#dream blob x reader

[lightseoul]

TWENTY-SIX (4.3k)

pairing. k. bakugou x reader

synopsis. your boyfriend's spending his birthday oceans away from you, and there's absolutely little you can do to celebrate his special day...right? (read on ao3)

c.w. minors dni. fem!reader, pro-hero!katsuki, aged-up, post-ch 431: more, established relationship, lots of cussing AND banter, explicit themes (which i will not describe in great detail for the element of surprise, but know that it's explicit), a little present for my fluff/smut girlies out there <3 (also me)

a/n. happy birthday to the (fictional. sobs) man of my dreams <3 i wanted to whip something special up for his birthday this year, especially since i started writing more seriously last september. since then, i've made so many friends on here primarily over our shared love for katsuki, and it's just been a blast (pun intended). this one kind of got away from me—this was just supposed to be a short drabble, but it ended up the way it did. still, i think it's a great read (if i say so myself), so i hope you enjoy this. once again, happy birthday, kats <3

“and then they fucking—told the waiter that it was my birthday.”

“no.”

bakugou sneers, his grimace just slightly distorted—a digital mosaic of rose-colored pixels. “it was fucking embarrassing.”

you try to imagine the picture of your boyfriend sitting awkwardly as the foreign restaurant’s staffers sang him a happy birthday, and you have to tamp down the smile that’s fighting to encroach on your lips.

“let me guess,” you quip—just loud enough for him to hear you over your phone’s built-in microphone, “it was denki’s idea.”

that grants you an eye roll, which is so animated, it doesn’t even matter that the hotel’s internet connection is so crappy, bakugou’s face morphs into an indistinguishable blob every two minutes or so.

“don’t remind me,” he retorts, “for dunce face’s sake.”

“or what?” you laugh, “are you gonna give him a good ol’ spanking?”

“fuck, no. for all i know, he’s probably getting spanked by ears as we speak.”

from a few feet away from you, a sudden sound akin to that of someone choking on their spit resonates, and you barely catch yourself from reflexively shooting a glare in that very direction. instead, you keep your gaze trained on your screen and on the ash-blonde who’s lying on his stomach with a pillow propped up underneath him, trying not to let the panic show on your face.

you’ve come this far, the last thing you need is for denki to—

“what was that?”

despite yourself, you stiffen. “what was what?”

“that sound,” bakugou points out, straightening up himself. “wait, where did you say you were again?”

“ochako’s,” you lie. she was one of your only friends whose apartment’s walls were almost the same color as the hotel bakugou’s currently staying in. and denki. and jirou.

the very same hotel you’re—

“that sounded like a guy, though,” comes bakugou’s cautious response, and it takes you a second to realize how the situation is looking like to him.

“izuku’s here as well,” you quickly supply, wishing to any divine being out there that he doesn’t ask you to point your camera at either of the couple.

thankfully, he doesn’t. what he does, instead, is furrow his eyebrows in equal parts confusion and disgust.

“they’re listening to our conversation?”

“chill, bro,” you force yourself to chuckle, “we just finished eating as well. we’re all just hanging out in the living room.”

now, if bakugou’s catching on to your deception, he doesn’t show it.

at least, by much.

“huh…”

“…yep.”

another scrutinizing squint. “and you’re sitting on round cheek’s floor because…?”

shit. right.

“i’m just charging my phone,” you fib, and before bakugou can get another word in and catch you in your deceit, you pipe up again.

“actually, it’s getting late, kats. i think i’m gonna head home.”

“but—”

“i’ll message you the plate number, don’t worry.”

at that, bakugou huffs, and you have to swat away the guilt that washes over you at the sight of his disappointment—disappointment that’s palpable despite his obvious attempt at eclipsing it with his worry for your safety.

he doesn’t say anything for another beat, and you take that as your cue to unplug your imaginary charger and lift yourself to your feet.

“well, i should get going,” you announce, just as he blurts something out that you fail to catch.

“…sorry,” you laugh—genuinely this time, “what did you say?”

“just—” he starts, voice lowered into a hushed whisper, suddenly appearing shy. “can we—i don’t know—call again when you get home?”

you hesitate, then remember that if things work out the way you planned them, you wouldn’t have to worry about the idea of it. still, you keep up the concerned act. “sure, kats, but don’t you have an early start tomorrow?”

“yeah,” he replies, “but another thirty minutes or so wouldn’t hurt.”

you can’t help it—you smile at that. bakugou seems to flush at the sight of you grinning knowingly, bringing up a scarred hand to rub at his face—a habit you’ve noticed he does whenever he feels embarrassed.

and, because you know telling him you miss him too would only fuel his embarrassment even further, you instead bite your tongue and wish him another happy birthday, but not before promising him you’d call as soon as you’re in bed and settled in your pajamas.

you wait for the tell-tale chime of a video call ending to go off before you dare to heave a sigh of relief.

the clamoring ensues in an instant.

“who knew bakugou was such a lover boy?”

from where she’s lounging on her suite’s expansive sofa, jirou flashes you a teasing smirk.

“excuse me,” denki exclaims from the queen-sized bed, “are we just going to breeze past the way he insulted me?”

you’ve got half a mind to comment on how you’d bet good money he’s already been pegged by the hearing hero, but decide against it—you still needed both of their help, after all. so instead, you bite your tongue, and gesture to the refrigerator.

“we don’t have much time, so we better get moving.”

“right.”

“o-kay.”

fortunately, it doesn’t take you a while to get things ready. denki manages to get the balloons inflated in record time, while jirou’s got the cake and champagne all set as you got changed into a much more flattering dress and touched up on your makeup. by the time you’re supposed to have arrived at your apartment unit way back in japan, the three of you are standing by the entrance of the musician’s hotel room, birthday paraphernalia placed in a fancy-looking cart you borrowed from reception, the air around you buzzing with nervous anticipation.

you check your watch for the umpteenth time, before looking back up to the two. “are you sure you guys don’t want to surprise him with me?”

jirou shakes her head. “nah, we already celebrated with him during dinner. we ought to give you guys some privacy to celebrate on your own.”

“yeah,” denki adds, “plus, i don’t want to be there in case things get nasty real fast.”

“denki!”

“dude!”

“what?” the electric hero cries, “kacchan can make sex jokes while i can’t?”

“you need to work on your timing, dipshit,” comes jirou’s reprimand, to which denki only pouts petulantly.

“well, i should get going,” you begin, reaching out to open the door. “he should be waiting for me to call by now.”

the two whisper their well wishes as you carefully roll the cart through the space, and you manage to mouth a quick thank you just before they quietly shut the slab of wood behind you.

you wait in the hallway for a second for denki to come out of the room and go back to his own, but that never comes.

well, then. you guess they’re not set on beating the allegations, either.

once you’re sure denki’s not coming out anytime soon, you take a shaky breath. meticulously, you let your eyes trail the row of doors that line the hallway, before they land on the number jirou supplied you with earlier today while you were still at the airport. pushing the cart that contains the lit cake and champagne—and even the dark orange balloons marking his age—right up to the doorway, you take another wobbly inhale.

suddenly, and in the face of finally seeing your boyfriend after over a month of being literally oceans apart, the exhaustion of travelling for hours dissipates from your system, leaving you almost shaking in nothing but excitement.

and you were about to lift your hand to knock on the door—really, you were—when, to your horror and without any warning, the door flings open, and you find yourself face to face with no other than the birthday boy himself.

you can only blink at the man who’s frozen midway through the passageway, his pretty face mirroring the utterly bewildered expression you’re sure you’re sporting right now.

you manage to gather your bearings first, the sole thing you can muster being: “…surprise?”

now, in the split second of thinking time this situation has granted you, you figured he’d likely curse in disbelief, maybe ask you what the fuck you’re doing here, but what you didn’t expect was for him to stand—unmoving—for a couple more seconds, before unceremoniously lifting you into a bone-crushing hug.

“katsuki!” you squeal, looping your arms around his neck and your legs around his body, holding on for dear life. “put me down!”

bakugou only squeezes you tighter in response, and you have no choice but to cling onto him for a beat longer, until he effortlessly puts you back on your feet, that same unbelieving look still painted across his features.

“what the—”

“—fuck am i doing here?” you finish for him, and he nods, scoffing out an astounded laugh.

you gesture to the cart beside you, and you make a swift mental note that the candle’s gonna go out anytime soon. “i wanted to surprise you for your birthday.”

and before he can say something in response, you jut in. “quick, make a wish and blow before it goes out.”

to your confusion, bakugou doesn’t even spare the cake a glance, gaze fixed on you.

