#THANK YOU FOR THE INCITEFUL WORDS!!!!!

[mayor-lewis-mail-box]

LEWIS IF/WHEN YOU RETURN TO PELICAN TOW- SORRY... AWESOMESAUCE KINGDOM..

i want you to know you were always my favorite mayor...

i know a lot of what you do often gets overshadowed and no one pays attention to the care you put into the town - i mean, by yoba, you've been mayor for twenty years! you have to be doing something right! - but i sincerely appreciate everything you've done for the town- KINGDOM...

you make nightly rounds to collect the goods from every farmer (and pay them adequately for their work) and stop to chat with the townsfolk every single friday - without fail. that takes a tremendous amount of dedication and i applaud you for it.

you make an effort to ask about the farmer and how they're settling in AND you even suggested the idea for a bigger bulletin board. that proves you truly care about the townsfolk and their needs.

i wish more people saw that.

*sniff sniff* I'm sure Lewis appreciates this message very much. His heart is certainly moved by how you see him and his mayoral duties, and I agree deeply on your statement on him.

maybe I should come back...

[transsexula]

You know it might take awhile but when you realize you're like, a person and not a plot device in your mother's story, you can actually start healing.

Sometimes learning that you aren't just the inciting incident of her life is a gradual process. Other times you wake up whispering the words of an argument you're having in dreamland, muttering, "I'm more than a plot device in the story of your life, I'm more than the inciting incident that led to where we are now. You chose to keep me. You chose to make me the punishment for your actions, the changer of your life. But I'm a person too."

[comatosebunny09]

carpe noctem [ rising action ] | sylus

— summary: you’ve convinced yourself that this is normal. routine. that you’re used to this, sitting like a fly on the wall while their relationship blossoms like a flower turned towards the sun before you. so why does it still hurt? — cw: reader is not mc, reader implied to be femme, assassin!reader, unrequited feelings, mentions of blood & injuries, jealousy, profanity, sexual content, fade-to-black, self-destructive behavior, somewhat of a slow burn, mdni — notes: thank you so much for reading! [ part 1 | part 2 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 ] — now playing: bmf - sza

Breakfast is uncharacteristically quiet. 

At least, for the three of you, it is. The silence makes way for the lazy swish of cars on the road, the clatter of cutlery against plates, and the idle chatter of the cafe’s other patrons. 

It’s balmy outside. The type of weather that pastes your blouse to your skin and creates a fine film of sweat on the back of your neck. The kind that welcomes mosquitos and makes showering beforehand pointless. And it’s so obnoxiously bright out, nary a cloud in the sky. But you figure you're being unreasonably antsy because you’re hungover and still a little tired. 

Despite the climate, your ragtag team is seated beneath a cafe’s awning, scarfing down food to battle the effects of your collective hangovers before jetting back to Linkon.

Typically, Ms. Hunter would be on about something, filling the space with her animated talk, with you and Sylus occasionally chiming in to tease her or exchange covert words concerning upcoming missions. But she’s still a little worse for wear, with dark lenses perched on her nose and a wrinkle between her brows as she pushes food around her plate.

You snort around a mouthful of eggs at her plight, tucking your amusement behind your hand. Decide to incite a little mischief to distract yourself from the weather and the creeping feeling of unease brewing in your gut. 

“Someone had a rough night,” you tease, reaching for your orange juice.

She glowers at you. Sticks out her tongue, flipping you the bird. You snort into your drink, nearly sending pulp flying every which way.

“Not my fault you have the tolerance of a three-year-old.”

Your eyes crease at the corners whilst you watch her work up to a retort, mouth hanging open like a fish out of water. But before she can get a word out—

“Ladies,” Sylus interjects like a distant clap of thunder pushing across a dark horizon. He’s seated between you at the round, iron-wrought table, arms crossed over a broad chest. Sunglasses shroud scarlet intentions, but you don’t miss the twitch of a silver brow nor the humor meddling with his voice. “Play nice.” 

There’s finality there. He speaks to you like a referee. Like a father who’s caught his children roughhousing, and you both shrink beneath his mock disappointment. 

“Besides,” Sylus continues, casting his amused gaze on you. “You weren’t in the best of shape yourself last night. Are you really in any position to talk?” 

A hot rush of mortification wades over you. You're unsure of its source, whether at your memories of last night or how quickly he came to her defense. 

And so what if you stumbled a bit down the hall, searching for your room? 

You didn’t think he noticed after your exchange. Figured he retreated into his room, or worse—slipped across the hall to keep his hunter friend company into the wee hours of the morning while you tossed and turned, driven to hell by thoughts of them doing everything besides sleeping. 

The recollection makes you bristle, and you turn a scowl down to your food. Grumbling, you plop a slice of toast onto the hunter’s plate. She glances at you, confusion pulling her lips down. 

“Eat,” you order. “Feed a hangover, starve a cold.”

“I don’t think that’s how that goes,” she counters, a pout evident in her voice. But she doesn’t protest, sitting up in her seat to nibble on your peace offering.

You resist an impulse to pat her head, your ire sloughing off, traded for something like fondness. You want to ruffle locks of silken ebony because she’s effortlessly adorable, pulling at those little heartstrings you’d worked so hard to conceal. 

Sylus beats you to the punch, leaning forward to mold long fingers around the round of her head. The world slows, casting a special spotlight on the pair of them. 

You ignore how your chest tightens at the scene. At the affectionate little tug of his lips as Ms. Hunter cants her face towards him, cheeks full and expression doe-like. You try to pretend like it doesn’t make you sick with resentment. Once upon a time, he used to look at you like that. 

Fuck. 

What are you thinking? He is your boss, and she is your charge—your friend. There’s no reason to feel like this, especially considering you practically shoved Sylus into her arms, reasoning you never stood a chance in hell with him. 

You snap back to the present, and suddenly, breakfast isn’t so appetizing. You push around your cold eggs as Sylus and Ms. Hunter slide into easy conversation. You feel like a husk of yourself amid them. Like you’re impeding on something intimate, and your stomach lurches when they draw you into their chat every so often as if pitying you.

You’ve convinced yourself that this is normal. Routine. That you’re used to this, sitting like a fly on the wall while their relationship blossoms like a flower turned towards the sun. And yet, you’ve never been more eager to return to the N109 Zone. To leave these green-eyed thoughts on this island and get back to your distracting life, luring terrible people to their demise and wiping the scourge of man off the face of the planet. 

You suddenly straighten, clearing the phlegm from your throat. Your silverware clatters against your plate as you shove it away, eyes regretfully shifting between them.

“So, what time do we leave?” There’s a whisper of exasperation in your tone, but you quickly conceal it with that playful arrogance you’re known for. 

Sylus and the hunter trade looks of confusion and humor, blind to the turmoil of your mind slowly creeping through the folds and staining your pride like ink spilled into water.

“Eager to get back to work, aren’t you?”

You scoff, taking up your fork, clueless to scarlet eyes studying the crown of your head, narrowing at the apprehensive slope of your voice. “You have no idea.”

—

It’s a pleasure to dance. Of course, it always is. It’s one of the few times you feel desired. Wanted. Useful when your hands aren’t speckled with blood and your knuckles aren’t purpling from bashing someone’s face in for taunting The Devil. 

Dancing is a versatile skill you’ve acquired with time and practice. It's one of the few pleasures you’ve drawn from this fickle life. One of the few things you kept from a past veiled in darkness, the rest tucked away in the hulls of your psyche.  

All eyes are on you. Gazes burning with assorted degrees of desire, envy, and awe beneath the tawny glow of the stage lights. The attention makes you warm and tingly, and your lips salaciously curve as you move your body in time with the music, casting an inadvertent spell on all who dare to watch. 

You’re the center of attention without trying to be and without the influence of your Evol. Of course, you usually are. He’s even told you so. Customers often flock to Sylus’ nightclubs to see you dance, hoping to one day have your affections. 

Or to fuck you. 

You rarely entertain these people. Not unless you have to. Not unless Sylus sicks you on them to further his goals or take down his competition. You’re ever the faithful lapdog, tuned to your boss’ every command, and it makes you sick with how loyal you are to him sometimes. A part of you feels you owe him for this life you lead. He’d snatched you from an impenetrable darkness. Renewed your sense of purpose and redirected your desire for revenge. 

For now, you have this. The recognition of others despite how misplaced it is. They want you for your body, for the promise of what your facade offers. Deep down, you crave something more, something real. But you tamp down those feelings as you bite your lip, putting on a good show, hands smoothing over the surge of your hips. And you’re spurred by the whoops and whistles and shouts of your name as the lights dim, signaling the conclusion of your performance.

Your chest heaves with the effort of breathing, and your cheeks ache with a smile as you pose. The crowd's cheers dampen the violent thrum of your heartbeat—chase away the cacophony of your mind, adrenaline spuming through you like an erupting geyser. 

You look over your shoulder towards the ceiling, catching scarlet-spun eyes from the upper floor’s rail, and your grin twitches the slightest bit. It’s a rush, having the attention of strangers. Having their desire, their yearning. But his attention is much more addicting like Nicotine furling between your teeth. For a moment, you feel seen. Like you’re the center of his universe, and not the pretty, bright-eyed damsel with enough room in her heart to house the galaxy.

Something flashes in his eyes, and the world fades. You mistake it for tenderness. Just wishful thinking. He would never choose you. He’s had four years to make you his. 

Why would he suddenly choose to acknowledge you now?

—

Once the adrenaline ebbs and clubbers flood the dance floor, you’re nestled behind the crowd, leaning against the sticky countertop of the bar, clutching a glass of something acrid and glacial between your fingers—something to take the edge off. To mute the insistent pulse of your nerves.

The music thumps beneath your feet, accompanied by the sparkling chatter of the club’s other clients. Yet you still hear him amid the chaos—the familiar curl of a voice around the vowels of your name. You fix him with an amused, sultry look beneath Lux’s customary red hue. 

“When are you gonna let me take you out on a date?” he asks, worn knuckles easing down the slope of your arm. You track his audacity with your eyes, jerking away from his unwarranted attention, ignoring the goosebumps igniting across your skin.

This, too, is routine—one of Lux’s regulars throwing himself at your feet, begging for an opportunity to court you.  He’s been on like this for months, entertaining your game of cat and mouse. Maybe you’ve given him a false sense of hope because he’s yet to let up. In fact, he’s grown bolder with his advances lately, often popping up when you least expect him, vying for your heart.

It’s endearing, really, having someone who genuinely wants you. Or maybe he doesn’t, but you convince yourself otherwise. Play a sick little game with yourself, fooling yourself into thinking that maybe there’s more to you than your reputation builds you up to be.

You turn towards him, crossing your legs, the leather barstool sticky beneath your thighs. You lean into your knuckles, studying dark brows, whiskey-infused eyes, and full lips. You end your excursion at the thick of his throat, excitement prickling like static in your chest. He’s easy on the eyes, tone velvet smooth. Had you not been a femme fatale, you might’ve given him the time of day.

But for now—

“You couldn’t handle me,” you counter, reveling in how the smugness melts from his face.

He chuckles at your cheekiness, sweeping the tails of his blazer back and stuffing his hands into his pockets. Squares his shoulders, standing akimbo like he’s preparing for a fight, though he might as well be, stepping to you like this.

“Still holding out for that old man, I see.”

It is your turn to wear a wavering smile. Your turn to look silly, the proverbial knife driven into your stomach and twisted. 

You scoff with a sneer, dumping the last vestiges of your drink down your throat. You tear yourself from your seat, reaching past the gentleman to snatch your coat from the counter, pinning him with a haughty look. 

“I’m not holding out for anyone, fucker. And even if I were, it wouldn't be your slow ass.”

With a huff, you brush past him, wending through the crowd gathered on the dance floor to retreat into your dressing room. 

You try vainly to contain a scowl, knowing you’ve been read like the deckled pages of a book deep down. 

Maybe you refuse to move on because you feel like you’d betray Sylus if you did. How, exactly, you’re unsure. He’s had no problem betraying you, quietly shoving you out of the picture in favor of someone who’s hardly seen him bleed. 

—

“Do you like anybody?” Ms. Hunter asks above the steady purr of the SUV’s engine.

Her question nearly floors you. Your grip on the steering wheel tightens slightly, and you almost choke on your spittle. 

You’re stuck in traffic together. 

Knowing the holidays loomed around the bend, someone decided it would be an ideal day to go to the mall. Of course, you weren’t the only people out on the road. 

So naturally, she’s bored, unused to the silence stretching between you. The low croon of the music spilling from the speakers does nothing to ease the tension.

You glance at her, and she’s wearing a Cheshire Cat-like grin, studying you from the passenger seat. You swallow thickly, adjusting your shades on your face, staring at the cars sluggishly easing up beyond the windshield. “I don’t like very many people.”

An exasperated sigh later.

“C’mon! There’s gotta be someone you like. Ya’ know.” She pitches herself closer, her mischievous grin curling in your periphery, and she pokes your side with a pointed finger to get a rise out of you. 

“Someone that gets your heart racing. Someone who makes your face all hot. Makes butterflies swarm in your tummy.” 

You know exactly where this is going. Had you not valued your friendship—or whatever you call this complicated mashup between you—you would reveal the inner workings of your mind. But how insane would you sound, telling the hunter the person who gets your blood racing is the very same man she has tucked in her back pocket?

So, you deflect. With a sardonic smirk, you jest, “You get my heart racing when you fuck up our meetings.”

You squint and flinch away with a laugh in your throat as she swats you, whining at your cruelty. 

“You suck,” pouts Ms. Hunter, falling back into her seat with crossed arms. “Bet it’s that guy who always stalks you at Lux.”

You side-eye her in the rearview, placatingly patting her head. “I like you, stupid. Isn’t that good enough?”

Maybe one day. 

One day, you’ll have the intestinal fortitude to tell her the truth—to tell them both the truth. How you’re falling apart at the stitching, the world you know falling away from beneath your feet.

—

You’re not as strong as you let on. You’re human beneath that flirtatious exterior—still a woman with wants and needs, not immune to the temptations of the flesh. Which is why you find yourself at his doorstep, a glacial, errant breeze ruffling the tails of your coat as the silvery moon haloes your silhouette.

He leans against the doorframe, brown eyes simmering with intrigue as he takes you in. Dark hair sweeps over raised brows. “What made you change your mind?”

You shrug, hands stuffed in your pockets, a quirk to your lips. “Maybe I just need a friend.”

He chuckles low, arms crossed. “A friend, huh?” 

“Yeah.”

There’s no mistaking the pitch of your voice. The air charges with something amorous as he ushers you into his apartment. You brush past him, tamping down your dignity as you disappear into the warm sanctity of his home, his hand reassuring at the small of your back.

Had you taken the time to survey your surroundings, you would’ve noticed a set of beady, crimson eyes peering through the inky night, watching you from their perch atop a powerline.

And had you further investigated, you would’ve heard the familiar whirr of machinery as the iridescent outline of sleek feathers recorded your every move.

conflict | masterlist | climax

[venomvalley]

FEED ME!

EPILOGUE: BABY FOOD ↬ sevika x pregnant!reader | 3.3k words

SUMMARY: Snippets from a less lonely life.

TAGS: mentions of postpartum depression, PTSD recovery, hurt/comfort, domestic sevika, a LOT of fluff

NOTES: my knowledge of children boils down to babysitting my niece her whole life so blame her if i got anything wrong. also thank yall SO MUCH for the love on this story it's been absolutely insane and i still cannot believe it :'3

-> READ ON AO3 | SERIES MASTERLIST

I. THREE MONTHS

Parenting is hard work.

A fact of life that just about everyone knows, but it’s different actually living it. Days are long and nights are even longer, and Sevika can’t remember the last time she’s gotten a proper sleep. But you have it worse. As soon as she closes her eyes for the night, the kid starts crying, and you sit up with a tired groan to turn on the bedside lamp. Every three hours like clockwork, the same routine: remove Stella from her crib (that Sevika commissioned from a local wood worker) beside the bed, sit a pillow in your lap, pull up your shirt, and feed her.

Sevika tries to stay up with you, to keep you company, but you tell her over and over again that there’s no sense in both of you being useless come tomorrow. You have a good point.

But she does her part in other ways. Changes cloth diapers like a professional, spends more time cleaning up water messes around the tub than actually bathing the kid, rocks her to sleep then puts her in the crib.

It’s all routine now, in the strangest change of fate. Being in love, receiving love, waking up in an actual home and a soft bed—not alone anymore. She has two people now that she would go to the end of the world and back for, and she still can’t believe that the circumstances are real.

Stella always smiles at the sight of her, and Sevika always smiles back.

Weird. Terrifying. Perfect.

“We're going to Lyra’s tomorrow,” you say, adjusting Stella’s weight in your arms as she feeds, tiny hand curled against your chest. “Don’t forget that.”

Sevika cracks open an eye, head lolling on your outstretched leg to look up at you. Naked beneath your red robe, all dips and curves from the pregnancy weight you gained, fresh marks stretching over your belly and hips and inner thighs. Motherhood is a good look you.

But that’s her hindbrain talking. The part of her that would still love you no matter what form you took (but she likes this one a lot).

“The check-up, right?” she asks, turning away from Stella’s kicking foot that connects instead with her temple. “Ow.”

You bite back a laugh, smooth a hand over her hair, then tuck the baby’s legs under your arm. “Yeah. She just wants to make sure everything’s okay.”

“That’s good.”

Tomorrow comes and Stella is less than thrilled about being handled by a stranger. Lyra’s gentle with her exam, but the kid still fusses and wriggles around on the blanket-covered table. When Lyra turns her over onto her stomach, she wails, and you take a step forward before Sevika curls an arm over your chest, gently coaxing you back.

“She's fine, Mama.”

Your head thumps against her shoulder, hand curling over her wrist for comfort. Voice wavering and watery as you mutter, “I know, but I can’t stand to hear her cry.”

Lyra turns to you with a soft smile, cradling a babbling Stella in her arms. “It’s part of your new instincts, dear. But baby’s alright.” A soft pat to said baby's back. “Just fussy.”

With a sigh, you step over to the pair. “She probably needs fed.”

A quick exchange, and Stella’s back to her old self, cooing and smiling in her mama’s arms. Over your shoulder, Sevika catches her eye. Twists up her face in a way that always makes her giggle, and this time’s no different.

She still can’t believe that this is her life now. Too used to inciting fear in the heart of the Undercity, and now a three month old baby looks at her like she’s her world. A big part of her doesn’t believe she deserves it after all the bad she’s done—the people she’s killed, the strife she helped sew throughout the city.

But the kid in your arms doesn’t know that part of her, can’t comprehend it even if she did. Maybe that’s a good thing. At least you saw something inside her worth investing in. Sticking around for.

Still can’t believe it.

When you arrive home, though, the air thickens in a way that leaves her hackles raising. You set Stella's bag on the floor beside the couch and flee to the bedroom, the girl gasping and gurgling in preparation for a crying spell.

“I know, my love. You've had such a long day, huh?” you coo, voice muffled by the wall separating you.

Sevika waits on the couch as you put her down for a nap (she’s always been difficult to get to sleep, her growing brain just too active to shut down). You sneak back into the living room a while later, shutting off the overhead light as you pass, and she scoots over to give you room to sit. You exhale a breath, head thumping against the cushion at your back.

For a long moment, the two of you sit in silence. You need to decompress, and she waits for you to tell her what's wrong.

“Why are you doing all this?” you whisper, gaze trained on the ceiling.

There it is. The reason behind the sudden chill to the room, a tangible shift in your mindset.

“What do you mean?” She doesn't touch you no matter how badly her fingers itch to cradle your hand in hers. Wants to give you space to process whatever it is you're feeling.

“Nothing's keeping you here. Stella isn't even yours, and you still–” you scoff, tears pooling in the corner of your eye, “you take care of her like she is.”

“I don't understand, honey.”

With a quiet groan, you scrub at your face. “Fuck, I—I'm so sorry for involving you in this. We're not your problem, and I just… gods, it's not fair to you.”

“Isn't that for me to decide?”

“But you're already dealing with too much.” The tears fall when you squeeze your eyes shut, disappearing into your hairline. “I feel like such a burden, and I feel even worse for telling you about it.”

Your crying brings her back to that night, to the aftermath when you sat in a chair in the back of Silco's club, covered head-to-toe in blood, sobbing into your hands. She felt helpless then, and she feels helpless now. Doesn’t know how to make the pain go away.

So she does the only thing she can think of to help ease the ache. Wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you into her side. Rests her cheek on the top of your head as your chest racks with quiet sobs. She lets you cry until your eyes dry up with an empty ache to her chest.

“If I didn't want to be here, I wouldn't be,” she whispers, squeezing at your arm. “I can make my own decisions, alright?”

“But you said we're your responsibility—”

“I also said I didn't mean it that way. You're a lot more than that. Both of you.”

If only she had the words to tell you, to explain how much the two of you mean to her. The love that swells her chest to the point of bloating, so overwhelming she chokes on it at times.

You sniff, wipe your nose on your shirt. “You promise?”

“I swear.”

You look up at her, puffy-eyed and pitiful, lips twitching into a weak smile. “I'm choosing to believe you.”

She presses a wet kiss to your cheek. And another, and another, and another. Doesn't stop until you're giggling and fidgeting and turning your face away.

II. SIX MONTHS

Sevika might go insane.

The kid finally learned to crawl a week ago, and she hasn't stopped moving since. Wakes the both of you up late into the night by climbing over your heads to attempt an escape off the mattress. Crawls after you as you walk to and from the kitchen, shouting and gurgling for attention. Pulls herself up onto shaky legs as Sevika sits on the couch, little fingers fisting the fabric of her pants to steady herself. So active and curious that the two of you run yourselves to death just trying to keep up with her.

Sevika would never tell anybody this, but the first time she had to raise her voice at her to keep away from the heavy cabinets, she hid in the closet nearby and cried as Stella napped in her crib. You had come home from the market, seen her puffy eyes, and pulled her into a reassuring hug.

She just doesn't want to be her father's daughter. The parent her parents were. It's a fine line to walk. Terrifying at times.

Over the last few months, Sevika's pulled away a bit from the danger of the Lanes, and in turn, Silco. A shift in priorities tends to alter the brain, and her little family is now at the top of the list. Always at the back of her mind. When she leaves on jobs that she can’t put off on some grunt, she always brings gifts home. Your favorite food, a new onesie, little figurines that remind her of either of you (always the poorly-made ones that make you laugh yourself to tears, but the one she bought featuring a very smashed-up mother and baby cat proudly sits on the table in the entryway).

You’ve got a good part-time job going, cleaning houses for the elderly either too sick or too feeble to do it themselves. It pays in cogs, but you’ve found purpose again. Lyra insisted at your last check-up that you consider activities outside of being a mother. A new hobby, giving back to the community, meeting new people.

Well, you don't really have time for new hobbies and you're still wary of people after the whole Joker thing, so the logical next step was looking for a job. A way to build up a bit of money so you aren’t relying on Sevika all the time—at least, that’s what you told her.

But today, both of you are free to explore the Undercity with Stella in tow. It's the first time you've expressed interest in visiting your favorite bakery since that night with Joker.

A big, important step for you. Your hands shake the whole way as you follow the familiar path of the street, Stella swaddled against your chest. Sevika offered to carry her, but you probably need the comfort. Her point proven when you rub your nose against the wispy hairs on her tiny head as the shop comes into view.

Behind the counter, Tayla gasps when you step inside, squealing at the sight of the baby cradled to your chest. “Oh, I missed you so much!” She strolls up to you then grasps your hands with a beaming smile. “I was so worried after you left that day and I hadn't seen you around. Gods, how are you?”

Ever curious, Stella turns her head at the sound of a new voice then cries out in frustration when she can't see Tayla’s face. The woman in question steps up to your side and takes the baby's hand.

“Hi, baby. It's nice to meet you.” Then she turns to you. “What's her name?”

“Stella,” you say, voice dripping with pride. “Sevika picked it out.”

“What a beautiful name for a beautiful girl.”

Sevika stands off to the side to let the two of you catch up, meandering along the displays of bread and cakes and cookies. The whole shop smells amazing, fresh and sweet, and the handmade furniture and soft lighting give off a coziness uncommon to the Undercity. No wonder you spent so much time here.

When she turns around, Stella is balanced on your hip, grabbing the bits of fresh bread you offer from your palm with thumb and forefinger. Tayla celebrates after each bite with words of praise and a soft clap, and Stella beams. Sevika doesn't want to interrupt the sweet scene, too afraid that her presence would break whatever blissful bubble surrounds your little group. She has nothing to say to Tayla, and this is a big moment for you. One of reunion and reclamation.

Where does she fit in?

You answer her question when you turn around, eyes searching for a split second, and panic gives way to warmth when you spot her. You invite her over with a coaxing nod of your head, lips stretching into a smile.

“She loves the bread,” you say upon her approach, and the baby reaches for her with a scrunched nose and a big smile—her two bottom teeth an adorable contrast against her gums that leaves Sevika's lips twitching upward.

(She remembers when the kid first started teething. A lot of sleepless nights and tears and chewing on wet washcloths. Fingers indented with marks, pricked with blood. You cried more than Stella did, utterly helpless against curing your baby's pain.)

She holds the baby in the crook of her metal arm and wipes the crumbs from her mouth. “Mama's made a mess of you, hasn't she?”

You giggle, squeezing Stella's chubby leg as she babbles away. “She eats like somebody else I know.”

Sevika chooses to ignore the very pointed glare aimed her away.

III. ONE YEAR

Her bubble of happiness shatters shortly after Stella's first birthday, when the gates are knocked down between the Undercity and Piltover, and war is declared. A fight for the world and the two people she loves most in it.

You cry the entire way to the trolley, holding two packed suitcases and the remnants of a broken heart. Stella wriggles in the bend of Sevika's arm—old enough to pick up on the doom in the air, but too young to understand why.

You round on her when you finally reach the door of the car. “I swear to Janna, if you die, I'll track down a mage and revive you so I can kill you myself.”

She holds you close, presses a goodbye kiss to your forehead. “I don't plan on dying.”

“That's what my dad said, and look what happened to him.”

“Good thing I'm not him.”

Your frown deepens as she passes Stella to you, gaze locked onto the cloak hiding her missing arm. “You aren't even able to fight.”

She exhales a breath through her teeth. “You underestimate me.”

“I worry about you. Is that so awful?”

Yes. It's irrational, and the image of your wet cheeks—tear tracks caused by her—sits wrong in her gut. A kind of guilt she's never really experienced. But before you, she never had something important to lose, nobody sitting at home waiting for her to come back safe. Now she has two.

Which is why she has to do this.

"I'll be fine."

You resort to begging, arms wound tight around the baby. Please don't go. I'll do anything. I can't lose you. Please. Please.

She can't let the heartbreak in your voice affect her, not when everything is at stake, no matter how badly she wants to cradle you both in her arms and take you home and damn the world to its fate.

It's the first time she says I love you. A phrase that burns acidic on her tongue, that rushes out in a whisper as you accept one final hug before climbing into the car.

IV. TWO YEARS

The kid's a damn menace. Two years old now, yanking the leash of the world in her chubby little fist. Can barely talk yet (you understand her better than Sevika does), but she always has something to say. Always running around the house.

Like now.

Sevika steps out of the kitchen and intercepts the girl with her lone arm. Pulls her to her chest as she squeals and laughs and kicks her feet.

She can’t help but smile. Says, “I don’t think so, kiddo. You have to put your clothes on.”

You walk from the bedroom with a shake of your head, a pair of matching pajamas in hand, eyes sunken from the long day finally behind you. “I have no idea where she’s gotten this energy from. You, apparently.”

“…Me.”

“I've known you three years and I've never seen you sit still.”

She doesn't know how to tell you that she's not, in fact, the dad (no matter how much she wishes to be), and has no bearing on the kid's genes. So she just nods along and agrees.

Watching this girl grow into herself—become a person with interests, likes and dislikes, a personality that gets stronger with each passing day—has been nothing short of amazing. Already, she's grown an attitude. Talks with the cadence of someone who's dealt with a lifetime of bullshit (Sevika's influence, no doubt). Morphs her face into a direct mirror of your scowls and glares and grins (she looks so much like you sometimes that it's almost uncanny).

The three of you had spent the entire day at a ceremony celebrating Sevika's seat on Piltover's council. Nothing more than a shallow show of solidarity and hospitality that she would rather not subject you to, but you had insisted. I won’t let you do this alone. It’s a sweet sentiment, but she doesn’t expect anything to come of her new status—as if she’d actually take them up on their offer to move her family out of the Undercity.

She’s just putting up with this shit for the confidential information anyway.

You had been excited, more optimistic about the future than her. A chance for change, for progress, to give Stella a better world to grow up in. But the kid will reach the stars one day, with or without her influence. She can feel it.

Sevika sits down on the couch with Stella in her lap, keeping her still so you can finally dress the kid after her bath. But she can't blame her. Who the hell actually likes wearing clothes?

"You can go on to bed," you say, sidestepping the giggling toddler when she runs past. "I'm gonna get her a quick snack."

When the two of you return from the kitchen, Stella that Sevika reads her a story. Climbs into bed with the same pop-up book you've read so many times the pages started cracking, and plants it on her lap.

Sevika shakes her head, mouth twitching into a frown. “I'm not good at telling stories. Not like Mama is.”

Really, she just… can't. A sacred line she hasn't yet dared to cross. She thinks of her mom flipping through those picture books, how animated and enthralling she made each story, and knows she could never do it justice.

(Shit, she's forgotten the sound of her mom's voice.)

You stroll in a moment later, feet dragging along the ground, before collapsing into bed with a relieved groan. "What are you two talking about?"

Sevika sighs, thumbing the edge of the worn book. "She wants me to read to her."

"Mommy, book," Stella says again, patting the cover to get her attention.

The look you give her is one of understanding, reassurance. "I think it would be nice."

"I can't do it like you." Like her mom used to.

"You don't have to."

With a huffing breath, she opens the first page, and Stella curls up against her side, tiny arm slung over her chest. Sevika reads along in a low, calm voice, adjusting her tone for different characters and asking questions about each picture. Halfway through the book, she gets no response, and when she looks over, both you and Stella are fast asleep, curled up beneath the sheets.

She sets the book on the nightstand, turns off the lamp, and shifts Stella around to carve out a spot for herself on the bed. Smiles soft and sleepy when your hand finds hers in the darkness.

[avoidthings]

kitchen’s closed | t. richmond

About: Terry catches you in the kitchen late at night and has his own idea of a midnight snack. [word count: 2.1k] Warnings: Explicit language. 18+ Readers Only. Oral (female receiving), Unprotected PIV (wrap your willy, pls). I had concepts of a plot. 

It was well past midnight in North Carolina, and you could hear the crickets and other critters abuzz outside of your bedroom window. You stared at the sliver of moonlight cast between your curtains, realizing the clutches of insomnia had sunk its sneaky fingers in you yet again. 

Your boyfriend, Terry, rarely stirred in his sleep, and kept a hefty arm draped over your waist every night. Being that he was ex-military, it was sort of ironic how heavy of a sleeper he was. Some evenings you tried to count the rise and fall of his chest instead of sheep, but rather than lulling you to bed it just disgruntled you. You wanted to poke the bear awake and damn him for leaving you so smitten. 

The room was quiet aside from the bustle of the outdoors, and you thanked God your man didn’t snore or else this would feel like a torture chamber. You flipped through the rolodex of your thoughts and landed on recapping your day; you went to work, Terry picked you up and made a stop at Kroger, then you two watched some sitcom reruns for a bit. House rules were to grab takeout after grocery shopping so neither of you had to bother with cooking something. 

