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frflyavenue · 1 month ago

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Under Your Touch - Chapter 1

Pairing: poly!Ateez x makeup artist!Reader (Fem!Reader)

Warnings: Implied childhood trauma/parental issues

Summary: Down on your luck, you pack up your things and move to Korea on an impulse. With no job and no money, you have no clue what your future could hold—until you’re scouted by two employees from a company you’ve never heard of, KQ Entertainment, looking for a new makeup artist. With the opportunity of a lifetime and the offer to work with a group named Ateez, maybe there’s hope for you after all. But what your future holds may be even more exciting than you expect.

Author’s Note: Hello everybody, and welcome to my new series, Under Your Touch! This is my first fic EVER, so please tell me what you think! I already have so much in store for you guys ;) —Planning to update with a new chapter every Sunday! Leave a note if you want to be added to the taglist for UYT~

Join me on ao3 @frflyavenue <3

WC: 5.1k

Without further ado~

Chapter 1: The Beginning

The chill of the Seoul winter air hits you immediately as you step out of your apartment, sending a chill down your spine as you turn to lock the door. It’s your first winter in Korea, and while you’ve loved the moderate weather of the summer and fall, the winter chill alone is making you reconsider your choice to pack up and live here. Or maybe it would, if you hadn’t finally scored a job.

You smile lightly to yourself at the thought. You moved here 8 months ago, just toward the end of spring, wanting to get far away from your home country to start afresh. On an impulse, you packed up two suitcases, the most you could carry on your own, and booked a flight to Korea. You found a reasonably priced studio apartment during your first night at a hotel in Seoul, and with the small amount of money you had, you signed the lease the next day. It really all happened too fast for your own good. You were panicked—you didn’t really think ahead. For a month you stayed in your apartment with basically no money and no job, desperately studying Korean and looking for jobs. And for a while, your only source of comfort was your art.

You’ve always loved art. You grew up with nothing much to do except go to school, come home, and draw, not the type to stay around your parents too long. You always stayed away from them, in fact. That’s the reason you��re here in the first place. But regardless, drawing got you through it all. It was your first love, the first time you felt that you could forget about everything else and immerse yourself in a different world entirely. And even when your parents and teachers scolded you for doodling on your papers instead of doing your schoolwork, you continued. It was everything to you, why care about school? Not that you were a bad kid—you did everything you possibly could to make your parents and teachers happy. But you drew the line at abandoning your art, no pun intended.

As you got older, that passion carried into makeup. Considering your artistic background, it came as no surprise to you that you had a knack for makeup, and in that month trying your best to survive in Korea, that’s all you did. Makeup, different styles and different techniques, over and over, just to pass the time.

Mastering the Korean idol makeup style was easy. As was mastering pretty much any style, all around the world, you name it. But particularly, maybe because you now live in Korea, you loved the modern Korean idol makeup styles. Truthfully, you knew nothing about Kpop aside from the music you had heard in passing through the streets of Seoul. Your knowledge ended there. But that didn’t stop you from practicing and mastering the makeup, putting your own spin on it based on techniques you had learned from practicing other styles.

Regardless, you weren’t any less surprised when two women approached you during your weekly trip to the grocery store, speaking in rapid Korean and smiling excitedly, pointing to your face. With your limited knowledge of Korean, you managed to pick up a few things: “Your makeup—I like it!” Unsure of what to do, you smiled politely and thanked them, turning to leave. But they quickly shook their heads, stopping you and typing something into a translating app.

‘Are you a makeup artist?’

You shook your head and smiled awkwardly. “No, sorry.” You responded in what you hoped was an understandable Korean accent. They continued typing, seeming more excited now.

‘We work for a K-pop entertainment company called KQ Entertainment. We would like you to train with us and show the company your skills so we could hire you as a makeup artist.’

It seemed too good to be true. You accepted their business cards, typed back to them in whatever app they had that you would give them a call, and went home. It took you a while to confirm that the whole thing wasn’t a scam, but when you did, you were ecstatic. You had just received the opportunity of a lifetime.

The next few months went by fast. You were given what you compared to a scholarship—a free pass to attend a small class on makeup techniques. All for free under their eyes, you learned how to adjust different styles to different face shapes, how to do hair, learned what products to use on different skin types, how to utilize colors to make features pop. You studied Korean and were immersed enough in the language to be able to communicate effectively, which was a plus. You studied color theory, something you knew from experience but were interested to learn technically. And you had fun. So much fun. You didn’t think it could get any better, even if you weren’t getting paid.

But six months later, during an observation from one of the higher ups in the stylist and makeup department, it did get better. They complimented you on your hard work and your abilities, saying that your work was some of the best they had ever seen. And on the spot, they gave you a job offer to work at KQ Entertainment as a personal makeup artist for one of their boy groups, Ateez. It seemed too good to be true. You? Really? You accepted the offer without hesitation, thanking them profusely for their opportunity, and you were sent home. That was two weeks ago. In the meantime, you researched as much as you could about this group, Ateez.

You learned that there are eight members: Park Seonghwa, Kim Hongjoong, Kang Yeosang, Jeong Yunho, Song Mingi, Choi San, Jung Wooyoung, and Choi Jongho. And all eight of them are possibly the most stunning men you have ever laid our eyes on. The perfect canvases. You were giddy at the thought. Your job description noted that you would be the personal makeup artist for Jung Wooyoung and Choi Jongho, the two youngest members. Jung Wooyoung is an incredible dancer, apparently known to be more energetic and lighthearted in nature. He has the visuals of a black cat, incredibly elegant and colder in appearance, though his personality is anything but. Choi Jongho is the youngest member and the lead singer of the group, and his voice is the most beautiful thing you have ever heard. You silently wished to yourself that you would get to hear him sing in person. He’s visually like a teddy bear, an adorable face with the sweetest smile you’ve ever seen. But it seems that his style is cool and simple, which you kept in mind.

Over the two weeks waiting for your paperwork to go through and finishing up interviews with their managers, you spent your time practicing. You drew models of their face shapes, testing out different styles on your drawing tablet and getting to know the curves and geometry of their faces while keeping in mind personal style and their group concept. All things considered, you would think that now, as you walk down the street in the freezing cold toward their makeup studio, that you would feel at least a little bit prepared.

False.

You’ve never been more nervous in your life.

While maybe you didn’t fangirl over the members like much of their fan base, this was your first proper job ever. Your Korean is nothing better than understandable at best, and while you’ve practiced with drawings, you’ve never actually done makeup on these two before. So even though what you’re doing today is nothing more than just a consultation with the two, you can’t stop the shaking in your hands, glad that you will be able to blame it on the cold. You need to do well today. Whether or not you really get the job depends on it.

No pressure.

It’s still dark out when you make it to the address the company sent you, an obscure studio in Seoul supposedly nearby to the Ateez dorms but still hidden from the public’s prying eyes. You check your phone. 6:45am. Perfect, 15 minutes early. You go to your contacts, calling Bae Hyerin, the agent you had been working with during this whole process.

“Good morning Hyerin-unnie! I’ve just arrived at the studio.” You call out into the phone, hoping your usually cheery tone overrides the shakiness in your voice.

“Ah, you’re early! One moment, I’ll let you in!” She hangs up, and you smile to yourself. Hyerin has been a lifeline since this whole ordeal began, possibly one of the sweetest people you’ve ever met. She’s two years older than you, and even though you haven’t known her long, she’s helped you like an older sister, standing up for you when others undermined your abilities or made snarky comments about your Korean, and always praising you for your hard work. You can’t help but feel some of your nervousness dissipate when she greets you at the door with an excited smile.

“Y/N-ah! Welcome!” She says happily, gently pulling you inside. “It’s freezing out, please come in!”

You obey, familiarly holding her arm while she gives you a brief tour of the studio. There’s a large space inside past the entrance with two spaces—one with a couch, some seating, a small fridge, and a TV, presumably an area for the members to relax or sleep while they wait. But you’re more interested in the other side, a slightly smaller space with clean tile floors and four neat stations, three of which are clearly occupied with various products and tools. The fourth is completely empty, with nothing but the vanity, a chair, one staple hair tools, and a large lit mirror. You nearly drool at the sight. Assuming all goes well, this station would be all yours. Hyerin seems to notice, and she ruffles your hair lovingly with a laugh. She lets you set your large makeup bag on the empty vanity, getting a few things set up before they arrive for their consultation.

You blow hot air onto your freezing hands, relieved to finally have a bit of time to yourself to prepare. Unpacking a few things onto the vanity, you count once again to make sure you haven’t missed anything. Their respective foundations and concealers—check. Clean brushes for each of them—check. Palettes—check. Respective lip products—check. Everything is still unopened.

Phew.

Ater reassuring yourself that, yes, you brought all of their hair products too, you relax a bit, taking a seat on the couch in the other side of the studio. Now there’s nothing to do but wait.

——————

It’s still quiet in the Ateez dorms when Wooyoung begrudgingly wakes up to his alarm. 6:00am. Gross. He sighs and manages to get himself out of bed, cringing as the cold air hits his torso while he desperately searches for a hoodie. He struggles to get it on as he trudges over to find Jongho, knowing the younger member probably snoozed his alarm.

Entering his room, he smiles affectionately at the younger man still laying comfortable in bed, his squishy face pressed against the pillow and his blankets pulled all of way up to his chin. The serene moment is interrupted quickly, however, as Wooyoung climbs onto Jongho’s bed, effectively laying on top of him and wriggling around in an affectionate attempt to wake him up. Jongho groans and turns onto his back, sending Wooyoung rolling of to the other side of the bed. Puffing his lips out in a pout, Wooyoung shakes Jongho’s shoulders in another attempt to wake him up, making him grumble outa string of curses before opening his eyes. “What?” He asks, annoyed.

Wooyoung sighs. “We have to get ready to leave. Another makeup artist consultation.” Jongho reciprocates a sigh. Last month, the makeup artist responsible for taking care of the two men’s hair and makeup quit unexpectedly, leaving the company in a desperate search for somebody to fill the position. Over the last few weeks, Jongho and Wooyoung had to wake up early countless times in order to meet with potential candidates for consultations, the company wanting only the best for their prized members. Unfortunately for the two men, their company is picky. Jongho has lost count of how many artists they’ve consulted with over the last few weeks, and he’s tired of waking up earlier than everybody else everyday just to meet with another candidate that ultimately gets rejected. He has no doubt that today wont be any different.

Wooyoung seems to be thinking the same thing, because he nods sympathetically while he slides off of the younger members bed. “I know. But we have no other choice. Get up and get ready, we have to leave in 45 minutes. If we’re lucky, we’ll find a good candidate soon and we won’t have to do this shit anymore.”

Jongho sighs, but complies, forcing himself awake.

Now showered and clean shaven, the two men meet with their manager outside of the dorms, greeting him and climbing in the back of his car with less than eager expressions.

“Who’s the candidate this time?” Wooyoung asks, not doing much to hide the bitterness in his tone.

Manager-nim buckles up and starts the familiar drive to the makeup studio, looking at the tired men in his rear-view mirror with a sympathetic expression. “It’s somebody new, no experience. She’s foreign, moved here less than a year ago from what I gathered, so she speaks little Korean.”

The two men sigh, tired. Out of respect they say nothing, but their thoughts are clear. Why are we wasting our time doing this again? Manager-nim seems to take notice, and he adds quietly, “Hyerin-ssi recommended her.”

Jongho’s eyebrows raise slightly, though his face is still skeptical. Hyerin is known for being rather harsh when it comes to perfecting makeup—its part of what makes her such a good leader. So if she were to recommend somebody so unqualified to even consult with the members… she must see potential there. Still skeptical, the two opt for saying nothing.

Wooyoung nudges Jongho’s shoulder, waking the poor, tired boy as the car pulls into the lot of the studio. Wooyoung, deciding to be optimistic, smiles as he exits the car, hissing through his teeth at the cold but giggling regardless. No point in making yourself any more miserable, is there? Jongho couldn’t care less about looking towards the bright side of things. He’s tired, cold, and pissed off, and quite frankly he doesn’t want to be here. His face only prolongs Wooyoung’s fit of giggles.

Entering the studio, Bae Hyerin greets the three at the door, taking their coats.

“Good morning! Thank you two for coming in so early.”

Wooyoung nods, less grumpy now that he’s woken up a bit. “Of course! We’re excited~” It isn’t a complete lie, he justifies to himself. Jongho says nothing.

Hyerin isn’t blind to the air of annoyance eminating from the two youngest members, but she decides not to mention it. “I’m excited for you guys to meet her, too! She worked as a student under the studio for a few months, but honestly there wasn’t much we could teach her that she didn’t know already. She’s amazing.”

The two blink, a bit surprised. It’s the first time they’ve ever heard Hyerin speak so highly about anybody. Wooyoung smiles, looking forward to this visit a little more now. “What’s her name?”

Hyerin smiles fondly. “Y/N. She’s foreign, but I’ve had no difficulty communicating with her. She’s really cute, I hope you guys like her. I sincerely want her on our team.”

Wooyoung laughs softly, a bit entertained by how fondly their usually strict coworker is speaking about this new candidate. “Are you sure you don’t just have a crush on her?” He asks teasingly, making Hyerin roll her eyes and playfully smack his shoulder.

”Hush.”

Jongho opens his mouth to speak, but is suddenly interrupted by the sound of a new voice calling out from the doorway.

“Unnie, I’m sorry but is there any water I can- …uhm…” You blink with your wide doe eyes as you meet the gaze of two stunning men standing in the entrance speaking with Hyerin, confused. Hyerin turns around and smiles sweetly at you, walking over and gently pulling you toward the two men. Unable to do anything else, you let her.

“Good timing, Y/N, our members just got here! Wooyoung, Jongho, this is Y/N, the makeup artist you will be consulting with today.”

——————

A bit flustered to be meeting them so unexpectedly, you just blink for a second with your pretty, flustered eyes, before remembering yourself. You bow deeply.

“I’m sorry, you surprised me. My name’s Y/N, I’ll be taking care of you two today.”

Wooyoung giggles softly, finding the whole situation rather endearing, and Jongho can’t help himself as he, too, smiles at the scene. You’re nothing short of adorable, with deer-like features and a welcoming closed-lipped smile. Your hair falls short around your shoulders, fluffy as it frames your face, though it doesn’t appear to be particularly styled. Your face is adorned in a subtle, natural makeup, not appearing to be much more than a simply base, natural eye makeup, and some pretty pink lip gloss, but Jongho notes to himself that it suits your face perfectly. Your outfit is also simple, a cream colored, tight-fit turtleneck sweater tucked into light-wash baggy jeans topped off with a simple brown leather belt. Nothing about your appearance is necessarily astounding, but your girl-nextdoor vibe leaves the two finding themselves admiring how pretty you are.

Nervous as you feel their eyes on you, you instinctively reach to hold Hyerin’s hand, making Wooyoung press his lips tight together in an attempt to suppress his sudden cuteness aggression. Jongho smiles after only a few seconds since your introduction, bowing in return. “Good morning, Y/N, my name is Jongho Choi.” He responds in English. You blush from the cute gesture, giggling in slight surprise. Picking up on it, Wooyoung does the same. “I’m Jung Wooyung. Or… Wooyoung Jung. Nice to meet you!”

You laugh softly, giving the two the opportunity to admire your smile, which they find equally as endearing as the rest of you. “Nice to meet you too. Jongho, Wooyoung.” You nod in each of their directions, making them laugh. You feel Hyerin squeeze your hand happily, and you return the squeeze. “Which of you would like to work with me first? I can give you two some time to relax before we start while I get set up. I know it’s early.” You say politely, this time in Korean. You take your time with each sentence, wanting to pronounce everything correctly.

“Me first!” Wooyoung replies eagerly, interrupting Jongho snaps his head to look at Wooyoung in protest. Wooyoung shut him down quickly, stating simply, “I’m older.”

You laugh lightheartedly, enjoying the scene. “Alright then, Wooyoung-ssi first. I’ll give you a few minutes to eat something and get settled in while I set up, yeah? Just let me know whenever you’re ready.” Both men nod and thank you politely as you turn to leave, silent for a moment.

As soon as you’re out of sight, Wooyoung whispers excitedly, laughing in spite of himself. “She is cute!’

Hyerin laughs. “I know, right?”

——————

You hum to yourself as you get Wooyoung’s makeup ready on the vacant vanity, looking over your drawings one more time for good measure while Wooyoung and Jongho laugh over a small breakfast in the other room. Convincing yourself that you know his daily makeup by heart, you turn to rehearsing different hairstyles in your head, knowing it’s your weak spot. Wooyoung usually uses this mouse… or was it the other one? No, he likes the coconut one, right. And he recently got his hair bleached, so use an extra strength heat protectant for good measure. You jump as Wooyoung suddenly appears behind you, tapping your shoulder with a bottle of water. You wince as your jaw clamps down and you bite the inside of your cheek, but smile as you turn around.

“You okay?” Wooyoung laughs, sorry to have scared you. “Here, you were asking for water earlier.”

“Ah, thank you!” You feel a bit relieved, suddenly remembering how dry your mouth is. “Sorry, I was in my own world for a moment. Ready?”

Wooyoung nods, and you smile up at him, pulling the chair out for him and gesturing for him to take a seat. He obliges, sitting down and letting you drape a light cape over his front to protect his clothes. You pump the chair up a few inches, steeling yourself with a few breaths. God, I’m dramatic. You think, exhaling in slight annoyance at how nervous you are. It’s really not that serious.

“Any specific styles you want for today?” You ask, unable to bear staying alone with your thoughts any longer.

Wooyoung thinks, blinking. “Mmm… cool… sexy style.” He replies with a hint of bravado, making you smile. He lifts his hands, pushing one side of his hair back. ”Maybe half slicked back hair like vintage American TV actors, you know? And for makeup just… simple. Handsome..”

You nod, relieved to know exactly the style he’s referring to. You smile, and, unable to handle feeling awkward, you mock a salute. “Aye aye, captain.”

Wooyoung laughs, his eyes a bit surprised, but he quickly shakes his head through fits of giggles. “No, I’m not the captain! That title is only for Hongjoong-hyung.”

You blink, a bit confused for a moment. Hongjoong. As in Kim Hongjoong, the leader of Ateez? Probably. Thank goodness you did at least a little research. “Ah, your leader is the captain? Apologies.” You reply smoothly, your doe eyes sparkling with humor.

Wooyoung nods, clasping his hands in his lap and smiling with intrigue. “Do you know anything about Ateez?” He asks, watching as you squeeze some sun cream onto the back of your hand.

You laugh awkwardly. “Only what I researched when I found out I would be consulting with you two today.” You admit, gently applying some of the sun cream onto his face with the pad of your ring finger. “Eight handsome members with a pirate concept working hard to bring badass stages all around the world.” You say simply, summing up what you know.

Wooyoung laughs, endeared by your description. “You think we’re handsome?” He finds himself asking, wanting to tease you.

You nod, humming affirmatively without hesitation as you blend the cream on his face. You make brief eye contact and smile cheekily before refocusing on his makeup, making him blush.

Well, that backfired, he thinks, cursing himself internally for his failed attempt at flustering you. “How old are you?” He asks suddenly, almost without thinking.

You smile. “I was born 1999.”

He blinks, suddenly excited. “Oh, we’re the same age! Shall we drop the honorifics?”

You meet eyes with him, equally surprised, before nodding eagerly. “Ah, I would like that.”

Conversation comes easy with Wooyoung from that moment onward, as you introduce yourselves and get more comfortable with joking around. Jongho observes with slight surprise from the lounge portion of the large space, taking note of every laugh and blush from Wooyoung at your occasional remarks. He smirks, capturing a picture of the moment and sending it in the Ateez group chat, wanting to tease his hyung. But as he looks closer at the photo, he gasps slightly, catching a glimpse of his completed makeup while you finish up his hair. It’s nothing special, just what appears to Wooyoung’s normal, daily makeup. But something about the harmony of his features looked different… it was the closest thing to perfection he’d ever seen. He looks up from his phone, squinting to try and see him from across the room as if to confirm what he’s seeing. Unfortunately for him, you turn the chair around almost as soon as he does so, done with Wooyoung’s hair and eagerly showing him the finished look in the mirror.

Wooyoung’s reaction is equally as surprised.

He gasps as he sees the job you’ve done, taken aback as he leans forward to look closer at his makeup. The base is so flawless it may as well be his skin, and he reaches up to poke his cheek as if to make sure it isn’t a filter. His eye makeup is minimal, but the product is placed perfectly to accentuate the sharpness of his eyes rather than change the shape, something makeup artists have done commonly in the past. His lips are done in a perfect color for his skin tone, with gloss placed subtly in places where it can only be seen when the light hits it at certain angles, sculpting his plump lips beautifully. Even his nose, one of his proudest features, is perfectly carved out, again accentuating the feature just enough for it to harmonize with everything else. It’s shocking, frankly.

You knot your hands together, fidgeting nervously. Mistakenly taking his silence for dissatisfaction, you bite the inside of your cheek and shuffle on your feet.] “Ah.. is there anything you would like me to change…?” You ask tentatively, worried you might cry if he doesn’t say something soon. He seems to notice, because he pries his eyes away from the mirror and turns to face you, excitedly grasping your hands.

“No… this is amazing. How did you even do this?” He asks, no sign of his usual teasing smile on his face—only sincere shock.

You blush, suddenly looking away, feeling shy and…relieved. “Ah, really? I’m glad you like it.” You say quietly, hoping he can’t feel the nervous tremble of your hands. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything.

He lets go, turning back to look at the makeup in the mirror again. “Jongho-yah, come here. Look.”

Jongho stands up, also eager to get a closer look. He gasps in the same way as Wooyoung, gripping Wooyoung’s chin and tilting his head side to side in admiration. “Handsome…”

Wooyoung nods, meeting Jongho’s gaze with wide eyes as he communicates silently what he’s thinking. Jongho’s eyes say the same thing.

You clear your throat nervously, checking the time. “I’m sorry, if you don’t mind, can I get started with Jongho-ssi? We only have 45 minutes before you have to leave to get ready for your next schedule.”

“Ah, sorry.” Wooyoung says, removing his cape and handing it to Jongho while he swaps positions with the younger man. “Go ahead~”

You nod in thanks, and get to work with Jongho, starting the process all over again.

By the time you’ve finished up with his makeup, turning him around to style his hair, he’s already as energetic as Wooyoung, laughing at almost every silly remark you make and rebutting with ease. Wooyoung notices, noting to himself how easily you manage to adjust to different member’s humor. For reasons unbeknownst to him, that thought makes his cheeks feel warm. You speak comfortably as you style his hair, this styling a bit cuter than Wooyoung’s, per Jongho’s request. It doesn’t take long before you’re done with his hair as well, and you gently pat his shoulder before turning the chair around so he can see the final result.

The two men’s reactions are no different this time. Again, his features are balanced perfectly, with lips a perfect shade of pink, super soft nose contour, and puppy eyes accentuated with bits of subtle sparkles Jongho has never worn before, though he can’t help but like them. It’s perfect.

Wooyoung is quick to run over and admire the work as well, unable to close his jaw as he looks it over. “Jongho-yah, I don’t think you’ve ever looked so good.” He says, a hint of teasing in his tone.

You shake your head, laughing. “His bare face is my favorite. Both of you are perfect canvases to work on, seriously. So handsome. All I do is make that handsomeness pop for the cameras.” You explain, wiping excess makeup off your hands with a wet wipe. “But I’m glad you both like it.”

Both of them blush, unable to say anything in response as you excuse yourself to go wash your hands, struggling with just the wipes. Now along, the boys can finally speak in private.

“Hyung…” Jongho says softly, his voice carrying a tone Wooyoung’s maybe heard only once or twice before. “She’s perfect, seriously.”

Wooyoung nods, agreeing with a hushed, but still undeniably excited tone. “And also she’s so-“

“Cute, right?” Hyerin interjects, walking in the room. The two nods unashamedly. Hyerin steps closer, admiring your work on their faces. “Perfect, as usual. To think she was so nervous she would mess up today…” She shakes her head, smiling proudly as you return. You chirp happily at seeing her and rush over, quick to hug her arm.

“You did a good job, Y/N. You managed to make these two sleepy fools look like idols.” She praises sweetly, making Jongho scoff playfully.

You laugh nervously, shaking your head. “Thank you, Unnie. I’m glad you like it.” You turn as you hear the chime of the front door’s bell, presumably their manager re-enter the building to pick the two members up. You let Hyerin go so she can bring them in, and you’re surprised to see a few new faces instead of their manager. Hyerin clears her throat.

“Y/N, these are the people I was telling you about that would observe your work. No need to be nervous, they’re just going to talk with the members for a bit and make some final decisions.” She winks, but your shoulders still tense slightly at her unspoken words.

They’re going to determine whether or not you get the job.

You feel a sudden poke on your hip and look down to see Jongho smiling. You let out a breath at his sweet thumbs up, smiling slightly in return and bowing your head in silent thanks.

“Y/N, why don’t you go ahead and head out for the day? You did well.” Hyerin interjects, her face sympathetic. You nod, quickly moving to clean up the vanity and pack everything back into your compactable makeup bag. You give a quick bow to Wooyoung and Jongho, grinning sweetly before turning around, quick to leave the building.

Wooyoung and Jongho look at each other and smile, silently crossing their fingers while their hair and makeup is being observed.

They like you.

…

Yeah, they like you a lot.

This fic belongs to @frflyavenue and nobody else—please do not steal this work or any other works by this author <3

Chapter 2

267 notes · View notes

mononijikayu · 9 months ago

Text

lay your love on me — nanami kento.

You bit your lip to keep from laughing as you prepared to drop your bombshell. “You know how I’m always worried about you being a sorcerer and putting yourself in danger?” He nodded, clearly not seeing where you were going with this. “Yes, you’ve mentioned that a few times.” “Well,” you continued, struggling to keep a straight face, “I’ve come up with the perfect solution to that problem.” “And what’s that?” Kento asked, raising an eyebrow. “I think you should quit being a sorcerer and become my house–husband instead,” you announced with a grin.

GENRE: alternate universe - canon convergence;

WARNING/S: romance, marriage, nsfw, rated 18 and above, explicit content, kissing, making out, fingering, p to v sex, orgasm, humor, possessive behaviour, protectiveness, jealousy, characters speaking in sexual innuendo, mention of sexual euphemisms, depiction of explicit sexual content, nanami kento is that MAN, reader petitions for nanami to be her house husband;

WORD COUNT: 5.4k words.

NOTE: i hope this makes up for the fact that i've been writing a lot of angsty fics. this was supposd to be a baywatch thing. but i changed my mind. anyway, i'll be doing the side - 900 works in advance. i hope you enjoy this!!! from this point, i might be slower in updating because i'll be back to uni again and probably will be a little bit more busy. thank you for reading and always enjoy this one too!!! i love you <3

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HE’S NOT PROUD OF THE MAN HE’S BECOME. But it’s hard for him, when it comes to you, his precious wife. Nanami Kento had always considered himself above petty emotions like jealousy. He was calm, rational, the kind of man who could look at the world with a level head.

Yet, ever since he met you, ever since he’s fallen for you, built his life, his universe about you — his life had taken a turn he hadn't anticipated. You brought out something in him that was unfamiliar and unsettling—a possessiveness, an insecurity that gnawed at him whenever he saw the way others looked at you.

As he sat next to you on the sun-kissed beach, the warm Malaysian sunbathing you both in a golden glow, Nanami Kento found it difficult to fully relax. This was supposed to be your quality time, the belated honeymoon you both had both worked so hard to carve out from your hard and demanding schedules. For once, he had managed to take time off from his life as a sorcerer, a rare break that was meant to be a celebration of your love, their commitment to each other.

You were just as busy as he was, if not more. As a lawyer, you were brilliant, successful, and independent. You made more than he did, something that had never bothered him—until now. Not because of pride, but because it made him realize just how much you had to offer. You could have anyone, and yet you had chosen him. The thought should have been reassuring, but instead, it only added to his insecurity.

Instead of peace, he found himself caught up in a swirl of emotions he couldn’t quite shake. It wasn’t just his possessiveness—it was the realization that, for the first time in his life, he was vulnerable. He was vulnerable because he loved you so deeply, because the thought of losing you, or of someone else taking your attention, filled him with a fear he didn’t know how to handle.

Kento couldn’t tear his eyes away from you as you lay on the sunbed, basking in the warm Malaysian sun. The way the golden rays kissed your skin, making it glow, had him utterly captivated. You were wearing the tightest two-piece bikini, a vibrant floral design that contrasted beautifully against your sun-kissed skin. The colors brought out the vibrancy of your figure, accentuating every curve in a way that made his heart race.

He watched as you stretched languidly, your body moving with a grace that seemed almost otherworldly to him. The sunlight danced across your skin, highlighting the delicate contours of your body, the subtle rise and fall of your chest as you breathed, the curve of your waist, the length of your legs.

Every inch of you was perfection in his eyes, and it drove him mad how stunning you were. But it wasn’t just your physical beauty that had him so entranced; it was the knowledge that you were his, that this incredible, breathtaking person had chosen him.

His gaze lingered on your face, where a peaceful smile played on your lips, your eyes closed as you enjoyed the warmth of the sun. The gentle breeze teased a few strands of your hair, brushing them across your forehead, and he had to resist the urge to reach out and tuck them behind your ear. He loved these quiet moments, where he could just watch you, memorize the way you looked in the golden light, the way the sun turned your hair into a halo of warmth.

You were the most beautiful being to ever exist to him, and the thought made his chest tighten with a mix of pride and disbelief. How had he been so fortunate? What had he done to deserve someone like you in his life?

The longer he watched you, the more he felt that familiar, possessive edge creeping in. It was a feeling he wasn’t entirely comfortable with, one that he had never experienced before you came into his life. He had never thought of himself as the jealous type, but when it came to you, something primal and protective stirred within him. He didn’t want anyone else to look at you the way he did, to see what he saw, to appreciate the way you made the world a brighter, more beautiful place just by existing.

And yet, as he sat there, he knew that others couldn’t help but notice you too. It was impossible not to. You were radiant, magnetic, and he could see the way people’s gazes lingered on you, the appreciative looks that followed you whenever you walked by. He clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to do something irrational, to pull you close and stake his claim in front of everyone.

Kento could see the way men’s eyes lingered on you, the admiration in their gazes as they took in your beauty. It made his blood boil in a way he wasn’t proud of. He wanted to stand up, to make it clear that you were his, that no one else had the right to look at you like that. But he stayed silent, gripping your hand a little tighter, hoping the feeling would pass.

You opened your eyes, and your gaze met his. The smile that spread across your face was one of pure love, your eyes softening as you looked at him. In that moment, all his insecurities melted away. You were his, and he was yours. It was as simple as that.

Kento leaned back in his chair, his own smile tugging at his lips as he continued to watch you. You shifted slightly, propping yourself up on one elbow, your expression playful as you caught him staring.

“See something you like?” you teased, your voice light and full of affection.

“Always, my love.” he replied, his voice deep and sincere. His gaze never left yours as he spoke, and you could see the intensity of his feelings reflected in his eyes. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

You chuckled, a soft, melodic sound that made his heart skip a beat. “You’re not so bad yourself, you know.”

Kento couldn’t help but grin at that, though his expression quickly turned serious again. “It drives me mad, you know,” he admitted, his voice low. “How beautiful you are. How you’re mine.”

The way he said it, with such raw emotion, made your heart flutter. There was something in his tone, something almost possessive, that sent a shiver down your spine. But it wasn’t a bad feeling. If anything, it made you feel even closer to him, knowing that he felt so deeply for you.

“And you’re mine.” you replied softly, reaching out to take his hand in yours. The simple touch seemed to calm him, his fingers threading through yours as he gave your hand a gentle squeeze. Your eyes narrowed on him. “Only mine.”

And then there was your possessiveness. You couldn’t deny it—you were just as bad as he was when it came to jealousy. You tried to play it cool, but the truth was, you were no better at hiding it than he was. The moment you noticed the women stealing glances at him, their eyes lingering on his broad shoulders, his chiseled features, you felt a wave of irritation wash over you.

It was subtle, but Kento could sense the tension in you, the way your posture stiffened, the way you shifted closer to him, almost instinctively, as if to stake your claim. You wanted the world to know that this man was yours and yours alone.

Just as it does now.

Because if you were being honest, your husband was the most beautiful man in the world. With his muscular build and tall six-foot frame, he was the epitome of masculine perfection. The way his long, muscular arms held that beer bottle in his massive palm, the casual strength in his grip, made your heart flutter. His chiseled jaw tightened as he glanced in the direction of the men who had dared to look your way, his bright brown eyes narrowing in a clear, unmistakable warning. He didn’t have to say a word—the message was loud and clear: stay away.

You bit your lip, trying to suppress the smile that threatened to break through. This man belonged to you, and he wanted everyone to be sure that they knew it. There was something undeniably satisfying about the way he made it so obvious, so deliberate. And you knew that he felt the same way about you.

His gaze flicked back to you, softening when he saw the look in your eyes. It was a look that said, “I’m yours.” and it made your heart swell with love and possessiveness all over again.

You didn’t care if it was irrational, if it was a little bit crazy—this man was yours, and you were his. And you wanted everyone to know that you belonged to each other, that nothing and no one could come between you.

Kento must have sensed your thoughts, because he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he murmured, “You know you’re the only one I see, right?”

His voice was deep, reassuring, and it sent a shiver down your spine. “I know, babe." you whispered back, your fingers curling around his arm, feeling the solid muscle beneath his skin. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to make sure everyone else knows it too.”

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest as he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes sparkling with amusement and something deeper, something more primal. “Good.” he said, his tone possessive and full of promise. “Because I’m not about to let anyone forget that you’re mine either.”

You grinned at that, the fiery possessiveness in his words matching your own. It was an unspoken agreement, a mutual understanding that neither of you would ever let anyone come between what you had. Because you both knew that what you had was rare, precious, and worth protecting at all costs.

As you stood there, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body, you couldn’t help but marvel at how lucky you were. This beautiful, strong, and fiercely loyal man was yours. And you were his.

You pressed a kiss to his jaw, savoring the way he responded, the way his arm tightened around you just a little bit more. It was a simple gesture, but it carried the weight of everything you felt for him, everything you both felt for each other. This man belonged to you, and you belonged to him. And nothing in the world could change that.

It was a strange sort of dance, the two of you caught in a loop of possessiveness that neither could quite break free from. And yet, there was something oddly reassuring about it. In a world where you both faced so many uncertainties, where danger lurked around every corner, this shared jealousy was a reminder that you were both fiercely committed to each other. It wasn’t healthy, Kento knew that, but it was real. Even if you weren’t proud of it, even if Kento wasn’t proud of it — it was real. Between the two of you. It was love for you.