“don’t have to.”

you frown. “what? hurry up, kats, it’s gonna—”

“i said,” he interjects, pulling you closer by your waist, and your hands shoot up to plant themselves against his chest, “i don’t have to.”

looking up at him, you gulp. “w-why?”

a smirk. “because you’re already here, dumbass.”

that's all the foreboding you’re given before you’re seized into a scathing kiss, and you barely manage to bite back a groan at the simultaneously foreign yet familiar feeling of bakugou’s lips against yours, even more so as he presses himself further against you, deepening the kiss. you let your hands snake up to bakugou’s neck as you feel his caress your sides, and you have to fight to ignore the shot of arousal that courses through you the moment his tongue breaches your mouth’s entrance, exploring it so hungrily like he hasn’t done so a million times before.

you probably stand there stuck to each other for a couple of minutes when a particularly hard bite on your lower lip lurches you back to reality—the reality that you’re very much still in a public space and that the last thing bakugou needs is to reach headlines for being seen aggressively making out with his girlfriend.

and so with much reluctance, you take a step back, and another when bakugou moves to chase your lips, before he finally gets the message and lets his arms drop to his sides, albeit somewhat begrudgingly.

you take the opportunity to chance another glance at the cake, and sure enough, the candle is already dead.

“we can just cut out the parts where the wax melted,” bakugou suggests when you don’t say anything for a minute, and you look back at him and smile, nodding.

neither of you says another word for a beat, resorting to just staring at each other with your mouths pulled taut into goofy grins.

it’s bakugou, though, who breaks the silence.

“you’re so fucking pretty.”

you flush, although you snort to hide your fluster. “i can’t be surprising my boyfriend looking like a hot mess, now, can i?”

“you can, you know,” bakugou replies without missing a beat, gesturing you inside, “and i’ll still think you look fucking pretty.”

you punch him in the arm as you file into his suite, which he takes in stride before pushing the cart in step behind you.

“since when did you become such a smooth talker?”

at that, bakugou laughs that gruff laugh of his as he closes the door and turns to regard you. “well, sue me for flirting with my girlfriend.”

“stupid,” you chuckle as you shake your head in amusement, before tossing him the sincerest smile you can muster. “i missed you, kats.”

before you know it, bakugou’s back on you in an instant, wrapping his arms around your torso almost too tightly, although you can’t find it in you to mind. “i missed you, too, baby.”

“were you in jirou’s room the entire time?” he asks after a moment of just standing there, limbs interconnected.

“yeah, they helped me keep the entire thing under wraps.”

“huh,” bakugou muses, rubbing absentminded circles on your waist. “didn’t know they were damn good actors. i had no idea.”

you grin. “i’ll take that as a win.”

a pause.

“you being here certainly is.”

you let out an exaggerated groan, pushing the man away and walking towards the foot of his bed, plopping yourself down onto the firm mattress. the motherfucker only laughs at you, although he’s quick to trail behind you and sit himself in the spot right next to you, not sparing you a modicum of distance.

“you know,” you start, side-eyeing the pro-hero as you take off your heels, “if you keep this up, i’m gonna start thinking you really missed me.”

“i’m fucked, then,” he retorts, “because i ain’t beating any of your allegations.”

you laugh again. “speaking of not beating any allegations, denki’s in jirou’s room right now.”

“what did i fucking tell you?”

“i know, i know. i just didn’t think they’d be so brazen about hooking up. they’re not even trying to hide it.”

bakugou sniggers, taking your hand in his. “should’ve made a bet with you.”

“you say that as if you’d take a single yen from me,” you rebut, to which he can only shrug, unable to argue with your point.

“enough about them, though,” you say a moment later, your hand still being massaged by bakugou. “what do you want to do?”

and when he only stares at you blankly: “for the rest of your birthday?”

“oh, right.”

you huff, lightly bumping your shoulder with his. “i mean, if you wanna go rest up, then we can do that, too.”

“quit being huffy,” bakugou chastises, “there is something i want to do.”

“really? what is it?”

bakugou lifts his gaze from where your hands are intertwined to meet yours, and one look is enough to tell you what he’s thinking.

you instantly feel yourself flame. “really? aren’t you too tired to do it?”

“nah,” he grins, “i was gonna jack off before sleeping, anyway.”

you snort. “of course, you were.”

“what?” he says defensively. “it helps me sleep better, especially after a long day of work.”

you study his face for another second, before nodding and moving to stand up, although you don’t get to go far because of bakugou’s hold on you.

“where are you going?”

“i have a hair tie in my purse,” you answer, “let me just go grab it.”

you try to step away again, but bakugou’s grip only tightens. you glance back at him, confused. “what?”

“who said i wanted you to suck me off?”

you frown. “aren’t you still tired, though? let me make you feel good, that way you can just lie in bed and take it.”

at that, bakugou shakes his head, pulling you back to him. despite yourself, you let yourself be dragged into the space between his legs, your hands placed on his shoulders while his take residence on your hips.

bakugou cranes to look up at you, a serious expression etched on his features. “as fucking appealing as that sounds, that’s not what i want to do right now.”

“this thing i want to do—” he continues when you signal at him to keep going, “—is…new.”

“n-new?”

“yeah. new as in we’ve never tried it before, but i’ve been thinking about it, ever since shitty dunce face planted the idea in my head our first day here.”

you swallow. “first day?”

he nods. “it’s got something to do with—” his line of vision shifts towards something behind you, “—that.”

you look back behind you, and you’ve to stop yourself from gasping when your eyes land on it.

or rather, on the image of you and bakugou.

you whip your head to look at the man, unable to hide the shock on your face. “y-you want to do it—in front of—”

“the mirror, yeah,” he croaks, sounding like he’s trying to mask his own uncertainty, and yet, there’s no denying the determination in his voice. “only if you want to do it, too, of course.”

“yeah, no, of course,” you quickly say, “i-i want to. it’s just—frankly, i never thought of it before.”

“me too,” bakugou admits, “well, up until we arrived here and denki commented on how big the floor-length mirrors were.”

“…so naturally you thought of us having sex in front of it?”

that grants you a pinch at your side, and you squeak—more in astonishment than in pain.

“you forget that it’s my birthday, you fucking tease.”

“sorry, sorry,” you laugh, “i’m done. that was the last one.”

“that better be,” he warns, although it has no real bite to it.

“…so,” you try again after a lull, “how’d you wanna go about it?”

“here,” he gestures to the small space between his legs, “you can sit with your back turned towards me.”

“uh, sure.”

just as was instructed, you turn on your bare feet until you’re facing the mirror, and slowly sit yourself on the edge of the bed and in front of bakugou, although you’re not even fully perched against him yet, before you feel something stiff prod against your back.

you don’t get to comment on it, though, because he beats you to it.

“i know,” he huffs, seemingly self-conscious, not meeting the reflection of your eyes. “i don’t know why it’s turning me on this much, either.”

at that, you place a hand on the arm that’s circled your waist, and the other on one of his thighs, just as you flash him the most reassuring smile you can manage. “it’s alright, baby. i love it when you get this way.”

“y-you do?”

you playfully roll your eyes at him. “you know i do. now, hurry up. we don’t have all night.”

that earns you a disapproving tut, although you can see the amusement behind bakugou’s eyes in the mirror, and the very sight of it sends a wave of anticipation coursing through your veins.

jesus. when was the last time you were this excited?

“you know, for someone who’s eager to please her boyfriend on his birthday, you sure are being a brat.”

“and for someone who’s eager to try a new kink out, you sure are being slow.”

bakugou growls. “that’s it.”

you can only yelp as bakugou practically yanks the zipper of your dress down, and with it, the entire top portion of the ensemble; you don’t get to react or protest, though, because in a matter of a split second, bakugou’s hands are on your naked breasts, and you almost let out a loud moan when he gropes at them so roughly—you can feel your core throb at the all-too overwhelming sensation.

“fuck,” he groans in your ear just as you squirm in front of him, his grip on your chest unrelenting. “i’ve missed these.”

and, as if your breasts have a mind of their own, you feel your nipples stiffen at bakugou’s sentiment—a reaction that doesn’t go unnoticed by the pro-hero, who’s quick to tug at your pebbled peaks, rubbing circles and flicking on the flesh.

“shit, you like it when i tell you i’ve missed your boobs?” he rasps, and you can only rub your thighs together in response, eyes clenched closed in pleasure. “what if i tell you i’ve been jacking off every night to that picture of you in your lingerie?”

“you know the one,” he goads, squeezing firmly at your chest, “the one i gifted you that leaves nothing to the imagination?”

you nod—barely—but enough to indicate that you’re still listening, which you’ve learned the hard way is important if you didn’t want to trigger your katsuki. at your affirmation, bakugou lets out a satisfied grunt.

“now, get up,” he demands, “we need to get this fucking dress off of you.”

and off of you it goes. you don’t waste a second in heeding his order and discarding the sundress of the same shade of burnt orange off you, and you also take the chance to strip off your thong—the very one you went for despite the discomfort it brought just so you could surprise your boyfriend if ever things went the direction they are heading right now.

but you’ve barely tugged it off your hips when bakugou’s hand shoots up to stop you, and you look at him in bewilderment, mind only half-working with lust. “what?”