All that thinking of food must’ve sent a reminder to your stomach. You exhaled as it grumbled. While very cute, you would rather not see Terry’s grumpy face should he discover his miso soup missing. You perked up at the memory of slipping a pint of ice cream in the shopping cart earlier. 

It was counterproductive, solving sleeplessness with sugar, but you hoped Ben & Jerry’s would be your saving grace tonight. You peered over your shoulder to find your boyfriend as sound as ever, eyes fluttered closed like a saint. 

After a silent prayer, you wriggled from his hold and toed out of bed. You pattered around the twilight of the room, starting your mission to the fridge. Past the master bathroom, the thermostat, (which nearly broke the two of you up), and to the far right of your living space was your destination. Thankfully, the range hood light was on so you weren’t too sore of eyesight. 

You opened the freezer and plucked out your reward. After grabbing a spoon, you settled in, sitting on top of the counter. The granite was cold against your bare thighs, your body only blanketed by a worn t-shirt that hung off your shoulders. 

That first mouthful was instant gratification and you nearly rolled your eyes back in delight. 

“Baby, what are you doing up this late?” You were startled by Terry’s voice, the tone more gruff from the interruption of his slumber. 

You were caught red-handed, spoon in mouth, so you shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep. Wanted something sweet.” 

He hummed. Terry made his way closer, no longer a distorted shadow in your peripheral vision. He had come to bed in only his sweatpants and socks. 

Terry had a glow about him, even in the dim of your surroundings. He slipped comfortably in your personal space, stepping right between your legs. You relished in the warmth. 

You had to look up even with the extra height the counter gave you.

“Sorry to wake you. I know you have to go for your run in the morning,” you said. 

Terry gave you a lazy smile and shook his head. “Nah, it’s fine. Everythin’ okay?” You nod wordlessly. 

“Hey!” You protested when he nabbed the pint from you, his hands quicker than your reflex to reach for it back. It was a battle you would more than likely lose anyway. 

He successfully hushed you by taking a scoop from the container to raise to your lips. 

“Open.” 

You held his gaze as you took what was given, inciting a groan that rumbled low in his chest. 

Terry obliged you once more and made notice of your tongue swiping to the corner of your mouth to catch what you missed. His own hunger dwelled in his underbelly. Between your job returning to the office and his growing trucking business, you haven’t made much time for intimacy as of late. 

“I think I’m in the mood for somethin’ sweet too.” The spoon and tub clattered by your side and he disappeared from your view. 

“Terry--” 

“Open,” he demanded once more, kneeling toward your feet, causing fire to crawl up the back of your neck. He did not take kindly to being ignored, and you wanted this to be an easy night, so you let your legs spread apart. 

He tossed one behind his shoulder, mumbling something inaudible to you. A kiss to your ankle, the inside of your knee, then your thigh. 

A yelp pierced the air when Terry’s large hands claimed the curve of your hips, tugging you closer to the counter’s edge. Your clammy palms braced themselves on the flat surface beneath you. You could feel his smirk and goatee rubbing on your exposed skin. 

Your breath quickened with the anticipation of what was next. His mouth ghosted over your center, blowing on your clit through your dampening panties. 

“Oh, fuck,” you shuddered. 

He was a merciless man, dropping open-mouthed kisses to your clothed center. He retreated as you tried to furl into his touch, reaching underneath your shirt to roll your nipple for more stimulation.

“You’re so fucking wet,” Terry inhaled your scent without shame. Finally, the cotton of your undies was torn from your pelvis to who-knows-where. You felt the coolness of the air over your exposed skin for a brief moment, the absence of touch not lasting long. 

You jerked, feeling his tongue swipe a slow strip up from your wet entrance, gathering your slick. He lewdly spat it back over your clit and sucked until you cried out. Terry ate you without abandon, with little regard for any manners, overtaken by his own greed. --

“I missed how you taste, baby.” Voice muffled in between your legs, his eyes flitted up at you, earnest as always. Terry’s grip maintained the underside of your thighs, keeping your legs spread so he could continue to steal all breath and sense from you. 

“Oh my God,” you moaned. Your brain and your body sounded an alarm, reeling with the increasing need for release. His name fell like a chant from your mouth. 

Two fingers pushing into you caused the band to snap, Terry immediately seeking the button that left you gushing. He was unaffected when your heel dug deep at his shoulder, urging his face further in your pussy as if it was possible. His fingertips sped in pace, turning your mewls into high-pitched squeals. 

Soon enough, your back bowed with the intensity of your orgasm. He tightened his hold, keeping you steady as the current flowed through you. “That’s my girl,” he kissed and licked you through it. Pleasure never reached a precipice when you were under his care, and you shouted to the heavens.

When your legs eventually deflated, your hands found his ears, rubbing behind them gingerly. A grunt slipped from his mouth.

Terry staggered to his feet, hooded eyes glazed over your heaving body. His teeth nipped between your breasts over your shirt, up to your collarbone and your neck. You hooked a leg around his waist, pulling him in to feel his erection prod at your inner thigh. 

Instinctively, he rutted up against you and you sighed. You were warm all over, sheeted with sweat and clenching around nothing, wanting only to be full of him. 

His lips left your jawline and found your mouth, luring you into a mind-numbing kiss. You cradled Terry’s face in your hands and took control, allowing your tongue to slot against his. It felt all the more indulgent, the lingering taste of chocolate on your lips mixed with your own arousal. 

He was still rubbing on your leg and it only intensified your need for connection. Like a minx, you curled into him, purring in his ear. “Terry, I need you. Please.” 

Your hands lowered to explore the solid planes of his body, all of its beautiful ridges and scars. He leant down so his forehead was touching yours. “Fuck, I need you too, baby. Been losing my damn mind about you,” he breathed.

Terry yanked at the waistband on his joggers and his dick sprung free. You two didn’t usually forgo protection but your cycle was around the corner, and desperation made your judgment very foggy. 

His fingers splayed under your shirt to grasp at your plush waist, thumbing the folds of your belly from where you sat. Terry pushed his way inside, coating himself to about half of his length. You sighed into his hold, legs locked at his torso, trying, and failing to meet him in the middle. 

Without much effort, he stilled your movements. Terry pulled out slowly, and slapped himself over your clit twice, leaving you to squirm pitifully. “Stop teasing and just fuck me, already,” you whined.

Terry did as told and burrowed into you in one, deep thrust. You ate your words in a choked gasp. His head cocked back as he felt your walls squeezing him, putting the cords of his neck on full display. 

Tucking your bottom lip between your teeth, you tried desperately to hold on to the thread of resolve you had left. Terry trampled on it when he set a brutal pace, drilling in you like you owed him something. Your ears were ringing with your own moans and the sounds of skin slapping against each other. It all felt like too much, far too soon. 

You pressed a hand to his chest feebly and whimpered. Promptly, he grabbed your trembling forearm and kissed the inside of your wrist. “I’m fucking you like you wanted, huh? Why you tryna run from me?”

“It’s t-too, m-much,” your words were slurring and you frowned through the pleasure, hoping he’d give you relief from his punishing strokes. That all too familiar storm brewed in your belly again and you couldn’t stifle any noise that left your lips. Each thrust brushed against that sensitive spot within you, and you try your might to stave off your climax. 

His stare was focused on you, utterly enamored by your carnal state. “Terry!” You wailed, slapping the countertop behind you and shifting to scoot away. The crack of his hand on the side of your ass rang loud and welled your eyes with fresh, salty tears. Terry landed a sweltering kiss on your lips to pacify you. 

He gripped you by the coils at the nape of your neck, and you blinked at him, huffing out shattered breaths. You wanted to ask him why he was fucking you like this, and what did you ever do to deserve it. But your brain could only compute expletives. You clenched and unclenched around him greedily, and his teeth clashed at the sensation.

“Stop holding back, I can feel it. Let that shit go.” And under his spell, you did, surmounting to a shaking ball in his arms. Your toes curled at his sides and his rhythm didn’t falter, his own release not far behind. You keeled with overstimulation, the air feeling sticky on your skin.

Terry’s hands abandoned your waist to cup your ass, bouncing you on his dick in hardy, final thrusts. You bite down his shoulder so you don’t scream loud enough to wake the entire neighborhood. His head is buried in the crook of your neck now, sweat dripping on your collar. 

“‘Gonna make me cum all in this tight pussy, fuckk,” he groaned, ropes of his release starting to spurt inside of you. Your body was taut around him as his hips slowed to a halt. You were filled to the brim.

“My pretty baby did so good. So perfect for me,” Terry was panting like he just finished a mile-run, and still chose to sing your praises. He softened and pulled out, a part of you now missing. You sat there for a beat to catch your breaths, limbs still tangled together.

“Mm..’can’t stop shaking,” you whispered.

His actions had left you exhausted, drowsiness coated in every blink of your eyes. Terry separated from you for a second and he had his pants back on, scooping you up in his arms. You latched onto him like a bear, nuzzling into his chest.

If it was up to you, you’d pass out right there and crawl to bed in the morning. Something squished against his foot on his trudge out of the kitchen. 

“Shit, my socks are wet…what is that?” 

Ice cream.

--

Author’s Note: Just wanted to drop my contribution to the Terry Richmond industrial complex.

P.S. This was supposed to be Trainer!Terry but my hormone monster won. 

As always if you made it to the end, thank you bunches!

[svnflowerkae]

Cockwarming Dante Sparda

Charcaters: Dante x Gn!Reader

tw: Dante is 43, age gap (reader is in mid twenties), cockwarming obv, pet names (kitty/kitten in a soft way, darling), sorry if there are some mistakes I'm writing this at 3.20 a.m. bc I can't sleep, (if you squint) chubby reader, cumming inside, just soft and sweet cockwarming. I need to have Dante's cock rn tbh !!

｡ ﾟ ꒰ঌ ✦໒꒱ ༘*.ﾟ｡ ﾟ ꒰ঌ ✦໒꒱ ༘*.ﾟ｡ ﾟ ꒰ঌ ✦໒꒱ ༘*.ﾟ

What about cockwarming Dante? He who today had a free day from demons, chasings, and killings. He who was chilling on the sofa with his look lost in that hot magazines he has. Not that he's really interested in them, but it helps better to clear his mind, to not think about his hopeless life. Of course, he had you, but he didn't want to be a bother. Nor that you were interest that he read those things, you knew better than anyone why he used them, on the contrary, you always thought they helped him with his imagination, how certain dresses could hug your body in a way that would made him crazy and fuck you like there was no tomorrow.

What about cockwarming Dante as he sees you crawling in his lap as a cute kitty: rubbing your cheeks against his chin, his short beard scratching you in a way that felt so good, hands playing with the hems of his shirt - even if he rarely wore any at home -, his hands caressing your hair alternating between pats.

"Feeling needy, little kitty?" he said as he kept caressing your soft hair. You let out a purr like sound, your hands now playing with his belt. He let out a laugh. You are so cute. His hands still wandering in your hair as you finally unlocked his belt, lowering his pants and boxer just enough for his cock to come out.

"Dante..." you whined, his dick half hard, your mouth salivating at the sight. It still madr your heart beat faster, even though you saw it so many times already. I guess that's one of the charming points of Dante Sparda. "I wanna cockwarm you", your breath heavy as Dante's one hitched in his mouth, words were difficult to speak as you said that. Dante nodded eagerly. You smiled at him and whispered a soft "Thank you".

You took Dante's cock in your hands, your hole already aching in anticipation. Hands around his neck, Dante kept still your hips, admiring your beauty. He wondered how you fell in love with someone like him. "I know you can do this, baby" he incited you, your hips dropping slowly on him, taking inch per inch inside you. Every inch made you moan, he was so big that the stretch was inevitable. Your insides were shaped like him but the stretch only made it better, adding more pleasure as your body twitched.

"Are you already coming, darling?" Dante teased you. You scoffed, slapping playfully his broad chest. But as much as he teased you, Dante's body was trembling too for the pleasure, hands hitching to grab your soft hips and pound into you. He nipped his lips, your warm insides enveloping his cock. Gosh, you made him crazy. "Dante", another moan escaped your mouth, your hole now full of him. It took all the force in you to not ride him right here right now.

Dante didn't answer. He feared a whine could escape his lips, not that he cared if it wasn't "manly" enough. He loved being loud for you. His fingers pressed more into your skin. You caught Dante's lips in yours, kissing him. Your tongue caressing his bottom lips as he opened his mouth. Your tongues were now dancing messily, it was a chasing, mouths clashing against one and another, the kiss so messy that saliva fall from both you and Dante's lips. Both of you whining and whimpering as Dante's cock twitched inside you.

You interrupted the kiss, a string of saliva connecting you to him. You smiled, feeling completely lost in pleasure and lost, and for Dante was the same. His eyes droopy, almost as he was falling asleep - but that wasn't the case - his hair scruffy, your hands still around his neck as your cheek was against his face, rubbing against his beard. It gave you comfort doing this. Dante whined your name, his hips bucking from time to time. He wanted to fuck you so much that his cock will be your only thought.

"Aaa, Dante...." your head dropping into the crook of his neck, your hips moving slowly up and down. Dante matched your peace. "Just like that, baby" with one hand he took your chin, kissing you again. As you two kissed deeply once more, Dante's cock rummaged your insides; moaning between the kiss. Your hole fluttered, his dick twitching for the nth time. As Dante interrupted the kiss to snuzzle his face on yours, he cummed inside you, whimpering. Too lost in the pleasure your smirked, feeling his cum filling you up. Dante came so much that a ring of it was around his cock. You continued to ride him as after a few minutes your orgasm approached you.

Both of you were worn out, bodies covered in sweat. Your breath spent. You were still in Dante's lap, his face against yours, rubbing a few more times his beard to comfort both of you. You smiled and he did the same. Time was frozen like this. His cock inside you as sleep swept the two of you away.

｡ ﾟ ꒰ঌ ✦໒꒱ ༘*.ﾟ｡ ﾟ ꒰ঌ ✦໒꒱ ༘*.ﾟ｡ ﾟ ꒰ঌ ✦໒꒱ ༘*.ﾟ

[prettyboykatsuki-moved]

teeth | i. rin

✮ tags ; afab + fem!reader, marking, sexual tension, dry-humping, cumming through clothes, 18+

✮ wc ; 1.5k

✮ a/n ; a flash comm for @1bananabread. thank u for your patience!!! i tried to focus as best i could on tension.

this is a snippet so it won't show up in the main fic at any point!! it can be an extra in that way!!! and it is from the fujoverse tag on this blog - a blog au abt fujoshi + recovering neet reader and rin.

Across the room, you give Rin a look.  

One that he’s starting to recognize without trying to. It makes his jaw clench when he sees it. Big, wet eyes like a baby deer and the soft undertone of desperation. He’s becoming good at knowing your ticks, mostly against his will. How you chew your lip, how you tap the pen of your tablet, how you draw in a frenzied anxious way when you want something from him and don’t know how to open your mouth and ask.  

It’s irritating. But it’s going to get under his skin even more if you keep it up. 

“What.” He grits. You startle. Jump in your skin like you’re surprised he even noticed you, as if you’re not staring at him. You open your mouth, then close it. “Spit it out.”  

You look flustered. You always look that way. But right now you embody it. He can’t imagine what your request could be at this point that would incite this much embarrassment.  

By now, Rin has “helped” you with a number of things. Too many to recount and all of them too close, too personal for plausible deniability. Helping you take photos for references takes up a majority of your requests - but it always ends in something more. Rin tries mostly not to think about it. Not to think about where its led and how normal you still seem to act despite it.

The fact you keep making these requests reason enough to make him seethe. Just a little.  

You take a shaky breath and give Rin a look from above the frames of your glasses.  

“C-can I give you a hickey?” 

Rin pauses. Opens his mouth before he can even think about what the appropriate reply might be. His words come out like a hiss.  

“Why?”  

You seem surprised that he asks. That he cares to. That alone feels reason enough for him to shake some sense to you. Grab you by the shoulders until it clicks.  

(He doesn’t interrogate what it is that he wants to click for you. Just that he wishes it fucking would already.)  

“Well. Uhm.”  Your feet rub together under your desk. Woolen socks worn until they’re matter as you fidget endlessly. Rin holds his stare until you crumple just slightly under the weight of it. “There’s n-not a particular reason. It’s not for my book or anything, I just uhm—wanted to do it. To you,”  

There’s a brief moment there where the world stops spinning entirely. Rin breathes. A sharp, steadying breath. Chest tight, dizzy with an emotion that wells up from the depths of him. He can’t think of anything clever to retort with, or really any good way for him to respond. He sits across from you at a complete loss.  

The next words that come out of his mouth leave before he has a chance to make sense of them. He swallows a lump in his throat.  

“Fine,”  

Your eyes go wide again. Shocked like you weren’t the one who ask. Tension lingers in the air, but Rin can’t figure out what to do about it. How to settle it. He doesn't know if he fucking can.

“A-are you sure?”  

That’s the first time you’ve asked him that. Most of the time, you’re shameless in your asks. You do it for work, just work  - and it’s always Rin who ends up….going further. Because it frustrates him to see you cower over it. Rin is used to you, by now. How you have the demeanor and general anxiety of a small shelter dog. He’s been over it all already one hundred times but—

It’s like something clicks hearing you ask him that. If he's sure. You can be so thick. It’s not like Rin doesn’t fucking know. But it’s the first time it he realizes the brunt of it.

You two are on completely different pages about your relationship.  And he's pissed about it, but not at you. Not really.

“I wouldn’t say it was if it wasn’t,” 

You look so surprised for a minute he wants to bite you. Take his teeth and dig them into the place your pulse is just to see you squirm. It’s always like this with you but right now it feels like something searing. Pressed up right against his ribs and threatening to puncture his lungs.

“Are you gonna do it or not?” He snaps, meaner than he wants. You nod, movements stiff, and clamber onto your feet before walking his way. Rin watches as you approach him nervously. Your eyes meet and you hold his gaze.  

Then, without word, you crawl into his lap. Straddling him - just barely fitting over his wide frame as both of your knees end up on either side of his thigh. Rin watches you silently. Piercingly. Your movements are trembling.  

You kiss him first. This shocks him into total silence. He returns it just so you don’t pass out from nerves. It’s clumsy like he knew it would be but it’s the first time you’ve done completely of your own accord. Normally you ask him to kiss you, beg with teary eyes.  

But you’ve got both of them squeezed shut now, kissing him with your hands fisted at his chest. Something stirs in his jeans, and you yelp when it presses against you. You gasp, low and quiet.  

“You’re—“ 

“Shut up.”  

You nod. Keep kissing him, opening his mouth up to slide your tongue in. It’s sloppy and unpracticed. You have no grace whatsoever.

Rin feels himself get so hard he’s lightheaded.  

You pull away, gently kissing the corner of his mouth. Down the line of his jaw. Mimicking something he’s sure you’ve read in your stupid doujins at one time or another. He can feel the nerves radiating off of you in waves, feel the way your body shakes in his lap. How uncertain you are. There’s that feeling again. Gnashing, possessive, mean. Not that Rin has ever been someone especially saintly.

But it’s not cruelty he wants to expose you to. It’s something else, far more demanding.  

His hands find your hips in a single breath. Pushing you down onto his lap until your full weight is rested over his hard-on. You whine when he presses up against your core, clothed cunt protected through ratty PJs. Rin doesn’t say anything, buy you know better than to stop now.  

Kissing down slowly, sweetly - you scrape and lick along his skin until you’re just underneath where his jaw and neck meet. Your eyes flutter open to look at him. It's too much for him.

Rin grinds his hips up in retaliation until you whimper. He does it over and over, steadily until you’re both rocking against each other in tandem. All clothes and hot heaving breaths, layers of fabric acting as barrier for what he's after.  

You’ve done everything under the sun aside from sex. This barely counts as foreplay by now. Even so, he’s bucking up into you with every ounce of his strength, unspoken desire shredding his sense. His hands gripping your hips, jaw grit - pleasure coiling in his stomach and wound so tight.  

“Fuck,”  

You’re crying out against his shoulder before you remember what you were trying to do.  

Your lips find his neck again trying not to be too noisy. Latching on with a soft kiss, Rin hisses as your teeth finally sink into the flesh. Your mouth is small. It’s all he can think about. He feels your incisors scrape against the skin, tongue tracing a vein. Before long, you’re sucking hard on the same spot. He can feel it. A bruise forming, broken capillaries blooming in deep dark hues of purple and red. Rin groans at the feeling. You give it every ounce of effort, holding onto his bicep tight when you do. It aches in a pleasant way.  

Pleasant enough to make his hips buck. A jolt of desire and want rips through him like a shockwave - until he’s pushing you down against the hard outline of his cock and forcing you to grind against it. It’s hard and sharp, fingers bruising. 

He cums hard. Seconds later, like a flash of lighting. His stomach flips and something rips through him and—

It’s the first time he’s cum before you. Fuck, h can feel his own cum seeping through his boxers and jeans. It’s so intense his vision blacks out for a minute before returning to him, chest heaving as you pull away and stare.  

“You—“  

Horror washes over him. Rin puts a hand over your mouth, angry and irritated. Red up to his ears to his ears and internally having the worst crisis of his life for the third time over.

He looks at your face and there's that feeling in his chest. But he recognizes it this time. Knows exactly whats making him like this, forced to confront it for the first time.

“Shut up,” He hisses, breathing heavily. “Not a fucking word,”  

You nod at him docile. Rin forces himself steady as he thinks of pinning you down and taking you.

Like he knows you'd let him. Like he fucking knows he wants to.

[starkeysbunny]

espresso [rafe cameron]

“oh he looks so cute, wrapped round my finger..” ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

pairing - rafe cameron x reader

summary - rafe doesn’t do relationships, cuddling, kisses, and sweetness. strictly no commitment hookups had sufficed. that was until he met the girl at the coffee shop.

warnings - nothing rlly, just super sweet whipped rafe

Rafe was heartless. Cold. Rough. Any situation he had with girls was nothing more than that—a situation, a fling. He had absolutely zero desire to be in anything committed.

To his friends, his sisters, his family, and his hookups—he was a mean, heartless monster. (Only tolerating Wheezie, of course.)

And he liked it that way.

No one expected anything from him, no one bored him with their feelings. It made his life so much easier not being overly concerned about the well-being of others.

But today, when Wheezie dragged Rafe to some fancy coffee shop she’s been wanting to visit, his philosophy flew out the window.

“Yeah, I’ll have the caramel latte with cold foam,” the young girl recites her order. “Oh! And a chocolate croissant.”

“Yeah, for sure!” I smile at her, typing her order into the till. “Anything for you?” I turn my attention to the man next to her, presumably a father or brother—probably brother, he seems younger.

He doesn’t say anything, his gaze remaining intent on my features, like my words flew right past his ears.

“Um.. sir? Did you want anything?”

The girl next him sighs, shoving his shoulder. “Stop staring at her you creep.”

His head shakes, like he was snapped out of a trance. He comes to the situation at hand, pinching the bridge of his nose “I’m sorry, that was probably creepy, my bad,” he chuckles awkwardly. The girl next to him makes a face at him, surprised by his actions.

“It’s okay,” I smile. “I zone out a lot too,” I let out a small giggle, trying to make him feel more comfortable.

He grins, “Yeah, um, I’ll take a macchiato, thanks.”

“Great, and could I get a name for the order?”

“Whe—“

“Rafe,” he interjects. I grin, writing his name down.

He pays for the drinks, smiling at me before going to find a table with the girl.

-

“What was that?” Wheezie questions loudly.

“Shut it, Wheeze. I was zoned out, is all.”

She blows out a puff of air, “Yeah right, me and that barista could practically see the drool falling out of your mouth the second you laid eyes on—“

I kick Wheezie’s leg under the table when that same pretty barista comes by with our drinks.

“One caramel latte with cold foam and a chocolate croissant,” She smiles sweetly, placing the pastry and sugary drink in front of Wheezie. “And one macchiato for Rafe.”

When my name rolls off her tongue, I swear I see stars. She says it with a sweetness I’ve never heard before. Her voice so soft and kind. As she’s placing the drink in front of me, all I can think about it how much I wish I knew her name.

So, I incite a moment for her to tell me. “Thank you…” I pause, trailing off.

“Oh, Y/n!” She says, surprise I asked such a question.

Y/n. So fitting. It’s perfect.

“That’s a pretty name,” for a pretty girl, I wish to say.

She grins, her cheeks flushing a shy pink. “Thanks, if you guys need anything else, let me know!” She informs before wandering off.

Once she’s out of ear shot, Wheezie begins. “Might as well go kiss her over the coffee beans.”

“Oh, shut up, Wheeze.”

one year later

I walk through the doors of Tannyhill like I have so many times before, it’s become a second home.

“Hi, sweetie.” Rose says from the living room where she sips on a glass of wine, reading a book.

“Hi, Rose! Do you know where—“

“He’s in the gym with Topper and Kelce. Beware I hear a lot of groaning and shouting. Too much testosterone for their own good.” She jokes.

I chuckle, shaking my head as I head to the side of the house near the garage where the gym is. The blasting of rap music grows louder the closer I get along with the clanking of weights, and occasional grunts.

I open the door and see Topper and Kelce doing pull ups while Rafe bench presses. Rafe can’t see me due to obviously needing to stay focused.

“Hey, Y/n,” Topper greets, jumping down from the pull up bar.

Before I could ever reply with a greeting, Rafe hooks up the bench press, sitting up quickly. “Y/n?” He smiles, his smile faltering when he turns back toward his friends. “Aye, Kelce, turn that shit down.”

He gets up, walking toward me and pushing me out the door and back into the hallway. He closes the door behind him and his hands find their spot on my waist, a grin taking home on his lips. “Hey baby.”

I smile, my cheeks flushing pink. “Hi.”

“What’re you doing here?” He asks, his thumbs rubbing comforting circles into my skin that’s exposed near the hemline of my shirt.

My hands run up his chest, manicured nails running along the collar of his shirt. “Nothin’… just missed you is all.”

“Yeah?” He questions, that sly smirk on his lips. “You missed me, baby?”

“Yeah, come hang out with me? We can just stay upstairs or we can go to the beach maybe? Or go get lunch, hm?” I coo, my hands now running along his jaw, studying his every feature.

“Whatever you wanna do, my love. Just wanna spend time with you.” He leans in, his lips kissing their favorite spots along my jaw and neck. He pauses for a moment when he hears childish giggles from the other side of the door.

Topper and Kelce walk out, teasing grins on their faces. “I missed you baby,” Topper mocks. “I missed you more, come kiss me and spend time with me, please Y/n. Let me worship the ground you—“

Kelce was cut off by a rough punch to his shoulder. “Ow! Shit, Rafe. Not my fault you’re whipped.”

Topper and Kelce chuckle, walking past us toward the front door. “Try that shit again and you won’t be able to walk out of here!” Rafe threatens.

“Oh cmon, Rafe. They just know you’re wrapped around my finger,” I say loud enough for them to hear.

“Ain’t that the motherfuckin’ truth!” Topper shouts before shutting the front door behind him.

Rafe buries his head in my shoulder, “Baby, you’re just egging them on.”

I chuckle, “Sorry, you’re just so cute all wrapped around my finger.”

He looks back in my eyes, a smile on his lips. “I’m whipped and I’m proud.”

I chuckle, slapping his chest playfully as I drag him upstairs.

[hannie-dul-set]

fire and brimstone (and you’re a moth made of gasoline) — TWO.

SYNOPSIS. having fought tooth and nail out of high school, university, and law school, only to end up working for a law firm that basically serves as a clean up dog after the biggest organized crime group in the district, you thought you couldn’t get any lower than this. 

the bar is in hell, and yet you’ve managed to limbo six feet beneath that. alternatively— na jaemin is the personification of hell, and your very existence just makes him even worse than he already is. 

PAIRING. na jaemin x female! reader. GENRE. gang! au, lawyer! au, office! au, comedy, drama, romance, very light angst, this is a sitcom, hate to love(?), a somewhat questionable power dynamic, asshole! jaemin (my beloved…my kryptonite…) but he’s also an idiot, jaemin has an eye contact thing, inspired by the manhwas “weak hero” and “study group.” WARNINGS. an abundance of criminal activity (including but not limited to organized crime, fraud, blackmail, DUIs, unethical and illegal occupational practices, etc.), blood and violence, suggestive themes, eventual non explicit sex, jaemin with a tattoo, legal inaccuracies because i am not familiar with south korean laws, so i’m just using my own country’s as reference. also because this is just a stupid thirst fic. who gives a damn. WORD COUNT. 7.6k.

NOTE. i tagged this as hate to love. i meant it. na jaemin is an objectively shitty person and i’ve given myself the herculean task of trying to redeem him (if ever) HAHAHHAHAHAHA. also, i tried to cut as many corners as i could in the trial scene. don’t expect it to be accurate. anyway, hope this chapter is fun! please let me know what you think! CHAPTER THREE.

YOU DIDN’T THINK YOU’D EVER FEEL THIS KIND OF DREAD ON A MONDAY AGAIN. The usual dread borne out of starting yet another week as a capitalist slave is given. It’s nothing special. But the dread you feel today as you drive to Yeongdeungpo Police Station (yet again, to the point that you’re starting to feel like an inmate yourself) is a dread that you haven’t felt in a long ass while.

Specifically, eight years ago. You’re like a broken record at this point, but it doesn’t stop you from continually cursing Na Jaemin in your mind as you stomp through the echoing halls of the station. Officer Jung is leading the way yet again to the visitation room, all while suffering from the brunt of your temper.

“He didn’t decline your request today,” he starts, attempting to make conversation.

No fucking shit, you reply in your head. “Thank you for the patience, officer,” you vocalize with a constipated smile. 

It seems like Officer Jung managed to catch the eye roll you didn’t intend for him to see. He gives you one polite smile and doesn’t make any more attempts after that, speaking only once you’ve reached the visitation room to unlock it and wish you luck with a nod. 

You thank him, sucking in a deep breath as you force your joints to start creaking. Luck. The door clicks behind you. You damn need more than luck to get through this meeting and this entire case. You need the very devil’s mercy and cooperation.

“Good day, Na Jaemin-ssi.”

But the devil isn’t a merciful man. You swallow down a lump in your throat and force out a smile.

“How have you been?”

He stares you down with the weight of a thousand suns, stabbing you right in the gut with a pain enough to incite a wave of nauseous vomit. “Get on with it,” he rasps. “I don’t think you got Mark on my ass just for some stupid fucking small talk. Hurry up and get on with it.”

Your smile twitches. This guy has never learned how to speak nicely.

*‎

(You’ve established that your new seatmate is Na Jaemin. Yet that’s all you’ve come to know about him up until the bell rings to signal lunch time.

Carefully sneaking out of your seat, you peer down to see that he’s still deep asleep. You huff. Wow. Four classes have gone by, and this guy slept through it all. And none of the teachers even called him out— only going as far as sending a look of resigned acknowledgement at your direction, sometimes even relief. Sometimes fear.

Anyhow, that first half of your day was enough to answer why Natty gave you that warning earlier: that the seat you chose was the worst one possible— next to the very embodiment of trouble, even if you don’t know the details just yet.

Despite not knowing much, you’re already blaming him for the fact that you’re eating lunch alone. 

The heat from the stew broth pricks at the skin of your lips as you scan around the cafeteria. You notice a few familiar faces scattered around, all sitting either in pairs or in groups in their respective seats and tables. You even lock eyes with Natty at some point, who simply averts your gaze with guilt ridden twitch as she turns head to her friend, someone you don’t recognize was in your class. 

