were pregnant. And now...

Tears gathered again, spilling silently at first. Then the sobs came—gut-wrenching, uncontrollable.

“Yn…”

You looked up to find Yeosang and Wooyoung in the doorway, both pale, eyes filled with worry. You hadn’t even realized Hongjoong had stepped out.

When your expression crumpled, the boys visibly flinched.

“Hey… Yn,” Wooyoung said softly, his voice cracking.

“I was pregnant… and I didn’t even know?” you sobbed, voice shattering with disbelief.

Yeosang moved closer, reaching gently for your hand. “Baby… this isn’t your fault.”

“But I should’ve known,” you choked out. “My period was late. I thought it was the stress from the album—God, I was crying all the time, getting mad over nothing—how didn’t I see it?”

Before either boy could answer, Hongjoong rushed back into the room. His eyes locked on you, and he was at your side in seconds, gently brushing the hair from your face and cradling your cheeks with both hands.

“Hey. Baby. Yn—look at me.”

You looked up, eyes drowning in tears.

“We’re going to get through this. Together.”

You nodded, barely, a tremble running through your shoulders as another wave of tears escaped. You sniffled, trying to speak, but the words caught in your throat. The ache wasn’t just in your body anymore—it was everywhere. In your chest, your mind, your heart.

But you couldn’t stop crying.

“I didn’t even know,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I didn’t get to feel anything. No kicks… no signs. Nothing.”

Hongjoong’s hands stayed on your cheeks, thumbs gently catching your tears. “I know, baby. I know.”

You let out a weak sob, leaning forward until your forehead pressed against his. His presence grounded you, but it still didn’t stop the ache. It just made it a little less lonely.

Yeosang and Wooyoung stood nearby, frozen in place like they were afraid moving too fast might shatter you more. But the moment your hand reached out blindly, Yeosang stepped forward and took it, folding your fingers into his without hesitation.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered again, voice cracking. “To all of you.”

“Don’t,” Wooyoung said, finally moving in to sit at the edge of the bed. His eyes were red, but he tried to hold your gaze. “Don’t apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You wanted to believe him. You wanted to let the words settle into your heart. But the grief was still too new, too raw. And so you let yourself cry again—because for now, it was all you could do.

And none of them let you cry alone.

ATEEZ’s Maknae Yn to Go on Hiatus

Just hours ago, KQ Entertainment released an official statement confirming that ATEEZ’s beloved maknae, Yn, will be taking a hiatus from group activities until further notice.

While the agency has not disclosed specific details, fans have expressed concern following recent events and Yn’s recent hospital visit after the group’s Lemon Drop stage. As of now, it remains uncertain whether Yn will participate in the upcoming tour or promotional schedules.

💌 ATINYs around the world are sending their love and support, flooding social media with messages of comfort and encouragement.

We join them in wishing Yn a gentle, healing break and a speedy recovery. 💛

Stay strong, Yn. We’ll be here when you’re ready. 🌙✨ #WeLoveYouYn #GetWellSoonYn #ATEEZ

user1: “i bet she got pregnant and had an abortion.”

🔁 78 | 💬 932 ⚠️ Comment reported for speculation and harmful assumptions.

user2: "poor ynie! the stress must of really gotten to her :( i hope she’s surrounded by love rn.”

❤️ 12.7K | 🔁 4.3K

user3: "first yeosang getting barely any lines and now yn taking a sudden hiatus. kq do better and protect your artists.”

🔁 8.9K | 💬 1.2K

user4: "hongjoong must be so worried! the way he always looks out for her… this must be breaking him too 😭”

❤️ 15.3K | 🔁 6.1K

Yeosang stood outside your door, fingers curled into a hesitant fist, hovering just inches from the wood. His heart thudded unevenly in his chest, caught in the limbo between giving you space and needing—aching—to see you.

It had been days since you were discharged from the hospital.

Days since he’d heard your voice.

And every hour that passed without you felt heavier than the last.

He bit the inside of his cheek, brow furrowed. The others had stopped by. Hongjoong had spent the night once. Wooyoung left you food every morning, lingering just in case you'd open the door. But Yeosang... he couldn’t bring himself to intrude. Not after how tightly you'd clung to him in that sterile hospital room, your cries echoing in his ears even now.

He finally exhaled, long and slow, and knocked—softly. Just once.

Silence.

He waited.

Another knock, a little firmer this time. "Yn?" he called gently. “It’s me.”

Still nothing.