“keep it on,” he commands, “i want you to see how pretty you look when i finger you through your panties.”

well.

you know better than to argue with him at this point, so you only return to your seat that’s becoming smaller by the minute, with his erection taking up more space even against the straining fabric of his sweatpants. it’s only when you’re seated once again do you remember to finally look at the mirror, and when you do, the sight of you sprawled limp and bare against bakugou’s muscled frame causes you to moan out loud, to which bakugou could only curse in response.

“see, baby?” he spurs, tone desperate, “this is what i have to deal with every time we fuck.”

he scoffs, just as he brings a hand down to cup your sex. “and you wonder why i get so hard so fast.”

you whine, if not for his taunting, then at the lack of friction against your core, but you don’t get to do so for long before bakugou’s free hand grabs at your chin, forcing you to look straight into the mirror and at yourself.

“quit fucking whining and watch me finger you,” he spits, before: “and don’t even think about closing your eyes.”

that’s the last thing he says before he, true to his word, slips two fingers into your underwear and thrusts them into your hole with little to no warning. you’ve no choice but to moan at the intrusion—your eyes in the middle of fluttering closed when he grabs your face again and points it forward, all the while not stopping his pistoning of his ridiculously long digits in and out of you.

“just look at yourself, princess,” he hisses, “i love it when you look so fucked out like this.”

“uuuugh—”

bakugou snickers, not even giving you a heads up when he brings his other hand up to start rubbing figure eights on your clit. “can’t even form a proper phrase? that’s how good i’m making you feel?”

“uuugh—fuck—”

the pro-hero seems to take this as further encouragement, because he only presses harder against your bud, while the fingers that are nestled deep within you continue to rub oh-so deliciously against your walls.

the tell-tale signs of your impending orgasm come sooner than later after that, and bakugou notices it, too, because he doubles down on his ministrations the second you start violently shaking and thrashing in front of him.

“are you gonna cum, baby?” he whispers against your ear, and you can only nod, too distrusting in your capability to say yes without whimpering like a bitch in heat.

“look at the mirror, then,” he coaxes—gently, this time—softly bumping your head with his so you would turn towards your reflection.

and, because you want to please your boyfriend on his birthday—of all days—you do.

and the sight of bakugou’s big, strong hands pumping in and out of you and rubbing frantically at your clit while you moan and squirm right up against his big, strong body drives you well over the edge.

and you cum.

and cum.

and cum.

and you don’t know how much time passes with you lying flaccid on top of the pro-hero’s torso, but by the time you come to, bakugou’s rubbing soothing circles on your waist, while your arms lie slack on top of his that are circled around you.

you shift to look up at the man, who only smiles at you—so delicately, the way he does whenever he was feeling especially intimate—you wouldn’t think he was just roughhousing you a mere moment ago.

“what about you?” you eventually manage to croak out, eyebrows furrowing in apprehension.

“what about me?”

“you didn’t get to finish, birthday boy,” you say pointedly, shifting in your seat. but then it suddenly registers how wet your butt is, and you do a double-take to make sure you’re not imagining it, when bakugou confirms your suspicions.

“i came, too,” he confesses, voice betraying his difficulty of wrapping his head around what just happened. “i don’t fucking know how, but i did.”

“…wow,” is the only thing you’re able to say for a while, before: “we should do this more often.”

at that, bakugou snorts, shaking his head. “neither of us has a big mirror back home.”

to that, you toss him a mischievous smirk, before standing up and padding towards your purse in all your naked glory. you try to ignore the way bakugou’s definitely eye-fucking you as you hastily fish out your phone from its depths, quickly making a few taps before placing it on the coffee table, a triumphant smile on your face.

“what?” bakugou asks, mirroring your grin.

“you won’t believe what i just got you for your birthday.”

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 feel free to drop an ask, too—i'd love to chat with you. have a nice day!

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[qingyuns]

— i won’t let you fall down, unless you’re in my arms

alternatively, the 3 times kinich saved you from falling and the 1 time that he was the one who fell

pairing: kinich x gn!reader, wc: 2.8k, two or three swear words, reader has a pyro vision because mualani kinich reader burgeon team is a funny hc i have, ajaw makes 2 brief appearances, fluffy but ig they don’t do that much?? pre-relationship and confessions (does this count as a confession), title from an nct dream song (rains in heaven), pls reblog ty

1) The fall that was Pacha’s fault

You were never one to back down from a challenge, not when your pride was on the line. And presently, it was. It was an unfortunate mistake on your part when you’d been a little too cocky, bragging about your rock climbing skills, and as an even more unfortunate result, a friend of yours from the Scions of the Canopy had decided to dare you to climb an actual cliff near his village.

“I’ve got all the equipment,” Pacha had exclaimed. “If you’re really that good, then this should be no sweat.”

You’d narrowed your eyes at him. You couldn’t tell if his smile was mocking or not.

“No problem.”

But now, as you looked up and tried to find another edge to grasp at, you were wishing you had backed down. Seriously, this cliff was just a flat canvas of orange. What were you supposed to hold onto?

“Stupid Pacha,” you hissed to yourself as you reached for a bump in the cliff face. “Stupid cliff.”

Man, you wished you had a Geo vision. Then you could probably create some kind of ledge to rest on. Or maybe an Anemo one would be more useful. You could make yourself float to the top.

You were also never one to be afraid of heights, but as you glanced down, your heart jolted at the distance between you and the ground. Too high. Much, much too high. Your Pyro vision hung uselessly at your hip.

A second glance told you that Pacha was no longer anywhere to be found, and you cursed him under your breath.

“Okay, don’t panic. Just don’t panic and don’t fall,” you huffed. “Easy enough.”

Your palms were moist, your fingers were suddenly too smooth. And just when you risked a second to wipe your hand dry on your leg….

….the other one slipped, and you were falling.

The organ in your chest seemed to stop. This is it, you thought, I’m dead. You were falling, and falling and falling, until suddenly, while your eyes were squeezed shut and your stomach was leaping like a wild Koholasaurus in water, you were flying.

It took you a second for your brain to orient itself, to realise that you weren’t in fact dead yet, but when it did, you felt an arm wrapped securely around your waist, so tight that it was almost painful. You peeled your eyelids open. In your limited view, your saviour was nothing more than a head of dark hair and a blur of green attire. The surrounding cliffs were reduced to blobs of colour as you were swung through the air, down then up, down then up, until your feet were once again on solid ground.

Your knees almost collapsed once you were, and both of your saviour’s arms moved to steady you. A blink. Two blinks. You waited for your breathing to return to normal, then your eyes flitted up to meet theirs.

A kaleidoscope of green and gold greeted you. Huh, pretty.

Your saviour let out a strangled sound, something between a choke and a grunt, and released you. Oh. Had you said that out loud?

“Uh, sorry,” you coughed awkwardly. You took a step back, fiddling with your fingers. “Thanks for saving me.”

With the bandana that was tied over his forehead, it was difficult to discern his emotions. He gave you a curt nod. “You should be more careful.”

A distant yell made both of your hands turn, and you saw the tiny figure of Pacha rapidly approaching and waving his hand at you. By the time he’d closed the distance, which to his credit only took about eight seconds (so he must have felt at least a little guilty about almost letting you die), the guy beside you had vanished.

“Are you okay?” Pacha exclaimed as he skidded to a stop in front of you. You nodded, and he let out a sigh of relief, before looking around curiously. “Was that Kinich?”

2) The fall that was a Tepetlisaurus’ fault

The next time you met Kinich (‘Malipo’ Kinich, a Saurian Hunter who according to Pacha, was transactional, blunt and borderline reclusive), you were on the cliffs by the Children of the Echoes, picking Saurian Claw Succulents as a favour for a new friend of yours, a sweet young girl by the name of Kachina.

And maybe you shouldn’t have been crouching so close to the edge of a cliff, but how you were supposed to know that a Tepetlisaurus burrowing in the earth would come straight for your footing and uproot you, effectively tossing you off the side? Really, it wasn’t your fault! It was just some kind of ninja saurian.

This was only the second time you’d ever fallen off the side of a cliff, but for some reason, you were hardly surprised when the same person came to your rescue this time.

He looked at you blankly as you clutched at the succulent in your hand, eyes darting around to avoid prolonged eye contact. You were sure he probably had an eyebrow raised under his bandana.

“Do you make it a habit to throw yourself off every cliff you come across?”

You flinched. “Well, no.”

His arms crossed over his chest, and you couldn’t help the way your eyes were drawn to the tattoos exposed on his biceps. The teal suited him, you thought absently.

Your thoughts were interrupted by a screeching voice. “Well, what’s your problem, then!”

A flashing myriad of yellow and green flitted into the air. The creature that had popped up from behind Kinich was … strange, to say the least. A strange, blocky thing. It looked strangely flat, like a hundred tiny, flat, square blocks. Were you going insane?

Kinich sent an annoyed glance towards the creature, before looking back at you to see that your mouth was now agape as you stared.

“Oh, right. You haven’t met Ajaw.”

“Oh,” you muttered, suddenly feeling fainter than you had when falling off the cliff, “so this is Ajaw.”