Seems like you were doomed from the moment you sat your ass down on that seat. Fuck’s sake. Whoever this Na Jaemin guy is, you don’t like him already. You decide to temper your annoyed steps with some ice cream from the snack bar, seeing that there’s still a couple of minutes left before the afternoon bell. You pick up an extra snack as well— a melon bread wrapped in green tinted plastic. Something to pick at from under your desk as you go through your afternoon classes. You grab a can of pink peach soda to drink on the way back.

Upon returning to your classroom, the first thing you notice is the fact that no one else is here when there’s only five minutes left before lunch.

The second thing you notice— 

“Hey, you.”

There is, in fact, someone here.

Na Jaemin had sat up from the cross-armed, sleep-ridden slump he’d been in all morning. He’s awake. Now that his face isn’t buried, you finally have something to match the name.

“Why the hell didn’t you wake me up?”

There’s a distinct scowl on his face as he sets his phone down on his desk, shoulders slacked and sitting with his legs apart, which pushed your seat away to the very edge of your desk space. 

You feel a twitch in your brow. The annoyance prompts your feet to move close, triggers your mouth to open and speak back. “What?” you start. “There’s—there’s a bell that—”

“I was fucking asleep, you dumb fuck.” Na Jaemin cuts you off, and you flinch. “You think I’d hear a damned bell when I’m knocked the fuck out?” 

A gut feeling kicks in, forcing you to preemptively stop, look down, and choke down the remnants of your words into a stifling silence. You try to take a peek at Na Jaemin’s expression, but the sound of a tongue clicking in annoyance and the reeling back of a chair forces your eyes to continue staring at the classroom floor, feeling your entire body reverberating with the loud sound of your heartbeat as Na Jaemin’s presence loom closer. 

“I asked you a fucking question.”

“S—sorry,” you sputter out. “I’ll…I’ll wake you tomorrow.”

For a brief moment, you manage to take a quick glance at na Jaemin’s face, standing right before you.

And the sheer disdain and annoyance in his eyes makes you instantly regret that very decision.

“Useless.” You flinch back down and  hear him release a huff as he snatches the half-drunk peach soda from your hands. Your feet are nailed to the ground, and Na Jaemin proceeds to down the remnants of the drink before tossing the empty can back to you, shoving past you as the bell rings— and you hear a fumble of apologies from outside the door as Na Jaemin saunters out of the classroom.

Finally looking up, you see your classmates crowding outside the classroom, some slowly trickling in upon noticing that the coast is clear. 

You don’t think you’re wrong to assume that they’d seen everything that happened in the room. You don’t think you noticed wrong either that they’re deliberately refusing to acknowledge it.

All of them make it to their seats. No one tries to talk to you after that, but that’s not the topmost thing that you’re troubled with.

You promised to wake Na Jaemin up for lunch tomorrow. You might have just become his personal alarm clock.)

*‎

In retrospect, that was a completely void agreement. God, it pisses you off thinking just how much of a doormat you were. Still are, considering you’re barely keeping it together sitting in front of Na Jaemin when you’re supposed to be the authoritative figure here. It pisses you off even more knowing that he doesn’t even remember you. 

His impatient taps on the wooden table echo and bounce off the walls of the visitation room. 

“Na Jaemin-ssi,” you inhale sharply. “Your hearing is this Thursday, two days from now. I’ve already made the necessary preparations for your defense, and—”

“So, you’re finally getting me out?”

Can this son of a bitch let you fucking speak? “Hopefully,” you promptly answer. “I’m confident in the case I’ve prepared. However, there’s…something I need you to do in order to ensure that the judge will rule in our favor, Na Jaemin-ssi.”

Here we go. You gotta tread this carefully. Very carefully, because you know damn well that Na Jaemin doesn’t like being ordered around. 

“It is very likely that the prosecution will call you to the witness stand. You have every power to invoke your right against self-incrimination. But in our case, allowing yourself to be cross-examined by the prosecution would actually be favorable for us as a testament to your innocence, so long as you stick to the script.” It’s hard to get a hint of how well he’s receiving this because you’re too scared shitless to look him straight in the face. All you can do is hope he’s actually listening and not picking his ears as you continue to prattle on. “You just have to agree to Atty. Jung Sungchan’s line of questioning— even the fact that you fought the witnesses. However, you have to say that you didn’t start the fight. You don’t remember how the fight started. And you sustained significant injuries yourself.”

Na Jaemin got out of that altercation with just a few bruises and scratches, but the doctor Mark Lee referred you to was able to turn that into a couple broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder. He agreed to attest to the medical report on the stand as well.

The only missing piece you really need right now is Na Jaemin’s testimony and cooperation. 

His lack of response does not bode well for you. The room swallows you up in its cold and eerie silence. “Do you…follow…Na Jaemin-ssi…?” you try to prod out a response. And you get a response, all right.

Just not the kind of response you’d been praying for.

“Are you saying that I have to go up there, pretend I took a beating from those sissy fucks, and act all pathetic and pitiful like a little bitch?”

There’s an angry kick against the table. You suck down a breath when you feel the wooden edge jam against your ribcage.

“Who the hell do you think you are to tell me what to do?”

Your eyes squeeze shut, ignoring the sharp pain on your torso because that’s the least of your problems right now. Why…why does he have to be so goddamn difficult? Fuck’s sake. “Na Jaemin-ssi,” you exhale. “I’m not—I’m not telling you to do all those things. I’m just saying that the only way we could see your full acquittal is if we prove that Yoon Naksung and his party were also at fault.”

“We? That’s your damn job, attorney. You want me to do your fucking job for you?” 

This is different from when he was trying to deliberately push your buttons last time.

He’s mad. He’s really freaking mad.

“Get out. Get the fuck out.”

You know a warning when you hear one. You waste no time gathering yourself and speed walking out the door— half out of fear, mostly out of angered frustration because holy fuck. This is a mess. You’re so fucking screwed. Sure, you managed to get Hong Hyunjae, and Ma Gildong to cooperate with you. Sure, you managed to get a doctor to fake his medical exam. But all that would be useless if your bastard of a client decides to run his mouth and brag about just how much he wrecked those idiots’ asses.

Say, you don’t force him to testify. Once the witnesses come out and follow the script you made, the judge might still compel Na Jaemin to take the stand to confirm things. If he says anything to the contrary, you’re as good as screwed. At best, you’d lose the case. At worst, you’d be charged with contempt of court, and you can kiss your license goodbye.

That’s how your meeting ends— with a looming sense of dread that follows you out the doorway.

You exit the visitation room as if you’d just gotten your life ripped out from your own hands. It doesn’t go under Officer Jung’s notice, who’d been waiting by the door. 

“JJS is always handling the tough cases,” he remarks.

You grunt. “Give us a call when you wanna get silly with your gun and try shooting at random civilians.”

Thank god he doesn’t attempt any more small talk, nor does he follow you out. You’re way too exhausted right now— mostly emotionally and psychologically, and you’ve almost broken yourself down to simply just admit defeat and abandon this motherfucker’s ass. He can continue being a bitch in jail for all you care. You’re done. You’re so fucking done. You decide that you don’t give a shit anymore and give Mark a call right outside the station.

Four rings. Then he picks up. “Hey,” you immediately start. “What will you do if I fail to release your dog?”

Mark Lee never even got the chance to greet you back when you tossed this question at him. “Hmm,” he ponders, leaving a gap for a quiet pause. “That’s not something I’ve even considered, attorney. I really value our relationship thus far.”

You don’t even give him a response before ending the call. Your arm falls limp on your side. Fuck. You’re so dead.

Either in the hands of Mark Lee, or Na Jaemin, should you continue trying to push him. You’ve only ever seen the lengths of the latter’s violence. You don’t intend on finding out just how much of a psycho the former is. So death by Na Jaemin, it is.

You bring your phone up and call Mark again and ask for another meeting with your client tomorrow. He says he’s always happy to oblige.

*‎

(At some point, after a whole week of being Na Jaemin’s alarm clock, you started to wonder— why the hell do you have to keep doing this?

Lunch bells. Dismissals. Having to leave the classroom for gym or for some other special class. He expects you to wake him up or else you’d get your fucking ass kicked, and even when you do wake him up, he gives you a nasty ass look as if he’s about to kick your ass, until you promptly squeak out that class has ended, or whatever your teachers’ instructed you to do that day.

It’s only after seven days of this bullshit that you realize that you don’t owe him. You’re under no obligation whatsoever to keep being his alarm lackey or answer to him in any way shape or form. He’s just a guy. He’s just a student, just like you. And you bet that he’s probably just bluffing. 

All he’s ever done is snatch your drink from you. He hasn’t even laid a hand on you.

So just as you march back to the classroom after having your lunch at the cafeteria— alone, because getting involved with Na Jaemin has ruined all your chances of making any friends— you decide that it’s finally time to put your foot down and tell him that you’re not his slave. You’re not doing this crap anymore.

Yet your newfound sense of will-power is promptly deflated when you slide open the classroom door and see that your seatmate isn’t snoozing in his usual spot.

In fact, no one is seated in their seats. Your brows furrow in confusion upon noticing that all your classmates are crowding the windows on the other side of the room, all pressing up the glass, gawking and gasping at the same thing.

“Is that Park Gunho from Class 9?”

“Yeah, dude. I heard him talking shit about Na Jaemin the other day, and— oh! Ouch. That’s gotta hurt.”

“Holy shit, is that blood?”

“Where the hell are the teachers?”

You managed to squeeze in between two of your classmates, looking through the glass and right at the crowded spectacle in the courtyard— just in time to watch Na Jaemin land a crunchy punch into Gunho’s nose that has you wincing, even when the fight is happening from several feet away. 

At this point, the other guy is barely standing on his feet. Practically limping when your demon of a seatmate twists his arm behind, only to shove a kick into his back, sending him straight to the dusty ground. You watch as Na Jaemin stomps a foot into the poor guy’s knuckle’s. You can’t hear Park Gunho from here, but you can feel his choked up yelp penetrating into your skin and shuddering into your bones. Holy shit. This guy is a fucking monster. And you almost just offered yourself up to him like an idiot.

The worst part about it is the fact that Na Jaemin looks like he’s having the time of his life. There’s this crazed look on his face as he walks up to Gunho who’s trying to lip away— only to be yanked by the hair and slammed back into the ground— pinned down by Na Jaemin’s foot as the latter huffs out a grin, and says something that fails to reach your ears.

Needless to say, you’re horrified. This could have been you. 

Na Jaemin seems to have heard your thoughts because right at that moment, he snaps his head up, pinstruck gaze shooting through the windows of your classroom— looking directly at you.

Your blood runs cold. You gulp.

Someone draws the curtains back down. “Fuck, you don’t think he say our faces, do you?” You feel yourself stumble back, and with lightheaded steps, you guide yourself to your assigned seat, and start praying to whatever’s up there that Na Jaemin did not recognize you from down there. 

Much to your relief, he doesn’t return upon the right of the afternoon bell. He comes back between fifth and sixth period, looking like he’s in the best mood he’s ever been throughout your first week here, and it drives an even deeper pit of dread in your stomach.

The classroom grows colder as he comes nearer to your desk. He haphazardly draws the chair next to you back, you flinch, and he sets himself down with satisfied huff, right before assuming his usual position— arms crossed on the desk, serving as his pillow for the rest of the class day. “Oi,” he muffles out to the only person he could be talking to right now— you. There’s still blood on his uniform sleeve. You start to feel nauseous. “Wake me when the bell rings.”

You thought that that fight between him and Park Gunho was the worst thing you’ll ever witness in Ganghak.

Turns out, things would just get worse from here).

*‎

“All rise! The court is now in session. The Honorable Judge Bae Joohyun, presiding.”

It takes all the strength in your body to get up and not fall over from a mere gust of wind from the courtroom’s ventilation system. You’re exhausted. You haven’t gotten any sleep last night from the crippling anxiety of what’s waiting for you today. It took everything in your power to just look presentable for today’s trial. 

You’re a shell of a human being— that much is obvious considering you’re one step behind when Judge Bae instructs everyone to be seated. 

“We are here on the case of Yoon Naksung, Hong Hyunjae, and Ma Gildong versus Na Jaemin. Is the prosecution ready to proceed?”

“Yes, your honor.”

“Is the defense ready to proceed?”

“Yes, your honor.” No, you’re fucking not. You did in fact manage to meet with Na Jaemin one last time yesterday, and you barely managed to acquiesce something of an agreement out of him— most likely because he was threatened by Mark. But you’re not sure if that threat was strong enough for him to actually cooperate with you today.

“Very well. Prosecution, you may make your opening statement.”

Speaking of the bastard, you notice from the corner of your eye Na Jaemin’s unabashed yawn while Jung Sungchan introduces himself and his clients. God. This is a sickening set up— him sitting directly to your right. It’s like this day was designed specifically to make you feel like you’re back in that hell. More than anything, you just want this over and done with. 

“Thank you. May I request the defense to make your opening statement.”

As you make your way to the designated podium, you cross paths with Jung Sungchan. He shoots you an over confident grin and walks past you with his nose high. You chew down a string of swears and curses. Every single man you’ve been dealing with as of late is determined to ruin your life. You hope they all run out of toilet paper every time they have to shit in a public restroom. You hope their zippers get caught every time they have to zip up their pants.

“Your Honor, ladies and gentlemen, the opposing counsel, a pleasant morning.” At this point, your soul is still completely detached from your body. Your mouth is practically moving all by itself as you do your introduction. “The prosecution argues that my client, Na Jaemin, is guilty for disturbing the peace and three counts of physical injury against Yoon Naksung, Hong Hyunjae, and Ma Gildong.” As you say this, your eyes and your eyebags trail across the prosecution’s table, locking eyes with the latter two as you scan past them. “We acknowledge that our party has done some injury to the witnesses. There is a fault in that. However, it is a well understood doctrine that two faults don’t make a right.”

If your client can’t cooperate to save his own ass, those two better do.

They’re smarter than Na Jaemin. They know what’d come for them if they don’t. 

“Your honor, the witnesses have acted in pari delicto, sustaining equally grave injuries against my client, and therefore have no right to seek legal relief. A verdict of guilt against my client would be a grave mockery to our justice system when the ones seeking justice are equally at fault. We hope that you will see the wisdom in our defense. Thank you very much.”

The moment you return to your seat and Jung Sungchan is called first to make their case, your brain continues moving in autopilot. You’re so tired. You’re so damn tired. You know that you should be setting Na Jaemin straight right now, but you can’t find it in yourself to even talk to him without bursting a blood vessel. Jung Sungchan continues to present their evidence— affidavits from his witnesses, a janky recording of Na Jaemin and the other three leaving a bar located right on the cusp of Yeongdeungpo and Mapo, separately where they’d allegedly first bumped into each other, and the same exiting the frame. 

Eventually, he calls Na Jaemin to the witness stand. The air refuses to enter your lungs as the bailiff leads him up the courtroom. You’ve re-oriented him with what he has to do yesterday. You close your eyes, press your palms together underneath the table, and mutter out pleas and manifestations that your instructions managed to get through his thick skull, that an angel would somehow possess him today and prevent him from screwing you over.

But you haven’t done enough good deeds in your lifetime to be granted this one wish.

Jung Sungchan asks him if he admits to being the person who caused Yoon Naksung and the rests’ injuries.

Na Jaemin responds with a shit eating grin saying, “Yeah, I fucking did it.” 

Your face contorts in horror. Your eyes fly wide open, blood draining from your cheeks. Oh, fuck. Oh, fucking hell, please no. Your demon sent client looks like he wanted to elicit his kind of reaction from you— smiling at you from the witness stand, and you feel your nails dig into your clenched palms, biting into the thin skin of your flesh.

To make matters worse, he doubles down. He’s determined to kill you right here and now. “That guy nearly pissed himself when I socked him in the—”

“Your honor!”

This is a stupid fucking move to make, but you’re panicking. And that very panic easily seeps out of your skin and burrows into the notice of your opponent from the other table. Jung Sungchan’s eyes are both sparking incredulously and victoriously at this pretty blatant concession. To think your own client would fuck you over. You’re about to cry. You’re fuming. You’re dying from embarrassment.

“I’d— I’d like to request a short recess to meet with my client.”

Judge Bae narrows her eyes at you. “Overruled.” Yeah, you didn’t expect that to be granted. Fucking hell. You sink back into your seat in defeat, the dread that had once only been creeping up to you now completely swallowing you whole. “Counsel, please continue with your questioning.

No, it’s okay. This is fine, you think to yourself. You still have your witnesses. You’re not totally screwed yet. Maybe that would be enough to dismiss this damned case. Maybe that would be enough to let you walk away scot free.

“Ahem,” Jung Sungchan clears his throat. “Na Jaemin-ssi. Can you tell us the events that unfolded after the four of you left the bar?”

Silence.

“Na Jaemin-ssi…?”

“I don’t feel like answering.”

You let out a muffled noise as you bury your face in your hands. Your face is burning. Not only is he trying to screw you over, he wants to mortify you in front of everyone here.

“Defendant.” Judge Bae Joohyun has decided to intervene. “Are you…invoking your right against self incrimination?”

You almost let out an anguished cry and slam your forehead against the table when Na Jaemin responds with a, “Sure.”

The bailiff escorts him back to your table, and he’s all smiles when he sits down. Is he happy now that he’s thrown a big ass fucking wrench in your plans? Does he not give a fuck that he might get incarcerated as long as he sees you miserable? What a sadomasochistic psychopath, you hope he burns in hell.

“You don’t look too good, attorney,” you hear him chipper from beside you. 

Your head snaps to the side. You hear a crash from inside your ears.

For the first time, you look this son of a bitch dead in the eye— and you might not have a mirror, but you don’t think you’re looking at him pretty pleasantly. In fact, you can feel your own self going lightheaded from the sheer animosity darting through blood vessels in your brain.

Jung Sungchan calls Ma Gildong to the stand, and you turn your head back to the front. Sure, the bastard next to you might have thrown a wrench into your plans, but you still have a few working cogs left— and they better fucking work properly. You think you still have that same, manic look in your eyes when you meet Gildong’s gaze from across the courtroom because he visibly gulps and clears his throat.

Jung Sungchan starts questioning him, and he does just as well as you hoped (unlike the last guy). That rookie attorney gets caught off guard when his client answers with a stuttering, “I—I don’t remember,” in response to Jung Sungchan’s request to recount who started the fight that night. “It all happened suddenly. It was hard to tell exactly who.”

“Witness Ma Gildog,” the judge intercepts once again. “In the affidavit you submitted, you stated that the defendant was the one who started the altercation without warning. What is the meaning of this?”

Ma Gildong looks at you. You look him dead in the eye and he promptly looks away with a hard swallow.

“I…I only wrote that because Naksung hyung told me to.”

Fuck yes.

“We—were were all drunk when it happened. It was hard to tell who started the fight. I didn’t even want to pursue this case, he—he was just pissed that that guy got more punches in.”

“What?! What the hell are you talking about?!”

“Order!”

You watch as the bailiff tries to settle Yoon Naksung down. You stifle down a smile. This whole trial wouldn’t have been necessary if he had only been as cooperative as the other two. God, you wouldn’t have needed to deal with this headache either. 

You hear Judge Bae set down the gavel.  “There seems to be some unresolved issues with the prosecution side,” she starts with a sigh. “In this case, let us have a short recess. We will reconvene after thirty minutes.”

Thirty minutes. That’s just fucking perfect.

“Recess? Are we having a snack break, attorne—”

“Please allow us to use one of your conference rooms.” You quickly shoot up and cut off Na Jaemin, a polite stance directed at the bailiff near you. “That would be alright, right?”

The way the bailiff looks at you makes you come to the conclusion that you don’t look exactly sane right now. Nevertheless, he humors you and leads both you and Na Jaemin to one of the available conference rooms in the district court. It’s hard to grasp the fact he is being very docile right now, lazily looking around with cuffed hands before him as he trails beside you, under the watchful eye of the court sheriff.

A door is opened before you. The moment the bailiff allows you and your client and closes the door behind, you swivel your heels, grab Na Jaemin by the fucking collar, and ram him against the wall with a loud rattle.

Your years and years of disdain for this guy just came to a breaking point today.

You’ve had fucking enough of his difficult attitude.

“Listen.” Your voice comes off as a hiss more than anything. You hear the sound of his handcuffs clatter when you shove him harder against the wall. You feel your nails dig into your palms through the collar of his shirt. You’re beyond livid. “I am trying my god damned best to get you out of here, Na Jaemin-ssi. You’re the last person I want to help. You’re the last person I could give a shit about, but here I fucking I am— fighting tooth and nail for you, for christ’s sake. I literally had to build up a defense out of nothing just to clear you from incarceration. All I asked is for you to not throw a fit, to follow my damned script, to sit still and still pretty for the rest of this stupid trial, and you couldn’t even fucking do that?”

Much to your surprise, Na Jaemin looks pretty much caught off guard. Not intimidated by any means, but he does keep his mouth shut, repeatedly blinking his somewhat widened eyes at you— the only other expression you’ve ever seen from him other than a scowl and that bastardized grin of his.

Another beat of silence. Your upper lip twitches into a snarl. “Useless fuck.” 

You roughly let go of him with a grunt and roll back your shoulders, facing your back to him and release a sigh. Whew. That felt so fucking good. 

Without another word, you take quick strides out the conference room, greeting the bailiff outside with a sweet and refreshed smile, maintaining that same air as you return back to the courtroom, an uncharacteristically cooperative Na Jaemin in tow.

The trial resumes. He doesn’t do anything stupid again after that because you’ve decided to completely remove him from the equation. Ma Gildong and Hong Hyunjae submitted new affidavits as evidence. Jung Sungchan and Yoon Naksung are red-faced and look like they’re sitting on burners from hell— even more so when it’s finally your turn to present your case, speaking before the court with a now clear head and your cards in place. When you call Dr. Qian Kun to the stand to attest to Na Jaemin’s physical exam result, the prosecution table is practically deflated in defeat by then.

You return to the defendant’s table. Your shoulders haven’t felt this light in weeks. Even lighter when the court finishes deliberation, and Judge Bae announces the final verdict.

“In light of the criminal charges against Na Jaemin—”

You inhale sharply.

“The court finds insufficient evidence to declare his guilt beyond reasonable doubt.”

Yes. Yes. Fuck, yes.

“Now, the civil liabilities attached to this case— the witnesses’ participation in the aforementioned offenses creates a unique situation. When both parties are at equal fault or in pari delicto, neither the courts nor law will grant relief to the parties. Although the defendant, Na Jaemin, had indeed inflicted less serious physical injuries against the witnesses, the witnesses have inflicted the same upon the defendant.”

Oh, fuck yeah.

“This court hereby dismisses the case without prejudice for want of prosecution. Court is adjourned.”

There is no one happier in this court than you right now. You lock eyes with Jung Sungchan from across the room. You stick your tongue out because you don’t give a damn anymore.

You’re free. You don’t have to deal with Na Jaemin ever again. You’re fucking free.

*‎

Well, you spoke too soon.

“What...what are you doing here…?”

Four days later, you see the very bastard sitting on your chair at the JSS office. He’s swiveling around, stopping the turn with a foot down to look at you. “Oh,” he starts. “Took you fucking long enough.”

Seriously. What have you done to deserve this? Nevermind, you’ve done a lot of things to deserve ten years worth of bad karma, but that’s neither here nor there. You’d just gotten back from a meeting with one of your clients— a normal client: a sweet, old lady who was drafting her last will and testament to make sure none of her nutjob sobs get even a percentage from her estate. 

The meeting ran longer than expected because the lady kept trying to ask you if you’re single and would be interested to meet one of her nephews. So, you’d just returned back to the office at 6 p.m., most of your co-workers having clocked out already, only to be bitch slapped in the face with this psycho again, not even a week since you’ve last seen him.

You ignore him, eyes flitting up to the direction of your boss’s office. The light is still on. You grit your teeth. This son a bitch’s entry was permitted by the other son of a bitch. If he’s miserable, he should keep his misery to himself.

“Hey, attorney. I’m tryna talk to you.”

“Y—yes?” you choke out, taking a step back when Na Jaemin rises to his feet. God damn it. Your outburst mid-trial was an isolated case as a result of your pent up emotions. You can’t be brave anymore— and he notices.

There’s a slight raise in his brow when you flinch back, a barely visible smile playing on his face. It’s almost like this bastard can smell fear, and you’re completely lathered in it. “You were pretty gutsy enough to swear at my face and shove me around the other day,” he says, voice low. “What happened to all that spunk, attorney?”

You bite down the swear at the tip of your tongue. “I sincerely apologize for my inappropriate behavior that day.” You’re doing your damn best to keep your head down, but it’s increasingly difficult when this guy is trying to get all up in your space. “Any—anyhow. What business do you have with JSS, Na Jaemin-ssi?”

A flip switches. Na Jaemin suddenly looks very annoyed.

“Ugh. Right,” he grunts, digging into his inner jacket pockets like it’s a chore before pulling out an envelope. A really thick envelope. Your eyes widen. He hands it over to you. “The boss wanted to give his extra thanks.”

Extra thanks for risking your life to release one of his mutts. Holy shit. You say nothing as you take the envelope from his hands, the weight of the paper bills pulling you down heavier than they’re supposed to be. You clear your throat and stuff it into the bag you’ve yet to set down on your desk. “Why didn’t he come in person?”

“He’s out on business,” Na Jaemin flatly replies. Then, there’s a twinge on his tongue when he follows it up, “Why? You want to see him that badly?”

The fuck? That very through slips through expression for a second. Na Jaemin clocks this. 

A grin takes over his expression. He releases a bare laugh when he walks past you with a hand on your shoulder. “I gotta hand it to you. You’re pretty damn good at pulling shit out of your ass out of nothing.” 

Your breath hitches when you feel a firm squeeze. Na Jaemin releases you with a hum and a pat and finally starts fucking leaving.

“See you around, attorney.”

When you’ve confirmed that the psycho has finally left, you immediately lunge for your chair and release a long and hefty breath.

Jesus fucking christ. How many times do you have to tell these Nalkeutta bastards that you never want to see their faces again? Not enough, apparently. Because the next day, Mark Lee makes a visit to your office again. He greets you a good morning and you quietly tell him to leave you alone and never talk to you again. He laughs and disappears into Doyoung’s office for the next two hours, before stopping by at your desk again to inquire about your desk nameplate preferences.

“Do you prefer acrylic or marble?” he asks, peeking out from behind your desktop computer.

“Gold,” you soullessly respond. “Avenir font. Engraved. Heavy enough to knock a man unconscious with one blow.”

“Very particular.” Your eyes flit up to see his pleasant smile, and it just ruins your day further. It gets worse when Kim Doyoung follows not long after him. “Oh, Mr. Kim,” Mark greets. “I was just about to head out.”

“Yes, allow me to accompany you down to the lobby, Mr. Lee,” Doyoung chimes in. You look up at him as he leers down at you, noticing that you are, in fact, here. “Congratulations on yet another winning case, attorney.”

He’s five days late. “Thank you. Are you gonna give me my own office yet?”

“You know very well JSS isn’t in the position to grant you that.”

Very expected response, but you’re annoyed anyway. They finally leave you alone so you can mentally curse them once you die from overwork and overexertion. Indeed, you know very well that JSS isn’t in the best spot right now. Your firm’s reputation has been slowly nosediving lately— fully getting tanked recently because of your latest acquittal of Na Jaemin.

The general public has been questioning your integrity as a law firm. That much is fucking expected when you’re partnered with the biggest crime organization in the district. It’s not that this partnership is a recent thing. But with the establishment of a new law firm within your territory, the GP now has a point of comparison to notice just how many obvious criminals JSS has helped to subvert the rule of law.

These articles and nasty forum posts have been the source of Kim Doyoung’s stress as of late. During the next few weeks, you watch his mood sour and sour by the day after every meeting with the higher-ups.

The source of the problem is obvious, but it’s not like JSS can just cut ties with Nalkeutta to clean its name. In fact, it would the dumbest move ever, practically industry suicide considering Mark Lee and his company is your highest paying client. Not only that. All of the firm’s employees practically have immunity from the hefty protection fees all Yeongdeungpo residents have to pay weekly just to pay the streets. And you don’t want to make an enemy out of Nalkeutta either by cutting them off. Your firm is caught in between rock and a hard place with no easy way out.

“I think the boss has started to grow white hairs lately,” Jungwoo tells you over coffee in the breakroom. 

“Why…are you looking at his hair?” you ask, almost worriedly. Jungwoo simply shrugs and you two watch as Kim Doyoung stomps into the breakroom in a fit again to angrily snatch a glass and nearly rip the fridge open for the pitcher of lemon water you started to make every morning, overpouring into the glass before chugging it clean and slamming the glass down on the counter.

He didn’t even ask for permission. What a monster.

Anyhow, you could give less of a shit about JSS’s steadily dwindling reputation. This ain’t your problem to fix. It’s your higher up’s problem. It’s Kim Doyoung’s problem, and— quite frankly— the peak of your week is seeing his grumbling swears every time he stomps out of another admin meeting, watching him scratch at the growing grey hairs at the back of his head through his private office like it’s your own personal TV show. 

It’s such a great sight to see. Added to the fact that you haven’t received a call from Nalkeutta lately, whether it be for consultations or just simple blotter charges, they haven’t been bothering you at all. In short, you’ve been having the best two weeks of your life. 

It comes to a peak when Kim Doyoung calls you to his office one day, prompting the assumption that JSS’s reputation situation has become way, way worse to the point that the firm needs the help of its rank and file employees like you to settle the matter. 

“Damn, good luck. Let me know what’s up,” Jungwoo sends you off.

Honestly, you’re looking forward to having a front row seat to Kim Doyoung’s meltdown, if things have gotten as bad as you think. Your knuckles tap against the wooden entrance to his office, and you’re filled with a longing envy when he tells you to come in because damn— must be nice to have an office of his own. Why does he always have a stick up his ass when he’s got his own 150 square feet kingdom where he can do whatever he wants?

“Come in.”

Muct to your surprise, however, Kim Doyoung looks well rested today.

The moment you step in, you notice that his usual constipated expression is nowhere to be found on his face. In fact, his skin is perfectly clear. His white button up is crisp and tidy. His glasses are shining. His hair is neat and styled— as though it hasn’t been run through a million times today.

Whoa. What the hell? Who is this? Who is this man in front of you?

“How has your work been, attorney?” he starts, elbows on the desk, chin resting on interlocked fingers. 

You tentatively make your way closer to his desk, slightly unnerved at this sudden disposition switch. “The same as usual.”

“That’s good to hear,” he hums. He’s humming. Kim Doyoung is humming. What? He sets his fingers on a folded piece of paper that’s been sitting on his desk, promptly pushing it forward to you. “Read this.” You’re beyond creeped out. You have no idea what’s going on, but you follow instructions anyway, inching a step closer to peel the paper from the glass surface of his desk, and unfold it in your hands. 

He wants you to read it. So, you do.

The moment your eyes register the heading, your neck cranes, squinting. “Sir,” you say, holding the paper down. “Are you sure you gave me the correct sheet?”

“Yes, yes,” he affirms, waving a hand in the air. “Please continue reading.”

You do. You read the heading once again. LETTER OF RESIGNATION, in bold and all caps. Followed by today’s date. Followed by your fucking name.

The paper wrinkles in your grasp. Haha. You don’t remember writing a resignation letter. “Sir,” you start again, voice coming off as a weak wheeze. “There must be some kind of mistake.”

“There’s no mistake,” Doyoung confirms, spinning a pen between his fingers before pushing it forward to you in the same manner as he did with the resignation letter in your hands— your resignation letter. The letter that says you’ve found better prospects elsewhere and sincerely value the experience and growth you’ve had with this firm. What the fuck is this bullshit? You don’t fucking understand. “Would you please affix your signature at the bottom, attorney? I didn’t have your e-signature. That’s why I had to call you out today.” 