Still, the women’s gazes hadn’t wavered, you noticed. Their eyes still linger on your husband as if they had every right to admire him. The sight made your blood simmer, a protective, possessive streak flaring to life within you. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Kento—he was as loyal as they came—but you didn’t appreciate the way they were looking at him, as if he were something to be desired, something they could claim if they tried hard enough.

Your grip on his hand tightened as you leaned closer and you cast a glance in his direction. Kento, ever composed, was doing his best to ignore the attention, but you could see the slight tension in his jaw, the way his eyes flickered to you as if seeking reassurance. He puts away the beer bottle on the side and looks to you again.

A grin slowly spread across your lips as an idea formed. If those women wanted to look at your husband, you’d give them something to see—a clear, undeniable reminder that he was yours. You leaned in, your hand resting on his chest as you tilted your head up to meet his gaze.

Kento looked down at you, a question in his eyes, but before he could ask, you closed the distance between you, pressing your lips to his in a hot, passionate kiss. The world around you faded as you poured all your love, your possessiveness, your desire into that kiss. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was a statement. A declaration that this man, this incredible, strong, loyal man, was yours. And no one else had any right to him. He only belongs to you. Only you.

Kento’s initial surprise melted away as he responded in kind, his hand moving to cradle the back of your head, pulling you even closer. His lips moved against yours with a fervor that matched your own, and you could feel the heat radiating from him, the way his body relaxed into yours as if nothing else mattered. Kento’s arms slowly wrap around the small of your back, kissing you even deeper.

When you finally pulled back, you were breathless, your heart pounding in your chest. You could see the effect it had on him, the way his eyes had darkened with desire, the small, satisfied smile that tugged at his lips. You glanced over at the women who had been ogling him earlier. Their expressions had shifted—some were embarrassed, others annoyed, but all of them had gotten the message loud and clear.

Triumph surged through you as you turned back to Kento, your grin widening. “I think they got the point, babe.” you whispered, your voice teasing.

Kento chuckled softly, his thumb brushing over your lips as if to savor the moment. “I believe they did.” he murmured, his tone filled with warmth and a hint of amusement. “Though I must admit, I didn’t mind that at all.”

“Then…..can we continue this upstairs?”

Your husband’s eyes narrow, almost awakening something in him. “What do you have in mind?”

▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰

YOU DON’T THINK YOU WOULD EVER GET TIRED OF HIM. Nanami Kento always made you feel so many things—desire, love, passion—and you loved every bit of it. The tension between you had been building ever since that heated kiss on the beach, and as you made your way back to your hotel room, it only grew stronger.

Each step, each shared glance, every subtle touch added fuel to the fire burning between you. The anticipation was electric, and by the time you reached the door, it was like a dam waiting to burst.

The moment the door clicked shut behind you, the restraint you’d both been holding onto snapped. You pressed yourself against him, your lips crashing into his with a fervor that had your head spinning. It was as if you couldn’t get enough of him, couldn’t close the gap between you fast enough. His hands roamed your body with a hunger that matched your own, pulling you closer until there wasn’t an inch of space left between you.

The kiss deepened, growing more urgent, more desperate, as you both succumbed to the need that had been simmering beneath the surface all day. His fingers dug into your hips, guiding you back toward the bed as he claimed your mouth over and over again, each kiss more intense than the last.

You could feel his desire, the way his muscles tensed beneath your touch, the low growl that rumbled in his chest as you tugged at his shirt, pulling it over his head. The moment the fabric hit the floor, his lips were back on yours, his hands working to free you from your bikini. The way he touched you, with a mix of reverence and raw need, sent shivers down your spine. He breaks the kiss.

“Kento, Kento….” you breathed finally, your voice trembling with anticipation as you felt his lips trail down your neck, leaving a path of fire in their wake. His hands moved with purpose, untying the strings of your bikini, and the sensation of the cool air against your bare skin only heightened the intensity of the moment.

He leaned back for just a moment, his gaze sweeping over you with a look of pure, unfiltered desire. “You’re perfect, my love.” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion, before his lips were back on yours, more insistent this time, as if he couldn’t bear to be apart from you for even a second.

Your hands found their way to the waistband of his beach shorts, your fingers trembling slightly as you pushed them down, the fabric pooling at his feet. You could feel the heat of his body against yours, the way his hard, muscular frame pressed against you, and it sent a rush of heat straight to your core.

The bed hit the back of your knees, and before you knew it, you were tumbling onto the soft sheets, Kento following you down, his body covering yours in an instant. The weight of him, the feel of his skin against yours, was intoxicating. He presses his lips against yours again, the heat between your bodies burning you even more.

You moaned into his mouth, the sound muffled as he deepened the kiss, his hands exploring every inch of your body as if he was trying to memorize you all over again. You could feel his arousal pressing against you, the heat of him throbbing against your thigh, and it sent a jolt of electricity through your body.

His lips left yours, trailing down your neck once again and across your collarbone, leaving a trail of fire wherever they touched. The feeling of his mouth on your skin, combined with the way his hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer, was almost too much to bear.

“Kento, babe.” you gasped, your voice breaking as he found that sensitive spot just below your ear, his teeth grazing the skin there in a way that made you arch against him, desperate for more. “It’s so….it’s so hot.”

“Tell me what you want, my love.” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and filled with need.

“You.” you breathed, your fingers threading through his hair as you pulled him closer, needing to feel every part of him against you. “I want you, Kento.”

The way he responded, with a deep, guttural groan, sent shivers down your spine. His hands moved to your thighs, spreading them apart as he settled between them. It was as though he found home again. You groaned as you felt his hands explore the exposed skin. He was enjoying this, you knew. He enjoyed teasing you.

“God, Kento.” you breathed out, your voice trembling with need. He was driving you wild, his touch lighting you up in ways you hadn’t thought possible. You needed more, needed him closer, needed to feel him in every possible way..

You could feel him pressing against you, his lips returning to yours in a kiss that was just as intense as before. It was almost too much, the way his body fit so perfectly against yours, the way his hands moved with such skill and tenderness, the way every inch of him seemed to be in tune with your needs.

The anticipation was building, the need for him becoming overwhelming as you felt his fingers deftly undo the last of your bikini top. The cool air of the room brushed against your exposed skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat radiating between the two of you. You could feel the wetness pooling between your thighs, the desperate longing for him growing with each passing second.

Kento’s touch was everything—gentle and firm, demanding and patient all at once. The way he handled you, the way he made you feel, it was almost too much to bear, and yet you couldn’t get enough. You wanted more, needed more, and he seemed more than willing to give it to you. He liked to give you more and more, to satiate your greed.

Your bodies moved together with a rhythm that felt both familiar and electrifyingly new. The room was filled with the sounds of your heavy breathing, the soft rustle of sheets, and the occasional, intoxicating moans that slipped from your lips as Kento's hands roamed over your bare skin.

His touch was a maddening mix of tenderness and raw desire, each caress lighting a fire inside you that grew with every passing moment. His fingers traced the curve of your hips, the dip of your waist, and the softness of thighs, lingering just long enough to make you gasp before moving on. You could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin as his lips followed the path of his hands, kissing and nipping at every sensitive spot he could find.

You arched your back as his mouth moved lower, his lips grazing the sensitive skin of your collarbone before trailing down to your chest. He took his time, savoring every inch of you as if he wanted to memorize the way you tasted, the way you felt beneath him. His tongue flicked over your nipple, sending a shockwave of pleasure through you that made your toes curl. You moaned his name, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer, urging him on.

Kento responded with a low growl, the sound vibrating against your skin as he took your nipple into his mouth, sucking gently before letting his teeth graze the sensitive flesh. The sensation was almost too much to bear, your body reacting with a surge of heat that pooled between your thighs. You could feel the wetness there, the way your body was aching for him, and you knew that he could feel it too.

His hands slid down your sides, his fingers tracing the curve of your hips before dipping between your thighs. The first touch of his fingers against your slick heat made you cry out, your hips bucking involuntarily as you pressed yourself against his hand. He moved with agonizing slowness, teasing you with light, feathery touches that only made your desire grow stronger.

You could feel the tension building inside you, the need for release becoming almost unbearable as he continued to tease you. His fingers slipped between your folds, stroking you with a skill that had your head spinning. Each touch sent a jolt of pleasure through you, your body trembling with anticipation as he brought you closer and closer to the edge. One after another, it was a pandemonium of pleasure. When you came, you sobbed as you felt his fingers tighten against your crevices.

“Kento, babe. Please.” you gasped, your voice trembling with need. “Please, I need you.”

He lifted his head, his eyes dark with desire as he looked down at you. There was something primal in his gaze, something that made your heart skip a beat. He wanted you just as badly as you wanted him, and that knowledge sent a thrill of excitement through you.He removed his fingers, licking them clean one after another, enjoying the taste of you. The sight of him made you even more wet.

“What do you want, my love?” He cooed at you. “Where do you want me?”

“Inside, Kento.” You muttered, your eyes beaming with pleasure. “Please, babe. Please.”

He didn’t make you wait any longer, his dear love. With a practiced ease, he positioned himself between your thighs, his hands gripping your hips as he guided himself to your entrance. The tip of his cock brushed against your swollen folds, and you could feel the heat of him, the way his length stretched you as he slowly pushed inside.

The sensation was overwhelming, the feeling of him filling you completely making you gasp for air. Your hands clutched at his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as you tried to anchor yourself in the whirlwind of pleasure that threatened to consume you.

Kento moved with deliberate, measured thrusts, each one sending a wave of ecstasy through your body that made your vision blur. He was gentle but firm, his pace steady as he worked to bring you both to the peak of pleasure. You could feel every inch of him inside you, the way he stretched you, filled you, in a way that made you feel utterly complete.

Your moans filled the room, each one growing louder as he picked up the pace, his hips snapping against yours with a growing urgency. The bed creaked beneath you, the sound almost drowned out by the symphony of your lovemaking. You could feel the tension coiling in your belly, the familiar pressure building as he drove you closer and closer to the edge.

“Kento, I’m… I’m so close, babeeeeee!” you breathed out, your voice trembling with anticipation. You were right on the edge, teetering on the brink of a powerful release that you could feel building inside you like a storm.

“Let go, love.” he whispered against your ear, his voice rough with desire. “I’ve got you. Let go for me.”

His words were all you needed. With a final, powerful thrust, he pushed you over the edge, your body shattering into a million pieces as your orgasm ripped through you. You cried out his name, your voice breaking as waves of pleasure crashed over you, each one more intense than the last.

Kento followed you into bliss, his hips stuttering as he buried himself deep inside you, his own release overtaking him. You could feel the warmth of him spilling into you, the way his body trembled against yours as he groaned your name, his voice thick with emotion.

For a moment, the world stood still. All you could feel was him, all you could hear was the sound of your racing hearts and the ragged breaths you both struggled to catch. He stayed inside you, his body pressed against yours as you both came down from the high, the aftershocks of pleasure still rippling through you.

Slowly, he pulled out, leaving you with a feeling of emptiness that was quickly replaced by the warmth of his arms wrapping around you. He pulled you close, holding you against his chest as he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead.

“I love you, love.” he whispered, his voice soft and full of sincerity. “So much.”

“I love you too, babe.” you murmured back, your voice barely above a whisper. Your body was spent, completely exhausted from the intensity of your lovemaking, but you felt content, safe, and utterly cherished in his arms.

As you lay there together, his arms tighten around you as if he never wanted to let you go. And in that moment, with the warmth of his body against yours and the sound of the waves crashing outside, you knew that you were exactly where you were meant to be—right here, in his arms, for as long as you both lived.

▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰

epilogue

Later that evening, after the intensity of your earlier moments had faded into a comfortable, blissful haze, you found yourself curled up against Kento’s chest, his arm wrapped securely around you. You sighed, almost as though you were the most content in your entire life.

He’d already made sure to take care of you and clean you up, even making you some tea so that you could relax on your shared bed. And you love him for it. He always spoils you to no end. The sound of the waves outside your window was a soothing backdrop, lulling you into a state of utter contentment.

As you lay there, a thought popped into your mind, one that made you grin mischievously. You tilted your head up to look at him, your fingers lightly tracing patterns on his chest.

“Kento, babe.” you began, your tone teasing, “I’ve been thinking.”

“Hm?” He glanced down at you, his expression warm and relaxed, though there was a hint of curiosity in his eyes. “What’s on your mind?”

You bit your lip to keep from grinning as you prepared to drop your bombshell. “You know how I’m always worried about you being a sorcerer and putting yourself in danger?”

He nodded, clearly not seeing where you were going with this. “Yes, you’ve mentioned that a few times.”

“Well, babe.” you continued, struggling to keep a straight face. “I’ve come up with the perfect solution to that problem.”

“And what’s that?” Kento asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I think you should quit being a sorcerer and become my house–husband instead.” you announced with a grin.

There was a moment of silence as Kento processed what you’d just said. His usually stoic expression shifted, his eyes narrowing slightly as he tried to determine whether or not you were serious. You could see the wheels turning in his head, and it only made it harder for you to hold back your laughter. He looked cute, when he's thinking, you like to believe.

“A… house–husband?” he repeated slowly, as if testing the word out on his tongue.

“Yes! A house–husband, babe.” you confirmed, nodding enthusiastically. “You’d be amazing at it! You could cook, clean, and take care of everything at home while I go to work. And you’d never have to worry about exorcisms or curses or any of that dangerous stuff ever again.”

Kento blinked at you, his mouth opening as if to say something, then closing again as he reconsidered. Finally, a small, amused smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “And what would I do all day at your house–husband?”

“Oh, I’m sure you’d find plenty to do, babe.” you replied, barely able to keep a straight face. “You could perfect your cooking skills, learn how to fold the perfect fitted sheet, maybe even take up knitting! Plus, you’d have plenty of time to dote on me when I come home from work. Maybe even meet the old ladies at the corner store! They really like zumba, just as much as you do.”

At that, Kento let out a low chuckle, the sound vibrating through his chest. “Knitting, huh? I didn’t realize that was part of the job description.”

“Well, it’s optional.” you conceded with a giggle. “But I think you’d be really good at it.”

Kento shook his head, clearly amused by your antics. “You’re serious about this, aren’t you?”

“Dead serious.” you replied, though the twinkle in your eyes betrayed your true intentions. “I mean, think about it. No more dangerous missions, no more fighting curses. Just a quiet, peaceful life at home with me. Grow old together and me spoiling my husband with bringing in the dough and you spoiling me with all your love. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

He considered it for a moment, his expression thoughtful. “It does sound nice.” he admitted, his tone still teasing. “But I’m not sure how I’d feel about giving up my job to become a… house–husband.”

“Oh, come on.” you coaxed, poking him playfully in the ribs. “You’d love it. And I’d love coming home to you every day. Plus, you’d look really cute in an apron.”

That finally did it. Your husband Kento burst out laughing, the sound rich and warm as it filled the room. You couldn’t help but join in, your own laughter mingling with his as you both imagined the ridiculousness of the idea. But you suppose the ridiculousness of it is what made it so touching. Life is always strange anyway, you think. And he knows that too.

When the laughter finally subsided, Kento leaned down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “I appreciate the thought.” he said, his voice full of affection. “But for now, I think I’ll stick to being a sorcerer for now. Though I have to admit, the idea of being your house–husband is tempting.”

“Tempting enough to reconsider?” you asked with a grin, though you knew his answer.

“Not quite, love.” he replied, chuckling. “But I’ll keep it in mind as a backup plan.”

“Deal.” you agreed, snuggling closer to him. “But just so you know, I’m not giving up on the idea entirely. You’d make an excellent house–husband. Mine only, of course.”

Kento smiled down at you, his eyes soft and filled with love. “And you’d make an excellent lawyer who brings home the bacon.”

“Then it’s settled.” you said, laughing. “We’ll just have to make sure you stay safe so I don’t have to resort to plan B.”

“With you by my side, love? I have no doubt I will.” he murmured, kissing you softly as you both settled back into the peaceful, contented silence of the evening.

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shadowkoo · 7 months ago

Text

disgraceful dreams

→ Summary: After two years of lustful pining and disgraceful dreams about someone far out of your reach, you decide the only way to move past your hopeless crush on Onyx Academy's star student is by taking part in the Lupercalia festival for the very first time.

↠ wooyoung x f.reader (feat. yeosang) | 16.4k words | 18+ ↠ genre: witch/warlock au, smut, virgin!reader, inspired by s2e3 of caos, slowburn

→ Full Fic Warnings: little bit of social class discrimination, cult-ish behavior (mentions of blood, Y/N uses a knife to cut her hand for binding/ritual purposes), being ‘hunted’ like prey, explicit sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, pet names, praise kink, biting, nipple play, breast play, begging, fingering, mutual masturbation, oral (female and male receiving), exhibitionism, voyeurism, partial agoraphilia & semi-public sex, dirty talk, heavy teasing, spanking, multiple orgasms, grinding, deep dicking, size kink (wooyoung is HUNGGG), magical sex, fucking up against a tree, slight age gap (y/n is 20 and wooyoung is 25), slight corruption, choking, possessive!wooyoung, woo is ravenous for you (you’re welcome)

→ Networks: tagged below

@ksmutsociety @k-vanity @pirateeznet @cromernet

@illusionnet @othersideoutlawsnetwork @cultofdionysusnet

→ Moodboard: view here!

→ Author Note: edited by the lovely aeris @beomcoups whom i appreciate so SO much for tackling this beast of a fic ILY! And also to ally @lovetaroandtaemin for reading this over for me!!! this doesn’t follow the exact lupercalia process, i’ve twisted it to work for my fic and based it around halloween instead of valenbarf day lol, if you'd prefer to read on ao3, it's been crossposted here!! all likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated <3

⋆˙⟡ m.list ⟡⋆⟡ ao3 ⟡⋆⟡ wips ⟡⋆⟡ updates ⟡⋆⟡ shadow realm ⟡˙⋆

‘This can’t be real.’

Jung Wooyoung casts a dark look upon you while taking in your ethereal, naked form before him. The flames of the common room’s fireplace dance in his eyes, reflecting his sinister and most impure thoughts. Thoughts of you, what he wants to do to you. With you.

‘I must be dreaming.’

He circles around you, hovering over your backside and letting his hands fall to your bare hips. His touch leaves a trail of goosebumps across your skin.

“Mmm, can I touch you?” Wooyoung whispers as he leans in to kiss the dip between your shoulder and neck.

You nod, giving him permission to do whatever he pleases, and lean back against his broad chest.

His hands move from your side, one moving upward to cup your breast, the other heading down between your legs, gently tracing your silky skin until his fingers find their way home and sink into your sweet center.

The sensation awakens you from your sinful slumber, and you sigh, realizing it was only a dream—another delicious and depriving dream that left you wanting someone who would never consider you.

Groaning, you force yourself to roll out of bed and step toward your closet. Black Mass isn’t for another hour, but arriving early might help erase these recurring dreams from your memory.

Your footsteps echo in the empty hall as you exit the residential wing, making your way outside. It’s a beautiful gloomy day, the air is crisp and the sun is hidden by thick clouds that look as if they could open up at any moment and soak the woods with another harsh day of rain - something you wouldn’t mind.

The fog creeps through the forest, following your steps and trailing behind while you wait for your familiar to catch up. Besides your raven’s distant cry, it’s quiet. The hum of the earth’s magic is even more reserved than usual. It’s peacefully eerie.

“Ghoul Morning, Blair,” you say, extending your wrist out for her. She caws from above and slowly descends from the clouds, eagerly accepting your arm as the safe place to perch while you walk along the path to the Unholy Church.

Though she looks like a raven while masked, Blair wreaks havoc in her goblin form on anyone, and anything, that dares to disturb you. She’s one of the strongest familiars a witch could be cursed with, and you’ve been thankful for her services ever since you started training.

It’s your second year attending The Onyx Academy of Dark Casting, a magical finishing school that only the finest witches and warlocks between the ages of nineteen and twenty-five are given the unholiest privilege to attend.

Of these students, the Dark Stars of each class lead with their high values and spectacular spell casting. More often than not, they graduate with the highest dishonor and ascend to become High Priests and Priestesses of covens across the world.

Jung Wooyoung is a beloved Dark Star and stellar student, and it’s rumored that he’ll become the youngest Anti-Pope inducted into the Church of Night after his completion here at the academy.

Even with your unique gift, it’s not in the cards for a person of your status to ever equal his. Which you very well know and understand, despite the dark fantasies that haunt you most nights and your schoolgirl crush that hasn’t gone away since the very first day you met him.

Blair lets out a sharp caw, her wings cutting through the air as she ascends, perching gracefully on the steeple just as you arrive at the church. Her dark silhouette stands stark against the sky, watching over you like a silent sentinel.

The towering doors creak open as you approach them, welcoming you inside the dim space. You walk between the rows of pews, watching the candles that mark the aisle light up as you pass.

Once closer to the altar, you lift a hand and wave it across the front of the sanctuary. The room becomes brighter as the remaining unlit candles grow flames from your magic.

You have a way with the elements; you’re able to manipulate and control them as you wish without specific spells, conjuring them when you please. Your energy is unmatched compared to the other gifted students.

Yet, instead of improving your social status, being gifted has made you even more of an outcast. The professors are wary of your potential and what you could be capable of; the students keep their distance too, either jealous or frightened of your power.

Needless to say, you’re not Miss Popular, but that doesn’t bother you as much as it could. Only the luckiest of witches and warlocks are disgraced with gifts from the Dark Lord, and having chosen you out of everyone means something. And knowing the Dark Lord chose you is enough.

You settle into your usual pew, the familiar creak of the wooden bench under you blending into the background as your mind begins to churn. Thoughts swirl of today’s impending announcement during Father Blackmoor’s sermon cross your mind.

The excitement for Lupercalia is beginning to build. This ancient festival, celebrated by all magic wielders the week leading up to Halloween, is dedicated to the Goddess Peralia, who blesses covens with enhanced health, virility, and fertility in exchange for an indelicate offering. Participants must engage in a series of ritualistic events celebrating lust and sexuality, transforming the festival into a vibrant expression of desire and intimacy. Only then will she offer her unholiest blessing.

You sit there, not in prayer, but in a quiet storm of contemplation, unsure if you will sign up for the festival this year. Another downfall to being viewed as an outsider is that you have yet to experience, well, anything. Sure, you might have kissed a couple of warlocks in your intermediate years, you even had a boyfriend in prep school whom you were convinced you could have loved eventually, but your virtue has yet to be given away.

It’s common for witches and warlocks to lose their virginity during Lupercalia; typically when they are in prep school. In fact, it’s encouraged. Yet, by age twenty, you still haven't mustered the courage to join in the festivities.

This year might be different…

The sudden crash of books jolts you from your thoughts. You turn to see Yeosang, a fellow student, crouched beside a toppled stack of The Book of Blood, its pages splayed open.

“My apologies; I didn’t mean to disturb you,” he says, a hint of embarrassment in his voice as he scrambles to gather the scattered volumes. His cheeks flush slightly, and you can't help but smile softly.

He’s a sixth-year student, just like Wooyoung. Yet, where Wooyoung’s presence demands your attention with an almost suffocating charisma, Yeosang embodies a more reserved demeanor. He tends to stick to his tight-knit group of friends and immerses himself in his studies, radiating a quiet intensity that draws you in without overwhelming you.

You feel a wave of annoyance wash over you as soon you realize that even in the presence of another man, your thoughts keep drifting back to Wooyoung. It frustrates you to no end, pushing you to a spontaneous decision: this year will finally be the year you break free from this obsession. By participating in Lupercalia, you’re determined to finally move on from him once and for all.

“Don’t worry about it,” you reply, “The Dark Lord has already provided me with the clarity I came here for.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” he says, carefully restacking the last book. He glances to his left, likely considering the seat he usually occupies, before turning back to you. “Would you mind if I joined you?” he asks, a hopeful note in his voice as he gestures toward the space beside you.

“Not at all, please do,” you smile.

He settles beside you with an effortless grace, and the air around you immediately fills with the warm, intoxicating blend of amber and musk from his cologne. The scent is rich, almost magnetic, pulling your attention in ways you hadn’t anticipated. You fidget with your hands, trying to focus on anything but how good he smells, as your mind races to keep pace with your quickening heartbeat.

Maybe... you could partner with Yeosang for the festival. The thought lingers as you steal a glance at him from the corner of your eye. He’s undeniably handsome—sharp features that give him a striking, confident look, but it’s his kindness that really stands out. There’s a warmth in the way he carries himself, a subtle softness behind those strong eyes that makes him more than just attractive. You wonder what it would be like to lose your virginity to someone like him, someone who seems both strong and thoughtful in all the right ways.

"Are you sure you are okay? You seem a little tense," he asks, his voice laced with genuine concern as his eyes search your face. You hesitate to answer, feeling the heat rising in your cheeks, and though you're trying to keep your composure, your breath has grown a little quicker, more shallow.

Thankfully, he’s kind enough not to mention it, but you catch the flicker of awareness in his gaze. His words are gentle, but there's an underlying curiosity there—like he's not just asking out of politeness but because he genuinely cares. You try to steady yourself, aware of the closeness between you, and suddenly the air feels heavier as if the moment itself is holding its breath, waiting for your next move.

"I didn’t mean to pry if it’s personal," he quickly adds, his voice softening as he notices your hesitation. His words have a touch of urgency, and he backtracks, not wanting to make you uncomfortable. His shifts slightly, giving you space while still holding onto the moment, unsure whether to push further or retreat.

"Can I tell you a secret?" The words escape your lips before you even realize what you’ve said. For a moment, you freeze, caught off guard by your sudden vulnerability. His eyes widen slightly in surprise, but there’s no turning back now.

Yeosang nods and softly says, “Of course.”

“I’ve…never participated in Lupercalia,” you admit guardedly.

“Oh, um. That’s, uh…” He’s visibly taken aback when he hears your confession, stumbling over his words. “Wow, I… I wasn’t expecting that.”

He shifts awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, uh, that’s really something. I just, uh… I guess I never saw you as someone who hadn’t, you know, participated.” He draws out the last word, his tone heavy with the unspoken meaning.

You nod, trying to meet his eyes. “I know, it’s just… I never felt called to join in on the festivities in previous years. But lately, that feeling has… changed.”

“Oh. Right, yeah, I get it. So you’ll be signing up for the events this year?” He asks with a calm, collected voice, though he’s concerned that the quickened rhythm of his heartbeat betrays his calm facade.

Hearing your confession piques his interest. He’s always found you hauntingly beautiful and has enjoyed the casual conversations you’ve shared between classes and such, but today feels different.

He knew you didn’t actively participate last year, though he figured you were still doing something-someone-in private. Now that your secret is out, there's something undeniably more intriguing about you—an unexpected allure that wasn’t there before.

“Yeah, I’m thinking about it.”

“I think you should,” he blurts out, then quickly adds, “What I mean is, the festival’s about self-expression and the intimacy you share along the way. If you’re looking for a wild introduction to Lupercalia, there will be plenty of opportunists who share that venereal vision. But if you want something more comforting…choose someone who makes you feel safe and respected for your first time.” Yeosang trails off, his gaze lingering a little too long, the implication unmistakable. He clears his throat, trying not to give himself and his intentions away.

“Thank you, Yeosang,” you say while resting a hand above his knee, genuinely appreciating his insight.

Before the conversation can continue, the sound of footsteps echoes through the Church as fellow students file in, taking their seats. Black Mass is about to begin.

Wooyoung hadn’t intended to listen in on your conversation. He was too busy waiting for the other Dark Stars to arrive at the closed-off sanctuary to finish preparing for Black Mass. As usual, they didn’t show up early despite his suggestions. That’s a lie; he knew his words were less like suggestions and more like demands.

He was well aware they’d be late today, especially since most of the fifth and sixth years had spent the night at an intimate pre-Lupercalia party that stretched into dawn.

The only reason he peeked through the shadows was due to a loud crash, which he soon realized came from Yeosang, who appeared entranced by someone sitting near the front of the Church. That’s when he noticed it was you.

He’ll admit to having observed you over the past year—not out of personal interest, but because he’s intrigued by your unique gift and curious as to why the Dark Lord chose you of all people. Yes, you’re undeniably attractive as most witches are, but your ability to manipulate pure power without relying on spellwork is, to him, the most compelling quality you possess. If you had the right social standing, you would likely ascend to the role of High Priestess in a very fortunate coven.

From his hidden vantage point, he watches as his friend settles down beside you; that’s when the conversation begins.

“I’ve…never participated in Lupercalia,” he hears you share your secret. Now that is quite a confession.

Wooyoung’s lips curl into a smirk as he observes your flushed face from a distance, the rosy hue contrasting with the cold room that surrounds you. There’s a spark of mischief in his eyes as he takes in the way you shift nervously, completely unaware of his gaze.

Knowing that you haven’t been touched stirs a mix of amusement and curiosity within him. He wonders what thoughts are racing through your mind, feeling a strange sensation rush through him when you place your hand on his classmate’s thigh.

He saw no reason to hold back from participating. The moment he came of age, he dove in—and he’s done so every year since, always finding ways to revel in the experience to the fullest. As he reflects on past encounters, a pleased smile crosses his face as he silently counts the number of popped cherries he’s collected over the last several seasons, each a vivid memory weaved into his mind.

‘What’s one more…’

As more students trickle in and take their seats, the soft murmur of conversation fills the air. Wooyoung senses the moment is right and slips out of the shadows just as Father Blackmoor begins to walk down the aisle, weaving between the pews filled with eager faces. The flickering candlelight dances on the stone walls, casting a warm glow that contrasts with the coolness of the sanctuary.

He moves to stand on the left of Father Blackmoor, joining the other Dark Stars who are trying to stifle their yawns. The collective fatigue from the previous night’s festivities hangs in the air, but a shared excitement simmers beneath the surface. He exchanges brief glances with his fellow Stars, a silent acknowledgment of their late-night revelry and the anticipation of what today’s ceremony will bring.

“Fiends and Friends, today marks the beginning of our annual Lupercalia Festival,” Father Blackmoor announces, his voice resonating through the crammed Church. “As you all know, Lupercalia is upon us. I can feel the excitement buzzing in the air. The Festival of Wolves is a cherished tradition within our coven, and we take immense pride in honoring Goddess Peralia through a series of exhilarating rituals, all in hopes of receiving her unholiest blessings. With that in mind, let’s review the week’s events for those of you who are new to our practices.”

Father Blackmoor pauses to take an envelope from Wooyoung. “Tomorrow marks the start of the Assessment Period, which will be held in the Grand Hall. Witches who sign up today will be quizzed by prospective partners in hopes of finding their ideal match.”

“Courting begins on Tuesday. Those interested in a specific witch will reserve time slots to spend more time together. By the end of the night, the warlocks must submit the names of the witches they wish to be paired with. This will be followed by the Matching Ceremony on Wednesday, where the pairs will be revealed to the entire coven. On Thursday, we’ll have the Moon Ritual, during which the paired couples will venture into the darkwood to complete the rite. More specific details will be shared on the day, but they are expected to spend the night together beneath the moon in unholy abstinence.”

Some students snicker, knowing very well they won’t be abstaining from anything that night.

Father Blackmoor waits for the room to settle down before continuing, “Friday ushers in the Insatiable Hunt at dusk, where wolf-masked warlocks will chase after their red-cloaked witches through the woods, culminating in divine pleasure once they’ve been caught. We’ll conclude the week of festivities on Saturday with the Final Feast, where we will express our gratitude to Goddess Peralia for her many blessings this season.”

Wooyoung steps forward once more, this time carrying an ancient, leather-bound tome. The worn edges and faded lettering hint at its age and significance.

It’s the Book of Blood; which contains hundreds of Witches and Warlock's printed names, signed with their crimson ink, as a binding commitment to their word. It’s like a contract between yourself, the entire coven, and the Dark Lord himself.

With a practiced hand, he carefully cracks it open, his eyes sweeping across the room. “Witches that dare to participate, please step forward, say your intent, and sign your name in the Book of Blood.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as you push yourself to your feet, joining the line of participants ahead of you. A mix of excitement and nerves swirl in your stomach, each step bringing you closer to the moment you've been both dreading and anticipating.

The weight of curious eyes fall on you as you move, but none more intense than Yeosang's. His gaze feels like a spotlight, cutting through the crowd around him.

With each passing second, your pulse quickens as the line inches forward at a deathly slow pace. Every breath feels shallow, as if the air is too thick for your lungs to handle. Despite the knot of nerves tightening in your belly, your feet move on their own, as if guided by some force beyond your control.

Before you even realize it, you’re standing before Wooyoung. His eyes pierce down onto you while he hands you a knife, “Do you hereby pledge your full participation and commitment to the forthcoming Lupercalia festival and all associated events?”

Taking a deep breath, you respond, “Yes, I pledge myself.”

You take the knife from him, feeling the cold steel as you press the sharp blade into your palm. With a swift motion, you slice a clean, precise line across your skin. Ruby-red blood wells up, pooling in your cupped hand. Without hesitation, Father Blackmoor raises his hand, his dark magic swirling in the air as he draws the blood from your palm. It twists and shapes into the form of a pen, glowing faintly with a sinister aura, ready to be used.

You reach up and grasp the hovering pen, its energy vibrating through your hand. As you sign your name in the book, a surge of adrenaline floods your veins, electrifying every nerve. The moment the ink dries, you feel an undeniable shift. Something deep within you has been awakened.

Wooyoung smirks, knowing the sensation very well. “There’s no backing out now,” he says to you, his gaze locking onto yours, sharp and unrelenting.

“So,” Jongho, a second-year student like yourself, pauses to clear his throat after pulling on his tie, “That was awful.”

You chuckle, relieved to see you're not the only one with frayed nerves. “Yeah, good luck with the rest of them.”

He smiles back before shuffling along to the next person.

It’s Assessment Day, and every witch who signed their name is being rigorously questioned by the participating warlocks. Friends who had gone through this in previous years warned you about what to expect, and they were right. It’s definitely a forced mingling period on steroids.

It’s only been an hour, and you’re already exhausted of the routine of answering questions filled with probing and uncomfortable inquiries that delve into personal preferences. Over and over again, you're forced to confront touchy subjects, as if each question is designed to peel away the layers of your desires, as if you know.

The process feels more like an interrogation than a mere assessment, testing not just your patience, but your lack of knowledge on the subject at hand—sex.

The situation would be far less awkward if you didn't have to sit directly across from someone to verbally review the list. After each question, it’s mandatory to respond in one of the following ways: Agree - you give consent to the matter being discussed with the current party; Acknowledge - it is a potential option, and you give partial consent or Decline - no consent is given.

You pick at your fingernails while you wait for the next warlock.

“Penny dreadful for your thoughts?” You glance up to see Yeosang sliding into the seat across from you, with a broad smile spread across his handsome face.

“Oh, hi!” you say, doing your best to not sound startled. “Just wondering when all of this will be over, you know?” you continue, waving your arms around.

“Yeah, this part of the process isn’t the most comfortable. But I understand why it’s necessary,” he comments while leaning forward on the table. “Have the others been respectful?”

