#(because ive been finally reading the event)

[reminiscingthesea]

Part three of yandere stalker Phainon x nerdy reader !!

A/N- i don’t know how many times I’m gonna say this, but ty guys sm for all the support and love ive been receiving under comments!! I really enjoy reading them!!

Part 1 and part 2!:

Warning- Contains smut, reader is inexperienced, insecure thoughts, foul language, manhandling, AFAB reader

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It had been some time since that incident, and it was safe to say, you were truly shaken to your core. Luckily, your boyfriend best friend Phainon was here to help keep yourself safe during such difficult times. He walked with you to your lectures, even if it meant being late to his, he accompanied you whenever you went out, especially at later hours, he messaged you everyday, asking things like how you were, what you ate, if he needed to come over, if you needed a cry or a laugh. The two of you spent hours on the phone, too. Going to sleep on call and waking up to burning hot phones and a time reader that read- “7:46:50”- He was truly too good for you, and it made you doubt yourself. Did he truly like you? Was he still giving mixed signals? Was he doing this out of the kindness of his heart, or because he felt as though he had a duty to as your best friend?

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“.. Phainon, you’re too good to me- taking me out to dinner at such an expensive restaurant and not letting me pay you back? I really don’t deserve this, your kindness..” You spoke timidly, keeping your eyes down on your plate of delicious, well seasoned food- which was lobster Thermidor with a side of cute, buttery bread buns that were oh-so soft. You felt a small rush of heat dust onto the skin of your cheeks as Phainon gently interlocked his hand with yours from the other end of the table, leaning his head down to get a glimpse of your face, a small, loving smile gracing his lips.

“C’mon, don’t say that.. we’ve grown so close together over these past few months, and it’s nearly the end of the semester, you know I like treating you to nice places for dinner.” He spoke softly, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb, before continuing. “I like treating my closest to dinner, and you’re very close to me, [Name]. Never forget that.”

You looked at him with slightly widened eyes now, taking in his deep words. Was this his way of confessing his love for you? No, it couldn’t be. Phainon treats all of his friends to lunch and dinner, but not normally at a price like this..

“I don’t know what to say, Phainon.. I’m so, so grateful to you, you’ve helped me so much. But please listen to me. Don’t waste your time on someone like me. You deserve someone better, prettier, outgoing- I just make things awkward between us since I’m not as chatty with you, I..” Sighing shakily, you looked at him with tears welling in your eyes. “Just please, tell me how I could ever repay you.. you’ve saved my life countless of times, I’m truly indebted to you..”

Phainon looked back at you with an equally as sad look, he looked like a kicked puppy who was left in the rain by its owner.

“I understand that such traumatic events will alter your view on your worth, make you feel bad about yourself. But [Name], when I tell you that you truly mean so much to me, I mean it. You don’t have to believe me right now, but I’ll wait. Albeit, sadly. But as long as it takes, I’ll wait.” How he wanted to confess to you right then and there on the spot, but he himself had his own doubts that he just couldn’t wrap his head around as to why he had them.. he had removed every obstacle in his way- your bullies, Mydei, danger- and had your trust and respect for him. So why now was he so hesitant? Was all of this for nothing? Was he worried you’d reject him due to your beliefs on how he’s too good for you?

Even then though, he had a small thought at the back of his head that told him ‘Don’t confess, and you’ll only hurt her more.’

You could only nod and carry on with the rest of your dinner, a somber, dejected look on your face, and he copied too. The rest of your dinner was awkward to say the least. Neither of you looked each other in the eyes, only sneaking quick glances when the other wasn’t looking, nor did the two of you talk, until the bill came- to which Phainon paid the whole sum of 10,500 credits, as you gave him a pouty look from across the table.

As the two of you walked out and begun making your ways back to campus, you clutched his wrist delicately.

“Phainon. I promise to pay you back, okay? Just don’t reject it, please..”

To this, Phainon could only laugh quietly and turn to face you fully. ‘You could pay me back with your love’ he thought to himself as he began speaking.

“Oh, fine. Since you’re so stubborn and such a sweetheart, I’ll let you pay me back. But! At a discounted price of 50% off. I don’t make the rules.”

You sputtered slightly and shook him, shaking your head.

“50%?! I can’t pay you back only 50% of the money you spent on me today!” You exclaimed, a crazed expression on your face as you tried to get him to change his price to a higher one.

“Oh? 50% isn’t a good enough percentage? Oh fine, since you’re such a good negotiator, I’ll let you pay me a maximum of 25%! A minimum of 0%, is allowed though.” He teased lightly, winking and grinning as he saw your face morph into a more frustrated one.

Suddenly, you shoved a bunch of credits to his chest and grabbed his hands to clutch them

“Look. I wanna do something nice for you to pay you back. I won’t let you win this either- so just take the credits and this’ll all be over.” You concluded confidently, as the pair of you reached your campus’ entrance and walked right in. You had a dead-set, stubborn look on your face as you walked back to your dorm, and Phainon could only laugh in adoration as he stuffed the credits into his wallet.

“Oh alright fine! You win! I’ll stop ruffling your feathers and let you pay me back tenfold. But just know, I’m gonna be spending even more money on you next time! And ah-ah-ah! Don’t even think about taking it as an opportunity to pay me back even more, I won’t let it happen!” He declared loudly in the otherwise empty hallway besides the two of you standing outside your dorm room. ‘He’s so perfect..’ you pondered to yourself quietly, before flashing him a small, sweet smile. But there was a hint of sadness behind it, and Phainon saw.

But before Phainon could talk to you further, you quickly said your goodbyes and waved him off, before disappearing into your dorm room.

Phainon stood there, an unreadable look on his face as he stared at the now closed door in front of him. How badly he wanted to break that door down and make you love him just as he loved you. But he simply, couldn’t bring himself to do so.

How pathetic of him.

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Sitting at his desk, he opened his computer screen to monitor your activities through the camera in your room. It was something he hadn’t done as often as before, considering how much closer the two of you became over these last few weeks. Though, he made a mental note to sneak in another camera from a different part of your room, just for better… angles. The mirror might be a good option!

However, the sight that absolutely blessed his dirty little eyes of faux purity, was truly a sight to behold.

It was you, on your bed, with nothing but a shirt on. Your panties were long discarded on the floor, and so too was your bra, assuming it was the soft blue pair of underwear laying on the floor just a few meters from his bed.

Immediately, blood rushed to his cock as he pulled it out from his shorts, quickly rubbing his hand up and down over its generous length, his thumb gently teasing his tip, the same way he gently rolled it against the back of your hand before. His mouth agape, eyes lidded as he continued watching the footage reverently.

But what got him really going, was when you brought two fingers to your pussy, which he obviously couldn’t see considering the camera’s placement on your headboard behind your bed. But it had an elevated view, so he saw how the two fingers gently eased their way into your cunt slowly, whilst your thumb teased at your clit.

“F-fuck..! fuck, so- mmghh…” You moaned softly, rocking your hips to no specific beat, as your finger on your bud worked harder to provide more stimulation. But after a few moments, your loving moans turned into whines and whimpers of frustration and sadness. Phainon, who was edging himself to hear your moans, heard this change, causing a pout to adorn his gracious face.

“Oh, [Name].. you must be having so much trouble trying to please yourself… if only I was th-“

“If only you were here, Phainon… you’d make me feel so good….”

Oh.

oh.

To this, Phainon immediately stood up from his desk, eyes widening and face flushing. The shock was enough to send him over the edge, cum spewing onto the table in front of him. He bent over the table, his head tilted upwards to look at his computer’s screen as you continued your strings of moans of pleasure, but also sadness. He began rubbing his cock, now hot, sticky, and even harder, much faster now, your moans and his creating a beautiful symphony.

Finishing with a gasp, he buried his face in his arms, breathing heavily. However, you were still touching yourself, moaning weakly, trying to reach your peak of pleasure like the guy behind the camera, but nothing.

“..Poor [Name].. unable to please herself without my guidance?..” He whispered softly to himself, slowly getting up to his full height and looking down at the computer screen of you pathetically trying to please yourself, whilst also murmuring degrading comments about yourself in the process.

“Nobody gets to hurt what I love. Not even yourself.. I will show you my love for you, [Name].. I’ve been stupid enough to deprive you of it for so long…” His fingers gently caressed your form on his computer screen, a hint of sadness behind them.

He knew what he had to do. He had to show you his soaring love for you, a love that knew know bounds, a love that he starved of you by his own insecurities. He hurt you, and he was going to change that.

He began cleaning his desk.

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You sobbed pathetically into your pillow, you couldn’t do it. God, you were so bad at everything, even at pleasing your own cunt. You couldn’t even do it yourself, you needed someone- someone who you probably doesn’t even like you-. Feeling the wetness of your cunt beneath your ass now, you let out a shaky sigh, on the verge of bursting into even louder cries of frustration and disappointment.

Amidst your tantrum, you heard loud, firm knocks on your dorm room’s door. Scrambling to get your clothes back on, you messily made it to the door, not caring about your appearance besides having some clothes on. Your hair was a mess, your face was flushed and wet with tears, your lips and legs quivering as you opened the door to see Phainon.

“P-Phainon- I’m sorry I don’t look good-“

“Let me in, [Name]. We need to talk.”

He pushed himself past you as you closed the door, before his hand met your wrist and pulled you close to him, pinning you against the wall near a table. Your vision became blurry as your eyes darted across the room in shock. Phainon’s hand cupped your face, turning it to face him fully as he spoke.

“I’ve held this for too long. [Name], I love you. I’ve loved you this entire time. And I know you love me too, you were just too scared to say it. Ever since… ever since we met, I’ve always thought about you, the things we’d do together as a couple. Kisses, romantic dates, cute things.. I need you. And you need me too. You’re perfect for me, and I’m perfect for you.” His voice was quiet and husky as he spoke, his face so close to yours, your lips almost touching his as he spoke. Your eyes widened, tears brimming in them once more, your mouth agape.

“Ph..Phainon.. I love you- I love you so much- you don’t know how happy I am to hear this I-“ Without thinking, you crashed your lips against his, capturing him in a soft kiss. You’ve never kissed anyone before, but this felt right, as he reciprocated just as fervently. Phainon then deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding into your mouth as he pinned you harder against the wall, his knee coming up between your legs, his hand tangling into your hair.

You could only moan softly in response as you grinded needily, helplessly, against his knee, seeking the pleasure you’ve been so starved of all this time. With a few deep gasps of air from you and him, his mouth took refuge on your neck, his head burying in the crook of it as he mouth began sucking and leaving large love marks on the soft skin.

“Gonna show you my love for you, yeah? Gonna fuck it into you for being such a good girl and waiting all this time for me..” He picked you up off the floor, your arms wrapping around his neck, as your legs wrapped around his waist, before carrying you back to your room.

He laid you down on your bed carefully, before peeling your clothes off, one by one. His touch was worshipping, reverent, his eyes never leaving yours. He smiled softly to himself as he took your pants off, breaking his gaze with yours as he glanced at your panties, the same light blue ones that were discarded on the ground just a few minutes ago.

As he peeled off your panties, revealing your glistening cunt to him, he threw it aside, along with the rest of your discarded clothes on the floor besides the bed. He took his shirt off, making way for his muscular, defined torso and body. You swore you saw stars in that moment, heat creeping up onto your face as your hand unconsciously lifted up to caress the firm skin there. Phainon chuckled, breaking you out of your stupor.

“Like the view?” He teased playfully, a smug, but loving grin on his face as your eyes met with his once more. He lightly took your hand and interlocked it with his, before coming back down on you and kissing you softly, his hair tickling your cheeks as he did so. Whilst you were so caught up with the kiss, you didn’t catch his free hand running up your thigh, creeping near towards your ever growing, wet pussy, teasing the sensitive flesh around it.

You squirmed as his toned, but slim fingers began teasing the entrance of your cunt’s hole, almost rimming it with the pad of his fingers, before gently siding them in.

“Phainon!~” You gasped sweetly, holding onto his hand tighter as his fingers worked their magic within the gummy walls of your hole. Your hips jerked slightly as his thumb rubbed the ever-so sensitive bud of your clit in circular motions. He smirked to himself as he felt your walls tighten so nicely around his fingers, it almost made him cum again, as he thought of how much tighter you’d wrap yourself around his needy, greedy cock later on. But he had to prepare you first. After all, what’s love without passion and care?

His fingers then began increasing the speed of their thrusts, curling up gorgeously within you, hitting such sweet spots, making you squirm and whimper in pure pleasure. Tears began flooding the shape of your eyes once more, moans being robbed from your throat as his thumb worked even quicker ministrations against your clit. The knot deep within you grew tighter, so so tight, about to snap- until his fingers curled deeply and hitting a sensitive spot in you- before you moaned his name loudly- squirting and coming undone right then and there, all over his hand.

You saw white for a few moments, your gaze glassy as you came back to reality through Phainon’s hand gently stroking your arm.

“Look at you.. so needy and desperate for me.. you squirt like a whore, but you seem inexperienced” He mused to himself, basking in how your expression changed from pure ecstasy to embarrassment and slight shame.

“I am inexperienced, so what? You think someone like me’s gotten game before..?” You replied hastily, a slight bite behind your tone as you spoke, to which, Phainon only smiled apologetically.

“I’m not shaming you, I’m more than honoured to be your first. I’ll never let you forget this.”

He pulled his fingers out, which were now coated in your secretions and slick, before licking them clean, ravishing the taste. Then, he pressed a chaste kiss against your cheeks and lips, as his head began pressing sweet kisses along your collarbones, going down, down, down, until his face was met with your sopping, heavenly pussy. He’s always wanted to taste you like this. Make you squirm in delight and pleasure as his tongue would work wonders against the skin of your beautiful cunt.

He didn’t wait for a response as he dived right in, his warm tongue coming out and rolling against your clit, making you jerk your hips up again in delight and satisfaction. He roughly held them down with his hands on each bone, before lifting your legs up over his shoulders for better access. He revelled in the way your thighs tightened around his neck, closing in as his tongue inserted itself into your dripping pussy’s hole, making quiet slurping noises against the flesh, bringing his hand back to stimulate your poor clit again. Your movements and squirms only made him eat you out quicker, more devoutly, aiming to please you and only you as you drew closer to falling over the edge.

“P-phainon- Phainon! I-I can fucking feel it I- please..” He could tell you were coming closer to the edge once more, and the ministrations of his tongue and fingers only quickened in response. Your hand gripped onto his pearly white locks tightly as you grew even closer to cloud nine. And then, with a sharp jerk of your hips against his head, you came all over his mouth with a loud cry, throwing your head back in delicious pleasure, your hips grinding against him as his tongue obediently lapped against your pussy, taking in all of your smooth, rich, sweet cum, coating his lips like lip gloss. He hesitantly pulled away from the comfort and warmth of your pussy and legs, carefully setting them back down on the bed, caging him in, his hand caressing the soft skin of your trembling thighs.

“You taste amazing.. you need a taste of yourself.” He whispered against your ear now, bringing his head up and kissing you again, your essence invading your tastebuds; a foreign taste.

“Phainon, wanna make you feel good too..” You spoke sweetly, getting up and pushing Phainon down into a sitting position. He moved to a side of your bed, as you got off and got onto your knees, beginning to remove his pants hastily.

“Someone’s desperate” He teased again, spreading his legs for your better access as you pulled his pants down, now staring at the giant bulge protruding through his boxers. You then pulled them down, before being met with his girthy, thick, big cock, which bobbed against his abs. In a nervous daze, you grabbed it with you hand softly, kissing the angry red tip that leaked sweet precum all over it.

“It’s really big..” You whimpered, slowly stroking his length, tightening your hand around it for more pleasure. Phainon laughed faintly, grabbing onto your hair, his grip tightening slightly as you jerked him off faster, his head lolling back a little.

“Gonna make you feel good too..” You promised, before slowly taking in his whole dick in your mouth, your cheeks puffing out from his great size, as it filled up your throat. With soft gags and moans, you began sucking him off, tightening your mouth and throat around him and bobbing your head up and down.

To this, Phainon moaned your name loudly, throwing his head back as he pushed his length further down your throat, pushing your head deeper, his grip on your hair becoming even stronger. Just as he dreamed, you looked up at him with those beautiful, teary eyes of yours as you’d suck him off, mouth full of him, your sounds of struggle and gags playing a part in sending him over the edge.

“Fuck.. you suck cock like a whore too, you’re so- fuck, ah~.. good at this, aren’t you? I’ll p-pay you back… tenfold-“ He uttered loudly as he was nearing his peak of pleasure. Feeling his cock pulsate in your throat, you tried sucking him off faster, until his thick, warm, gooey cum filled your mouth, to which you immediately gagged at, taking his cock out your mouth and gagging slightly. The taste wasn’t something you were used to, of course not. So as you coughed up the cum, Phainon lifted you up off your legs and onto his lap, rubbing your back as you coughed up.

“Shh.. you sucked me off so fucking good. Wanted to make me feel all good too? What a sweetheart, hm?.. You want my cock to fuck your sensitive, tight pussy? Yeah?” He continued praising you as he moved the two of you back to the head of the bed. He was now sitting beneath you as your hands met with the headboard above your bed, your face leaning right next to the camera there.

But he wasn’t worried about that right now, as your legs caged him by the his sides next to his hips, your pussy just above his cock.

“P-Phainon.. what if it doesn’t fit?” You asked worriedly, now taking in his full length with your eyes as you looked down at him and his cock, your eyes meeting his face, which had a look of love and affection painted onto it.

“You’ll be fine, you’ll take me in just good, y’hear?”

With enough reassurance, Phainon held your hips as you slowly, carefully, aligned your cunt’s entrance with the head of his cock, and gently lowered yourself onto it. You cried out as he stretched you out, feeling his whole size fill you up within a matter of seconds. And once you had fully engulfed his cock, you bottomed out, crying in pleasure, almost about to cum just from the feeling of his cock inside you.

“See, taking me like a champ. Now, start riding me, just move your hips like that- yes, fuck.. you’re so good…”

You rocked your hips, moving up and down on his cock, pants of pleasure coming out of your mouths, your own eyes rolling back at the pleasure as you rode him. You sped up your riding to let him cum quickly, still eagerly wanting to please him just as he did with you before. As he moaned in pleasure and held your hips with a bruising grip, he looked up at you with pure reverence and admiration in his eyes. The way your eyes rolled back, or closed in pleasure and determination, the way your hair fell over your face, the way you bit your lip in pleasure, trying to hold back your moans.

But he could see you were growing restless and tired as you bounced and rode him quickly, trying to make him feel good.

“Phai..non.. I’m so tired- I’m sorry- couldn’t make you feel good..” You sobbed pathetically, your voice soft as you sniffled in familiar frustration, the ache in your thighs and hips growing less dull and quiet, and more pronounced and intense.

At this Phainon shushed you gently, coaxing you to move a bit and change your position, so that you weren’t hunched over the headboard, and instead, sitting over him, cock stilled within you. He then, without a word, lifted you effortlessly by your hips, as if taking you off his cock, before slamming you right back down onto it, his tip now hitting the spongey sweet spot within you. You threw your head back in shock and surprise, a cry of pleasure ripping from your throat as tears ran down your cheeks, your mouth agape. But he wasn’t done, as he now kept moving you up and down manually on his cock, feeling his high coming back, as well as yours with how you tightened around him in the cuddling embrace of your slick, warm, gummy walls. Even louder moans and cries sounded from you, all the more desperate and pleasing as you both drew closer. His groans mixed with your cries like a hymn sung by the divine angels above.

Then, with a final upwards thrust of his hips into you, you collapsed over him, both of you cumming onto one another. He felt your warm cum coat his cock, as his own thick seed painted your walls comfortably. Panting against his chest, you couldn’t help but grind weakly against him in overstimulation and tire, moaning tiredly.

Phainon breathed out a sigh of relief and pleasure, before lifting your head up to look up at him.

“We’re not.. we’re not done yet. You’re gonna feel every last bit of my love for you, [Name].”

With that, he pulled out and flipped you over onto your back, so that you were beneath him once more. He grabbed your limp feet and put them over his shoulders as he inserted his dick into you once more, eliciting a loud moan from you in response. He interlocked his hands with yours as he fucked you like this, taking pure delight and pleasure in the way your face contorted into a bonny look of delectable bliss. Your tongue lolled out as your eyes rolled back yet again, sweet, pornographic moans ringing out from deep within your throat as he fucked you hard and fast. You truly could feel the love behind his hard thrusts as he hit you in all the right spots with his greedy, monstrous cock, which would elicit even louder moans from you. You cried out in even more overstimulating pleasure as you came again, shattering into pieces as he placed a soft kiss against your one of your ankles next to his head on his shoulder, making you squeeze around him like a glove.

And then, just as he was about to cum in you, he pulled out and spew his release all over your tits with a laugh, painting your pretty breasts with his load.

“Oh dear.. I’ve made such a mess, haven’t I? I’m so clumsy, let me clean it up for you..” He voiced, his tone mocking and playful as he leaned down and stuck his pink tongue out once more, before licking and sucking one of your nipples clean from his cum, fondling and tweaking the other with his other hand.

“A-ah!~ Haah..~ Phai- fuck!… Phainon please-!~” You sobbed out, unable to take even more pleasure and satisfaction as he sucked on your sensitive nipple, pulling it out with a satisfying ‘pop!’, creating a more reddish colour to its skin, before moving onto your other tit, licking it clean of his cum as you whined his name arousing-ly. It was all enough to make you cum again with an exhausted cry, your back arching upwards off the bed.

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty, [Name], my perfect girl.. love you so much, doll.. you tired now?..” He asked hotly against the shell of your ear again, peppering sweet kisses against the skin near it. Unable to speak properly, you simply nodded your head and wrapped your arms around him, pulling him down next to you on the bed, cuddling him and letting his warmth comfort you, as the smell of sweat and sex lingered in the air around you. But the two of you didn’t care at the moment, only holding each other, with Phainon spooning you and rubbing your sore legs.

After a while, you both came back to your senses from your dazes on cloud nine, looking at each other with love in your eyes.

“I love you, Phainon..”

You cupped his face in your hands, rubbing his cheeks and squishing them, making his lips pucker out. You kissed his silly looking lips, and Phainon could only smile in response.

“I love you too, [Name]. But right now, we have to clean ourselves up, we stink.” He joked lightly, his tone now taking up its more lighthearted and bright side. He giggled as you whined about being too tired and sore to move.

“Don’t worry, I’ll carry you, silly” He then picked you up delicately in a princess carry, taking you to your bathroom and setting you down on the edge of the bathtub, before turning the water on and filling it up with warm water. He then, with your permission, added in some of your bath soak- a sweet vanilla scent- and mixed it all in until the water turned all bubbly and pretty. Dipping you in first and following through, with a sigh of satisfaction at the warm water, he pulled you towards him and let the warm water soothe both of your aches and sore spots.

“Thank you..” You mumbled quietly, giggling as he started washing your hair for you with your bottle of shampoo, following suit with his own hair.

“You’re gonna smell like vanilla and strawberries once you get out of here, Phainon” You joked playfully, causing him to pinch your cheek softly

“I wouldn’t mind. At least I’d be able to have your scent all over me where ever I go”

Laughing quietly, you let him pamper you, massage the knots and kinks from your back and thighs as the two of you would wash each other. Each of you putting the other’s hair into a soft bun as the conditioner was added in.

“You look silly, Phainon” You giggled, seeing the tiny ball of sopping white hair sit atop his head due to him having shorter hair than yours.

“Only for you, my love” He responded, kissing the top of your head and tucking it into his chest as the two of you sat in the heat of the warm waters.

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After some time, Phainon got out to clean up the mess you two had made on your bed- to which you protested until he’d simply shut you up with a kiss and tease you about how cold it was outside the water. Not before long, he came back into the bathroom with a towel around his waist, and another in his hand. Picking you up, he patted you dry with the towel, with teasing, lingering touches in some areas, and wrapping the towel around your form, leading you to your now spotless, fresh smelling room.

“Sorry, I don’t have any clothes for you..” You spoke ashamedly as he helped you dress up into some lighter clothes now, to which he only responded by smiling slightly.

“I’ll be fine with wearing my other clothes, unless, you want me to sleep naked?” He now had a smug little grin on his face, but you knew his words held no actual lust behind them as his eyes were full of a familiar kindness and love.

“You know, I wouldn’t mind the view, but I don’t want you waking up with a fever in the morning.”

And with that, you were both cuddling in your now cleaned bed with new sheets and all. He had his sweatpants on from before, as well as his shirt, and you had your comfy pajamas on. He spooned you as he did before, tucking your head under his chin in the crook of his neck as you drifted off slowly to the feeling of his soft, pink lips peppering sweet kisses all over your face, his legs and arms tangled with yours.

“I love you, [Name]. I’m so glad everything worked out in the end..” He breathed out, before succumbing to the land of dreams himself, feeling the nighttime air of the open window gently making its way in and cooling down your room.

You were all his now, as he has always been yours from the start.

[nerdycheol]

Track Record || C.S.C

🏎️pairing: f1 racer!choi seungcheol x motorsport journalist! reader

🏎️genre: enemies-to-lovers, fluff, smut (protected sex, too much kissing) MDNI

🏎️wc: 12k

(a/n): glad to be part of @bella-feed 's and @sanaxo-o 's 100 follower event thankyouuu calli ( @hhaechansmoless), daisy (@flowerwonu ) and cel (@mylovesstuffs ) for beta-ing <33. im really sorry for delay in posting this:( this fic was inspired by anyone mv and and way to many carlos edits on my feed. even though this was beta read by 3 wonderful people, i still apologize if there are any mistakes in here:(( ive just started getting into f1 thanks to calli ;) so im just getting used to everything haha so people familiar with f1, overlook any inaccuracies <33 also quite poorly written smut jskjdsks

Let me know what you think—comments and reblogs mean the world! 💗

IF YOU AREN'T TAGGED IT'S BECAUSE THERE'S NO AGE INDICATOR IN YOUR PROFILE OR ARE UNDERAGE ____

The engines roared like a war cry, low and guttural and impossible to ignore.

You stood just beyond the garage’s shadow, notebook in hand, watching the blur of red and black cut through the curve of the track like a blade. The pit crew moved around you in practiced choreography—headsets, tools, nerves strung tight like violin strings. The summer heat pressed into your skin, clinging, relentless, and the scent of hot rubber and fuel settled in your lungs like memory.

You hadn’t been trackside in nearly a year.

Not since that article.

Your fingers tapped the edge of your notebook as you watched the car scream down the straightaway and finally slow into the pit lane. The tires hissed as they met concrete. Seungcheol’s car rolled to a stop just in front of the garage, perfectly aligned. Within seconds, the crew rushed in. The car was wheeled back smoothly, swallowed into the organized chaos of the team’s station.

Then the driver stepped out.

You didn’t need to see his face to know it was Choi Seungcheol.

He moved like someone who was always one second away from sprinting, every motion lean and charged with purpose. His helmet came off slowly, and he ran a gloved hand through his hair, the kind of move that would look cocky on anyone else—but on him, it seemed natural. Like arrogance was something he’d been born with. Worn into his skin.

He didn’t see you yet. Thank God.

You exhaled, forcing your shoulders to relax.

“Journalist from Velocity Weekly, right?” a voice beside you asked.

You turned. A crew assistant, barely older than a rookie, offered you a bottle of water and a tight-lipped smile. You nodded.

“Yeah. Just here to observe.”

“For now,” he muttered. “They didn’t tell him.”

You blinked. “Tell him what?”

“That you’re embedding for the season. He thinks he’s just getting a fluff piece.”

Your stomach dipped slightly. Of course they hadn’t told him. Of course the team thought it was better to deal with the fallout after.

Your article had shaken half the circuit and nearly ended his season. It hadn’t been personal—it was rather brutal. Honest. 

You could still remember the headline: Golden Boy or Time Bomb? The Truth Behind Choi Seungcheol’s Fall From Grace.

You hadn’t seen him since.

Not in person.

But now, here you were—assigned to shadow his team for the next three months. For better. Or for much, much worse.

A nearby cheer pulled your eyes back to the pit, just in time to see Seungcheol peel off his gloves and hand them to a technician. He was laughing, relaxed. A flash of that famous smile.

Until his gaze swept the garage.

And stopped. On you.

His smile faded.

The air between you crackled—not explosive, not yet. But heavy. Dense with unsaid things.

You didn’t move.

Neither did he.

And then, as if it meant nothing at all, Seungcheol turned away.

But his jaw was clenched and his hands balled up into fists.

You stood still, your pulse thrumming in your neck as Seungcheol walked away, not sparing you another glance. The weight of his dismissal pressed against your chest like an invisible hand, but you forced yourself to breathe through it.

The pit crew had gone quiet, some of them catching the tension between the two of you. You heard a quiet murmur—probably a few people betting on when he’d finally explode at you.

Your eyes didn't follow him, but you couldn't help the way your gaze flickered in his direction every few seconds. His broad shoulders moved through the crowd with an ease that only someone used to commanding attention could possess. There was no denying the kind of presence he had—one that filled up a room, even when he wasn't not speaking.

He disappeared into the building, heading for the changing rooms, and your stomach tightened.