The blocky creature expanded around the middle (you supposed that was the equivalent of puffing out its chest). “Aha! So you’ve heard of the Almighty Dragonlord, K’uhul Ajaw, have you? Tell me, peasant, what have you been told? That I’m ferocious and powerful?”

Kinich sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. You blinked at the creature. You thought back to what Pacha had said – “Ajaw. He’s Kinich’s saurian companion. Really weird little guy. Super annoying.”

“Yeah,” you assented, “something like that.”

“Do you ever shut up?” Kinich sighed. It took you a second to realise that he wasn’t talking to you.

“Maybe you should shut up, Kinich!” Ajaw’s eyes angled themselves into a glare, and he fluttered around agitatedly.

The response he received was a flick of a gloved hand, which sent the Saurian soaring into the sky, until you couldn’t even see him anymore. You were pretty sure you’d never blinked as much in your life as you had in the last five minutes.

Kinich turned to you. “Sorry about him.”

“Um, that’s alright,” you said half-heartedly.

“So how come you’ve fallen off another cliff?”

Yikes. He must have thought you were either insanely insane or tremendously stupid.

“A Saurian knocked me off the side when I was picking succulents,” you muttered, cheeks flushing with heat.

He hummed. You weren’t quite sure what that meant. “And the other time?”

 “Um, my friend dared me to climb the cliff. So I did.” You winced. “But I swear, these are the only times I’ve ever fallen off a cliff.”

It was a sentence you never thought you’d have to say. How embarrassing. You waited for the inevitable scolding or mocking to fall upon your ears, but then—

“Alright,” Kinich nodded easily. “Maybe try to avoid cliffs from now on."

Then he turned around, and started walking away. The sudden departure made you recoil in shock. Was the conversation over? Pacha really wasn't exaggerating when he said Kinich was reclusive.

"Huh? Wait a second!" You weren't sure what came over you in that moment, but you had a startling feeling that you couldn't let him leave here.

He paused, and turned to look at you, head tilted slightly to the side.

"Um, hold on." You thought for a moment. How to make him stay for longer? "Are you free right now? I'd like to treat you to a meal, if possible. You know, to thank you."

Your hands clasped in front of you and you fiddled with your fingers.

Kinich blinked slowly for a moment and stared at you. For a horrible moment, you thought he was going to decline, in which case you would have had to turn tail and flee on the spot, but instead, he nodded.

"I have some time."

You brightened. "Great! I know this place that has the best tatacos!"

There was a light skip in your movements as you began to lead the way, trusting that he was following you. You could only hope he didn't eat too much. You weren't sure your pockets could afford it, and you'd hate to make an even bigger fool of yourself in front of him by being too broke to pay. What a horrible first impression...

“Oh, right!” you paused in your steps for a moment. “I forgot to introduce myself!”

And so you did, and you watched as something that almost looked like a smile twitched at Kinich’s lips. Then, as if testing the way it rolled on his tongue, he repeated your name carefully.

Something fluttered in your stomach as you beamed. Yeah, you sure liked the way that sounded.

3) The fall that was the fault of a slippery rock

“No, guys, trust me. I just discovered it. It’s like, really underground.”

Kinich sighed as Mualani giggled at her own joke. As if on impulse, you laughed along with her, but you even as the sound escaped you, you couldn’t tell if it came from a place of pity or not. Underground, because it was literally in an underground cave. Hilarious. Still, a small smile made its way onto your face. This was nice. As much as you loved your other friends, it sure felt great to hang out with people who didn’t always challenge you to risk your life (fuck you, Pacha), though you suspected Mualani was just waiting for a chance to take you Spirit Wave riding, and you weren’t sure you were quite ready for that yet.

Today, however, you were spared. Mualani had promised you and Kinich a relaxing afternoon in a new hot spring she’d found. And so you were following her into an opening in the rock face.

The air was immediately a little cooler than it was outside as you stepped into the darkness. The cave was still illuminated by the sunlight, and you could see more patches of light ahead. It glowed slightly in the reflections of the rock on the ground.

“It’s a little steep here,” your friend warned. “Watch your step.”

No sooner had you nodded to show your understanding than you had placed your foot down on a particularly slippery patch on the floor, and it slid.

A gasp tore out of you, but two arms were already wrapping around you from behind.

“Be careful,” his voice murmured in your ear. You almost gasped again. How glad you were that he was behind you and thus couldn’t see the way you froze up at the feeling of his breath on your skin.

From a little ways ahead of you, Mualani called out. “Hey, you alright?”

Your throat suddenly felt very dry. You cleared it before telling her that you were.

Kinich kept one hand on your waist for the next few steps before removing it after you had found your footing. You found yourself missing his touch upon the removal.

No matter, you assured yourself. Focus on not falling over again. The decline of the slope eased out into a flatter path, and soon the tunnel opened up into an expansive area. The underground spring was much brighter than you had anticipated, thanks to the perfectly round opening at the top. Smooth, round rocks seemed to line the edge, and the water sparkled in the ripples as Mualani crouched down to test it with her hand.

“Oh no!” she exclaimed.

You turned your attention to her. “What is it?”

“It’s cold! It was really toasty last time, though,” she frowned. “It must be because it’s further away. The underground water flow can get unstable and–“

As she rambled on, you crouched by the side of the spring, dipping your hand into the water. It lukewarm at best, but the pool wasn’t as big as most of the one’s above ground. You could work with this. Placing both hands in the not-so-hot spring, the vision at your side pulsed with energy. You let the heat flow through your body to your fingertips, as steam floated just above the surface of the water.

You failed to notice the pair of eyes that were fixed on you as you smiled to yourself.

“Hey, Mualani? Is this better?” Mualani’s eyes widened as she watched the mist rising out of the hot spring.

“Yes, yes, yes!” She squealed. She rushed to your side, squeezing you in a hug, before drawing back immediately. “Ow, hot!”

The girl quickly submerged her arms in the water, sighing in relief. You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped.

You grinned at your friends, stepping into the water yourself. “Shall we swim?”

The pounding of your heart against your chest was hard to ignore when Kinich slid into the spring and settled right beside you.

???) The fall that wasn’t even you

Kinich wasn’t sure what was wrong with him lately. He’d been sleeping the same, his regimented diet was unchanged, but in recent weeks, he’d found himself feeling a lot more strange.

Hunting commissions had been slow lately, so he’d taken the liberty of accepting ordinary bounties and commissions from the Adventurers’ Guild. When you’d heard about it, you’d insisted on joining him. He hadn’t had a problem with that, but since he started taking on these new commissions, Kinich had noticed that something was happening to his health.

He’d been spending a lot of time with you these days, but that couldn’t be it. How could that explain his borderline feverish symptoms? The heat that flushed his head and neck sometimes, and the weird way that his heart flipped, like it did when he went bungee jumping that one time.

And sure, those symptoms only happened when he was with you, but that was just because he was almost always with you. How could fighting a few treasure hoarders in your presence make him ill?

“Isn’t it obvious?” Ajaw growled. “You like them!”

Kinich was too surprised to scoff. “What?”

“You have a big fat crush.”

“No, I don’t.”

The little green dots in Ajaw’s eyes rolled around so hard, Kinich thought they might fall out.

“Fine! Don’t believe me, then! Even though you blush whenever you’re with them, and you stare at them when they’re talking, and you didn’t even complain when they wanted to join your commissions and you’ve been losing half the profit!”

Ajaw’s body doubled in size before he vanished in agitation. Kinich raised a hand to his chin in thought. He needed a second opinion.

“You like them,” Mualani replied simply. “It’s pretty obvious.”

Kinich blanched. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

“Because it is,” she grinned. “Dude, you’ve fallen hard.”

There was a twist in his stomach. The tips of his ears turned redder than a hot chili pepper.

“Come on, Kinich. You’re a smart guy. Think about the way they make you feel.”

Despite everything, despite the fact that he was, in fact, a smart guy, and he had always been sure to analyse and prepare for every outcome, and he was always weighing the costs of his relationships and seeing right through people and thinking way too much about everything—

—the realisation hit him like a tidal wave.

Oh.

Mualani grinned, satisfied. “I’ll leave you to your thoughts, then.”

Kinich barely registered her departure.

Because of course. Your relationship had never been transactional. All you ever did was give and give, and without even realising it, he’d poured his all into giving back without a moment’s hesitation. He’d never asked anything of you, nor you of him.

And because Kinich was a level-headed man, and ever-so-straightforward, there was no time wasted before he was at your front door.

If there was ever one thing he would ask of you, it was this.

“I like you, and I need to know if you feel the same.”

A grin found its home on your lips. A step forward and you closed some of the distance. The sparkle in your eyes did nothing to shake Kinich’s nerves, but it did make his stomach flip.

“Guess you’re the one falling for me now, huh?”

[eternalguk]

Our Quiet Christmas | jjk. (M)

You are my home, my home for all seasons.