His chest tightened. He pressed his forehead against the door, voice quieter now, like the weight of everything you’d both been through dulled his words. “I don’t want to force you. I just… I miss you.”

More silence.

He started to turn, thinking maybe he should come back later—but then he heard it.

The faint sound of movement from inside. Shuffling. A pause. And then the unmistakable click of the lock turning.

The door opened just a crack, revealing a sliver of your face. Your eyes were red-rimmed, cheeks pale and bare, no trace of the light you usually carried.

Yeosang’s breath caught.

“Hi,” you whispered.

He gave you a small, broken smile. “Hi.”

You stared at each other for a long moment before your lips trembled, and without a word, you opened the door wider.

He didn’t ask if he could come in. He just stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you—slowly, carefully—like he was holding something fragile.

Because he was.

He led you gently to the bed, sitting down with you still clinging to him. As soon as you felt the mattress beneath you, you curled closer into his chest. And Yeosang held on.

His heart was pounding—partly from being near you again, but mostly from fear. Fear of saying the wrong thing. Of not being enough. Of watching you shatter all over again.

His arms wrapped tighter around you, fingers pressing into your back as if he could physically keep you grounded.

“I’m right here,” he whispered, voice barely audible. “You don’t have to say anything. I’ve got you.”

You didn’t speak, but your hand gripped the fabric of his shirt tighter, and that was enough.

You stayed exactly like that—curled into his chest, his arms wrapped around you like a shield—until your voice finally broke the silence.

“We would’ve had a child…” you whispered, your breath trembling against his shirt.

Yeosang looked down slowly, his chest tightening. “Yn…”

You kept going, voice quieter now. “What if it was a boy? Or a girl?”

Yeosang swallowed hard, blinking through the sudden sting in his eyes. He reached up and gently stroked your hair, his voice low and aching.

“Either way… they would’ve been loved more than anything,” he said. “They would’ve had the brightest smile. Just like you.”

You sniffled, eyes still closed as you pressed your face further into him. “I keep thinking about it. Who they might’ve looked like. If they would’ve had my eyes or… your calm.”

Yeosang let out a shaky breath. “They would’ve been perfect. Just like their mom.”

A soft sob escaped you before you could stop it, and he pulled you even closer, tucking your head under his chin as if to hide you from the rest of the world.

“I’m scared,” you admitted, barely above a whisper. “I didn’t even know… and now I feel like I lost something I didn’t get to protect.”

“You didn’t fail them,” Yeosang said gently. “And you didn’t fail us. Not once.”

You shifted, the warmth of his embrace slipping away as you sat upright. Your fingers began to fidget in your lap, twisting together anxiously, your gaze locked on them like they might distract you from your thoughts.

“What if it happens again?” you whispered, voice barely holding together. “What if… I’m alone next time? What if no one’s around because you guys leave soon for your milit—”

“Hey,” Yeosang said quickly, his voice suddenly firm but soft, like a lifeline thrown in the dark. “Look at me.”

You hesitated.

“Yn.” His hand came up, brushing against your jaw, thumb resting just beneath your chin. Gently, he tilted your head up until your eyes met his.

His gaze was unwavering, and there was something in it—something steady and full of promise.

“We’re not gone yet. And even when we are… we won’t really be gone. Not from you. Ever.” He paused, taking a breath. “You’re never going to be alone in this. I swear that to you.”

“But I’m scared,” you said again, your voice cracking. “I don’t know if I can do this without you.”

“You don’t have to do anything without us,” he whispered, his hand now holding yours tightly. “We’ll plan for everything. We’ll make sure you’re taken care of. Loved. Protected. Whether we’re right here or miles away.”

You blinked, tears slipping down your cheeks, but his words rooted something in you—a sense of being held, not just physically, but emotionally, completely.

Yeosang leaned forward, his forehead pressing lightly to yours.

“One day at a time, okay?” he murmured. “We’ll face every one of them together.”

Your lip quivered, forming a pout as the weight of his words hit you like a wave—gentle, but overwhelming. The truth in them, the unwavering care, the way he didn’t flinch from your fear… it broke something loose in your chest.

You surged forward, wrapping your arms around him tightly, burying your face in the crook of his neck. He didn’t hesitate. His arms came around you just as fast, holding you like he never wanted to let go.

You tried to keep the tears in, you really did.

But the sob caught in your throat, small and raw, and then it spilled out—quiet but heavy. Your body shook slightly as you clung to him, the weight of the past few days crashing down all over again.

Yeosang held you tightly, his hand moving in slow, soothing circles up and down your back.