The silence that followed in the garage felt too loud. You busied yourself by scribbling something that wasn't really a note just to have something to do with your hands. Something that made you feel in control, even if you weren't. Not here.

Not with him.

You didn't follow. You didn't need to.

Because five minutes later, you were being ushered down a narrow hallway by Seungkwan, the PR manager, who had been buzzing with nervous energy since you arrived.

He kept glancing at his phone and muttering about timing and contracts,” God! he's going to kill me.”

You assumed he meant Seungcheol. You were right.

You rounded the corner near the back exit just as Choi Seungcheol pushed open the locker room door. He was freshly changed— black joggers, white team tee, towel slung around his neck, water bottle in hand. His hair was still damp.

He stops when he sees the two of you.

Stops like his day just got infinitely worse.

And when his eyes flick to you, there it is again–barely restrained irritation. His lips press into a flat line. His jaw tightens. You almost felt bad for whoever’s about to speak to him.

Almost.

“Cheol!” Seungkwan chirps, voice way too bright for the tension coiling in the air. “Hey, I was just coming to find you.”

He nods toward you like it’s no big deal. Like he’s not standing between two people who share history sharp enough to draw blood.

“I figured it’d be better to rip the Band-Aid off.”

“You remember Y/N, right?” Seungkwan continues, gesturing to you like this is a reunion instead of a landmine. “She’s going to be shadowing the team for the next three months. Full-access feature for the Velocity Weekly docuseries.”

“Part of our image rehab strategy, you know—Transparency. Redemption arc. All that jazz.” Seungkwan kept flailing his arms even though both of his hands are full—one holds a notepad, the other holding his usual iced americano

There’s a beat of silence. Then Seungcheol exhaled through his nose, sharp and slow.

“Right,” he says, voice flat. “A redemption arc.”

He finally turns to you fully, eyes cold, calculating.

You give him a polite smile. Not out of kindness. Out of pride. Control. Survival.

“I’m not here to stir up old drama,” you say quietly.

“Good,” he replies. “Because there’s nothing left to stir.”

He looks at Seungkwan. “Is that all?”

The manager stammers something about schedule sync-ups, but Seungcheol’s already walking past. Not a glance back. Just the soft crunch of his sneakers against the tile floor as he disappears around the corner.

You don’t breathe again until he’s gone.

“Great,” the poor guy mutters beside you. “That could’ve gone worse.”

You don’t correct him.

Because you know—it will.

────⋆˚꩜｡────

The room is too bright.

One of those generic media rooms with foldable chairs, beige walls, and nothing on the table but a bottle of water and a stack of branded cue cards you won’t use.

You sit with your back straight, microphone clipped to your collar, and your notes in your lap— clean, annotated, rehearsed. A thin layer of sweat beads at the nape of your neck, but you don’t lift a hand to wipe it. You can’t. The camera’s already rolling—they wanted to film Seungcheol's ‘candid entry’.

Seungkwan stands just off to the side, behind the lights. His arms are crossed over his clipboard, eyebrows furrowed like he’s praying for divine intervention.

You don’t blame him.

Because Choi Seungcheol is late.

By twenty-seven minutes and twenty-nine seconds.

He finally walks in on the thirtieth.

No apology. No hurry.

He moves like he’s strolling into a locker room, not a filmed, pre-scheduled interview. Freshly showered, in a black team tee and dark joggers, with a silver chain around his neck that flashes under the lights. Hair damp and pushed back. Jaw tight.

He doesn’t look at you. He doesn’t have to.

The tension snaps into place the second he enters, taut and quiet like a wire stretched between you.

He drops into the chair across from you and spreads his legs slightly, elbows resting on the arms of the seat. A casual posture, but there's nothing relaxed about him. He leans back like this is a waste of his time. Like you are.

A staff member leans in to clip the mic to his collar. There’s no need for instructions—he lifts his chin just slightly, giving them easy access, his posture relaxed but deliberate.

“Rolling,” the cam op calls.

The little red light on the camera starts blinking. You shift your expression to something neutral, polite. Not fake — just professional. Safe. It’s the one you wear when you’re working. When you’re speaking to men who want to dismiss you before you say your first word.

“We’re here with Choi Seungcheol, lead driver for Team SVT,” you say clearly. “Thanks for joining us today.”

His eyes cut to you, finally. Slow, sharp.

“Didn’t have much of a choice,” he says smoothly.

You don’t let your smile falter. “Still, we’re glad you’re here.”

“Speak for yourself,” he mutters, but it’s low enough that the mic doesn’t catch it..

You glance down at your notes, fingers clenching slightly around them.

“I’m told you’ve had an impressive off-season.”

He shrugs, eyes flicking toward the camera. “Trained. Drove. Same as every year.”

You make a soft, acknowledging hum and tap your pen against the margin of your page. “Do you feel like you’re coming into this season with something to prove?”

That does it.

His head tilts just slightly. The corner of his mouth lifts— not into a smile. Into something cooler. Controlled. “To who?”

You lift your eyes to meet his. “The media. The fans. Yourself.”

The air in the room shifts. It tightens.

For a second, he doesn’t respond. Just sits there, staring at you like he’s trying to read a headline written behind your eyes.

Then he leans forward, elbows braced on his thighs, voice low. “If I was driving to prove something, I’d be the wrong guy for this team.”

You blink. “Some would say last season proved that anyway.”

The silence that follows is immediate. And thick.

Seungkwan makes a small sound from behind the camera— a tiny gasp, smothered by the clipboard.

You don’t backpedal. You don’t soften.

It’s not a jab. It’s a fact. One he’s heard before. Seungcheol lets the moment breathe. Lets it sit between you.

Then he laughs–short, sharp. No humor in it. 

“I forgot how fun you are to talk to.”

You tilt your head. “It’s not personal.”

“Isn’t it?” he says, and his voice is so quiet, it lands like a threat.

You inhale through your nose and glance at your page. Redirect.

“What’s the first thing you think of when you’re on the starting grid?”

There’s a pause. Then, “Nothing.”

You raise an eyebrow.

He smirks. “That’s the point. Thinking gets you killed.”

You write that down, even though you don’t need to. It’s getting recorded anyways.

He leans back again, eyes still locked on yours. Not angry. Not smug. Just… watching. When the camera cuts, the silence remains. You unclip your mic slowly. He’s already standing.

You don’t say anything. Neither does he.

He leaves before you can decide whether you want him to.

What the hell is his deal?

────⋆˚꩜｡────

The sun is brutal at this hour— high, relentless, glinting off the tarmac like it’s daring anyone to blink first. You don’t. Not yet.

You’re standing just behind the safety rail, far enough to be invisible to the engineers but close enough to see everything that matters. Helmeted figures blur past in streaks of color, but your eyes are locked on only one: car number seventeen—the one that belongs to Choi Seungcheol.

Your notebook is open, balanced on your forearm, pages flapping faintly in the breeze that smells like burnt rubber and hot fuel. The top line reads in neat block letters: “Voiceover Segment – Driver Profiles: Racecraft.”

Underneath, bullet points:

Brake timing: early on corners 6 and 9.

Lap 2: oversteer correction, razor-sharp.

Turn-in commitment : aggressive, clean.

Line discipline: tight, zero margin wasted.

Unsettled entry into Turn 13: intentional???

You scribble as he exits the far chicane, eyes narrowing slightly at the way he recovers with that barely-there flick of the wrist. It’s art, in a way most people will never understand. Not just velocity— it’s violence in control.

You look over to the small screen placed near the railings, then you notice something. Not technical. Not really. You glance down and, without meaning to, write:

Turn-in is sharp. Overcorrects slightly on exits. Quick hands. Always. Habit?

Still as stone under braking—almost eerie.

You stare at the words.

Your pen hovers. Pauses. Then moves again.

Drives like he’s punishing something. Himself?

“You planning to psychoanalyze his split times next?”

You startle.

Seungkwan is behind you, half in shadow, holding an iced coffee that’s already starting to drip down his fingers. His eyebrows are raised and his smile is dry.

You slam the notebook shut. The pages snap together like a secret being hidden.

“It’s for the voiceover,” you say, a little too quickly. “Atmosphere.”

“Mm. Sure.” He sips. “Very... moody atmosphere. Like a tragic Greek chorus monologue. I can practically hear the cello in the background.”

You glare. He grins wider.

Then he steps beside you, following your gaze to the track. Seungcheol passes again, fast and clean, leaving a scream of engine noise in his wake. He doesn’t look toward the wall. Doesn’t acknowledge anyone.

Especially not you.

Seungkwan exhales, quieter now, “He hasn’t said a word to me since your name came up this morning.”

You look away. “He doesn’t have to.”

“No. But it’s weird. Even for him.”

The notebook feels heavy in your hands now, the weight of your own words still pressed between the pages.

Seungkwan gives you a long, considering look.

“Just... be careful with him,” he says finally. “He doesn’t forget much. Or forgive easily.”

The memory creeps in before you can stop it.

It was supposed to be just another race-day wrap-up.

The kind you could write in your sleep: thirty-second soundbites, recycled talking points, a handful of overused metaphors about speed and pressure. Seungcheol hadn’t finished the race— DNF, something about engine failure or a pit stop gone wrong— and when he finally stepped into the press pen, he looked like he wanted to be anywhere else.

You didn’t take it personally. Drivers got like that sometimes. Adrenaline was cruel like that— hot and fast and feral.

“Walk us through what happened out there today?” you asked, calm, polite, voice barely rising above the whir of cameras and clicking shutters.

He scoffed. Actually scoffed. “There’s nothing to walk through. We didn’t finish.” Short. Clipped. Dismissive.

You tried again. “Some people think the restart might’ve been too aggressive–”

His visor lifted just enough to meet your eyes. Dark. Unreadable.

“Some people should actually watch the footage before asking dumb questions.”

And then he turned. Didn’t say thank you. Didn’t look back. Just walked off, gloves still crumpled in one fist, jaw locked like stone.

You hadn’t planned to write anything critical.

But when you sat down in your hotel room later that night, fingers still cold from holding the mic, you couldn’t shake the look on his face—or the sharp twist in your gut that hadn’t been there before.

So you wrote what you saw.

“It’s easy to admire Choi Seungcheol when he’s winning. But when the race isn’t in his favor, his temper shows through the cracks in his professionalism. Today’s interview proved that even the most polished racers have fragile egos.”

Clean. Factual. Not personal.

But it lit a fuse.

Overnight, your inbox flooded–some praise, some hate. Your piece got quoted on TV. Spliced into fan compilations. Sponsors asked questions. PR scrambled. Someone from the team issued a soft rebuttal saying, “There may have been a misunderstanding during the post-race media exchange. Choi’s focus was still on the technical debrief, and emotions were running high. He holds great respect for journalists and values the work they do in bringing the sport to its global audience.” 

It wasn’t an apology per se. Seungcheol never said a word.

But from that point on, he never gave you another quote. Never met your gaze in the press room. Never lingered for post-race comments if your mic was anywhere in sight.

And now?

Now, he looks at you like you’re the one who ruined everything.

Seungkwan murmurs, “He’s overdriving.”

You don’t reply.

You are familiar with this version of him. The one that drives too hard when he’s trying to shake something off. You’ve seen it before— in stats, in footage, in post-race silences.

Finally, the radio crackles. His engineer says something about cooling the engine down. And just like that, the car pulls in, growling to a stop. The door lifts.

He steps out—undershirt clinging to him, face shiny with sweat, curls plastered to his forehead. His jaw is locked, like the session didn’t clear his head the way he wanted it to.

You glance at the water bottle on the nearby table. Someone had left it behind. It’s not even cold anymore, but still—it’s something. 

You pick it up without thinking and cross the short distance toward him.

He doesn’t notice you at first, towel already half-draped over his shoulder, bent slightly as a tech says something about brake temps. But then he looks up. Sees you.

You don’t say a word. Just extend the bottle in your hand.

He stares at it. Then at you. Long enough that it becomes a choice. Long enough that it means something.

Then he says, flat and easy, “I’m good.”

And walks past.

You nod, even though he’s not looking anymore.

No one says anything. But your hand stays closed around the bottle until the plastic crumples slightly in your grip. And then you walk back toward the trailers before anyone can see the look on your face.

────⋆˚꩜｡────

The edit bay is quiet.

Too quiet, almost. The kind of hush only machines make — low humming from drives, the soft crackle of the audio monitor when it switches between clips. The rest of the crew’s long gone, lights out in the pit lane, doors locked on the media center.

You should be gone too. But you’re not.

Instead, you’re here, headphones on, fingers pausing and dragging the timeline back five seconds. Again. Again. Again.

Seungcheol’s onboard camera footage is pulled up. A clean lap. Camera mounted on his halo bar—his hands, the wheel, the track flying toward him in perfect resolution. You’ve been trying to write the segment opener for over an hour, and all you have is: Choi Seungcheol is a driver of precision. Control. Ruthless rhythm

You hate it. It sounds like something anyone could say. Something he’d hate hearing.

You rewind again.

Pause.

There’s a freeze-frame of his hands— gloved, sure, absolutely still as he flies down a straight. No micro-adjustments. No nerves. He drives like the car isn’t moving at all.

But then— frame by frame, you notice his left thumb tap twice against the wheel. Barely a movement. Like a tick. Like a habit. You rewind again. Slower.

The tap happens before the DRS opens. Before the straight clears. Like he knows he’ll need the calm, the open stretch–and the tap is permission.

Or reassurance.

You lean in.

“He always taps before the straight,” you murmur to yourself, writing it in the margin of your notes. “Ritual. Or— something else.”

You scroll back to earlier footage from a different practice day. Different circuit. Different weather.

The tap is there again.

Tap tap. Just before full throttle.

It’s nothing. Probably nothing. But it’s there. And now you can’t unsee it.

You rub at your temples, trying to steer your thoughts back to the script. To objectivity. To professionalism. You’re here to document him, not… understand him. Not unravel him.

Still, you click to the footage from earlier— trackside cameras. Wider shot. Less clinical. He’s walking back toward the garage, helmet off, hair sweat-damp, and jaw clenched.

He doesn’t look at the camera.

But just before he steps out of frame, his eyes flick sideways.

For half a second less, he looks at the lens.

No. Not the lens.

You.

Your pulse thuds unexpectedly, stupidly. You sit back in the chair. The note page is still open on your screen. Your last bullet point reads: Drives like he’s punishing something. Himself?

You highlight it.

Then delete it.

You shut the laptop before you can change your mind.

But the weight of it stays, humming behind your ribs—like something alive and unspoken.

────⋆˚꩜｡────

You’re seated at the long conference table inside the paddock media suite, flanked by the production crew, comms specialists, a documentary director, and three too-many cups of bad coffee. The air-conditioning hums above, just loud enough to compete with the voices droning through the day’s agenda. The room smells faintly of rubber, sweat, and those branded granola bars the crew keeps handing out.

Seungcheol hasn’t spoken once.

He’s in his racing suit still, half-zipped and tied at the waist, black compression tee clinging to his chest. He leans back in his chair, arms folded, cap pulled low. Watching. Listening. Disconnected in that deliberate way he always is—like none of this is worth his time but he’s here because he has to be.

Across from you, Seungkwan flips to the next slide of the media presentation. “Okay, so – docuseries production. We’ve finished with most of the behind-the-scenes material for the pit crew and team engineers, but the big gap right now is still driver profiles.”

You nod along. This part is yours. You’ve spent the last two nights combing through the racers old race tapes, trying to piece together something coherent. Something that looks like a person, not a machine.

“We’ve been thinking,” you say, voice calm, measured, “to balance out the high-speed footage, we could shoot some off-track material. Nothing invasive. Just quieter stuff—daily routines, maybe their time at the simulator, or a few minutes of downtime. To show contrast.”

There are a few hums in approval.

And then– “No.”

His voice isn’t raised, but it’s firm. Final.

You glance at him.

Seungcheol hasn’t moved, but his eyes are locked on yours now— dark, unreadable, flint-sharp under the brim of his cap.

Someone at the end of the table clears their throat awkwardly. You wait for him to explain, or for Seungkwan to interject.

But Seungcheol does not budge.

“You want ‘real’?” he says, tone quiet but cutting. “Maybe start with getting your facts right the first time.”

Your pulse spikes. You stare.

A few heads swivel your way. You force your face to stay still, neutral. The worst thing you could do is show how hard that hit.

“I didn’t–” you start, but he cuts in again.

“You don’t get to decide what parts of me are useful just because your cameras are running.” His jaw clenches. “You’ve already taken enough.”

No one speaks.

Not Seungkwan. Not the director. Not the wide-eyed intern with the color-coded clipboard. Just this stretched-out, sticky silence where you’re suddenly aware of every inch of your body and how very visible you feel inside it.

Your mouth opens, then closes again. You look down at your notes— like they might offer some way out of this. But it’s already happened.

Then he moves.

Not abruptly, not with dramatics. But the chair legs scrape the floor, deliberate and loud, as he pushes up to his feet.

Seungcheol shrugs on his jacket, grabs the nearest bottle of water from the table, and without another word, walks straight out of the meeting room. No one breathes for a second.

Then Seungkwan, like clockwork, lets out a weak laugh. “He’s just… not really a media guy.”

No one tries to correct him. And you?

You press your pen against the paper until the tip snaps clean off. Not because he humiliated you.But because for the first time, you think you understand why.

────⋆˚꩜｡────

You arrive at the paddock earlier than needed.

Your meeting with the docuseries team isn’t until later in the afternoon, but you came two hours early and now you’re standing awkwardly in a place you’re technically allowed to be, but feel like you shouldn’t.

From the corner, you watch him finish his final practice lap. Seungcheol’s car rolls into the garage, engine ticking hot, his visor still down. Someone opens the cockpit. He climbs out like a machine disengaging—fluid, precise, all quiet intensity.

Then he sees you.

Or maybe just registers your presence. His head turns, eyes landing on you for a fraction of a second. His expression doesn’t shift. No surprise, no annoyance. Nothing.

He doesn’t ask why you’re here.

He just pulls off his gloves, helmet tucked under his arm, and walks straight past you toward the changing room at the back of the garage. Like you’re furniture. Background. Static.

You exhale deeply. Fair enough.

You wait.

It takes several minutes. You hear the sound of a locker door slamming shut, muffled movement, the faint hiss of a water bottle being opened.

Then— footsteps. He emerges.

Fresh shirt, hair damp and curling at his temple, towel slung around his neck as he rakes it over the back of his head. He doesn’t see you at first— his focus is on drying off, his stride already pulling him toward the far side of the hallway.

Then he spots you.

Leaning against the wall opposite the changing room, arms crossed, posture casual but heart pounding a little too loud for your own liking.

His steps falter. Briefly. Just for a beat.

Then resumes, unfazed, like he’s made a silent decision to walk past you entirely.

You let him.

Until he’s two steps ahead of you.

“Seungcheol.”

Your voice isn’t loud, but it stops him.

He turns, slowly. That same unreadable look in his eyes, sharp and distant like he’s looking through you instead of at you.

You step forward.

No grand gestures. No long speeches. Just a small can of cherry soda in your hand— cool, slightly dewed from sitting in the media fridge.

You extend it toward him. “You did well today.”

He blinks once. Then again, slower.

His gaze drops to the can, then lifts to your face.

“…Have you poisoned this?”

You let out a sigh. You deserve that.

“No,” you murmur. “Though I probably deserve that kind of suspicion.”

His brow lifts a little at that–surprised by your honesty, maybe. But still guarded.

“I just–” you start, voice low, unsure. You shift the can in your hands like it’s something fragile. “I wanted to say I’m sorry. For the article. For…everything it cost you.”

His expression doesn’t change.

You push forward anyway.

“I didn’t know it would spiral like that. I didn’t know you at all, and that’s the worst part, right?” You glance away, swallow. “I don’t expect you to forgive me. Not now. Maybe not ever. But… I hope someday you’ll hate me a little less.”

It hangs there for a moment.

Not silence exactly— there’s still the hum of equipment in the background, distant voices from the other end of the paddock— but it feels like silence.

You take one careful step forward and press the cherry soda into his hand. You don’t wait to see if he accepts it fully.

Just a small, tired smile. Tight-lipped. Not hopeful. Just… human.

And then you leave. You don’t look back. But if you did, you’d see him standing in place, eyes on the can in his hand like it’s a message he hasn’t quite decided how to read yet.

────⋆˚꩜｡────

You almost skip dinner.

You tell yourself it’s because you have notes to revise, footage to sort through, emails to send. Some twelve-year-old-girl excuse.

But really, it’s the risk of being in the same room as him — the same cramped circle of laughter and clinking glasses and easy camaraderie you still feel slightly removed from.

Seungkwan doesn’t let you off the hook. “They won’t bite,” he says, tugging you toward the restaurant entrance. “Well. Maybe Seungcheol will. But I’ll make sure he doesn’t leave teeth marks.”

You shoot him a look. He grins. It helps. A little.

Inside, the team is already gathered around a long, narrow table. A place is cleared for you just as you arrive. By some twist of fate— or more likely, Seungkwan's passive-aggressive seating plan— your spot is right beside him.

Choi Seungcheol. Black hoodie sleeves pushed up to the elbows. Arms crossed. Jaw set. Gaze locked on the menu like it’s about to pick a fight.

He doesn’t look at you when you sit. Doesn’t greet you either. His attention stays locked on his plate, one elbow propped on the table, his fingers absentmindedly circling the neck of his water bottle.

Conversation flows around him — light, messy, animated. Someone makes a joke about the docuseries. Something about how dramatic it's going to make all of them look. A few heads turn toward you.

You brace yourself, already reaching for your glass.

But before anyone can say more, Seungcheol cuts in. Voice flat, but not cold, “At least they’re doing their job.”

You glance over, startled. His gaze isn’t on you— it’s fixed somewhere across the table. He doesn’t say anything else.

You don’t either.

After a while, the laughter gets too loud, and the room too warm. You slip away, excusing yourself quietly, pushing the door open and stepping out into the cool night air.

The breeze is immediate, tugging strands of hair from your face. You breathe in slowly, eyes closing for a beat. Just one. Long enough to gather your thoughts. Or let them go.

Until you hear footsteps behind you. Soft but deliberate.

You don’t have to turn. Your posture straightens instinctively, some part of you already aware of the heat that trails after him like a second skin.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just comes to a stop a pace behind you. Then, after a beat, “You always disappear like this?”

His voice is quieter than usual. Not teasing. Just… curious.

You glance over your shoulder. “Only when I need air.”

He nods. Looks up at the sky like it’s given him something to think about before he stares down at the ground. Then, without a word, pulls his hoodie over his head.

You blink.

“What are you–?”

Before you can finish, he’s stepping closer— not touching, but near enough that you can feel it — and draping the soft fabric over your shoulders.

“It gets cold at night,” he says simply, scratching the side of his nose like it’ll make him less embarrassed. “Didn’t want you freezing out here and getting blamed for holding up filming tomorrow.”

You’re too stunned to answer right away.

The hoodie is warm. It smells like wind and gasoline and whatever aftershave he uses.

You clear your throat. “Thanks.”

He nods again. Turns without fanfare and slips back inside, the door closing behind him with a soft thud.

You stand there for another minute, fingers tightening around the fabric, heart doing something stupid against your ribs.

────⋆˚꩜｡────

You don’t know when it starts, exactly.

Maybe it’s the day Seungcheol doesn’t just ignore your greeting, but gives a faint nod in return. Or when he asks, without looking up from his gloves, whether the docuseries will be covering the wet tire strategy segment— like your opinion holds weight. He still keeps his distance, still rarely meets your eyes, but his silence has lost its bite. It doesn’t bristle anymore. It lingers.

He doesn’t bolt from shared rooms. Doesn’t brush past you like you’re invisible. One time, he even moves aside to let you through the garage door first— a small thing, but enough that Seungkwan later texts you 10 eyes emojis. 

And then there’s the cherry soda. You keep seeing it— half-empty cans in the recycling bin, one tucked beside his gear bag. He never says anything, but he doesn’t not accept them when you leave one near his seat after a long day.

You haven’t earned a smile. Not yet. But you believe the hatred’s softening into something else. Something almost watchful. Like he’s trying to decide if you’re still a threat— or something far more dangerous

It had been pouring for hours.

You were supposed to get off work at five, but the storm had other plans. Rain tapped hard against the windows, a steady, relentless sheet that turned the world outside into a blur of grey. You figured you’d stay back—might as well get some editing done while waiting it out.

But the sky never cleared.

Eventually, you packed your things, tugged your jacket tighter around you, and stepped under the building’s glass overhang, eyes on the road as you waited for your taxi. 

You thought almost everyone had left, so you clearly didn’t expect to hear footsteps behind you.

“You’re still here?” a voice said, low and familiar.

You turned, surprised. “You hadn’t left?”

Seungcheol slung a backpack over one shoulder, hair slightly damp, a faint sheen on his skin like he’d been working in the garage. He looked relaxed in a way you rarely saw outside the race track.

“Had a few things to wrap up,” he said. Then he glanced at you. “Why haven’t you left yet?”

You nodded toward the rain. “Thought I’d wait it out. Get some work done while it calmed down. But… I think I misjudged.”

He followed your gaze to the storm. Then, casually “I’ll drop you off at home.”

Your eyes widened. “Oh no, that’s okay. I already booked a taxi.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Cancel it. No point wasting your money when I’m offering it myself.”

You stared. “But–”

“No buts,” he said, grinning now, the kind that made his dimple flash. “I’ll be in the parking garage.” And just like that, he turned and walked away, leaving you stunned under the glass awning.

And, that's how you ended up in the front seat of his BMW, waiting for the signal to turn green. The hum of the engine barely audible over the drumming rain. The windshield wipers moved in steady rhythm, clearing arcs through the downpour. The A/C was on low, keeping the windows from fogging up.  But what catches your eye is the small picture tucked neatly beside the central console.

“Is that you?” you ask, pointing to the picture of a small boy in a red toy car. Seungcheol let out a short laugh. “Yeah. My first ride.”

You smiled. “You’ve been driving your whole life.”

He leaned back slightly, fingers brushing the edge of the steering wheel. His voice dropped, softer now. “My dad used to race. Nothing big. Amateur circuits. But he talked about it like it was sacred. Even after he gave it up.”

You stay quiet, letting him go on.

“He had this old kart. Kept it in the shed behind our house. I think I was…four? When he let me drive it. Couldn’t even reach the pedals properly.”

You smile a little. “Did you crash it?”

He huffs. “Into a fence. And a bush. And almost my mom.”

You both laugh— soft, genuine.

He shakes his head, lips twitching. “But I didn’t stop. Every weekend after that, I was out there. Practicing. Pushing. Getting yelled at for tearing up the yard.”

You note how relaxed his posture’s become, the way his voice has settled into something low and fond.

“Got serious around fifteen. Left school early. Trained wherever I could, worked side jobs, picked up sponsors. Didn’t care about anything else. Just… getting fast enough. Good enough.”

There’s a pause.

And then, quieter “Sometimes I wonder what would’ve happened if I didn’t make it.”

You glance up from your notepad.

He’s not looking at you— his gaze is somewhere else, far away. But you can feel the weight of that question hanging between you.

“You did make it,” you say softly.

That brings his eyes back to you.

And for the first time, you see it — the person beneath the helmet, beneath the legacy and the wins and the walls. A boy who raced because he loved it. A man who never stopped.

He doesn’t say anything. The signal turns green.

But he holds your gaze a little longer than usual, before looking straight and driving.

────⋆˚꩜｡────

Your room looked like a tornado had hit it. Clothes were scattered everywhere, your suitcase bulging so much it would take brute force to zip it shut.

“Yah! What’s all this mess?” Mina, your roommate slash bestie appeared in the doorway, a glass of lemonade in hand. She eyed the chaos, stepping over a pair of jeans to place the glass on your cluttered dresser. “Are you going away for ten days or ten years?”

She bent down, scooping up a shirt from the floor. “Is this all for your prince charming?” she teased, raising an eyebrow at you.

“He is not my prince charming,” you shot back, holding up another dress from your wardrobe and checking your reflection to see if it flattered you.

F1 was hosting a race in France, and naturally, Seungcheol and the team were going. So when your boss called you into her office with a mischievous smile and said something like, “We need raw, behind-the-scenes action. The lead-up, the aftermath. You already know them—you’re the only one who can pull this off,” you didn’t really have a choice.

“Well, it didn’t look that professional last week when he dropped you off,” Mina said, her voice lilting. “You two seemed pretty cozy. Didn’t take you to be the PDA type. Hugging and all, huh?”

She folded another shirt before her eyes widened. “Wait—isn’t this my top?”

“Yeah, it looks good on me,” you said with zero guilt. “Also, since you’ve found it, can you please put it in the suitcase? Thanks.”

“I’ll forgive you this time. After all, you’ve got to impress your prince charming.”

“He is not my—ugh! Whatever. Also, I’m going there to work, not to date.”

“I never said anything about dating,” she said, grinning as she walked out.

You flopped onto the bed with a sigh.

Yes. Yes you were nervous. But not because of him— well partially. This trip was a big deal for your career. A chance to show what you could do outside the controlled setting of HQ interviews and edited footage. You were going to capture the team raw— tense, driven, exhausted, and elated. You were excited… and also maybe, spiraling, just a little.