Your stomach drops to the very depths of your gut. “You can’t just fucking do this,” you say with gritted teeth. Kim Doyoung readjusts his glasses and responds with a sigh.

“Attorney,” he starts. “You’re well aware of the problem our firm has been facing as of late, correct?” You nod. He continues. “It’s a difficult situation. However, Nalkeutta and JSS have managed to reach an amicable compromise.”

Oh no. Oh, god, do. He can’t do this to you. He can’t fucking do this to you.

“Starting today, you will no longer be JSS’s Junior Associate. You will be working as a private lawyer for Nalkeutta Security Company.”

“You fucking sold me out!”

“I did not ‘sell you out’. Think of it as a promotion.”

Your mouth is hanging open. Your blood is boiling to the point of evaporation. The resignation is a crumpled mess at this point. You slam it back down on his desk. “I can’t even get my fucking severance pay if I sign this damn thing!”

“I’m sure the benefits you’ll receive at Nalkeutta would outweigh any amount of a severance pay that JSS can offer you,” your boss— former boss— flatly replies. “Now. Please sign the letter.”

Your head is spinning. You’re nauseous as fuck. It’s not like you can just run away. Mark Lee would have your fucking head. Sure, you hate working under Kim Doyoung, but at least it made you feel like an actual lawyer, serving only as an occasional cleanup dog for that damned wretched company. With this, you’re not just dipping your toes into organized crime. You’d be fucking drowning in it.

“Sign right there— yes. Perfect. Thank you for your cooperation, attorney. It was a pleasure working with you.”

Nalkkeutta has officially ensnared you in its burning jaws, and you’ve got no way of getting out unscathed.

fire and brimstone (and you’re a moth made of gasoline). © hannie-dul-set, 2025.

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

Can I request Yae, Shinobu and Sara finding out their S/O got arrested while trying to stop Itto from doing something stupid?

(Genshin Impact) Yae, Shinobu, and Sara's S/O getting caught in Itto's shenanigans

Miko's ears perk up when she hears the distinctive click of armor approach her, turning around from the shrine's tree to find an Inazuman soldier.

(Soldier) "Guuji Yae, ma'am!"

(Miko) "Hm? What brings you all the way up here-?"

(Soldier) "It's S/O, Guuji Yae.-"

Her eyes widened ever so slightly. Why in the world did one of the city's soldiers come to tell her about S/O? Did something happen to them?!

The fact that he was refusing to look in her in the eye added to her worries.

(Miko) "Are they alright?"

(Soldier) "S/O has been...arrested for causing a public disturbance."

...What?

For the first time in a very long time, Miko was at a loss for words as she processed what the soldier had said.

(Soldier) "A-Ahem! They were arrested alongside a normal troublemaker by the name of Arataki-"

Miko's face suddenly shifted into a wide smile, scaring the soldier.

(Miko) "...Do tell me how they came to be arrested."

...

(S/O) "And when I tried to stop him from stealing gunpowder for makeshift fireworks, I uh...accidentally landed right above a restricted area next to the armory with him."

Miko's laughter could barely be restrained as one hand flew over her mouth, talking to her S/O from the other side of a prison cell.

(Itto's Voice) "Dude! I could have gotten what I needed and been out if you hadn't stopped me!-"

(S/O) "And been in even more trouble, thank you very much!"

(Miko) "And you couldn't have gone to Miss Naganohara because...?"

(Itto) "It would've ruined the surprise!"

Miko now let her laughter fully out, completely unobstructed much to S/O's unamused expression.

(S/O) "So, are you here to bail me out and say I'm innocent or?-"

(Miko) "I came here to laugh at you."

(S/O) "Glad to know you care..."

(Miko) "Of course! If I lose you dear, then most of my entertainment is gone!"

Despite her teasing, she laid a hand affectionately through the bar before nodding at the soldier to open the door.

With a hand outstretched, she lets S/O hold it for a moment, only letting go to leave with them.

(Itto) "You're...going to get me out too, right?"

(Miko) "No worries, we'll send Miss Shinobu for you."

(Itto) "...Oh crap.-"

Shinobu is SO, SO PISSED.

(Shinobu) "ITTO."

Itto and the other Arataki Members are in the corner, absolutely shivering in terror while S/O was next to the cell's door, sighing with Shinobu on the other side.

(Shinobu) "It's one thing for you all to be behind bars, but how did you rope S/O into this?!"

To prevent Shinobu from killing them with her gaze, S/O shook their head, making her eyes shift over to them.

(S/O) "It's partially my fault. I was trying to stop them from making a ruckus in the restaurant but the guards thought I was inciting it since it only made them louder."

Shinobu sighed, rubbing the side of her head in frustration.

(Shinobu) "That explains how the guards called me faster than usual since you were here..."

(Itto) "L-Listen! That chef was clearly wrong in how he cooked our meals! Plus there were beans nearby us! It's like he intentionally put it next to me-"

(Shinobu) "YOU ALL I WILL DEAL WITH IN A SECOND."

Her tone shift made even S/O flinch slightly, the rest of the Arataki Gang doubly so.

After getting a guard to unlock the door for her, S/O put a hand on her shoulder, giving a sympathetic smile.

(S/O) "Don't go too hard on them, alright?"

(Shinobu) "I wasn't going to until they got you involved."

With an affectionate squeeze of their hand, she let go and turned her attention to the other three idiots.

(Shinobu) "Head outside, I'll be with you in a minute."

Leaving them to their fate, S/O promptly walked out with the guard.

It was business as usual for Sara to arrest Itto.

HOWEVER, it was a very different case for S/O to have been involved in said arrest.

Right as she was about to find the idiot Oni and get the guards to arrest him, S/O was present, directly next to him.

(Itto) "Oh great, there ya are!-"

(S/O) "Sara?!"

(Sara) "S/O, what are you doing with him?!"

(Itto) "Oh, this jerk thinks they can stop me from advertising my Beetle arena! I told them, 'No, you can't stop people from coming so you can rig the results'! But I got this under contr-"

(Sara) "Guards, arrest the Oni, leave the other one to me.'

(Guard) "Yes, ma'am!"

(Itto) "HEY, WHAT THE HECK DID I DO?!-"

As Itto was taken not quietly in the slightest, Sara frustratingly pinched her fingers around the bridge of her nose.

Making sure they were alone, Sara spoke to S/O a little more softly.

(Sara) "Please tell me you weren't trying to get involved with him-"

(S/O) "Of course not! I was just trying to get him to quiet down so that wouldn't happen!"

Sara smiled at that, shaking her head.

(Sara) "Thank you for trying to be an upstanding citizen but...sometimes you can't help people like that idiot."

(S/O) "That's a bit harsh."

Sara put a hand on their shoulder, rubbing it with a kindness she usually reserved for home.

(Sara) "When you've lost count how many times you've had to arrest him, I'm afraid you run out of pleasantries. With that being said, please don't get near him."

(S/O) "Hah, well it is kind of funny to see you like this-"

Her grip suddenly tightened but her smile remained, S/O knowing she was telling them to cut it out.

(Sara) "Don't try my patience like he does, S/O."

[sixosix]

SLEIGHT OF HAND | LYNEY

summary you will not let lyney get to you. unfortunately, lyney already got to you the moment you met eyes. after all, what is a magician if not an expert in stealing hearts?

or, local sumeru architect goes to fontaine looking for inspiration and comes out of it with three rainbow roses and a crushing magician.

warnings 13+, gn!reader, follows the fontaine archon quest, so there are major spoilers throughout the entire fic! MURDER (lyney trial spoilers) + feminine french pet names ough + bff!Aether loml + sweet talker lyney + KISS SCENE (suggestive)

notes 8K words. thank u to my french bff art @aanobrain who said lyney is a magician he would say mon lapin 🤧❤️ + other various french pet names. thank u to ellie hyomagiri & earthtooz too for hyping this up, my supporters…

“500,000!?”

Sumeru streets are always bustling with its people—from children skipping around the neighborhood to frantic scholars who zip back and forth before returning to their homes when the moon is high. However, the sun is beating down on everyone right now: street vendors are making a profit, dogs are barking as they play fetch with laughing children, and you stand across the blond traveler and his floating companion.

You wince at the volume of Paimon’s shrill voice, inciting bypassers to send miffed glances your way. Embarrassed, you cover the side of your face with a hand, whispering, “Is—is that not enough? I can—”

“No, no, it’s not that!” Paimon’s arms flail around, eyes blown comically wide. “It’s just, you know, more than what we earn from our daily commissions combined!”

“Oh, I see.” you nod, relieved. “Well, I can lower—”

“No, no, no, no,” Paimon interjects hurriedly, and even the traveler shakes his head. “Pleasure to do business with you! Paimon and Aether, at your service!”

“Really?” you can’t believe your luck—the traveler himself agreed to escort you to Fontaine! Or does it count if Paimon agrees on his behalf? “That's a relief. Even Katheryne of the guild had a strange expression when I posted my commission.”

“It’s probably because of the amount of zeroes you might’ve accidentally put,” Paimon murmurs.

Aether tugs on her foot as if warning her. “We'll be leaving soon. Are you prepared?”

“Oh, yes. My stuff’s over there by the bench, you see?”

Aether and Paimon’s faces simultaneously fall. “All of that?” Paimon starts counting it, gaping when she has four little fingers held up.

They sure complain a lot. “You can still back out.”

Aether takes a deep breath, making his way over to your luggage. When he brushes past, you hear him chanting 500,000; 500,000; 500,000 under his breath. He wordlessly carries all of them, his chest puffed and expression grave.

“They’re heavier than I thought,” Aether wheezes out as Paimon flits worriedly around him. “How long are you going to be staying in Fontaine?”

“Oh, just a day or two, maybe,” you say, taking pity and taking one bag from him. “Most of what’s inside are art supplies.”

“Ah,” Aether says.

“500,000,” Paimon reminds him.

“We’re close,” Paimon says, flying back to where you and Aether are still walking behind, him heaving and you offering water now and then. “I saw a huge ravine-looking view! It was like a city on a waterfall!”

“R-Really?” Aether puffs out a breath, sweat rolling off his temple.

You tried prying some of your bags away from him when it seemed like there were monsters up ahead, but he refused instead to fight them with one hand on his sword. He still won. You guessed that he was trying to make traveling easier for you, yet all you felt was immense worry.

“Are you feeling okay, Y/N?” Paimon asks, floating beside you. “You look unwell.” You should ask your companion that, instead.

“I’m a bit nervous. After all, it’s my first time traveling outside of Sumeru.” You smile, patting her head. She doesn’t seem to mind, beaming back. “But I need to get out of my comfort zone to be better, right?”

“That's right! Paimon has a feeling you’ll enjoy Fontaine!” You and Paimon glance at Aether when he heaves a heavy breath, yet he only waves the pair of you off with his free hand. “Before you know it, you’ll be itching to travel again once you’re back in Sumeru.”

“I'm only there for work. I just need to learn a lot, and then I'll enjoy it.”

“Still a student through and through, huh…”

“I can see it,” Aether chimes in, looking all too relieved to rest his arm finally. “I can see Fontaine up ahead.”

You feel the cool breeze brush against your face, a refreshing change from the past hours you and the other two have been trudging through the desert. You could strip off layers and dive if you could. You can make out the harbor even miles away, pouring water out like an endless waterfall stretching for miles.

Arriving in Fontaine is introducing yourself to the rustle of layered skirts, the water-kissed smell, and citizens left and right babbling about tragic endings and thrilling climaxes.

Aether sets your bags on the floor with a heavy exhale. Paimon feeds him with another jug of water.

“I guess we’re here now.” You pull out a heavy pouch you’ve been keeping in one of the bags Aether had been holding over his shoulder. Paimon takes it with greedy, greedy hands. “Thank you for keeping me safe and carrying my luggage, Traveler— are you even listening to me?”

“There’s a girl over there,” Aether says, now staring ahead.

You and Paimon turn to look; sure enough, someone is standing by the edge, looking forlornly over the water. Half of her foot is off the platform, making Paimon fidget.

She gasps. “She isn’t going to jump into the water, is she? Maybe we should go check on her…”

Halfway through Paimon’s sentence, you gathered the courage to speak to the girl with the cat ears.

“Hey, miss.” Her ear twitches. “Is something the matter?”

She turns, looking faintly surprised. If you weren’t so close to her, you wouldn’t have been able to tell there was a change in her expression. “I'm fine. thank you.”

“Oh.” Now things are a little awkward. “Is there something in the water you’re looking at? You might slip if you keep tipping forward.”

She peers below, unworried—silent.

“As long as you’re okay, I guess,” you sigh, awkwardly hovering above her shoulder when realizing it might come off strange if you touch her. “I’ll leave you be.”

Her lips twitch, something close to a smile. You don’t stick long enough to admire it, heading back to Aether and Paimon and shrugging at their inquisitive looks. “She says she’s fine.”

“I think it’s time for me to separate,” you say. “I want to take all of it in as much as possible. Paimon has my payment. Thank you both so much for keeping me safe.” Mostly Aether, though. But Paimon was there, emotionally.

“It’s no problem,” Aether says, his smile warmer than when you first met him. “Stay safe out there. You can look for us if you need anything else.”

“I don’t always pay 500,000 for each of my commissions.”

Paimon wilts. Aether flushes, stammering, “Not what I meant.” You laugh heartily as they wave when you walk off to the aquabus, hopefully, prepared for what Fontaine will give you.

Your sketchbook is a page away from completion when you hear about a magic show at the Opera House. Not that it was hard to miss—everyone and their grandmothers were prattling about nothing else but the entire day.

Fontaine is known for its love for dramatics, but the twins they keep mentioning must be a one-of-a-kind spectacle to have half their region’s population speak about them so reverently.

After wandering for hours, taking in the endless sights of fresh water streaming and grand castle-like modern buildings, you find yourself in the Fountain of Lucine. You’ve heard of Fontaine being somewhat titled the ‘City of Love,’ but seeing couples surrounding each nook and cranny of the tourist spots was still astonishing.

(You console yourself by thinking that there’s something romantic in sketching frantically while the rest of the crowd are sucking faces.)

To your luck, you spot three familiar heads in the fountain plaza.

Aether senses you before you can even say anything, glancing to the side and smiling when you wave at him.

Paimon flutters excitedly. “Y/N! We didn’t think we’d see you again this early. You look like you’re glowing.”

“Was it that obvious?” you laugh sheepishly. “Fontaine is beautiful; I couldn’t even stick too long in one place before I see something else that catches my attention.” You look to the girl you met earlier, who nods politely. “Hello. Are you three acquainted now?”

“Mhm!” Paimon says, hands on her hips. “This is Lynette! She’s inviting us to the show they’re holding here!” She gasps, “Speaking of—”

“Ah,” Lynette says quietly, “I couldn’t get an extra ticket. I’m sorry.”

Lynette is the magician you keep hearing about? With her seemingly reserved personality, you wouldn’t have guessed it. “Oh, no, it’s fine. I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Paimon,” Aether speaks up. “They gave you your ticket, right? Why don’t you just float next to me or sit on my lap?”

Paimon’s eyes sparkle. “Great idea! That way, I can give my seat to Y/N, right?”

“You guys…” Your chest feels warm as Aether hands you one of the two tickets in his hand. “You really didn’t have to.” Is this what 500,00 gets you? The loyal companionship of Aether and Paimon?

“It’s a good idea,” Lynette says. “My brother wouldn’t want you to miss the show. He’d be devastated.”

“If you insist, then I suppose I can’t refuse.” Aether and Paimon do a cute little cheer. “But I need to return to the hotel; I can’t be watching a magic show carrying all these.” Surely Aether can understand.

Later, with your hands finally empty and charcoal-free, you rush back to the Opera Epiclese, the person standing guard kind enough to open the doors despite being a minute late.

“Welcome, one and all, to the Opera Epiclese!” The audience roars with cheers as the spotlight illuminates a figure on the center of the stage. You hurry to your seats, brushing past Aether and Paimon. “I am the star of today’s show, Lyney.”

Lyney bows, then stands upright with a Cheshire cat grin.

The thunder of the crowd’s applause is deafening. If you weren’t able to see it, you’d think that you hadn’t been clapping at all—senses numbed and your fixed stare all on the boy on the stage.

Your eyes catch on the small braid on the side of his head before the gleam of his eyes hypnotizes you.

He’s handsome, you think dizzily at the back of your head.

“Don’t blink,” he says, his voice lower as if meant to be a whisper, “or else you might miss it.”

The show proceeds. A dove soars away from inside as he flips his hat; you flush at hearing the soft laughter that slips from him after. The cards that materialize out of nowhere descend to the floor. His fingers shuffle the cards while talking to keep the audience satiated; they fly off his hands, yet he doesn’t lose focus, stretching them mid-air with a sleight of hand. They fall apart and come together neatly and precisely.

His stage presence is demanding. It would be as if Lady Furina herself would accuse you of committing a crime if you were to look away for even a second.

Then, when he scans the crowd, busy twirling his cards in his fingers, his gaze catches your awed ones.

Something in the air shifts. Or maybe it’s that it slows.

A card slips from his grasp. A mistake. He blinks and breaks eye contact, laughing heartily to play it off. But you don’t believe it—not when you swore your limbs locked in place as well when lilac drilled into your soul.

You breathe, hands bracing against your chest. What was that?

You would’ve played it off as something you imagined if not for Lyney continuing to glance at you occasionally. His slip-up had been forgotten, as though it was all part of the show.

(Is it also part of the show when it seems he’s unable to tear his eyes off of you?)

Of course, the twins prove their worth. They showed you exactly why the people of Fontaine adore watching them through theatrical magic, cards in their sleeves, and defying logic.

You’ve shuffled to the edge of your seat as Lynette disperses into bubbles and comes back alive. You’ve held your breath as Lyney emerges from the box across he was in a moment earlier.

You’ve also been witness to the murder of Cowell.

CRASH.

The shatter of glass resounded along with the horrified gasps of the audience. Sickeningly enough, you could almost hear the crack of bones if you hadn’t been crying out in alarm. Yet, as they gape and shriek over the sight of a limp arm popping out, you find your gaze tracing back to Lyney, who stands motionless in front of the box.

When Lady Furina points fingers and has everyone siding against him, the guards escort the audience from the Opera House. All evidence presented left Lyney in a spotlight unlike his performance: with a disgusted and unamused crowd. Even you have to agree that it isn’t looking well for his case at all.

Yet all you can think of as you leave the room is that Lyney looked as terrified as everyone else was—much too raw of an expression for someone to accuse him of anything at all. He looked young and scared.

(His hands were shaking.)

The rest of your Fontaine trip is admittedly duller when you’re a little more familiar with its city and don’t have a yapping little fairy and a capable Traveler by your side. It’s hard not to hear chatter about the events that went down: Lyney’s trial, Aether volunteering to be his lawyer, and the truth behind the real murderer.

It solved a case beyond the murder of Cowell. Fontaine sure has its mysteries, and the crowd sure loves them as they would a magic show.

You keep your hands busy. Last night, you found yourself thinking back to the magic show, to deft fingers weaving through cards, to violet eyes that kept on flickering to you. By the time you snap back to reality, you’ve subconsciously drawn shapes and lines that suspiciously look like the magician himself: the curve of a smile, piercing eyes, and you entranced by it all.

Flustered, you crumple his face staring back at you out of sight. Yet you can’t bring yourself to throw it away.

You shove the last bit of garlic baguette in your mouth to furiously bat these unwanted thoughts away.

“Isn’t that Y/N?” Paimon’s voice is unmistakable, a short distance off.

You jump out of your skin, spinning to see Aether and Paimon waving and walking over to you. You thought they'd already left Fontaine after that; you wouldn’t blame them if they did.

“Y/N! We haven’t seen you since the Opera House performance,” Paimon exclaims, twirling around your head like a thrilled fly circling a trash can.

You hold onto her back, hoping she’ll stop making you dizzy. “We were escorted out before I could say goodbye. I couldn’t watch the court trial but heard it all turned out fine.”

“That’s right!” Paimon nods proudly. “Paimon helped a ton during it; you should’ve seen it! What have you been doing?”

“I found a fellow architect while visiting the cafe nearby, and we chatted for hours,” you say, remembering that your voice is hoarse for that reason. You also don’t tell them you couldn’t get a certain magician off your mind. “I learned a lot. I don’t regret coming here one bit.”

Paimon says something else that you’re sure you’ve nodded absentmindedly at while your gaze wanders over to the two familiar people a few feet behind, watching you three with cat-like eyes—and it’s not just because of Lynette’s unique features.

“Those are the magicians, right?” you gesture behind Paimon and Aether as if you haven’t already familiarized yourself with their faces.

Paimon nods. “Uh-huh. You should introduce yourself! They look like they want to talk.”

Something about that feels foreboding. “Um, no, it’s fine. I don’t want to be rude and interrupt your conversation.”

“No,” Aether says firmly. He seldom speaks; you might as well play along if he says so. “Besides, Paimon is right. Lyney wants to talk to you, you know?”

“Oh, yeah! He kept mentioning seeing someone sitting beside us! And it couldn’t have been Neuvillette because he said it was an unfamiliar beauty that bewitched this weak magician’s heart.” Paimon nods, even recalling how he’s enunciated each syllable theatrically.

“I’m sorry?” you blurt. “Lyney recognizes me? What did I do?”

“Paimon thinks it’s because Lyney is curious about who Lynette met! He was like that with us, too.” Paimon changes her pitch to match Lyney’s. “Are these your friends, Lynette?”

Aether’s eyes feel like they know something you don’t. “It won’t hurt to strike up a conversation with Lyney. He’s been shaken up since the trial.”

There’s something unspoken hidden in his words. “What does that mean?”

Paimon doesn’t wait for an answer, grabbing you by the arm and dragging you to where the twins are waiting. Aether chuckles as he jogs behind.

“Paimon, Aether,” Lyney says, almost sly, “You haven’t introduced us to your friend here.”

“Paimon can do it!” She floats on top of your head and does a bit of jazz hands. “This is Y/N, the one who commissioned us to escort them from Sumeru up to Fontaine.”

“Generously,” Aether adds.

It’s a little embarrassing to have the legendary Traveler and Paimon introduce little old you to a famous magician such as himself, but his grin is still excited.

“From Sumeru?” Lyney repeats, smiling wider when you nod—as if that crumb of attention is enough for him. “I see.”

He performs a bow around the same height as where your hands rest; he takes one, kisses the back of your palm, and smiles against your skin. “I’m Lyney, and she is my sister, Lynette.”

“It’s nice to see you again.” You smile at Lynette, who nods in return. Lyney straightens to look at his sister.

“We met when the Traveler and Paimon just arrived at the harbor,” Lynette sighs even without looking at her brother.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” you say, meeting Lyney’s eyes. The spot where he kissed is still warm—tingling. “Your show was incredible, despite what happened. I’m glad that the truth revealed itself.”

“Thank you.” Lyney’s gaze sharpens. “I saw you at the performance, yes. I was worried for a second you might steal the show if you were to come up on stage.”

You blink. “Are you saying—”

Lyney grins, “I apologize that the night had to end that way; it must’ve been horrifying. Say, what if I give you a little show right now to make it up to you?” Did he make it up to each one of his audience, too?

This is not a man acting “shaken up,” as Aether put it.

“You really don’t have to.” You glance at Aether and Paimon, silently asking for help; however, they’re too far gone, urging you to say yes with gestures and encouraging nods.

Lyney tilts his head, demanding your attention on him once more.

You sigh. “I would love to see it if you don’t mind.”

“Of course!” Lyney looks like he’s the sun bursting personified. “It would be a pleasure, ma chérie. Not to worry, it’s nothing life-threatening. I just need you to focus on me.”

Not that it’s hard. The others have become a dull buzz in your mind as Lyney holds your gaze. “Okay.”

Lyney smiles, much softer, satisfied. “Good. Now,” he tips his hat, “recently, I’ve received a little lesson from someone about the language of flowers. Are you familiar with them?”

“Not in Fontaine, no,” you mumble, watching his hands closely. You were expecting a rabbit to hop out of that hat any second now.

“Shame. But I suppose I wouldn’t want to spoil the fun.” Lyney snaps his finger, then deposits his hand inside his hat. “Hmm… Oh? Something’s not quite right. Would you mind looking into this hat for me to see if the flower is here?”

You hesitate. The hat is so close to him.

Swallowing, you nod, leaning in to inspect his hat at a careful pace. All you can sense is the faint scent of heat Lyney is emanating, the breath you two share, and the pounding of your chest. You swear you could also hear his, matching yours.

“The hat’s empty.”

Lyney smiles wider. “Yes, perhaps because you already have it.”

You jump back in surprise, your hands patting your body to see where he could have snuck the flower in. With your frantic movement, the flower falls off from what seems to have come from your head—Lyney catches it.

His mouth carves into a smirk, leaning to invade your personal space, his free hand coming up to tuck hair behind your ear. “Careful.”

Your face is burning. Plucking the flower out, the delicate and tender pink sears into your palm. “What does this flower mean?”

“What does it, I wonder?” Lyney whispers thoughtfully. “I suppose you’ll have to tell me once you find out.”

And when he inclines backward, it feels like you can breathe again. Time flows normally, and the people passing by seem much louder than before—as though you’ve surfaced from underwater.

Lyney clears his throat. “Shame I haven’t prepared myself a grand show for you, but I suppose that would call for another time, wouldn’t it?”

Lynette is looking at Lyney as if he is stupidly amusing.

“Thank you,” you say, burning, burning. “For the show, I mean.”

“That was a little weird,” Paimon whispers to Aether, but she is terrible with keeping volume and has everyone turning to her with varying expressions. “P-Paimon means that was good! Wow, Lyney! Isn’t that a different flower you gave us? That’s the flower Charlotte was talking about, right?”

“Rainbow rose?” Aether supplies.

“Yes! It means—”

“Ahem.” Lyney is quick to interrupt. “Lynette and I must take our leave now, if you don’t mind. It was fun catching up with you two.” You have to hold your ground and not look away when he hones in on your figure. “And it’s a pleasure meeting you. Don’t be a stranger. Look for me if you want more.”

His smile is a little devilish, you now realize.

“Bye,” Lynette says blankly, following after her brother, who seemed to be hurrying to exit.

His ears were red.

“You’re still staring.”

“I am not,” you rebuke hotly, flailing to cover Aether’s mouth with your hands. Yet all it does is bring your attention back to where Paimon and Aether are staring—the rainbow rose on your person.

Paimon and Aether yelp when you drag them away despite Lyney having already left the scene.

“Hey—! Don’t just go dragging Paimon around like a balloon like that! Did Lyney get to your head that much?”

“He did not.”

Paimon tilts her head, frowning. You shy away from her worried gaze, glaring at the flower instead. You still don’t know how Lyney managed to get it there; you hold it to your chest, where your heart is racing miles per minute because of his stupidly smug smile.

“What does this flower mean, Paimon?”

Paimon seems elated to be of help. “Easy! Charlotte told us that Rainbow Roses mean ‘passion’ and most notably ‘romantic encounters’!”

“Passion,” you curse. The rose seems as if it is staring back innocently, unknowing of the turmoil you’re going through because of it. “Romantic encounters.’ ugh.”

You can still remember how Lyney’s eyes twinkled as you felt his breath against your face.

“Ooh, he thinks he can trick me. He thinks he can affect me just because it pleases him to do so. I’ll show him. I’ll show him! I am not a blushing maiden!”

“You’re already very affected by this,” Paimon says, yet it’s lost by your newfound determination. Two can play at this game.

You’ve definitely been staying in Fontaine longer than what you told Aether and Paimon, but you can’t leave yet. Not when you found yourself walking to a flower shop to purchase a vase, fiercely digging through soil, turning gentle when your fingers reach for the Rainbow Rose. Not when you see it in the corner of your eyes as you try to sleep, and you find yourself daydreaming about a charming violet-eyed virtuoso.

It’s for research, you excused lamely at the hotelkeeper who didn’t ask why you’re extending your stay. In truth, not that you’d tell anyone. It was because you were hoping for another grand show from him. A farewell show for you—closure.

If you were to travel back home and get too drunk to think straight, Kaveh would learn about your crisis (romantic awakening?) and laugh at your face.

In hopes of looking for your Fontaine architect friend, you spot Lyney instead, on the side of the street surrounded by cheering kids. They clap and jump, and Lyney laughs. “One more, one more!”

“Again?” Lyney does an exaggerated sigh. “I’m starting to run out of cards in my sleeves. I’ve guessed my entire deck from your hands by this point!”

“But, Mr. Magician,” one of them whines, pouting up at him and blinking, “we want to see more! We want to know how you do it!”

“Alright, how about this, hm?” And then Lyney peers right at you. Ironically, you’re the one startled when you’ve been watching that entire spiel, and he hasn’t acknowledged your presence beforehand. “Y/N, would you mind giving these children a little show with me?” He gestures for you to come closer.

“What show?” you ask suspiciously, taking slow steps in case he pulls out another flower out of nowhere.

“You don’t have to worry,” Lyney laughs. “Will you be my assistant for this show? You are very familiar with this trick.”

“Please, we want to see!”

You falter at the little kids’ excited grins, especially when paired with Lyney’s pout and round eyes. “Okay, tell me what to do.”

His eyes do the little gleam again. “Stand in front of me, mon lapin.”

Your heart is skipping beat after beat, making itself known as you shuffle until Lyney is directly behind you.

“Relax, chérie, you just need to stand still.” It’s a little hard to relax when you feel his breath against the back of your neck, but you won’t give him the satisfaction of admitting that, so you keep your chin high and relax your shoulders. “Good.” 

He begins to speak louder to his awaiting audience. “I know it’s hard to keep your eyes off this beauty before me, but watch the hat for a surprise, alright?”

He flips it for his little audience, one hand resting on your waist and the other extended to hold his top hat. The proximity is almost suffocating. You watch with bated breath, and they complain about it being empty.

“Oh, is it?” Lyney hums, twirling the hat until it’s flipped upside down, presented right before you. “Perhaps I need my assistant’s help.” You snap out of your daze when you realize he’s talking to you. “Y/N, do me a favor and show them the flower inside.”

You reach inside the hat and, much to your surprise, feel a stem. You pull it out; the Rainbow Rose stares back at you, almost mocking you, saying he did pull out a flower out of nowhere. It's this trick again.

The kids gasp in awe and confusion—it’s all the same for Lyney, who snaps his fingers and creates magic like he was made to. Like magic was for him to summon with his hands.

“What? It was empty!”

“Where did that come from? I was watching Mister Magician’s hands the whole time!”

“Are you a magician, too?”

“No,” you say lamely, holding the rose, feeling Lyney still patiently standing behind you. Heat crawls up your neck. “No, I’m not. It’s all Lyney.”

“It’s all me,” Lyney echoes in amusement. “You’re quite magical yourself.” Finally, he spares you, pulling away to stand beside your figure. He doesn’t take the rose back—maybe even give it to one of the children. He knows exactly what he’s doing. “That’s enough for today. The sun is setting, and your parents might get worried.”

They pout and slump their shoulders, but Lyney has this older brother's sternness to him that has the children scurrying back home anyway.

You then realize having to stand in front of Lyney was unnecessary.

The flower is warm. Lyney’s eyes slip to yours.

“I didn’t even have to stand in front of you like that,” you complain, heart inclined to race off your body.

“Yes, but I feared that I would slip up again if I were to catch a glimpse of your face,” Lyney admits smoothly. His lips curl into a smirk when you stare wordlessly. “What? Don’t believe me? I had to improvise when I saw you watching from afar.”

“A great magician such as yourself? Making a mistake? I doubt it.”

“You already have such high expectations placed on me, chérie,” Lyney says, his smile easy, but his ears are a little red, poking out from his hair. “That’s no good. With no audience, I’m just plain ‘Lyney’ to you.”

“No trickery? No cards up your sleeves?” you play along.

Lyney doesn’t miss a beat. “No, though I do have a few more roses begging to be held by your hands.”

“They can keep begging.” Lyney grins wider when you glance down at his hands. “Do you give them off to everyone you meet?”

“Who do you take me for?” Lyney isn’t offended; he laughs, delighted. He is preening under the sunset—or maybe it’s your attention. “Of course not. At least, not like this.”

You stare, unimpressed. “Sure.”

“So cold, chérie,” Lyney sighs, plucking the stem from your fingers to slot it behind your ear. It seems he likes doing that. “Here I am, trying to get you to warm up to me, and you treat me like this.”

“You don’t have to. I’ll be going back home soon anyway.”

Lyney’s expression shifts into something more unrecognizable, his eyes dipping down to somewhere below your nose. “Oh. Avoiding attachment?”

You nod.

He grins, and he’s still so close. He knows how to entrance his audience, pulling you in until you forget to resist. Always watch the hands; yet Lyney could be digging a dagger to your side at this moment, and you wouldn’t even notice.

“I’m flattered you even want to avoid me because you know you’d get attached,” he purrs, tilting his head. Is Lyney just big on personal space? 

“Don’t assume,” you retort. “I know how guys like you think. Even a magician as great as yourself can’t trick someone who’s already seen through it.”

“It would be easier if it were just a trick, wouldn’t it?” Lyney sighs, much to your confusion. “I take it that someone has told you what this flower means?”

You’ve nearly forgotten all about it. “Yes.” You find yourself unable to look directly into his eyes. “I know.”

But even with that, you can still feel his heavy gaze, pinning you down and threatening the strength of your knees. You suppose it comes with being a performer—watching his audience carefully, pinpointing each micro expression to say the right words.

“There doesn’t have to be any attachments.”

“What are you trying to say right now?”

Lyney’s reaches for your hip, sharing your gaze like he doesn’t know how to do anything else. “That you enamor me. That I am holding back from wanting you. I know you feel the same—you can never hide anything from a magician. But if you’re concerned,” he mumbles, “then this doesn’t have to mean anything. You may call it infatuation.”

You want to laugh. Or maybe you want to cry. Most of all, you want to nod helplessly, wrap your arms around his neck, and give in. It’s hard not to when he looks at you like that. “You want me that bad?”

“I almost want to disagree.”

“Almost?” Lyney gets closer, and you stop him with a palm on his chest. “We’re outside.”

Lyney grins. “Have you forgotten what Fontaine is also known for? No one would bat an eye. Love is in the air, and all that.”

“Absolutely not.”

“So still you’re letting me?”

You laugh this time. Letting him, as if you aren’t the one itching to pull him close and find out what he’s like behind the curtains. “Are you asking me as plain old ‘Lyney?’”

Lyney brightens, clearly pleased there wasn’t a ‘no’. “Yes.”

“No tricks?”

“No tricks. No strings.”

You let him lead you away into some dark alleyway. He kisses you like he was longing to do so all his life. You have only met him that fateful day, not even a week ago. But you claw at him like you get it—like he’s ruined you for anyone else the moment you shared gazes in the Opera House.

Romantic encounters, you quietly recall as Lyney swipes a thumb over your aching bottom lip.

You don’t see Lyney the day after that. And for some reason, it makes the itch worse. (Perhaps it’s because you’ve gotten a taste and can’t get enough.)

It’s mostly your fault, the sudden disappearance—you’ve cooped yourself up in the hotel room, buried your face in pillows, and screamed. You berate yourself for giving in, but another part of you—one that’s louder than any other thought in your head—wants to do it again. Wants to hold his handsome face in your hands and have him kiss you breathless. That was nothing like you had ever felt before.

You groan. It’s another new day. You might as well make some progress with your portfolio.

There’s a Café you’ve been visiting more often than not. Ordering a drink and spending a good chunk of your day sketching the view. Instead, you find yourself staring at Aether, Paimon, and Lynette seated at one of the tables.

Lynette’s eyes flick up to yours as she sips tea. She murmurs something to the other two, and you watch with amusement as Aether and Paimon’s heads snap to face you.

You let your gaze wander, eventually landing on Lyney, who is reciting his order with his charming-act-on smile, who is present because of course he is. You want to turn and run away, but that’d be letting Lyney win, and you’re nothing if not stubborn and prideful.

“Y/N!” Paimon greets once you’re within earshot, kicking her feet happily. “Good morning! What are you doing here?”

“Breakfast,” you reply, waving at them. Aether pulls a chair from the other table and gestures for you to sit. “Did I interrupt something?”

“Nope!” Paimon swipes a fork from the table and digs in on the Ile Flottante, leaving nothing for Aether. “Lynette and Lyney told us about another show they’re holding to make up for the previous one.”

“Mouth full,” Aether reminds her, a little too late as the Ile Flottante spews from her mouth.

“Really now? Maybe I can pay properly for a ticket this time,” you laugh, nodding at Lynette. She smiles faintly, hiding it behind the rim of her cup. Lynette sure is the polar opposite of her twin brother.

A shadow looms from behind, the silhouette of a figure with an unmistakable top hat. You tilt your chin and see Lyney peering down at you with a sweet smile. You will yourself to keep your gaze focused on his eyes only and nowhere else below the nose.

Speak of the devil…

“Sweetheart,” Lyney says instead of exchanging pleasantries like a normal person.

“Lyney,” you reply in kind. Then you look away upon realizing that Aether, Paimon, and Lynette had been silently watching the exchange with muted, stunned expressions.

Lyney, holding a tray of drinks and food in both hands, scoots the chair next to yours with his ankle. “I wasn’t informed that Y/N would be joining us,” he says, setting the drinks and plates down like a waiter with a flourish. “You can drink mine. Let me order another.”

You hold onto his wrist as he makes his way back. He turns to you, surprised. “Let me at least pay for my own breakfast.”

Lyney grins, delicately withdrawing from your grip. He places a loud kiss on your hand. “Don’t worry about it.” And then leaves, because he can’t take no for an answer.

“Is it just me,” Paimon starts as you resign yourself to finishing Lyney’s drink (It’s your favorite, the one you always order), “or is Lyney acting weird around Y/N?”

Aether laughs. “There's definitely something going on. Don’t end up staying too long in Fontaine, now. What was it you told us? ‘A day or two’.”

You huff, your face turning unbearably warm. “Shut up, you two. I am here to do research, not to find a summer fling.” You’ve already failed, but they don’t need to know about that.

If you were to touch your lips with your fingers, you’d think of no one else but Lyney’s hands on your hips and his mouth swallowing your words.

Lynette clears her throat, a quiet but noticeable thing. “Don’t be fooled by my brother, Y/N.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m still keeping my safe distance.”

She shakes her head. “That’s not what I mean. Don’t be fooled by my brother.” She stares at you from the rim of her cup—something about that has you listening obediently. “No matter what he tells you, he always cares too much. No matter what you may think, he always gets hurt first.”

“That’s not…” You can’t imagine that. From the start, it’s always felt like he was the one who could do what he wanted.

No tricks.

Lynette is his twin, after all. She knows him best.

No strings.

Defeated, you sip on the straw with the same fervor of an aggravated hilichurl, and that’s the end of that.

Conversations during breakfast are much lighter when Lyney returns with a full meal as his treat. Celebration, he says. Celebration for what? Who knows? Lyney winked, but his glance directed to you said enough.

“You say that you don’t want to get attached, but you’re awfully close to the Traveler, of all people,” Lyney says offhandedly once the others have left for their own matters.

You lean against your seat, grinning. “Are you jealous?”

He doesn’t say anything, instead upturning his nose as if scrambling to regain control. You laugh, oddly endeared. Lyney turns his head away, trying to hide the smile that curls his lips upon hearing it.

“Hey,” Lyney says seriously, reaching for your hand. “Where have you been yesterday?”

“Why? Missed me?”

And because he’s Lyney, he takes his time kissing each of your knuckles. It’s more intimate than the whole ‘no strings’ arrangement you agreed on, but you suppose Lyney thinks that any physical attention is free reign. “What would you do if I said yes?”

“You’ll be fine,” you say slyly. “You’ll have to get used to it if you want to risk your heart just to get laid.”

He rolls his eyes, tugging you closer. “I’m not risking anything to get laid. Do you think so lowly of yourself, chérie?”

“Isn’t this all there is to it? Physical attraction,” you ask, genuinely confused.

Lyney blinks. “Of course, but—” His eyes flicker down, and his words trail off.

When you speak, you feel your breath bounce back from his skin—a testament to your proximity. “Lyney,” you whisper. For what? Urging him to continue? Urging him to close this distance? You’re not sure, either.

You have so much to ask. What do you mean? Why can’t you finish your sentence? Why don’t you just kiss me already? But it’s hard to speak; Lyney’s name is all you can think of. 

You whisper his name again. His grip on your hands tightens and loosens, a frustrated frown creeping up his brows.

Your hand shoots out to reach for the back of his head and give in. He flinches for a second before relaxing completely.

His lips almost taste sweeter than his words. Almost as sweet as how he finds purchase on your waist and holds your chin during every kiss.

You pull away to breathe, missing how he leans closer to chase after you and pouting when he can’t. “Yeah. That—That didn’t have to mean anything. I just wanted to know what it felt like again.”

“Yeah.” Lyney licks his lips, his gaze unable to tear away from where yours are swollen. “Yeah, I know. You taste like my drink.”

Really, no one’s surprised you gravitate towards each other again, feeling like you’re soaring and melting into a puddle at the same time. Lyney doesn’t touch you where you both know would cross the line, but he grips near possessively to what he can, as if breathing you in and worshipping your skin.

You know after this, he’d go back on stage, fooling his audience with what’s invisible to the average eye, as if this never happened. You know this because this is your deal: satiate the feverish attraction you have with each other and leave once you’re satisfied. (But you also know that you’ll be thinking of his touch and his lips while you stare at the vase beside your bed.)

Lyney is a magician, first and foremost.

He hooks you in, and keeps all your attention to himself like he’d die without it. Then he disappears with a snap of a finger. He’s finished his trick, leaving you befuddled in your seat with more questions than answers.

As you drift off to sleep, all you can think of is that there are two roses now.

“Brother.”

Lyney looks up from where he’d been entertaining Rosseland, seeing Lynette with a stern face. “What? What happened?”

Her tail flicks. “You said you weren’t going to get attached.”

Lyney exhales softly, his eyes slipping shut. “I’m not.”

Lynette finds herself smiling softly. “I may just be your assistant, but you can’t lie to your own twin.”

He buries his face in his hands. With his sight gone, images of your face while whispering his name flash in his mind. His eyes fly open, mortified, his whole face red. “I don’t know how it happened. I didn’t think it’d be deeper than that.”

He was the magician in this, but it felt as if you were the one who tricked him instead.

It’s been two weeks since you first arrived in Fontaine. By this point, you’ve grown more familiar with its views than your own city. Having Aether, Paimon, Lynette, and even Freminet around doesn't make it any easier for you to feel at home.

And then there’s the Lyney Situation. You meet up most nights, more than that when he’s free from shows. He keeps seeking you out, and you keep letting him in. There was one night where Lyney spent the night instead of heading straight to the door—and those nights turned into two, then three, and then he finds any excuse to keep doing it.

It’s not like you could stop. He told you look for me if you want more, and you always want more, because how could you not? Lyney treats you like he’s never had to take care of anything more precious but still manages to render you breathless like you’ve never experienced thrill the way he gives it to you before.

But you still have to go back home. And Lyney still has his own life, has his secrets. He feels untouchable even when your arms are wrapped around his neck.

No strings attached can still work for summer flings, doesn’t it? And what are summer flings, if not just that?

Lyney hovers above with his hands caging your face. He’s grinning so wide—and you’ve seen all kinds of smiles on him with your time spent together, but it was never this genuine.

“You’re bad for me.” He says it like a confession, a prayer.

You raise an eyebrow. “What did I do to you?”

His hand trails down until he’s rubbing shapes on your hips. “Make me feel like I’m myself whenever I’m with you.”

At your silence, Lyney clears his throat. “But it’s not like that, don’t worry. I just mean—”

And how does that even make sense? He pours his heart, then later reveals it’s nothing but a decoy to keep this facade realistic.

“Oh,” you say.

That was the final act you’d been waiting for. The final trick—the farewell show.

And so you pack your bags—shoved your sketchbook back inside, face forward, and promise not to look back. Leaving Sumeru hasn’t even been this hard.

Aether and Paimon shouldn’t be surprised if they find you missing; they’d been the first to know that your stay in Fontaine isn’t meant to last forever. And you’ve warned Lyney about this. Avoiding attachments? It felt more like running away from your problem.

Lyney is a busy man on his own; you’re nothing but some architect from a different region who happened to get caught up with him at the right time.

You sigh and call for the aquabus.

A hand clasps around your wrist, pulling you to collide against a familiar chest. Lyney’s eyes are wide, almost insane. Sweat clings to his forehead, and his breath comes in frantic pants.

“W-What—”

Lyney’s eyes search your face. Or maybe it’s him trying to convince himself that you’re right there, in front of him. “You didn’t even tell me.”

“I—I’m sorry—”

“Were you just going to leave like that? Don’t you think I at least deserve a farewell?”

“Lyney, I’m sorry. I know, that was stupid.” You haven’t seen him with an expression like this before—so raw and broken, begging to be glued together with your hands. “I didn’t want to formally say goodbye because I knew I'd want to stay.”

“That’s stupid,” he repeats in agreement.

You breathe shakily, eyes scanning the stunned crowd. What’s The Great Magician Lyney doing here? Holding some stranger in his arms? That must be what they’re thinking.

“How did you even know I was leaving?”

Lyney’s eyes cut down to his hand, gripping a crushed rose. “I was paying a visit to an empty room.” Embarrassed, he tries to toss it away, but you take it before he can.

You wordlessly place it in its home: the spot behind your ears. You don’t tell him that the two other roses he gave you serve as bookmarks in the sketchbook you’ve used all up in Fontaine. Where you’ve drawn his face more often than not.

Lyney groans in frustration, his hands curling around your waist. “Is staying so bad?”

“It’s not like I’m leaving forever.”

And then you notice Lyney’s hands. They’re shaking uncontrollably, not unlike how it did during that incident—and with it came the frantic exhales, as if natural human breathing alone is already hard enough for him.

“Oh, Lyney,” you say softly. You drop your bags and embrace him fully.

He doesn’t hesitate in pulling you closer, burying his face on your neck. “Don’t—don’t,” he gasps, “don’t just try to leave like that.”

It’s hard seeing Lyney like this. He’s usually so composed and easy-going. He gulps in a deep breath, and his voice cracks as he calls for you. This must be something out of his control—something deeper than the back of his stage.

“Y/N,” he whispers.

“Lyney,” you call back as gently.

He swallows your surprised noise with his mouth, moving against you like you’re his last meal on Teyvat. He’s still shaking, but it has subsided the longer you stay pressed against each other. You’re not sure if it’s his Pyro vision or if it’s your skin burning at the thought of Lyney’s skin against yours. It’s searing.

This is different from the last kisses you shared.

Passion, you think dizzily, breathless from his hunger. This is passion.

“What was that for?” you ask, embarrassingly winded.

Lyney brushes his thumb over your bottom lip. He looks sad. As though he only comes alive when you’re with him. “A kiss to make up for your absence in the following weeks.”

“I can always come back,” you say. “No, I will come back. I promise. I just need to get home for a bit.”

“Okay.” Lyney nods, exhaling heavily. “Yeah. I know, I understand. Once you come back, come straight to me, alright?”

“Of course.” You lean in to kiss his cheek. You’ve never done it before because it always came off too intimate. And judging by the blush that explodes on his face, he thinks the same.

It all doesn’t matter. The line has been crossed days ago; you’ve just been turning away from seeing it.

He kisses you again. Then again. “Have a safe trip,” he says in between kisses. “I almost wish you commissioned me to escort you, regardless of the price.”

“What, you want 500,00?” The aquabus has arrived; Lyney grips you a little tighter, childishly willing himself not to see it.

“500,000 kisses, and more.” Lyney rests his forehead against yours, his captivating eyes keeping you still, the way it always does. “But you can give me that when you come back.”

( Before they were taken away from the stage for an investigation, Lynette comes up to her brother and asks, “What happened back there, Lyney? I thought you were about to twist your own fingers.”

He is unsure how to tell his sister that he saw your awed expression and nearly lost his wits.

“It was nothing,” Lyney admits, his face growing hot at recalling his slip-up. 

It wasn’t out of embarrassment, no—not when the memory of your wide-eyed beaming expression and how his mind blanked along with the skip of his heart plagued his mind.

“It was nothing,” he repeats numbly. It’s not. It was the start of something. )

a/n ok just a quick rant this fic BROKE ME. it was like every other day i hated then loved writing this fic. im not used to writing fics this long so pacing is not my forte </3 but i just feel proud of myself for finishing this so HOPE U LIKED IT. if ure still reading until here ily ❤️

more a/n two lyney fics and two kissing scenes. i can’t even lie to myself. everyone can tell.

more more a/n it was halfway through writing this fic that i rewatched the magic show and only noticed lyneys hands were shaking and i GOT SO SAD OMF 😭😭😭😭

[1800titz]

Ex-boyfriend/hairdresser!Harry (second part)

The one where Y/N gets drunk, cuts her hair, and Harry fixes it (feat. complimentary gut rearrangement) > continuation

the 15K follow up to this

patreon masterlist (with 338.2K WC and updating) : main masterlist

Harry hums. His fingertips grasp a distinctly shorter chunk closer to the top along the back, tugging on it gently, “This bit’s fucked.” “Thank you,” Y/N narrows her eyes at the shower tile.  “Pleasure’s all mine…” he pauses, and though Y/N can’t see him— or necessarily hear a bark of laughter or a peal of snickers in the process of the assessment— his next comment causes irritation to twist in her chest and hotly surface across the apples of her cheeks. He sounds nearly awed, “This is almost avant garde.” “Fuck off,” she bites flatly, picking at her cuticles absent-mindedly as the annoying nature of his jest settles into her bones. “No, really. Scissor-Seizure chic. Back’s a fucking mess, but it’s business in the front, party in the back, right?”

1.9K preview

“Gonna have to take this short,” he admits.

Crestfallen notes— though, impressively muted, Harry decides— color the girl’s tone as she weighs his confession. “Short?”

“Pixie. Nineties Winona Ryder. Or,” he shrugs, letting the jagged tresses fall free and cupping her rigid shoulders instead, massaging them, “Mia Farrow, if we’re feeling biblical.”

“Biblical.”

“Mm. Old testament. Vengeance. Sacrifice. Demon baby,” Harry purses his cushiony mouth. Then, he pulls on another distinctly shorter piece along the back (one that she’d missed in her evaluation the first time), “This bit’s giving— how do I put this delicately… evidence bag.”

“You’re such a dick,” Y/N scoffs (though she lets his hands stay on the locked up stretch of her shoulders). With the panging vexation that heats along the underside of her skin and the playfully, somewhat derisive quips he’s been sprinkling over her crisis, the full gravity of his analysis doesn’t have the room to settle in. Instead, the conclusion gets lodged somewhere between the gnarling limbs of her frustration and floats along the surface, unprocessed. 

An amused sound of astonishment spills off his tongue before the words flow out, “I’m literally salvaging your head. For free. In my off-hours. And I brought you a sweet treat.”

“I told you not to laugh,” Y/N cries, her shoulders jumping under his palms as she raises her hands, even as he thumbs into a tender spot along the base of her nape to soften the blow, “You promised you wouldn’t laugh. Multiple times.”

“I’m not laughing. This is an assessment,” Harry argues, neutralizing his features with mock-seriousness, “It’s a— very delicate process.”

“And the shitty little comments are necessary, why, exactly?” she twists over her shoulder, pointedly directing a scathing side-eye up at him. 

He’s not laughing. In fact, his features are possibly the most neutral she’s seen them all morning, and the nonchalant way his shoulders climb is, maybe, most infuriating of all. “Live entertainment. Obviously.”

“You know what, I really forgot what an ass you were,” Y/N grumbles, stretching forward— out of his grasp— to cradle her drink and take an exasperated gulp of the liquid past her teeth. The notion of this beverage being a thoughtful token by the man does little to soothe the seeding flicker of her temper. Before she takes her second mouthful, she tacks on, “You’re very good with the… distractions.”

“That’s alright pet, I’d hardly consider that one a top-three descriptor,” Harry returns smoothly, pursing his cushiony lips and letting them melt off into the filthily-fueled smirk the memory incites, “Besides, you seemed to remember the important bits last night. Are we opting for the Winona then?”

As her ex-boyfriend— begrudged, she reminds herself, simultaneous knight in rusty armor— cards his fingers through her hair once more, the depth to his offhand statement (and its true meaning) registers as a white-hot streak of an ache. Although an itchy curiosity scratches along the forefront of her mind and prompts her to question and decipher what exactly these important bits are and what her remembering them entails, it becomes dulled under the weight of the casual inquiry. 

“Wait,” Y/N deadpans, the range of her irritation dampening as the words sink in, “The Winona is practically a Jamie Lee Curtis.”

Harry hums. If not for the mild, reignited sense of panic clawing up her esophagus, the sensation of his fingertips scraping along her scalp would be comforting. “Mm. Sort of. We can do a Linda Evangelista, too. The blonde nineties verse. Heavy fringe. Or— hear me out, here, darling. Alice Cullen.”

“With the… spiky bits?” Y/N swallows weakly. She’s suddenly very lightheaded.

“Yeah… that’s not gonna sit like that,” Harry muses. Knowing her general styling routine, best opt for the simpler route, “If you wanna style it every day, sure. Or…” he bobs his head, the notes to his tone implying that he’s aiming for realistic, “y’know. Breaking Dawn is also an attainable option.”

This is all… a lot of information to process. Abruptly. Y/N takes a deep breath, though the stretch of her lungs scarcely quiets the maelstrom of emotion threatening to surge, prickling along the backs of her eyes and the few bites of pastry churning in the pit of her tummy. 

“Wait,” the young woman screws her eyes shut, taking another deep breath and holding it behind the crevices of her teeth as she attempts to gather her composure into something semi-controlled, “Okay. I need a second.”

“Sure,” Harry chimes, his words carrying an ease that insinuates he’s unaware of the current internal struggle taking place beneath his hands, “Take your time. Listen, I know we didn’t want to go the demon baby route, but if it’s any consolation, you’ve got the face for a Mia Farrow.”

It doesn’t happen immediately. 

Actually, it’s a gradual decline somewhere between Take and demon, and then a steep drop-off at Mia. With all the effort Y/N had pressed upon maintaining her calm steadiness, despite the unfavorable circumstances, the resolve of the metaphorical dam harboring her emotions whittles, and it sags before it collapses. The blend of her hair predicament, the confusion molting the shape of the night before, the way her body still has a ways to go to recover (despite the two liquid-IV packets she’d chugged, the shower she’d taken, and the caffeine coupled with a portion of the croissant), alongside the revelation that she’ll have to near-shave her head just to look like a semi-presentable fragment of society, finally causes her nervous system into upheaval, and the second bout of tears she’d worked so hard to repress bubbles to the surface as the back of her throat tightens scratchily. It starts as a welling sting behind her tired eyes, and as the wetness crystallizes in beads along her waterline, one slips over, traversing her cheek, and pearling over her clenched jaw. Then, an ache that feels too close to an incipient sob curdles along the back of her tongue. She tries to swallow it— she really does. But as the back of her throat works over the blooming emotion and the weight of the morning crumbles her front, the girl can’t help the hitch in her breath or the way her shoulders tremble. As her shoulders jolt and the breath she takes burns along her chest, she squeezes her eyes shut and tips her chin to cradle her face in her palms. 

And as Harry draws a circle with his thumb over a particularly tight area along the right side of her trapezius, meandering under the fabric, he doesn’t immediately recognize that the young woman’s emotions have begun to pool over. It’s only when he hears a sharp sniffle and looks down, concern etching a wrinkle between his progressively furrowing brows, that he realizes the girl is practically quaking with the way she tries to smother her sobs. Instinctively, a dull seedling of his own unease roots apart behind his ribcage, cobwebbing its tendrils out as the hand that’d settled along her shoulder slips to the side of her upper arm instead, grasping gently when he steps to the side and ducks to assess her side profile. Just as he’d thought, the girl sits crying into her hands, blatantly sucking down hiccups with the majority of her face eclipsed by the shape of her palms. Worry slopes his mouth and sharpens the crease between his eyebrows, and as he kneels beside her, he squeezes at the top of the limb comfortingly. He stitches a calm gentleness into his tone, brushing along the backs of her raised, cotton-coated forearms with the opposite palm. 

“Hey. Hey. C’mon,” Harry soothes, shaking his head as she allows her sounds to intensify with the acknowledgment, dislodging a broken sob that echoes off the wall tiles, “S’just hair. Hey. Look at me.”

She allows him to twist her on the toilet lid with minimal protest— no protest, really, besides the stutter-y hum of dismay she makes into her palms, though Harry assumes that’s more directed at the circumstances than him, really— and then her wet hands. He blinks up at her, ducking his posture to fit into her eyeline with the way her chin is dipped downward. 

“Hey,” he shakes his head again. 

“It’s my hair,” Y/N sniffles, shaking her own from side-to-side as she mirrors the action in devastation, “And— and it’s gone.”

“Well. Now it’s my problem,” the curly-haired brunette declares. Another nonchalant shrug jolts his shoulders, and a soft grin quirks his mouth as he repeats his self-assured claim, “Lucky for you, m'brilliant.” 

At the very least, this comment lures something between a laugh and another sob. A couple of tears bead and dangle from the tip of her nose, and aggregate along her soaked, bunched lower lashes. Reflexively, the man reaches for them, thumbing the ones hanging threateningly from the tip of her nose first, then under her lashes. Playfully, he curls his expression into one of dramatic disgust, sticking his tongue out as he pretends to gag and wipes the pad of his thumb against her pant leg. The theatrics (as intended), pry another— although tearful— giggle that suggests an incremental boost in her spirits. She raises her chin, scrubbing at her face with her palm, and then the back of her sleeve, sniffling once more for good measure to clear her sinuses of the build-up that’d ensued. 

“Sorry,” she sounds sheepish.

“Don’t be,” Harry shakes his head, hands now planted against her knees, “S’a big chop, and I get it. It’s an emotional moment.”

He gives her another moment to compose herself, petting at her knee comfortingly as the bout of despair passes and her mood shifts, before he frowns up at her once more in a teasing, faux assertion of stern instruction. “Now, chin up, crybaby. No tears in my chair.”

“I’m on the toilet,” Y/N protests weakly, waving out with her hand as he stands and picks up the spray bottle. 

He brandishes it threateningly, pointing it into her direction as if he’ll spray it anywhere besides her scalp. Then, he flicks the tip of her nose with the fingers on his other hand in reprimand, “Use your imagination, then.”

As the young woman lets him re-moisturize her hair with the spritzer, she ogles the shape of his toned tummy under the tee with the limited range of motion. His prior comment (the one he’d shared right before her barrier had deteriorated), sits in the dell of her foresight, and she chews into her chapped bottom lip as he ruffles her hair out with his fingers to soak the layers beneath. 

“Do you really think I could,” Y/N blinks up at him from the sopping tendrils that had flopped over her forehead messily, “…pull it off?”

The question makes Harry pause. He sets the spray bottle back onto the cheaply marbled countertop beside him and combs her hair back off her face with his fingers, drawing her chin up with the soft tug along her wet roots. As his fingers stay tangled into the hair along her scalp, the other hand cups her jaw, the pads of his fingers gently digging into her cheeks. They chisel indents into the soft spaces beneath bone as he seemingly examines her. Although the motion is entirely platonic, the amalgam of the tender-strengthed pull at the base of her hair, the sensation of his digits squeezing into her skin and holding her face angled, and the serious expression painting his contemplative features, causes a warm flutter to ripple along her underbelly. The tip of his pinky lingers too close to her thundering pulsepoint, and her throat bobs as she wordlessly swallows.

“Yeah,” Harry murmurs, irises briefly edging to her mouth, then riding back up along the column of her nose to her eyes, “Yeah. I reckon Mia Farrow for sure.”

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[cry4mina]

Park Maintenance

(Jealous!Jihyo x reader)

Word Count: 6.8k Smut/A secret second thing/Smut Summary: Jihyo decides that she wants to leave you feral all day, it backfires. TW: THIS IS ABOUT FUCKING! Aggressive top jihyo, public sex, degrading, teasing, intentionally making someone jealous, there is theme park sex happening. Momo and Nayeon are present, more Momo than Nayeon. A/N: Happy 3 Months of Cry4Mina! I truly never thought it would be this much fun and I'm so grateful to all those who follow me and show support for me and my writing! <3 I guess the smut didn't really take me that long at all. Thank you to the human who wishes to remain anonymous for helping me name the fic and letting me rant about it. And also @myouicieloz for constantly keeping me sane while I write LMAOOOOO As always, DMs and Asks are open for feedback and requests! :)<3 love u mean it. drink water.

Strong arms wrap themselves around you, wiggling a little closer to your body with a few heavy restful breaths. Eyelashes graze across your neck, a few lazy kisses placed along your jaw and a soft “good morning, baby” lightly draws you out of your dreams. 

You stretch, shaking off some of the stiffness of drowsiness before turning to your side, nuzzling into Jihyo further, putting your head against her chest, arms mirroring hers in the way of draping around her. 

“Still sleepy, my love?” her digits gently slide up the back of your neck, twirling your hair softly while placing a few languid pecks down your cheeks.

“Mhmm..” followed by a small sigh into her skin as you relax into her.

“We’ve got big plans today, remember? We are going to the amusement park with Nayeon and Momo, but…” her fingers trail down your bare back, lips brushing across yours.

“I’d love to start the day with those cute sleepy moans you make.” Her hand grips you tightly, locking you in place against her. 

Jihyo’s other hand finds its way between your legs. Ghosting her middle finger up and down your slit, her touch gets just a little more pressure with every pass of your clit. Sluggishly trying to match her pace for a moment before she stops moving her fingers all together.  

Eyes still half lidded from slumber, you arch your back and press your chest into hers like it’s muscle memory. She giggles into your mouth, teasing you more with each feeble lunge of your hips. 

Jihyo smirks, rolling you onto your back and sweeps one of her legs over you to straddle one of your thighs, fixing herself so she can grind down on you without removing her lips from yours. 

 A small whine slips from your throat and she slides her tongue into your mouth, taking the opportunity as it presents itself. She slides her pussy across your thigh, inciting a primal reaction from you. 

What started slow and sweet, rapidly gets hot and heavy. Your hands are navigating around her body, desperately trying to get her to finish what she started. 

Whining tandemly, the song of want emerges from the two of you tangled in each other, she breaks the kiss. Noses caressing each other while she studies the desperation seeping through your skin. 

“Use your words, baby. Tell me what you want.” whispered into your mouth. The tone is seductive and irresistible. 

Feeling her slick drip down your thigh, Jihyo was in a mood today and you were happy to take full advantage of that.  

The question burns in her eyes and you give her the silent permission she asks for. Breath shuddering as she lowers her mouth to your chest, leaving a tightly woven line of opened mouth kisses with a few soft bites sprinkled in between. 

She makes her way down your stomach and to your hips, biting your hip bones before trailing her tongue down to your inner thigh. 

“I want you- shit, please” almost voiceless in anticipation of what patterns her tongue is going to draw.

“You already have me, darling. Just tell me how you want me.” Another push of encouragement, she just wanted to hear you say what your body was craving from her. 

Jihyo places her elbows down on the sheets between your legs, holding her chin with one of her hands and returning to tease your slit once again, lazily gliding her finger up and down, patiently waiting for you.

“Fuuuuck- Hyo, please! I need to feel your tongue on me!” rocking your hips forward to get closer to her. 

“You looks so pretty when you’re desperate like this but…” She’s stone-faced…that can only mean one thing. 

“I don’t think that was good enough, honey. Maybe you should try again?” her eyebrow raises, patiently waiting for a reply. It wasn’t exactly rare to see her so…dominant, but it always kind of sprung itself on you, not that you were complaining. 

“Pleaseeeeeeeeeeeeeee just fuck me, baby” wanting her was an understatement, you were absolutely spiraling down a cyclone of pure need. 

“Who?” gently slapping your clit one, two, three times and you jolt under every smack. 

“Sorry…-M-mommy fu- fuck, please!” whimpered between the splattering of your wetness

“Good girl.” a devious grin graces her face before she gets to work. 

Aggressively swiping her tongue up your pussy and gripping your thighs hard enough to leave marks just like you liked. The slurping sounds she made on you only makes you want it more. 

Jihyo is holding you down by the hips, persistently licking your clit before she slides 2 fingers inside you, not giving you any time to adjust. 

Without any shame about the ache sitting in your cunt, you thrust your hips up into her mouth and back down onto her fingers. She slows her licks down, fingers digging deep into you, building and building the knot that was going to burst at any moment. 

“Mommy…right fucking there, Please don’t stop! Don’t fucking stop!”  The thread about to break, you are about to come undone beneath her when you both hear a vibration coming from the nightstand. Jihyo’s getting a call from Momo.

“Please keep going, I’m so close… feels so good unghh…Mommy, pleaseeeee!” still one hundred percent in this, not giving a single shit about that phone call. 

A light bulb goes off in her head, you can see the sparkle in her eye as she keeps her fingers moving. She starts to suck on your clit harshly, pushing you even closer to the edge. . 

“Oh fuck, right fucking there- I’m gonna cum!” 

Jihyo completely removes herself from you, stands up and walks over to her phone, dragging her wet fingers up your torso as you writhe on the bed, completely infuriated that she would just stop. 

“WHY would you do that?! Baby, I was about to c-” 

“Hey Momo! …Yes, we are almost ready. Y/n just has to shower and then we will be on our way to come get you both!”

If looks could kill, Jihyo would be dead. You stand up, legs shaking from the tension built up that is now trapped in you and running through your limbs like an endless circuit. 

Storming off to the bathroom, you fling the door open in frustration. The smack of the doorknob on the wall startles your girlfriend who is still on the phone. 

“I'll text you when we are on the way, okay?…alright, I’ll see you soon…okay, bye Momo!” you can hear the grin that’s plastered on her face when she hangs up the phone. Giggling to herself, She’s so proud of herself for ruining your orgasm, she can’t even contain it. 

Meanwhile, your palms on the counter, looking up at yourself in the mirror to see you completely disheveled, shaking, and dawning a thin sheen of sweat laid onto your skin. Agony wreaks havoc inside you, unable to focus on much but the feeling of emptiness between your legs. 

Jihyo walks into view, leaning her shoulder and head against the door frame with that cheeky smile on her face, arms crossed to push her tits up, teasing you just that much more. 

“Baby, don’t be upset” sauntering over with a pout. 

She hugs you from behind, pressing her chest into your back and kissing your shoulder before resting her chin on it. Fingertips tracing down your sides, and over your thigh, grazing your heat with the lightest of touches. 

Bending over the quartz surface, you back up into her. Not allowing an inch of space between the two of you, wiggling your ass on her. 

“Please…I can’t be like this all day, baby. Don’t you want to taste me again?” A whiney attempt at trying to bait her into letting you cum.

“I promise that I won’t let you fall asleep tonight without cumming for me, okay?” lips brushing down your spine paired with a few tender pecks, finger still toying with your clit, and the fire pooling low in your stomach sits painfully heavy. Panting in response to the sensations. 

“Fuck, you’re so sexy when you’re like this” passionately murmured between the kisses and little love bites.  

“I love seeing how much you want me…” dipping her finger between your lips, gathering some of your essence on her fingers.

“Look how needy you are for me, baby” pressing her middle finger against her thumb before pulling them apart, revealing how drenched you were with a thick string of slick. 

Panting as you watch her and not breaking eye contact, she licks you off her fingers. Shuddering when she grabs your chin harshly, pressing her forehead against yours, and sliding her hand down your neck. Pecking your lips enough so you get a taste of yourself before winking at you and then stepping into the shower and turning it on. 

Frozen in pure lust, jaw on the floor, you just stand and take in the fact that you were going to have to go about your day like this AND she was intentionally making it worse…

“Oh, fuck you!” hissed out into the bathroom. 

A cackle echos off the tiles in the shower along with the water hitting the floor and draining. Peeking her head around the shower curtain to see you standing there half way dissociated, she smirks again thinking it’s just her leaving you orgasmless that’s making you this way. 

“You coming, darling? I made sure it was cold just to shock the horny out of you” ushering you into the shower, disregarding the state you were in. 

“Not until later, apparently!” frustration lingers in the space. You are already trying to create a plan on how you’d get revenge on her for this.  

—

The car ride was quiet, staying silent even when Jihyo would talk to you. Still pissed off and too wound up to even pretend like you weren’t second away from touching yourself in the passenger seat. Carelessly cross your legs and squeeze them together to get some kind of relief.

“No, baby!” Jihyo takes one of her hands off the wheel and swats your thighs to tell you to uncross them.

“None of that now, I want all of that for later, hm? Plus you haven’t said a word to me so why should I reward you?” The cocky smirk makes you want smack it off her face but your mind wanders to riding her mouth instead.  

Sure, this was a fun game to play, but edging the entire day after a ruined orgasm and cruel intentional teasing wasn’t something you wanted to do, at least today. 

“I hate you.” Arms crossed across your chest as you look out the passenger window daydreaming about satiating the painful ache inside of you.

“Honey, you know that's not true.” watching her in the reflection, scoffing at her as she starts pouting again. 

Unable to see her reach over, she grabs your hand, lacing her fingers with yours and kissing the top of your hand to try to soften you a little bit. You weren’t going to budge, tugging your hand out of hers, making sure she saw the annoyed look on your face before crossing your arms again. 

“You are so mad at me!” chuckling hard enough to startle you. 

“Baby, if you can be good for me today…” car stopping right in front of Nayeon and Momo’s shared apartment. 

Jihyo puts her car into park and turns to face you. It’s hard not to look into her big brown eyes, they were your weakness. She uses that to her advantage, another cute pout dawns her face. 

“Y/n…” whined out and she grabbed your hand again, resting her chin on your palm so you hold her face, an attempt to get you to break and crack a smile. It almost works.

“I’ll give you exactly what you want when we get home, okay baby? Just be a good girl for me today and I’ll-” 

Jihyo cut off by the sound of the back seat opening, Momo and Nayeon climb in and greet the two of you, prompting Jihyo to rotate and get ready to drive again. Nayeon offers a sweet happy “Hiiii!” and Momo seems to be dreading the day ahead. 

The ride to the park carries on as you’d expect, soft music plays through while the three of them chat about the park you were currently headed to and the rides they wanted to go on. Not really being a theme park person, you just sat and tried to plot how you were going to get revenge on Jihyo for this morning's antics. 

“What do you mean you don’t like rollercoasters?!” Jihyo’s voice carries loudly through the smaller space, pulling you out of the daydream you were having. 

“I just don’t like them…I only agreed because Nayeon said that she would take me to that new expensive restaurant tomorrow if I agreed to go today…” Momo groaned, definitely not happy to be in this situation. 

“Don’t worry, Momo” speaking up for the first time since they’ve gotten in the car. Jihyo was surprised when you chimed in, especially after being silent aside from the few words you have before they got into the car.

“I'll stay with you while these two run a muck, I’m not really in a roller coaster mood today, but let's do the other rides with them” 

“I thought this was something you wanted to do? I wanted to go on some roller coasters with you today.” side eyeing you from the driver seat, she seems a little pissed off when you realize the possibility here.

“I’ve already been on one today, thanks.” tension now apparent to the others present. 

“But you’ve got Nayeon to go on roller coasters with, baby! I can keep Momo company while you wait in the lines.” your grin is a little too wide for Jihyo’s liking and it very much seemed like you had an ulterior motive. 

Before you and Jihyo started dating, you mentioned to her one time about how you thought Momo was attractive and she never let you forget it. Always seemingly a little more defensive when you were around her. Jealous when Momo made you laugh or if you got too close to her. 

You didn’t really know each other too well but you knew that Jihyo would be watching you when you were close to her. That is exactly what you wanted. 

Momo and Nayeon can sense something is up but they can’t see the furrowing of her brows, and the way she is biting the inside of her cheeks to know for certain. She reaches over and grabs your hand, seemingly a little anxious that maybe she made you a little too mad this morning. Maybe she teased you a little too much.  

Squeezing her hand for a little for some reassurance, still not looking at her. You absolutely were still upset about that morning but it was all part of the game…the one she didn’t realize that she was still playing. Plan set in motion, you were going to get exactly what you wanted from her…and hopefully, sooner than anticipated. 

–

Walking into the park, you take the path to the right and start riding the rides in order. The roller coasters were usually towards the back of the park, so most of the ones up front were a yes for everyone. The lines weren’t too long and you were enjoying the distraction from your hopeless desire for Jihyo, when they were present.

Jihyo was extremely affectionate with you when the opportunity presented itself. Maybe she did actually feel bad for how this morning went… Holding you from behind, barely letting go of your hand, and pressing her lips against your shoulders and cheeks anytime she had the opening to. 

She wouldn’t let you leave her side for more than 5 minutes before searching for you, the clinginess is cute…you are almost sorry for what you were about to do. 

“Wasn't this that rollercoaster you were talking about last night, baby? You and Nayeon should go on it!” pushing her to the line with Nayeon. 

“Yes! Let’s go!” Nayeon takes off, leaving Momo behind with you and Jihyo who is furrowing her brows at you again. She looks too cute when she’s frustrated.

Momo and you look at each other, having not spent a lot of time alone together, she’s not really sure where to start a conversation with you. 

“Uhm…do you want to go get a snack?” remembering that Momo was partial to foods and maybe you could find some common ground. 

“Oh, Absolutely!” heading to the food cart near the ride that they were on so you weren’t out of sight…you wanted to make sure she watched what was about to happen. 

Grabbing a churro and a large pretzel, you and momo found a bench to sit on. You talked about a few different things and found that you actually did have some common ground. Enjoying a lot of the same flavors of food broke the ice between the two of you. 

You asked about her and what her schedules were like, understanding a little more than most about how time consuming they could be because of your girlfriend who was looking over and scowling every few minutes. Unable to stifle the laugh when you see it, Momo looks at you in confusion. 

“What’s so funny?” 

“Jihyo and I…we had a moment this morning before we came and picked you and Nayeon up. She’s been so clingy because she thinks I’m mad at her…and she keeps looking over here and making this face like she’s annoyed, I think she’s getting a little jealous because I’ve been cold with her a little today.” giggles lacing the explanation.

“Wait, why would she be jealous? I’m not going to hit on you…wait, not that you aren’t worthy of me hitting on you, but you’re obviously with Jihyo…not that I’m trying to hit on you or anything…not saying that I wouldn’t but it would be rude of me…to do that” stammering through the sentence and flustering herself, she turns bright red, unable to shield her embarrassment. 

“Relax, relax” you assure her.

“Listen, I’m actually trying to make her a little jealous…Would you be interested in helping me stoke the fire? You won’t have to do anything crazy.” asking for consent before carrying on with the plan you hatched. 

“...I don’t know, I mean she is my friend. What did you have in mind?” hesitant to agree, though she does have a small smile on her face. 

“Wait, I have to know…what did she do that made you mad?” now wanting the context of the situation. 

“Well, uhm, I don’t mind telling you but it’s definitely TMI.”  a warning before the tale.

“I live with Nayeon, there is no such thing as TMI. Especially because of the sounds that her and Jeongyeon make when she comes to stay the night…trust me, I’ll be okay. Spill!” chuckled back to you.

“Okay, so you know this morning when you called?” 

Momo nods her head. 

“Well we were in the middle of something and I was about to…you know…and she stopped and answered the phone…and never came back to finish what she started. But she sure did come back to make sure I stayed in that state and mindset” blinking a few times for emphasis. 

“Oh, she’s evil for that. Also, so sorry! I would never intentionally cock block you.” containing her laughter as best she could, she wasn’t trying to make you feel bad. 

“Okay, I’ll bite. I would be so mad if someone left me like that.” agreeing to your plan. 

Momo was very stunning and that was easy to admit. Her muscular arms were enough to cause a scene, beautiful face, charming voice and she cooks? She was quite the catch. Jihyo being aware of the way you view Momo made it almost too perfect.

Your hand travels up to her exposed bicep and rests there. Momo looks over at Jihyo, who is gawking at the two of you and typing furiously on her phone without even looking down. 

The table vibrates. 

Someone got a text message. 

Momo looks at you, waiting for you to reach for your phone to see if it was exactly what you both knew it was. 

“I want to see what happens if I just ignore it.” poking Jihyo even harder as you start tracing the outline of Momo’s shoulders and giving her the “fuck me” eyes. 

“Do you think she’s still looking?” Momo was afraid to look where her members were waiting. 

Phone pinging rapidly against the table, a slew of text messages barrage your phone. Making sure to roll your eyes just to add insult to injury before picking up your phone and seeing what your girlfriend had sent you. 

Baby<3: why are you that close to her?

Baby<3: what are you doing…

Baby<3: y/n…

Baby<3: why the fuck are you touching her like that?

Baby<3: Answer me.

Baby<3: Now. 

“Oh, she is definitely looking and she is definitely pissed.” giggling, putting your hand back on her arm, but her forearm this time. Swinging your head back to where Nayeon and Jihyo were in line, Nayeon is covering her mouth and trying not to laugh and Jihyo’s arms are crossed, staring daggers at the two of you.

“She looks pretty upset…are you sure you want to keep this up?” an apprehensive tone out of Momo as Jihyo and Nayeon step into the ride, getting seated, and fixing the safety equipment so it fits them the way it’s supposed to. 

Jihyo’s eyes never leave you. 

Winking at her and blowing her a kiss right before the ride launches off, you cackle when she’s out of sight. Momo isn’t really sure how to react to you seeing how mad Jihyo was. 

“So you want her angry…as revenge?”

“More jealous, but I’ll take angry too.”

“Won’t this…start a fight or something? Wouldn’t that be counterproductive?” questioning your motives. 

“You said there was no TMI right?” ready to spill the tea to her, knowing she would understand after you said it out loud. 

“Right.”

“She gets very…passionate…when she’s jealous…but she knows I would never cheat on her.” letting Momo in further to the game you were playing, the roller coaster still going, slingshotting over your head. 

Looking up at Jihyo as she passes over you, hand still on Momo when it happens and you can see the flash of rage on her face as she and Nayeon pass by. 

“This is literally so she will be…more aggressive…with you?” finally putting the pieces together.

Nodding your head with a devious smile, she can’t help but belly laugh at the plan you put together. 

“I know we are just getting to know each other now but I can see why you’re together. Especially if this is the response you have to what happened between you this morning. It’s like a game and I think we both know how competitive she is.” Nodding in agreement with herself. 

“Let’s just hope it goes the way I think it will. So far, she’s losing!” chuckling with Momo about the shared information. Even if your plan fell through, at least you were sure you had made a better friend out of Momo. 

Jihyo and Nayeon get off the ride, walking back over to you and the tension in Jihyo is palpable. She’s trying to mask it while Nayeon talks to her but when she approaches you, she sits between you and Momo on the bench, slamming her hand down on your thigh and squeezing as a reminder of her title. 

“Let’s head to the next one, the app says it’s only a 20 minute wait!” Nayeon sings loudly before standing and taking off. The three of you stand, Jihyo in silence, and you and Momo carry on the previous conversation you were having about food.

Jihyo grabs your hand vigorously, trying to get your attention. Even with the harsh display of affection, you made sure to stay present in the conversation with Momo, much to Jihyo’s dismay. 

Jihyo scoffs at you, throwing your hand that wasn’t holding hers down and walking, faster than both of you. 

Another few minutes and you were at the next ride, Jihyo and Nayeon get in line, you and Momo take a seat in view and continue on with your plan. Still talking about random topics, your hands tugging on the sleeves of the tank top she was wearing, and Jihyo burning holes into your skin and sending more angry text messages. 

Too bad your phone was on “Do not disturb”

“She’s really pissed, Y/n…maybe we should stop…” Momo is looking up at Jihyo, whose hands are now balled into fists, visibly clenched so tight that she probably shouldn’t even be going on this roller coaster. Nayeon is trying to get her attention, snapping her fingers in front of Jihyo’s face but it does nothing. 

“Maybe I’ll lay off a little. She does look a little more rage filled than expected…”  worried that you might have forced Jihyo past the point of return. 

The ride being quick and easy, Jihyo and Nayeon only being gone for a little over 25 minutes, you suggest something everyone would be up for. 

“There is that haunted house dark ride that’s kind of cheesy, we could do that one!” you reach for Jihyo’s hand as a peace offering, she’s quick to pull away and start walking towards the ride mentioned. 

Momo and you look at each other, Momo has a tight lipped smile, concerned at the scene that was silently unfolding around you. Nayeon has some cotton candy and is so focused on eating it that she doesn’t even realize what’s playing out before everyone.

Running to catch up to your girlfriend, you grab her hand before she can pull away. 

“Hey…hey” pulling her to a stop. She’s so mad she won’t even make eye contact with you, face holding a look of frustration that you’ve only seen in very heated situations that usually have nothing to do with you.

Wrapping your arms around her neck, her hands coming up to your waist like they usually did, showing you that she was, in fact, present for what you were about to say. 

“I was only trying to make you jealous…I just wanted you to be upset with me and take it out on me tonight is all…I’ll stop being a brat...Okay?” almost pleading with her to see that it was all a part of the game. . 

“I know what you wanted…But you don’t need to fucking hang all over Momo and throw a tantrum because you didn’t cum this morning.” tone heavy, almost spiteful.  

There’s a quiver between your legs, this is exactly what you wanted but this was not the time to tell her that.  

“I’m sorry, baby. I’ll stop, okay? Just please- let’s enjoy the rest of the day. You deserve to have fun and not have to worry about something so silly. I love you. No one else.” 

Leaning in to hug her, she doesn’t pull away from you. Jihyo just lets you hold her, reciprocating the movement but the tension was still there. Hoping to ease the stress, you kiss her lips tenderly. 

She smiles at you devotedly, squeezes your hand a little and guides you into the line of the ride. 

Jihyo has this air about her now, standing behind you with her hand never leaving the small of your back. She’s almost defensive posture the entire wait for the ride, though it’s not an aggressive stance, but the vibe of it is “this is mine.” 

“Alright, two people in a buggy, please!” the worker at the front of the line shouts over the crowds of people. 

Momo and Nayeon get seated in the one in front of you, the line of hooded seats moves up and stops. Climbing in from the left side and shuffling a step to the end, Jihyo gets in after you. She’s oddly stoic, inexpressive about everything. Usually she was so excited for this ride.  

Placing a hand on Jihyo’s forearm, you see her eyes follow your movements, carefully watching you. Taking your hand down into hers, lifting it over her shoulders, and placing your arm around her. Scooting closer to you, her head resting on your shoulder and linking your fingers together. 

This is peculiar to you. She was just borderline seething, then she was too calm, and now she’s cuddling you? Something’s not right…

The covered spheres you sat in started shifting once more, gradually making their way down the track. The lights dim as you make your way down the tunnel, leisurely launching into the water as the ride begins. 

The score for the ride starts to play through the hidden speakers, you feel a finger tracing the hem of your shorts on your upper thighs, getting closer and closer to where your legs meet every time they make a pass. 

“You know,” snapping you out of the trance the feather light touches put you in.

“I really don’t appreciate the attention you’ve been giving Momo today…” not even bothering to look up at you, just continuing to trail her fingers.

“And I don’t like that you ignored my texts and didn’t stop after seeing them…even if it was just to get my attention” Her fingers walk up to the waistband of your shorts and pause for only a moment.

“That being said,” unbuttoning your shorts before you can protest.

“Jihyo, we are in public! What are you doing?!” through clenched teeth, trying to push her hand away from where it threatened to touch. 

“I thought this was what you wanted, hm? To be punished? Isn’t this one of your fantasies? Isn’t this why you wanted me jealous in the first place? ” seductively into your ear, before she starts kissing and biting your neck. 

Muffling a groan that erupted as soon as her teeth sunk into your skin, you turned your head to kiss her but she grabbed your face roughly. Fingers on one cheek, thumb on the other, and palm on your chin, she forces your head forward and holds it in place. 

“Oh, no, no, baby. You don’t get to kiss me right now. You need to focus on keeping your mouth shut.” Condescendingly spat as she begins sliding her hand down your underwear and cupping your pussy. 

“Rock your hips. Now.” pushing her middle finger between your lips, the contact on your clit makes you jolt, and puts you right back at being a needy mess like you were this morning.  

“Go ahead, baby. Grind into my finger. I can feel how desperate you are…be a good slut and do as I say.” Lowly growling to let you know she wasn’t kidding and removing her hand from your face. 

Gasping at her tone and positioning yourself in a way that would feel the best given the situation, you bucked your hips up against her fingers harshly. She’s not even looking at you as you pathetically hump her hand, trying to keep your breathing even, small whines leave your lips and you pick up the pace. 

“Stop. I fucking told you to keep quiet. Now you’ll suffer.” the words echo in your brain, you halt immediately but almost cry at the loss of sensation. 

The ride is still spinning and moving through scenes and stages but with the way you're sitting, no one can tell where her hand is. 

“Jihyo…” a soft plea for her to make some form of movement on you. 

“I’ll do what I please with what is mine.” holding her hand in the same position, it’s completely drenched from your cunt and you just need to feel something. Completely frustrated at the way she was messing with you.

“Fine! Then, if you're going to do what you want then, so will I!” stuttering your hips again, using her hand in a nearly frantic manner. 

Jihyo just laughs at the act, removing her hand from your shorts and pushing you back down into your spot on the bench. She’s watching you closely, the primal need in your eyes, how you couldn’t find a comfortable seat. 

You have finally reached your breaking point. 

“UGH! Stop toying with me! I just need to c- cum! I’ll do anything, baby. Just fuck me already!” 

A villainous laugh reverberates through her chest, a devilish grin, and a hand wraps around your neck, squeezing the sides, and pulling you in for a heated kiss. 

Tongues dance amongst each other, eager in her movements and very much in control. Her hand makes its way to your cunt again and she pushes a single finger inside of you, it’s enough to incite a gasp from your lips. 

Unable to control yourself, you start thrusting your hips again. She pulls her finger out of you, instantly. 

“I didn’t tell you to fucking move.” taking her hand off your throat, about to remove her other hand from your shorts but you grab her forearm, grinding against her hand again.

“Please, baby…I need you. I fucking need you!” getting so close to her face that you can feel her breath on your skin.

She’s trying to keep calm but the fire behind her eyes was telling you she was anything but. 

Was she actually in control here? 

Only one way to know for sure. 

“Mommy…please, I need you inside me. Fucking, please!” A sense of urgency in your voice and the way you grasp at her shoulders has her about to pounce when all of a sudden, the ride comes to an unexpected stop, both of you now frozen, worried you’d been seen. 

“Hello! We are experiencing technical difficulties. Please keep your arms and legs inside of the attraction vehicles and we will have the ride up and running in no time!” crackles over the intercom. 

Faces inches apart, Jihyo’s jaw tensing as she looks out to see that the buggy you were in was facing a wall, no one could see into it. A lucky coincidence. 

Making eye contact with her, you remove her hand from your shorts. The confusion on her face shines through the darkness. You hook your thumbs in your shorts and slide them off completely. 

Jihyo’s eyes widened in shock, not expecting you to remove half your clothes on an amusement park ride.The look turns to hunger in a half second and you recognize the shift in her. She was about to devour you. 

“That’s how bad you want it, huh? Willing to get half naked  in public, just to feel me?” Lifting your legs, she rotates your hips towards her, pulling your calves hostilely so you lay down in the seat that was roomy for 2 people. 

She pushes your thighs against your chest and stares down at your drenched cunt.

Licking the padding of 3 of her fingers, she slaps your pussy with an audible smack, not worried about how sensitive you were in the slightest. 

“Think you can flirt with Momo all fucking day, and then I’m just going to fuck you?” Venomously hissed through the sounds of people chattering around you. They were waiting for the ride to start again, you were hoping it would be a while. 

“What is it about her, hm?” Another smack. 

“Do you think she could make you this wet?” This smack harder than all the other ones, but you knew she could do better. 

“Who do you think made me this wet in the first place?” with a tenseness that matched the state of your yearning. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” She slams her full palm right on your cunt, you jolt and let out a silent cry as your entire body starts to tingle from the antagonistic slaps of Jihyo. 

“Can you cum like this? Should you even cum at all?” splattering your soaked cunt’s fluids all over her own legs and hand. 

Without warning, she slams two fingers into you. It takes everything you have to not let out a sound. Gripping anything you could, you tried to say quiet, the hardest task assigned because all you wanted to do was cry. 

“Mommy! Slow down, oh fuck, I’m gon- ungh -na cum!”  

“I don’t fucking care. Be a good little whore and shut the fuck up.” lowering her head, teasing you with the tip of her tongue. 

Relentlessly fucking into you, it takes all the control you were quickly losing to keep your moans in, not that the other sounds emanating from you were any quieter.

Feeling yourself making a mess, you decide to take a little control from her. Running your fingers through her hair, gripping her locks and mercilessly rocking onto her tongue at a steady speed.   

“Fuck, fuck, fuck- Hyo, I’m gonna fucking cum!” 

She shoves another finger into your entrance unexpectedly, causing you to cry out- pulsing around her fingers and finally gaining the release you've been chasing all day. Thighs tighten around her head, holding her in place while you ride your orgasm out but her fingers don’t stop thrusting. 

“Baby, what -mmmhhhh fuck, oh my fucking god!” 

“The whimpering whining whore wanted to cum so badly, right? So fucking cum.” Slapping your clit over and over again. You can’t help but get loud for her, velvet laced grunts and adrenaline filled moans flee from your lungs in a race to fill the air. 

“Shhh! Keep it down or I’ll stop and leave you like this again!” stiffly whispered to you when she got up onto her knees to lean over you. 

“Wouldn’t that be so sad? Let me help you.” Shoving her fingers covered in your own slick into your mouth to keep you quiet and placing the palm of the other right on your clit, fingers curling up into you so hard that you can’t even govern your own body. 

Vision starts to fade, the sensations are almost too much for you to bear. Muscles tensing throughout you as you dissolve into your own pleasure. Explosions and shockwaves ripple through the fibers of your being, leaving trails of electricity across your skin. 

Jerking and contorting under her, you can’t make much sound with her fingers halfway down your throat but the taste of your own cum from her finger adds to your state of bliss. You’re sure to suck every bit of yourself off her before she lazily pulls them from your mouth.

She’s got a smirk on her face like she just won a war when she watches you do it, unable to contain the victory smile she was prepared with. 

You are completely fucked out, leaking onto the seat, huffing and just trying to catch your breath. Putting your hand on her cheek before she makes her descent.  

“Was that what you wanted?” Jihyo questions, cleaning you with her tongue. Twitching out of sensitivity under her touch, completely swollen and unsure if you’ll even be able to sit properly for the rest of the day.  

All you can do is nod your head, too weak to even think about speaking. She helps you put your shorts back on and sits you up right before letting you lean into her until you regain some of your energy. 

The ride starts moving again, people start cheering as you make your way through the rest of the tunnel, not even remembering what attraction you were on in the first place. She’s pointing out the things she thinks would spark your interest indicating that she was no longer frustrated with you, at least to the same extent as before. 

Momo and Nayeon get off the ride first, waiting for the two of you at the exit when your buggy pulls up. Jihyo steps over you to get out first so she can help you stand, grateful for this because of how unsteady your legs were. 

Her hand around your waist as you walk out into the sun, happily feeling the warmth of the day. Jihyo points out a table with benches attached, walking everyone over to have a seat and discuss further plans. 

“Y/n, are you okay?” Momo asks, noticing your energy change. 

“Yes. Just a little tired.” winking at her. 

“…wait…is that what I heard?…you didn’t…” 

Jihyo butts in, suggesting to head over to an ice cream shop around the corner and everyone agrees. Momo and Nayeon are distracted with each other when you lean in and kiss Jihyo on the cheek. 

“Thank you, baby” 

“Don’t thank me just yet, I still have plans for you once we get home.”

[monkebearness]

Rereading the Mixed Messages [Pt. 2]

Kamimoto Kotone (tripleS) x Male Reader

Part 1

Tags: smut, fluff, creampie, blowjob

Word count: 10k

a/n: hey, it's been a while. life's gotten a little busier than usual, but hey, it's tripleS' comeback era! it's only been almost a week—but I really enjoyed (and still am enjoying) assemble25. without further ado, I hope you enjoy this one.

The sun had already set—but an assemblage of voices inside a particular classroom kept on soaring high in the past three hours, no thanks to the encouraging exchanges and the insights between Professor Kim Myungsoo and five of his much argumentative students, who remained standing in front of the lecture hall and the projector. Somehow, it seems that no one else could make a discussion on Western literature this engaging, especially when it ends up going off on another tangent��like how fanfiction became a much more accepted genre of writing in the last five years—at least more accepted than A.I. writing, something that almost all parties in the room involved would unanimously take a jab at.

“At least the ones they’re putting out have substance. They have soul, and they are ali—”

As soon as the hand of the clock hits six in the evening, the bell rings across the hallway.

“Okay! How about that? As much as our discussions are getting a little more heated, our time’s up, and we managed to make it halfway through our list!” His observation incites audible sighs of relief to the students on the chairs while a few heaves of disappointment is also heard from the five reporters, much to his amusement. In his mind, he knows the group has already passed, but the fact that they got carried away yapping alongside him has only made his final class better than expected.

“The two groups who finished their reports today, both Bongseok and Yeon’s groups, have done a splendid job with their breakdowns and critical analysis,” the professor elaborates with his proud tone. “I’m sure the remaining three will also match their quality with what we’ve all witnessed this afternoon.”

“You better not doubt us, Seonsaengnim!” a student from the front row answers him.

“You might just be surprised at how long we’ve filled out our scripts!” another heckles.

“Hmm… Well, as much as I’d like to ask more about the details of your blocky slides and hopefully your completely-original reflections,” he laughs at them lightheartedly, despite his sincere reminders going straight through their ears. “Just take it easy. You’ll have the weekend to revise and practice, but only if you want to. Now—get yourselves a good rest, all of you... We’ll continue the remaining presentations on Wednesday, arachi?”

From there, the echoes of cheers, laughters and hollers of farewells from his students follow on. “Ne! Kamsahamnida, seonsaengnim! Have a nice weekend, Kim Ssaem!”

Those final words from his own learnder widens his smile more, almost to his cheek.

Walking towards the campus gates, the professor walks alongside various other students and fellow staff, some of whom exchange bows and greetings with him on their way out. It's standard college habits. They're nothing new, but oddly enough, they are one of the things that always give him a simple reason to love his job. Something to expect from day to day in his more than a decade staying in his alma mater as a humble educator.

And right at that moment, his peripherals catch her. Locking his eyes, he finds the one special woman standing from a distance. Waiting for him with her now widening smile, his lips can't help but mirror her expression once more. Until recently, Myungsoo never knew he would have something else, nay someone else to expect to meet with night after night. At almost the same moment, they wave at each other.

With his arms opening wide, Kotone runs to Myungsoo with a warm hug. He pulls her closer, making their embrace a little tighter, much cozier, and longer for each other. “I miss you so much, boo,” the woman mumbles. He laughs at the term she used for him, but it touches his heart nonetheless. He couldn’t feel any luckier. And neither can she.

It has been three months since their relationship became official. A significant change that was made possible by their recent alumni reunion at their university gymnasium. Their fingers interlocked, walking along the pavement, past years of local businesses.

Tonight, the breeze has blown quite strongly, something that catches while holding his beloved’s hand as they take a stroll. “You’re not feeling any cold, are you?”

“Oppa, it’s summer,” she reminds him with a wide grin. A face he can’t get enough of.

“Oh, right,” he just realized what she meant. “Then, you’re not feeling too warm then?”

“I’d start to feel a little hotter these days,” she counters him, nudging his shoulder. “‘Cause that’s a lot more possible.”

His eyes slowly grow as his head tilts. He turns to her with curiosity. “What is that?”

“For a professor, you can't be this slow, Kim Myungsoo-oppa,” she teases him. “You got any ideas on how to beat the heat?” Her eyebrows raise twice on those last three words.

Such a fierce delivery from her only causes him to swallow his throat. “I can get us a couple of drinks… if you like? There’s a convenience store near my place.”

The woman’s playful grin slowly closes, turning upside down, much to his confusion. He’s taking her question way too seriously. But his mind quickly tells him to go on to their ‘contingency’ in hopes of saving the mood. He leans closer. “How about… This? Will it help you forget the heat better than a drink?”

Myungsoo wraps his arms around his girlfriend. She can only hum, satisfied with how he tried to make up with this warm gesture. “It is better… I might need more of this.”

“Even if it’ll get much, much hotter?” he wonders.

“Especially if it’ll get hotter,” she quickly answers, making both of them chuckle.

They’ve taken things slower. Not that they’ve said anything. It must’ve just felt… Right. They were friends for more than eight years, yet their feelings for each other lasted just as long as it endured through the test of time. Through dozens, if not almost a hundred dates and flings, some even consider it a miracle they found their way with each other.

= = =

Meeting each other's newer friends over local hangouts. Malls. Cafes. Restaurants.

“Myungsoo here hasn’t dated anyone in two years,” Sungjin tells Kotone.

“That's not entirely true,” he chuckles nervously, seeing her intrigue at his remark. “That’s an exaggeration… I’ve gone onto a few dates.”

His eyes turn to the side, followed by a smirk he’s trying to cover up from her while taking a sip of her glass of beer beside him.

“But… No matter how many matches I’ve gotten back then,” he continues. “None of them can ever match this woman.”

That same woman can only blush as Myungsoo sneaks up next to Kotone with a swift but passionate kiss on her cheek, inciting cheers from his two buds. “Yah…” she coos, pulled between giddiness and coyness towards him.

At first, Kotone was a little shy and awkward meeting her boyfriend’s closest colleagues, though knowing more about Myungsoo through their word of mouth and teasing slowly made her get along with them more often. In Myungsoo’s perspective, however, Tone’s buddies were perhaps the most welcoming and easygoing bunch to hang out with.

“Tone-chan really tried not to make it obvious,” Suhyeon says while munching on a potato chip. “But she's too much of an F around us to hide her facial expressions—”

Even though Kotone herself found their approach of getting to know Myungsoo to be a little more embarrassing than her boyfriend’s friends.

Kotone places a knuckle on her forehead with a groan. “Oh, enough with that whole T and F thing. You still don’t believe in those things, do you?”

She doesn't necessarily agree with their sentiment, but she simply can’t help but cringe at certain aspects of her past self. Reminiscing the times she would babble about folks’ MBTI personalities through comparisons and contrasts. It was a silly little phase that she had since tried to move past forward from, if it wasn’t for her best friend’s teases.

“Well, I don't think it's a bad way of seeing things,” Myungsoo reasons, remembering that part of Kotone’s personality. Suhyeon and her boyfriend, Sungwoo, watches him in astoundment, since he didn’t directly side with his girlfriend and went for a more devil’s advocate route. “It’s just for fun… It helped a lot of people get to know each other then.”

“Well…” Kotone slides her hair behind her ear. “Now that you've mentioned it. I was, and still am an F. I just can’t help it. It made me a little social butterfly since college.”

“Oh… So you agree with him just now, but not us?” Honggi pokes fun at her retort.

“Shut up!” Kotone exclaims, rolling her eyes at her close friends while they giggle.

“I can’t complain either,” Myungsoo casually comes to his girlfriend’s aid without much hesitation. “Kotone had a habit of comparing other people’s MBTIs back in the day… so I think it’s not too surprising. Even before we were dating—”

“Maja!” Kotone simply chimes in agreement, much to everyone else’s surprise. “And it’s not like I’m the only F in our little group. We had Junghoon too. You know that he’s the most F among us. At times, Honggi can be a little hopeless romantic—”

In the span of those three months, both their worlds began to collide with each other. Mending the time they lost in the last eight years, knowing they’ve also met more and more people before their reunion.

= = =

After a seven-minute stroll from Seoul State University, the couple heads straight to his apartment, one of their two main hangouts, aside from Kotone’s. After half an hour of Chinese takeout while talking over or reacting to the latest drama on TV has been on their night routine in the past month. But sometimes, certain scenes would invoke something in their system. Ones that pull them together. Every warm second.

Their lips have been touching in the last five minutes, sharing each other’s tasty dinner. Kotone couldn’t get enough of the orange chicken on his mouth, moving her tongue to clean the leftovers without leaving any crumbs. Still, Myungsoo, on the other hand…

Something in his mind is telling him to stop, going against his body's hunger. Wait, stop. She might feel uncomfortable… Don't touch her! You’re no different than any other perv! You're an uncivilized deviant! You don’t deserve her—

Overwhelmed by the stream of his own self-deprecating and militant thoughts, his twitching hands stop hers from touching him as well. Their lips part, starting with Tone’s, as their mood quickly fell apart. “What’s wrong?”

“No, umm… It's just, I don't know.” He can't fully explain himself.

“It seems you’re not in the mood…” she surmises, her lips folding into a simper.

“Tone…” he feels more vulnerable, his spirits crumbling with guilt.

“It’s okay… I'll be leaving in a bit too, so I don't mind…”

He maintains his grip on hers, weakening with his voice. “Mianhae.”

“Gwenchana, oppa,” she places her palm on his left cheek—keeping her reason and composure in check. “I’m not mad. It’s okay with me if you’re not ready… With me.”

He wants to say more just to make her stay. Unfortunately, his cowardice has gotten the best of him as the woman bids her farewell for the night with a soft kiss to his left cheek. Oftentimes, she would stay the whole night, snuggling on the couch and binge-watching their favorites on the television or both. Tonight has made the difference and Myungsoo doesn’t blame anyone but himself for not being courageous enough.

= = =

In the day that followed, Myungsoo pays a visit to a nearby cafe with two of his friends. Rather than spending the first hours of his weekend with Kotone like they often do, his own insecurities had driven him to meet up with their mutual buddies.

“I’m surprised Junghoon here even made the time to talk about whatever this will be,” Honggi breaks the ice. “But it’s nice to see the three of us together again.”

“It’s a Saturday,” Junghoon counters right before taking a sip of his teacup.

“That didn't stop you from being busy before… Tone has told us how hard you’ve been working at kitchens, as in plural. We couldn’t believe you even led the catering during the reunion! Like, I get that you must get paid like a lot—but do you still have time for yourself, man?”

“I do… And while your point may be true, Myungsoo-hyung called us here—so it must be about him and Tone-yah, so I wanted to meet with y’all…”

“How did you know?” Myungsoo himself becomes flustered by his guess.

“You called us,” Junghoon points out. “That rarely happens nowadays… Plus, you didn’t sound calm and collected like you usually were.”

“Exactly…” Honggi adds his grievance. “You better make it worth it, hyung.”

Myungsoo gives the two an overview of their awkward and unfortunate situation. In his eyes, he described his girlfriend as someone who’s pure yet passionate. Someone who is innocent while he was still exploring the more adult regions of his own college life, even though she was there too. At least, that's how he mostly saw Tone eight, seven years ago. She’s always been beautiful in his eyes and in his heart. And yet, now that he is living the impossible, he also realizes that innocence has been broken the moment his lips touched hers and yet a part of him still couldn’t accept that for some cosmically absurd reason. A part he’s desperately itching off his mind and skin.

“That’s your problem with her?” Honggi finds his dilemma to be somewhat bewildering.

“So… Are you sure you guys never saw her as a woman?”

“But she is a woman,” Junghoon states the obvious with his monotone voice.

“You get what I mean!” Myungsoo slightly raises his voice in a fit of desperation.

“Well… Since you’re that serious,” Honggi goes first. “I’d say that she was too tomboyish for me most of the time, no offense to Tone. Or you, hyung.”

In his mind, Honggi does have a point. But he didn’t strike her as that mere archetype. Myungsoo’s watched a few of her performances. His answer wasn’t enough to alleviate the unease in his heart. He turns his head to Junghoon, taking his mug of matcha tea.

“How about you, Junghoon-ah?”

“Hyung… I’m not sure where you’re going with this, but aside from being a good friend, Kotone was kind of like an older sister to me, or just a sister in general... I just never got to see her the way you do. And honestly, I like it that way.”

Myungsoo slowly nods with a soft smile. “That’s—ummm—that’s good to know.”

“How about you, hyung..?” Junghoon asks him back. “Since you're together now, I'm sure things will change how you see her in the next level you take.”

“Which shouldn’t even be our business in the first place,” Honggi follows. “But you know what? Junghoon’s got a point. You don’t have to rush anything in your relationship... He doesn’t even have a girlfriend at the moment—and he knows more about this than you!”

With a somewhat awkward, and even confused stare towards his close friend, Junghoon almost raises his index finger, but he is unable to make his voice firm in time. “Actual—”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Myungsoo inadvertently interrupts him, driven by uncertainty. He’s too ashamed to ask them any further questions. Junghoon can only chuckle beside him, softly shaking his head, while Honggi maintains his gaze of disappointment. Those two haven't been through this kind of situation before, not entirely. Still, today, they did their best to help him out without being too intrusive. “Thanks, both of you. Honestly… I don't know if I can get this thing off me without you.”

= = =

He still couldn’t get his mind off after that moment. It was both a small, yet significant mistake. To his overthinking brain, it’s not something he would even consider as small, but since his own closest friends weren’t enough to ease his misgivings, Myungsoo ends up going to someone else for their piece of mind. Despite still being a summer Saturday afternoon, the next meeting would take him to the campus of Seoul State an hour later.

On the same concrete bench, the two of them sit a meter apart from each other, taking refuge under the shade of the nearest maple tree.

“You’re asking me if I know what you did wrong?” She snickers. “Your own ex?”

“Mianhae, Yooyeon-ssi… I really don’t know who else to approach… Well, after Honggi and Junghoon, but it’s just—I’m still lost about our relationship, which I am happy for! But this feels like it’s different, and if I’m gonna mess up taking things to the next level, then I’m scared that I might actually lose her.”

“I’m flattered,” she chuckles. “Gwenchana. Tone-chan’s my close friend, too, you know.”

“I just wanted to hear your side of things,” he fesses up. “I thought that asking for a woman's feedback would make me understand how I can learn and make up with her.”

“And you haven’t seen anyone else since we broke up?” she presses on. “I doubt that.”

“No. They were blind dates and hook-ups, if I even got lucky, but nothing serious.”

“TMI, dude,” she tells him, one of her eyebrows raised and Myungsoo recognizing the dry yet intimidating ick in her delivery.

“Mianhae,” he tells her a second time without realizing it, triggered by disquietude.

Yet her smile remains amidst his somber expression, emanating comfort in his unease. “Again, it’s fine, Myungsoo-yah. But, you know—since you went all the way to visit on a Saturday—without any classes to teach—instead of actually just talking this conundrum out with your girlfriend… Do you really wanna hear what I think about this?”

“If it’s okay with you…” he answers with a slow nod, his smile bracing down to a gloom. “It’s fine if you’re not comfortable with it.”

“Well, I’m not too uncomfortable… And I really can’t say anything about what’s going on with you two, but… Maybe I can give my unfiltered piece of mind about our relationship in the past... I’m sure you wouldn't mind that, would you?”

“The floor is yours.” He spreads his arms wide, as his ears have always been opened.

“When we were together, you weren’t rushing into things with you simply because every other couple was ‘doing it.’ We took our time, Myungsoo—when we felt ready… So why not do the same with her? Or maybe there is something else that's been bugging you?”

“I guess…” His hand left slowly reaches his nape, trying to claw his own tension through his forests of hair. “There is… something… I don’t know, it’s just ridiculous.”

“Hmmm…” Yooyeon contemplates for a moment, interlocking her fingers before placing her chin under them. “Is this… About the whole friendship-to-lovers thing?” she guesses without much effort, tilting her head downwards.

Myungsoo looks up to her in silence, hearing a ding inside his head.

“Ooooooooohhhh…” Yooyeon’s mouth slowly gapes. “Of course… You should know that situations like this are above my pay grade. I teach Natural Science, not Behavioral.”

“Well, one can argue that human behavior is also a kind of natural phenomena, right?”

“You know, for someone who's quite desperate for an ex’s advice, you still know how to joke your way out.”

Myungsoo lets out a scoff, one triggered by pride and embarrassment to admit the truth to her. “I’m not asking you to help me out. And I'm not thaaaat desperate.”

“Whatever you say, Prof,” she rebuts sarcastically. “But… If it helps you fix this weird conundrum that you're having, then I honestly think it's not that uncommon… No matter how many or often someone goes into a relationship, they'll always have something new to explore. Something to solve together. Your problem with Kotone is nothing new for some folks, so you shouldn’t worry about it too much.”

“You know someone with the exact same experience as ours?”

“Well, not exactly,” she clarifies. “It’s more or less the opposite side of the coin in your situation, but I thought of it.”

“In what way?”

“They’ve become much, much friendlier… More of the benefits, and less of the feelings. To the point that the moment she started to catch those feelings, she took it hard when he had to reject her ‘cause he didn't feel the same way.”

“Really?” There's a balance between intrigue and caution in his mind. Maybe even a little bit of sympathy towards the people she mentioned, despite their identities being left out, perhaps out of respect, which he understands.

“Yep…” Her delivery may come off as if she's telling him a cautionary tale. “But they’ve gotten over it, though. They were never in the best position, either. They’ve made some questionable decisions… So it was for the best.”

“Huh…” Yet Myungsoo feels relief, strangely enough, his memory panning back to when they first got together months ago makes him realize just how lucky he is now. That he's not too late.

“I’d say your situation with Kotone is much more ‘blessed,’ to say the least. You may or may not have a little fight about it, but at least, I expect you to be more honest with her by the time comes.”

He cannot wait any longer. That ick towards himself, he wants to get rid of it.

After a sip of her warm cup, a smirk forms on her face. “You know… When we were together, you were so wild and exc—”

“Yah, yah, yah! TMI, noona,” he fires back with his tone of panic as he takes a quick look around the campus, much to Yooyeon’s mischief. She giggles at his reaction.

“You just had to remind me how old I am,” she rolls her eyes, followed by another light chortle. She doesn’t mind honorifics, but he knows that term always triggers something inside her, though with how long he has known Yooyeon, it’s not necessarily a bad thing.

“Nothing’s wrong with that,” he assures her with a banter. “About a year from now, I’ll catch up with y’all tricenarians.”

“Whatever, bookworm. But—anyways, I really think that intimacy shouldn’t be a big problem between you two. I may be able to convince you to slow down, ‘cause I know that your relationship will be different… but I still do hope you remember that all good relationships start with trust. Don’t be nervous when you finally open up to Kotone, just because you’re more than friends now and not to mention, I actually expected you to get closer than before as a couple!”

“Thanks, umm… That’s really reassuring, strangely enough.” Coming from his own ex, he knows she’s right about Kotone. They may be exes—but he’s learned a lot from her, and so has she. Good and bad, on both sides.

“I wish you luck,” she continues, making her voice firmer. “To both of you, hmm?”

“I’d say the same exact thing, but, umm… Still, best of luck to you too, Yooyeon-ssi.”

“I’m already thirty, and everyone else in my circle is starting to settle down with their partners. You two are lucky, you know? Like extremely lucky,” she emphasizes more.

“Come on, cheer up!” he slightly raises his pitch out of enthusiasm. “I’m sure you’ll find someone for you... Also, didn't you say before that marrying at thirty is old-fashioned?”

“This isn’t about marriage…” she scoffs and stays silent for a complete second as an idea lights up in her mind. “How about this… You set me up with one of your buddies at your department? Are you good with that?”

“Why not in your own department?” he fires another question out of curiosity. “I mean, I’d love to ask some of them, but weren’t there rumors about you and that Bio—”

“Aniyo! We had one dinner, and—let’s just say he was a bit too much. I’m not against people enjoying their meal, but half an hour in, he’s forgotten that he was on a date. I even had to pay for both our meals, it was a fever dream of a dinner.”

He lets out a chortle, in disbelief that she went along with him. “Oh—so that was true?”

“I don’t even wanna talk about it,” she shakes her head. “I’d rather talk about how often my students GPT their equation exercises than any of my bad dates. They’re that bad…”

“Oh, don’t get me started on some of my students! They really thought they’d get away by making efforts to just write prompts, instead of constructing their actual works.”

With his spirits lifted and mind reassured, Junghoon feels that he’s had enough voices from some of the people he trusts the most. Now, it’s his turn to make it up to Kotone. He takes out his phone from his pocket, while his mind imagines her ranting towards her close friends about his performance issue.

[Hey, Tone. Can we talk at my place tonight?]

[Of course, oppa!]

[I intended to stop by a little earlier, but whenever is fine.]

[Oh. Well, any works for me.]

[Drop by as early as you want.]

[It's just, I wanted to talk to you about something.]

[Of course.]

[I'll make sure to be there by six.]

[I'm just hanging out with a friend.]

= = =

Kotone’s eyes grow from his assumption. “You thought I was too innocent?”

On the contrary, his plan did not go as he expected this Saturday evening. It has only been a few hours since he went outside to ‘consult’ with friends, but he did not expect his girlfriend to find it out all of the sudden. Of course, his mind would first go for the suspect that snitched to Kotone, fueled by annoyance that things had gone off the rails.

“Where did you—It was Junghoon, wasn't it?” he throws the first question. “I know Honggi doesn’t give in that easily… Waaaaa… You two really are like siblings from another motherland.”

But she shuts it down, not letting him change the subject. “Answer the question, oppa.”

“Don't take it that way,” he lowers his cadence, his conscience now realizing that asking her back won’t help alleviate the tension of this situation any further.

“I'm not…” Thankfully, so does she. “I just want us to come clean… Please.”

“Look, I haven't done this in a long while,” he opens up. “I thought it'd be special for us.”

“Just because it's special doesn't mean it has to be, you know...” she reasons.

“What?” Much to his surprise, Kotone manages to cool herself down first.

“Perfect… Nothing ever is, oppa.” She realizes how pointless this moment will be.

“It's because—” he takes a deep sigh, concluding that there’s no other way he can confess to her how he’s truly feeling, especially with how his girlfriend has simmered down and chosen to be the bigger person, even before an argument would have taken place. “It's because—I thought I'll never be good enough.”

The woman’s heart sinks, hearing those words from his own mouth. “Oppa…”

“I know it’s stupid to admit it… But there’s always this feeling that’s holding me back.”

Myungsoo remembers his own words from that day, when he first confessed. When he reciprocated her. How his own body's response just contradicted them, no thanks to his hesitations. He rejected her and giving her more mixed messages won't allow him to get through this hindrance that has been suppressing more of his physical desires for Tone.

“During those moments, my body must have thought that—we're still friends. Even though I don't feel that way anymore... And I don't want you to feel that way too. But looking back, I think I have always fallen for you in more ways I didn't realize before.”

Her eyes widened, heartbeat accelerating with hope towards her love. “How so?”

“I guess, one that sticks to mind is when you performed that one time at the festival.”

“Oh, gosh…” Her eyes quickly close with a wide smile. “That was kinda embarrassing.”

“No. You were amazing,” he counters, cheering her on with his own enthusiasm. ”Even a lot of hoobaes mistook you for a dance or music major.”

“I know…” Kotone can’t help herself from giggling. “The guys would've teased the hell out of me if they weren't in the military then. But I didn't know you saw me like that.”

As neurons continue to fire throughout his mind, Myungsoo recalls another memory. “You’ve also put so much detail and attention to your looks whenever you’re out on a date,” he chuckles with this confession, maintaining his gaze at hers as if her face has mesmerized her. “That includes the double date you pulled me in... Remember that?”

Her face begins to redden. “Yah... That's just common courtesy. No one would wanna go out with someone without a little makeup. That’s not enough for a common gal like me.”

Common is not a word that he sees of her. “Well… I think you’re enough, Tone.”

No words leave her mouth for three seconds, until she comes up with, “What else?”

“Hmm?”

“What else… Made you fall for me?”

“When we first touched last night…” he stammered, keeping himself composed while answering her question. “I freaked out. And I thought you’re innocent, because I was used to thinking that you were pure. So...”

With her eyes glistening amidst the dim room, Kotone's face is the most beautiful thing in his eyes. A mighty and delicate diamond shining in front of him. “Mesmerizing,” he continues. “Something that I couldn't lay my hands on… Because you’re amazing.”

His hand takes hers, feeling its coldness. Yet it's a smooth sensation that cools him down, even though their touch now produces a warm affection from their hearts.

“I wasn't scared because I thought you were innocent…” he confesses, his eyes darting down on the floor out of shame. “I'm scared that when it’d happen, I’d disappoint you.”

“Well… I don't care if you think someone else is a better fit for me. If you think there’s a better version of yourself. If it's with you… That’s all that matters to me, oppa.”

She takes one step towards him. His sense of reassurance suddenly shifts into surprise.

“Kim Myungsoo…” she asks him straight, her pitch deepening. “All this time, have you not seen me as a woman before?” The same question he tried to answer with both their closest friends. The same confession he told her. Her tone still comes off as serious—yet he notices a slight upward curve on her flat lips. She’s just trying to lighten up his mood.

“Tone-yah!” the man still bursts out in panic. “What makes you think that?”

“It’s just—You know… The conversation you must’ve had with Honggi and Junghoon probably went off like that. Your talk with them made you think about our friendship, and I thought maybe that’s what made you think less of me—”

“No… It’s not like that. In my eyes, there’s a lot from you that enticed me. From the day we met.” She's read his mind. Yet slowly, he leans closer to her face. “Your lips. There’s no way I can resist them. I couldn’t… Why should I feel any different with your bod—”

Feeling something pulling them together, Kotone gives into her primal urges first, launching herself at his lips first. His arms catches her—welcoming her lust-driven pounce as she slowly wraps herself around him, a ravenous python desperate for its target. Sharing the level of her libido with him, Myungsoo trails his fingers down her curves until they reach her plump buttocks, no longer hesitant and threatened by his own voices, which are now silenced by his turbulent body as it’s hellbent on one goal. Her physical satisfaction, fueled by his dissipated impulses.

Myungsoo tightens his grip on Kotone’s ass, triggering a moan in-between their kiss. Such a delightful sound striking his ears provokes him to deepen their lips, while his tongue enters Tone’s mouth through a surge of dominance that possessed him.

“There's nothing to disappoint... How you kiss me now. How you… Touch me now...”

Their lips part, as Myungsoo listens to his girlfriend’s suggestive encouragement.

“Plus, I'm no longer your friend... You can touch me,” the daring woman tiptoes to his ear with her hot breath. “Anywhere you want, oppa... I hope that eases your mind.”

Her whisper alone sends a tingle down to his spine, eventually reaching his crotch. He feels his shaft rising—expanding with curiosity. In this instant, he has never felt more alive while he’s succumbing to her arousing spell.

They slowly undress each other—interrupted by sessions of smooches. Kotone latches her lips onto his neck then his clavicle, salivating on his sweat with her lips and tongue as a mark, that this man is hers, and only hers to share her body with, and she wants it now more than ever. For the first time, they see each other's genitals in astonishment.

Before he can consider taking the lead, she pushes him into the bed, with her eyes already focused on his cock. “Let me, oppa.”

Myungsoo only nods to her with submission, while she ties her hair with a rubber into a ponytail within a few seconds, before moving closer to her. She witnesses her lover take a deep breath, inciting a chuckle from her. “Just relax… Okay?” As soon as she’s done giving him a brief show, she joins him on the bed, crawling to the middle with him.

She takes in his rod. Her mouth isn’t the widest, but him witnessing her engulf half of it without much warning immediately sends shivers through his spine as another second, her throat touches the tip of his cock. “Ngh…” he bites his lip as he groans. “Fuuuuck.”

“Oh?” Kotone takes his cock off her mouth, retaining her smirk. “A professor cursing?”

“Mianhaeyo…” Myungsoo huffs with desperation. “You can… Keep going… Tone.”

“What’s the magic word, oppa?” she tantalizes, seeing the helplessness of her lover.

“Please, Tone-chan…” His grip on her shoulder remains tender, keeping herself from riling her up, as his manhood is under her control. “Punish me if you have to. Jebal.”

“Good boy,” she coos, even though his last plea made her eyebrows raised. There’s more from him that she hasn’t discovered. “And I thought I had to put a little more pressure.”

The woman puts her bangs to the side of her ear, locking in as she puts his cock back inside her widened mouth, with more ease this time. Her head moves in and outward. He loves the sensation of being devoured by this unpredictable woman. He couldn’t be any more exhilarated to witness her prove himself wrong. Her pureness, melting away, shifting into this new face he’s rarely encountered, mixed with hints of lust, curiosity, and carnality, right as her eyes dart towards him, just to give him a wink, her simple gestures just keep expanding the girth of his member beyond its limits.

Despite bobbing her head on his manhood up and down with a faster pace, Kotone manages to smear her fingers on her drools and drippings, spreading them down his balls without looking, yet the results would speak for themselves as Myungsoo howls feeling the sudden cold and tingling moisture of his testicles—jiggling and squishing under the palm of her long and thin salivated hand.

“Tone! I’m—shit,” he whimpers, his eyes slowly rolling to the back of his head while the woman devours him with acceleration. “It’s too fucking—Good… Tone-yah—I’m close!”

With a final trick up her sleeve, the woman applies a little pressure on his testicles with her fingers, pulling the trigger to his stimulation. Right as he feels a popping sound on his pulsating rod, followed by a gust of warm semen gushing directly inside her mouth. Much to his surprise, she keeps her mouth closed and gulps it down once she leaves his manhood. As expected, Myungsoo hears Kotone cough out a few drops of seed that she couldn’t swallow, much to his concern while still catching his breath next to her.

He gives the woman a few pats on her back before caressing it. “You alright, babe?”

“Mm-hmm.” Her smirk widens, despite the struggle. “Never tasted something tastier.”

“Let me… Have a taste,” he retorts, leaning closer to Kotone. Unashamed of tasting himself through her mouth. She cups his chin, deepening their already heated kiss.

Letting out a chuckle, Myungsoo distances himself a few inches away while peppering kisses on her thighs, seeking to return his girlfriend the favor, but right before he can kneel on one knee on the carpet, the heaving woman tugs her grip on his right wrist, prompting him to stop and freeze his burning libidinal excitement for a moment.

“Uh, uh, uh…” she giggles with her limited breath, fully aware of his reciprocal intention, yet she moves her index finger from left to right in amusement.

“You don’t want me to?” he mumbles, radiating unease with his submissive tone.

“I do… Just not tonight, baby… You can pay me later,” she whispers and leaves him a wink before slowly pulling him into bed with her. “This time, I want both of us to feel each other on this one, hmm?”

He never minded her tomboyish charms, and now that she’s embodying some traits on his own bed, it’s driving him insane to witness her guide him with entering her regions. As they both sit in front of each other, Kotone wriggles closer with her bottom until she is close enough to wrap her legs around his waist, locking their now closed distance.

“Oh…kay,” Myungsoo holds onto her hips with caution. “I’ll… Put it in now, Tone.”

“That’s it,” the woman peppers his chest and collarbone a few kisses, taking a breath as more of him enters her folds. Sliding as slowly and steadily as he can, Kotone gradually tightens her hold on her lover, welcoming the girth of his lubricated manhood with her walls. “Fuck… Nggghhh…” Leaning her forehead closer on his shoulder, her howls rise while slowly closing her eyes, allowing herself to receive the waves of pleasure he’s giving her with his entry.

Inside Myungsoo's rummaging mind, the man immediately assumes how he may not be the longest she has seen, but it is no small accomplishment for him to hear her moaning without stopping for seconds. Her pitch becomes higher, surprising Myungsoo as he has rarely heard her yell or holler at this sky-shattering range, even whenever she sings with their pals at the noraebang. Her voice already sounds like an angel from day to day, yet this new level gives him a new perspective. A new realm of satisfaction he’s accessing… He can only move his hips inward and outward, yet each pound rewards him with an intensifying sensation that takes him to a higher state of gratifying unconsciousness.

“Tone—Fuck!” He feels his sense of coherence falling apart, his endurance slows down his own member while his thrusts still maintain their balance and strength in her cunt.

On the other hand, she can still keep up with his now dwindling and stuttering thrusts, perhaps with even more stamina than him, while she keeps squirting a few more juices from her bladder while also awaiting the big one on her nether. “Just do it,” she shrieks, feeling her own climax catch her partner’s. “Pleeeease—fucking cum—inside me, baby!”

Myungsoo surrenders to his own climax, busting his load inside her for the first time without restraint. Within the next three seconds, Kotone comes next with all her holler, cumming as well without any sense of worry about his seed inside her womb.

They find themselves plummeting on the bed, with Kotone laying her head on his chest. Myungsoo slowly strokes the side of her hair from its disheveled state, while they heave. He feels an irk of disappointment for giving into his climax too soon, but not discontent. Pulling his cock out of her when it stopped leaking—he muses about reinstating his gym membership or simply pushing himself to jog at a nearby park, like some of his friends. But now’s not the time to wallow in regrets. His impulses pressure him to do it again.

“How was it, baby?” Kotone coos under her breath. Her smirk and cadence still keeps Myungsoo up, in his mind and in his member, even though it has left her walls.

“I'll, uh, I need one more exercise to reassess things,” he admits, making her chuckle at his answer. Another round is in session and now, it starts with him taking the next lead. Gently, Myungsoo takes her by the hand and bends her over while maintaining their eye contact. He leaves her a few more kisses on her nape, initiating a second round with her due to his dissatisfaction about his “performance.”

“Ssaem...” she mutters, the same time they're feeling his cock expand. She's got a wild idea accumulating while receiving his cock again, now from behind. The possibility of his shaft plunging inside her other hole only elevates her expectations and accelerates her drive for his body elevenfold. “I want to... Have you, inside... my fucking—butt!”

“Next time, baby.” It's now his turn to say it, his inflection deepening like hers during their first time. “That'll—ngghh—be another lesson for–us.” His thrusts arise with his groans while Kotone slowly bends her bottom for him to reach. Seeing her butt closer makes him take one hand. A smack would be his first suggestion, yet another idea has taken over, thus forcing him to give her left cheek a squeeze.

The longer she feels a spot of her cheek tightening and heating up under the grasps of his hand, Kotone’s bursts of yelps turn into howls of gratification. “Ooooooh—Fuck!”

The fact that Myungsoo is also entertaining, nay feeding into her fantasy in real time suddenly makes Kotone yelp out subconsciously, even surprising herself and making Myungsoo let out a hoarse chuckle while his thrusts quicken and strengthen with his hand returning to her waist. “That one must have made you excited—did it—baby?”

“Ne!" she complies; his arms still holding hers from behind. “Tight—er—oppa!” Kotone screams. Myungsoo only nods, holding in his chortle as her request compels him to pull her arms closer to him. Her walls constrict around his cock as her back arches, reveling in delight down her nether, which compensates all the stress and tension on her arms— like a rubber band being pulled—as Myungsoo rams her from behind back and forth like a ravenous beast who had been released from his cage, thirsting for this woman’s touch.

The more their bodies pulsate along with their growing moans, his lover’s brown hair keeps on striking his face, like a whip, several times. But instead of finding it to be an unsettling situation, the scent of her hair only drives him to maintain his movement. 

Nevertheless, Kotone feels his hindrance from her back, forcing her to mumble “Take it—off… My tie!” with a heavy breath. Before he can comply, however, his eyes land on her exposed nape, a sight that immediately tempts him to lean in and plant his drooling lips on her. “Uggghhhh!” she yelps as her neck bends, facing the ceiling as she now finds herself on cloud nine. He circles his tongue on her damp skin, briefly imagining what he would’ve done to her cunt if she had given him a chance earlier.

Perhaps next time, he tries to assure himself, unaware that Kotone is also yearning for the same desire in her lust-crazed mind, somewhat regretting her decision to skip to the main show. For now, they happily settle on this moment: his cock plunging in and out of her cunt, with him devouring the back of her neck while she muffles her groans.

“Sooooo… Goood…” she murmurs, taking delight in the sudden lukewarm, if not chilling sensation of Myungsoo’s tongue, slithering on her nape like a snake that tastes the sweat that has accumulated on that spot in the past several minutes. Now that he’s more than satisfied with her praises, the man finally raises one hand and slides the hair tie off her, revealing her full hair to him like a princess. A fervent princess who he’s making love to.

With his manhood now reaching deeper than before, Tone's mouth slowly gapes, with her eyes half closed and tongue sticking out, a sight that propels Myungsoo to lean his head closer and latch his lips, seizing the chance to kiss her once again with insatiable appetite. “Ngggghhhhmm… Mmmmmm…”

Their saliva has become a mix of sweet and salty taste blended through the rhythm of their tongue. Myungsoo can still taste his own seed through their kiss, but Kotone’s drool, mixed in with her passion fruit lipstick, and the scent of her perfume, which always entices him, makes it too hard for him to resist.

Paralyzed by pleasure, Tone’s mouth also welcomes him with abandon while Myungsoo lets go of his arm, wrapping it around her waist once again. With both their moans and grunts muffled, their smacking lips and dancing tongues sync in with the noise of their genitals clashing against each other, yielding both ethereal and devilish satisfaction.

But eventually, her primal instinct overcomes her yearning for his touch, Kotone parts her lips from his, leaving a trail of saliva between the two as she gasps for air and gives him the ultimate signal with the words… “I’m… Oppa—please—I’m—close! Do… it!”

Knowing her reminder to him, Myungsoo lets out a groan with his final pound, bursting his seed inside her for the second time. Now, he manages to make Tone cum at the same time, her tongue still sticking out in ecstasy. Instead of letting her plummet straight into the carpet below, the man maintains his grip around Tone’s waist while she catches her breath alongside him. “Gwen…chana…yo?” he mumbles out of concern, also panting.

The woman slowly holds onto her partner's arms and turns around.  Despite her flushed skin being poured into the puddle by her own sweat, Kotone reassures him with a wide smile, with her hand rubbing on his right cheek. “Never felt better, oppa…”

Still taking a breather, Kotone takes the first step to the bed, pulling Myungsoo with her as they walk and lie on the mattress without any words. Within the silence, their bodies huddled together to keep them warm amidst the prickling breeze of the room’s air con.

“Oppa… It wasn’t just Junghoon,” she confesses to him out of the blue.

He looks down to her. “Huh?” And yet, unlike a while ago, that sense of betrayal has long left his system, replaced by wonderment as they’re both opening up at their will.

“Yooyeon-unnie also told me,” she adds. “About your little serious counseling.”

At this point, they’re now all caught up with their secrets for the whole day. “Jinjja?”

“She knew you’d hesitate, so she kinda gave me a heads-up. It just freaked me a little… And, I also had my own talk with my friends.” She turns her head from him, giggling out of embarrassment before her mind recalls the personal meetings she’s held on that same morning and afternoon. As it turns out, this couple isn’t as different as they once felt and thought they were before this night.

= = =

“Girl… Just go for it!” the tall woman seated in front of Kotone tries to lift her spirits up. “And it’s not like he friendzoned you… Some friends would even do it without feelings.”

“I don’t know unnie…” She scratches her hair. “I’m not even sure why you’re so pumped up to help me. You’re practically my boss. I mean, you’re the boss of your own team, but still… You’re Zhou-freaking-Xinyu!”

“Okay,” she raises her finger. “First of all, I’m not your boss, technically speaking, even though there’s no work today… And second—we’re old friends! Just chatting about our personal problems and thinking of solutions out of it. So I’m not Zhou Xinyu, let alone Felicia Zhou.” She follows with a sigh. “I’m just your Xinyu-unnie, hmm?”

“Well, unnie… How did you and, you know…” Kotone tilts her head. “How’d you two work things out? With your history and all, you've made the impossible–Possible...”

“We just did…” she shrugs, forming a smile that radiates warmth. “We owned up to our mistakes, embraced our faults without trying to change what we like about ourselves… The more we realized that, well, we knew that we just wanted each other even more. Besides, it’s not like your situation is that different. You and Myungsoo are literally living a friends-to-lover tale!”

A part of Kotone needed to hear those words. Those voices of insecurity and reservation whispering in her brain begin to wither, at least most of it. She couldn’t be any happier for Xinyu being in a relationship of her own, but Kotone can’t help but admit that her circumstances are not really the same as hers, in a thousand ways.

“You don’t have to overthink it, Tone-chan,” Xinyu places her hand on her left shoulder, sensing the echoes of her misgivings through her posture, somber eyes, and downward lips. “Look… I may not be the best woman to ask about relationships… but I’d say that you can learn a lot when you just let some things go with the flow.”

Nevertheless, the older woman’s words manage to ease the part of her self-worth. Prior to her current profession here, Xinyu had her own fair share of trials and tribulations.

“That’s… Not a bad thought… Huh,” Kotone realizes, but something is still irking her. “Thank you for that, unnie.”

As the words of her old friend weren’t enough, she also confided in another’s second opinion about later that afternoon. Contrasting the cafeteria of ModHaus, this friend’s apartment is a little smaller, yet arguably the more confined atmosphere and tangerine walls of the living room makes it a little cozier. Kotone is seated on one of the chairs in the dining table, allowing her friend to listen to her from the vegetable-filled counter.

“That fear. That hesitation... How did you two get past those feelings, Suhyeon-ah?”

The right corner of Suhyeon’s lips raises. “Are you asking me for more details or?”

“Oh, God…” Kotone’s mind quickly went places due to her friend’s reaction, her hands waving rapidly. “No, no! Not like that, Suhyeon-ie… I mean, Xinyu-unnie herself gave TMI when I asked for her advice, but, I’m just asking how you and Sungwoo-ssi have managed to move past your doubts. Before, you know, it happened.”

“Well… I’m not sure about Sungwoo, but for me, it just felt right that we did it—that we wanted to do it, you know—regardless of how different our lives are. I’ll always love my son and be there for him—but that doesn’t mean I can’t start over with someone else…”

With a closed smile, Suhyeon looks down on her damp hands, a few crumbs of carrots and cabbage scattered across her palms and fingertips. Even in silence, Tone senses the aura of passion and perseverance emanating from her. “Dongwon’s father left before he was born—but you and the gang, heck even my fam, reminded me that I have a life too.”

She looks at Kotone—her eyes glowing with hope. “Like you and Myungsoo-oppa… You may have been friends for a long time, but the two of you being together is a new thing that I’m sure will be scary and exciting and like when it was with Sungwoo and me, I’d rather face those things than to never be with him at all, you know?”

From her profound words, she knows it’s simple, but her own hesitation still creeps up to her, something that she tries to shake off. Kotone’s heart begins to feel warmer with appreciation, gratitude towards her close friend—both of her friends, to be exact. This hesitation is something she’s going to have to deal with herself, by facing it head-on.

“How about you, Tone-chan? I’m not asking you if you’re willing to go to the next level with oppa… but how does he make you feel? I’m sure you’ll find your answer yourself.”

Her heart starts to race. Just at the thought of her lover, as they are in each other’s arms. Their lips locking for minutes—savoring each other’s taste as their saliva exchanges and filling the silence of the air with their tongues smacking. His rough yet irresistible skin sliding with her soft skin the longer they stay on the couch. Even the times he’s tickled her almost makes her giggle. The possibility of him carrying her to his bedroom. Tone’s imagination alone makes her swallow her own throat—thirsting for this sensation, and combined with having Ji Suhyeon witness her reaction only makes her embarrassed.

A smirk forms on Suhyeon’s face. She knows. “That’s it… You better have fun, you two.”

Kotone’s throat still feels dry as her heartbeat grows louder. “May I get a glass of water?”

“Help yourself, Tone,” Suhyeon tells her from the kitchen, continuing dicing a whole onion on the counter with her smile still intact. Beside her, the steam on the pot begins to rise. Kotone walks to the cupboard, reaching the nearest glass and maintains her gaze on the water dispenser. “Something tells me that you’re gonna need more of it later.”

= = =

Listening to Tone’s counsels, Myungsoo also agrees with their sentiments. This moment feels right. That’s enough. She’s enough. She’s perfect, even if she doesn’t believe she is. He shakes his head, as relief, disbelief, and gratitude fills his mind.

“Oh… Well, I’m still sorry…” he huffs—pushing himself to complete his sentence in front of her. “I’m sorry I misread you, Tone-chan. I’m sorry I didn’t trust you enough.”

“No,” she counters with her own guilt. “I’m sorry for freaking out over nothing, oppa.”

He pulls him into his arms. She’s always loved this move from him. “Hey, hey… It wasn’t necessarily over nothing, Tone… Look where that’s gotten us now… When I’ve chickened out of following what my body desires, you’ve taken the lead first, like you always have.”

“Yah…” she giggles at his wholehearted confession, even though it’s making her heart beat a little louder than usual. “You’re complimenting me like I’m your student.”

“That wasn’t my intention,” he admits, almost embarrassed. “Must be a force of habit.”

She nuzzles on his chest, her giggles vibrating on the surface of his chest. “Cheer up. It’s not something I’m against… Since, you should know I also have a lot to learn from you,” she retorts to him, forming a provocative smirk. “—Kim Ssaem.”

“So do… I…” he takes a much deeper breath, keeping himself from giggling at her tease. “Right now, I’ve learned a lot tonight.”

“Hmm?” her eyebrow raised while she hums with lustful intrigue. “Like what?”

“Just now… he puffs. “You've given me an experience I never expected—in a long while.”

“You’re being overdramatic,” she shakes her head, giggling. “You know I can do better.”

“You’ve already rocked my world,” he chuckles. He’s already confessed that he hasn’t had sex in a long time, yet she couldn’t care less. “Whatever you’ll do, whatever we do, I’ll love and cherish it. Whatever we’ll explore—I’ll explore it with you… Because I love you, Kamimoto Kotone.”

Within a second, Kotone’s face of amusement and flirtatiousness simmers down with her smile slowly crumbling. Yet her heart couldn’t feel any more elevated. “O--ppa…”

“Why are you crying?” Worry begins to flow through his veins as he sees her eyes glisten and her voice trembles and stutters. “Tone-chan…”

“You said it… first,” she mutters, while holding the sniffle through her nose. In spite of her mix of emotions, the woman’s lips slowly recurve upwards. “Myungsoo–op—pa…”

He puts his hand on her cheek, placing his thumb where her tears are falling down. “With how long we've known each… I feel like I should've told you sooner.”

“Me too… I love you, Kim Myungsoo,” she continued to sniff with her bawling, albeit now with a sweeter smile. Following only his heartbeat, Myungsoo comforts Tone with a long, sweet tender kiss on her lips, thus allowing her to express herself through her tears of gratitude and warm reciprocation with her beloved.

Wrapped under the gray comforter, the two would still remain in each other’s arms, rubbing their noses side to side and humming amidst the blissful silence for the next several minutes next to the dim lamp on the nightstand until a certain memory flashes back to Kotone just as her tears subside. She noticed those two omamori, the ones she gave him, on his drawer right next to the bedroom door. The sight of those two items trigger another memory she can’t help but share with him at this moment.

“Oppa…” she tugs on his shoulder softly. “I, uhh, just remembered something…”

“Hmm?” his eyes moved down to her face, still sparkling as usual. “What is it, babe?”

“Your birthday’s in two weeks… Isn't it?”

“Oh…” He attempts to keep his own smile from being too obvious. Not even he himself remembers such a momentous personal detail. “You remember?” But she does. Right during the aftermath of their first time, he braces his body from reacting to his mind from conceiving certain carnal ideas, now that the chains of his platonic hindrances have been broken through this passionate night.

“How could I not?” She peppers kisses on his chest, although she keeps the very trigger that made her remember. “I know that ruins any possible surprise—”

“I don’t need surprises, Tone-chan,” he assures her, evoking humility and contentment around her presence despite feeling the appropriate response of his own member, right under their blanket. “Tonight might as well be the greatest gift I’ve had.”

“Yah… Is it because we did it?” she coos, flustered by his sentiment. Despite harboring some ideas for him on his special day, Kotone brushes them off and only feels at ease.

“That’s one factor,” he simply affirms, grinning to the teeth. “I’m still… Sorting out the rest, but they’re all because of you, beautiful.”

She giggles at his bold remark. “So… Do you mind if I stay for the night?” she asks with a much coyer tone, concealing hints of shyness as she anticipates his response.

“Is that even a question?” he scoffs, but a sigh of uncertainty leaves his breath, not much about her, but himself. “I was—umm—I was actually hoping you’d stay… A little longer.”

“Well… You got it, oppa,” Kotone finally affirms to her boyfriend, holding her sniffs for a moment. Wiggling upwards like a worm, the woman levels her gaze with Myungsoo on the same pillow as his, closing their distance as her lips touch his once more, relishing the mix of saltiness and sweetness which their hearts and bodies have been craving the whole night. But, just as their prolonged kiss would have once again progressed into an uninhibited makeout session, both parties would slowly feel a slow rumbling on the woman’s stomach.

Kotone herself becomes startled by her body’s warning. As their lips part with a short trail of saliva that quickly breaks, both are unable to conceal their laughter at her own bodily warning. “That was, uh, embarrassing,” Kotone shakes her head. “I just realized that we did it on an empty stomach… Mianhae.”

“It’s not that embarrassing, babe…” he reassures her with two pecks, one to her nose and another on her forehead. “I’m kinda hungry too now that your tummy has brought it up, so how about we order dinner? It’s your pick… And it’ll be my treat for tonight.”

“How about some galbi?” she suggests, the trembles on her voice and sniffles subsiding.

“You want a side of samgyupsal with that one, too?” he suggests. “I'm kinda in the mood for a heavier meal.”

“Kol!” she quickly raises her hand in the air, giving him a thumbs up. “We'll just burn those calories at a later time, won't we?”

“Tone-chan!” His eyes widen as he bursts into laughter alongside her. “You perverted red panda! Aigoo… I ought to do something with you.”

“We’ve got the rest of the night, oppa,” she snickers, playing along with his proposition while giving his moist stomach four playful pats. “No need to worry about it.”

“Worry about what?”

Despite him still being a little slow in processing her remark, the woman looks up, sliding her legs on the mattress to inch herself centimeters closer to him. Her warm breath brushes in front of him, directly sending her pheromones. “Doing something with me… To me.”

Realizing what she means, Myungsoo chuckles, slowly placing his thumb on Kotone’s lower lip and whispering “I feel the same way, love,” right as they seal their love with another, sweeter smooch.

= = =

it's not as fleshed out as I wanted it to be, but I still hope you liked it. while I struggle to complete some of my current wips, I might start dropping another series, one that's not yet on my masterlist, but one that's been stuck on my drafts since forever. it'll be a little more fluff and angst at first since it's a longer series, but I hope you stay tuned for it. but for now, I hope you're having a great day! until next time.

[azrielbrainrot]

I Laugh Like Me Again... She Laughs Like You

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Description: Whether in the solitude of his room or surrounded by family, all Azriel can think about is you. He would give anything to hold you one more time.

Warnings: Angst, Mourning, mention of suicide

Word Count: 3652

Notes: I don't even know where this came from. I was listening to sweet music by hozier and thought "what if I gave Azriel more trauma". The idea popped into my head and it basically wrote itself. I can't believe I have to say this but with this fandom I'm not risking it: this wasn't written to hate on Elain (or any other character) or incite anyone else to do so. Keep your stupid fights off my post, please and thank you. Hope you enjoy!

Part 2

Another family dinner at the river house meant another night of watching everyone around him happy and in love. Azriel didn't think of himself as egotistical, would never think the love his brothers are experiencing is undeserved either, but it reminds him of a time where he was the only one in the Inner Circle with a partner, of when his brothers were the ones confessing to him how jealous they were of how he had found someone that loved him so much, of a time he never thought would have an end. It reminds him of you.

He looks himself in the mirror as he buttons up the navy shirt, trying to ignore the vacant room behind him. If you were here with him you would have been making jokes about his insistence on keeping the blue theme going in his clothes even though he swears he doesn't think too much about what to wear or his appearance in general.

On a good day, you'd be helping him with the small buttons right now, with shadows swirling around your legs and looking up at him the way you knew would take his breath away every time. On an even better day, he'd have your back pressed against his chest, his fingers inside your familiar heat, the other hand wrapped around your throat so you could watch him play with your body, panting his name and clawing at his arm, pleading with him to keep going, to let you touch him. He'd be late for an entirely different reason, not for getting held up talking to his spies, and then getting lost in his memories.

Sensing his thoughts, his meddling shadows move to his desk, filtering into the drawer they knew held a small velvet box. The dark wisps carefully picked it up and set it on top of the dark wood. Leaving it there and moving back to their original places around the darkened room, letting him decide for himself if he wanted to open it or not.

It had been a while since the last time he touched it, busy as he was these days. There were times he would sit and look at it every day, sometimes without even daring to open it and look inside. But there were also times where even the sight of the navy velvet would suddenly suffocate him with the reminder of your sweet scent, one he would never be able to smell again. It would make him hide the box at the back of his drawer, the back of his mind.

Over the last few years, his reactions to it had gotten milder, an unwilling acceptance of the fact that he would never see you again allowed him to reminisce on the happy memories you had together, even the sad ones, every little fight you had seemed so inconsequential now, he'd give anything to be able to have any moment with you back, to hear you say his name one more time.

He walks to the desk, only hesitating for a beat before grabbing and opening the box. His heart throbs as he stares at the ring sitting inside, thumbing at the empty space left behind by it on his finger instinctively. He had never liked rings, didn't like anything that brought attention to his hands or rubbed against the rough skin but the moment you slid the silver ring into his finger it felt right, he had never wanted to take it off. Azriel would wear a ring on each finger if it showed the world he was yours.

He wore the ring for an entire decade after you died, even after all hope that you could still be alive had left him, he couldn't bring himself to let go of it, to let go of you. His mother had been the one to tell him he needed to stop wearing it, that holding onto it, onto the past would only bring him more heartache. He could still hear her begging him with tears in her eyes, not bearing to see her son in such a state, but he had only actually taken it off when Rhys was taken by Amarantha.

He had thrown the ring into the Sidra that night. He's not sure if it had been anger, frustration or simply hopelessness that drove him to it in that moment. He was tired of not being able to protect anyone, tired of losing his people, the people he never thought he would even find when he was just a boy sitting in a dark humid cell. It must have been that boy's pain, still inside him, that drove him to act like that. If it hadn't been for his shadows immediately flying after it he would have lost it, wouldn't have this reminder of a happy time sitting in front of him right now, it had helped him ground himself more than once during the years following that night. His shadows had saved him from himself once again.

He closes the box gently, rubbing at the smooth texture of the velvet, trying not to let himself get lost in your memory and the bitterness that followed at the injustice of it all. Your marriage had only lasted a little over a decade, he's had to live with your ghost for much longer than that now. Still, he knows he won't forget that time no matter how many more years he lives, and, even if it's another five centuries, he knows he'll still wish he had had the chance to spend them all with you.

Some of the pain has dulled, most days at least, but the guilt still eats at him. He should have known something was going to happen, should have reached you sooner, should have told someone to go with you, should have gone himself, should have been the one to die in your place. The millions of possibilities will likely invade his brain until his last breath, after which he'll finally be able to see you again. That was another thought that had consumed him far too often in the beginning. If it wasn't for his mother, his brothers and Mor, if it weren't for the pain it would cause them, he would have taken Truth Teller to his neck just for the chance to see you one more time.

Azriel? His wings go rigid and he tightens his hold on the box at the sudden intrusion. He tries to push his thoughts as far back into his mind as he can before lowering his mental shields, almost letting out a sigh of relief at finding them in place, hoping his brother couldn't get a glimpse of his thoughts. He hands the box to his shadows so they can safely place it back inside his drawer. Are you still coming, brother?

Yes. He moves back to the mirror and finishes buttoning his shirt while trying to keep his tone as nonchalant as possible. However, the hesitation on the other side tells him Rhys sensed exactly what was holding him up in his room, he knows him better than anyone after all.

Hurry then. We're all waiting for you. Azriel closes his walls as soon as he feels his brother's absence in his mind. He knows they miss you too. They had welcomed you with open arms and considered you part of the family after your marriage. Everyone in the Inner Circle took a big hit when you went missing. He will never forget Cassian's face when he arrived to see Azriel kneeling down in a pool of your blood, with no body to be found. His brother wore his heart on his sleeve and it had shattered that night. There were countless sleepless nights for everyone following that moment.

They all threw themselves at finding you in any way they could. There was enough blood on the floor to tell them you had died but none of them wanted to believe it. Azriel talked to every single one of his spies multiple times, ordering them to track every movement in their respective areas. Rhys sent letters to every ally he had and then joined Cassian and Mor in searching every corner of Prythian personally. Even Amren, ever the logical emotionless one, searched for you with every means she could, contacting friends the spymaster didn't even know existed. But, one by one, they all had to accept the truth, Azriel ending up being the most hesitant to.

He had long since killed the attackers, putting them through as much pain as possible for as long as he could keep them alive, making them regret ever touching you. But that didn't help with the gaping hole in his chest, nothing helped. They didn't know how to find your body either. Rhys looked through every corner of their minds and only found them leaving you behind, bleeding on the cold ground.

Rhys refused to show him the memory, no matter how much he begged him to let him see you one more time. Now he knows his brother was just trying to protect him, not wanting that to be Azriel's last memory of you, with the amount of blood left behind he knew you couldn't have been in good shape, but at the time he lashed out at his brother like he had never done before, probably would have killed him in blind rage if it hadn't been for Cassian trying to hold him back and if Rhys wasn't Rhys. Thinking back he should have thanked him instead, for holding onto such a painful memory and keeping it to himself so no one else had to suffer from it.

Even if he couldn't see you again, he still wishes that he had your body to bury at least. Azriel doesn't know how the Mother could be so cruel as to not only let you die so soon, so painfully without at least letting him find your body so he could put you to rest next to your parents' graves. It would also give him a place to talk to you, to feel as close to you as possible.

The pain almost came back in full when Rhysand first told him about Feyre. Jealousy had reared its ugly head at the fondness in his brother's gaze, the slight tint to his cheeks at just saying her name. He was happy for Rhys, especially after everything he'd been through, but that happiness couldn't hold a candle to the pain he felt. He remembers the night he confided in his brothers about the lovely female he had met, how she had told him she loved him, it had been much like that one.

To make matters worse, the first thing he remembered when Rhys told him about his mate was a stupid bet the two of you had made - you had been adamant that Cassian, as sweet as he is, would be the next to get married, Azriel had voted for Rhys, one of his many conquests were bound to work out one day. He won and yet he didn't feel victorious at all. He couldn't even tell you of your loss, see how pouty you get when it happens, ever the sore loser. Didn't even remember the prize but there was no way for you to give it to him now either way. What hurt the most was that he couldn't even tell you his brother had found his mate. These were the best news in over a century and he just wanted to share them with you, wanted to share everything with you.

He takes another look at the mirror with a small sigh, straightening his wings and making sure his face doesn't give anything away before calling to his shadows. He feels them wrap around him slowly, giving him some comfort before taking him directly to the river house.

“Almost thought you weren't coming.” He was still half covered in shadows when he heard Cassian's voice. Everyone was standing around talking to each other, waiting on him. The guilt was tugging at his heart strings again. Why would he ever feel like he needed more than a family that loved him? Who was he to think this wasn't enough for him? It was something he could only dream of when he was younger.

“He's here now. That's all that matters,” the smile Feyre gave him was warmer than usual and her hand lingered on his shoulder for a second too long. Azriel looks over to Rhys, finding him already looking at him, studying his face. He had told his mate of whatever he sensed in his mind then. He hoped neither of them brought it up at least, now or later. What good would admit he misses his dead wife do? No one can bring you back to him.

“Finally. I'm starving.” Cassian clapped his shoulder as he passed by him on the way to the already set table, sitting down immediately. Everyone followed in his footsteps, greeting Azriel and finding their seats. Seems he really had kept them waiting.

Conversation picked back up naturally and he let himself fall into the usual rhythm of these dinners, letting his body relax around his family, forgetting about his old life for the moment. He walked over to the already set table and took his seat next to Elain, as it usually was these days. The seating arrangements had moved around a bit over the last years to accommodate not only the new additions to their little circle but also the relationships in them. He used to always sit next to Cassian but now had given the seat up to his beautiful mate. It left him next to Elain most times since they were the only single fae at the table.

Elain gave him a soft smile as he sat down and he nodded at her with a smile of his own. They had been getting closer ever since she was turned to fae and started living in Velaris. Her quiet nature quickly drew him to her, feeling at ease almost immediately with the middle Archeron sister. But he had to have been blind not to see the way she looked at him, not to notice the enamored smile she gave him.

Sometimes he let himself wonder if things could work between them. She had a mate but it was clearer with each passing day that she didn't feel anything for the male tied to her. It was also obvious how well Azriel and Elain got along, fitting into each other's lives almost seamlessly. He didn't love her but couldn't say seeing himself fall for the lovely female was such a far-fetched idea. She was a beautiful and kind fae, loving her would probably be as easy as breathing.

When everyone had been made aware of the mating bonds, he had even considered if the Mother had made a mistake. His two brothers had ended up with two of the sisters after all. Now he can see he was just desperate for a bond like theirs. In truth, he wouldn't even know what he would have done if Elain had truly been his mate. Would he finally put you behind him? Would he have thrown the ring away again, for good this time? He knows he couldn't bring himself to even with the power of a mating bond. You were etched deep into his skin just like the bargain marks inked into his shoulders.

As the dinner moved on and they made their way to the sofas in the sitting room, his family was already more than lively. Mor had busted out one of Rhysand's old wine bottles, setting the mood for the rest of the night. Azriel had completely relaxed by then, letting himself enjoy their company, his shadows retreating almost completely around the room. Finally having some reprieve from the particularly insistent thoughts that were plaguing his mind today.

Cassian was telling a story he had heard a thousand times now but he still laughed along with everyone else. Listening to Cass tell the story so many times wouldn't make the fact that he had flown straight into a river any less funny. Azriel even remembered the following part, the one Cass doesn't include in the story which was after they pulled him out and he had gotten sick for a week, making him miss practice and lose every spar with him and Rhys for the next months.

Even old stories had a new life with new people around, it was the first time the sisters heard this one, judging by the slight tint to Nesta's cheeks as she laughed at her mate and how hard Feyre was clutching at Rhys' arm to ground herself. Even Elain was laughing hard enough that her body was shaking. Her laugh was soft and melodic, a lovely sound really, but it suddenly opened a familiar pit in his stomach. It reminded him of you. She wasn't quite as loud and her eyes didn't immediately water like yours but the way she raised her hand to her face was similar. And just like that the illusion of happiness he had created shattered.

She was nothing like you but he still found you in every thing she did, in everything anyone did. He couldn't go to half of the city's bakeries and shops without thinking of you and every moment you spent there. He had even changed rooms in every one of Rhysand's houses, not bearing to sleep in the same bed you had held him in. Everyone in the Inner Circle had learned to avoid certain topics, certain stories in fear they would remind him of you. Even your name was rarely mentioned unless he did so first or strictly necessary. Every thought of getting over you was nothing more than wishful thinking. It was like his entire soul was begging him to go to you, but you weren't anywhere in this world.

This had to be one of the worst parts of his routine lately, having to take extra care to school his features when spending time with his brothers and their mates. If his face showed any sign of how much he missed you, how much he wished he could hug you to him just like they can do with them, they would immediately look at him with pain in their eyes, pain for what he lost and will never get back.

It had taken too long to get used to how differently they treated him after what happened. He had to start a fight to get them to stop treating him like he could break at any second when it was the truth. They knew it as well as he did, but they also knew that they had to let Azriel mourn in his own way, that there was nothing they could do besides stay by his side.

You weren't mates - maybe the pain he feels would never compare to what his brothers would go through if their mates ever met the same fate as you - but that had never mattered to him. His soul sang for you the same way he sang for his shadows, you were written into his very being just like they were. And, most importantly, there wasn't a single fiber in his body that wanted to live without you.

Even a mate could never erase you from his memory, even if you had been alive. He doubts if a mating bond had snapped between you two at the time, you would have gotten any deeper into him than you already were. He can't imagine loving you, wanting you more than he already did was possible.

He felt his shadows move to him, almost sending them away thinking they were coming to comfort him again, hiding him from the world as usual. Their urgency gave them away, and by the way Rhysand's body tensed across from him he also had noticed something amiss.

“What happened?” The High Lord's voice cut through the atmosphere immediately, everyone looked to him for an explanation and got ready for any possibility. His entire body stood still when his shadows gave him their message.

“Someone's in the townhouse,” he stood up as he spoke, sending some of his shadows out to find out as much as they could and the rest around Velaris to check if there were any other disturbances.

“Who could get past the wards?” He felt a shield around them, Rhys had likely set it up around his house. Cassian's siphons were flickering red as they all prepared for what could come next. Velaris was more than well protected, especially after the attacks before the war, but the High Lord's homes were nearly impossible to get into uninvited, Azriel himself had helped make sure of it.

“I don't know,” he held onto Truth Teller as he waited for his shadows or his High Lord and Lady to find something. His shadows were being strangely lax about the whole situation, maybe this was someone who knew of a way to go around his gift, keep them distracted.

It took longer than usual to receive a response from them, making him and everyone around him more concerned by the second. By now everyone was donning a sword or weapon of some sort, only waiting on more information before splitting up to keep Velaris safe and find the intruders.

When his shadows finally appeared they wasted no time rushing to his ear, at last sensing his urgency in the matter. Their answer was one nothing could have prepared him for, his heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest.

His shadows came back carrying a once familiar tune. They came back singing your name.

[rokurookajima]

i found the way 🙌 laying on my stomach kicking my heels every time

caught myself sitting here like hm what kind of absolutely terrible day can i give raava next 🤔