↠ Pairing : Jungkook x Reader

↠ Summary : After a whirlwind year of schedules, chaos, and never-ending to-do lists, Jungkook whisks you and your daughter away to a secluded cabin for a much-needed Christmas getaway. With snowflakes falling outside and the crackling fire keeping the cold at bay, it’s the perfect chance to slow down and soak in the love that makes your little family so special… But Jungkook has more than just cosy movie nights and snowman-building in mind—he’s set on expanding your family, and he’s not exactly subtle about it. Between his playful charm, heartfelt confessions, and stolen kisses by the fire, it’s hard to resist the idea of giving Areum the sibling Jungkook can’t stop dreaming about.

↠ Genre : established relationship au, dad!jungkook x mom!reader, marriage au, comfort au, pwp

↠ Word count : 9.3K

↠ Warnings : making out, explicit sexual content, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, fingering, oral sex (f!receiving), riding, missionary, impregnation!kink, dirty talking, begging, dom!jungkook, sub!reader (think that’s all)

↠ A/n : hi there ; merry Christmas Eve 🎄! I hope you’re all having a restful break and enjoying the holiday period 🫶🏻 I present you soft dad!Jungkook being absolutely smitten with his family. Snowy vibes, fireplace cuddles, Jungkook being charmingly relentless about baby number two, and you trying (and failing) to resist his puppy eyes. Feedback is always appreciated & happy reading 🦢!

↠ Song : Snowman by Sia

Winter had arrived. An icy serenade surrounds you yet the warmth of love is all you feel. An old Christmas movie plays in the background and the smell of home-baking permeates the air.

Comfort, peace and solace is all you feel right now.

“This years going to be different, I can feel it in my bones.”

“Guk, baby you say that every year.”

“No no, I’m sure about this one, you see I can feel it-

“In my bones.” You both say in sync, causing Jungkook to chuckle as he brings his hand to your jaw, moving your face towards him so he can kiss you.

His lips join yours in a soft, gentle manner.

Years have passed, but every time you and Jungkook kiss, you swear you feel the same butterflies that you felt when he kissed you for the first time after your third date outside the art gallery.

Magical. That’s how you’d describe kissing Jungkook.

His lips were warm, soft, and when they touched yours, there was no rush. Jungkook deepens the kiss ever so slightly, letting the pressure build with gentle insistence, the rhythm of the kiss calm but full of intention.

The two of you are lying on the couch, legs entangled under your daughter's blanket as you watch the fireplace emit sparks of warmth, bathing the wooden interior with golden hues.

“Eomma, appa!” A voice calls out, full of pride.

Areum.

4 years old and a bundle of joy. Your bundle of joy.

“Look, I fixed it!” Areum’s tiny and soft voice breaks the quiet. She jolts into the room, clutching the wooden reindeer ornament Jungkook had given her to paint earlier this morning. It had been her project all afternoon.

The reindeer was, to put it kindly, a riot of colour - blobs of red, green, and yellow mixing like a child’s dream of Christmas. One of its legs appeared a bit wobbly, but it stood proud, just like Areum did right now, her rosy cheeks flushed with pride.

Jungkook lets out a low whistle, sitting up slightly as the blanket slips down his chest. “Wow, princess, you really did that all by yourself, mhm?”

“Mm-hm!” Areum nodded vigorously, imitating her father. Her dark hair bounces as she hurries to place it on the small mantle above the fireplace.

You smile softly at your princess, watching Jungkook’s eyes glisten with adoration like a knight in shining armour. His role as a father suits him more than you could have ever imagined. The playful glint in his gaze softens into something so reverent every time Areum enters the room.

You know confidently that she is his whole world, as much as she is yours.

“Appa, is it good?” Areum’s wide eyes sought his approval.

“Good? Baby, it’s perfect, just like you,” Jungkook says warmly, reaching for her hand and pulling her into his lap. She lets out a giggle as he peppers her face with kisses, her tiny hands swatting at his cheeks playfully.

“Go easy on her, Guk,” you tease, leaning your head against the armrest of the couch as you tuck your legs under the blanket again.

Jungkook grins at you, Areum still squirming in his arms. “I’ll stop when she says ‘my appa is the best.’”

“My appa is the best!” she squeals, breaking into a fit of laughter and reaching to kiss her fathers cheek.

A Mini Jungkook indeed.

Satisfied, Jungkook sets her down gently, watching as she scurries off to grab another decoration. He leans back on the couch with a contented sigh, the blanket once again draped over the two of you.

“You know,” he begins, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, “this is exactly what I needed. Just us. No schedules, no phone calls, no distractions.” His thumb traces the curve of your cheekbone as his chocolate brown eyes hold yours, the firelight dancing in its depth.

“I know,” you softly murmur, running your fingers over the back of his hand. “This year has been so… relentless? It’s nice to just breathe and soak in the silence.”

You both sigh, snuggling into one another despite being as close as humanly possible.

“Except when Areum remembers she has parents,” you chuckle, shaking your head in laughter as you see her ornament.

Jungkook’s lips twitch into a small smile. “Speaking of Areum interrupting our silence…” He shifts even closer, his voice dropping to that low tone he uses when he wants to get under your skin. “I’ve been thinking about adding another little someone to, you know, interrupt our quiet moments. What do you think?”

Your eyes flicker to him, your breath hitching at his boldness. You contemplate playing aloof, but your husband’s abruptness stops you. “Are you serious?”

Jungkook nods, the grin on his face unmistakably cheeky now. “I mean, we’ve been talking about it for a while. And look at Areum - she’s so ready to be a big sister. Aren’t you, princess?” he called out to her.

Areum looked up from where she was arranging ornaments on the small tree by the window, her brows furrowing in confusion. “Hmm, Appa?”

“Are you ready to be a big sister, my angel?” Jungkook questions her tenderly.

“What’s that?” Areum queries, curiosity etched into every feature of her face. “How do we get one?”

You stifle a laugh, your cheeks warming. “Don’t confuse her, Guk.”

But Jungkook was undeterred, his hand sliding under your sweater to rest on your hip beneath the blanket. “Just think about it,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your temple. “Another little one resting here with us next year. Maybe a boy this time… although I wouldn’t mind another girl if she’s as perfect as Areum.”

Your heart clenches at the thought. You could picture it so clearly—a tiny baby, smaller than a bag of sugar from the grocers, cradled in Jungkook’s strong arms, Areum’s careful hands reaching out to stroke a soft cheek and your hand clutching your heart at the scene. The cabin, filled with even more love than it already is.

“You’re impossible, you know that?” you say, turning to press a peck to his jaw.

“I’m just optimistic,” Jungkook counters, his dimples showing as he smiles down at you. “And we’d be so good at it, don’t you think?”

Before you could answer, Areum runs back over, throwing herself between the two of you with an exuberant laugh. “I found the star!”

The star.

Jungkook had promised Areum that when she finds his hidden star, he will help her put it on top of the already full tree. The things this man did to get a quiet moment with you…

“Eomma, can we put it on top of the tree now?”

“Of-”

“Of course, princess,” Jungkook interrupts, sweeping her up effortlessly and carrying her to the tree.

You laugh at the father daughter interaction. Maybe you did need another baby to keep you company.

You watch the two from the couch, your chest swelling with gratitude. The year had been chaotic to say the least, but this - this simple, intimate moment right here - was everything you’d ever yearned for.

Jungkook catches your eye as he lifts Areum high enough to place the star on the tree. He gives you a knowing wink, his silent promise clear: there was more love to come.

And maybe, just maybe, you were ready to embrace it.

After the tree was decorated to Areum’s satisfaction - every inch of its branches covered in her creative flair - Jungkook carried her upstairs to put her to bed.

You decided to stay downstairs, tidying up the remnants of her crafting supplies and rearranging a few of the more precariously placed ornaments. The cabin is even quieter now, save for the occasional creak of the wooden beams and the faint sound of Jungkook’s voice drifting from the upper floor.

He’s singing to her.

It’s something Jungkook has done since Areum was a baby, and the sound of his melodic voice humming a lullaby never fails to warm your heart.

You lean against the doorway, pausing to listen. His voice, smooth and honeyed, wraps around the melody like a cosy blanket.

You carry on clearing Areum’s toys away, wanting the place to be nice and tidy before Christmas Eve tomorrow.

When Jungkook finally comes downstairs, steps light and careful, his eyes meet yours. “Out like a light,” he whispers softly as though he’s scared to wake her, running a hand through his messy hair. “I barely made it through the second verse.”

“She always loves when you sing to her,” you pout, crossing the room to take his hand. “Just like me.”

Jungkook pulls you into his arms, your cheek pressing against his welcoming chest. “I think I’ve got some magic left tonight,” he whispers in a low voice, his lips brushing your hairline.

“Oh, do you now?” you taunt, tilting your head to look up at him. “What tricks you gonna show me?”

Jungkook smirks, leaning down to capture your lips. But, before he could do so, something catches both of your attention. A faint tapping sound comes from the large bay window at the front of the cabin.

Curious, you turn towards it, only to see that snow has begun falling in earnest. The flakes were large and fluffy, blanketing the world outside in pristine white.