“Oh, yes. Yeah, everyone has been nice. I’m learning how many students I’ve never spoken to before,” you reply lightheartedly.

"Shall we begin?" Yeosang asks with a playful glint in his eyes, nodding toward the paper resting between you on the table, waiting for your cue to dive in.

Just as he reaches to pick up the list of desires to discuss, his movement is halted by the sudden arrival of Wooyoung, whose presence instantly commands attention.

He strides up to your table with his usual confidence, a grin tugging at his lips. The conversation shifts before it even begins, as Wooyoung’s energy pulls both your attention toward him without saying a word.

Yeosang lowers the paper, his eyes flicking between you and Wooyoung, sensing the inevitable distraction.

“Father Blackmoor has requested your presence in the Anti-Sacristy,” Wooyoung announces, handing him a miniature scroll with a secret message.

Yeosang frowns while reading it over, “Please excuse me.”

"Of course, I hope everything's alright," you murmur, though your words go unheard as he's already on his feet, moving swiftly toward the door.

Watching Yeosang rush out, you suddenly realize Wooyoung is still standing there. You glance at him from the corner of your eye, and he tilts his head, studying you with a curious intensity.

"Seems like you require a partner," he says with a smirk, sliding effortlessly into Yeosang’s chair without missing a beat.

You’re too stunned to respond and shift uncomfortably in your seat, completely unsure of what to do in this situation. He’s not offering to go through the questionnaire, is he?

Somehow, you forgot that you would, at some point, have to converse with Wooyoung today. It entirely slipped your mind up until this moment. And now he’s here without giving you time to prepare. You start to breathe a little heavier, and a slight sense of panic sets in.

“Why are you acting like that?” He says with a raised eyebrow, noticing your bouncing leg (a nervous habit of yours that annoyingly shows up at the worst possible moments.)

“I’m not sure what you mean?” Well, yes, you do but you won’t admit that. But your hyperventilating and antsy body might tell a different story.

“Yeah, right,” he rolls his eyes.

Your eyes lock on Wooyoung’s as he casually picks up the page. Without waiting for your reaction, he glances at the list and reads off the first item, his voice smooth and confident.

"How does each party feel about blood play; drawing blood by use of knives or other sharp weaponry, smearing blood, using blood as a lubricant, and/or tasting blood?" he reads off, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he waits for your response.

"I acknowledge," you reply with hesitation in your voice, uncertain whether you’re truly opposed to it, yet not entirely sure if you fully consent either. “And you?”

Wooyoung tilts his head again, “Do you really need to ask?”

"You and I both know there are specific rules to follow here," you say, leaning back in your seat with your arms crossed, eyes fixed on him with a mixture of challenge and caution. And, if you’re being completely honest, there’s a hint of annoyance now too. The nervousness from earlier has vanished entirely.

“Fair enough,” "he replies with a nonchalant sigh, “I agree.”

It’s your turn to read off the next item. “Does each participating student consent to bringing in other parties to join and/or watch your sexual relations? And additionally, joining others.” You look up toward Wooyoung, already expecting him to agree to those terms.

“Decline,” he states firmly, his voice dropping an octave as he adds, “I don’t share.”

You try to mask your shock, but the expression slips through.

“Don’t look so surprised,” he huffs.

“Sorry,” you mumble, “I also decline.”

He nods curtly, and you swear you hear him mutter "good" under his breath.

You breeze through the next set of questions surprisingly fast, both providing the appropriate answers as you work your way down the page.

At first, Wooyoung seemed a bit disinterested, but something caused his attitude to shift. Now, he’s more engaged, genuinely listening to your reasonings whenever you offer it.

“Last question, how many sexual partners have each participating party had?”

As he finishes speaking, you narrow your eyes at him, “That question isn’t on the list.” You’ve practically memorized them all by now. “You’re making that up.”

“So? Answer anyway,” he dares.

You glare at him, silently debating whether or not you should tell the truth. “Screw it,” you exhale, “None.”

Instead of the shock or teasing you expect, he simply blinks at you, as if he already knew what your answer would be.

But how…

When you wake the next morning, butterflies are already fluttering in your stomach. At this point, it’s hard to judge who will end up courting you, though you have a pretty good idea that Yeosang is interested. When he returned after visiting Father Blackmoor, you two had quite a connection while going through the assessment list.

You’ll find out for sure when you make it to the Dining Hall the courting schedule will be pinned on the announcement board for everyone to view.

You decide to grab a pastry and wait for the crowd around the schedule to thin out before checking how many dates you will have today. To keep things relatively fair, each witch is only allowed to have up to five courting suitors. A flicker of nerves sets in—what if no one reserved one of your time slots?

For the love of Lucifer, please let me have at least one warlock courting me.

You shove the last bite into your mouth and make your way to the board, eager to find out. Peeking around the remaining heads blocking your view, you spot that two of your time slots have already been reserved. Just as you’re trying to make out the names, someone taps you on the shoulder.

“Ghoul morning, Y/N,” Yeosang says with a smile, handing you a card. Your heartbeat picks up, recognizing the formality; courting warlocks are required to provide the witches with a card that essentially confirms their date.

“Hi, Yeosang!” You beam. Praise Satan.

He looks relieved when you accept his card. “I was hoping to see you this morning. Meet me at the Weeping Willow at three o’clock this afternoon. I have a special activity planned for us.”

You’re about to respond when you can feel his presence. Turning to look over your shoulder, you see Wooyoung standing closely behind. He towers over you, staring down Yeosang.

“Do you need something?” you ask, bringing his attention back to you while silently begging that he’s not here to send Yeosang away again, like yesterday.

“Yes,” he extends a hand, offering you a card. You stare at it in disbelief. He’s not here to steal Yeosang; he’s stealing you.

Wooyoung is your other suitor.

“I believe you’re meant to spend the morning with me.” Wooyoung’s eyes drift from yours and back to Yeosang’s, who tenses beside you. They seem to have a silent exchange of words.

“I see,” Yeosang says curtly, “Enjoy your time together.”

Before you have a chance to say anything Yeosang already disappears. Damn it.

“Come on, follow me,” Wooyoung demands while grabbing your wrist. He leads you down the dim, shadowy hallways of the school before picking up the pace as you leave the safety of the school, heading into the woods.

The thick trees close in around you, and the air feels heavier with each step. Fog swirls at your feet but mysteriously clears a path ahead of him like it knows exactly where he's going. You follow, feeling the cool, damp air cling to your skin. The deeper you go, the more unfamiliar the landscape becomes—you don’t recognize this part of the woods at all, and a strange sense of unease settles over you.

“Bloody heaven, where are you taking me?” you huff, doing your best to keep up with his long strides.

“You’ll see,” he grumbles, helping you up when you trip over an exposed tree root. “Can you stop tripping every five seconds? You’re slowing us down, and we’re on a time crunch.”

You glare at the back of his head as he speeds up. What a dick.

It’s not long before you arrive at the destination; it’s a stone table in the middle of the woods. You look around suspiciously. “Is this a ritual site? Are you planning on killing me for some weird sacrificial thing now that you know I’m a virgin, or…?”

Wooyoung bursts out laughing, “The thought hadn’t crossed my mind, actually. This is a portal.”

“A portal? To where?” you ask, peering at the stone. It doesn’t look like any portal you’ve ever seen.

“Want to find out?” he offers a hand for you to take, and you grab it warily.

He places his other hand on the stone, and its magic instantly pulls you through the atmosphere, sending you spiraling toward an unknown destination.

When you land, your feet hit the damp cobblestone street with a soft thud. The air smells of rain and baked goods, and you take in the bustling scene around you—witches and warlocks are flowing in and out of quaint little shops that line both sides of the road, their chatter filling the air. The street is alive with energy, and everything looks both foreign and strangely charming.

Before you can fully absorb it all, Wooyoung tugs you along, his grip firm as your head swivels, trying to figure out exactly where you’ve been transported to. The unfamiliar cityscape seems like a dream, its details slipping through your grasp as you hurry to keep up.

Suddenly, you collide with his back, not realizing he has stopped. "Ouch," you mutter, rubbing your nose in surprise. You’re about to say more when something above catches your eye—the sign swinging in the breeze.

"Trahana’s Tomb!" you squeal, excitement bubbling up. For ages, you've wanted to visit this place, but something always got in the way. Now, here it is, right in front of you, and the thrill of finally arriving sends a rush through you.

Trahana is a renowned sorceress and writer known for her vast collection of grimoires, enchanted artifacts, and other rare occult items—many of which are now on display and for sale at her legendary store. You've been itching to get your hands on her coveted Book of Arcane Beasts, a tome filled with forbidden knowledge of magical creatures, their histories, and untold powers.

Wooyoung holds the door open for you, and without a second thought, you dash inside. Your eyes widen as you take in the towering shelves crammed with both ancient and new books. Every corner of the shop is overflowing with enchanted curiosities.

At the back of the shop, a narrow, spiraling staircase catches your eye. It likely leads to an upper level filled with even more treasures waiting to be explored. The thought of what might be hidden beyond tempts you, adding to the growing sense of wonder.

"Oh, my sweet, evil boy! How are you?"

You turn to see a tall, elegant woman pinching Wooyoung’s cheeks with an affectionate grin.

He swats her hands away, groaning, "Aunt Hana, you know I hate when you do that. I’m not five anymore."

She laughs, unbothered by his protest. "Oh, you'll always be the stubborn young warlock playing with the Acheron Configuration upstairs even when told it was off limits," she teases, her eyes twinkling with the memory. “Goddess knows how many hours you spent trying to crack that spell.”

She shifts her gaze to you, giving you a quick once-over before raising an eyebrow. "Don’t be rude, Wooyoung. Introduce me to your friend."

Wooyoung rolls his eyes, "Forgive me. This is Y/N, another student at Onyx Academy. Y/N, meet Trahana, the curator of this fine establishment and, unfortunately, my insufferable aunt."

Trahana smirks, ignoring his jab. "Charmed, I’m sure," she says, her eyes glinting with curiosity as she sizes you up.

"I need to get back to work, but it was a pleasure meeting you, darling," Trahana says with a warm smile, her voice dripping with a mix of elegance and mystery. She gives you one last appraising look before turning away, her long robes sweeping the floor as she glides effortlessly toward the front of the store. The air feels lighter without her presence, yet the sense of power she carries lingers, leaving you a little awestruck.

You gape at him once she’s out of earshot. "She’s your aunt?"

Wooyoung sighs, nodding with exaggerated patience. "Yes, I’m painfully aware."

"That’s so cool. So you spent a lot of time here growing up?" you ask, curious to learn more about him.

"Yeah," Wooyoung replies, glancing around the shop with a hint of nostalgia. "My parents traveled a lot for business when I was younger, so this place became like a second home. Now, I come back whenever I need a break from school. Plus, it’s a great place to study; there's something peaceful about the chaos here compared to the eerie silence of Onyx Academy’s library."

"That makes sense," you say, nodding as your fingers trail across the spines of the old books lining the tight aisle. The dust, the energy, and the soft hum of magic in the air make the shop feel alive, the perfect contrast to the academy’s cold, quiet halls. "I can see why you'd find this place comforting."

Wooyoung smiles, clearly more relaxed here than you've ever seen him. "It’s got a strange kind of charm, doesn’t it?" he says, his voice softer now as the two of you meander through the maze of shelves, discovering little pieces of history with every step.

He allows you to explore the shelves, letting you dive into the books that capture your interest. As you lean down to examine the aged pages, he watches as a loose strand of hair slips across your face, and you absently tuck it behind your ear.

"Can I show you something?" he asks, gently drawing you away from the book that’s captivated your attention.

You glance up at him, and to your surprise, he almost seems nervous. It’s a rare sight for someone who usually exudes such confidence. There’s a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, making you curious about what he wants to show you.

Nodding, you allow him to lead you toward another bookshelf two aisles away from where you were just standing. His gaze flicks across the titles, searching for something specific.

"Ah, here it is," he finally says, lifting his arm to reveal a book with a deep blue spine. You hear a soft click as he pulls it out slightly, followed by a faint unlocking sound. With a practiced motion, he shifts down to another shelf and pulls out a book with a green spine. To your astonishment, the entire bookcase creaks ominously before revealing a secret door.

"This whole day just keeps getting stranger by the minute. Is this another portal?" you ask, a mix of skepticism and humor in your voice.

Wooyoung grins playfully. "As entertaining as that would be, no. It’s not a portal. It’s my secret place."

You turn to look at him. "See, now that’s kind of worse. Now I really don’t want to go in." The idea of stepping into his hidden sanctuary feels more daunting than the prospect of another magical journey.

He gives you a look.

“Okay, fine. In I go,” you say, taking a step closer before reaching for the cold handle. As you turn it and push the door open, you peer into the darkness beyond, straining to gauge what lies within. And, if you have to be completely honest, wondering why it needs to be hidden away.

Wooyoung steps inside after you, snapping his fingers to conjure his magic. A bright orb of light flickers to life, glowing softly at first. As he guides it upward, it gradually brightens and rises to the center of the room, illuminating the hidden space with a warm, inviting glow. The walls are revealed and adorned with eclectic decorations and mysterious photographs, creating an enchanting and haunting atmosphere.

"What is this place?" you ask, your curiosity piqued as you step closer to a nearby table and spot a stack of photographs. You pick up the first few, admiring the artistic shots of a plant you recognize from your walks through the Darkwood—it's a Moonset Fern, captured in full bloom. You remember learning about it in Herbology 101 last year; it’s renowned for its ability to protect against ill-will spells.

Intrigued, you skim through the rest of the stack. Each photo showcases different plants, all with potent herbal properties, their images so carefully composed they almost seem to pulse with hidden power.

“So,” Wooyoung says nervously, “What do you think?”

“Of the photographs? I think they’re beautiful. You took these?” He nods. “I didn’t know you had an interest in photography. Or Herbology, for that matter.”

"It’s a secret interest. Obviously," Wooyoung says, gesturing around the room to emphasize his point. "Unfortunately, Father Blackmoor thinks it’s a complete waste of time. To him, this is the work of a lesser warlock." The distaste is evident in his voice, like the words themselves leave a bitter taste in his mouth. "He’d rather I focus on proving my potential to become the youngest Anti-Pope."

"Do you believe him?" you ask, watching his reaction closely.

"Am I even allowed to believe any different?" he replies, his tone a mix of resignation and defiance. He picks up a different stack of photos and flips through them, each holding a distant memory of a time he felt genuine joy.

"Part of me wishes I wasn’t destined for this life—that I had the power to shape my own future," Wooyoung admits, his voice heavy with conflicted emotion. "But then the other half of me hates myself for even thinking like that, especially after everything my family has sacrificed to get me here." His gaze drops, the weight of expectation clearly pressing down on him, caught between desire and duty.

“No one in the history of The Church of Night has ever turned down a position of power once they've received the proper training and hold the necessary status,” he continues, his tone growing darker. "I can’t even imagine the consequences of rejecting something like that." The mere thought seems to weigh on him, defying centuries of tradition would unravel everything—not just for him, but for everyone tied to his legacy.

“That’s a frustrating position to be forced into. Though, I hate to admit I’m jealous.”

His head snaps up, eyes locking onto yours, confusion and a flicker of anger etched across his face.

"I’ve spent my whole life not knowing what my future will look like," you begin, your voice tight with emotion. “I have all this power, yet no one can explain why I have it or what I’m supposed to do with it. I don’t have even the slightest clue where I’ll end up in life, so yeah, from that standpoint, I am a bit jealous of your situation," you admit, a hint of envy creeping into your voice.

As you speak, the anger in his expression gradually fades, replaced by a quiet understanding. His features soften, and you can see him truly considering your words, letting them sink in.

"At least you have a clear path laid out for you, even if it’s not exactly what you want. I’m still stumbling around, trying to figure out what my purpose even is. But even then..." your tone softens slightly, "If I were you, I wouldn’t let my sense of duty smother the passion I feel for another study—even if it’s an uncommon path for someone in my position.”

You begin again, your voice steady with conviction, "The Dark Lord wouldn’t have put this path in front of you if there wasn’t something here worth discovering. I’d bet there’s a connection between each path, and maybe, just maybe, you’re meant to do something with both. Something no one else has thought of yet.”

Wooyoung hadn’t thought of that.

“That’s just my two cents,” you sigh, setting the photos down and walking over to the next table with hundreds more to look through.

One photo in the middle of the pile catches your eye, standing out in a way the others don’t. You can’t quite place the plant; it’s unfamiliar, yet stirs a sense of deep nostalgia. It’s a rich olive green, with spiny stems and sharply pointed leaves giving it a menacing look. But what truly captivates you is the ethereal purple aura surrounding it, shimmering faintly, like the plant itself is alive with ancient magic. Something about it feels important, though you can’t recall ever seeing it before.

"It’s a Ghost Violaceae," Wooyoung murmurs softly, leaning in close over your shoulder. His breath is warm against your ear as he speaks, his voice slightly raspy. "It’s commonly used in the art of seduction." His words hang in the air, as mysterious as the plant itself, and the subtle intensity in his tone makes the air between you suddenly feel different.

Wooyoung would do unspeakable things to know the thoughts swirling in your mind right now. He’s desperate to unravel what it is that made you blush so fiercely, what’s causing your heart to race and your breath to quicken.

You turn slightly, looking up at him with your lips parted. Wooyoung tilts his head, his eyes sparkling as he tries to decipher the emotions playing across your face. There's a flicker of curiosity in your gaze, his focus sharpening as he leans in just a fraction closer…

The sudden ringing of a timer blares through the silence, startling you both. Your head snaps toward the sound and you see a stopwatch floating in midair, its rhythmic ticking a clear reminder that your time is almost up. It’s time to return to Onyx Academy to prepare for your next session with Yeosang.

Beside you, Wooyoung tenses, the atmosphere immediately changing. The warmth in his eyes vanishes as quickly as it has surfaced, replaced by the cold, guarded demeanor he typically fronts. His walls shoot back up, and just like that, the brief vulnerability between you disappears.

Blair eyes you curiously, her black feathers ruffled while she senses the secret you’re holding back. She’s perched on a low branch, watching as you wait beneath the cascading limbs of the Weeping Willow. You’ve arrived early, not finding any solace in the silence of your room after returning to campus. Yeosang should be here any minute, but the unease from earlier lingers.

Wooyoung had barely spoken after the stopwatch appeared, his mood darkening as he grudgingly led you back to the portal. He rushed you through without a word, his steps heavy with frustration, and stormed off toward the church once back on school grounds without so much as a goodbye.

You’ve been trying to clear your mind, focusing your energy on the upcoming session with Yeosang, but the tension from Wooyoung still simmers under the surface. You take a deep breath, determined to push it aside and give Yeosang your full attention. He deserves it.

Blair lets out a sharp caw before taking off into the sky, disappearing into the distance as soon as she senses his presence. She knows to give you your privacy, leaving you alone just as he approaches.

“Oh, you’re here already,” Yeosang says, a bit surprised to see you already by the willows. He steps forward, his happy expression growing as he extends a bouquet of dried wine-colored roses, elegantly tied with a black ribbon.

“These are for you.”

Your breath catches at the sight of them. "These are gorgeous. Thank you—wow," you say, smiling while gently taking the bouquet from his hands. The gesture feels intimate, the deep red petals catching the light as you admire them, warmth blooming in your chest at the unexpected kindness.

“You’re welcome. Do you want to apparate them to your room?” Yeosang suggests.

“That’s a good idea, actually,” you reply, lifting the bouquet in front of you. With a soft hum, you recite the incantation, watching as the flowers shimmer and disappear, transporting them to your bedside table in an instant.

“There,” you smile, “Now they’ll be waiting for me when I get back.”

“We have a short walk to our destination. If you’ll follow me?” Yeosang guides you up a path behind the willow grove, the incline leading to a breathtaking view of the Darkwood below. The forest stretches endlessly, its shadowy canopy glittering with ancient magic.

"Do you mind waiting here?" he asks, rubbing the back of his neck, a hint of nerves flickering across his face. "I thought I'd have a little more time to set things up."

You smile softly. "I don’t mind at all."

Relieved, he excuses himself, disappearing back down the trail to retrieve whatever surprise he has planned. The minutes pass in peaceful quiet, the cool air brushing against your skin. You close your eyes, enjoying the moment, until a faint rustling behind you interrupts the calm energy. You glance over your shoulder, seeing nothing, and shrug it off—probably just the wind.

But then, movement at the edge of the tree line catches your eye, a shadowy figure slipping between the trees.

You step cautiously toward the movement, your heart beating a little faster with each quiet footstep. The air seems to thicken as you approach, a soft rustling continuing just beyond the nearest tree. You steady yourself, taking a slow breath before rounding the massive trunk.

Face to face with the culprit, you freeze—a pair of wide, curious eyes staring back at you. It's a small, ethereal creature, almost like a fox but with wisps of glowing mist trailing from its fur. Its translucent body shimmers faintly under the dappled light filtering through the trees.

You exhale in relief, it’s just another familiar. The creature’s gentle gaze is more inquisitive than threatening; and she tilts her head, trying to decide whether to flee or come closer, her silver eyes studying you with an almost childlike curiosity. The creature soon takes off, before you have a chance to ask who they belong to.

As you turn around, a startled cry escapes your lips—Wooyoung is standing just inches from you, his presence completely unexpected.

"What are you doing here?" you snap, your hand instinctively flying to your chest, trying to calm your racing heart.

"I'm not really here. Just astral projecting. And who’s to say I wasn’t here first?"

You cross your arms, glaring at him, clearly unimpressed.

"Okay, fine. Maybe I wasn’t here first," he concedes with a shrug, his smirk faltering under your withering stare.

"Yeosang is going to be back any second," you warn, narrowing your eyes. "Are you here to spy on us?"

"Pfff... no..." he says, though the lack of conviction in his voice makes you roll your eyes.

"Lame," you mutter, watching his poorly veiled attempt at denial fall apart. He shifts awkwardly under your gaze, clearly caught.

“I don’t like that you’re alone with him.”

“Why?”

“I told you already. I. Don’t. Share.”

“You can’t be serious,” you say, narrowing your eyes. “Is this just some kind of game? Are you playing with me because you don’t want Yeosang to have me? What is it, Wooyoung? You haven’t given me a second thought until two days ago.”

“It’s not like that—" Wooyoung starts, but the sound of rustling interrupts him, cutting his sentence short. Both of you turn, startled, as Yeosang emerges from the trees. His eyes sweep the clearing, looking for you since you aren’t standing where he left you. When he spots you, he smiles and approaches, carrying a woven basket in one arm and a blanket in the other.

You glance back toward Wooyoung, but he’s already vanished. Typical, slipping away before finishing what he started. Maybe he’s glad for the escape before you can grill him any further.

“Looking for something?”

‘More like someone,’ you think to yourself. “Oh sorry, I thought I saw a familiar, but it ran off,” you explain, brushing off the awkward moment. “So, what’s all this?” You gesture to the basket, quickly shifting the conversation before Yeosang has a chance to ask anything.

He grins, glancing down at his hands, a bit shy. "I hope you like picnics. I thought we could enjoy some treats and maybe get to know each other better."

“That sounds lovely,” you reply warmly.

Yeosang carefully picks a spot, spreading the blanket and the two of you sit side by side, the breathtaking view of the Darkwood stretching out below. There’s something serene about the quiet between you, the moment brimming with peaceful anticipation.

He sets the basket in front of you, lifting the lid to reveal an array of colorful sweets, the soft glow of the late afternoon sun reflecting off the glass jars inside. You notice delicate pastries, chocolates, and sugared fruits arranged neatly.

“I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I brought a little of everything,” Yeosang says, his voice low but sincere.

Your heart warms at the gesture. "You’ve really outdone yourself,” you praise, picking up one of the pastries for yourself and offering another to him.

Curiosity gets the better of you, and you decide to bring up the scroll from yesterday. "I didn’t want to pry, but you left in such a rush yesterday. Was everything alright?" you ask before taking a bite.

Yeosang chuckles softly, as if amused by the memory. "Funny you should ask. Turns out, when I arrived at Father Blackmoor’s office, he had no idea what I was talking about. No urgent scroll was sent for me. But he thought it was good timing and wanted to discuss my plans for after I complete my time at the academy."

Your curiosity piques further. "And those plans are...?" you press, hoping he’ll open up.

Yeosang hesitates briefly, but then, with a slight smile, he reveals, "I’d like to teach, maybe. My father was a teacher, and he always said I had the same qualities. Plus, I love kids. I think teaching them the basics of magic—the very foundation of what they'll need for the rest of their lives—would be important work."

A soft breeze ruffles the edges of the blanket, and you can’t help but smile at his answer. "That sounds perfect for you. I can already picture you as a great mentor."

The rest of your evening with Yeosang flies by in a blur of conversation and quiet moments spent enjoying the view. Before you know it, he's walking you back to the dormitories. He hesitates as you both stop outside the door to the girls' dorms, clearly lingering on something unsaid.

"I just want you to know," he starts, shifting nervously, "that regardless of what happens tomorrow at the Matching Ceremony, I had a lovely time tonight. I'll see you tomorrow then."

Before you can respond, he leans down and presses a soft kiss on your cheek. "Goodnight, Y/N."

You barely manage to mumble a “goodnight” back, still caught in the trance from the warmth of his lips against your skin. As you make your way up to your room, your heart feels light, and you can’t help but smile even wider when you notice the flowers he gave you earlier—now arranged beautifully in a vase on your nightstand.

But something else catches your eye—a small, glimmering box sitting on your bed, illuminated by the soft glow of moonlight. You walk over to it and find a note attached in handwriting you immediately recognize.

Not a game to me – W

Your breath hitches as you find the book you had been eyeing earlier—the one Wooyoung had distracted you from in Trahana’s shop—alongside the newest edition of The Book of Arcane Beasts. Tucked neatly between the pages are a few of the photographs from his secret room; the ones you had admired without realizing he noticed.

Your heart races as you hold the items in your hands, the meaning of his gesture sinking in. It’s not just a game. Whatever this is with Wooyoung, it’s something real. And now, you're more conflicted than ever.

Yeosang steps closer to the flames that surge in the iron vessel before him, casting flickering shadows across his face while he waits. If you look closely, shapes begin to form within the flames, dancing and twisting as though something is being forged in the heat. A sudden flare of sparks erupts from the fire—it's ready.

With a steady hand, he pulls an envelope from the fire. The edges of the paper are still smoldering while he opens it with precision, watching as the magic ink slowly manifests on the paper, revealing a name.

You notice a brief, almost imperceptible frown cross his face, but it vanishes just as quickly. “Polly Petrify,” he announces smoothly, his voice steady, betraying nothing as he steps back into place.

Father Blackmoor gives a solemn nod, signaling his approval of the pairing.

The Church is packed for the Matching Ceremony, and a mix of excitement and nervous energy ripples through the crowd. The warlocks stand in front of the filled pews, their postures rigid and unreadable, while the witches occupy the first two rows of seats, eyes flickering with anticipation.

You sit among them, your heart sinking as Yeosang’s name is paired with another witch. The knot in your chest tightens, but before you have time to register how you truly feel, Wooyoung steps forward.

It’s his turn.

Time stretches unbearably as his fingers hover over the glowing envelope that emerges from the flames. He grasps it carefully, tearing it open before pulling out the slip of paper, the suspense in the room thickening with every second.

At least a dozen witches sit in eager anticipation, each one hopeful, their eyes flicking toward the altar, silently praying that their name will be the one called.

You watch his face intently, almost holding your breath.

The moment he reads the name, a subtle smile curls at the corner of his lips, making him look effortlessly gorgeous. His inky black hair falls in perfect disarray, and the deep blue sweater he’s wearing brings out a distinctive glimmer in his eyes—it’s definitely his color.

As he steps back in line to let the next warlock take their turn, you realize that you completely missed whose name he just called. You’ve been too busy gawking to notice. Leaning toward the witch beside you, you whisper, “Whose name did he say?”

She shoots you a scowl and snaps, “Yours.”

Your heart skips a beat, and your gaze whips back up front. Wooyoung catches your eye and quickly winks, the gesture playful yet it’s enough to send a wave of heat rushing through you. Your pulse races and every nerve in your body is suddenly aware of his presence. The world around you fades for a second, the reality of the situation sinking in—he chose you.

It feels like all the oxygen has been sucked from the room. Your chest tightens, and it’s taking every ounce of control not to claw at your neck in search of air. You can’t tell if your racing heart is a sign of excitement, fear, or a mixture of both.

The pairing results swirl through your mind as you try to process how you feel about Wooyoung having been paired with you. You know that the warlocks have some say in their pairing preference, but the decision is ultimately up to Father Blackmoor and The Dark Lord.

But there’s no time to dwell on it now—you have a performance to focus on. As the rest of the ceremony wraps up, the witches, including yourself, are expected to sing I Put A Spell On You.

You walk up to the front of the church with the other witches, your heart still hammering in your chest. You can feel Wooyoung’s gaze searing into you from across the room, but you refuse to meet his eyes. You know that if you do, you’ll stumble over the lyrics or worse, completely forget your part.

With every note of the song, you force yourself to remain composed. Your voice blends with the others, the melody haunting, filling the ancient church with an enchanting resonance. The weight of his stare lingers, but you resist the pull until the very end. Only when the final note fades and you’re walking back to your seat do you glance his way. His eyes are still on you, but there’s something different about his expression now—intense, unreadable.

Father Blackmoor steps forward as the ceremony winds down, his voice ringing through the dimly lit room. “Remember, paired witches and warlocks are strictly forbidden from seeing each other until tomorrow evening when you’ll all meet in the Darkwood for the Moon Ritual. Ghoul evening to you all.”

The church stirs with hushed whispers and rustling bodies as everyone begins to disperse. But you remain in place for a moment, your mind tangled in the events that have unfolded. Tomorrow promises even more mystery, and the thought of it sends another shiver down your spine.

You follow the large group down the path toward the heart of the academy’s campus, their excited chatter buzzing in the crisp evening air. But as they veer toward the dining hall, you quietly part ways, taking steps in the opposite direction toward a different building.

The heavy wooden doors creak as you push them open, and the familiar scent of ancient tomes and aged parchment envelops you.

The sanctum, the private library for advanced students like yourself, is nearly deserted tonight, making it the perfect place to find peace in the aftermath of the ceremony. The usual hum of magic is calming and the near-silence offers a much-needed space to clear your mind.

You make your way to the Demonology section, where the dim light and towering shelves create a cocoon of solitude. Finding an empty seat, you settle in, snapping your fingers to summon your books. In an instant, they materialize on the table before you, pages full of dark knowledge waiting to be absorbed.

Despite it being Lupercalia season, the academic grind doesn’t stop. Your upcoming exams loom over you like a dark cloud, and no amount of supernatural matchmaking will change that.

You run your fingers over the spines of your books, mentally preparing yourself to dive into study mode. The familiar words of your Demonology texts are grounding, a reminder of the discipline and focus you need to maintain.

The sanctum is quiet tonight, only the soft sound of pages turning and the occasional whispered incantation breaking the silence. You try to focus on the words in front of you, but your mind keeps drifting back to Wooyoung—his voice, his gaze, the gift he left in your room. You shake your head, pushing the thoughts aside. There will be time for all that later. For now, you need to concentrate.

Time passes and after finishing a few chapters, you glance at your watch, eyes widening in surprise. Three hours have flown by. Blair is going to be furious that you’re late to feed her. Scribbling down a final note, you snap your fingers, sending your books back to your room before heading out of the sanctum.

As you step outside, you collide with someone. "Oh, I’m so sorry!" you stammer, glancing up to apologize, only to be met with familiar eyes twinkling beneath tousled black hair.

Wooyoung.

“You’re forgiven,” he says smoothly.

"We’re not supposed to see each other," you remind him, taking a cautious step back.

He tilts his head, smirking too, just like he always does. "I know, but you skipped dinner, and there’s something I’ve been dying to do since yesterday."

"What? Stalk me some more?" you quip, feeling a rare surge of confidence.

His smirk spreads into a full smile, and to your delight, he chuckles—a sound you’ve secretly grown to love. Your heart pounds faster.

"You wish," he shoots back, his eyes gleaming as he steps closer. The intensity in his gaze feels almost magnetic, as if he's looking right through you, straight into your soul. His nostrils flare with a sharp exhale, and you can’t help but wonder what’s going through his mind.

“What are you doing?” you ask softly, your voice barely above a whisper as he takes yet another step closer.

He doesn't answer. Instead, with one smooth motion, he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you toward him. His touch is firm, but there’s a softness to the way his fingers splay across your back. You feel your pulse quicken, your breath hitching in your throat.

“This is breaking the rules,” you whisper, trying to find an ounce of self-control to step out of his embrace.

His proximity overwhelms your senses—the warmth of his body, the way his breath tickles your skin, and the undeniable connection crackling between you two. He tilts his head slightly, the smirk on his lips fading into something more serious, more dangerous.

“I don’t break the rules, I just bend them,” he rasps, his voice low and teasing, right before he closes the space between you. The moment his lips brush against yours, you freeze, caught off guard by the softness, the tenderness as he coaxes you into responding. His mouth moves gently, skillfully, as if testing the waters, daring you to give in.

A frenzy stirs inside you, an electric current surging through your veins. Your hands instinctively move to frame his face, your fingers sliding along the sharp lines of his jaw before tangling in his soft, messy hair. The kiss deepens, the intensity building with every second as you press yourself closer to him, losing yourself in the heat of the moment.

You can’t get enough; the taste of him, the way his breath mingles with yours, and the undeniable pull that has your body responding before your mind can catch up. His other hand slides under your shirt and up your spine, anchoring you to him as if he never wants to let go.

Wooyoung mumbles an incantation against your lips before tickling the corners with his tongue. You’re too distracted to recall what he said, especially when you feel it.

Heat begins to radiate from his fingers, searing into your skin. It flows through your body until it hits your sweet spot, pooling dangerously between your legs.

You gasp against his mouth, and he uses the opportunity to dip his tongue inside, swallowing your moans as you let them slip out. Pressing your legs together, you try to find any sort of friction, aching for something to relieve the growing pressure.

A sinful sound vibrates from his chest when you bite down on his lower lip ever so gently. You have to admit, the thought of kissing him has crossed your mind more times than you can count. But now, standing here with the taste of him on your lips, you realize the reality is so much better than anything your imagination could have conjured.

He’s more intoxicating than any dream could ever be. Every touch sends a thrill through you that no fantasy could ever match. The way he knows exactly what you like leaves you yearning for more in a way that feels almost addictive.

Blair caws, cutting through the shadows of the night and announcing her arrival with impeccable timing. You both jolt, breaking apart as if the spell between you has been abruptly shattered.

“Ghoul evening, Blair,” Wooyoung mutters, his voice still thick with the lingering tension. He glances at the raven-like figure perched nearby, an amused glint flickering in his eyes. “It’s a good thing you arrived when you did,” he adds, his tone teasing. He looks down at you, pleased with how dissolved your shirt looks, how pouty your wet lips are from your nefarious activities.