Of course Seungcheol would be there. Lately, the two of you had been… closer. After that conversation in his car, things had shifted. Now you both ate together in the canteen. You’d catch him waiting outside your office so you could walk together. Sometimes, he even dropped you off at home, no explanation needed. Seungkwan, ever the agent of chaos, was definitely having fun being a witness to all this. He texts you in the middle of lunch “OMG!! I give it 2 more lunches before he starts feeding you from his spoon” or “CHIVALRY OR WHAT!?” when Seungcheol opens the soda can for you.

It’s not like you were in love or anything… Obviously not. But you liked having him around. You liked the ease that had started blooming between you. The way he made you laugh without trying. The way you felt seen, in rooms where no one usually looked twice. And this trip… maybe it would change something between you. You weren’t sure what. But you hoped— that it would be something good.

────⋆˚꩜｡────

The hotel in Le Castellet looked like something out of a period film. Ivy-covered walls, tall wooden shutters, cobblestone paths damp from morning drizzle. You pause in the lobby, suitcase handle in one hand, the other clutching your phone with the itinerary pulled up. The air smells faintly of citrus and fresh flowers.

Seungcheol walked a few steps behind you, dragging his duffel bag along the polished floor. His hoodie’s still bunched around his elbows, and his hair is tousled from the flight.

He stopped beside you, glancing around at the old-world chandeliers and exposed stone walls. “Fancy,” he mutters, like he doesn’t know what to do with it.

You nod, letting out a breath. “Feels too nice to be covered in race fuel by the end of the week.”

That earns you a small laugh from him. It’s easy. Unforced.

As everyone begins collecting their room keys, you hang back to avoid the crowd. Seungkwan’s already texting you: don’t take too long u two… they’re gonna run out of good rooms ;)

You roll your eyes. Just then, Seungcheol appears beside you again, a key card already in his hand. He leans slightly toward you, voice quiet.

“Hey. What room did you get?”

You show him the slip from the front desk. He glances at it, then tilts his head. “Next to mine.”

You blink. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” he says simply. “I asked the guy if he could put the team close. Just in case, y’know, media stuff or whatever.”

You don’t question it. But there’s a pause. A moment where neither of you move, the buzz of the lobby fading a little.

He eyes your suitcase for a second, then reaches out without a word and takes the handle from your grip.

You blink. “I could’ve managed, you know.”

He shrugs, already steering it toward the elevator. “I know. But I was right there.”

It’s such a simple statement, but it lingers. You trail a few steps behind, watching the way his hand rests casually on the luggage, like he’s done this before. Like he’s just... quietly decided he’ll look out for you now. When the elevator dings open, he holds the door for you without looking, but when you step inside, you catch the faintest smile on his face.

__

You sit cross-legged in your robe, unpacking your suitcase. Toiletries to the left, clothes (mostly folded, some not) to the right, and an increasing pile of “why did I even bring this?” building at your feet. You're halfway through deciding if you packed too many dresses when a knock sounds at your door.

You frown, glancing at the clock— almost midnight.

Padding over, you open it slowly.

“Seungcheol?” you blink, surprised to see him standing there in a grey hoodie and joggers, hair a little tousled like he’d been rolling around on the bed for the past hour.

“Hey,” he says, voice low. “I couldn’t sleep. Was wondering if you’d be up for a walk.” he says meekly “I would have asked Seungkwan but umm.. He seems to be sleeping, you know, maybe all that jet lag caught up to him. He lets out a little laugh. “I just hoped you wouldn’t be sleeping. Didn’t mean to bother you, though.”

“You’re not,” you say, amused. “Just give me a second to change.”

—

“You walk like you own the place,” you tease, taking a spoonful of the butterscotch gelato he insisted on getting for you from “the best place in town.”

“I kind of do,” he says, mock serious. “This is my fourth year racing here. I know every late-night gelato stand within a three-mile radius.”

“Oh, so you’re a connoisseur,” you grin.

The cobbled street underfoot winds gently along a row of quiet shops. Most are closed at this hour, but some still glow faintly with warm light. A bakery with pastel tiles. A souvenir shop with tiny Eiffel Towers on the window. The breeze is cool, enough to make you hug your arms lightly.

“You ever come here just for fun?” you ask.

“Never had time. Always training. Or recovering.” He shrugs. “It’s weird, though. Walking around with someone. Like this.”

You glance at him. “Good weird or weird weird?”

He smirks. “Still deciding.” You laugh, and in retaliation, give him a light shove on the arm. He stumbles dramatically, clutching his gelato like a wounded soldier.

“You almost killed it,” he gasps, holding it high.

“Oh no, the tragedy,” you mock.

Just then, a gust of wind picks up, catching strands of your hair and blowing them into your face. You brush them away with a frown– and then feel his hand, unexpectedly gentle, brushing the rest back. His fingers pause briefly, tucked behind your ear.

The street noise fades a little. It’s quiet. Just the two of you standing there, his hand still resting lightly against your hair, his eyes on yours. He’s close enough that you can see the tiny mole on the left side of his forehead— just below the hairline, the way his expression softens when he’s not trying to look unreadable. His thumb shifts slightly, like he might say something— but doesn’t.

Then, slowly, he lets his hand fall away. “We should head back,” he says, voice low.

You nod, heart thumping a little faster.

────⋆˚꩜｡────

You are supposed to be filming the pit crew rotation this morning.

Nothing fancy— just clean b-roll for the docuseries team. Angles of tire changes, gloved hands passing tools, that low, satisfying whir of drills and radio chatter. The kind of footage that’ll get sliced up and paired with voice-overs later. But your camera drifts.

Just a little. Not enough for anyone to notice, maybe.

You were framing the rear wing of Seungcheol’s car— looking for reflections in the carbon fiber— but your lens catches something else. A flash of motion just outside the frame.

You pan left instinctively. And freeze.

He’s near the edge of the garage, talking to one of the engineers. Laughing at something. Really laughing— head tilted, hand rubbing at the back of his neck, eyes all crinkled at the corners. The sun sneaks in through the open garage door behind him, casting a soft halo along his jaw, catching in his lashes, warming the brown in his eyes.

And for a second, you forget what you’re doing. You just watch.

The way his nose scrunches a little when he smiles too hard. How his hands move when he talks— animated, open. The little dimple that appears even when he’s not doing anything particular.

God. He’s pretty.

He’s beautiful, actually. Not just in the way he looks. In the way he carries himself. In the way he makes people laugh. In the way he made space for you— even when he didn’t have to.

Your chest feels tight. Your grip on the camera slackens.

He glances up, mid-conversation. Catches your gaze across the garage. And smiles. Like he sees you. Just like that.

You inhale softly. Your heart is doing something weird–fluttery and slow all at once.

Oh.

Oh no.

You love him.

It settles in your bones quietly— without panic, without denial. Just this quiet, solid truth. You love him.

────⋆˚꩜｡────

Today was the cocktail event organized by the F1 committee — a chance for teams and media to mingle, but not really work. You were invited, so you decided to treat it like a night off. Get a little buzz from champagne or maybe flirt with some cute French waiters. You were totally not thinking about Seungcheol.

You decide on a black sleeveless dress with subtle ruching along the waist, featuring an asymmetrical hemline trimmed with sheer ruffled fabric— which you also ‘borrowed’ from Mina.

As you walked into the softly lit room, the low murmur of conversations and clinking glasses wrapped around you. The moment you approached Seungkwan and the group of boys, you could see the surprises on their faces. “Whoa… you look amazing,” Seungkwan said, barely able to hide the surprise on his face. 

Seungcheol was standing a little further, his mouth slightly open as if caught off guard. He didn’t say anything at first— just stared at you, a quiet awe in his gaze. Then, clearing his throat, he finally spoke, his voice low but sincere.

“You look beautiful.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You turned to meet his eyes, and the warmth in his expression made your cheeks flush. “Thank you,” you whispered, feeling suddenly shy under his quiet attention

You and Seungcheol found your seats at a round table near the center of the ballroom, surrounded by teammates, media personnel, and a few sponsors. The table was decorated simply— white linens, small floral arrangements, and glasses filled with champagne and sparkling water. Despite the elegance, the atmosphere felt a bit stiff and rehearsed.

The announcer’s voice came over the speakers, crisp and polished, welcoming everyone to the event and thanking sponsors and teams. The speeches went on— a few heartfelt words about sportsmanship, the future of the sport, and the importance of media coverage. But you and Seungcheol exchanged glances, both fighting the urge to tune out. The words felt like white noise beneath the clinking glasses and polite laughter.

Around you, conversations buzzed— some lively, some forced. People in sharp suits laughed a little too loudly, posed for photos, or whispered in corners. The cocktail party was starting to feel crowded, the space shrinking as more guests arrived and the music swelled.

You shifted in your seat, glancing around for a breath of fresh air. Seungcheol’s brow furrowed slightly, and before the moment could become overwhelming, he leaned over to you.

“Come with me,” he said quietly.

Curious, you followed him out through the double doors and onto the balcony. The cool night air was a relief, calm and quiet except for the distant murmur of the party behind you.

He pulled two flutes of champagne from a waiter’s tray as they passed by, handing one to you with a small smirk. “For emergencies,” he joked, the tension in his shoulders easing.

You clinked glasses softly and took a sip, the bubbles tickling your throat. Seungcheol swirled the champagne in his glass, eyes fixed on the bubbles rising. “You know,” he said, voice low, “it’s kind of nice to get away from all that noise. Sometimes I forget how exhausting it all is.”

You smiled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah, the speeches and formalities are... not exactly the highlight of my day.”

He glanced up, a teasing spark in his eyes. “I bet you’d rather be somewhere else.”

“Maybe,” you admitted. “But here we are. And honestly, I’m glad you dragged me out here. This feels... different. Calmer.”

He shifted a little closer, the warmth from his body suddenly very noticeable. “Different can be good,” he said. “Sometimes the best things happen when you least expect them.”

You looked up at him, heart skipping. “Like what?”

His gaze dropped to your lips, then back to your eyes. “Like finding yourself standing on a balcony, sharing champagne with someone who’s been in your head more than you’d like to admit.”

Your breath hitched. “Is that what I’m doing?”

“Maybe,” he whispered, voice thick. “Or maybe it’s just me.”

You laughed softly, but the tension in the air tightened. Your eyes lingered on his lips, and suddenly the space between you felt charged, electric.

Your conversation slowed without you really noticing, and the space between you got smaller. His eyes flicked to your lips, and yours moved to his. His hand rested on your hip, steady and warm. You could feel the heat between you. Everything else seemed to fade away.

Just as you leaned in, about to close the gap, a sharp clink broke the moment. One of the champagne glasses slipped from the railing and smashed on the ground below.

“Shit! I’m sorry” Then after a moment he removes his hands from your waist. “I– I think we should head back.”

You give a small nod, hard enough to mask your disappointment.

────⋆˚꩜｡────

You’d been avoiding Seungcheol like the plague.

Ever since what happened three nights ago— the almost-kiss, the silence that followed— you hadn’t found the courage to face him. Not properly. Not without your heart skipping a beat and your words getting stuck somewhere in your throat.

And Seungcheol? He tried. You could tell. Like the time you were in the garage with the engineers, taking notes on wing configurations. He’d walk over, hands shoved in his pockets, hovering like he wanted to say something. But you didn’t even give him the chance— you mumbled something about needing to check a file and slipped away before he got a word out.

Then there was lunch the next day. You saw him enter the cafeteria, tray in hand, scanning the room. You ducked behind a vending machine until he sat somewhere else.

And earlier this morning— when he held the elevator door open for you— you pretended to be on a call, turning away so fast you nearly bumped into a potted plant.

It wasn’t that you were mad. Or even embarrassed, really. It was worse than that. You were unsure. And that feeling scared you more than anything.

Unfortunately for you, the team is having their free practice session and lap formation today, and you just happen to have to be present to record them.

The paddock was buzzing, the distant roar of engines reverberating through the asphalt. Team members bustled around, heads down, radios crackling. You stayed behind the camera rig, half-hidden behind one of the monitors, using the equipment as a shield — both from the sun, and from Seungcheol.

You could see him in your periphery, suited up in his practice gear, leaning against a stack of tires, talking to one of the mechanics. His sleeves were rolled up, and his hair was slightly damp– from sweat or water, you couldn’t tell. Every once in a while, he laughed at something someone said, teeth flashing, head thrown back.

And you hated it– how your stomach flipped, how your skin warmed, how your fingers twitched on the camera button. You needed to focus. This was work. Just footage. Just documentation– and it will all go back to normal once you get back to korea and finish the documentary. 

“Y/N!” someone called. The assistant director waved you over. “Can you help me get a few close-up shots of the drivers before they head out? Starting with car seventeen.”

You swallowed hard. Car seventeen was Seungcheol’s.

You hesitated. He was already walking toward the car, helmet tucked under one arm, gloves dangling from his fingers. And just your luck— he looked up right then.

This time, you didn’t look away fast enough.

Your eyes locked. Just for a second. But something shifted. His brows pulled together slightly, gaze steady. Like he was done pretending not to notice the space you kept putting between you.

You took a deep breath and walked toward him, camera clutched like a shield. Before you could raise it, he spoke.

“Are you gonna keep doing this?”

You blinked. “Doing what?”

“This,” he said, voice low. “Avoiding me. Ducking out of elevators. Hiding behind vending machines like we’re in high school.”

You winced. “I wasn’t hiding–”

“You skipped lunch three days in a row,” he continued, stepping closer, the words gentle but firm. “You left the garage the second I walked in. And this morning? You couldn’t even meet my eyes.”

You opened your mouth to argue, to deflect—but nothing came out.

So he tried again, softer this time. “Y/N… why?”

You were quiet for a beat too long.

And then it just tumbled out.

“Because I love you,” you said. The words hung in the space between you, raw and sharp. “I avoided you because I love you.” you repeat, your voice softer now.

He froze.

You swallowed hard, voice barely above a whisper now. “And I’m scared. Because maybe you don’t feel the same. And if I keep being around you, if you keep being this version of yourself with me—kind, thoughtful, close— I’ll start hoping. I’ll start thinking maybe there’s something real here. And I can’t afford that. Not when I’m the only one who feels it.”

Silence. Just the faint whir of drills and the distant chatter from the paddock.

Then—his hand reached out. Found your wrist. His touch was warm and grounding.

“You think I don’t feel the same?” he said, eyes locked onto yours. “Y/N, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since the day you walked into HQ. And after that night on the balcony, do you really think I haven’t been going just as crazy as you?”

Your breath hitched.

He stepped even closer, his forehead nearly brushing yours. “Don’t run. Not from this.”

For a moment, everything slowed— the noise of the pit fading into the background, the tension between you easing into something softer, something real. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

“I don’t want to run anymore,” you whispered.

He nodded, eyes warm and steady.

The PA crackled over the loudspeakers, announcing the start of the race lineup. Reality tugged you both back, but neither moved away.

“See you after the race?” he asked, his voice low, hopeful.

You nodded, already knowing you’d be counting down the minutes.

___

The sun was brutal.

The stands were packed, a blur of flags and roars and camera flashes. The smell of rubber, asphalt, and heat hung thick in the air as the teams scrambled for final checks. Mechanics swarmed like ants, tightening bolts, checking tire pressure, calibrating sensors. Overhead, a helicopter circled the track, catching aerial shots for the broadcast.

You were posted near the pit wall, camera hanging from your neck, a comm in your ear buzzing with static and updates.

But your eyes— they were on Car Seventeen.

Seungcheol sat behind the wheel, helmet on, visor down. From this distance, you couldn’t see his eyes, but you didn’t need to. You knew his routine by now— the way he leaned back and rotated his shoulders before a race, the way he tapped the steering wheel twice before the formation lap, how his fingers curled like he was anchoring himself.

The lights went out and Seungcheol launched off the grid like a bullet, tires spinning for half a breath before catching grip. Ahead, three cars jostled for position— he was P6, boxed in, the track narrowing into the first corner like the eye of a needle.

He stayed wide. Braked late. Too late, almost.

The car twitched as he dove into the corner, threading between two rivals. A puff of smoke, a lock-up— someone behind miscalculated— but he was clean through, emerging in P4.

By Lap 7, the front runners were bunched tight. Every straight was a drag race, every corner a standoff. The car ahead swerved left— blocking. Seungcheol feinted right, then cut back with precision, catching the slipstream on the long straight.

He pulled out at the last second. Side by side. Gear shifts slammed. Wheels inches apart. At 310 km/h, he edged forward, took the inside line— and held it.

P3.

The car behind didn’t let up. On Lap 10, it was payback. Seungcheol saw it coming too late–brakes flashing, the other driver dove from the outside. They nearly touched through the apex, Seungcheol forced wide, dust kicking up under his tires.

He dropped to fourth, but not for long.

Next lap, he studied the braking points— waited for the tiniest mistake. It came at Turn 9: a late apex. Seungcheol threw his car down the inside like a blade, tires skimming the curb, just enough grip to stick it.  Sweat clung to his neck. His gloves were soaked, hands still steady on the wheel. He didn’t speak. Didn’t blink. Eyes locked on the two cars ahead.

Lap 17. The second-place driver ran deep into the hairpin— barely a car length ahead.

Seungcheol didn’t hesitate.

He switched the diff, went full attack. The rear twitched under him as he accelerated early. The grip held. His nose was inside by the next turn. The two cars touched wheels lightly, metal brushing metal— but he didn’t lift.

By the time they hit the main straight, Seungcheol was in second.

Now it was just one left. And he wasn’t giving it up easy.

The last five laps were hell. DRS opened. They swapped places twice. Once, they went three corners side by side— wheels locked, tires screeching. Seungcheol braked into the final chicane from too far back, but he held it— just barely. The rear of the car squirmed, traction dancing on the edge of disaster.

Final lap. Final sector.

He was ahead. Just a few tenths.

The last turn came up fast — he didn't brake early, didn’t lift. He trusted the car.

The tires screamed, the G-forces crushed his ribs — and then, he was out of the turn, full throttle, crossing the finish line.

First.

His hands shook as he unclipped the wheel. The car slowed, the crowd a blur, but none of it landed. All he could think about was one thing—

He’d won, and you were there.

────⋆˚꩜｡────

The room is buzzing— reporters crammed into every row, microphones armed, flashes going off like fireworks. Seungcheol has just won the race. He sits at the center of the table, sweat still glistening at his temples, race suit half-unzipped and collar tugged loose.

He should be talking about tires. About strategy. About the last-minute overtake that made the crowd lose their minds.

But his eyes flicker to you every other second.

You’re standing off to the side of the room, barely visible to the press, heart pounding from more than just the win.

A reporter asks him about the final lap.

Seungcheol answers smoothly. “It was tight, but I knew what I had to do. I’ve never wanted something more in a race.”

Another reporter chimes in, “You seemed... different out there today. Sharper. More emotional. Was something motivating you?”

He pauses.

And then, right there, with a thousand eyes watching him and the world on record—

“Yeah,” Seungcheol says, voice steady. “There was.”

A small smile pulls at his lips as he glances toward you.

“There’s someone,” he continues. “Someone who’s been behind the scenes since the start of the season. You might not see her in front of the cameras, but she’s there. Always. Working, filming, noticing things no one else does.”

You freeze.

“She’s smart. Sharp. And the most annoying person when she wants to be.” His grin grows, softer now. “She’s also the reason I’ve been driving like I’ve got something to prove.”

A ripple goes through the crowd.

“I spent a lot of time trying to figure out what this feeling was. But I know now. And I don’t care if this is the right place or the wrong one—I just know I want her to hear it.”

He looks directly at you now.

“I love you.”

The room goes still.

You feel your pulse in your ears, the words still ringing "I love her. That’s all."

Seungcheol exhales slowly, nods once, and pushes back his chair. The screech of it against the floor cuts through the stunned quiet.

He rises.

And then—chaos.

“Seungcheol! Are you saying you’re in a relationship?”

“When did this start?”

“Was it before the season began?”

“Is she part of your team? Are you worried about the backlash?”

A dozen voices rise at once, microphones shoved forward, cameras flashing like lightning.

But he doesn’t flinch.

He doesn’t stop.

He just gives a tired half-smile, dimples ghosting his cheeks, and lifts a hand in a calm, deliberate gesture. “No further comments.”

That’s all he says.

And then he walks off the stage—unbothered, sure-footed, like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb in the middle of a press room. Like the whole world hadn't just tilted.

And somehow, with your heart still thudding and your throat closing up, all you can think is: he said it. Out loud. To everyone.

────⋆˚꩜｡────

You were waiting for him outside his hotel room, heart pounding a little more than you expected. You’d slipped away from the paddock, too eager not to be the first to congratulate the winner.

The elevator door clicked open, and there he was— still flushed from the race, a slow smile tugging at his lips when he saw you.

“That was some race, sir,” you teased, stepping closer, your eyes sparkling with mischief. “You really kept us all on edge.”

“Finally decided to stop playing hide and seek, ma’am?” Seungcheol leans his hand on the wall beside your head.

Your breath caught, heart thudding harder at how close he was. You matched his smirk, teasing, “Had to make sure you didn’t escape after all that you pulled today.”

His eyes darkened, that familiar heat flickering between you both. “Good. Because I’m not done yet.”

Before you could answer, his hand slid from the wall to your waist, pulling you closer. 

He reached for the door handle, his fingers brushing yours ever so lightly. The quiet click of the door felt loud in the charged silence between you. Inside, the dim light softened everything— the subtle scent of leather and cologne wrapping around you. Seungcheol didn’t move away. Instead, he closed the door slowly, turning to lean against it, eyes locked on yours.

His eyes darkened as he stepped closer, the space between you shrinking until the heat of his body pressed gently against yours. His hand slid from your waist up along your ribs, tracing slow, deliberate circles that sent shivers down your spine.

He didn’t break eye contact as he leaned in, pressing his lips softly to yours. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer without hesitation. When you parted slightly, the kiss deepened. 

His hands slid down to your lower back, gripping you firmly. Your fingers found the bottom of his shirt, trembling as you tugged it up and over his head. His bare skin pressed against your palms, warm and solid.

A low groan rumbled from his throat as you kissed down his jaw, then you moved your hands to the buttons of your blouse, undoing them quickly. The fabric slipped off your shoulders, leaving you exposed to his hungry gaze.

You backed toward the bed, dragging him with you by the waistband of his jeans. He followed, lips never leaving yours, his hands roaming everywhere — your waist, your hips, your thighs like he couldn’t decide where he wanted to touch first.

You gasped as the back of your knees hit the bed. He took the cue, hands gripping your thighs as he lifted you just enough to lay you back, following you down with a low groan. You reached between you, undoing the button of his jeans as he kissed your collarbone, the scrape of his teeth making your back arch

“God, I’ve wanted this,” he muttered against your skin, voice rough and low. His hand slid between your legs, cupping you over your underwear. You whimpered, hips rolling into his palm.

Your clothes came off in a tangle— your skirt pushed up, your bra unclasped, his jeans kicked away. It wasn’t graceful. 

You could’ve guessed his size from the way it outlined his briefs. You tugged him closer by the waistband of his briefs, but he paused, forehead resting against yours, chest rising and falling fast.

“Wait,” he murmured, reaching into the nightstand. You watched, heart pounding, as he grabbed a small silver packet and tore it open with practiced ease, all while his eyes stayed on yours.

When he finally eased into you, you gasped— fingers tightening on his back as your body adjusted to the stretch.

“God…” you breathed, head falling back against the pillow.

He groaned against your neck, teeth grazing your skin. “You’re so tight,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “Fuck— you feel like heaven.”

He gave you a moment, just holding still, his hands framing your waist before he began to move— slow at first, deep and deliberate, each thrust stealing the breath from your lungs.

Seungcheol had been relentless, his focus locked on the way your back arched beneath him, your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, pulling him in with every thrust.

“Cheol, faster,” you gasped, the plea tumbling out between moans, your nails digging into his shoulders. He responded with a deep, guttural groan, snapping his hips harder, deliberate, forceful—sending shocks through your entire body.

“Fuck baby,” his sharp eyes flicked down to meet yours, a glint of hunger. “you’re making it hard to hold back.”

“Then don’t,” you shot back, breathless but defiant, your hips rising to meet his with purpose. His lips twitched—not quite a smirk.

His mouth found your neck with a hungry urgency, lips dragging over your pulse point before he began kissing down the column of your throat— open-mouthed, hot, and slow. You gasped when he bit down gently, just enough to make you jolt, and then soothed the sting with a languid, wet kiss that left your skin slick and tingling.

you moaned, hands threading into his hair as he sucked at the sensitive spot just below your jaw, drawing another sound from deep in your throat.

Seungcheol grunted, his grip tightened on the headboard. The force of his movements intensified— each thrust deliberate. His arms wrap around your waist and pulls you in— if it's possible anymore.

He moved lower, his tongue tracing the curve of your shoulder before returning to your neck, switching between soft kisses and firm sucks that left heat blooming across your skin. Each kiss was deliberate, each bite a mark of possession. Your hips rolled up instinctively, chasing friction, needing more.

“Cheol! I– I think I'm—” you moan out barely able to form words.

Seungcheol’s dick once again disappears into you. His thrusts get harder. “Yeah? My baby’s close?”

Every time his dick drives into you, your slick forms a ring around the base of his dick.

“Mghh so go-good,” you sigh out, tossing your head back. Seungcheol pushes his face into the valley of your bouncing tits. Each tap of his tip against your cervix had him dizzy, the overstimulation causing each muscle in his body to tense.

Seungcheol’s grip tightened on your hips as he pounded into you with unrelenting force, every thrust sending jolts of pleasure spiraling through your core. Your nails raked down his back, desperate to anchor yourself to him, to the overwhelming heat building between you.

He dipped his head, breath hitching as he nipped at the curve of your neck, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. Your back arched instinctively, pressing closer.

“Cheol…” you gasped, voice trembling with need, “I can’t hold– nghh anymore.”

He didn’t slow— if anything, his pace grew more fierce, more demanding, matching your rising desperation. His mouth found yours again, a searing kiss that stole your breath, teeth grazing and tongues tangling in a fierce dance.

Your bodies moved as one— taut, desperate– chasing the impossible thrill of release. And then— with a guttural growl, he tensed inside you, shattering the last restraint as waves of pleasure crashed over you both in a crescendo of raw, unfiltered bliss.

You clung to each other in the aftermath, breathless and trembling, the fierce glow of your shared fire still burning bright in the dim room.

Seungcheol shifted beside you, his hands warm and careful as they brushed away the damp strands of hair sticking to your forehead. His fingers traced slow, soothing patterns along your skin, grounding you after the storm of sensation.

He reached for the soft towel folded nearby and dipped it into the glass of water on the nightstand. With deliberate gentleness, he pressed the cool cloth to your flushed cheeks, wiping away the sheen of sweat and the remnants of kisses along your neck.

“You’ve got marks,” he murmured, his voice thick with a mixture of admiration and protectiveness. His lips brushed over the places where his teeth had left gentle imprints, leaving you breathless all over again.

Without a word, he pressed a tender kiss to each one, as if silently apologizing and claiming you all at once.

Seungcheol’s fingers slid beneath the sheet, tracing the curve of your waist, making sure you were comfortable. Then he helped you adjust your clothes, pulling the fabric back over your shoulders and smoothing it down with care.

His hands lingered just a moment longer as he pulled you close, wrapping you in a warm embrace. The steady beat of his heart against your ear was the only sound in the room, a quiet promise that he was there, that you were safe.

“Rest now,” he whispered, voice low and soothing. “I’ll be right here.”

You sighed, melting into his arms, feeling the last traces of tension ebb away. And as your eyelids drifted closed, the world outside faded until all that remained was this— his touch, his warmth, and the quiet certainty of being loved.

────⋆˚꩜｡────

It was only day three of dating, but somehow every little thing Seungcheol did felt like a scene straight out of a movie— and you weren’t complaining.

You were wandering near the Seine, the spring breeze tousling your hair, when Seungcheol suddenly stopped and looked at you with a mischievous grin.

“Race you to that bench,” he challenged, pointing across the park.

You rolled your eyes but smiled. “You’re on.”

In a burst of laughter and clumsy running, you both sprinted— Seungcheol barely beating you and collapsed on the bench, breathless.

He nudged you with his shoulder. “Not bad for someone who claims to hate running.”

“Don’t get used to it,” you huffed. “I’m just letting you win.”

He laughed and then suddenly turned serious, eyes soft. “You know, it’s crazy how fast this feels like more than just three days.”

You blinked, heart thudding. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, fingers lingering a second too long. “I’m already imagining all the mornings I want to wake up next to you.”

You grinned. “Slow down, Speed Racer.”

He leaned in, brushing his lips against yours, quick but sweet. “I’m just getting started.”

______________

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[ramp-it-up]

Peach V

Peach IV | Peach VI

Summary: Steven Grant Rogers is a mob boss trying to get clean. Maybe it’s because he’s in love. With you. He's got you on his turf in NYC. Are you finally willing to admit that you want to be with him?

Pairing: Art Dealer/Philanthopist (Mob Boss) Steve Rogers x Reader (Peach)

A/N: I love these two like I can’t explain. The slow burn speeds up a lil bit in this. There’s some action. 🥹 This fic is connected to the Bucky Barnes Knock You Down AU, and DIRECTLY AFTER the events in the Steve Rogers fic Peach IV. Your interaction keeps me writing, so let me know if you like it by commenting and reblogging.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. SMUT. Read at your own risk. Angst. Slow burn, EXTREME Mutual pining, idiots in love, lusting, dancing lessons, use of the words ‘mad’ and ‘crazy,’ Bucky is a jerk, boy do you get jealous. Kissing and heavy petting in the form of oral sex, female receiving. Lil bit of Dom Steve if you squint. Not Beta'd. All errors my own.

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I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

------

“Welcome to SOB’s.”

You were one of the first awardees up to present to the group. Each recipient picked a NYC area artistic landmark to research and lead the others on a tour, discussing the significance to the art form for which they received funding.

As always, you were going outside of the box.

You looked around and concentrated on not staring at Steve. He looked so fine, foregoing his tailored sport coats this evening for a black pullover pushed up on his hairy, corded forearms. 

Dark jeans clung to his thighs and black boots encased his huge feet. What he was wearing highlighted every physical attribute that made you weak. He was quite the distraction, but you were a professional. 

You smiled at your cousin and Bucky, who were beaming at you, and began.

“Sounds of Brazil isn’t just a club—it’s a melting pot of culture, rhythm, and history that’s been bringing global sounds to the city since 1982.”

You moved around the relatively small dark space, but then a screen came down on the stage and a slide show of performances danced across it, with accompanying music flowing from the speakers.

 “SOB’s started as a space to showcase Brazilian, Latin, Caribbean, and African music, and quickly became a go-to spot for hip-hop, R&B, and reggae too. The Afro-Caribbean Queen herself, Ms. Celia Cruz, as well as Marc Anthony, J Cole, HER and Mac Miller (rest his soul) have all rocked this stage.”

You were silent for a moment and then continued. 

“This place is more than music; it’s about community, culture, and the celebration of diverse sounds. For me, dance is life. And it’s music such as what was fostered here that inspires me. It’s places like this that give life to the creativity of my art and my soul.”

“The vibe here is immaculate. It’s intimate, electric, and always unpredictable. Just imagine the countless artists who’ve poured their souls into performances right on this stage.This isn’t just a club, it’s a meld of culture, rhythm, and history that’s been bringing global sounds to the city since 1982.”

The video and music turned to Celia Cruz’s “Toro Mata” and three beautiful women, who looked like showgirls, came from backstage.

“In February, Salsa Groove starts at SOB’s with free salsa lessons, happy hour, and many other fun things. These ladies are here to give us a preview, so find a partner and let’s dance!”

Sharon moved toward Steve, but Sam grabbed her and she plastered on a fake smile. You smiled over at your cousin who was currently in the process of being caught up in the arms of James Buchanan Barnes.

Activity swirled around you as the dance instructors organized groups to teach, but you and Steve were left in the center of the dance floor.

You smiled at him. 

“Looks like I get to teach you Mr. Rogers.”

“Lucky me. Hope your feet survive.”

His sexy chuckle did you in as you slid into his arms. You placed your arms in the right position, but shifted to help him adjust.

“Relax your shoulders,” you murmured, stepping closer and running your hand along his broad trapezius muscles. 

Your voice was warm and laced with patience as you looked into his eyes.

“Salsa isn’t just about the steps. It’s about how you feel the music.”

“I feel it,” replied Steve, swallowing as he watched your hips move effortlessly with the rhythm. You made it look easy, natural and beautiful. He, on the other hand, felt a little bit out of sync, out of breath, and out of his depth. 

You took his hand, lacing your fingers through his, your palms pressing together and conducting electricity. 

“Start with the basics,” you whispered, guiding him.

“One, two, three: back. Five, six, seven: forward.”

Steve looked down to catch the rhythm and you pulled his arm around you tighter, causing you two to meld even closer together.

“Don’t overthink it. Just listen to me.”

Steve nodded and looked into the kaleidoscope depths of your eyes. 

And he listened. 

He listened to the way your breath hitched as his hand slid to your waist. 

And he noticed. 

He noticed the way your eyes flickered to his lips when you moved together in sync, your bodies sinfully connected.

“That’s it,” you said, your voice lower now, “Now, feel me.”

You guided his hand to your lower back, and his fingers instinctively pulled you more firmly against him. This power from him made you high along with the way your body fit against his.

You moved in perfect harmony.

“Better,” you murmured as you watched his mouth again.

Steve was found himself smiling, his steps more fluid now, as if he’d been dancing with you forever. His confidence grew with each turn, each time your bodies came in contact. 

And when you finally spun into him, your palm resting against his chest, your breaths mingling in the space between you, he knew this wasn’t just a dance. 

It was his chance.

Steve was about to lean in to kiss you when a slow clap began, started by Sharon.

You both looked around, surprised there was anyone else there. The music had stopped.

“Great job, Mr. Rogers. You made that look convincing.”

Sharon’s voice grated on your nerves but you had to laugh at your cousin giving her the gas face. You just rolled your eyes. Not even she could bring you down at the moment.

“SOB’s opened early just for us, we have another hour to dance and have fun. I’d love to talk more if you all are inspired. Have fun!”

Steve stood back and admired you, his creative queen, as the others swarmed around you.

—-

The way you moved made Steve Rogers feverish. 

The sway of your hips hypnotized him and he had to concentrate very much to appear unbothered. The smell of you made his cock thicken and gotdamn, when you laughed his stomach did flips.

He’d pay a million dollars to the first person who convinced you to kiss him. 

He’d pay you ten million for each kiss you’d give him willingly.

Steve was down bad.

The nail in his coffin was your creativity and bravery; the way you shared your opinions on your art and everything else made him mad with desire.

He now fully understood Bucky’s insistence to get fully clean. Steve was glad they were so close to the finish line and was willing to beat Bucky there. 

Steve was determined to be the good man you once thought he was.

—---

Over the next couple of days, your heart raced each time you watched Steve across whatever rooms you were in. His six foot plus form dominated every space and his natural affinity for art was so fucking appealing.

You finally admitted to yourself that you were feeling him, although the issue of whether you could trust him would not die. But when he looked at you with those baby blues, you got weak. There was definitely a connection and a chemistry that you couldn’t resist for much longer.

You couldn’t deny it any more.

But that didn’t stop you from trying.

—--

Sharon would not stop talking. You were unfortunate enough to sit near her on the Sprinter as it took you back to the hotel for the mid-day break on Wednesday. She was going on about her meeting with Steve to Lily from Montana.

Each recipient had meetings scheduled with Sam, Steve, Bucky and Natasha, another requirement of the week. Frequently, the meetings included a meal. It must have been a dizzying pace for them, but you’d really enjoyed your coffee with Sam and lunch with Natasha. They were cool people.

And of course your dinner with Bucky was amazing. You couldn’t wait for him to be your cousin, although he remained coy about proposing no matter how much you pressed him about the holiday trip.

“I mean my meeting with Steve was convenient this morning. He was right there and we were already in our comfortable clothing… the breakfast place was perfect…”

Your ears perked up at that.

“I just woke up so sore this morning. It’s all Steve’s fault…and then he had the nerve to do it again…”

Your mind filled in the gaps and your blood started to boil. 

This must be why he hadn’t been around that morning. He was recovering from fucking with Sharon. Rational thought was out the window and you couldn’t see anything but red.

Instead of going up to your room to rest, you walked the four blocks to the Rebirth building. 

Your spine was straight and your chin was up as you entered the gallery, passed Natasha and headed to Steve’s office. He came to stand at the door as you approached, obviously warned that you were coming. He was in shirtsleeves, his black button-down clinging to his muscular frame, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms. 

You blinked because he looked dangerously, devastatingly handsome in a way that was almost too much to look at directly. His mesmerizing blue eyes locked with yours, and the rest of the world disappeared. For a moment, you were frozen, ready to fuck him or spring into battle.

Just then, Bucky Barnes bounded out of a door near Steve’s, looking like a black lab, and headed in the same direction you were.

“Yo, Steve. I think that we should… oh shit! Peach!”

You couldn’t help but smile at Bucky, who looked cute in a black pullover with his curly hair tousled. Over Thanksgiving weekend, you’d grown to like him a lot. 

Bucky Barnes obviously loved his friends. He also was a good guy, despite his line of work. The way he loved your cousin had earned your respect.

You smiled and held your hand out for him to shake.

“Hullo Bunny… eep!”

He pulled you toward him, drawing you into a hug and twirling you out into a salsa spin, causing you to laugh. 

“It’s Bucky, Mr. Barnes if you’re nasty!”

You were shaking with laughter.

“Oh gawd! Does my cousin know that you are so corny?”

Bucky had mellowed your harsh.

Momentarily.

“It’s part of why she keeps coming back, Peach.”

Bucky winked at you and instantly you understood the appeal. You grinned up at Bucky, lightly slapping him on the arm as he laughed at you.

Someone cleared their throat and Bucky smirked over at Steve. Then, he caught the drift. 

“I can see that you have important business to attend to with this Punk. Catch you later.”

Suddenly you didn’t want to have this conversation, because the way Steve was looking at you was too intense. You didn’t move. You felt Bucky’s warm hands on your shoulders and you were compelled to move forward.

“Onward. Into the fray.”

You glared over your shoulder at Bucky and then looked back at Steve.

“Mr. Rogers.”

Steve’s jaw clenched and he greeted you in kind. 

“Ms. Y/LN. Is there something I can help you with?”

He walked into his office and you followed him, making sure to leave the door open. Steve's gaze slowly dragged down your body and back up again until it settled on your mouth. You felt that look like a physical touch, making your clothes feel irrelevant. You took a deep breath to keep from shedding them right there.

“Yes, Mr. Rogers. I need you to be honest with me.”

Normally, that was a throwaway comment, but Steve knew how important him being honest was to you, so he nodded, cleared his throat and said, “Of course,” while looking you in those beautiful eyes.

“Did you fuck Sharon Carter last night?”

Steve’s eyes widened in shock. He blinked a few times to digest your question. Then he answered it. Blood rushed in his head.  

I’m gonna kill the mutherfucker that said that, he thought. But he was calm when he replied.

“No. I was very much alone last night.” 

Missing you, he thought.

“Did you fuck her this morning?”

Steve put his file down on his desk and leaned back on it, crossing his arms.

“Absolutely not. She showed up at my gym, for the second day in a row. I helped her with some technique and then had our meeting in a coffee shop. Who is spreading this rumor that’s got you so worked up?”

He would find the fucking liar and strangle them to death.

“That bitch is going around insinuating to everyone…”

Then you realized what was going on. You closed your mouth. Sharon. 

That bitch. Why were you letting some hoe rag get to you?

“Never mind. You’re absolutely right. I don’t care.”

You raised your chin like the regal queen you were and Steve wanted to fall at your feet. 

“Well for your information, I’m not interested in Sharon Carter. As a matter of fact…”

All I want is you. 

Steve looked you in your eyes. God, you were so beautiful.

“I’m taken.” 

Your breath caught in your throat and a feeling in between panic and jealousy furled in your stomach at those words. As he looked at you, understanding dawned about what he meant. 

This conversation was not going the way you intended it to.

Your eyes moved to avoid Steve’s and it was then you noticed Bucky leaning on Steve’s door frame and snacking while he watched you two.

“Popcorn? Really Bucky???”

Bucky extended the bag to you. 

“‘SmartPop. Want some?”

Steve went over and closed the door in Bucky’s face and then turned back to you. You noticed how his bicep bulged when he ran his hand through his hair and your nipples tightened into stiff peaks.  

“Sorry to that woman.”

You played dumb, hoping he wouldn’t press the issue. But Steve clocked you. He shook his head and chuckled.

You crossed your arms and jutted your hip out. 

“What?...What, Steven!?”

You were the most adorable human he’d ever seen. 

“Nothing.”

You turned around to leave and then whirled around again.

“And another thing!”

Steve was smirking now. 

“You upgraded me on the airline and at the hotel. Didn’t you? And you gave me more endowment than anyone else. You’re just trying to get in my pants again.”

Steve sighed.

“Okay, so first I fucked Sharon, now I’m trying to get in your pants. You’re going from one extreme to another.”

“Tell me I’m wrong!”

Steve clenched his jaw, but his voice remained even. He really wanted to grab you and spread you over his desk and give you his cock until you calmed down. But baby steps.

He stepped to you and you looking up at him was his Roman Empire.

“You. Are. Wrong.”

His glare was blue ice and you felt just a little bit afraid. 

And a lot turned on. 

“Do you realize that your cousin helped us out with travel and accommodations?”

You opened your mouth and then closed it.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“And you didn’t get more than anyone else. Russ received $250,000. Awards were scaled according to the project.”

“Ah.”

“And I don’t just want to get in your pants. I want so much more.”

You stood there dumbfounded.

“W-what are you talking about?”

Steve gave you a rueful smile.

“Stop pretending you don’t know. Peach, I–”

You raised your hand to signal stop.

“Ain't nobody got time for this.”

He gazed at you with a sparkle in his eye and licked those red, red lips. But he put his hands up and backed away, still smiling.

“Also. Stop doing that!”

You waved your hand in the direction of this face. You needed him to stop looking at you like that.

He was trying to hold himself back. Your lunacy had him hard. And you not letting him tell you how he felt made him want to make you beg for him. He shook his head to clear his lust.

“Just what am I doing to you, Ms. YLN?”

That voice again. Your eyes shuttered and your pussy pulsed at the answer to that question, but you were determined to get him told.

“Sparkling those eyes down at me like that!”

“Sparkling my eyes…?”

Steve feigned annoyance, but he was enjoying the fuck out of this. 

“What does that even mean?”

“You know exactly what it means! Looking at me like.. Like.. like you…Just. Stop.”

He stopped smiling. 

“As you wish.”

Steve’s eyes roamed over your face, pausing to look at your lips. Then, he looked back up into your eyes and the sparkle was gone. It was replaced by a warm blue fire that for some reason caused you to shiver. You wanted to fall into it and his arms, but you shook yourself out of it.

“Nope. Don’t do that either.”

Steve huffed as the corner of his mouth hooked upward into a sexy side grin. Your panties couldn’t take it.

“Do wh–? Umph. Ummhmmhhmm!”

You put your hand over Steve’s mouth to stop him from assaulting you with his voice but he kept vocalizing. You realized that Steve’s hand was on your waist and was pulling you closer to him. 

Your breasts were pressed up against his rock hard torso and your hand was on his chest. Lord help you, all you needed to do was remove your hand. You stared into those blue depths for half a second and then moved back.

Steve licked his lips when your hand was gone and your body buzzed as he contemplated pulling you back into his arms.

When that look came into his eyes, you gave up. 

“Ugh. Never mind. I’ve got to go.”

You straightened your spine again, turned on your heel and marched toward the door. 

Steve followed you. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw that Bucky was pumping his fist as you made to leave the building. You thought about giving him a piece of your mind, but you had to get out of there; Steve was close behind.

“Peach. Stop running. Calm down.”

You stopped and whirled on him, poking your finger in his chest.

“NEVER tell a mad woman to calm down, Rogers.”

He smiled down at you and your world spun out.

“So you admit that you’re crazy?”

“Fuck you!”

You turned and walked toward your hotel at a steady pace but Steve was right behind you. He followed you back to your hotel lobby and was right there when you pressed the elevator button. 

“What do you want, Steve?”

You sideyed him as you looked up at the floor indicator panel.

“You.”

You whipped your head around as the elevator doors opened. Your heart was beating so fast you were sure he could hear it. But then you just  wordlessly walked into the elevator as Steve followed closely.

“You feel this thing between us, Peach. I’m not alone in this. I know I’m not.” 

He moved close to you as the elevator doors closed, placing one arm on the wall near your head and the other on the railing beside you. You were enveloped in him. But when you looked up at him. Jesus.

“You wish. You think you’re god’s gift to women, Rogers?”

Your whisper was fervent.Your heart was beating out of your chest and your cunt was soaking wet. The electricity was arcing between you in the small space. You felt it in the small of your back. 

“Judging by the way you look at me, Peach. I’d say you wish, too.”

You shifted, trying to rub your legs together on the low. There was an ache you needed extinguished.

“Boy, please...”

You were still trying to fight it as Steve moved close, his lips a breath from your ear.

“Not all women. Just you. And you don’t need to beg. Just ask for what you want, Peach.”

He pulled back and you almost chased him, but bit your lip and tried to remain calm.

“I don’t want anything from you, Steven.”

“Now, you’re the liar.” Steve intoned, his jaw working tightly.

When the elevator door opened, you ran out, moving quickly down the hallway to your room. You stood in front of your door and stared at Steve, not opening the door and not speaking.

He looked down the hallway and spoke, anger laced in his tone. 

“Open the fucking door and get your sweet ass in that room, Peach.”

You tried to stare him down, but he was determined. And something in those blue eyes made you want to comply.

“I’m not going to repeat myself.”

Your hands shook as you opened your door with Steve breathing down your neck, reminiscent of that night in Atlanta. 

Once the door was closed, he stalked toward you, tipping up your chin to meet his intense gaze. His thumb brushed your bottom lip and you suppressed a shudder. 

No one had ever made you feel this way with just a touch. 

“What do you want from me?” 

Your voice was barely a whisper. 

Steve leaned in close to reply, his breath fanning your face.

“Stop fucking running from me. I apologize for all the things I’ve done. But now I’m underwater and I’m drowning in my feelings for you.”

Your resistance were just bare thread now. And the last ones frayed into nothing at his proximity.

“Prove it,” you said as you met his gaze. 

Steve’s eyes glinted with something you couldn’t read, and his hand moved to your waist. 

“Careful now, Peach,” he murmured and bent his head, still not quite kissing you, but driving you crazy.

“You don’t scare me,” you whispered. 

“No?” 

His hand was on your back now, moving you impossibly closer. 

“I think that I do. I think the feelings you have for me terrify you.” 

His lush lips crashed down on yours, and you were completely lost to the way he devoured you, all heat and hunger and lust. Your tongues tangled and danced, and you moaned into his mouth. 

Steve broke away to nip down your jaw. 

“Taste so fucking sweet, Peach. ‘S all I could think about this past month.” 

His hands slid down your body to palm your ass, pulling you close and making you feel how hard he was for you. Damn he was big. He was right, you’d probably struggle to take him, but god you wanted to try right now.

Slowly, Steve lowered his head again, watching you intently as his lips capture yours. The kiss started off slow and delicious, then it deepened, growing more passionate, more demanding. Your fingers tangled in his thick hair, pulling him closer. And when you came up for air, you were both breathing hard. He leaned his forehead on yours.

“I want every single part of you, Peach,” he said roughly. “Not just your body.”

Your heart swelled. There was no more holding back now. 

“D’you think you can… can you think about trusting me with your heart?”

You hesitated and he knew he needed to get you not to get back in your head. He settled into the large couch and pulled you into his lap. His hands on your body was like nothing else. 

“You feel fucking amazing.”

Before he knew it, Steve wrapped a hand around your neck and pulled you down to his mouth. He nipped at your lower lip, then soothed the tender flesh with his tongue, leaving you a trembling mess.

He lifted his hand and ran a finger down the side of your neck; the touch was light but somehow burned. 

“Tell me you don’t think about being mine?”

You only whimper in answer, your stubbornness still in control.

He shook his head as he leaned down and followed the trail of his finger with his lips.

It felt so good that you tilted your head to the side with a soft sigh, giving him better access. Steve took full advantage, trailing kisses back up to the sensitive spot behind your ear that made you shiver.

“Fuck, Steve.”

You hooked your leg around his waist and rolled your hips against his like he was a pole. You arched your back and attempted to ride him to get some satisfaction to your core, which was 

aching and weeping.

“No. We’re not gonna fuck. Not until you tell me you’re mine. But we can play.”

He arched a dark blonde eyebrow as he kissed down your cleavage and  one big hand cupped your breast over your shirt and the other reached down to slip inside your panties. 

“You wanna play, Peach? You’re absolutely soaked Sweetheart. Want me to make you feel good?”

It was his one mission in life, and he could do it all day, bring you pleasure.

You pouted up at him, but you couldn’t resist. This high was too addictive.

“Yes, Stevie. Please. Make me feel good.” 

He growled lowly when you arched into his touch. You felt the hard length of him pressing against your core, and you reached down to palm him through his pants. 

“Fuck. You’re gonna be the death of me.”

Suddenly, your bra was pulled down and his mouth was closing over your nipple, sucking and teasing. He moved lower, getting on his knees beside the couch.

He stopped manhandling you long enough to unbutton his shirt and damn, did you pay attention. 

You bit your finger as those muscular shoulders and biceps and chest came into view. Your eyes followed the happy trail that flowed down his six pack and damn the bugle in his pants was big.

That shocked look on your face when you met his eyes again was so hot that Steve wanted to fucking ruin you, but he decided have settle for just tasting you.

“Don’t want you to get my shirt wet, Sweetheart.”

He winked and then reached underneath your skirt to find your panties.

You scrambled up on your hands and scoffed.

“It’s like that?”

Steve grabbed your thighs and pulled them apart, making your skirt ride up.

You leaned back and smiled as he winked and nodded.

He hiked your legs over his shoulders and a second later, his mouth was between them, his tongue teasing the skin near where you really wanted him to be. 

You grabbed his hair and ground against his face, already desperate for more. And when he licked straight through the center of you, a scream started in your throat but you stifled it, looking down to see Steve’s eyes twinkle up at you. 

He kept you pinned against the couch, gripping your hips with those big, strong hands and holding you in place. His tongue traveled up and down your slit, between your folds, and slid inside your wet cunt.

Your entire body trembled as his tongue toyed with your clit. You felt his smile as he started circling his tongue around the small bundle of nerves.

“Fuck! Give me more!”

Your eyes rolled as two of his long thick fingers entered you and scissored before quickly finding the pile of sensitive flesh inside you. He massaged it and at the same time leaned down to suck your clit into his mouth. It was at that point that your orgasm hit you like a wave.

“Steveeeee! Godddd!” 

You screamed as your pussy simultaneously clenched and squirted fluid into Steve’s waiting mouth. Your vision went white, and all the air was sucked out of the room. 

Slowly, your surroundings came back into focus. Steve kissed the inside of your thigh, then stood up, watching you with an intensity that made your heart stutter in your chest.

“The way you scream my name makes a man wanna buy you jewels Peach.”

His beard was wet and his voice was raspy, but you reached for him and he leaned down to kiss you, letting you taste your essence on his tongue.

Then, he pulled away and found your bathroom. You stared at the ceiling as the water ran and you assumed he was cleaning up. He returned with his shirt on and a warm towel to help you clean up.

He watched as you shed your clothes, sensuality on display only for him. You reached for his pants and he grabbed your wrists, shaking his head.

“Like I said. That was fun. But you’ve got to make a decision, Peach. Do you want me like I want you?”

The words were right there in your throat, but they refused to come out.

You just stared at him.

Steve smiled at you ruefully.

“Okay. It’s all right. I’m not giving up. Just giving you space.”

He handed you the fluffy white robe that was in the bathroom and you put it on to follow him to the door of your suite.

“See you tomorrow after the Summit for our meeting.”

He kissed you goodbye on the cheek and the dance you and Steve Rogers did continued as you watched him walk away from you.

——-

Hope you liked it! Interaction gives me lifeeeeee! Read, comment, reblog, like. TIA 🥰

Read the next part, Peach VI

[bad-system]

— let's talk KCD3

i finally collect my thoughts and speculations on the possible continuation of the KCD franchise in this post - but please march into this knowing these are speculations born of my own biased narrative and hopeful bastardizations of real events. unlike KCD, i will try to adhere to the real life dates provided primarily by wikipedia as no dates or years were specified for KCD3. and finally - this is only a speculation of what a KCD3 plot might look like IF it was confirmed. as of today's date, no confirmations about the sequel of the games has been announced. PS: i am not a historian. i just like history.

PART: 1 2 3 4 5

_________

my primary speculations will be aimed at the main protagonists of the KCD franchise - henry of skalitz and hans capon (jan ptaček of pirkštejn) with the assumed relationship between them being romantic post KCD2.

— jan hus

the reason i find myself making this theory at all is because a couple of very important things are about to happen in a very close future in bohemia. among political tensions that followed wenceslaus iv with every step and the beginning of the anti-church sentiments sown by one jan hus, the next 10-20 years will turn out to be formative for the future of bohemia.

to be extremely brief, jan hus' teachings targeted the body of church as a whole, denouncing the popes, bishops, priests and the acts of paying for any kind of dissolution of sins. jan hus believed church to be leeches who got rich off of poor people and demanded the clergy to be stripped of any worldly possessions if they wanted to preach. he also believed only jesus christ and the lord could be the judges of sin; that no body of church could sell forgiveness or blessings.

— hussites

following the teachings of jan hus, the hussites emerged as soldiers from the commonfolk following the death of jan hus in 1415 (burned at stake). two prominent factions formed within hussites - the radical taborites and the moderate utraquists.

it was in the taborites that jan žižka emerged as a prominent figure, and he had made his first significant mark on history in 1419 when he participated in the first defenestration of prague.

so, as you can see, there was a significant gap between jan žižka's time as a roadside bandit in 1403 and his rise to fame in 1420s. that had been in part because it is speculated he had been serving as a king's courtier to king wenceslaus iv and his family. (funny detail; at some point wenceslaus calls žižka "faithful and beloved" in a special letter LOL)

_________

— and your're still reading this probably wondering "where is the part where he talks about hansry" but worry not, it is here.

if you checked hans capon's (jan ptaček) wiki you would have seen that later on, he follows the lead of his poweful neighbour petr of šternberk on the anti-hussite and pro-sigismund side. petr of šternberk was prominently pro-sigismund, had very strong anti-hussite views and was a famous hussite killer and enemy of jan žižka. hans will do this for reasons unknown to us and reasons that the game will probably improvise on.

this is where i would put the heart of henry and hans' conflict. both henry and hans have been vocally and actively pro-wenceslaus since KCD1, which would also translate into being pro-hussite in the future.

here is also where i mention the not so subtle moment in KCD2 when žižka approaches henry with the offer to join the fight by his side, because that was very deliberate and sets us up pretty well for the next installment of the game if it comes to be.

this is also the point i would consider crucial to the testament of henry's character. up to this point, henry had been following people; radzig, hanush, hans, jobst, prokop, john of lichstenstein on the side of wenceslaus. i think it would be important for henry to decisively choose a side in this conflict, not only because it was sigismund's forces that razed skalitz, but also because this is a cause he himself believes in rather than follows for the sake of loyalty or revenge. and i'll say - those are both valid motives, but i feel like it would mean a lot more and feel like a big step in his character development to choose a fight he believes in rather than feels obligated to.

thus i believe henry would join the side of jan žižka and subsequently hussites.

but wait! it gets better. henry's own father, radzig kobyla, would go on to join jan žižka in waging guerilla campaigns against the rosenbergs while in service of king wenceslaus. i believe this was happening during the years 1406—1411. so, henry running with this band would make a lot of sense to me from the perspective of both henry's motives and loyalties. so by the year 1419, which i'm naming now for malevolent reasons i will reveal further down, henry would be established as not only pro-wenceslaus but also as a hussite in the coming years.

and now you're probably wondering "but what about hans and henry kissing?" well. the story of KCD is about henry more than hans, and i believe the emergence of anti-sigismund movements that henry would be required at just as hans is about to be conveniently married off presents the story with an opportunity to separate hans and henry for a while, and sets us up with the heartbreaking promises of "i'll come back for you," while hans settles in as the new lord of pirkstein if the game lore allows it. we do not know whether warhorse will follow the timeline of wikipedia on the matters of hanush refusing to give up his estates to the rightful heir, hans capon, or whether they'll force hanush to hand the estates over to hans in the coming years when his son is born.

if that does happen, hans would be presented with the opportunity to show what he's learned about responsibilities during the events of KCD2 as a newly appointed lord of his own estate.

thus, henry is whisked off to fight for the king, father and the people as hans takes over his lordly and familial duties as a new father if we're to believe wikipedia that his son heinrich (hynce), named after his lover henry, was born in the year 1404.

so why did i mention the year 1419?

well, for reasons you're probably not going to like.

it is my firm belief that up until the year 1416-ish henry and hans would have enjoyed eachothers company often, as lovers and as envoys of the highly politically important subjects such as john II of lichstenstein, margrave jobst and prokop, radzig kobyla, jan žižka and king wenceslaus iv himself. this probably doesn't satisfy the needs of many of you for their fluffy happy ending, but i am taking into account primarily their duties to the crown/class/people and then their romantic relationship, because that was unfortunately the hand they would most likely have been dealt.

why up until 1416?

it was in july of 1415 that jan hus was burned at the stake, and the hussites movement grew stronger than ever, to the point in 1419 where the first major hussite battle happened. battle of živohošť, an event that occured in november of 1419, was fought under the command of petr of šternberk, with hans capon in tow, as he had decided to side with his powerful neighbour as mentioned earlier.

now this would present the story with a unique opportunity of putting hans capon and henry of skalitz on opposing sides.

hans, while loyal to henry and the rest of the wenceslaus + hussites, was ultimately forced to join the side of opposition, and thus had political obligations he had to fulfill owing to his duties as a lord of his estates.

it is during this battle that i could see henry getting killed off for the sake of driving the plot. poetically, two lovers find themselvese on the opposite sides of a battlefield, one fighting for something he believes in with the traitor on the other side, fighting in accordance with duty.

according to hans' wiki, it was after this one, singular battle that he switched sides and even signed a declaration in favour of the moderate hussites, even with petr of šternberk still alive at this point.

with his documented presence ceasing here, it is presumed that he had died in 1419, as his son hynce, 17 years old at the time, succeeded his father's estates in 1420.

in my tragic telling of the story of KCD3/4/5, henry's death on the battlefield is what spurs hans on to sign the declaration in support of the ideology his henry had died for, perhaps as a last gesture in favour of his dead lover.

and in true KCD2 galehaut and lancelot fashion, hans capon would perish from grief, mourning his best friend and the love of his life.

this, in fact, perfectly sets the franchise up for KCD4/5/? if this were the case; with hans and henry both out of the picture, you emerge as the young nobleman heinrich, aka henry, named after the greatest man his father had known - the year is 1420 and the hussite wars have lit the flames of the bohemian people's revolution.

[netsuijae]

been thinking about this bug a lot recently...

i want a big kanade arc pls pls pls 🙏 its her turn to go through the horrors ♡

long kanade ramble ahead!!

i think that savior complex of hers is gonna send her crashing down. hard.

we haven't gotten any huge kanade focus events yet, or anything that really progresses her story or builds her character in a significant way, but im really looking forward to see what they have in store for her character arc. im hoping kana5 will stir the pot a bit and get the plot moving.

i feel like overall shes been really mysterious and strangely without much going on, and at first i thought she was a little boring even... but i think that's by design. she doesn't open up about herself much, and generally appears to be pretty put together, maybe aside from her poor self-care. she doesn't talk about many of her own problems, because she doesn't want to have the others worry for her, when her problems are "insignificant" compared to the others, as she says. i think the lack of progression in her story also fools the audience into believing she has her shit together. ena has had her fair share of struggles. mafuyu had her big arc, but shes also been trying to find herself since the beginning. mizuki just went through hell and finally fell apart after the long-lasting growing tension in her story. but kanade? she's been stagnant. unchanging. it makes it easy for her to be overlooked. but that's exactly what she wants-- to not weigh the others down, and to be their support. but she can't keep that up forever. so yes, i admit i wasn't super interested in her character before, but I've now realized that's because they've hardly even started her story yet. as one of my oomfs said, she was always going to be the last wall to fall.

when reading the story at first, kanade has a lot of warning signs you might glance over. ive only recently started to see them more, like just in passing comments here and there that are REALLY concerning and unhealthy. i mean the most obvious sign is that she barely gives herself time to eat or sleep of course, but the more you pay attention to the subtle things, the more apparent it becomes that she's got some serious shit she needs to unpack, or she may just end up crumpling under the weight of it all. i think her undoing has the potential to be huge. catastrophic even. i really wonder what the writers are planning for her, but all this waiting leads me to believe they could have something big planned. like okay, looking back to the card i drew from, the bloomfes kanade card, shes got some wild shit going on... there is nothing normal about that !!!

i also posted abt this on bluesky, but reiterating it here, i felt like her newest card for her mixed focus event kinda seemed like foreshadowing... specifically because of the niigo colored star charms. mizuki and ena's charms are together, facing each other (yippeeeee), but mafuyu's charm faces kanade's, who's charm is not facing hers. mizuenas charms also seem to glow in the light, while kanamafus dont reflect as much light. could just be coincidence, but i know they love hinting and foreshadowing with card details like this. and overall, kanade's expression is unreadable, like a still, empty doll. the card has a bit of a melancholic feel, to me at least. im not sure how soon the next niigo event will be, but it's gotta be a kanade focus, unless they pull a saki. i dont think its the biggest leap to suggest this could be some foreshadowing for the next event.

but anyway, i think kana5 will start building up the tension at least, maybe entering a kanade arc even. i need to see her snap pls pls pls pls pls

if you read all that,,, wow thanks, u get a star ☆ :)) also lemme know ur thoughts and if im off base about anything

[joyswonderland1108]

"Jikookers want what we have" a tragicomedy in 84 acts.

Ah yes. The cult has spoken again. That group of people so devoted to fanfiction they forgot they're not the actual authors of BTS' lives. I was just minding my own business scrolling on X and then i saw screenshots where they uttered the iconic phrase once more : "Jikookers want what we have"

And my immediate reaction is: You have what exactly?

Please, i beg, enlighten me. Educate me. Shine your flashlight of delusion upon my humble soul.

Do you mean:

The ability to look at two men in the same room and immediately start spinning a three-season k-drama script about a "secret marriage" that somehow survived a full military enlistment gap and multiple obvious real-life interactions that contradict your entire fantasy?

The audacity to claim that literally everything Jikook do is either "fanservice", "coincidence" or "they were forced to do it by the company" .. but when tk breathe the same air, it's "soulmate proof" and "date night"?

The unique talent of opening your eyes, seeing Jikook's entire interactions unfold like the final scene of a romantic film, and still going, "Nope. That's just brotherly love. Jungkook actually flew to that city for someone else."?

And let’s not forget the true crime-level sleuthing they do with pixelated photos and background objects. Like that time they saw a Christmas tree with the Wooga squad and immediately declared, “That’s it. That’s Jungkook. He was there.” Just.. a tree. A tree. Not a hand. Not a sleeve. Not a voice. A TREE. And the confidence? Unmatched.

Or when a blurry reflection shows up in a spoon, and suddenly it’s “Jungkook was clearly there. That’s his left earlobe from 2019, I would know it anywhere.” Girl..

They’ve mistaken staff members, shadows, pets, and possibly furniture for Jungkook. At this point, if someone breathes near a member of the Wooga squad, they’re like, “He’s there. He's hiding behind the lamp. That lamp is his disguise.

🧍‍♀️Be serious.

You have what? A religious devotion to editing Jikook clips and pics out of existence OR turning them into.. something else so you can post your 8-second gifs as a "proof"?

A Photoshop degree in manufacturing matching accessories that they never actually wore? A deep-rooted fear of 4K footage? A library full of plotlines that have not been updated since 2019?

Because baby, while you're out here reading a version of events that got invalidated faster than a Weverse life replay gets deleted, we're over here crying, throwing up, and questioning our own existence watching actual moments of intimacy, care, tension, fondness, push-pull dynamics, micromovements, looks that scream "I dare you to say that in public", and lips that do not lie.

Your people are defecting babes. They're not even silent about it. We've seen it. "I feel sad, i can't breathe, i will take a break because i don't know if i believe in them any longer after this", "Okay but if MY ship did what THEY did i'd be in a coma"

Exactly. You'd be in a coma. Meanwhile Jikookers are here with two IV bags of emotional damage and still managing to function (barely).

Let's talk about how your entire structure collapses when:

Jungkook calls Jimin "Jimin-ssi" with that look.

Jimin calls Jungkook "Baby" on camera.

Jungkook tells Jimin he gives him butterflies.

Jimin calling Jungkook "Hyung" with the most teasing smugness known to mankind and Jungkook malfunctions on the spot.

Jungkook sits and stares at Jimin content during his lives without blinking.

Jimin sings Jungkook's solo, doing his moves the way a man who memorized it for "reasons" would.

Meanwhile you're out there hanging your entire thesis on "they once went to the same restaurant with different people on different days but what if they actually met up?"

We don't want what you have.

WE DO NOT WANT UNHINGED THEORIES AND PERMANENT COPIUM.

What we do want is peace, peace from you twisting Jikook's actions like it's your career.

Peace from you posting "this proves nothing" under every video that shows more chemistry than a K-drama final kiss.

Peace from you crying "company script" every time Jungkook chooses to speak about Jimin with his entire chest and a suspicious sparkle in his eyes.

Let me be clear:

We don't want what you have because.. There's nothing there to want. It's like going to a buffet and finding a single ice cube and being told "this is a gourmet".

So no. We’re good. We’re full.

We're over here eating with trembling hands, yes, but we’re EATING.

Stay in your cave of denial where 2017 screenshots are still considered "recent," and please stop acting like we’re jealous of a headcanon when we’ve got receipts, replay buttons, and regret.(because the intensity of it all is emotionally destructive and yet we keep coming back).

Thank you for your time.

Back to your regularly scheduled delusion.

[prince-jjae]

Flesh & Rind.

Pairing; watermelon sorbet!yj × cherry jam!male reader

Genre; smut, pwp (porn w plot.) [nsfw, mdni.]

Synopsis; When moving to the quaint little region that was Strawberryland, Watermelon Sorbet Yeonjun had one thing on his mind: relaxation. Enter Cherry Jam, the most devastatingly attractive boy that Yeonjun had been ever-so-blessed to lay eyes on. Cherry was decidedly not part of his relaxation plans, yet with the help of a little magic (and some incredibly well-placed scones), Cherry might just worm his way into Yeonjun’s heart (and while he's at it, his pants, too.)

Warnings; extremely dubious consent, this is on the darker side so please proceed with caution. Stalking, Maneater!reader, Yeonjun is whipped, Reader pretends to be innocent, Yeonjun literally eats a treat left on his windowsill (DO NOT DO THIS). Yeonjun is a bit of an airhead. Reader is manipulative as SHIT.

Smut Warnings; Again, Dubcon. Come eating. Coercion(?). Accidental exhibitionism. Masturbation. Aphrodisiacs in the form of flavoured bodily fluids. Intoxication play if you squint. Switch!yj, Switch!reader. Meandom!reader. Bondage. Anal sex (obviously). Oral (m!rec, anally ofc). Fingering. Riding. Power play. Degradation/praise kink. Comeshots/Coming untouched.

WC; ~7.5k (oof.)

Jjae's comments; holy shit. big shoutout to my moots and fellow creators in this event. This has been a wild ride for all of us and im so glad i got to share this experience with so many writers ive spent months looking up to. i hope this is as fun to read as it was to write. happy holidays!

[masterlist.] [event materlist.]

It was because you were new to town, as was he. That was clearly the reason, otherwise he had no method of explanation as to why his eyes kept being drawn to you. You, with your fluffy pink hair, tumbling about your temples in gentle curls. Yes, it was because you were both new, novel and fresh to the town you now shared with plenty others, that's why you caught his eye.

No other reason.

Surely not because of the way your nose scrunched when you laughed, nor was it because of the way your eyes would sparkle upon helping one of your shared neighbors. No, there was no other explanation.

At first, he didn't think much of it. It was easy to ignore. You were easy to ignore. Not that Watermelon Sorbet Yeonjun thought himself rude. On the contrary, he considered himself to be quite nice. He was always described as a friend who would be there for you, someone who would bring warmth and safety to those he loved. Yet there was something about this pretty cherry boy, something about you, that sent alarm bells ringing in his head. A warning, loud and clear, to stay away. You didn't seem dangerous, not by any means. He figured you were such a gentle soul that you'd likely cry about the smallest things.

Oh, he could imagine that. Your bottom lip jutted out, trembling as fat tears gather along your lash line, threatening to spill down those bright pink ch- 

He shook the thoughts from his head violently. This whole town was full of innocent joys, fruit houses piled atop the rolling hills, filled with even sweeter tennants. That’s why he was here, to finally be somewhere quiet and nice, away from the unforgivingly loud Big Apple City. He was here to relax, maybe even make some money. He wasn’t here to get involved with someone as dangerously alluring as you. 

So he made a point to avoid you. Physically, anyway. He couldn’t deny himself the temptation of viewing you from across the room at gatherings, town meetings, seeing you across the stall from him at the weekly market. You always sat there so politely, cheeks a pretty pink as you gushed about your latest batch of jellies and jams. All variations of cherry, of course. And how cherry did suit you, Yeonjun thought. You were certainly just as pretty, and Yeonjun would wager you were just as sweet. 

He kept his distance, and it seemed to be working. You hadn’t said much beyond your cutesy greetings in passing, eyes shining bright with wonder and sparkling at him in a way that made his stomach twist. He would always nod, rather stiffly, before turning on his heel and making a quick exit whenever possible. He always missed the way you wilted, face hardening into something unrecognizable for a few small moments. Maybe if his eyes lingered on you for a second longer, if he had cast a glance over his shoulder as he left, he would have seen that facade drop.

– 

The first time he found one of your gifts was around two months after you two had moved into town. Two months of dancing around each other, with Yeonjun staring at you down the length of his nose whenever he thought you weren’t looking, two months of torture. It was a warm summer morning when he opened the shutters to his bedroom window only to find a scone, covered in the most delectable cherry jam he had ever seen. He hadn’t eaten yet, and although his mind screamed at him to not devour the treat, he inhaled it in the few seconds following his tongue darting out to wet his lips. If he had any better self-control, he might’ve tried to school his expression as he licked the sticky jam off of his plush lips, maybe even bite down the moan that bloomed in his chest upon savoring the taste on his tongue. 

Unfortunately, Yeonjun wasn't known for his self-control.

He understood now why you had the town wrapped around your finger, drawing crowds to your stall every week for your newest batches of sweet treats, jars decorated with ribbons and bows, just like their maker. He fully understood the draw to your business, especially if everything you made tasted this divine. 

The next time he found a gift was in much the same way, a still-warm scone dripping with jam, served neatly on a plate sat on his windowsill the very next day. And then the next day. And then the next. This continued for about a week, leading to Yeonjun waking up with a hunger he couldn’t describe every morning, drool pooling in his mouth long before he reached his window.

On the seventh day, the market finally rolled around. He needed more. Desperately. The sweet treats in the mornings weren’t enough to satiate his newfound sweet tooth. He needed one of your pretty jars. Hell, he would eat the sweet stickiness straight from the glass if need be. He was still wary of you, however, even as he approached your stall that morning after all was set up. There was still a decent amount of time before the earliest customers would wander through the market, perusing the many wares positioned along the street. 

You were already smiling up at him politely as he strolled up to your stall with practiced confidence. He missed the way your eyes raked over his form, and subsequently missed the tiny quirk of your lips as they tugged into the ghost of a smirk. The expression washed over with that same pretty smile he was familiar with, and you knew he was none the wiser when he opened his mouth. 

“Hi! Yeonjun, right?” You had beaten him to the punch, smooth voice ringing in his head like a melody of gentle bells, yet it did nothing to quell the violent churn in his stomach. His mouth paused, stuck doing gentle open and closed motions as he fumbled for his words. His brows furrowed as he promptly shut his mouth. This was most unlike him. Yeonjun was suave and collected, like a fox stalking through the world as if it was his runway. To be rendered speechless was something he was entirely unfamiliar with. You waited patiently, smile still easy and comforting as he gathered himself back together. 

“Yeah, that’s right..” He wasn’t sure how to broach the subject, now that he really thought about it. He tilted his head, contemplating before finally opening his mouth again. Only a moment of hesitance was needed for you to interrupt him again.

“Here to snag a jar?” You queried, head tilted in the opposite way of his own, eyes twinkling in the same way that he had memorized, the visual long since burned into the back of his eyelids. He nodded, the movement stunted and jerky. This was wrong. Everything about this was wrong. He was never rendered this useless before in his life, and he was so thrown that he missed the way your eyes sharpened, hands reaching for something that lay at your feet behind your stall. “I have a special batch that I made just for you! Something new that only us newbies should share.”

Yeonjun’s brows furrowed, watching as you held up a jar much like your other ones, the only difference being the tiny watermelon and cherry charms attached to your decorative ribbons that wrapped around the glass. Something itched at the back of his mind. Perhaps it was your tone of voice, or maybe your choice in words that should have given him pause, yet he found it hard to focus. His eyes were locked on the jar, filled to the brim with the sweetness he had been craving for the past week. Like clockwork, drool pooled in his mouth embarrassingly fast, causing him to nearly choke on his own spit when he finally reached out and took the gift from you, muttering a hurried thanks as he fled back to the relative safety of his stall.

–

Yeonjun had never been one for sweets before, always more prone to craving savory or spicy meals. His old friends from the city used to poke fun at this little fact. Something about how his tasted contrasted so harshly to his fruity nature. Even the fruits (watermelon, naturally) he so lovingly tended to in his garden rarely tickled his fancy. Yeonjun wasn’t sure why this was all changing on a dime. He wasn’t sure how to explain the craving he had, a craving that was swallowing him whole and leaving him dizzy. Perhaps if he thought about it further, Yeonjun would find that the more he slathered that special jelly on his morning toast, scones, and muffins, the more intense his thirst grew. It bothered him greatly. He had never felt like this before. He found himself staring at you more often, now, not even trying to hide it. He was confused, yes, but he was equally hungry. A bone-deep kind of hunger that twisted around his brain and rendered his logical thoughts as useless as smoke in the wind. No longer did he reserve those glances for when you had your head turned. He was staring unabashedly now, sharp eyes boring into yours even when you met his gaze and gave him the most adorable eye-crinkling grin and excited wave. His newfound intensity didn’t seem to phase you in the slightest.

After weeks of this torture, this all-encompasing need swallowing him whole, it was you that finally did him in. He finally bent to those baser desires that he had shoved down when he first moved here, and now it was coming back to bite him. It was an innocent interaction by all accounts. You had scurried up to him while on the way to the newest town meeting, the breeze ruffling your curls to make them even more fluffy than usual. You seemed nearly out of breath, chest heaving with effort as if you had run a great distance to catch up to him. Perhaps you had, with how much longer his legs were than your own. You placed a steadying hand on his bicep, fingers curling into the muscle slightly. It was likely to give yourself a moment to catch your breath before greeting him, cheeks flushed and that smile pressing dimples into the blushing flesh. It was that visual, that touch, that look that ruined him. He ached, he felt the need deep in his soul, splintering his bones and ruining him from the inside like rot taking hold of sweet fruit flesh. He couldn't take it anymore. One final glance at those pretty pink cheeks and he had enough.

He found himself home far quicker than he usually would, the journey blurred and fuzzy in his mind. He didn’t care how he got home, anyway, he was more fussed about why he was home so early. It didn't take him long to stomp into his bedroom, jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached from the pressure, before he finally allowed that desire to consume him in the way he needed most. 

Legs splayed prettily, head thrown back, bright red hair framing an ethereal halo around his head atop the silk pillowcase. Yeonjun was the picture of sin, with his skin sparkling with sweat, a bead rolling down his temple and vanishing along his damp hairline. Not much could be heard in the watermelon house, other than his whines and groans, naturally. It wasn’t often that Yeonjun found himself in such a position, desperately canting his hips up into his waiting fist, the slide deliciously wet and noisy due to the way he was practically dribbling precome down his own length at the thoughts in his head. 

Oh, the thoughts in his head.. Filthy thoughts, really. Thoughts that should never see the light of day. Thoughts of claiming. Thoughts of animalistic, overwhelming claiming. Thoughts of pretty pink curls bouncing rhythmically, thoughts of those sparkling eyes swimming with tears of overstimulation, thoughts of those pretty lips singing his praises and begging, crying, pleading. 

His orgasm crushed through him embarrassingly fast. His head, stuffed with cotton, could think little else on anything aside from ruining that pretty cherry boy. That same cherry boy that smiled at him with such affection, that same cherry boy that gave him such sweet treats out of the kindness of his heart, that same cherry boy he was utterly defiling, entirely ruining in his head. 

He was blissfully unaware, as the sticky watermelon cream dripped over his fingertips and made a pool on his toned stomach, that he had forgotten to close his window. The opening left room for a gentle breeze that cooled his sweat-soaked skin, which he happily basked in. If he had opened his eyes, turned his head even a little, he would have caught it. 

A pair of sharp cherry eyes, grinning at him in devilish satisfaction.

–

It was the aftermath that Yeonjun wasn’t prepared for. He had allowed himself to fall into that temptation after he had spent so long denying himself. Now that the metaphorical dam had been broken, those foul thoughts plagued him constantly. As he watched you, they pressed into his mind entirely without his permission. 

You raised your hand at meetings, fingers slightly limp and curled in the air, and suddenly he couldn't think of anything better than seeing those fingers curl around his length. Would they look just as pretty decorated in that sweet watermelon sorbet? Perhaps it would look even better on your face, dripping over those pink curls and eyelashes, over your cheeks, nose, lips-

He adjusted himself in his chair, averting his eyes from your still-raised hand. 

He missed the smirk on those very same lips. Perhaps if he had seen it, he wouldn’t have been so surprised when you approached him as the others were making to leave. He was doing much the same, running his fingers through that bright red fringe as he stood from his seat. His back twinged, perhaps he had been slouching too much in an effort to hide the issue between his thighs. 

“Yeonjunnie!” Came your chipper voice, sending his eyes into a wide-set panic. Oh. You’d never called him that, before. He-

“Did you like that? Your cheeks turned all red!” If he listened any closer, he might have said you sounded smug, pleased with yourself and how easy it was to fluster him. Yeonjun had more pressing matters to concern himself with, however. He pressed his thighs together. 

“Anyway! I wanted to ask you something. Is that okay? Is now a good time?” Yeonjun could only manage to nod his head. If he tried speaking, he knew he would say something incredibly stupid (read: incredibly horny). You paid no mind to his lack of audible response, bright smile dimpling your cheeks as you continued on. Yeonjun noticed the way you talked, something so endearing that he couldn’t help but give you his full focus whenever you opened your pretty mouth. You spoke animatedly, hands moving about to emphasise your points and certain words. Yeonjun found himself smiling slightly as he watched you speak.

“I was wanting to try a new recipe, but I need an extra set of hands to make it the way I want to.. Do you think you could help me?” Yeonjuns brain faltered, stuttering to a stop. The feeling only compounded when you followed your invitation with a belated, slightly whiny, “Please, Jjunie?”

When you put it like that, did he really have a choice? 

That's how he found himself following after you like a lost puppy, all the way up to your front door. Your front door. God, how many times had he imagined himself behind this door, defiling you in the most depraved ways he could think of. And here you were, smile still tugging at your lips as you beckoned him through the threshold. Perhaps, once he passed through, he would explode into a puff of pure sin, like something from a corny horror film. He took a steadying breath, and walked through.

He didn't explode. That was a pleasant surprise. What was even more of a pleasant surprise was the way you promptly shoved him against the door, kissing all sense from his head. His hands flexed at his sides, shaking as he had no clue what to do with them. He was flailing, breath stuttering in his throat as you continued your onslaught against his pliant mouth. He felt you smirk, this time. Heard you chuckle. 

“God, you're easier than I thought.” Your voice sounded raw, darker in a way that sent him into a tailspin. No, this wasn’t you. The you that was licking back into his mouth with urgency was a far cry from that cheerful, playful innocence he was familiar with. No, you had become something else entirely. The you in his head was so much closer to the way you acted in public, but in this moment, everything suddenly and finally fell into place. 

All of it was just that, an act, and he had fallen for it hook, line and sinker.

Apparently growing bored of his lack of real reaction, you pulled back. You were panting, lips swollen and slick with spit, and the visual alone made him weak in the knees. Your mouth was set into a frown, something he had never seen on you. He found it intensely attractive. Just as you opened your mouth, complaint no doubt waiting on your tongue, he lunged forward. The kiss was desperate, messy, more tongue and teeth than any sweet press of lips. But this was you he was kissing. He now realised that there was nothing sweet about you. …Actually, that was a theory he most definitely wanted to test. 

He hiked you up with firm hands under your thighs, turning to press your back into the door instead. A chuckle bubbled past those swollen lips, head tossed back to make a gentle thunk against the wood.

“Oh, you poor thing. Did I not make it clear yet?” Yeonjun’s vision swam, his brows tenting to gaze at you in bleary confusion. Clear? What was there to make clear? Did you not want this? Was he going too-

A hand in his hair, tugging harshly at the blood-red strands. A yelp pulled from his chest, making him arch to follow the pressure. Lips near his ear, hot breath brushing down his neck, leaving gooseflesh in its wake.

“You aren’t in charge here.” Oh. 

Oh.

He didn’t even register that you had eased yourself back onto the floor, his head was too fuzzy with the thoughts you put into his head with those simple words. Months of daydreaming, fantasizing, and you tilted his world on its axis with one sentence. He wasn’t in charge. Oh, fuck. You were going to ruin him.

He vaguely heard your resounding giggle, sounding far too innocent given the context. Obviously you could see right through him, a thought that made him shiver down to his core. He wanted to tilt his head to follow the sound, but he found he couldn’t. Your hand was still in his hair, gripping at the roots with enough to make his scalp burn. You kept tugging him backwards, making him stumble after you down the hallway. His hands rushed to grab at your wrist, grasping blindly at your skin. He wasn’t even trying to pry you off, there wasn’t enough force in his hands to do that. No, the dawning realisation was starting to settle in his stomach like lava. He wanted this.

All too soon, your hands left their place in his hair, the drop in pressure pulling a desperate whine from him. You laughed at him. 

“Stay here.” You commanded. Your words left little room for argument, though he imagined he couldn’t have argued against you even if he wanted to. And he didn’t. He watched, eyebrows furrowed and a pout drawing at those pretty plush lips of his, as you sauntered into your own bedroom. You moved with all the lethal grace of a predator, all smooth lines and sharp promise in the aura around you. You exuded dominance, he didn’t know how he missed it before. It was all-encompassing, shrouding you in a thick layer of power that he couldn’t look away from. He was positively enraptured. 

You moved slowly, pulling at your clothes with all the leisure of someone who had all the time in the world. Perhaps you did. Perhaps you would make him wait forever, drool dripping down his chin at the very sight of you getting undressed and comfortable in the middle of your bed. You were a goddamn vision, sitting back prettily on your spread knees. His eyes followed a slow trail from your rosey knees, your flushed skin, the way the- Oh, fuck. Was that lace? Pretty white fabric decorated with little cherry patterns, innocent in a jarring juxtaposition against everything else about you. He swallowed thickly, eyes darting up to your face, his own pinched from restraint. You hadn’t invited him in yet.

As if reading his mind, your smirk grew sharper, cheshire. You slowly lifted your hand, watching in amusement as his eyes snapped to follow the action, and quirked a finger at him, beckoning him to the bed. 

And who was Yeonjun to say no to such a command? He moved to take a step forward, hands clenched into fists at his side-

“No.” Your voice sliced through his thoughts. He froze in place, eyes snapping back up to meet yours in a panic. You laughed at him again, pointing your finger down to the ground. Your smirk dropped, expression schooled into bored indifference. “Crawl.”

Oh. Holy shit. Yeonjun dropped to his knees harshly, yet he barely registered the loud clack of the joints against the flooring. No, he was far too busy rushing to please you, crawling across the floor to your bed with such an eager expression that you giggled. There it was again, that innocence pulling at his mind, reminding him of all the times he imagined doing this to you, being in your position, and how wrong he was. He didn’t want that anymore, didn't want to be the one ruining you. Fuck, no, he wanted to be ruined. 

With that in mind, and his hands now resting on his thighs as he kneeled in front of your bed, he peered up at you with such a hopeful gaze. You tilted your head, regarding him with amusement dancing in your sharp cherry eyes for just a moment before you silently patted the bed beside you. The Watermelon Boy scrambled to obey, nearly stumbling over himself as he eased his way onto your sheets. The mattress felt so soft beneath him, akin to sinking into a vat of marshmallow fluff. He crawled closer to you, nearly whimpering when you finally reached out to touch him. 

Your fingers might as well have been scalding as you clutched his chin between your thumb and forefinger. You shifted his head around like that, smirking down the line of your nose at him. I did that before, he thought, but the image was too fuzzy to properly place. Focusing on you was much more important, especially with the way you used your thumb to wipe that trail of drool from the corner of his mouth, only to lick it off of your own finger. The subsequent shiver that wracked through Yeonjun was involuntary. He had never felt desire so strongly in his life. He wanted you so badly he could practically taste it. His tongue darted out to lick at his crimson lips, brushing against the pad of your thumb when you gripped at his chin again. 

“Poor melon. And here I thought you'd put up more of a fight.” You almost sounded disappointed, and Yeonjun couldn’t have that. He was far too high off of you to even try and push down the whine that your words drew from him. Not trusting his voice, he shook his head, vehemently disagreeing. He would never put up a fight with you. He knew it, the fact ringing deep within him, entwined with his watermelon DNA. He was yours. Yours to use, to play with, to claim. He wouldn't have it any other way. 

As if knowing this, as if expecting his answer, your smile returned. It was predatory again, and he watched as your eyes darkened when a particularly delicious thought entered your head. You nodded down to his clothes, then down to what little you still had on. Lace, his brain reminded him helpfully. He gulped, vision flicking down. Sure enough, said lace was struggling (and failing spectacularly) to keep your length contained. His jaw fell slack, body lurching into motion to pull his clothes from his body as if they scalded him. 

Only once the offending items had been sufficiently tossed to an unknown part of the room, did he finally go to complete the rest of your wordless command. He eased himself between your spread thighs, fingers digging experimentally into the plushness. He groaned, the feeling of your soft skin doing a number on his brain. He could hardly keep himself together, especially now that he had your crotch barely an inch in front of his nose. Fuck.

Lip caught between his teeth, Yeonjun positioned himself to nose against the patch of skin around your hip that peeked out over the delicate lace. His eyes flashed up to meet yours again, and he nearly melted into the bed once his gaze met your own. Hunger, power. That was how best to describe you at that moment. He felt small under your sharp eyes, which he supposed could be funny considering he was a decent bit taller than you, but he knew height wasn't the issue here. No, he was shockingly at home with this feeling of being lesser, of being below you, as if this was where he was supposed to be. Perhaps he was. 

With newfound confidence, he grasped the edge of the fabric between his teeth, letting his eyes flutter shut when you carded your fingers through his hair in approval. Then he tugged. 

If you had any issue with the sound of the lace ripping, you made no effort to show it. Perhaps you actually liked it, the way he ripped the remaining clothing off of you like an animal, like a-

“Good seedling.” Ah. It seems today was the day the Watermelon Boy found out a lot of new things about himself. The shiver that tugged down his spine should have been embarrassing, and he supposed it was, with the way his ears flushed red. And with the way you cooed down at him, he guessed it had also spread down his neck and over his collarbones, too. He stared up at you with bleary eyes, and that damn hand in his hair worked its magic again. Tugging his head roughly to the side, you sneered down at him. 

“Drop it.” Yeonjun’s jaw dropped open, allowing him to roll his tongue out of his mouth to make a show of releasing the torn fabric from the confines of his mouth. Your nails scratched at his scalp in reward. “That’s a good boy. Think you can put that mouth to good use for me?”

His breathing stuttered in his chest at the thought, but just when he swooped his head down to take you into his waiting mouth, you tugged his head back once again. “No, seedling. Not there.” 

Oh. You wanted him there? Fuck, yes, he could work with that. He hurried to reposition himself, wiggling further down on the bed to nose at your thigh, urging you to spread them apart more. You made no moves to comply with him, instead opting to continue scratching at his scalp with your nails. He huffed out a breath, but the sound came out a bit closer to a growl. He dug his fingers into the plush of your thighs again, dragging them apart himself to gain better access to do what you asked of him. He preened under your answering breathless laugh, squirming at your following words. 

“Eager little thing-- nng..”

You trailed off into a whimper when he finally pressed his tongue against your rim. You were right in your observation, he was eager from the get–go. Desperate to please. He could hardly believe this was happening, that after these months of denying himself, he eventually found himself between your thighs, splitting you open on his tongue. He wasted no time doing so, pushing the muscle into you with determined licks. Only when you were beginning to squirm did he dare to push further.

Your eyes flew open when a tinger tentatively pressed alongside the wet muscle, forcing you to choke on a moan in the process. Yeonjun had the nerve to grin against your entrance, feeling rather proud of himself for drawing such pretty noises from you. 

It didn’t take much longer for you to tug at his hair again, rolling your hips down onto his tongue. It seemed that using his was loosening yours, and filth spilled from your lips. 

“I wanted you like this for so fucking long, yknow..” You were practically purring the words down at him, and if he gathered up the courage to glance up at you, he would’ve seen the way your eyes darkened upon watching him fuck you with his tongue in earnest. He was trying so hard to please you, and you knew it. It made a thrill run through him in the most delicious way. Being used. Being useful. All for you. He hummed at you in response, prompting you to continue. The added vibration drew a beautiful moan from your parted mouth. You panted in between sentences, losing grasp on your words the longer his tongue and fingers worked into you, curling just right. 

“Thought about how long it would take to get you to cave to me. How much it would take to bring you to your knees– Ah!” With the way you tossed your head back, you were a goddamn vision. Not sin like Yeonjun had been, no. You were positively angelic. Pretty pink curls framing your face, which was slack from bliss. He found the right bundle of nerves, it seemed. He grinned against your entrance as he continued rubbing his fingers against that same spot, over and over and over– Until you pulled him away forcefully by his hair. He was sure he was going to be missing at least a few strands with the rough handling, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

You caught your breath, propped up on your elbow as you stared down at him. You seemed to have many thoughts swimming around in that pretty pink head of yours, but with the way your eyes changed into something far darker, Yeonjun assumed one had won over all the rest. 

“Lay down.” The speed at which he bent to your will should be scientifically studied. He had his back pressed against the sheets in mere moments, effectively trading spots with you. You tilted your head as you straddled him, and his hands instinctively reached to find purchase on your hips. They were promptly slapped away. He whined high in his throat at the denial, though you just smiled down at him, perhaps mockingly. 

“I didn’t give you permission to touch me, seedling.” You warned, voice saccharine and dripping with an unspoken threat. Or what? His mind supplied, unhelpfully. Your expression shifted into something hard, eyes narrowed into slits at him. Oh, shit. Did he say that out loud?

 “Brat.” You spat down at him. He shivered at the sudden harshness to your voice. You reached beyond him into your nightstand, pulling something out that he couldn't quite focus on. No, you were so close to him, face so near to his own. He leaned toward you instinctively, akin to a moth and its flame. He couldn't be bothered trying to keep up with whatever you were doing, too lost in watching your pretty face settled into a focused expression, tongue poking just barely from your lips as you worked. He didn’t mind this, splayed under you as you worked, did something above him that carried no weight in his brain, until– Ah. He couldn’t move his hands. He glanced up, eyes catching on a familiar set of charms and ribbons. Cherry and watermelon. You had restrained him with the very ribbons you decorated his special jars with, adorned with your respective fruity charms. Fuck, the symbolism was not lost on Yeonjun. He gave an experimental tug, to which there was no give. His mouth ran dry. 

He was so enraptured by this change, that he was once again oblivious to whatever you were doing above him, tugging and tugging just to watch the way the ribbon dug into his wrists with fascination. That was, until he felt something decidedly too cold. His head snapped down to gaze at you, only to be rendered absolutely awestruck. You were still perched prettily on his lap, leaned back onto one hand with your other fingers working into yourself just like his were only moments ago. 

“Fuck.” Eloquent as always, yet he had nothing else to say. You looked stunning, brows pinched as you stretched yourself out for him, your own eyes, when not scrunched closed, set right on his length. You were gauging how deep it would fit in you, he figured. The thought made him shudder, the thrill settling in his stomach hot and heavy. Fuck, if he didn’t get inside you soon, he was sure he would blow his load just from watching you toy with yourself. He wasn't even aware of himself squirming on the bed, whimpering at the visage of such an angel in his lap, spreading himself open just for the Watermelon Boy to fill. His gaze flickered up to your face again, only to find you already looking at him. Oh, God.

The coldness he felt had apparently been stray drips of lube, and he followed the trail of it down the line of your wrist. God, if the visual wasn’t enough, surely the sounds were. The filthy squelching rang through the room, accompanied by your soft groans, your eyes rolled back as you rolled your hips down harder onto your own fingers. Yeonjun’s ears burned from the embarrassment of it all, but you were entirely unphased, enjoying your pleasure to the fullest with little restraint. The Watermelon Boy found himself canting his hips upward, regardless of how futile the movements were. He just wanted to be closer, wanted to touch, wanted you to finally put him out of his misery and sink down onto him– 

Perhaps you were psychic. That's the only explanation he had for tonight, especially with the way you seemed to respond to his every desire promptly without him even needing to open his mouth. Either that, or he was painfully predictable. Likely the latter. Yeonjun barely even had time to brace himself before you did exactly what he craved, and suddenly the feeling of hot, wet, too much burned through him like a brand through flesh. His senses felt like they were whiting out, nerves fraying along the edges as he pathetically writhed on the bed below you. He couldn’t move much, with his hands still tied prettily above his head and his hips held down by your hands. You were deceptively strong, he realised with a start. You kept him perfectly pinned underneath yourself, and he felt much like a butterfly with its wings pinned out. He was exposed, raw, and being forced to take–

“That’s it, seedling. Take it.” Gods above, you were answering his every prayer before he even knew to utter them. He keened, head tossed back as he struggled to even his breathing out. It wasn't until you had fully bottomed out, ass pressed to him firmly that he could do anything other than follow your command. You felt far too good, the warm temptation of your entrance proving too much to keep himself from. He rolled his hips in little circles up into you, as if he couldn’t help himself. And really, he couldn’t. You couldn’t possibly expect him to keep it together when you were sat atop his lap, looking like the perfect picture of innocence whilst speared so thoroughly on his cock that a bulge protruded from your stomach. He let his head fall back to the pillows again, forcing himself to look away from the cherry angel on his lap lest he fall off the edge too quickly. 

His ears were buzzing, unable to make out whatever filth you had leaned down to mumble in his ear. He caught bits and pieces. Praise, mainly. He caught good fucking boy and taking me so well, and fuck, you couldn’t say things like that while still expecting him to keep himself together. The second phrase made him flush a much darker red, as if he was the one getting fucked by you and not the other way around. He chanced a glance back to where you were now steadily rolling your own hips to meet his movements. No, you were entirely right. He was taking you so well, taking your teasing, your tight wet heat wrapped around him to the point he couldn’t quite tell where he ended and you began. 

He felt like he was floating, somewhere high up above himself, feeling everything you were giving to him but blissed from the rest of the world. It had narrowed to just the two of you, locked in a dance of your design. You had brought him to this, you had rendered him into this pathetic pet, made by you, for you. God, the idea was so hot. Then you picked yourself up on his lap, leaving only the tip inside of you as you hovered. You trailed a sharp nail down his chest, making his breath stutter as he looked up at you hazily. 

“You were so much easier than I expected. Just a few scones and you were a fucking goner. Pathetic, really.” Then you dropped yourself down, full weight on his lap. He cried out, the noise wet and broken. His fingernails dug into his palms, hands aching to be able to grab onto you. He desperately wanted to hold, to pin you in place on his lap as he chased his pleasure like a dog, but– Wait. What was that you said? Scones? Yeonjun blinked as the questions piled up in his brain. You continued dragging yourself up his length until only the tip remained once more.

“You didn’t think that I gave those out of the kindness of my heart, did you? God, are you that stupid? And here I thought you knew what you were asking for when you ate them like an animal.” Yeonjun’s brain swam. He wasn’t sure where you were going with this, but the dread he felt like he should be feeling just.. Wasn’t there. That fact should worry him, shouldn’t it? He should be concerned about your sinister words, but instead of making him whimper in fear, he whimpered for a whole different reason. You outright laughed at him when you felt him twitch. You slammed yourself down his length again, punching out a half-laugh-half-moan from yourself as you did so. 

“Do you know where that yummy jam came from, seedling? Or are you too stupid to put that together, too?” Your words renewed that flame in his cheeks a thousand times over. Well, when you put it like that in this context, especially while bouncing on him like this, it didn’t take much to put it all together now. Fuck, how had he managed to be so stupid? All this time, you had been dosing his treats with yourself. Making him crave you, without ever even knowing it. Jesus, you were right. He was so fucking stupid. 

But maybe he liked it like that. 

He dug his heels into the mattress below him, using the leverage to fuck himself up into you. Hard. Your eyes went wide in surprise, moan catching in your throat and coming out choked and cracked around the edges. You were so surprised, in fact, that you made no move to stop him as he pounded up into you, desperately searching for release in your heat. With a few tiny adjustments, he found what he was looking for. With a loud, throaty cry, your back arched. A grin spread on Yeonjun’s face. You didn’t have to say it, but he thought it at the very same time the words tumbled from your lips, shaky and wrecked. 

There.

Now that he knew, now that he had all your dirty little tricks in context, he couldn’t help himself now. Yes, you may be in charge, you may own him now, but he wanted something in return. Something more than revenge. 

Something sweeter.

With renewed vigor, he continued slamming home, the sound of his pelvis meeting your ass nearly drowning out the moans that bubbled from your lips uncontrollably. He had the audacity to laugh, sounding breathless to his own ears. More, more, more– 

Snap.

Hands flew down to hold your hips in place before you could even register the sound of the Watermelon Boy’s restraints being broken. Fuck yes, this was exactly what he wanted. His fingers flexed, digging into the softness of your hips hard enough to leave behind marks in the shapes of his fingertips. 

“Want it, want it, want it–” He panted, drilling into you at a speed and force that had you tumbling. He felt your subsequent near-panic, your nails scratching down the hard lines of his chest and abdomen, searching for purchase. Your wails were music to his ears, but he couldn’t stop to cherish them any longer. No, he had a goal in mind. “Give it to me, give it to me.”

And give it to him, you did. With a cry of his name, sounding like sin incarnate, he finally got what he had been wanting all along. Sweet cherry jam, sticky and red, splattering all over his chest and stomach. He watched, enraptured as your orgasm took you, cock jerking pathetically in the space between you two as your back arched into a sweet curve. Yeonjun Licked his lips. His treat would have to wait a moment longer.

The way you clenched erratically around him as you came brought him right to the brink, but what did him in was the way you lifted your head to look at him through those messy pink cherry curls, digging your finger through the mess you made, and shoving those same fingers right into his mouth. The sweet-tart flavour he had spent ages craving exploded on his tongue, and he followed soon after. 

He didn’t know what kind of face he made, didn’t know what noises and filth tumbled from those red watermelon lips of his. He was far too busy with the way he pinned your hips down flush against his own, filling you up to the brim with his watermelon cream. He watched you tremble atop him, shuddering like a leaf at the feeling, that warmth spreading through your gut. And Oh, what a pretty picture you made, now you were not only stuffed full of his cock, but that sweet cream had distended your stomach even further, a pretty bulge resting in your lower stomach. He splayed a hand over it and pushed, relishing in the way you whimpered at the sudden pressure. He felt the way you leaked around him, his own watermelon cream making a mess of the sheets below.

When he finally had the mental presence to come back to himself, he found you once again already meeting his gaze. You had a habit of doing that, he noted, but the action only serves to make his chest warm with affection, the yearning he had built up after months of dancing around his favourite sweet cherry boy. He leaned into the touch when your hand cupped his cheek, wiping the seat from his hairline. You had such a fond, blissed out smile as your cherry eyes bored into his own, and he could only melt into it. 

If the nearby residents of Strawberryland heard the absolute filth that had taken place in Cherry Jam’s house that day, they didn’t say a word. Nor did they mention it when days later, There was a pretty jar of watermelon cherry jam, adorned with ribbons and charms, sitting innocently on the windowsill.

[yeonmuse]

In which our Alice finds the man she loves so dearly in a place the people call underland

Request from anon: Chosen Journey [ red king guide, pocketclock tether, traveling to through wonder forest and to the red kings palace]

✧ tw. smut & angst (18+ mdni!),readers first time, heeseung worshipping reader, unprotected sex warning mentions of death and ss attempt

Authors notes: req 7 for musies 1k req event. Its been so long since ive got to write some angsty stuff I really hope you enjoy this read, i feel like im a little rusty with the angst but if you love it thats all that matters.

Other reqs can be found here

You’d been fast asleep for god knows how long, back resting against an old willow tree, lips parted as soft snores spilled from your lips with every breath. It wasn’t until you felt someone's hand clasp upon your shoulder and shake you awake that you realized you’d even fallen asleep. As you finally peeled your eyes open you could make out two voices whispering amongst themselves. “Isn’t that-” “it can’t be her she’s not meant to be here yet” “well i’m looking at her right now and it’s definitely her”. Slowly you’d started to adjust your vision until it was no longer a blur, and it was then that you realized you weren’t home? If you were being completely honest you had absolutely no idea where you were.

“You’re awake.’’ the stranger kneeling before you spoke softly, seemingly letting out a relieved sigh before turning to look at another guy that stood behind him. You look around, taking in your surroundings out of hopes of feeling some sort of familiarity or recognition of where you had been but you feel nothing. If this was somewhere you had been before the memory was long gone, buried beneath all the trauma and pain that had slowly started plaguing your psyche for as long as you could remember.

“Who are you…? Where…where am I?’’ you ask, the two standing before you look at one another before the one standing the furthest from you shakes his head as if disencouraging the one kneeling to say anything that mustn’t be said.

“I’m Sunoo..and this is Sunghoon….right now you’re in Underland.’’ the blonde responds, both of them staring at you cautiously as if they needed to walk on eggshells around you, as if there was more to be said yet each of their mouths remained sealed shut in that regard.

“Underland?’’ your reply, brows creasing together in confusion. You’d never heard of the place your entire life, not on any map or through gps, hell you’d never even heard of anyone speak about it.

“It’s where..this is where you go wh-’’ before the man kneeling before you could speak another word, the other that stood behind him all this time finally feels the need to chime in. “Sunoo don’t, if it really is her we should let him see her, he should be the one to talk to her.”

“Okay what’s going on? Can someone just explain how I got here..one moment im…” your voice slowly drifts off and you let out a breathy laugh. “I get it now.. I’m sleeping right now. Lucid dreaming again?’’

Sunoo and Sunghoon share a brief glance, one that had gone unnoticed by you because you had been far too busy trying to convince yourself that what you had been experiencing was not your reality.This was simply your psyche playing tricks on you, something that would happen of since, well since you’d lost someone dear to you. The only difference was this didn't feel like a dream, it felt like a purgatory almost, like you’d been trapped between a world of reality and surrealism.

“You know what i’m probably resting good for once in my life..i’ll just enjoy this while I can.’’ you finally surrender looking over to the two men that were staring at you as if you’d grown two heads.

“Well, are you going to take me to this guy or not?’’ you glance at the both of them expectantly, as if waiting to see which one of them would make the first move.

“Right…come with us.’’ The blonde you knew to be Sunoo turns on his heels and walks away, and Sunghoon follows, both beckoning you to follow them as they disappear past the conglomerate of trees.

It felt like you had walked for hours until the three of you finally stood on the other side of a moat, murky black water, water that looked so dark you were sure if you jumped inside you’d meet no end if you sank to the bottom– and right at the top floating to the surface..severed heads. Your blood ran cold and your body stiffened upon the realization of what it was, this dream was turning out to be more of some kind of nightmare. ‘This isn’t real yn’ you’re forced to keep reminding yourself as the bridge drops down before the three of you and you follow the two men across. You knew this was probably the furthest thing from a smart decision, your mind had been screaming at you to turn around and run away, but oddly enough your body betrayed you, you didn’t feel any fear, nor anguish..you felt oddly calm.

“Do you think he’ll be mad we brought her here?’’ you could hear Sunoo whisper to Sunghoon in front of you. Sunghoon simply sighs and shrugs him off. “It’s not like we’re the ones that brought her to underland..if she’s here then that must mean something is wrong.”

You weren’t sure what any of it meant, who were they talking about and what did it have to do with you?

As the three of you stepped into the castle a cold chill ran up your spine, the place felt cold and daunting. In contrast to its vibrant colors and obnoxious decorum..this place felt oddly lifeless and lonely. Though still you continued to follow them, through the twisted and never ending hallways, up a spiral staircase and into an empty bedroom.

“He’ll be out soon, just wait here.’’ Sunoo says, before he and Sunghoon disappear from the room leaving you unable to utter even one word in response. Once the door shut you were engulfed in complete silence, the type of quiet that seemed so empty it was almost chilling.

You allowed yourself to wander, taking in the minimization of the room, other than a bed, a mirror and a few dressers the room housed nothing else, not a photo or knickknack in sight, not one sense of essence or personality of whoever this guy you were meant to meet.

A sigh spills from your lips as you take a seat on the couch furthest from the bed, placing a pillow in your lap you found yourself absentmindedly fumbling with its loose stitches. Then the sound of a door cut through the silence grabbing your attention, throwing the pillow off to the side you bounced back up onto your feet almost immediately.

Then he walked in, slowly your eyes trailed from the red towel wrapped snug around his waist, to his chest and eventually as your eyes finally found his face amongst your gawking and you completely froze in your place. Eyes glued to him as he stood drying his damp hair with a smaller towel, seeming to not yet have noticed you standing there. Your eyes began to burn with tears, and before you knew it they'd come pouring down your face.

As you let out a sharp inhale heeseung finally seemed to realize there had been someone else other than him in the room. When his eyes fell upon you, eyes locked to him while tears came spilling down your cheeks he’d become lost for words. There was no way that you were here, you couldn’t have been…you weren’t meant to be. Yes he’d been waiting for you there, he promised himself that he would wait there for you forever, but you weren't meant to join him so soon.

“Heeseung..’’ his name fell from your lips and sent a wave of pain through his chest, your once cheerful voice was tainted with despair and disbelief.

“What are you…how are you here.’’ his eyes scanned over every part of you, as if he were capturing a photograph with his eyes, as if he’d never see you again if he didn’t take in ever detail. And then you ran to him, eyes full of tears and nose a complete mess as you wrap your arms around him, completely enveloping him in your warmth.

He wasn’t sure what to do at first, was he to be happy or upset that you were here? Did he comfort you or reassure you?

“I missed you so fucking much.’’ you choke out in between tears, your voice barely coherent as you’d been in between sniffles and coughs.”i don’t care what kind of dream, i don’t care if it’s a nightmare or the weirdest dream possible i won’t wake up. I won’t’’

“A dream?’’ the words spilled from his lips so softly that they’d gone amiss by your ears. So you thought this was a dream.

“Yn..” he calls softly, his breath getting caught in his throat as you stare up at him all doe eyed, with your tear stained cheeks. Even with your face a mess you were just as beautiful as the last time he’d seen you. “Yn do you know where you are right now?’’

“Underland..your friends they told me, well they didn’t really tell me what this place is but i'm sure since it’s my dream that it’ll come to me eventually.’’ you respond, seeming so sure yet so clueless that it broke his heart. It was just as he thought, you had absolutely no idea where you were

“Yn there's something I have to tell you.’’ you stared at him expectantly, he was staring into the eyes of the one person he’d longed to be next to for quite some time now, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to tell her the truth. “You can’t you can’t stay here.’’

Then the smile on your face faded.

“What? What do you mean i can’t stay here it’s it’s my dream..’’

“Just, you need to go. The fact that you’re saying those words tells me everything I need to know you don’t know what's going on here. Who brought you here?’’

“It- it doesn’t matter Heeseung i’m not going.’’ you step back, staring at him with a gaze that burned through him, and he knew it wasn’t going to be easy to get you to go without revealing the truth to you.

“Yn..i’ve missed you, i did but this place you can’t be here?’’

“And why can’t I..? Every passing day all I've wanted to do was see you, you're the only person that keeps me from falling to pieces and if I wake up now, who knows when I'll see you again. I don’t care if I sleep until I breathe my last breath. I won't go. I won’t wake up.’’ and then you looked at him, you looked at him with those eyes that had once made him melt everytime he stared into them, the eyes he fell in love with right before you slipped through his fingertips.

He knew he should have fought harder to send you back, but when he had you standing there staring at him he couldn’t bring himself to yell at you, or scream at you or tell you no. Not when you were standing here before him moments after crying your heart out about how much he’d missed you. His gaze shifts to the clock near the window and a sigh spills from his lips.

“6 hours, you can stay for 6 hours, but then promise me…promise me that if you really think this is a dream you’ll wake up.’’

Then you jumped into his arms, this time as happy as ever, clinging to him as if he’d disappear if you’d dare let him go. “I promise.’’

Then you both pulled away, his hand fell to your cheek and he took his time drinking you in, admiring every part of you that he’d missed.

“I really missed you.’’ he whispers softly, fingers ghosting over your skin through the fabric of your clothes as he rubs gentle circles over your waist.

There was something different in your gaze in comparison to how you once looked at him. Some sort of hidden desire swimming beneath the surface of your doe eyes that he wanted to explore. He’d loved you for years, though the words had gone unsaid by him and eventually he lost his chance.

“Can I..Can I touch you?” he spoke softly, lips only an inch away from your ear. You respond with a nod, his breath against your neck making it hard to form your words into actual sentences. You didn’t care if it was blurring the lines between what was real and what was simply just a lucid dream , all you cared about was that you had him back here, with you. Holding you, touching you, wanting you.

You and Heeseung had known one another for years, since diapers to be exact, your mothers had thought it was the cutest thing how protective you were over one another. Over time that only worsened though, you weren’t sure when the lines of friendship and love had become blurred between the two of you but eventually you’d stopped looking at him as just a friend. By the time you’d gotten ready to tell him that you loved him it had been too late, time had taken him away. But now here he was so lifelike and real, that it made you want to never wake from this dream.

His lips finally attached to your skin, so loving and hot that it made you melt in an instant. With every kiss it was like he was worshipping your body, savoring it in a way that even with time the feeling and taste of you would last forever on his lips.

“Heeseung..”

“Don’t.. just let me..I love you, I’ve always loved you. I may never get this chance again tonight so let me in…let me worship every inch of you as if it’s the last time I’ll ever see you again.” You sucked in a breath at his words, the weight of them crushing you as if gravity had come crashing down from the sky.

“Okay.” The word spilled from your lips so quietly, it was obvious that he’d completely melted you with his words. You were taken by him, completely and utterly taken.

He took his time, leading you to the bed and sitting you down so that he could strip you bare and leave sweet and loving kisses on every inch of you.

“Fuck you’re so pretty my love.” Butterflies, butterflies are what he made you feel, along with the flutter in your chest at the praise and sweet nickname. Then he dove in trailing kisses from your legs, to your thighs, your waist, stomach, breasts— any place you could name even those going unseen even by yourself he’d made sure to love and appreciate.

“Want to worship every part of you like you were always mine.” He whispers, standing up from between your thighs so that he now hovered over you. His fingers tracing circles on your soft skin before he removes the towel from his waist and throws it off some sort of other party of the room.

You let out a sharp breath, this was really happening, you and your best friend, the man you’d loved md for years and never realized loved you back.

“Tell me..tell me if it hurts okay?” And then he eased his way in, splitting you open with every aching inch that made your nails dig deeper and deeper into his skin until he ‘d bottomed out completely.

“You alright angel?” He asks, peppering soft kisses on your face, smiling when you give him a nod.

“I’m fine, I think..I think I’m ready.” You reassure him, and that was all he needed before he’d spend his time completely ruining you.

“So fucking perfect.” he says, eyes struggling to focus on just one part of you. his hands hover just over your waist, tracing circles over eager skin. He didn’t care what the circumstances were after this, all that mattered was that he had you.

The sound of you moaning and panting beneath him, thighs wide spread, knees pressed to your chest, was all enough to throw and sense out the window. Your back arches, lips parting when he sucks lightly under your ear.

You moan his name, soft and shaky, and he absolutely loses it. he leans in, mouth dragging hot and open along your neck, kissing and breathing you in, his lips trembling against your pulse like he’s drunk off you. He murmurs something there, a soft, almost desperate, “my pretty girl.” Before thrusting into you so hard you were seeing stars in the daytime.

His hips rock into you, slow and deep, dragging along every sensitive inch inside you until you’re trembling, mouth parted in helpless moans. He kisses you through it, messy and uncoordinated.

he doesn’t hold back anymore. Every inch of you has been touched by him, his hands, his mouth all have ravished you completely. He has you falling apart entirely, clenching around him with strangled moans, whole body trembling as your orgasm crashes through you, and he follows, grinding into you with desperate and melodic moans, holding you close as he spills into you.

Even as he’s struggling to catch his breath he doesn’t let go. He stays buried deep, fingers tracing over your cheek giving loving strokes.

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispers softly, lifting you up and wrapping your legs around his waist before climbing into bed, lying you on top of him.

The two of you lied there for hours, talking for hours on end, watching the sun slowly fall from the sky outside of his window. Then the clock had finally whined down. You lie resting against his chest, his fingers in your hair as you trace circles on his arm with your fingertip.

“You’ll have to leave soon.” He spoke softly, suddenly turning the mood sour and evidently somber.

“Why.. why can’t I just stay here with you.” You respond, at which he sighs and stops combing his fingers through your hair.

“You promised me.”

“Promises are meant to be broken sometimes.” You respond playfully, a sentence he doesn’t find funny in the slightest.

“Yn you need to go.” He responds sternly, suddenly raising his voice which catches you completely off guard.

“You know what no. I won't. Why do you want me to go so badly!?” You yell in response.

“Because I don’t want you to end up like me!” He responds by making you fall silent.

“What..what do you mean end up like you?”

“You know what I mean yn.” That was it, was all he had to say for you to hang your head down and the tears to come flowing in again.

The crash, Heeseung had been gone for quite some time now, it had been exactly two years since he had died and as much as you’d force yourself to try and get over it you never did. You’d found the worst ways to cope, alcohol, pills, weed, you’d even gone as far as trying to down a bottle of alcohol and your pills at the same time, though that didn’t get you very far.

“Don’t make me.. if I wake up now then that means accepting it, accepting that you’re gone..I just..i never felt so alone. Without you with me I don't know what to do or who I am.” You spoke, your voice cracking with each word and it was putting Heeseung through hell to see you fall apart like this.

“You don’t need to be here..I know it’s hard, I miss you too, I’ve loved you for as long as I’ve known how to love someone but it's not time for you to be here.” He spoke, an edge of disdain laced within his time as he forced himself to hold it together. “You have people waiting for you, you still have your life to live.”

“No..i don't. My life ended when I lost you. When you left me my life did end right there.”

“You have to move on, angel you can’t.. you can’t do this to them. They’re waiting for you. You need to go back. To move on and find a way to be happy. Eventually you’ll find your way back to me. Even if you don't, I'll find you in any lifetime.” He reassures, wiping the tears from your face which only makes you cry harder, his touch something you’d longed to feel since before you could remember. This would be the last time you felt that.

“You have to wake up angel.” He whispers softly, pressing loving kisses against your lips and cheeks, ignoring the salty taste of the tears that stained them, “please wake up.”

Then as you close your eyes to rest your forehead against his something shifted, you feel the warmth of a blanket wrapped around you and the softness of sheets below you. As your eyes fluttered open you could hear the faint chime of a heart rate monitor fill the room and the silent him of an air conditioner. Through blurred vision as you turned to your right you could make out the silhouette of a person fast asleep sitting up in a chair. Your mom.

“No..no no no.” Tears sting your eyes, you screw them shut in a desperate attempt to force yourself back to sleep but it was of no use you were wide awake.

Giving in and surrendering to the fact that you’d already lost those moments you stare up at the ceiling tears spilling from your eyes.

“Please, please don’t leave me here alone.” You choke out, your words so faint that they hadn't gone unheard by your mom that immediately jumped from her seat. Tears poured from her eyes as she ran to call the nurse.

Two months , you had been in a coma for two months, what felt like 6 hours to you had been 2 long months for your family. The doctor had declared you as dead at one point, your heart stopped for 30 seconds and in that time you’d fell into some sort of purgatory state.

“She’s not supposed to be here yet.” Sunoo, Sunghoon and Heeseungs words hit you like a truck. You’d finally realize what they meant by those words, you weren’t in some sort of lucid dream state, you’d died and if it wasn’t for Heeseung forcing you to wake from the dream you were so eager to remain in, you’d have been lost…just like he was lost to you

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[vrystalius]

hi! Ive been reading ur fics for a while and i love them sm and hope ur enjoying ur break!

I was wondering if u could write about giyuu apologizing after an arguement?

once again i absolutely love ur fics lol 💗

Apologies

Giyuu apologising after an argument— how does he do it?

Pairing: married!Giyuu x gn!married!reader

“Why can’t you just talk to me? I feel like I’m the only one trying here!”

You immediately regretted those words the second they left your mouth. Washing out your mouth with soap won’t wash that expression of your husband from your face, him staring at you in both disbelief and deep guilt. Giyuu knows that he can come off as cold or even uncaring, even to you. It’s never intentional but rather a terrible habit he seemingly can’t get rid off and it keeps forcing him to push people away from him. That’s why it may seem he doesn’t try hard enough to express his thoughts, his feelings.

Despite knowing that you will be understanding and listen to his worries, hold him while you kiss his face until he finally smiles again, all those fears and thoughts that dwell on horrific events he experiences on a daily gone in mere seconds.

So, who should apologise first? Giyuu, or you?

Since your husband left your house after the argument, probably wanting to take a walk or get some fresh air, you had time to think about what to do to apologise to him. Directly talking to him might scare him off and result into him being too intimidated to answer or scurry off to hide somewhere else to avoid you altogether. A letter could work, right?

Composing and thinking about every word, every sentence helped you sort your thoughts out and properly speak about the argument from your perspective while also staying respectful to his own view of the issues. You just hoped that your crow was awake to deliver a letter to your husband. If not, you’ll leave it in your bedroom for your husband to find and read quietly while you waited on him somewhere else.

But before you could prepare a method for Giyuu receiving your letter, Kanzaburo, your husband’s elderly crow, weakly called out to you and ruffled his feathers while resting on your windowsill. A letter was secured around his neck. Gently, you took the bird and put it to rest on your lap, giving him well-deserved scratches while gently unravelling the letter from his neck. It was written by Giyuu, obviously, but before you could read, the door to the room opened and your husband stood in the doorframe, staring down at you in surprise. He eyed you, then the letter in your hands.

“Have you.. read it?”

“No, Kanzaburo just delivered it.”

“Ah.”

You could see the gears shifting inside his mind. He probably overestimated the senior crow and thought the letter would be delivered faster. You scratched the crows head and glanced back to the paper in your hand.

“Should I read it? Or do you want to say everything you wrote down to me personally?”

Giyuu silently averted his eyes, his shoulders sagging and a small frown spreading on his face. He was avoiding to look into your eyes.

“No. I’ll be in the bedroom.”

You watched your husband slowly close the door, leaving you alone with his elder companion. While the crow was contently preparing to nap on your lap, you opened the letter.

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳༚

My dearest,

I am sorry. I know I’ve caused arguments again and again because of my silence and my behaviour over all. You feel like you’re the only one trying in this relationship and I’m sorry for that. I thought that if I stayed silent it would be easier for the both of us but that is clearly not the case. I should’ve realised much sooner, but instead I am only doing it now.

I am just too scared to scare you off with my problems and issues since you have your own, just like everyone else does. You are important to me so you always are my priority. My thoughts and feelings can wait, so I stay quiet.

You deserve better than the way I am treating you, you deserve so, so much better. You’ve been patient with me, you stayed with me for so long, through good and bad times. I don’t deserve your love.

I want to do better and I will. Please have a little more patience with me. Please.

I love you, I am sorry that I haven’t said it enough times. I am sorry if you don’t believe me.

Yours forever,

Tomioka Giyuu.

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳༚

💠

Thank you so much for requesting!! I’ve been seeing you interact with my posts pretty often so thank you for all your love and support <33 I’ll happily write more requests for you in the future if you liked this one!

Also, I haven’t forgot about Kyojuro’s thighs request :,) I started writing it and it’s halfway finished— my NSFW meter just ran out and I started writing this instead XD

Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!!

Take care of yourselves, physically and mentally <3

[reiincarnatiion]

shadows of destiny | azriel x reader | part three

summary: azriel jealous and yearning for Y/N

🧚‍♀️

a/n: sorry guys for the long assss wait, ive been on exchange in the uk so i have been busy living life hehe, still here and loving it!! hope you guys like this one, love you all cuties <33 also this isnt proof read so sorry for any mistakes! let me know what you think, i love all of your sweet messages !! eeeeeee

read : [part one] [part two]

-----🩷🧚‍♀️💗------

You woke up the next morning with a throbbing headache and a parched mouth, confused as to how you had made it to your bed from last night. The morning sun streamed through the curtains, casting a hazy glow over your room.

Groaning loudly, you cursed as you shifted your weight around, consequently turning your head to come face to face with Lucien's chiseled features, peacefully sleeping next to you. It took you a second to realize he was shirtless as well.

You screamed, "WHAT THE FUCK?!"

His mechanical eye swirled open, followed by his other. "Tell me we didn't."

"DID what," Lucien murmured, a small smirk gracing his features as he stared up at the ceiling. Amusement danced in his eyes as he stretched languidly against the sheets. His morning rasp tingled inside you and nicked at you annoyingly. This could not have happened. The headache of whatever liquids and maybe even other substances you had consumed yesterday hit you hard, and you fell back to face the ceiling as well, nausea threatening to overwhelm you.

"You little slut, you know what I meant," you groaned, rolling onto your front in a feeble attempt to quell the oncoming headache and urge to vomit.

You felt Lucien shift next to you as well, attempting to detangle himself from the crisp black sheets of your bed. "We must have done it."

"NO Lucien."

"YES."

"NO, I CAN'T-"

"…why not," Lucien breathed out. His demeanor had changed since you last saw him sober; something had happened last night, and you could not remember, but he was acting differently.

"All I am saying is that last night made me realize things about you, Y/N…" he continued, rising from the sheets. You raised your eyes in horror, ready to scream because you did not want to get flashed by fiery dick-

-a pair of orange breeches came into view.

"Oh."

"Upset that we didn't actually sleep together, Y/N?"

An unknown feeling of red-hotness spread throughout your face, turning your cheeks pink. "I hate you, Lucien," you hummed.

"What did you realize, Lucien?"

"That I pretend to not care the way Azriel and Elain make heart eyes at each other, but on the inside, it's like a knife twisting inside me," he deadpanned, and you couldn't help but let out a laugh.

"What???" he groaned, falling down next to you. "Nothing, Luc, I just feel sorry for us, that's all.

~

Azriel sat at the dining table, swirling the black coffee mindlessly. It was 2 pm, and his shadows had begun reporting how the others had finally begun stirring awake after their long night. They had gotten back at 5 am, the sun slowly beginning to peek through the trees and buildings of Velaris, and he had watched from afar as Lucien carried Y/N to her room.

He had not come out afterwards. His shadows had been in an unfamiliar frenzy, yelling to slip through and see what was happening in that bedroom, to investigate how good he gave it to her because Azriel just knew. He knew he could give it to her better.

He clenched his fists at the picture his shadows had painted for him of the events which probably had unfolded in her room. What was it with his sexual urges with Y/N all of a sudden? She was just his friend. She had always just been his friend. Maybe he had had a little crush on her before. Maybe when she would walk into a room and his palms would sweat, he would chastise himself for wearing too many layers. Or how when she used to make his heart beat irregularly, he would tell Rhys about anxiety. It was easier to let them think he had a disorder rather than admit feelings. Because maybe, just maybe he had had slight feelings towards her for centuries. But there was Elain now.

He liked Elain.

"Good Morning Azriel!" a sweet voice chirped, as Elain entered the dining room, a sweet tea held in her perfectly manicured hands. Even after a night out, she looked perfect. Her hair looked freshly blow-dried, and her lips tinted pink, looking fresh and kissable. He smiled gently, and her eyes brightened as she took a seat next to him, murmuring things about last night and how odd it was to see Lucien with Y/N.

"I just don't think he should have danced like that with her, what do you think?" she whispered, her eyes shining.

"I know it was disrespectful to you," Azriel nodded back, looking into her glassy doe eyes. Out of the corner of his eyes, he felt a sudden burst of movement from his shadows, but the warning wasn't quick enough as two figures walked into the room.

God, she looked horrible.

Elain let out a comical gasp, and the corner of his mouth lifted as Y/N walked into the room, her hair messy and disturbed, like someone had pulled on it, ran their hands through it. Her presence snatched on his gaze, it pulled it towards him, and Azriel found himself unable to look away.

Her eyes lazily dragged over Azriel, raking up his body, and never before had he felt so hot. But he did not break eye contact with her either, he maintained it, willing and daring her to break it first.

Their eyes met in a silent battle of wills, a tension simmering beneath the surface as they sized each other up. It was a fleeting moment, but it spoke volumes, leaving Azriel reeling in its wake.

"Lucien, can we talk?" Elain broke the silence.

Everyone blinked and looked at the innocent girl sitting down. Azriel watched as she looked into Lucien’s eyes, with her innocent look, and he mentally chuckled. She was doing damage control, and it was working because his shadows were reporting the increase in Lucien’s heartbeat.

“Of course,” Lucien whispered and pushed past Y/N, whisking Elain away out of the room.

Charged silence followed. Azriel went back to nursing his coffee which had gone cold now. He felt Y/N scoff and mutter something under her breath which sounded a whole lot like "bitch," as she moved around the place, into the connecting kitchen, trying to will the House to make her a cup of its strongest coffee. They didn’t say a word to each other, but Azriel could feel the tension in the air. He didn’t know where it had formed from, what abyss it had risen from, he just knew there was something that needed to be addressed between them before his head and his heart exploded.

“What was that from last night?” he let out a breath finally, his shadows jittering around the place. He looked up from his swirling black coffee to see Y/N cease her movements in the corner of the kitchen. Her short night dress, barely covering her ass, had ridden up as she had been bent over the kitchen bench. Azriel felt himself stiffen, so he looked away quickly, adjusting himself.

“What do you mean,” she replied, turning around with a neutral expression on her face, guarding her emotions. She carefully padded her way to the table, setting the coffee down and placing herself directly in front of him. Her scent wafted over him, and his jaw ticked, but he didnt show any emotion. His dark eyes bore into hers, his shadows fought to sift over her, wanting to know her thoughts, her feelings, her emotions. Alas, she showed nothing.

“You and Lucien…” he drawled out, pretending to ask nonchalantly.

“We just danced to Azriel, I was really drunk,” she whispered softly, placing her hands together on her lap.

“You emerged from the same room,” he replied calmly.

As she cocked her head to the side, her hair falling onto her face, time seemed to slow down. Her long eyelashes were stunning, and her deep eyes looked at Azriel with something so unsaid, that the raw intensity sent shivers down his spine.

Azriel knew at that moment that he could no longer leave these unanswered feelings of his left hanging. He wasn't a dumb male; if his body was responding to Y/N like this for so long, there was clearly a reason. And it was not a dumb crush.

He had forced himself to believe for so long, that Elain should belong to him. Three brothers for three sisters, that is what he would tell himself.

Yet something had shifted between them two, a subtle undercurrent that left Azriel reeling. It was something deeper, something undeniable. And as he met Y/N's gaze, he knew that he could no longer ignore the pull that drew him to her, the pull of something real, something worth fighting for.

--

taglist : @allyjoe755 @impossibelle @t0uch-starved-h0e @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @marina468 @cassan1306 @mich0731 @bubybubsters @azzydaddy @sunnym1nd @lupinswolfsbanes @tcris2020 @kazbrkker @hungryforbatboys @f4iry-bell @menaosama @kennedy-brooke @dudssebm @written-in-the-stars06 @lahoete @hereticdance @ultrakawaiinerd @nyotamalfoy @topaz125 @fae-glamour-petrichorus @rachelnicolee @wannabewolf @hells-sluttiest-new-arrival @dressed-in-prada @5moremin @buckyandgeraltsupremacy @lesliemurillo @feyres-fireheart @positivewitch @quackitysdrugdealer @saltedcoffeescotch @kalulakunundrum @mirandasidefics @crazylokonugget @isa1b2h3 @girl-who-writes-stuff @hayrunnwr @acourtofmoonlightandstars @lucky7rosie @mokanesa

[froggibus]

Pool Party - Obey Me

Includes: Lucifer, Mammon, Levi, Satan, Asmo, Beel & Belphie

Genre: fluff, crack

Summary: what better way to spend a hot summer day than at the pool with your favorite demons?

CW: swimming, sunburns, lots of sunscreen, kind of a crack fic ngl, alcohol and drinking, crocs, chicken fights, reader = mc

this is a part of my Summer Suntacular Event, come check it out!

guys i am SO BEYOND EXCITED TO FINALLY POST THIS!!! ive been waiting a WEEK...anyway sorry for starving my obey me followers for almost a year...my bad

Lucifer:

surprisingly not wearing his dorky scuba suit

hovers around the grill while Beel cooks 

brings extra water and sunscreen in case anyone forgets theirs 

pesters you about reapplying your sunscreen like every 20 minutes 

tries to beat Beel at chicken but almost instantly loses 

brings his extra paperwork and refuses to participate in anything until he finishes it

the only one who’s jaw doesn’t drop when he sees you in your bathing suit

he still thinks you’re hot—he just doesn’t show it like everyone else

insists on getting a group photo of everyone but it takes like ten tries before he gives up because everyone keeps squinting at the sun

wants to be the “responsible” one and not drink so he fills his thermos with sangria to be sneaky

literally everyone knows it's sangria cause who brings a thermos to the pool

Mammon:

asks for your help taking pictures of his brothers in their bathing suits so he can sell them

does not burn and refuses to put on sunscreen unless you beg him to

and then acts like he’s not doing it for you but just protecting himself

doesn’t bring his own beer or anything and just leeches off of everyone else’s

has another, secret mission of trying to push Lucifer in the water without getting caught

succeeds and blames it on you like the bastard (affectionate) that he is

thinks you look too hot in your bathing suit and tries to cover you the whole day. does not succeed.

will cause a fight if anyone compliments you 

“Mammon are you jealous or something”

“tch the Great Mammon doesn’t get jealous. you’re crazy.”

Levi:

a miracle that he even came outside i'm afraid

wears his dorky ass hawaiian button up and goggles around his neck

burns SO easily please slather him in sunscreen

hates that the other brothers get to see you in your bathing suit and pouts about it like the baby he is

lays on a lawn chair and plays on his switch + refuses to get in the water

however as soon as you ask Beel for a piggyback in the pool, he’s Michael Phelps

carries a water gun and pretends like he’s assassinating people

accidentally ruins Asmo’s makeup and starts a brawl

super blushy and flustered if you come near him in your bathing suit

and if you touch him his system does a hard reset

refers to the whole day as a ‘filler episode’ much to everyone’s confusion

eats about a thousand different popsicles with increasingly weird flavours

wears a pair of purple crocs with anime charms (he’s been begging you to get a pair for months so you guys can match croc charms)

Satan:

does not care much for swimming but he’ll lay on a lawn chair and read his book

talks to you at least three times about the dangers of UV rays and the importance of sunscreen

has a really dorky sun visor that he wears anytime he’s in the sun like an old man

brings an extra matching one for you 

needs to challenge Lucifer at absolutely everything

the second Luci steps in the water to play chicken, Satan is throwing you on his shoulders

has one of those lounge floats decorated with cats that he lays on while he reads and sunbathes

only drinks moscow mules and insists that you try them

has a meticulously maintained pair of Birkenstocks that he wears everywhere

tries to wear them into the pool and has a five minute argument with Lucifer about why he can’t

lays out your towel in the sun for you so it’s nice and warm when you get out of the pool

bonus points if he wraps you up in it

Asmo:

comes an hour later after everyone else because he had to shave everywhere and paint his nails to match his bathing suit

takes a thousand and one pictures of himself 

and about a million more of the two of you together (his favourite of which he sets as his lock screen)

has an incredible collection of cruelty free, reef friendly, non-comedogenic sunscreens that he applies liberally

goes in the water but refuses to get his hair wet and WILL cause a fight if anyone splashes him

weirdly good at chicken but only because he doesn’t want to fall in the water

loves aesthetic cocktails served in fruits and drinks them the whole day

probably the best at making cocktails too

has a timer set for when he has to reapply sunscreen and asks you (and only you) to help him apply it

also forces you to wear sunscreen 

Levi uses his expensive face sunscreen on his body and Asmo almost kills him

Beel:

the absolute grill master

he’s got 10 different things on the go, a beer in one hand and tongs in the other

challenges everyone to a game of chicken and refers to you as his ‘secret weapon’ to win

the Satan/Asmo duo get surprisingly close to winning but Asmo chips his nail and concedes

has one of those floaties that you can put drinks and snacks in and drags it along with him in the pool

lets you hang off his back while he swims

if you’re laying down on your towel he WILL come and shake the water off of himself on you like a dog

will only throw you in the pool if he 100% knows it won’t upset you

threatens the other brothers to do the same or face the consequences

forgets to put on sunscreen but somehow doesn’t burn???

comes out looking like a greek god

Belphie:

spends 90% of his time lounging on a pool float like the lazy mf he is

bats his eyes at you and asks you to bring him drinks everytime he finishes his

did not inherit Beel’s ability to tan and burns

five minutes in the sun and he becomes a lobster

only leaves his pool float to play one (1) round of chicken (that he loses) and if he gets too hot

also his pool floaty is definitely black and white like a cow

everytime he hears Satan lecture you about sunscreen he repeats it in a high pitched nerd voice 

belphie pls wear sunscreen

probably falls asleep on the floaty at least once until Beel comes and flips him into the water

if anyone splashes him he WILL retaliate to the fullest extent

compliments how you look in your bathing suit just to annoy Mammon 

steals everyone’s drinks if they leave them by the edge of the pool bcs he’s too lazy to grab his own

Summer Suntacular | Masterlist | Obey Me Masterlist

(if you enjoy content like this, interactions go a long way! comments, likes & rbs are always greatly appreciated ^-^ !!)

[firelightmlpoc]

I recently received a DM from a fellow who was a junior mod in the Shipping Container server, & they’ve been gracious enough to allow me to use their words on the current happenings, covering the events of the 0303Emily internal happenings of the server at that time.

Now, you may wonder why exactly I’m bringing up the 0303Emily debacle, much less in association with Pansear?

Well, besides the fact that the accusations leveled against 0303Emily are baseless themselves (One example of why at the bottom of this post, completely ignoring the fact that Azriel was only a month or 2 away from being 18 at the time of the accusation while 0303Emily was just 20.), they indicate a trend between both accusations that further shows minimal actual PROOF & deliberate misinterpretations of situations to then twist things into a more negative light.

Now, the statement from the junior mod:

“first off, sorry this isnt really that well worded. i dont even know where to start with all this. i wanted to offer my view on things from the internals of the SC server and some info that might explain the origins of all this. ive wanted to talk about this for a while but im not a very confrontational person and i didnt even have a tumblr or twitter

i was a helper (basically junior mod that had bare mininum perms) on SC during the entire event, and while I did not participate in the decision because it was really complex and i was busy with finals but i did lurk the convo and read a lot of it. i dont have any screenshots of this because i left a few weeks later after the entire mod team basically dissolved and the server lost all its users.

basically a while back before the grooming accusations some kids (like under 18) on the server were going around looking up artists on furaffnity, e621, and other nsfw websites and then reporting it to the mods of SC and i think mainworld too. the mods were pretty "this isnt really our business" about it and told the kids to stop snooping, and that was the end of it.

a few months later still before the grooming the issue resurfaced with the same users going after nsfw artists, they were again told to mind their business but a few weeks later came back with the grooming accusations on top of it. the key thing here is that the mod issue was heavily centered around the nsfw art that emily had been making, along with several other users who were in nsfw servers that these kids had joined to snoop around. they logged thousands of messages from multiple users and sifted through them looking for anything that could be added to this report.

again i just want to emphasize that this was not at all about Emily and Azriel at this time. The entire report was about NSFW people were doing in private NSFW sites and places that the kids had to lie and sneak into because they were LOOKING for dirt on these people. It was not just emily but around a dozen users in our server that had been perfectly fine up until this point.

there was a lot of delay with getting this report finalized and the grooming accusation came later. however given the context this seemed to raise a few red flags for the staff because the accusors had been so intense about their search for info and the fact that the conversation between them was months prior, there was some question of if the accusors had coached or otherwise convicned azriel about them being groomed just to get more dirt on emily.

Well the SC mods were tired of the NSFW artists being reported and considering the number of people being reported (again, more than just emily) and the methods the accusors had taken, decided that this was basically tantamount to stalking and kicked everyone involved.

What you see on tumblr is the response to that. They went and said "SC is run by groomer zoophiles" and everyone who had a hate boner for pansear jumped on board and it went nuclear.

I dont really know if this helps but i am just tired of sitting here being unable to speak about it because i dont have a following and i really miss pansear.”

I want to further emphasize this part:

“again i just want to emphasize that this was not at all about Emily and Azriel at this time. The entire report was about NSFW people were doing in private NSFW sites and places that the kids had to lie and sneak into because they were LOOKING for dirt on these people. It was not just emily but around a dozen users in our server that had been perfectly fine up until this point.”

Minors actively invaded adult-spaces, willingly & ACTIVELY exposed themselves to adult content EXPLICITLY to ‘dig up dirt.’

So, with that in mind, why would they stop at that? Why would they stop at something so trivial as faking screenshots? Multiple members have actively made threats to people accused & they care not about spreading a falsehood (Just look at Pansear’s old Tumblr handle!).

And here’s the example I said I’d give earlier. Azriel starts the conversation with mention of the horrors of some NSFW content from the fandom & then gives an example. 0303Emily follows up with a shared experience. This is some of the ‘proof’ that was presented in the doc Azriel & Co. put forth.

This doesn’t even mention any of the other discrepancies in their own ‘proof.’ The ‘Zoophilia’ allegations are once again Anthro on Anthro characters engaging in sexual acts, just like the allegation against Pansear.

Don’t believe me? Their own google doc is right here on this chap’s post. Read through it.

And if you want to read more, read this. It further emphasizes on this matter.

[ramp-it-up]

Peach, Part III

Part II | Part IV

Summary: Steven Grant Rogers is Bucky Barnes' best friend and business parter in crime. He has decided to get out of the life with Bucky because it's the right thing to do. And now he is in love. With you. A woman he lied to about a myriad of things. Now he just needs to convince you to forgive him. And spend the rest of your life with him.

Pairing: Art Dealer/Philanthopist (Mob Boss) Steve Rogers x Reader (Peach)

A/N: I love these two and there is so much to say. More parts to come.This fic is connected to the Bucky Barnes Knock You Down AU, and AFTER the events in the Bucky Barnes fic You've Got me Thinking. I'm so done for with Steve and Peach. The next part will be published next week! ☺️

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. SMUT. Read at your own risk. Angsty angst! Steve is called ‘Steve’ and ‘Grant’ at the beginning, because lies. Mutual pining, attempted masturbation, wild thoughts, threats with a knife, talk of a gun, dirty talk, voice kink, praise kink, did I say ANGST? Not Beta'd. All errors my own.

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

-------

As soon as Steve and Bucky stepped into the house in Hilton Head, Frumoasă’s family welcomed them warmly. Steve felt something that he hadn’t felt in a long while as he watched Bucky and his girl reunite. It had only been a few days, but the emotion between them was palpable.

Steve was happy for his friend, that after years of playing around he finally found his one. His mind drifted to a certain someone in Georgia as his eyes scanned the room for the family’s reaction to this reunion.

When his eyes lighted on you, Steve did a double take, thinking that he was hallucinating.

There you were, beautiful as ever, staring at him like a deer in the headlights, your rapid breathing making your chest rise and fall under the form fitting dress you were wearing.

Steve’s heartbeat was out of control as his eyes traced your form, down to those sexy high heeled boots, and then back up again to that face, those lips, those eyes! 

You looked as if you had seen a ghost. After a few seconds, recognition filled them as you looked from Bucky and Frumoasa and then back to Steve.

Steve knew the moment you understood what he had done. He saw your eyes flash at him, almost felt your body tense and could only watch your flight into the kitchen. 

Against his normally strong sense of self preservation, he went after you.

—-

The instant your eyes met Grant Stevens' ocean blue gaze, you lost all focus. You flushed and became physically affected by his proximity. You watched in silence as he stepped into the room behind the attractive dark haired man that your cousin flew to embrace and closed the door behind him.

You were confused as to why he was here with this other man and what was going on.

As your family’s chatter increased, you realized that this must be Bucky Barnes, whom you’d heard so much about from your cousin. You were impressed that he came after her; you knew how bull headed she was. 

Almost as much as you were.

Then it hit you.

The man with him was not Grant Stevens, ordinary bartender, this was Steve Rogers, multi millionaire mobster and Bucky Barnes’ best friend. 

Your eyes took in the scene and then met Grant’s (no Steve’s) again and you shook yourself from your daze. The man you knew in Atlanta was the same, but different. 

His hair was different, cut quite a bit shorter, but still floofy on top, and he still had a beard, but it was tamed. He carried himself a little differently as well, as if he could buy and sell this entire house and everyone in it but didn’t want to, an air of confidence and expectation, directed toward you.

These subtle differences hit you right in the pussy, because damn, he looked good, he smelled good, and that big dick energy was enormous.

But then you realized how he’d lied to you and rage, disbelief, and betrayal flooded your body. You tried to regulate after realizing that your jaw was clenched and your hands were balled into fists.

Rather than deck this man in front of your family and draw attention to this fucked up situation, you retreated into the kitchen, hoping that Steve would have the good sense not to follow you. 

You went to the sink and gazed out of the window to the beach, attempting to be soothed by the vision of the tide retreating and returning until you heard the door open and close behind you.

Without turning around, you shook your head to clear it from the haze his rich, woodsy scent cast over you. 

And also to warn Steve Rogers.

“DO NOT come near me.”

—--

Steve’s heart was beating a mile a minute and he was sweating as he pursued you, but he couldn’t help himself. This thing between you and him was undeniable. 

At least to him.

And so he came around the sizable kitchen island to talk to you despite your warning.

His mouth was dry when he attempted to speak, but he had to try.

“Peach… I—“

You turned around, a Japanese steel carving knife in your hand.

Steve felt his eyes widen and he put his hands up and backed away until the counter behind him stopped his retreat. He knew he could easily take the knife from you and calm you down, but now was not the time for force. 

It was time to grovel.

“Peach, please…”

You advanced upon him, tip of the knife pointed at Steve’s throat. Your pulse quickened as you got nearer to him, only because you were going to kill him, you thought. 

Not because he was so damn fine. No.

Not because your nipples were tight and your pussy was pounding as you remembered his hands on you, inside you, and his hard body against you as his mouth invaded yours. 

You were so caught up that you could only stare at him as you threatened his life. 

You searched Steve’s handsome face for the hint of a smirk, which, to his credit, wasn’t there. Steve looked earnest, like a little boy even, so your eyes moved away from his face and down to the impossible broadness of his shoulders in the fine brown suede jacket over brown cashmere sweater, to his tailored brown slacks, skipping over the bulge there down to his big feet in brown suede boots.

The tone on tone was attractive and the hint of the chain of his St. Stephen’s medal, the same one he wore in Atlanta, was about to make you go feral.

This man affected you in the worst ways. 

How could you want to murder him, fuck him, and also just bury yourself in his chest? 

“Who the fuck are you?”

Steve dropped his head and stared down at the knife at his neck when you spoke

He deserved every cut you wanted to give him. 

“I’m so, so sorry, Peach.”

He looked back up at you and you gasped, the knife dropping a little. At the same time, while holding your gaze, Steve slowly moved his hands toward yours, which was trembling slightly now. You nodded a little as he reached for the knife and he took it gently out of your hand.

He moved toward you and you backed up as he reached beside you to put the knife down, rendering it available if you wanted to hurt him again.

You were impressed. 

But you didn’t trust him one bit.

“Back the fuck up, Grant. Or Steven. Or whatever the fuck you are calling yourself today.”

Steve created space and leaned against the opposite counter, looking more comfortable than your angry heart agreed with.

“I deserve your anger, Peach. But I can explain.”

At that, you straightened up and picked up the knife again.

“I’m not angry, Steven. I have no feelings for you whatsoever.”

Steve’s mouth fell open. He wasn’t expecting that. 

“If I ever felt anything for anyone, it may have been Grant Stevens, but he doesn’t exist.”

You examined the knife, but didn’t point it at him this time.

“Since he doesn’t exist, neither do my feelings or any chance I allow you to get close to me ever again.”

Your multicolored eyes stared into Steve’s and he shivered. 

“Now, this is obviously a big deal for my cousin out there, and for your friend. I’m not going to spoil this for her. But you.”

You indicated Steve with the knife.

“You, stay the fuck away from me. Pretend I don’t exist and I,” You smiled a little.

“Well, I don’t have to do that, do I?  Because not only did you lie to me, you ghosted me.”

Steve felt like the most despicable man on earth. 

“So, you’re dead to me, Grant Stevens.”

You moved around the island to go back to the dining room with the knife in your hand.

“There’s another entrance to the dining room through the hallway by the bathrooms. Use it. I do not want to be associated with lying sacks of shit.”

You straightened your spine and Steve couldn’t help but watch your beautiful body leave him in the dust.

It was then that he knew he was in love.

—--

At dinner Steve watched everything unfold with consternation, but also amusement and curiosity. Bucky and his girl were about to crawl under the table and fuck, even though her parents were grilling him, but his friend had it under control.

Steve wanted to know what you thought of all this and when he looked at you, he thought he caught you checking for him a couple of times, but you always seemed to be looking at something else. 

You were clearly still pissed at him. 

Which gave him hope.

Because regardless of what you said about being dead to you, there was still some strong emotions swirling around in that head of yours.

Which meant you were thinking about him. 

He had to get you alone to talk. But he didn’t know how.

When your aunt suggested he and Bucky stay over, he silently thanked the stars above.

Now he was getting somewhere.

—--

When your Aunt Karen opened her home to criminals and liars, you almost drove back to Atlanta. You sat there and stewed as this handsome asshole smirked across the table at you.

You should have used the knife.

This was going to be the longest four days of your life.

When Bucky and Steve left to retrieve their belongings from the hotel, you looked over to see your cousin staring at you. You thought she was too caught up in Bucky to notice anything.

You were wrong. She continued staring at you as she called out to her mother.

“Ma, Peach and I are going for a walk on the beach to work off dinner, we’ll be back soon.”

As soon as you were out of earshot, the interrogation began.

“What the fuck is up, bitch?”

You told her the entire story.

—-

“You gonna tell me what is going on now?”

Steve looked over at Bucky as they drove to the Surf Song Inn to get their luggage. He would be the only one to understand what he was going through.

“Remember when you said I didn’t really “get it” when you were talking about speeding up the timeline?

Bucky nodded, intrigued.

“Well, I do now. And the story starts in Atlanta….”

By the time Steve was done, Bucky’s mouth was hanging open.

“I noticed that she’s a looker; definitely related to my Frumoasa.”

They chuckled and Steve shook his head at his friend.

“Now that I know what’s going on, with the extension of the Atlanta deal, and the foundation outlay… You’ve got it fucking bad.”

Bucky laughed at his friend.

Steve groaned.

“Stop busting my balls, Buck. I need help.”

Bucky shook his head.

“I don’t know man. My girl and I certainly went through something like this, but she knew my real name, for fuck’s sake. And I never left her hanging to run off into the night forever. I want to fucking punch you for that shit.”

Bucky was serious. 

“I know. I’m such an idiot. But I panicked. I think I knew I was in love but I’d fucked up. In the back of my mind I was always going to go back once we got clean and tell her the truth but…”

“Fate won out?”

“Yeah.”

There was silence in the car as the sounds of the ocean surrounded them.

“She threatened to slit my throat when she saw me today. She had the carving knife in her hand.”

Bucky grinned at his friend who was gazing dreamily out of the window.

“I knew I liked her. My kind of girl. She’s perfect for you.”

“Punk. But how do I get her to realize that?”

“Persistence my friend. Persistence. And cunning.”

—--

By the time Steve and Bucky had returned, there was a plan, but almost as soon as he stepped into the house, your cousin grabbed him up. He followed her into the kitchen, afraid of another knife attack.

“Just what the fuck do you think you are doing, Steven Grant Rogers? You trying to run game on my cousin? We don’t play that, I will fuck you up!”

This time it wasn’t a knife, but your cousin’s finger pointed at him

“I love her.”

She froze, mouth open and finger in mid air.

“Well. Damn.”

She straightened up and leaned on the counter as Bucky came in.

“May I join the party?”

His girl glared at him and he put his hands up as he walked up on her and took her in his arms.

“I promise, I didn’t know a thing about it. I’ve been a little distracted lately.

He kissed her and her ire was gone. Steve wished it were that easy for him.

“So you’re in love but you fucked her over, and she wants nothing to do with you. Cool.”

Your cousin wasn’t scowling at him, but she wasn’t smiling either.

“Yeah, I’m fucked. But i’ve got a plan.”

Steve and Bucky looked at each other and grinned. Your cousin looked from one to the other. Then they told her the plan.

“Oh hell. My poor cousin. But you forgot one important thing…”

—--

The rest of the night was spent playing board games, watching football, and outrageous flirting between Bucky and your cousin. 

Oh, and you avoiding Steve Rogers at all costs. 

If he came into a room, you exited, if you heard his voice in another, you scowled. He was ruining your holiday. You were stressed beyond belief. But you had something for that.

You knew that your cousin was planning on meeting Bucky in the basement and being a freak, so that’s when you and your handy dandy little bullet vibrator would meet up.

You needed to relieve the tension Steve being in the house had placed on your pussy. You were afraid you would fold and fuck him.

All you needed was to cum and you could think straight.

When your cousin snuck out of the room, she thought you were asleep, but you were just hiding and waiting for her to leave. Just when you pulled the bullet from under your pillow, your door opened and your light came on. You sat up in bed when you saw it was Steve, prepared to cuss him out.

He quickly shut the door and leaned against it, a vision with his big, bare feet, plaid pajama pants and size smedium henley.

It was still a crime how good this man looked. 

And how much he affected you.

Steve saw you without makeup, that delectable mouth in a sexy O, and those eyes wide and got hard instantly. 

He was so ruined.

You watched Steve watching you and then watched him reach up and rub the back of his neck and damn, did his bicep look good as he unconsciously flexed. 

“I need to explain, Peach.”

“You don’t need to do a gotdamn thing but get the fuck out of my room.”

“Please…”

“Don’t give me that shit. That fake apology begging shit. You’re nothing but a liar, and a manipulator. Trying to fuck me under an alias. Pretending to be something you’re not.”

Steve grew exasperated and damn you if the sight of him potentially angry didn’t turn you on more. Did you actually want him to fight for you? 

You had a problem. A six foot, two inch problem.

“I didn’t fuck you, did I? I realized what I was doing was wrong and I stopped.”

You huffed and cocked your head.

“Yeah. You ran. Which was the easy way out. Instead of staying and apologizing and telling me the fucking truth. I don’t need your explanation now, asshole. You better be glad I don’t scream my ass off! Coming in here like you’re going to make me beg for you to put your little dick inside me and have your way with me in all the holes that you can.”

Steve raised his eyebrow, heart rate increasing. You wanted him.

“That's very oddly specific, Peach. Been thinking about me? Been fantasizing?”

His fervent whisper made you shiver.  

“And I think you’ve ascertained by now that it’s not little.”

He smirked as you glared at him. 

“You’re right, Peach. Now is not the time for explanations. Maybe we just need to finish what we started in Atlanta. Get the tension out so we can talk. Let me fuck you so hard that we both cum. Hard. So we can have a civil conversation.”

God, I need her to cum around my cock, those thighs wrapped around me, Steve thought. It was his only goal at the moment.

Your pussy sat up and took notice as you were silent, adjusting the pillow with the bullet under it so that he wouldn’t know what you were planning to do. He studied you as you sat up straighter in the bed.

You both knew that one fuck wouldn’t end the beef. In fact, you guessed correctly that you wouldn't be able to get enough.

“You want me to beg, Peach? To get on my knees for you and beg to give me just a few hours of your time to show you that I am completely and utterly yours, Y/N/LN.”

You stared at him as he nodded at you and started rubbing himself through his pajama pants like a heathen.

“But what would you let me come in here and do to you that would make you scream your ass off Peach, if I begged to your satisfaction?”

His eyes roamed your body, stopping at your rigid nipples through the thin material. 

Steve was thirsty now.

“Would you let me touch you?”

His baritone voice was destroying your pussy right now. She was practically humming and vibrating on nothing at the moment, and you wondered if you could come from words alone. 

Steve wondered the same thing.

So he tried it.

“Would you let me?” 

Waves of desire rolled off of him and you could feel it from across the room. He was itching to move close and touch you, but you needed to make the first move. 

So what he said to you was, “Would you let me get my dirty criminal hands all over you, Peach?” 

You tensed, not knowing if you wanted to strangle him or climb on his penis. But then you thought both, at the same time, and crossed your arms against your body instead.

“N-no!”

That damn eyebrow shot up and you looked away, not knowing if you had the strength to endure.

“I want to bite into you, Peach.”

You opened your mouth to breathe.

“Not hard. Just enough to see how soft your skin is. Just so you can feel it throughout your body…you are…fuck… you are so fine… I need to consume you.”

You were in the same room with the big bad wolf, and yet you didn’t want to escape.

“I wonder…”

He trailed off, and you turned your head and gained eye contact, curious and wound up tight. Your pussy was pounding now, and you knew he had to smell your scent. He was actually licking his chops. 

“Would you let me slide my tongue inside you and lick you clean?”

He watched his eyes dilate as your eyes shuttered and a sound came out from your throat. It was a whimper of need that you cut short by clearing your throat, but not before Steve’s eyes flicked down to your sleep shorts and your thighs rubbing against each other. He knew you had to be soaking wet. 

He licked his lips and nodded, agreeing with your lust.

“Yes. Want, no need, to rub my cock all over your beautiful body. Feed it to you inch by inch, until you take it down your throat.”

You closed your eyes to shut off the sight of him, but the images of what he was saying assaulted you. You were so close to giving in.��

“Will you, Peach? Let me rub this big dick all over that body?”

You opened your eyes and stared as Steve grabbed himself, holding it out for you. You were incredulous when you saw how thick and how long it was under his sleep pants. You licked your lips, suddenly very thirsty.

“Will you let me feed you this cock inch by fucking inch, till I’m down your throat?” 

Steve assessed you.

“I told you that you’d struggle to take it. But I bet you’d take it like the naughty little good girl you are. You’d gag on it for me.”

You wanted to crawl over to him on your knees and do as he said. But you were not going to fold. You took a deep breath, stood up slowly and walked over to him, his smile growing the nearer you approached.

You stopped just shy of touching him, his cock, his hands, those lips all there for the taking. You looked him dead in the eye.

“My aunt Karen keeps a shotgun by the bed. Get the fuck out of my room before I go get it and shoot your gotdamn balls off.”

The grin that Steve wore as he walked back to his room was blinding. You were the perfect woman for him. He just had to convince you.

He was still grinning when Bucky snuck back in the room from his rendezvous with his girl.

“I’m in.”

—--

The next morning you woke almost refreshed, having used your bullet successfully after Steve left the room. You got off in no time and renewed your strength. You even managed to tease your cousin who did the tiptoe of shame back to your shared bedroom before you fell asleep.

You came downstairs to the sight of your aunt and uncle on the way to coffee with Bucky and your cousin about to throw up.

It was obvious what was about to happen and you felt bad as she ran out to the beach to get some air. Maybe you were taking things out on her. As you watched her head toward the beach, you felt the hair on the back of your head rise.

You turned around to see Steve’s cerulean eyes appraising you. You suddenly felt self conscious about your sleep short set.

“Morning.”

“Hmmph.”

“I’ve been thinking about what you said last night, and you are correct. I’m sorry for continuing to pursuing you. What I did was wrong and there’s no future for us. We need to just cut ties. But there is one thing. The foundation.”

One of the things you’d realized was that the Rebirth Foundation that had bailed you out of debt and enabled you to quit stripping and start your dance school was the creation of Steve and Bucky. Your cousin told you it was a very real endeavor, but that Steve and Bucky did run it. 

“Yes. That’s unfortunate.”

“So. What do you want to do about that?”

Steve leaned back and damn, the power of grey sweats was not lost on you.

“What do you mean?”

“Well. I am the managing director of the foundation. If you keep the money, you’ll have to have contact with me; remember the stipulations?”

You grimaced as you recalled the terms of the endowment. A summit in New York, site visits. Shit. 

You crossed your arms and cocked your hip. Steve kept his eyes on your face. That threw you for a second. You cleared your throat.

“Are you trying to blackmail me, Rogers.”

Steve shook his head. 

“No. I knew you would think that. You are welcome to keep the money. I can just consider it a gift. I’ll pay the money back to the foundation out of my personal funds. Consider it a fine for my crimes.”

You looked down and chewed your lip. Then you looked back up at him, your head held high. 

“I’m not a coward, Mr. Rogers. I can fulfill my end of the bargain, even if you…” 

You stopped short.

“I can fulfill my end of the bargain.”

Steve looked at you for a long while, his blue eyes sad. Your heart clenched.

“Good. Your students deserve it. You should have a message in your inbox about the summit on December 15th. You don’t have to RSVP until next week because of the holiday."

Steve stood up and walked toward the kitchen door. 

“I’m gonna go see if your cousin is okay.”

You gaped as the man you thought you hated went to go care for your family. And if what you presumed was going to happen did happen, he was going to be like family for the rest of your life.

You were screwed.

——

If you enjoyed it, please Reblog!

Read the Bucky fic Worth The Fall that comes immediately after this. Read Peach IV, the next part.

[clevercatchphrase]

Ghost Switch's 7th Birthday.

2017 was 8 years ago. I don't like that math. 2018 was 7 years ago, which is slightly more acceptable to me because 8+5=13, and 6.5 is half of 13, and if you round 6.5 up you get 7, but 7+5=12, and 8 is 2/3s of 12 which is more than half of 12 and that is gross because 12x12 is literally gross. (The 5 came from the end of 2025, if you were wondering)

You still with me? Good, because I have some thoughts about the last seven years I've been working on Ghost Switch under the cut.

Ive always had a weird way of contextualizing the passage of time, keeping track of significant or personal events in my life, be they places, or memorable occasions, tying them together in a mental spider web mad of thumbtacks of monumental dates and connected with the red string of my special interests at the time. It's always so insidious, how fast time passes, even though you're there for each moment. It's always so shocking how fast the days and weeks and months add up and suddenly a decade or two have passed.

Ghost switch turns 7 years old in 2 days. 8, that ugly number, if I count the full year of preproduction I spent planning and scripting the outlining and drafting. It's not quite a decade yet, but when it comes to webcomic longevity, it's damn impressive. Homestuck ran for 7 years, from 2009 to 2016. I was reading active updates for 5 of them. My webcomic will never reach the page length or word count of homestuck (thank god), but ghost switch will have actively been updating longer than homestuck has when it finally finishes. In three more years, i'll be able to add Ghost Switch to the list of "webcomic longrunners" on Tv tropes. (Special shout out to the dedicated soul(s) who update Ghost Switch's Tv tropes page, 'cause lord knows I haven't touched the thing after I made it.)

I cant help but compare myself to other Undertale fan comics that I've read and loved and followed. Not as competition or as a standard to live up to, but merely for curiosity's sake. The UnderlineAU by Dustyart and ifellforundertale, Caretaker of the Ruins by eruto, minty and ellipsis, flavor-text-chara by stemmmm, Unexpected Guests by undertalethingems, zombietale (zombie-frisk) by spooks, unofficial-underfell by comicpixel01, and that-one-underfell-comic by blueberryjamsart just to name a few.

And not just the other undertale comics as well. From time to time I find myself revisiting some discontinued deviantart comics from the early 00's like Wurr by Paperiapina, Off-White by Akreon and tanathe/vesner, Over The Mountains And Far Away by Skailla, and The Blackblood Alliance by KayFedewa. All of these stories from other people also doing it for fun and for free the melancholy I feel when they quietly tapper off or go in indefinite hiatus. It's strange to revisit their pages some times, snapshots of the past, perfectly preserved, same as they were when I last saw them update live, like the next page link could update any second.

Granted, not every webcomic started by starry-eyed teens inevitably ends up as unfinished. There are plenty of webcomics that I've followed for years that are also still going to this day. Africa by Arven92, Golden Shrike by Doeprince, Up And Ahead/No North (also by Skailla!), Oren's Forge by Teagan Gavet, and Tofauti Sawa by ThCynicalHound are some notable examples.

It's equal parts empowering and sad to see how many comics i've outlasted, outlived. It's just as humbling to be reminded how many are still going. I've been doing this for 7 years now. If my freakish estimation skills prove true, I'll be doing this for another 5. At time of writing, I am 32 years old. When I finish, I could very well be 38. Even if I decided to quit the comic today, this is by far the longest time I've dedicated to any one art project, one story, one single piece of fan art. Ive spent close to a fifth of my life (20 percent!) working on this comic, always thinking about it at the back of my mind. If it does take me 12 years to finish, that will be almost a whole third. I cant wait to finish. I cant wait to never draw another comic page as long as I live. I cant wait to get back to writing fan fiction and learning other artsy things like crocheting and quilting plush making, woodworking, metal working, stained glass making, all the hands on creating I can think of. Am I finally tired of undertale? No, as I've just said, i've still got a shit ton of fan fiction I gotta finish before I can say "I'm done with you." The hyper fixation has slowly released its grip, though. Enough so that I was able to start exploring other media to get unhealthily obsessed with this year (mostly in the form of anime.)

Undertale turns 10 years old this year, and can you fucking believe the birthday lands on a monday this year? I don't know if I'm going to do anything special for the anniversary like I have in years past. I'll probably just upload a page like normal and not much else.

It's strange to think that a baby was undoubtedly born the day i started this comic, and now they're probably old enough to read and comprehend it if they found it this very day. I don't look forward to the day when I finish, and a grown-ass adult comments on the last page saying; "Loved your story! Ive been reading since middle school and yesterday I graduated with my masters degree!"

Time needs to stop. And not, like, freeze. Just like… Stop. Doing that thing… Passing and changing us subtly and irreversibly without our consent or awareness until years have passed and we suddenly realize we've become different people, all tangentially tied together through this shared connection that is this webcomic I've become unhealthily dedicated to. This comic could very well see 4 different presidents in office across 5 election cycles before it's done. 5 more years… Half a decade more. "You have a true red soul of determination if you kept up the comic for this long!" Maybe. The sunk cost fallacy, the fear of death before finishing, fear of disappointing readers, and an all around general attitude of spite and stubbornness are strong incentives to finish though.

I wish I could say I'm over the hill at this point, but technically I'm not. Yes, I'm half way through but there's no gravity assistance to help roll me down the rest of the way. Comic making is more like mountain climbing. Yeah, I'm half way up, but there's still quite a lot of "up" left to go. The air is getting thinner, and I'm starting to tire, but it's shorter to the summit than to the base at this point. Might as well keep going. I still want to see the view from the top, and marvel at how far I've gone~

[watchthisqqq]

The Eighth Sense Meta/Analysis Masterpost

More details here

@aliceisathome

The Eighth Sense DELIVERED baby.

@bengiyo

I’ve been thinking about The Eighth Sense almost nonstop since I finally watched the first two episodes yesterday.

@candygalaxyyy

It’s 4 AM for me rn, I should probably go to bed because my sleeping schedule is a mess… but I’m dead set on understanding the timeline for the eighth sense.

@colourme-feral

Just thinking about how friendships are portrayed in The Eighth Sense and how you often stumble into a friendship with no idea about how it will end up being.

@chicademartinica

A little post for @cupcakeeditor and the anon who asked me to elaborate on fatphobia, body dysmorphia and ED in The Eighth Sense

@dekaydk

The Eighth Sense

@eighthsensed

some thoughts on jaewon's therapy scenes

@emotionallychargedtowel

The Eighth Sense e5 & e6: portraying trauma with nuance

Following up on my post about episodes 5 and 6, here are my thoughts on the mental health side of episodes 7 and 8 of The Eighth Sense.

The Eighth Sense episodes 9 and 10: All we can do is try

@ginnymoonbeam

Was chatting with friends about The Eighth Sense and what we expect from the ending, which got me onto a broader ramble about genre and expectations.

I've been enjoying reading theories and analyses of The Eighth Sense ep 6 from lots of different perspectives.

@hanjiwoos

Was episode 6 real?

@heretherebedork

Until or unless JaeWon is ready to take a step towards healing, no amount of JiHyun wanting to heal his wounds or save him will do anything.

All I can think about it how we saw Uea realize that he still had hope and could still grow and heal because he was so supported by King and Jade and his aunt and his sister and the people around him and how JaeWon, in contrast, is struggling more because he doesn't have any kind of support system outside of JiHyun and his psychiatrist because two of his friends just want him to stay exactly as he was and any change on his part is met with mocking and aggression.

My Nightmare Ending for The 8th Sense.

JaeWon is trying to convince himself, in his heart, that he doesn't have a chance or a future.

JiHyun desperately trying to avoid being flirted with by a girl while his friend keeps encouraging him to be more romantic and JiHyun is just... quietly thinking about JeaWon, thinking about the bus, thinking about the trip, struggling to come to terms with not with his feelings but the sudden space from JaeWon.

@hvenart

While I personally don’t like hand-held camera work in shows, I think it works really well in the eighth sense.

@imminentinertia

I may have some feelings and possibly some actual thoughts about Hedwig and the Angry Inch's appearance in The Eighth Sense.

Today's the day when everyone is required to add their thoughts on The Eighth Sense ep. 6, yes?

iguessitsjustme

It’s been a few weeks since I binged The Eighth Sense and I have some thoughts now that I’ve processed the whole show.

@indigostarfire

A very long post of me rambling so I could connect the dots and map out the factors that led Jae Won to shift out of his deep depression and isolation from Ji Hyun.

@jemmo

ive been thinking a lot about age in the eighth sense, in terms of age gap and the roles of hyung and sunbae and dongsaeng and the behaviours they entail, and the label of the country mouse, and how, with the events of the end of ep 6, they are paralleling jihyun against jaewon’s younger brother with the accident and how I think there’s a crux at the heart of this that is jaewon needing to see jihyun as not his younger brother.

ive had this ramble bubbling under the surface since watching the first 2 eps of t8s, but talking to @heesulovebot and @bengiyo ‘s posts have finally managed to organise my thoughts, about why this feels so queer and un-bl, and i think it’s because, even though unspoken, the characters recognise this as queer too.

ive just been lying in bed, thinking about the eighth sense, this whole morning, trying to figure out and put together my thoughts and my conclusion is I just can’t do it.

@lurkingshan

On Jae Won and Pran

Am I the only one that did not interpret episode 6 as a straightforward continuation of the narrative?

@maxescheibechlinichacheli

The eighth sense doesn't feel like a normal korean bl.

@mikuni14

Little thoughts about JaeWon :)

@mineonmain

Who’s the Antagonist in The Eighth Sense?

@piganatur

actually what jaewon said in the photography shop cut x1000000 times deeper than the english translation of it

@ranchthoughts

The Eighth Sense has this way of filming where the background of shots are SO hazy and out of focus, and I love it

@respectthepetty

What is tradition?

All's Fair in Love

thoughts on the eighth sense finale?

@shortpplfedup

I think it's important to understand than Eun Ji doesn't even like Jae Won.

@suckteeth

At first, I was just happy my favourite director got name-dropped in the show, but then I got to wondering why this particular movie was chosen, so here are my (rough) two cents on it!

@talistheintrovert

OKAY. let's clarify some stuff for people who are confused: the entire episode is not a dream sequence.

there's something so inherently queer in the way The Eighth Sense is being acted and ESPECIALLY in the way it's being filmed, and the cinematography and editing choices that keep taking my goddamn breath away.

@the-conversation-pod

Summer 2023 Ep 2 - The Eighth Sense

@toastofthetrashfire

Queer and Crip Temporality in the Eighth Sense and Giovanni's Room

@trilliastra

jaewon is traumatized to the moon and back, he's mentally ill, father is an asshole, friends are even worse.

@usertoxicyaoi

no bc. like. the eighth sense is getting EVERYTHING right.

so i don't know if whether jaewon is doing this on purpose (i 100% think he is), where he completely contradicts himself - his words say one thing his actions say another -, or he "forgets" the minor details of his interactions with jihyun, just to make jihyun and him have a conversation or to include jihyun into one, but yeah, noticable examples are:

@waitmyturtles

Okay friends, everyone get your spoiler tag filter on, please, because we’re doing this: The Eighth Sense, episodes 7 and 8.

More The Eighth Sense thoughts as I process, process out episodes 7 and 8.

SPOILERS AND ANALYSIS FOR THE EIGHTH SENSE, EPISODES 9 and 10.

Fuck.

Alright.

@wei-ying-kexing-apologist

Eighth Sense Ep 2 Rewatch

Episode 3 Rewatch

EIGHTH SENSE THEORY

Was chatting with @waitmyturtles last night and she sent me this screenshot from the Instagram story of The Eighth Sense director

The Eighth Sense Ep. 1 Rewatch Thoughts

*lies down for a nap*

movingtoanewblogsoon-deactivate (Does anyone know where this blog moved to?)

I come here after going through the tag on Twitter and I'm livid because what we're not gonna do now is pick sides and blame it all on Jaewon by completely disregarding his trauma.

Wait! I just realized Aeri and Eunji have the same surname and this could be entirely coincidental or the show could have used that to highlight even more clearly the difference between them and the subvertion of the "women are always villains" trope in bl that it initially seemed to have reinforced with Eunji.

This part bothered me since the very first time I watched the trailer. The first sentence is definitely Taehyung questioning Jaewon about his relationship with Jihyun.

Please comment below if there is a post I should add!

Masterpost of other shows

[rassicas]

hi guys! im back. i went tokyo for a few days. got back at 7 this morning after taking an overnight 7 hour bus ride.... that i did not sleep on bc i cant sleep in moving vehicles. this will be something closer to a proper blog post i guess. splatoon related convention? experience below

i've kept my mouth shut about my plans to go because its not as well known on the english side of the fanbase and i didnt wanna make people too jealous sorry LOL , but i went to splaket 22! it's an unofficial, splatoon-only doujinshi market/artists alley. this was my first convention-sort-of event ive been to since i was... in high school. i also dont really get to meet many other hardcore splatoon fans irl. i was nervous about it because i don't know a whole lot of people on the JP side nor do i have a lot of confidence in my japanese speaking/listening, but in the end it was SUPER fun. i wish i couldve talked a bit more to the artists i did encounter to comment on what i liked about their works but. Skill Issue very few non-japanese people at this event of course but one of the only english speakers i saw i called out to bc they were wearing a shirt with this exact image printed on it no video and no photos outside of designated areas were allowed so i got like. zero pics of my own. but there was a lot of cosplayers i saw! oh and here's the Loot Haul. a few doujin, a clear file, stickers, microfiber cloth and a keychain. im surprised at how little i got, i think i shouldve gone a bit crazier with it

the one with Tao Blu and oonie in the top left (by sachikazerick) I came across by chance and bought because it was cute, featured splatband characters, and also because it all in some familiar inkling language (the last point of which i told the artist as i was buying) when i finally got home and saw the back credits...

SMALL FUCKIN WORLD LOL (i tweeted at the artist afterwards to let him know i came by the table and to thank him for using me and my friend's inkling language fonts!) though truly, i think ardnin deserved the credit more rather than me since he made most of those fonts! ah well, still cool to see more and more fan works using deciphered inkling language. top middle book is a story with some salmonid characters that i havent read yet but im looking forward to it, the art is lovely. top right one was the first thing i bought. the artist is rk_splaworks, whose art i love, and we've been mutuals for a few years and have talked a bit here and there! i was so fucking nervous to meet them in person since my japanese sucks LMAO but they were happy to meet me too and we got a selfie together yippy <3 also havent read their doujin Yet since ill have to rub all my brain cells together and huddle over the dictionary, but i want their oc lore

ok that's all i'll say, next splaket is...june 22. very soon....im already thinking ill. go again. yknow. while im still in japan and all that. i guess ill have to study harder on my jp in the meantime teehee ...i doubt it, but in the off chance anyone following me is going to the next splaket in june lemme know!