Jungkook steps out of your embrace, walking to the window to get a better view.

“Jagi, it’s a Christmas miracle.”

“I can’t believe it,” you run to the window, happiness like that of a child.

Jungkook stands there for a moment, his broad shoulders outlined by the golden glow of the fireplace, before turning to you with a mischievous grin. “It’s perfect. Let’s go.”

“What? Now?” you exclaim, your brows lifting in surprise. “You’re fucking crazy!”

“Why not?” he said, holding out his hand. “It’s just us, remember? No one’s here to tell us we can’t.” Jungkook pulls a funny face which you can’t help but laugh at.

You hesitate for a second, but the gleam in his eye is irresistible. Laughing, you grab your woolly coat and leather knee-high boots, following him outside into the magical winter night.

The air is crisp and sharp, biting at your cheeks and nose, but the snow truly made everything feel softer, quieter, as if the world had been wrapped in cotton wool and there was no way out. The two of you stand on the small porch, the snow crunching underfoot, watching as the forest rapidly around you transforms into a winter wonderland.

Jungkook turns to you, his eyes sparkling. “Dance with me, jagi.”

You laugh again, shivering as he grabs your hands. “There’s no music, you idiot!”

“Sure there is,” he replies swiftly, stepping closer. “Listen. The wind, the snow, the quiet. That’s all the music we need.”

Jungkook begins to sway with you, his hands warm as they enveloped yours. The two of you move slowly, his body sheltering you from the cold. Snowflakes are caught in his dark hair, his nose reddening from the chill, but he looks as handsome as ever, his smile lighting up the night.

“This is what I meant,” he hushly says, voice low and intimate. “Just us. No rush, no noise. Just you, me, our princess, and moments like this.”

You move forward to rest your head on his chest, letting the quiet envelop you both in a warm hug. Jungkook’s arms tighten around you, his chin coming to rest on your head.

“I think you might be right,” you whisper, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your ear.

“Right? About what, love?”

“This year being different. It already feels like it is.”

Jungkook pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes softening. “It’s different because we make it that way,” he reassures you, brushing his thumb along your jaw. “And we will keep making it better. Every year, every moment. Together.”

The snow continues to fall, and for a while, you simply stand there, swaying in the quietude, wrapped in each other’s arms. The world around you disappears, leaving only the two of you and the love that made every moment worth remembering.

Once the cold began to creep through your coats and boots, Jungkook insisted on pulling you back inside, laughing at the way your teeth chattered as you kicked off your snow-covered boots.

You now stand in the living area, shivering like a child in a cold cradle.

“I told you it was too cold,” you huff, trying to warm your hands with your breath.

“And I told you it was worth it,” he nonchalantly replies, tugging off his gloves and taking your icy hands in his. His larger palms envelop yours, the heat of his touch sending a shiver up your spine. “Better, baby?”

You nod, letting him guide you back to the couch.

Jungkook grabs the blanket you were sharing earlier, draping it over the two of you as you snuggle close, your body seeking the warmth radiating from him.

The fire crackles softly in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the room. Jungkook reaches for the mug of hot chocolate he’d abandoned earlier, holding it to your lips for you to sip. The sweetness and warmth spread through your chest, and you sighed in contentment, leaning back into his embrace, inhaling his woody scent.

For a while, neither of you speak, simply basking in the serene silence and your comforting presence. Jungkook rests his chin on your shoulder, his arms circling your waist as you both gazed at the fire.

“Can I tell you something?” he asks quietly, breaking the silence.

“Of course, babe.”

Jungkook hesitates for a moment, his thumb absently tracing circles on your hip. “I meant what I said earlier, you know? About wanting another baby.”

You turn slightly to look at him, your brow lifting in curiosity. “Really?”

“Yes,” he says confidently, his eyes soft but steady. “Areum’s growing up so fast, and every time I see her smile or hear her laugh, I think… we made that. You and me. She’s this perfect little person, and I can’t help but think how amazing it would be to do it all over again.”

Your heart swells at his words, the sincerity in his voice making it impossible to brush off the idea. You’d talked about it in passing before, but the way he spoke now felt different.

Earnest. Hopeful. Loving.

“You make it sound so easy,” you chuckle, though your voice was softer than you intended.

Jungkook snickers, his breath warm against your neck. “I know it’s not. The sleepless nights, the mess, the chaos… but it’s worth it, isn’t it? Every bit of it. I mean, just look at what we’ve already got.”

Your gaze flicks to the staircase, where you could just imagine Areum fast asleep in her bed, her little chest rising and falling in perfect rhythm.

“You’re right,” you admit, turning back to him. “She’s the best thing we’ve ever done.”

Jungkook leans in, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. “And we can do it again,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your skin. “If you’re ready, of course.”

Your eyes meet his, searching them for any trace of doubt, but there is none. Only love and unwavering belief in the life you’d built together.

A soft smile tugs at your lips. “Maybe,” you say, your tone playful but your heart already leaning towards yes. “We’ll see.”

Jungkook’s grin widens, the dimple in his cheek making an appearance. “That’s not a no.”

Jungkook’s persistence was truly admirable.

“It’s not a yes either,” you counter, however, you can’t stop yourself from laughing as Jungkook leans in to kiss you, his hands sliding up your back.

“You’ll come around,” he mutters against your lips, voice low and teasing. “You always do.”

“Don’t get ahead yourself, mister,” you chuckle as you move to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

The fire crackles before you, its warmth matching the heat building between you.

Jungkook’s kisses deepen, his hands tighten their hold on you, and for a moment, the world fades again, leaving only the two of you in your little cocoon of love.

But then a soft cry breaks the moment, drifting down from upstairs.

“Eomma? Appa?”

You both freeze before pulling back with identical smiles, your foreheads pressed together.

“Think she had a dream,” Jungkook utters, his voice laced with affection.

“Your turn,” you whisper, nudging him gently.

Your husband groans in mock protest but stands fairly quickly, tossing the blanket aside. “Fine. But you owe me.”

“I think we’re even,” you tease, watching as he heads towards the stairs.

Jungkook pauses halfway up, turning to look back at you with a smile so warm it rivals the firelight. “We’ll pick up this conversation later.”

You laugh softly, pulling the blanket tighter around you as he disappears upstairs. The fire continues its steady crackle, and you lean back into the couch, your heart full as you listen to Jungkook’s soft voice comforting Areum.

It was in moments like this - simple, unassuming, and utterly filled with love - that you realised you’d already found everything you’d ever wanted. And maybe, just maybe, you were ready to grow it a little more.

The cabin is quiet again.

You hear Jungkook’s footsteps, soft, as he makes his way back down the stairs. Areum must have settled quite quickly.

You are still curled up on the couch, the firelight painting your skin with a warm glow as you scroll through TikTok.

Jungkook pauses at the end of the staircase, leaning on the banister for a moment, his eyes fixated on you.

“You’re staring,” you sing, your lips curving into a lazy smile.

“Can’t help it,” he replies, pushing off the banister and crossing the room to sit beside you. “I have the most beautiful wife in the world.”

“You always know what to say,” you taunt, resting your head against his shoulder as he pulls the blanket back over both of you.

His arm comes around you, his fingers idly tracing patterns on your arm. “What can I say? I’m a man in love.”

The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a while, scrolling through your FYP as the fire crackles softly, a contrast to the snow that continues to fall outside.

Jungkook’s hand never stops moving, his touch soothing and intimate, as if he needed to keep that connection to you at all times.

“You know,” he interrupts the silence eventually, voice deep, “when I first thought about taking you and Areum out here, I wasn’t sure if I’d done the right thing. It’s so… quiet.”

“Mhm?” You urge him to continue.

“Another part of me felt bad for leaving our family, but…” Jungkook pauses, trying to find the right words.

“It was exactly what we needed,” you finish his sentence for him, softly, nuzzling into his side.

“Yeah,” he agrees, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just didn’t realise how much I needed it too. Being here with you, with her… it’s like everything else has immediately faded. All that stress, the busyness, it just doesn’t matter anymore.”

You tilt your head up to look at him, your heart aching at the vulnerability in his expression. “Guk, you have worked so so hard for us. For everything. You deserve this time just as much as we do.”

Jungkook knew in that moment that you were his comforting love. The fort that comes in advance of danger. His protection before the need for that even arises. For you, he was the softest thing in the universe. There was a solace in feeling the goodness of your soul. You always carried a gentle certainty that Jungkook was born to absorb and accept love.

People had always told you, you were lucky to have Jungkook. But Jungkook knew, he was luckier to have you.

He meets your gaze, his dark eyes filled with gratitude and something deeper, something unspoken but understood. “You make it all worth it,” he says in simple words.

You smiled, leaning up to kiss him softly. His lips linger on yours, slow and tender, as if he were trying to pour everything he couldn’t say into that single moment.

When you pull back, his forehead rests against yours, his breath warm against your cheek. “I know I keep bringing it up, but… I really can’t stop thinking about another baby,” he whispers, his voice tinged with both hope and hesitation.

You laughed tenderly, your fingers brushing through his hair. “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.”

“Only because I know how good we’d be at it,” he argues, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “And if I’m being honest, I’m kind of selfish. I want more moments like this. More little hands to hold, more giggles filling the house. And more time with you, building this life together.”

Your heart clench’s at his words, the integrity in his tone making it impossible to tease him this time.

“What if I said yes?” you ask quietly, your voice barely audible over the fire’s crackle. A newfound shyness came over you.

Jungkook’s breath hitches, his eyes widening slightly as he pulls back to look at you fully. “You mean it?”

You nod, a small smile playing on your lips. “I’ve been thinking about it too. And you’re right… Areum deserves to have a little partner in crime. And I…” You trail off, your cheeks warming under his intense gaze. “I think I’d love to see you holding another baby of ours. To see our family grow.”

The smile that spread across Jungkook’s face was brighter than anything you’d seen all night. He let out a breathless laugh, pulling you into his arms and holding you tightly. “You have no idea how happy that makes me,” he whispers against your hair.

You cackle, your arms wrapping around his neck. “I think I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

Jungkook pulls back just enough to cup your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks. “You’re incredible, you know that? I don’t deserve you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you reply, swatting lightly at his chest. “If anything, I don’t deserve you.”

“We’ll just have to agree that we’re both pretty lucky,” he replies, leaning in to kiss you again.

This time, the kiss is deeper, filled with promises and excitement for the future you’d just agreed to build together. The fire burns low in the hearth, and outside, the snow continues to fall, blanketing the cabin in a hush that seemed to echo the love you shared.

When you finally pull apart, you settle back into his arms, the blanket cocooning you both.

“So… when should we start?” Jungkook asks, his voice light but laced with mischief.

You laugh, swatting at his chest again. “How about we enjoy the rest of this quiet night first?”

“Fair enough,” he says with a grin, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

As the fire’s glow dims and the snow piled high outside, you close your eyes, the steady rhythm of Jungkook’s heartbeat lulling you into a peaceful slumber. And though the night was quiet, your dreams were filled with the sound of tiny feet and laughter, and the warmth of a love that felt boundless.

It was now 1AM.

The two of you were awake again.

The cabin was silent save for the soft crackle of the flames. You were curled up on the couch, wrapped in the same blanket that had been your haven all evening, Jungkook’s arm draped lazily across your shoulders.

His fingers trailed absent patterns along your arm, the touch light but deliberate, sending tiny shivers over your skin. You lean further into him, sighing in contentment as your head rests against his chest.

“I love this,” you say softly, the words barely audible over the quiet.

“This?” he questions, his voice low and warm.

“Us,” you clarify, tilting your head to look up at him. “This moment. It feels… perfect.”

Jungkook’s lips quirk into a small, almost boyish smile as he leans down to kiss your forehead. “It’s because we are perfect,” he teases, his voice teasing but laced with sincerity.

You laugh softly, rolling your eyes. “Confident?”

“Always,” he replies, his hand moving to brush a strand of hair from your face. His fingers linger against your cheek, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch.

The mood shifts subtly but unmistakably.

Jungkook’s hand slides down, his fingers grazing your jaw before settling at the nape of your neck. He leans in, his lips finding yours in a kiss that starts soft but quickly deepens, his other hand slipping around your waist to pull you inevitably closer.

The blanket falls slightly as you shift to become more comfortable in your husband’s embrace. Your hands find their way to Jungkook’s chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palms. He groans softly against your plush lips, his fingers tightening their hold as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss further.

Kissing Jungkook always felt so poetic. In the emotions of his kisses, you could understand a language so passionate, it transcended the works of the greatest poets combined.

When your husband finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breathing slightly uneven. “I’ve been thinking about this all day,” he admits, his voice husky and low.

“Thinking about what?” you ask, though the heat in his gaze is leaving very little room for doubt.

Jungkook grins, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “About how much I want you.” He kisses your forehead.

“About how much I love you.” He kisses the tip of your nose.

“And…” He pauses, his lips curving into a playful smirk. “About how nice it would be to give Areum a little sibling.” Jungkook leans forward to capture your lips again, but you swiftly pull him back by his luscious brown tresses.

Your eyes widen slightly, caught off guard by his boldness. “Jungkook!” you laugh, swatting lightly at his chest, your cheeks warming at the suggestion.

“What?” he asks innocently, though his grin only widens. “I’m just reminding you that you said yes.”

“I-“

He cut you off with another kiss, this one slower, more deliberate. More urgent.

And when he pulls back, his lips brush against your ear as he whispers, “Maybe I can convince you tonight.”

Your heart races at the low, teasing tone of his voice. His hand slips beneath the hem of your sweater, his touch warm against your skin as he traces light patterns along your back.

“You’re crazy,” you whine, though your voice lacked any real protest.

Jungkook chuckles, his breath hot against your neck. “Only because I know how amazing we are together. And because I love the idea of us growing our little family.”

The sincerity in his words melts any resistance you might have had, and you find yourself leaning into him, your arms wrapping around his neck.

“You wanna start trying already?” you ask softly, your lips brushing against his.

Jungkook pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes filled with excitement and love. “Well, we shouldn’t waste any time.”

You laugh, your heart full as you let him guide you closer, his lips capturing yours once again. The fire burns low, its warmth nothing compared to the heat between the two of you.

“Let’s head upstairs,” Jungkook says as he pulls away. “I want to do this properly.”

You eyes soften as you nod. Preparing yourself for the night to stretch on, knowing it will be filled with whispered promises of love and … filth.

The bedroom is dimly lit, the only light coming from the crackling fire in the hearth and the glow of the Christmas lights strung around the bed. The air is warm, thanks to the fireplace, and is scented with the faint aroma of pine and cinnamon.

Jungkook sets you down on the ground gently, his hands lingering on your hips as he steps back to admire you. Your red sweater and matching skirt make you look like a holiday gift, and he couldn’t wait to unwrap you.

“Take it off,” he commands, voice calm yet husky. “Slowly.”

Your cheeks warm, but you obey, your hands moving to the hem of your sweater. You peel it off inch by inch, revealing the lacy black bra underneath.

The universe was on your side.

Jungkook’s eyes darken, his jaw tightening as he watches you. When you finally toss the sweater aside, his hands are on you again, thumbs brushing over the lace before slipping beneath it to cup your breasts.

“You look beautiful,” he declares, voice low yet you are still able to sense that it is thick with emotion.

A smile tugs at your lips as you glance up at him. Jungkook moves closer, lips brushing against your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

“So beautiful,” he whispers, his voice a velvety caress that makes your skin prickle with heat.

You laugh softly, leaning into him. “It feels like our first time all over again,” you say, heart racing.

“Does it?” he asks, although you know he isn’t looking for an answer.

The air between you and your husband is thick.

Thick with anticipation.

The low flicker of the fire casts a light shadow across his features as he looks at you like you’re the only thing in the world. One hand rests on your hip, his grip firm yet gentle, as he thumbs at the band of your lacy underwear. The other is wrapped around your waist, holding you close as though he’s scared you’re about to get away.

You gaze at one another with eyes full of love.

Jungkook is a drug. Your drug. One touch from him and the intoxication is instant. It always has been.

This man could tell you to do anything, absolutely anything, and that is exactly what you would do. His gaze, his scent, his everything sends you into a heady trance.

You guide his digits to your centre, your sticky core waiting for him. Jungkook rubs your soaked lacy underwear, groaning deeply as he takes in your wetness.

“And I thought it was just me who was excited,” he whispers in an indulging tone, voice rich with lust as he draws you closer with his free hand, lips finding yours. “Look at you, angel, you’re fucking drenched.”

You respond by pulling him closer by dark tendrils, capturing his lips against yours. The kiss starts slow, tender, but it doesn’t take long for the heat to intensify.

Jungkook’s hand slides up to cradle your jaw, angling your face as his lips move against yours, each kiss growing deeper, hungrier. Your fingers tangle in his soft strands as you tug gently, earning another low groan from your husband, vibrating against your mouth.

“Jungkook…” you whine between kisses, your body starting to need more.

Before you can say anything else, his hands are on your waist, lifting you effortlessly like you weigh absolutely nothing. Jungkook carries you to the bed, his lips never leaving yours, and when your back hits the mattress, the world tilts slightly.

You lock eyes for just a moment, just enough for you to feel safe with one another. And then? Then Jungkook is all business.

Pulling your underwear off, he begins by kissing from your toes upward, slowly, his hands on your legs, always inching just a little higher than the kisses he plants.

Your back arches in anticipation, knowing where his fingers will soon reach. And as he does, your head rocks against the fluffy pillow, the first moan escaping your lips.

Jungkook hovers above you, one knee pressing into the bed. His dark hair falls forward, brushing against your skin as he leans in, his lips trailing from your mouth to your jawline and then lower, pressing warm, open-mouthed kisses along the column of your neck.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, lips ghosting over your neck before pulling back slightly.