He takes a step back, quickly smoothing down his hair and adjusting his clothes, his fingers lingering at his collar as he regains his usual composure. You, on the other hand, are still catching your breath, feeling the flush in your cheeks and the electric hum of the moment that lingers in the space between you.

Give me a little privacy to say goodbye, and I’ll give you extra treats for your late dinner, you say telepathically to Blair. She tilts her head, considering the offer, before finally cawing in agreement and taking off into the night, clearly satisfied with the deal.

“I want you to try something tonight,” Wooyoung murmurs, his voice low and full of mischief. His eyes glint with something dark and thrilling, sending a shiver down your spine. “When you’re alone in bed and everyone else is asleep…”

Your heart races while he speaks.

“I want you to pretend that your hands are my own, and I want you to touch yourself where you felt my magic earlier.”

“E-excuse me?” you stammer, your heart racing as you try to find the right words.

He grins, leaning in just enough for you to feel the heat radiating from him. “Trust me, you’ll like it,” he teases, his voice like velvet. “I need you to warm yourself up for me, so you’re ready to learn more tomorrow night. Will you do that for me?”

You nod, a shiver running across your skin as his words linger in the air.

“Now, get out of here and go feed Blair before you wake up tomorrow missing your eyes,” he adds with a playful smirk.

You roll your eyes but can’t suppress a smile. “Fine, see you later.”

“Yes, you will,” he says with a wink, watching as you turn to leave, his gaze heavy on you the entire way.

His words linger in your mind for the rest of the night.

It's now the witching hour, and your roommates are fast asleep, blissfully unaware of the potion you slipped into their bedtime tea. They never noticed the subtle, earthy undertones masking the spell’s effects, leaving them in a deep slumber for the next several hours.

It had to be done, the last thing you need is for one of them to wake and catch you in the act, especially while you're carrying out Wooyoung’s special request.

Under the safety of your blankets, you move quietly, as if any sudden movement could betray your secret. One hand begins to massage your breasts through your thin tank top, the other sliding down toward your pink panties.

Taking a deep breath, you open your legs, allowing your fingers to slip beneath the dampening fabric. After spreading your juices around, you rub your clit before slowly dipping your first finger into your slick entrance. The sensation is unfamiliar—neither bad nor uncomfortable, just something you're not used to. The pain of the stretch lingers, leaving a strange warmth that you can't quite place.

You close your eyes and pretend that Wooyoung is there with you. Swiftly, you begin to curl your fingers, simultaneously bucking into your hand. You picture him hovering over you, but the image clouds over, shifting into a different scene that becomes sharper.

Wooyoung is also in bed, with his hand wrapped around his exposed, thick cock, lazily pumping it. There’s something unsettlingly vivid about this image, as if it’s not just a product of your imagination. It feels real—too real. Gasping, you realize that he’s in your head, projecting himself, revealing his presence in a way that makes your heart race.

Then, as if he can sense that you've finally caught on to his wicked scheme, a dark smile tugs at the corner of his lips, the kind that makes your body’s temperature spike. “Are you touching yourself, like I asked you to?”

You suck in a sharp breath and nod instinctively, even though you know he can’t physically see you. But somehow, you sense that he knows.

“I bet you are,” he hums, closing his eyes while running his thumb over his pink head. He tosses his head back as he strokes himself, “I bet that tight little virgin cunt of yours needs some good stretching before she’s ready for me.”

Feeling the heat rising to the tips of your ears, they’re red from the weight of his words, like they’re wrapping themselves around you, pulling you deeper into his influence. The knot in your lower belly grows as you match your little finger thrusts to the speed of his hand pumps.

“Add another finger, honey, I know you can,” Wooyoung groans, his hand moving a little faster. “Look at how my cock aches to be sunk inside your sweet folds.”

You do as he commands. You’re panting at this point; completely zeroed in on his throbbing length while you climb towards bliss. The silent room fills with a sinful pattern of squelches from each thrust into your lush heat, and a divine sensation washes over you.

“Goddess, I’m about to make a mess,” he whines, a sound that you’ll never be able to forget. He stills, letting out another beautiful noise while his seed shoots out across his abs, some even on his dark silk sheets.

“That’s just a preview,” he grins devilishly, “Sleep well, Y/N.”

"Many blessings," Father Blackmoor's voice rings out, reverberating through the towering trees of the Darkwood. "Tonight, we honor the Moon and her radiant beauty. Paired couples, please step forward to collect your basket."

You step forward cautiously, aware of Wooyoung’s presence close behind you. As your fingers brush the edge of the woven basket, Wooyoung’s arm reaches past you, his hand closing around it first. His body hovers briefly against yours, a faint smile curving his lips. Sucking in a sharp breath, you pull your hand back as your mind flashes back to last night, Wooyoung’s cock is still fresh in your mind.

"Each basket contains a ceremonial knife," Father Blackmoor continues, his tone solemn. "You will begin the rite by smearing your blood upon your partner's forehead. Then, you must drink the purification potion—the milky-colored vial—and consume the figs, symbolizing your unity. Under the moonlight, you will lie side by side until dawn, as a testament to your bond and in preparation for tomorrow’s Hunt."

His final words hang in the cool night air as the forest seems to hush in reverence for what’s to come. You glance up at Wooyoung, and his eyes are already on you, dark and unreadable, only reflecting the moonlight.

As the other couples start to spread out across the forest, Wooyoung’s hand finds yours, tugging you deeper into the woods. His steps are quiet, purposeful, as the towering trees close in around you both. Your attention snaps forward when you catch a glimpse of movement—there, not far ahead, the same fox-like creature you spotted by the willows. The realization dawns on you: it’s Wooyoung’s familiar.

The creature moves gracefully, leading the way through the underbrush, its magical fur shimmering under the pale moonlight. Wooyoung follows without hesitation, his gaze fixed on his familiar. You trail behind, curiosity building, as the creature guides you to a secluded clearing hidden deep in the Darkwood.

“Thank you, Vixen,” Wooyoung murmurs once you’ve arrived. The fox-like familiar halts briefly, then glimmers before fading into the air, leaving behind a trail of glowing embers that slowly dissipate into the night.

Your eyes scan the clearing, and you notice the scene in front of you—a circle of softly flickering candles arranged around a blanket spread across the forest floor. The air hums with quiet magic, thick with mystery and anticipation. Wooyoung turns to you, his eyes glinting in the candlelight, a mischievous yet unreadable expression crossing his face.

Wooyoung extends his hand to you, his touch firm yet gentle as he helps you step onto the soft blanket. With a single snap of his fingers, your clothes transform—yours into a sheer white nightgown, his into simple black pants, with his chest left bare, the candlelight casting shadows over his defined muscles.

“Ready to begin?” he asks, voice low, eyes holding a flicker of something dangerous yet enticing.

You nod, your breath catching for a moment. Reaching into the basket set down beside him, your fingers curl around the cool metal of the ceremonial blade. Together, your voices join in a low, rhythmic chant, weaving through the night air. The ritual words hang heavy between you as you press the blade to your finger, feeling the sharp sting as blood wells up. Stepping closer, you bring your hand to his forehead, smearing an upside-down cross on his tanned skin, the blood vivid against his complexion.

Without a word, you hand the blade to Wooyoung, your fingers brushing his in the exchange. He mimics your actions, the cool sting of the knife barely registering as he pricks his finger, marking your forehead with the same crimson anti-cross. The flames around you leap higher, responding to the magic building in your chant.

The moonlight glistens against his skin, bathing him in an ethereal glow as he lifts the purification potion from the basket. He drinks deeply, eyes never leaving yours, and then hands the vial to you. You take it from him, your pulse quickening as you lift it to your lips, the magic binding you both growing stronger with each word, each action.

His eyes darken; trailing over your nearly naked body. They land on your peaked nipples, and he lets out a deep exhale while his eyes are glued in place.

“Um, figs,” Wooyoung clears his throat, momentarily dazed, shaking his head as if to regain focus. He grabs one from the basket, handing you the other. You sink your teeth into the fruit’s tender skin, its bright red flesh spilling a sweet, rich juice onto your lips. A single drop escapes and trails down your chin, and you catch Wooyoung watching, his gaze lingering longer than usual. But he doesn’t say a word. Not yet.

You quickly wipe away the juice, trying to ignore the flush creeping up your neck. “So… what now?” you ask, your voice more uncertain than you intended. You’ve both completed the ritual, but the tension between you is undeniable. Neither of you has acknowledged last night’s activities, though you’re certain it’ll come up eventually. It has to.

He shifts slightly, his eyes scanning your face, and for a moment, it seems like he’s about to bring it up. His lips twitch into a half-smile, “I’ve got an idea or two.”

You’re not sure how it happened—one moment you’re standing, the next you’re lying beneath him. Wooyoung hovers above you, his arms on either side of your head, eyes gleaming with that familiar intensity. His body is close enough to feel the heat radiating off him, and your pulse quickens as his breath brushes against your skin.

Without notice, his lips crash down onto yours. He sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, moaning when your hands twist in his hair.

He presses his hips down into yours, letting you feel how worked up he’s already become.

“We're technically not supposed to do anything tonight,” Wooyoung says, his voice low and teasing once he pulls back. A mischievous glint sparkles in his eyes as he adds, “But a rule’s never stopped me before.”

You pull his head back down to yours, kissing him languishingly as he rolls his hips into yours again.

“Do you want to keep going?” he asks, this time pressing his length right up against your covered heat.

Wooyoung’s lips curl into a devilish smile when you whine incoherently about wanting more.

“Answer me, honey. Do you want more?” He asks with a growl, but the intensity in his gaze makes it clear—he already knows the answer.

“Yes,” you beg, “More. Please!”

He grabs handfuls of the fabric at your sides, bunching it up around your waist before he descends below.

Your dewy center is covered in a heavy coating of your arousal. Spellbound by the sight, he instinctively brings his fingers to your heat, gathering some of your transparent essence and smearing it around your folds.

“Fucking hell, you’re so fucking wet for me,” Wooyoung mutters.

Incapable of waiting any longer, he dives in tongue first, licking a beautiful line from your slit’s opening up to your needy nub of nerves. Another growl resounds from his chest as he devours your sex, his cock involuntarily twitching when he sinks two fingers back to your opening. Wooyoung strokes his saturated fingers through your slit before sinking them inside your soft flesh, feeling your inner walls clench around them.

He pulls them out and admires how your hole instinctively sucks his digits back in where they belong.

“Such a tight little cunt. It’ll be ruined by tomorrow night,” Wooyoung groans; despite his words, there’s nothing but appraisal in his voice. He looks up at your body, meeting your eyes. His flash with a dark dominance, lust with a dash of something else flicker in them.

His devilish words only excite you further, and more of your sticky arousal coats his hand. Each curl of his fingers brings you closer and closer to writhing pleasure.

His head dips back down, his tongue swirling around your clit before he sucks it between his teeth. Gasping, you buck your hips upward, needing more. So much more.

“I can’t wait to turn you into a nasty little whore. Would you like that?” he asks in between little licks.

“Y-yes” you mewl. “Wanna. Be your w-whore.”

He’s got you dancing along the edge of a very dangerous cliff, and you want nothing more than to jump off, face first, and dive into the waves of ecstasy that await.

He can tell that you’re close; your walls are beginning to tighten around him. Flattening his tongue against your sensitive nub, he applies the right amount of pressure you need to come all over his face.

When he sits up, his mouth is dribbling with your release; it’s a pretty sight to see.

“Not bad for a virgin,” he teases.

Your blissful smile turns coy, “Is it my turn to taste you? You’ll have to teach this virgin just how you like it.”

A deep, low growl vibrates in his chest and the corners of his jaw flex as he stands up, his silhouette outlined from the moonlight.

“On your knees then, slut.”

You twist your body until you’re sitting on your knees, your used cunt dripping onto the blanket below.

“Goddess, I’m so fucking hard for you,” Wooyoung grunts while pulling his pants down.

Freed from his pants, his cock springs out before bouncing momentarily, then stands erect in its full glory. You reflexively clench at the sight of him. It’s just as you remember it from last night.

Tightening his palm around his shaft, Wooyoung begins stroking himself before lining his tip up to your lips.

“Take just the head into your mouth,” he murmurs. “Just while you warm up to the feeling.”

You immediately wrap your mouth around him and a wave of precum leaks directly onto your tongue. Circling his thick tip, you get comfortable with the weight of him on your tongue, learning his taste.

“Such a good slut,” Wooyoung croons, causing your core to tremble from his praises.

One hand moves to hold your chin, angling your head to look up at him, “When you’re ready for more, take a deep breath and take in more of me.”

Hollowing your cheeks, you suckle on his head, letting more and more of him into your wet cave. You run your tongue along the underside of his shaft, the tickling sensation causing him to jerk inside you.

Wooyoung tugs on your hair, softly at first, and then his fist wraps around the handful in his grasp. His impressive length fills your mouth, his immense girth cracking your jaw open with each gentle thrust.

Words of encouragement spill from his lips, giving you the confidence to suck in the final inch of his member.

Involuntarily, you gag around his cock when his thick head hits the back of your throat. Tears sting the corner of your eyes, falling soon after.

Without warning, his length surges into your throat and Wooyoung lets out a stream of colorful expletives as his release hits him. His hips jerk once more, and he tosses his head back underneath the moonlight.

You shudder, feeling his thick cum stick to the walls of your throat.

“Goddess,” he hums, “Sorry about that.” Wooyoung slips out of your mouth, admiring as you use the back of your hand, you wipe your soddened mouth.

“It’s okay. Now I know what to expect.”

Wooyoung pulls you into his embrace, and you both settle into the quiet rhythm of the night, staring up at the stars as they shimmer in the sky. His warmth surrounds you, grounding you amidst the cool breeze.

He shifts slightly, turning on the blanket to meet your gaze. “I need to warn you about tomorrow,” he begins, his voice lower, more serious. “The potion we warlocks take before the ceremony… it makes our animalistic instincts take over. It’s going to be rough. That’s why I’ve been preparing you, so to speak.”

A knot twists in your stomach at his words. You hadn’t realized the full extent of what tomorrow held, but now it makes sense. That’s why they call it the Hunt, you think, You’re basically their prey. The pieces finally click into place. His honesty, though jarring, makes you feel strangely grateful that he’s letting you in on something you weren’t aware of.

“I trust you,” you whisper softly. “You haven’t hurt me so far, so I’m not worried about tomorrow.”

Wooyoung’s chest rises as he takes a deep breath, feeling a wave of relief wash over him. He silently prays to Goddess Peralia that he won’t bring you any harm during the Hunt. The uncertainty flickers in his eyes for just a moment before he pulls you closer, wrapping you in his warmth.

“Come here,” he murmurs, his voice gentle as you settle against his chest. His heart beats steadily beneath your ear, and soon your breaths fall in sync, the sound of the wind rustling through the Darkwood easing you both into a peaceful silence.

As the stars twinkle above, the night’s calm surrounds you like a protective cocoon, lulling you into sleep. You drift into a deep, restful slumber, cocooned in his arms, feeling the peace before the inevitable storm of tomorrow.

“The Insatiable Hunt begins,” one of the warlocks grins darkly before tossing back the elixir, the liquid shimmering as it slides down his throat. Wooyoung raises his glass in silent agreement, his eyes flashing with excitement before he gulps it down, feeling the fiery potion race through his veins. The others follow suit, the room buzzing as they prepare for the night ahead.

They pull on their wolf masks, transforming from men into primal hunters, instincts sharpening with every heartbeat. The thrill of the chase hangs thick in the air as they line up, muscles tensed, waiting for the doors to open.

Wooyoung’s body hums with the effects of the potion, a burning heat spreading through his skin. His senses sharpen—your scent lingers, intoxicating and irresistible. His pupils dilate as your essence floods his nostrils, every fiber of his being urging him forward. The others grin beneath their masks, but his focus is single-minded: you.

The doors creak open with a loud thud, unleashing them into the night. With a guttural growl, Wooyoung sprints into the woods, his feet pounding the earth as he follows your trail, the scent drawing him deeper into the Darkwood. His heart races, blood pumping with one singular purpose: to find you. To claim his prize.

Wooyoung moves like a shadow, effortlessly twisting and turning through the woods, his heightened senses guiding him closer to your trail. Each subtle shift in the air tells him you're near. He slows as he approaches a dense thicket, his instincts screaming at him to be cautious. He can feel you hiding, watching, waiting.

His cock strains when he catches a whiff of your scent, his hardened member straining against the tightness of his pants as it begs to bury itself deep inside of you.

His eyes narrow, hyper-focused on the faintest rustle of leaves. You dart from the bushes, sprinting through the underbrush, your breath quickening as you distance yourself from him. He follows silently, his steps deliberately soundless as he stalks you.

You duck behind a tree, pressing your back against its trunk, heart pounding in your chest. Straining to listen, you hear... nothing. No footsteps, no rustling—nothing. A chill creeps up your spine. Slowly, you peek around the tree, scanning the shadows. There’s no sign of him.

Relief barely has time to settle in before you turn back and scream.

He’s right there, inches away.

"Gotcha," Wooyoung growls, his voice low and menacing, his breath hot against your skin. With a wicked grin, he grabs your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze as he slams your back against the rough bark of the tree. The impact sends a jolt through your body, your heart racing even faster now. His grip tightens, but not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you who’s in control.

His eyes glint through the wolf mask with a dangerous mix of hunger and satisfaction, the thrill of the Hunt evident in every line of his expression.

Wooyoung's grip tightens, his breath hot against your ear as he growls, “I can’t wait to split you in half with my cock.”

Before you can react, he spins you around, pressing your chest against the rough bark of the tree. Your heartbeat thunders in your ears as his hands slide down your sides, firm and unyielding.

He blames his newfound animalistic behavior for how fast he rips away your crimson cloak and the layers beneath it, leaving the shredded fabric scattered across the mossy forest floor.

In one swift movement, Wooyoung uses a knee to spread your legs and sinks into your inviting opening without warning. Tears sting your eyes from the sudden intrusion, but the pain quickly turns into mind-shattering pleasure.

“Taking it so well, aren’t you, slut?” he purrs, voice low and dripping with praise. The raw, commanding edge in his tone sends shivers through you, your insides tightening around him in response.

You hum an incoherent response, unable to form words when his cockhead is pressed against the swell of your cervix.

After ripping his mask off, Wooyoung’s fingers press into your hips. He holds you steady as he moves, each thrust punctuated by dark whispers of just how perfectly he fits inside you.

Wooyoung’s grin brushes against your neck as he drags his tongue up the curve of your skin, leaving a lingering lick before pressing a kiss just below your ear. His hips pull back slowly, his length retreating from your slick folds until only the tip remains, teasing you.

Then, with a low growl, he thrusts forward, filling you entirely in one fluid motion, claiming every inch as he sinks deep inside.

The sudden motion causes you to moan uncontrollably, his girth continuing to stretch out your soft walls. Your soaked cunt splitting open around Wooyoung’s enormous girth only causes him to swell more, if that’s even possible.

“M-more, please!” you whimper.

Wooyoung clenches his jaw, feeling your wetness ooze out where your bodies meet with each quick thrust.

One of his hands squeezes your side, the other falls to your round ass, and his claw-like nails scratch across your skin before he pulls his hand back to spank you. Your vision blurs from the impact, and you push your hips out, asking for more.

“Again,” you whine, your head digging further into the tree’s bark.

You bite down on your lower lip, anticipation building as you brace yourself. A sharp crack echoes through the air as his hand comes down against you, harder this time and sending another sting that radiates through your skin.

A moan slips past your lips, the sharpness transforming into pleasure that courses through your body. His fingers trace the spot he’s just marked, his low chuckle rumbling against your ear.

"Good girl," he murmurs, his voice rich with approval, each word sending shivers through you. “Turn around. I want to look at you," he demands next, his voice gritting through his teeth.

You obey, slowly turning to face him, your heart racing under his intense gaze. His eyes roam over you, filled with a mix of hunger and admiration that makes you feel both vulnerable and exhilarated.

Wooyoung cups your chin, tilting your face up toward him. His thumb brushes over your swollen lips as he drinks you in. "Look at you," he whispers, almost to himself, his thumb slipping inside your mouth. Instinctively, you wrap your lips around it, meeting his gaze as you lightly suck, earning a dark smile from him.

"You're perfect," he murmurs, his free hand tracing down your body, grazing every curve and leaving a trail of heat in its wake. "And you're all mine tonight." His words trail off as his length pounds into you again.

He watches as your lips part, head tilting back in pure bliss, and takes his chance. His mouth crashes onto yours, tongue slipping between your lips with a raw desire, claiming every inch he can reach. The kiss is deep and possessive, leaving you breathless as his hand tangles in your hair, keeping you close.

His tongue strokes against yours, tasting every gasp and moan you release, as if he’s memorizing the way you feel beneath him. You melt into his kiss, losing yourself in the heat, the way he consumes you with each movement.

When he pulls back, Wooyoung drags his lips against the shell of your ear to whisper, “Is this what you want? Your little virgin cunt destroyed?”

“Yes,” you moan, voice low and thick with desire. Then, locking eyes with him, you let a wicked smirk curve your lips, meeting his heated gaze with a look as dangerous as his own. "Ruin me," you breathe, each word dripping with a challenge that sends a spark down his spine.

A growl escapes his lips, and his grip on you tightens. He pushes you against the rough bark, lifting your leg to wrap around his waist as his eyes darken with pure, animalistic hunger. “You want to be ruined?” he whispers, his voice a low rasp against your ear as he pulls your hips even closer. “Careful what you ask for.”

His thrusts come harder, relentless, each one leaving you trembling and gasping as he takes you to the edge, only to pull you back before you can fall. His hand slides up your throat, a possessive touch that’s somehow both gentle and commanding as his thumb grazes your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"You’re mine," he growls, eyes blazing, his body pressed against yours with no space left between you. He savors every inch of you, watching your face intently as he ravages you with a merciless rhythm, his fingers digging into your waist. “And I’m not stopping until you’re completely undone.”

Your moans grow louder, filling the night air and mingling with the rhythmic slap of your bodies moving in unison. The sounds echo through the Darkwood, a primal symphony that seems to resonate with the forest around you, intensifying with each frenzied thrust.

Wooyoung feels your walls clench tightly around him, a signal that you’re close to unraveling. “Cum around my cock, honey,” he rasps, his voice laced with possessiveness. “I know you’re close.”

He quickens his pace, pounding into you with a newfound urgency, while his fingers find their way to that sensitive spot between your legs. The moment his thumb and forefinger pinch your aching nub, pleasure spirals through you like wildfire.

You scream his name, your body seizing up as waves of ecstasy crash over you, each pulse flooding your veins with tingling heat.

He watches you intently, captivated as your face twists in bliss, feeling you squeeze around him, almost pulling him over the edge.

A low growl escapes his lips, and with two final, frenzied thrusts, he buries himself as deeply as he can, his abs contracting as he spills himself inside you. His teeth graze your bare shoulder, biting down as he rides out his release, filling you with a heat that leaves you both breathless.

“Oh, praise Satan,” he gasps, letting out a shaky laugh as he presses his forehead against yours. The two of you catch your breath together, heartbeats slowing, tangled in the afterglow.

You collapse entirely into his arms, utterly spent and trembling, every muscle deliciously exhausted as you sink into the darkness of sleep that lingers at the edge of your consciousness. A grin tugs at your lips, satisfaction mingling with exhaustion as you surrender to it, the night’s events replaying like a forbidden lullaby.

Nothing in your dreams could ever compare to the raw, disgraceful, dangerously addictive reality you’ve just experienced. Wrapped in the warmth of his embrace, you let go, falling into a slumber filled with echoes of his touch.

The room is loud with the sound of laughter, clinking goblets, and whispered gossip. Candles cast a warm glow over the grand hall as platters of food float between the seated bodies; you're barely listening though, too hyper-aware of Wooyoung sitting beside you.

You steal a glance at him from across the table. He’s watching you, his gaze steady and unwavering. A secret smirk plays at the corner of his lips, one that makes your cheeks burn under the soft glow of the chandeliers. It’s almost unbearable, this tension simmering between you, each stolen look as dangerous as a spark near dry wood.

His fingertips graze yours under the table, sending a rush through you each time. You both know the game you’re playing—pushing boundaries, daring each other, waiting for one of you to make the next move.

Finally, he leans in, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “Let’s get out of here.”

"We can’t just leave," you mumble, finally meeting his burning gaze. There's a warning in your eyes, but he ignores it, his grin only growing.

You bite your lip, glancing around at the oblivious faces around you. "It’s the middle of the feast," you continue, though your resolve is already faltering. "People will notice."

"Let them," he says, the mischief in his tone unmistakable.

He stands and takes your hand, his grip both gentle and possessive as he leads you out, weaving through the tables with a confidence that dares anyone to question him.

Whispers and side glances follow, and you try to ignore the burning stares—hungry warlocks with dark eyes, envious witches with guarded whispers.

Everything has changed.

Wooyoung’s presence grounds you, his thumb brushing reassuring circles against your skin. And when he glances back at you, tilting his head in that familiar way with a smirk tugging at his lips, you realize that somehow—despite all the chaos of this past week—some things aren’t so different after all.

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hard-core-super-star · 4 months ago

Text

you could love me if i knew how to lie [K.Bishop]

pairing: kate bishop x stark!reader

summary: after spending all your teenage years engaged in a somewhat unserious rivalry, kate bishop makes her way back into your life as the last thing you need: a security guard. maybe it'll be the push you need to admit your feelings for her...or maybe just an excuse to bicker with her.

warnings: none, i think?; brief mentions of past hookups; slight angst? [idk if it counts]; lots of bickering; a sprinke of exposition; tipsy confession; kate is totally NOT jealous; did not proofread this enough :/

wordcount: 2.9k

a/n: HI! so, a long while ago i wrote a mini-fic about kate and stark!reader. my plan was to turn that mini-fic into a full fic because i never liked how it turned out BUT instead...i wrote a sequel, set way further into the future [or i guess, the canon timeline?]. anyway, tony is dead, kate is hawkeye 'cause clint is fully retired, and she's the sole CEO/owner of bishop security while R is the CEO of stark industries. i'm planning to mess around more with this AU so let me know what you think! hope you enjoy, see you next time <3

* * * * * * *

Kate Bishop was a pain in your ass.

There was no other way to put it. No way to sugarcoat the place the brunette occupied in your life.

Sure, maybe you were being petty. Maybe there was no real reason for both of you to be at each other's throats besides your own competitive nature and your dad's penchant for snarky comments about his business rivals.

Then again, the young CEO wasn't exactly a rival. At least, not ever since she took over for her mom...and since Tony Stark died. A fact you try not to think about most days.

Needless to say, things haven't been the same since the snap. Since those five years came and went, leaving behind nothing but pain, confusion, and regret. Enough regret to fill up the entirety of Stark Tower with it.

Maybe losing your dad should have made you more grateful to be alive. To have the opportunity to help the world rebuild after Thanos. Maybe it would have had you not ended up just as cynical as Tony.

All you could think about was what you lost. The people and things you'd never be able to get back.

Maybe it was that train of thought that led you to take over Stark Industries. Sure, Pepper wanting nothing to do with the place had a lot to do with it too, but you could have let it go. Could have allowed her to sell it to Eleanor Bishop or whoever else she wanted to.

But you were just as stubborn as your dad. Maybe even more, considering how much you loved hanging out with Natasha and Steve.

So, instead of walking away like you should have, you took over the company. While you weren't exactly sure what running a company of this level entailed, you were your father's daughter and you had more than enough of his smarts to figure out what to do.

At least, you thought you did until some wannabe super villain threatened you.

You didn't think much of it when it happened, you were used to stupid threats made by even stupider people. It never amounted to anything in your experience so you didn't think twice when you decided to "respond" to the threats.

The response in question being a very unserious, sarcastic remark that earned you the front page of the New York Times. Naturally.

Unbeknownst to you, your little stunt also earned you the attention of your old "rival" turned superhero. Everything you'd heard about Kate had come from Yelena and your attempts at hacking her computer.

The years that had gone by didn't seem to matter to the brunette, though, at least considering the ease with which she broke into your apartment. You'd be surprised if you didn't know she was just as good at hacking as you. (Maybe Yelena had a point when she told you that you needed a security update, but you'd never admit that outloud.)

You let out the loudest sigh of your life when you walk into your living room only to find Kate Bishop herself standing in the middle of it, dorky superhero suit and all.

"Dang, don't look so excited," she says, the corners of her lips quirking up into a small smirk. Despite her efforts, you know her nervous tells too well to be fooled by her fake nonchalance.

"Don't sound so hurt," you reply. "You can't tell me you were expecting me to be happy to see you after everything."

The shrug your words receive looks so natural you almost believe her act. You know better than that, though. "I thought that's exactly why you wouldn't mind seeing me. It's been a long time."

She's not exactly wrong. As annoying as she can be, you have missed her. Going to boring, fancy events isn't the same when she's not there to bicker with you. Maybe it's childish, but it's the only thing you've known when it comes to the brunette.

Just long arguments over ridiculously expensive appetizers and loaded glances across ballrooms. That's all your relationship with her will ever be.

"Yeah, five years to be exact," you say, not even trying to hold in your bitterness. "Not that you ever showed any concern about what happened."

Her eyebrows furrow slightly, her mouth opening and closing a few times as she stumbles over her response. "I...didn't think you needed me to-"

"I didn't need you," you correct her, already feeling your blood boil. "I just thought you had a shred of decency. Guess I was wrong, hooking up with anything with a pulse seemed much more important to you."

Her jaw clenches, and you hate the rush of satisfaction you get from the sight. After what the two of you have been through, the last thing you should be doing is pushing her buttons, and yet here you are. As stupid as it may be, some things never change.

"You're the one that turned me away the last time I tried caring," she says, her voice far more serious than usual.

The reminder she sends your way is the last thing you need right now. Even though you know she's not doing it to hurt you, it still stings. Mainly because she's the one who never returned your calls. She's the one who continued hooking up with other people after spending the night wrapped up in your arms.

"A drunken hookup isn't exactly "caring", Katherine."

The brunette groans in response, throwing her head back in frustration and allowing you to see the long column of her throat. For a split second, you come up with a different idea to work through your frustrations. As appealing as it sounds, you know it'll just make things worse.

"How are you still so insufferable?" Kate asks, her voice straddling the line between annoyed and amused.

You shrug. "It's a skill."

Her annoyance seems to clear for a second, like clouds parting to make way for the shining sun. "Yeah, right. You're something else, that's for sure."

Her words are technically a tease, but they soften you up all the same. They shouldn't, they should infuriate you, make you want to throw her out of your apartment and never talk to her again. They don't, though.

But instead of showing it, you decide to change the topic. The sooner you figure out what the hell she wants, the quicker she'll leave you and your bitter past with her alone.

"What do you want, Kate?" You ask with a sigh.

Her eyes linger on your face for a second too long before she answers. "Nothing. I'm just here to keep an eye on you before you do something else stupid."

"I don't need a guard dog," you reply.

She rolls her eyes, matching your energy far too quickly for your liking. "I'm not a dog, but you do need a guard. Running your mouth like that is only going to get you hurt."

You scoff. "I can handle myself just fine."

"Sorry, princess, I have direct orders from Yelena to keep you safe until this all blows over."

Of course, Yelena sent the archer to you. You're not sure if it's truly an "Avengers" thing, or if it's simply the Russian being an overprotective friend. Either way, there's no way for you to get rid of Kate which means...you're stuck with her, whether you like it or not.

"Fine," you huff, sounding far too much like your teenage self. "But don't think this means you're forgiven or anything. We're still not friends."

Even though a smile tugs at her lips, there's no mistaking the flicker of disappointment in her eyes. The longing you know all too well. "Yeah, I know."

As weird (and slightly uncomfortable) as it is, you move toward your kitchen with the archer following right on your tail. You're not a fan of the idea, or of having her breathing down your neck all the time, but complaining will just make things more difficult. And even though you're particularly known for being difficult, you're actually trying to not make things worse.

It's much easier said than done and yet...you and Kate actually start working toward some sort of normal. Well, there's nothing normal about having her following behind you like a puppy all the time but you can't say you don't like it.

You vow to not admit it, to not let her know just how nice it is to be around her. Just how much you've missed seeing her.

You're pretty sure it's your worst kept secret but thankfully, Kate can be quite oblivious most of the time. It's probably something to do with how much attention her constant rambling requires.

However, after weeks of keeping your act together, of pretending like you don't notice the looks she sends your way or the constant brushing of her hand against yours, you break. Or well, she breaks.

Despite her attempts at trying to keep you inside, you go out to bar with a few people from Stark Industries, using the excuse of some stupid business meetings to convince her. She knows it's a stupid excuse. That despite your insistance that you're there to talk business, you're really just looking for a way to put some distance between you.

It's not the worst plan in the world, and, at first, it works perfectly. Kate escorts you into the bar and then leaves you alone with your friends, giving you space to go back to some sort of normality even while the threat of someone attacking you lingers as a possibility.

Ultimately, it's not an attacker who approaches you during your night out. It's simply a decently dressed guy that tries far too hard to charm you.

He ignores your attempts at kindly declining the drink he offers to buy you and when his hand wraps a bit too tightly around your arm, Kate appears at your side.

"We should go," she says, her tone leaving no room for arguments.

The insistent guy opens his mouth to try but before he even knows what's happening, the brunette peels his hand off of you and leads you away.

You're not necessarily mad about it, the guy was being way too annoying and slightly creepy. That being said...you're also not about to let Kate think she can step in like that when she's not told to.

You try to escape from her grip but she simply holds on tighter, looking back to glare at you as she continues leading you through the throng of people.

"Kate," you warn, easily meeting her glare with one of your own. "What are you doing?"

The way her grip on you tightens is telling enough but you need to hear the words from her lips. "That guy was flirting with you."

You barely hold back the urge to roll your eyes, her habit of being far too blunt in moments of stress growing less endearing every time. "Yeah, I noticed. What's the problem with that?"

For once, Kate's actually speechless.

She opens and closes her mouth at least five times, making disgruntled noises that don't even border on words. You're equal parts annoyed, amused, and endeared (even if you'd rather not admit it).

"He's clearly a creep!" She finally says as if that will clear things up.

And maybe it does. Maybe it clears everything up and makes perfect sense. Maybe it means you should stop fighting against the truth that's been chasing you since you were a teenager.

You're just as stubborn as Kate when you want to be, though. It doesn't matter how obvious it is that telling her how you feel is what you need, you'll ignore it forever if you have to. Even when it proves less than optimal for your mental health.

After a moment, you settle on an answer. "How can you possibly know that?"

"You can always tell, their eyes give them away."

You can't stop yourself from laughing in response. "As if you don't spend half the time you're with me ogling my chest."

"That's different!" She exclaims, clearly both embarrased and annoyed.