“You know the others are worried about you too,” he said softly, his voice steady and gentle.

You nodded, wiping your tears with the back of your hand. "I know. I noticed the things they usually leave for me."

He smiled softly, a flicker of warmth in his eyes. “They’re trying, in their own way. Just like me.”

You leaned into him again, feeling the quiet strength of his presence. “I miss them,” you admitted.

Yeosang pressed a gentle kiss to your temple. “They miss you too.”

“You think… they’ll come over now?” you asked softly, hope flickering in your voice.

Yeosang smiled, his eyes sparkling with love and reassurance. “I’m sure they will. They wouldn’t miss a chance to be with you.”

Yeosang stood and moved to the door, his hand already reaching for the handle. He glanced back at you with a small, encouraging smile.

“Stay right here. I’ll let them know you’re ready,” he said softly.

You watched as he opened the door and stepped into the hallway. Moments later, familiar voices drifted in—Yunho’s gentle chuckle, Seonghwa’s calm tone, Mingi’s quiet presence, San’s thoughtful murmurs, Jongho’s steady reassurance, and then two more: Hongjoong’s caring warmth and Wooyoung’s playful energy.

One by one, they entered the room, each carrying little reminders of comfort—soft blankets, warm drinks, and the kind of smiles that said, We’re here. We’ve got you.

Hongjoong immediately moved to sit by your side, gently brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Wooyoung plopped down nearby, offering a teasing grin but his eyes full of concern.

They didn’t say much at first. Instead, they settled around you and Yeosang, creating a circle of quiet support and love.

And in that moment, you felt something you hadn’t in a long time—a fragile but real sense of hope.

[seospicybin]

SEOSPICY PREVIEW.

DOUBLE FEATURE: FINAL CHAPTER

Lee Know x reader. (s,a)

DOUBLE FEATURE MASTERLIST

Synopsis: After a strange accident on movie set, you and a stunt actor, Minho, wake up in each other’s bodies. The two of you are forced to live one another’s lives while searching for answers. But the longer both of you are stuck, the more both of you begin to see each other differently.

Preview under cut!

...

It’s the last day of filming. The air on set buzzes with a kind of quiet satisfaction—the kind that only comes after long hours and countless takes, and now… it’s finally done. The final scene wraps, and applause breaks out from cast and crew alike. You hang back, watching as people surround Felix, patting his back and congratulating him with bright smiles and heartfelt words.

You wait by his trailer, bouquet in hand—something simple but thoughtful, wrapped in soft paper and tied with a black ribbon. When Felix finally approaches, a little winded from all the farewells, his eyes light up at the sight of you.

“For me?” he asks, smiling as he accepts the bouquet.

You nod. “Congratulations. You were incredible.”

He cradles the flowers in one arm and looks at you warmly. “Thank you for everything. All the help. The support.” Then, with a cheeky little grin, he adds, “And for that motorcycle ride that day.”

You chuckle, feeling a flicker of guilt twist lightly in your chest—but you brush it away. That was Minho. Still, you say, “And thank you for making my job easier. Always so nice to me.”

Felix shrugs, playful. “I think you know that’s ‘cause I like you.”

It catches you off guard. You blink. “Wait… what?”

He looks at you, slightly amused by your surprise. “I told you that before.”

Your lips part as you search your memory, and realization hits—of course. He told Minho. Not you.

Felix studies your face with growing curiosity. “Do you already know what you’re going to do about it?”

A soft laugh escapes you, more out of disbelief than anything else. So Minho didn’t tell you. Or maybe he meant to. Either way, you don’t feel hurt. Just… quietly amused by it.

You start to speak, but Felix chuckles first and says, “It’s okay. I know. You like Minho.”

You blink again. “You… know?”

He nods. “Pretty obvious. But it’s okay. I still like you. I just hope he treats you well.”

You feel your chest tighten with something tender. “Thank you,” you say, sincerely. “For being honest. For being… you.”

He smiles, softer this time. “I hope we work together again.”

You nod. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

And as if the moment calls for it, the two of you step into each other’s arms—no hesitation, no awkwardness. Just a long, warm hug shared between two people who understand each other, even if it didn’t end the way one of you had hoped.

When you pull away, he gives you one last sunshine smile before retreating into his trailer, and you watch the door close behind him. You smile to yourself, tucking the moment away gently, like a photograph pressed between pages. It’s a good ending, but something else is just about to begin.

...

DOUBLE FEATURE: FINAL CHAPTER full fic will be released this Friday, June 27th. Or you can read it early on my Patreon: