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magnagaruzenmon · 2 days ago

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Hybrid theory XVI

Two baddies to baddies one story… I’m sorry I tried guys guys and non binary palls

Daisy smiled as she vetted the last touches for her sign. As she did her neon lights guy named Tony smiled and said, “you like this?”

Daisy smiled her leopard ears twitching gently as she purred “it’s purrfect,”. Before letting Tony finishes his work

A few days later the erotic club “The Velvet Zoo” opened and Concrete Jungle began to have competition in earnest.

Absolutely — that’s a great addition. It builds tension and underscores just how powerful and overwhelming her true form is. Here’s a revised version that integrates that moment of intense physical sensitivity as she shifts:

⸻

When Sana heard about the new club opening downtown—the kind of place that promised dim lights, loud music, and no questions—she knew she had to go. But if she was going, she couldn’t go as her.

Not the fake version everyone saw. Not the sweet, bubbly hamster hybrid with harmless ears and a fluff of a tail.

No. Tonight, she would be herself.

In the safety of her apartment, she reached up and unpinned the soft hamster ears, then slipped off the tail she’d worn like a costume. She exhaled, fingers trembling slightly. It had been weeks—too long—since she let the suppressants wear off.

Now all she had to do was wait.

And when the change hit, it hit hard.

Warmth bloomed in her chest and spread fast—down her spine, across her skin, coiling in her gut. Her breath caught. Muscles tightened, then loosened as her body filled out in waves, hips widening, thighs thickening, her once-modest curves returning with vengeance. Her crop top strained. Her shorts barely clung.

Then came the tails. Four of them, impossibly soft and exquisitely sensitive, unfurled from her lower back. Each twitch sent jolts up her spine. Her fox ears twitched into place, and with them came everything she’d locked away.

Heat. Hunger. That deep, throbbing ache she always kept beneath the surface.

She let out a low, indulgent moan as her instincts returned—raw, electric, and impossible to ignore. Her fox ears twitched with satisfaction, the dull haze of suppression finally cleared.

Sana gasped, gripping the edge of the bathroom sink. Her legs nearly gave out as a tremor ran through her. She pressed her thighs together instinctively, biting her lip to stifle a sound that threatened to echo through the apartment. Every brush of fabric, every shift of her skin against her clothes, was maddening.

She took a long breath—then another.

In the mirror, she studied her reflection. Not the soft, sweet hamster girl everyone thought they knew—but the real Sana. Wild. Alluring. Dangerous. Her hand instinctively went to her full breasts and she massaged them. Feeling their heft and give “fuck!” She gasped as one of her hands wandered lower but before anything else could happen she snapped back to sense.

Not yet, she told herself. Hold it together.

Eventually, the edge dulled, just enough for her to move. She straightened, cheeks flushed, pupils wide and shimmering gold in the mirror. There she was.

The real Sana.

Fox-tailed. Starved. Lethal.

She smirked, wiping a smudge of sweat from her brow. Then, with a flick of her tails and a final glance over her shoulder, she slipped into the night—hoping her friends wouldn’t see her.

And half-hoping one of them would.

Across town, in a cramped office filled with the hum of outdated machines and fluorescent lights, a tired esper stared blankly at his monitor. The minutes crawled.

Fifteen left.

Outside, the city pulsed with weekend energy, but here, everything felt stale. The room smelled like toner and cheap coffee. He rolled his shoulder and let out a sigh, mentally flipping through his nonexistent plans for the night.

He considered texting his ex—the hyena hybrid with a bite that lingered—but quickly dismissed the thought. That door wasn’t just closed, it was barricaded. Still, the itch remained. Not just physical, but something deeper. Like a low hum under his skin. A need he couldn’t quite name.

That’s when Danzo strolled in—tanuki hybrid, occasional wingman, full-time chaos agent. His sharp nose wrinkled almost immediately.

“Dude,” Danzo said, “I can smell the lust coming off you. You’re practically leaking it into the air.”

The esper gave him a sidelong look. “And what’s your solution, genius?”

Danzo leaned on the desk like he was offering a business proposal. “Come with me. There’s a new club downtown—The Velvet Forest. It’s low lights, good music, no rules.”

The esper arched a brow. “Will there be hyena girls?”

Danzo groaned. “Yeah, probably. But you don’t need another hyena. You need a fox girl. All the heat, none of the trauma.”

The esper chuckled, then paused. Something about the idea struck a chord—fox girls. Elusive, magnetic, the kind that pulled you in even when you knew better. His pulse picked up just slightly.

He shut off his monitor.

“Fine,” he muttered. “But if I end up covered in glitter or regret, I’m blaming you.”

Danzo grinned, already halfway out the door. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

And just like that, the esper stood up and followed—unaware that across the city, the night was already shifting, tails were unfurling, and fate was beginning to stir.

Forty-five minutes later, both groups arrived at The Velvet Forest—a glowing beacon nestled in the seedier part of the city. The club pulsed with bass and neon, tucked between abandoned warehouses and shuttered storefronts. The kind of place where secrets were currency and no one asked questions you didn’t want to answer.

As fate would have it, they reached the entrance at the same time.

Sana’s fox ears twitched as the beat spilled into the street. She was already buzzing with heat, anticipation, and the high of being seen for what she was. Beside her, Momo rolled her shoulders, every bit the alert and protective wolf, eyes scanning the crowd.

Across the sidewalk, Danzo was mid-joke when he noticed them. His expression faltered as his gaze landed on the two approaching hybrids—a fox and a wolf—walking side by side like heat and thunder.

Tanuki instincts kicked in immediately. He stepped back half a pace and tilted his body deferentially toward the esper at his side. “Uh… hi, ladies,” Danzo said, voice charming but cautious. “I’m Danzo, and this here is my—very lovely friend, Ian Archer II.”

Isaac raised an eyebrow at the flourish, shooting Danzo a look. But when he turned toward the two women, his expression shifted.

Fox.

The word thundered in his head before anything else.

Sana’s golden eyes caught the club’s neon glow, her lips already curling into a knowing smile. Her presence was magnetic—playful and dangerous. Isaac felt a chill run up his spine.

He cleared his throat, trying to sound smoother than he felt. “Hey… uh, what’s your name?”

Sana tilted her head, amused. “Sana.”

Then she stepped closer—close enough that her scent hit him like a velvet-gloved punch. Her tails brushed his arm, teasing, and her fingers curled around his wrist.

“Come on, Ian,” she purred, “you’re mine tonight.”

Before he could stammer out a reply, she was already pulling him through the doors, into the flashing lights and thick, humid air of the club.

Danzo blinked after them, stunned—only to realize too late that Momo hadn’t moved. In fact, she was staring at him. Hard.

Her nostrils flared subtly. Her eyes narrowed. Her body went still in that way only wolves do—every muscle ready to pounce.

“You’re… an omega,” she said, voice low and nearly drowned out by the music inside.

Danzo stiffened. “I don’t—”

“And an esper,” she continued, stepping forward. There was something different in her now. A shift. A heat. Her wolf instincts rising.

Danzo took a step back. “Listen, I don’t know what you—”

“You’ve been hiding it,” Momo said, her voice sharp, hungry. “But I can smell it now.”

Then, without warning, her hand closed around his collar. He yelped as she dragged him forward, her rut now fully ignited by the mix of scent, tension, and the daring scent of omega beneath his charming tanuki mask.

“Wait—Momo—can’t we just—”

“Nope,” she growled. “You’re mine tonight too.”

And with that, she hauled him into the club—past velvet curtains, through throbbing basslines, and into the wildness of the night.

After giving the attendant their clothes Sana wasted no time in making her claim on Ian Known. She started by grinding on him. Her body blistered with heat and need as Iantried and failed to recover.

Inside the velvet-draped haze of the club, Momo led Danzo past pulsing crowds and rhythmic lights until they reached a shadowed corner, half-concealed by hanging vines and flickering wall sconces. The music throbbed around them like a second heartbeat—but in this moment, all Momo could hear was his.

Danzo opened his mouth to speak—maybe to crack a joke, maybe to protest—but Momo didn’t give him the chance.

She kissed him.

Hard.

Fierce.

Her lips crashed into his with the force of a storm she hadn’t realized had been building inside her for years. Heat rolled off her in waves, and with it came the unmistakable flare of alpha pheromones. Dominant. Demanding.

Danzo gasped into her mouth, his body jerking at the first hit of it. He barely had time to brace himself before a flood of sensation took over—warmth blooming in his gut, spreading low, deep, until his legs trembled beneath him.

He whimpered.

Just once.

But it was enough.

Momo’s hand slid into his hair, tilting his head back slightly as her tongue traced the seam of his lips, claiming without hesitation. She tasted him like he was hers. And every part of Danzo—omega nerves, tanuki instincts, and that secret sliver of longing—surrendered.

His body knew what to do even before his mind caught up. His scent shifted, sweetening, opening, offering. He clung to her like he was afraid of being pulled under, but the truth was: he already had been.

Momo pulled back, breathing hard, her pupils blown wide and sharp with hunger.

“God,” she whispered, voice rough with the edge of her rut. “You’re so omega.”

Danzo’s knees nearly buckled.

“I-I wasn’t trying to hide it,” he murmured, dazed, “I just—don’t usually…”

“Submit?” Momo asked, her lips brushing the shell of his ear. “That’s fine. I don’t usually dominate.”

She pressed her palm against his chest, feeling his heart race under her touch.

“But something about you…” she growled softly, “woke me up.”

Danzo swallowed hard, his voice barely a breath. “What happens now?”

Momo smiled, sharp and hungry. “Now?”

She leaned in close.

“Now I make sure every other hybrid in this place knows who you belong to.”

And with that, she pinned him to the wall with her body, letting her scent mark the air as the club lights flared around them—two instincts colliding in the dark, burning too hot to ignore.

Momo smiled as her length grew before her eyes she watched as her omega’s hole pooled ready for her his slick gushing down his legs. In the shadowed alcove of the club, Danzo trembled beneath Momo’s touch.

His body was burning—every nerve singing from the heat flooding him, the kiss still lingering on his lips, her pheromones saturating the air. He wanted her. Needed her. But even as instinct screamed for surrender, something else clawed up from inside him.

Shame.

He turned his face away, trying to hide it, but Momo felt the shift immediately. His body was soft and open against hers, but his scent wavered, laced with fear and guilt.

“Danzo,” she whispered, brushing a knuckle along his jaw. “What is it?”

He swallowed hard. “I shouldn’t be like this. I’m supposed to—tanuki aren’t supposed to fold this fast. I talk big, I laugh, I make noise. But the second someone strong like you touches me…”

His voice broke, and his hands curled weakly into her shirt. “It’s pathetic.”

Momo’s eyes softened. She placed a hand on his chest, grounding him with her steady presence.

“You think I don’t see how strong you are?” she asked quietly. “You don’t have to fight your instincts with me. You kept your heat locked down, masked yourself so completely I didn’t even know what you were until I got close to you.”

Danzo’s lips parted, but no words came.

Momo leaned in, their foreheads brushing. “You’re not weak, Danzo. You’re real. And letting me see this part of you—letting me touch it—isn’t pathetic.”

“It’s brave.”

His breathing hitched.

Then she pulled him close.

Her hand slipped behind his neck, holding him with a firm tenderness as she leaned down and sank her teeth into the soft spot just above his collarbone. It wasn’t a vicious bite—but it was deep. Intentional.

He gasped, his entire body locking up—then melting as warmth flooded the spot. Her saliva carried the enzymes. The bond took hold. A permanent mark, scent-woven and biological, seared into his skin.

Claimed.

Safe.

Danzo’s voice cracked as he moaned, the last of his resistance crumbling. His omega instincts surged forward, crashing over him in waves of hunger and relief. But this time, he didn’t fight them. He let Momo hold him. Let her warmth wrap around him like a shield.

She pulled him against her chest, one hand stroking his hair as his body slowly calmed, trembling with the weight of it all.

“You don’t have to be anything but mine right now,” she murmured. “No masks. No shame. Just you.”

Danzo buried his face against her throat, a single tear slipping down his cheek. For the first time, the thought of being vulnerable didn’t scare him.

Not with her.He leaned completely into Momo’s touch and let her rail him.

His cavern easily accommodates her size as she slid in and out of him. Momo lost control as she pounded his fat ass making him moan again and again. Watching him give himself to her. As he did little tanuki spirits made of psionic energy ventured around his body.

Momo yanked him closer and whispered in his ear, “you smell sweet and sweet.” as she continued to penetrate him. Her length throbbing with need and belonging as if she finally found her perfect mate. Danzo was so blissed out he couldn't even focus much less make words as Momo keeps hitting one of his sweet spots. Their scents mingle.

Momo’s rough and gentle smell of Lavender and cedarwood ash and Danzo’s orange and vanilla it permeated their dark corner of the club. As Momo got closer she felt Danzo get tighter, “does it turn you on to be mine?” she asked Danzo nodded, breathless as his hole clenched Momo’s girth. She groans lewdly as she paints his guts white.

For 4 minutes Momo cums inside of her omega happy and unbothered. As she cums down and her cock goes back inside of her body becomes super senstive and receptive. Meanwhile Danzo is flushed by a massive swell of adrenaline and lust. His cock is hard and there's only one thing to do about it.

Meanwhile Sana has proudly began parading and fucking her new boytoy. She rode him like a motorcyle as the cows cheered them on. Spurred on by the attention Sana moaned and said to Ian “Pull my hair babe,”

Ian obliged as Sana groans as her lustful scent of strawberries and cream fill the room. Her pert breasts bounce with each thrust of Ian’s igniting the lust not only between them but the whole crowd.

Daisy from her elevated watches the “carnage” with a predatory pleased grin.

Getting back to Momo and Danzo. Momo is moaning as Danzo slides inside of her pussy.

“Fuck you’re so tight,” Danzo groans. Momo smirks and says

“You love it. Now don’t think just fuck me!”

Danzo obliges as he rams into his alpha harder. Momo’s sizable mounds bounce and sway as she takes his thrusts. The tanuki hybrid is blinded by pleasure as he cums inside of Momo. She smiles then pulls him to along to find Sana and Ian in the middle of the crowd. She smiled as Danzo’s larger frame wrapped around her leaving her feel protected but also covered.

Sunlight crept lazily through the gauzy curtains of Momo’s apartment, painting golden streaks across a living room littered with last night’s evidence: abandoned heels, an empty soju bottle rolling beneath the coffee table, and two club wristbands clinging desperately to a discarded jacket.

Sana stretched out on Momo’s plush couch, a fuzzy blanket wrapped loosely around her bare shoulders. Her fox tails twitched in her sleep, one lazily slapping Ian’s face where he was slouched at the opposite end, his head tipped back and mouth open in the posture of a man who’d lost a battle with gravity and alcohol.

Momo padded in from the kitchen, hair a wild halo around her head, a mug of coffee in each hand. She was wearing one of Danzo’s oversized hoodies—it hung off one shoulder, her wolf ears twitching slightly at the sound of someone stirring in the other room.

A moment later, Danzo shuffled out, looking like a pillow had tried to fight him in his sleep. His hair stuck out in every direction, his neck still bearing the faint mark from the bond bite.

His eyes found Momo’s, and he paused mid-step, suddenly sheepish.

She raised a brow. “Tea?”

Danzo nodded wordlessly and took the mug, avoiding her eyes as he sat on the edge of the couch beside Sana’s curled-up form.

Sana blinked awake at the smell of caffeine and groaned dramatically. “Ughhh. What time is it?”

“Too early for dignity,” Momo muttered, sipping her own drink before flopping down next to Danzo and pulling her legs up under her.

Ian stirred next, grimacing as he sat up. “Was I… did I dance?” he asked no one in particular. “Because my legs are sore in ways I don’t associate with dignity either.”

“You did,” Sana said, grinning. “And you were hot. In a confused, trying-not-to-die kind of way.”

He gave her a look that was somewhere between embarrassment and amusement. “You dragged me into that place like a siren luring a sailor into a very stylish whirlpool.”

“You liked it.”

“…I did.”

Sana curled closer to him, her tails looping around his legs. “You’re cute when you’re confused.”

Ian flushed but didn’t move away.

Momo watched them for a beat, then glanced sideways at Danzo. He was staring into his coffee like it held all the answers to his life.

“Hey,” she said softly, bumping her knee against his. “You okay?”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. Just… still processing. I’ve never bonded before.”

“I know.”

A pause.

“I’m sorry I didn’t ask.”

Danzo looked up, surprised. “You bit me mid-heat. Do you think I wanted you to ask politely while I was leaking pheromones and begging?”

Momo snorted. “Fair.”

He hesitated. “I’m still scared, though. Not of you. Just… of how easy it was.”

Her voice softened. “Easy doesn’t mean weak. You were brave enough to stop hiding. That means something.”

He didn’t reply, but the tension in his shoulders eased just slightly.

Sana glanced at them both and smiled. “Aww, you’re a couple now. That means I get to tease you relentlessly.”

“You’re one to talk,” Momo said, nodding toward Isaac, who was currently letting Sana steal his coffee as her tails continued to trap him.

Ian groaned. “I didn’t sign up for fox games.”

“You did, though,” Danzo muttered. “You just didn’t read the fine print.”

Laughter rolled through the room—soft, a little tired, but real.

It wasn’t clean. It wasn’t neat. But for the first time in a long while, they were each exactly where they wanted to be.

Together.

They sat together in the soft glow of late morning, surrounded by blankets, coffee mugs, and the quiet hum of post-chaos peace.

After a long sip from her stolen mug, Sana perked up and leaned into Isaac with a teasing smile.

“Okay, story time,” she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “We kind of bonded on instinct last night, so I feel like we should get to know each other properly now. Let’s do the circle of truth—starting with you, babe.”

She poked Ian’s chest, and he sighed like a man accepting his fate.

“Hi. I’m Ian.”

“Hi Ian,” Danzo said in a mock support-group tone.

Ian glared. “Anyway… I’m an esper. Went to tower prep like my dad and his dad and his dad’s dad. Come from a long family line, blah blah. I work in accounting for a major pharmaceutical company, which is as soul-draining as it sounds. And apparently I now go clubbing on weekends and get dragged into fox-related trouble.”

Sana beamed. “The best kind of trouble.”

She turned to Momo next. “Alright, alpha wolf—your turn.”

Momo set down her mug, her voice calm and sure. “I’m Momo. Alpha wolf hybrid. Executive at Claw Tech. I run their field operations division.”

Danzo blinked. “Wait… that explains why this apartment is huge.”

“And why the walls are soundproof,” Sana added with a smirk, flicking one of her tails toward Ian, who suddenly looked very interested in the bottom of his mug.

Momo rolled her eyes. “I like my privacy. And quiet.”

Sana grinned and turned to the last member of their circle. “Alright, cutie. You’re up.”

Danzo gave a theatrical sigh. “Ah, yes. The big reveal.”

He sat up a little straighter, clearing his throat. “My name is Danzaborou, but most people just call me Danzo. I’m a tanuki hybrid, esper as well, and—” he hesitated just a beat, eyes flicking toward Momo “—an omega.”

Momo looked at him with quiet understanding, but said nothing.

“I also work with Ian, just not in the same department,” Danzo continued, his voice a little softer now. “And… I don’t really look like an omega because I wasn’t raised to be one. My dad was pretty traditional. Thought submission was weakness. So he trained me out of it—combat sports, constant discipline. Always pushing. Always proving.”

He gave a tired smile. “So, yeah. Still trying to figure out how to be me without feeling like I’m doing something wrong.”

The silence that followed was warm—not awkward, but respectful.

Sana reached over and patted his knee gently. “He’s like you,” she said to Momo.

Momo blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“Our old boss,” Sana explained, “forced all the alphas in our unit—except one Nayeon—to suppress their instincts. Momo spent years trying to not be alpha. Pretending to be something smaller so people wouldn’t flinch when she walked into a room.”

Momo looked away, ears twitching slightly. “…We all quit eventually.”

Danzo nodded slowly, eyes flicking between them. “Wait Nayeon like the president and founder of Double industries?” Sana and Momo nodded then still in awe with a bit of relief said, “Good to know I’m not the only one figuring it out backward.”

“You’re not,” Ian muttered, raising his mug in mock salute. “Apparently, we’re all walking identity crises.”

Sana laughed. “Which means we definitely need more brunches like this.”

Danzo smiled—smaller, but more genuine this time. “Yeah. I think I’d like that.”

After breakfast, as the others dozed off or lounged in a pile of limbs and blankets on the living room floor, Momo gently tugged on Danzo’s sleeve.

“Come with me,” she said softly.

Danzo followed without hesitation, the bond tugging at him like a low, constant hum in his chest. She led him back into her bedroom—spacious, minimalist, and perfectly lived-in. The door shut behind them with a soft click.

He looked around, unsure of what came next.

Momo turned to face him. Her expression was calm. Steady.

“I want us to look at each other,” she said simply.

Danzo blinked. “What… like look look?”

“Yes,” she said, stepping closer, her voice low but firm. “Not for sex. Not for heat or rut. Just… to see each other. Without pretense. Without hiding.”

He hesitated.

“I want to know all of you, Danzo,” Momo added gently. “Every inch, every shape. Every part you try to tuck away.”

Danzo’s heart pounded in his chest. Instinct told him to make a joke, to deflect—but he stopped himself. He trusted her. And maybe, just maybe… it was time to stop hiding from himself too.

They undressed slowly, not like lovers, but like explorers laying down armor.

Momo let her robe fall first, standing tall and unapologetically alpha. Her body was fit, sculpted with clean muscle and smooth curves—thighs firm, arms lean, posture effortless. Her wolf tail flicked lightly behind her as if sensing the gravity of the moment.

She didn’t pose. She didn’t need to. She was proud of her body—and she didn’t shrink from being seen.

Danzo swallowed and began to remove his clothes, slower. His hoodie. Then his shirt. The sweatpants last. He stood still, awkward at first, hands twitching like he didn’t know where to put them.

His body was strong—clearly trained—but unmistakably soft in ways he’d spent years trying to get rid of. His thighs were thick and powerful, but pillowy with omega fullness. His hips and backside were wide, plush in ways that made jeans a nightmare. His belly had a gentle curve to it, the kind that spoke of comfort, not neglect.

He turned his eyes downward, suddenly ashamed again.

But Momo stepped closer and gently cupped his jaw, lifting his gaze back up to hers.

“You’re beautiful,” she said.

He blinked at her, stunned.

“You think I don’t notice the way your body moves? The way you carry that strength and softness at the same time?” She traced a finger gently along his arm. “I don’t want you to hide from me.”

Danzo took a shaky breath, and the tightness in his chest began to loosen.

They sat together on the edge of the bed—bare skin touching, not to arouse, but to connect.

“So,” Momo said, her voice softer now. “What do you do when you’re not stuck in an office with Isaac?”

Danzo chuckled, grateful for the shift. “I do photography . Badly. Mostly cityscapes. I also collect old arcade tokens. Don’t ask me why.”

“I wasn’t going to,” she said, smiling.

“What about you?” he asked, eyes curious.

“I box,” Momo said. “Competed for years before going corporate. Still keep a bag in the spare room.”

Danzo laughed. “Of course you do.”

They talked for what felt like hours. About their families—hers distant but supportive, his strict but quietly proud. About how he ended up in accounting, and how she never planned to be an executive, only to prove she could survive in a world that didn’t make space for strong women who didn’t flinch.

Eventually, Momo lay back against the pillows, and Danzo curled beside her, his head resting on her shoulder.

“It’s weird,” he said quietly, “being seen this way. Like, really seen. I don’t know if I’m scared or relieved.”

Momo ran her fingers through his hair. “It can be both.”

And in the quiet that followed, skin to skin, words spent, Danzo didn’t feel small anymore.

He felt held.

In the guest room, sunlight peeked in through the curtains in soft golden bands, casting a lazy warmth over the tangled bedsheets and the two sprawled figures tangled beneath them.

Sana lay across the foot of the bed, her long fox tails lazily flicking as she played a rhythm game on her phone, tongue poking slightly out in concentration.

Ian, sitting nearby with bedhead and a leftover croissant in hand, watched with growing amusement. “You know,” he said through a mouthful of pastry, “for someone with four magic tails, you have the reflexes of a guy trying to text with his elbows.”

“Excuse me?” Sana squawked, slamming her phone down in mock offense. “I will have you know I ranked platinum in tail-based rhythm combat in high school.”

“That’s not a real thing.”

“It was! …in my head.”

Ian chuckled, leaning back against the wall. “I’m not gonna lie, I didn’t think this morning would involve croissants, a rhythm game battle, and a fox girl in a crop top trying to defend her gamer credentials.”

Sana huffed playfully, then flipped over onto her stomach, tails swaying lazily. “Well, get used to it. I’m a complex creature.”

Ian smiled. “I like that.”

There was a beat of silence. The laughter settled into something softer, something quieter. Sana shifted a little closer, her voice dropping.

“Can I tell you something kinda real?” she asked.

Ian blinked, nodding. “Of course.”

Sana hesitated, her fingers tugging absently at the hem of her sleeve. “So… I’m not always this. I mean, I am a fox hybrid — obviously — but the world doesn’t treat us great. You know the rep.”

Ian’s smile faded, his brows furrowing. “Yeah. People talk like fox hybrids are just… walking fantasies.”

“Exactly.” Sana’s voice was low now. “People think we’re just these insatiable, flirtatious creatures who live to seduce and be touched. Like we’re only good for one thing.”

She sighed. “So I took suppressants. Started passing myself off as a hamster hybrid. They’re seen as cute, safe, non-threatening. It helped me move through the world without people immediately projecting their desires onto me. Without constantly feeling like a magnet for lust.”

Ian didn’t speak right away. He just looked at her, really looked — not with lust, but with care. Attention.

“And now?” he asked gently.

“Now I’m trying to be me again,” she said, voice fragile around the edges. “But it’s scary. Even last night… as freeing as it was… it felt like I had to be on. Like I had to be the fantasy everyone thinks I am. Even if part of me liked the attention, another part just wants to be seen, not chased.”

Ian reached out and gently took her hand. “Sana,” he said softly, “you don’t owe anyone a performance. Not me. Not anyone. You don’t have to be cute, or wild, or fox-y if that’s not what you feel. Just be whatever version of you feels right.”

She blinked, a little stunned at the tenderness in his voice.

“Also,” he added, deadpan, “your platinum tail-rhythm rank is still up for debate.”

She snorted, then swatted at him with a pillow.

They laughed again, tension easing like mist in the morning sun. And when Sana looked at him this time, it wasn’t with her usual flirty smile — it was something deeper.

Grateful.

Seen.

The smell of onions and garlic sautéing in butter greeted Momo as she stepped out of her room, freshly dressed and still toweling off her damp hair. She paused in the hallway, watching as Danzo — now in an apron that said “Don’t Panic, I’ve Got The Pan” — moved with focused ease around the open-concept kitchen, slicing vegetables like a man on a mission.

“Well, well,” Momo said, crossing her arms and leaning against the doorframe with a smirk. “Could’ve sworn cooking was an omega thing.”

Danzo didn’t even flinch. “And I’ll have you know only badasses can really mix it up in the kitchen,” he shot back, eyes still on his knife work. “Besides, somebody’s gotta feed you carnivores before your protein shakes start tasting like drywall again.”

Momo barked a laugh and sauntered over, stealing a cherry tomato from the cutting board. “Alright, Chef Tanuki, I’m listening.”

Just then, Sana and Ian emerged from the guest room, both looking a little flushed but glowing with post-nap, post-bonding peace. Sana’s ears twitched at the smell in the air, and Issac grinned wide when he saw Danzo at the stove.

“Yo!” Ian called, practically jogging over. “Let’s gooo, Danzo’s cooking? Oh, we’re eating good tonight.”

“Please,” Danzo said, flicking a bit of flour at him. “Don’t hype me up unless you plan on doing dishes.”

Ian plopped himself onto one of the barstools and leaned over the counter. “You always say that like it’s a threat. I like doing dishes. It’s like meditation, but wetter.”

Sana raised an eyebrow. “That might be the weirdest thing I’ve ever heard anyone say about chores.”

“Hey it’s an easy job that I don’t mind doing,”

Sana rolls her eyes before playfully hitting Ian. Ian smirks while Momo watches Danzo’s knife skills. While they are definitely practiced they aren’t conventional in any sense of the word, but to her it adds to the charm.

Sana looks at Momo then Danzo, and a mischievous thought forms in her head, “you Know Danzo if you’re really good at cooking I might have to steal you from Momo,”

Momo instantly turned and growled at Sana. Sana burst into laughter.

Danzo turned back around and said, “Sana don’t antagonize her,”

Sana smirked and said, “but it’s so much fun,” Danzo glared then said

“I will burn this stir fry,”

Ian whimpered “No!!!” And elbowed Sana to stop.

Momo laughed, then reached for the rice cooker. “You won’t. You care too much.”

And she was right. The smell rising in the kitchen wasn’t just food — it was warmth, understanding, the slow stitching of trust between four strangers who weren’t quite strangers anymore.

Dinner would be delicious.

But the company?

Even better.

After dinner Sana had Ian take her home as it was getting late and she needed to be ready for work the day after tomorrow.

The sun was dipping just below the skyline as Issac helped Sana up the steps of her apartment complex. She leaned into him, not out of weakness but comfort — her four elegant fox tails swayed with tired grace, and her long ears twitched occasionally from ambient city noise. She was still glowing from the warmth of dinner and the easy joy of being around people who saw her, really saw her — but returning home meant stepping back into a place where she’d been someone else.

Ian caught her hesitation as they reached the main entrance.

“You good?” he asked, holding the door open.

Sana hesitated, smoothing her hair behind her ear. “Not exactly. I’ve… never come in like this before.”

Ian blinked. “Wait. You mean no one here knows?”

She shook her head. “To them, I’m just that sweet little hamster girl in 3C. Quiet, a little weird, but safe. Not… this.” She gestured to herself: the plush curves, the dangerous allure of her fox heritage, the magnetic shimmer of her scent that even now made heads turn on the street.

Ian gave her a sidelong look, voice soft. “Sana. You’re still sweet. Still weird. Still safe. You just added a few tails and a lot of honesty.”

That made her smile — just slightly.

They stepped into the lobby.

Silence.

Then: gasps.

The elderly cat hybrid who lived on the first floor clutched her mail a little tighter. The rabbit couple by the elevator turned to whisper to each other, their noses twitching in unison. A teenage red panda dropped her phone with a loud clack.

“Is that… Sana?” one voice murmured, stunned.

Sana kept walking, her chin held high, but Ian could feel the tension radiating from her with every step. Her fingers unconsciously curled into the sleeve of his jacket.

“Don’t let them shrink you,” he whispered, just loud enough for her ears.

When they reached her floor, the hallway felt longer than usual. Ian watched her as she paused in front of her door, the keycard trembling slightly in her hand.

“I didn’t think it’d hit me this hard,” she admitted, voice low. “Being seen like this. It’s like every step I take is louder.”

Ian leaned against the wall, hands tucked into his jacket pockets. “Yeah. But you’re also walking taller. And I think you wanted to be seen.”

Sana didn’t reply at first. She just opened her door and let the warm light of her cozy apartment spill out. Then she turned to face him, her eyes softer now, more vulnerable.

“They look at fox hybrids and only see sex,” she said finally. “All this fur and curves and heat — it becomes this… thing they want to tame or taste, not something they want to understand. I pretended to be a hamster because it let me control how they saw me.”

Ian nodded slowly, stepping forward.

“I see you,” he said. “Not the hybrid. Not the rumors. Just… Sana. Clever, guarded, terrifyingly pretty Sana.”

She huffed a laugh. “Terrifyingly?”

“Yeah. In the way that makes people want to worship you but also run away in fear of catching feelings.”

She stepped back just slightly, tail curling like a question mark. “And you? You gonna run?”

Ian smiled. “I’m already inside the building. That counts as bravery, right?”

Sana laughed — really laughed, breathless and rich — before tugging him inside and shutting the door.

Behind her, the whispers would spread. But she didn’t flinch anymore.

Let them talk.

Sana had finally decided to stop hiding.

And for the first time, she wasn’t alone.

The moonlight filtered through the high windows of Momo’s spacious bedroom, casting silver pools across the polished floors. The soft hum of the city below was muted by soundproof glass, leaving only the low rustle of sheets and the quiet hum of two people settling in for the night.

Momo stood by her walk-in closet in nothing but her underwear, her toned frame bathed in moonlight. Her wolf ears twitched lazily, and her tail flicked with satisfaction as she turned to Danzo, who stood near the edge of the bed holding a long shirt and a pair of soft sleep pants in his arms like a barrier.

“You sure you’re comfortable with this?” Danzo asked, eyes flicking down nervously. “I mean… I usually sleep with at least something on.”

Momo arched a brow, then grinned as she let her bra slip off her shoulders. “Omega, I’m a wolf. I sleep best skin to skin. I need to feel you—your warmth, your breathing, your heartbeat. I’m not trying to start anything.” She paused. “Unless you want to.”

Danzo flushed to the tips of his round ears. His tanuki tail gave a shy flick.

Momo stepped closer, her scent blooming around him like a warm forest wind, sweet and grounding. “But if it’s too much, we don’t have to. I just… I like closeness. Especially with you.”

Danzo’s arms slowly lowered, the shirt forgotten. His breathing evened out, calmed by her scent’s soothing notes. “You’re ridiculous,” he muttered, climbing into the bed beside her. “And a little intense.”

Momo grinned and slid in after him, wrapping an arm loosely around his waist. “That’s my whole brand.”

As the blankets settled over them, Danzo hesitated for a moment, then nuzzled into her neck, his nose brushing her collarbone, breathing in the warm musk of alpha safety. He relaxed further, his body melting into hers with a quiet sigh.

Momo looked down at him, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead.

“…Am I being too pushy?” she asked quietly. “Sometimes I get caught up in the instinct to claim and protect and… I don’t know, I just want to make sure I’m not overwhelming you.”

Danzo’s arms curled around her waist, tugging himself closer until his soft belly was pressed against her toned stomach. His thighs slotted easily between hers as he let out a sleepy murmur.

“I kinda like it,” he said, voice muffled and low.

That earned a surprised laugh from Momo, and she nuzzled into his hair.

“You always act like you’re so composed. But deep down you’re such a soft, eager little thing.”

Danzo groaned playfully. “Please don’t say eager while I’m this close to your thighs.”

Momo grinned. “Can’t help it.”

They were quiet for a few minutes, just sharing breath and warmth, until Danzo finally spoke again.

“…It’s weird. Growing up, I hated being an omega. My dad raised me to act alpha. Suppress everything. Be tough. Be sharp. Don’t crave comfort. So now when I want this—you—I feel like I’m failing some version of myself.”

Momo’s hand moved up to cradle the back of his head gently. “You’re not failing anything, Danzo. Wanting softness doesn’t make you weak. Letting yourself need someone doesn’t make you any less of a badass.”

He exhaled, slow and deep, then looked up at her. “And what about you? Do you like being an alpha?”

Momo smiled. “I like being your alpha.”

Danzo’s eyes widened slightly.

“I spent so long suppressing it,” she continued. “The drive, the hunger, the instinct to claim. I thought if I let it out, I’d become some monster. But with you…” She brushed her nose against his. “I don’t feel like I’m losing control. I feel like I’m finally in it.”

Danzo blinked, stunned by the tenderness in her voice.

He smiled and whispered, “Okay. I think I’m in too.”

They stayed like that, tangled up and soft under the covers — alpha and omega, equal parts strength and vulnerability, finally allowing themselves to be.

The next morning, Danzo slipped out of Momo’s bed quietly, careful not to wake her. She was wrapped up in the sheets, her face softened in sleep, the slightest trace of a smile still on her lips. He stared at her for a beat longer than he meant to, then finally moved, leaving a handwritten note with his number and contact info beside her bedside diffuser. His scent lingered faintly in the sheets.

After a quick stop at his apartment for a hot shower and a clean change of clothes, Danzo made it to work with just enough time to slide into his cubicle before the morning bell tone chimed. The familiarity of his office chair and humming screen did little to anchor him. His body was here, sure — but his mind was still tangled in the sheets of Momo’s bedroom, and the warm press of her lips against his collarbone.

As the early morning routine settled into place, his phone buzzed.

Unknown Number:

“You’re going to be needed when your shift is over. Don’t be late.”

Danzo chuckled quietly and fired back a reply:

Danzo:

“Send me the address and I’ll be there. I’m very obedient, apparently.”

The address followed a few seconds later. Claw Tech HQ. Fancy.

Just as he turned back to his spreadsheet, his phone vibrated again — another number.

New Contact: Sana 🦊

“It’s Sana. Momo gave me your number and said you’re coming to Claw Tech. Bring Ian. He’s cute and I want to see how he handles a business fox in her natural habitat.”

Danzo smirked.

Danzo:

“I’ll drag him. But only because you asked nicely.”

A moment passed.

Sana:

“You’re already learning how to talk to foxes. I’m proud of you.” 🧡

Danzo snorted, shaking his head as he looked across the office to Ian’s cubicle. The guy was sipping his energy drink like it was his lifeline, earbuds in, screen full of spreadsheets and chaos.

Danzo leaned over the partition. “Hey Ian.”

Ian popped out an earbud. “Yeah?”

“You’re free after work?”

Ian raised a brow. “You offering to take me to dinner before or after introducing me to your alpha girlfriend again?”

Danzo grinned. “Both. But also Sana texted. She says you’re invited to Claw Tech.”

Ian blinked. “Wait. What? Sana texted you?”

Danzo nodded, smug. “She wants to see how you do in her natural habitat.”

Ian blinked again. Then: “…I am both intrigued and terrified.”

Danzo stood and stretched. “Good. You’re exactly where I was 24 hours ago.”

They fist-bumped.

After their shift, Ian climbed into Danzo’s beat-up little car, shaking his head at the mismatched seats and the scent of too many vanilla air fresheners.

“You ever think about upgrading?” Ian asked, strapping in.

“Never,” Danzo shot back with a grin, pulling out of the lot and toward Claw Tech HQ.

—

Claw Tech’s headquarters loomed — sleek glass and steel with a holographic company logo rippling over the main entrance. As they stepped into the polished, modern lobby, the first thing they saw was the front desk, manned by a cute red panda hybrid in a sharp blazer. Her name tag read: Dahyun.

Danzo, moved by something impulsive and chaotic inside him, gave her a bubbly wave. “Hi Dahyun! Can you tell Momo and Sana that Danzo and Ian have arrived?”

Dahyun blinked, visibly startled by the overly cheerful tanuki hybrid grinning at her like they were old friends. “Um… do you have an appointment?”

“Nope,” Danzo said brightly, already pulling out his phone. “But they did text me.”

He held up the screen, showing Sana’s fox emoji next to a trail of teasing messages and Momo’s blunt “See you at 6.” Dahyun blinked again, confirmed the numbers, and with a small sigh of disbelief, called upstairs.

“You can wait over there,” she finally said, gesturing to the lobby seating area.

Danzo flopped into a plush chair, put in his earbuds, and queued up some screamo from Attack Attack!!, mouthing the lyrics with closed eyes. Ian, meanwhile, sat more upright, his shoulders tense.

Then it hit him — that tight spark in his gut, the warning tingle in his temples.

“Ah… crap,” Ian muttered.

A moment later, the doors to the lobby slammed open and a man stormed in — hybrid, older, wearing military-grade armor. His face was twisted with rage, and worst of all: he had a railgun slung over one shoulder.

“BRING ME JIHYO. MOMO. AND SANA.” he barked at Dahyun, who instinctively ducked behind her desk.

Ian slowly stood, already stepping a bit to the side.

The man’s eyes flicked to Ian — and then down to the Tower Prep Academy hoodie he was wearing. He visibly hesitated.

Ian groaned. “Yeah, I know. It’s the hoodie. People always hesitate.”

But then the man’s eyes slid past him to Danzo — lounging with his head back, eyes closed, earbuds in, bobbing his foot to the breakdown.

The railgun guy frowned at the omega mark faintly visible on Danzo’s collar.

A moment later, he grabbed Danzo by the front of the jacket and yanked him up, shoving the railgun against his temple.

Danzo blinked, yanked an earbud out, confused. “Whoa, whoa! Dude, back off!”

Ian sighed like a teacher dealing with a rowdy class. “Okay. A couple things. First, don’t let the omega mark fool you. Second, you are really gonna regret putting a gun near him.”

The man screamed just as the elevator dinged and opened. Out stepped Sana, Jihyo, and Momo — all three instantly freezing at the sight of a railgun pressed to Danzo’s head.

But before anyone could react —

Poof.

Danzo vanished in a flurry of violet leaves, scattering to the ground like a dream fading. The man stumbled, confused, arm outstretched at nothing.

Then Danzo’s voice echoed behind him, calm and low:

“I’d be very careful with your next words.”

The man whipped around — but Danzo was already gone again.

Poof. More leaves.

From the opposite corner:

“I’m giving you a chance to leave. Quietly. Before you ruin your life.”

Momo stood there, jaw clenched, eyes locked on Danzo as he danced across the room in flashes of ethereal motion.

She felt torn — half consumed by pride that her omega could move like that… and half livid that he’d been in danger at all. Her instincts howled at her to tear the gunman apart, but Danzo’s control — his grace — stopped her.

The man screamed and fired blindly, the railgun sparking off a chair where Danzo had been a moment earlier.

More leaves. Another flicker. Another Danzo.

“Enough!” Danzo said, voice sharp now. The leaves swirled in a vortex behind him as he finally stood still, close enough for the man to hear his breath. “You came here with pain, but all you’re doing now is spreading it.”

“Why the hell wouldn’t I?” the man growled, voice cracking. “Claw Tech fired me. After your damn execs came in. Our whole department — gone. My friends? Dead. Suicide. No work. No options. And no one gave a shit.”

His voice broke entirely, the gun clattering to the floor as his knees gave out. “They don’t even remember our names.”

Danzo’s face softened. The shimmering haze of esper energy around him dissipated as he stepped forward, cautious but warm.

Without a word, he crouched and pulled the man into a firm, grounding hug.

Momo took a breath and stepped forward, but stayed back, watching him.

Danzo whispered, “You’re hurting. And you’ve been hurting a long time. But this isn’t justice. This is just making sure more people feel what you do.”

The man sobbed into Danzo’s shoulder, shaking.

Danzo helped him to his feet. “Let’s get you out of here. Before anyone else gets hurt.”

The man nodded numbly, and Danzo glanced at Jihyo. She stepped forward, signaling for a security escort.

Sana looked between them and muttered under her breath, “Damn, Danzo.”

Momo said nothing — but her eyes never left her omega. Her chest ached with pride… and with something deeper. Something called love.

After the fight Danzo took the man (named David) back to his place he told him he could stay here free of charge until he got back on his feet, before he left he gave Dsvid the spare keys and told him to stay safe. David nodding before asking Danzo why he was helping him and Danzo’s reply was.

“I don't know I just can't stop it,”

As he left he went to Momo’s after several voicemails saying “get your omega ass here right now,”

When he arrive Momo was in pure Alpha fury mode. She had him pinned to the floor the moment he got in. But before Momo could really sink her teeth into her omega she got a call. Then a text from Jihyo Which was all the more surprising:

[Jihyo]

“Dinner at my place. 5PM. You, Sana, Ian, and your omega. My partner’s cooking, so bring an appetite and don’t be weird.”

Momo had read it aloud to Danzo, who blinked from behind a cup of ginger tea.

“Did she say your omega?”

Momo smirked. “That means she likes you.”

Jihyo’s place was gorgeous — clean, modern, with accents of carved obsidian and bone-colored tiles. The dining room opened into a sunken living space where an omega dragon hybrid stood stirring something fragrant over a built-in grill in the kitchen island.

Dracul was tall — taller than Ian even — and his obsidian horns curled back like wrought iron. His sleeves were rolled up, golden eyes flashing as he worked, steam curling around his jawline.

“Smells incredible,” Sana said, a little breathless.

“Thank you,” Dracul rumbled. “I specialize in comfort food with a bite.”

Danzo, still adjusting to being someone’s omega, shifted awkwardly behind Momo. Jihyo noticed.

“Don’t worry, he’s not going to grill you,” she said dryly. “Unless you touch his knives.”

Ian chuckled and elbowed Danzo. “She’s serious.”

They all settled around the table, Momo casually draping her arm around Danzo’s shoulders. Dracul plated the food — roast duck with sweet chili glaze, garlicky bok choy, and a stone-pot rice dish that sizzled when he set it down.

Jihyo clinked her wine glass lightly. “Okay, ground rules. No secrets. No posturing. We’re here to meet each other. Not play social chess.”

Momo raised her glass. “You hear that, Sana?”

Sana rolled her eyes. “Girl, I’m the most honest one here.”

Ian coughed into his tea. “That’s a lie.”

Jihyo turned to Danzo, eyes narrowing — not cruelly, just sharply. “So. You’re the tanuki.”

Danzo blinked. “Yes… ma’am.”

“She’s not your commanding officer,” Dracul offered mildly as he refilled Danzo’s water.

“She kind of is,” Momo mumbled.

Jihyo nodded. “Relax. You handled yourself well with that railgun incident. And the teleportation trick — very few Espers can phase without collapse afterward. I’m impressed.”

Danzo smiled nervously, cheeks pink. “Thank you… I had good motivation.”

Everyone glanced at Momo, who suddenly found her rice very interesting.

Dracul leaned forward. “How long have you been bonded?”

Danzo shifted. “Technically… not even 96 hours.”

“That tracks,” Jihyo muttered. “You both smell ridiculous.”

Sana laughed, tipping her head onto Ian’s shoulder. “Let them live, boss.”

Ian grinned. “So what’s the verdict? Do we pass?”

Dracul looked at Jihyo. She looked at him. Then they both nodded.

Jihyo finally said, “You’re not what I expected. But maybe that’s exactly what’s needed.”

She glanced at Danzo. “Don’t disappear on her again. Even if it’s in a puff of glittery leaves.”

Momo grinned wide, her hand squeezing Danzo’s thigh.

“Don’t worry,” she said, “I’ve got him.”

Danzo blushed, but met her gaze.

“Yeah. And I don’t mind being gotten.”

The rest of the dinner was calm and restful except for the fact that Momo would constantly slide her hands down her omega’s pants and slip in them into his hole.

After Dinner though different story.The evening air was cool, with the last glow of dusk streaking the sky. The four of them walked down a quiet side street near the river, bellies full and moods warm from good food and Jihyo’s surprisingly not-terrifying hospitality.

Sana laced her arm through Ian’s as they walked, tail swishing behind her in lazy arcs. Momo had her jacket draped over Danzo’s shoulders, and she was walking close—closer than necessary—their arms brushing every few steps.

“You know,” Ian said casually, “I thought for sure we were getting interrogated back there.”

Sana smirked. “Oh we were. That was Jihyo’s version of a background check. Dracul just made it taste like a Michelin-starred frisking.”

“Is that why she kept asking how long Momo and Danzo have been ‘entangled’?” Ian asked.

Danzo groaned. “That was the weirdest way to phrase it.”

“She’s a weird boss,” Momo replied. “It’s part of the charm.”

They all laughed, then quieted as the sound of the river drifted in.

Danzo exhaled slowly. “That was… actually kind of nice. I thought they’d hate me.”

Momo bumped her shoulder into his. “Why would they hate you?”

Danzo looked at her sidelong. “Because I’m soft. Because I’m not, like… flashy. Or confident. Or powerful. I’m just some cubicle rat with a decent teleport trick and thighs that refuse to shrink.”

Sana turned, still hanging off Ian’s arm, and said plainly, “You do have incredible thighs.”

“Seriously,” Ian added, “I saw Dracul double-take when you sat down.”

Danzo blinked. “Wait—really?”

Momo chuckled and slipped her hand into his. “Really. But that’s not why I like you. I like you because you’re thoughtful. Brave. And because I’ve seen the way you protect people—even ones with railguns.”

Danzo softened, his steps a little lighter.

“And,” Momo added with a teasing grin, “because you somehow make cooking sexy, which shouldn’t be allowed, but here we are.”

“Hey!” Sana called back. “That’s an omega trait! Respect it!”

Ian whispered something to her that made her squeal and elbow him. Danzo grinned as he watched the two ahead of them banter.

“You think they’ll be okay?” he asked Momo softly.

She looked at them too. Sana laughing, Ian catching her wrist, pulling her close.

“I think they already are.”

Danzo nodded. Then after a moment, “Do you think we’re okay?”

Momo pulled him into her side. “We’re a work in progress.”

She kissed his temple. “But I really like the direction we’re headed.”

Danzo smiled, warmth blooming in his chest.

“Yeah. Me too.”

The apartment door clicked shut behind them, and Danzo was already loosening his collar, trying to unwind from the emotionally packed day. But he barely took a step before he felt the air shift.

Behind him, Momo’s aura pulsed—hot, thick, electric.

“Momo?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder.

She stood just inside the doorway, her golden eyes glowing with that low, alpha fire he was learning to recognize. Her expression flickered between anger and arousal, her breathing shallow and rapid. She looked like she was trying to hold herself back.

“You,” she said, voice dark with barely restrained need, “reckless, smug… beautiful idiot.”

Danzo blinked down at her. “Wait—am I in trouble or…”

“Yes,” she growled, stepping closer. “For terrifying me. For fighting. For looking so godsdamn hot while doing it.”

She jabbed a finger into his chest—not that it did much to move him, given the size difference, but it stung all the same. “You looked like you didn’t have a single drop of fear in you. That guy had a gun pointed at your head, and you just vanished like some cocky spirit trickster.”

Danzo tilted his head with a sheepish grin. “Technically, I—”

“No,” she cut in, now close enough that her scent curled around his senses like wildfire and silk. “No more talking. Not until I deal with this.”

She placed a hand flat against his chest, her other grabbing a fistful of his shirt to keep him grounded. Her small frame pressed close, her presence anything but small. Danzo’s breath caught as her nose brushed against his neck. Her cock buldged hard and angry in her pants

“You smell like confidence and chaos,” she murmured. “You’re six feet of omega temptation wrapped in danger and sarcasm.”

Danzo tried not to melt. Tried.

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” he said softly, lowering his forehead to hers.

“You should be.” Her fingers curled into the fabric at his sides, voice breathy now. “But gods, you’re so—thick. And solid. And mine. I should be furious with you, but all I want to do is bite that ridiculous shoulder and mark you again.”

Danzo flushed deeply, muscles twitching as her scent soaked into his skin. “So, uh… I take it we’re not just cuddling tonight?”

Momo chuckled, low and feral. “Oh, you’re definitely cuddling me. But not until I’ve satisfied this very intense alpha need to remind you that you don’t get to fight like a hero and not pay the price.”

Danzo swallowed hard. “What’s the price?”

She smiled wickedly. “Me. Insatiable. All over you. Until you beg.”

“…I can work with that.”

Momo laughs before flipping Danzo over her hole wet with slick in the presence of his alpha. Momo howled before sliding inside. Her cock was eagerly welcomed by Danzo’s cavern. Momo groaned as she said, “always this eager for me I love it,” she said before fucking pounding his ass, Danzo whimpered and moaned under her relentless thrusts pooling slick around her Momo smirked as she fucked him saying, “You love this!” Danzo nodded as he took Momo deeper and deeper.

“My little omega slut,” Momo growled as she kept pounding Danzo’s pillowy ass. She laughed as she slapped it watching it ripple but surprised at the firmness that hid beneath the softness. It made Momo even harder leading to Danzo clutching her even tighter. Momo moaned as her dick exploded inside of Danzo’s hole. She groaned as she came again and again before ultimately stopping. She pulled out as her cock retreated back inside of her she smirked then said, “fuck! you're such a nice fuck!”

Danzo smiled and said “I aim to please.” Momo smiled then noticed his cock was hard.

She looked at him then said “lets get you taken care of,”

Before Danzo could say “no I'm fine,” Momo pushed him into her well I guess now their shared bedroom. She looked around the room for her lube before finding it then stripping down she smiled as she poured it all over her breasts. Danzo’s cock hardened at the thought.

Before she started though she looked at Danzo then said, “Hey how come you don't come when I dick you down,”

Danzo shrugged and Momo signed before wrapping her breasts around his cock.

She took her time, she was slow and methodical her breasts carefully moved around his shaft and balls. Danzo moaned and Momo had an idea. She took her hand and inserted two fingers into his hole. She watched a shift in Danzo take place. He whimpered and moaned slick pooled around Momo’s fingers as she continued fuck his cock with her breasts.

Danzo screamed as both sides of him took center stage. Momo smiled watching her ommega truly let go for her as she fucked him.

Due to the intensity and novelty of the situation Danzo could barely could hold on as he came from his hole and his dick, moaning and whimpering like a bitch in heat.

The room was still flushed with warmth — skin-slick heat fading into a soft afterglow. Momo lay on her back, one leg kicked off the blanket, her hair a halo of dark chaos against the pillows. Danzo, all nine inches taller and built like a brick wall of sleepy tanuki omega, stretched with a deep sigh before sliding his legs off the bed.

“I’m just gonna hit the bathroom,” he mumbled, voice low and thick from exertion and sleep.

Momo cracked one eye open and smirked as he stood up. His broad back, strong shoulders, and that glorious, unignorable rear shifted into view. Without hesitation, her hand shot out and smacked him right across the ass with a satisfying pop.

Danzo froze mid-step, ears flicking, tail twitching.

“…Momo?” he asked, looking back, red rising on his cheeks.

“Appreciation,” she said, smug and unapologetic. “That thing’s unreal.”

Danzo snorted, but something flickered across his face—too quick for most to notice. Momo did.

As he stepped into the bathroom and flicked on the light, he caught his reflection in the mirror and exhaled. The thick thighs. The soft line of his belly, stubborn no matter how hard he trained. The plush curve of his hips and ass that clung to everything he wore. He put a hand to his stomach and frowned.

He whispered to himself, “Why won’t this part ever go away…”

Before he could spiral further, he felt a warm, familiar presence behind him. Momo had gotten up and padded barefoot to the doorframe, leaned against it with her arms crossed — naked, confident, glowing with a post-alpha haze.

“Danzo,” she said, quietly but firmly. “Don’t do that.”

He met her eyes in the mirror, one hand still on his stomach.

“I just… I’ve done everything,” he said, the vulnerability slipping out. “I lift, I run, I train… but this?” He gestured at the soft curve of his belly. “These thighs? They don’t go anywhere. I’m built like—like…”

“A perfect goddamn omega,” Momo cut in with a crooked smirk.

He blinked at her.

Momo stepped inside, moving closer, eyes sharp and fond all at once. She wrapped her arms around his waist from behind and rested her chin between his shoulder blades. “Danzo. It’s not fat. It’s form. Your body isn’t failing. It’s doing exactly what it’s supposed to.”

He scoffed. “Oh yeah? What’s that supposed to be?”

Momo laughed, low and indulgent. “Your body’s trying to present as both masculine and feminine, you slut. That’s why you’ve got this ridiculous gorgeous ass and thighs that could crush my spine — which I would thank you for, by the way.”

He tried not to smile. Failed.

She kept going, voice husky and close to his ear. “Tanuki hybrids already have weird body rhythms. And your instincts? They’re on overdrive. Your body’s accommodating what it knows you need. What I need.”

Danzo tilted his head. “Yeah? And what do you need?”

She spun him gently so they faced each other, looking up at him with that burning, golden gaze. “I need my thick, handsome, stubborn omega just the way he is. Full of instinct, softness, strength—and a fat ass that makes me feral.”

He laughed despite himself, cheeks pink. “You’re insane.”

“I’m in love,” she teased, brushing her thumb along his jaw. “And completely wrecked over how good your body feels against mine. You are everything I want in an omega.”

Danzo pulled her close, resting his chin on her head.

“Even with the tanuki weirdness?”

“Especially with the tanuki weirdness,” she said, nipping playfully at his collarbone.

They stood there a while, two bodies made for one another, fitting together in ways that neither logic nor training ever could explain.

The lights were low again, the room quiet save for the occasional hum of the city outside and the subtle rustle of bedding. Momo slid back under the covers completely nude, unapologetically radiant and relaxed as she stretched, limbs lazy and satisfied.

Danzo came out of the bathroom in a pair of soft lounge pants and a tank top, arms crossed over his chest. He paused at the side of the bed, raising an eyebrow at the very naked wolf hybrid sprawling across the mattress like it was hers — which, technically, it was.

“Where are your clothes?” he asked, amused and a little flustered.

Momo cracked one eye open and gave him a slow, sleepy grin. “Not wearing any. Won’t be wearing any. Not until you’re fine in that gorgeous, strong, plush omega body of yours.”

Danzo rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re really gonna be naked every night until I… what? Stop sucking in my stomach?”

“Yes,” Momo said immediately, patting the bed beside her. “And until you stop flinching when I compliment your ass. And until I can watch you walk around my apartment in your underwear without you grabbing a throw pillow like a Victorian housewife.”

Danzo snorted and rolled his eyes, but the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth betrayed him. “You’re relentless.”

“I’m your alpha,” she said, tugging the covers down just enough to tempt him further. “And I’ll keep showing you how safe and beautiful you are until your instincts remember what your brain keeps forgetting.”

He looked at her for a moment, chest rising and falling slowly. Then, without a word, he peeled off the tank top and hesitated — just briefly — before slipping out of his pants. Momo’s eyes dragged down and back up, and she grinned.

“See?” she purred. “That wasn’t so hard.”

“I feel naked,” he muttered, climbing in beside her.

“You are naked,” she said as she pulled the covers over both of them. Then she turned, facing him, bare chest pressed to his side, her hand splaying possessively over his soft belly. “And I love you like this.”

Danzo let out a long breath and nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck, her scent warm and calming like cedar and fresh rain.

After a moment, he murmured, “You think this is gonna work?”

Momo hummed, threading her legs between his. “Oh, it’s already working.”

Silence settled around them, warm and safe.

“…I still can’t believe I’m nine inches taller than you and you still manage to alpha me.”

“You like it.”

“…Maybe.”

She smirked and nosed the side of his face. “Sleep, omega. We’ll fight about it in the morning.”

Danzo chuckled, soft and sleepy.

Wrapped around each other, bare skin against skin, Momo’s steady breathing slowly guided him down — not just into sleep, but into safety.

Danzo awoke in a sweat.

He blinked up at the ceiling, chest heaving. The sheets tangled around his legs were damp, the room too hot, too close, and his skin—his skin—buzzed like a struck tuning fork. Every part of him felt unbearably sensitive, from the small of his back to the curve of his thighs.

He rolled over carefully, trying not to wake Momo.

She was still beside him, sleeping bare and serene, one arm curled possessively near where he’d been. Her scent—bold, earthy, Alpha—clung to everything, and it was making things worse. Or better. Or both.

Danzo pressed his palm against his mouth, trying to breathe through the surging heat inside him.

His omega instincts, usually pushed to the back of his mind, were pounding at the walls like caged animals. His body ached for something it couldn’t name out loud. Not sex. Not exactly. It was… connection. Recognition. Scent-marking. Closeness. He wanted to be seen, held, handled.

His thighs trembled.

His inner voice—trained, rational, masculine—screamed at him to push it back down, to endure, to control it.

But it wasn’t working.

And that’s when Momo stirred.

She blinked once, twice, and then her hand slid to his back, slow and steady. She didn’t speak right away—just pressed her palm between his shoulder blades, feeling the tension shudder beneath.

“…Danzo?” she whispered, groggy but alert. “You’re overheating.”

Danzo let out a low groan, trying to roll away. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. You smell like you’re drowning in instinct.” Her voice shifted. Not scolding—concerned. Protective. Alpha.

He flinched.

She sat up and guided him to sit as well, running her hands gently down his arms. “Hey. Talk to me. What’s happening?”

“I woke up and—” he choked out, “—everything’s loud. Like my instincts are trying to break through my chest. I keep telling myself I can manage it, that I should just wait it out, but it’s getting worse.”

Momo leaned in, lips brushing just behind his ear. “You’ve been suppressing this for years, haven’t you?”

He nodded tightly.

“That pressure doesn’t just vanish because you want it to,” she murmured. “It builds. And now it’s boiling over.”

Danzo’s hands were shaking. “I feel pathetic. Like my body’s betraying me.”

Momo growled softly—not in anger, but as grounding force—and gently tilted his chin toward her.

“Your body is communicating. It’s not betrayal. It’s truth. And I’m here to listen. Let me.”

Danzo looked at her—really looked—and saw no judgment in her eyes. Just hunger and concern. She wasn’t put off by the intensity of his instincts. If anything, she looked like she’d been waiting for this moment.

Still trembling, he muttered, “What if I can’t hold it back?”

Momo smiled, and it wasn’t a mocking smile—it was the kind of grin that made his stomach flutter and his thighs clench.

“Then don’t.”

She reached behind him and tugged him closer until he was straddling her lap, both of them seated, her arms locking around his thick waist, palms splayed across the soft slope of his lower back.

“You’ve been trying to dominate instincts that were never meant to be fought alone,” she whispered against his collarbone. “Let them through. Let them speak. I’ll catch you.”

He tried to hold back. Tried to speak. But his breath caught as her scent filled his lungs fully, wrapping around him like silk and fire.

His barriers cracked—then shattered.

Danzo exhaled a shaking breath and collapsed into her arms, hips trembling, fingers clutching her shoulders. A keening whimper escaped him—raw, unguarded.

Momo gently lowered them back to the bed, Danzo atop her, limbs tangled and breathing labored. She nuzzled into his neck, scenting him thoroughly, slowly, possessively.

And he let her.

Finally.

Between warm kisses and whispered affirmations, her hands explored his back, his hips, those thighs he’d always tried to hide, the plushness of his form that she adored.

“I told you, love,” she purred. “This is the perfect omega body. Made to be desired. Made to feel.”

Danzo whimpered again, this time not from shame—but from release.

Wrapped in Momo’s arms, his instincts no longer clawed at him—they sang.

Momo held Danzo close, her hand trailing soft circles across the small of his back. His breath had slowed, the tremors quieting, but there was still tension beneath his skin — not panic, but something fractured. Like a soul divided.

She could feel it.

Danzo wasn’t whole.

He was here, in her arms. Trembling. Vulnerable. Craving comfort. But somewhere deep inside, something in him was still resisting. Bracing. Denying.

She tilted her head and brushed her lips over the edge of his ear. “You’re still fighting.”

Danzo stiffened.

“I’m not—”

“You are,” she said gently, not unkind. “You gave in for a moment, but then I felt it — you split again. Like you’re yanking your soul in two directions.”

He didn’t respond, but his silence was telling.

Momo nuzzled behind his ear, her voice low, heavy with scent. “Tell me. What are you dividing?”

Danzo exhaled, broken. “I don’t know how to be both.”

“Both what?”

“…The man I was raised to be. The omega I am.” His voice cracked. “One of them has to lose.”

“No,” Momo said simply. “No more war inside you, Danzo.”

She pulled back, cupping his cheeks so he had to meet her eyes.

“You’ve spent your whole life trying to amputate part of yourself. You carved the omega off and called it ‘weak,’ ‘unwanted,’ ‘not masculine enough.’ You clung to what was left — the stoic, hard-edged man — and convinced yourself that was the real you.”

He opened his mouth to argue.

She stopped him with a kiss to his brow.

“But your omega never left. He waited. And now he’s clawing his way out because he’s done being exiled.”

Danzo’s body shuddered in her arms.

“I can feel it,” she whispered. “Your instincts are screaming to be seen. Not humiliated. Not hidden. Just… embraced.”

Momo leaned in and let her tongue trace the curve of his throat. “So I’m going to make it impossible for you to ignore him.”

Danzo gasped, hips twitching.

“You’re going to feel every inch of your body until you can’t pretend it’s not yours anymore.”

Momo began to scent-mark him again, slow and purposeful. Her fingers trailed down to his plush belly and wide hips — the softness he resented, the heat he feared — and she worshipped them.

“You think these thick thighs are shameful?” she murmured, massaging his flesh. “They’re gorgeous. They trap heat like a furnace. They’re made to ride and be ridden.”

Danzo let out a helpless whine.

“You think this ass is too big?” Momo teased, giving it a sharp, appreciative slap. “That’s because your omega wants to present. He wants to be seen.”

He arched under her touch, breath ragged.

“And your belly?” She kissed just below his navel. “It’s the softness that balances all your strength. You’re built like a dream — made to fight, made to yield.”

“Momo—” he whimpered, his voice caught somewhere between protest and surrender.

She met his eyes. “No more fighting. I want you. All of you. Danzo the man. Danzo the omega. Danzo the whole.”

Danzo gritted his teeth, shaking from the inside out. “It feels like dying.”

Momo nodded. “Because a part of you is. The lie. The shame. Let it burn. I’ll stay with you.”

And then she leaned in, kissing him not out of lust, but out of recognition. Of acceptance.

The pressure inside Danzo exploded. A violent rush of heat surged through him as his instincts broke free — fully, without filter. His back arched, a choked cry tearing from his throat as every nerve in his body caught fire with identity — not just masculine, not just omega, but him.

Complete. Unified. Undeniable.

Momo held him through it all, letting him bury his face into her neck, sobbing and shaking as the years of repression and confusion boiled off like mist.

She kissed his temple and whispered:

“Welcome home.”

#k pop smut #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #twice smut #hybrid smut #hybrid au #twice momo smut #sana smut #twice momo #twice sana #twice fanfic #omegaverse

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magnagaruzenmon · 4 days ago

Text

Study Hall 2

A little smaller scale than usual.

You found AJ pacing outside the garage, arms folded, his hoodie pulled up despite the warm night. The old motion light blinked on as you approached, catching in his eyes — serious, tired, and faintly apologetic.

“You came,” he said, voice low.

“You made it sound urgent.”

“It is.” He hesitated. “I didn’t want to do this over the phone. Figured it was better you heard it straight.”

He opened the side door and you stepped inside the familiar space — posters on the walls, instruments leaned in corners, AJ’s sacred den of music and memories. A few chairs were set up, but he didn’t sit. Neither did you.

AJ let out a slow breath. “Darin and Nathan had it out.”

“I figured,” you said. “I got a text from Jojo earlier. Said something about the whole friend group melting down.”

“Yeah. It was bad. Screaming match in the parking lot. Darin stormed off. Nathan’s staying with his sister. Everyone’s shaken.”

“…And they’re blaming me.”

“Mostly Darin,” AJ said, rubbing his neck. “But yeah. Kinda.”

You raised an eyebrow. “For what? For not lying to them? For pointing out what everyone else already saw?”

“It’s not what you said,” AJ replied. “It’s that you said it. Darin sees you as the guy who got out clean. Who figured out his own stuff and found someone like Momo who makes it all work. Meanwhile, he’s stuck in this emotional stalemate with Nathan — angry, confused, and terrified to admit why he cares so much.”

You leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “He’s not mad at me. He’s mad that I’m not afraid.”

AJ gave a half-shrug, half-nod. “More or less. You spoke out loud the thing he’s been trying to bury since we were kids.”

You let out a slow sigh. “I didn’t mean to—”

“I know you didn’t. But it happened. And now there’s fallout.”

There was a long silence between you.

Then AJ continued, softer. “Elijah… the truth is, you were right. They’ve been dancing around each other for years. Passive-aggressive jabs, over-the-top loyalty, all that messy closeness that makes people uncomfortable. You just put words to it. And Darin—he’s not ready to hear it. Especially not from someone who already got to the other side.”

You looked down. “So what happens now?”

“I’ve been talking to Nathan. He’s… unraveling a little. He said he’s sorry for lashing out. He’s just scared. He knows what it is between them. He just can’t bring himself to say it first. And Darin—he’s too stubborn to admit he wants to be the one asked.”

You grimaced. “So it’s a game of emotional chicken.”

AJ gave a tired chuckle. “Pretty much.”

“Do I reach out?”

“Maybe not yet. Let things settle. But I wanted you to know what was going on — not from whispers or secondhand texts.”

You nodded slowly. “Thanks, AJ.”

“And for what it’s worth,” he added, “I’m proud of you. You didn’t take the easy way out. You stood up for honesty. That matters. Even if it doesn’t feel like it right now.”

You let that sit for a moment. Then:

“I was with Momo when you called.”

AJ raised his eyebrows. “She still stuck to you like dryer lint?”

“She’s basically vibrating with affection and frustration.”

He smirked. “She’s good for you, man.”

“Yeah,” you said, and this time it came out soft, certain. “She really is.”

You both stood there a little longer, the night quiet around you.

Eventually AJ clapped your shoulder. “Go home. Or wherever she is. The world’ll still be messy tomorrow, but maybe you’ll feel a little less tangled up in it.”

You nodded, stepping back toward the door. “Thanks for not letting me get blindsided.”

“Always.”

As you walked back into the night, your phone buzzed again.

Momo: You have 14 minutes left to fulfill your cuddle quota before I combust from unmet intimacy needs.

You smiled.

Time to go home.

As you slammed the car door shut, the night air didn’t cool you off — it only made the anger in your chest tighten like a vice.

The double date, the confrontation, Nathan’s misplaced rage — it all simmered into something you couldn’t ignore anymore.

You gripped the steering wheel and sat for a long second. Then, with a tight exhale, you did the one thing you should’ve done weeks ago.

You called them.

Nathan answered first, voice groggy and suspicious. Darrin joined the call a second later, his tone sharper, more guarded.

“I’m coming to your apartment,” you said, your voice cold, measured. “And you both better be there. Otherwise, I promise — you will not like the consequences.”

Before either could form a word of protest, you hung up.

You drove in silence, jaw clenched, each red light giving you more time to feel the absurdity of it all. Two grown men, dancing around each other like emotionally constipated teenagers, projecting their confusion and fear onto you like it was your fault they couldn’t be honest. Couldn’t be brave.

By the time you reached their place, the pressure had built into something volcanic.

You saw them in the window, watching from the second floor. Good. They had the sense to wait.

You parked the car, sat for a beat, then screamed into the steering wheel — loud, primal, not for anyone else but yourself.

Then, calm.

You stepped out, adjusted your jacket, and walked up to the apartment like you weren’t one misstep from dragging both of them into therapy by force.

They were waiting just inside the doorway — Nathan leaned against the wall like a defiant teenager, Darrin sitting on the couch, arms crossed. Tense.

You closed the door behind you gently, then turned to them with quiet fury in your eyes.

“Do you two have any idea how fucking stupid you are?” you said flatly.

Silence.

You stepped into the room, slow and steady, like a lecture building to its point. “Literally everyone sees it. The bickering, the weird jealousy, the tension you pretend isn’t romantic but is so obviously romantic that even Jojo noticed, and he still thinks Stonehenge was an alien charging dock.”

Nathan opened his mouth, but you shot him a look that froze the words mid-throat.

“If either of you says something about how I’m always the one screwing things up,” you warned, voice rising with steel behind it, “I swear to God, I will lose it.”

They flinched — visibly.

You took another breath, then went on. “You’re both two of the laziest, most terrified ambitious people I’ve ever met. And I get it. It’s easier to hate me for trying than to admit you’re scared to want something. To say it out loud. To want each other.”

Darrin looked away. Nathan finally sat down, defeated.

“But I won’t let you poison our friend group because you don’t know how to handle your feelings. Jojo’s tired. AJ’s exhausted. You’ve made everyone walk on eggshells because you refuse to be honest.”

You looked them dead in the eyes.

“So figure it the fuck out. Now. Or I swear I’ll tell AJ and Jojo to stop showing up for either of you until you do.”

Nathan’s eyes went wide. “He’d never—”

You cut him off with a cool, almost amused look. “Please don’t try me.”

A long pause followed. The room thick with unspoken truths.

You gave them one last look, not angry anymore — just tired. “I’ve said what I came to say.”

You stepped back toward the door, hand on the knob.

“I’m going home. To my girlfriend. Who actually knows how to talk about her feelings.”

And with that, you stepped out into the night.

The air was cooler now. The kind of cool that didn’t boil your blood — it cooled it. Smoothed it out. By the time you got into your car and started the engine, the weight of the whole thing started to lift.

And for the first time in days, you actually smiled — just a little — knowing that someone warm and impossibly soft was waiting for you back at home.

You unlock the door quietly, half-expecting Momo to already be asleep.

She wasn’t.

You stepped inside to the soft glow of the TV on low volume, playing a documentary she absolutely wasn’t watching. Momo sat curled in the middle of your couch like a sulking cat, wrapped in nothing her bare body leaving you ravenous. Her knees were tucked up, a mug of tea balanced precariously on the armrest. When she saw you, she immediately puffed up.

“You’re late,” she said, without a trace of irony.

You raised an eyebrow. “It’s been 90 minutes.”

“That’s late when I’m actively yearning.”

You kicked off your shoes and padded over. “Sorry. It was a heavy conversation.”

Momo scooted over dramatically to make room. “You can tell me. But only after you hold me like I’m a weighted blanket.”

You chuckled and sank onto the couch beside her. She immediately draped herself over you — arms around your waist, legs curling under yours, cheek pressed against your chest like a koala that decided personal space was a myth.

“Better,” she mumbled.

You wrapped your arms around her, letting her exhale all the tension she’d apparently been building up for the past hour and a half.

“You okay?” you asked.

“I missed you,” she said bluntly, then peeked up. “Like, in a weird, feral kind of way. I didn’t like not seeing you this week. And now that you’re here, I need you within three feet of me at all times or I’ll perish.”

You smiled and kissed the top of her head. “Noted.”

Momo wriggled a little deeper into the embrace. “Did you talk to AJ?”

“Yeah. Told me what happened. It’s… complicated, but it helped hearing it.”

She nodded. “I knew you were stewing. I could sense it from across town. You have this whole thing where your emotions get all still and pressurized like a rice cooker.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment?”

“You should,” she said, voice soft. “You hold a lot. For other people. For yourself. I just hope I get to be one of the places you let it out.”

That quieted you. And for a moment, you just held her tighter.

“You are,” you said honestly. “You always are.”

A beat passed.

Momo let out a long sigh. “I’m glad.”

Then, ever so quietly:

“I was worried I’d overwhelm you with… this.” She gestured vaguely to the situation — herself, bundled and attached to you like a human magnet.

You grinned. “Momo, you texted me earlier that you wanted to ‘absorb me like an emotional Capri Sun.’”

“I was being poetic.”

“And weird. But also cute.”

She pouted against your shoulder. “Shut up and pet my hair.”

You obliged, running your fingers through her soft locks as she slowly melted against you. The tension eased from both of you — her clinginess meeting your calm like puzzle pieces finally finding their fit.

As the credits of the documentary rolled, Momo mumbled, “Next week, let’s plan to stress-eat and cry together in advance. Like a team.”

You laughed. “Deal.”

And with that, Momo drifted to sleep, snuggled close — not the vixen or the gremlin or the siren — just the girl who finally felt safe enough to want something real.

And you?

You didn’t want to be anywhere else.

You get up after Momo has fallen asleep and carry her to bed. After setting her down she whined, “don’t go!”

“I’m not going anywhere just getting in the bed across from you,” Momo groaned and whined until you scuttled your way into the bed with her which allowed her to envelop you like a snake as she coiled her body around you.

The soft whir of the fan and the weight of Momo curled into your side make for the perfect end to a long, exhausting day. Her cheek rests on your chest, one leg tossed lazily over yours, her breath warm and steady. You run your fingers through her hair, and for a moment, everything feels quiet—normal.

Then comes the knock.

Knock knock knock.

You groan, eyes cracking open.

Knockknockknockknock.

Momo stirs beside you with a groggy sound, burrowing deeper into your side like the blanket might protect her from the rude interruption. You gently slide out from beneath her, replacing yourself with a pillow. She mumbles something half-conscious and clutches it like a lifeline.

You shuffle out of the bedroom, rubbing sleep from your eyes as you head to the front door. You’re not even surprised when you open it and see them.

Nathan. Darrin. Both looking vaguely guilty and deeply confused, like they’d just walked out of a failed intervention.

“We need to talk,” Darrin says.

You exhale through your nose, already tired. “No we don’t?”

Nathan nods. “Yes we do. Now.”

You step aside and motion them in. “Fine. But keep your voices down. Momo’s asleep.”

They sit like scolded kids on the couch as you move into the kitchen to pour yourself a glass of water. You can feel their eyes on you, their awkward tension so thick it coats the air.

“So…” Darrin says, squinting toward the hallway, “you and Momo, huh?”

You shoot him a dry look over your shoulder. “Yeah. Pretty sure we’ve covered this.”

Nathan crosses his arms and mutters, “what is she doing here? Like I thought you were going to wait till marriage?”

You lean against the counter and take a long sip before answering. “Really? This is the conversation we are having? Momo and I are taking it slow unlike yall with your relationships.”

Nathan huffs. “You sure sound like a Hallmark card.”

You smirk. “Better that than be the guy who lived with his ex for two years and never told anyone? And still unaware if the kid is yours like dude come on,”

Darrin coughs, trying not to laugh.

“And you,” you say, turning to him, “didn’t you hook up with your study partner for a whole semester and call it a ‘learning experience’?”

“She was really passionate about research,” Darrin mumbles.

You raise your glass like a toast. “Still a virgin, for the record. And still fine with that.”

That’s when the bedroom door creaks open.

You glance over just in time to see Momo emerge—half-asleep, hair tousled, oversized t-shirt slipping off one shoulder, face caught somewhere between confusion and suspicion. She blinks once, twice, then focuses in on the couch.

She stares at Nathan and Darrin like a cat assessing danger. No words. Just pure, narrowed, half-lidded judgment.

Then, without breaking eye contact, she pads forward on bare feet and walks right up to you. Her arms circle your waist slowly but firmly, chin resting against your chest.

She glares at them over your shoulder like she’s calculating how many seconds it would take to rip them apart.

You feel her weight press into you protectively.

“If you’re here to start something,” she says softly, voice like velvet over steel, “you’re gonna regret it.”

Nathan blinks. “Momo I presume. Nice to meet you,”

She tilts her head. Her eyes narrow further. She’s still not blinking.

“She’s sleep-defensive,” you murmur, running a calming hand down her back. “Give her a second.”

“You’re doing the protector thing again,” you whisper.

“I am protecting you,” she says without looking away from them. “You’d let them say dumb things if I wasn’t here.”

“I am right here,” Darrin says gently.

“I have seen the messages you sent to him. I said what I said,” Momo deadpans.

You chuckle, kissing her temple softly. “Thanks, direwolf. Now go back to bed. I’ll only be a minute,”

“You’re welcome, soft dragon, but no” she mumbles, still glaring.

She steps between you and the couch, arms folded now, clearly drawing a line in the sand.

Nathan stares. “Is she always like this?”

You sigh. “Only when she’s interrupted from cuddles by emotional chaos at one in the morning.”

Darrin gestures toward her. “It’s kinda… intense.”

“Yes she is but it works for me. Also in case you are feeling froggy. She bites,” you say casually. “Not even in a fun way.”

Momo lifts her hand and snaps her teeth together. The sound is crisp and threatening.

Nathan and Darrin flinch, both looking appropriately nervous now.

You lean forward, placing a hand gently on Momo’s arm. “I’ve got this, babe.”

Her eyes stay locked on them, but she slowly relaxes. “You’ve got five minutes,” she says coolly, “then I’m dragging him back to bed.”

And with that, she turns and pads back into the room without another word.

You glance at your friends. “Okay. Talk fast. Or she will come back.”

Nathan and Darrin exchange a look — a wordless confirmation between two people who think they’ve figured something out. You know that look. You’ve seen it a dozen times. It’s the prelude to nonsense dressed up as wisdom.

“We came to tell you that you need to back off,” Nathan says, puffed up like this is an intervention. “We’ve got this.”

You stare at him, then at Darrin.

“That’s it?” you ask, blinking.

Nathan scowls. “What do you mean ‘that’s it’? You’ve been up in our business for weeks now. And clearly…” he pauses, eyes drifting toward the hallway Momo disappeared into, “you’re not exactly living right with God.”

You sigh — a deep, exhausted, bone-level sigh — then roll your eyes.

“Get the fuck out of my house,” you say flatly.

They both look stunned, like the words came out of nowhere.

“Wait—what?” Darrin stammers.

“I said get. The fuck. Out of my home.” You enunciate every syllable. “Take this sanctimonious, half-baked bullshit and leave. Before I say something I’ll regret — or worse, something you will.”

Nathan throws his hands up, voice rising. “See? This is why no one stays with you, Elijah. You escalate everything. You push people away and then act surprised.”

You blink — once, twice, three times. Then you take ten slow, measured breaths, counting each one.

When your eyes open again, your voice is calm. Too calm.

“Okay. Fuck it. I guess we’re doing this now.”

They freeze. You step forward, arms crossed.

“You two are imprecise with your words. You say things that sound wise, but are really vague projections of your own unresolved crap. And when someone pushes back, you play confused or cry victim.”

You point to Nathan. “You weaponize your anxiety and bipolar tendencies without ever naming them. You think volatility equals depth, when really it’s just a lack of discipline.”

Then to Darrin. “You disappear for weeks at a time, isolate, and come back expecting everyone to act like nothing happened. You say you’re just introverted — but it’s not that. It’s that you don’t take emotional responsibility for anything. You avoid. You deflect. And then you get mad when people expect more from you. You bring out the worst in each other,”

Darrin’s jaw tightens. “Oh really? And how do we make each other worse?”

You chuckle without humor. “Nathan drags you into drama and games you claim to hate, but you stay because it gives you entertainment. And when I pointed that out, you defended it —and you don’t even like playing — just so Nathan wouldn’t feel called out.”

Nathan tries to interject, “That’s one—”

“You broke up with your last girlfriend because Douglas convinced you I was trying to steal her.” You don’t yell. You don’t raise your voice. But the weight of your words crushes the room. “I was dating someone else at the time. You never apologized to her. You never apologized to me. You just ghosted and let your paranoia win.”

They’re both silent. Finally.

You step back, shaking your head.

“You act superior, like you’re the grown-ups in the room, but your lives are stitched together with duct tape, caffeine, and delusion. So yeah — excuse me for not entertaining a purity lecture from two men who’ve never once cleaned up their own emotional messes.”

You open the door.

“I’m done talking. Get out.”

Darrin starts, “We’re not done—”

Before he finishes, you march over, scoop him up like a sack of potatoes, and fireman-carry him to the door.

“Jesus Christ!” he yells as you open it.

You drop him just outside the threshold. He stumbles, stunned.

You turn back. Nathan is wide-eyed.

“I got you, boss,” he says quickly, already backing away, hands raised in surrender.

He slips out without another word.

You shut the door behind them and lean your head against it for a second.

Then you exhale.

You don’t realize how hard your shoulders are clenched until the door clicks shut behind them. The silence afterward feels surgical — like someone cut the tension out of the room with a scalpel and left nothing but the sting behind.

You lean your forehead against the door. Ten seconds. Twenty. Then you hear her voice behind you.

“Are you okay?”

It’s soft, sleepy, but edged with worry.

You turn. Momo stands in the hallway, half-wrapped in your blanket, hair slightly mussed from the pillow, one eye squinting against the hallway light. She looks like she just woke up, but you know from the tight grip she has on the blanket and the way she’s planted herself in the center of the hallway that she’d been listening.

You sigh. “Sorry. I tried to keep it down.”

“I wasn’t sleeping,” she says, stepping closer. “I knew something was up the moment they showed up unannounced.”

You give a tired smile. “I didn’t want to drag you into it.”

She tilts her head. “Elijah… I live here half the time. You cook for me. You let me take over your couch with all my crap. You hold me when I spiral. You think I don’t want to be here when you’re the one spiraling?”

You look down, ashamed. “It was just dumb drama. You didn’t need to hear all that.”

Momo takes one more step forward, close enough now to touch. And she does — fingers trailing across your arm until she’s curled into your side, cheek against your chest. You feel her exhale.

“First of all, that was not dumb drama. That was two grown men trying to unload their unresolved baggage onto you because you have the nerve to have boundaries.”

You chuckle. “You overheard all of it, huh?”

She hums. “Mmm-hmm. I also heard you say some pretty sharp things. Real scalpel energy. I was proud.”

You shake your head. “It’s just… exhausting, you know? The way they look at me like I’m the bad guy for not letting them project their chaos onto me.”

Momo pulls back just enough to meet your eyes.

“They don’t get it. You’re not trying to be ‘better than them.’ You’re trying to be better than you used to be. And people who aren’t doing that? They’ll always take it personally.”

You look at her. Really look at her. The way her eyes glint in the dark. The calmness in her tone. The affection that’s always just there, like she doesn’t have to think about it — like it’s natural.

“I don’t deserve you,” you murmur.

Momo snorts. “You absolutely don’t. But you’re lucky I have bad taste.”

You laugh for the first time all night. She smiles wider, presses a kiss to your collarbone.

“You wanna talk more about it?” she asks. “Or you wanna eat ice cream straight out of the tub while I try to get you to watch the dumb reality show I’m into this week?”

You glance toward the couch, then back at her.

“Ice cream,” you say. “But only if I get to sit on your side of the couch.”

Momo squints. “You just want the good blanket.”

“Damn right.”

She slips her hand into yours. “Fine. But I’m choosing the flavor. And you’re watching at least one episode of Naked Island Retreat.”

“Deal.”

As she pulls you toward the living room, you realize something — the storm is outside. Whatever comes tomorrow, this is the safe place. Momo. Her warmth. Her messy, ridiculous, too-honest love.

And tonight, that’s enough.

You’re halfway through your second spoonful of strawberry cheesecake ice cream when Momo says, “You ever think about just… disappearing for a little while?”

You glance over. She’s curled up sideways on the couch, feet under your thigh, blanket draped over both of you like a truce flag. Her head rests on a pillow she smuggled over from your bed, one hand absentmindedly swirling her spoon in the tub she commandeered.

“Disappearing?” you echo.

She nods, eyes still on the muted TV, where some shirtless guy on Naked Island Retreat is crying because someone used his coconut shampoo.

“Yeah. Like… not forever. Just enough to reset your brain. To stop pretending things don’t bother you. To stop trying to be strong for everyone else.”

You pause, the air heavy in that soft way where only the truth can survive.

“Every day,” you admit.

She shifts then, resting her ice cream on the coffee table and snuggling into your side like she’s trying to merge with you. “I figured.”

You set your own ice cream down. Gently brush some of her hair back from her face. “What about you? What would disappearing look like for you?”

“Somewhere warm. Ocean air. No pressure. No makeup. No expectations.” She looks up at you with sleepy eyes and a tiny grin. “Just me. And you. And maybe a hammock where we’d forget what time it is.”

You smile. “That’s weirdly specific.”

“I fantasize about soft things when life gets hard,” she murmurs. “Also, I have a very clear Pinterest board.”

You chuckle. “I wanna see that sometime.”

She shrugs. “Maybe I’ll show you. If you survive more of this show without complaining.”

You glance at the TV. The contestants are now doing something inexplicably romantic with tree bark.

“…Hard maybe.”

She laughs, and the sound fills the space between your ribs like sunlight through a cracked window. She’s not being seductive. She’s not playing the vixen. But in this moment — hoodie on, mascara slightly smudged, curled around you like she was made for your side — you feel the tension that’s been in your chest for weeks finally melt.

Her voice softens again. “Elijah… I heard what you said earlier. About still being a virgin.”

You blink. “Oh.”

“I’m not bringing it up to make it weird,” she assures you quickly. “I just… I want you to know that I don’t think that makes you broken. Or behind. Or anything else people might try to label it.”

You nod. “I appreciate that.”

“I don’t need you to rush,” she adds, more quiet now. “I don’t need you to perform. I just need you to be real. And you’re doing that. Every single day. Even when it’s hard.”

You breathe in. The moment feels sacred, like speaking too loud would pop it like a bubble.

“Thank you,” you say. It feels too small for what you want to express, but she seems to understand.

She presses a kiss to your chest, then sighs. “We should move to bed before I pass out and wake up with couch-neck.”

You chuckle. “Good call.”

You both stand and shuffle toward the bedroom, trading yawns. You pull back the blankets while Momo tosses all the throw pillows off the bed like a tiny, tired goblin. When you finally lie down, she immediately presses herself against your side, an arm draped over your stomach.

“Don’t let the dumb boys mess with your head,” she mumbles into your shirt. “They don’t get to have you the way I do.”

You stroke her hair. “They don’t.”

“Good.” A pause. “Now sleep.”

And you do — faster than you have in weeks — wrapped in the kind of quiet that feels earned, not given.

The next morning you are woken feeling something soft on your face only to realize that it’s Momo Kissing you.

“Someone is feeling good,” you say jokingly and Momo grabs your face.

“I’ve been needing you and I got you,” before kissing you again. Momo lifted up her (your top) and begins kissing you with more fire. As her lips reach your collar she puts your hands on her breasts and begins grinding on your crotch. You groan as does feeling her heat.

She breaks a kiss then says, “Are you ready?” You groan and then say

“Not yet Momo” Momo smiled then said,

“Well then I’ll be waiting,” before giving one last good grind on your pelvis before getting up and leaving.

The rest of the weekend follows this pattern of her alternating between soft and sultry leaving you on edge, but a good one.

The lecture wraps with scattered claps, and you step away from the podium, mentally ticking through how well you stuck to your outline. It wasn’t your best delivery — a little meandering near the middle — but the students stayed engaged, and a few even looked up from their phones. You’ll take the win.

You grab your water bottle, gather your notes, and sling your messenger bag over your shoulder when your phone buzzes. Unknown number. Normally you’d ignore it, but something makes you answer.

“Hello?”

A pause. Then a voice you haven’t heard in a while — soft, deliberate, like she’s testing the air between you.

“Elijah? It’s Grace.”

You stop in your tracks halfway to the door.

“…Hey. Wow. Uh—hey.”

She gives a small exhale that’s somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “Sorry. I know it’s random. I just—Nathan called me. Today. Out of nowhere.”

You feel your spine straighten slightly.

“He…apologized,” she says, still in disbelief. “Like, a real apology. Not one of those ‘I’m sorry you feel that way’ things.”

You lean against the wall of the empty hallway, adjusting your grip on your bag. “That’s… unexpected.”

“Right?” she says. “He said he’s been doing some thinking. That someone called him out and made him realize how unfair he’d been. That I didn’t deserve what he put on me. That I didn’t do anything wrong.”

She pauses, as if waiting for you to fill in the silence. You don’t. You let her have the space.

“I guess I’m calling because… well, you know how long I waited to hear that. But now that I have, I’m just… confused.”

You nod, even though she can’t see it.

“I don’t know what to do with it. Like, part of me wants to believe he’s changed. Another part of me thinks it doesn’t matter anymore. But I don’t want to be bitter, Elijah. I’m just tired.”

You glance out the window. It’s a warm day, but the clouds hang low, like they’re trying to settle something with the sun.

“I think,” you say carefully, “you should take the apology in stride. Let it be what it is — a sign of growth. For him. But it doesn’t mean you owe him anything. Closure isn’t a contract.”

She’s quiet, listening.

“You’re allowed to keep your boundaries. You’re allowed to say, ‘Thank you… and I’m still done.’ Forgiveness and re-entry aren’t the same thing.”

She lets out a small breath, like she’s been waiting for permission to believe that.

“Thanks,” she says. “You always had this… clarity thing going. Like a lighthouse. Or a buzzy fridge that hums a truth you didn’t want to hear.”

You chuckle. “A fridge is a new one.”

She laughs too, and it feels like a small healing.

“Well,” she says, “I won’t keep you. Just wanted to say… thanks. For being one of the people who sees through the bullshit.”

“Anytime, Grace.”

“Take care, Elijah.”

“You too.”

She hangs up. You slide your phone back into your pocket, and for a brief moment, you let yourself feel the quiet pride of having helped someone breathe a little easier — even if it came from cleaning up someone else’s mess.

The apartment is dim, lit only by the soft glow of the stove clock and the flickering light from the muted TV. You’re on the couch, sunk into the cushions with a blanket half-tangled around your legs and Momo’s head resting on your chest, her fingers tracing idle shapes along your arm.

She doesn’t say anything at first — just lets the silence stretch, the two of you breathing in the kind of comfort that only comes after a long day. Her body is warm, grounding. She smells like peach shampoo and laundry detergent. Familiar. Safe.

But she always knows.

“You’re quiet,” she murmurs.

You don’t look down at her. Just keep staring at the closed captions dancing across the bottom of the screen.

“Had a phone call,” you say.

“Bad?”

“No,” you sigh. “Just… surprising. Nathan’s ex called me.”

Momo slowly tilts her head up, resting her chin on your chest. “Why?”

“She wanted to know what his apology meant. If it was real. What she should do with it.”

Momo blinks. “He apologized?”

“Apparently.”

She whistles, then props her chin on your sternum like a lazy cat. “I’m guessing that apology has you written all over it.”

You shrug. “I told him the truth. He took it how he took it.”

She studies your face in the low light. “But it’s sitting heavy.”

You hesitate. Then nod.

“I told her she didn’t owe him anything. That she could accept the apology and still keep her distance. And she… sounded relieved. Grateful. Like someone had lifted a weight she didn’t even know she was carrying.”

Momo’s eyes soften. “That’s a good thing, Elijah.”

“I know,” you say quietly. “It’s just weird, being the one people come to. Sometimes I feel like I’m just… handing out life jackets while I’m still trying to keep my own head above water.”

She leans up, kissing your jaw gently. “You’re better at swimming than you think.”

You let out a small laugh. “You’re biased.”

“I’m devoted,” she says dramatically, curling her fingers around your shirt. “Which is better than biased. You forget, I’m also a gremlin. I know how to spot a drowning man pretending he’s fine.”

You turn your head to look at her. “Is that what I’m doing?”

Momo shrugs with a teasing smirk. “No. But it sounded cool. You’re doing fine. Just… human fine. The kind with dents.”

You wrap your arm tighter around her. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.” She kisses your chest lightly. “Now stop brooding and come to bed. You were my weighted blanket last week. I plan to return the favor.”

“You’re like ninety-eight pounds.”

“Yeah, but my emotional gravity is crushing.”

You let her pull you up off the couch, both of you stumbling toward the bedroom in sleepy half-laughter. And even though the day still sits behind your ribs, you feel lighter than you did before.

She was right. You’re dented, not broken.

And for now — for tonight — that’s more than enough.

The next evening you and Momo went to Jihyo’s apartment for dinner as a sort of evaluation.

The house is warm, louder than you’re used to, filled with laughter, music, and the unmistakable energy of women who have danced through hell together and come out with matching smiles and inside jokes. Jihyo’s place is sleek but homey — framed tour posters, twinkle lights, the smell of too many dishes being cooked at once.

You’re sitting at the far end of the dining table, with Momo pressed to your side like she’s trying to psychically shield you from the intensity of the scrutiny coming from every direction. You feel like a contestant on a cooking show… and you are the main course.

“So,” Dahyun starts, grinning. “Elijah. That’s a biblical name.”

You nod. “Yep. Parents were very… theme-forward.”

Sana leans forward, sipping wine. “And what’s your biggest flaw?”

Momo groans, “Unnie—”

“It’s a valid question!”

“I overthink things,” you say, trying to play it off.

Jihyo eyes you like a military general. “What do you want from Momo?”

The table quiets slightly. Momo tenses beside you.

You look straight at Jihyo. “Whatever she’s willing to give.”

Mina, quiet until now, tilts her head with the kind of thoughtful smile that carries both approval and warning. “Good answer.”

The night continues in a whirl of food and probing conversation. At one point, Chaeyoung and Tzuyu pull Momo into the kitchen, and you’re left with the rest of the troupe who volley you with rapid-fire questions ranging from politics to pop culture to how many squats you can do without crying.

But somehow… it’s not overwhelming. It’s weirdly reassuring. Like being vetted by secret agents in sweatpants.

Eventually, the night winds down. Goodbye hugs, promises to meet again. Jihyo shoots you a final glance that seems to say, I’m watching you — but with a smile.

⸻

Back at your apartment, Momo’s hair is damp from a quick shower and she’s wearing one of your hoodies, her knees tucked under her chin on your couch.

“They like you,” she says. “Which is rare. Sana didn’t try to flirt, and Dahyun didn’t try to fake a murder. That’s progress.”

You smile as you collapse beside her. “I’ll take that as a glowing endorsement.”

She goes quiet for a second.

“They’re planning a tour,” she says finally. “Three months. Asia and Europe mostly. It’s not official yet, but they wanted to know if I’d be in.”

You glance over at her. “And?”

“I want to. I miss the stage. I miss… that version of me.”

You nod, letting the silence speak for you for a beat. Then, “We’ll make it work.”

She blinks at you. “You mean like, long distance?”

“I mean like, I’ll come with you.”

She lets out a surprised laugh. “You can’t just… leave. You’re a professor.”

You turn your head toward her, calm. “I can leave anytime. I don’t need the job. This was all a bet.”

She laughs again — but it’s more hesitant this time. “Wait… what?”

You keep your eyes on hers. “The job. The whole academic path. I took it because someone told me I couldn’t do it. That I wasn’t built for structure. So I proved them wrong. I got the degrees. I published the papers. I taught the classes.”

Her face slowly falls into something unreadable.

“And now?”

You shrug. “I’ve proven my point. What I want now is freedom. Choice. You.”

She’s silent, staring at you like she’s trying to recalibrate her entire understanding of who you are. Finally, she whispers, “You were serious.”

“Yeah.”

“…Holy shit,” she says, her voice barely audible. Then softer still: “You’d really come with me?”

You reach out and tuck her hair behind her ear. “Anywhere you go.”

She leans forward and kisses you — not fiercely, not hungrily, but with the kind of trembling tenderness that comes when someone realizes you’re offering them something they’ve never been offered before.

Then, quietly, she says, “You better not make me cry right before I pack.”

You smile. “Then pack quickly.”

It’s the last day of the semester. The walls of your office are nearly bare now — the shelves once filled with annotated texts and stress snacks are empty, the desk cleared except for one final stack of papers, and a check.

AJ is standing across from you with an expression that somehow balances annoyance, pride, and deep resignation. He’s holding the check out like it personally offends him, but you can tell by the way he’s fidgeting with the envelope that he’s already accepted the loss.

“You really made me do it,” he mutters. “I mean, the whole department thought you’d crash and burn. Hell, I thought you’d crash and burn.”

You take the check and glance at it. It’s everything he promised: the payout for the bet. A full reimbursement for your doctorate program and every dollar spent getting you accredited and legally certified to teach.

You slip it into your coat pocket without ceremony. “I told you I’d survive.”

AJ scoffs. “You barely survived.”

You smirk. “Still counts.”

He groans and rubs his forehead. “You’re leaving to follow a pop star around the globe. This is what you’re doing with your elite education?”

You shrug. “I survived teaching. I can do anything.”

AJ stares at you… and then barks out a laugh. The kind of laugh that says he’s genuinely impressed but also deeply annoyed by it.

“I hate how much sense that makes.”

He walks around the desk and pulls you in for one of those short, aggressive, manly hugs that’s half back-pat, half unspoken emotion.

“Be careful out there,” he says into your shoulder.

You nod. “I will.”

“You ever need to come back—”

“Don’t worry,” you cut in. “If academia ever calls again, I’ll let it go to voicemail.”

He laughs again, shaking his head. “You’re such a little shit.”

As you step out into the hallway, Momo is leaning against the far wall, wearing your hoodie over bike shorts, scrolling through a list of rehearsal schedules on her phone. She glances up and beams when she sees you.

“Did he pay up?”

You pat your pocket. “Like a man watching his ex get married.”

Momo slides her arm around your waist. “Ready to go?”

You take one last look at the department office behind you. The lecture halls. The lockers covered in flyers. The ghosts of debates and red ink.

“Yeah,” you say. “Let’s go see the world.”

She squeezes your hand as you walk off together — past the bulletin boards, past the final grades, past the old life you’d outgrown — and into whatever comes next.

The apartment is chaos, in that soft, controlled way only people in love can pull off.

Suitcases half-zipped. Clothes folded neatly… then hastily shoved to make room for last-minute “essentials.” Momo is kneeling by the couch, trying to fit an entire makeup case into a bag that was already declared full two hours ago. You’re crouched over your vinyl collection, trying to justify bringing more than three records.

“This one’s for late-night rehearsals,” you say, holding up a jazz album.

“You’re bringing a record player?” she calls out.

“No. But it’s the principle.”

She laughs, that breathy kind of tired-happy laugh that always makes your chest ache in the good way. “You’re ridiculous.”

There’s a knock at the door. Three sharp taps.

You glance at Momo. She shrugs.

You open the door.

Darin and Nathan stand there. Both of them… weirdly put together. Hair combed. Matching grimaces of awkward sincerity. Nathan’s holding what looks like a bakery box. Darin has a six-pack of some indie root beer.

You lean on the doorframe.

“Tour starts tomorrow,” you say dryly. “Little late for airport snacks.”

Nathan opens his mouth, then closes it again. Darin nudges him with his elbow.

“We, uh…” Nathan tries again. “We came to say goodbye. And, um. Thanks.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“For?” you ask.

Darin rubs the back of his neck. “For not giving up on us. For yelling when we needed to be yelled at. And for being right, even when we didn’t want you to be.”

Nathan mutters, “Especially that last part. God, you’re so annoying when you’re right.”

You step aside and let them in. They glance around at the luggage explosion and vinyl stacks.

“You really leaving all this?” Darin asks.

You nod. “I survived teaching. The rest is easy.”

Nathan grins. “Still milking that line, huh?”

Momo appears from the hallway wearing one of your oversized tees and no makeup, her hair in a bun, cheeks slightly flushed from wrestling her suitcase.

“Oh,” she says, spotting the guests. “We have visitors?”

Nathan fumbles to say hi, and Darin just waves awkwardly. There’s a beat of silence.

Then Momo walks right over and wordlessly wedges herself between you and them. Not hostile — just deliberate. Her hand finds yours. Her body leans in just enough to be territorial without being confrontational.

“You two behave,” she says with a teasing grin, but her tone has edge.

Nathan raises his hands. “We’re cool. Promise.”

Darin glances between you and Momo, then nods. “Take care of each other.”

Momo smiles, but it’s small. “Always.”

The moment stretches — this strange truce of broken pride and newfound peace.

They leave soon after. You close the door gently, the latch clicking like the end of a chapter.

Momo exhales and flops onto the couch. “Think that was the closest we’ll ever get to an apology from them?”

“Definitely,” you say, sitting beside her.

She leans her head on your shoulder, eyes fluttering closed.

“Think we’ll be okay out there?” she murmurs.

You kiss

#k pop smut #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #twice smut #twice momo #momo x reader #K-pop fluff #momo fluff #twice momo smut

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magnagaruzenmon · 8 days ago

Text

Dark Arts

So when Dio brought up the idea of a half Kitsune Karina I thought it’s an excellent idea but in Dio fashion he added the twist of her being very repressed and it being a critique on idol culture. So I made sure to add as much filth as possible to balance it out.

Diabolos stared at the two young women approaching him — both visibly anxious, both trying not to make a scene.

Momo stood quietly at his side, arms crossed, observing like she always did: not just watching, but reading. She saw the slight twitch in Karina’s fingers, the way her smile flickered at the edges like a crumpled photograph. She saw Diabolos scan them both — and how his gaze snagged on Karina’s hair, the faint shimmer that hadn’t been there before.

“Okay… Karina first,” Diabolos said gently, raising a hand to Yujin. “Sorry, Yujinnie. I’ll be with you in a second.”

He turned fully to Karina now, his voice shifting into that familiar tone — the one that said, I’ve been through worse and I’m still here, so tell me what’s happening.

“You’re all off. What happened?”

Karina hesitated, her lips trembling for a second before she gave up trying to lie or downplay it.

“Kat’s getting stronger,” she blurted out, eyes flicking down in shame. “I thought if I just… let her out more during performances — let her feed off the crowd — she’d settle. That she’d be satisfied.”

Her voice cracked.

“She’s not. After the last show she almost fed on Winter. Like, really fed. She’s starving and I—I can’t hold her anymore. I’m losing ground.”

There was bitterness there, but underneath it — exhaustion. The kind of exhaustion that comes from fighting a war no one else sees.

Diabolos nodded once. Not surprised. Not shaken. Just understanding.

“Got it,” he said, calm and steady, like a harbor during a storm.

He reached into his coat, pulled out a worn scrap of paper, and scribbled something quickly. A name. A number.

“Call him. Tell him I sent you. He’ll meet you in a couple of days.”

Karina took the note with trembling fingers. She nodded silently — not out of obedience, but relief. For once, someone wasn’t asking her to explain it all again. Someone believed her.

She turned and walked off, tucking the note into her sleeve like a secret charm.

As she disappeared down the hallway, Diabolos exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders.

He turned to Yujin, giving her a tired half-smile.

“Alright,” he said. “Your turn. What’s breaking you today?”

But that — well, that’s a story for another time.

A few days before her first session with you, Karina stood backstage at what would be her last major concert for a while. She knew it. Kat knew it.

And Kat was not happy.

Karina sat on the edge of the green room couch, body taut, breath short. A slick heat crawled beneath her skin, rolling in waves from her stomach to her throat — like fire licking at the inside of her ribs.

Her soul felt crowded.

Kat was clawing again. Burrowing. Demanding.

Not now. Please not now.

But it was already too late.

Karina bit back a moan as her body loosened, her muscles melting like wax. Her limbs draped over the couch, her expression slackening into a lazy, dangerous smirk.

And just like that — Kat was at the wheel.

Twelve pale, spectral fox tails unfurled behind her in shimmering poofs, curling lazily in the air like they owned the room.

“Hey, bestie,” Kat purred, her voice sweet and sharp as glass. She turned to Giselle with a grin full of saccharine malice and an abyssal hunger. “Rina’s out. Wanna have some fun?”

Giselle stiffened — but didn’t run.

She never did.

She knew better. She knew engaging with Kat was a bad idea.

But she also loved Kat.

More than Karina, if she was being honest.

“What is it this time, bestie?” Giselle said, coolly sliding into the seat across from her.

Kat didn’t answer right away. She pulled out Karina’s phone, tilted her head just so, and snapped a selfie — her expression smug and radiant.

Then she turned back.

“You know how Karina’s been tightening the lock on me, right?”

Giselle nodded, wary.

Kat’s grin widened.

“Well,” she said, voice dripping satisfaction, “she’s losing. I’m almost through. I can feel it. She’s tired. Weak. And I’m starving.”

She leaned in.

“Soon, it won’t be a tug-of-war. There won’t be a ‘Karina and Kat.’ There’ll just be me.”

Giselle’s jaw clenched. Her first thought was of Winter — how devastated she’d be. And Karina’s fans. Their friends. Most of them didn’t even know Kat existed, let alone what she was capable of.

But Kat wasn’t paying attention anymore. She was admiring her reflection in the vanity mirror, running her hands slowly over her curves. She cupped her breasts and gave them a light squeeze, humming softly.

“Can you believe she hides these in oversized hoodies?” she said. “I could rule this damn country if she’d just let me. But no — she’s scared. She clings to that cute little good-girl act and leaves me buried in the dark, forced to feel everything she denies.”

Her tone turned sharper, more wounded.

“She’s affection-starved. Sex-starved. Love-starved. All she wants is a hug, some dick, and a kiss that means something. But she won’t let herself have any of it.”

Kat’s voice dropped low and venomous.

“So we both suffer.”

She sat back, stretching like a lioness.

“But not for long. Once I’m in charge… I’ll never go without again.”

Giselle held her expression, face blank and unreadable.

“Good for you,” she said flatly.

Kat beamed. “Thanks for letting me vent, bestie.”

A beat. She stood, licking her teeth.

“Oh — it’s time.”

⸻

The lights dim. A roar rises through the arena like a tidal wave. Backstage, Kat’s eyes glow faint gold. Her tails ripple with anticipation.

The music drops.

The lights dim. The crowd goes still — breathless. A city of hearts waiting to beat to her rhythm.

The bass drops.

Karina steps onto the stage. But it isn’t just Karina.

It’s Kat wrapped in silk and starlight.

Every step is molten. Every sway of her hips pulls the crowd closer like gravity. The choreography is still technically there — but it’s alive now, dripping with something ancient and carnal. Her fingers trail along her own skin like she’s unwrapping a gift meant for worship, not viewing.

Phones rise and fall, forgotten. Some fans cry. Others just stare, mouths parted.

Kat’s eyes scan the sea of faces like a queen choosing her next disciple.

She doesn’t sing — she summons.

Her voice vibrates with low, sultry power. Every note dances on the air like it’s caressing the listeners’ necks, whispering secrets meant only for them.

When the bridge hits, she drops into a knee slide, body arching, hands gliding up her thighs, lips parted in faux ecstasy — and a visible pulse of gold energy ripples out from her chest.

A few front-row fans faint. One vomits. Another screams. Security doesn’t move.

They’re under too.

Kat smiles. The crowd is hers now.

Every eye locks on her. Every heartbeat syncs to her rhythm. The audience’s desire isn’t subtle — it floods her like ocean waves. She drinks it in with every sultry breath.

Kat is feeding.

She lets the need roll over her: the way their pupils dilate, the way their mouths hang open, the way entire sections of the crowd sway without realizing it. She lets it pour into her — the affection, the worship, the lust.

But there’s no touch. No skin on skin. No lips. No teeth. No fingers curling in her hair.

Just adoration from a distance. And it’s not enough.

Not enough. I need more.

Kat smiles wider, eyes glowing faint gold. Her voice grows silkier, thicker, laced with compulsion. Her movements go from suggestive to provocative — hips rolling slower, fingers brushing her thighs, her chest rising and falling with exaggerated need.

She presses to the floor in a crawl, dragging herself forward with feline grace — eyes locking with a fan in the front row who forgets how to breathe. She lets her hand glide up her stomach, mouth parting as if she were about to—

More. Give me more.

A low, barely visible pulse of golden energy ripples outward from her core. Fans stagger, overwhelmed. Some scream. Others faint. Dozens sob without understanding why. Their love, their hunger — it’s pouring into her.

And still—she’s starving.

Her body begins to twitch. Her lips tremble with frustration even as she smiles. She tries to stay within the rhythm of the song, but it’s bending — the song is becoming her.

The band behind her falters. Backup dancers hesitate. Even the lights seem to dim, as if bending to her will.

Her last line is delivered not as a lyric — but as a spell:

“Come closer… I don’t bite. Unless you beg me to.”

The final beat drops.

The crowd screams, but Kat doesn’t hear them anymore. Not truly.

She can feel their desire, still fresh in the air, buzzing like static. All those hearts beating for her. All those eyes that wanted her. Worshiped her.

And yet— She’s still starving.

No touch. No breath. No skin. Just air and noise. I gave them everything… and they only looked.

Inside, her presence seethes.

I could have taken one. Just one. Pulled them on stage. Let them worship me properly. Let them give me what she won’t let herself want…

But something shifts.

A pulling.

No—no no no—

Karina’s consciousness is rising.

Not yet. I’m not done! I’m still hungry! LET ME FINISH!

Kat claws at the edges of their shared skin, a flurry of heat and rage — but Karina pushes harder. The mask begins to slip, and with it, the presence that overwhelmed the arena flickers out.

Backstage.

Karina stumbles through the curtain.

She nearly collapses. One of the stagehands tries to catch her, but she waves them off with shaking hands, eyes glassy, chest heaving.

Her vision is swimming. Her knees buckle. She slumps against the nearest wall, sliding down until she’s curled up at its base, her makeup smudged and sweat-slicked hair clinging to her face.

Her heart is racing. Her body is humming — wired — like it still belongs to Kat.

But Kat is still there, still awake, snarling inside her like a beast in a cage.

Coward. You had them. You had them in the palm of your hand and you threw it away. You’ll never be whole while you keep pretending you’re above all this.

Karina presses her palms to her temples, biting back a sob.

She almost kissed someone last time. She almost pulled someone out of the crowd tonight. What if she… what if I can’t stop her next time?

Her whole body aches. But not from dancing.

From fighting.

Fighting Kat. Fighting herself.

She clutches the scrap of paper Diabolos gave her, now crumpled and damp with sweat. Your name and number are still legible, though barely.

She stares at it through tears that finally fall.

I need help. I can’t do this alone anymore.

Kat laughs faintly inside her, amused. But for once, she doesn’t resist.

Because deep down, even she knows: If something doesn’t change soon, one of them isn’t going to survive.

Karina sat curled at the base of the wall, her body trembling, skin clammy with sweat. Her head was down, arms wrapped around herself like she was trying to hold something in — or keep something out.

The lights backstage buzzed softly above her, indifferent.

In her lap, the crumpled note from Diabolos was damp and fragile, like it would dissolve if she blinked too hard.

Behind her, the door creaked open.

“Karina?”

She froze.

It was Winter.

Karina didn’t look up, didn’t speak. She didn’t want Winter to see her like this — a mess of smeared eyeliner, clenched teeth, and fractured self-control. But she didn’t have the strength to get up either. All she could do was exist and hope Kat stayed buried.

Winter crossed the room in three careful steps. Then one more, slower.

She crouched beside Karina and sat down next to her, knees brushing.

“I knew something was wrong,” Winter said gently. “You were incredible out there, but it wasn’t… you.”

Karina flinched.

Winter placed a hand on her back — a quiet, grounding gesture. No pressure. Just presence.

Karina squeezed her eyes shut.

“She almost took over completely this time,” she whispered. “Kat. She fed on the whole crowd but it still wasn’t enough. She kept trying to… pull more. Stir more. Seduce more. I could feel her trying to drag someone up onto the stage just to—just to touch them.”

Winter was silent for a long moment. Not out of fear, not out of judgment — but because she was processing. Feeling.

Then she said, softly, “But you stopped her.”

“Barely,” Karina breathed. “Barely. I blacked out halfway through the first verse and didn’t come back until the lights cut. I’m not in control anymore, Win. I’m not holding her back — I’m just slowing her down.”

Winter turned and wrapped her arms around her.

Karina didn’t fight it. Her body shuddered in the embrace, and finally — finally — she let herself fall into it. Her head dropped onto Winter’s shoulder.

“She’s not just a part of me anymore,” she said. “She’s becoming me.”

Winter swallowed hard, holding her tighter. “Then we don’t let that happen. We find a way. Whatever it takes.”

Karina pulled back just enough to meet her eyes.

“But what if she hurts you? What if I do?”

“You won’t,” Winter said, firm. “Because I’m not leaving you alone with this. I’ve seen you fight her, Rina. I know the real you’s still here.”

Karina nodded, but her hands were still trembling.

Then she held up the crumpled note — your number still visible.

“I think I’m finally ready to talk to him.”

Winter gave her a soft smile.

“Good. But tonight, just… be with me. Rest. I’ve got you.”

And for the first time in weeks, Karina let herself believe it might be true. Winter’s arms around her felt warm, steady. Karina hadn’t realized how cold she was until that moment. Her trembling began to ease.

But the moment stretched too long.

Karina stiffened.

She could feel it — a stirring beneath her skin, like silk unraveling. Her heartbeat quickened. Her breath caught.

No. Not now. Not—

Too late.

Kat slipped through the cracks like smoke curling through locked doors.

Karina’s body shifted subtly — her posture loosening, head tilting slightly. Her eyes fluttered open, but they were darker now, deeper. Her lips parted in a slow, lazy grin. A faint shimmer of gold flickered in her gaze.

Winter leaned back slightly, still smiling, still unaware.

“You really scared me tonight,” she said. “But I’m so glad you’re okay.”

Karina’s—Kat’s—fingers slid up Winter’s arm, trailing light and slow, just barely grazing skin.

Winter’s breath hitched. A faint blush colored her cheeks.

Kat leaned in, her lips nearly brushing Winter’s ear.

Her voice dropped into a velvet whisper.

“You’re always so warm when you worry about me, Win. I could just… curl up inside you.”

Winter’s body froze. Her eyes widened slightly, confused, maybe even entranced. Her chest rose and fell in shallow breaths.

She’s open. Soft. I could have her. Just a little taste. Just a kiss. Just…

Kat’s fingers hovered just under Winter’s chin, tilting it up slowly.

And then—

Snap.

Karina surged back to the surface with a gasp, jerking her hand away as if burned. Her entire body recoiled, breath ragged.

Winter blinked, dazed, her cheeks flushed and pupils wide.

“I—I’m sorry,” Karina stammered, her voice her own again. “She—Kat—she slipped out. I didn’t mean—she just—”

Winter blinked hard, shaking it off like waking from a trance.

“Was that her?” she whispered.

Karina nodded, pulling her arms tight around herself. “She smelled your affection. Your love. She tried to drink it.”

Winter looked shaken now, but not afraid — more heartbroken than anything.

“She almost did.”

Karina buried her face in her hands. “I told you. I can’t control her anymore. She’s always there, just under the surface. And the more people love me, the hungrier she gets.”

A long silence passed.

Then Winter said, softly but clearly:

“Then we figure out how to starve her — or feed her in a way that doesn’t cost you.”

Karina looked up, tears brimming in her eyes.

“I’m scared, Win.”

Winter reached for her hand and held it tight this time. Unshaking.

“So am I. But I’m still here.”

On the way to the the therapy appointment Karina sat in the back seat of the black sedan, watching the city blur past through the tinted window.

She was quiet.

Too quiet.

Giselle had offered to ride with her, but Karina said no. She needed to go alone. Needed to face this without Kat grinning over her shoulder or someone else’s concern clouding her already frayed thoughts.

The note from Diabolos was in her pocket. She’d read your name a hundred times already, like repetition might calm the storm.

But it didn’t.

Not when the memory came crawling back.

⸻

Three years ago.

It had been a stupid fight. Tense schedules. Too much pressure. Her boyfriend — Taehwan — had said something cruel. Not mean, just thoughtless.

“You’re hot, Karina, but sometimes it’s like you forget how to be human.”

That was all it took.

Kat had been gnawing at the edges for weeks. At night, she whispered in Karina’s dreams. During rehearsals, she surged during the bridges, made Karina’s voice drop an octave, made her thighs press together under the heat.

And that night, Karina gave her the wheel.

“Fine. You think I’m not human? Let’s see how you handle something divine.”

She let Kat out.

Just for a little bit.

Just to fee clear again.

⸻

Taehwan never stood a chance.

They were in her apartment. She pinned him to the couch with a smile that wasn’t hers. Her skin shimmered, warm and lit from within. Her hands trailed across his chest like worship, and every place she touched — he melted.

Not in pleasure. In surrender.

Like he was leaking.

Eyes fluttering. Breath shallowing.

She kissed him once — and drank.

Not blood. Not soul. Something softer. Vitality. Will. The radiant energy of his affection, his want for her, his fear, his awe. All of it flowed into her like honey.

And Kat couldn’t stop.

Even as he started to slur his words. Even as his head lolled to the side. Even as his heart rate slowed.

“Just a little more. Just a little more. Let me feel full for once—”

Karina came back with a gasp. Her body soaked in sweat. Taehwan barely conscious beneath her.

She pulled away from him like she’d touched fire.

He recovered. Physically, at least.

But he never looked at her the same again.

They broke up a week later.

He never told anyone what happened. He didn’t need to.

Karina saw it in his eyes every time they accidentally crossed paths.

Fear.

⸻

The car jolted slightly as it hit a bump, dragging Karina back to the present.

Her heart was racing. Her skin cold despite the heater. She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out the note.

One last time, she read the name.

Then she whispered to herself.

“I won’t let her do that to anyone else.”

The car pulled up outside your building.

Karina stepped out — alone — and walked inside. Karina stood outside the old stone townhouse, her breath fogging in the cool air.

She double-checked the address Diabolos had scrawled onto the now-worn paper: Reginald Calhoun – Private Guidance and Containment Services.

It didn’t look like a therapy office.

There was no front desk. No clipboard. Just a brass door knocker in the shape of a lion’s mouth and a subtle buzz that made her tails twitch beneath the surface.

This place knows me.

Her heels clicked softly as she stepped through the threshold.

And something shifted.

Warmth flooded her body, not physical — soul-deep. The moment the door closed behind her, the tension she’d carried for years bled out of her like smoke.

Her vision blurred.

Her breathing slowed.

And just like that—

Kat opened her eyes too.

⸻

She blinked — and found herself in a softly lit room that smelled faintly of cedar, wild jasmine, and something older. More primal.

The furniture was plush. The atmosphere inviting, not sterile. Not judgmental.

And then she saw you.

You sat across the room, framed by shelves of worn books and softly humming wards etched into the walls. You didn’t stand. You didn’t stare.

You simply looked at her. Really looked.

Both of her.

Your smile was calm, warm, and knowing.

“Welcome,” you said, voice low and grounded. “You’re safe here, Yu Jimin.”

The name rippled through her — but not in fear.

Not rejection.

Recognition.

Kat tilted her head, her voice purring through Karina’s throat like silk-draped danger. “Mmm… You’re not just a therapist, are you?”

You smiled gently.

“No. I help beings like you. Ones who’ve outgrown the cages others put them in. Ones who’ve been told their hunger is wrong when really, it just needs to be understood.”

Karina shivered. Kat stirred.

Your eyes stayed soft but direct.

“I see you, Kat. And I see you, Karina. You’ve both been starved. Denied. Trapped behind politeness and shame. But here—” you gestured with open hands “—you can feed. Fully. Without hurting anyone. Without guilt. I know what you are. And I want to see all of it.”

That’s when Kat surged forward.

Her tails snapped into view — all twelve, brilliant and wild. Her aura poured out of her body like gold-threaded wine. Her fangs glinted behind her smile.

She stalked toward you in slow, luxurious steps — hips swaying, aura charged and glimmering with lust, need, and centuries of withheld hunger.

“You mean it,” she said, circling you like a lioness. “You want all of me?”

“Yes,” you said simply. “And I know how to hold you. You’re safe to take what you need.”

She didn’t ask twice.

Kat fed. Kat tore the clothes off her body before facing you, her jiggly breasts swaying in the cool air before she licked her lips as she stared at you like a steak.

She started small. Not with touch, not with teeth — but with presence.

Her gaze locked with yours as she drank in your affection. Your calm. Your praise. Your desire. Your honest, undemanding adoration for everything she was.

It rushed into her like fire meeting dry grass. She moaned, her body trembling in pleasure as waves of energy coursed through her — the energy of being truly seen and welcomed without recoil.

Karina’s voice echoed under it all.

It’s too much. It’s not supposed to feel this good. She’s going to drown us—

No. We’re finally breathing.

For the first time, Karina didn’t push Kat down.

She held her.

They stood there, shimmering — two souls finally in the same breath.

Not rivals. Not enemies. Not halves.

Whole.

When Kat had her fill of wholesome affection she said, “pull that cock out,” you humbly obliged as she kneeled in front of you massaging her tits waiting for you. Knowing how kitsunes typically work you made a show of it, building the mutual desire so Kat would be more satiated in her feeding by giving her a well rounded meal.

When you were bare before her she couldn’t even help it before she took your cock fully down her throat.

Kat moaned as your essence touched her. It was robust and meaty but vast. She slowly began moving her mouth and before taking little brakes to breathe as she crested on the tip of your cock. Karina moaned in pleasured feeling her lips wrap around your shaft and began really egging Kat in. Deeper! Deeper!”

“Karina moaned as her and Kat became one while she sucked you off. She eventually grew impatient with the appetizer and needed the main course. As such Yu Jimin got up and sank down on your cock,

Both of you moaned as Karina and Kat fully gave in. They rode you for hours draining as much lust and desire from you as possible until Yu couldn’t possibly take anymore cum or vitality. She got up and smiled before groaning

“Fuck you taste delicious!” She said purring

And when it was done — when Kat leaned back against your couch with a pleased, lazy stretch, eyes golden and glimmering — she sighed.

“I think I’m full.”

Karina laughed, tears prickling her lashes.

“God,” she whispered, “I didn’t even know what peace felt like.”

You offered a smile and gently poured her a glass of water.

“Good,” you said. “Then we’ve started.”

The room had gone still after Kat’s feeding frenzy had finally subsided.

Kat sat curled on the velvet couch, one knee tucked beneath her, a satisfied smirk on her lips as her twelve tails lazily fanned behind her like a throne. Karina leaned against the opposite armrest, more grounded now — chest rising in slow, calm breaths, her makeup lightly smudged but her eyes clearer than they’d been in weeks.

You sat across from them, elbows resting on your knees, watching both halves settle into this strange, mutual quiet.

It was the first time they’d sat together. Not one suppressing the other. Not fighting. Just… sharing the same skin.

Kat rolled her shoulder, her voice a smoky hum.

“You know, she gets to feed all the time,” she said, glancing sideways at Karina. “Every fan interaction. Every cute TikTok. Every time someone calls her ‘pretty’ or ‘soft’ or ‘baby girl.’ It’s her energy. Innocent. Sweet. Safe.”

Karina stiffened slightly.

Kat kept going, more vulnerable now. “But me? I get locked in a box. She gets praised and adored in the open — and I get shoved into dreams, mirrors, or blackouts just to get a sip.”

Karina looked down at her hands, fingers tightening around her own knee.

“I’m not trying to starve you,” she said softly. “I just… I didn’t know how to give you that kind of attention without losing control. Without… hurting someone.”

Kat’s lips pressed into a small, bitter line. “You think I’m poison.”

“I think you’re dangerous,” Karina admitted, voice shaking. “But I also think you’re me.”

That made Kat blink — like she hadn’t expected that honesty.

You nodded slowly, your voice calm but firm.

“This is good. This is exactly where the work begins.”

Both girls looked at you.

You met Kat’s gaze first. “You’re right. You haven’t been fed in a way that aligns with your nature. You’re touch-starved. Craving carnal validation — and Karina, you’ve spent years surviving off the opposite: praise for being cute, good, wholesome. Affection that’s filtered.”

You turned to Karina now.

“So here’s what I’m proposing — an experiment.”

Karina tilted her head.

“Starting today, for one week, switch the flow.”

“W-what do you mean?”

You leaned back into your chair, calm and measured.

“Kat gets to feed on the soft affection. The cozy compliments. The forehead kisses. The sweet texts. Your usual fuel.”

“And you, Karina,” you continued, “you’ll have to take in what Kat normally starves for. Desire. Temptation. Sensuality. Let yourself be flirted with. Touched. Seen like that.”

Karina’s brows furrowed. “I—I don’t know if I can—”

Kat sat up, her smirk sharpening like a blade. “Oh, you will. You just don’t know it yet.”

You gave Karina a reassuring smile. “This isn’t about becoming someone else. It’s about balance. About letting both parts of you learn from each other.”

Karina hesitated. Her breath caught slightly at the thought of strangers’ eyes raking over her body, of attention that wasn’t just innocent adoration but raw want. It scared her.

But it also made her stomach flutter.

“…Okay,” she said quietly. “One week.”

Kat’s grin widened. “You’re gonna be a wreck by day two.”

You gave them both a subtle, knowing nod.

“Then we’ll talk again. Same time next week.”

Karina woke up hungry.

Not in the usual way. Not for food, though she absentmindedly poured herself a bowl of cereal. The spoon clinked in her bowl as she stared blankly at the milk swirling over cornflakes.

Her skin felt electric.

Her breath? Too shallow.

Her body? Warm. Tingling.

She shifted in her oversized sleep shirt and sucked in a breath.

What is this?

She turned her head—and that’s when she saw Giselle.

Fresh out of the shower. Wet hair in a towel. Bare shoulders glinting under the kitchen light. Just wearing a tank top and loose shorts.

And something inside Karina… twitched.

Not Kat. Not quite.

Her.

Her lips parted. Her thighs clenched under the table.

God, she looks… soft. She smells good too. Wait—what? Why am I thinking about how she tastes—

“Morning,” Giselle said, voice husky with sleep, rubbing one eye.

Karina smiled too fast, too wide. “Hey you,” she purred—actually purred—and her own voice caught her off guard.

Giselle paused, mid-step, brows furrowing. “You okay?”

“Totally.” Karina got up, abandoning her cereal, and padded over to her. “You just… look really cute right now. Like, dangerously cute.”

Giselle squinted at her. “Rina?”

Karina tilted her head. Her hand reached out—she didn’t know why—and tucked a damp strand of hair behind Giselle’s ear. Her fingers lingered.

“I never noticed how kissable your lips are when they’re all pouty like that.”

Giselle blinked, caught between concern and curiosity.

Karina didn’t wait.

She stepped closer, their bodies nearly touching. Her breath was shaky now, but her hunger was steady—building. That fire she’d denied for so long was finally being stoked, and it felt exquisite.

Giselle’s eyes fluttered, her lips parting.

Karina leaned in, slowly, watching her friend’s pupils dilate.

She wants me. I can feel it. Her skin’s buzzing. I could take it. Just a taste.

Her hands slid around Giselle’s waist. Their noses touched. Karina’s breath hitched.

And then—

She kissed her.

Soft. Wet. Slow.

Giselle whimpered—quiet, shocked, but not pulling away. Her hands hovered for a moment, then gripped Karina’s arms.

And that’s when Karina felt it.

The feed.

A stream of raw, unfiltered desire flowing into her like sunlight through a magnifying glass. It filled her lungs. Her veins. She could breathe in it.

Yes. Yes, that’s it. Just a little more—

And then—

Snap.

The warmth recoiled.

Karina flinched—her own body jerking backward as if yanked by invisible strings.

Her lips broke from Giselle’s with a gasp.

Her vision swam.

She heard Kat’s voice inside her head, sharp and firm:

Enough. You’re not ready. You’ll swallow her whole.

Karina blinked, dazed and flushed, her chest heaving.

Giselle stood there, lips pink, wide-eyed and stunned. Her shirt was clutched in Karina’s fist.

Karina’s hands dropped.

“I… I didn’t mean to…” she murmured. “I was just—” She bit her lip. The hunger was still gnawing, worse now that it had tasted real desire and been denied the full meal.

Giselle looked dazed, but not angry. Just… breathless. “You kissed me.”

Karina turned away, clenching her fists.

Inside, Kat exhaled.

You see now? This hunger—it can eat you alive.

Karina’s jaw tightened.

Then why did you stop me? She was fine. She wanted it. I wanted it.

Exactly. And if I hadn’t stepped in, you both would’ve gone too far. You’re not used to limits. I am.

Karina bristled.

She was the one starving yesterday. Now she was the leash?

She stormed out of the kitchen, heat still pulsing between her thighs, her mouth tingling, her chest tight with frustration.

Day two. And already, she was ready to lose her mind. The cold water pelted Karina’s skin like needles.

She stood under the showerhead, fists pressed to the tiled wall, jaw clenched so hard her teeth ached.

Her body was screaming.

Every nerve was buzzing. Her thighs felt like fire. Her chest rose and fell with a rhythm that wasn’t calming — it was coiled rage masquerading as breath.

Day. Two.

Kat had stopped her.

Kat — the one who always wanted to feed — had reined her in. Said no. And now?

Now Karina was starving.

The kind of hunger that had no language. No outlet. Just a raw, aching emptiness in her chest, in her stomach, in that deep, humming place between her thighs that refused to be ignored.

She tilted her head back into the water and groaned — not sensually, not theatrically, just out of pure frustration.

This is bullshit.

She slammed the faucet off and stepped out of the shower, water dripping down her bare frame in rivulets. Her feet slapped wet against the cold tile as she stood in front of the mirror, still fogged at the edges.

And for the first time in years—

She looked at herself.

Not glanced.

Not critiqued.

Looked.

Her collarbones. The gentle curve of her hips. Her soft thighs. The swell of her chest, still flushed from heat and cold clashing across her skin.

For a flicker of a moment, she didn’t see Kat.

She didn’t see the fans’ gaze.

She didn’t see the online comments about her “boyish hips” or “flat chest” or “trying too hard to be sexy.”

I’m not trying.

Her fingers traced the line of her stomach, pausing at the slight dip above her navel.

I am.

Her eyes rose to meet her own in the mirror. Hair dripping. Lashes wet. Lips parted and red.

Not fake. Not curated.

Just real.

And gorgeous.

Her eyes widened a little — not in awe, but in a new, simmering kind of defiance.

“I’m so… fucking hot,” she whispered, almost angrily. She pawed at her breasts feeling the suppleness and softness. She moaned as her hand wandered deeper down to her clit. Causing Karina to moan out. Kat manifests in her subconscious as the line between the two woman blurs.

“See how good you feel when you don’t let people talk about you however they want,” she said as she stuck her fingers inside of Karina. Karina bucked her hips as Kat tilted her head and stared into Karina’s eyes before kissing her. Karina was overwhelmed by the sensation and after a few more soft squelch of fingers came all over Kat’s hand.

“See! you you are sexy and powerful!” Kat exclaimed before fading back into Karina who stood there panting, wanting.

Karina for the first time smiled. Not because she was trying to convince herself — but because she finally knew, and she was furious that she’d been made to believe otherwise.

Her hands gripped the edges of the sink.

They made me hate this. They made me fear this. This body could wreck someone. And I was scared of it.

Her breath shook. A grin cracked through the steam and defiance.

For the first time, it was Karina, not Kat, who was tempted to say—

Let them want me. Let them burn for it. Because I burn too.

Day 3 The studio was empty but buzzing — fluorescent lights overhead, low bass thumping from the corner speakers, and sweat clinging to the air like static.

Karina had been running the same sequence for the last two hours. Her hoodie clung to her back. Her mouth was dry. Her pulse was racing, but not from exertion.

From hunger.

Not the cute kind. Not the warm little butterflies from fan love or compliments.

No — this was Kat’s kind. Desire with teeth.

It coiled in her belly and flickered under her skin like flame.

Across the room, her two choreographers — Jiwoo and Hana — were going over notes near the mirror. Both were older, toned, commanding in presence, with easy smiles that dropped into sternness when things got off-beat. Karina had always admired them.

But now?

She craved them.

Not sex.

Their attention. Their affection. Their want.

And somewhere, she knew — they were susceptible. Jiwoo had always playfully flirted during breaks. Hana lingered when adjusting Karina’s posture. Nothing overt. But enough.

Karina turned, hoodie slipping off her shoulder, sweat glistening at her collarbone.

She walked over — slowly, softly — all doe eyes and sugar-voice.

“Unnies…” she said, slightly breathless. “Am I doing okay? You’ve both been working so hard on me… I just want to make you proud.”

Jiwoo blinked. Hana smiled gently.

“You’re killing it, Rina,” Jiwoo said, touching her wrist lightly. “You’ve never moved like this.”

Karina stepped closer. Her hand found Jiwoo’s elbow. Her other fingers brushed Hana’s back. The contact sent a shiver through her.

Their gazes softened. Jiwoo’s grip lingered. Hana leaned in, just a bit too close.

More. Just a little more. Let them want me.

Karina tilted her chin up and gave the smallest, softest pout. “You always say that… but I don’t feel it unless I feel you.”

She didn’t even realize what she was saying until she’d said it.

And they did.

Jiwoo’s breath hitched. Hana’s fingers grazed Karina’s waist unconsciously.

She fed.

The affection rolled in — charged, unspoken, laced with yearning they wouldn’t admit. Karina closed her eyes.

Yes. Yes. Just a little more.

But then—

Snap.

A jolt.

Like a leash pulled tight.

Inside her chest, Kat’s voice hissed — not seductive, not smug.

“That’s enough.”

Karina’s eyes flew open.

Jiwoo and Hana blinked in confusion, both of them suddenly dizzy, their posture faltering. The spell broken — but not forgotten.

Karina backed up, breath ragged, heart thundering.

They were still smiling. Still thinking it was nothing.

But Karina—

She knew.

She’d taken something.

Not violently. Not fully.

But she’d used them.

Weaponized her softness. Made herself into something vulnerable just to feed.

And in that moment—

She saw her mother.

Not the warm, laughing woman from old family photos.

The other one. The one who left. The one who had whispered to her father in soft, syrupy tones while she packed her bags and never came back. The one who left behind guilt, confusion, and hunger.

I’m no better than her. I’m doing the same thing. Taking and leaving. Pretty poison.

She turned and rushed out of the studio, hoodie flapping behind her like a cape made of shame.

The hunger didn’t leave.

It just turned sour.

She didn’t cry.

But she felt something deeper than tears.

Rot.

Karina slammed the door behind her.

Her dorm was dark, quiet. Rain tapped gently on the windowpane, mocking her, cool when she was boiling.

She paced.

Hands trembling. Mouth dry.

The moment in the studio replayed again and again: Jiwoo’s dazed smile. Hana’s flushed cheeks. The way she had drawn them in with sugared words and sweet skin just to drain them.

Like a thief with a ribbon in her hair.

Like—

Her mother.

Karina’s stomach twisted. Her hands curled into fists. Her voice cracked the silence.

“Get out here.”

The air shimmered, but only faintly. A soft golden ripple in the mirror. Then another.

“You heard me,” she hissed. “I said get out.”

A pause. And then:

Kat appeared.

Not in full regalia. No glowing tails. No sultry poses. Just Karina — if she’d been dipped in moonlight and velvet. More relaxed. More still.

Her eyes glowed faintly. Her arms crossed.

“I’m here,” she said simply.

Karina spun to face her. “Why did you make me do that?!”

Kat didn’t flinch.

“I didn’t make you do anything. You wanted it.”

Karina’s eyes flashed. “No. You wanted it. You made me feel things I shouldn’t. You— You used them. Like toys. Like food.”

Kat raised an eyebrow. “I stopped you.”

That caught Karina mid-breath.

“I pulled back,” Kat continued calmly. “You were the one who kept going. You were the one who liked the way they looked at you. The way they blushed. The way you could bend them with a whisper.”

Karina’s throat tightened. “I… I’m not like that.”

Kat tilted her head, not with scorn — with honesty. “Yes you are”

Silence.

Then Kat stepped forward, voice softer now.

“I didn’t invent your hunger. I didn’t make you seductive. I didn’t twist you into something dark.” She placed a hand over her own heart — Karina’s heart. “I am you. Just… the part you threw away.”

Karina looked away. Her chest heaved. Her eyes were shining with something dangerous.

“You sound like her,” she whispered. “You sound like my mom. Sweet lies and pretty smiles. Take what you want and disappear.”

Kat’s expression finally shifted — and not in victory.

In sadness.

“I’m sorry she hurt you,” she said. “But I’m not her. I have never walked away. I’ve been here. Locked in a cage for years while you pretended to be small.”

A beat.

“You’re not angry at me, Rina. You’re angry that I get to feel what you’ve always wanted to feel.”

Karina turned to the mirror. Her reflection stood beside Kat now — the same bones, the same skin, but split between restraint and truth.

“You think this is some breakthrough?” she snapped. “That because I admit I’m hungry, it makes it okay?”

Kat’s voice dropped, firm. “No. It just makes it honest.”

Karina’s voice cracked. “I’m scared I’ll lose control.”

“You will. That’s why you need me. Not to consume you. To catch you.”

Karina stared, breathless.

And for the first time, she didn’t see a demon in the mirror.

She saw herself.

Whole. Starving. Glowing. Crying.

And still standing.

It was nearly 2 a.m. when Karina reached your door.

She didn’t knock.

She slammed her fist into the heavy wood once — then again — and before the third, the door creaked open on its own.

The wards had recognized her.

She stumbled inside, hood up, eyes wild, breath ragged like she’d run through a thunderstorm.

She felt like she was coming undone.

You were already waiting for her in the candlelit room, seated calmly behind your desk — no coat, no tie, just a simple tunic that shimmered faintly with protective sigils.

Karina stood just inside, shaking, face streaked with rain, sweat, or tears. Maybe all three.

“I can’t do this,” she said.

You didn’t speak.

She stepped forward, her voice cracking. “I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. Every touch feels like fire and every gaze feels like it’s carving into me—”

Her magic flared. A gust of heat whipped through the room, knocking a framed mirror off the wall. It shattered.

Still, you didn’t move.

She approached, slowly, as the space around her began to shimmer with energy — golden, raw, unstable.

“You…” she said, pointing at you, eyes glowing faintly now, “I can feel it on you. That power. That mana. You’re not just a therapist.”

“No,” you said calmly. “I’m not.”

“I need it,” she whispered. “I need you.”

Her hands gripped the desk, and the surface warped beneath her palms, the wood rippling with heat.

“I need you to look at me and tell me I’m hot. Tell me I’m wanted. Tell me I’m not some broken little fox-girl with a pretty mask.” Karina said as she pulled her top off massaging her tits and fingering herself in front of you.

At first you’re unsure if this is right and you start to object, “Karina—”

“No!” she shouted. “You said I was safe here! Then feed me!” She looked desperately at you eyes pleading to fuck and feed her, but you knew you had to be careful because she was so hungry she’d probably hurt herself in feeding.

Her voice cracked into a sob, as she tried harder to draw some form of desire out of you as she kept fucking herself in front of you but only your concern for her safety kept you grounded.

“Tell me I’m enough—tell me I’m too much—say something that makes this ache stop!”

You stood.

The magic pulsing off her was starting to tremble — not with rage, but with collapse.

She fell to her knees as her tails (more than she ever knew she had) fanned out behind her, sparking light and shadow into the air. Her skin flickered with ancient runes. Her pupils narrowed to slits and widened again.

The hunger reached its apex.

“Please…” she whimpered. “Please just look at me like I’m real. Like I’m not disgusting for wanting this. For being like this. Like her. Like my mom—”

Her voice broke completely.

And then she reached for you.

Hands trembling, eyes wide with desperation, her magic latching to yours like a starving vine. You let her feed — not from your body, not physically — but from your mana, your gaze, your truth.

“I see you,” you said, voice steady, radiating pure acceptance. “I see all of you.” “You’re beautiful. You’re divine. And you’re not wrong for craving love this big.”

Karina let out a gasp—sharp, ecstatic, painful.

She began to pull too much.

You could feel it — not your energy draining, but hers overloading.

Power surged through her chest, her eyes, her veins — and suddenly—

She screamed.

A sound not of pain, but hurt.

Her knees buckled. Her arms convulsed.

She was overfeeding.

And just as her magic began to spin violently, dangerously—

Kat appeared.

Not in golden seduction.

Not in glamour.

But in a form of pure spiritual essence — a shadow of Karina’s soul in full.

She stepped forward, cradled Karina’s face.

“Stop,” Kat said gently. “You’re hurting yourself.”

Karina whimpered like a child. “I just want it to stop. I just want to feel whole.”

Kat held her.

And for the first time, the mirror inside Karina did not show two reflections.

It showed one.

Fractured.

Exhausted.

Radiant.

Real.

And finally…

Still.

It was quiet.

No lights. No music. No hunger.

Just a soft void — not empty, but still. Like the breath the world takes before the sunrise.

Karina stood barefoot on what felt like warm glass. She wasn’t glowing. She wasn’t trembling. She was just… herself. Whole. Present. Her body no longer aching, her mind no longer buzzing.

Across from her stood Kat.

Not cloaked in glamour or fire. No tails, no golden eyes. Just a girl.

Her same height. Same voice. Same features. But softer. Tired. And finally — calm.

Neither moved at first.

Then Kat spoke, voice barely above a whisper.

“You almost killed us.”

Karina swallowed hard. “I know.”

A pause.

“I thought if I could just feed enough… the hunger would go away or maybe i could end it.”

Kat looked down, her voice steady but fragile.

“I know it’s hard feeding off of the emotions and energies of others. I know it makes you feel bad but you’re not evil being if I wasn’t trying to ruin you. I just wanted to live.”

Karina stepped forward, slowly.

“I thought you were like her,” she said. “My mom. All take, no give. All heat, no love.”

She laughed bitterly. “But you weren’t the one who left.”

Kat raised her eyes — shimmering with guilt, and something deeper.

“You locked me in a corner of your soul and only let me out to perform or flirt or survive.”

Karina’s shoulders slumped. “Because I thought you were dangerous.”

“We are,” Kat said plainly. “But only when we are alone. Separated.”

Karina stopped. That landed.

Kat took one careful step forward, mirroring her.

“You’re soft. You’re kind. You’re goofy and awkward and want love so badly it hurts. And I’m the part of you that knows how to take it.”

Karina looked at her — really looked.

And for the first time, she saw it.

Not a demon.

Not a goddess.

Not a threat.

A self.

A piece of her that had spent years begging to be loved in the only way she knew how — through beauty, through touch, through seduction — because that was the only language allowed for women who shine too brightly.

Karina stepped forward, closing the gap.

Their hands met — same shape, same fingers, same tremble.

Karina whispered, “What happens now?”

Kat tilted her head and smiled gently — the first smile Karina had ever seen from her that didn’t have fangs in it.

“We stop fighting.”

They leaned in at the same time.

And as their foreheads touched—

The void glowed.

Not blinding.

Just warm.

The first sound Karina heard after returning to the world was the soft rustle of a page turning.

She blinked slowly.

Your office. Low light. A faint hum of magic still buzzing through the floorboards.

She was curled into your couch, one arm beneath her cheek. Her breath came out steady, almost surprised.

Rex looked up from his chair, notebook resting in his lap. Calm, composed — but watchful.

Like you’d just witnessed a divine eruption… and survived it.

Karina sat up slowly, the blanket slipping down her shoulder. Her hoodie was gone. Her top clung to her, damp with sweat. Her skin shimmered faintly, like light had been poured just beneath it.

“I feel…” she paused, searching.

“Like everything fits.”

You nodded once. “You found yourself.”

She chuckled weakly. “No. We found each other.”

Her voice echoed differently now. Deeper. Lusher.

There was no second set of eyes, no separate presence hovering behind her.

But Kat was still there. Not standing beside her anymore — inside, breathing through the same lungs.

She looked up at you, something slow and dangerous behind her eyes.

Not threatening.

But feral.

“I feel…” she whispered, “hungry.”

You set the notebook down, speaking gently. “Not like before.”

Karina shook her head, slowly rising from the couch. Her movements were languid — liquid grace.

“No,” she said. “It’s different now. It’s not chaotic. It’s… pure.”

She took a few steps toward you.

And then she stopped, teeth biting her bottom lip, like even the thought of speaking what she was about to say was almost too much.

“I want to be told I’m stunning.”

She stepped closer.

“I want you to look at me and feel like it’s hard to breathe.”

Another step.

“I want to be devoured by the way you see me… because that feeds me more than any stage ever did.”

She was right in front of you now, standing in your space. Heat poured off her like incense. Her fingers brushed your shoulder as if testing how close was too close — and then choosing not to care.

Her voice was a velvet coil. “Tell me, Rex. What do you see?”

You answered honestly.

Because lying to her now would be like lying to a goddess.

“I see power,” you said. “I see beauty so potent it distorts the air around you. I see hunger, sharp and gleaming. I see the woman the world tried to make small. And I see the force she was meant to be.”

Karina shivered.

A full-body ripple of pleasure — not sexual, but satiating.

She gasped softly. Her knees buckled for just a second, and she caught herself on your arm.

“Oh god,” she whispered. “That— that— was better than kissing.”

You didn’t move. You let her ride it out.

Her breath came in fast little pants, her pupils blown wide. You could feel the draw of her magic again — not in a draining way, but in the way gravity pulls water toward the sea.

She was drinking from your presence, your perception, your truth.

But then—

She staggered.

A flicker of warning flashed through her eyes.

Her hand gripped her stomach. Her lips parted.

Too much.

Kat stirred — not to take over, but to hold her.

“Careful,” she murmured in Karina’s own voice, from deep within. “You can have it all now. But you still need to pace yourself.”

Karina collapsed back onto the couch, panting.

Flushed. Sweaty. Radiant.

“I almost lost control again,” she whispered.

You handed her a glass of water, your voice calm.

“But you didn’t.”

She drank slowly, eyes half-lidded. Hips shifting subconsciously. Still glowing.

Still starving — but in control.

“This is going to be a problem,” she said, licking a droplet from her lip.

You raised a brow. “Why?”

“Because I’ve never wanted to be touched more in my life,” she said honestly. “And now I know it’s not wrong. It’s just me.”

She leaned her head back.

And for the first time — she looked like she belonged to herself.

All of her.

A few days later Karina found herself next to Diabolos at Legion’s Landing country club overlooking the mountains and processing her changes.The late afternoon sun filtered through the training compound’s wide windows, casting amber streaks across the polished stone floor. The air smelled faintly of incense and old steel.

Karina found Diabolos alone on the balcony, stretching, black gauntlets resting beside him, sword leaning against the railing like an afterthought.

“Wow,” she called out. “Still dramatic, even when doing yoga?”

Diabolos glanced back and grinned. “You say that like it’s not the only reason you came.”

Karina rolled her eyes, arms crossed, but the warmth in her voice was unmistakable. “You always have to make everything sound like a come-on.”

“Maybe you’re just hearing what you want to hear, foxy.”

She snorted and walked up beside him, shoulder brushing his as she leaned on the railing.

For a moment, they just stood there — the silence not awkward, just… lived-in.

Then Karina spoke, quieter now.

“Thanks.”

Diabolos raised a brow.

“For what?”

“For not panicking when I almost turned into a walking succubus meltdown. For pointing me to Rex. For seeing me when I couldn’t see myself.”

He chuckled, brushing some hair from his face. “Any time. You’re like my little sister so it’s all good.”

She shoved him lightly with her shoulder. “I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

She smiled. “Do you know anyone else like Rex? Someone I could… maybe be with, and not worry about draining to death mid-orgasm?”

Diabolos burst into loud, rumbling laughter.

“I’m asking seriously, you asshole!”

“I know, I know,” he said between laughs, reaching into his belt pouch.

He pulled out a small black card and flicked it into her hand. She turned it over. Simple gold lettering.

REX — Arcane Therapist. Companion. Containment Expert.

A phone number and a sigil were engraved on the back, glowing faintly with soft amber light.

Karina blinked.

“You cheeky bastard.”

Diabolos grinned like the devil he was named after. “Didn’t think you were done with him, did you?”

Karina smacked his arm — hard. He barely flinched.

“I’m going. But don’t think this makes us even.”

He raised a brow. “Then what does?”

She grinned. “You owe me a drink the day I stop glowing after seeing him.”

As she turned and strode off, tails flicking behind her in satisfied arcs, Diabolos leaned back on the railing again, watching her go.

“Good girl,” he murmured to himself. “Go burn the world down. Just make sure you leave some of it standing.”

#k pop smut #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #aespa smut #aespa karina #karina x reader #karina smut #karina x m reader

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magnagaruzenmon · 15 days ago

Text

Mecha Impact: Danger Wildman

Thanks Dio for spearheading this, I think this is a good opener

The Outer Worlds were chaos incarnate—wild, wretched pockets of space ruled not by law or diplomacy, but by violence, blood, and the occasional bastardized sense of honor.

For generations, war simmered between the edgeworlders and the Core Spheres. What began as contempt evolved into hatred, and hatred gave rise to innovation. From that crucible came the Incursio Engines—godlike machines forged to wage war across the stars, capable of razing planets and rewriting borders in a single breath.

These mechanized titans didn’t just fight—they decided. Empires rose or crumbled in their shadows. Peace became a pause between reloads.

And then came the discovery that changed everything: Soulsteel.

Malleable to the will of its wielder, Soulsteel could take any form, and and amplify any instinct. But it came at a cost.

You could only harvest it from one place. The spinal columns of sapient beings like me.

That was the spark. The trigger.

Thus began the Final Wars.

My name is Daihouzan. And this is the story of the last time the stars burned.

I woke up from my break to the shrill whir of the Harvesting Machines. The sound was always the same—mechanical, rhythmic, merciless. It burrowed into my skull like a drill, so constant and consistent it didn’t even feel loud anymore. It was just there, like gravity or time. Like guilt.

I shuffled through the corridors of the facility, passing row after row of Soulsteel Pods—each one containing a simulated life. They twitched and dreamed and laughed inside their false realities, all while their spines slowly leaked that sacred metal. People without names. Lives engineered to feel just real enough before they were stripped for parts.

It made me sick. It always had. But I needed this job. Needing something doesn’t leave room for morality.

So, like every day, I walked the perimeter. I watched the monitors. I checked every corner of every hallway, stood at every checkpoint for the exact same number of minutes, and nodded at the same half-rotted vending machine as if it might finally answer back.

Wake up. Clock in. Ten hours of security protocol. Watch simulated souls slowly die behind reinforced glass. Go home. Eat protein sludge that tastes like warm regret. Sleep. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

My mind had started to fray, but not in the obvious ways. Not screaming or crying or snapping. Just… wearing down. Like a rat on a wheel too used to running to wonder why it's still spinning. Some nights I’d stare at the ceiling and wonder when the machines and I would finally switch places—if anyone would even notice.

But then, this week… something shifted.

Aytheon sent out a briefing on the first day—a “situation awareness” video. The resistance had hit another refinery two systems over. A warning, mostly. Talking heads saying the usual: terrorism, sabotage, and threats to galactic peace. I barely paid attention—until they showed the face of the leader.

She wasn’t like the others they paraded across the screen with pixelated rage or grotesque battle masks. No. She looked real. Calm. Furious in a way that wasn’t loud, but still made my chest tighten. Eyes like nova flares, burning against injustice. She said just one sentence in the clip, and they muted it. Censored. Forbidden.

But her lips moved like a promise.

My heart thumped once, hard. Then again. And again. Not fear. Not admiration. Something worse.

I was smitten—horribly, irrationally, dangerously so. Something in her face cracked the loop. A flicker of freedom. A challenge to the sameness.

I kept my heretical thoughts to myself. I had to.

But for the first time in a long while, I started watching the pods with a little less detachment.

As my shift wound down, I found myself doing something dangerous: feeling anticipation.

The loop was supposed to keep that kind of thing out—keep everything flat and functional. But today, I allowed myself the smallest ember of excitement. A few drinks with the guys. Maybe a good argument over bad holoshows. Then a quiet weekend to myself, resting in that warm, numb stillness I called peace.

It was perfect. Right until the Beast Deities showed up.

The Beast Deities—the Coalition’s elite. Incursio pilots molded into living weapons. The kind of people they only deployed when something was burning too quietly. I'd only seen them on broadcasts: beautiful, monstrous, divine. They weren’t supposed to be here. Not at my boring, forgotten little facility. Not during the guard exchange, when everything was thin and loose and easy.

They came down like a thunderclap, a sudden wave of black and gold armor flooding the loading platforms and security decks, bootfalls echoing across the sterile steel floor. My peaceful routine—my miserable little temple of repetition—was shattered in an instant.

I kept my expression neutral, posture straight, movements measured. Just another cog. I tried to clock out, to slide into the anonymity of the off-shift. But of course, the gods never let rats scurry away unnoticed.

“Oh my god, Daihouzan! It’s you!”

The voice hit me like a slap I had to pretend didn’t sting.

Apollyon. Of course it was him.

I turned slowly, calculating every step of the reaction. My face barely moved—just the bare minimum twitch of recognition.

“…Hey,” I said, already inching toward the exit.

He stepped into my path, grinning like a demigod at a class reunion. “Wait—where are you going?”

“Home,” I said. “It’s been a long day. I don’t want to be here anymore.”

That should’ve been enough. It should’ve ended the conversation. But people like Apollyon don’t take no from people like me.

“Wait—you work here? As security?”

I nodded once. “Since my third year at the academy.”

A moment passed. Then he laughed—too loud, too real.

“Holy shit. No wonder you fell off the map! Man, you’ve been pulling grueling hours. Meanwhile, I’ve been flying combat tours for the Core, man. I’ve seen stars you wouldn’t believe. And get this—Lelia and I are getting married!”

He went on. And on. And on.

I smiled. Not a real one. The kind you wear when you’ve forgotten how to feel your jaw. I nodded, I agreed, I hummed in the right places. Inside, though, I was screaming.

Because here was Apollyon—polished, promoted, preened—rattling off his victories like he wasn’t standing in a slaughterhouse built on simulated suffering. And here was I—rotting in silence, pushing buttons and watching people melt into metal, told I was lucky just to have a job.

Every word he spoke was a reminder that the world was broken by design. And I was designed to be broken inside it.

Finally, after what felt like an entire war, he clapped me on the shoulder and let me go. I didn’t say goodbye.

I made it to my transport, hands steady. My jaw relaxed. But something inside me was pulsing—quiet, poisonous. I was a sealed vial of acid with a hairline crack.

And then I saw it.

A figure, half-shadowed near my vehicle. At first, I ignored it. Off-shift. Not my problem. Let the next poor soul punch in and handle it.

But then the figure moved—swift and sure—and forced open my door.

I stopped.

All the protocol training stirred, but beneath it was something else: curiosity, yes—but also hope. Maybe even hunger.

Something was breaking the script.

And I was ready to let it.

A shadow slipped into my backseat—silent as a breath, sharp as a blade.

“Drive. Now.” The voice was surprisingly soft. Feminine. But it carried an authority that could split titanium.

I blinked, startled but not afraid. If anything, I felt something I hadn’t felt in years. Awake.

“Ooh, so bossy,” I said, grinning as I shifted the vehicle into gear. “Kind of a turn-on, to be honest.”

In a blink, the glint of a blade pressed gently against my neck. Not enough to draw blood—just enough to promise it.

“You’d better keep moving if you want to keep breathing.”

Her breath hit the side of my face. It smelled like charred vanilla—smoke and sugar. I chuckled under it.

“Okay, miss mystery. Where to?”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she leaned back, her silhouette taut with tension. She gave me a location—an old mechanics’ garage in a decom zone just outside the city limits. I knew it. Abandoned ten years ago. Officially, anyway.

We drove in silence, but the air between us buzzed like a live wire. Every glance in the mirror gave me more of her: the firm set of her jaw, the faint sheen of dust and sweat on her collarbone, the military discipline in how she braced herself at every turn. Whoever she was, she wasn’t some petty criminal. She moved like someone who’d led others into hell and clawed her way back out.

When we rolled into the garage, the lights flickered on automatically. She slid out first, fast and fluid. I followed, instinctively raising my hands as she drew a sidearm and aimed it square at my chest.

Then I saw her. Really saw her.

Sun-burnished skin. A figure carved like a statue of war and womanhood. Curves that could tempt saints and eyes that had watched empires burn. There was nobility in her bearing—yes—but it was the kind earned in battle, not bred in palaces.

“You’re lucky I’m letting you leave with your life,” she said, cold and clipped.

I raised a brow, hands still in the air. “Sure. Can’t argue with that. But uh—minor note—I did just drive you across city lines and ditched my weekend off for this. So… could I maybe have my car back? Or are you expecting me to walk the eight miles back through military zones and scav fields?”

Her eyes narrowed. The barrel of the gun tilted slightly higher.

I sighed and dropped my hands. “Fine. Guess I’ll walk. Hope I don’t get eaten by a displacer or mugged by a corpse cult on the way home.”

I turned to leave, trying not to show how tense my shoulders really were. My boots had barely hit the curb when I felt the ground tremble.

Not just tremble—thunder.

I froze. My instincts kicked in half a second before the lights outside cut to red.

From the shadows at the edge of the garage, they emerged—tall, armored, impossible to mistake.

Beast Deities.

Not one. Not two. Four. Each one radiates the kind of power you only felt when death was close and grinning.

My heart dropped into my gut. I didn’t even look back at her. I just said, under my breath—

“Guess your little detour just became my problem too.”

“Resistance leader Bibi and traitor Daihouzan,” the lead mech pilot’s voice rang out through a distorted speaker, crisp and arrogant, “you are hereby under arrest by the Coalition of Planetary Governments for high treason, assault, and acts of terrorism.”

I raised an eyebrow, casually pointing to the gun still aimed squarely at my head.

“Does it look like I helped her willingly?”

A pause. The soldiers shifted slightly, uncomfortable in their armor.

“You should’ve let her kill you,” the leader said flatly. “If you didn’t want to be arrested, you should’ve died a martyr, not lived a traitor. Now, come peacefully—you’ll get a trial.”

I laughed. Just once. Sharp. Dry. Then—

“No.”

Silence followed. Thick and absolute. Every visor turned toward me like I’d just spat in God’s eye.

“I’ve worked at Aytheon for six goddamn years,” I said, my voice rising with every word. “Never missed a shift. Never filed a complaint. Not a single blemish on my record. I clocked in early today. Covered for two lazy bastards who were too hungover to work. And what do I get?”

I jabbed a finger toward the Coalition troops.

“I get kidnapped—on your watch, by the way. She hijacked my car, held a knife to my throat, and made me drive her to a dead zone. And now I’m the terrorist?”

I took a step forward. They didn’t move.

“I’m going home. I’m exhausted. I worked a twelve-hour shift, ate two protein bars, and dealt with a coworker bragging about his engagement while people were being harvested like livestock ten feet from us. I don’t have it in me to play your farce today.”

Then I did something stupid.

I walked straight over to Bibi—with her still in shock, bruised but unbowed—and kissed her. Nothing long, just a short, impulsive thing. A spark of life. Of rebellion. If she was going to die tonight, I’d be damned if I left without stealing something back from this broken system.

They stared at me like I’d lost my mind.

Maybe I had.

I turned back toward my vehicle, already thinking about collapsing into bed—when a massive mechanical hand clamped down on my shoulder.

A modulated voice growled, “Come with us. Now.”

I didn’t even turn around. “No.”

“Are you resisting arrest?”

“I’m not committing a crime,” I said evenly.

That’s when the punch came.

It wasn’t a hit. It was a freight train. I flew—literally—across the yard, skidding nearly five hundred feet through gravel, steel fragments, and shattered pride. My ribs screamed. My spine shrieked. Bones cracked. Blood filled my mouth like copper.

But it didn’t kill me.

Instead—something inside me snapped.

Rage surged—not hot, but clean, focused. It ignited like a cold star, radiant and consuming. A fury so sharp it cut the numbness I’d lived in for years. And in that fury, I felt it: Alacrity.

Not the kind of speed that moves limbs, but the kind that answers purpose. And my purpose was violence.

“Might make right, huh?” I growled, staggering to my feet. “Then I’ll obliterate every obstacle in my path.”

The rage condensed—dense as a neutron star—and formed into something real. A shape. A weapon. A massive, glowing spiral spear appeared in my hands, forged from thought and raw fury.

I raised it above my head.

“Let me burn the stars—” The air shimmered. Sparks flew. “—and boil the Silent Sea!”

From the ground beneath me, panels split open. The world seemed to scream with power as silver-white armor erupted around my frame, flowing like molten metal. Plates locked into place, glowing red and electric blue. The cockpit formed around my body like a second skin, tighter than flesh, stronger than steel.

An Incursio Engine. Mine.

It roared to life, seismic and glorious.

And for the first time in a very long time—

I didn’t feel like a cog. Or a prisoner. Or an insect waiting to be stepped on.

I felt like a god in the making.

I slammed into the nearest Beast Deity like a meteor. The bastard’s mass-produced Soulsteel plating didn’t stand a chance—it buckled, warped, and gave with a satisfying crack as his Incursio unit flew backward in pieces. Smoke trailed the arc of his descent, and the pilot’s screams echoed inside the helmet comms.

The other two turned on Bibi—surrounding her like hyenas.

Then they looked at me.

“D-De—Demon,” one of them stammered as I summoned a spiral sword from the ether, its jagged teeth humming with resonance.

They encircled me like I was some final boss.

The first idiot lunged.

I’d seen his engine type before—third-gen brute class, designed more for intimidation than real technique. I noticed the weak hinges on his arm joints immediately. Shoddy work. Probably outsourced.

He came in swinging, and I slipped past his blade, carving through his right arm at the wrist, elbow, and shoulder in one fluid spiral.

Three distinct bursts of Soulsteel and flesh. A symphony of pain.

The pieces spun midair like confetti. His arm fell. His body staggered. The pilot howled.

“You’ll pay for that!” the others shouted, charging.

I ducked, sidestepped, pivoted.

Two more Incursio units crumbled. Torn joints, ruptured stabilizers, screaming pilots. It wasn’t even fun—it was maintenance work.

They groaned on the ground like wounded dogs.

I sheathed my spiral blade and looked down at them, disappointed. “You rely too much on your tech and not enough on yourselves. Your engines are mass-produced trash—zero precision, all bloat. No wonder you failed. You’re not warriors. You’re defective products.”

“Fuck you, dickhead!” one groaned, voice cracking.

I shrugged. “Just trying to help.”

Then I turned to Bibi.

She was standing there wide-eyed, hair a mess, hands on her hips like she’d just watched her big brother flip a car.

“Okay,” I said, stepping out of my Incursio armor as it hissed and folded back into stasis. “You better have a phenomenal reason for becoming a resistance leader and detonating my entire life. Because if not, I swear I’ll end you right here.”

She blinked. “Uh. Okay. So… Lockstep Jones said they’d make me a pop star if I let them farm my Soulsteel.”

I stared. Processing. Slowly.

“…You what?”

She looked sheepish. “Yeah, like, I didn’t know it would kill me. They just said I had ‘natural resonance potential’ and I thought that meant, you know… catchy songs and merch lines.”

I squinted, deadpan. “Harvesting Soulsteel kills the host, Bibi.”

“Yeah, yeah, I found that out later! But by then they were like, ‘Oh no, you signed the contract,’ and I couldn’t back out without forfeiting my spleen or something.”

I rubbed my temples, trying not to scream. “God. Damn it.”

“Hey,” she muttered, “at least I didn’t mean to become an outlaw.”

I sighed and finally relented, shaking my head.

“You know what? Fine. That’s… not the dumbest reason I’ve heard today. You’re an idiot. But you’re my idiot now, apparently.”

She gave me a half-smile, relief flickering behind her eyes. “Aww, big bro’s warming up to me.”

“Big bro is going to throw you into the sun if you try something like that again.”

“Duly noted.”

I looked up at the stars. Already, more government mechs were probably en route. We had minutes, if that.

“Alright. We need to get off-planet.”

Bibi perked up. “I know a guy with a sketchy shuttle and a huge debt problem.”

“Of course you do.”

She grinned. “Ride or die, right?”

I rolled my eyes, already moving. “More like ride and sigh.”

We stopped by my place—what used to be home. The silence inside was heavy, like the air knew it was the last time I’d be breathing it.

I moved quickly, grabbing the essentials: dry food packs, bottled water, spare clothes, ammo cartridges, My hands moved out of instinct—years of routine etched into muscle memory—but everything felt different now. Like I was packing for someone else’s funeral.

In the corner of the living room, the holo-screen flickered on with a breaking news alert. I paused, mid-zipping a duffel bag.

There it was.

“Coalition Confirms Loss of Heroic security Officer Daihouzan, KIA in Resistance Attack.”

I scoffed. “Called it.”

Of course they’d fake my death. Admitting that a new Incursio Engine had been activated—unauthorized, unregistered—would send the galaxy into a panic spiral. They couldn’t afford that kind of chaos. Easier to say I died a noble death than to explain why my armor turned on their own.

But then they played the footage.

Grainy combat clips of me—or at least my Incursio Engine form—cutting through Coalition units like butter. My design was like nothing I had seen: sleek, aerodynamic, almost predatory in motion. But what stood out was the asymmetry in the arms—one sleek and elegant, the other massive obtuse and club, like unfinished grief. Yet somehow it worked with the overall aesthetic.

The feed shifted. Chaeyoung and Miyeon stood solemnly in front of Coalition banners—two of the most elite Beast Deities, and, ironically, the only two people I used to trust at the academy.

Miyeon—the girl I could never quite stop thinking about—spoke first. “Daihouzan was a loyal warrior, and a dear friend. His death will not go unanswered.”

Chaeyoung, my old mentee, stepped forward with clenched fists. “The traitors responsible will pay. We will cleanse the rot. This resistance will fall.”

Their words hit harder than the footage.

Not because they were wrong.

But because they believed it.

My name, my life, had already become a myth. A clean headline. A symbol.

And I was standing here watching it all happen like a ghost at my own eulogy.

I turned to Bibi, who was perched on the kitchen counter chewing a protein bar like it was gum.

“We need to move. Coalition goons’ll be here in twenty, tops.”

She popped her eyebrows up. “You’re so bossy.”

I narrowed my eyes. “I am emotionally wounded.”

She grinned. “Still bossy.”

But her teasing was comforting in a weird way—like she was anchoring me to the present so I wouldn’t drift off into all the what ifs. We had no time for that. Not now.

As I slung the duffel over my shoulder, the newsfeed delivered one final blow:

“The Incursio Engine, now confirmed rogue, has been designated ‘Radiant Sword Gurgit.’ It is to be considered highly dangerous and should be destroyed on sight.”

I exhaled through my nose. “Gurgit, huh… Sounds like the name of a Sunrise Knight.”

Bibi laughed. “I dunno, sounds kinda cool. Mysterious. Dangerous. Like a hot Emperor.”

“Thanks. I’ll add that to my résumé.”

I grabbed the last of my things, paused at the threshold, and took one final glance at the place.

The photo on the shelf. The coffee mug with my academy nickname. The cracked wall I always meant to fix.

None of it mattered anymore.

I pulled the keys from my pocket, dropped them onto the table with a dull clink, and walked out the door without looking back.

My old life ended the moment ShojoDoji activated.

Now, I had one job:

Keep myself and Bibi alive.

We reached the “shuttle” fifteen minutes later—though calling it that was generous. It was a heavily modified freighter with one engine humming louder than the other and scorch marks from at least three past escape attempts. The pilot didn’t say a word. Just gave us a nod, hit a few switches, and punched the ignition.

Five minutes later, we were off-planet.

The ship lurched as it entered the black-market warp gates—illegal corridors stitched into the void by rogue engineers, smugglers, and exiled physicists. No safety checks, no authorization. Just raw transit, wild and unregulated. I’d heard horror stories of ships getting torn in half or warped into planetary crust, but we made it.

Barely.

On the other side was Rom—a fringe planet just beyond the Coalition’s official reach and a hairline away from the borders of the Kagero Empire. Dusty skies, triple suns, and the scent of oil and ion smoke thick in the atmosphere. This wasn’t a haven. It was a hiding place.

We touched down in a forgotten landing strip surrounded by derelict refineries and low, rust-colored buildings. Bibi hopped out first, hoisting a crate of supplies with both arms. I followed behind, lugging two more without breaking stride.

“You don’t have to show off, you know,” she muttered as I passed her.

“Not showing off,”

She snorted but didn’t argue.

She led us to a half-buried garage camouflaged with old mining equipment. The entrance only opened after Bibi entered a sequence of hand gestures and vocal commands. High-level security for such a run-down structure, but I wasn’t surprised. Resistance cells were paranoid—and rightly so.

We stepped into the dim interior of the safe house, the automated lights flickering to life. It was quiet. Too quiet. Dust floated in the beams of light, and the hum of the warp engine in the distance faded into silence. We unloaded the gear in practiced sync, like we’d been doing this for years.

As we took a moment to rest, Bibi let out a long exhale and collapsed onto an old, sun-bleached couch. Her usual sass slipped for a moment, her voice soft and real.

“Hey… thanks,” she said quietly. “For not leaving me to die back there.”

I leaned against the wall, letting my muscles relax for the first time since I’d first activated Gurgit. “As much as I’d like to pretend it was just revenge economics it was really a noble act.”

Bibi blinked. “Revenge… economics?”

I shrugged. “Yeah they hurt me I hurt them back, but I couldn’t just leave you after everything.”

She gave me a look. “So you do care.”

“Bare minimum care. Don’t get carried away.”

“Ohhh,” she said, smirking as she leaned toward me. “Do you have a crush on me, big guy?”

“No. In fact, the more I talk to you, the more I realize you’re basically my annoying little sister.”

She snorted again, but this time it turned into genuine laughter. She tucked her legs under her on the couch and looked around the quiet, musty space.

“Little sister, huh?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Well then,” she said, resting her chin on her knees, “guess you’re stuck with me now.”

I gave her a tired half-smile. “Yeah… looks like it.”

The moment settled between us like dust on old furniture—soft, quiet, unspoken.

The safehouse was quiet, the kind of quiet that made you think too hard. Dust floated through slatted beams, and the hum of old city machinery vibrated under our feet. I sat on the edge of a cot, still working grime out of my gauntlets, half-listening to the looping propaganda broadcasts bleeding from a rusted wall unit.

Bibi’s communicator chirped, sharp and urgent.

She groaned. “Of course. Can’t even sit down for five damn minutes.”

She fished it from her jacket and flicked it on, the projection spilling across the cracked wall. Three faces appeared—grizzled resistance types, worn at the edges but still holding on to whatever grit got them into this fight in the first place. The one in the middle, a sharp-eyed woman with grey buzzed hair, didn’t waste time.

“Bibi. Did you recover the soulsteel?”

Bibi grinned and saluted like a brat trying to get out of detention. “In one piece. Packed up and tagged in a Coalition crate. You’re welcome.”

The one in a tech suit leaned closer. “Good. Were you followed?”

“No. We’re clean. We’re at the Rom safehouse.”

A beat of silence. Then the grey-haired woman asked, “We?”

Bibi hesitated just long enough for all of them to clock it.

“Right. Yeah. I didn’t exactly get out alone. Meet Daihouzan.”

She angled the camera toward me. I didn’t move. Just gave a nod from where I was sitting. I wasn’t in the mood for introductions, not to people who’d decide if I was friend or threat depending on what kind of day they were having.

They stared. The tech guy’s eyes went wide. “That’s the guy from the broadcast. The Engine—that’s him.”

“Gurgit,” one of them muttered.

I hated that name. Like I’d been labeled by a headline.

Bibi stepped in, fast. “He was working security at Aytheon. Didn’t ask for any of this, but you’ve seen the footage. The Engine synced to him.”

Grey-hair squinted at me like she was trying to see if I’d combust under scrutiny. “ Gurgit. That’s the Engine’s designation?”

I shrugged. “It chose me… I guess .”

Another pause. Then Grey-hair leaned forward.

“If this is legit… we’re moving. Immediate priority shift. Next high-level meeting is being relocated to Ebrietas.”

Bibi blinked. “You’re bringing us to the stronghold? That’s… fast.”

“We don’t get wild cards like this often,” she said. “And if he’s combat-ready, it could tip the board. We’ll transmit coordinates. Leave within 48 hours.”

The call cut out before either of us could say anything else.

I leaned back on the cot and exhaled. Felt like I’d just been conscripted into another war.

Across the room, Bibi was grinning like a cat with a secret. “Well, looks like you’re popular now.”

“Don’t say it like that,” I muttered.

She came over and leaned against the wall beside me. “My ship’s buried in a junk field near the refinery ruins. We get it up and flying, head to Ebrietas, and figure out what the hell the revolution wants.”

I nodded, already running a checklist in my head—engine startup sequence, shielding calibrations, fuel.

But then she got that look in her eye. The teasing one.

“One more thing,” she said, wagging a finger. “Don’t start acting like you’re in charge, alright? The resistance has been bleeding for this fight way before you dropped out of the sky like a drama bomb.”

I looked at her. Quiet. Measured.

“Yeah,” I said. “And that’s why they’re at a stalemate.”

She blinked. Then laughed. “Shit. Remind me never to put you on speaker with a diplomat.”

I didn’t respond. My body was already shutting down from exhaustion.

The sun on Rom was pale, filtered through the brown haze of industrial runoff that hovered over the district like a second, dirtier sky. I left the safehouse early, slipping out before Bibi even stirred. Didn’t want the lectures or the questions. Just wanted air—and food.

I pulled the mask tight over my face, tugged the hood low. No one gave me a second glance. The market was busy enough to give me cover, but small enough to make me paranoid. I stuck to the perimeter, scanning vendor stalls until I found one selling what I came for: dried food, bottled water, a few emergency medpaks. I spent the last of my Coalition currency without blinking.

That’s when I saw it.

Tucked behind a stall cluttered with rusted tools and imitation blades was a rack of weapons with a hand-painted sign: “Genuine Kagero Steel.” Most were junk—decorative, dull, chipped from misuse. But one sword stood out.

It wasn’t just red—it bled red. Like the metal had been soaked in war and never cleaned. The blade seemed to hum, subtle but undeniable, and my vision tunneled in on it.

I walked up and pointed. “How much for the red one?”

The merchant looked up. Old wasn’t the word for him. He was ancient. A Kageroian tortoise with a leathery hide and a slow blink, sitting on a cushion like he’d been there since the planet was born. He stared at me—really looked—and for a moment I thought I’d made a mistake. But then he chuckled, deep and warm, and muttered something in the old tongue I couldn’t catch.

He didn’t name a price. He just handed it over. Sword, scabbard, and a cloth wrap. My fingers closed around the hilt on instinct.

“Wait, I didn’t—” I started.

The tortoise raised a clawed finger. “Royalty need not pay for what is already theirs.”

Then he bowed his head and went back to humming like nothing had happened.

I blinked. My fingers tightened around the hilt. The sword was light—too light for something that felt this dangerous. The scabbard locked to my hip with a magnetic click, almost eager to stay there.

As I turned to leave, still adjusting the blade’s position, I bumped into someone.

“Shit—sorry, miss,” I muttered, instinctively steadying her shoulder.

She turned to me, brushing herself off. Her hair was a shade of deep blue that shimmered indigo in the weak light, pulled back in a practical tie. Her eyes were round, brown, and surprisingly amused.

“No worries,” she said, smiling. Her voice was soft, but sharp around the edges—like someone used to being listened to.

Then I saw the patch on her collar.

My spine stiffened. Coalition Security. Low-tier, maybe intelligence support. But still dangerous.

“My name’s Jennifer,” she said casually. “What’s yours?”

I stalled.

“Jennifer, huh?” I echoed.

She grinned. “Wow, how’d you guess my last name too?”

I made some sound that wasn’t quite a laugh or a real answer. It just kind of tumbled out of me. She laughed anyway—genuine, a little snort at the end—and damn, it was stupidly charming.

“Whoa, big guy. Don’t short-circuit on me. How about you actually tell me your name?”

My brain screamed at me to walk away. But her body language was relaxed, her smile was warm. Too warm.

“…Daizo,” I said, defaulting to the alias Bibi made up for me on the ship’s registry.

Jennifer tilted her head, inspecting me like a puzzle she almost had solved.

“I like your necklace, Daizo,” she said, voice dropping just a bit. Her eyes flicked to my collar where the small, soulsteel pendant glinted. “Why don’t you come by my place and show it to me properly?”

I blinked.

It wasn’t subtle.

Her tone, her body angle, the slow smile spreading on her lips—it was all intentional. Dangerous, maybe. Flirty, definitely. Trap? Probably.

But I didn’t flinch. I nodded.

“Sure,” I said.

Maybe I was making a mistake. Or maybe I was about to figure out who Jennifer really was—and why she was really talking to me.

Either way, I’d find out soon.

Jennifer’s place was tucked into the upper floors of a renovated warehouse, the kind of place you’d expect a smuggler or retired assassin to keep as a “low-profile” hideout. The entrance was guarded by two biometric locks and a retinal scanner. Not exactly standard for a Coalition logistics analyst.

“You always bring strangers home through a half-dozen security protocols?” I asked as we entered.

Jennifer glanced over her shoulder, lips curling into a sly smile. “Only the cute ones who carry cursed swords and don’t seem surprised when an old tortoise gives them away for free.”

I said nothing, but the way her eyes lingered on me told me she’d seen a lot more than I wanted her to.

The apartment was… smooth. Dark walls, soft gold lights embedded in the ceiling. No clutter. No family photos. A single bottle of aged Romian liquor sat on the counter like a centerpiece. She walked to it, poured two glasses without asking, and handed me one. I took it.

“To fate,” she said, glass raised.

I clinked mine against hers. “To carefully planned accidents.”

We drank. The liquor burned, but pleasantly. She took a step closer.

“So, Daizo…” Her voice dripped honey. “You’re not exactly from around here, are you?”

“Not many people are. Rom attracts a certain… type.”

“Oh? What type is that?”

“People who need to disappear. Or people who want to find the ones who have.”

Her smile never wavered, but her eyes sharpened.

“Which are you?” she asked.

I took a slow sip, keeping my gaze on hers. “Still deciding.”

She chuckled and took another step closer, just enough to make me feel her body heat. “Well. You’re not military. Not anymore. But you move like someone who used to be.”

“And you’re too well-trained to be intel support. Your posture gives you away.”

That made her laugh—genuine, delighted.

“God, it’s been so long since someone noticed that,” she said, leaning against the counter beside me. “So. Tell me, ‘Daizo.’ Did you always want to be dangerous?”

“Did you always want to be seducing fugitives?”

She raised a brow, her tongue running over her bottom lip as if testing the word. “Fugitive?”

I said nothing. Let it hang between us.

She leaned in. “If I was seducing a fugitive… would he let me keep doing it?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“On if it’s seduction or a setup.”

She smiled again, slow and smoky, and stepped even closer—chest brushing mine now, her fingers idly tracing the edge of my collar. “You think too much.”

“Can’t afford not to.”

“I think you’re tired of fighting,” she whispered, her voice low now, barely audible. “Tired of running. Tired of having to act like everything’s calculated.”

I didn’t move. I couldn’t.

“And I think,” she continued, dragging her nails down my chest with maddening softness, “that if you let yourself relax for one second, you’d stop being a weapon… and just be a man.”

Her words hit me harder than I expected. Somewhere deep, where I kept things locked.

She leaned in to kiss me—but stopped just before our lips met. Her breath ghosted over my skin.

“Unless, of course,” she whispered, “you’re not just a fugitive. Unless you’re something worse.”

I stared at her, pulse steady, voice low.

“And what if I am?”

“Then I’ll enjoy this even more,” she said.

Then she kissed me.

It wasn’t gentle. It was intentional. Controlled. Commanding. The kind of kiss that came from someone who could kill you just as easily and make you thank her for it. I responded in kind, teeth and tension, letting the line between predator and prey blur for just a moment.

We broke apart.

She was breathless. So was I.

“Still don’t trust you,” I said.

“You shouldn’t,” she replied, running a finger down my jaw. “But that hasn’t stopped you so far.”

I smiled, dark and tired. “You going to report me?”

She laughed. “What makes you think I haven’t already?”

That made me pause.

But before I could say anything, she touched my face—soft this time. “Relax, Daizo. If I wanted you in cuffs, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

I watched her walk to the other side of the room, sipping her drink. Confident. In control.

But not entirely unreadable. She was playing a game. Same as me.

Which meant neither of us had won. Not yet.

She walked close before saying, “I need to blow off some steam being an analyst for such fucking assholes in the coalition really riles me up, and I was thinking you could help me with that,”

“And how can I help?” I asked having a slight inkling of where this was going but unsure

“Well you can start by sitting on that dusty couch taking your pretty cock out and shoving it down my throat,”

I laughed and said, “how do you know I have a pretty cock?”

Jennifer smirked and said, “only one to find out,”

As she spoke she pushed me to the couch opened my pants. She smirked and said, “I was wrong it’s not a pretty cock but a handsome one,” and without much fanfare she took me in her mouth fully.

The first thing I noticed was how her big pouty lips were absolutely superb.

They were soft but aggressive which I was worked in tangent with her vicious tongue and it was overwhelming. As she wrapped and bobbed around my cock her eyes stared into mine with an intense gaze. A defiant smirk grazed her lips, as she left my cock before giving it one last lick.

“You taste like Hatred and longing…weird combo but it’s so hot,” she teased,

I smirked as I lost control crawling to in between her legs. I couldn’t control myself as I tore her pants down, she gasped in mock shock,

“How rude,” she said before I lapped at her pussy she moaned and said, "Oh fuck." and she reached her peak everything went black.

I came to in a dark room. My skin felt clean. Dry. My body ached, but not in that dissolving, nerve-deep way. Someone had cleaned me up. Patched me, probably. I sat up slowly and found myself in a sterile, low-lit recovery suite—spartan, but warm enough to pass for human hospitality.

Then I saw the mirror.

I staggered toward it, and the breath caught in my throat.

My left eye was covered by a black bandage, thick and tight. No dramatic scars—just an absence. A quiet emptiness. I stared for a long time. It didn’t hurt. It was just… gone.

Then the door opened.

“Oh good—you’re awake,” came a voice I recognized too well. That soft, concerned tone from the tank. She stepped into the room: the woman from the dream. The one who’d pulled me out. Jennifer.

Except it wasn’t a dream, and I wasn’t safe.

Behind her was another woman—short, sharp-eyed, arms crossed, with a kind of casual energy that said she was both unimpressed and ready to throw down.

Jennifer gave me a cautious smile. “You must be a little confused.”

I didn’t smile back.

“No,” I said flatly. “You’re Jennifer. And you’re Bibi.” I nodded toward the second woman. “I assume you’re rebels. Resistance. Opposed to the megacorps. But—”

They laughed before I could finish.

“Half right,” Jennifer said. “My real name is Yunjin. And this is Bibi.” She gestured behind her.

“We’re not just rebels,” Bibi added, smirking. “We’re leaders of the Dark States. An activist coalition against the endless wars fueled by the Incursio engines.”

I stood. Slowly. Felt the weight of my limbs, my aching joints, the phantom pain of metal and tubing. My voice came out lower. Hollow.

“Well. Thanks for the help. But I’m good to go from here.”

Yunjin blinked. “Wait, what?”

Bibi stepped in, frowning. “Excuse me? We just saved you from being liquified and siphoned, and you’re just gonna bounce?”

“Kinda,” I replied, running a hand through my still-damp hair. “I’m 90% sure there’s a tracker in me somewhere. I’m going to tear it out, go home, retrieve the Incursio Engine I finished before they tried to turn me into a battery—and then I’m going to burn every last one of those bastards to ash.”

I turned to Bibi and added, “As a thank-you, I’ll even let you pick my first target.”

That shut them both up.

The room fell heavy, like they hadn’t expected the level of raw venom in my tone.

But when your employers turn you into a crop, when they plug you into a wall and watch the life drain out of you so they can keep fueling the machine?

Being reasonable dies with your dignity.

Yunjin stepped closer, her expression softening. “You don’t have to do this alone. You should stay. Heal up. We can help. We can fix you.”

I shook my head.

“Sorry, pretty lady,” I said. “But staying here wouldn’t be good for me. I need to be angry right now. I need to be me. You gave me back my life—and that’s more than anyone else ever did. But if I stay, I might start to believe in hope again. And that’ll get me killed.”

I brushed past Yunjin and Bibi without a second glance, the dim corridor swallowing me whole. My boots echoed softly against the old alloy floor, a rhythm of quiet defiance. Behind me, I could hear their footsteps following, light but persistent—like they still thought they could talk me down.

The corridor opened up into a makeshift hangar packed with people. Resistance members, engineers, defectors—scattered groups of the desperate and disillusioned. Some stared at me like I was a ghost. Others, with barely veiled hostility. That’s fine. I wasn’t here to be liked.

I made a beeline toward a rusted, half-gutted Jump Ship leaning on its side, covered in soot and long-forgotten oil stains. It looked like it hadn’t flown in years.

“Oh, don’t use that,” Bibi called out, quickening her pace. “It’s broken and unusable.”

I smirked and placed a hand on the ship’s battered hull. “Darling,” I said without looking back, “I made a career out of broken and unusable.”

I was inside before she could say another word.

It took about fifteen minutes and a lot of swearing, but the engine sputtered to life with a sickly glow. Just enough juice for one real jump—exactly what I needed.

I keyed in the coordinates for home.

Thirty-five minutes later, I stepped through the broken threshold of my house. Dust clung to the air like regret. It was still intact, somehow. My tools, my scanner, my spare power cells—they were right where I left them. The place smelled like metal and ozone.

The scanner whirred to life in my hands. I checked the date. I had been siphoned for three days.

Three. Days. Hooked up to their machine like a slab of meat.

The scan located the tracker embedded in my left eye—of course. I peeled back the bandages and stared into the mirror. What looked back at me was an ugly, mechanical tumor glinting where my eye used to be. I grimaced.

There was no surgical grace when I yanked it out. Just a wet pop, a gush of thick fluid, and a pain that made my spine lock. I screamed into the silence and dropped the grotesque little parasite onto the floor, where it pulsed like a dying insect. I re-wrapped my head with shaking hands and sat down, breathing heavy.

So. Now what?

Step one: hit Nayco. Hard. Make sure they feel it in every boardroom and blood farm.

Step two: disappear. The Void region of the galaxy—untamed, ungoverned, and hostile to megacorps. The wild frontier. I could vanish there, make something new. Something mine.

Before anything else, though, I needed to see it.

The garage.

My old sanctuary.

It was a risk, sure. They could’ve scrapped it by now. But something in me refused to believe they’d bothered.

When I got there, I froze.

Empty. Abandoned. Perfect.

The heavy doors creaked open, and there it was. Hidden beneath a tarp covered in dust and time—the Dragoon Incursio Unit. My passion project: Favrneel

He was old, damaged, and battle-scarred flecks of aged metal covered the chassis telling the story of countless combats. But he was mine now and again.

I ran a hand along his hull. “Looks like it’s just us again.”

And so, I began.

The skeletal framework came first. The old alloy was warped and brittle from years of neglect, but that didn’t matter. I stripped it bare, rebuilt it from the ground up using soulsteel scraps—leftovers Nayco never saw value in, just anomalies in the yield chart to them. But in my hands? They became the foundation of something new. Something blasphemous to the boardroom gods.

With the restructured frame stable, I turned to the battle core, threading arc-conductive spines into the inner channel. The power housing pulsed with a steady thrum now—like a sleeping titan waiting for the call to war.

Then came the outer shell.

I welded, forged, and mended with practiced hands, polishing away the ash and corrosion until the name etched across the breastplate gleamed through:

Purgatory Dragon Deity: Favrneel.

The name alone stirred something deep in my gut.

Favrneel—the original Incursio Engine of the Empire’s ace pilot: Zechs Merquise. A divine war machine swathed in indigo and violet, coiled in dragon sigils, carved with fury and reverence both. It had been destined for glory. Until the Empire collapsed, and this legend was scattered into myth.

Now it was mine.

But I wasn’t content with simply reviving Favrneel. No, I would make him better. I would make him heretical.

Nayco’s design doctrine had always been elegant—streamlined, sterile, safe. And I had once played the game, tweaking within tolerances, giving them the sanitized brilliance they craved.

Not anymore.

I added improved ballistic shielding that Nayco had always deemed “inefficient and too heavy.” I reinforced the leg plating with a honeycomb micro-shell technique I had developed years ago—one they shelved for being "too aggressive in recoil pushback." But I refined it. Perfected it. Now it absorbed impact, redirected force, and turned power loss into enhanced torque.

Then came the weapons.

The main cannon stayed—but I integrated a rotational beam array beneath the chassis, its lenses able to pivot and track independently. I embedded a modular slot for flame breath and sonic rupture rounds. But my masterpiece… was the Ultra Spear.

A six-meter fusion weapon forged from collapsed neutronium and soulsteel, wrapped in current arcs that could pierce an engine core and siphon its energy. They’d laughed at the design when I proposed it—called it "theatrical," "barbaric." But now, there was no one left to say no.

As I worked, I couldn’t help but remember.

My team. The long hours in the Nayco hangars. People who helped me climb into that job in the first place. We had dreams—wild, impossible dreams—but we made each other believe.

Until it all went up in smoke.

A rival company’s Incursio Units broke into my hangar. They said it was sabotage. They said it was our fault. A brawl broke out. Screaming, metal tearing, alarms… Fianna. Hikaru. She had been assigned to me. The Pilot, my pilot. My friend. I remember her silhouette running through the chaos.

And I remember the silence after.

No confirmation. No recovery.

No body.

Just a file buried in an HR report and locked behind five layers of clearance.

I never knew if she made it out.

And that uncertainty sat inside me like a jagged blade.

What if Hikaru was still with Nayco?

What if they kept her—not as a pilot, not as an engineer, not even as a prisoner—but as a battery?

I slammed the wrench down.

The idea alone filled me with a molten rage that outpaced reason. My hands moved faster, welding, sealing, locking into place a fury so refined it could be weaponized.

I crafted two keys to finish Favrneel’s rebirth.

The first: a drill-core necklace. Personal. Tactile. For me.

The second: a blade. Forged from spare soulsteel and reverse-burned in the same plasma fire that had tempered the spear. The blade wasn’t a weapon. It was a symbol. A promise. A spare key, for when I delivered justice by hand.

Forgiveness? That belonged to another life.

Retribution was mine.

When I stepped back and gazed upon Favrneel—his hull blazing indigo and violet once more, the dragon sigils restored, the fusion core purring with a malice not even Nayco’s brightest minds could fathom—I felt something radiate between us.

After finishing the final calibrations and ignition tests, I took Favrneel out for his maiden flight.

The beast came to life with a thunderous, bone-shaking roar. It was like hearing a thousand furious dragons howl from the depths of hell itself. Every vent, every servo, every surge of the core thrummed with pure malice—like it knew it had been rebuilt for vengeance.

Inside the cockpit, I felt it—the strange tranquility that only came from being in the eye of a storm. The harness hugged me like an old friend, and the controls responded to my touch with the ease of muscle memory. I wasn’t just piloting Favrneel. We were fused. We were home.

Once the diagnostics and systems passed the in-flight checks, I veered him toward the Void Region. Favrneel cut through the star lanes like a reaper’s scythe, and I made planetfall on one of the more stable, habitable spheres by midday.

The place was run-down but breathable. Sprawling dust streets, neon-tinted haze, the distant whir of old tech clashing with newer noise. My last pocket of credits got me a room in a battered but functioning inn near a port junction. The lobby doubled as a pseudo-bar, dimly lit and surprisingly cozy.

That’s where I saw her.

The bartender had that kind of hourglass frame that made you forget your problems. Curvy, confident, a halo of ocean-blue curls tied up in a practical bun. Her name tag read Umi, and her smile landed like a warm punch to the ribs.

“You’re a new face,” she said, cheerfully pouring something golden and bitter into a cracked glass. “Not too many fresh ones end up this far into the void.”

I shrugged, brushing the dust off my coat. “Just a passing-through pilot. Nothing more.”

Umi’s lips curled in a knowing smirk. “Mmhm. Sure. You’ve got Incursio grease under your nails and posture like someone who just re-bonded with a battle rig. I’m guessing you’re not exactly a tourist.”

Before I could respond, she reached under the counter and pulled out a tattered photo album—actual prints, no less. She flipped to a page and slid it over to me.

“This one’s mine. Shadow Witch Femme,” she said proudly.

I blinked. The moment I saw the jagged silhouette of that unit, it clicked.

“No way… You're Umi Sinonome. Legendary pilot and builder from the old guild circuits.”

She grinned like she got that a lot but still enjoyed it. “Aw, a fan?”

I laughed, genuinely caught off guard. “I was Fianna’s main mechanic. Worked her rigs from the inside out. Back when she was considered your successor.”

Her eyes widened and then sparkled. “You’re Diabolos? The Diabolos? Saints, your chassis work was phenomenal. I mean—sure, I always thought you held back a bit—but that micro-weaving? Cleanest integration of power conductors I’d ever seen on a second-gen frame.”

I smirked. “Wasn’t much, just enough to keep her flying.”

“Please,” Umi said, rolling her eyes playfully. “You basically rebuilt half of that rig from scratch and optimized the rest for street duels. I studied your designs. You made me rethink half my loadouts.”

I couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped me. “You’re making me blush.”

“I’m serious,” she said, leaning on the bar with a sly tilt to her head. “If that was your tame work, I’m dying to see what your personal unit looks like.”

I leaned in too, my voice low and teasing. “Maybe I’ll give you a tour. If you can keep up.”

Umi raised a brow, amused. “Oh, I always keep up.”

I smirked and tossed back the last of my drink. “Fine. You’re on.”

The next morning, Umi met me just outside the hangar bays.

Her jacket was half-zipped, hair down now and wind-tousled, with that same cocky grin. “Hope you brought popcorn,” she said. “Because Shadow Witch Femme’s about to make your rig blush.”

I smirked, nodding toward the bay behind me. “Only if she’s ready to be humbled by royalty.”

We started with her Incursio first.

Shadow Witch Femme was all asymmetry and menace, built for speed, stealth, and savage burst damage. Its profile leaned slightly forward like a predator mid-pounce, obsidian panels woven with prismatic veins that caught the sun in cruel hues. Its left arm carried a high-frequency cleaver almost as tall as the unit itself, while the right arm had an integrated stealth cannon socketed into an interchangeable drone launcher.

“Ghost displacement generators in the core, triple-hinged knees for multi-vector pounces. Modified the flight stabilizers myself,” Umi said, tapping the hull with pride. “Don’t act like you’re not impressed.”

“I’m extremely impressed,” I said truthfully, running a hand along the core chamber’s reinforcement plating. “But you’ve got a bottleneck here.” I pointed to a capacitor junction. “If you reroute this through a layered soulsteel buffer, you’d be able to boost uptime by 13% and possibly cut cooldowns mid-attack.”

Umi blinked, then let out a low whistle. “Okay, damn. You’re really not just hype.”

Then it was Favrneel’s turn.

When I pulled back the tarp, Umi actually stared.

“Holy—okay. Yeah. That’s just violent looking.”

Favrneel stood tall and proud, like a myth given form: a towering war dragon in indigo and deep violet, soulsteel plating etched with glowing runes and radiant scars from old battles. The horned crest curved forward like a crown, and the shoulders still steamed from the stress test. Most notable was the new weapon clamped to its back: an Ultra Spear. Ten meters long, reinforced with a coiled drill core along the central shaft, charged by the Incursio’s new battle engine.

“You really built that thing to punch through hell,” Umi said softly, circling it. “And… that plating technique? That’s not standard-issue. It looks almost reactive.”

“Layered blast-weave with channel runes. It hardens on impact and sends feedback into the strike. I figured if I was going to survive this war, I might as well do it beautifully.”

Umi was still staring when she muttered, “Yeah, okay. You’re hot and terrifying.”

Before either of us could say anything else, my stomach growled loud enough to echo off the hangar walls.

“Alright, fancy boy,” Umi laughed, “let’s get you some real food before you eat your own diagnostics panel.”

That one lunch turned into a bounty run.

That bounty turned into two more.

Then three.

Then we stopped counting.

We were low on parts, low on credits, but high on aggression—and hunger. And every time we ran, our bond grew tighter, sharper, more attuned. We started syncing even without trying. The way she darted in and I covered her flank. The way my spear carved through hulls only because she cleared the path.

We took down rogue merc units, smuggler camps, corrupted war engines, even a solar flare beast once—somehow. Bounties paid for meals, drinks, and increasingly expensive upgrades. I retooled Favrneel’s pressure manifold to handle higher temperatures, while Umi added a cloaked grappler to Shadow Witch Femme’s spine.

Sometimes we slept in the cockpits. Other times we crashed at sketchy waystations or crashed into each other in her room when the adrenaline was still wearing off.

A month blurred by like a fever dream.

The news flickered through static and grime as we slumped in the booth, two drinks deep and aching from the day’s job.

“Reports confirm: two pilots operating out of the Dust Belt have become local legends. The ‘Dragon and the Witch,’ as they’ve been dubbed, have taken down six high-level bounties in under four weeks. Analysts say their custom-built Incursio Engines—Favrneel and Femme—are among the most dangerous mechs in the region…”

I looked at Umi. She had a chicken skewer halfway to her mouth and was trying to hide her grin.

“You like that name?” I asked.

“I don’t hate it,” she replied. “You?”

“Sounds like the beginning of a folktale.”

Umi shrugged, eyes gleaming. “Or the end of one. Depends on how long you’re planning to stay.”

We were lying on the roof of the hangar that night, a makeshift blanket underneath us and a half-empty bottle of synthwine between our elbows. The air was still warm from the day, but a breeze had rolled in—cool enough to make the night comfortable, even a little tender. Stars glittered above in full, scattered constellations too distant for names.

I was in loose drawstring pants and an old tee, and Umi, ever unbothered by modesty, wore a sports bra that did little to disguise her generous chest. The way her breath rose and fell slowly in the dim starlight, the softness in her already soft features made it hard to think pure thoughts.

But I tried. Gods, I tried.

She was quiet for a long time, just breathing beside me, until she finally spoke.

“I looked you up,” she said, eyes still tracing the sky. “Your file. From Nayco’s archives.”

I turned to glance at her, already feeling something tightening in my chest.

“It said you died almost seven weeks ago.”

She finally looked at me then—no heat in her eyes, but something colder. Not angry. Just… unsettled.

“So who are you really?”

I sat up a little, propping myself on one elbow. The sky suddenly felt too big, the stars too far.

“I’m Diabolos,” I said quietly. “Simple as that.”

Umi turned toward me, her brow furrowed. “Yeah, no. Try again.”

I sighed, dragging my hand through my hair.

So I told her. About the battle. About the sabotage. About being left for dead and waking up beneath a burning sky with a shattered body and a soul stitched back together by desperation and rage. About the farming tank. About rebuilding Favrneel’s broken chassis and re-forging both of us from the ashes.

I spoke quietly but plainly, letting the words carry on the wind. Umi didn’t interrupt once.

Her frown deepened—not in judgment, but in something closer to sorrow. When I finished, she was silent for a long time.

“So what now?” she asked softly, voice barely more than breath. “What happens next for you?”

I turned to face her fully. The wind caught her hair and swept it gently across her cheek, and I wanted to reach out and brush it back, but I didn’t.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But I know that being around you… it quiets the noise. I get more peace from our mess of bounty runs and late-night drinks than I ever got from chasing revenge.”

Umi didn’t respond immediately.

Then she smiled. Slow, tired, but genuine. Her fingers brushed against mine.

“Well then,” she said, threading her hand into mine, “let’s figure it out together.”

The stars above didn’t blink. The silence between us settled like a promise.

We laid there for some time before eventually finding getting up and going back to the garage that was now our partial home

Time passed like water over stone—slow, imperceptible at first, but shaping everything.

At some point, I stopped counting days. I stopped checking bounty boards first thing in the morning. I stopped waking up from dreams where everything burned and my fists were soaked in phantom blood.

Instead, I started waking up to the soft hum of Umi’s voice in the kitchen, frying something too greasy for breakfast and singing off-key just to mess with me. I started spending my mornings not in battle simulations but tuning her engine, hearing her footsteps behind me as she handed me tools before I even asked.

I hadn’t even noticed the change at first. Not really.

It was in the little things.

The way I no longer flinched when sparks flew near my face. The way my heart didn’t drop at the sound of metal groaning in the wind. The way I could touch Favrneel now and feel… pride, instead of wrath.

One evening, I sat on the hill behind the hangar, a spot Umi had claimed as our “wine and stargazing throne.” She came up behind me and draped herself over my back like a blanket, chin resting on my shoulder, her arms wrapping around my waist.

“You’ve been smiling more,” she said, not teasing—just stating a fact. Her breath was warm on my neck.

“Have I?” I asked.

“Mhm. You also don’t punch walls anymore.”

I laughed, low and surprised, realizing she was right. Rage used to be my pulse. Now, it was… distant. Like a bad song I used to listen to when I didn’t know any better.

“It’s weird,” I said after a moment. “All that hate. All that pain. I thought if I let it go, there’d be nothing left of me.”

Umi shifted, her arms tightening a little around me. “And now?”

I turned my head slightly, enough to catch a glimpse of her smile. “Now there’s you.”

The wind moved gently around us, carrying the scents of oil, rust, and wildflowers. A month ago, I would’ve sworn those things couldn’t mix. But now, they were home.

We sat like that until the stars came out. No fire. No war drums. No need to plan or plot or burn.

I didn’t realize it until much later, but that night was the first time I forgot to think about Hikaru. About Nayco. About revenge. It wasn’t gone, exactly—it just didn’t matter anymore.

What I wanted, I already had.

As I woke up the next day. We had a knock on our door.

Surprised I open the door and there in all her glory was Hikaru,

“Diabolos it’s been a while… we need to talk.” She said.

#k pop smut #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #le sserafim smut #yunjin smut #huh yunjin #le sserafim yunjin

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magnagaruzenmon · 18 days ago

Text

The Haven in Heaven, ft. tripleS Sohyun

tags: creampie, first time anal, rough, (mention of) breeding

length: 8k+

author's note: Phew, finally. Now I can play Like A Dragon in peace.

---

“Still can’t believe this is real…”

Looking out the airplane’s window, Sohyun envelops his hand with hers, absentmindedly squeezing his fingers, her ears ringing from the altitude, a buzzing counterpoint to the quiet thrill thrumming through her. “Mrs. Han…” Sunwoo whispers, the new surname tasting sweet yet still unfamiliar. “You look a little tense. Just nerves, or are you secretly wishing for more legroom?” he teases gently, his thumb brushing her cheek. She offers a small smile, but he sees the slight worry in her eyes, even as excitement bubbles beneath. "It's just... a lot," she whispers, a happy sigh escaping. “We’re going to be okay, love. More than okay,” he adds, his whispered promise a joyful secret shared just between them. "I will always be here for you," he reaffirms, his gaze full of bright future.

Sohyun leans closer against him, looking up at him with wide, trusting eyes, hugging his arm tightly. "Thank you, oppa," Sohyun murmurs, pressing her face into his shoulder. "You always know what to say." Her voice is muffled, but her sincerity is unmistakable. Her words send a pleasant shiver down his spine—oh, to be thanked in such a sweet manner. As his eyes turn shiny at her heartfelt praise, Sunwoo plants a soft peck to the top of her head, right on the dividing line of her hair. “Thank you, love. Life with you has never been short of amazing.”

Sohyun shifts, tucking her head more comfortably into the curve of his shoulder. The hum of the engines becomes a backdrop to the quiet rhythm of their breathing. She feels the familiar strength of his arm around her, a steady presence that has seen her through everything. This new beginning, this incredible journey, feels right, simply because he is by her side. She closes her eyes, a small, contented smile playing on her lips. They are soaring, not just through the sky, but into a future built on trust, laughter, and love—lots of it.

A tiny, private giggle escapes her as she remembers Sunwoo's frantic, last-minute packing this morning, stuffing two left sandals into the same bag. Yes, a future with him means plenty of laughter. Yes, that sounds like a future worth diving into.

As the cabin speakers crackle with an announcement they barely register, Sohyun opens her eyes, a renewed spark of excitement replacing the earlier contentment. The plane banks, offering a first glimpse of the island below—a vibrant tapestry of emerald green and turquoise blue, fringed with white sands. She squeezes Sunwoo's hand, an unspoken question in her wide gaze. He meets her eyes, his own shining with anticipation. "Almost there, Mrs. Han," he whispers, a playful challenge in his tone. "Ready for our paradise?"

She turns to him, a beautiful, calm smile blossoming on her lips, her fingers tangled around his. “I am,” says Sohyun, no trace of lingering nerves on her face. “We’re going to have so much fun. I just know it.” A sense of warmth surges within Sunwoo; it’s so fulfilling to see her so happy, so excited for life, especially after the challenging months they've navigated, months that have tested their new, fragile marriage. “You’re right, love. We are going to have fun. Just you and me.”

The plane touches down with a gentle bump, a collective sigh of relief and excitement rippling through the cabin. Sohyun’s heart leaps, a joyous flutter mirroring the gentle descent. Through the window, the island comes into sharper focus, the palm trees swaying in a warm breeze she can almost feel. Sunwoo squeezes her hand again, his thumb tracing patterns on her knuckles. "Welcome to paradise, Mrs. Han," he murmurs, his voice thick with contentment. As the seatbelt sign dings off, a surge of eager passengers pushes toward the aisle, but Sohyun and Sunwoo linger, savoring this moment, a quiet bubble of happiness amidst the bustle.

Sohyun lifts her hand, gently cupping his chin, and leans in, her intention clear to Sunwoo. His arm, initially wrapped around her, pulls her closer, closing the gap between their bodies. As if stuck in time in their own little bubble, her lips meet his, a soft exploration that deepens into a shared breath. They stay connected, exchanging quiet promises to be each other’s unwavering strength, to love and be loved, until the end of time. Eventually, they pull away, but only because a stewardess, with a polite cough and a knowing smile, asks them to deplane.

The trip to their resort is a short one. How can it not feel brief, when their eyes get treated to the beauty of the Maldivian natural landscape. Every turn of the vehicle reveals a new masterpiece: water so clear it seems to vanish into the air, brilliant coral reefs visible just beneath the surface, and skies that stretch in an impossible gradient from soft azure to deep sapphire. They exchange light, harmless pinches, asking for each other’s attention, at every enchanting view they catch. “Love, love, look at that,” he nearly leaps in his seat, his hand urgently finding her arm, “the sea, the clouds… so beautiful, no? It’s even more incredible in person.” Sohyun leans over, her gaze following his pointing finger, and a soft sigh escapes her. “Thank you for bringing me here, my love,” she whispers, her tone thick with gratitude and love for him. “You could’ve taken me to Jeju, but you’ve brought me to paradise instead.”

"Only the best for my wife," Sunwoo replies, his voice warm with satisfaction. Sohyun leans her head against his shoulder, letting the rhythmic hum of their transport and the gentle breeze wash over her. Their driver, a local man with a kind smile, points out a family of herons fishing gracefully in the shallows nearby, then indicates a row of vibrant hibiscus bushes lining the path. It’s these small, perfect details that make the journey feel like a dream, each turn revealing a new facet of the island's untouched beauty. Sohyun finds herself already falling in love with this place, not just for its stunning vistas, but for the peaceful simplicity it offers, a stark contrast to the busy city life they’re escaping from.

Moments later, the buggy pulls into a beautifully open-air reception lobby, where the air hums with quiet elegance and the distant splash of a water feature. They are greeted with warm smiles and soft-spoken welcomes. While Sunwoo handles the quick check-in process, Sohyun’s eyes are drawn to a glass-bottomed section of the floor, revealing schools of colorful fish darting beneath. The simple act of signing a few papers feels like the last official hurdle before true relaxation. A staff member hands them chilled towels and a welcome drink, the tangy sweetness of fresh fruit instantly refreshing. "This is it, love," Sunwoo murmurs, taking her hand and leading her to their accommodation. "Our actual escape begins now."

In the privacy of their overwater villa, its cool interior a welcome respite from the tropical warmth, Sohyun opens her suitcase. As if checking things off her mental checklist, her finger traces lines over the neatly folded swimsuits, the wide-brimmed hat, the sunscreens Sunwoo had insisted on. Her lips murmur the names under her breath, a quiet inventory.

“We have everything we need, don’t we?” Sunwoo asks, unzipping his suitcase next to her. “We’ll see.” She slips her hand under a pile of T-shirts, and a blush creeps up her cheeks; her fingers are brushing against a bag of contraceptives and pregnancy test kits. “Y-yes, I… I think we have everything we need, and then some,” she confirms, hiding her hot cheeks behind the curtain of her hair. Sunwoo catches the subtle shift, a knowing glint entering his eyes. “Good to hear, baby,” he teases, his face gleaming with mischief.

Sohyun rises to her feet, her gaze roaming the interior, looking at anything but her husband. “O-oppa…” she mutters, the loose thread at the hem of his shirt suddenly so captivating. “What, erm, what do you think we should do first?” With an amused smile, Sunwoo gets on his feet, his palms finding purchase on her waist, slightly digging into the soft flesh. A familiar warmth spreads from his touch, igniting a flush that reaches her ears. “I’m down for anything, baby. Sexual, non-sexual—just anything, as long as I’m with you,” he whispers, his lips brushing her temple, his tone calm and calming.

Sohyun finally lifts her gaze, meeting his eyes, and the last of her shyness melts away under his comforting warmth. A genuine smile blossoms on her face. “Then… can we…” she trails off, her finger pointing at the mattress covered in clean white sheets. “Sure, baby,” he confirms. With his hand joined with hers, Sunwoo guides her towards their destination—oh, these are some silky, impossibly soft sheets.

They settle in bed together, wrapped in each other’s arms, the mattress caving slightly under their weight. “Comfortable, love?” Sunwoo asks, keeping Sohyun close to him. She simply nods to his question; with her face sinking into his chest, a brief nod is enough. Looking over her, he notices a view she wouldn’t want to miss: the clear sea and blue sky, visible straight from the bed. “Baby, I think you should turn around. I think you’ll like the view,” he whispers. Following his suggestion, Sohyun shifts, turning around without leaving his comfortable embrace, gasping softly as the limitless expanse of turquoise, merging seamlessly with the cerulean sky, appears before her eyes.

Sohyun simply stares, mesmerized, the vibrant colors outside painting a living picture frame for their shared moment. She leans back against Sunwoo, nestling deeper into his side, his warmth a perfect contrast to the cool air of the villa. "It's... beautiful," she whispers, her voice barely audible. “Thank you, oppa. This is just… unbelievable.” Sunwoo tightens his arm around her, resting his chin on the top of her head. "What I wouldn’t give for you, my heart," he murmurs back, his voice thick with contentment. For a long while, they lie in comfortable silence, occasionally broken by soft hums and giggles, soaking in the peace of being exactly where they're meant to be, together.

The peaceful silence stretches, filled with unspoken tenderness. Sohyun’s fingers, still idly tracing patterns on the back of Sunwoo's hand, drift slowly upwards along his arm. She feels the warmth of his skin. The gentle sway of the water beneath their villa, combined with their close proximity, ignites a different kind of heat within her. She feels his intense gaze, a palpable weight on the back of her head, a type of intensity that sears, as if his eyes could ignite her skin. When she finally looks behind, the playfulness in his eyes has deepened, mixed now with a tender longing. He leans down, not for her forehead this time, but for her lips, a slow, deliberate approach that promises a new kind of paradise.

The cool air of the villa now feels insignificant against the heat building between them. When he pulls back slightly, his eyes never leave hers, a silent question passing between them. Sohyun’s heart hammers a joyous rhythm, and she presses closer; her answer is clear in the way she presses her lips to his once more, a soft, affirmative gesture. “Come on, my heart,” he urges, his breath hot against her face. “Let’s not waste any more time.” She nods, already reaching for the hem of his shirt, while he reaches for the waistband of her skirt.

The soft rustle of clothes sliding to the floor is the only sound apart from their quickening breaths. Sunwoo’s hands glide over Sohyun’s skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. He lifts her slightly, positioning her more comfortably beneath him on the yielding mattress. Through the large window, the setting sun casts a fiery orange glow across the water, painting their skin in warm hues, but it's the internal fire that consumes them now.

“Take me…”

Her soft, whispered words send his heart into overdrive, each deep pulse rippling through his body. Sunwoo leans down, his head invading the crook of her neck. “You’re mine,” he growls, the possessiveness in his voice searing her ear. “You’re mine and only mine.” Swallowing a gulp that is stuck in her throat, Sohyun nods, her heart bumping in her chest under the pressure of his firm torso. “Y-yes. I-I’m yours, oppa…”

Sunwoo slides his hips forwards, but her sudden pinch on his arm stops him right away. “O-oppa…” she whispers, her eyes searching for signs of annoyance or perhaps anger on his face. “I… I’m sorry, but can we take this slow—just this round, I promise.” With a soft smile playing on his lips, he nods, stroking her cheek softly, his thumb gliding on her face, just below her eye. “Of course, my love. Let’s do it like it’s our first time again,” he confirms. His features soften completely, a profound tenderness in his gaze, radiant with sincere, unconditional love and care for her.

Sunwoo leans down once more, placing a peck on her forehead and the bridge of her nose, soothing any lingering apprehension. “Like it’s our first time…” she repeats in a whisper, the memory of their first night together flashing in her mind. “I was scared, oppa, but you were patient—very patient,” she continues, her eyelids slowly closing, a fond smile tugging at the corners of her lips. A soft, almost disbelieving chuckle escapes him; never had Sunwoo known he had that level of patience, but Sohyun truly brought the best out of him.

Momentarily lifting her head off the pillow, Sohyun offers a quick, urgent peck to his cheek, the stubble sending small electric jolts through her body. “Let’s do it, oppa. I won’t bleed like that time, but you know I would if I could.” Without a word, Sunwoo moves, guiding his member towards her core, both exhaling sharply as his tip brushes against her intimate folds. “Come on—oh, God, yes…”

He hesitates for only a breath, allowing her words and the significant memory of their first night to settle between them. Then, with a slow, deliberate push, Sunwoo eases into her, a soft groan escaping his throat as her body stretches to accommodate him. Sohyun gasps, a sharp intake of air, her nails lightly digging into his shoulders.

“Claim me all over again, oppa.”

“I’m yours, my love.”

“Yes, just like that, baby.”

“I love you.”

Their whispered words of passion mingle in the air, joining her soft moans and his deep groans. The pace, relaxed and unhurried as it is, feels comfortable and appropriate, a dear reminder of their precious memory of lost innocence.

He begins to move faster, establishing a deliberate rhythm that offsets the quiet, deep pulse of the ocean beneath their villa. Each thrust is a sweet rediscovery, each familiar curve and plane of her body a landscape he knows by heart yet feels brand new. It's a profound journey back to a cherished beginning. Sohyun’s breath hitches with every measured retreat and advance, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer still.

“Oppa…” she mutters, her deep voice soft in his ear. “I’m… I’m grateful for you—oh, yes, that’s good…” Sunwoo’s peck lands on her lips, a wave of tenderness washing over him, the warmth in his heart growing along his arousal. “More than you know, baby,” he murmurs, groaning slightly. “God, you’re so hot, so good.”

Sohyun lifts her hips, meeting his deep thrusts at a better angle. “Come on, oppa. Harder,” she urges, lost completely in the exquisite friction, with only him and this sensation in her mind. Planting his knees into the mattress, Sunwoo picks up the pace, his hands gripping down on her wrists. As the pace grows, so do her moans, the sound filling their bedroom—no one better be staying in the next room.

The rhythm builds, a frantic, accelerating drumbeat that consumes them both. Sohyun’s body tightens around his, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps as the pressure inside her coils tighter and tighter. Sunwoo’s grunts become ragged, his eyes fixed on hers, a silent, desperate plea for release. Then, with a shuddering cry from Sohyun and a deep, guttural roar from Sunwoo, they shatter, exploding into a shared, overwhelming wave of pure ecstasy. He collapses onto her, heavy and spent, their skin slick with sweat, the only sounds now their ragged breaths slowly calming in the quiet hum of the villa.

With the last bit of energy she has, Sohyun locks her ankles behind his back, keeping him lodged snugly in her core. “That’s new,” Sunwoo teases, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. “Trying to get pregnant?” Chuckling, she lightly smacks him on the back, hiding her genuine interest in carrying his child behind the gesture. “Just savoring the warmth,” she dodges. “Sure, baby. Just savoring the warmth,” he whispers back, a smile now fully present on his lips.

After a few more minutes of blissful silence, Sunwoo stirs, gently disentangling himself. “How about a shower, my love?” he suggests, his voice still thick with recent passion. “Then, we can head out. Maybe take a little walk or hang out at the entertainment area.” Sohyun stretches, a soft groan of contentment escaping her, her body feeling pleasantly heavy and relaxed. "Sounds good, oppa," she agrees, slowly sitting up, the glow of their shared intimacy still radiating from them both as they begin to gather their wits for the next phase of their paradise.

After the relaxed, laughter-filled shower, their skin still prickling with warmth from the steaming water and shared giggles, the pair heads to the entertainment area, their fingers tangled together in a warmth that mimics the setting sun. Sohyun’s eyes widen at the sight of an arrangement of musical instruments, and she bounces slightly on her toes, tugging his hand as excitement bubbles in her chest. “Oppa, oppa,” she frantically calls to him. “Can we sing to each other—you know, like that time?” She looks at him from the side as a smile spread on his lips, the corner of his eyes creasing. “Yeah, we sure can. I have some songs I’d like to sing to you,” he agrees.

With the exciting thought of being sung to in her mind, Sohyun nearly tumbles onto the sofa, her butt landing on the cushion with a soft bounce, a joyful jolt going through her. “Come on, come on!” she urges, already so eager to listen to what he has in store for her. Chuckling slightly, Sunwoo heads to the mic on a stand, grabbing a guitar from the nearby stand on his way. He flicks the small switch on the side and taps the head a few times. A soft pop echoes from the speakers. “Is this thing on?” he murmurs, his voice amplified and clear, coming out in confirmation.

Oh, I hope you know I will carry you home, Whether it’s tonight or fifty-five years down the road. Oh, I know there’s so many ways that this could go. Don’t want you to wonder, darlin’, I need you to know.

The soft, almost whispered opening sends a shiver down her spine. Not because this is a hit song, no—this is about the promise of staying together through the ups and downs, a melody echoing the quiet fears she sometimes harbors and the unwavering hope he always brings. When he flashes her a smile, a silent affirmation of every lyric, a soft gasp escapes her, her vision getting blurry by the unshed tears threatening to spill out.

We were talking to the sunset. Throwin’ dreams against the wall. I know none of them have stuck yet, But I bet it on you, honey. Oh, I would risk it all.

Sunwoo stops to take a breath, his heart racing as he prepares for the chorus. Flashing the teary woman another smile, he returns his wit back to the song, his fingers ready to strike the chords and shake her heart, perhaps also the walls.

These days, these nights are changing. Mama, my mind is set on you. I’m not afraid to say it, to say it’s true. Oh, I hope you know I will carry you home, Whether it’s tonight or fifty-five years down the road. Oh, I know there’s so many ways that this could go. Don’t want you to wonder, darlin’, I need you to know, In this and every life, I choose us every time.

Sohyun can only look at him as the song continues. No, this is not just a song. This is his heart laid bare before her in such a beautiful, private display. Her tears finally spill over, leaving wet trails down her cheeks. He continues to sing, his own eyes growing shiny with emotion, the raw honesty of the moment filling the space between them. The guitar chords resonate deeply, each strum echoing the earnest beat of his heart. By the time the last notes fade, a profound silence falls, thick with unshed tears and an overwhelming sense of love that needs no further words.

His gaze leaves her, drifting to the side, and a hint of a proud, playful smile touches his lips as if acknowledging someone else’s presence. A sharp gasp flies out of her lips when she sees what's up: a dozen pairs of eyes, soft with admiration, meet hers from the dimness behind the sofa. There’s a crowd, watching Sunwoo sing his heart out. “My wife,” Sunwoo says, introducing her to the crowd with a proud smile on his face. “We’re having a honeymoon here.” Covering her mouth, Sohyun offers some polite nods while desperately trying to blink her tears back. “You have a good husband,” an elderly woman says to Sohyun, her thick European accent adding more warmth to the praise.

Sohyun offers another rapid series of bows and nods, her face burning, desperately wishing the sofa had a trapdoor. Sunwoo, however, is beaming, reveling in her discomfort and the admiration of their impromptu audience. He presses a quick kiss to her forehead. "Come on, love," he whispers playfully, his arm gently guiding her up from the sofa. "Let's find some dinner before they ask for an encore." He leads her away from the admiring gazes, her hand still tangled in his, their shared laughter echoing softly through the lounge.

Sunwoo leads her through the resort’s gently lit pathways, the scent of grilled seafood thick in the evening air. Sohyun, still giggling softly, occasionally glances back, half-expecting applause, before turning her attention fully to him. They find a table at the quiet, open-air restaurant overlooking the ocean. She sits next to him, cradling his hands in her lap, stroking them gently.

“Thank you, oppa,” she whispers, her gaze drifting to the distant waves in the sea. “You’re welcome, my love,” he whispers back, pulling her closer. “You liked the song, didn’t you?” With a chuckle, Sohyun pinches his wrist lightly, her eyes turning shiny again. “I did, but what do you think will happen in 55 years?” Sunwoo sighs, the smile on his lips fading, caught off guard by her question. “I don’t know, honestly, but whatever it is… I hope I’ll still be with you.”

Sohyun tightens her grip on his hands, a sense of quiet comfort settling over her at his honest vulnerability. "Me too, oppa," she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. "I hope we'll be those old people… still bickering playfully, still holding hands as we watch the sunset, just like this." Sunwoo's smile slowly returns, a tender, wistful expression. "That sounds like a future worth fighting for, my heart.” He lifts her hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “Now, why don’t we get some food in our belly, hm?”

The pair heads out of the restaurant hand in hand, fingers tangled tightly, their faces bright with contentment of the moment they are sharing. As they walk through the entertainment area once more, a familiar flutter rises within Sohyun, the fresh memory of being sung to coming back in a rush, turning her cheeks warm. “You alright, love?” Sunwoo catches on to her sudden change of attitude. Biting her lips, she nods, only able to lift her gaze as high as his lips. “Yeah,” she mutters. “Just… still getting the butterflies, right here," she whispers, pressing his hand against her chest.

Sunwoo’s smile is gentle, understanding. He stops their walk, turning fully to face her, his hands coming up to cup her face softly. "Even after all this time?" he teases, but his eyes are serious, full of adoration. Sohyun leans into his touch, her own smile blooming. "Especially now," she whispers. They stand there for a moment, simply holding each other's gaze, the soft glow of the lanterns casting long shadows around them. A few resort guests walk past, offering soft smiles, sensing the quiet, profound bubble of intimacy that surrounds the newlyweds.

“Let me sing for you, oppa. Let me show you just how much you mean to me.” Her spoken intent sends a shiver down his spine. Knowing Sohyun, she’ll pick a song with tender lyrics and pour her heart into singing it, possibly leaving Sunwoo in a wet-eyed mess. "Go on, then,” he slowly pushes her to the piano, the sleek, dark wood gleaming under the soft lights, his breath already getting shaky. “Sing for me and make me cry.”

Settling on the same cushion she sat on, Sunwoo looks at her intently, his eyes turning glassy simply from the anticipation in his chest. He takes a few deep, shaky breaths, his chest rising and falling visibly, as Sohyun starts pressing different keys, filling the room with soft notes. “Are we ready?” she teases, not looking at her husband initially. Turning her head towards him, she finds his eyes, and recognizes the raw vulnerability shining in their depths, signs of sincere emotions clear for her to see. “Ah, I think we are.”

Maybe it’s the way you say my name. Maybe it’s the way you play your game. But it’s so good, I’ve never known anybody like you. But it’s so good, I’ve never dreamed of nobody like you. And I’ve heard of a love that comes once in a lifetime. And I’m pretty sure that you are that love of mine.

Sohyun closes her eyes, tears slipping through the lids and flowing down her cheeks. She’s sung this song to a man who once held her heart, but to finally sing this song again, after this many years, for this man who holds her heart now and forevermore, feels… heavier.

‘Cause I’m in a field of dandelions, Wishing on every one that you’d be mine, mine. And I see forever in your eyes. I feel okay when I see you smile, smile. Wishing on dandelions all of the time. Praying to God that one day you’ll be mine.

Fighting through the flood of tears, Sohyun plays on, the melody weaving through the air, her voice clear. Her eyes remain closed, lost in emotion, pouring her entire heart into every note, every word. This very song, sung in this precise moment, in this exact paradise, feels like a culmination of everything they've been through, everything they are, and everything they hope to be. Sunwoo, utterly captivated, feels a lump in his throat, unable to speak, only able to witness this raw, beautiful outpouring of her soul through his wet eyes.

Dandelion, into the wind you go. Won’t you let my darling know? Dandelion, into the wind you go. Won’t you let my darling know that, I’m in a field of dandelions, Wishing on every one that you’d be mine, mine. Oh, and I see forever in your eyes. I feel okay when I see you smile, smile. Wishing on dandelions all of the time. Praying to God that one day you’ll be mine. Wishing on dandelions all of the time, all of the time. I’m in a field of dandelions, Wishing on every one that you’d be mine, mine.

Sohyun continues to pour her heart into the final chorus, her voice a raw, beautiful testament to her love, the words hanging in the air like a sacred vow. When the last, lingering note of the piano finally fades into the quiet evening, the silence that follows is profound, broken only by the soft, rhythmic lapping of the ocean waves outside. Sohyun keeps her eyes closed, still lost in the afterglow of emotion. Sunwoo, still unable to speak, pushes himself from the sofa and walks to her, gently kneeling next to her, his own tears finally tracking paths down his cheeks as he reaches out to cup her face.

Sunwoo's thumbs gently wipe away her tears, his touch tender, reverent. "My love," he chokes out, his voice thick with emotion, barely a whisper. "My beautiful, beautiful Sohyun." She leans into his hands, her own gripping his wrists, feeling the strong pulse beneath her fingers. "I’m yours," she whispers back, her voice still hoarse from the song and tears. "Always yours." His lips find hers then, a soft, tear-salted kiss that speaks not of passion, but of profound understanding, of promises kept and futures secured.

For a long moment, they remain like that, intertwined in the quiet hum of the villa, the gentle lapping of the ocean a distant, soothing rhythm. Sunwoo's hands cup her face, his gaze holding hers, a universe of unspoken words passing between them. Sohyun feels a sense of complete peace settling over her, a deep, warm contentment that fills every cell of her being. Finally, Sunwoo gently helps her to her feet. "Let's head back, my heart," he whispers, his voice still a little husky. "And just… bask in this feeling." Hand in hand, they walk slowly, the resort lights blurring around them as they head to their haven in heaven.

Sohyun grabs his hand and pulls with surprising strength, dragging Sunwoo to bed, her tears replaced with a calm, serenade smile. “Oppa,” she calls, her voice gaining a playful edge. “Did you like the song? You liked the song, right?” Nodding, he offers a peck to her lips. Fleeting it may be, but that doesn’t take anything away from the gesture. “I did. I’ve always liked listening to you singing,” he assures, squeezing her arm lightly. “It was a beautiful song too.”

“A beautiful song, sung by a beautiful woman,” she muses, locking eyes with him. “How about I give you some beautiful children?” Swallowing the lump stuck in his throat, Sunwoo maintains his calm demeanor, but it would be a blatant lie to say he doesn’t want to have children with her. “Children, love? This soon?” he asks, his eyes searching for mischief in hers but only finding honesty. “Yes, children. Plural.”

While Sunwoo’s grip on her wrist tightens, his gaze softens, moving from her eyes to her lips, then sweeping across her face, scanning for any sign of doubt one last time. Finding none, he sighs, a sound of profound delight. "You think we can have twins?" he teases gently, his thumb caressing her cheek. Sohyun giggles, leaning into his touch. "I mean, maybe we can? You’ll never know if you never try."

Feeling a sudden surge of strength, Sunwoo climbs on top of her, his breathing growing quicker as his arousal level rises. “Oh, we will try, sweetheart,” he growls, his face hovering dangerously close over hers. “Yeah? How many times will we try?” she counters, a hint of playful rebellion woven in her voice. “As many times as we can, until one of us passes out.” Sohyun nods, agreeing to indulge him in this attempt to not only conceive, but conceive twins. “Alright,” she takes a deep breath to steady herself, “let’s do it, oppa.”

Sohyun undoes the three buttons of her cardigan, exposing the white undergarment that barely contains her plentiful bosoms. “These,” she palms her breasts, her fingers digging into the flesh, “these will feed our twins, oppa.” Sunwoo bites his lip slightly, his eyes turning dark with desire. “But can they feed me first?” he quips, but lust is clear in his tone. She smirks, infected by his arousal. “Why don’t we see for ourselves, hm?”

Grabbing the hem of the undergarment, Sohyun tries to lift it over her head, but Sunwoo manages to tear it down the middle first, the intrusive sound slicing through the evening air. “Oh my God, oppa…” she mutters, her heart racing at his action. “You’re crazy…” With a chuckle, he pecks her on the lips, pulling away with a naughty smirk on his face. “I am. I’m crazy for you.”

Sohyun laughs breathlessly, a wild, delighted sound that echoes in the villa. "Crazy for me, huh?" she whispers in a deep voice, her hands reaching up to cup his face, pulling him down for a deep, searing kiss. Her fingers, still tingling from the shock of the torn garment, now eagerly explore the bare skin of his neck and shoulders. "Well, oppa," she murmurs against his lips, her voice laced with challenge. "If you're that crazy for me, then make me pregnant." Her body presses against his, urging him onward, ready to be consumed by his passion.

He doesn’t say anything back, going straight to claiming her lips in a searing kiss. As Sunwoo gropes her tits, Sohyun places her hands over his, egging him on to keep going, to keep playing with her assets. Her moans, released into the kiss, entice him even more, pulling him deeper into the temptation of lust. “I’m going to be sore all over,” she quickly thinks, already seeing the outcome before even starting.

Eventually, Sunwoo pulls away from the kiss, registering Sohyun’s flushed, breathless face right away. “Heh,” he chuckles lightly, “I can’t tell if you’re tired or aroused—surely you’re not tired already, are you?” She chuckles back, shaking her head as both an answer and a gesture of amusement. “Not tired, no,” she says. “But still, I need some air.”

Giving her some breathing room, Sunwoo gets off the bed, giving her a quick peck to the lips before leaving to grab a bottle of water for the post-coital care. When he returns, Sohyun has already taken everything off, the torn garment joining its friends on the floor. Lying on her belly, she wiggles her plump rear from side to side, urging him to come and take her. She really knows how to tempt him.

Sunwoo grips the bottle harder at the alluring sight before him, a physical testament to his attempt at maintaining grip on his self-control. “Look at you, oppa. So tense and horny, like you can’t wait to put your child in me—no, seriously, look at yourself in the mirror.” Following her finger, Sunwoo spots himself in the mirror: straight posture, erect manhood—the man is indeed tense and horny. “It’s just the things you do to me, baby girl,” he mutters, his voice a low groan. “Just the things you do to me.”

Placing the bottle on the bedside table, Sunwoo comes in for a kiss, his fingers landing on her back, just below her nape. “Love, hey,” he begins, finding clarity of mind amidst the storm of desire. “I know we’ve been teasing each other about getting pregnant and all that, but know that if we don’t conceive tonight, I will hold nothing against you.” His hand moves up, gently pressing down on her nape, as if soothing some frayed nerve endings. “After all, getting pregnant is a two-person dance, isn’t it?” Sohyun smiles, content with both his words and his tender ministration. “Yes, it is, and I really want to dance with you.”

Climbing onto bed, Sunwoo mounts her thighs, his knees sinking into the mattress. “Let’s dance, my love,” he murmurs, his steady voice carrying promise of a pleasurable time. With one hand around his member, he slides himself into her waiting, willing core, his breath taken away by her warmth. “Oh, baby…” he mumbles, his eyes fluttering as he moves his hips back and forth, testing the shared position. “You’re so hot, so good…”

Sohyun closes her eyes, a sigh of bliss escaping her lips as he settles into her. Resting her chin on her pillow, she lets out soft, whispered moans, loud enough for his ears but not for the next-door tenants. “Only you deserve to get me pregnant, my love.” Different iterations of this thought fill her mind, each one unspoken testament to her devotion to him and their shared journey.

She can only obey when Sunwoo pulls her hips up, instinctively supporting the rest of her body with her arms. “N-nothing too rough, please,” she begs, looking at him over her shoulder with pleading eyes. “I’ll try not to—just hang on, baby,” he replies simply. Swallowing a lump in her throat, Sohyun grips the sheets hard, bracing for the impact his hips are about to deliver. “I… I’m ready.”

Sohyun's breath hitches as he moves, not with the explosive force she braced for, but with a deep, consuming pressure that is both intense and exquisitely controlled. “He listens,” she thinks briefly. A wave of tenderness washes over her, mingling with the rising tide of pure sensation. This is their dance: his strength meeting her vulnerability, his control meeting her trust. The bed creaks softly beneath them, a rhythmic testament to their intertwined bodies and the deep, silent conversation they were having, each movement a word, each breath a shared confession.

Her arms fold beneath her, her body slumped over the mattress, fully trusting him to not be overly rough with her. “Yes, oppa, just like that,” she mumbles, her voice thick with need. The moans continue to spill out of her lips, mixing with his groans in the bedroom air. “You got it, baby,” he replies, his fingers digging comfortably into the flesh of her hips. “Exactly like this for round one.” Sohyun gasps; the implication of his words—that it’s just the beginning—fills her with excitement, quietly promising him that she will do her best to keep up until the end.

Soon, his member twitches inside her, triggering her core to spasm around him. “Mmh! Mmh!” Her moans turn to gasps, her orgasm closing in rapidly. Sensing the same thing, Sunwoo picks up the pace, his hips snapping with urgency. “Oppa! Oppa, fu—” Sohyun plants her face into the pillow, stifling herself from cursing; he doesn’t like it when she curses too much during sex. “Just let go, baby. Let go for me!” he growls, his groans getting louder by the second. Finally, with a deep grunt, Sunwoo lodges himself as deep as he can in her, filling her core to the brim with his potent seed. “Oh my God, Park Sohyun…” he mutters, his voice raspy.

After he pulls out, Sohyun settles on her side, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her skin shiny with sweat. “Thank you, baby. That was amazing,” he spoons her from behind, his hand tracing circles on her belly, as if stimulating it to rise, “I hope you don’t mind going again after this.” Smiling softly, she places her hand on his, joining him in rubbing her belly. “No, I don’t. I want to have your child, and there’s only one way to make sure it takes.” Sunwoo chuckles, both amused and touched by her unshakeable willingness to conceive. “Alright, baby, we’ll go again after this, okay?”

Having regained strength, Sohyun moves to sit on his thighs, his half-erect manhood hovering over her belly. She looks down at it, her eyes turning darker with reignited want, and a smirk starts to spread across her features. “What are we thinking, love?” he asks, his brows rising with intrigue. Her sharp, dark gaze meets his, the smirk of arousal prominent on her face. “I’m thinking about giving you my last innocence, but anal sex cannot make me pregnant.”

The mention of such an proposition sends blood rushing to his manhood, making it fully hard and erect in a split second. “Anal sex…” Sunwoo echoes, his mind clouded with lust once again. “Mhmm, anal sex,” Sohyun confirms, teasing the head of his member with her fingers. “Giving you that would mean the ultimate submission, oppa.” His hands grip her hips hard, a contrast that cannot be starker; his grip on self-control is slipping quickly.

Sohyun's smirk widens, pleased by his palpable loss of control. "Getting hard just from thinking about it, oppa?" she taunts, her fingers moving lower, caressing the throbbing shaft, drawing another low groan from him. "But imagine the reality for a second, hm?" She leans in, her lips brushing his ear. "It won't make us those twins—or any child for that matter," she whispers, her voice laced with wicked promise. "But it will make me yours, in a way you've never been before." Her provocative words, combined with her touch, are the final push, shattering the last semblance of his self-restraint.

Sunwoo beckons her closer with a flick of his finger, the true depth of his lust lying beneath his sharp gaze. Sohyun bends down, getting her ears ready to hear his demand to surrender her forbidden crevice. “Give it to me, Park Sohyun. Give it to me, and I’ll make you mine in every way possible.” Her breath hitches at his demand; she’s got him exactly where she wants him to be, yes, but his size meeting her tightness… that sounds rather intimidating—but she’s not backing down. “Yes, sir…” she whispers, her voice laced with submission, her breath hot against his ear.

Sohyun gets off of him, settling on all fours and exposing all her private parts to his exploring gaze. “Remind me, baby—what is it you’re offering me?” he taunts, his finger tracing a line over her previously filled slit. Fighting back a moan, she manages to stammer out an answer for him, “M-my… my ass…”

Feeling a subtle pressure of his index finger on her tight, untouched rectum, Sohyun gasps loudly, her grip on the sheets tensing imperceptibly. “This is going to hurt, though,” Sunwoo traces the circular shape of her forbidden entrance, “are you sure? You still have a chance to back out.” She shakes her head firmly, driven only by her desire to fully surrender to him. “I-I think first times are meant to hurt—erm, t-that’s what make them special, o-oppa.”

Sohyun's last stammered words, though laced with a nervous tremor, spark a new fire in Sunwoo’s eyes. He pulls his finger away, letting the air cool the sensitive spot for a moment—but Sohyun doesn't wait. Driven by her earlier declaration of complete surrender, she subtly shifts her hips, a slight tilt that is all the invitation he needs. "Please, oppa. Take me," she whispers, her voice barely audible, pushing through the fear, desperate for the profound intimacy she's offering.

Sunwoo perches on his knees behind her, the sight of her most sacred parts helping him stay hard as a rock. He covers his erect manhood with as much spit as he can, hoping the wetness will ease the pain of first penetration. Satisfied with the coat he’s got, he lines up his member with her puckered opening—all he needs now is a green light. “Are we ready?” he asks, lust woven in his tone. Sohyun takes a few deep breaths, steadying herself before giving up the last innocence she has, before giving into the taboo. “Make me yours, oppa.”

Gritting his teeth, Sunwoo pushes forwards, the tip of him fighting to stretch her tight ring, to get past the snug muscle. “Oh my God, fuck…” he lets a curse slip through his lips, his eyelids flitting at the sensation of her impossibly taut grip. He moves his hips forwards in a testing manner, gauging her reaction while also adapting to this feeling. “Oh, fuck, you’re so fucking tight, baby…” he mumbles, truly lost in her.

Sohyun's breath hitches, her body trembling beneath him, but she lets out a soft moan of surrender, signaling her willingness. Sunwoo groans, the sound deep and primal, as he pushes more of himself into her, slowly but surely, until he’s completely buried in her. A collective gasp escapes both their lips as he fills her to the brim, the searing burn replaced by a new kind of exquisite pressure. He pauses, allowing them both to adjust to the profound invasion, his entire body shaking with the effort of holding still. "All mine," he rasps, his voice raw with triumph and overwhelming possession. “All... all yours, daddy.”

Sohyun turns her head to the side, showing him a nod—that’s another green light to him. Sunwoo pulls back, until only his tip is in her rear, before plunging forwards once more, hitting the deepest spot and drawing out another soft moan from her. “You like that?” She nods breathlessly to his question, still adjusting to the intrusion. “One more time, then.” Repeating the movement, he puts more strength into it this time, his head spinning at how tight her anal muscles are hugging his member. “Oh, fuck, that’s fucking good, baby,” he growls, the deep tone burning her ears.

Sohyun's fingers dig into the sheets, her back arching slightly with each powerful, deliberate thrust. The initial, burning discomfort is now a distant memory, replaced by a deep, throbbing pleasure that resonates through her entire body. She starts to move with him, a primal, instinctive sway of her hips that matches his rhythm perfectly. Her moans grow louder, more uninhibited, a symphony of sheer delight that spurs Sunwoo on, driving him deeper, harder, lost in the exquisite, forbidden dance they were now expertly performing.

Sunwoo's focus sharpens, every nerve ending alive to the way her body moves with his, the way her moans rise in exquisite delight. A deep satisfaction, far beyond mere physical gratification, blooms in his chest. He pushes deeper, harder, driven now by the sheer joy of providing her with such profound pleasure. "That's it, my love," he rasps, his voice ragged with desire and triumph, his rhythm becoming a relentless, insistent claim, demanding every ounce of sensation from her, from them both.

Gathering her might, Sohyun lifts her torso, leaning against his chest as they keep moving together. “Fill my ass, daddy. Claim me, ruin me, use me,” she mumbles, lost in the sea of eros, just like he is. At her urging voice, Sunwoo ruts into her with more fervor, his length fully disappearing in her anus at every thrust. “Look at you, baby,” he gropes her full bosoms, squeezing them wildly, “one session of anal, and you’re already addicted.” A wicked grin, fueled with his praise, blooms on her face. “H-how can I not? Y-your cock is fucking perfect for me.”

Sunwoo’s grin widens, a dangerous gleam in his eyes at her raw confession. "Perfect for you, huh?" he growls, his voice deep and thick with satisfaction. He fastens his grip on her tits, pressing hot kisses to her skin as he continues to drive into her, relentlessly claiming her. "Then let's make sure you never forget it," he murmurs against her ear, his every thrust a potent reminder, his hands kneading her breasts, confirming his ownership, pulling her deeper into the delicious, all-consuming addiction she just admitted to.

Sunwoo lets out another guttural roar, his body trembling as the mind-numbing tightness pushes him closer to the edge. “Go on, say it,” he barks, his. “Say you want your ass filled.” Quickly taking a breath, Sohyun barks back, “Fill my ass with your seed! Please, daddy!” With the last bit of energy he has left, Sunwoo lodges himself fully in her anal crevice, releasing a load as big as the one he shot into her womb earlier. “Fuck!”

Drained, both collapse together, falling back into the mattress with no energy left in their tanks. “Sohyun, baby,” he whispers, his voice shaky from exhaustion. “Thank you so much. You’re amazing.” She nods weakly, her heart warm for two reasons: her taboo purity is his, and he’s satisfied by it. “T-thank you, oppa,” she manages, her entire body humming with remnants of the intense cherry-taking. “I-I’m truly yours now…” Another devilish smirk spreads across his lips, his ego bloating at her submissive admission, but it’s quickly replaced with a smile of gratitude. “You are, baby, and I’m yours. Never forget that, please.”

Sunwoo shifts slightly, pulling the sheet up to cover them both, though the Maldivian heat means it's more for comfort than warmth. He presses a soft kiss to her shoulder. "No regrets?" he whispers, a playful note in his exhausted voice. Sohyun giggles weakly. "None, oppa," she whispers back, tracing patterns on his arm. "Just… wow." He chuckles, the sound rumbling in his chest. "Yeah. Wow. You were incredible, baby girl. Every single part of you."

For a long time, they lie there, bodies pressed together, the only sounds their ragged breaths slowly evening out and the soft hum of the villa's air conditioning. The intensity of the past hours dissipates, leaving behind a profound sense of peace and satisfaction. Sunwoo presses a soft, lingering kiss to her hair. "Rest, my love," he murmurs, his voice barely audible. Sohyun closes her eyes, a contented sigh escaping her lips. Utterly spent, yet more fulfilled than she'd ever imagined, she drifts towards sleep, secure in the warmth of his embrace, a truly claimed woman in this haven in heaven.

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magnagaruzenmon · 22 days ago

Text

Legion’s Landing

Legion’s Landing Country Club wasn’t like the mortal resorts Momo had visited before.

There were no golf carts, no eager concierge staff, and no jazz music humming through the lobby. Instead, there were relics that shimmered with divine protection, demigods sparring in marble courtyards, and nymphs braiding ivy into the columns like it was second nature.

And—most importantly—there were dragons.

“Don’t look so serious,” Sakura said, nudging Momo’s side as they strolled past a fountain that spat starlight. “You’re not here for a trial. You’re here because you’re interesting.”

Momo hummed softly. “You didn’t mention it was… this intense.”

Sakura, daughter of Ame-no-Uzume, twirled once in her short silk robes, effortlessly graceful. “Would you have come if I told you you’d be sharing a courtyard with Karina, Wonyoung, Natty, and Yeji?”

Momo blinked. “Yeji’s here?”

“Yep. She already requested heavier weights in the training hall. Said it’s to impress you.” Sakura grinned. “Come on. There’s one more place I want to show you.”

They turned down a winding path, where the smell of ash and wet stone hung heavy in the air. The temperature dropped—not from cold, but from the presence of something ancient.

A tall iron gate creaked open.

The Dragon Stables.

The enclosures were circular and open to the sky, each one containing its own enchanted biome—lava pools, icy cliffs, clouded mists. And in the largest pen at the center was him.

⸻

Diabolos.

He stood beneath the moonlight in a faded t-shirt and overalls, sleeves rolled up, one massive leather glove on his hand as he gently stroked the neck of a small, bubbling blue-scaled hatchling.

The dragon cooed, releasing a soft stream of soapy, iridescent bubbles that floated into the air and popped with faint giggles.

“That’s him?” Momo murmured.

Sakura nodded. “Yep. And that’s your dragon—Aoi.”

Momo looked between her and the hatchling. “My dragon?”

“She only reacts to people with elemental calm,” Sakura said with a wink. “Congrats. You’re already bonded.”

Diabolos turned at the sound of their voices.

For the first time, Momo saw his face.

Strong, angular features—like they’d been carved from cooled magma—but it was his eyes that caught her. Or rather, eye. His left was covered with a worn leather patch. The remaining one, a deep, earthy brown, watched her with the stillness of someone who had seen too much.

Their gazes locked.

Momo didn’t blink.

Neither did he.

⸻

Sakura stepped forward, oblivious to the electric stillness. “How’s Aoi doing?”

Diabolos knelt beside the hatchling, who nuzzled into his chest with a bubbly sigh.

“She’s adjusting,” he murmured. His voice was rough, like stone dragging over stone—but softened by patience. “She’s asking for her bonded.”

Sakura smiled and turned to Momo. “Guess that’s your cue.”

“She’s waiting,” Diabolos added, glancing back at Momo.

Momo stepped forward slowly. When the tiny dragon was handed to her, she cradled it with both hands—gentle, but unafraid.

The hatchling’s teal eyes locked with hers, and for a moment, Momo felt something latch deep inside her chest.

Recognition. Claiming.

Diabolos watched with the barest smirk. “Dragons choosing human partners is rare. You must be special.”

Momo looked up at him again. His skin was darker, and in the low light it made reading his expression difficult—but she felt his gaze, like heat trailing across her collarbone.

“Take care of her,” he said simply. “Your lives are bound now.”

⸻

As they made their way back up the trail, Momo finally spoke.

“So… what’s his deal?”

Sakura shrugged. “No one really knows. He just showed up one day mid-battle, tamed a rogue dragon, and helped design the whole nursery. He’s not on any rosters. Definitely not a god.”

Momo’s brow furrowed. “Not a god? But that power…”

Sakura gave her a sidelong glance. “You felt it, didn’t you?”

“The way the air changed when he looked at me?” Momo nodded. “Yeah.”

“His name’s Diabolos,” Sakura said. “No divine parent on record. Doesn’t talk about where he’s from. Doesn’t talk much at all, actually. But he’s the best dragon tamer here. Maybe anywhere.”

Momo glanced over her shoulder—back toward the stables, the mist, the quiet.

“How does someone like that stay off record?”

Sakura just smirked.

“Told you Legion’s Landing was interesting.”

The next morning Momo arrived to Legion’s landing with Aoi The sun hadn’t fully risen yet. Soft light smeared the sky in shades of gold and ash, and most of Legion’s Landing still slept beneath enchanted warding spells and warm blankets.

But not Momo.

She moved alone in the vast gym, her skin sheened with sweat, her breath steady, controlled. After a focused strength circuit, she drifted toward the back of the acrobatics wing—where a silver training pole stood under a skylight like a quiet spotlight.

To most, it was a tool for balance work, grip, and aerial coordination. To Momo—it was breath.

She stepped to the base, wiped her palms against her thighs, and placed one hand on the cool metal. Then she rose—smooth and sharp all at once, like silk being pulled through fire.

A gentle spin spiraled into a vertical climb, her body tight, lines extended, limbs flowing in a rhythm that was too fluid to be accidental, too sensual to be unintentional. There was no music, but she didn’t need any—her body was the rhythm. Strong, flexible, and grounded.

When she let herself drop into a controlled descent, one leg hooked around the pole while the other extended outward in a slow arc. Her neck tilted just enough to expose the graceful line of her throat, her fingers dragging with lazy precision along the chrome.

⸻

Across the courtyard, the pool doors hissed open. Diabolos stepped into the quiet, towel over his shoulder, long hair wet and dripping from his swim.

He paused mid-step.

There, framed by glass and sky, was Momo—mid-spin, her legs slicing through the air like art, her body curling and unfurling around the pole like she wasn’t bound by gravity.

His one good eye locked on her immediately.

Not in lust.

Not in awe.

Something in-between.

Like watching fire and forgetting it could burn.

And then—her feet touched the mat, her arms raised overhead in a finishing stretch, and she turned toward him.

Closer now.

Sweat glistened along her collarbone. Her tank top clung to her ribs. Her gaze—steady, unbothered—met his, even as her lips curved ever so slightly at the corners.

⸻

“You okay over there?” she asked, voice even.

Diabolos snapped out of it. His body stayed still, but his brain spiraled like a cornered dragon.

Closer, she’s worse.

No—hotter. Not worse. Just….

Fuck. Focus.

“I—sorry,” he said, backing half a step. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

She grabbed a towel and moved toward him, each step measured. Her hips swayed without trying. Not a performance, just her natural rhythm—and somehow that made it worse.

“You weren’t interrupting,” she said, patting her neck with the towel. “You’re just usually gone by now.”

He nodded. “Dragons had an early feeding.”

“Pool workout?”

“Laps.”

“You look like you swim angry.”

He actually smirked, barely. “Sometimes.”

Her head tilted just slightly, like she was sizing him up again. “You always keep your distance like this?”

Diabolos’s jaw tightened. He didn’t want to come off rude—but her presence was like heat on bare skin.

Up close, she’s… stunning.

You can’t just stare. You’re not some mortal boy with a crush.

You’re here to work. Help. Leave.

“I don’t like talking about myself,” he said, trying to reroute.

“But I didn’t ask for your whole backstory,” Momo replied. “Just curious what you’re doing here if you’re not from any of the camps.”

He hesitated. That eye of hers—sharp, but patient—felt like it saw more than she was letting on.

“I’m here as a favor,” he said eventually. “For Athena.”

She blinked. “The Athena?”

He nodded. “She asked. I owed her.”

“Owe her enough to babysit baby dragons and demigods you don’t even pretend to like?”

His mouth twitched, just barely. “She didn’t ask me to like anyone. Just to keep them alive.”

Momo’s lips parted like she was about to reply—but didn’t. Instead, she just… looked at him.

Not flirtatious. Not suspicious.

Curious. Present. Undeniably bold.

“You know,” she murmured, “for someone who doesn’t like being noticed, you’re terrible at leaving quietly.”

He dropped his gaze, jaw tightening as a warm flush crept across the back of his neck.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said, stepping back. “I should go.”

But before he could turn, Momo reached out—not to stop him physically, just enough to make him pause.

“You can watch next time,” she said softly. “If you ask.”

He froze.

Then gave her a look—measured, unreadable—but not cold.

“I’ll think about it,” he murmured.

And with that, Diabolos walked into the morning haze, heart too loud, thoughts too fast, and her silhouette burned behind his eye like a warning and a wish.

Over the next few hours, Diabolos tried—truly tried—to regain control of his thoughts.

But the image of Momo dancing—pole dancing, no less—kept hijacking his brain like a curse from Aphrodite herself.

She hadn’t even been doing it sexually. It had been graceful, fluid, almost meditative. But the way her body moved with such effortless rhythm… the sway of her hips, the stretch of her legs, the light sheen of sweat glinting under the overhead lights—

It was ruining him.

And worse, it wasn’t just lust.

It was her laugh. Her focus. That little wiggle she did when her foot slipped off beat.

She was this perfect collision of ethereal goddess and complete dork.

She’s your Twice bias, he reminded himself.

She’s tied for your ultimate. You can’t freak her out. You can’t be that guy.

So, two options.

Avoid her completely and pretend she didn’t short-circuit his nervous system.

Or—lean in, act normal, pretend she was just another demigod on campus.

He mulled over those possibilities all day. Tried to spar. Failed. Tried to meditate. Failed harder.

By the time dinner rolled around, he was still no closer to a strategy that wouldn’t either humiliate him or get him banned from the mess hall.

He grabbed a plate and found a quiet spot, ready to eat in peace—

“Diabolos, join us!”

He looked up.

Momo was waving at him from across the room. She was seated with Sakura and Dino, the latter already flashing Diabolos a smug, knowing grin. A second later, his phone buzzed.

[Dino]: “It’ll be fine. I’ll make sure you don’t fanboy too much 😈”

Diabolos exhaled. Slowly. And stood.

He could do this. Be chill. Be normal. Just walk over, say hi, sit, eat. Don’t stare. Don’t—

Then Momo stood up—to make room for him.

She did it casually, all cheerful energy and soft giggles as she scooted her chair and shifted closer to Sakura. But in doing so, she bent slightly at the waist, stretched her arms, and that damn hoodie she wore off the shoulder earlier slipped even lower, revealing a flash of collarbone and a peek of the top of her shoulder blade.

It wasn’t intentional.

It never was.

And that’s what killed him.

She moves like a celestial siren… and acts like a cartoon rabbit.

He walked over and sat down, trying to keep his breathing steady as Momo smiled at him—bright, pure, untouched by the chaos she caused.

“Glad you came,” she said softly, brushing hair behind her ear. “You always eat alone.”

He didn’t trust himself to speak, so he just nodded, grabbed a fork, and desperately tried not to imagine what she might look like if she ever actually tried to seduce someone on purpose.

You’re in hell, he thought.

And her voice sounds like paradise.

Dinner moved in quiet rhythm. Silverware clinked softly, conversation bubbled in other corners of the hall, and golden lamplight painted the walls with warmth.

Momo, for her part, remained blissfully unaware of the emotional demolition she was inflicting on Diabolos. She just… liked being near him.

Despite his intimidating look—the sharp jaw, the solemn gaze, the general “I wrestle monsters for breakfast” vibe—Momo found him oddly soothing. Calm. Constant.

Familiar, even.

In some strange way, he reminded her of her dad: rough around the edges, soft where it mattered. Protective, but not possessive. Guarded, but not cold.

With everything shifting in her life—new home, new powers, new dragons—Diabolos felt like a stable note in a very chaotic song.

She leaned into that.

⸻

“Hey, Diabolos, you love TWICE, right?” Sakura asked suddenly, barely suppressing her grin.

Diabolos slowly turned his head toward her. The look he gave could’ve curdled milk—stone-faced, eyes flat.

“Don’t,” he warned, his voice gravelly.

Sakura, undeterred, grinned wider. She knew him too well.

Which is why she also knew this would be hilarious.

He sighed, then nodded once.

Momo turned at the movement, curiosity lighting her face. Her chopsticks paused mid-air.

“Oh?” she asked, genuinely interested. “Who’s your bias?”

⸻

Time slowed.

Diabolos’s brain scrambled. He felt like someone had just asked him to fight a hydra while blindfolded.

What do you say? Tell the truth and risk sounding obsessed? Lie and regret it for eternity?

But then he looked at her. Really looked.

Not the idol. Not the girl he’d watched in countless fancams.

Just Momo, sitting across from him, hair a little messy from training, cheeks flushed from warmth, smile small and honest.

So he did the only thing that felt real.

⸻

“I like Momo,” he said, voice surprisingly steady. “She’s… cool. Goofy in the best way. And honestly, besides Mina, probably the one I have the most in common with.”

Momo blinked—then smiled.

A full, genuine smile. No idol polish. Just soft, appreciative warmth.

“That’s so sweet,” she said, nudging his foot gently under the table. “Thanks, Diabolos.”

He nodded, staring at his rice like it had personally rescued him from embarrassment.

The table fell into silence after that—but it was the good kind. The kind where nothing needs to be said because everyone’s smiling just a little more.

Even Diabolos.

After dinner Diabolos closed up the Dragon Nursery and started getting ready to go home. The moonlight spilled down in soft blue ribbons as the group dispersed after dinner. Diabolos walked ahead alone, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie, head low, expression unreadable—but calmer than earlier.

Momo caught up to him just before he reached the edge of the path.

“Hey,” she said lightly, jogging a few steps to close the gap.

He looked over, slowing his pace. “Yeah?”

Momo’s fingers played with the hem of her hoodie. “I was wondering… could I swing by the nursery early tomorrow? I’ve been reading up on bonded care, but I want to make sure I’m doing things right with Aoi. She means a lot to me, and… I just wanna be better for her.”

Diabolos tilted his head slightly. Her voice was soft. Earnest. A little shy.

It punched him right in the sternum.

“Yeah,” he said after a pause. “Morning’s quieter anyway. Less distraction.”

“Perfect.” Her face lit up. “I’ll bring you coffee. Or tea. Whatever dragon whisperers drink.”

He almost smiled. Almost. “Tea is fine. With a moderate amount of sugar.”

She nodded. “Got it.”

There was a beat of stillness. The wind rustled the trees. Her hair danced across her cheek. And even though nothing was said, everything was felt.

Then she gave him a little wave and turned, heading off toward her apartment.

Back at Momo and Nayeon’s apartment The lights were low when Momo walked in, her hoodie slung around her waist and her cheeks still a little pink from the night air. Aoi was curled up in a velvet-lined basket near the window, breathing soft clouds of bubbles in her sleep.

“Back late,” Nayeon said from her spot on the couch, peeling a face mask from her cheek. “Was it a dinner or a date?”

Momo laughed and dropped onto the cushions beside her. “Neither. We all just ate. Nothing dramatic.”

“Uh-huh.” Nayeon gave her a look. “You’ve got that ‘diabolically flustered’ glow going on. Something happen with your dragon guy?”

Momo blushed deeper. “He’s not my dragon guy.”

“Uh-huh,” Nayeon repeated, grinning. “So how was your first full day with Aoi?”

Momo looked over at the little dragon, then leaned her head back against the couch cushion.

“…Kind of magical.”

Nayeon waited.

“I don’t know,” Momo said softly. “It’s like… I didn’t realize how much I needed her. She’s calm, but wild. Playful, but sharp. And she always knows how I feel, even before I do.”

“Sounds familiar,” Nayeon said, nudging her.

Momo rolled her eyes. “She’s a dragon. Not a metaphor.”

Nayeon stretched out on the couch. “You sure about that?”

Momo didn’t answer.

She just looked out the window at the moonlight glinting off the sleeping bubbles.

And smiled.

Momo arrived just as the first golden slivers of dawn crept across the sky. The Dragon Nursery was already alive with quiet magic—mist curling over the artificial terrains, the soft hum of enchanted wards vibrating in the stones beneath her feet.

Aoi, wrapped like a sleepy scarf around Momo’s neck, let out a tiny, iridescent bubble-filled sigh as they stepped through the open doors.

Inside, Diabolos was already at work.

He moved with quiet precision—shifting feeding crates, checking temperature runes, adjusting a shimmering heat-lamp over a volcanic nest. The dragons responded to him like the world did to gravity: with quiet trust.

Momo lingered in the doorway for a moment, just watching. His shirt clung to his back in places, damp with effort. His shoulders rolled with quiet strength. The early light caught on the edge of his jaw, making him look like a statue chiseled from something ancient and patient.

Aoi hiccuped.

Diabolos turned.

When his eyes met Momo’s, his face softened in that quiet way it always did when she was around.

“Morning, Diabolos,” Momo said brightly.

“Good to see you, Momoring,” he replied, lips twitching into a smile.

Momo’s heart fluttered, just a bit.

“Oh? You really are a Once,” she teased, walking further in.

He chuckled. “You betcha.”

She slid down onto a low bench across from him as Aoi unwound herself from her shoulders and flopped lazily beside her, mimicking her posture like a sleepy little sibling.

“So,” Momo said, brushing her hair behind one ear. “What can you tell me about being bonded to a dragon?”

Diabolos leaned against the edge of a large wooden crate, arms folded, thinking.

“You want the poetic version or the crash course?”

Momo grinned. “Whichever one’s easier to remember before coffee.”

He tilted his head. “Alright. Here’s the short version: dragons are smart—really smart. They’ll speak to you when they’re ready.”

His eyes flicked to Aoi, who was currently blowing a stream of tiny soap-bubbles into the air and watching them pop against Momo’s nose.

“Yours,” he added, “is a sass factory. Full of commentary. Loud opinions. Get ready for her to start narrating your life like it’s a drama.”

“She already does,” Momo laughed. “Yesterday she criticized my walking posture.”

Diabolos smirked. “Sounds about right.”

He took a slow breath, then added, “The key with bonded dragons? Don’t force anything. Be steady. Present. Move only when it matters.”

Momo rested her chin on her hand, eyes thoughtful. “So… the secret is kind of like ambivalence.”

He nodded. “Exactly. Controlled patience. Like… letting someone come to you when they’re ready.”

Momo looked up at him—really looked.

There was something in the air then. Not heavy. Not loud. Just… still. A moment stretched long between them, held by quiet understanding and mutual warmth.

The soft scent of hay and magic lingered between them. Outside, a breeze moved through the hanging ivy, whispering like it didn’t want to interrupt.

“I think I get it,” Momo said, her voice softer now.

“You will,” Diabolos said, meeting her gaze. “You’re already doing better than most.”

Their eyes stayed locked a beat longer than necessary. Long enough for Momo’s breath to hitch just slightly. Long enough for Diabolos to wonder how close was too close.

Then Aoi let out a tiny snort and rolled dramatically onto her back, wings flopping over her face like she was done with their tension.

Momo giggled and reached down to tickle the hatchling’s belly. “She’s already picking up your sarcasm.”

“I resent that,” Diabolos muttered.

Momo smiled up at him again, warmer this time. More familiar. “Thanks for letting me come early.”

“You’re welcome anytime.”

And this time, he didn’t look away.

A little later still before other demigods arrived, and after. The dragons had settled. Aoi was napping in a sunbeam, tail curled around a squeaky cleaning rune. Momo had just finished helping Diabolos re-enchant a mist-net over the storm-pen, and now the world felt hushed again—like the nursery was holding its breath.

Diabolos sat on a flat stone bench under a canopy of woven vines, nursing a ceramic mug of something dark and herbal. Steam curled lazily from the surface.

Momo wandered over and sat beside him without asking. Not too close. Not too far.

“Tea?” she asked, gently nudging her shoulder toward his.

“Vanilla Pepermint,” he said, offering her the cup.

She took a sip without hesitation. Wrinkled her nose playfully. “Tastes like sadness.”

Diabolos huffed a small laugh. “It’s calming. Helps clear the mind.”

She handed it back and looked out over the nursery, legs swinging gently beneath the bench. “So how long have you been here? At Legion’s Landing?”

He didn’t answer right away. She didn’t rush him.

Finally, he spoke.

“Since the beginning.”

Momo turned toward him, curious.

“I came the summer after I graduated high school. The club was brand new back then. Barely more than some columns, an outdoor ring, and a half-built bathhouse.”

“You were part of the original crew?” she asked, impressed.

“Kinda. Not officially. I came as a favor.”

“A favor?”

He nodded, staring down into his mug.

“Jason Grace,” he said quietly. “He was the one who reached out. This land—before the enchantments, before the wards—was dragon territory. Wild, unstable. There were… incidents. He knew I had experience. Asked me to help set up a containment system. A sanctuary, not a prison.”

Momo blinked. “Wait, Jason Grace asked you for help with dragons?”

Diabolos gave her a small shrug. Yeah I met him his third year at camp Jupiter and he took me under his wing. He’s a good guy. Saw things in people. Called in favors when it counted.”

“What about Percy? I knew they built this place together but they kinda disappeared after they had kids,”

“Built the first recovery pools. Said water worked better when it wasn’t trying to kill you.”

She smiled softly, letting the names settle over her like sunlight through glass.

Diabolos sipped again, slower this time.

“I stayed because the dragons trusted me. And because someone had to teach the next generation how to respect what they were bonding with.”

Momo watched his face while he spoke—how his voice shifted from rough to reverent, how the lines around his mouth softened when he spoke of the past.

“You make it sound like you didn’t plan to stay.”

“I didn’t,” he said. “But things change.”

She hummed thoughtfully, then asked, “And now?”

He glanced at her, eyes steady. “Now I’m still here. Until someone better comes along.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think there is someone better.”

He held her gaze for a long, quiet moment. Long enough for the steam to drift from his cup, for the warmth to settle deeper between them.

Then she leaned back against the vine-wrapped stone and said, with a grin:

“Well, lucky for me. Otherwise I’d be getting dragon tips from a guy named Chad.”

Diabolos chuckled, low and quiet.

“Gods forbid.”

Momo leaned in a little closer, resting her elbows on her knees, her voice light and teasing.

“So… what else do you do, besides wrangling dragons and being all mysterious?”

Diabolos didn’t even hesitate. “I play collectible card games and fighting games.”

She blinked. Then grinned.

“You’re such a dork.”

He shrugged, calm and unbothered. “It’s what I do.”

Momo tilted her head, studying him. His face gave little away, but there was something charming in how unapologetically himself he was. Most guys tried to impress her. Diabolos just… existed—solid, unshaken, and completely unaware of how attractive that made him.

Her grin turned sly.

“Okay, but can you at least fight or use magic? Or are you just here for the dragons?”

Diabolos exhaled like he’d been asked this before.

“I’m decent.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, sitting back with crossed arms. “Elaborate.”

He scratched the back of his neck, eyes flicking upward like he was calculating.

“I can beat most demigods in a duel, but that’s more battle IQ than anything. I never trained like a child of Ares or anything—so if someone’s fast, strong, or focused? I probably lose.”

Momo’s smirk returned, slow and dangerous this time.

There it is, she thought. A crack in the stone.

“Well then,” she said, her voice velveted with confidence as she leaned toward him again, “guess I’m gonna teach you.”

His brow quirked, skeptical.

She just smiled wider, electric with the thrill of the opening. She hadn’t planned on getting this involved, but now that the door was open, she wanted to step through. To see how far she could push him. How much of that stoic calm she could melt.

“I’m serious,” she added. “If we’re gonna work together—me, you, Aoi—you need to be able to keep up. Sooner or later, something bigger than us is gonna come knocking.”

Her tone had shifted slightly—still playful, but laced with something honest now. A beat of real purpose beneath the flirting.

Diabolos looked at her for a long moment.

Then, finally, he nodded.

“All right. Show me what you’ve got, Momoring.”

The weapons shed at Legion’s Landing sat behind the main sparring circle, tucked beneath an open pavilion draped in ivy and morning mist. Sunlight filtered through the trellis above, casting patterns across polished weapon racks.

Momo had arrived early, dragging Diabolos with her before the stables fully stirred.

“You don’t really expect to win fights with just your fists, do you?” she said, hands on hips as she surveyed the collection.

Diabolos rolled his eyes. “It’s gotten me this far.”

Momo smirked. “So has your charm, but I wouldn’t recommend relying on that either.”

That earned a half chuckle from him—but there was a flicker of a smile, too.

She pulled a short sword off the rack and tossed it to him. “Try this.”

He caught it easily, gave it a few test swings. His face was unreadable, but the effort looked… awkward. Off-balance. Like he was used to absorbing hits, not parrying them.

“Nope,” she said before he could fake it. “You’re not fast enough to make that sing.”

She replaced it and handed him a set of twin daggers.

“No.”

He didn’t even try. Momo raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

“I’m not flashy.”

“Wrong. You’re drama. But fine.” She picked up a trident next and grinned. “This one’s for flair.”

“Pass,” he muttered.

“Coward.”

They both laughed at that, the sound settling between them like warm cloth.

Finally, she turned, eyes scanning toward the end of the rack—where the larger weapons sat. She stepped toward the corner and gripped a massive two-handed sword, its handle wrapped in aged leather, the blade broad but balanced. It shimmered faintly along the edge, as if it remembered fire.

Momo turned and offered it to him with both hands. “Try this.”

Diabolos took it cautiously. The weight shifted perfectly into his grip. He swung it once, slow and clean—the blade cut through the air with a low hum. The second swing came easier. Then the third.

He didn’t say anything, but the way his shoulders settled—more relaxed, more natural—told her everything.

“You feel it, don’t you?” she asked softly, stepping into his periphery.

“It doesn’t feel like a weapon,” he said after a moment. “It feels like… an extension.”

Momo smiled. “That’s how you know it’s right.”

She circled around him slowly, watching his form, his balance, the way his breath synchronized with each swing. There was power in him—ridiculous power—but until now, it had always been coiled too tight. With this sword, it looked like he could finally move.

“Looks good on you,” she said, folding her arms.

Diabolos looked at her, sweat lightly dampening his temple. “You sure?”

“You move like someone trying not to destroy the room,” she said. “That sword is big enough to take the hit for you.”

He paused. “You’re pretty good at this.”

Momo shrugged playfully. “Perks of being around dancers and demigods. You learn what people need to move like themselves.”

Their eyes met for a moment too long.

And then, to break it, Momo added with a wink, “Plus, I just really like watching you swing that thing around.”

Diabolos coughed into his sleeve, the faintest flush reaching the tips of his ears.

Before he could recover, Momo grinned wickedly and shoved him gently into the sparring circle.

“Come on,” she said, following him in. “Let’s see what you’ve really got.”

He straightened, brushing the dust off his shirt, then shifted into a low fighting stance—measured, reactive. Momo, meanwhile, rolled her shoulders as a pulse of pink-gold magic swirled up from her skin, wrapping around her spear, Uzume’s Parlor. The weapon shimmered—half blade, half ribbon, all elegance.

And then—three of her stepped forward.

Diabolos blinked. “Wait—we can use magic?”

“Yes, babe,” Momo called sweetly, already circling him. “I want a real read on your power.”

That word—babe—hit him like a sucker punch. With his deeper skin tone, Momo couldn’t see the flush that overtook his cheeks, but Aoi definitely could, and let out a quiet bubble of laughter in the background.

Diabolos exhaled slowly. This was going to be dangerous—for all the wrong reasons.

He widened his stance and began to chant under his breath, voice low and strange:

“Fangs encircling me as they shape the face of sleep, while my mind tears apart my dreams for the sanctity of me. Profundity collapses as common place eradicated the simple,”

The air cracked. Four dragon spirits coiled around him, spectral and elemental—smoke, ice, ash, and lightning. They circled protectively, as if pulled from the core of his being.

Momo’s brows lifted. “Okay… that was impressive.”

Diabolos didn’t respond—he just shifted again, now in a proper stance, ready for her.

She didn’t hesitate. With a flick of her wrist, the bladed ribbon of Uzume’s Parlor snapped into whip-form. She launched it toward him—graceful and deadly.

He blocked, catching the chain mid-air with one hand and yanked her forward. Momo slid effortlessly across the stone, letting the pull guide her, and fell into his arms.

They stopped. Just for a second. Her chest against his. Her breath hitched. His heart thundered.

The tension was electric.

Then—

Momo smirked.

She drove the wooden base of her weapon toward his midsection, but a glowing spectral wing burst from his back and blocked it with a gust of force, flinging her back with a tumble.

Diabolos advanced—fast, but clean. A jab. Momo dodged, smiling to herself.

“He’s not trained—but he’s smart.” she thought.

Aoi confirmed it in her mind:

“Instinctive. Very. But raw.”

“Guaranteed, I got you,” Momo cooed playfully.

She pulled on the chain, dragging Diabolos forward, unbalancing him. As he stumbled, Momo flipped backward with the momentum—vaulting over him, her three magical doubles trailing behind in mirrored arcs.

All four landed together—four downward thrusts aimed at his shoulders and chest.

Diabolos raised his arms to guard—almost fast enough.

But not quite.

The blow connected—soft enough not to break anything, hard enough to knock him on his back.

He hit the mat, groaning, vision swimming.

Momo stood over him, panting slightly, eyes glowing with adrenaline and something else. She leaned on her weapon and smiled down at him.

“That was fun.”

She didn’t realize how hard she was smiling until Aoi’s voice slipped into her mind:

The practice ring had gone quiet.

Diabolos had excused himself for water—or space. Momo wasn’t sure which. He’d been unusually quiet after their last round of drills, his new greatsword now resting against the nearby rack like it, too, was catching its breath.

She sat on the edge of the platform, swinging her legs idly, still slightly flushed from their sparring. The morning sun caught her skin in gold and rose, and sweat beaded at her collarbone, glistening just under the edge of her tank top.

A small, amused chirp broke the silence.

Aoi—curled around her neck like a jeweled scarf—blinked up at her, eyes full of sleepy mischief.

“You like him,” the little dragon said simply, her voice brushing against Momo’s mind like silk in water.

Momo nearly fell off the platform.

“I—what?! No! I—wha—how do you even know what liking someone means?”

Aoi’s tail lazily flicked as she adjusted her head atop Momo’s shoulder. “I’m bonded to you. I feel your heart rhythms. I smell your skin shifts. I taste the way your breath changes when he’s close.”

Momo covered her face with both hands, groaning. “This is exactly why people don’t let dragons talk.”

Aoi snorted a bubbly little giggle. “You are so obvious. You get warm when he says your nickname. You fidget when he looks at you for too long. And when he picked up that sword? You nearly melted.”

“I did not melt,” Momo muttered, trying not to smile.

“You did,” Aoi said smugly, puffing out a tiny bubble ring that floated upward and popped near Momo’s ear. “You think he’s handsome. And smart. And smells like thunder.”

“He does smell like thunder,” Momo whispered before she could stop herself. Then slapped her forehead. “Ugh, shut up.”

Aoi tilted her head. “So when are you going to tell him?”

Momo stared ahead, suddenly quiet.

She didn’t know how to answer that. Not because the feelings weren’t real—if anything, they were too real. Diabolos was… complicated. Rough and kind, fierce and patient. A storm of contradiction wrapped in calm. And while she’d started off curious, now she found herself drawn to him in ways that were harder to explain.

“I don’t know,” she said finally, voice soft. “I don’t want to mess things up.”

Aoi nuzzled her cheek with surprising gentleness. “Maybe telling him wouldn’t ruin anything. Maybe it would help him stop pretending he doesn’t feel it too.”

Momo blinked. “Wait. You think he—?”

But before she could finish the question, she heard footsteps returning.

Diabolos.

She straightened her back instinctively, wiping a smudge of sweat from her temple just as he reappeared around the corner, hair a little tousled, shirt clinging to him slightly from the heat. His eyes found hers almost immediately—steady, unreadable, but searching.

Momo forced a smile, trying not to look like she’d just been interrogated by her dragon.

Aoi chuckled in her mind again.

“You’re doomed.”

Momo approached quietly, brushing her fingers over Aoi’s scales where the dragonling rested across her shoulder. Her breathing had just settled from the sparring, but her mind was still racing—especially with how Diabolos had sung dragons into being like it was just a Tuesday.

“Hey,” she said softly. “Can I ask you something?”

Diabolos sat on a low stone bench by the edge of the training circle, still catching his breath, elbows on his knees, eyes scanning the horizon. He didn’t look at her as he said, “You want to know about the magic.”

Momo blinked. “How’d you—?”

He shrugged. “Because you’re the first person here who’s ever asked me anything real.”

There was no bite to it. Just… quiet truth.

Momo stepped closer, arms folded. “You’re dodging. Try again.”

He finally looked at her, lips twitching at the corners. “Dragon Song magic,” he said. “It’s… ancient. I don’t control it. I harmonize with it. It lets me channel the memory of dragons through resonance—voice, spirit, emotion. They don’t come because I call them. They come because I remember them.”

Momo’s eyes softened. “That’s… beautiful, actually.”

He gave a noncommittal grunt and looked away again.

“So,” she added, tilting her head, “what do people ask you about?”

He hesitated. Then: “Mostly just dragon questions. Or if I’ve got a spare protein bar. Or if I’m still into girls with big boobs.”

Momo blinked. “Excuse me?”

He pulled his phone from his pocket, turned the screen to her. It was his lock screen—A fantasy dragon pin-up. With a buxom sorceress riding it in a magical bikini.

“Context clues,” he said flatly.

Momo burst out laughing, covering her mouth. Even Aoi made a hiccuping snort that sounded suspiciously like amusement.

“There’s no way people think that’s the only thing about you,” Momo said once she’d caught her breath. “You’re funny. In that… dry, ‘am I joking or will I explode your kneecaps’ way.”

Diabolos sighed. “Yeah. Most people assume I’m just brooding or pissed off. You’d be surprised how far being quiet and tall goes toward making people keep their distance.”

Momo nodded slowly, watching him from the side now. “It’s kind of wild,” she said after a moment. “You’ve got all this depth… and no one bothers to dive.”

Diabolos shrugged again, quieter this time. “Doesn’t bother me.”

“You’re lying.”

He looked at her.

“People say that when it totally bothers them,” Momo said, smirking. “But it’s okay. I get it. It sucks feeling like you’re the background character in your own life.”

That one landed.

For a second, Diabolos didn’t say anything. Then he exhaled through his nose.

“Okay,” he admitted. “Maybe it’s nice… when someone sees through the smoke.”

Momo beamed at him, eyes twinkling. “You’re welcome.”

Aoi, smug and warm, coiled a little tighter around Momo’s neck and whispered in her mind:

“He’s melting. Say one more thing and he’ll combust.”

Momo stifled a laugh and gently bumped her shoulder against his arm. “Well, for what it’s worth… I like seeing the version of you no one else does.”

He didn’t answer right away—but when he did, it was almost too soft to hear.

“…Thanks.”

Momo unlocked the apartment door and stepped inside, immediately greeted by the scent of chamomile tea and the soft thrum of music playing in the background. The lights were dimmed, warm and golden. Nayeon sat cross-legged on the couch in an oversized sweater, cradling a mug, her hair up in a messy bun that somehow still looked model-tier perfect.

“Hey,” she called without turning around. “You’re home late.”

Momo dropped her bag by the door and flopped onto the couch with an exhausted groan. Aoi uncurled from around her neck and glided over to the perch by the window, yawning in little bubble-puffs before settling in for the night.

“Long day?” Nayeon asked, finally glancing over.

Momo stared at the ceiling. “You have no idea.”

“That bad or that good?”

Momo turned her head slowly, giving Nayeon a look.

Nayeon’s smile widened. “Oooh. Tell me everything.”

Momo sat up, pulling her knees to her chest, the exhaustion starting to ebb now that she was in her own space. “It was… intense. I trained with Diabolos. You know, the dragon guy?”

“The one who looks like he eats steel beams for breakfast and growls instead of speaking? Yeah, I’ve seen him around.”

Momo laughed softly. “He’s not like that at all. I mean, he’s serious, yeah. But he’s… kind. Awkward. Smart. So deadpan it’s almost art.”

Nayeon raised an eyebrow. “You’re smiling.”

“No I’m not,” Momo said too quickly.

“You are.”

Momo sighed. “Okay. So maybe I am. A little.”

“Start from the top.”

Momo recounted the day—how she and Diabolos sparred, how his magic summoned dragon spirits, how real and grounded he became when he fought. How he caught her. How she landed on him. How they shared this moment that felt charged in a way she wasn’t prepared for.

And how they talked.

Not about camp, or dragons, or missions. About him. About how nobody really sees him.

“I don’t know,” Momo said softly, hugging a throw pillow. “There’s something in him. It’s quiet. Caged. Like he’s holding himself back all the time.”

Nayeon sipped her tea and watched her carefully. “And you like that?”

“I like…” Momo paused. “I like that he opens up around me. That he listens. That he doesn’t treat me like ‘Momo from Twice,’ you know? I’m just me with him.”

“Except when you call him ‘babe’ mid-fight and use illusion magic to flirt.”

Momo groaned and buried her face in the pillow. “Aoi told you, didn’t she?”

“She showed me the whole playback like a little gremlin,” Nayeon said proudly. “Honestly? You’re dangerous. You’ve been out of the dating game for three days and you’re already bringing demigods to their knees.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Momo muttered into the pillow.

Nayeon leaned in, teasingly. “So what was it like?”

After a moment, Momo peeked out.

“…It was kind of magical.”

Nayeon smiled.

They let the silence stretch, cozy and full.

“You gonna see him again tomorrow?” Nayeon asked.

Momo nodded, her voice soft. “Yeah. He said he’d help me train with Aoi more. Said he’d teach me how to listen to her better.”

Nayeon got up and stretched, walking toward her bedroom. “Well, just try not to fall too hard for the emotionally constipated dragon man.”

“I make no promises,” Momo called after her.

As the lights dimmed and the apartment grew quiet, Momo leaned her head back, gazing out the window where Aoi slept on the sill, curled in moonlight.

She smiled to herself, still feeling the echo of his voice in her head.

His steady gaze.

That brief touch.

She didn’t know where this was going.

But for the first time in a while…

She was excited to find out.

The next morning, Momo didn’t arrive at the Dragon Nursery alone.

Trailing just behind her in a flowing floral jacket and designer sunglasses was Nayeon—daughter of Eostre, goddess of spring, renewal, and radiant entrances. Her heels clicked confidently across the stone path as she scanned the nursery with curious eyes.

“So this is the guy who’s got you giggling in your sleep,” Nayeon said casually. “I had to see him for myself.”

Momo groaned under her breath. “Please don’t embarrass me.”

“No promises.”

They rounded the last bend—and then Nayeon stopped cold.

At the center of the nursery stood Diabolos, in his usual worn tee and work gloves, gently brushing ash from a young dragon’s wings. He turned at the sound of footsteps.

And Nayeon’s mouth dropped open.

“Baby Diablo?!” she exclaimed.

Diabolos blinked, confused—then stunned. “Nabong?”

The dragon let out a surprised chirp as Diabolos crossed the pen in two long strides and scooped Nayeon into a massive hug. She laughed, caught off guard—and slightly winded.

“Okay—okay—you’re crushing me!” she gasped between laughs.

Diabolos immediately set her down, his hands hovering awkwardly like he wasn’t sure what to do with them. His face was lit up in a way Momo had never seen before—open, unguarded, almost boyish.

Momo watched the scene in stunned silence, caught between fascination… and something else she didn’t quite have the name for yet.

Nayeon caught her breath, still grinning. “Gods, what happened to you? Last time I saw you, you were a scrawny little mess who blushed every time a girl said hello.”

“I mean,” Diabolos stammered, rubbing the back of his neck, “you’re literally Twice’s Nayeon now, so it’s a little hard to—uh—process things.”

Momo blinked. Wait, they knew each other from before Twice?

“You’re still so flustered,” Nayeon teased, giving him a light shove. “Some things never change.”

Diabolos took a breath, finally composing himself. “I’m just surprised. After Camp Jupiter, I figured you were gone for good. I didn’t even connect the dots when I started getting into K-pop and saw you on screen.”

Nayeon’s smile softened. “You always led with your heart, not your head. That’s why I never blamed you.”

She turned toward Momo with a wink. “You know, he saved my life once.”

Momo perked up. “Really?”

“There was a car crash when I was a teenager,” Nayeon said, slipping into storyteller mode. “He pulled me out before the wreck went up in flames. Dragged me half a mile to get help. Then made sure I got to Camp Jupiter. He was just a kid—but already a hero.”

Diabolos looked down, embarrassed. “You make it sound way cooler than it was…”

“And,” Nayeon added, eyes glinting, “he had the biggest crush on me.”

Momo’s eyebrows lifted slightly. She tilted her head toward Diabolos, curious.

He groaned. “It was a long time ago. You were literally the first girl who talked to me like a person.”

“Aww,” Nayeon said, ruffling his hair. “My shy little dragon nerd.”

Diabolos rolled his eyes, but he was smiling—really smiling.

And Momo…

Momo stood just behind them, still and quiet, trying to piece together the strange fluttering in her chest.

She knew this wasn’t jealousy. It wasn’t that simple.

It was more the realization that she wasn’t the first person to reach Diabolos. That once, long ago, someone else had touched his heart before she ever arrived at Legion’s Landing.

But what surprised her more was how much she wanted to be the one he opened up to now.

After the heartwarming reunion, the three of them—Diabolos, Nayeon, and Momo—shared a long-overdue breakfast. The conversation was light, full of old jokes and subtle glances between Momo and Diabolos that didn’t go unnoticed by Nayeon. They laughed over buttered toast, clinked their juice glasses, and for a moment, the weight of Diabolos’s burdens felt distant.

But as they stepped out of the country club’s grand veranda and into the golden morning, a glint of sunlight struck just right—catching the jagged line that ran from Diabolos’s brow to his cheekbone, the old wound carved deep into the flesh around his left eye.

Nayeon stopped in her tracks, her brows knitting in alarm.

“Diablo… what happened to your eye?”

Diabolos froze. For a brief second, the smile dropped from his face. He turned his head just slightly, as if unsure whether to hide or explain. Before he could answer, a gust of dry, unnaturally warm wind rolled through the lawn. The barometric pressure shifted, and deep within his skull, the cyst nestled near his frontal lobe began to throb—like a second heart pumping ancient warning.

And then came the voice, crisp and too-familiar.

“Yeah, little buddy. Why don’t you tell her what really happened?”

Diabolos groaned and turned slowly. Two figures stood near the stone fountain—one tall, wrapped in a dark green coat with a blade strapped lazily to his back, and the other a behemoth of scales and silver fur, its wingless body was tense and taught : Artorias, the Dragon-Knight, and Merlin, the flightless dragon.

Nayeon instinctively stepped closer to her brother. Momo’s eyes narrowed, sensing the shift, her fingers grazing the pendant she always wore—a gift from her mother from long ago.

Artorias smiled thinly, but there was no warmth in it. “Tell her how you spat on the accords. How you saved the wyrmling meant to be sacrificed to the Dragon of Hate. Tell her how you spat in the faces of the Elders, Diabolos.”

Diabolos exhaled. He looked at Nayeon, then at the sky, then finally at Arthur.

“He was a hatchling no older than Merlin. He didn’t deserve death. A dragon, yes—but a child nonetheless. The elders called it treason. I call it mercy.”

Artorias’s hand moved to his hilt.

“Careful,” Diabolos warned, his tone low and deceptively calm. “Don’t make me call Alucard.”

That name rang out like a curse, and instantly Merlin’s great maw opened in a furious roar. The earth trembled as the dragon lunged forward, his long talons scoring the earth. His eyes—once dulled with age—now blazed with ancestral wrath.

“You dare speak that name?” Merlin snarled, voice like stone grinding against steel. “You named that thing, that vicious monster masquerading as a dragon Alucard? You gave it a soul it did not deserve!”

Nayeon flinched, clearly shaken, but Diabolos didn’t waver.

“He earned that name,” he said. “In fire. In sacrifice. He chose to run to fight fate just like we all do.”

The sky began to darken—not from cloud or storm, but as if some ancient consciousness was awakening, older than wind, older than light. Shadows coiled like serpents across the earth, and the sun seemed to dim, not by obstruction, but by dread. It hesitated in the heavens, as if the very cosmos were holding its breath.

A deep, bone-chilling wind swept through the grass, rustling the blades like whispers of a forgotten prophecy. Diabolos, Artorias, and Merlin felt it ripple through their blood—a warning, a memory, a reckoning rising from beneath the skin of the world.

Artorias was undeterred. The seasoned knight stepped forward with slow confidence and unsheathed his blade. The steel rang like a war bell. Merlin, the flightless dragon, opened his maw in a low, rumbling growl that cracked the pavement beneath his claws.

And Diabolos… he laughed.

A dark, mirthless, almost sorrowful laugh that sent a chill down Momo’s spine. Nayeon instinctively grabbed her brother’s arm, but he shrugged her off gently, stepping forward. His voice was low, resigned, but tinged with wrath.

“So that’s how you want to play it…”

He inhaled and stretched his hand skyward, the veins in his forearm pulsing with ethereal fire.

“Alucard, heed my call. We must rise again above all.

Join your powers with mine as we break the wall.

Sword and shield together bound,

To slash and purge the rot that seeps into the ground.”

At the invocation’s end, a ripple burst through the clouds—no thunder, no lightning, just pure clarity. The darkness shattered like stained glass, and golden sunlight poured through the cracks in reality.

From that light descended a dragon—gleaming silver and sapphire blue, each scale glinting like a master-forged plate of enchanted armor. His wings shimmered like banners caught in a divine wind, and his eyes burned with nobility—and judgment.

Diabolos’s own form was enveloped in radiant armor. Arcane sigils carved themselves across his arms, chest, and brow. A helm of light and shadow crowned him. The warlord was gone; in his place stood a knight of vengeance, a vizier of righteous fury.

The dragon’s voice rang out like a cathedral bell at war.

“**You now face the Lord who has reclaimed his throne.

The hammer of justice falls upon the serpents of betrayal.

With fang and flame, I smite the wicked.

Hark! The traitors’ screams herald our return!

Behold—Alucard, the Just Ruler—and his Vizier of Calamity, Diabolos!”

Artorias and Merlin stood their ground, eyes steeled. They were not shaken—yet.

But they did not see the flash.

In the blink of an eye, Diabolos and Alucard vanished—then reappeared behind their foes like ghosts slipping through cracks in time. Alucard’s wing came crashing down with thunderous force, slamming into Merlin and sending the beast skidding across the stone terrace. Diabolos drove his hip into Artorias’s side like a crashing comet, knocking him off his feet and into the hedge wall.

The battlefield erupted into chaos.

They moved as one. Twin blurs of justice and devastation, teleporting across the grounds, their forms a blur of silver, blue, and black. For every strike Artorias or Merlin attempted, Diabolos and Alucard responded with three—controlled, precise, merciless. The knight and the dragon were overwhelmed, battered by synchronized strikes until both lay panting, half-buried in the wreckage of the rose garden.

Diabolos lifted his hand for the final blow. Alucard’s maw glowed with celestial fire.

And then—

“Stop.”

Momo’s voice cut through the fury like a bell in a storm. She stood firm at the edge of the battlefield, her long coat billowing in the wind, Aoi standing beside her in full dragon form—eyes glowing with icy judgment.

Alucard froze mid-charge. The glow faded from his throat.

Diabolos paused, still breathing hard, hand hovering midair.

From his warlord’s height, Alucard narrowed his eyes at the woman and dragon standing before him. Slowly, as if conceding to an equal, he shrank—his towering form dissolving into a compact, shoulder-perched version of himself, regal even in miniature. He settled on Diabolos’s pauldron, wings folding with elegance.

Momo strode forward, her gaze sharp.

Aoi squinted at the miniature dragon and let out a thoughtful hum.

“You know,” she said casually, “Alucard’s kind of handsome. His scales glisten. His aura is very… refined.”

Momo didn’t even break stride. “Now is not the time to flirt.”

Aoi rolled her glowing eyes, tossing her mane of sapphire fire.

“Oh come on, you have your type, I have mine.”

Diabolos let out a short breath—half a chuckle, half a sigh—as he turned to look at Momo. His rage was still simmering under the surface, but her presence, and Aoi’s irreverence, seemed to anchor him.

“Next time,” Momo said coolly, “you call him after you talk to me.”

Diabolos nodded slowly. “Understood.”

Far behind them, Artorias groaned, propping himself up on his sword. Merlin lay still but breathing, his tail twitching in the broken stone.

The storm had passed. But the damage—both physical and spiritual—lingered in the air like smoke after a fire.

For a beat, everything was still. The wind moved gently through the wrecked rose bushes. Petals drifted through the air like soft red ash.

Behind them, Artorias stirred with a groan, pushing himself upright with trembling arms. Blood streaked his chin, and his once-pristine armor was dented and cracked across the chestplate. Merlin let out a low, pained rumble, his wings twitching as he struggled to rise.

Diabolos turned to the battlefield, his posture softening. The war mask slipped from his face, and for a moment, he simply looked tired.

“…Alucard.”

The small dragon glanced at him, then wordlessly nodded and leapt from his shoulder. Returning to his natural massive size and With surprising gentleness, he glided toward Merlin, landing beside the injured dragon. A subtle glow shimmered along his tail as he whispered a few ancient words. Merlin’s eyes opened with a faint start, and the tension in his broken body loosened.

At the same time, Diabolos approached Artorias.

The knight stiffened as he saw the silhouette approach, but Diabolos extended a hand.

Artorias hesitated.

“You could finish me,” he muttered. “Why help?”

“Eh that’s not my style” Diabolos said quietly. “You know that.”

Artorias studied him for a long moment, then took the offered hand.

Diabolos pulled him up in one fluid motion. The knight leaned on his sword to stay upright.

Merlin, still lying half-curled, blinked at Alucard with what might’ve been something close to disbelief. “You’re… helping me?”

Alucard smirked, his voice echoing in Merlin’s mind like tempered steel.

“A rule must be kind to his servants even if they mean him harm because he is responsible for them.”

Merlin grunted and looked away, but didn’t pull from the healing light.

Momo walked up beside Diabolos, her eyes sweeping across the battered garden, the scorched tile, the shattered marble fountain. She sighed, then looked at the two former enemies now barely standing.

“I hope,” she said, “this was worth it.”

Diabolos looked at her, then to Artorias and Merlin—bloodied, proud, stubborn.

“It was,” he said. “But next time… I’ll try words first.”

Aoi gave him a sharp side-eye. “You do remember what words are, right?”

Alucard gave a quiet, metallic chuckle.

As they got up two Familiar Faces and voices to Diabolos said, “hey big brother I need your help,”

39 notes · View notes

magnagaruzenmon · 24 days ago

Text

Shock and Awe

A little request for Isa. This was fun. I don’t know her too well so learning about her was fun

You’d been dating Isa for nearly two years. By now, you figured you had a pretty good read on who she was and what made her tick. At least, you thought so—until she stormed into your apartment while you were reading and blurted out:

“I need you to have sex with me. Right now.”

You blinked, dog-eared the page, and set the book down slowly.

“…Hi to you too, babe. How was your day?” you said, trying not to sound too thrown.

“It was great!” she huffed. “So? Are you gonna have sex with me or not?”

You gave her a puzzled look, trying to process the sudden urgency. This wasn’t like her—not the words, not the tone.

“As tempting as it is to shut my brain off and say yes,” you said gently, “can I ask where this is coming from?”

Isa crossed her arms and pouted. “The other girls keep calling me cute. Innocent. Like I’m some kind of doll or baby sister. But I’m not. I’m a grown woman—I can be sexy too.”

You took a beat to absorb that, watching her expression twist somewhere between frustration and embarrassment.

“So… they’re pressuring you into sex?” you asked, cautiously.

Isa shook her head quickly. “No. Not directly. But they’re always teasing—‘Oh Isa, you’re so precious,’ ‘You and your boyfriend are adorable,’ or ‘I just want to put you in my pocket.’ Like I’m a mascot or something.”

Now it was clearer: it wasn’t about sex, not really. It was about control. About the image. About proving something.

You stood up and walked over to her, not touching her yet. Just being close.

“I love how cute you are,” you said honestly, “but that doesn’t make you any less grown. And you don’t have to prove anything to me. Or to them. You’re sexy when you feel sexy—not when someone makes you feel like you need to be.”

Isa looked away, arms still folded, clearly not sure whether to be embarrassed or dig in further.

“I know,” she mumbled, “but it’s hard not to feel like I’m… behind. Like I’m being left out of some club or something. Everyone’s had their wild phases, their stories. And I’m still over here… being cute.”

You reached out and took her hand gently, letting the silence breathe before you spoke.

“Isa,” you said, “you don’t need a story to prove anything. Not to me, not to your members, and definitely not to yourself. Sex isn't a box you check off so people take you seriously. And you don’t have to rush it just to feel like you’re keeping up.”

She chewed on the inside of her cheek, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “But don’t you want to?”

You smiled softly. “Of course I do. I love you. I want you. But I want you to want it for you, not because you feel like you have to keep up with anybody else.”

Her shoulders dropped a little as some of the tension unwound. “What if I never stop being the ‘cute’ one?”

“Then you’ll be the cute one I’m madly in love with,” you said with a small shrug. “But also… who says you can’t be cute and sexy? You’re both already. You just don’t need to prove it in anyone else's timeline.”

Isa was quiet for a moment. Then she stepped into your arms and rested her head against your chest. “Thanks,” she murmured. “I just… needed to hear that.”

You kissed the top of her head. “You don’t ever have to impress me. Just be you. That’s more than enough.” Isa smiled as the warmth in her chest brightened. She kissed you then kissed you again, and before you knew it the two of you were in your bedroom making out.

Isa was straddling you as she grinds on your cock, "fuck" you say as her perfect ass massages your cock unrelentingly,

"Am I sexy now?" she asks cheekily.

"You always were," you say as she kisses you deeper. She takes off her crop top revealing her petite but exceptional breasts. She smiles watching your eyes widen before pushing you into her chest, letting you suck on them. She moans as the warmth between her legs heats up to unbearable heights.

"Fuck I need you inside of me!" she groans before taking her bottoms off and unzipping your pants.

you moan as she slowly strokes your cock to hardness. She stops only to put on a show for you as she slowly strips her clothes. It’s rhythmic and so fucking hot as you see her mouthwatering body come into view. When she’s finished you’re absolutely throbbing for her. Isa smiles as she sashays over to you. You can barely hold it together as she straddles you before sliding down on your cock. She groans at first then growls as she bottoms out on you.

You lock eyes and her pupils are blown wide. She begins to ride you slowly at first. Her walls clench you with an almost obscene tightness that leaves you gasping,

“Fuck Isa you’re so tight godamn.” She smiled and said

“That’s good right?” You nod before she really starts bouncing on your cock.

You moan at the tight wet feeling before grabbing her ass hoping to get some relief. But it only made her more aggressive.

“Fuck grab me harder,” she moaned as she grinder into your crotch her walls tightened even further as she clamped down on you,

“Fuck Isa I’m gonna cum,” you moan Isa groans before you plunge into her shooting ropes. She keeps riding you as you cum inside of her when you finish she stares into your eyes and asks,

“Is it supposed to hurt?”

You look at her confused as she gets up, and your semen pools out of her.

Watching you notice it’s coming out of her asshole. You furrowed your brow and said, “Um no but I think we used the wrong hole,”

Isa looked at you embarrassed before saying No, it couldn’t have,” she says before mounting you again. You groan as your sensitive cock is enveloped by the tightness of Isa. You groan as Isa squirms before she stops. She claws into your shoulders as she tries to adjust to your size. She sits on your cock for a couple of minutes then she groans.

“Fuck!” She yells before she cums all over your cock. You sigh then moan as she begins riding again. Her breasts bounce in your face as she picks up the pace.

You take one into your mouth as her hole clenches you

“Fuck cum in me again!” Isa yells and you are unable to resist her command as you flood her ass with cum again.

As you cum done Isa smiles and says, “same time tomorrow?”

You had seen Isa perform dozens of times before. Cute choreos, sugar-sweet vocals, playful stage presence — it was always a joy to watch her shine. But tonight was… different.

From the moment the lights hit the stage and the bass dropped, Isa stepped out like she owned the world.

Her outfit clung a little tighter. Her makeup shimmered with a sultry edge. Her movements — sharper, smoother, somehow hungrier — commanded the spotlight with a confidence that made your breath catch. She didn’t just look sexy.

She knew she was.

And it wasn’t for the crowd.

It was for you.

Every wink she tossed to the camera, every sway of her hips, every teasing glance she threw past the stage lights—it all traced a direct line to where you were sitting in the VIP section. Like the whole stadium had gone dark except for her and you.

At one point, during the bridge, she locked eyes with you over the sea of fans. Her lips curled into a knowing smile as her voice dipped lower, more intimate than the mic could catch. She ran her fingers down her neck like a slow burn and rolled her hips with a dancer’s precision and a lover’s promise.

She was sending a message—and it landed loud and clear.

When the final beat dropped and the crowd roared, Isa lingered a little longer on the final pose. Chest rising, eyes glinting, lips parted. She didn’t have to say anything. She didn’t need to.

She was sexy. On her terms. In her way. And you had never wanted her more.

Backstage, Later That Night

She came bouncing toward you, towel around her neck, cheeks flushed with victory and adrenaline. But there was still that smirk—coy and dangerous.

“Well?” she asked, panting slightly. “Was I still ‘too cute’ up there?”

You let out a soft laugh, tugging her towel playfully. “You were terrifying, honestly.”

Isa grinned. “Good. I was aiming for dangerously hot.”

You stepped closer, lowering your voice so only she could hear. “Mission accomplished.”

Her smile turned wicked. “And don’t think this means I’ve changed my mind about last night. I’m still figuring it out. But I wanted you to see me like this.”

“I saw everything,” you said, pulling her into a hug. “And I loved all of it.”

She leaned in, whispering into your ear: “Then just wait until next time.”

#k pop smut #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #stayc #stayc smut #isa smut #Isa x reader #Isa

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magnagaruzenmon · 1 month ago

Text

Son of Melody IV

Django sat alone beneath the pale trees of the Festival of the Lost, his hands folded quietly in his lap. Paper lanterns drifted across the night sky like spirits set free. Somewhere nearby, laughter rang out — Hanni and Chaewon, along with Midna, lost in the revelry.

But Django wasn’t in the mood for celebration.

Tonight was for remembering the dead.

He sat still, shoulders tense, as names flitted through his mind like falling ash. Old friends. Lost brothers. The kind of pain that never really healed, just softened with distraction.

Then, a voice slithered into the silence — raspy and feminine, but melodic, like a lullaby sung in a crypt.

“Ah… the son of Melody,” it cooed.

Django’s jaw clenched. He didn’t recognize the voice, but the tone, the cadence — it screamed death deity. He’d met enough of them to know when one was near.

He didn’t turn. “Let me guess. You’re one of the Sisters? A Fate? No? Then a minor queen of the Underworld? You all tend to sound the same once the dramatics kick in.”

There was a soft laugh. “Oh, I like you. Sharp-tongued. Funny. But I’m not here to bargain, darling. I’m here to give you what you’ve already earned.”

Only then did Django turn. The shadows shifted like oil, parting to reveal a form: Asa Enami — or at least, someone wearing her face. An old classmate. A friend long since passed.

His eyes narrowed. “So this is one of those ‘mortal mind can’t process divine forms’ tricks,” he muttered. “Cute.”

He crossed his arms. “Listen, I’m not interested in whatever eldritch prize you’re selling. I’ve got more than enough problems. I’m mourning tonight. Then I plan to go home, make love to my very hot girlfriend, and fall asleep watching bad television.”

The figure smiled — all teeth and shadow.

“You mortals always think you’re still in control,” she said fondly. Then, faster than thought, her hands reached out and plunged into Django’s chest.

He gasped — not in pain, but shock, the sensation cold and searing at once, like grief itself. Her fingers fished through soulstuff, brushing memories, regrets, names unspoken.

“I know it’s here,” she muttered, digging deeper, past everything Django thought he’d buried.

Then her hand closed around something.

“There you are,” she whispered, triumphant.

And with a single, vicious pull, Django’s world went black.

Here’s a follow-up scene that blends eerie atmosphere, tenderness from Chaewon and Midna, and the ominous implications of Django’s new weapon:

⸻

Django awoke to the smell of burnt ozone and distant incense. His vision swam with fragments — lanterns, laughter, hands in his chest. A velvet voice whispering, “There you are.”

When he came to, it was with a gasp — sharp and sudden.

“Django!” Chaewon’s voice cracked as she cradled his face. Her thumbs smeared away the dirt on his cheeks, eyes wide and shining with relief. “You scared the shit out of us—”

Midna crouched beside them, glowing eyes narrowed in concern. “You were gone. We couldn’t find your soul trace. Then suddenly—” She glanced down. “That thing appeared.”

It took Django a moment to feel the weight — cold and humming with a silent hunger. In his left hand was a massive axe, obsidian black and edged with molten crimson, veins of shadow pulsing along the handle like it was alive. It looked ancient. Cursed. Wrong.

The moment Django focused on it, the axe throbbed — like it knew it was being observed.

Chaewon’s breath caught. “What the hell is that?”

“I… don’t know,” Django muttered. The handle felt familiar, like something grown rather than forged — like it belonged to him.

Midna stepped closer, nostrils flaring as she examined it. “It’s not enchanted. It’s manifested. That thing didn’t come from the earth or the sky. It came from you.”

Django looked at her, confused. “What do you mean, from me?”

“I mean it’s part of your soul, Django. Not just some symbolic weapon. That thing is real.” She pointed to the axe. “A weapon born from the darker aspects of you. Your guilt. Your rage. Maybe even your self-loathing.”

He instinctively tried to drop it — but instead of falling, the axe dissolved into black mist and sank into his arm, vanishing beneath the skin like ink absorbed into paper.

Chaewon flinched. “Did it just—?”

Midna stepped back, rattled. “That’s not good. That’s very not good.”

Django stared at his hand, flexing it. “I didn’t summon it. She… that goddess, whoever she was — she pulled it out of me.”

Midna folded her arms tightly. Chaewon reached for his other hand, gripping it tight. “You’re still you, okay? Weapon or not. Shadow or not. We’ll deal with this.” Django nodded as he got up. Django hadn’t seen the goddess again. No whispers, no visions, no deals. Just silence — and the weight of the thing now nested inside his soul. Life moved on in fragments: shifts at Umbra Farms, sparring sessions with Midna, Hanni’s quiet return to something like normalcy.

Hanni had been the first to address it bluntly.

“Okay,” she said over breakfast one morning, spooning cereal with zero tact. “So your soul birthed a murder-axe. You gonna, like… explode one day or what?”

Django gave her a flat look. “Thanks for the concern.”

“I mean it’s kinda metal,” she added. “Terrifying, but metal. Like—if you start going all edgelord, I’m stabbing you in the foot to reset your vibe.”

She wasn’t afraid anymore. Just annoyed. And that helped.

But Midna… Midna hadn’t been the same since. Not angry at him. Angry for him. Fussing over his meals, snapping at him to sleep more, growing visibly agitated anytime he pushed himself too hard. The normally composed twilight being had gone almost maternal — or something close to it.

It wasn’t until a week after the event that she finally spoke about it aloud.

The shadows stretched long across the wooden floor as Django stirred awake on the couch. He’d passed out mid-reading again — his chest aching not from injury, but from something he couldn’t name. A pressure. A phantom.

As his eyes adjusted, he spotted her.

Midna — still in her Chaewon form — perched on the windowsill like a cat carved from twilight. She watched him with that eerie stillness of hers, luminous eyes unreadable.

The moment he moved, she spoke.

“It likes you.”

Django rubbed his face. “…What likes me?”

“The axe,” she said simply, and stepped down barefoot from the sill. “It’s been speaking. Not in words — pulses, impressions, instincts. I’ve been talking to it while you sleep.”

“You what?”

“I needed to understand it,” she said, folding her arms. “And it needed to understand me. It doesn’t trust me — not really — but it knows I’m yours. I think that’s enough.”

He sat up, still groggy, voice cautious. “Did it say anything specific?”

Midna approached, lowering herself onto the coffee table so they were eye to eye.

“At first? Just ‘fight.’ Over and over. But eventually it offered something else. A name.” Her gaze darkened. “Vatrax. A soulsteel weapon — born not from any forge, but your buried instincts. Your rage. Your guilt. All the pieces you’ve locked away.”

Django stared at her, processing. “So I’m carrying around a sentient trauma-axe.”

“Not quite sentient,” Midna said. “But aware. And loyal. In its own way.”

He exhaled, shaking his head. “And I thought Hanni was a handful.”

“Hey, rude,” came Hanni’s voice from the kitchen. She leaned in with a half-eaten protein bar. “I heard that.”

Django grinned weakly. “Go hang out with your bear.”

She flipped him off cheerfully before disappearing back toward her room.

Midna leaned forward. “It wants to protect you. But it doesn’t distinguish friend from foe the way you do. It’s ruthless. If it thinks Chaewon’s making you weak, it’ll turn on her.”

The humor drained from Django’s face.

“I’d never let it.”

Midna reached out and touched his cheek, her thumb grazing the stubble there. “You already are guiding it. Just don’t pretend the darkness isn’t there. That’s when it wins.”

He leaned into her touch, eyes closing. “If I ever lose it…”

Midna rose, Chaewon’s form flickering with twilight runes. “Then I’ll end it. You gave me that right when you made me your weapon.”

The silence between them hung heavy, intimate, full of unsaid things.

Then—

“You’re scary,” he said with a crooked smile.

Midna smirked. “Takes one to know one.”

The next evening Django was at Seoul for the biggest performance of Chaewon’s life then Seoul dome. Watching from backstage was surreal at times but fun. He got to talk with Chaewon’s other members and Hannibal who was also here supporting Sakura. The roar of the crowd was thunderous, echoing even behind layers of concrete and soundproofing. Screens flashed with stylized graphics and the pulsing beat of the next set thrummed through the floor. Dancers rushed past, stylists buzzed around with lint rollers and last-minute fixes, but Django stood at the edge of it all — just out of view, watching her.

Chaewon.

She was radiant under the stage lights, every step precise, every movement infused with power. He could feel the energy she gave the audience — all fire and confidence — but it was the moment off stage that melted him.

Between set transitions, she rushed into the wings, glistening with sweat and adrenaline, her hands already tugging at a new outfit as a stylist descended on her.

She caught Django’s eyes and smirked, breathless. “Enjoying the view, soldier?”

Django didn’t speak. He just moved — fast, quiet, pulling her into the small utility alcove behind a curtain.

“Django—”

Her voice dissolved into a gasp as his lips crashed into hers. The kiss was deep, fierce, starving. Not just desire, but fear, relief, need — all tangled into one unrelenting pull. His hands cupped her face like he was trying to memorize the shape of her, like he couldn’t believe she was real and his and here.

Chaewon clutched the front of his jacket, kissing him back with matching desperation. Her body arched toward him, one leg sliding instinctively between his. The world outside blurred — it was just heat, breath, heartbeat, want.

He pulled away only barely, their foreheads touching, his voice rough. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you. About needing you. Since the axe. Since the dreams. It’s like—”

“I know,” she whispered. “I feel it too.”

For a second, she looked like she might give in completely.

Then—

“Unnie! You’re next!”

Eunchae’s voice rang out, cheerful and completely unaware of the firestorm she’d interrupted.

Chaewon groaned into Django’s shoulder, then pulled back, fixing her lipstick with a quick swipe of her thumb. She looked at him — wrecked and hungry — and smirked devilishly.

“Down, tiger,” she said in a low, teasing voice. “We’re so finishing this when we get home.”

She turned and vanished back toward the stage, her grin still lingering.

Django leaned back against the wall, heart pounding, lips tingling, and let out a single stunned laugh.

After the concert ended, it began. Chaewon jumped into Django’s arms barely able to contain herself. She took off her jacket revealing she was wearing nothing underneath. Django felt himself harden under her and began kissing her fervently.

“Babe we need some place private,” she said. Django growled as he grabbed her ass and continuing his assault. As hot as it was seeing him give into this side of himself Chaewon couldn’t afford prying eyes.

“Babe you need to get a grip, just long enough to get us somewhere private,”

Django groaned he opened a portal as chaewon put her jacket back on and walked through. On the other side Django’s apartment.

The door clicked shut behind them.

Silence, thick and electric, settled in the space between them. Chaewon dropped her bag by the door, already peeling off her jacket as she kicked off her shoes. Django locked the door without a word, his eyes never leaving her.

She turned, slow and deliberate, and the look on her face wasn’t playful this time — it was smoldering.

“I said we’d finish this,” she murmured, stepping toward him.

“You sure you’re not too tired?” Django asked softly, voice low and reverent as he brushed her hair from her face.

She smiled — small, honest, bone-deep. “I’m tired of waiting.”

He caught her before she could say anything else, lifting her by the waist and carrying her into the living room. She clung to him instinctively, laughing once into his neck, but it melted into a sigh as he laid her down onto the couch like she was something precious.

His hands were gentle, reverent, but when their lips met again, there was no hesitation — just fire, slow and simmering. Each kiss was a confession. Each breath shared between them, a promise.

Chaewon arched into him, threading her fingers through his hair. “You kiss me like I’m all you’ve got.”

“You are all I’ve got,” he murmured into her skin, his voice trembling with truth. “I thought I lost you… I’ve been carrying it. The dreams. The weapon. The fear.”

She cupped his jaw, grounding him. “You didn’t lose me. I’m here. I’m yours. All of me — the good, the angry, the scared. And if something’s coming… we face it together.”

He nodded, resting his forehead against hers.

Then she smirked again, hands sliding down his back to grab his ass. “And speaking of all of me — you’ve been awfully handsy lately, Mr. ‘I’m Subtle.’”

Django blinked. “…You noticed.”

“You were practically groping me in your sleep two nights ago.”

“Okay, rude. That was subconscious.”

“And adorable.” Her eyes twinkled. “But since we’re awake now…”

She guided his hand down to her thigh, slowly — purposefully — then whispered against his lips:

“I didn’t say stop, did I?”

Django swallowed, the air between them suddenly charged, heavy with want. Her words echoed through him like a chord struck just right: I didn’t say stop, did I?

“No,” he whispered, voice thick, hands already tracing her curves with aching reverence. “You didn’t.”

She pulled him down to her, capturing his mouth in a kiss that was slow and searing, like a fuse being lit. The kind of kiss that says you’re mine and I missed you and don’t make me wait anymore. Django melted into it, letting instinct and memory take over — the shape of her, the rhythm of her breath, the way she always kissed like she wanted to leave a mark on his soul.

Chaewon shifted beneath him, wrapping her legs around his waist with a fluid motion that made him groan low in his throat. Her body was warm, familiar, alive — and this time, she wasn’t holding back.

“I want you to see me,” she whispered into his ear, voice soft but urgent. “Not the idol. Not the daughter of a goddess. Me.”

Django pulled back just enough to look her in the eye, brushing a hand along her jaw like she was made of something rarer than gold. “Chaewon, I’ve only ever seen you.”

Her breath caught — then she pulled him down again, guiding him with a kind of quiet command, like she’d been waiting all week for this moment. His hands slipped under her panties, finding the softness of her skin, the wetness of her core before tracing the lines of her back. She gasped into his mouth as he kissed his way down her neck, savoring her, worshiping her.

They undressed each other in gentle pauses — not hurried, but not slow either. Like a song reaching its crescendo. Django paused once, thumb brushing a spot on her side she was self-conscious about, and leaned down to kiss it with care.

“You’re perfect,” he said.

She snorted softly. “I’m sweaty. I’ve eaten three stress croissants today. I am not—”

He cut her off with another kiss. “Still perfect.”

Their bodies pressed together, heat building with every kiss, every touch. She tugged him closer with a desperate sort of need, like she’d been holding it back for too long. He didn’t ask questions, didn’t hesitate. He knew her rhythm — and she trusted him with it.

When their bodies finally met in full, it wasn’t about release, it was about grounding. Reclaiming peace through shared breath and movement. She clung to him, murmuring his name, fingers digging into his back. Django held her like a lifeline, burying his face into the curve of her shoulder, trying not to fall apart from how much he loved her.

Chaewon screamed his name as he entered her,

“Fuck Django deeper fuck me harder,” she moaned as he began thrusting.” She wanted to be his woman and nothing else. She moaned as she felt himself harden under venture in and out of her until her body gave out.

She screamed as she came. Her body a sweaty mess of arousal and passion, but she wasn’t done. She pushed herself off of Django before guiding him to her other puckered hole but before she could even think about it she rammed herself onto him.

“Fuck Chae your so tight,” Django moaned as Chaewon railed herself on him.

“Claim me. Claim all of me!” she moaned a desperate mess. She put guided his hands to her ass

“This ass you love so much,”

“My tits my body it’s all yours!” She said as she came again lost in the pleasure of surrender. Django fighting the tightness of her hole just kept fucking as she was mentally gone, and after a few more thrusts he joined her in bliss shooting rope after rope of his seed inside of her guts. Chaewon moaned in bliss before the both of them passed out on the couch.

Later, tangled in a heap of limbs and quiet breath, Chaewon traced patterns into his chest with her fingertip.

“You’re going to get me addicted to this,” she whispered.

“Good,” he said drowsily, curling an arm around her. “Maybe you’ll finally rest.”

She kissed his shoulder. “Maybe I will.”

Outside the window, the city hummed quietly. Inside, there was only the soft sound of two hearts beating close, finally still — for now.

Certainly — here’s the revised and expanded version where Django remains within Nyx’s dreamscape, rather than waking up, allowing their full conversation to take place in the twilight of her domain:

⸻

As Django drifted deeper into sleep, he felt an abyss take him.

It wasn’t just dark — it was before dark. A pressureless void that breathed around him like a sleeping titan. There were no stars, no direction, just a constant and primal wrongness. In it, something stirred. A presence vast and ancient, and it noticed him.

It didn’t have a body, only mass. Only hunger.

“Don’t run away, little one,” it said — not in words, but in the suggestion of voice, the scraping sound of roots cracking stone. “I’d hate to eat you in broad daylight.”

Django turned to flee, but there was no place to run — only that slow, inevitable closing of the dark around him.

Terror rooted Django in place. He couldn’t see it — not truly — but he felt the entity reaching. The blackness condensed, closing around him like a cage of smoke and despair.

And then—

Light.

Soft at first, like moonlight bleeding through the seams of the void. Then bolder. Older. The dark screamed as the presence of something deeper — darker in a holy way — arrived.

A voice broke through the abyss, calm and cold as starlight reflected on still water:

“You will not take him.”

The darkness recoiled as a shape stepped into view — not made of flesh, but of midnight woven from galaxies and the hush between prayers. Nyx, Lady of the Night. Her form was shifting, eternal. Her hair swam with constellations. Her eyes bore the weight of aeons.

The presence in the abyss hissed in fury. “He is made of shadow and song — he belongs to us!”

“No,” Nyx replied, and her voice was the death of lies. “He chose his darkness. You have no claim on what is owned.”

Before the entity could lash out, Nyx reached for Django — and he felt her hand, warm and cool at once, anchoring him like gravity wrapped in affection. She pulled, and the void shattered around them like broken ice.

Reality shifted.

Suddenly, Django stood on a vast reflective surface, the night sky stretching infinitely above and below, stars swirling like petals in an eternal tide. A familiar coolness pressed gently against his shoulders, calming his lungs and stilling his fear.

“Breathe,” came a serene voice. “You’re not his yet.”

Django turned, eyes widening.

Nyx stood before him — her silhouette composed of midnight hues and gleaming constellations, hair flowing like ink through water. Her eyes held no whites, only galaxies.

“This…” he began, “…this isn’t real.”

“It’s mine,” Nyx replied gently, lifting her hands. “My domain. A safe pocket of sleep. You were nearly taken.”

Django exhaled sharply, still shaking. “What was that?”

“A Primeval,” Nyx answered, her tone almost reverent, though laced with caution. “One of the forgotten truths of the universe. A being from before shape and will, older than me, older than night. It is hunger that predates reason — it does not want you for who you are, Django. It wants you for what you could become.”

He clenched his jaw. “Why come for me now?”

“You shine in places that were never meant to hold light,” she said simply. “Your soulsteel. Your restraint. The strange harmony between your light and your shadows… You are becoming. And that makes you a magnet.”

Django swallowed. “Can I fight it?”

Nyx approached, her presence vast but never heavy. She placed a palm lightly on his chest — not soothing, but steadying.

“Not in the way you think. Primevals are not slain. They are outlasted, starved, revealed. They thrive on repression, denial, the parts of you you refuse to look at. But you… you’ve already begun to face them. Your axe. Your rage. Your tenderness. Even your love.”

She paused, her gaze softening.

“Don’t seal those parts away again. Don’t give it places to hide inside you.”

Django looked up at the sea of stars above and below. “So I have to live honestly.”

“You always did,” Nyx said. “But now, others are watching. If the Primeval sees you as a threat… others might as well. Not all of them kind.”

There was silence — long and heavy.

Then Django nodded. “Thank you. For pulling me out.”

Nyx smiled — slow and serene. “I am the night, Django. And you are under my sky. You are not mine like a possession, but mine like a song remembered. I do not let what’s mine vanish without a fight.”

Her form shimmered like moonlight on ink.

“When you wake… speak your truth. Even to your shadows. Especially to the ones you love.”

And with that, the stars began to blur and bend — and Django felt the weight of waking return.

As he got up he felt the familiar warmth of Chaewon. He turned to her and kissed her before telling her that he loved her over and over again. After his heart finally calmed down he got up and started cooking breakfast. Morning sun filtered through the gauzy curtains of the apartment, casting gentle light over Django as he moved around the kitchen. He was shirtless, hair a mess, fingers still trembling slightly as he cracked eggs into a pan. The smell of butter and herbs filled the room, grounding him in something normal. Something human.

And then came the warmth — not from the stove, but from behind him.

The air shimmered gold and flame-sweet as Brigid appeared at the threshold of the kitchen, barefoot, radiant, draped in robes that shifted like living parchment.

“You now see the importance of your quest,” she said, voice steady as an ancient bell.

Django’s hand froze mid-stir. He didn’t look at her. “What quest?” he snapped.

Brigid stepped forward, the heat of her presence brushing his back. “To close the door, Django. The Primevals are waking. You are the only one with the song, the steel, and the shadow to do it.”

He turned, spatula in hand like a weapon. “That thing almost unmade me. I didn’t even know it existed. And now I’m just supposed to—what—slam shut some cosmic oubliette because I happen to have an axe made of my trauma?”

Brigid smiled softly. “Yes.”

Before he could erupt further, the room darkened like a curtain being pulled — shadows gathering at the edges of the light. From them stepped a girl in a baby monster hoodie: Asa Enami. But her eyes shimmered too old, her smile too knowing.

“You!” Django growled, breath catching.

The goddess bowed her head slightly, her tone gentle but edged. “You forged something most mortals are too afraid to face. A weapon born not just of pain… but of truth. In your repression, you birthed purity — and purity cuts deepest.”

“You made a weapon from my soul,” Django muttered, fists clenching. “Without asking.”

“I shaped what you gave,” she said, stepping closer. “You feared your rage, your love, your hunger. You exiled them. And in that exile, Vastrax was born — the fragment of you so honest it hurts even the divine. You made it. I only pulled it from hiding.”

Brigid’s gaze softened as she placed a warm hand on Django’s shoulder. “And now the universe needs that honesty. You’re not a soldier, Django. You’re a needle. You bind what was torn. But even a needle needs fire to be forged.”

Django exhaled shakily, looking down at the skillet, the eggs forgotten.

Unbeknownst to him, just down the hall, Chaewon stood frozen.

She had woken early to surprise Django with coffee, only to hear strange voices. Now she stood, half-hidden in the hallway, listening. Her heart thundered in her chest.

A soft glow bloomed beside her — Hestia and Hecate standing together, silhouettes formed of warmth and moonlight.

“He cannot do this alone,” Hestia said gently, her hearth-lit eyes focused on Chaewon.

Hecate tilted her head. “But if you join him, it won’t be as his comfort. Not at first. It will be as his equal. And that path… it will burn.”

Chaewon looked to the kitchen — to Django, confused and shaking, still trying to make breakfast like his world wasn’t shifting under him.

“I’m not afraid of burning,” she whispered. “If it means standing with him.”

The goddesses exchanged a look — pleased, though solemn.

“Then come,” Hestia said.

The hallway shimmered, and suddenly they stood in a wide obsidian chamber beyond time — Chaewon alone in the center as the goddesses encircled her.

“You will be broken and reforged,” Hecate said. “Not because you are weak — but because your strength must be chosen. Not assumed.”

“And when you return,” Hestia added, “you will not simply be his love. You will be his shield. His fury. His anchor.”

Chaewon straightened, shoulders back, flame behind her eyes.

“I’m ready.”

The goddesses took Chaewon without a word.

One moment she was near the hallway, eyes burning with resolve. The next, she stood in an endless corridor of shifting light and darkness, bracketed by Hestia and Hecate, the air around her vibrating like the edge of a blade.

Back in the apartment, Django plated eggs, toast, and chopped fruit like muscle memory alone was holding him together. He smiled faintly, turning toward the hall.

“Midna, can you go get Chaewon?” he called. “Tell her I made enough for—”

Midna had already gone. Her footsteps padded to the bedroom, her senses sharp.

Then her breath caught. The bed was undisturbed. The balcony door was locked. No note. No sign. No presence.

“Chaewon?” she called quietly. Nothing.

Panic gripped her as she bolted back into the kitchen, her expression enough to make Django freeze mid-turn.

“She’s gone,” Midna whispered.

Everything inside Django hollowed. “What do you mean she’s gone?”

“She’s not there, Django. Not in the apartment. Not anywhere I can reach.” Her voice shook.

He grabbed his phone, already calling Chaewon. One ring. Two. Voicemail.

Again. And again.

Finally, desperate, he called Sakura. Blessedly, she picked up.

“Sakura, is— is Chaewon with you?” His voice was tight, barely steady.

A muffled shuffling sound. Then, faintly, he heard Chaewon in the background. Alive. Safe. He exhaled, relief punching through his chest. “Chaewon? Babe—what’s going on?”

Chaewon had barely lifted the phone to her ear when time stopped.

The color drained from the world, and in its place, a voice draped in shadow and destiny whispered, “Your first test is to break the heart of the one you love most.”

Hecate stood before her, expression unreadable.

Chaewon’s mouth trembled. “That’s not fair…”

“War isn’t,” Hecate said. “This is the path you chose.”

Tears slipped freely from Chaewon’s eyes. Her heart screamed. Her fingers gripped the phone like it was her last lifeline.

Then she spoke, voice breaking on every word.

“I don’t want to see you right now, Django. I think… it’s best we take a break.”

Sakura, Yunjin, Hanni, and Kazuha were all in the living room. The silence that followed her words was thick, unbearable.

Django’s voice came through, flat and devoid of all his usual passion. “Okay. I understand.”

Then—click.

A second passed.

Then came the crash.

A loud, wet bang echoed through the phone before Sakura fumbled to end the call. But not before they heard Django — raw, unfiltered — screaming.

“God damn it!”

Another crash — the sound of something metal clattering across tile.

“Of course she hedges me! I’m a monster! Why did I even think someone like her could ever love something like me?!”

Hanni covered her mouth, tears rising. Yunjin grabbed Chaewon’s shoulder, whispering, “What did you do—?”

Chaewon couldn’t answer. She just shook — trembling like her soul had been cracked.

Back in the apartment, Django collapsed against the kitchen island, clutching the edges like they were the only things tethering him to earth.

“Fuck!” he shouted again. “What did I miss?! What did I do wrong?! Did I—did I hurt her? In my sleep? Did she find out about the Primevals? Is it the axe? Is it me?!”

He choked on a sob, crumpling onto the floor. Vastrax lay silent in the corner, unmoving. Midna stood across the room, frozen, heart breaking.

Django’s phone lit up again. A call.

He answered on instinct, breath ragged.

“…Hello?”

Chaewon stood frozen, the phone still in her hand, her knuckles white around the edges. The call had ended, but the echo of Django’s anguish lingered in the room like smoke.

Silence blanketed the dorm.

Yunjin was the first to move. She stood slowly from the couch, her voice low and careful. “Chaewon… what the hell was that?”

Chaewon didn’t respond.

Kazuha just walked having only heard the shattering noises blinked at her, stunned. “Was that Django?”

Sakura took a step closer, eyes narrowed with concern. “Why would you say that to him? You two were fine this morning…”

Chaewon’s lips parted, but the words wouldn’t come. Her vision blurred with tears. Her voice cracked when she finally spoke.

“I… I didn’t want to say it. Hecate made me.”

Hanni looked between the others, confused and alarmed. “Wait why Hecate?”

Chaewon shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does if your boyfriend just sounded like he shattered his own soul,” Yunjin snapped, gentler than her words implied. “He sounded like he was breaking apart, Chaewon. What happened?”

“I can’t tell you,” she whispered, staring at the floor like it might offer her mercy. “Not about the… the thing I saw.”

“Was it something dangerous?” Sakura asked, gently now.

“…Yes.”

“Then tell us,” Hanni pleaded. “Let us help.”

Chaewon finally looked up. Her face was streaked with tears, eyes glassy but resolved.

“I can’t,” she said. “I wish I could. I want to. But it’s bigger than me. Bigger than all of us.”

The girls stared at her, unsure whether to press or retreat. Then Chaewon continued, her voice low and trembling:

“I need to train harder. For the comeback.” She forced the words out like armor, wrapping herself in something she could control. “I haven’t pushed myself enough. I’ve been… distracted.”

“That’s not true,” Kazuha said, stepping forward. “You’ve been focused. You’ve been strong.”

Chaewon smiled — or tried to. “Not strong enough.”

Her shoulders shook. More tears fell.

Yunjin moved to hug her, but Chaewon raised a hand, needing space. “Please. I just… I need time.”

The other girls watched her, worry deepening. They knew there was more. So much more. But Chaewon had closed the gate between her and them — and they could feel it.

“Okay,” Hanni whispered, reluctantly. “We’ll give you space. But… don’t shut us out forever, unnie.”

Chaewon nodded.

As she turned toward her room, the last thing they saw was how heavily her heart dragged behind her, like a shadow she couldn’t yet face.

The Rec Center was in chaos.

Smoke curled skyward in unnatural spirals. Cries of panic rang out across the grounds as demigods — bruised, bleeding, terrified — scrambled for safety. In the center of it all loomed a monstrous, shifting beast of unknowable origin, half-shadow, half-bone, screeching in rage with a thousand mouths.

Django arrived in a sprint, his cloak whipping in the ash-laced wind. He didn’t look at Midna, didn’t need to — the bond between them didn’t require words. Still, he asked, his voice low and steady:

“You got my back?”

Midna nodded solemnly, shimmering into her blade form with a pulse of ethereal violet light.

He summoned Vastrax. The axe roared to life in his hands — an obsidian core surrounded by flickers of spectral fire. It thrummed, not like a weapon, but a heartbeat. A promise. He slid his headphones into place and hit play.

“Bury That Guitar,” Ludwig’s rang through proud and loud through Django’s earphones

Then Django ran toward the apocalypse.

Demigods streamed past him, some dragging wounded, others weeping. One locked eyes with him — a child, barely twelve — and Django gave them the faintest nod. It was enough. He was still fighting. So they would keep running.

As he closed the distance, the beast screamed — a sound that twisted reality, like a wolf howl woven with feedback and grief. It turned its massive, segmented head toward him.

Django jumped, magic weaving through his legs as he launched himself skyward. He slashed at its ankle, but Midna’s blade form bounced off its hide like chalk on stone.

Before the monster could retaliate, Midna shifted again, forming a glowing shield around Django. The blow landed anyway — a tail, a tendril, a limb that didn’t obey physics — and sent them both crashing into the trees.

Django groaned, blood in his mouth. “You okay?” he asked as he stood up, coughing.

Midna flickered into view, flickering like static. “Yes… but this thing — it’s not from any plane I’ve ever known. It’s ancient. Wrong.”

Django wiped the blood from his face and nodded, steadying himself. “Then we hit it harder.”

With a roar of exertion, he hurled Vastrax with all his strength — infused with his will, his fury, his love. The axe shimmered midair and grew, expanding a hundredfold, becoming a titan’s weapon. With a crash like a dying star, it cleaved the monster in two.

Silence fell.

The axe returned to Django’s hand, smoking, growling softly. But his heart went ice-cold.

A voice — too familiar.

“Cowboy… is that you?”

Django turned.

There, stepping through the smoke, was Jason Grace — older, taller, but unmistakable. His armor gleamed, but his eyes… something was wrong. In the depths of his pupils swirled a haunting red — not rage, but corruption.

“I always knew you’d get stronger,” Jason said with a smirk. “But this? Damn, you really outdid yourself.”

Django tensed. “Jason?”

Jason twirled his lance and leaned on it like it was a walking stick. “What, no hug for your old mentor? Or am I too tainted for your holy light?”

Django’s voice was quiet. “What happened to you?”

Jason shrugged. “My benefactor has… plans. Brought me back from the dead and I have never felt better.I’ve been given full clearance to eliminate threats — or recruit allies. So how about it, Cowboy? Like the good ol’ days. You and me.”

Then, the shadows split.

Out stepped Bianca di Angelo, eyes hollow. Charles Beckendorf, skin cracked with molten lines. Silena Beauregard. Castor. Fallen demigods. Twisted echoes of who they once were — corrupted, altered… but aware.

Jason’s smile turned cruel. “What, never seen a Hate before?”

Django gripped Vastrax tighter. His voice didn’t tremble. “I’m not going with you.”

Jason’s eyes flickered as sadness flashed between them. “Don’t be a hero.”

Django took a step forward. Vastrax vibrated in his hand, eager. Alive.

“How can I not,” he said, “when you made me one?”

Jason exhaled and for a moment, regret flickered in his expression. “I’m sorry, Cornfed. I really hoped it wouldn’t come to this.”

He raised his lance.

But before either could strike, a void tore open behind Django, swirling with dark mist and stars. A pale hand emerged and pulled him back.

“Not yet, little one.”

Nyx’s voice was calm, cold, and powerful.

Django turned, caught in the dreamlike suspension of her aura. “What are you—?”

“You are not ready,” she said. “They will need your leadership, not your sacrifice.”

With a whisper of shadows, she vanished — taking Django and the last uncorrupted demigods with her.

They reappeared far away, standing in the half-light of an Umbral ranch, ancient and sacred. Safe. For now.

As Django’s wits came back more bodies appeared in the ranch as nyx brought more heroes to the ranch.

The sky above the Umbral ranch churned with veils of violet mist and ember stars — unnatural but oddly serene. The remaining demigods, freshly pulled from the wreckage of the Rec Center, stood or sat in uneasy silence beneath the warped pines and crumbling wards.

Then three goddesses appeared.

Hecate, crowned in shifting lunar light and shadows, her eyes both stars and abysses.

Hestia, gentle and golden, hearthfire in her breath and sorrow in her brow.

And the Morrigan, cloaked in feathers and blood, standing like a funeral bell made flesh.

Their presence silenced the wind.

Chaewon stood near the front, still raw from her earlier trial. Her hand trembled slightly, but she stood tall as the rest of Le Sserafim — and Hanni — fell in behind her, uncertain but brave.

Hecate stepped forward first, voice echoing as if across eons.

“We have gathered you here not for safety, but for truth.”

The air grew heavier.

“The force you witnessed,” she continued, “was not merely a monster — it was born from before the myths. A Primeval. A fragment of the Void that predates light, story, or law.”

Gasps rippled through the crowd. A younger demigod whispered, “But that’s impossible… the Titans were the first—”

“No,” the Morrigan cut in, her voice like a blade. “The Titans were children compared to these things. What rises now is older than Time. And it does not hate you — it doesn’t even see you. It devours what is real because that is its nature.”

Hestia’s voice softened the edges of the dread, even as she confirmed their fears. “They are returning. The Primevals are prying at the edges of Creation. Cracks have formed in the fabric of death and memory. Through them… the monsters of Before come flooding back.”

“And not just monsters,” Hecate added, her expression grim. “They are… resurrecting the fallen.”

The demigods murmured — a confusion that soured into horror.

“You mean monsters?” one asked.

“No,” Hestia said gently. “Heroes. Friends. Children of the gods — corrupted, twisted by Hate, their memories intact but their purpose inverted.”

Chaewon’s throat tightened. “Jason,” she whispered. Yunjin and Sakura looked at her sharply.

“What do we do?” another voice called out. “How can we fight what came before even the gods?!”

“You don’t,” the Morrigan said, blunt. “He does.”

All eyes turned toward Django, who stood a few paces away in silence. Vastrax rested across his back like a grave marker. He looked like someone who hadn’t slept in days, barely holding together.

Hecate continued. “Django possesses the only current weapon born from a truth pure enough to wound a Primeval — a creation shaped by Izanami herself. His existence is… a fracture in reality. A song in the silence.”

“And I’m supposed to save everyone?” Django said, voice flat and brittle. “Against that?”

“You’re not alone,” Hestia said softly.

“But you will lead,” the Morrigan added, with neither pity nor doubt.

Chaewon stepped forward then, voice quivering but clear. “What about us? What do you expect us to do? Watch him fall apart?”

Chaewon’s heart broke a little more as she watched Django flinch at her voice.

“No,” Hecate said. “That is why we began preparing some of you.”

Hestia turned to her. “You’ve already made your choice. We intend to make sure you survive it.”

As Chaewon absorbed that, she felt the other girls near her — even Sakura, who looked shaken — step a little closer, as if physically bracing her.

Around them, the other demigods still looked terrified, uncertain — but something had shifted.

Not faith, exactly.

But responsibility.

A sobering awareness that the world wouldn’t wait for them to be ready.

The Morrigan turned her eyes on the crowd. “Those of you who are not prepared for what comes may still flee. Find mortal lives, die quiet deaths. The door remains open — for now. But if you choose to stay… know this: you are fighting not to win — but to prevent unmaking itself.”

Silence fell again.

Then a voice, quiet but firm — a daughter of Hermes — said: “I’ll fight.”

Another joined. Then another.

As more joined eventually a small army took shape of Demigods and other heroes. Django watched but carefully avoided looking at Chaewon at all.

Chaewon waited until the others were occupied — training, whispering among themselves, still shaken from what the goddesses had revealed. Her heart pounded not from fear but from guilt. She needed to see him. Needed to explain.

She spotted Django alone near the edge of the Umbral ranch, sitting beside a crooked old fence, eyes fixed on the horizon. He looked carved out, like someone wearing his own grief like a second skin. Her breath caught.

But before she could take a single step forward, something stepped into her path.

Herself.

No — not quite. Midna, she realized, staring back at her with her face — her eyes, her hair, her stance. But something was… wrong. The posture was too cold, too coiled. The version of her that stood before her now radiated something sharper — less human. More… defensive. And in her hand?

Vastrax.

Not the fully awakened battle-form, but close. Humming. Watching.

Chaewon froze.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Midna said, voice like hers but laced with venom.

“I… I need to talk to him,” Chaewon said quietly. “He’s hurting, and—”

“He was hurting,” Midna interrupted. “Now he’s hollow. And guess who carved him open?”

The false smile twisted on Midna’s lips was wrong — a mask stretched over rage. “You think it was hard for you? Watching his face when you broke his heart? You weren’t even there for what came after.”

“I didn’t want to hurt him,” Chaewon said, voice cracking. “Hecate—she said I had to. It was part of the trial.”

Midna didn’t move, didn’t flinch — but her eyes darkened.

“And you believed that? That hurting the one you love most is just part of becoming stronger? Sounds a lot like the kind of logic the Primevals use.”

“Don’t twist this!” Chaewon said, stepping forward.

Midna stepped too — blocking her again. The blade of Vastrax hissed as it extended halfway, pulsing a sick violet light. The air thickened.

“Take one more step,” Midna whispered, “and I’ll stop you. I don’t care what form I have to take.”

Chaewon’s heart dropped. “You’d attack me?”

“I’d protect him. He’s all I have — the real him. Not the war-forged version you think you can swoop in and ‘fix’ now that your trial’s over.”

“I never wanted to leave him—”

“But you did,” Midna snapped. “And every second he was alone with his thoughts, I was the one holding him together. Me. Not you.”

Chaewon swallowed hard. Her body trembled, but she didn’t run. “Then let me try to fix it.”

Midna tilted her head. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because if he looks at you right now… he’ll break all over again.”

Silence. The wind rustled.

Midna sighed, lowering the blade an inch. “Give him time. If he still wants to see you… I won’t stop him. But not today. Not while that wound is still bleeding.”

Then, with a shimmer of light, Midna dissolved — the image of Chaewon vanishing like a torn memory. Only the air, now colder, remained behind.

Chaewon stood alone.

For now.

Chaewon sat on the porch of the bunkhouse, knees drawn to her chest. The sky above the Umbral ranch was painted in mournful hues of violet and steel, the setting sun hidden behind rolling mist.

Yunjin sat down beside her without a word. After a moment, Sakura joined. Then Hanni and Kazuha. They didn’t speak right away — not until Yunjin finally whispered, “What happened with Django?”

Chaewon closed her eyes. The question felt heavier than it should have.

“I… hurt him,” she said. “On purpose. Because I was told to. Hecate said it was my trial — to break his heart.”

“That’s insane,” Hanni murmured. “Why would they ask that of you?”

Chaewon’s eyes brimmed, but no tears fell this time. Her voice was soft, shaky. “Because if I’m going to stand beside him in this war… I have to understand what it means to carry unbearable weight. To choose pain. To become something beyond what I was.”

“So this is training?” Sakura asked. “For the comeback?”

Chaewon forced a nod. “Yeah. I… I need to focus. Get stronger.”

None of the girls believed her — not really. But they saw her pain and said nothing, their hands finding hers in the dark. They didn’t press. Even as the wind carried with it the scent of cold earth and a name they hadn’t heard in days — Django.

The Umbral ranch was quiet. The air was thick with the unease of gods’ warnings and demigods’ whispered fears. While others trained or paced restlessly, Django sat alone by the campfire pit, the stars overhead faintly visible through a curtain of mist.

Cradled in his lap was Midna — not as a blade, but her bass form, sleek and glowing faintly with umbral light. Her strings thrummed under his fingers, not from tension, but resonance — like she was responding to his soul.

He closed his eyes and began to play.

A low, haunting note spilled out, followed by a gentle progression — part lullaby, part lament, full of aching tenderness. The melody wound through the camp like smoke: slow, rich, and alive. The magic in Django — barely restrained at the best of times — bled into every note.

And the world began to shift.

Around the ranch, the other demigods grew quiet. Their bodies relaxed as if something ancient and safe had settled over them. A few even closed their eyes, smiling faintly without knowing why.

Kazuha was the first to say it aloud. “It feels like… home.”

Yunjin whispered, “Is that Django? That’s his magic?”

But Django wasn’t aware of them anymore.

His eyes were still closed, and the world around him dimmed. The mist thickened, and the stars blinked out one by one. Music became air. Air became magic. And the magic split the veil between realms.

When Django opened his eyes again, he wasn’t by the fire anymore.

He was standing in a memory of a hill — one from years past, where flowers bloomed over broken earth. The sky above shimmered with both sun and stars, as though time were confused.

He saw them there, waiting.

Max, lounging in the grass with his ever-mischievous grin.

David, cross-legged, calm, hands on his knees like a monk.

Scathach, arms crossed, leaning on her spear with her wild, battle-hardened grace.

Ophelia, seated near the edge of a river that hadn’t existed until this moment, brushing her fingers over the water’s surface.

Django’s chest tightened. “You’re really here?”

Max waved. “As much as a ghost can be. This music… you pulled us here.”

Django looked down at Midna, still glowing in his hands, her shape gently shifting as the bass shimmered in the dreamspace.

“I wasn’t trying to summon anyone,” he whispered.

“You weren’t trying,” Ophelia said softly, “but your soul needed guidance. The song asked for it. We answered.”

Scathach stepped forward. “What’s the matter, bard? You finally afraid?”

“Yes,” Django admitted, his voice cracking. “They’re all looking to me like I know what I’m doing. But I don’t. I never did. I was never meant to lead anyone. That was you guys. Max, David, Ophelia. You.”

David smiled. “And yet… here you are. Still standing. Still playing. Still protecting.”

Max tossed him a wink. “You always had the heart. The courage and follow through of a leader. I mean you all convinced us on that campaign against the elder dragon and evil lich. You just were slightly too young, but you always had the skill.You just never believed it was enough.”

“But what if I break?” Django said, gripping the bass tighter. “What if I lose someone again? What if I lose her?”

Ophelia stood and crossed to him, her hand ghosting over his shoulder. “Then we’ll catch you when you fall. That’s what memory is for. And you don’t have to carry it all alone, Django. You never did.”

The bass rumbled under his fingers, humming like a heartbeat. The veil pulsed.

Scathach chuckled. “Besides, you’ve got a good crew now. That girl? Chaewon? She’s got fire in her bones. Trust her.”

Django blinked, swallowing hard. “She… broke up with me.”

Max raised a brow. “Did she really?”

David added gently, “Or did she make a choice so painful, it nearly broke her?”

Django didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The bass’s strings shimmered like rain in moonlight, and Midna’s presence settled gently into his mind.

The veil began to close.

“Wait,” he said, voice desperate. “Just tell me—what do I do?”

Ophelia looked him in the eyes. “You already are. Just keep playing. Keep loving. Keep fighting. Keep singing. Keep standing.”

Scathach raised her spear in a silent salute. Max offered a crooked grin. David bowed his head in quiet pride.

And then they were gone.

The last note faded from the bass.

Django exhaled, finally aware of the demigods staring from the distance, their expressions soothed, eyes damp. Kazuha had a hand over her heart. Yunjin was hugging Hanni tightly.

Midna hovered gently beside him in a swirl of blue-black light, whispering in his mind: You gave them hope.

Django stared at the stars returning above and whispered, “Then maybe I can keep going after all.”

As Django played the heroes around the ranch found solid and healing in his music and took hope in it.

The ranch’s skies were dim, stars held behind the veil of cosmic pressure hanging above the world. Inside the war tent, the strongest of the demigods gathered—Chaewon sick of waiting took charge, standing in full armor carved with storm motifs and moonlight traces, looked across the room at the uneasy alliance around her.

Reyna leaned against a marble pillar she’d summoned with her will alone. Percy sat in the corner, still drying from a soaked mission, his sea-green eyes sharp but tired. Leo was fiddling with a mechanical eagle the size of a cat, while Hannibal dozed behind him like a warm, snoring tank. Thalia had returned, her lightning restrained behind tired but alert blue eyes.

The tension was palpable. So much power, and no clarity.

“So what’s the move?” Leo asked, breaking the silence. “Because every time I fix something, it gets unmade by these void freaks.”

Reyna folded her arms. “We can’t hold this line forever. Artemis barely survived, and if the gods themselves are being targeted…”

Percy shook his head. “No way we can retreat. Not when the Primevals are dragging our friends out of Elysium and into their war like puppets.”

Hannibal snorted, shifting. Chaewon glanced around, then finally spoke.

“Then we cut off their reach. Whatever gate they’re using to resurrect the dead—we find it. We close it.”

They looked at her—really looked. She wasn’t just the Morrigan’s daughter or the phoenix-wielder anymore. She was something forged. Focused.

“I agree,” Thalia said, nodding slowly. “But we need him.”

Everyone’s thoughts fell to the same person.

“Django,” Reyna said, her tone heavier than usual. “He’s the key to the gate. And more.”

Leo frowned. “Yeah, but he hasn’t exactly been available. Ever since the Jason thing, he’s been… different.”

“He’s grieving,” Chaewon said, softer. “And blaming himself.”

Percy added, “Still holding us together. Don’t you feel it?”

They paused—and then heard it.

A low hum. A rhythm from somewhere beyond the main field. Bass. Slow, steady, laced with warmth and echo. Django’s sound.

The effect was subtle but undeniable—the tension in their chests loosening, the pain in their bodies less raw. Cuts closed faster. Breathing grew easier. Outside, Huntresses and half-bloods stirred from their beds with rested shoulders and steadier limbs.

The music wasn’t loud. It was woven into the air.

“I think…” Reyna began, eyes narrowed with awe, “his soul is binding this place.”

“He’s using Midna to amplify his healing magic,” Chaewon whispered. “Without even being here.”

“So what do we do with a broken hero who keeps saving everyone but himself?” Leo asked.

Chaewon looked toward the tent flap—where the music was strongest, calling to her like a memory.

“We remind him,” she said, “that this world isn’t his burden to carry alone.”

The stars above the Umbral Ranch shifted for a moment, like the sky itself took a breath and held it.

Django sat alone on a hill, Midna in her bass form humming gently in his lap, he played her absent minded . His fingers plucked the strings, not with intent, but instinct. The melody pulsed—a low, groaning rhythm full of friction, grief, and resonance.

It was a song without structure. A song of loss and longing that somehow still felt like a Elegy. One that refused to fall apart.

The air began to taste different. Ancient. The sky thinned.

And they came.

First, a shadow that shimmered like oil over velvet, coalescing into the writhing, feminine majesty of Tiamat, the Mother of the Deep. Her voices overlapped like tides clashing.

Then, a crack in reality itself, hissing with entropy, curled inwards to reveal a serpentine figure with a lion’s grin—Apophis, the Eater of Suns, his form constantly collapsing and reforming, serpentine and divine.

They stood at the edge of the hill—not attacking. Not even looming.

Just… watching.

“You sing the old songs,” Tiamat said, her five heads shifting with musical harmony. “But your tongue has never known the Primordial Sea.”

Apophis’s grin curled. “Your chords bend time. They scream with rebellion and bleed serenity. And still, you insist on resisting what you are. Curious.”

Django stopped playing. Slowly looked up. “You’re not here to fight.”

“No,” said Apophis, eyes gleaming with layered pupils. “We came to listen.”

Tiamat tilted her head. “Your power is chaos wrapped in rhythm. An insult to silence. A defiance of unraveling. It… reminds me of what came before.”

Django stared at them both, sweat beading his brow. “You want to understand me?”

“We wish to know,” Apophis said, stepping forward, “what makes a soul like yours choose to stand against dissolution.”

Tiamat echoed: “Why do you persist in creating harmony when all things seek return to stillness?”

Django exhaled shakily. He looked at Midna’s sleeping form. Then to the stars. Then to his calloused hands, shaped by both strings and scars.

“…Because someone has to.”

Apophis blinked. “A hero’s answer.”

“No,” Django said, the tremble returning to his voice. “A selfish one. Because if I let go… if I stop… if I let everything fall apart… then I lose her. I lose them. I lose me.”

The melody began again—softer now, but clearer. Like the echo of a child’s lullaby sung by a grieving father.

Tiamat’s eyes rippled. “Even in the chaos, your notes yearn for form. You do not reject entropy. You wrestle with it.”

“I am it,” Django muttered. “But I’m also the thread that ties things together. I don’t get to be one or the other. I have to be both.”

Apophis paused, watching Django’s aura pulse in dusklight hues.

“Then perhaps,” the serpent god mused, “you are the first thing in all of creation we do not understand. A contradiction made flesh.”

Tiamat leaned closer. “We will not stand in your way today, Songborn. But know this: when the cosmos drowns again, it is the music that survives.”

And with that, the air folded in on itself—and the Primevals were gone.

Only Django remained, his hands trembling, the melody falling apart into silence.

But his heart was steady.

Django sat on the porch of the Umbral Ranch, the land around him wrapped in a gentle, golden dusk that didn’t match the actual time of day. That was the thing about the ranch lately—it bent to his song.

Midna, in her base form, rested across his lap, her ethereal strings quietly resonating under his fingers. He played a lazy, bluesy riff that wandered like a lost memory. The chords didn’t carry power this time. Not outwardly.

But they called inward. Deep.

The veil thinned. His pulse slowed.

And a boot scuffed behind him.

Django froze. His hand hovered above Midna’s strings.

“…You always play like you’re dragging your heart through a battlefield,” said a voice—raspy, Southern, familiar.

Django turned slowly.

Standing behind him, in a leather duster and old band tee, was Nick Gautier.

He looked older than Django remembered—less of the street punk swagger and more worn wisdom in his eyes. But those stormy eyes still crackled with mischief and warmth.

“Nick…” Django breathed. “You’re—?”

“Currently Dead as a doorknob,” Nick grinned. “But death’s a hallway, not a door. Especially when you’re best friends with the greatest Griot of all time.”

Django set Midna down gently and stood. “I thought your soul was—”

“Burned clean,” Nick nodded. “Redeemed… and then gone. But you pulled me back. Not all of me. Just enough. Your music called me. As well as your heart to.”

Django’s throat tightened.

“I didn’t mean to summon you—”

Nick clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Nah. This ain’t on you. This is for you. The cosmos gives a damn when you play like that. You bled your soul across those strings. We hear it. The ones who remember you the ones who walked with you.”

Django swallowed hard, blinking the burn from his eyes. “I’m lost, man. I don’t know how to lead them. I wasn’t made for this. I’m just the guy who makes noise.”

“Bullshit.” Nick’s tone sharpened. “You think I became a hero ‘cause I was made for it? I was born to destroy. I was made to fall. But you? You gave me something else to follow. You made me want to rise. Not to be worshiped. Not to be remembered. Just to be good.”

Django looked away, jaw clenching. “Everything’s unraveling.”

“Then rage, Django. Not in hate. In love. Take what’s yours, not to own—but to protect. You’ve always fought with your heart out, with music in your blood. That’s what scares them. The Primevals can’t unmake that kind of chaos. It’s will. It’s hope.”

Django’s eyes flicked back. “Then how do I win?”

Nick’s smile was crooked and sad. “Technically I’m supposed to say you can’t, but if a dirty sinner like me can make it heaven then you can definitely beat these punks

He paused, then leaned in closer.

“There’s a weapon. Older than Midna. Older than the primevals. It was hidden in the Echo Vault—left behind by the first god who refused to die quietly.”

Django frowned. “Never heard of it.”

“‘Cause only someone with resonance can open the Vault. It responds to soul, not power. And your soul? It’s singing loud, brother.”

Django sat back down, breath shaky. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” Nick said. “But don’t mourn me, Django. Live for me. Burn hot. Burn bright. Show the world what happens when the broken boys refuse to stay buried.”

And just like that, the dusk peeled away.

Django was alone again.

But the strings beneath his hands felt warmer.

And the next chord he played carried something new.

Purpose.

The wind carried faint whispers of music through the fields of the Umbral Ranch.

It started as a low hum—bassline deep enough to make the air pulse—and then vanished like a heartbeat skipping in grief. That’s when the demigods knew: Django was returning.

He walked from the far reaches of the twilight pasture, where the veil bent, his long coat trailing behind him like a shadow stitched from myth. Midna, slung across his back, pulsed faintly in rhythm with each step.

The ranch had changed. Demigods had pitched tents and built fires. Healing springs had been dug into the earth with Hestia’s blessing, and the woods shimmered faintly with protective glyphs. It had become a sanctuary—half refuge, half war camp. The Veil was thinner here, and even monsters hesitated to cross into it uninvited.

And yet the faces were weary. Kids too young to fight. Heroes too old to still be doing this.

As Django passed, the murmurs died down.

Some nodded in respect. Others just watched. But a few—Chaewon among them, standing at the edge of the largest tent—looked like they wanted to say something but didn’t know how.

He walked past them all and entered the war tent.

Inside, a large map of the world was projected onto the wall with pulses of divine light. Annabeth Chase, still sharp-eyed and commanding despite her bandaged shoulder, stood at the head. Magnus Chase leaned against a war table, twirling a rune between his fingers. Around them were key leaders: Reyna, Hazel, Frank, Nico, Will Solace, and even Grover, who looked haunted but determined.

“Nice of you to join us,” Annabeth said without sarcasm. “We were about to start without you.”

“Didn’t want to interrupt the smart ones,” Django muttered, pulling up a chair.

Magnus shot him a lopsided grin. “You’ve got good timing. We were just talking Primevals.”

Annabeth tapped the map, which flickered and zoomed in. “Apophis, Tiamat, and several others have been sighted across different Veil-points. They’re not just bringing monsters—they’re reviving dead demigods. Ones we lost in past wars. We don’t know how many are under their sway.”

Nico’s expression darkened. “Some might not even realize they’re being manipulated.”

Reyna added, “And some… won’t want to come back to us.”

Django exhaled. “Jason.”

A brief silence rippled through the room.

Magnus nodded slowly. “Thalia said he nearly killed her. She froze.”

“She still loves her brother,” Annabeth said quietly. “That kind of hesitation is going to get people killed.”

Frank leaned forward. “So what’s our move?”

Annabeth looked to Django. “We’ve got enough demigods here for a resistance. Enough blessings and magic to hold this place for now. But we need to start pushing back. And we need leadership.”

Django looked up sharply. “Don’t say it.”

“You’ve got the spark, Django,” Magnus said. “Your music’s holding the ranch together. Your song is what keeps the Veil thin here. You’re more than just a weapon—you’re a beacon. Whether you like it or not.”

Django stayed quiet, eyes on the map.

“The Echo Vault,” he said finally. “Nick told me about it.”

Several heads turned.

“It holds a weapon,” he continued, “Older than Midna. Strong enough to cut through even Primeval flesh. But I don’t know where it is—only that it responds to resonance. Soul, not brute force.”

“That’s a lead,” Annabeth said, already adjusting the map. “We can track mythic echoes. It’ll take time.”

Django stood. “Then we better start moving. Every second we wait, another memory gets twisted into a blade.”

Annabeth nodded. “Then this council is adjourned—for now. But Django…”

He turned at the edge of the tent.

“When the time comes, don’t hesitate to lead.”

His gaze flicked to Chaewon, still watching him from a distance.

“I won’t,” he said, and walked into the wind. As Django left he got three steps away from the war tent before a very special lady caught him.

The wind was cold at the threshold of the war tent, laced with old magic and whispered memories. Django’s boots crunched against the dirt as he stepped into the fading light, his shoulders low, his heart heavy.

He didn’t hear her approaching. He didn’t have to.

Chaewon moved like a storm in bloom—silent, certain, and unstoppable.

Before he could say a word, before he could retreat into the thousand doubts clawing at his ribs, she grabbed his collar, pulled him down, and kissed him.

Not a soft kiss. Not hesitant.

It was fierce, the kind of kiss that tasted like fire and salt, like someone who had screamed into her pillow every night and decided she’d had enough.

When she finally broke away, her eyes were glassy but unshaken.

“I’m never leaving you alone,” she whispered. “No matter what the gods say. No matter what some fate-thread says is supposed to happen. You are mine, Django.”

He blinked, stunned, mouth slightly open. “Chaewon, I—”

She pressed a finger to his lips. “You don’t get to talk yet. You don’t get to apologize. You didn’t fail anyone. The gods tested me, and I failed you. I was scared, and I hurt you. But I’m here now. If you’re going to war, I’m right there beside you. If the world ends, we’ll watch it burn together.”

His fingers trembled as they closed over hers. Midna pulsed on his back, warm and steady.

Django exhaled, and for the first time in days, it wasn’t full of sorrow.

“You’re really stubborn, you know that?” he said, voice thick.

“Good,” Chaewon said, brushing a hand down his cheek. “You need someone who’ll fight harder for you than you fight for yourself.”

He laughed—a raw, short sound—but the smile stayed. “Then let’s go give the primevals hell.”

She smiled back, eyes gleaming like starlight through smoke. “Together.”

The couple walks to a cabin on the ranch commandeered by Chaewon The moonlight bled softly through the open windows of the spare cabin Django had taken for the night—its silence a rare sanctuary amid the chaos of the ranch. His shirt was tossed lazily across a chair, and he sat at the edge of the bed, spine curved, the weight of war still pressed into his shoulders.

“You’re holding your breath again,” Chaewon said from behind him.

She moved along his back slowly, resting her hands on his shoulders. He flinched—instinct, not rejection—but when she didn’t pull away, he exhaled like it hurt.

“I missed this,” she murmured, fingers beginning to work across the tight knots in his back. “Not just touching you. Knowing I could. That you’d let me in.”

His breath hitched as her thumbs found a scar beneath his shoulder blade, one he didn’t remember earning. She kneaded slowly, carefully, her voice as steady as her touch.

“You’ve always carried too much,” she said. “Even before the primevals. Even before the gods started playing chess with your heart.”

Django sighed, deep and gravelly. “Feels like if I let go, everything falls apart.”

“Then don’t let go,” she whispered, leaning in, lips brushing the back of his neck. “Let me hold it with you.”

His head tilted back slightly, neck exposed to her breath. Chaewon’s hands slid lower, mapping him like a song she knew by heart—across his ribs, the side of his waist. Her nails scratched lightly down the curve of his back, just enough to make him shiver.

“Chaewon,” he rasped.

“I missed the sound of my name like that,” she said, kissing the curve of his shoulder. Her hair fell around them both like a curtain.

His hand reached back, catching her wrist. “You sure?”

She leaned in until her lips brushed his ear. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

There was heat in the silence that followed—the ache of longing, the promise of surrender. Django turned to face her fully, and for a moment, nothing else existed but the two of them and the electricity hanging between their barely-touching mouths. Django turned, and the tension in his body eased only when he met her eyes.

Chaewon—hair tousled, eyes soft but blazing with resolve—cupped his face. “You’re always fighting for everyone else,” she said, voice low. “Let me fight for you. Let me have you.”

Her kiss was deep, deliberate. It wasn’t just hunger—it was a vow. A pulling back of every wall he’d ever raised, every hesitation left unspoken. Django’s hands found her waist, fingertips dragging along the dip of her spine as he pulled her into his lap, their foreheads touching.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispered.

“You didn’t,” she replied. “You couldn’t. Even when I said those words, I was screaming inside. Hecate told me to break your heart—and I almost broke mine instead.”

Their lips found each other again, urgent this time. Django’s hand tangled in her hair, holding her like she might vanish. Chaewon moaned into his mouth—quiet, breathy—as she pressed her thighs around his hips, grounding them in the now.

As they kissed, Django’s magic sparked without meaning to. Midna—still in her bass form—hummed with a warm, rhythmic glow from where she rested on the nearby table, as if responding to the sync between their heartbeats. The cabin pulsed faintly with his magic, tuned to her touch, her breath, her voice.

Chaewon reached between them, fingers ghosting along his chest, memorizing the lines of every scar. “This body… this soul… it belongs to me,” she said, kissing the center of his chest. “Not as a prize. Not as a possession. But as something chosen.”

Django nodded, heart thudding. “Then you’re mine too.”

“I always was.”

She guided him down onto the bed, straddling him, her hands roaming—gentle, then hungry. The pain, the grief, the battles—they all melted as the lovers rediscovered each other, piece by piece. Their movements became a rhythm of shared need and reclaimed intimacy—his voice a low growl, hers a breathless melody.

Clothes gave way to skin. Skin to sweat. Sweat to heat. And in that heat, they made something sacred again. Not just love—but home.

Later, tangled in blankets and tangled in each other, Chaewon rested her head on Django’s chest. The steady thump beneath her ear grounded her more than any spell. Django, finally calm, ran a hand down her back.

“I don’t care what the gods say,” she whispered. “I’m not walking away again.”

“Good,” he said. “Because next time you disappear, I’m burning Olympus to the ground.”

She laughed, and he kissed her temple, his grip around her tightening.

Outside, the world prepared for war. Inside, they reclaimed their peace.

#k pop smut #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #le sserafim smut #chaewon #chaewon smut

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magnagaruzenmon · 1 month ago

Text

Waterbombed

So a bit of lore. @cosmic-conqueror-diabelos loves Eunbi. Eunbi is his singular favorite idol in all of K-pop and every time he writes he’s forcing himself not to root back to her. Not today though. He saw these pictures and 45 minutes later he had almost half of this done. So we hope you enjoy this and you’ll probably be seeing more Eunbi fics as we go.. peace out

Happy 4th of July may you all have a cool weekend after this very hot waterbomb

It all started on April 25th, 2022.

You were deep into a Monster Hunter Wilds session with your longtime friend Sakura, her laid-back boyfriend Toji, and someone new—Eunbi, Sakura’s friend from her dance crew.

“Unnie, are you having fun?” Sakura asked cheerfully as the four of you tag-teamed a particularly slippery Mizutsune. The fight had been long, but Eunbi was chasing its armor set for what she described as “aesthetic purposes.” In her words, it was “so pretty it hurts.”

“Yeah, Sakura-yah. I love it. And thanks to you guys, I’m finally getting the hang of it.” You grinned, watching your avatar tumble through the Mizutsune’s water blasts.

You hadn’t met Eunbi before tonight, but there was something instantly warm and charming about her. The way she spoke—soft, thoughtful, punctuated with unexpected laughter—made you feel like you’d known her longer than just a few hunts. When you tried to picture her, your brain filled in the blanks with soft edges and big eyes—just… cute.

After a few more runs, Mizutsune finally dropped the last part Eunbi needed. She let out a giddy little squeal as her hunter jogged toward Emma the blacksmith. You smiled, just listening to her hum with excitement through your headset.

About five minutes later, Eunbi returned to the lobby wearing the full Mizutsune set—sleek, iridescent, and very, very pink.

“Whoa, Eunbi, you look amazing,” Sakura said.

“Total fashion kill,” Toji added with his usual dry tone.

You chimed in with a grin, “Honestly? Worth the grind. You look great.”

Eunbi giggled. “Thank you all so much. Seriously, if it weren’t for you guys, I’d still be drowning in bubbles.”

You laughed along with them, but as the clock ticked past midnight, you rubbed your eyes and leaned back in your chair. “Alright, I should call it here. I’ve got actual grown-up stuff to do tomorrow.”

“Wait, Benimaru,” Eunbi said just as you were about to log off. You paused.

“I know I can’t invite Sakura and Toji—Sakura’s got rehearsal for the concert—but… as a thank-you for helping me tonight, I wanted to invite you to Waterbomb.”

You blinked. “Wait… seriously?”

Eunbi’s voice was playful. “Mhm. You in?”

“Yeah… okay.” You weren’t quite sure what you were agreeing to. The name Waterbomb rang a bell, but not loud enough to shake anything loose. You barely had time to ask before Eunbi added:

“Let me get your Instagram.” She sent a follow request a second later and DM’d you the full event details.

You tapped over to her profile, expecting a few selfies and maybe the occasional food post. Instead, you scrolled down and froze.

Clips from previous Waterbomb festivals filled your screen—Eunbi on stage in a soaked crop top, dancing like a tidal wave. Her moves were magnetic, sensual, commanding—and suddenly, your brain made the connection. That Eunbi. The performer. Sakura’s ex leader in izone

Your mouth went dry.

Something primal stirred at the back of your mind, like an alarm clock you hadn’t meant to set.

She had invited you.

The weeks before Waterbomb pass in a rhythm that feels easy. Familiar.

Each night, you and Eunbi dive into Monster Hunter hunts together—sometimes just the two of you, sometimes with Toji or Sakura dropping in between rehearsals. You start recognizing the way she fights: quick, clever, a little chaotic. You don’t say it out loud, but you love watching her win.

After each session, she sends you outfit options. Just little photos, usually mirror selfies or snapshots against her bedroom wall. At first, they’re tame—an oversized hoodie here, a floaty sundress there. She always adds a caption.

“Too boring?”

“Be honest, this makes me look like a grandma right?”

“Cute or just…eh?”

You reply dutifully—sometimes with jokes, sometimes with emojis, and sometimes with a well-placed “Ma’am 😳.” She eats it up.

But the outfits start getting bolder. Skin shows in different places. A crop here, a side slit there. You know the game she’s playing, and even though you’re trying to keep it casual, your reactions start slipping through.

And then she sends that outfit.

A red plaid crop top. A white bra peeking just beneath. Faded denim shorts riding high on her hips.

You stare at your phone for a solid ten seconds, maybe more. You blink, like maybe you imagined it. You did not.

You Facetime her without thinking. She picks up immediately, already grinning.

“So?” she asks, voice sweet as sugar. “How do I look?”

She knows what she’s done. You can see it in her eyes, in the slight tilt of her head, in how she’s trying not to laugh.

You rub the back of your neck, trying to sound composed. You’re not.

“Look… I’m gonna be honest,” you say. “I have nothing polite to say about that outfit.”

You pause, watching her expression shift slightly—just enough for the tension to crack a little.

“…But I promise you—every single thing I have to say is positive.”

Her giggle is quiet but victorious. She bites her lip, smiling like she just won a bet.

And in that moment, you realize two things:

1. You are absolutely not ready for Waterbomb.

2. She’s known that from the start.

A few days after the Facetime call, Eunbi texts you mid-afternoon.

Eunbi:

“You busy this evening? 👀”

You weren’t. Not really. Just pretending to work, letting your thoughts drift toward Waterbomb more often than you’d admit.

You:

“Depends. Are we grinding more hunts or what?”

Eunbi:

“Mmm… not quite. I’ve got rehearsal for the show. Figured you might wanna see how the sausage gets made 😏”

Your heart skips. You hesitate, then type.

You:

“Like, backstage?”

Eunbi:

“More like VIP treatment. Just me, my dancers, and… you 😇”

“I promise to behave. Ish.”

That “ish” does more damage than it should.

⸻

You show up at the rehearsal studio a few hours later. It’s tucked into a side street downtown, barely marked. You find the room by the music leaking through the door—bass-heavy, slick with rhythm, like something dangerous dressed up as fun.

She meets you at the entrance, hair up, skin glowing from sweat and practice. She’s in loose joggers and a tiny sports bra—practical, sure, but something about the way she wears it makes it feel… intentional.

“Benimaru~” she greets, drawing your name out like honey. “You really came.”

“Yeah,” you say, hands in your pockets, trying not to stare. “Would’ve been rude not to.”

She smiles. “Mmm. Well, don’t feel too flattered. I mostly needed a pair of eyes to watch and tell me if I still look hot after sweating through three routines.”

You raise a brow. “You could’ve just sent a selfie.”

She laughs and waves you in. “That wouldn’t have the same effect.”

⸻

The rehearsal is sharp and fast. The choreography is intense—hips, turns, water cannons (yes, real ones), and so much skin. Eunbi commands the space, every movement deliberate, every glance calculated. And every time her eyes flick to you mid-routine, something in your chest tightens.

She’s putting on a show—but only for one person.

⸻

After the final run-through, the other dancers head out, leaving towels and water bottles in their wake. Eunbi walks over to where you’re sitting, dabbing sweat from her collarbone with a towel.

“So…” she says, handing you a bottle of water. “How’d I do?”

“You’re dangerous,” you mutter, too honest.

She tilts her head, eyes glittering. “Mmm. That’s not a no.”

She sits next to you—close. Too close. Her thigh brushes yours, warm and bare. She leans in just slightly, enough for you to catch the scent of her shampoo, faint vanilla and something floral.

“Be honest,” she whispers. “Do you think I’ll kill them at Waterbomb… or do I need to practice that body roll again?”

You glance at her. She’s smiling, but beneath it is a question. A provocation.

You exhale slowly, feeling the heat creep up your neck.

“I think,” you say carefully, “you already know exactly what you’re doing.”

She doesn’t deny it.

She just leans back on her hands, stretches slowly, and says, “Then you better be there when I do it for real.”

It’s a few days before Waterbomb when Eunbi texts you again, this time with something simple.

Eunbi:

“Wanna hang? No rehearsal. No monsters. Just vibes. 👻”

You agree without overthinking it. Which, at this point, is a lie. You’ve been overthinking her since that night at the studio.

⸻

You end up walking through a quiet part of the city together—coffee in hand, the sun going down, summer heat still clinging to the concrete. Eunbi’s wearing an off-shoulder top and loose jeans, but it doesn’t matter what she’s wearing anymore. You’ve seen her sweaty, laughing, mid-performance, and something in your brain rewired after that.

She’s different now. Or maybe you are.

You both talk about nothing for a while. Music. Games. Some idol drama she insists you have to watch. You call her out on her taste. She calls you uncultured. It’s easy. Almost too easy.

At some point, you end up on a bench overlooking the Han River, watching the city shimmer across the water.

She leans back, stretching her arms with a sigh. “You know…” she starts, glancing sideways at you, “if we were in a drama, this would totally be the part where the lead couple starts realizing they like each other.”

You smile, trying to ignore the skip in your heartbeat. “Are you saying this feels like a date?”

Eunbi’s gaze flicks to yours—steady, direct, teasing—but softer than usual.

“I mean… it does feel like one, doesn’t it?” she says. Then, after a beat, “Do you want it to be a date?”

You swallow, pulse suddenly too loud in your ears. You don’t look away.

“…Do you want this to be a date?”

That’s when she says it.

“Yes.”

Just that. No coyness. No second-guessing. She holds your gaze with a clarity that strips away every layer of playfulness between you.

And suddenly, the air around you changes. Thickens.

The casual distance between your bodies feels like an open invitation. Your leg pressed lightly against hers now feels electric. Her hand, resting on the bench close to yours, feels impossibly far and far too close all at once.

She doesn’t move. Neither do you.

But everything has shifted.

The space between you isn’t filled with teasing anymore. It’s full of things unsaid—wants, thoughts, urges that have been building up over weeks of games and glances and barely-there touches.

Eunbi licks her lips once, eyes dropping to your mouth and back again. “You gonna say something, or just keep staring at me like that?”

You don’t answer.

You just lean in slightly, just enough to make her breath hitch.

“I’m thinking,” you murmur.

“Thinking what?”

“If I kiss you now… we’re not gonna make it to Waterbomb without breaking a few rules.”

She smiles again—but it’s slower, darker. Like she’s just waiting for you to stop thinking.

And maybe you are.

The walk back to your place is quiet—charged. Neither of you says much, and you don’t have to. Every brush of her shoulder against yours feels deliberate. Every glance exchanged is heavier than the last.

You unlock the door and step inside, motioning for her to follow. She does without hesitation, slipping off her shoes like she’s been here before. Like she belongs here.

“I like your place,” Eunbi says, looking around, then tossing her bag on the couch like it’s already hers. “Cozy.”

“You’re just saying that because I don’t have gamer chairs and LED strips.”

She laughs. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

You’re still standing by the door when she walks back over to you—closer than necessary. Her fingers hook lightly into your belt loops as she tilts her head up.

“You were staring at me the whole walk back,” she says softly.

“I was trying not to jump you in public,” you reply, equally soft.

Her eyes spark with something wicked.

“Good.”

You don’t remember leaning in. One second you’re standing there, and the next your mouth is on hers—hot, hungry, and overdue. She kisses you back with that same controlled intensity she dances with—fluid, teasing, just a little bit dangerous.

You press her against the wall, hands finding her waist, her lower back, her hips. She lets you, humming into your mouth like this is exactly what she expected. Your breath is ragged when she breaks the kiss, only to pull you toward the couch, pulling you down on top of her in one smooth move.

Your hands roam without hesitation now—up her ribs, across her bare stomach, fingertips teasing the edge of her bra under that off-shoulder top. She gasps, arching into your touch, lips finding your neck.

“You’re gonna ruin me,” you whisper.

She laughs—low and breathy. “That’s the idea.”

But then, just as your hand starts to slide under her top, she grabs your wrist—firm, but not cold.

You look down at her, confused, lips parted, heartbeat crashing in your ears.

Eunbi smirks up at you, flushed and glowing, eyes glittering with mischief.

“If you’re a good boy,” she purrs, “I’ll show you so much more at Waterbomb.”

You blink, stunned.

She leans up, kisses your jaw, then slips out from under you with ridiculous ease, like she hasn’t just set your entire nervous system on fire.

“You’re evil,” you mutter, breathless.

She pulls her top back into place, grinning over her shoulder as she heads for the door.

“Discipline, Benimaru. Delayed gratification.” She winks. “Just imagine what I’m saving for the encore.”

Then she’s gone—leaving behind her scent, her warmth, and your very, very unresolved desire.

You stare at the door for a long moment, exhale hard, and fall back on the couch.

Waterbomb cannot come soon enough.

Waterbomb hit you like a fever.

The day of the festival blurred by in a haze of sun, music, and adrenaline—but mostly Eunbi.

You’d been texting back and forth since morning, her messages a constant stream of flirtation and provocation. Voice notes dripping with innuendo. Selfies that left too little to the imagination. Winks and teasing emojis that felt like fingertips brushing your skin.

By the time the sun began to dip behind the stage scaffolding, you were already breathless—disoriented in the best and worst way. Her energy had worked its way under your skin and into your bloodstream, leaving you drunk on anticipation.

And then the murmurs started.

“Eunbi’s up next.”

“She’s gonna kill it—she always kills it.”

“She’s basically the queen of Waterbomb.”

“Sexy legend, are you kidding me?”

You already knew all of it was true—but hearing it out loud made it feel real. Tangible. Like the whole city was about to see what you’d seen brewing behind her glances and half-smiles.

And then the lights cut. The bass dropped. The crowd screamed.

She stepped onto the stage like she owned the world.

Eunbi was dazzling. Drenched in spotlight and water spray, she moved with the confidence of someone who knew every eye was on her—and who only cared about one.

Yours.

Her gaze found you almost immediately—sultry, knowing, locked in. And then she smiled.

That slow, devastating smile that said: I told you I’d show you more.

The music pulsed around her as she danced, hips rolling in a hypnotic rhythm that felt less like choreography and more like a spell. Her body undulated with practiced seduction, but the way she looked at you? That was personal. Intimate. Like she was unwrapping you, layer by layer, with every beat.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away if you tried.

She moved through her set like a storm: bouncing, spinning, flipping her hair, letting the water soak through her barely-there outfit as the crowd roared in appreciation. But for you, it was background noise. All you saw was her. All you felt was her.

Each verse, each motion, each glance offstage in your direction wound you tighter. By the time her final song ended in a flash of lights and a roar of screams, you were completely undone.

Soaked in sweat. Heart racing. Breath stolen.

Somehow both spent and starving.

And when she blew a kiss to the crowd—no, to you—you knew exactly what the rest of the night was leading to.

You weren’t just watching the show anymore.

You were part of the encore.

You knew it the second your phone buzzed.

Eunbi:

“Come to Relax Bar. VIP section. 💋”

No instructions. No emojis to soften the blow—just a location and the implicit promise of more.

You checked your festival map with shaking fingers and started walking, weaving through crowds still high off the set she had just torched. Music still echoed across the grounds, but your head was full of her—her body, her stare, her mouth wrapped around every lyric like it was meant for you.

By the time you reached the Relax Bar, your heart was pounding all over again.

You didn’t have to wait.

One of Eunbi’s crew was already there, clocking you instantly with a knowing smile. “You’re Benimaru, yeah? She’s expecting you.”

No security check. No waitlist. Just a silent escort past the velvet ropes into a world that smelled of expensive liquor, body spray, and something wild.

Then you saw her.

Eunbi in her element.

She was lounging on a leather couch in the VIP lounge like it was a throne. Legs crossed, drink in hand, hair still damp from the performance, clinging to her shoulders. The red white and blue colors of her outfit had been traded out for something darker now—sleek black with glints of shimmer, clinging to her curves like the spotlight still hadn’t let her go.

She looked like temptation incarnate. And she was staring right at you.

Her smirk bloomed the moment your eyes met. “Well, well. Look who survived.”

You tried to speak, but your mouth had forgotten how. Eventually, you managed:

“You killed me… and somehow brought me back to life.”

She laughed, deep and rich, and motioned for you to sit beside her. As you did, her eyes slowly traced over you—neck to waist and back up again—with absolutely no rush.

“You look like you’ve been through something,” she teased, voice low and honey-slicked.

“I have,” you replied. “You.”

Eunbi tilted her head, clearly enjoying every bit of your wrecked state. She leaned in close—so close you could feel the heat of her breath against your cheek—and whispered, “And you still want more?”

You didn’t answer with words. You didn’t need to. The way your body leaned toward hers, the way your hands gripped your knees to keep from reaching for her—it said everything.

She set her drink down slowly, then slid her hand up your thigh with deliberate, torturous ease.

“Let’s get out of here,” she murmured. “Come back to my place.”

You swallowed hard.

She smiled��sultry, confident, absolutely not innocent. “Don’t worry,” she added, leaning in so her lips just brushed your ear, “I don’t bite… unless you ask.”

Your brain short-circuited.

You could only nod as you stood, following her out of the lounge, out of the festival, and into the night like you’d been summoned.

And maybe you had.

You arrive at her place and you can feel the erotic energy flowing from her. It filled you with desire and need for her.

You enter her apartment, and she is on you before you can think.

She kisses you with the ferocity of a lioness starved for her partner. Her tongue explores your mouth with the vigor of a conqueror trying to tame wild lands. When she breaks the kiss she lifts her top over her head and you are greeted by her magnificent breasts and the rest of her upper body.

Creamy white skin gorgeous curves and of course her breasts that have you feral.

You barely think before stooping down to the left one engorging on its swell. Your head is left in a heady mix of arousal and need. Eunbi moans as you suck on her breasts before pushing you onto the couch. She straddles you before yelping and saying “oh someone is ready.”

She smiles as she opens your pants and with no hesitation wraps her breasts around your cock. You scream in Euphoria as the softness and gentle grace she moves with drives you crazy.

“Fuck you’re gonna make me,”

You say before you explode all over her. The last few days of teasing have left you so primed that she barely needed 3 pumps and you were gone. You cover her tits, face, and neck in your seed. Eunbi smiles though still pumping you through it coaxing you.

“You have more for me right,” she asks her eyes bright and encouraging and you can’t help it you explode all over her again, as your balls ache trying give her everything. You black out as she still fucks you with her tits.

Unable to think or move but receiving her attentions is glorious torture. She gets you there again, and again and again, To the point you think she’s gonna kill you, until she says, “I won’t stop until you can’t get hard anymore,” you groan and whimper as she relentlessly titfucks you again each time Getting a little less out of you.

It’s brutal as she doesn’t stop. She keeps you hard with her filthy language and sinful body. By the time you finally can’t get hard anymore Eunbi has gotten 8 orgasms out of you. Eunbi smiles though still as she is covered in cum at this point.

Before you can pass out Eunb brings your eyes to her and she says, “did you enjoy the encore?”

#k pop smut #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #kwon eunbi smut #eunbi x reader #eunbi kwon #eunbi smut #kwon eunbi

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magnagaruzenmon · 1 month ago

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Mam… mam…

You just can’t be doing stuff like that.

#waterbomb #eunbi kwon #kwon eunbi

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magnagaruzenmon · 1 month ago

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Hybrid Theory XV

So Dio got inspired by his “muse” and wrote the non smut parts for this I just came up and cleaned up the language and added some flair as we return to Dracul and Jihyo for this one

Despite being one of the biggest, baddest Alphas I’d ever met, my girlfriend had a submissive streak a mile long—and I mean that in the best possible way. By day, she ran one of the most powerful arms corporations on the planet like a war goddess in heels—sharp, commanding, untouchable. But the moment she stepped through the door, it was like all that steel melted off her shoulders.

“Snake eyes, can you make dinner tonight?” she’d pout, already curled up in one of my shirts, tossing her heels by the door like they personally offended her. Or, “Babe, can you come shopping with me? I don’t wanna pick.” Decision fatigue hit her hard, and honestly, I didn’t blame her. After twelve hours of being everyone’s boss, she just wanted to be held and told what to do for once.

She hated being the face and backbone of an empire built on weapons and power plays. The pressure, the constant eyes on her, the endless need to perform strength—it wore her down, no matter how gracefully she carried it.

I wasn’t just her boyfriend. I was her pause button. Her breath of quiet. Her soft landing. And every night, I did what I could to make sure she remembered she didn’t have to be Alpha all the time.

Lately, Jihyo had been on edge—ever since her tiger hybrid genes started expressing themselves alongside her lion traits, it was like watching a beautiful storm take shape in slow motion. The changes were gradual at first: a sharper glint in her eyes, a few bold stripes curling along her hips and shoulders, her already impressive strength getting a little more unpredictable. Then came the mood swings—aggressive one moment, ridiculously horny the next. And clingy. God, the clinginess.

It was like the wild instincts inside her were in some kind of tug-of-war, and I was the rope. Most days, I’d come home and before I could even kick my shoes off, she’d be on me—arms locked around my waist, striped tail coiled possessively around my leg like she was afraid I’d vanish if she let go. I’d cook dinner with her draped over my back, play video games with her head in my lap, and work on model kits with her purring quietly under the table, occasionally brushing against me like a giant housecat in denial.

To be fair, the stripes looked amazing on her—elegant, fierce, and somehow softer all at once. They added to her “Queen of the Jungle” aesthetic, which she’d deny if I ever said it out loud, but the way she carried herself? Pure royalty.

Despite all the chaos going on in her body, there were sweet little moments that made it all worth it. Like the time she got into my hobbies—not just tolerating them, but actually participating. She’d recently built a Lego sakura tree and proudly kept it on her desk at work. Said she liked the symbolism, and that caring for a real one would be too much work with her schedule. I think it reminded her of peace—of us. Of something still and beautiful she could control.

Sure, she was a needy, moody, purring, growling hybrid mess most days—but she was my mess. And I loved her for it. Every stripe, every whine, every time she demanded I don’t move an inch because she needed to “absorb my scent” like some giant territorial jungle princess.

Honestly? I wouldn’t have her any other way.

Tonight was no different, well it was a little different. As I stood outside of our front door I heard moaning and expected the worse. As I unlocked the door I am pleasantly surprised to see my naked needy girlfriend pleasuring herself on the couch. Her big eyes lock with mine and I can smell her arousal from the front door. She's in a rut. Her lion ears and tiger tail move casually,

“Snake eyes” she whined in a song song voice, “I need you to knot me. Please breed me” she whines as my cock gets hard responding to her needs before I can. I roll my eyes as I casually watch her while unloading the groceries.

“I told you to take the day off. Didn't I? I believe my exact words were “Honey your rut will be coming soon and you should probably take the next few days off or get some rut blockers” And what was it you told me?” I reply. Jihyo wordlessly whines as she plays with herself.

“What that dear? use your words.” I tease as I finish unloading the groceries. I realize I may have pushed my luck when I hear Jihyo growl and roar before she said, “If you don't get over here right now I will rip that dick off you and use it as a dildo.” I shut up as it was very rare my alpha ever really went all in on her nature so she must be serious. I quickly and neatly undressed before lining myself up with her folds. Jihyo moaned before I plunged in. As always she was unrelentingly tight which always fucked with my brain chemistry. I start by giving her a couple slow and hard thrusts to get her acclimated.

“Oh God yes,” Jihyo moaned before I started to up the pace slightly. I watched as her tits bounced and her eyes locked onto me. Jihyo smiled then said,

“Yes fill me. I need it.” I smiled and said

“Little alpha wants her omega to breed her how cute.”

Jijyo’s intensity could be felt as she was barely a step away from feral.

“Yes I need my omega,” she whined. I watched the more needy she became the more dominant I became. I grabbed her plush tits and massaged them. Jihyo moaned as she grew even tighter. “More she said as she gripped my shoulders. She moaned helpless in her rut.

“Fuck!” She yelped as I spanked her ass. She groaned and said

“Fuck wanna bare your litter.”

“Her words light a fire inside me as I thrust into her even harder trying to make her pregnant.

Jihyo feels the shift and encourages me even more, “yes yes! Breed me make me a mommy.”

Her tightness and words make not pouring cum inside of her impossible so I cum as Jihyo reaches her peak.

“Fuck give me your babies she babbles and Moans as I ravage her through her high,”

After fucking her she’s back to being my sweet adorable clingy girlfriend. I pull out then say, “okay Darling I am going to cook dinner now,”

Jihyo groans still blissed out and recovering.

I’d just started dinner when the apartment finally settled into a deceptive calm. The kind of quiet that makes you think maybe—just maybe—your hybrid girlfriend has regained control of her primal instincts and isn’t seconds away from trying to climb you like an oak tree in heat.

That illusion lasted about ten minutes.

Right as I was stirring the bulgogi into the cheese sauce, I felt it—that telltale presence behind me. She didn’t just walk into the kitchen; she slinked. A jungle shadow in a tank top and nothing else. She wrapped herself around me like a weighted blanket with ulterior motives, arms circling my waist, tail curling around my thigh.

“Smells good, babe,” she purred against my neck, her voice low, thick with heat and heavy intent. There was a rumble under her words—lust barely contained by vowels.

“Yeah,” I said, keeping my cool as best I could, “trying something new. Bulgogi mac and cheese.”

“Mm.” She pressed in closer, hips flush against me, nose nudging into the space behind my ear like she wanted to live there. “You always get creative when I’m feral. I like that about you.”

“I like staying alive,” I muttered.

She chuckled, soft and dangerous. As I plated the food, I could feel her scent shifting again—richer, muskier, swirling in that way that made the air feel thicker. She was close. Almost fully gone. The only reason I wasn’t already horizontal was because food was the only thing distracting her from jumping me like a jungle gym.

Dinner was a tense affair.

Not because anything was wrong with the food—she ate it like she hadn’t seen a carb in five years—but because she didn’t say a single word the entire time. She just stared. At me. Like she was mentally disassembling my bones to figure out how best to bend them.

Every time I looked up, her eyes locked with mine, full of unblinking heat. Her fork moved with mechanical precision. Her tail swished with intention. I was ninety percent sure she was mentally calculating positions, mattress spring tension, and post-coital blood sugar needs.

Finally, after the last bite, she set her fork down with elegant finality and said in a voice so calm it should’ve been illegal:

“When we’re done here, I want you to fold me like a pretzel and pass out buried in me.”

I snorted—because what else could I do?

“That’s… wow. Specific.”

But when I looked at her—really looked at her—she wasn’t joking.

No twitch of a smirk. No playful gleam. Just raw, focused determination. Like she was planning to wrestle me into submission, use me like a hot water bottle with benefits, and then tuck herself in around me like I was her personal plush toy.

I cleared my throat, suddenly very aware that dessert would not be edible, but inevitable.

“Well then,” I said, stacking our empty bowls. “Guess I better stretch.”

“Please do,” she said, deadpan. “I’m gonna bend you in ways OSHA doesn’t allow.”

And with that, she stood up, cracked her neck like a prizefighter, and started stalking toward the bedroom.

I gave it five seconds before she called from down the hall:

“Bring water. And maybe an ice pack. For you.”

After tidying up the kitchen, I packed the leftovers neatly—because if there’s one thing I knew, it’s that rut made her hungry in every sense. I scooped a hearty portion of bulgogi mac and cheese into a small glass container, then grabbed a fresh bottle of water and an ice pack for good measure. One for her body temperature. One for mine. Only fair.

I carried the supplies to the bedroom like I was approaching a den with a live predator inside—and I wasn’t wrong.

The door creaked open, and there she was. Jihyo, all tiger-lion hybrid glory, poised on the bed like she was the centerpiece in a nature documentary titled ‘Alpha In Rut: The Reckoning.’ Her back arched slightly, tail raised in a very specific angle that could only be described as “absolutely ready to pounce.”

“Took you long enough,” she purred, voice syrupy with heat.

I didn’t rise to the bait. Just gave a patient nod as I set the food, water, and ice pack on the nightstand beside her. Practical. Calm. Controlled. Like I wasn’t very aware of how naked she was under that loose tank top and how she was still watching me like a snack.

She laughed. “Oh, you actually listened to me?” she teased, rising from the bed and immediately coiling herself around me like I was home and she was trying to permanently fuse us together. Her legs tangled with mine, hands sliding under my shirt like they had a schedule to keep.

“You came prepared. Who are you and what did you do with my clueless Omega?”

I chuckled. “Clueless, huh?”

“Mmhm,” she hummed, nuzzling into my jaw. “Hey… why don’t you go into ruts? You’re supposed to be an Omega, but your scent never shifts. Always just that soft lemon cake smell. Warm. Sweet. Completely unfair.”

Her hands continued wandering, fingertips tracing slow, heated lines down my sides. I exhaled, heart steady despite her very not-subtle movements.

“I figure my genes are still figuring things out,” I murmured. “The dragon enhancements probably threw my cycle out of rhythm. Might take a while before the Omega instincts fully kick in.”

She leaned back slightly, grinning. “So when they do, what—you planning to whimper and drool all over me like I do with you?”

“Please,” I smirked. “When I go into heat, I’m going to ruin you.”

Her eyes widened slightly, pupils dilating.

“Oh really?” she asked, voice already thickening. “You’re gonna be all breathy, legs shaking, moaning ‘Alpha, please, I need you so bad’?”

“Exactly,” I said. “I’ll be clinging to you, whining, begging for you to let me knot you through the wall.”

Her jaw dropped slightly in delighted shock. “You even say that convincingly.”

I shrugged. “I rehearse in the mirror.”

She burst out laughing—but there was a tremble in it, something caught between desire and affection. Her claws didn’t come out. Her hips didn’t start grinding. She just rested her head on my shoulder, warm and trembling and wrapped around me like I was the only steady thing in the world.

“You’re so annoying,” she whispered. “I love you so much it’s actually painful.” As she spoke her hands found my cock and she slowly started rubbing me. She slow and gentle at first.

I smiled into her hair. “Good. Because you’re about to go feral again and I need some reassurance before you chew through my shirt.”

She pulled back to look at me, eyes glassy with lust and emotion and something unspoken in the middle. “I don’t know if I deserve someone who handles me like this.” As she spoke her pace picked up a bit. As always my cock was already drooling for her.

“You don’t have to deserve it,” I said softly. “You just get it.”

Her lips parted, like she wanted to say something more—but then I felt it. Her scent shifted again. Deepened. Thickened.

The lucid moment slipped through our fingers like sand.

She blinked once.

Then smiled.

A slow, hungry smile.

“…Fold me,” she said, voice rasping with heat. “Now.”

“Thought you’d never ask.” We undressed each other I noticed the stripes along her waist hips and chest were a pretty violet/indigo color. They blended with her tan skin exceptionally well. Jihyo smiles as she brings me in for a gentle kiss my wings growing to their full size.

Jihyo’s eyes widen like she wants to say something but can’t.

I pushed her legs above her head and slide into her wet tight hole. Jihyo moans,

“Oh god yes fuck me with your angry dragon dick!” She yells and it sets me off. I pound into her tight cunt overcome by my instincts.

Seeing my mate so needy and horny does something to me. I can feel my claws extend involuntarily I grow harder inside of her as she tightens around me. My scales appear and Jihyo smiles, “yes that’s it,” she groans as I thrust deeper and harder into her.

“Fuck you’re gonna make me cum,” she said happy.

I groan as her walls convulse around me. The tightness she has is insane as she cums all over me, leading to her gushing out squirt all over my chest as I continue ravaging her in a mating press.

I only last a few more minutes before dumping another load inside of her ready and waiting walls.

I fell to the bed exhausted but still hard so I rested inside of Jihyo she groaned happily as the toe of us spent the rest of the night cuddling.

The next morning Jihyo got up feeling more lucid. I know it was reprieve of rut pheromones but if I had to guess she would be back in need of more breeding in an hour or so.

The moment she stepped out of the shower, I knew something was off.

Her eyes were sharper than usual, pupils dilated, body flushed with heat that had nothing to do with the water. She was pacing like a caged predator, tail swishing in slow, agitated arcs, nostrils flaring as if every scent in the apartment was too much and not enough at the same time. Her towel clung to her hips, steam still rising off her skin, but her posture screamed tension—hunger, frustration, restraint.

“Jihyo,” I said slowly, carefully, like I was trying not to startle a wild animal. “You’re in rut.”

She scoffed, yanking open the dresser with more force than necessary. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine.” I stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it off like it burned. “Your scent’s changing, your body’s burning up, and you nearly growled at the coffeepot. You’re not going to make it five minutes at work.”

“I have to go,” she snapped, baring a hint of fang. “There’s a board meeting at ten. I’ve already rescheduled it twice. If I miss it again, they’ll assume I’m weak.” Her claws flexed at her sides, tail lashing once. “I’m not letting them see me like this.”

“I’m not saying you’re weak,” I said softly, carefully. “But you’re in no condition to lead anything today. Stay home. Let me take care of you.”

Her pride flared like fire in her eyes. “I’m not some helpless Omega that needs to be coddled.” Her words stung a bit as I was an omega and to see her so lost in herself she didn’t consider her words hurt.

“No,” I replied evenly, straightening to my full height. “You’re a powerful Alpha hybrid who’s about to rip someone’s head off or—” I inhaled as her scent spiked again, thick and sweet with need, “—do something very inappropriate in the middle of a conference room.”

She stepped up to me, chest rising and falling with sharp, shallow breaths, face just inches from mine. I had nearly a full foot on her, and I still felt like I was being challenged. Every muscle in her body was tight, ready to pounce. For a moment, I thought she might actually take a swing at me just to prove she could.

But I wasn’t about to fight her—not in this state.

I sighed and stepped back. “Fine. Go. But if you so much as growl at your assistant or mount the coffee machine, I am coming to get you.”

She didn’t even dignify that with a response, just grabbed her blouse and power skirt with sharp, angry movements, tail flicking with every step toward the door. Still, I saw it—the slight stumble in her gait, the way her breathing caught as her body tried to override her brain.

Forty-five minutes later, my phone buzzed.

Jihyo [8 Missed Calls]

Then a message:

I need you.

Please come get me. I can’t focus. Everyone smells wrong. I feel like I’m crawling out of my skin.

I need my Omega.

Rail me.

Breed me.

My heart ached as I grabbed my keys.

She might have been a lion-tiger Alpha with more pride than sense sometimes, but when her instincts finally caught up to her, I was still the one she called.

And I would always come running.

When I stepped into the sleek, marble-floored lobby of ClawTech International, I already knew I was in trouble.

It wasn’t just the overly polished surfaces or the security desk that looked like it belonged at a villain’s lair. No—it was the scent. Thick. Wild. Tangy. The unmistakable pheromone cocktail of one very frustrated, very Alpha hybrid in rut wafting down from the executive level like a goddamn jungle heatwave.

I barely made it past the front desk before the receptionist looked up, grinned, and said, “Oh you’re here to pick up the CEO, huh?”

I raised a brow. “Oh hey Dahyun… yeah, I guess word travels fast.”

She chuckled, popping her gum. “She’s been pacing her office like a caged tigress all morning. You’re the Omega, right?”

“I’m not an—” I started, but she winked and held up a finger.

“Don’t worry, no shame. We’re all rooting for you. You’re her ‘special calming influence.’”

Whatever that meant, it did not help with the several knowing looks I got as I stepped into the elevator. One lion hybrid in a suit gave me a thumbs-up. A cheetah intern smirked and whispered to her friend, “He’s braver than he looks.” And when I got to the executive floor, a stoic hawk hybrid in a pencil skirt just handed me a bottle of electrolyte water and said, “Good luck. She almost tackled the intern who brought her coffee.”

“I told her to stay home,” I muttered, stepping past a visibly rattled intern clutching a broken clipboard and smelling faintly of fear.

Her assistant Jeongyeon, a bored-looking panther hybrid, barely glanced up from his tablet as I approached.

“She’s in there,” he said. “Locked the door after she growled at me for breathing too loud. Maybe you can soothe the savage beast or whatever. Use protection.”

I blinked. “She’s not a werewolf.”

“Still. You might lose a limb.”

I braced myself, knocked once, then opened the door—

—and there she was.

Sprawled across the black leather couch in her office, blazer tossed to the floor, top buttons of her blouse undone, exposing flushed skin and the top of a lace bra she definitely hadn’t been wearing this morning. Her eyes snapped to me the second I stepped in, pupils blown wide, nostrils flaring.

“Oh thank god,” she growled, sitting up so fast it startled me. “Get in here and close the door.”

“I feel like I’m about to get mauled,” I muttered, even as I obeyed.

“You are,” she purred, voice smoky and rough around the edges. “And it’s your fault. You made me wait.”

“You left,” I reminded her, holding up the water bottle like a peace offering. “I tried to stop you. Everyone outside thinks I’m your Omega.”

“You are my Omega,” she said bluntly, standing now and swaying toward me with all the grace of a tiger in heat. Her tail lashed once behind her, stripes standing out sharply against flushed golden skin. “You just happen to come in dragon form.”

I was about to make a clever retort—something about reputations, maybe—when she reached up, curled her fingers into my collar, and pulled me down into a kiss that turned my knees to jelly.

As soon as the office door clicked shut behind me, Jihyo pounced.

Not gracefully. Not seductively. Just full-body launched at me like a striped missile in heels and a pencil skirt. I barely had time to brace before she crashed into my chest, arms and tail wrapping around me like a jungle boa.

“You smell so good,” she moaned into my neck, inhaling like she was trying to snort me. “You smell like home. And safety. And sex.”

“Glad to be your personal air freshener,” I grunted, stumbling back a step as she clung tighter.

She started rubbing her cheek against my chest in slow, deliberate motions.

“Marking,” she said seriously. “I have to mark you. There are way too many females on this floor and I saw a raccoon hybrid smile at you in the elevator last month. She could be planning something.”

“She was probably just being polite—”

“She was hunting. I felt it.”

“Right.” I exhaled. “Jihyo, babe, maybe we should—”

She dropped to her knees.

“Whoa!” I yelped, panicking slightly. “That’s… fast.”

“I’m hiding from the board,” she said, peeking up from below. “I can smell them through the vents. They’re waiting for me. They want to talk about missile contracts, Dragon. Missile contracts. While I’m like this.”

“You’re the one who insisted on coming in!”

“I thought I could overpower my hormones with sheer willpower!”

I crouched down to her level, gently taking her face in my hands. “Sweetheart, you are literally under your own desk right now threatening to bite a raccoon hybrid from last month. I think we can agree the willpower plan failed.”

She blinked slowly. “I want to crawl inside your shirt and live there.”

“…I mean, that’s flattering—”

“Let me just… I need…” She tried sticking her head up under my shirt like a cat trying to burrow into a sweater sleeve.

I stood up. “Okay. That’s it. You’re not going anywhere near a boardroom. Or missile contracts. Or society.”

She clung to my leg like a very desperate koala. “I tried to fight it. I even made a spreadsheet. A SPREADSHEET, DRAGON.”

“I believe you.”

“There were graphs. It didn’t help.”

“Because you’re in rut.”

“Because I’m weak.”

“You’re not weak. You’re just rut addled Because you’re part lion, part tiger, and 100% losing it.”

She tore off my clothes as she lifted her skirt before moving her panties to the side. “Fuck me raw so I can go to this fucking meeting,”

She said ravenous, and again that twitch. My wings unfurled covering us as I slid inside of her again. She moaned but i covered her mouth as i fucked her. As our bodies crashed into each other I felt this itch inside of me, but as I fucked her I felt it be satisfied albeit temporarily.

Jihyo on the other hand was a mess. Her cunt pooled under us as her slick dripped to the floor. She was a delirious mess saying things like, “give me my cock,” “be a good omega and breed me agin,” I obliged as I came in her again.

Jihyo was now almost clearheaded enough to go to her meeting. She got off of me and managed to stagger her way to the conference room. I sat at their desk and took out one of her blank notepads and got to work on a comic idea i had while she was in there.

I was sitting in Jihyo’s office. Her massive glass desk was pristine. Her chair still warm. Her scent clung to every surface like static—wild, citrusy, and spiked with rut-driven heat that made the air feel charged.

I had a bottle of water, a plate of leftover bulgogi mac and cheese, and the faint, ever-present hum of the A/C trying its best to keep the room cool despite the jungle-vibes happening on a hormonal level.

The board meeting had started thirty-four minutes ago.

I knew the exact time because she had texted me exactly thirty-five minutes ago:

🐯: entering the pit. pray for them.

I smiled at that. Proud of her. Proud she was pulling through.

Then the real texts started.

10:42 AM

🐯: these men smell like printer ink and arrogance. I need you.

10:47 AM

🐯: one of them asked about missile distribution projections and I nearly told him I was about to ovulate.

10:49 AM

🐯: your scent is on my blazer and I’m clenching my thighs under the table. why would you do this to me.

10:52 AM

🐯: I keep nodding and pretending to care about numbers but mentally I am folded like a napkin and you’re wrecking me.

10:53 AM

🐯: you better be waiting in my office like a good little dragon.

10:54 AM

🐯: send pic.

I blinked at that last one.

Me:

of what?

Her reply came immediately:

🐯: your face. i need to remember who owns me before i accidentally break a table and tell the board to bring my breeding mate to breed me.

I looked around like the office might be bugged. Then sent a quick, non-thirst-trap selfie. Slight blush. Blank expression. The “I’m-holding-it-together-but-barely” Omega face.

10:58 AM

🐯: hnngh okay. okay. i can last fifteen more minutes. then i’m dragging you home. no detours. no errands. just me, you, a gallon of electrolyte water, and god’s mercy.

11:02 AM

🐯: babe i just tried to drink from my pen cap. my brain is gone.

Me:

hang in there. you’re doing great.

nobody suspects you’re one second away from claiming the conference table as your nest.

11:03 AM

🐯: incorrect. one of them made eye contact and flinched. they know.

🐯: bring more water. and maybe a muzzle. or don’t. up to you.

⸻

I stared at the door for a moment. Her voice was faint through the wall, cool and commanding despite the internal meltdown she was clearly having. That’s what made her such a damn legend. Even deep in rut, she was still running a weapons empire and texting her boyfriend threats like:

🐯: if you are not on the couch with your shirt off when i walk in, i will eat one of your shoes.

I set my phone down and exhaled slowly.

11:17 AM — ClawTech CEO Office

The second the door burst open, I knew the storm had arrived.

Jihyo stood there, hair tousled, pupils blown wide, blazer discarded somewhere in the hallway like it had personally offended her. She looked like she’d just fought a board meeting, won, and now wanted her reward: me.

“You,” she growled, eyes laser-locked on me as I stood from the couch. “Mine. Now.”

I barely had time to react before she closed the distance in a single stride and tackled me flat onto the couch, straddling my hips with all the grace and subtlety of a heat-seeking missile.

“God, I missed your scent,” she moaned, burying her face into my neck, grinding down hard. “I’m gonna mark you until your ancestors feel it—”

She froze.

Not because of what she said (honestly, pretty mild for her rut standards), but because her claws had gripped my shoulder… and didn’t feel what she expected.

She slowly leaned back, blinking at my chest.

“What… the hell?”

I followed her gaze.

My shirt had ridden up in the tackle. A section of my side—where my scales usually glinted with dark crimson and matte black—now shimmered with a radiant silver-gold sheen. Luminous, almost metallic. Not dulled. Not subtle.

Her hands moved up to my shoulders.

“Your wings,” she whispered, eyes wide.

I unfurled them instinctively, thinking maybe she just needed a closer look.

Then I froze.

Where there had once been leathery, deep-black membranes framed by maroon bone, there were now brilliant, chromatic wings—iridescent blue membranes catching the office lighting like stained glass, framed by silver ridges that shimmered with hints of gold.

“…Okay,” I said, slowly. “That’s new.”

Jihyo sat up straighter on my hips, stunned into brief silence. Her instincts fought to drag her back into rut-brain, but her Alpha hybrid brain—her curiosity—was suddenly louder.

“This is not normal,” she said, almost reverently. “You’re molting.”

“Molting?”

“Or evolving. I don’t know do Dragon hybrids have shedding events when their genetics stabilize. like… puberty meets metamorphosis meets spontaneous sex appeal.” She reached out, brushing her fingers along the membrane of one wing, eyes wide with wonder. “You look like a divine weapon. A Final Boss. A mating-season unicorn.”

“That’s flattering, but—”

“You’re literally glowing. Do you realize that? I’m straddling a glowing Omega with cathedral wings and radiant armor scales and I’m supposed to not lose my mind?!”

I blinked. “You are definitely losing your mind.”

She stared at me like she was seeing me for the first time. “You smell different too. Richer. Spicier. Like spiced lemon cake, molten gold, and something ancient.” She inhaled deeply, tail twitching violently behind her. “This is triggering instincts I didn’t even know I had.”

“Please don’t try to bite me out of respect,” I muttered.

She immediately bared her fangs.

“Too late.”

But before she could do anything unhinged, her eyes flicked back to my face—something softer swimming beneath the frenzy. Curiosity and pride, sure, but also affection.

“You’re changing,” she said quietly, brushing a hand through my hair. “And I get to witness it.”

I smirked. “Guess I’m finally catching up to my Alpha.”

Her lips curled up slowly. “Nah. You’re still behind me on the food chain.”

I raised an eyebrow. “We’ll see who’s on top once your rut ends.”

She gasped, mock-offended. “Excuse me?”

“Excused,” I said, and tugged her down into a kiss.

Her claws gripped my shoulders again—but this time not to tackle. She was holding on. Like I was molten treasure beneath her. Like I was the reward at the end of the warpath.

“Still folding you,” she mumbled against my lips.

“Just don’t scratch the wings.”

“No promises.” She said before kissing me again.

Jihyo was already in my lap when the kiss deepened—heated, desperate, starved. Her lips moved against mine with familiar hunger, but this time… there was something different. Not just from her.

It was me.

I could feel it rising—something ancient and hot in my veins. Not just rut response. Not Omega craving. Something more primal.

She broke the kiss just long enough to mutter, “You smell like wildfire,” before kissing me again, messier this time, teeth grazing my bottom lip like she wanted to leave marks.

I gripped her hips tightly, dragging her flush against me, and that’s when it happened.

CRACK.

A sharp thunk echoed through the room.

We both froze.

One of my wings had shot out—not just extended, but slammed down like a thrown spear, the tip buried several inches into the hardwood floor beside the couch. A hairline fracture split outward from the impact. Jihyo’s eyes widened, and she slowly leaned to the side to get a better look.

The wing’s outer bone had sharpened to a lethal point—no longer rounded or smooth like before, but a glinting, metallic spike, elegant and deadly. A spear-tip of living alloy.

“Holy hell,” she whispered. “You’re armed.”

I blinked, breath hitching. “That… wasn’t intentional.”

She ran her fingers along the edge of the embedded wing, her touch feather-light but reverent. Her claws traced the groove where the silver-gold bone met the translucent blue membrane, trailing with an almost playful curiosity.

And then—her palm slid over the base of the spike. Firm. Curious. Possessive.

I shuddered.

Not just physically. Every nerve in my body lurched. Heat flooded my chest, spreading through my core like someone had lit a forge inside my gut. My breath caught in my throat. My heart slammed into a new rhythm—slower, deeper, heavier.

I was burning.

But this wasn’t Omega heat.

This was something older. Heavier.

My claws extended before I even realized it. My tail curled tightly around her thigh. My pupils narrowed into slits.

“…Okay,” Jihyo said slowly, voice lower, eyes locked on mine. “What was that?”

“I don’t know,” I rasped. “That wasn’t a rut trigger. That wasn’t even—you touched my wing like that and it just—ignited something.”

She grinned, equal parts intrigued and aroused. “Did I awaken your ancient, horny dragon instincts?”

“Yes,” I said, horrified. “Apparently.”

She leaned in again, brushing her lips against my jaw, her voice barely above a whisper. “Do you want to breed your Alpha?”

The breath left my lungs in a growl. Not a whimper. Not a whine. A growl from deep in my chest—possessive, guttural, territorial.

Her tail flicked. She was loving every second of this.

“You’re different now,” she said. “I can feel it in your grip. In your scent. In your dominance.” Her eyes glowed with approval. “You’re not just evolving. You’re becoming a dragon.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I said, jaw clenched, even as my body screamed to take her.

“You won’t,” she whispered. “You’ve never been rough with me. But maybe now? Maybe you can be.”

She leaned down again and whispered directly into my ear:

“Claim me.”

That was all it took.

My wing ripped itself from the floor with a cracking noise as I surged up from the couch, lifting her into my arms like she weighed nothing. Her arms wrapped around my neck and she laughed—laughed—as I carried her toward the reinforced company futon hidden behind the sliding panels of her office.

Because of course she had one.

The moment she hit the cushions, she pulled me down with her, grinning up like the queen of chaos she was.

“Let’s see what the new you can do,” she purred.

And this time… I didn’t hold back. I slammed into her and Jihyo moaned as I rammed my cock in and out of her. I tore into her shirt as my claws ripped her clothes to pieces. Jihyo moans in satisfaction as I feel a heady mix of need and dominance cloud my thoughts. My opened and a blast of energy poured out behind her couch towards the window it was different from the flames I usually produced but I couldn’t stop as that dragon part of myself fully took over.

I ravaged Jihyo thrusting into her through her next three orgasms all to chase my own release as my body warred against my mind in every way except one. Claim. Jihyo. Her body was limp and flush as her boobs bounced with each thrust. I bent down and took an appreciative nip at one of her nipples and Jihyo lost it once again cumming all over me as I continued fucking her.

I keep rutting into her watching her blissed out face continue to receive me, and I felt it. That itch I could finally name it as I came in her again.

Belonging. I belonged with Jihyo, and that was okay.

After what could only be described as a biological event worthy of its own Discovery Channel documentary, we finally clawed our way back to lucidity.

My wings had receded, folding themselves into neat, compact panels tucked along my back—more ceremonial accessory now than apocalyptic weapon. Jihyo, bless her barely-functioning executive brain, somehow managed to pull herself together enough to actually finish her work day. Hybrid instincts? Terrifying. CEO instincts? Honestly worse.

She wasn’t in rut anymore, but she still needed me close. Emotionally, physically—scent-wise. I didn’t complain. I couldn’t. But god, it was torture.

Because while she was back in “Alpha mode” giving powerpoints and approving weapons contracts, I was stewing. Smoldering. Every offhand comment from some smooth-talking suit. Every backhanded compliment from one of her subordinates. Every “you’re looking radiant today, ma’am,” laced with just enough pheromone to make my dragon blood boil.

I sat quietly in the corner of her meetings, pretending to be calm, professional, a neutral “support partner.” But inside? I was three seconds from putting someone through a conference table.

It didn’t help that during her final meeting of the day, she was joined by Sana—a fox hybrid executive who was dangerously charming, sleek, and just the right amount of flirty.

And not in a malicious way. No, Sana was sunshine wrapped in expensive silk and soft fur. Kind. Chill. Bubbly, even. She flirted like it was breathing—effortless and harmless.

“To be clear,” she said at one point, shooting a wink at both of us, “if either of you ever break up, I will be sliding into your messages immediately. No shame.”

Jihyo laughed. I did not.

Still, I couldn’t bring myself to dislike her. She was respectful, never crossed the line, and even passed me a cup of lemon tea with a gentle pat on the shoulder like she knew I was vibrating with territorial rage and needed grounding.

So, no complaints about Sana.

But then we reached the lobby.

And Lance happened.

He was waiting near the elevators—tall, sharp-jawed, oozing smugness. A textbook alpha Wolf hybrid with the personality of a rusted nail. His suit was perfect. His scent was overpowering. And his voice?

Ugh.

“Good job today, boss,” he said to Jihyo, arms crossed, tone casual but dripping with condescension. “Especially considering you were held back by your Omega here. Impressive, really.”

He didn’t even look at me when he said it.

Normally, that would be Jihyo’s cue to bite his head off professionally and leave his pride in pieces.

But I stepped forward instead.

No words from her. No signal. Just me, taking one deliberate step between him and my Alpha.

I looked him in the eye—those smirking, cocky eyes—and said evenly:

“I could’ve slit your throat and both major arteries before you even hit the ground. I’d be more careful with your words.”

He blinked, clearly not expecting a response, much less that one.

He bared his fangs, posturing like a dog protecting its bowl.

“Is that a threat?” he growled.

I smiled—slow, calm, sharp enough to bleed.

“Threats are for people who don’t kill,” I said softly. “I don’t need threats. I could kill you thrice over before your body registered pain.”

Silence.

The kind of silence that made even the receptionist behind the front desk pause her typing.

Lance’s bravado faltered for just a second—just enough for his scent to spike with anxiety.

Jihyo finally spoke then, casually draping her arm around my shoulder like she’d been watching a pet dragon put on a show.

“Lance,” she said, voice light but cool, “I recommend you head home. Before my Omega finishes what my claws would’ve started.”

Lance swallowed once, straightened his tie, and turned with a curt, “Have a good night, CEO.”

We watched him disappear into the elevator.

Jihyo didn’t move for a second. Then she leaned into me and whispered, “You really threatened to kill someone in my lobby?”

“I really meant it,” I muttered, still fuming.

As soon as he was gone, I turned, half-expecting a kiss, or a “that was hot,” or one of Jihyo’s usual flirty jabs.

But she wasn’t smiling.

She was looking at me with something else in her eyes.

Pride, yes—but laced with concern. The kind that ran deeper than momentary adrenaline. The kind that said you just did something I didn’t know you were capable of.

“…You okay?” she asked, quieter than usual.

I blinked. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

She studied my face for a long moment. “You’ve never done that before. Not like that.”

“What? Defend you?”

“No.” She moved a little closer, brushing her fingers gently down my arm. “You’re always calm. Soft. You roll your eyes when people say dumb stuff. You don’t go full predator.”

I looked away, jaw tight. “He disrespected you.”

“I know,” she said, softly. “And I loved that you stood up for me. But…”

She trailed off.

“But something’s different,” I finished for her.

She nodded.

I sighed. “It’s not like I wanted to do that. It just… happened. Like my body decided for me.”

Her eyes flicked to my back. “Is it the wings?”

“Maybe. Or maybe this is what dragon instincts are like when they finally wake up.”

Jihyo touched my face gently, fingers cool against my jaw. “You’re still my Omega, right?”

I leaned into her hand. “Always.”

She smirked, kissed my cheek, and said, “My dragon.”

We got back home and the hostility finally dissipate. By the time we made it through the door, the exhaustion hit us like a wall.

Jihyo dropped her bag on the floor and kicked her heels off like they were mortal enemies. She groaned low in her throat as she stretched her arms overhead, her back cracking as her muscles unwound from hours of boardroom tension.

I moved quietly to the kitchen, pulling out the glass container of bulgogi mac and cheese I’d stashed the night before. I didn’t even need to ask if she wanted some—her tail had already found its way around my ankle like a leash.

Her scent had started shifting the second we left the office.

It was subtle at first, just the faintest spike in warmth. But now that we were home? Now that she was safe? It was ramping up fast.

The rut was back.

Not a full wave, not yet—but a resurgence. Her pupils dilated as I set the food down and microwaved it. Her shoulders were tense again, not from stress this time, but from need. Her Alpha instincts were trying to claw their way back into control—and they were looking at me like I was the solution and the problem all at once.

We sat down to eat. Well—I ate. She mostly just watched me like a hawk watches a very edible mouse.

Her breathing was shallow.

Her tail stayed coiled around my leg.

Her hand, even as she poked halfheartedly at her food, never left my thigh.

“You okay?” I asked between bites.

She nodded, then shook her head. “It’s coming back.”

“I know.”

She leaned in closer, eyes fluttering shut as she breathed in my scent—deeper this time, hungrier. Her lips grazed the shell of my ear.

“I have to work tomorrow,” she whispered. “We have two missile demonstrations, and I have to approve a procurement deal with the aerospace—”

“You’re not going to work tomorrow,” I said.

Her eyes snapped open. Sharp. Challenging.

“What?” she said, low and dangerous.

“You’re staying home,” I repeated, my voice firmer now, heat rising in my chest. “You’re in rut. You need rest. You need me.”

She bared her fangs slightly, Alpha aura bristling. “Excuse me?”

“I’m not asking,” I said, locking eyes with her.

There was a pulse between us. The room got quiet—tense.

She straightened, clearly preparing to throw her weight around, to remind me who was Alpha here. She leaned forward, her dominance flaring like a heatwave—until it hit her.

My scent.

Not the usual soft lemon-cake warmth I’d always carried as an Omega.

This was something else.

It slid under her defenses like mist—thick, syrupy, but clean. Golden. Cool at first, like spring air, then burning up slow from the inside. It smelled like starlight on fire. Like hearth-smoke and lightning and something ancient.

Jihyo froze mid-breath.

Her eyes dilated again—but not from dominance. From shock.

Her body shivered.

Her rut spiked like someone flipped a switch. She grabbed the edge of the table, claws digging into the wood as her breathing hitched. Her whole body arched forward, as if drawn to me.

“What… the hell… is that?” she whispered, trembling. “That’s not Omega scent.”

“I think it is,” I said, calmly placing my fork down. “Just… evolved.”

She swallowed hard, nostrils flaring, pupils fully blown. Her dominance flickered, stuttered, then collapsed under the weight of the pheromones clouding her brain.

She whimpered.

The Alpha whimpered.

Her hands moved to my chest, touching me like I was fire and ice all at once. “This… this is cheating.”

“You’re staying home,” I repeated, voice softer now but unyielding. “You’re going into rut again. You can’t focus, and you’re barely holding yourself together.”

She looked at me—glazed, glassy-eyed, cheeks flushed—and gave the tiniest nod.

Not because she was weak.

Because her instincts agreed with me.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Okay. I’ll stay.”

I stood up and helped her to her feet, her hands immediately clinging to my waist like I was her anchor. She buried her face in my neck, breathing deep again as her tail coiled tighter.

“You smell like something that shouldn’t exist,” she murmured. “And I need you so bad it’s making my bones ache.”

“I know,” I whispered into her hair.

And I held her there for a moment.

Because I knew once the next wave of her rut hit, we wouldn’t be having another calm conversation for a while.

After Jihyo all but melted into my lap at the table, I knew we couldn’t afford to let things escalate. Not yet.

She was clinging to me, breath ragged, pupils still wide from that unexpected hit of my new pheromones. It was like her brain had been rebooted in heat mode and all language centers rerouted to “claim mate, now.”

I held her close, kept my breathing slow, and focused on that spark inside me—the core of that draconic heat I’d unleashed. And slowly, deliberately, I drew it back in.

It wasn’t easy.

It was like trying to stop a tidal wave from crashing with your bare hands. But I pushed the instinct down—reeling it in like molten thread—until the air in the room thinned, cooled, and settled.

Jihyo blinked slowly, like she’d just come out of a trance.

Her claws retracted.

Her grip on my shirt loosened.

“Did you just—” she started, voice husky.

I nodded. “Turned it off.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Since when can you control your pheromones like that?”

“Apparently since I molted into my final dragon form. I’m still figuring it out.”

Jihyo eased back onto the couch beside me, fanning herself and blinking as her mental fog finally cleared. Her tail was still wrapped around my thigh, but more out of comfort than primal need now.

“That was… intense,” she muttered. “You short-circuited me.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I liked it. But also? I can’t keep trying to finalize missile contracts while thinking about folding you like a tactical blanket.”

I snorted. “Tactical blanket?”

“You know what I meant.”

She stood—still a little unsteady—and padded toward her office nook in the corner, grumbling about “this better not become a regular thing” and “if I start shedding fur every time you kiss me, we’re getting a humidifier.”

I started cleaning the dishes.

Fifteen minutes passed before she called out, voice distant but focused:

“Hey. Come here.”

I dried my hands and walked over. She was seated at her desk, half-lit by the warm glow of her monitor, her brows furrowed. On the screen was an article from a hybrid physiology journal with diagrams of glandular expression pathways and scent index charts.

She gestured toward it. “So… I was curious. Started looking into Omega scent mutation—since that’s not supposed to happen past development. But apparently, there are variants. Rare ones.”

“Variants?”

She nodded. “Same way some Alphas evolve into more specialized roles—like Apex Alphas, or Bloodrage Alphas—there are Omega subtypes too. Most don’t awaken unless under extreme environmental or emotional triggers.”

I leaned over her shoulder. Her screen showed a heading:

I leaned over her shoulder and read the title:

Omega Expression Deviations: “Fake Omegas,” Pack Anchors, and Variant Traits

Journal of Hybrid Behavioral Physiology

There was a diagram. Hormone indexes. A series of classifications under rare Omega subtypes. She tapped one to expand it:

Heart of the Pack (aka “Fake Omega”)

A rare Omega variant mistaken for standard recessive-type Omegas. Carriers are outwardly docile but genetically distinct: they possess physical traits closer to Alpha classification—height, strength, regenerative ability—but lack the standard dominance markers. Often emotionally intuitive, bonding-oriented, and socially supportive, these Omegas act as stabilizers within groups.

However, under conditions of extreme stress or threat to their bonded partners, a unique biological override can occur, triggering a transformation into a feral, hyper-protective state. This shift often results in intense aggression, enhanced physical capabilities, and dangerous pheromone flooding—sometimes lethal to aggressors.

These mutations are typically unsustainable and often lead to early, violent deaths unless the hybrid undergoes further rare evolution to stabilize their shifting instincts. This has only been theorized in long-lived hybrids or apex predator ancestry.

“…So,” I said slowly, “I’m a ticking emotional time bomb with sparkling scales?”

She gave me a look.

But not annoyed. More like… awe laced with concern.

“I think you’re evolving into one of these,” she said, tapping the term: ‘Heart of the Pack.’

“Didn’t know Omegas had subtypes.”

“Most don’t. Only Alphas usually develop variants. Omegas? They’re not built for… combat escalation.” Her eyes met mine. “But you are.”

I shifted uneasily. “I don’t feel aggressive.”

“Yeah,” she murmured, “until someone mouths off to me and you threaten to puncture their neck with a claw.”

“…I was being polite.”

“You literally told Lance you could kill him three times before he hit the floor.”

“That was polite.”

She exhaled through her nose—tired, amused, but still studying me. Like she was seeing an old blueprint overlaying a new machine. Her eyes lingered on my arms, my back, my shoulders.

“You’re stronger than you were before,” she said. “Not just emotionally. Physically.”

I nodded. “Wings are heavier too.”

“And your scent is… I’ve never smelled anything like it. Not even from high-grade Alpha hybrids.” She turned back to the screen. “This mutation? It’s supposed to be rare because most who show signs don’t live long enough to evolve past the break.”

I raised a brow. “Break?”

She pointed to the screen:

Without stabilization, the Feral Omega state overwhelms internal systems. Subjects enter a burnout cycle that often ends in death unless evolution compensates for the stress. Documented cases of long-term survival are unconfirmed, but theoretical models suggest hybrids with apex or long lived hybrid ancestry may adapt given proper emotional grounding and consistent bonding.

“…They burn out,” I said, quiet now.

She nodded. “Their bodies were never meant to do both. To be Alpha and Omega. It overloads the brain. The scent glands. The endocrine system. You start trying to protect everyone and tear apart threats and seduce your partner all at once. You get sick. Violent. And then you break.”

She didn’t say it, but I could hear what she didn’t want to admit.

That scared her.

That I might not just be changing.

That I might not survive it.

I stepped closer and gently took her hand, pressing it to my chest. “I’m not going to break.”

“You don’t know that,” she said, barely above a whisper.

“I know I have you,” I said. “That helps.”

She looked up at me, vulnerable in a way I rarely saw her. Alpha or not, Jihyo hated feeling powerless. And right now, with me being the unstable one? It flipped our entire world on its head.

“Then you’re staying with me,” she said firmly. “Always. If your body’s going to change, it’s doing it with me.”

I nodded.

We stood like that for a while, her tail slowly wrapping around my ankle.

Eventually, I pulled her to bed—not for more heat-fueled madness, just to be. She curled up beside me like I was her moon and anchor, her Alpha pride quietly dissolving into affection and instinctive protectiveness.

Before sleep, she murmured, “Heart of the Pack, huh?”

“Sounds cooler than ‘Fake Omega.’”

“You’re not fake,” she said into my shoulder. “You’re the realest thing I’ve ever had.”

And I held her there, feeling something shift again in my blood.

Not dangerously.

Just… deeper.

Somewhere in the night — Time unknown

It started in the middle of a dream.

I was fighting something—claws locked with a monster I couldn’t see. Heat scorched my skin. My wings were flared wide, metal-tipped bones slicing through the air like blades. I roared. It echoed. The world shuddered.

Then I blinked—

—and I was kissing her. Jihyo.

Her hands were in my hair, pulling me down, her breath ragged against my lips. She was beneath me, eyes wide, whispering something I couldn’t hear over the thunder of my pulse.

Then—

Back to war.

I was bleeding.

My claws were drenched. My body burned.

But the blood smelled sweet.

Her blood.

No. No no no—

I blinked again—

Her again.

Moaning now. Writhing beneath me. Begging, not in words, but in sound. Heat radiated off her skin like sunlight. Her tail curled around my waist. Her voice was broken with want.

My hands gripped her hips too hard.

My fangs grazed her throat.

“I’ll protect you,” I said into her neck. “I’ll burn everything for you.”

⸻

In the real world

Jihyo had been wide awake for the last three hours.

She hadn’t said a word.

Couldn’t.

Her mouth was too dry. Her legs too weak. Her brain too fogged from the wall of scent flooding the bedroom.

Not just Omega pheromones.

Something deeper. Wilder. A shifting cocktail of heat signals and mating calls and possessive dominance and raw, unfiltered vulnerability. It came off him in waves. His body radiated it.

One second she wanted to tackle me and rip my shirt off.

The next, she wanted to kneel beside the bed and ask if i needed water.

Every cell in her body screamed for me.

But i was still asleep.

And it was getting worse.

She’d opened every window in the apartment.

Didn’t matter.

The room reeked of need. Her own rut, already brutal enough, was caught in a feedback loop. Her thighs were soaked. Her fangs ached. She’d bitten three of her own pillows trying not to wake me.

But now?

Now my breathing had changed.

I was whimpering.

My tail twitched violently, curling and uncurling like it couldn’t decide between fighting or hiding. My body arched, wings twitching beneath mw as sweat beaded across my skin.

Jihyo sat upright just as my eyes snapped open.

Blue. Glowing. Burning.

I sat up with a gasp, wings flaring wide, breath shallow and panicked.

She moved instantly, placing a hand on his chest. “Breathe,” she said gently.

I looked at her—and something inside me shattered.

“I—Jihyo—” my voice cracked.

I clutched at her like i was drowning. Shaking. Shivering.

My scent hit her like a freight train.

Heat.

Not soft. Not shy. Not mild Omega need.

No, this was Omega in full bloom. Wild. Chemical. Ancient.

“I need you,” i whispered. My hands trembled as they gripped her waist. “It’s my heat—I’m in heat—”

Her brain blanked for a second.

My scent bloomed again—sharper this time, like lemon rind cut with spice and molten iron. It punched through her own rut like a detonator.

“Oh… fuck,” she whispered, voice already ragged.

She straddled my lap before she realized she’d even moved. Our pheromones clashed in the air like a thunderstorm—Alpha and Omega signals spiraling around each other in a vortex of mating drive and soul-deep instinct.

Her lips hovered inches from mine. “How long has it been?”

I barely managed, “Years—”

“Not anymore.”

And then she kissed me.

And it was devastating.

Not sweet. Not slow. Starving.

She growled against my mouth as her hands tore at my shirt, her tail tightening around my thigh like a noose. I moaned into her, hips already bucking with instinct I’d kept buried for far too long.

“I need you to claim me,” i gasped.

Jihyo shook her head, dazed. “You’re the one in heat.”

“I don’t care,” i whispered. “I want your mark—I want to feel it when you bite me—I want to know I belong—Alpha, please—”

She snapped.

Her claws extended. Her body surged with molten, mating fire.

Her mind was gone.

All that was left was this: her Omega was in heat. And he needed her.

And nothing in the world would stop her from giving me everything I asked for. I don’t know how we ended up on the couch.

One second, I was half-delirious, waking up in a puddle of heat-soaked sweat, and the next, Jihyo was on top of me—kissing me like she needed me to stay alive. Her hands were everywhere, grounding me, pinning me, pulling me deeper into her orbit with every brush of her lips.

I couldn’t think.

Everything felt too raw, too close. My skin burned. My lungs couldn’t keep up with my heart. Every nerve in my body screamed for her—cried out to be touched, held, claimed. And the more she touched me, the worse it got. Or better. I didn’t even know anymore.

I was trembling.

Physically shaking beneath her.

And every time her mouth moved across my jaw, every time her hips rolled against mine, I felt like I was going to explode just from the contact.

“I—I can’t think,” I gasped, my head falling back against the cushions. My vision blurred. Her scent was all around me—rich, deep, Alpha musk soaked in rut—and it fed the fire under my skin like gasoline. “It’s like… it’s like my whole body’s burning.”

Jihyo leaned in, her forehead pressed to mine, and the way she looked at me—hungry, protective, soft—nearly undid me right there.

“You’re in deep,” she said, voice husky but calm. “It’s not just heat. This is your first real one. Your body’s never gone this far before.”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

I just clung to her.

My hands found her shirt and gripped it tight, like it was the only thing keeping me grounded.

“I can’t stop shaking,” I whispered. “Everything… everything feels too much.”

Jihyo kissed me—gently, briefly—and slid her hands down to my hips, her thumbs drawing slow circles like she was calming down a trembling beast.

“You’re not alone this time,” she murmured.

My breath caught.

I don’t know what broke in me right then—maybe it was the years of holding this back, pretending I wasn’t built for this, for needing, for surrendering. But in that moment, I didn’t care about pride. I didn’t care about what was expected from an Omega. I just wanted her. I needed her.

“Please don’t stop touching me,” I begged.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said, and when she kissed me again, it was slower, deeper—like she was anchoring me to the present with every movement of her mouth.

My hips bucked up into hers. I couldn’t help it. Every kiss sent sparks down my spine. I was so sensitive—every brush of skin made me dizzy, made my whole body ache with the need to be filled, to be claimed.

“I feel like I’m gonna come just from this,” I whimpered, shame and arousal knotted together in my voice. “I can’t think about anything else. Just—just you. Wanting you. Needing you.”

Her breath hitched.

“That’s your heat,” she said into my neck. “It’s not just about sex. It’s about being claimed. You’re ready. Your body knows it.”

“I know,” I whispered. My eyes were stinging. My fingers curled tighter into her shirt. “Then take me.”

She pulled back a little, just enough to look me in the eyes.

Her pupils were wide, pitch-black, and full of hunger.

But she didn’t move yet.

She waited.

“Say it,” she whispered.

I swallowed hard. My throat was dry. My chest felt like it might collapse under the weight of it.

But I meant every word.

“I’m yours.”

The moment I said it, she kissed me like the sky was falling.

And it broke me.

My body arched into hers like I couldn’t get close enough, my scent blooming in the air again—thicker, sweeter, more desperate than ever. My tail coiled around her thigh, holding her to me, needing her weight, her scent, her. My claws dug into the cushions as my whole body screamed to be taken, marked, filled.

I was in heat.

And she was my Alpha.

And there was no place in the world I would rather be than right here, under her, with her scent in my lungs and her mouth on mine, until this fire burned itself out.

Or consumed us both.

I don’t know how long we kissed. Time didn’t feel real anymore — only her body against mine, only her hands in my hair and her breath against my neck, only that pressure curling tighter in my gut like a spiral about to snap.

Every second I clung to her, something inside me cracked open further.

I could feel myself… softening.

Not physically, but spiritually.

Sinking.

Not into weakness.

Into safety.

Into her.

And I think that did something to her.

Because Jihyo — my bossy, proud, bite-first-ask-later girlfriend — started to shift too.

She wasn’t just growling and grinding into me anymore. She was holding me differently. More carefully. Her body moved slower. Protective. Like she was surrounding me with herself.

One hand cradled the back of my head as she kissed my temple. The other pressed firmly on my lower back, grounding me while I trembled from the intensity. I couldn’t stop shaking. I felt like a live wire, oversensitized and drunk on instinct.

Her voice dropped, low and gravelly, when she pulled back from my mouth. “You’re mine.”

God, I melted.

My body arched into hers like it had a mind of its own. I whimpered — high and desperate — like she’d flipped a switch I didn’t know existed.

“You need me, don’t you?” she whispered.

I nodded, unable to speak. My throat was too tight. My pulse roared in my ears.

And something in her eyes changed.

Not just arousal.

Responsibility.

She felt it now. Fully. That she wasn’t just rutting with her boyfriend.

She was responding to her Omega.

And that made her go still — like something sacred had clicked into place in her spine.

“Lie back,” she said softly, not as a command, but as a promise. “I’ve got you. You don’t have to do anything. Just let me take care of you.”

I obeyed instantly. No hesitation. My body wanted to obey.

Even when she moved to adjust me — when she lifted my legs just slightly to cradle my hips against hers — I didn’t tense up.

I let her.

My heat was overriding every last bit of pride or posture I’d ever had. I wasn’t performing anymore. I wasn’t “playing Omega.” I was Omega.

And my instincts were screaming: submit to your Alpha. Be kept. Be held. Be loved.

As she kissed her way down my throat, my hands slipped into her hair. I clutched her to me like she was oxygen and I was drowning. The fire inside hadn’t faded — if anything, it had thickened — but now there was something deeper beneath it. Something I hadn’t expected.

Peace.

In this state, there was nothing I had to be. Nothing I had to hide. No expectations. No pressure. Just the ache and the warmth and her.

And Jihyo?

God, she was changing right before my eyes.

Every shaky breath I took only deepened the flare in her scent — her Alpha nature surging in response to my vulnerability like a tidal wave. Her growls softened into rumbling purrs. She slowed down. She held me with reverence, not just hunger.

She wasn’t trying to conquer me.

She was claiming responsibility for me.

Like it meant something now.

Because it did.

Because we weren’t just playing roles.

We were becoming them. She slid around my cock as always her pussy felt just right, but the intensity was so much that when she bottomed out I came unaided her.

Jihyo smirked, “is my omega eager?”

I nodded as she slowly began riding me. Her walls were torrid and sopping. I moaned under her.

“Fuck take me claim me,” I yell.

Unable to resist her alpha Jihyo bites down my neck and I feel her claiming me her floods my brain to where all i can do is fuck me delirious.

As my mind clouds Jihyo smirks and says, “do I make my omega feel safe,”

My vision blurs to everything except my alpha. Her glorious tanned skin radiating a golden light almost as she grinds on top of me before standing up.

Our mixed cum slides out of her but we’re only disconnected for moments as my eyes roll back and she pushes my legs up. She grinds and fucks into me, as she growls. Her alpha side fully coming to the surface.

“Fuck you look so cute under me,” she says I moan as she rides me again and again.

I woke up sore.

Not in a bad way — more like every nerve in my body had been wrung out, rinsed in heat, and left to dry in the sun. My legs were jelly. My hips ached. My voice was still rough from panting and begging and making sounds I’ll never admit to aloud.

But I felt… light.

Warm.

Anchored.

The bed was empty beside me, still warm where Jihyo had laid, her scent soaked into every fiber of the sheets. My body still tingled faintly from hers. It wasn’t just the heat anymore — it was the bond. I could feel it now, like an invisible thread humming somewhere under my ribs.

I stumbled to my feet — still shirtless, still glowing slightly in the early morning light — and padded into the kitchen.

Routine. Normal. Food. I could do that. Probably.

The eggs hit the pan with a soft sizzle. I grabbed the rice from the rice cooker. My head was still fuzzy, but I felt proud. Comforting her during rut had become a ritual. Doing little things like this helped me feel more grounded after heats.

But I hadn’t heard her sneak up behind me.

Not until I felt a firm hand press against my hip — and the familiar weight of her body slotting in close behind me.

“You’re up early, little flame,” she purred into my ear, her voice velvet and gravel, still soaked in Alpha haze. “Should’ve stayed in bed where I left you.”

I flushed instantly. My tail twitched. “You were gone. I got hungry.”

“Mm,” she murmured, her hands sliding around my waist and locking there. “You’re mine now, you know that?”

The words hit deeper than I expected.

My breath caught — not out of fear, but from something else. Something warmer. Something that made my bones relax.

I turned to face her, heart skipping slightly when I saw the look in her eyes.

Her pupils dilated again.

And then she paused.

Her eyes dropped to my face.

“…What’s that?”

“What?” I blinked, confused — until she reached up and brushed her thumb along my cheekbone. She stared at it, then at me.

Two faint blue marks. Thin, swooping lines on each cheek — not paint, not bruises. They shimmered slightly in the sunlight. The same blue as the membrane of my wings.

She smiled — a slow, wide grin that was all Alpha pride and possessive joy.

“They’re yours,” she whispered. “You’re marked.”

I reached up and touched one without thinking. It was warm. I hadn’t noticed them. They hadn’t been there before.

But Jihyo wasn’t done.

Her gaze trailed lower — to the hollow of my shoulder, where her bite from last night had sunken in deep. Her fingers slid the fabric of my tank top down gently, exposing it. The mark was faintly glowing. A little swollen. But unmistakably hers.

She inhaled — and her Alpha flared again.

“That’s mine,” she said, voice rougher now, thick with possessiveness. “You’re really mine now.”

I swallowed, cheeks flushing hot.

“I didn’t realize you actually… claimed me last night.”

She looked at me like I was an idiot.

“You begged me to,” she said, running her thumb across the bite. “You cried for it. Twice.”

I squeaked. “I did not cry.”

“You definitely cried.”

“I—okay but in my defense I was—”

“Literally in heat, wrapped around me, moaning that you wanted to belong to me forever?”

I groaned, pressing my forehead to her shoulder in defeat.

She laughed, soft and triumphant, and pulled me tighter against her chest.

“You were beautiful,” she whispered into my hair. “You are. And you’re mine.”

The eggs hissed again on the stove behind me, but I didn’t move.

I didn’t want to.

Because for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t just her boyfriend.

I was hers.

Claimed. Marked. Kept.

And if she kept holding me like this?

I never wanted to move again.

#k pop smut #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #twice smut #hybrid smut #twice jihyo #twice jihyo smut #jihyo smut

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magnagaruzenmon · 1 month ago

Text

Incomplete Part I

This story came about a bit after the first apology and right before the second. Dio and Dino still feel very conflicted as fans of Kiof so don’t expect a bunch of stuff from them.

Dino and Giorno sat in silence, the laptop screen still glowing in front of them as the live stream ended.

For a long moment, neither said a word.

The cheers from the virtual crowd had faded, but the lingering unease in the room remained thick.

Giorno finally broke the silence, his voice flat. “Did they really just… do that?”

Dino didn’t answer right away. He leaned back in his chair, jaw tight, arms crossed. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “They really did.”

The performance hadn’t just been tone-deaf — it had been outright offensive. Mocking African American vernacular, wearing caricatured streetwear, mimicking Chicano tattoos and gang signs like they were costumes. And the worst part? The audience had eaten it up.

The next morning, they handed in their resignation papers without a word.

By lunchtime, the news had reached Natty and Julie.

Natty stared at the message on her phone, brows furrowed. “Wait, what? Why would they quit now?”

Julie was already pacing. “What happened last night? What did we miss?”

Neither of them knew the full story yet.

But Dino and Giorno had seen enough.

By lunchtime, the news had reached Natty and Julie.

At first, Natty thought it was a joke. A group chat prank. Something Dino and Giorno cooked up for laughs.

But when she called Dino and he didn’t answer — when the company HR confirmed it was real — the disbelief started to curdle into something heavier.

“They resigned?” she said aloud, phone still in her hand. “Like, for real?”

Julie looked up from where she was stretching on the floor. “Wait, what? Why would they quit now? We have a comeback in two weeks!”

Natty tossed her phone onto the couch with more force than necessary. “They said something about last night’s live. About the concept.” She ran a hand through her hair, frustrated. “I didn’t think it was that deep.”

Julie’s brow furrowed. “You mean the outfits and the whole ‘underground’ theme?”

“Yeah. The accents. The props. The…” Natty trailed off. “The way we were told to act. I thought it was just edgy. Like, trying to be bold.”

Julie’s stomach sank as pieces started to click into place. She replayed the performance in her mind — the choreo, the slang-heavy ad-libs, the faux tattoos painted on her arms that the stylists said were “inspired.” At the time, it hadn’t fully registered.

Now, with distance — and the fact that two of their closest friends walked out over it — it hit differently.

Julie sat back against the mirror. “Shit,” she said softly.

Natty didn’t answer.

For a while, the two sat in silence. The kind of silence that’s full of things no one wants to admit out loud.

Days blurred into weeks, then months, as Kiss of Life tried — and failed — to reach out to their former writers/teammates/friends. Texts went unread. Calls went to voicemail. Carefully worded DMs were left on “seen.”

It wasn’t just the silence that hurt — it was what it meant.

Haneul missed her anime buddy, Gio, and the way he used to do dramatic voiceovers mid-episode. Belle, meanwhile, kept breaking guitar strings and had no one to help her restring or clean her fretboard. But the absence went deeper than missed habits and shared hobbies.

They had lost two of their best writers — the lyrical backbone of their sound, the creative pulse that made their tracks feel alive. And for Belle, the reality of why didn’t fully click until weeks after their departure.

Dino was Samoan and Mexican. Gio, a proud Black man through and through.

Belle remembered the way Gio had gone quiet after the live, how Dino hadn’t met her eyes for days. She remembered the stiff smiles, the half-hearted nods, the way they seemed to be slowly pulling away long before the resignation letters hit management’s desk.

Now, with the benefit of hindsight and three months of uncomfortable silence, it all made a sick kind of sense.

The mockery hadn’t just been tone-deaf. It had been personal.

And they had left because no one listened when it mattered most.

Still, life moved on. Eventually, the group found a new rhythm, even as something remained hollow at the center. Their comeback was approaching, and the demands of idol life didn’t leave room for grief.

Julie, meanwhile, was deep into writing and filming a full-bodied apology. Not a notes app PR stunt — a real, vulnerable account of what went wrong, what she had learned, and what she owed. It was raw, emotional, and took weeks to put together.

She doubted it would fix anything.

But she had to try.

⸻

Dino was thriving under HYBE, writing for rising stars like Katseye and Le Sserafim, even consulting on the production side. Gio had returned to the U.S., where he’d started a metal project called Star-Vader, fusing industrial guitar riffs with Afrofuturist themes and screaming vocals.

They still kept in touch — more than that, they kept each other grounded. And tonight, they were back in Korea, watching Katseye’s latest showcase from a green room tucked backstage at the venue.

Dino was mid-sip of his iced Americano when a familiar flurry of voices echoed down the hallway.

Gio froze. “No way.”

“You know we need to be tighter on our vocals in the second chorus,” Julie said, voice laced with familiar urgency.

“Yeah, and that footwork in the second verse still looks a little messy,” Natty added.

Gio tensed, lowering his cup. Dino was already reaching for his sleeve. “Don’t—” Gio started, but it was too late.

They turned.

And in that exact moment, Kiss of Life walked past the green room.

Julie paused. Her eyes flickered toward the room. “Wait… was that—?”

Natty squinted. “Giorno? Dino?”

Panic flared in Gio’s chest and he instinctively stepped back. “Time to bounce—”

But Dino caught his arm before he could retreat.

“Nah,” he said quietly, firmly. “If we’re doing this… we do it together.”

And for the first time in months, the six of them stood face-to-face.

The hallway fell silent.

Julie and Natty stood frozen in front of the green room door, eyes wide with disbelief.

Dino squared his shoulders, arms crossed, but his jaw was tight. Gio looked like he wanted to sink through the floor. His fists clenched at his sides.

“Hey,” Julie said, barely above a whisper.

Dino nodded stiffly. “Hey.”

No one spoke for a beat. The silence wasn’t awkward — it was thick, like walking through molasses. Everything unspoken over the last three months hung between them.

Julie took a tentative step forward. “We didn’t know you were working this show.”

“Didn’t know you were either,” Gio replied coolly. “Guess we’re all moving up.”

Natty winced at the edge in his tone. “Can we talk? Just—like, five minutes?”

Gio looked at Dino, who gave a subtle nod. “Yeah,” he said. “Five.”

They ducked into the empty green room. The door clicked shut behind them.

Julie stood in the center, fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. “I wanted to reach out sooner. We both did. But I… didn’t know what to say.”

Dino sat down, arms still crossed. “You could’ve started with ‘sorry.’”

Natty flinched. “We are sorry. Like, deeply. For real. I didn’t realize at the time what we were doing—how bad it looked. How bad it was. I thought it was just a concept. I didn’t think it through.”

“You didn’t have to think it through,” Gio cut in, his voice sharper now. “You weren’t the one being parodied on stage.”

Julie’s eyes began to glisten. “I know. I know. And I hate that it took you leaving for me to understand. That’s on me. It’s on all of us. I’ve been working on something… an apology. Not for the press, not for the fans. For you.”

She pulled out her phone, showing them a paused video thumbnail. “It’s not finished. But it’s honest. I just wanted to say it face to face first.”

Dino exhaled, long and slow. “We didn’t leave to make a point. We left because it felt like no one in that building saw us. Really saw us.”

Gio nodded. “I don’t regret walking away. But I do regret how it ended with you two.”

Natty stepped closer. “We miss you. Not just as songwriters or performers. As friends. I know we messed up. But if there’s any way we can start fixing it…”

Dino looked at Gio. They shared a quiet glance — a whole conversation passed between them in a second.

“We’re not promising anything,” Dino said finally. “But we’re listening.”

Gio nodded. “Five minutes just became ten.”

Julie laughed through the tears forming in her eyes. “I’ll take that.”

And for the first time since everything fell apart, the space between them started to feel a little smaller.

Over the next few days, the Kiss of Life girls slowly reengaged with their old friends, trying to patch together the frayed bonds.

For Haneul and Giorno, it felt like no time had passed. They fell back into their usual rhythm—binge-watching anime, debating plotlines, and excitedly exchanging thoughts about upcoming series. It was easy, almost comforting. But that ease didn’t carry over when Gio was around Natty.

Natty, with her baddie persona and razor-sharp confidence on stage, had always worn her strength like armor. But beneath it was a persistent fear of abandonment that had only worsened in Gio's absence. For Gio—who had been the most emotionally available to her—it was like trying to hold a mirror that cracked a little more each time she looked at him.

Dino was going through something similar with Julie. Her infamous diss track—thinly veiled as a generic clapback—had cut a little too close to home, especially with its not-so-subtle digs clearly aimed at Gio. While Julie was slowly trying to make things right, Dino found it hard to forget how quickly she'd turned when it suited her image.

Then came the moment that broke it open.

After a particularly rough stage show, Gio noticed Natty sweating more than usual. He’d caught glimpses of her skipping meals again, all triggered by relentless online comments about her body. Quietly, he slipped away to grab her a protein bar and a bottle of water, hoping to meet her backstage with a gentle reminder: she was more than enough, just as she was.

But the second the girls exited the stage and Natty didn’t see him waiting, her eyes darted around the room like she’d been abandoned in a war zone.

“Where’s Gio?” she asked, once. Then again. Then louder. “Where’s Gio?!”

And when he finally walked back in, holding the snack and water, Natty broke. Her cool, bad-girl façade cracked like glass under pressure.

“Where were you?” she demanded, voice trembling, fists clenched at her sides.

“I…” Gio began, caught off guard.

“No, don’t give me that,” she said, eyes wide and manic. She stepped in close, cornering him. “I needed you, and you were gone—just like everyone else. I should’ve known better. I should’ve never trusted you!”

The whole room tensed. What looked like a lover’s spat had turned into something heavier, more raw. Gio didn’t yell back. He just laughed, low and disbelieving, shaking his head like this was all too familiar.

He turned to the manager, calm as ever. “I’m borrowing her tonight.”

The manager chuckled. “She’s all yours.”

Gio turned back to Natty. “Come on. We’re leaving.”

“No!” she barked, panicking again. “You’ll just leave me. You’ll leave me again.”

“Anatchaya Suputhipong,” Gio said, firmly but gently, “you are coming with me.”

His tone was grounding—calm, steady, unshakable. Natty’s breath hitched. That was what she needed. Not someone to coddle her or argue back—but someone who didn’t flinch when she crumbled.

She clung to him without another word as he led her out, silent except for the sound of her heels clicking behind his sneakers.

Backstage, Belle watched them go and sighed.

“I hope Natty’s ready,” she muttered.

Dino raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“She’s finally getting the Big Brother Gio treatment,” Belle said, a half-smile forming. “That’s when he stops letting her spiral and just pulls her back to earth. She loves that. Makes her feel safe.”

Dino smirked. “He really does love that girl. Even with all the drama.”

“Exactly,” Belle said. “He's always had her back, even when she’s unbearable. This might be the catharsis they both need.”

Dino glanced sideways at her. “Since when are you an expert on psychology?”

“I’m not,” Belle replied, shrugging. “But I’ve heard them arguing every other night since you two came back. It’s like they’re stuck in this emotional tug-of-war. I’m honestly shocked she hasn’t kissed him—or something more—by now.”

Dino chuckled. “Yeah, that’s probably what scares him the most.”

Belle raised her brows. “Because it wouldn’t be just drama anymore. It’d be real.”

They both looked toward the door where Gio and Natty had just disappeared, wondering whether this night would be the one that finally cracked the ice—or shattered it.

The road ahead was dim, lit only by scattered streetlights and the quiet hum of Gio’s car weaving through the outskirts of Seoul. The city buzz was distant now, fading behind them like the last echoes of a song. Inside the car, it was quiet.

Natty sat in the passenger seat, her body curled just slightly toward him. Her makeup was smudged from earlier tears she hadn't dared wipe away too harshly. She was still wearing her stage jacket, a little too thin for the night air. One hand rested in her lap. The other—tentatively, almost absently—was in Gio’s.

He hadn’t said much since pulling her from the venue, just told the manager they’d be back late and handed her a hoodie he kept in the backseat for emergencies. It smelled like detergent and peppermint gum. She wore it now, sleeves swallowing her hands.

Gio drove with a calm focus, thumb occasionally brushing her knuckles without seeming to think about it. But he was thinking. She could tell by the way his jaw clenched, then relaxed, like he was fighting with himself over what to say first.

Natty watched him from the corner of her eye, heart thrumming in her chest like a song she didn’t know the words to. The silence between them wasn’t cold—but it wasn’t easy either. It was heavy. Real. Like the quiet right before a truth that changes things.

She finally spoke, voice barely above a whisper. “You’re mad at me.”

He didn’t look at her, just exhaled through his nose. “I’m… disappointed,” he said.

Her grip on his hand tightened just slightly. “Because of the live?”

He was quiet for a few more moments. The car turned onto a quieter road.

“Because I thought you knew better,” Gio said finally. “Because I thought you were better.”

Natty turned her face toward the window, throat tightening. “I didn’t think it was that serious. I thought it was just—part of the concept. Everyone signed off.”

Gio sighed, pulling the car to a stop near the river. He shifted into park but didn’t let go of her hand. His voice was low, even. “You didn’t think it was serious because it’s not about you. You’ve never had to carry the weight of what that performance mocked.”

She flinched like he’d slapped her. He saw it and immediately softened, but didn’t take it back.

“I’m not saying you did it to hurt anyone,” he said. “But you did hurt people. People who’ve stood by you. Who’ve helped you.”

Her eyes welled again, but she blinked it back. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know,” he said. And he squeezed her hand this time.

She looked at him, finally, really looked at him. He wasn’t angry. He was hurt. Protective. Exhausted. He still cared.

“I just… I wanted to be fearless,” she admitted, voice trembling. “Strong. Like none of the hate ever got to me. But it did. And I guess I wanted to make noise before someone made it for me.”

Gio turned to her then, his expression unreadable at first. Then, gently, “You don’t have to be loud to be strong, Natty. You just have to be honest.”

She nodded slowly, lips pressed tight. Then she leaned over and rested her head on his shoulder, still holding his hand.

He let her.

No music. No speeches. Just the quiet understanding that this conversation wasn’t over—but it had finally begun.

The room is quiet except for the muffled hum of the city outside. Natty sits cross-legged on the bed, cradled by soft blankets and velvet throw pillows, staring at the ground. Across from her, Gio scrolls quietly on his phone, jaw tense. Finally, he gets up, walks over, and hands her the phone without a word.

She looks down at the screen. It’s a video edit — her voice echoing through the speakers: “We’re giving her a second chance.”

Below it, a torrent of comments floods the screen. Natty begins to scroll. At first, confusion. Then discomfort. Then horror.

“Don’t listen to the monkiefied negroids.” “We’d never abandon our queen like those crime and flea-ridden—” “Gio, I can’t say this word,” she chokes, recoiling from the screen.

“I know,” Gio says, his voice steady but cold. “Keep reading.”

Her lips tremble as she scrolls further. More racial slurs. Body shaming. Dehumanizing praise. Hatred for those who criticized her. Hatred for those who looked like her own bandmates. Hatred disguised as loyalty to her.

Natty’s eyes fill with tears.

“They’re doing this for me?” she asks, voice barely above a whisper. “I never… I didn’t know.”

Gio kneels in front of her, gently taking the phone from her hands and setting it aside.

“That’s the problem,” he says softly. “You didn’t know. And you didn’t ask.”

She breaks — fully, ugly-crying, throwing her arms around him like a child waking from a nightmare.

“I’m so sorry, Gio. I didn’t mean—” “I know,” he whispers into her hair. “I know you didn’t. But that’s why this matters.”

She pulls back, eyes wide, searching his face for something — guidance, forgiveness, anything.

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” she asks. “Why didn’t you call me out?”

Gio looks away, his jaw clenching before he answers.

“Because I didn’t want to be another person telling you who to be,” he says. “That’s all anyone’s ever done. Stylists, execs, fans, haters. Everyone wanted a piece of Natty. I wanted you to have a piece of yourself.”

There’s a beat of silence as Natty takes that in. Gio sits beside her, his voice quieter now.

“That’s why I never commented on your weight. Not once. Not when people praised you for being ‘perfect’ or when they called you fat or fake or whatever it was that week.”

He looks at her now, finally.

“Because I knew even the praise would chain you down. And you were already drowning.”

Natty covers her mouth, stunned by the realization.

“You saw all that?” she asks. “Even when I thought I was hiding it?”

“I always saw you,” he says. “Not the girl on stage. You.”

There’s something heavier now in the air between them — the kind of gravity that draws secrets into the open.

Natty swallows. “Then why didn’t you ever… say anything? About how you felt?”

Gio smiles, but it’s bittersweet. He leans back slightly.

“Timing,” he says. “It was never right. You were maybe 21 when we met, and I was 25. You were just a kid. Then your career exploded, and I figured the last thing you needed was one more guy trying to claim a piece of you. So I stayed back.”

He turns to her again, softer.

“But yeah. I’ve been in your corner for a long time. Maybe too long.”

Natty studies him — the boy who had always been steady, quiet, and maddeningly kind. And for the first time, her heart stops seeing him as a friend who protected her. He wasn’t just someone in her corner. He was hers. In every silent act. Every time he said nothing to keep her dignity intact. Every time he stayed.

“I don’t want you to stay back anymore,” she says.

He blinks, startled.

“You sure about that?”

Instead of answering, she leans in and kisses him — soft at first, almost unsure. But when Gio doesn’t pull away, she deepens it, cupping his jaw with her hand. He kisses her back with care, not urgency — like he’s afraid she’ll shatter if he’s not gentle.

When they finally part, both of them breathless, she rests her forehead against his.

“This doesn’t make things easy,” she murmurs.

“I know,” Gio replies, his thumb brushing against her cheek. “But maybe it makes things honest.”

Natty nods slowly, a tear slipping down her cheek, but this time, it’s not from guilt. It’s from something tender — relief.

the air between them didn't stay tender for long as Natty felt a familiar warmth in her chest whenever she was around Gio for too long

The low golden light from the bedside lamp casts a warm halo over the pair. Natty is curled into Gio’s chest, her fingers tangled in his shirt like she’s afraid he’ll vanish if she lets go. He kisses her again—this time deeper, slower, drawn from the part of him that’s been starving just as much as she has, but in a different way.

Their lips part and meet again, and again, and Gio’s hands begin to explore—tentative at first, reverent, like he’s still not sure he’s allowed. But Natty welcomes it. She arches into him, sighing softly as his fingers skim her waist and come to rest at her chest. Her breath catches, and she lets out a quiet moan that lights something hot in Gio’s gut.

It would’ve been so easy to keep going.

To let all the years of repressed affection and buried feelings pour out in this one moment. To give her what she’s asking for.

But then, her stomach growls.

Gio freezes. Natty giggles, embarrassed, and tries to pull him in again. But he pulls back, gently, hands firm but warm as he holds her shoulders.

“Natty,” he says quietly. “When’s the last time you ate?”

She tries to brush it off, reaching for him again. “I’m not hungry.”

Another growl answers for her. Louder this time. Longer.

Gio doesn’t budge. His face hardens with a mix of concern and frustration. “Natty. Answer me.”

She sighs, defeated. “Three days ago. But I’m fine. Really.”

His jaw clenches. “Three days?” he echoes, like the number personally offended him. “Three damn days?”

He detangles himself from her arms, standing up and marching to the hotel phone. She scrambles up, clutching the sheet around her.

“Gio, no! Don’t—”

“I’m ordering you food. You’re eating before we do anything else.” His tone isn’t angry, but it’s unshakable. Protective. Grounding.

“I said I’m not—”

“I know what you said,” he cuts in, eyes meeting hers. “And I also know your body’s calling bullshit. You don’t have to like it, but you will eat.”

There’s a beat of silence. Natty, flustered and flushed, clutches the blanket around her with one hand while her other curls into a fist. She looks every bit the stubborn starlet — but there’s something else in her eyes now. Something softer. Vulnerable.

“Why are you always like this with me?” she asks, almost a whisper.

Gio pauses, his fingers hovering over the room service menu. He exhales, then walks back over to her, cupping her face with one hand.

“Because I want you,” he says, voice low and trembling with restraint. “More than I’ve ever wanted anyone.”

Her eyes widen.

“But wanting you doesn’t mean I stop protecting you. Even from yourself.”

He presses his forehead to hers.

“Especially from yourself.”

Natty’s lips tremble. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re not,” Gio says, brushing his thumb over her cheek. “You’re a human being. And I care about all of you. Not just the parts that smile on camera or kiss me back. That’s what love’s supposed to look like.”

She blinks, tears threatening. But before she can say anything, there’s a knock at the door. Room service.

Natty sighs, giving him a look as he smirks slightly.

“I ordered everything you pretend not to crave. No backing out now.”

The tray is wheeled in, filled with steaming bowls of Thai comfort food — jasmine rice, spicy tom yum soup, her favorite pad kra pao with a soft egg on top, and a small side of mango sticky rice. Natty’s eyes light up despite herself.

“Okay,” she murmurs, “I didn’t know I missed mango sticky rice that bad.”

Gio gives her a knowing look as he thanks the staff and closes the door.

She sits back on the bed, pulling the blanket around her like a makeshift robe. When Gio hands her a plate, she takes it slowly, glancing up at him with a coy smile.

“Are you going to feed me too?” she teases, batting her lashes.

“I will if you make that face again and then try to not eat,” Gio replies, sitting beside her. His tone is playfully stern, but his smile betrays how much he’s enjoying just being near her again.

She picks at the rice with her chopsticks. “You always take care of me.”

“I always want to,” he says, softly but firmly.

Her hand rests on his thigh. “So… what if I said I wanted you to do more than that tonight?” Her voice is silky, her fingers light as feathers on his leg.

Gio gives her a long, deliberate look.

“You just told me you haven’t eaten in three days, Nat,” he says, brushing her hair from her face. “I’m not touching you till you finish at least half of that plate.”

She pouts. “That’s cruel.”

“That’s love,” he counters.

They fall into a beat of quiet. Natty eats, grumbling half-heartedly between bites. Gio watches her, not hovering, just content she’s finally nourishing herself.

“Why didn’t you ever say anything before?” she asks softly, eyes focused on her food.

“Because every time it almost felt right… it wasn’t,” Gio says, his voice calm, almost wistful. “We were kids. Or you were dating someone. Or I was writing for you and I didn’t want to blur the lines.”

He leans back, resting on his elbows. “But that didn’t stop me from feeling it. Wanting you. You’ve always been magnetic, Nat. But I’ve always seen you first as someone I had to protect.”

“And now?”

He shrugs, a gentle smile playing at his lips. “Now I still want to protect you… but I also want to hold you. Love you. If you’ll let me.”

Natty finishes her last bite in silence. She sets the empty bowl aside and crawls into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“I always wanted it to be you,” she whispers against his skin. “Even when I was dumb and pretending I didn’t.”

He kisses her forehead, his hands holding her gently, reverently.

“Then we take it slow,” he says. “But real.”

She nods. “Real sounds good.”

“Good,” Gio says. “Now finish your sticky rice before I kiss you stupid.”

She giggles, lighting up in that way only he seems to pull from her.

As she digs into dessert, he watches her — not with hunger, but with quiet admiration. Because she was never just a star to him.

She was always home.

The dishes are cleared. The lights are dimmed now, casting a warm amber glow over the room. Outside, the distant sounds of the city fade into a hush.

Gio lies back against the headboard, legs stretched out. Natty leans against his chest, tracing light circles on his arm with her fingertip, her expression calm but thoughtful.

“You know…” she begins quietly, “sometimes I wish I could just… unzip my body and step out of it. Like, for a day. Just breathe without feeling like people are watching, measuring, expecting.”

Gio doesn’t speak right away. Instead, he runs his hand down her back — slow, grounding.

“I’ve watched people do that to you for years,” he says. “And I hated every second of it.”

She shifts, her cheek resting over his heart. He gently lifts her chin to meet her eyes.

“But you’re not a project. You’re not a symbol. You’re not a number or a curve or a headline. You’re a woman. You’re you. And your body — the way it moves, the way it softens, the way it holds all that fire — is gorgeous.”

Natty blushes, but doesn’t look away. Her breath catches as Gio kisses her — deep and deliberate. This one isn’t tentative. It’s full of memory and want and unspoken reverence.

His hands move slowly, reverently over her sides, her waist, brushing the skin just beneath her shirt. She tenses slightly, a reflex, but Gio notices — and pauses.

“Hey,” he says softly. “I’m here. I see you. All of you.”

Her lip trembles. “Even the parts I hate?”

“Especially those,” he whispers. “Because they’re yours. And I love what’s yours.”

She pulls him down for another kiss — needier this time, as if trying to fill every space where the doubt used to live.

His hands return, moving with care. He doesn’t grab or grope — he explores. Maps. Honors. Every inch he touches, he does like he’s touching something sacred. And for the first time in a long time, Natty doesn’t flinch from being seen.

When they finally pull apart, breathless and warm, Gio brushes her hair from her face.

“You don’t have to be anything other than this,” he murmurs. “Not for me.”

A tear slips down her cheek, but she’s smiling.

“Okay,” she whispers. “Just… stay with me. Please.”

He tucks her against his chest, his arms wrapping around her like armor.

“Always.”

And for the first time in a while, Natty feels like she can sleep without the weight of the world pressing down on her chest.

end of part I

#k pop smut #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #natty kiof #natty smut #kiof smut

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magnagaruzenmon · 1 month ago

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SYLM Side Story: Looking Good, Feeling Good

Alrighty, today we have a little side story to my Twice series. We get to see the fun Mina and Momo get up to when it's just the two of them.

Length 2.1K

Momo X Mina

Momo smiled as she placed a bag down on the table in front of Mina. The younger woman cocked her head, “What’s this?”

“Some clothes for us to wear the next time we meet with a certain someone,” Momo said with a slight smirk. Mina turned her head, blushing slightly as she thought about what Momo meant.

Momo reached into the back and grabbed a set of clothing, tossing it to Mina. “Here, put these on.” Momo grabbed her friend’s hand and dragged her along to the bedroom. The suddenness nearly had Mina drop the clothing. As they entered the room, both women stripped down and then dressed themselves in the clothing Momo had bought. “This is going to make him go crazy for us. Just think, if we showed up at his house dressed like this. He won’t be able to resist us.”

Mina patted her lap, pouting as she pulled the hem of her skirt down as far as it could go. “Isn’t this a little short?’ she asked, looking over to Momo, who was looking at herself in the mirror with a smile.

“No, this is perfect!” She said, turning around to face her roommate. “He’ll love it and barely be able to keep his hands off us.

“I just think it’s a little embarrassing, don’t you? You can almost see my butt because of how short this skirt is.”

“You say that like he hasn’t seen you naked,” Momo responded, sticking her tongue out. Momo was right, but it didn’t make Mina feel any better about the outfit she wore. It wasn’t the most revealing thing in the world, but her point still stood. Her outfit consisted of a short blue miniskirt, with the word four scrawled out on the front. Any movement that required her to bend over or squat would show something off. Mina didn’t have a problem with the tops at least, they covered her well, zipping up in the middle and stopping at her neck.

“You know what I mean,” Mina whined, filling her cheeks with air and puffing them out.

Momo laughed and squished Mina’s cheeks together. “This outfit is just for him. It’s been a while since we've had the chance to do it together.”

“Yeah, but you did it with him and Chaeyoung.” Mina mumbles, her face squished by the younger woman. “I should get another turn with him.”

Momo leans in, “You want your daddy to cum in you again?” The younger woman smirked, knowing that it was embarrassing for Mina to hear that. Mina’s face turned red, and she looked away, pursing her lips. “I may not be your daddy, but I can help you,” Momo said, pressing her lips against Mina’s, pushing her onto her back. Momo’s hand drifted under the younger woman’s skirt. She rubbed Mina’s slit through her panties, earning herself soft moans from her roommate. “How long has it been since we had fun together, just the two of us?” Momo asked, not getting a response from Mina as the younger woman was too busy moaning as Momo slipped her fingers under her panties. Momo gently tapped against Mina’s slit, when her roommate’s mouth opened to moan she snuck her tongue inside, playing with hers.

Momo knew just what buttons to press with Mina; the two had been intimate with each other so many times over the years, they knew each other’s bodies like the back of their hands. Momo moved her fingers in small circles around Mina’s sensitive clit.

Mina arched her back and craned her neck, breaking the kiss. As pleasure flooded her body, she reached for Momo’s zipper, pulling it down to free the older woman’s tits. Mina’s hand shook, but she reached forward, gripping the large heavy mounds and squeezing them roughly as she felt Momo’s fingers push into her cunt. “M-momo,” she whined, her body tensing as Momo rubbed her walls. The older woman leaned down and sucked on Mina’s neck marking her body.

Mina pursed her lips, trying to hold back her moans as Momo’s control over her grew. She felt her roommate unzip her top, opening her shirt. Mina shut her eyes, waiting for Momo’s mouth, but it never came. She opened her eyes, wondering what the older woman was doing. Momo was staring right back at her, a wide, toothy smile on her face. “What’s wrong, baby?” She said in a low tone. “Is there something you want?” Momo was teasing Mina, wanting her to beg for more pleasure.

Mina pushed out her chest, her modest mounds out for the older woman, “Please play with my nipples,” she replied shyly. Momo nodded her head and leaned in, sticking out her tongue and running it along Mina’s soft nipples. She could feel the nub hardening the longer she teased it. When Mina’s nipple became stiff, Momo flicked it. It made Mina squirm. Momo’s warm and wet tongue was coating her nipple, playing with it in just the right way. “Ahh, more,” Mina moaned as the older woman bit down on her nipple and pulled it taut. Mina’s voice got caught in her throat. She could feel her climax approaching as Momo’s fingers picked up the pace at the same time. “C-cumming,” Mina managed to grunt, her body shaking as she held back her climax.

“Cum for me.” Momo moaned into Mina’s ear, her fingers speeding up further to push the older woman over the edge. Mina’s hips thrust upward, she cries out in pleasure as she cums on Momo’s fingers. “That’s it baby, cum for me,” Momo whispered, her fingers continuing to rub Mina’s walls as they tightened around her. Mina’s lower body slowly falls back down, her legs shaking from her climax. She watches as her roommate brings her nectar-soaked fingers to her lips and sucks them clean.

Momo smiles at her, rubbing Mina’s cheek before stripping off her top and pulling down her skirt. “Do you want a little more?”

Mina nods. Her eyes follow Momo as she walks over to the drawer and pulls out a double-sided strapon. She watches as Momo puts it on, her hand stroking the fake cock as she walks back over to Mina. “Do you want to ride, or do you want me to do the work?” Mina considered her options for a second, deciding that she wanted to ride Momo’s strapon. Momo smiled and lay down on the bed, her hand rubbing the strapon as she waited for Mina to straddle her. Mina crawled over Momo slowly, giving her a kiss and grabbing at her tits as she leaned back. The younger woman reached down, aligning her wet slit with Momo’s cock before sitting on it, she felt the thick head spread her lips apart. It pushes inside her; it wasn’t as big as you were, but it would do. Mina made sure every inch was inside her before she began grinding against Momo. She moaned softly, enjoying the feeling of it inside her. Mina placed her hands on Momo’s chest, squeezing the older woman’s mounds, watching as the soft flesh filled the gaps between her fingers. Momo groaned, enjoying the way Mina was playing with her. She wanted more, though. Momo reached back and grabbed a handful of Mina’s cheeks, giving the firm pieces of flesh a quick squeeze before slapping them. It was a quick giddy up, a sign for Mina to start fucking herself on Momo’s faux cock.

Getting the message, Mina began to bounce on it. She rose, squatting over Momo’s crotch and jumping on the cock. Momo could feel the end inside her move; it brushed against her G-spot, making her moan harder.

Both women were beginning to get lost in the pleasure they felt. Mina bounced on Momo’s cock quickly, she grabbed at her own breasts, squeezing the small mounds tightly in her hands as she chased another orgasm. She moved quickly along the shaft, coating it in her nectar; the faster she moved, the deeper it felt as she sent her body crashing into Momo’s crotch.

The act only got rougher as Momo grabbed Mina’s ass, gripping it tightly and slamming the younger woman down on her cock. Momo would thrust up, meeting her halfway. It shifted the toy inside her, making it all feel better.

“Harder,” Mina moaned, imagining it was you fucking her instead of Momo. Momo smiled, seeing the younger woman enjoy herself. She spanked the younger woman’s ass, earning her a small yelp. “That’s it, more,” she continued. Momo gave Mina another slap on the rear, and a stinging pain lingered where it landed. Momo knew that Mina wanted more. The young woman might’ve looked shy and pure when they were out in public, but Momo knew better than anyone who Mina really was.

“It’s my turn to be on top,” Momo groaned, rolling Mina onto her back. The older woman pulled out without a word and forced Mina onto her hands and knees. Momo would give Mina all that she wanted. She grabbed the strapon and pushed back into Mina’s needy cunt, thrusting it all deep into her in one smooth motion. Mina groaned loudly as she felt the strapon hit deep inside her cunt. Her arms began to give way as Momo began to thrust without a care. Soon she was on her face, moaning wildly as Momo used her body.

The older woman watched the way Mina’s as shook from each violent thrust, the way her flesh jiggled as it recoiled from the impacts. Momo knew what Mina really enjoyed and reached for her reddened ass. She grabbed one cheek moving it to the side to reveal Mina’s puckered asshole. Momo had decided to tease the younger woman a little. She used her thumb to circle her precious asshole. Mina’s growing moans were already a good sign that she had noticed what the older woman was doing. Momo smirked and circled the hole twice more before pushing her thumb inside. “Oh, god,” Mina groaned, feeling the second intrusion.

“Sorry, I just needed something to help grab onto,” Momo told her. It was a complete lie; both women knew it, but Mina wasn’t going to argue. She was too buy enjoying getting fucked. Mina arched her back and grabbed onto the bedding, begging for more from the older woman. Momo just smiled, reveling in the sight of Mina giving in to who she really was.

Momo could feel her orgasm building; the dildo inside of her was rubbing against her G-spot with every thrust. She was so close. She bit her lip as she tried to hold on; the moment she came, she would come to a complete stop. Momo brought her other hand down on Mina’s ass, making the piece of flesh grow a brighter red, her hand print almost visible after repeated strikes. “I-I’m cumming,” Mina moaned, her knuckles turning white as she got closer to the edge. Her muscles were tightening, with a few more thrusts Momo forced the younger woman to cum. Mina’s walls tightened around Momo’s cock, clamping down on it. Momo was only able to give her one more thrust before cumming herself. She buried the cock inside Mina. Momo’s body shook as she was overcome by the pleasure. She collapsed on top of Mina, her nipples rubbing against the younger woman’s back as she adjusted herself.

“Fuck, that was good,” Momo moaned before kissing the back of Mina’s neck. “Should we send him a picture? You know, show him what he’s missing?” Momo asked with a devilish smirk.

“Y-yeah, I think we should,” Mina replied through heavy breaths. Mina stretches her body to the nightstand and grabs her phone, pulling up the camera. She holds the camera at arm's length. She gives a piece of sign and Momo does too, their sweaty bodies on full display. Once the picture is taken, Momo pulls the strapon out of Mina and takes it off. The pair lay beside each other, with Mina sending you the image and attaching the message. “We had a little fun without you. I hope you can come by soon. I miss you.” Mina had debated writing that she missed your cock, but she felt embarrassed to be sending such a message and decided on the alternative. Once the message was sent Mina put her phone down and caught her breath for a moment, but only for a moment as Momo’s hands reached around her body, one tugging at her nipple while the other played with her cunt.

“I think we should go another round,” Momo said, kissing the younger woman’s neck. The two continued to have fun for the next few hours, enjoying each other's company and taking turns being the dominant one.

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magnagaruzenmon · 1 month ago

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Takedown

Sorry for the late drop Dio has been going through it this week and is operating at 1/10 his normal self, and Dino is still working on his novel so this took a bit longer to make, needless to say we all loved the movie though.

Yes this is unironically a reference.

“Huntrix Girls to World!” The chorus blasted through Theseus’s earbuds just as his flight touched down in South Korea — the final stop of his world tour. He glanced at his two handlers seated beside him.

“I still don’t know about this,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face.

Megara grinned. “Relax. It’ll be fine.”

Dino clapped him on the shoulder. “Think of it as a vacation. No demons. No rival hunters. Just good vibes, good music, and us.”

The trio stood, throwing on jackets. Theseus pulled up his hood low over his face as they made their way through the bustling airport. Despite the late hour, the place was packed. A plane at the next terminal had just arrived, drawing a massive crowd — the pride of South Korea had returned.

TWICE.

After their record-breaking 4th World Tour, the queens were finally home for some rest. But as fate would have it, both groups converged at the same baggage claim.

Theseus was adjusting his bag strap when he looked up — and locked eyes with her.

Jihyo.

Leader. Idol. National treasure. And, according to the files, high-ranking hunter.

He froze.

Unsure what else to do, he gave a stiff little wave.

Jihyo, effortlessly radiant, smiled and waved back. Then, casually, like they were old friends, she walked straight over to him.

“Hi,” she said, voice warm and confident.

Theseus blinked. “Uh… hi back.”

Jihyo laughed, folding her arms. “Not much of a talker, huh?”

“Not particularly,” he admitted. “But I can try. Hi, Jihyo-noona.”

“Ooh, polite and respectful? You’re not bad for a foreigner,” she teased. “But just call me Jihyo.”

“You’re basically royalty here. Felt like I should at least try to act right.”

She smiled. Then leaned in, her voice suddenly low, sweet, and dangerous.

“Being polite won’t save you, demon. I’m still going to kill you.”

Theseus stiffened, blood turning to ice. He instinctively took a step back. She followed.

“I’ll find you,” she whispered. “And gut you.”

Theseus blinked, trying to keep cool. “Uh… no Inglés?” he muttered before grabbing his bag and sprinting toward the exit.

Jihyo laughed, watching him flee. Moments later, Jeongyeon and Chaeyoung joined her.

“Unnie,” Chaeyoung said, pinching the bridge of her nose, “can you not scare the demons right away? You always spook them before we get a chance.”

Jihyo grinned. “Please. Where can he hide? This is our turf.”

Jeongyeon crossed her arms. “Yeah, but maybe next time don’t warn the prey?”

Just as the three prepared to give chase, a tidal wave of fans swarmed the girls with cameras flashing, squeals rising like sirens. The distraction gave Theseus just enough cover to slip into the crowd — and vanish.

The crowd was still buzzing around them, fans shrieking, camera flashes going off like fireworks. TWICE had barely taken ten steps before security finally formed a protective barrier. The three girls regrouped near a corner by the baggage carousels, just out of reach.

Jeongyeon didn’t wait.

“You let him go,” she said, her voice low and sharp.

Jihyo rolled her eyes. “He ran.”

Chaeyoung jabbed a finger toward her. “Because you told him you were gonna gut him!”

“That’s called psychological warfare.”

“It’s called stupid,” Jeongyeon snapped. “We had a clear shot. No cover, no fans, no bodyguards. He was right there.”

Jihyo put her hands up, smirking. “Okay, okay, maybe I got a little carried away.”

“A little?” Chaeyoung’s hands were on her hips now. “You scared him off like a feral cat. What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking,” Jihyo said slowly, “that it’s more fun when they run.”

That stopped both of them for a moment.

Jeongyeon groaned. “You and your hunter’s ego.”

Jihyo smiled. “What? It’s been boring lately. He looked interesting. Strong aura, too. Definitely not some low-tier demonic intern.”

“Still,” Chaeyoung said, sighing, “we’ve got a job. You can flirt after we neutralize the threat.”

“I wasn’t flirting,” Jihyo said too quickly.

Both of them stared at her.

Jeongyeon raised an eyebrow. “You told him you’d gut him with a smile. That’s your exact flirting face.”

Jihyo folded her arms, letting out a breath. “Fine. Maybe I wanted to see what he’d do under pressure.”

“He ran.”

“Exactly. That tells me a lot.”

Jeongyeon pinched the bridge of her nose. “Unbelievable. You’ve been listening to Sana again, haven’t you?”

“Maybe.”

Chaeyoung crossed her arms. “Well, next time? Just stab first. Banter after. We’re supposed to be discreet, remember?”

“Sure, sure,” Jihyo said, waving them off. “Next time, I’ll be the picture of restraint.”

“You’re never the picture of restraint,” Jeongyeon muttered.

Chaeyoung looked back at the crowd. “Think he’s still in the terminal?”

Jihyo’s smirk returned. “Doesn’t matter. I tagged him.”

They both turned toward her.

“You what?”

“Just a little sigil on his bag. We’ll know where he’s staying within the hour.”

Jeongyeon stared. “So… you planned to let him go?”

“Not exactly,” Jihyo said, already turning toward the exit with that same dangerous gleam in her eyes. “But I figured… let the demon sweat a little. Let him think he got away.”

Chaeyoung shook her head in disbelief. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m the leader.” She grinned. “And he just became my next obsession.”

Theseus arrived at the hotel with Megara and Dino 45 minutes later. Check-in was uneventful — quiet, efficient, almost suspiciously normal.

While Megara handled logistics with a call to the radio station they’d be guesting on tomorrow, Theseus retreated to the bathroom, craving the rinse of hot water and solitude.

Steam rose around him as the shower ran, washing away the stiffness of the flight — but not the ghost of her.

Jihyo.

She lingered in his mind like a perfume. Vanilla — soft and cloying, deceptively sweet. Her voice had slithered into his ear, low and lethal. The glint in her eye. The threat in her smile. The way she moved, like someone who already knew the outcome of every fight.

She was gorgeous. Too gorgeous.

And dangerous.

A slayer like him shouldn’t be entertaining thoughts about a hunter, especially not one as infamous as her. They were natural enemies — or at least, conditioned ones. No alliances. No dalliances. Certainly no distractions.

He’d stay out of her way. Leave the country. Bury the memory.

That was the plan.

After showering and changing into sweats and a fresh tee, he stepped back into the suite—only to stop cold.

The room was dark.

No lights. No noise.

He hadn’t turned them off. Neither had Dino or Megara.

He froze.

Then—vanilla.

His fingers flexed. A flash of cold ether crackled through his palm as he summoned his revolver, the silver weapon forming fully in his grip. He cocked the hammer without hesitation.

“I was starting to think this would be too easy,” came that familiar, honey-slick voice.

His stomach dropped.

A shape moved in the darkness — then the glint of a blade.

Jihyo stepped forward, casual as moonlight.

“You’ve got good instincts… for a demon.”

“I’m not a demon,” Theseus said, voice even.

“They all say that.” She tilted her head. “But you’ve got the aura. The scent. Something ancient clinging to you.”

“And you have a sword pointed at my neck.”

Jihyo grinned. “You noticed.”

He didn’t lower his weapon. She didn’t lower hers.

Then she whispered, delighted, “Do you feel lucky?”

Theseus groaned. “Did you seriously just quote Dirty Harry?”

“Shut up. It’s my turn to say it.” She stepped closer, hips swaying with unnerving confidence. “Answer the question.”

“I don’t. But I’ll still get three shots off before you reach me.”

Jihyo stopped — just a breath out of reach. Her eyes scanned his face, then his weapon.

The revolver gleamed, forged from cold silver, humming with residual rage and something darker.

“That’s quite the demon gun,” she said softly, almost admiringly.

“It is… on a technicality,” he admitted. “I made it from a demon’s heart.”

Her brows lifted. “Really?” she said, stepping even closer.

He could smell her now. Feel her presence like a pressure in the air. Fear and desire clashed in his chest like colliding storms. Every alarm in his body screamed to shoot. To run. To do something.

Instead—he kissed her.

Desperate, hungry, doomed.

He crushed his mouth to hers like it was the last act of a dying man. Maybe it was.

If he was going to die, it might as well be at the hands of someone beautiful.

For half a second, Jihyo froze.

He kissed her.

Not hesitantly. Not sweetly. No — like he thought it would be the last thing he ever did.

And it should have been.

Her blade was at his neck, sharp enough to slip between vertebrae. All it would take was one twitch of her wrist. She’d done it a hundred times before — fast, clean, precise.

But this time… she didn’t move.

Not because she was stunned — but because something deep inside her didn’t want to.

Damn it. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

He was a demon. A wild anomaly with a demon-forged gun and a pulse that practically radiated forbidden magic.

And yet… he kissed like someone who wanted her, not in spite of what she was — but because of it.

Her heart was pounding. Fast. Loud. She could feel the weight of the blade in her hand, still raised, but limp now — forgotten. His revolver was still drawn too, but neither of them were aiming anymore.

They were just close. Too close.

His lips were warm. Desperate. Honest in a way that made her chest ache.

She hated it. She loved it.

She hated that she loved it.

Get it together, Jihyo.

You’re the predator here. You found him. Cornered him. Marked him. You were going to gut him. You were supposed to gut him.

But instead—

She dropped her blade.

It clattered to the ground, the sound sharp, startling — like a gunshot.

A second later, his revolver followed, thudding against the carpet.

Her hands were on his chest before she even realized it. Pushing him — hard — against the hotel wall. His back hit it with a dull thud, but he didn’t resist.

He looked at her, surprised. Open. Like he hadn’t expected to still be alive.

She grabbed his collar.

And kissed him back.

Not soft. Not slow. Hard. Hungry. Furious.

It wasn’t affection. It was defiance. Of the rules. The war. Herself.

His hands found her waist — hesitant, then firm — and for a moment, the room was only breath and heat and the quiet hum of danger unspoken.

She pulled away first, eyes narrowed, breath uneven.

“You kiss like a death wish,” she whispered.

He swallowed. “Maybe it is.”

Jihyo stared at him. Then smirked — not sweetly, but with fire behind it. “If you’re trying to seduce your way out of being hunted…”

He didn’t answer.

She didn’t need him to.

Her voice dropped to a whisper. “…It might be working.”

The kiss didn’t stop. Not after her jacket hit the floor.

Theseus wasn’t sure who was leading anymore. Maybe it didn’t matter. They were tangled in each other, mouths pressed, breaths heavy, his back still against the wall of the hotel suite. Jihyo’s fingers had twisted in his shirt before tugging it up slightly — not with grace, but with intent.

She was all fire and precision, like she was cataloguing the shape of him with every brush of her hands. The edge of her blade might be gone, but she hadn’t lost her sharpness.

Then she pulled back slightly, lips just grazing his, breath mixing with his in the stillness.

“Too many layers,” she muttered, annoyed — at him, at herself, at the rules she was already breaking.

She shrugged off her jacket, revealing the sleeveless black top beneath — tactical, breathable, tight against her frame.

But something else caught his eye.

His breath hitched. There — just above her collarbone, faintly pulsing beneath the skin — was a mark.

Not ink. Not a hunter’s brand. Something older. Etched in a language only those who trafficked in dark blood would recognize.

The glyph was shifting ever so slightly. Alive.

Theseus’s hands paused where they were, resting on her hips, and his eyes widened.

“You…” he whispered. “You’re not fully human.”

Jihyo went still.

Her face didn’t change, not at first — but her heartbeat, fast as it was, skipped a beat.

Theseus brought a hand up slowly, brushing his fingers near the mark without touching it. “This is elder script,” he murmured. “Old blood magic. You’ve got demon lineage. Not low-tier either… something ancient.”

She didn’t deny it.

Instead, she leaned in, forehead almost against his, voice barely above a breath.

“I told you I’d gut you.”

He searched her eyes, half-expecting to see malice. But there was only a strange, weary intensity.

“You’re a hunter,” he said, trying to wrap his mind around it. “How can you be part of the thing you’re trained to kill?”

Jihyo let out a soft laugh — humorless, quiet, dangerous. “Do you think humans run the hunter’s guilds? Do you think they’d let a pure mortal be in charge of keeping demons in check?”

“Elder demon blood,” he repeated. “You’re stronger than you let on.”

She tilted her head, smile razor-thin. “And you’re smarter than you look.”

For a beat, they stood there in the electric silence — the air thick with heat, confusion, and everything unsaid.

Then Theseus broke the silence, voice low, rough.

“So what now?”

Jihyo’s lips hovered just above his.

“We keep making out,” she said. “And you keep pretending I’m not deciding whether to kiss you again or kill you.”

He grinned — crooked, reckless. “I’ll take those odds.”

She kissed him again — harder this time, more desperate, like she was trying to convince herself it didn’t mean anything.

But they both knew better.

As their lips crashed Jihyo’s body kept heating up until she found the demonic fire within her fully manifesting. Jihyo’s eyes changed from a soft brown to a frenzied crimson. Claws stretched at her fingertips as she ripped into Theseus’s clothes tearing them to shreds, before pushing him onto the couch.

“I need you inside me right fucking now!” She growled. Theseus stared into her eyes as flames encircled him as he realized he was in way over his head. So he did what he always did. He adapted.

He slid inside the huntress’s tight hot and wet snatch as she accepted him she moaned. Feeling relieved the flames around Jihyo died down as Jihyo took more of Theseus’s cock inside of her.

“Fuck! Fuck!” She moaned in between methodical and powerful thrust. Theseus watched as her yiddies bounced mesmerically. Jihyo stared at Theseus watching him fall deeper into her charms.

“Grab them she commanded and Theseus did. Jihyo moaned even greater as his hands cupped her chest. He got lost in the suppleness but also the firmness of her breasts as he continued thrusting. Jihyo convulsed as she felt his hands run wild over her breasts. She moaned as he massaged and kneaded them.

“Do you like them?” Jihyo asked.

Theseus moaned as he nodded, “your body is evil!” He yelled. So hot and tempting

Jihyo laughed and challenged, “what are you gonna do about it?”

The marks of her demonic heritage grew all over as the flames began roaring going from crimson and orange to indigo and pink. She moaned before yelping in surprise as Theseus picked her up and continued fucking her.

“Keep going!” Jihyo screamed as his cock tore through her.

Theseus moaned as her pussy clamped down on his cock until he exploded inside of her. Jihyo moaned as he kept going sending her over her peak until she came. She gushed all over his cock leaving him drenched as she twitched and moaned.

The flames died down around Jihyo but she felt something in her shift. As if Theseus had awakened something inside of her.

Theseus sat beside Jihyo on the couch, her head resting lightly on his shoulder. The night was quiet now. No weapons. No threats. Just the steady rhythm of shared breathing and the slow, undeniable warmth that had grown between them.

He glanced down at her, surprised at how peaceful she looked. Jihyo — the storm — finally still.

Before long, sleep claimed them both.

⸻

In his dreams, she was everywhere — darting through his thoughts like a spark he couldn’t catch. He saw flashes of her laugh, the way she fought, the look in her eyes when she almost kissed him for the first time.

Jihyo’s dream was gentler. She saw herself dancing barefoot in a sunlit garden, spinning in circles, arms wide, laughter echoing like windchimes. Theseus was there too — distant at first, then slowly drawing near, hands outstretched.

⸻

The knocking shattered the moment.

Bang bang bang.

Both of them stirred with a jolt. Disoriented, tangled under a blanket that hadn’t been there before.

Jihyo blinked. “What the hell—?”

Theseus groaned. “Please tell me that’s not real.”

Another knock. More impatient this time.

Scrambling, they untangled themselves from the blanket, trying to piece together what happened. His shirt was missing. Her jacket had vanished. In the chaos, Jihyo accidentally yanked Theseus’s oversized hoodie over her head while trying to find her top, and Theseus, flustered and half-awake, shoved her beanie onto his head by mistake.

They froze, glancing at each other.

“…I don’t think this is a good look,” Jihyo mumbled, the hoodie practically swallowing her whole.

“You think?” Theseus muttered, adjusting the beanie that was far too snug.

The knocking came again.

With a sigh, he stumbled toward the door and cracked it open — still wearing her beanie.

Megara and Dino stood outside, holding coffee and paper bags.

Megara took one look at him and blinked. “Why are you wearing a pink beanie?”

Theseus opened his mouth. Closed it. “I… was cold?”

Dino leaned to the side, spotting Jihyo peeking out from the blanket behind him in his hoodie.

“Ah,” Dino grinned, elbowing Megara. “Guess diplomacy’s going well.”

Jihyo groaned from the couch. “Don’t start.”

Megara smirked. “We brought breakfast. But maybe we’ll come back in, say, twenty minutes?”

“Make it thirty,” Jihyo called out, already pulling the hood up over her face.

Theseus didn’t even argue. He just nodded and shut the door.

As they finally got dressed properly, Theseus tugged on his rumpled pants and glanced at Jihyo, who was sprawled across the bed, still lounging in his hoodie.

“You owe me a new outfit,” he muttered, buttoning his shirt halfway.

Jihyo smirked, stretching lazily. “If you keep fucking me like last night, I’ll buy you anything you want.”

He laughed, rolling his eyes. “You are dangerously generous when you’re smug.”

She grinned, then blinked — noticing deep red claw marks trailing across his back. Her smirk faded.

“Huh.”

He turned. “What?”

Jihyo stood and ran a finger lightly along one of the scratches. “Demons don’t scar like humans.” Her voice dropped, thoughtful. “But you do.”

“That’s because I’m not a demon,” Theseus said plainly.

Jihyo’s eyes narrowed. “Okay then. So what are you?”

He exhaled and gave a small shrug. “I’m a Slayer. Born human. Strong enough to kill demons, fast enough to survive them. But I don’t belong to either side.”

Jihyo crossed her arms, skeptical. “You expect me to believe that?”

He raised both hands. “Do I look like I’ve got demon marks?”

She gave him a long, calculating look, taking in his lean form, his scars, his eyes. Then sighed.

“No… you don’t.”

“Exactly,” he said. “But most hunters don’t ask. They just come swinging. So I usually respond with a shot between the eyes or straight through the heart. Saves time.”

She smirked. “What about me?”

“What about you?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“You didn’t go for the kill.”

Theseus chuckled, stepping in to kiss her on the cheek. She let out a small, surprised yelp.

“I kinda did,” he said with a grin. “Just not through the ribcage.”

Jihyo rolled her eyes, but a faint blush crept up her neck. “Okay, Mr. Slayer,” she teased. “But what’s your plan for the other hunters? You can’t seduce all of them.”

He shrugged. “I only really need to avoid you. The rest won’t be expecting me.”

Jihyo raised an eyebrow. “Good answer,” she said, stepping closer, her voice low and possessive. “Because you’re mine now.”

Her aura pulsed — a flicker of demonic energy behind her eyes, like a storm rolling in under calm skies.

Theseus felt the shift, the tension building again — fast and hot. He quickly placed a hand on her shoulder, holding her back.

“Nope. Not happening. I’ve got a radio show to prep for.”

Jihyo blinked. “What radio show?”

He sighed. “The one I’m scheduled to be on for my world tour? You know — the thing I’m currently doing?”

“Oh. You’re an artist?” she asked, blinking in genuine curiosity.

“Yeah,” he replied. “Metal act. Name’s Malevolence. Technically it’s a one-man show, but the name sounds cooler when it sounds like a band.”

She gave him a slow, surprised smile. “Damn. A slayer with stage presence. I really am keeping you.”

He snorted. “I’m flattered. Now get out of my hoodie.”

Jihyo yawned and flopped back onto the bed. “Make me.”

Theseus stared at her for a beat, then turned around before she could tempt him further. “I swear you’re trying to sabotage me.”

“Not sabotage,” she called after him, voice dripping with smugness. “Just claiming what’s mine.”

The sunlight was annoyingly bright when Jihyo stepped outside, hoodie still clinging to her frame like a guilty pleasure. It smelled like him — smoky, musky, warm — and for once, she didn’t mind being marked. She looked at the design on it. It seemed like English but the font was all “fuzzy,” Jihyo thought to herself trying to read it.

She tugged the zipper up halfway, hands buried in the front pocket as she slipped into the bathroom and opened a warp sigil back to her apartment. A sigh left her lips as she stepped inside, the familiar scent of coffee beans, lavender, and faint brimstone greeting her like an old friend.

She leaned against the door for a moment, her head tilted back.

What the hell was that last night?

It had started as a stakeout. A clean kill. Observe, interrogate, execute. And now she was home in his hoodie and bite marks left on his collarbone, memories of growled praise and tangled limbs still replaying like a song stuck on loop.

Jihyo groaned and shoved her face into her hands. “you’re an idiot.”

She finally peeled the hoodie off and tossed it over a chair before dragging herself into the bathroom. Her reflection stared back at her — wild hair, a few new bruises, lips that still looked a little too swollen.

She smirked. Her eyes flashed violet for a minute as she felt the demonic fire within rage inside of her.

Yeah, okay. She wasn’t mad about it.

She decided to shower before meeting with Chaeyoung and Jeongyeon As the water from the shower warmed up, she texted the group chat:

Jihyo: Home. On the way in 30. Don’t start without me.

Jeongyeon: We’re at the spa already. You’re late.

Chaeyoung: Bring snacks or suffer <3

She rolled her eyes but smiled. The spa day had been planned weeks ago — a post-mission/ tour treat for surviving another near-disaster involving a possessed subway and a rogue succubus cult. Honestly, Jihyo was just glad she wasn’t limping from that mission.

She grabbed her favorite black leggings, a flowy crop top, and tossed her damp hair into a half-messy bun. Her gaze lingered on the hoodie for a moment — Theseus’s scent still clinging to it like a memory that hadn’t fully left.

She debated taking it.

“Nope,” she muttered. “They’d smell the testosterone a mile away.”

She opted for a clean jacket, something neutral and unassuming, and added just enough concealer to hide the love bite peeking above her collarbone. Just because she wasn’t ashamed didn’t mean she was ready for the third-degree.

Still, as she packed her bag and slid into her shoes, she couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips.

They were absolutely going to find out.

And she absolutely deserved this moment.

Jihyo tapped her fingers on the steering wheel, a slight smirk tugging at her lips as she tuned into the radio station Theseus had mentioned. The static faded just in time for her to catch the tail end of the host’s intro.

“As promised, we’ve got the mosh pit king himself, the mind behind Malevolence — Theseus!”

Applause and background cheers filled the car’s speakers, and Jihyo couldn’t help but laugh softly at how composed he sounded, compared to the absolute menace he’d been last night.

Then one of the hosts let out a sudden gasp. “Wait—are you wearing a TWICE shirt?! Are you a ONCE?!”

There was a pause, then his voice, smooth and low as ever: “Yeah, been one since, like, 2019. Actually, that’s how I met my manager, Megara. We were both fans first. After my first song blew up, she helped me keep my life from crashing into hellfire.”

Jihyo raised a brow. That tracked. Megara had the cool-headed ruthlessness of someone who probably used spreadsheets to schedule destruction.

“Oh, so you’ve been with the same team since the beginning?” another host asked.

“Pretty much. Ride or die.”

The hosts drifted into English banter after that — some quips about tour antics and mosh pit etiquette that Jihyo only caught in fragments — but before she could piece it together, she was pulling into the spa parking lot.

Hand on the ignition, she was just about to shut off the engine when one final question caught her attention.

“So, would you ever invite TWICE to one of your shows?”

There was a beat. She imagined his lopsided grin as he answered, “They’re always welcome.”

Jihyo bit her lip, warmth creeping up her neck.

But then came the kicker.

“Okay, last TWICE question — who’s your bias?”

Her heart skipped. She leaned in.

There was a teasing pause. Then: “It was Jihyo… but due to some recent developments, I think it’s Momo now.”

Jihyo blinked. Her jaw dropped.

What.

“Oh, hell no,” she muttered aloud as she shut the car off. “He’s getting punished.”

Still fuming — though secretly flattered — she adjusted her jacket and strutted toward the spa, already plotting exactly how she’d “correct” his bias in the very near future.

Steam curled lazily in the cedar-scented air as Jihyo stepped through the glass doors of the private bathhouse. The faint hum of conversation, mixed with the soft bubbling of hot water, wrapped around her like a warm towel. She spotted Chaeyoung and Jeongyeon already soaking in the water, drinks on the nearby ledge, their hair tied up in matching towels like tiny crowns of mischief.

“Hey!” Jeongyeon called, waving her hand as she leaned back. “Look who decided to grace us with her presence.”

Chaeyoung smirked, her cheeks already pink from the heat. “You’re late. Don’t think we didn’t notice.”

Jihyo chuckled and slid out of her robe, stepping into the bath with a contented sigh. “I got caught in traffic.”

“That’s what you’re calling it now?” Jeongyeon teased. “Traffic?”

Before Jihyo could shoot back a retort, a familiar voice drifted from the Bluetooth speaker resting on the edge of the tub.

“…and our guest today is none other than Theseus of Malevolence, currently on tour and somehow still managing to look like he crawled out of the underworld in style.”

Jihyo stiffened slightly, but kept her expression cool. Chaeyoung caught the shift instantly.

“Oh yeah, I forgot to mention—we’ve been listening to the interview while we waited,” Chaeyoung said, grinning. “I can turn it off if you want,”

Jihyo shook her head and said, “No he sounds nice and his voice is surprisingly soothing,”

Chaeyoung turned to her leader surprised and said, “didn’t even know you listened to this guy until now.”

Jihyo rolled her eyes and said, “no his voice is just calming.

Jeongyeon leaned in, her tone teasing but curious. “You do know he’s kind of a big deal, right? Like… underground god of metal and chaos? Total demon hunter fantasy fuel?”

Jihyo scoffed. “Okay and?.”

“Please,” Chaeyoung said with a knowing smirk. “ you expect us to believe that you aren’t into the whole bad boy from America thing?”

Jihyo rolled her eyes but kept her poker face. “You’re both ridiculous.”

“Mmhmm,” Jeongyeon hummed. “So how did that demon hunt go, anyway? You ran off so suddenly.”

Jihyo reached for her tea, taking a slow sip to buy herself time.

“It got messy,” she said, finally. “Turned out to be stronger than intel suggested. I had to call in backup.”

Chaeyoung raised a brow. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” Jihyo continued smoothly. “Got help from this American hunter. Real heavy-hitter type. Kind of a lone wolf but good in a fight.”

Jeongyeon narrowed her eyes. “Name?”

Jihyo pretended to think. “I think he just goes by ‘Dio.’” She forced herself not to smile at her own audacity. “Real quiet, didn’t talk much, but he knew how to handle himself.”

Chaeyoung blinked. Then blinked again. “Wait… Dio? Like Jojo’s?”

Jihyo shrugged, giving them the perfect blend of mystery and misdirection. “I doubt it. Common enough name, right?”

Before they could press further, the interview picked up again.

“Okay, last TWICE question,” said the host on the speaker. “Who’s your bias?”

Jihyo braced.

“It was Jihyo,” Theseus’s voice drawled, “but due to some recent developments… I think it’s Momo now.”

Chaeyoung snorted. “Wow. Ruthless.”

Jihyo’s expression didn’t flinch, but the heat in her cheeks had nothing to do with the bathwater. “He’s got jokes,” she said coolly. “Probably just trying to bait clicks.”

Jeongyeon gave her a sideways look. “You okay?”

“Perfectly fine,” Jihyo said with a sweet, dangerous smile. “I’ll just have to return the favor next time I see him.”

Chaeyoung laughed. “Damn. Remind me not to cross you.”

Jihyo leaned back, letting her head rest against the tiled edge, her eyes closing for a brief moment as steam kissed her face.

So far so good, she thought. But if they find that hoodie in my laundry, I’m screwed.

A gentle splash echoed through the bathhouse as Chaeyoung stretched out her arms with a groan of bliss. “Ugh, this is heaven. My shoulders feel like they’ve finally forgiven me.”

“I swear,” Jeongyeon added, adjusting the cold towel on her forehead, “every time we do this, I realize how desperately I need it. And how much I hate cardio.”

“You hate everything that isn’t bubble tea and sleep,” Chaeyoung quipped.

“Fair.”

Jihyo let their voices drift around her like steam. Her fingers idly trailed the water’s surface, her expression contemplative behind the relaxed posture.

“So,” Jeongyeon began again, cocking a brow toward Jihyo, “what’s your mysterious American hunter look like, anyway? Asking for, y’know… purely professional curiosity.”

Jihyo’s lips twitched. “Tall. Sharp jaw. Tattooed. Quiet type with that whole ‘don’t ask what I’ve seen’ look.”

Chaeyoung’s eyes lit up. “Oh my god, like your exact type.”

Jeongyeon sipped her infused water with dramatic judgment. “And let me guess… muscles like sin and eyes like regret?”

“Something like that,” Jihyo said with maddening calm.

“Mmhmm.” Chaeyoung gave her a long look. “You know if you weren’t already the most dangerous one here, I’d be scared of you.”

“Still scared,” Jeongyeon muttered under her breath.

Jihyo tilted her head back against the tiles, her voice light. “You two really want to know what happened?”

Their eyes lit up in unison.

She opened one eye, smirked, and said, “Let’s just say… he owes me an outfit.”

The silence broke into chaotic splashing as Chaeyoung shrieked, “Jihyo!” and Jeongyeon practically choked on her drink.

“No! No way—you didn’t!”

“I’m not saying what happened,” Jihyo said innocently, “just that clothes were lost and now I’m owed one.”

Chaeyoung was blushing so hard she might have boiled the water around her. “You are so not allowed to keep that to yourself.”

Jeongyeon groaned, laughing despite herself. “This better not end up in a tabloid. Or worse, the demon registry.”

Jihyo shrugged, eyes gleaming. “It won’t he’s still human after all . Technically.”

“Technically sounds like trouble,” Chaeyoung warned.

“Yeah he is and Trouble owes me a jacket,” Jihyo replied.

Then, as the interview on the speaker wound down, her mind drifted back to Theseus’s voice — that teasing lilt, the way he said Momo with a smirk she could hear.

Her lips curved into something between a smirk and a promise. “Anyway, I’ve got plans for him.”

“Oh no,” Jeongyeon murmured, half-laughing, half-concerned. “What kind of plans?”

Jihyo stood, water cascading down her skin like silver. “The kind that makes you regret teasing the leader of Twice.”

Chaeyoung put a hand to her chest dramatically. “Please don’t kill him.”

Jihyo grabbed her towel and smiled sweetly. “Of course not. I’m just going to remind him who his real bias is.”

Later that evening, after the laughter, the warmth, and the scent of eucalyptus faded from her skin, Jihyo found herself standing in front of her vanity mirror, bathed in the soft amber glow of her apartment’s bathroom light.

Her fingers moved mechanically—dabbing cream under her eyes, brushing through the ends of her damp hair—but her mind wasn’t in the room. It was still spinning from everything.

From him.

Theseus.

From the weight of the night before.

From the heat that hadn’t fully left her body.

She leaned forward, inspecting her reflection, but froze.

For the briefest moment—less than a blink—her eyes weren’t brown.

They were violet.

Deep, unearthly. Crackling faintly with inner fire. Like twin smoldering coals in a perfect face.

Jihyo’s breath caught. “…No.”

She blinked rapidly. Brown again.

She held her breath and waited—there. The violet shimmer returned at the edges of her irises, creeping in like ink dropped in water. Unnatural. Hungry.

As she stared, the air around her seemed to ripple. The steam in the mirror thickened and distorted. Somewhere in the corners of the room, a low crackle of heat murmured—and then with a sudden fwoom—a small arc of violet flame licked up from the edge of the candle she hadn’t lit.

She turned sharply.

Another wisp of fire bloomed at the corner of the room, tiny, dancing, and then vanished as if embarrassed to be caught.

Jihyo backed away from the mirror, heart racing, but her blood wasn’t chilled—it was boiling. Her skin felt too tight, like there was something just under it, trying to claw its way to the surface.

“What the hell…” she whispered, her voice slightly layered now—like someone had added a second, softer version of herself underneath.

She gripped the sink, her nails biting into the porcelain. Her mind tried to rationalize it, but something primal in her spine already knew.

It wasn’t a one-time flare-up. It wasn’t going away.

Theseus had triggered something. Not just desire. Not just power.

Recognition.

A part of her—buried deep—had stirred.

And now it wanted out.

She looked back into the mirror. This time, her reflection didn’t copy her. Not right away.

It smirked first.

Violet eyes blazing, lips curling in wicked delight.

Then, only then, did it match her expression of dread.

Jihyo stepped back and hissed under her breath, “No. Not yet. I’m still in control.”

But the fire, even if only in flickers, said otherwise.

Despite her body practically screaming for her to go see Theseus, Jihyo made a different choice. She stayed with Momo.

A small, smug smile crept onto her face at the thought—spending time with his bias while he’s busy? A little petty, maybe. But satisfying.

As always, food was involved. Momo had suggested a quiet Korean BBQ spot just outside the city. The place was cozy, slightly worn, and always smelled like sizzling meat and garlic. Just how they liked it.

They were elbow-deep in lettuce wraps and perfectly charred bulgogi when Momo leaned forward, chewing thoughtfully.

“So,” she mumbled through a bite, “how’d that last hunt go?”

Jihyo swallowed, dabbing her lips with a napkin. “Tough one. But I had help—American hunter, kind of a weirdo.”

Momo snorted. “Let me guess. Asked for a lock of your hair or tried to lick your boots like that one creepy lady in Louisiana?”

Jihyo’s eyes widened and she waved her hands, laughing. “No, no! Nothing like that. He was actually… pretty normal. Just awkward. Kind of shy.”

“Oh good,” Momo said, exhaling with relief. “I didn’t want to have to fight him.”

Jihyo grinned slyly. “Please. He’s more likely to run from a fight than start one.”

Momo paused mid-bite, raising an eyebrow. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah. He took the demon out with his revolver, all efficient and no drama. Clean shot to the head. Then he just kind of… nodded and left.”

Momo blinked. “Huh. That’s actually kind of impressive.”

“Right?” Jihyo said with a shrug, feigning casualness while hiding the memory of violet eyes and the lingering heat in her skin.

Momo popped another bite into her mouth and said around it, “Still sounds like a nerd.”

Jihyo laughed, but her gaze drifted to the glowing grill between them. As the meat hissed and popped, she thought—not for the first time—about just how not normal that American hunter really was.

But for now, she’d let it lie.

Let the fire rest. It didn’t last long though.

The moment Jihyo stepped through her apartment door, she slammed it shut behind her and pressed her back to it. Her heart was thundering. Her skin—glowing. Not literally. Not yet.

But it was close.

Heat pooled in her chest, curling through her veins like molten metal. Her breath came shallow. Her fingers trembled as she pulled off her boots, barely making it down the hall before yanking off her jacket and tossing it to the floor.

She passed a mirror and caught sight of herself.

Her eyes were flickering again—deep violet flames pulsing in and out like they were syncing with her heartbeat. Her cheeks were flushed, lips parted, strands of hair clinging to her temples from a light sweat.

She looked… wild.

She felt feral.

Something inside her was howling.

The meal with Momo hadn’t helped. It had only reminded her of the growing ache—this need—coiling tighter every time she thought of him.

Theseus.

The way he touched her. The way he kissed her like she was something dangerous—and holy—and his.

And gods, the way her demon side responded to him.

No one had ever brought it out of her like that. Not even close.

She stormed into her bedroom and collapsed onto the edge of the bed, fingers already pulling out her phone. She opened Instagram—she didn’t even hesitate—tapping through to Theseus’s page.

The most recent photo was from earlier that day: a shot of him at the radio show, innocent and happy, face half-turned to the camera, flexing without meaning to. She almost growled.

Jihyo didn’t comment.

She hit Message.

And then she typed, her fingers fast, sharp.

[jihyo] Get over here. Now. I don’t care what you’re doing. If I don’t feel your mouth on me in 20 minutes I’m burning this building down.

She stared at the message for half a second.

Then she hit Send.

The instant she did, she felt the heat spike—like her body approved of the choice.

Her room dimmed as the air shimmered with low, supernatural heat. The violet in her eyes returned, brighter now. Hungry.

She stood up, pacing, hands running through her hair, teeth biting down on her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood.

Her phone buzzed.

She looked down.

[Theseus] …You okay?

She rolled her eyes, scowling.

[jihyo] No. I’m on fire. And you’re the only one who knows how to put it out.

Three dots blinked. Then stopped.

Then blinked again.

Finally:

[Theseus] On my way. Don’t combust without me.

She exhaled slowly, dropping the phone to the bed.

The flames around her body dimmed. Not gone. Not cooled. Just… waiting.

Waiting for him.

Fifteen minutes after she’d summoned him, Theseus stood at Jihyo’s door—sweat already beading on his brow.

The moment he stepped inside, it hit him: heat. Dense. Radiant. Almost alive. The air shimmered with it, thick and charged, like a furnace wrapped in silk. His breath caught in his throat. It wasn’t just hot—it was otherworldly.

The closer he got to her bedroom, the stronger it grew. His steps slowed. He felt it in his bones—something ancient and wild pulsing behind that door.

He pushed it open.

And froze.

Jihyo was waiting, perched at the edge of her bed like a queen on a pyre. Indigo and rose-gold flames crackled in a perfect circle around the mattress, casting dancing shadows across her bare shoulders and glowing skin. Her demon marks shimmered across her body in slow, hypnotic patterns—alive and moving. Her irises were pure violet, radiant and alien. Her pupils blown wide, devouring him.

She smiled like sin wrapped in silk.

“My slayer arrives… right on time,” she purred.

Theseus felt his pulse spike. Lust. Awe. A very real sense of danger. This wasn’t the Jihyo from the spa, or even the one from last night. This was her unbound.

She rose with slow, deliberate grace. Her hips swayed. Her feet left trails of flame on the floor—blazing pink and violet fire that burned nothing, only sizzled with promise. The air warped behind her.

He barely noticed her hand on his chest until she stopped, eyes narrowing.

“I didn’t appreciate your little joke today,” she said, voice low and teasing—but with a warning edge.

Theseus blinked. “Joke?”

She pouted slightly, then said, “I am your bias. Not Momo.”

Ah.

He sighed, finally catching up. “It was just a tease—”

“Hmm,” Jihyo hummed, tilting her head. “You still need to be punished.”

Before he could speak, she grabbed him by the collar and pulled him into a deep, greedy kiss. Her lips crashed against his like a storm. Her fingers raked down his sides, tugging him closer. Flames flared around them, rising with every second.

Then, without warning, she pushed him backward onto the bed.

The fire-ring parted just enough to let him fall.

She climbed over him, eyes gleaming with hunger and heat, hair cascading around her shoulders like shadow and wildfire.

“You’re mine tonight,” she growled, her voice layered—human and demonic in harmony—as the flames pulsed around them, sealing them in.

And the bed didn’t burn.

But everything else would.

Jihyo’s lips crashed into Theseus’s again, deeper this time, hungrier. Her weight pressed into him as her hands explored, not with hesitation, but with ownership. Each kiss melted into the next, and with every second, the air grew thicker—not just from heat, but from something ancient uncoiling inside her. She rapaciously undressed herself while demanding Theseus remove his clothes.

The flames circling the bed flared outward in rhythm with her breath—no longer sharp and wild, but warm and worshipful, like they now danced for her.

Theseus barely noticed the shift at first—he was too wrapped in her mouth, in her scent, in the way her body moved against his like music only they could hear. But then he felt it.

The pulse.

A power blooming beneath her skin.

Her back arched above him, and her body trembled—not with fear, but with liberation. As if something she’d locked away her whole life had finally been set loose. Her moans carried a new harmony—layered, resonant, almost songlike. Her marks blazed to life in full, curling across her shoulders, ribs, thighs in glowing violet calligraphy. Her eyes shone brighter, not just violet now, but flecked with molten gold. She stared down at him before mounting him. Her body claiming what was rightfully hers.

With possessive violet eyes Jihyo stared at Theseus. Her gaze was both vulnerable and sultry

“Jihyo,” Theseus whispered, breathless, hands on her waist. “You’re…”

“Free,” she said, her voice a soft echo, like it came from both her and some great fire behind her. She leaned down, forehead against his. “With you… I don’t have to hide. I don’t have to hold it back.”

The flames that had roared earlier now kissed the air gently, like firelight at a temple. They caressed Theseus’s skin, not to scorch—but to bless. No pain. Just heat. Desire. Intimacy.

She kissed him again—slower this time. Her tongue traced his lip, her fingers tangling in his hair. When she pulled back, her irises were burning stars.

“I’ve spent so long pretending I was normal,” she said, voice trembling with truth. “Even with Chaeyoung. Even with Jeongyeon. But this part of me… it’s always been waiting. And now—now I don’t want to hide.”

“You don’t have to,” Theseus murmured, his voice low but firm. “Not from me.”

A breath caught in her throat.

Then she kissed him again, and this time it was all of her—woman and demon, softness and fire, fury and tenderness. She rode him with reverence and hunger, not as a demon out of control—but as a goddess claiming her offering.

And all the while, the flames curled around them like a veil.

A sanctuary.

Where no one else existed but the two of them, and the truth they no longer needed to deny. After an hour the heat within melted her desire into pure lust. She got on all fours and presented her swollen sopping pussy to Theseus.

“Fucking take it. Fuck me like you mean it!”

Theseus relaxed then plunged deep inside of her pussy. Jihyo moaned as he pulled out about halfway before thrusting back into her hard and deep.

“Fuck!” Jihyo groaned as Theseus continued his assault on her body. He put his left hand on her left hip and his right on her right shoulder to steady himself before sending another deep powerful thrust. Jihyo clawed at the sheets as Theseus railed her. Her flames rising and falling with each thrust until she came. Her peak was fierce and fiery as you’d imagine.

Her pussy locked around Theseus cock with an almost death like grip. Jihyo moaned and said, “fucking cum! Cum right now! I need it,” she yelled/growled.

Theseus ever the people pleaser complied. He painted her womb white as he spilled inside of her Jihyo purred as her flames died down. She was satiated for now.

The couple passed out shortly after exhausted by the endeavor.

Sunlight filtered through the curtains of Jihyo’s bedroom, casting a soft golden hue over the room. The flames were gone now, replaced by the smell of warm skin and the weight of silence between breaths.

Theseus lay back on the bed, one arm tucked beneath his head, the other gently resting on Jihyo’s bare back as she drew idle shapes on his chest with her fingers. The heat between them had cooled into something gentler—an intimacy no less intense, but now quieter.

“You sleep okay?” he asked, voice still rough with sleep.

Jihyo nodded but didn’t lift her head. “Better than I have in weeks.”

A pause.

Then, softer, “Can I ask you something?”

Theseus shifted slightly. “Course.”

Jihyo inhaled. “Do you ever… feel like the weight of everything caught up to you too fast? Like we started hunting so early, and now everyone looks at us like we’re these untouchable veterans, but I don’t know. Sometimes I see my friends—Chaeyoung, Nayeon, even Mina—catching up and doing amazing, and I just… wonder if I got here too early. If I missed something.”

Her voice broke a little at the end, and she turned her face slightly, ashamed.

Theseus didn’t speak immediately. He lifted his hand and brushed her hair away from her cheek, then tilted her chin up so their eyes met.

“Maybe they’re great now,” he said gently, “because of you. Maybe your leadership gave them the space to grow without burning out.”

Jihyo’s eyes shimmered.

And before she could stop herself, she threw her arms around his torso and buried her face in his neck. “You jerk,” she mumbled, voice thick with tears. “That’s—too sweet…”

He held her, rubbing small circles into her back. “You’re allowed to feel it, Jihyo. You don’t have to carry all of it alone anymore.”

They stayed like that for a while, her clinging to him, his arms wrapped securely around her, until she sniffled and leaned back with a small smile.

“When did you start hunting?” she asked, wiping her eyes.

He smirked. “Started training when I was ten.”

Her eyes widened. “Ten? That’s when I started too. Wait—how old are you?”

“Twenty-seven,” he said casually.

Jihyo blinked.

She smacked his chest with mock offense. “Ya! That makes me your noona! I started a year before you!”

He chuckled. “Guess I’m at your mercy then.”

“You already were,” she teased, but her smile turned a little shy, a little soft. “You’re seriously amazing though… and I’m glad I’m not the only one who started young.”

Theseus tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “We’re all a little scarred, Jihyo. But you? You turned yours into strength. Don’t ever doubt that.”

Jihyo leaned in and kissed him—not passionately this time, but deeply, tenderly.

“I won’t,” she said. “Not with you around.”

After that, Jihyo smiled and got up, practically prancing across the room with a light bounce in her step. She was radiant, humming to herself as she picked up a hair tie and tossed her hair into a loose ponytail.

Theseus followed a few seconds later, still groggy and dragging his feet like someone who hadn’t fully returned to the waking world. He squinted at the sunlight streaming in from the window.

“So,” Jihyo called over her shoulder, “when’s your show again?”

“Tomorrow night,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

“Perfect,” she replied breezily. “I’m bringing Momo with me.”

“Of course you are,” he chuckled.

She nodded to herself, then added more casually, “When do you leave Korea?”

“The day after the show.”

“Good.” Jihyo turned, grinning from ear to ear. “Then we’ve got plenty of time to talk about you moving in with me!”

Theseus blinked. “What makes you think I want to move in with you?”

Jihyo smirked and gave him a slow, teasing look. “Because you’re mine now. And besides, I’ve still got things to finish here. But after that, we can live wherever we want.”

“Anywhere but Australia,” Theseus muttered.

Jihyo raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

“I’ve seen the animals there. Giant spiders. 2 out of the three deadliest Snakes. Kangaroos that box. No thanks.”

Jihyo burst out laughing. “Mr. Slayer is scared of Aussie wildlife? Wow. Okay then—no Australia, you big baby.”

“Cool,” Theseus said, smirking. But his expression softened a little as he added, “Are you sure you want me though? I’m a relentless playboy. A flirt. Kind of a menace, honestly.”

Jihyo laughed—a full, delighted sound that filled the room. “I’ve seen your interviews. You’re a sweetheart. All that music, all the demon-slaying, and you’re still basically a textbook teddy bear boyfriend.”

Theseus squinted at her, defensive. “Just because I believe girls I like should be treated right doesn’t mean I’m a teddy bear.”

“Oh, it definitely does,” she teased, stepping in and wrapping her arms around him in a warm, tight hug. “And don’t worry—I like my plushy, soft, protective teddy bear boyfriend.”

Theseus let out a groan, but he melted into the hug anyway, arms sliding around her waist.

“Fine,” he muttered against her shoulder. “But I draw the line at matching pajamas.”

Jihyo grinned. “We’ll see.”

They lounged together for a while, basking in the morning calm before Theseus—despite his protests—got up to cook.

Jihyo watched from the counter, chin in hand, grinning like a cat who got the cream. “You really gonna cook for me right now? Just leaning into the teddy bear boyfriend role, huh?”

“Do you want to eat or not?” Theseus grumbled, cracking eggs with practiced ease.

“I mean, I’ll eat,” she said sweetly, “but I reserve the right to tease you relentlessly while you do it.”

And she did—commenting on everything from the way he sliced fruit to how he concentrated when flipping the pastries. But the moment she took the first bite, everything changed.

Jihyo let out a muffled squeal as she chewed, eyes going wide in delight. “Mmmf—wait. This is really good.”

Theseus raised an eyebrow. “Did you just make a sound that wasn’t a laugh or a command?”

She swallowed, eyes sparkling. “Wow. I didn’t know your face could do anything besides scowl when food’s involved.”

“Keep talking and I’ll make your eggs disappear.”

Jihyo laughed. “No no no—praise first. The pastry’s a little sweet, but the rest? Perfect.”

Theseus smirked as he poured himself some tea. “Glad I could impress Her Highness.”

Before she could reply, a sudden knock echoed through the apartment. Theseus looked toward the door, frowning.

“Expecting someone?” he asked.

“Nope,” Jihyo said, still chewing.

Theseus walked over cautiously, peered through the peephole—then blinked.

He turned back to her, deadpan. “Uh, Yo-yo? Not to alarm you or anything, but there’s a giant blue tiger at your door.”

Jihyo’s brow lifted. “Big orange eyes? Slightly crossed? Looks like it’s trying to intimidate the door frame?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

Jihyo smiled brightly. “Oh, that’s Rumi. And her boys. You can let them in, Teddy.”

Theseus narrowed his eyes. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

He sighed, scowling as he opened the door.

Standing there was the massive blue tiger, staring at him with mild confusion—and behind it, a tall woman with dark red hair and a relaxed but unmistakably commanding presence.

Rumi, the leader of Huntrix, gave him a once-over and smiled coolly. “Morning. Smells good in here.”

She stepped in like she owned the place.

Theseus shut the door behind her, muttering, “Why does everyone in this country just waltz in like they pay rent…”

Jihyo, already halfway through her breakfast, grinned. “Because they’re family, Teddy.”

Rumi strode in with feline grace, her boots making almost no sound despite the weight of her presence. The blue tiger—twice the size of a lion and still somehow not threatening but endearing—slunk in behind her and promptly curled up by the window like it owned the place. a small bird perched above it's head with a tiny hat.

Jihyo didn’t flinch. She just took another bite of her breakfast and raised her brows. “To what do I owe the royal visit?”

Rumi smirked. “Heard some interesting things through the grapevine. Something about Twice's leader summoning a male slayer through Instagram like a thirsty demon in heat.”

Theseus, halfway through pouring himself more tea, choked.

Jihyo gave Rumi a withering glare. “Please tell me you didn’t get that from Chaeyoung.”

“Jeongyeon, actually,” Rumi said, sinking gracefully onto the arm of the couch. “Chaeyoung just screamed into a pillow when she found out.”

“I told them I had backup from an American hunter,” Jihyo muttered, stabbing a slice of fruit with her fork.

Rumi’s eyes flicked over to Theseus, who stood off to the side with quiet wariness—shirt half-untucked, hair still sleep-mussed. She studied him the way a queen studies a knight who might one day marry her general. Or try to kill her.

“So you’re the Slayer,” she said casually, swirling the words like wine in her mouth. “Not bad looking. Taller than I thought.”

Theseus blinked. “Thanks… I think ?”

Jihyo leaned toward Rumi. “Please don’t interrogate him.”

“I would never,” Rumi said with a grin. Then to Theseus, “But if I were going to, I’d probably ask what your intentions are with our dear Jihyo. Seeing as she’s glowing and floating around her apartment like she’s been possessed.”

Jihyo groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Unnie, please.”

Theseus, to his credit, didn’t flinch. He met Rumi’s gaze head-on. “I don’t have an agenda. But I respect her strength. She is a bit…more than I expected.”

Rumi gave a thoughtful nod, clearly enjoying herself. “That’s fair. And you’re not too much of a coward—considering you opened the door for a tiger with crossed eyes.”

“I was told to,” Theseus said dryly, shooting Jihyo a glance.

“She does have that effect,” Rumi mused.

Jihyo finally sat up straighter and cleared her throat. “Okay. You’ve sized him up, you’ve teased me, you’ve let your giant cat take over the sunniest part of my apartment. Is there anything important you came here for?”

Rumi shrugged. “Just wanted to see you with my own eyes. You’ve been different lately.”

Jihyo raised an eyebrow. “Different how?”

Rumi gave a small, real smile. “Happier. more fiery, but also sweeter, i don't know. Softer I guess. Like you finally put the armor down.”

Jihyo blinked. That hit harder than she expected.

Rumi stood and ruffled Jihyo’s hair as she walked by. “I like it. Don’t lose your edge—but don’t be afraid to let someone hold your blade for a while either.”

Theseus laughed before saying, "Funny thing is I don't really do swords. I more of a mace/ club guy."

Rumi couldn't have rolled her eyes harder.

She paused at the door, then glanced back at Theseus. “You hurt her, I won’t send the tiger. I’ll come myself.”

“Fair,” Theseus said without hesitation.

Rumi gave a wink. “Smart boy.”

She snapped her fingers once, and the tiger heaved itself up, stretched luxuriously, and padded after her with a lazy swish of its tail. It approached Theseus with a cautious gaze before butting itself into his body. Smiling and purring as Theseus pet him before the giant cat left with Rumi by phasing through the door

As the door closed behind them, Theseus exhaled slowly. “Is it always like that with her?”

Jihyo smirked. “She’s actually being nice today.”

Theseus blinked. “That was nice?”

Jihyo chuckled, got up from her chair, and draped her arms around his shoulders. “Relax, Teddy. You passed.”

He glanced at the door, then at her. “Barely.”

“But you did,” she said, planting a kiss on his cheek. “And that’s all that matters.”

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