"Hardly."

She groans, although you're not sure if she's annoyed with you or with herself. "That's not the point! The point is he was being weird and it's my job to protect you."

In any other situation, her words would be sweet. Even now, there's no denying the way your heart skips a beat at the sound of them. Despite this, though, you still decide to hold onto your bitterness.

"You know, I'm more than just a stupid Avengers mission. Just because you've been jealous of me your whole life-"

"Jealous? Who says I was jealous?"

Her response genuinely surprises you. You can't tell if she's serious or not so you decide to bite despite your better judgement.

"Um...everyone? Even your mom. Everyone said you were jealous because your dream was to be an Avenger. You didn't understand how much pain it brought, how difficult it was to be involved with that kind of life. How little I wanted to do with it."

It's your last sentence that seems to strike a chord with her.

She stops in her tracks, using her grip on you to maneuver you until you're in front of her. Until you can't hide from her knowing gaze.

"Wait, is that why you've always hated me?" She asks, her head tilting to the side in a far too adorable show of confusion. "Because I asked you about the Avengers, once?"

It doesn't matter how badly you want to stay mad, she has a way of scrambling all your thoughts before you even know what's happening. Although, the few drinks in your system might have a lot more to do with that than her stupid puppy dog eyes.

"It was more than once!" You exclaim. "All you cared about was talking about Iron Man."

The second the words leave your lips, you feel ridiculously silly. It's like all the stupid things you did as a petulant teenager come back to haunt you in an instant. You wouldn't say you regret them (Kate can be a real pain in the ass when she wants to be) but you are embarrased by them.

"y/n..." Kate trails off, looking equal parts amused and confused. "You're actually serious?"

It would be easily to lie again. To make a joke, shrug it off, and pretend like nothing happened. Like you weren't so close to admitting how you feel.

For some reason...you can't bring yourself to do it. It makes no sense to you and yet, the answer rushes out of your mouth before you can even try to stop it.

"Well...yeah." You shrug. "I had a crush back then, y'know?"

"WHAT?"

You know where her surprise is coming from but all it does is make you want to shrink into yourself again. To ignore her once more until you go back to way things have always been. To the annoyance and the snarky comments and the comfortable distance you've always managed to keep.

"Whatever," you huff, shrugging her off of you. "It doesn't matter anymore."

You try to walk away, to put some distance between you before you continue revealing truths you've successfully kept hidden all your life. Kate's too stubborn for that, of course, so her hands grip your waist before you can get too far, easily moving you backward until you hit a wall.

"Say it again." Her voice is so low it almost startles you.

"What?" It's impossible to stop yourself from sounding breathless...or from allowing your eyes to dip down to her lips.

"The truth, y/n," she says. "Tell me the truth."

It's almost hilarious how quickly you melt for her. All it takes is a low tone to her voice and a sharp gaze from this close proximity for your legs to shake underneath you.

Deep down, you know where it's really coming from. Whether you want to admit it or not, you've spent the last five years aching to tell her the truth. That despite the way you've always acted, you feel so much for her. And hatred is the last thing on that list.

"You're insuferable," you reply. "Almost as insuferable as my crush on you."

As soon as the words leave your mouth, the tension in Kate's frame dissapears. Her grip on you loosens somewhat but she doesn't step away form you. If anything, she moves closer.

"I thought you hated me."

"Well, maybe a little at first. You were really annoying back then." She laughs, the sound so warm it makes you blush. "I think I still am. And an idiot apparently."

"We already knew that, though."

For the first time in a long time, there's no bite to your words. No real fire to feed Kate's competitive streak. Just...the smallest amount of real affection. The kind that comes from knowing someone for almost all your life.

"Wish I knew you liked me sooner," the archer says, leaning in the slightest bit. "I would have kissed you and saved us all this trouble."

You roll your eyes, even though a part of you appreciates her cheesy flirting. "You did kiss me, actually. And it only made everything worse."

She's silent for a moment before a smirk forms on her lips. "Maybe we can try it again. Let me fix what went wrong last time."

Just because she's clearly being a flirt doesn't mean she isn't being genuine. It's easier said than done, but maybe...maybe you two have a chance of working things out. Of finally putting your pride aside and accepting how you feel.

"Stop being an awful flirt and kiss me, Bishop."

It's surprising, but she actually listens to you for once, and before you know it, her lips are on yours and nothing else matters.

Including the danger that lurks in the shadows of your periphery.

#kate bishop x reader #kate bishop x female reader #kate bishopx y/n #kate bishop x you #kate bishop #kate bishop fanfiction #hawkeye #hailee steinfeld #marvel fanfiction #mcu imagine #wlw #wlw fic #writing

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justarkive · 3 months ago

Text

TABLE 3 | JJK ch4

"For good service and cute waitresses”

pairing: pre military!jungkook x secret fuckbuddy!oc

contents: profanity, smut, fluff, humour, celeb au, angsty chapter guys </3, jungkook hurts oc unintentionally! Nari is mean (in a good way, we love nari here.) oc overthinks! mentions of ptd jungkook

smut warnings: f!masturbation, oc has dirty thoughts about jungkook, semi detailed description of masturbation, vibrator!

wc: idk yall but its lengthy

this fic is not meant to represent the real jungkook or any other characters mentioned!

taglist: @dreamersparacosm (cmnt to be added!)

a/n: updating this story hopefully every 2 days now :) this chap was pretty hard and i pretty much just winged it, how do we feel so far guys?! is there anything specifically anyone wants to see (like interactions between oc + jk?) or anything at all! please let me know what you think, and thank you for reading <3 mwah

masterlist < prev | next >

The screen of your phone glares back at you, Jungkook’s unread message still sitting at the bottom of your screen.

So am I getting a response, or did you decide flirting with me was a one-time thing?

A few day’s ago, this would’ve sent you into full panic mode. Or even having his number in your phone?! Even yesterday you might’ve overthought it for an hour before even considering replying. Making Nari type out your messages, but today, you’re different.

Or at least, you pretend you are.

The coffee shop hums around you, filled with the gentle murmur of conversation, the soft clinking of cups, the steady whir of the espresso machine. Your laptop sits open, your untouched document staring back at you, the blinking cursor mocking your lack of productivity.

Your errands are halfway done—grocery shopping still pending, laundry detergent still forgotten, but at least you’ve made it out of the house. That’s a win, right?

You take a sip of your drink, only to realize it’s already gone cold. Great.

With a sigh, you stretch your legs under the table, cracking your neck before finally giving in to temptation. Your fingers hover over the keyboard for only a second before you type back.

[ iMessage ]

Y/N: Maybe I just like to keep you waiting.

A response comes almost instantly.

Unknown number: That’s a dangerous game to play with me.

A small smirk tugs at your lips. So he wants to play?

Y/N: And what happens if i make you wait?

Unknown number: You’ll find out soon enough.

Heat curls at the base of your spine, unexpected but not unwelcome. You should stop texting him—you still have things to do, a life to return to—but instead, you let the conversation go on a little longer. A few more back-and-forths, a few more teasing remarks, until finally, your phone vibrates with a different notification.

Nari (5:57 PM) Incoming Call…

You sigh, shaking yourself out of your Jungkook-induced haze before swiping to answer.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” Nari’s voice is playful, but there’s a pout underneath it. “You’re not coming over tonight, are you?”

“Rain check?” you say, already wincing. “I have, like, a million things to do.”

Nari groans dramatically. “I knew it. You always bail when I need you most.”

“You literally saw me yesterday.”

“And?! You left without saying goodbye!”

You laugh, adjusting in your seat as you glance around the café. “I swear I’ll come over sometime this week. We’ll do face masks and eat too much takeout and—”

“And you’ll tell me all about Mr. Famous?”

Your mouth opens, then shuts.

Nari gasps. “OH. MY. GOD. YOU HAVE AN UPDATE, DON’T YOU?!”

“Shh!” you hiss, glancing around. “No, I don’t.”

“Liar! If you didn’t, you would’ve just said ‘no’ instead of ‘no I don’t’ like a liar!”

You don’t want to indulge in a gossip session with Nari as of right now. It sounds fun, but you’re in a quiet cafe, and you know you and her can get carried away.

You groan. “I really have to go, Nari.”

“You dont, bitch.”

“I love you too,” you say, shaking your head fondly. “I’ll update you next time I see you, okay?”

Nari sighs dramatically. “Fine. But just so you know, I’m at work all night, so I hope you’re having a better time than me.”

You glance at your laptop screen. The blank document stares back.

“Trust me,” you mumble. “I’m not.”

After saying your goodbyes, you hang up, slipping your phone back into your bag before forcing yourself to focus.

You wrap up your errands—grabbing the groceries you’ve been putting off, nearly forgetting the laundry detergent again, and finally heading home when your arms can’t carry any more.

By the time you step inside, your apartment feels like a time capsule of procrastination.

The pile of clothes on the chair? Unmoved. The dishes? Stacked in the sink. A fine layer of dust coats your shelves, proof that you swore you’d wipe them down two weeks ago. With a heavy sigh, you set your bags down and tie your hair up.

Time to finally get your life together.

You start with the dishes, rolling up your sleeves as you scrub at the dried coffee rings and leftover crumbs, stacking each plate neatly to dry. Then, you tackle the laundry, sorting through the mess and tossing everything into the washer with way more detergent than necessary because screw it, it smells nice.

One thing after another, you move through your space, wiping down surfaces, lighting a candle just because, finally making your home feel liveable again.

When everything is clean, you take a long shower, the hot water easing the tension in your muscles. You throw on something comfortable—an oversized hoodie, some loose shorts—before settling onto your couch with a deep sigh, satisfied.

But—

Your mind wanders.

Your phone is right there.

Without thinking, you open TikTok. Just a little scrolling, just to unwind—nothing serious. But then you type his name into the search bar. Just to see.

The first thing that pops up is exactly what you expected: thirst edits, fancams, interview clips. You click on one at random, some fast-cut montage of Jungkook on stage, his jaw tight, his eyes sharp, every movement calculated to kill.

You get it now.

As if you didn’t get it the first time he looked at you with those big fat boba eyes.

The way people talk about him. The way they react. The comment sections filled with all-caps screaming, with people losing their minds over every little thing he does.

And then you see the other side of him.

Clips of him laughing so hard he folds over. Videos of him playing with his dog, teasing his bandmates, singing softly into his phone, eyes half-lidded and gentle.

Your chest feels tight.

There’s so much of him online. So many sides, so many versions.

And yet, you can’t help but feel like none of it is the full picture.

Then, A paparazzi photo.

Jungkook in a dimly lit restaurant. Across from him, a blonde woman, her arms decorated with tattoos. A dating scandal. Seemingly one that never got confirmed.

Something sharp twists in your stomach.

Jealousy?

No. That would be insane. You don’t even know him.

And yet—

Your fingers tighten around your phone.

What if you’re just another one of them?

What if you’re just another rumor? Another name people whisper about in comment sections, another person tied to him in a way that’ll never be real?

The thought lingers, sinking deep.

But then, with a deep breath, you shake your head.

Get over yourself.

You scroll past it.

And then—

You find it.

A concert clip.

Permission to Dance in LA.

Your breath stills.

The video starts, and there he is.

Jungkook.

His cropped black shirt barely covers him, leaving the sharp ridges of his stomach bare, glistening under the stage lights. Silver body chains drape over his chest and abs, catching the glow as he moves. His dark hair clings to his forehead, damp with sweat, sticking just enough to make it look good.

And then—

The screen cuts to a slow motion clip.

Jungkook, walking forward.

Shirtless.

Flashes of cameras illuminate his body, highlighting every detail—his stomach, his collarbones, the slightest angry expression on his face. His lips part, his throat bobs with a swallow, his skin slick under the lights, gleaming in the way that only makes him look better.

Your breath catches.

Something hot coils low in your stomach.

And just like that, it happens.

The shift. The realization.

That feeling. Your mind begins to wander places where you know it shouldnt.

You sit in the dimly lit living room, the only sound being the soft hum of your phone as you watch the video of Jungkook on the screen. His chiseled features and captivating smile have you entranced, and you can't help but feel a flutter in your chest.You feel a surge of arousal at the sound of his words, and your mind begins to wander, imagining what it would be like to be with him.

You start to fantasize about being with Jungkook in secret, hiding your relationship from the prying eyes of the media and the public. You imagine being at work, sneaking away to the bathroom to meet him in private. You picture him pushing you against the stall, his hands grasping your hips as he whispers in your ear, "Shh, baby, we don’t wanna get caught hm? That would be a mess…" You feel a thrill at the thought of being with him in secret, the danger and excitement of being discovered.

Your hands seem to move of their own accord, slipping under the waistband of your shorts and into your underwear. Your fingers graze your sensitive skin, sending shivers down your spine. You start to touch your wet folds, gently at first, but growing bolder as the pleasure builds. "Ah," you whisper to yourself, You imagine his cock pushing into you, his hands covering your mouth to keep you quiet as you moan in pleasure.

As you continue to touch yourself, you start to feel a sense of guilt creeping in. What the fuck am I doing?you think to yourself, This is so wrong.

But the pleasure is too much to ignore, and you find yourself pushing aside the guilt, focusing on the sensations and the image of Jungkook on the screen. Your breathing gets heavier, and your heart starts to pound in your chest. You're getting closer and closer to the edge, and you can't help but let out a series of soft gasps as you continue to touch yourself.

You imagine Jungkook's hands on your skin, his fingers tracing your curves as he whispers in your ear, "You're so beautiful, Wanna fuck you all night." You picture him lifting your leg up, his cock pushing into you as he fucks you against the stall. You hear the sound of his voice, "Don't you dare make a fucking sound." You feel a surge of pleasure at the thought of being with him in secret, the excitement and danger of being discovered.

Despite the guilt, your body continues to respond to the pleasure. You decide to take it to the next level, reaching for the vibrator that's hidden in your drawer. You turn it on, and the buzzing sound fills the room as you press it against your skin. The sensation is almost overwhelming, and you feel yourself getting even closer to the edge. "Oh, god," you whisper to yourself, "Fuckk-." The vibrator hums against your clit, and you feel a surge of pleasure as your body starts to respond. You're getting wetter and wetter, and you can feel your juices starting to drip down your thighs.

As you watch Jungkook on the screen, his eyes seeming to lock onto yours, you feel a surge of pleasure. "Shit," you say to yourself, The guilt is still there, but it's no longer the dominant emotion. The sensation of the vibrator and the image of Jungkook combine to create an intense, all-consuming feeling.

You're torn between the desire to indulge in this fantasy and the need to suppress it.

You imagine Jungkook's hands on your skin, his fingers tracing your curves as he whispers in your ear, "You're mine," You picture him fucking you hard, his cock pulsing inside of you as he claims you as his own. You hear the sound of his voice, imagining what he’d sound like when he comes.

You feel a much stronger surge of pleasure at the thought of being his, of being owned by him. Your body starts to tense up, and you feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge. Your muscles contract, and you feel a surge of pleasure as you start to come. "Ah, Jungkook," you whisper to yourself, "I'm coming." Your body shudders, and you feel a wave of pleasure wash over you. Your juices flow freely, dripping down your thighs as you continue to fuck yourself with the vibrator. You're lost in the sensation, and you can't help but let out a series of loud gasps as you ride out the wave of pleasure.

As you finally start to come down from the high, you're left feeling breathless and spent. Your body is covered in a fine sheen of sweat, and your juices are still dripping down your thighs. You look down at yourself, and you're met with the sight of your own wetness, glistening in the dim light of the room. You feel a sense of satisfaction, mixed with a hint of guilt. But as you look back at the screen, you see Jungkook's face, and you can't help but feel a sense of pleasure and satisfaction. You may have felt guilty, but in the end, pleasure won out.

——

The morning hits you like a truck.

Your body feels sluggish, weighed down by something heavier than sleep, and for a second, you don’t even register the fact that you’re awake. But then—your brain catches up. The fog clears just enough to remind you.

Last night.

Your entire body tenses. A slow, mortified groan rips out of your throat as you roll onto your stomach, shoving your face into the pillow. You did that. You actually-

Your phone buzzes loudly against the nightstand.

You blindly reach for it, barely prying your eyes open, when-

8:47 AM

Your heart drops.

“Shit—shit, shit, shit—”

You fling yourself out of bed in a panic, scrambling toward the bathroom with one hand already dialing Nari’s number. You’re brushing your teeth with one hand, violently shoving a hoodie over your head with the other, when she finally picks up.

“Good morning, sunshine,” she hums, far too smug.

“Nari, I’m so fucking late for work—” you garble through a mouthful of toothpaste.

“Yeah, no shit, considering it’s almost nine—”

“Oh my god, I slept through my alarm, I’m gonna get fired—”

“You do know I’m not coming in today, right?”

The words don’t even process at first. You’re too busy throwing your phone onto speaker, shoving your legs into jeans as you spit into the sink. “What?”

“I told you yesterday. I switched shifts with Sumni.”

You freeze mid-step. “No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I literally did, babe.”

You blink at yourself in the mirror, panic momentarily replaced by realization. Then—

“…Fuck you.”

Nari cackles. “No, fuck you. I knew you’d forget.”

“You let me suffer!”

“I let you be a dumbass.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me,” she corrects, completely unfazed by your rage. “You’re just Nari-deprived.”

You exhale through your nose, fighting the urge to slam your head into the mirror. Work without Nari is going to be the worst, like it always is.

“You’re an asshole,” you grumble, grabbing your bag. “I hope your day sucks without me.”

“I hope yours is miserable without me,” she shoots back, voice laced with fake venom. “I bet you’ll be crying in the storage closet by noon.”

“I bet you’ll be crying in the bathroom by seven.”

“I bet you’ll call me on your lunch break to sob about how much you miss me—”

“You wish—”

You’re locking your door behind you when she suddenly pauses.

“…Wait,” she murmurs, her tone shifting. “You never answered my text last night.”

Your stomach clenches.

“I really gotta go—”

“NO WAIT— YOU—”

You hang up.

Your phone starts buzzing immediately after, but you shove it into your pocket, focusing instead on getting to work before your manager decides you’re more trouble than you’re worth.

——

You make it twenty-four minutes late, and the only saving grace is that your manager doesn’t care enough to scold you.

Still, work is miserable. The diner is slow, the regular breakfast rush long gone, and without Nari to keep you entertained, time crawls. You’re halfway through refilling the sugar dispensers when the bell above the door chimes.

You glance up, plastering on your best customer-service smile—

Only to feel it immediately slip.

Because Jeon Jungkook is standing in the entrance.

Alone again, and way too fucking early.

Your heart stutters, but you force yourself to act normal. “Why are you here so early?”

Jungkook smirks, stepping closer. “I’m just here to get coffee.”

You scoff. “You choose a diner to get coffee? Seriously?”

“Hey, don’t disrespect my choices,” he teases. “Some of us enjoy a little diner experience, with cute waitresses on the side” He winks.

“You know we don’t even have good coffee, right?”

Jungkook hums. “Then why are you serving it?”

“You asked for it.”

You roll your eyes and grab a mug. But as you turn to pour the coffee, your gaze flickers toward him—and you really look at him.

His jaw is sharp, cutting clean angles in the soft glow of the diner’s lights. His lips are thin, but full and plump in a way, slightly parted as he exhales. His dark hair is a little messy, like he ran his hands through it too many times. But it’s his eyes that hold you in place—deep brown, warm and dark, filled with something unreadable.

You don’t realize you’re staring until—

Jungkook smirks.

Your stomach plummets.

“You good?” he murmurs, voice thick with amusement.

Your face heats up instantly. “Shut up.”

His smirk deepens. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Yeah, well- shut up anyway.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, watching as you place his coffee on the counter. And then—his fingers brush against yours as he reaches for it.

The touch is barely anything—a fleeting graze, the warmth of his skin against yours for a fraction of a second. But it lingers, spreading like static under your skin.

Your breath catches.

Jungkook notices.

He wraps his fingers around the mug, watching you with quiet amusement. “So, random question,” he muses, “if someone asked you to meet up outside of work, would you?”

Your stomach flips.

You keep your expression neutral. “Depends who’s asking.”

Jungkook tilts his head slightly, like he’s really looking at you. “And if it was me?”

You hesitate. The air between you shifts—something unspoken, something charged.

“I’d have to think about it,” you say finally.

Jungkook hums, taking a slow sip of his coffee. His eyes don’t leave yours. “Fair enough.”

You’re still trying to recover from the tension when he leans back, stretching slightly. “I’m actually busy today,” he says, as if that whole exchange didn’t just happen. “That’s why I came early. This place is close to my studio.”

You raise a brow. “Studio?”

He nods. “Got a few songs to record. Prepping for tour.”

Then, casually, he adds, “You should come.”

You blink. “What?”

Jungkook shrugs. “You should come.”

He’s joking. Obviously, right? But for some reason, it unsettles you.

Jungkook smirks again, but you feel a twist in your stomach.

Because what if you’re just another fan?

The words sit between you like something heavy, something you don’t quite know how to hold.

You should come.

Jungkook’s watching you, his dark eyes flickering with something unreadable, something just shy of amusement but not quite serious either. His smirk lingers at the corner of his lips, and you hate that it’s doing something to you.

“Yeah,” you say, forcing your tone to be light. “I’ll definitely come.”

You expect him to just let it go, but instead—he tilts his head slightly, studying you in a way that makes your skin feel hot.

“Would you, though?” he muses, tapping his fingers lightly against the mug.

You blink. “Would I what?”

“Actually come,” he says smoothly. “Or are you just saying that?”

You scoff, arms crossing instinctively over your chest. “Why do you care?”

Jungkook hums, taking a slow sip of his coffee before replying. “I just think it’s interesting,” he says, voice low, “how quick you are to brush it off.”

You swallow. “I wasn’t—”

“You were,” he cuts in, his smirk widening slightly. “Like you were scared to even consider it.”

Your breath catches, heart skipping in your chest. “I wasn’t scared—”

“Oh no?” His brows raise, and he leans forward slightly, his forearm resting against the counter between you. “Then what was it?”

Your mouth opens—then closes. Because the way he’s looking at you makes it hard to think.

Jungkook is dangerous. Not in the way that means trouble, but in the way that makes your pulse race. In the way that makes every teasing remark feel like a dare, every glance feel like a step closer to something you’re not sure you’re ready for.

And the worst part? He knows it.

He sees the way you hesitate, sees the way your breath stutters just slightly, and he eats it up.

You straighten, trying to not let him see the way he’s affecting you. “I don’t just blindly accept invitations from random guys,” you say, tilting your chin slightly.

Jungkook’s lips curve, and his voice drops just a little lower. “So I’m a random guy now?”

You regret your words immediately.

Because suddenly, there’s something about the way he’s looking at you—something a little more serious, a little more intent. And for a split second, you swear you see a flicker of something else in his expression.

Something real.

Something that almost—almost—makes you think he’s actually asking.

But then—just as quickly as it appeared—it’s gone.

Jungkook leans back, his smirk returning. “Noted,” he murmurs, reaching for his coffee again. “Guess I’ll have to work on that.”

Your stomach flips. “On what?”

He shrugs. “On not being a random guy.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the way your lips twitch—like they’re trying not to smile.

Jungkook notices.

And of course, he doesn’t let it go.

“See?” he says, watching you closely. “You like me.”

You scoff. “I tolerate you.”

Jungkook grins, and you hate that it’s unfairly attractive. “That’s just the first stage of falling in love.”

You nearly choke. “Oh my god—”

He laughs, leaning back slightly, clearly entertained. “I’m just saying,” he says, tapping a finger against his mug. “Hate to break it to you, but you’re kind of obsessed with me.”

You gawk at him.

“I—you’re delusional,” you sputter.

“Am I?” He tilts his head. “Or am I just painfully observant?”

“Oh my god—”

“You are, though.”

“I literally am not.”

“Mmm.” He sips his coffee again, eyes twinkling. “Denial is the second stage.”

Your soul leaves your body.

And then—to make things worse—he casually reaches for the sugar, fingers brushing against yours again.

Your breath catches.

It’s subtle—so brief you could almost pretend it didn’t happen. But it did. And you both felt it.

Jungkook pauses, gaze flicking up to yours, and his smirk slowly returns.

You snatch your hand back.

“You’re insufferable,” you mutter.

Jungkook huffs a quiet laugh, stirring his coffee lazily. “And yet,” he muses, “you haven’t walked away.”

You don’t have a good comeback for that.

Because—annoyingly—he’s right.

There’s something about him that keeps you here, standing in front of him even though you could just leave, even though every instinct tells you not to entertain him any longer.

Jungkook hums, like he’s completely aware of the way your thoughts are spiraling. Then, after a beat, he glances at his phone.

“Alright,” he sighs, pushing his coffee aside. “I should head out.”

You blink. “Oh.”

You hate the way disappointment tugs at your chest.

Jungkook watches you for a second—like he sees it, like he knows. Then, as he stands, he leans just a little closer, just enough to drop his voice low.

“Try not to miss me too much,” he murmurs.

Your breath stutters.

And then—before you can even think of a response—he straightens, smirks, and casually throws a few bills onto the counter.

Your fingers twitch. “You overpaid—”

“Consider it a tip,” he says smoothly, already walking toward the door.

You stare at his back, watching the way he moves—easy, confident, like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Then—just as he reaches the exit—he glances over his shoulder, eyes meeting yours one last time.

And he winks.

The bell chimes as the door swings shut behind him.

And you—standing there, stomach twisting—realize you’re completely, hopelessly fucked.

——

Its finally 9pm. You did call Nari at lunch. Of course you did. You’d left one of your shirts at her house, it’s not really that important, but you want to see her anyway.

You step out of the building, stretching your arms as the night air presses against your skin. It’s finally cooled down, the heat of the day fading into a soft breeze that moves through the streets. The city hums around you—cars rolling past, the faint chatter of people walking in groups, the occasional laugh cutting through the evening air.

You barely look down as you pull your phone from your pocket, already calling Nari before you even hit the sidewalk. It rings twice before she picks up.

“Finally,” she groans, voice thick with exhaustion. “Where are you? I told you to hurry.”

A smile tugs at your lips. “I’m on my way, chill. I left my shirt at your place,”

“My leg’s are killing, i pulled something at the gym today” she whines.

You scoff. “I’m the one walking right now.”

“Yeah, and look at you, surviving,” she deadpans. “Meanwhile, I’m literally dying. I swear, my legs are about to give out.”

“You’re so dramatic,” you mutter, dodging a couple walking too slow in front of you. “Are you sure you still want me to come? You sound like you need a coma.”

“Yes, obviously,” she huffs. “Just hurry up. I need moral support.”

You laugh, shaking your head. Your usual route would have you in Nari’s passenger seat by now, but since she’s not picking you up, you’re taking the train instead. It’s a little out of the way, but you don’t mind the walk.

At least, until you nearly crash into someone.

“Ah, sorry—” you start, stepping back quickly.

The person barely stumbles, but you notice the way his hands twitch slightly, like he almost reached out to steady you. You look up, already ready to move past the awkward moment—

And then your eyes meet his.

It takes a second to register. The mask covers the lower half of his face, and his black cap is pulled low, but those eyes—deep brown, familiar—make your breath catch.

“…Oh,” you murmur. “Hi.”

Jungkook looks at you, frozen for a beat too long. There’s something different about him—he’s stiff, closed off, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his hoodie. He glances around, shifting slightly like he’s uneasy.

“…Hey,” he finally says, voice quiet.

You hesitate. There’s something off. You’ve seen Jungkook in a lot of different moods during his visits to the diner- teasing, playful, even quiet—but never like this. His whole body is tense, his shoulders slightly hunched, like he’s trying to make himself smaller. His eyes flick past you, scanning the street, and then back again.

“Are you… okay?” you ask carefully.

“I—yeah,” he says quickly. Too quickly. His voice is lower than usual, tight. “I was just… heading out- of- of the studio…”

The way he says it makes something twist in your chest. You don’t know why it stings, but it does. His whole energy is different—rushed, distant. Like he doesn’t want to be standing here, talking to you. Like he needs to leave.

Your grip tightens around your phone. “Right,” you say, trying to sound normal, but it comes out smaller than you want.

Jungkook shifts on his feet, still looking around. The streetlights cast long shadows over his face, making his expression unreadable.

“I’ll—uh,” he exhales sharply. “I’ll see you around.”

And then he walks away.

Just like that.

You don’t even get the chance to react. One second he’s there, the next he’s disappearing into the crowd, shoulders hunched, head ducked low. It feels like a brush-off. Like something you’re not supposed to take personally, but somehow, you do.

You blink, still holding your phone to your ear, even though it’s not against your ear anymore.

On the other end, Nari’s voice cuts through the thick, sudden silence.

“Hello?” she says. “What happened?”

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out at first. Your chest feels weird—tight, uncomfortable, like something is pressing against it.

Finally, you swallow, forcing your voice to stay even. “I… I can’t come anymore,” you say quietly. “I just realized I have something to do at home.”

A pause. Then—

“Wait, bitch—?”

You hang up.

—

You’re dramatic. You know it. Nari knows it.

It took five calls before you finally picked up, and by that point, she’d already decided you weren’t going home. You were coming to hers, no excuses. And you didn’t fight it much, because she’s right—she always is.

She knows when something’s wrong. And this? This was definitely one of those times.

By the time you get to her place, she’s waiting at the door, arms crossed, scanning your face like she’s trying to read a book that won’t open. You barely step inside before she’s dragging you to the couch, her hands warm against your wrist.

“Alright,” she says, legs tucked under her, eyes sharp. “What the fuck happened?”

You exhale, shaking your head, phone still clenched in your fingers. “Nothing, I just—”

“Don’t even start with that.” She cuts you off fast. “You were about to go home and sulk. So, no. Try again.”

You sink into the cushions, staring at a loose thread on the blanket draped over the armrest. “I ran into Jungkook.”

There’s a beat of silence before she blinks, sitting up straighter. “Okay… and?”

“And he—” You bite your lip, still feeling the sting of it. “He was weird. Different. Like, I don’t know, like he didn’t want to be seen with me or something.”

Her expression twists. “Seriously? You’re fucking joking.”

You shake your head, replaying the way he looked around, the way his voice was quieter than usual, the way he left so fast like he was afraid to be near you. “He barely even looked at me, Nari.”

She scoffs, disbelief turning into something sharper. “What the actual fuck? So he’s all friendly and sweet before, and now suddenly he’s—what? Too good to be seen talking to you?”

You don’t answer, just swallow around the knot in your throat.

“Oh, hell no.” She leans back, arms crossed, eyes narrowing. “This is some bullshit.”

Your fingers tighten around your phone, your nails pressing into your palm. “It just—” You hesitate, then sigh. “It sucked.”

She softens a little, tilting her head. “I know, babe.”

And for a moment, you just sit there, letting the frustration settle between you, the weight of it pressing into your chest.

Because yeah. It really fucking sucked.

But then Nari sighs, running a hand through her hair. “I mean, to be fair, you saw what happened last time. The whole social media thing? That was a mess. He’s probably trying to avoid another situation like that.”

You hesitate, chewing on the inside of your cheek. You hadn’t really thought about it like that, but now that she’s saying it, it makes sense.

Not that it makes you feel any better.

“Still doesn’t mean he had to be an asshole about it,” you mumble.

“No, he didn’t,” she agrees. Then she exhales dramatically and waves a hand. “Alright, enough of that. I’m over it.”

You let out a small laugh. “You’re over it?”

“Yeah, I’ve decided.” She leans back against the couch. “But you, unfortunately, are not.”

You groan, standing up, grabbing your shirt Nari’s so kindly washed and folded for you. “I really do have to get going home.”

Nari frowns. “What? No. Stay.”

“I can’t, Nari”

Nari rolls her eyes, but there’s a teasing lilt to her voice when she sighs. “Fine. Whatever. Go be responsible, I guess.”

You grab your bag, nudging her with your foot as you pass. “You love me.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She waves you off, already grabbing her phone. “Now get out before I kidnap you.”

You snort, shaking your head as you step outside. The air is cooler now, the sky shifting into evening. You don’t check your phone until you’re halfway home.

And that’s when you see it. A missed call.

Your stomach flips. But you don’t call him back.

Not yet.

——

The next morning, you stay home.

Nari’s at work alone today, which is a nice change of pace, honestly. She likes having the whole place to herself sometimes, no one to tell her to stop playing her music too loud or to wipe down the counters properly.

It’s a slow morning. Barely any customers.

Until he walks in.

She spots him immediately, even though he’s trying to be subtle about it. Hood up, head down, sitting at the same table near the back, fingers drumming against the wood like he’s waiting for something—or someone.

Nari sighs, grabbing a notepad before heading over.

“If you’re looking for her,” she says flatly, not even bothering with a greeting, “she’s not here today.”

Jungkook blinks up at her, startled. “What—no, I—”

She raises an eyebrow.

He exhales. “Is she okay? She’s not answering my texts.”

Nari scoffs. “Oh, I wonder why.”

Jungkook’s jaw tightens, and for the first time, she sees it—the guilt, the regret.

“I didn’t mean for it to go like that,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Then what did you mean?”

“I just… I panicked.” He shakes his head. “I didn’t want things to get out of hand again. I didn’t want her to deal with all the shit that happened last time.”

Nari folds her arms. “So your big plan to protect her was to act like she doesn’t exist?”

“No!” He looks up, eyes desperate. “I just—I fucked up.”

She watches him for a moment, trying to read him.

“You knew what you were doing when you started this,” she says finally. “You knew what could happen.”

He nods. “I know. I know. But it’s not like that. I actually—” He stops, running a hand over his face. “I think like her.”

That catches her off guard.

Not that she hadn’t suspected it, but hearing him say it? That’s different.

Jungkook sighs. “I just need to talk to her.”

Nari exhales sharply. Then, reluctantly, she slides his phone from across his seat and places it on the table.

“Then call her.”

He hesitates. “I already did, last night, she didn’t answer, God she dosent wanna fix this, I fucked up-“

“I swear to God, if you don’t—”

He snatches the phone before she can finish, already dialing.

The first ring feels like it lasts forever.

Then the second.

Then the third.

And then—

”…Hello?”

His breath catches.

Your voice is quiet, wary, like you already know it’s him.

“Jungkook?”

And just like that, he knows.

This is his one shot to make it right.

224 notes · View notes

strwbrychffoncke · 5 months ago

Text

"christmas dreaming,, word count: 3.3k synopsis: you both dreamed of a christmas together, and this winter, it seems that it may just come true contains: lads caleb x f!reader (but the only indication is reader wears a nightgown lol) ,fluff -> kinda suggestive ,angst if you squint ,bickering ,use of "gege" (caleb refers to himself like this a couple times lol) ,reader is called "pipsqueak" ,cute hug moment ,mutual pining ,kind of oblivious!reader ,light jealousy ,lots of teasing (caleb likes to see u suffer lol) ,kissing -> soft makeout ,suggestive ending if you squint ,i think thats it.... note: (mostly edited! if theres any errors pls standby) i opened instagram to the official lads acc post ab an update w that fucking apple a couple days ago n suddenly this fic flew up on the prio list. this one is for the caleb girlies u mean sm to me

busy.

you had been busy (the exact opposite of what others this season should be) going on back-to-back missions, scouting and clearing out no-hunt zones instead of taking time off and spending it with loved ones, and spending the other half of your time writing up reports instead of window shopping and checking off gifts for everyone on your long-forgotten list.

on top of trying to get through as much work as possible, you weren't even sure if you were going to have anyone to spend christmas with this year, aside from your grandma.

caleb usually kept you updated on when he was supposed to have a break, but it seemed this time around was different as you fished your phone from your pocket, checking your messages for the upteenth time today only to see your messages still left on delivered.

you sighed.

at least there's gram you thought, putting your phone away and focusing all your attention back on the various bags that filled your arms.

after the miracle that was getting off from work early, you were out doing some last-minute christmas shopping.

not your finest moment, and most definitely not your favorite, but your second miracle of the day came in the form of snagging everything you had in mind for everyone on your list.

your mind drifted to caleb's gift and you couldn't help but second guess yourself, wondering if he would even like it.

not that it was something you had to worry too much about right now, considering you weren't even sure when he would end up opening it.

you sigh again, watching the puffed out air float through the air, courtesy of the cold.

passing by the couples on the street seemed to dampen your mood further.

how you wished caleb were here to accompany you like that.

you hurried your steps. all you wanted to do now was to get home and sleep the rest of the day away (only after setting up the rest of the decorations around the place).

your wish drifts away on the chilly evening air as you continue down the street, the ideas for decor placement and wrapping gifts filling your head.

when you decided to walk to do your errands today, you didn't expect to regret it when you realized just how much shopping you did, bags seeming to weigh you down with each step growing a little heavier as you approached your home.

you breathe a sigh of relief when the house comes into view, fishing out the key from your coat pocket as you finally reach the doorstep to your childhood home. you quickly insert the key and unlock the door with a click.

in your tired state, you don't fully register the pleasant smell wafting through the door as you nudge your way in, swiftly shutting it behind you with your foot and locking it out of habit before you begin the trek to your room.

you don't take notice of the humming in the kitchen floating through the living space as you push open the door to your bedroom and drop all the bags on the floor.

you don't notice the footsteps that make their way towards your bed shortly after you plop down on top of it, nuzzling into the soft blanket telling yourself just for a moment.

"no proper greeting for gege, pipsqueak? frankly, i'm hurt."

"..."

you think you must be dreaming.

you think you must miss caleb so badly without even realizing it that your thoughts are not only consumed by him, but now you're hearing his voice in the grips of your fatigue.

"are you going to keep pretending to be asleep? after gege cooked for you too...."

"..."

theres no way you're dreaming.

your eyes shoot open.

when they do, you're met with the sight of none other than caleb standing before you, arms crossed over his chest, head slightly tilted, expression somewhere between mock-pensive and teasing as he stares down at you.

"caleb?!"

his eyes glimmer with mischief.

"oh, so you are awake."

you bolt upright in bed, eyes wide.

"what ar- how- when did you get here???"

an airy chuckle leaves him at your stammering before he leans forward slightly.

"hmm.. a couple hours ago, give or take?"

you gape at him, still processing him standing right before you. he takes advantage of your shock and reaches a hand out, playfully ruffling your hair.

"but a certain hunter was too tired to notice until now..." he shakes his head in mock disdain. "how disappointing. do i mean so little to you?"

the hand that was reached out clutches over his heart when he says this, faux hurt expression taking over his features.

momentarily ignoring his jesting, you answer with another question.

"why didn't you tell me you were coming???" you mean to sound harsh, but it comes out whiny instead.

he wants to laugh at your tone, almost feeling bad for ignoring your messages to keep his arrival a secret.

"maybe," his hand moves towards his chin, a single index finger pointed up as it hovers over his lips.

"gege wanted to surprise you," he winks.

despite his teasing (that inwardly infuriates you to no end) you're so pleased to see him that, given the proximity, your arms reach forward, wrapping around his waist as your face falls into his chest before squeezing tight.

"h-hey, pipsqueak-"

caleb startles at the sudden action, peering down at you and hoping you can't hear how his heart has begun racing because of you.

but the affection is in no way unwelcome, something he makes sure to reciprocate as he slings one arm around your back, other hand reaching up to pat your head softly.

he sighs.

"did you really miss me that much?"

your voice is muffled, comfortably nuzzled into his chest.

"shut up, caleb."

he laughs again, holding you closer.

"i missed you, too."

his voice is a murmur against your hair, and you think you feel his lips graze the side of your head.

but you make no effort to move, and neither does he.

after your long drawn out hug is interrupted by your stomach rumbling, caleb teases you before grabbing one of your hands and leading you to the dining room to an array of prettily displayed dishes.

your mouth practically waters at the sight, taking a seat as your eyes slowly drag over everything, eager to get your hands on everything all at once.

"don't wait on my account, pipsqueak. dig in."

your gaze shifts from him, to the food, and then back, pausing for a moment.

"i'll just grab a-"

"ive got it, don't get up and eat already," he cuts you off, already next to the fridge grabbing two drinks and making his way back to the table, taking the seat in front of you.

you thank him before filling your plate with a little of everything, having missed his cooking after so long.

after spending some time catching up over the food (and your countless praises for caleb's cooking, all of which he laughed at, responding with "how do you manage without me for so long?") a certain question lingers in caleb's mind before finding the time to ask it.

"so, pipsqueak," he begins.

you grab your drink, glancing up at him to show you're listening.

"any of the hunters grab your attention?"

you tilt your head, bringing the cup closer to you.

"what do you mean?"

"i mean," a certain look takes over his eyes, but you're not sure what exactly it is.

"do you like anyone?"

you're so startled by the question that you sputter your drink before breaking into a small fit of coughs.

caleb scoots his chair back, ready to help you before you quickly calm down, gesturing that you're fine.

"woah, didn't mean for that to happen," he grins.

"why the hell would you ask me something like that???"

he shrugs.

"dunno. you're a cutie, so who knows, maybe someone took note of that and made a move?"

your heart flutters.

he thinks you're cute? or was he just teasing you again?

"so?"

you scoff.

"if you must know... the answer is no."

relief floods caleb's system, and he doesn't realize it overtakes his features as well before you add:

"why do you seem so pleased? do you want me to stay by myself forever or something?" you roll your eyes.

because i want you all to myself, he thinks.

"because id wanna make sure they're perfect for you," he lies, lazy grin spreading across his face.

you're the one who's perfect for me, you think.

but you don't say this, only playfully scoffing at his words before responding.

"yeah, right, you'd just scare them away."

damn right, he thinks, but only laughs in response.

"well, if they have a problem with me, then that's already a red flag, isn't it?"

"i guess so..."

you begin to pick at your food again when a thought crosses your mind.

if he's being nosy about my love life, does that mean i don't have a chance at all?

your heart sinks at the thought of losing him to someone else.

"well, what about you?"

"hm?"

you look up at him, gaze holding something like fiery determination- it throws him off.

"are you seeing anyone?"

he looks back at you, heart almost bursting at what seems like a jealous pout overtaking your face.

he smiles.

as if i could think of anyone but you.

"nope, nothing going on in my love life," he speaks plainly, and watches as you breathe a small sigh of relief, your eyes relaxing and lips morphing into a little grin as you look back down at your plate.

"oh," you say simply.

he thinks about teasing you, but lets you be for now as you happily continue chowing down on your homemade dinner.

a sight caleb wishes to witness every day, if given the chance.

after you help with washing the dishes (insistent in your begging, making caleb finally give in after countless minutes of trying to get you to rest and repeating how he could handle it), you both settle on the idea of watching a movie together in the living room.

after a quick well-needed rinse off and dressed in comfortable nightwear, you make your way to the living room.

somewhere in the midst of dinner, it had begun snowing outside, and despite being shielded from it indoors, a chill still somehow surrounded the living area, pulling a shiver from you.

"cold, pipsqueak?"

caleb is already sat on the sofa, one arm draped over the back of it grasping the remote, head propped up on his other fist as he browses through the selection of festive movies on the tv.

you nod quickly as you make your way towards him, noting the fluffy blanket draped over his lap.

you sit down, reaching for it before he stops you.

"hey, you're not the only one who's cold!"

"you're wearing sweatpants, how cold could you possibly be?"

"no one forced you to wear that cute little nightgown~"

"that's my blanket in the first place!"

"and who gifted it to you, huh?"

"you-!"

"just sit next to me so we can share it."

you blink.

"oh-"

"or... would you rather sit on my lap?"

you feel your face erupt into flames.

"wha- whe- why would you say that?!?"

he laughs at your embarrassment.

"what? its just like when we were kids, remember?"

while the offer is tempting, you're sure he's just teasing you again.

you settle for lifting the blanket on your side and scooting closer to him before draping it over yourself.

"yeah well... ill be just fine right here."

he shrugs, still smiling at you.

"suit yourself."

he clicks on a movie, the opening beginning to play when he pipes up again.

"but if you happen to change your mind-"

"like hell!" you whisper-shout in pure embarrassment, bringing the blanket up to cover the bottom half of your face.

he laughs again when the actual movie begins, a comfortable silence enveloping the space as you both watch the starting scene.

about fifteen minutes into the movie, you're only acutely aware of what's taking place onscreen.

while his eyes have been glued to the screen, yours have had trouble doing the same, drifting over to seemingly study caleb's side profile before catching yourself and redirecting your attention.

over and over and over again.

he knows you think he doesn't notice, but he's fighting a smirk and teasing comment, reveling in the attention you're giving him, wanting to bask in it for a little longer while simultaneously hoping you'll make some kind of move.

. . .

thirty minutes into the movie, youre not sure you can take it anymore.

after inwardly fighting with yourself for the past ten minutes, you decide to inch closer to him, having the cold as an excuse ready to use (should he say anything) and hoping the dim lighting of the living area (courtesy of caleb, insisting that movies are always better in the dark) will hide your movement enough so he doesn't notice in the first place.

you clench the blanket closer to you as you make your move.

his eyes are still glued to the screen.

he doesn't notice.

five minutes pass.

you shuffle a little bit closer.

"..."

he still doesn't seem to notice.

with the way you're sitting, your knees will knock together if you move any closer.

so you shift your sitting position.

five more minutes pass, and you inch closer once more.

your eyes locked on the screen, you don't quite catch his side glance before he refocuses.

he holds in a laugh.

he's noticed each movement, but finds it cute that you think he hasn't, but can't tell if you want him to or not.

so he shifts his own position, now leaning a little closer your way, and waits.

five more minutes pass.

you glance to the side.

he smirks.

when you go to close the rest of the distance, he turns to you, causing you to freeze. he uses the opportunity to grab your cheeks with one hand and force your gaze to meet his.

"getting a little close there, pipsqueak."

his voice is a low murmur, a pleasant disturbance in the quiet that surrounded you both, but given your proximity you hear it that much clearer, heart rate picking up at being caught.

"i was-"

"what? you were cold?"

you jolt at his ability to see right through you.

"i told you," he leans closer to your ear before whispering.

"if you changed your mind, to let me know."

he pulls back enough to look at you again, and feels his face go warm.

here you are, so close to him, eyes open and honest as emotion swirls within them, cheeks squished cutely with his soft yet firm grip on them, lips slightly puckered because of it-

he tries to steady his breathing.

and it seems like, for once today, you could read his mind this time.

"caleb..." the way his name sounds from your lips right now- so breathy and sweet- does something to him.

he releases your cheeks, hand slipping to one side to cup one instead.

"what would happen if i just..." he trails off, his eyes trained on your lips.

his voice is just barely audible, but you hear it with the closeness.

you think you might die right here.

"try it," you urge, voice a pleading whisper.

he meets your eyes again and his look suddenly hardens.

"dodge if you don't want this."

those are the last words he utters before slowly moving in, tilting his head and shutting his eyes.

your eyes widen when his lips meet yours, eyes slowly slipping shut before you reciprocate, lips melding together perfectly, longingly, as if you'd both waited an eternity for this moment.

you slip your arms around his neck pulling him closer- and invitation to devour your lips whole.

the kiss gets more intense with each passing second, so caught in your lips moving in sync that you barely register being lightly pushed down against the soft cushions of the sofa, caleb following as he now hovers above you, chasing after your lips the entire way.

you're not sure how much time has passed before he finally pulls away from you, breaths heavy as he marvels down at you.

your gown is in slight disarray, chest rising up and down as you catch your own breath, eyes slightly glazed over and lips shiny and slightly swollen from him.

but youre staring up at him as that cute little smile curls on your lips, making him want to dive right back in.

"wow," you breathe out, no other words to describe the moment coming to your hazy mind.

"wow," caleb mimics. "you all warmed up now?" he pants.

you pout, hitting his arm lightly.

"so cruel..." he jokes, hand moving to pet your head.

he stares, admiring you for a minute before breathing out a laugh.

"man, am i glad you didn't dodge."

you look up at him, confusion swimming in your irises as a small frown makes its way to your lips.

"why would i?"

his heart stutters.

"well, even if you liked me that much, i didn't think you'd actually make a move."

your eyes widen, and despite the initial urge to bite back at his words, you decide to be honest since everything is out on the table, despite your rapidly racing heart.

"its all i've ever wanted."

god, he thinks he could die right now and be a happy man as his soul flies free.

"s' that why you were so jealous earlier at the mention of love lives?"

you huff, looking to the side.

"well, since you asked first, i figured it meant there was no hope for me."

you're just too cute, he thinks.

"in my case, i needed to check if there was anyone i needed to beat up."

your eyes fly back to him.

"caleb!"

"what? you think im joking, but i mean it."

he leans down close again, noses almost touching.

"if someone else had caught your interest, im not sure what i'd do with myself..."

a smile graces your face once more as you look up at him through your lashes.

"well," you whisper, "good thing i'm all yours."

an hour and fifteen minutes into the movie and it plays forgotten, background noise to a new love that blooms right before it. and in the midst of it all, despite the agonizing amount of time it took to get here, you both could spend christmas together in the way you'd always wanted: as devoted lovers.

epilogue:

"actually, i got you something!"

"oh? you didn't have to.."

"you say that every year, but you know i do anyways."

"well, what is it this time?"

"you'll just have to wait to open it~"

your expression turns worried suddenly.

"i just hope that you'll like it..."

noting this, he grips your chin, turning your head towards him before placing a chaste kiss onto your lips.

"pipsqueak, you're already the greatest christmas gift i could have gotten. whatever it is you bought for me, i'll love it for sure."

you feel relief and tingles flood your system all at once.

"okay," you breathe, giving him a kiss back.

come christmas, he's pleased at the silly 'kiss the cook' apron (that he knows will now be put to good use), a new cutlery set, and a pretty iron ring that adorns his middle finger.

you yourself are pleased with the anklet with an apple charm, as well as a cute apple phone charm that you waste no time in strapping onto your phone.

but despite the gifts, you both agree that the greatest gift was each other.

a/n: wanted to release this earlier but jumped between two other drafts n procrastinated on this one oops... caleb kissers this one is for you in honor of him (seemingly) being added as a LI soon :x i absolutely did not mean to make this as long as i did LOL the music i listen to while writing really gets me in the zone...... its christmas when i post this ,so merry christmas to those who celebrate <3 im going to try my absolute hardest to at least get the sylus fic out later today if nothing else ,i have sm ideas..... -

#love and deepspace #lads #l&ds #love and deepspace x you #love and deepspace fanfic #love and deepspace x reader #lads x you #lads x reader #l&ds caleb #lads caleb #love and deepspace caleb #lads caleb x you #lads caleb x reader #l&ds caleb x you #l&ds caleb x reader #love and deepspace caleb x reader

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moirasdolly · 8 months ago

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˚ ⋆ﾟ୨୧ Vampire Heart ୨୧ ˚ ⋆ﾟ Arlecchino x Fem Reader

Synopsis: You had gotten all dolled up for Arlecchino expecting a long night full of many surprises. You didn’t know what you had gotten yourself into until it was too late, but you find yourself ignoring the other woman’s red flags.

Contains: NSFW (men and minors dni), graphic depictions of blood sucking, hurt/comfort (only slight angst).

Listening to ♪ ིྀ: …baby one more time - The Marías

Previous chapter: 2

Notes: Just a quick update before the blood sucking ૮₍ - ⤙ - ₎ა I thought I’d bring this fic back just in time for spooky season !! I’m definitely going to try to finish it by the end of October, but for now please enjoy this chapter <3

❤︎ Chapter 3: Fangs

Arlecchino had no trouble drinking in your pretty, doll-like appearance as you laid in the mountain of frilly blankets covering your bed. She thought you looked cuter than anyone she had ever seen with the way you were peering up at her through your long, dark lashes. It was taking all she had in her to not just pounce on you the moment she stepped through the threshold of your room.

You had giggled softly at her staring and if she thought you couldn’t get even cuter, she was mistaken. Her gaze followed your hand down to where it was patting the empty space beside you, and if you were insisting, then who was she to refuse? She easily slid into the bed beside you leaving you no personal space. She was oddly cold, you thought to yourself, maybe she just naturally ran cold… You paid that no mind though and instead you favored cuddling up to her to try to warm her up since you were feeling a bit bolder about initiating contact.. “Arle… You’re freezing.” A pout graced your lips and she simply shook her head at you. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about me, I’m perfectly fine as long as I have you warming me up.”

At her words you draped one of your legs around her own and nuzzled closer to her, letting your head rest gently on her chest. You hadn’t considered that the neckline of her slip plunged low on her chest, so when your cheek made contact with her bare skin, you felt your body heating up. Arlecchino felt it too because you heard a deep chuckle from within her throat as she ran her lithe fingers up and down your lower back. “Are you getting shy now? Cute.” Her tone wasn’t exactly mocking, but the way her voice lilted up at the end made it feel like she was trying to work you up.

“I bet you weren't shy when you were snooping through my belongings earlier.” Her tone darkened and your body went rigid at her words before you pushed yourself away from her. You stayed silent for a moment, not knowing what to say to defend yourself. You knew there was no defending yourself though, it was clearly wrong going through her possessions. “I-I…” You started, not sure how to continue. Your eyes were searching her own for any sign of warmth, but you were met with a face of indifference. She was incredibly hard to read, and it was making you nervous just how quick her demeanor could change.

“I’m sorry, I was just so curious about you, you were so secretive about certain things I wanted to know about you.” Your lip was quivering as you spoke, and Arlecchino stayed silent, seeingly contemplating her next move. “So you decided to invade my privacy, instead of asking me about myself?” Her voice wasn’t angry, but that’s what scared you more. You’d rather have her yell at you or be angry than whatever she was doing now. “You always dodged my questions, when I asked you why you went out at night you said it was business or errands, but I know that’s a lie.” You rambled on, starting to grow more nervous.

Arlecchino peered over at your shrinking form before grabbing your wrist, and bringing it to her lips. She pressed a soft, gentle kiss, completely contrasting the tense atmosphere between you two. “If I tell you, promise you won’t be scared?” Alarms were blaring in your mind, but you ignored them in favor of the woman before you. Your head was nodding on its own before you knew it and the other woman was on top of you in a second. Her arms caged you in under her, and one knee was slotted in between your thighs. Slowly, she leaned in, her lips barely grazing your sensitive neck. Her breath tickled you as she spoke, “I go out to hunt at night.” Confusion clouded your mind, why would she need to hide that? “You’re confused little doe? I hunt lost ones like you for their life source, blood.” Your heart was beating out of your chest now. Was she a murderer? Was she going to kill you? Was she just tricking you into thinking she cared this whole time? Your fear must have been present on your face because Arlecchino had taken it upon herself to soothe your nerves. She caressed your cheek gently, turning your head to face her once more, “I’m kidding. I don’t kill humans, unless they deserve it.” A wicked grin formed on her face and you were even more confused now.

“What are you talking about?” Your thoughts were swirling around in your head and you felt sick. “Have you ever heard of the myths of a vampire living in this very town?” She chuckled. You thought she must be pulling some sick prank on you, because vampires couldn’t actually exist. Right? “That’s absurd. Are you trying to tell me you’re a vampire?” Instead of answering you with words she answered with the fangs that seemed to appear out of nowhere within her mouth. The glint of white rendered you absolutely speechless, you felt you were going insane. You didn’t know if you found her 100 times more attractive, or if you wanted to scream and push her off of you, you were truly short circuiting. All you could do was stare.

“What’s on that pretty little mind of yours?” Her gloved hand cupped your cheek softly. Her actions completely betrayed the nature of the secret she had shared with you, and it eased your thoughts ever so slightly that she seemed just as gentle with you as she always has been. “Who’s Peruere?” You mumbled quietly, recalling the details of the journal you found. In the back of your mind you already knew the answer, but you wanted to hear her say it.

“Peruere is one with me. I parted with the name hundreds of years ago though.” She spoke of those hundreds of years ago as if it was just some distant memory, but it was truly hard to grasp how old she must be. “I know it’s a lot to take in, I wouldn’t want you to be frightened of me after this.” A sigh escaped her lips, her fangs barely peeking out past her top lip.

You were silent momentarily to contemplate what you wanted to say next. “I’m a little scared, but I know you won’t hurt me.” It was more of a question than a statement the way your voice wavered. You wanted to think she liked your presence in her life enough to not kill you. Arlecchino’s eyes softened at your voice and she nodded her head slightly. “You’ve captured my heart, darling. I wouldn’t dare hurt you, unless you asked.” Her voice lowered at the last part, her eyes trailing down to your bare neck. You furrowed your brows at her words until what she meant finally caught up to you. “I thought you only hunted animals?”

“I do, but your blood must be the sweetest of nectars. Your scent is almost intoxicating to me.” Her voice was thick with desire, and it seemed as if she was getting needy for a taste of you. “Would it hurt?” You couldn’t believe you were even considering letting her drink from you, but the way she looked right now was simply irresistible. Her blood red eyes were nearly glowing with desire, her cheeks were flushed, and the way she towered over you was making it harder to say no to her. “Only for a moment, but I could make it feel better…” She trailed off, alluding to your pleasure.

You squirmed underneath her, your body brushing up against hers. She felt almost feverish where your skin met, and you were bordering on the same feeling. After a moment of weighing your options, you locked eyes with hers and nodded slowly. Within a moment her gloved hand slithered up your cheek before settling back down on your chin. She sucked her teeth and for a moment you thought you dissatisfied her. “Use your words. I need you to say you want it.”

Your mouth parted, inviting her thumb to slip past your plump lips. “I want it, I want you.”

#vampire heart ˖ ࣪ 𝜗𝜚 #dulcet fics ♡#arlecchino x fem reader #arlecchino x reader #arlecchino genshin #arlecchino #genshin impact fanfics #genshin x reader

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mothandpidgeon · 5 months ago

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Nine Lives (witch's familiar!Ezra x witch!f!reader) - Part 4

Moth's Masterlist // follow @mothandpidgeon-updates and turn on notifications to stay updated with my fics!

SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing: witch's familiar!Ezra x witch!f!reader

rating: E MDNI

summary: As you came into your powers and your curves filled in, Ezra realized he feelings for you were more than just affection. The only problem? He's a 300 year old cursed witch. Oh, and he's a cat.

contents: age gap (like 300 years), nudity, alcohol, only one bed, masturbation, moth never uses y/n.

wc: 7.1k

a/n: Hello again, my friends. This chapter took much, MUCH longer than I expected and also much longer. It probably would have been a lot faster had i not been encouraged to add some smut you know who you are. There are at least 3 more parts to this story. Thank you for being on this journey!

Big thank you to @lowlights and @schnarfer for advice on this and to @moonlitbirdie for betaing and loving me unconditionally.

🐈‍⬛

He’s having that dream again. The one where he’s human and you’re holding him, lips against his shoulderblade, fingers stroking the coarse hairs low on his belly. He’d live in these dreams if he could.

After the disappointment of the night before, Ezra revels in it, even if this is fleeting.

He should never have gotten his hopes up. It wasn’t just the risk to consider but the complexity of the spell. You’re not a child but as witches go, your powers are still young. And, with his last minute decision, the two of you bodged together the potion in less than a day. The chances that it would have been successful were so slim, he’d been a fool to believe that you could pull off such a feat. He’d been caught up in the moment, your unfailing belief in him, the tantalizing question what if…

At least he has his dreams. Half awake, Ezra reminds himself that had the spell had worked, he wouldn’t be laying naked in your arms. There’s no knowing how things would change if he did.

Sinking into the sweetness of the dream, he can’t help but roll over and bury his face in your neck, purring against your pulse. Instead of being met with your mouth, your hands searching for more of him, you scream.

It’s enough not only to wake him but startle him out of the bed. What would normally be a swift leap off of the mattress, landing on his feet, is an inelegant tumble to the floor, knocking his head and pulling the sheets off with him. You’re actually shrieking. It’s not just some figment of his imagination. A string of creative expletives leave you as Ezra tries to untangle himself from the covers. When he finally rights himself, his heart beating like a rabbit, he finds you pressed against the headboard with a look of terror on your face.

“What the fuck! What the fuck!” you shout, your heels digging in the mattress as you scoot away from him.

“Easy! It’s me, little mage! It’s me!” he says, breathless.

Your eyes somehow manage to grow even wider.

“Ezra?” you say, your voice barely a whisper. “It worked.”

His head is spinning so quickly that your words take a moment to sink in. Another is spent in disbelief as he look down at his hands, outstretched in submission. Ten fingers. There are legs snarled in the bedsheets not covered in black fur but with wiry hairs.

Ezra touches his nose, still bent from where he broke it in his youth. He feels the divot of the scar on his cheek, the whiskers on his upper lip. All as he was.

He stares, speechless for once in his life.

“Ez, it fucking worked!” you cry, tumbling across the bed and diving over the side.

You clasp your hands on either side of his face, your eyes wild with delight, and your laughter is a mix of joy and relief. He joins you, it’s contagious, laughing and gripping into your shoulders. If he didn’t feel your palms against his cheeks, he’d think this was still a dream.

Luckily he has the presence of mind not to plant a kiss on your mouth though with the amount of glee bouncing between the two of you, he doubts you’d protest.

“We did it!” you say.

“You did it,” Ezra corrects, marveling at you.

You amaze him more each day. Not only did you do some incredible and complex magic but you foresaw it all. Beautiful, clever, talented. And now you’ve given him his greatest gift. He’s human once more.

Your eyes dance across his face in turn, taking in the new details

“It’s really you,” you say.

You stroke at his face with your thumb. It’s a light touch but to Ezra, the sensation is so powerful he’s afraid he’ll shatter into a thousand pieces.

You smile softly and reach for his hair. “Your patch,” you say, twisting the white strands out of his forehead.

“Oh, Ez!” you exclaim.

Overwhelmed by it all, a dam bursts. Tears are slipping down his face without him even knowing. Centuries of them finally making their escape.

You lean in, press your forehead against his as you have so many times before yet it’s so new. The bridge of your nose brushes against his, your lips hover so close he can feel your breath. You stroke behind his ear, fingers in his hair, a sensation that’s familiar, grounding.

He’s so grateful for you, for your faith in him.

You sniffle and he realizes that you’re just as emotional. Your cheeks glisten with tears when you pull away, still shaking your head in disbelief.

“Thank you,” Ezra says. Chokes. He’s never done this properly though he’s tried to show it. It’s too difficult to put into words, even for someone as verbose as he is. He’s grateful with a depth he can’t find words for though he’s always considered himself a master of them.

Tears well in your eyes again but these aren’t like the joyful ones you just shed. Your lips quiver. Ezra catches one as it slides down your cheek with his fingertips. He’s watched you cry so many times and he’s always wanted to do that.

You throw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight embrace. It feels better than he’s ever imagined. You fit in his arms so perfectly, he could hold you for a thousand years. He inhales your scent, familiar to him but different now. His senses have dulled but drawn close, he loses himself in it.

“Ezra,” you say after a long moment. “I just realized. You’re totally naked right now.”

Perhaps he should be embarrassed, worried that this is your first glimpse of him and you’ve seen all that there is to see. But he couldn’t care less.

The two of you descend into giggles.

—

“This is how I’m to make my debut in the world?” Ezra asks, stepping out of your bedroom.

He’s wearing the clothes you picked out for him, all that you could find that would encompass his broad frame. Your sweatpants are cinched tight around his slim waist, ending far above his ankles. Below that, his toes overhang the edge of your old flip flops. The outfit is finished with a big sweatshirt you bought several Halloweens ago– the words Witch, please emblazoned on the front in a cutesy font.

A startled snort leaves you and he scowls.

“I’m sorry,” you say, covering your smile with both hands. “You look–”

“Like a buffoon,” he says.

“Like you need to go shopping,” you correct.

You wait for Ezra outside of the dressing room, your back pressed against the door. The very first stop outside of the confines of your apartment is the local department store to get him something normal to wear. Ezra’s an oddity, everything from the way he speaks to his awkwardness adjusting to walking on two legs make him stick out. An ironic sweatshirt and sandals aren’t going to help him blend.

The excitement is still buzzing through your veins. Every few minutes you want to open the changing room door and make sure that he’s still there, still human. A couple of times you even peek under the door just to see his feet haven’t turned back into paws. It’s really happening. You’re out in the world with Ezra. Ezra the human, a man. You changed him yourself, just as your dream had predicted, but you’re less fixated on the feat of magic and more on what he’s transformed into.

Ezra’s not at all who you were expecting under the fur. He’s remarkably handsome. Tall and broad shouldered. A strong nose accentuated by a dark mustache. His mouth is almost always set in a pout, full bottom lip turned out, jaw dotted with stubble.

He’s not entirely unrecognizable. There’s something about the mirth in his smile that feels familiar, a slyness in his eye.

Still It’s hard to believe that this is your Ezra, the little cat that curled up in your lap, tiptoed behind you on the back of the couch. He’s all man, big enough to swallow you up in his embrace. If you were strangers, you’d be too intimidated to even look him in the eye.

You giggle to yourself at how ridiculous that thought is. He’s Ezra. Your best friend. It doesn’t matter what he looks like. And if you told him he was good looking he’d never shut up about it.

“What’s so funny?” he asks from the other side of the door, his voice muffled as he brings a shirt over his head.

“Just thinking about how my sweats fit you,” you say.

“Breathe a word of that to a soul—“ he grumbles.

“Are you done yet?”

He sighs and you hear the latch on the door and there he is again. It knocks the air out of your lungs to be face to face with him once again, with that new face. Ezra stares back at you. His eyes are nothing like those sharp, golden eyes you’ve known for so many years. They’re deep brown, big and round— funny enough, more like a puppy dog than a cat.

Your gaze falls down onto the outfit he’s chosen.

”What happened here?” You ask.

His shirt is only half buttoned leaving a large swath of that golden chest in view, a constellation of freckles dotting his neck clavicle. You noticed them when he was sprawled out on your bedroom floor, tried to keep your focus on those instead of letting your eyes wander too much.

”I’m afraid I haven’t gained mastery over my thumbs yet,” he admits sheepishly.

“Let me.” You try to hide your grin.

You work the buttons, careful not to let your knuckles brush his front. His warmth radiates through the thin cotton and you’re suddenly very aware of how close you’re standing. It shouldn’t be so tense. This is the same Ezra after all, the cat you snuggled to sleep every night. Nothing’s changed between you and yet it’s definitely not the same. You feel him watching you and you swear he’s holding his breath. He shifts uncomfortably.

”Are you sure these trousers are right?” He asks finally, palms grazing the fronts of his jeans. “They’re exceedingly restrictive.”

”When’s the last time you wore pants?” You ask him.

“When you tried to put me in that ridiculous cowboy get up,” he reminds you.

“You were so cute!” you laugh, remembering how he flopped down on the floor in protest.

He scoffs.

“Come see yourself,” you say, motioning towards the trio full length mirrors at the end of the hall of dressing rooms.

Ezra’s a sight to behold in his new outfit. A crisp white shirt tucked into a pair of dark jeans. If you squint you can see the man he once was in one of those romantic billowy shirts.

“Looks good,” you say.

Ezra’s furrowed brow smooths and he catches your eye in the mirror with a bashful smile.

“You have a dimple,” you say.

You keep noticing new things about him as the day goes on. There’s a little bald patch in his beard, wrinkles around his eyes when he laughs.

“I suppose I forgot,” he says, blushing. “Am I not what you expected?”

If you didn’t know him better, you’d think he sounded nervous.

“I don’t know,” you say. He’s not what you pictured yet he’s exactly right in every way. He’s better than you pictured. He looks like that. How could you expect he was existing in your presence all this time?

You remind yourself quickly how wrong it is to be thinking of Ezra that way. He’s the closest thing you have to a brother. How many nights did you stay up pouring your heart out to him about life? It’s just the novelty, you assure yourself. Once you get used to him, it’ll be different.

“I guess I thought you’d look like Ichabod Crane,” you tease.

“Hilarious.”

––

“You should go to the Grand Canyon,” you say.

All night, you’ve been brainstorming a list for Ezra, all of the things he can finally do now that he’s turned. The two of you already crossed off the first thing— eat dinner at a fancy restaurant— and you’re working on the second item— drinks at the local watering hole.

It’s a busy Saturday night but you worked some magic to get a cozy table. The place is rustic by design, the kind of bar invented for the Brooklyn transplants that are renovating barns into Air BnBs.

It’s chock full of mortals but Ezra couldn’t care less if he were surrounded by the witch hunters of Salem, just being out and about with you feels like a thrill.

“What about having a human body is necessary to visit the Grand Canyon?” Ezra asks.

The more drinks you had in you, the more esoteric the ideas became.

“I don’t know. You could hike?” you say.

“I think I had the advantage with four legs. I’ll pass,” he says.

“I guess you’re right,” you say. Then you point an excited finger at him. “Learn to drive!”

He tilts his head, considering it but you’re already onto the next one.

“Dancing!”

“I’m not sure I know how it’s done these days,” he says. He’d enjoyed dancing when he was human the first time, mainly because it gave him ample opportunity to touch and flirt.

“I don’t know. You just move,” you tell him. “Come on. I’ll dance with you right now.” You reach your hand out for him across the table to show that you really mean it.

Ezra’s seen you dance hundreds of times. At witches gatherings, of course, but many more times in the kitchen, wearing your pajamas and singing off key, you scooping him up and rocking him to the beat. You might not be a good dancer, he’s not one to judge, but he’s always loved watching your hips find a rhythm.

He’s still unsteady on his feet with less than 24 hours on his new legs and yet he couldn’t care less if he looks a fool if it means he can dance with you. The two of you are sure to draw attention— no one else is dancing despite the fact that the music’s so loud he has to shout to be heard. That doesn’t bother him. Let these mortals see you with him for once. Let him pretend for a moment that you’re his.

He takes your hand, his heart speeding up in anticipation of your body being close, when your face falls. Your gaze is somewhere past him and you pull out of his grasp.

“Oh, fuck,” you say.

Ezra looks over his shoulder to see a familiar face. A lanky guy carrying a guitar case stops in his tracks when he spies you. The last time Ezra saw this mortal he had his paws all over you.

“Shit. I completely forgot. Connor’s playing a gig here tonight. He invited me,” you groan.

This fuck. Ezra’s joyous mood is jolted by the memory of Connor slobbering over your neck, the sounds of the two of you on the couch that he tried desperately to block out, the jealousy that sickened him. Here was one of the mortals that had touched and tasted you in the way Ezra had only dreamed interrupting his first chance to truly be close to you.

But his lips crack into a wicked smile as Connor’s face twists in disappointment. Ezra knows how it looks to him. You’re here at his show where he hoped to woo you with song and you’re cozied up to another man. How many times had Ezra himself been forced to endure such humiliation?

“Hey,” you say with unconvincing friendliness, selling it by standing up to offer a hug when Connor finally works up the nerve to come by.

He keeps a wary eye on Ezra who in turn sits up straighter, chest out. He makes himself larger the same way he would passing one of the strays in the graveyard. It’s been hard to adjust to his new body, constantly bumping into things because he’s bigger, off balance without a tail. But right now, he couldn’t be more pleased with his new form.

“Who’s your friend?” Connor asks without exchanging any pleasantries. He’s not masking his annoyance very well.

“Oh. This is—“

“Ezra,” Ezra offers.

“Hey,” Connor says dismissively.

“He’s a friend of mine,” you add quickly. “Wanted to tag along to your show.”

“I hear you’re quite the talent,” he says.

There’s a twitch in Connor’s brow as you kick Ezra under the table.

“I guess you need to go set up,” you encourage, so ready to be rid of him.

Ezra has other plans.

“You must have time for a drink first. What’ll it be?” He asks. He can feel your eyes on him, trying to figure out his ulterior motive.

“IPA,” Connor answers after a moment’s hesitation.

Ezra’s powers tingle as he waves over the waitress.

Connor finds a chair and joins you at the little table. The beer sets his mind at ease as you bullshit about how Ezra is an old friend, trying to save this guy’s pride. It seems like he buys it. Like all mortals, he’s a bit dim.

He’s ridiculous, too. Talks a lot without asking you questions. Thinks he’s terribly interesting when he’s no different from the other mortal men that have shared your bed.

“Isn’t your cat’s name Ezra?” Connor finally realizes after droning on about David Bowie as if he were the one that heard an original pressing of Ziggy Stardust.

You stutter for a moment but you don’t have to come up with an answer because Ezra chimes in.

“Now, what was it you were attempting to elucidate with regards to psychedelic rock?” Ezra asks.

You stifle a laugh, choking down some of your drink to hide it. This time, beneath the table you’re pressing your knee into his.

“Uh,” Connor says, trying to gather his thoughts. “Yeah.”

He clears his throat, runs a hand through his hair then reaches for his beer again.

“Well a lot of people think it starts with The Beatles but actually,” Connor lifts his drink to his lips in a theatrical pause, taking a swig, but his expression contorts in confusion, then disgust. He spits the beer back into his glass and with it comes a spider, it’s spindly legs thrashing about wildly. “Ah! Fuck!” he sputters.

In his fright, Connor’s arms flail cartoonishly. The glass flies from his grasp and hits the table top, spilling its contents in all directions. You cry out, jumping up to avoid getting a lap full of IPA. The spider spins in the slippery puddle, trying to scurry every which way. Connor tries to distance himself from the arachnid but he legs of his chair catch and he topples over backwards onto the floor.

All conversation dies away around you as the other patrons have turned to watch the chaotic scene– Connor’s feet pointed up towards the ceiling, the floor beneath the table pooling with spilled beer. Ezra sits cool as a cucumber, his side of the table miraculously dry.

”Careful there, Connor,” he says. “Just a pretty little spider.”

You shoot him a look and he shrugs innocently. Your eyes say behave but it’s contradicted by a budding smile.

“You good?” you ask.

Connor lays there wincing, probably much more embarrassed than he is bruised. Ezra offers a hand to help him up, all friendly smiles. Connor scowls but he has no choice but to accept, letting himself be hoisted to his feet by the other man. The crowd loses interest as Connor dusts himself off.

“What a tumult,” Ezra says with a laugh. He slaps Connor on the shoulder so hard that he stumbles forward.

The waitress comes over with a bar rag and a judgemental look.

“Did you hurt yourself?” You ask.

”I’m fine,” Connor answers a little too quickly. He flattens his ruffled hair. “Listen, maybe I should just go warm up.” He motions towards the little platform that serves as the stage.

”A wise idea,” Ezra says and Connor darts away.

”You’re bad,” you say but you’re practically bursting with laughter.

Ezra considers continuing his mischief while Connor’s performing— make him play the wrong notes or break a guitar string— but he doesn’t have to. Connor’s eyes keep finding you as he sings his whiney little songs and each time, Ezra’s right there. Leaning in close to talk to you over the music, making little quips that have you close to spitting out your drink. Right now, you couldn’t care less about this mortal, busy trying to convince Ezra that karaoke should be added to his adventure list.

“Let’s go,” you say after draining your glass.

“But your friend’s not done,” he teases.

“I think we’ve heard enough,” you say.

You offer Connor a sad little wave as you get up from the table, taking Ezra’s hand in yours to lead him through the throng of people crowding the bar.

He watches Connor’s face fall as his eyes follow you to the exit. It’s a silly little revenge but to Ezra it’s delicious, a comeuppance for every mortal that’s been in your bed. Maybe Connor thinks you’re taking Ezra home to do the same to him. Good. It’s so delightful that Ezra doesn’t even care that it isn’t true.

––

“What have I unleashed on the world?” you ask with laughter, crossing the threshold of your apartment.

“I have no idea to what you are referring,” Ezra says but there’s a smirk on his lips.

“You’ve gone from hairballs in shoes to public humiliation.” You should be more sympathetic to poor Connor but you can’t stop giggling. Every time you recall the sight of him flying backwards, flapping his arms, you’re in stitches again.

“Just a little harmless magic to warm up my powers,” he replies. “Not to worry, little mage, I’m sure he’ll still be more than happy to accept a booty call.”

You shake your head. Between the awful conversation, the spew of spider, and the wailing of his songs, you have no interest in revisiting things with Connor.

In the kitchen you pour two glasses of water, adding a few drops of a tincture you keep handy for hangovers. You’re still a little tipsy, will probably wake up with a headache in the morning, but you don’t care. You can’t remember the last time you had so much fun with another witch. Not that it should surprise you. It’s Ezra after all.

”You know, you can’t fuck with these mortals too much. You do that to the wrong guy and they’ll start hunting us again,” you warn. You hand Ezra one of the glasses and flop down on the couch beside him.

“But it’s alright to toy with their emotions?” Ezra retorts. “How many hearts have you broken?”

You scoff in mock offense but you know he’s right. You’ve never let yourself get attached to any mortals. Somewhere, deep down, you knew you’d never have a serious relationship with one of them so there was no fear of falling in love, no worry about their feelings, no risk of getting hurt.

Now that you’ve stopped moving, fatigue sets in. You rest your head on Ezra’s shoulder. You’re starting to get used to the fact that you can actually do that but it hasn’t gotten old yet. An absent grin plays on your lips.

“Did you have a good first human day?” you ask.

You feel his chuckle under your cheek.

“I did indeed,” he says.

Your smile widens. Ezra’s arm wraps around your shoulders, his fingers gently grazing circles over your sleeve, and you nuzzle further into his chest.

“Thank you, little mage,” he says.

”Mm,” is all you manage.

Your heavy eyelids begin to drift closed. It’s so cozy, you imagine yourself as a little cat in Ezra’s arms. You wonder if this is how it felt for him, cuddled in your lap, getting scritches under his chin, and you swear you’re purring. No, you’ve fallen asleep and started snoring.

You force yourself awake with a groan. Ezra’s sitting contentedly beside you, watching you shift and stretch.

“I’ve got to sleep,” you yawn and manage to drag yourself onto your feet.

Ezra doesn’t move, just nods and says, “Good night.”

“Are you staying up?” you ask. He must be exhausted after such a roller coaster of a day.

“I think I’ll sleep here,” he tells you.

You falter just outside of your bedroom.

“You don’t have to,” you say.

“I should,” he says.

“Oh. Okay.” You’re not sure why it hurts. “Well, then you take the bed. I'll sleep out here,” you offer.

“It’s your bed,” he says.

A pang of guilt punches you in the gut. How many times had you reminded him of that?

“It’s alright. I’ve slept here on numerous occasions,” he assures you.

You linger for a moment, trying to come up with some good reason why he shouldn’t stay on the couch. It shouldn’t be important to you. He might want his own space, some privacy after all these years, yet it feels like you’re losing something.

“Let me get some sheets—“

“I know where the linens are,” he says. Obviously. He lives here too.

Eventually you have to stop standing there like a weirdo and go to the bedroom. Door open or closed? You leave it somewhere in between.

“G’night,” you say.

You lay in bed listening to Ezra in the linen closet, then shucking his jeans and settling on the sofa. Suddenly you’re wide awake and sober as a judge, ruminating on what this means for the future. The two of you can only slip further and further away. He wants his own place to sleep, he’ll want his own place to live. It’s only natural. He’s not yours anymore. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?

You roll over, pulling the covers up to your ears. Then off. You punch your pillow into shape. You strain your ears, listening for Ezra's breathing in the next room. Is he sleeping? You lean off the side of your bed, peering into the darkness and do your best to make out his form in the shadows.

Soon Ezra will have his own life, his own friends. He’s always been his own person. At least that’s what you’ve always said. How long have you been deluding yourself?

You shift again, grabbing your pillow and squeezing it in your arms to mimic his cat’s body. No luck. Nothing’s the same as Ezra. The occasions when you’ve fallen asleep without him clutched to you have been few and far between. Loneliness aches in your chest. This wasn’t something you’d thought through before you cast your spell.

Finally you throw back the sheets and march into the living room.

Ezra lays on the little couch as best he can, bare to the waist clad only in the boxers you made him buy. One of his long legs is sprawled over the side of the couch, the other tucked under his body. His eyes are wide open, staring up at the ceiling, an arm folded beneath his head.

“I can’t sleep,” you say.

“Likewise,” he says.

“This is ridiculous. Ez, you’ve always slept with me,” you complain.

“That was different,” he says, sitting up on an elbow.

“Well–” You want to tell him that nothing’s changed but it doesn’t really feel like the truth. Everything’s felt different today. You throw up your hands. “This is weird.”

He looks at you for a long time, the swell of his bottom lip turning into a deep frown.

“Just. Come on,” you say.

You leave the door open for him as you go back to your room and climb into bed. It’s his turn to hesitate, loitering in the doorway. Moonlight catches on the slope of his shoulder and the angle of his nose, glints in his unsure eyes. You sit with your arms crossed until finally he relents.

It’s certainly not the same as it was to have your cat beside you. Ezra occupies a large part of your double bed but he leaves a wide swath of mattress between you, keeping his limbs close to his body. Your instincts tell you to reach out for him but you don’t want to overstep this new boundary.

Despite the awkwardness, the delicate balance neither of you want to upset, feeling his warmth on the sheets, you’re finally able to breathe a sigh and sink into your pillow at last. His warm eyes gaze at you, giving you a long, slow blink.

“Better?” he asks.

“Mhm,” you answer.

And soon you’re both fast asleep.

––

Ezra’s cock greets him in the morning like an old friend.

He can feel your breasts warm against his back, your arm curled around his waist the same as always. Despite his efforts to keep his distance, you found each other in the night, sleeping the only way you know how. His body responded in kind.

This was what he feared, why he tried– briefly– to be good and sleep on the couch. Though to say that you’d twisted his arm was a lie. He’d given in far too quickly because he wanted you too much.

He can’t keep thinking about you like this if he wants to stay close to you, if he plans on surviving as a human. But all he wants to do is crawl down the bed, bury his face between your thighs, and make you his.

Before he does something rash, he slips away from you. You’re fast asleep thanks to the drinks and the late night. As Ezra rolls off the mattress, you let out a complaint, a little whimper that goes straight to his groin. He freezes, cock aching, and watches you roll over. You’re beautiful bathed in morning light, the sheets laying gently across your curves. If only he could run his hand over their outline.

His movements are not exactly cat-like as he creeps into the bathroom, the old wooden floors protesting with each step. As soon as the lock clicks he’s divesting himself of these ridiculous underthings. And there he is, that old menace. His length glistens with leaking precum, tip flushed red, begging to be touched. Ezra grips the base carefully but it still elicits a groan. He’s too sensitive— hundreds of years of pent up desire and a night beside you have him dizzy.

He gives himself an experimental stroke and it’s like lightning. His knees buckle and he has to hold himself up with his palm against the back of the door. With a silent curse and a steadying breath, Ezra spits into his fist and goes again. Slow, gentle. He knows he won’t last but he’s afraid his new body won’t be able to take the rapture. It’s divine torture, his mind soon swimming in pleasure.

Every dream he’s had, each time you danced under the moon or came out of the shower skin beaded with water, it all rushes past his eyes a cacophony of obscenities. Thank the stars you can’t see him like this, more animalistic than when he was one. Repulsive. Fucking his fist as he thinks of you, the only witch that’s ever cared for him. Defiling you in his mind.

He promises his guilty conscience that he’ll never do this again. He just needs it this once as his muscles strain and tighten. It’s bliss and agony all at once and he’s so close to breaking, he can hardly bear it.

“Ezra?” he hears you from the bedroom. Your voice is still rough and husky from sleep and it’s more than enough to push him over the edge.

His head falls back, eyes squeezed shut, and he chokes down the growl that’s erupted from his chest. His hips jump and his hand is coated in hot release.

“Ez?” you call out.

Ezra swallows dryly, inhales as deeply as he can manage.

“Just a moment,” he manages to croak out as his forehead comes to rest against the cool wood of the bathroom door.

“Oh,” you say with relief. “You weren’t there. I thought-— I was afraid maybe the spell went wrong.”

“Not to worry, little mage,” he says. “I’m still under your spell.”

—

The two of you spend the day in the basement, doing magic together. Ezra shows off the spells that were something of a specialty for him. Mostly, they’re party tricks. (“This one used to send the mortals frothing,” he says as he changes a glass of water into wine.)

The only blemish on an otherwise perfect day came when you offered helpfully, “You know, if we can clean out the spare room down here, you could have a place of your own.”

It stung though Ezra knew you would expect him to leave the nest eventually. Maybe you’d heard what he’d been doing behind the bathroom door and were hinting he find somewhere else to abuse himself.

It feels good to be doing magic again, even better to share with you. He’s a little rusty, working a muscle that’s been comatose for years. You don’t seem to mind. You’re impressed, just as giddy as he is, though you’re not amused when he turns a bowl of pasta noodles into worms.

“If you ever do that to me, I’ll turn you back,” you swear.

You’re particularly fascinated with a piece of magic Ezra shows you where he ignites a flame in his hand.

“Show me again,” you say.

He strikes his thumb against his fingertips as though they were flint on steel and the fire sparks. You watch with a furrowed brow, rehearsing the motion with your own hand.

“You can do it with a candle. It’s quite the same,” he explains. The flame glows orange, hovering in his palm until he snuffs it in his fist.

You hold your hand forward and mimic his motion to no avail.

“It’s not a snap,” he says in reply to your frustrated groan. “Observe.” He demonstrates again, slower this time.

“That’s what I did,” you complain.

After a few more attempts you shake your head.

“I can’t do it.”

“You turned a cat into a man. This is well within your abilities,” he assures you.

You thrust your hand towards him. “Show me.”

“Very well,” he says.

It’s not like your touch is new to him and still he swoons as he cups your hand in his. Maybe it’s because yours is so much smaller, almost delicate. It’s the intimacy of this moment, the magic, that has his heart hammering. Your powers vibrate beneath your skin, heating you from within.

You don’t have to stand so close but you slot yourself against him, your shoulders against his chest.

“Relax,” he whispers into the shell of your ear. He can’t help himself, resting his other hand on your hip.

You take a deep breath and he marvels at how easily you unwind in his arms. If you turn towards him, your lips will brush.

”Focus,” he says as if his own head isn’t swimming.

You nod and Ezra guides your thumb across your fingers.

The fire doesn’t just spark to life in your hand but it ignites as if it were fed by kerosene, flaring wildly. It burns so hot he can feel it radiating through your fingers. You let out a delighted squeal, your smile brighter than the flame itself.

“Holy shit!” You turn to share your joy with Ezra, so close your noses touch as you move. You giggle.

He can’t help but grin himself. You are truly amazing.

It all shatters in an instant. You hear the jingle of the shop door above and the fire in your fist fizzles to ash. You freeze except for your eyes that grow wide with horror. Footsteps cross overhead, the floorboards creaking. The bookstore is closed just as it is every Halloween week. There are no customers coming in. There’s only one person that could be here.

Ezra hears Margot call out your name and his stomach drops.

”Are you down there?” she says. She’s just at the top of the stairs where you left the door propped open.

”Uh huh,” you answer. You still haven’t moved an inch, just stand there dumbly.

You’d talked briefly about how the two of you would break the news to Aunt Margot but you hadn’t come to a decision. You still had time to figure it out and you were both so giddy that you couldn’t imagine a world where she was anything but delighted to see what he’d become. Suddenly it’s an incredible risk and neither of you are prepared.

“”I just kept thinking about you here all alone. I left as soon as I could,” she says. “Everybody was asking about–“ her eyes finally land on Ezra and she stiffens ”–you.”

“Aunt Margot–” you try.

Percy, who’s just peeked his head out of her breast pocket, lets out a squeal.

“What have you done?” she asks, her voice barely a whisper.

He’s not sure how she knows– Margot is perceptive in ways neither you or Ezra could anticipate– but she doesn’t need to be told.

She stares at the man before her and he’s brought back to the look on Cee’s face years upon years ago when he stood over Damon’s limp body.

It’s a punch in his gut delivered by himself long ago, it all slips away. The party is over, the jig is up. The past two days evaporate like one of his dreams. Those sweet mornings waking up beside you, the swell of your touch, the thought of a future. He’d really believed it could go on like that forever.

You look as terrified as your aunt but you swallow it down and say, “I turned him back.”

“That’s not possible,” Margot says.

“I’m afraid it is,” Ezra says. His words don’t hold any of their usual cool confidence.

“Is this why you stayed home?”

“No—“ you try.

“You lied to me,” Margot says. “And you had no right to do this.”

“We had no intention of doing this before you departed,” Ezra begins.

“The laws have changed,” you snap. Ezra wraps his hand around yours, not sure if he’s protecting you or grounding you before you lose your cool.

“Well, they’re still laws. And shame on you, Ezra, for letting her do that,” Margot snipes.

“I talked him into it,” you say.

“Oh, yes, I’m sure it took a lot of convincing,” she replies with an eye roll. “Have you lost your mind?”

“It’s unjust what they did to him,” you argue.

“He was convicted of killing another witch. I’m sorry, Ezra, but that is no petty crime.”

“That other witch was a child abuser!” you snap.

Ezra clenches his jaw. You’re the only other person he’s told about Cee and now seems like an inopportune moment to start pouring out his guts. Margo’s sharp eyes look to him for confirmation, her frown softening with surprise.

”I make no excuse for my transgressions,” he says.

“You should turn yourself in to the elders before they find out on their own,” Margot says.

”No,” you say.

”She’s right,” Ezra says, his eyes cast to the floor.

“No,” you say once more. ”Ezra served his time. And he should never have been such an inhumane punishment.”

Margot hears none of it, shaking her head with her eyes screwed shut. “The elders will take your powers for this. Or worse. They’ll make you both into cats. And you did this all under my roof. Did you think this through at all?”

Reality sinks in the pit of Ezra’s stomach. He’s put you in danger but Margot too. She’s always been good to him, one of the few people he enjoys and he’s gotten her mixed up in a crime.

”You weren’t even here,” you say, your voice wavering. Clearly the guilt is creeping through your veins as well.

”Go upstairs, dear. I need to speak to Ezra alone,“ she demands.

”No,” you say with indignation.

“It’s alright,” Ezra tells you.

You look between the two of them. Margot stares at him as if you’ve already left the room and you have no choice but to obey.

Margot says nothing, shooting daggers at Ezra for an excruciating amount of time. At last, she puts her hand to her brow in exasperation and does her best to collect her emotions.

”Let me get a look at you,” Margot says when she stands tall again.

Ezra steps forward, presenting himself with a slight bow as he was accustomed to do. He has many years on her but he currently feels like a boy caught by the schoolmarm, about to get his knuckles rapped.

She takes his hand, turns it over in her own, inspecting the magic you’ve done. Margot lets out an indignant scoff.

“How did she do it?” Margot asks, her voice half suspicion, half wonder.

“A potion. A spell. It was by her own hand,” he explains. “She foresaw it in a dream.”

Margot fingertips brush her lips, the whirl of thoughts racing through her mind plain on her face.

“You know what kind of witch has the powers to cast a spell like that?” he asks.

Her answer is a nod and a sigh, her shoulders straightening. Still lost in thought, Ezra fills the silence with his plea.

“Margot, I have served your family for two centuries but I have never cared for another witch as deeply as I do your niece,” he admits. “I’m well aware that what we’ve done is bold and rash. Foolish, even. But I promise you that I will not let any harm come to her so long as I’m living.”

His heart beats so hard, he’s afraid it might leap from his chest.

Margot looks into his eyes and there’s a momentary prickle along his scalp. Her lips quirk and her expression softens and Ezra feels too vulnerable. He’s let her see too much of the truth. If he could, he’d climb out of his own skin. The moment passes as Margot masks her sympathy, raising her chin and crossing her arms in a way that reminds him of you.

“Fine. This isn’t an endorsement,” she says. “But you can tell her I’m not going to rat you out.”

“Thank you,” he says. He knows that he’s been given yet another gift he doesn’t deserve. Hopefully Margot can sense his gratitude as she did his conviction. He heads after you, towards the back door of the shop but is stopped by the sound of his name. Turning, he sees Margot with her keen eye on him.

“Be careful,” she warns.

He’s not sure what she’s referring to but he knows she’s right.

🐈‍⬛

Part 5

Comments and reblogs appreciated! Asks always open! I'd love to hear from you!

#ezra prospect #ezra #ezra x f!reader #ezra prospect x f!reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #prospect #prospect fic #witchy

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bradshawssugarbaby · 1 year ago

Text

Angel In the Infield - Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

summary: Bradley Bradshaw is a struggling first-baseman in the major leagues. He's had bad season after bad season, until he met you, his angel.

A/N: While I'm currently struggling with motivation to work on on Take One for the Team, please instead enjoy this baseball au fic I've done in the meantime! Also I started reading sports romance novels, pls send help half these men are baseball players with dark hair. Also if you like this concept/set up, I'm toying with the idea of making this a series of connected oneshots?

pairing: baseball player!Bradley Bradshaw x reader

warnings/content: baseball au, smut throughout, oral (both m + f receiving), praise, dirty talk, mentions of divorce, unfaithfulness (neither Bradley, nor reader), public sex.

word count: 3.7k

taglist (also tagging those who were interested in Take One For The Team since it's a similar vibe and explains the lack of updates lol): @avengersfan25, @jessicab1991, @atarmychick007, @b-bradshaw, @nouis-bum, @mamachasesmayhem, @floydsmuse, @kmc1989, @dckweed, @katfanfic, @nerdgirljen, @whatislovevavy, @mrsevans90, @averyhotchner, @yuckosworld, @tgmreader, @allepaula, @lourd-ita, @mariaenchanted

The sun hung high on the horizon for a Saturday afternoon, radiating an unseasonable warmth as its rays beat down over the course. A gentle breeze made its way through the palm trees that stood tall outside of the stadium, causing large, deep green leaves to sway in its wake. A crowd of spectators sat on the bleachers that surrounded the diamond, a sea of faces filling the scenery, silently watching, sipping beers and eating hotdogs as they took in the spectacle before them. Media representatives dotted the balcony, press passes on display as they gawked at the game unfolding below.

Bradley Bradshaw approached the plate, lining up to take his turn at bat. His bright white uniformed baseball shirt, emblazoned with the team logo across the front, his last name in bold, block lettering across the back of his broad shoulders, hugged at his sun kissed biceps as they flexed. One of his tattoos just barely visible from under the sleeve of the shirt.

He took two practice swings, and once he was comfortable, lined up with the plate. He narrowed his eyes in focus as he looked to the pitcher, giving him the coldest stare down he could muster, his face fixed in a state of concentration. A year and a half ago, he would have begun trash-talking his opponent from the start, calling out that he’d seen his grandmother lob better pitches, and she’d been dead for 15 years. Instead, Bradley forced himself to behave, willing any inappropriate comments about Jake Seresin’s mother to himself, for now.

He took a swing at the first pitch lobbed towards him with a loud grunt, biting his tongue as he held back a frustrated fuck from his lips as the ball sailed past him, landing in the catcher’s mitt with a thud.

Strike one.

He caught your gaze in the sea of faces that were watching him expectantly, his lips curling up into a soft smile as he looked towards the family and friends boxes where you stood, waving subtly to him to gain his attention. He gave you a subtle nod of his head, symbolic of a thank you, for Bradley.

In an instant, Bradley was back in the game, level-headed and laser focused, ready for the next pitch that was coming, as if seeing you had brought him back down to earth, willing him to focus his attention on something other than his once uncontrollable anger.

He wasn’t often this soft. He never used to be. In fact, he was never considered to be a gentleman when he played any sport. He couldn’t lose graciously. It wasn’t in his nature. He was serious, determined and reserved, focused and dedicated, but even his best intended plans couldn’t withstand his explosive temper. It wasn’t that he wanted to be a walking stick of dynamite.

He didn’t intend to fly off the handle at everyone around if he made a bad play or if someone commented on his skills not being on point the way they once were, but after nothing but criticism for the last four years of his career, Bradley thought his outbursts were justifiable.

If he had to hear another comment about being “washed up” at thirty-one, he might snap again, unable to bite his tongue much longer. And if he had a bat in hand? He’d show whoever it was just how good his game still was. He knew his career didn’t have many years left in it, but he had just as much right as any other up and coming young asshole in the MLB to be here. But one bad year at twenty-seven had turned into two, which turned into three, which now crept up on reaching four.

Admittedly, this year was turning out to be marginally better than the three previous - he didn’t know what to chalk it up to at first.

Herefused to admit he could be in love. Love was never for him. At least, that’s what his ex-wife told him when she filed for divorce four years prior. He’d just been starting to make a name for himself as a promising first baseman when she served him the papers, leaving him with a burning desire to focus everything he had on the one thing that he thought couldn’t break him - baseball. That desperate need to be good at something, anything, drove him to the brink of insanity. He couldn’t control himself or his need to be the best in the only area he knew he could be anymore.

However, that train of thought came to a screeching, grinding halt when he met you.

As Bradley remained focused on his turn at bat, he took a swing at the second pitch sent his way, a fastball that, if he was a smart man, he would have let go, taking the ball instead of risking a strike at a pitch that far outside.

However, Bradley was not a smart man. Not when it came to his turns at bat.

Even he couldn’t hide his momentary shock as the ball made contact with the wooden bat in his hands with a crack. He started running towards first base, rounding it quickly before making the smarter decision to stay put, rather than aim for second. He looked towards where you were watching him from once again, smiling to himself as he watched you blow a kiss towards him. He couldn’t wait to finish this game and just hold you and kiss you. Watch you walk around the house with nothing but his baseball jersey on, just barely long enough on you to cover your private areas, giving him a little sneak peek as you bent over to unload the dishwasher, or reached up to grab a wine glass for yourself when you were ready to unwind for the evening.

Those delicious thighs, soft and smooth as he ran his hands up and down them, the way you’d giggle and kick your legs playfully when he grasped at the back of them, even though he knew you were ticklish there. He didn’t give a rat’s ass though. He loved the way you laughed. He swore it was up there on the list of the most beautiful sounds in the world, along with the way you said his name right before you reached your orgasm, the way you’d call him ‘honey’ in passing and the sound of a World Series crowd chanting your number.

Images of his hands lifting the back of that jersey up, shoving the excess material at the bottom out of his way as he pounded into you from behind flashed across his mind, the sounds of you whining out in pleasure as he relentlessly fucked into you, your pretty, pink folds glistening with arousal, letting him slide in and out of you with ease. The thought alone was almost enough to make him curse the athletic cup that was sitting in his baseball pants at the moment, making it increasingly uncomfortable to move as he felt himself hardening at the thought of you.

Fuck, he couldn’t wait to take you in the hotel room later.

As he rounded the bases to home after his teammate’s home run hit, his mind drifted to the thought of your teeth sinking into the tanned, taut skin of his shoulder as he made love to you in the California King Bed that awaited you both in the hotel suite after the game. Your fingers gripping his dark curly hair tightly, tangling into them and tugging as he licked and sucked on your neck, leaving a trail of purpling bite marks down you as he marked you as his own. Not that you protested - in fact, you encouraged it.

As the game progressed, Bradley continued to think about the various ways he could make you his as soon as he got you alone. His mind raced as he thought of you again - in every way possible. He thought about your perfume, how it had some kind of hypnotic hold over him, leaving him momentarily dazed whenever he breathed in your scent. He thought about your smile, how you lit up the entire room when you beamed at him - how you were one of the only people to ever look at him like he meant everything in the world to you, and how you made him feel special and loved and wanted, for the first time in years. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt the way you made him feel.

His ex-wife had been cold and cut-off from him emotionally, physically. She was never satisfied just being with him. She resented that he couldn’t put all of his attention on her, 100% of the time, despite Bradley feeling like he tried his best to balance his career and home life as best as he could. When she had told him she was ready to have a baby, he’d been entirely on board - ready and willing to start a family. What he wasn’t prepared for, was walking in on her sleeping with a rookie from a rival team in the hotel room that Bradley had paid for.

As he packed up his gear after the game, his team pulling ahead with a win thanks to a home run hit he scored in the 8th inning that shocked even him, he let out a deep, satisfied sigh. He had proved himself for another day, and he was proud of himself for it. He figured at this rate, if he kept it up, he could be discussing his comeback season with the press after another couple of games. The thought of being respected once again in the sport was electrifying, enough to send a shockwave pulsating through his veins as he switched out of his cleats and into his street shoes.

He headed out of the locker room, his baseball bag slung over his shoulder and his cap turned backwards, with tufts of dark chestnut brown curls peaking out through the opening. He spotted you, wearing one of his spare jerseys unbuttoned with a short little black dress on underneath, with a pair of stark white running shoes. Your matching baseball cap was sported backwards, just like Bradley’s, a style he started adopting on your advice. You’d flipped his cap around one day during a playful round of sex in the backseat of his vintage Ford Bronco, telling him it looked so much hotter on him when he wore it so that you could still see his face. He took that advice to heart, and now, every chance he could, backwards is how it was.

You happily skipped over to him, wrapping your arms around his neck loosely as you peppered his lips with feather-light kisses. He laughed softly and shook his head when you finally pulled away, his cheeks burning into a rosy red tone as a slight wave of embarrassment washed over him.

It wasn’t your kisses or affection that embarrassed him though. It was the fact that after 18 months of dating, he still wasn’t used to it. It was partially his own fault — his ex-wife had never been an affectionate lover, but even after that, he refused to actually be in a relationship with anyone. He enjoyed sex, and that was all he wanted. He wasn’t looking for his heart to be broken again, and it suited him just fine until you came along.

He’d met you once in passing — he’d gotten himself embroiled in a bar brawl with some guy who’s mouth ran faster than the speed of light. Bradley’s nose had been broken and bloodied as a result, and you’d been leaving the bar with a handful of friends. You’d recognized Bradley as the guy who’d hit on you earlier in the night, and to your surprise, graciously accepted your rejection when you turned him down. When you saw him in this light though, drunk and vulnerable, you felt sorry for him.

Taking a couple of tissues from your purse, you helped clean up his face as best as you could, sending your friends on their way without you as you took on this newfound role of nurse to him. With few other options to stop his nosebleed, you’d handed him a tampon from your purse. He laughed initially, in complete and total refusal to use it. You had gestured to his floral print white polo shirt, the collar now stained with drips of blood from his face. He huffed a sigh and followed your advice, grumbling as you insisted on making awkward small talk as you sat and waited with him to get checked out.

That was the first time since his mother’s passing that anyone had ever shown Bradley an ounce of compassion when he was injured. He wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol talking or not , but he could have sworn you were an angel with the way you smiled at him and how soothing he found your voice.

Now, eighteen months later, standing here with your arms wrapped around him, his hands on your waist as you fussed over him and congratulated him on his performance in this afternoon’s game, he was sure. You were heaven sent.. In fact, it was what he called you — angel. He’d decided early on it was the perfect nickname for you, and as time went on, he only proved himself right.

“Everyone’s left, right?” You asked him, raising an eyebrow at him as he snapped back to reality, shooting a quick glance behind his shoulder.

“Mhmm. I was the last one out of the showers. Looks like it’s just us left here.”

“Perfect. I have a little something for you.”

“Do you?” He inquired, eyebrows raised as he smirked, a million ideas running through his head at what his surprise could be.

Together, you walked back towards the now deserted dugout, the ballpark that was roaring with excitement an hour ago was now silent, deserted by players and fans alike. You grinned as you turned around to face Bradley, dropping down to your knees in front of him, gazing up at him with a doe-eyed stare that was almost enough to make him groan out in pleasure.

“Wh-you mean, this is my surprise? You’re gonna suck my dick in the dugout, angel?”

“I know you’ve always wanted me to. And you played so good today, honey. How could I say no?” You purred as you undid the belt holding his pants in place.

He dropped his baseball pants down to his ankles, and before his hands could remove the tight fitting boxer briefs he’d changed into post-game, your mouth was pressed against the tightening bulge, pressing warm kisses to it in a way that made Bradley’s mind foggy. He couldn’t think straight and he wasn’t even in your mouth yet.

Fuck.

He knew he wouldn’t last long if this was how worked up he was feeling at your mouth touching him. As you tugged his boxers down, peeling them off his thighs to free his cock. A white bead of pre-cum pearled on his tip, leading Bradley to elicit a pornographic moan as your thumb swiped across it, whisking the liquid away before you began pumping your hand up and down his shaft. You tauntingly flicked your tongue out over the tip of his erection, encircling the red, throbbing head with a trail of saliva before licking a strip along the underside to his balls. Bradley shuddered as he felt you continue to lick up and down his length, your hand pumping him tightly when you alternated and pressed your lips to the tip.

After what felt to Bradley like an eternity, you took his tip past your parted lips, hollowing your cheeks as you began to suck on his cock like it was some kind of refreshing summer treat. As you took him further back in your mouth, your saliva began to pool around his shaft, dribbling out down his length as you tried to take more of him into you. He grunted your name as he gathered your hair in his hand, gripping tightly as he thrusted his hips forward into your mouth.

You gagged as you felt his tip brush the back of your throat, causing more of your spit to soak his cock, your hand using it as lubrication as you continued to pump on whatever didn’t fit past your lips. Bradley began panting, gasping and singing your praises as he fucked your mouth. Your eyelids fluttered as you shut them for a quick moment to concentrate yourself on your technique until you felt a hand gently squeezing your cheeks, making your mouth seemingly tighten harder around Bradley.

“Nuh, uh, beautiful. Eyes on me,” he directed.

You gazed up at him with that same doe-eyed stare again, batting your lashes as you watched his facial expression, his eyes shutting as he enjoyed the feel of your mouth as it sucked and licked at his cock, working him into his orgasm.

“Shit, angel, ‘m’not gonna last,” Bradley panted, deep chocolate brown eyes fixated on you as he watched you pull your mouth back from him almost entirely before thrusting yourself fully into him.

His lids shut again as he drew his head back, saying your name as if it was a hymn he was singing. He let out a deep, throaty grunt as he shot hot, white ropes of his cum down your throat. Your eyes never left his as you swallowed hard, making sure that he could see you as you did it before pulling yourself back off his cock. Pulling yourself to your feet, you wiped the saliva from your mouth with the back of your hand, grinning proudly at the mess you’d made out of Bradley.

His eyes deepened with a burning, lustful hunger for you as he wrapped his arm around your waist, picking you up off your feet and grinning.

“I gotta return the favour, now, angel. You know the rules. You wear a pretty little skirt like that, and I just have to eat that pussy of yours.” He said matter-of-factly as he pulled his bottoms back up, chuckling to himself as he tightened his belt back up. “Bet you did it on purpose, didn’t you, honey? Knew I wouldn’t be able to resist eating that perfect little cunt of yours if you wore something like this?”

“I may have been thinking something along those lines,” you teased, shrugging your shoulders as he laid you down on the bench.

He straddled the bench in front of your legs and tutted his tongue at you, giving you a head shake of disapproval before raising an eyebrow at you.

“Angel, come on, spread those pretty thighs of yours nice and wide for me. Throw your legs over my shoulders if you have to.”

You obeyed his command, biting down on your lip as you fought back a grin, draping your legs over his broad shoulders as he slipped between them, his mouth hovering just over your folds. He pressed his lips to your inner thigh, nipping at the sensitive skin with his teeth. You let out a soft yelp of pleasure, feeling your body writhe at the mere suggestion of Bradley’s mouth down there on you.

“Look at you,” Bradley purred as he spread your folds apart with two thick fingers. “So pretty and wet for me already? Sucking my cock got you all worked up like this?”

“Mhmm,” you hummed, trying to concentrate your thoughts into a sentence.

“C’mon, honey, use your words for me. Wanna hear you say it,” Bradley said as he flicked his tongue out, swiping it across your swollen, sensitive clit.

“Bradley,” you whined as you arched your back at the slow, sensual teasing, “You know exactly why I’m like this already.”

“Mhmm, my perfect angel,” he cooed as he licked at your folds again, gathering your arousal on his tongue.

As Bradley’s tongue ravaged you, eating you out like a man starved on a desert island for the last few months, your heart began to race, a burning desire brewing in the pit of your stomach. While Bradley’s tongue lapped at your arousal, he delved two thick fingers into your pulsating core, pumping them into your g-spot. You could picture him grinning to himself as he heard your needy, whiny moans, panting his name as if it was the only word you were able to say anymore. That was just how he liked it though - making it so he was the only thing on your mind. He prided himself on it.

Your thighs began to shake as he dug the fingers of his free hand into your flesh, holding you in place. He pulled his mouth away from you for a moment with a loud suck. You whimpered at the loss of contact, looking down at him from beneath hooded lids as he continued to fuck his fingers deeper into you.

“That’s it, angel. I played my best for you today, wanted to do right, earn this pretty little pussy of yours. Make it mine,” he husked.

Your walls clenched down tightly around his fingers as he spoke, the words alone enough to send you over the edge. He pressed his lips to your clit once again, giving it a long, tantalizing suck as he drew your orgasm out of you. Instead of his name, this time all you could get out of your mouth was a breathless, blissed out moan, unable to formulate words as your brain fogged. Bradley continued to praise you, coaching you through your climax like a personal trainer coaching you through a workout.

He drew his hand up to his mouth, sucking on his fingers until they were clean, his wide tongue pressing flat against them before pulling them out of his mouth with a loud pop. You blinked twice at him, still dazed from your orgasm as he pulled your underwear back up your legs.

“You ok, angel?” Bradley grinned as he tapped your thigh gently with his hand to try and bring you back to reality. Your blissfully fucked out stare was all he needed, a soft smile on your face as you tried to regain your composure.

“We’re just getting started, baby. I’ve got 48 hours with you before my next game, I’m making each one of those hours count.”

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joequiinn · 1 year ago

Text

The Dos & Don'ts of Fake Dating | E.M. x reader | pt. 7

[chap six] | [all chapters here] | [chapter eight]

Summary | You propose a crazy idea to the resident freak of Hawkins, Eddie Munson. But maybe he was even crazier for agreeing to it…

Warnings & Notes | fem reader, slow burn, faking dating, opposites attract, bratty rich bitch reader, super minor revenge plot, not-quite-enemies-to-lovers

Author's Note | Sooo, I did not mean to take a three week hiatus from this fic :) I had so much of this chapter written within a couple of days and then abruptly stopped writing entirely, literally couldn't work on any of my stories. But now the writers block has passed and we FINALLY have an update, and boy these chapters just keep getting longer as the story goes on. I hope this one makes up from my recent absence~

WC | 6.6k

Chapter Seven

Wednesday morning was supposed to start like it always did - small talk with your mom over a bowl of cereal and then running out the door before the conversation whittled down to awkwardness. You wish you could appreciate your mother’s efforts to try to connect with you, but she never asked about anything beyond school and skating - once those two subjects were exhausted, it was as if you two had nothing more to talk about.

But today was different. Today, your dad was actually sitting at the breakfast table instead of rushing to his office before you even came downstairs. Today, your head was a little fuzzy from drinking the night before. Today, you wished you had just run out the door and skipped breakfast, because you could see right away that your parents wanted to have a conversation.

You paused briefly in the kitchen entry, looking between the two before trying to act casual, walking towards the pantry and preparing a quick breakfast. You could feel their eyes following you, and damn did you wish someone would just say something. Your father always acted like this before a serious conversation - he stayed silent to intimidate you, to put you on edge in hopes that it would make you more pliable to what he had to say. You’d always assumed he did this to clients and business associates as well, as if to suggest some kind of dominance over them. Well, you weren’t going to let it get to you that easily, you never did before.

You sat at the opposite end of the table from your father, your mom hovering at the kitchen sink although there were no dishes to be cleaned. You started to eat as if you were totally unphased by their watchful eyes, as if you were entirely oblivious to their stares, although you knew neither of them bought the act for a second. One of you was going to cave eventually, and it sure as hell wasn’t going to be you.

Sure enough, your mom spoke first as she approached the table, just like you expected her to, “You have practice after school today?”

You gave her a critical look before nodding - you knew that she knew you always skated on Wednesday, making that a pretty pathetic attempt at breaking the tension in the room.

“Are you actually going?” Your father asked in an accusatory tone, although he maintained a neutral expression so as not to give away what he was thinking.

You couldn’t help the mean look in your eyes as you met his intense gaze. Your tone was stubborn and cold, “Yes.”

“And will that boy be there?” The disdain in your father’s words was clear as day. Your brow knotted at the question, both because you didn’t like his tone and because you wondered how he found out about Eddie already.

“Boy?” Your tone was mocking - you weren’t feigning ignorance, but rather presenting your father with a challenge, daring him to elaborate on what had gotten his mood so twisted. And it was clear in his face that he didn’t appreciate your attitude one bit.

“Mrs. Redford saw you two together on Friday.” Your mother chimed in, hoping to serve as the calm mediary considering that you and your father were both intense, mean people.

Of course it was Mrs. Redford who told your mom about Eddie - she was such a damn gossip, and with her daughter participating in your skating lessons, you should have known she would have noticed you leaving with Eddie that night. She was drawn to drama and gossip as if it was the air she breathed, so it was certainly no surprise that she ran off to tell your parents about this new boy that she spotted you with.

“Why does it matter?” You dropped your spoon in the forgotten breakfast that sat in front of you, slouching into your seat in growing frustration.

“Because he’s clearly a troublemaker.” Your dad’s tone matched yours, causing you to roll your eyes, “Don’t you dare roll your eyes at me.”

Your jaw clenched at the threat in his voice, “How could you possibly know someone is trouble without even meeting them?”

Your father pressed his palm to the table firmly, “Because I know his type - a lazy punk only interested in skating by and disrespecting the establishment. I’m a good judge of character.”

“How?” You insisted with exasperation, causing your father to look down on you as if you were some stupid kid.

“You were out way past curfew last night - were you with him?” Your dad glowered, and evidently your expression gave him the answer he wanted, “You ran out the door without telling your mother where you were going or who you were with. She saw you climb into some van, for Christ sake. And the way Mrs. Redford described this hoodlum? The leather, the hair, the tattoos? What’s gotten into you?”

You held your ground firmly, glaring as you crossed your arms, “I don’t see what the issue is.”

“The issue is you’re acting out, you’re avoiding us, and this boy you’re seeing seems to be encouraging this behavior!” Your father raised his voice, “I don’t care that you’re eighteen now, you still live under my roof.”

“You don’t care about anything!” You can’t help but shout back, “You only care now because you’re worried I’ll make you look bad. You’re worried about stupid gossip!”

“That’s not what this is about!”

“We’re just worried about you,” Your mother tried to intervene in an even tone, drawing the attention of the both of you, “We don’t want you to lose sight of what’s important just because of a boy.”

You throw up your hands in defiance, your voice harsh, “What important things am I ‘losing sight of!?’”

“Don’t take that tone with your mother!” Your dad jumped back in, “The last thing you need your senior year is some punk distracting you from school, from skating. You need to consider your future. Don’t you want to get into a good school? Don’t you want to skate?”

“I don’t know what I want!” You admitted angrily, “Maybe I don’t want to go to college or skate or do the shit you tell me to! Maybe I just want to enjoy life a little.”

“Enjoying life doesn’t get you anywhere.” Your father glared, “We tell you these things to help you. So, stop hanging around this boy and start focusing on your future.”

“You didn’t care what I was doing before, why do you care now?” You challenged coldly, “You didn’t care when I was out late with Duncan, you didn’t care when I’d miss practice because I’d be out with Amelia or Janet. You only care now because it’s Eddie.”

You instantly realized you shouldn’t have mentioned his name. Not yet, at least, not in the middle of this argument. Yes, you wanted your parents to know you were “dating” some new, troublesome guy, but you didn’t want them to actually know who he was yet - you had hoped to build up a little more suspense first, a little more tension between you all. You hoped your face didn’t give away what you were thinking.

“Eddie?” Your father laughed as he said the name, “You call things off with this Eddie now, do you hear me?”

You looked between your parents’ faces - your father looked as stern and condescending as ever, and your mom looked like she was away somewhere in thought. Perhaps she was trying to pinpoint any Eddies she’d heard of before and figure out who the hell he is.

A frustrated sound leapt from your throat as you rose to your feet aggressively, the legs of your chair making a grating sound on the floor.

“Whatever,” You spun around to leave, seeing the time on the wall clock before shooting your parents a mocking look, “I’m going to be late. Great job getting me back on track.”

You knew just how rude your tone was, so you practically ran out of the kitchen to avoid your father’s wrath.

“Excuse me!?” His offended voice shouted after you. You scooped up your school bag and your car keys, running out the door without looking back.

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Just like you suspected, you were late for your first period class, receiving a reprimanding from your teacher, which only served to piss you off even more. Today just wasn’t your fucking day. So, by the time you walked into your math class a couple hours later, it was actually something of a relief to see Eddie already there; why you were actually pleased to see him was a thought you weren’t quite ready to entertain.

He grinned once he spotted you, but the way you flopped into your seat caused his face to immediately twist with curiosity. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his legs situated in the aisle between you two.

“Feeling hungover, princess?” He asked with only a small jest in his tone, as if he could tell that you weren’t in the mood right now. His eyebrows furrowed together as you glared, although you knew he wasn’t the one that deserved the cold look.

“No.” You groaned, your jaw clenched tight enough to hurt your teeth. You sighed through your nose, trying to collect yourself - it was stupid to let this frustration eat at you, although you were always prone to holding onto grudges.

Eddie nudged your knee softly, so you met his eyes again. He stared at you patiently and inquisitively, “So, what’s wrong?”

You considered for a moment whether or not you wanted to tell him. With a sigh, you sat up in your seat, turning so that you mirrored Eddie, legs in the aisle and knees brushing his. You let your knees rest there, allowing the small amount of contact as if you needed it to ground you, as if you even enjoyed it.

“It’s my parents.” You start, looking down at where your knees met his. Your skirt was short and his jeans were ripped, so you were skin-to-skin. It didn’t matter, of course, you were simply trying to find something else to focus on, “They aren’t thrilled about you.”

“Oh, so you told them?” Eddie gave you a small grin, hoping to lighten your mood a little. And you wouldn’t admit it, but it was already beginning to work.

“One of my neighbors saw us together.” The bell rang in the middle of your sentence, but neither of you faced forward, eyes staying locked on one another.

“You seem pretty worked up about it.” His quiet tone had a hint of question to it, clearly wondering what exactly happened with your parents. Your teacher began going down the attendance sheet and the focus of today’s lesson.

“My dad’s a dick.” You responded in a whisper, “Just grilling me about shit - about you - as if I were a damn criminal or something.”

The sound of your name on your teacher’s lips drew your attention, and you harshly met her stare, “Would you two like to join the class now?”

You rolled your eyes as Eddie smiled lazily, the both of you turning to face forward. He reached out to give your knee one more playful nudge, as if to assure you that all would be well.

As the teacher began her lesson, you and Eddie kept stealing glances at one another conspiratorially, which helped to slowly ease the tension in your shoulders, to slowly relax your mood. After another couple of minutes, Eddie held a folded piece of paper between the two of you, obviously intending for you to read it. You slyly took it from him, fingers brushing against his as you wondered what he possibly had to say right now.

I think I can win him over.

The silly little doodle accompanying the note emphasized the joke, and you couldn’t help but grin at it just a little. You side-eyed Eddie, catching the way he smiled mischievously at you. With a roll of your eyes, you scribbled down a reply and handed it to him.

All the charm in the world wouldn’t win him over.

You watched Eddie’s face out of the corner of your eye, awaiting his reply with a hint of eagerness. The note was back in your hand once again.

So you admit I’m charming?

A small huff of a laugh escaped you as you rolled your eyes, beginning to write a response. But a presence walking down the aisle drew your attention, noticing your teacher was walking right to you. Your stomach dropped a little, realizing you were caught, but you simply looked up at her as if you did nothing wrong.

“Is there something you two would like to share with everyone?” She asked accusatory, crossing her arms in reprimand. You held her eyes with a challenging stare - god, this day just kept giving you hit after hit.

“Nothing in particular.” You retorted, hearing someone in the room make a nonplussed sound. Your teacher glowered at your attitude.

“Then I suggest you follow along or take this little conversation to detention.”

You gave her a mean, mocking smile, baring your teeth almost as if it was a threat, “I’ll take the detention, please.”

Again, more surprised sounds from the teacher and from students. You dared to look over at Eddie, who looked both taken aback and impressed at how difficult you were being today.

“Excuse me?” Your teacher challenged you.

Your eyes were dark as you stood your ground, “Detention. Please.”

The teacher looked between both you and Eddie with a huff, but a moment later a decisive look crossed her features, which put you on edge.

“Fine, if that’s how you want it to be. You can go to detention. Mr. Munson will stay here.” You gaped, your eyes glaring at the back of her head as she turned to walk back towards her desk, “No point in sending the both of you, right?”

You hated the fact that even your teacher was now mocking you, resented the fact that this day just kept piling more shit on your shoulders. You shared a look with Eddie, who looked sorry for landing you in trouble; you thought that you should’ve been upset at him for it, but you weren’t. It seemed like Eddie was the only person not getting on your last nerve today.

You rose to your feet as your teacher walked back towards you, a slip of paper in her hand outstretched to you. Haphazardly, you threw all your belongings in your bag before aggressively snatching the note from your teacher.

“You give that to the detention attendant, I don’t want to hear that you ran out on it.” She instructed with that hint of satisfaction in her tone. You glowered back at her.

“Bite me.” You spun on your heels as various students made, yet again, sounds of excitement at the harsh tone and words you threw at the teacher. As she started spewing some kind of reprimand that you weren’t listening to, you marched out of the room.

What a fucking day. You stomped down the hall, steam practically coming from your ears with how pissed off you were. In annoyance, you balled up the detention slip and tossed it at the nearest trash can, although you missed, which irritated you even more.

You’d never gotten detention before. Under different circumstances, you probably would have been thrilled to be sent to detention, to finally be enough trouble for a teacher to send you off. But after the morning you’ve been having, all you could feel was frustration.

Less than a minute after you stomped out of math class, you heard a door swing open and hit a wall somewhere behind you, prompting you to turn towards the noise. And once you saw who it was, you couldn’t help but smile with a surprising sense of glee.

Eddie Munson, your knight in shining armor.

He dashed down the hall to catch up with you, smiling just as widely as you were as he practically skidded to a halt in front of you. A small laugh escaped you as he hunched over in an attempt to catch his breath. He looked up at you with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

“Let’s get out of here.” He instructed simply, grabbing your wrist and dragging you down the hall with him. You allowed yourself to be led through the school, your smile settling into a simple, pleased smirk, relieved to have Eddie’s company.

“And where are we off to?” You asked, receiving a shrug from Eddie. Once you two had turned into a new hallway, he slowed so you could walk side-by-side, experimentally sliding his hand into yours. Once again, you still felt hesitant at more intimate contact such as this, but you allowed it without cringing too hard.

“Anywhere but here, you troublemaker.” He teased with a content smile, guiding you towards the school exit.

“So, we’re skipping?” You inquired, and you had to admit the idea really appealed to you right now - you’d had enough of today, and if you didn’t escape you thought you might explode with utter frustration.

“If that’s alright with you, princess.” Eddie gave you a silly expression while bumping your shoulder.

“Please get me the hell out of here.”

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The most time you’d ever spent in a video arcade was for one pathetic round of Galaga while on a date with a boy your freshman year. Following that, you decided arcades weren’t for you - they were always crowded with a bunch of kids running around and shouting, and you’d branded all the adults that spent time at arcades as total losers. What could possibly be so appealing about games designed for children?

So, when Eddie pulled up in front of the Palace Arcade, you gave him a critical look, which he chose to ignore entirely as he stepped out of the van. He rounded to your side and opened the door, offering you a hand like a royal stepping out of a coach. You looked between his hand and his face for a moment, still judging the choice to come to an arcade. Reading the look on your face all too well, Eddie pulled his own affronted expression.

“What, too good for arcade games?” He put on an over-the-top, almost Shakespearean tone while placing a melodramatic hand to his chest, “But I’ve brought you to the Palace, the finest establishment in town for the ice princess.”

You rolled your eyes and tried not to laugh at him, unwilling to admit that even Eddie’s dumbest jokes were starting to win you over. Nonetheless, you took his outstretched hand with a large sigh, stepping out of the van despite your lack of interest in this place. Eddie, of course, smiled triumphantly, closing the door behind you and leading you into the arcade.

Given that it was only about noon, the place was virtually dead, which was quite the relief - no need to worry about loud, annoying kids getting in the way. Aside from the two of you and the Palace employee, there was a group of three college-aged boys clustered around Frogger and a lone man focused on something called Paperboy. None of the patrons looked up when you and Eddie entered, and the only reason the employee took any note of you is because it was simply his job. Of course, once he spotted you, he did a double-take.

The employee’s jaw hung slack as if in disbelief, and he nervously greeted you two, trying to keep his attention on Eddie. It appeared that the two were familiar with one another, and you wondered if Eddie really spent that much time here or if maybe this was a guy that used to go to school with the two of you. Either way, their interaction wrapped up quickly, and Eddie dragged you to the change machine.

As Eddie inserted a few bills, you looked around at the other arcade patrons, who finally seemed to take notice of you. In the group near Frogger, one of the boys nudged his friends, insisting they both look up; none so subtly, they all looked at you as the music from their arcade cabinet seemed to signal game over. You looked back with a raised brow and cold eyes, causing them all to quickly look away, although you were certain you’d probably catch them spying again. As you gazed back at Eddie, you couldn’t help the grin that spread across your lips - there was something about being the only chick in the arcade that amused you, something about being totally out of place and totally out of Eddie’s league.

Eddie stashed the change in his pocket, holding out a few quarters that you tentatively took from his hand.

“What first, princess?” You looked at him with a judgmental expression, causing him to narrow his eyes critically, “Come on, this’ll be fun.”

“Sure…” You looked around and assessed the arcade, pointing at the nearest cabinet without any consideration, “That one.”

Eddie huffed out a laugh at your choice while shaking his head, knowing you didn’t care one bit what game you started with, “Dig Dug, huh?”

You made another face at him, so he simply rolled his eyes and led you towards the game. He leaned against the cabinet while crossing his arms, giving you an expectant look; in turn, your brow scrunched.

Eddie shrugged, “Well, go for it - this one was your idea.”

“I don’t want to.” You responded as if affronted by the suggestion, “You play.”

Eddie once again rolled his eyes with an exacerbated grin, “I don’t play Dig Dug.”

“Then play something else.” You instructed stubbornly.

“You aren’t getting out of this one.” Eddie countered, motioning towards the cabinet he still rested against, “So, be a big girl and play the game.”

You gaped at his response, feeling a slight stir at his word choice. There was a challenging glint in his eyes that suggested he wasn’t going to back down easily, that he could volley with you all damn day. As you closed your mouth with a small purse to your lips, you looked around the arcade with a raised brow.

“I don’t want to play that one.” You crossed your arms, to which Eddie once more smirked at your stubborn determination.

“Then choose a different one.” He responded while mimicking your body language.

You narrowed your eyes at him before your gaze studied the rows of arcade cabinets, recognizing none of the names. This was something you were grossly uneducated on, arcades making just about as much sense to you as a foreign language. It wasn’t until you finally recognized the name of one that you allowed yourself to meet Eddie’s stare again.

“Okay. That one.” You once again pointed past his shoulder, so Eddie twisted around to see which cabinet finally caught your interest. A faint laugh escaped him as he looked back to you with an amused expression across his face.

“Oh, you wouldn’t like Donkey Kong.” His tone seemed to be daring you to argue, to prove him wrong. You pulled another face at him.

“I don’t like any of these. But I’ve seen that stupid monkey before.” Eddie shrugged in acceptance of your response as he continued to grin, pushing off the Dig Dug cabinet.

“If you insist.” He taunted while turning to walk towards Donkey Kong, you following behind him with a huff. But as you were nearly there, the gang of college kids beat you to it, causing both you and Eddie to halt; he began to turn to you, prepared to ask what the new plan was now that the one cabinet you showed interest in was taken.

Of course, you weren’t about to have that. Sure, you didn’t care an ounce about these video games and you had zero interest in actually playing, but you’d already had enough today, and you’d be damned if you let these guys play Donkey Kong instead of you. So, you brushed past Eddie with a determined look, marching up to them with all the authority in the world.

“Excuse you,” You started rudely, drawing all their eyes in your direction. None of the three really looked like the nerdy type, so none of them backed down from you the way that you were used to, “I’m playing that one.”

They shared a laugh, clearly amused by your attempt to intimidate them. One of the boys countered, “You’re outta luck, we were here first.”

You insisted more firmly, “Just move.”

One of them looked between you and Eddie, provoked by your attitude, “There’s a whole arcade, go find something else to play.”

They returned to the arcade cabinet as if you weren’t even there, which pissed you off even more. You groaned loudly, looking at Eddie and pointing harshly at the boys as if there was something he could possibly do about them. He simply shook his head and grabbed your elbow, lightly tugging you along.

“They beat us to it.” He said as if there was some unspoken arcade rule that you weren’t familiar with. You glared at the boys as Eddie led you down the row, grinning as if to calm you down, “Come on, I got something I think you’ll like.”

“Doubtful.” You countered like a child, catching the way Eddie smiled to himself, both amused and enervated by your attitude. The two of you came to a halt in front of something called Tapper, and you glanced up at Eddie, awaiting an explanation.

“This one’s easy,” he started while presenting the cabinet to you, “Just serve drinks.”

“Okay…” You took in the pixelated graphics on the screen, hesitantly holding up a coin as you considered the game.

“Come on, just give it a try.” Eddie urged. You looked at the simple instructions next to the joystick while finally loading the coin into the machine. As the game began, Eddie turned his attention to the next cabinet over.

Eddie was right about this game being easy, at least for the first few rounds, although once you reached the first “game over” screen you groaned with frustration. That didn’t stop you from inserting another coin and trying again, much to Eddie’s amusement. You were getting the hang of this and, although you weren’t ready to admit it, you were coming to even enjoy Tapper.

Eventually, you ran out of coins, so you returned your attention to Eddie, who had been caught up in his own game. You watched him for a few moments before realizing the college boys were no longer at the Donkey Kong cabinet. Although you shouldn’t have cared so much, you nonetheless felt a sudden eagerness to run over and hog the game you previously missed out on. Hell, you didn’t even know what that game was about, but considering your previous snub, you now simply had to play this damn game.

So, you turned your gaze back to Eddie, who was incredibly focused on the shooting game he was in the middle of, “Donkey Kong is open.”

“So, go play.” He responded with a far off tone, clearly caught up in what he was doing.

“I don’t have any coins.”

In an almost silly motion, Eddie nudged his hip in your direction, “I have some in my pocket.”

You looked down towards his hips, wondering why he didn’t simply pull his hand from the game for a moment to give you a few coins.

Impatiently, his eyes flicked over to you for only a moment; he could tell what you were thinking, “Just reach in and grab a few.”

“Uh, no.” Your voice oozed with attitude.

“Then no Donkey Kong.” He replied with a simple shrug. With a slight glare, you looked between his face and the screen, watching his hectic game for a few long moments. Your gaze drifted back towards Donkey Kong with a mild longing, but you quickly righted yourself - you did not care that much about a stupid arcade game. You could wait until Eddie was done, you didn’t need to play it that bad.

The sound of the front door opening drew your attention as a new man entered the arcade, and your first thought was “shit, is he going to play Donkey Kong?” Why the hell did you care so much? But you couldn’t risk missing out on the game again, so you returned your attention back to Eddie, taking him by total surprise as you reached into his pocket and extracted a handful of coins quickly before you could think about how intimate that action was.

“Jesus, warn a guy before you go digging around in his pants.” Eddie chided with a playful grin, not allowing his gaze to stray from the shooter in front of him.

“Shut up.” You countered while marching towards Donkey Kong, determination etched across your face as you relished in the stupid victory of finally being about to play this damn game.

Of course, you very quickly learned why Eddie had told you before that you wouldn’t like Donkey Kong. Your dumb little man in overalls lost all his lives within the first minute of you playing, and you let out an exasperated sigh as you slapped your hand down on the control panel. With a glare, you loaded another coin in, but due to your frustration you died even quicker than you had the first time, letting out another upset sound before you marched away from Donkey Kong as if the game had personally offended you.

Eddie was still focused on Robotron as you returned to his side with a huff, the sound causing the corner of his mouth to pull up. You glared at his face, “That game is stupid.”

“I told you.” He answered simply, amused by how easily you gave up on it.

“Why doesn’t it work?”

“Have you considered that you’re just bad at it?” Eddie’s eyes briefly look at you, that annoying grin of his not faltering for a moment. Your glare darkened as you turned to walk off, but Eddie’s voice stopped you from going anywhere, “Oh, come on, just wait. I’ll show you how to play the stupid monkey game.”

So, you waited impatiently for Eddie’s game to end, your eyes repeatedly drifting over to Donkey Kong as if in fear that someone else would take the machine from you. Once he was finally done with Robotron, Eddie gave you a teasing look, knowing that you were eager to return to the game that you supposedly didn’t like. With an adamant look, you spun around and marched back towards the machine, knowing that he was following right behind you.

“Just watch, I’ll play the first level for you.” Eddie instructed while loading in the money. He craned his neck back and forth, shaking out his arm as if he were warming up for some epic fight; you nearly smiled, but kept it to yourself. You leaned over Eddie’s shoulder a little as he began, “You have to be fast - this machine has a bit of a lag, so you need to think ahead.”

So, you watched Eddie play, annoyed at just how easy he made it look; evidently, he had a fair amount of practice. And with the first level completed in what appeared to be record time, Eddie stepped back, yanking you quickly in front of the screen to take over the controls. Just as quickly as the level started, though, you lost a life, jumping right into the line of a pixelated enemy. A frustrated noise left you, causing Eddie to laugh from behind you.

“You’ve got two more lives,” He stepped up closer to you, reaching around to put his hand over the jump button, “Lemme help.”

Working together, you managed to make a little bit of progress, but you all too quickly lost again, shoving the joystick in the wrong direction. As you huffed in annoyance once more, Eddie placed his free hand on the small of your back as if to remind you to calm down, the touch nearly causing you to jump from its gentleness.

“Okay, new plan.” Eddie stepped behind you, close enough that your back bumped against his chest. Your shoulders stiffened as he settled his hands on top of yours, your heart skipping as you realized you were pinned between him and the stupid Donkey Kong machine. Thank god he was behind you, because otherwise he would’ve seen the way your cheeks went red, the way your eyes widened with surprise.

You could feel Eddie’s breath against your ear, practically causing you to shudder, “Alright, let’s do this.”

As the level started again, you were grateful that Eddie was taking the reins, controlling your hands with his own, because your brain was way too jumbled to think clearly. Why the hell were you so nervous? How was Eddie Munson doing this to you? You were certain it had more to do with your disdain for people touching you, but you were far too confused to even begin to entertain why you felt so anxious with Eddie practically flush against your back.

You were so zoned out that you hadn’t even realized that the level was complete until Eddie stepped back, a victorious little laugh escaping him. Before you had time to even get your head on straight, the third level began, but you all too quickly fumbled, your game coming to a pathetic end. Composing yourself, you meet Eddie’s eyes with total coolness, hoping that the redness of your cheeks had gone away. His expression didn’t seem to indicate that he noticed anything off about you, so you took a deep breath.

“Help me again.” You instructed as you fished a coin from your pocket. Eddie looked mildly surprised by the instruction, as if he too was just realizing how intimate his assistance was the first time. You simply raised a brow at him while loading the machine with money, straightening your shoulders as he came up behind you once again.

You tried to focus on the game this time as Eddie placed his hands on top of yours again, doing your best to ignore how warm he was behind you, the way his cheek brushed against the crown of your head, how his grip on your hands seemed to be a little bit more firm. You took a couple of deep breaths and focused, approaching this the same way you did skating - with attentiveness to the goal. And your goal was to ignore Eddie and actually beat a level of this god damn monkey game.

So, you watched your little man run and jump across the screen studying the timing as Eddie moved your hands with his own, noting the subtle delay between the control command and the character movement on the screen. Even as you began to understand, you still recognized that it wasn’t going to be easy for you to beat as a total novice to gaming. As the first level came to an end, Eddie began to step back, his hands hovering just over yours, but you turned your head quickly, practically bumping foreheads as he stopped pulling away.

“Wait, one more round.” You instructed, his face so close to yours that you practically went cross-eyed trying to meet his gaze. You saw Eddie’s jaw clench slightly before you faced forward again, his hands settling on top of yours once way.

By the time you two completed the second level, you were grinning triumphantly, satisfied that you were winning, even if only because Eddie was helping you. As the screen went black for a brief moment, you glanced at the content expression of Eddie behind you, feeling his chin move against your head as he, too, smiled largely.

Instead of pulling away, Eddie asked simply, “One more?”

You hummed in agreement as the third level started, once more studying Eddie’s timing as he breezed through the game as if he’d played it a hundred times. For all you knew, he probably had. Just like with his guitar, Eddie’s hands moved with expertise, guiding yours with ease as you two once again completed the course on screen. This time, you let Eddie step back, feeling a little nervous as you realized you had to face Donkey Kong alone again. You also felt a very mild wave of disappointment, but you quickly shoved that aside so you could focus on your game.

But, of course, you struggled without Eddie’s assistance, fumbling the jump time and losing a life. You took a deep breath through your nose as you tried to focus, feeling Eddie’s gaze burning into you as the level started over. You tried to ignore the intensity of his stare as you started again, running through the level as fast as you could. You managed to get much farther than before, but you nonetheless made another mistake.

You looked towards Eddie, prepared to ask him for help, but he shut you down before you got a word out, “Oh no, you wanted to play this, remember? I can’t keep playing for you.”

You pouted only for a moment, returning your attention to the screen, trying and failing once more to beat the game. You threw your head back with an annoyed groan, stepping away from Donkey Kong while crossing your arms.

“I don’t see why people play this stupid game, it’s impossible.” You whined, causing Eddie to laugh while rolling his eyes.

“That’s the point - it’s challenging. You can’t be a winner all the time.” He teased while dipping his head down closer to yours, seeing right through your frustrations. To Eddie, it was obvious that you weren’t used to losing, and he loved how worked up you were getting over an arcade game of all things.

“If I’m not going to win, then I don’t want to play.” You countered childishly, your eyebrow raised as if daring him to comment on that. You spun on your heel and began to walk away from the offensive game cabinet, hearing Eddie following behind you.

“That’s part of the fun, ya know.” He started. You half expected him to sling his arm over your shoulders as he normally did, but this time he refrained, as if all that contact during Donkey Kong was just a little too much for one day. You threw him a look.

“Well, it’s not fun for me.” You weren’t sure where the hell you were walking off to considering that there wasn’t anywhere in the Palace to hide, but you were too caught up in simply being stubborn. Eddie laughed, rolling his eyes with a hint of fondness as he lightly snagged your arm and stopped you. You met eyes, Eddie grinning at your attitude that he was quickly becoming accustomed to.

“You say that now, but I guarantee you’ll be asking me to bring you back.” He teased, receiving a small glare from you in response. He shook his head a little, “Let’s go, your pouting is making this no fun.”

You could tell Eddie was just taunting you, so you gave his shoulder a small shove while pulling away from his hold. You wouldn’t dare admit that you actually had some fun, so instead you began for the exit, your tone nonchalant as you responded, “Thank god, if I stay here any longer the nerds might try to convert me.”

Behind you, Eddie shook his head fondly as he followed you out.

addt. Author's Note | shoutout to Tapper for being my favorite arcade game

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