The mattress dips beneath his weight as he shifts, his free hand bracing beside your head. You feel the tension in his body - the strength in his arms as he hovers above you, the control in every deliberate movement - and it’s intoxicating.

Your hands roam down his back, tracing the lean muscles. The firelight casts golden shadows across his bare chest, highlighting every dip and curve, and for a moment, all you can do is stare.

He smirks, leaning down to kiss you again, his lips brushing yours as he teases, “See something you like?”

You roll your eyes, but your laughter catches in your throat as his mouth claims yours again. The kiss is hotter, slower, more deliberate, pulling you further under his spell. His hands explore every inch of you, mapping your body as though he’s determined to remember every detail, his touch setting your nerves alight.

“You’re irresistible,” Jungkook groans, the sound itself sending you into a deep spiral.

He bends down, his mouth capturing one nipple through the fabric, sucking gently until you arch into him, another moan escaping your lips, louder this time. Your hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as he lavishes attention on your other breast, his tongue darting out to tease the sensitive peak.

Arching into him, you massage his scalp and moan pleasurably as he prods at your nipple with his scandalous tongue. He fondles your other breast, kneading it which has you sighing out in bliss.

“Oh fuck, I love your tongue,” you whine gratifyingly whilst he continues his soft assault on your breast, sucking and tugging at your nipples lewdly. Your fingers inch further into his hair when you feel him jut his tongue out, licking around the soft area.

Jungkook moves to place kisses between the valley of your breasts, making his way further down your sexy body, still fondling your breasts delightly. You arch further into him, half-lidded gaze peering down at him, massaging his scalp whilst he perfectly nips at your smooth skin, ascending you to cloud nine.

Sighing out in sheer ecstasy, you tug Jungkook closer to you. His hand canvases down your body, cupping your soaked sex in his palm.

You let out a scandalised gasp, gut filling with heat.

“Always so fucking wet, princess,” Jungkook groans as he glides his two fingers through your tight cunt. You brace yourself on his broad shoulders, breathing heavily and Jungkook revels in each sultry sound that leaves your pretty mouth.

“J-just for you,” you manage to whimper out as his fingers skim around your battered mound. Jungkook begins to push your legs apart and releases a satisfied hum when he sees how soaked your cunt is for him.

Jungkook pulls back, winking at you before moving forward to kiss down your body. To where you need him most. His lips adorn every inch of your body and your core ignites when you feel him reach closer to your already naked sex.

Jungkook’s eyes locking onto yours as he reaches behind you to unclasp your bra. The garment falls, leaving you bare to his hungry gaze. His hands roam over your body, tracing every curve, every dip, while his lips replaced his fingers, kissing and nibbling along your collarbone, your shoulders, your throat.

“You’re mine,” he growls against your skin, his voice vibrating through you. “All mine.”

You shudder from the cold, now completely naked, your breath coming in shallow gasps as he hovers above you. His fingers trail down your stomach, stopping just above where you need him most. He glances up at you, his eyes gleaming with mischief before his fingers dipped lower, sliding through your folds.

“So wet for me,” he groans, voice dripping with possessiveness. He circles your clit once, twice, before delving inside you, his fingers thrusting deep as he continues to stroke your most sensitive spot.

Jungkook’s thumb was gentle yet insistent as he traced lazy circles around your clit, his touch sending shivers down your spine. You lay back against the plush pillows, your breath hitching as he leans over you, his dark eyes smoldering with desire. His lips brushes against your ear, his voice low and husky as he whispers, “Everyone will see you swollen and know I’ve fucked you.”

You moan, unable to form words as his fingers dip inside you, teasingly slow at first.

Jungkook watches your face intently, his thumb pressing against your clit in a rhythm that has you arching off the bed. “You’re so hot,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with approval. “So ready to be bred.”

His fingers move faster now, scissoring inside you while his mouth trailed kisses along your jawline. “Tell me,” he demands, his tone commanding yet laced with tenderness. “Tell me how much you want this.”

“Yes,” you gasp, your hips instinctively meeting his hand. “I want… I want you so bad.”

Jungkook chuckles softly, the sound vibrating against your skin. “Not just me,” he corrected, his voice growing deeper. “You want our baby. Tell me.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as the weight of his words settles over you. “I do,” you admit, voice trembling. “I want - oh, God ; I want everything with you.”

Jungkook’s eyes are coloured with a shade of satisfaction, as he adds in another one of his delicious fingers, satiating your ache for more.

You cry out, your hands gripping his shoulders as wave after wave of pleasure seeps through you. Jungkook’s free hand moves to your plump ass, squeezing roughly as his fingers pick up speed, plunging in and out of you with increasing urgency.

“Tell me,” he demands, his voice gruff. "Tell me who’s got you soaked."

“You,” you croon, your voice breaking. “I’m wet for you.”

At your words, he stands, lifting you once again and placing you on the edge of the mattress. His fingers leave your aching core, and you only hope it is replaced by his mouth, the image of his tongue lapping at you with fervor making you shudder.

You cry out his name, your back arching as he drives you closer and closer to the edge.

Jungkook moves his head in front of your cunt, breathing against it deeply, knowing the sensation of his hot breath would spur you on further.

And it certainly does.

You jerk rapidly as Jungkook places a kiss to your clit and your insides constrict, anticipating his next ministration.

“Can I eat you out?,” Jungkook huskily asks. He knows how tired you must be, so he ensures he’s safe to go ahead. Your chest swells with butterflies, in awe of how caring your husband is.

You move forward and cup his cheek, urging him to look towards you. You smile at him brightly, nodding your head and place a quick peck against his swollen lips.

Jungkook is quick to get back in position, paying attention to your leaking cunt again. He lifts your legs over his shoulders, letting them rest there daintily. You lean back, palms planted on the mattress beneath you as you savour the view before you.

Your sexy husband stands before you with his exposed, tanned and Apollo-sculpted body ready to devour you whole. Jungkook breathes against your folds and you quiver with arousal. His hands massage the inside of your thighs, calming your anticipation.

“My wife’s so pretty,” he whispers before moving to press a gentle kiss on your clit. You shudder at the sensitivity, bucking your hips into his face, yearning for more.

You run your fingers through his dark tresses, tightening your grip on his scalp. “Jungkook, pleasee,” you whine, arching into him more in the hopes that he’ll provide you with some form of relief.

“Patience baby,” Jungkook murmurs before jutting out the tip of his tongue and lightly tracing your nether lips. You squirm, moaning his name shamelessly and uttering soft pleas as you mentally pine for more contact from his skillful tongue. Jungkook feels more turned on as he hears you become more needy despite him not having done very much.

“I’ve got you, princess,” he growls before licking a long stripe from your entrance to your clit. He latches onto your quivering cunt, making out with it and sucking on your labia. Jungkook buries himself further as he gathers your slickness on his tongue. You mewl at the euphoric sensation his tongue supplies and he provides you with no mercy as he eats you up with his masterful tongue.

Bucking your hips closer to his face, you wordlessly beg for more and Jungkook abides almost immediately, lapping at your folds like a starved man. He flattens his tongue against your cunt, generously sucking on the pulsing bud. Jungkook groans at the sweet flavour of your juices that has you reeling for more.

He repeatedly licks up your slit shamelessly, tongue delving into you deeper and deeper as he cranes his own neck with no care in the world. He basks in the mess between your legs, chest swelling with pride as he realises it’s all for him. Only him.

“Fuck,” he moans into your cunt, “your pussy always tastes so good. Fucking missed this,” he says as if he hadn’t woken you up by eating you out this morning.

His large, tattooed hands fail to stay still. They move from holding your thighs apart to having a tight grip on your ass, pulling you further into him.

“L-love seeing your face between my thighs,” you manage to voice weakly.

“I know you do,” Jungkook replies whilst bringing his thumb to rub against your aching clit. You rut your hips in his face, head falling back as the pleasure washes over you.

“Jungkoook, fuckk.”

He buries himself closer into your pulsing folds, nose burrowed deep within. Your hips develop a mind of their own and you begin to grind against his face, practically riding it. Jungkook hums satisfyingly as he moves his hands to rest on your ass again. He probes you forward and rocks your hips back and forth against his face making you grab a fistful of his hair, earning a slight hiss from him.

His hooded eyes meet your own and you send a lazy smirk his way as you rut your hips against his face. Your wetness from riding his nose, chin and tongue glistens on his skin which somehow turns you on more.

“Ahh shit,” you cry out, internally thanking the Heavens above that your cabin is located in a secluded area. You only hope Areum doesn’t wake up.

Whilst you continue to ride his face, Jungkook licks up and around your folds ravenously and his fingers bore into the meat of your ass.

He angles himself better and secures his lips down around your mound, dragging his tongue around until he latches onto your sensitive clit again. You moan lewdly and lurch when you feel Jungkook press his devious tongue against your throbbing bud.

“I’m gonna come!” You cry out, riding his face at a faster pace and your grip on his hair becoming tighter. Jungkook suckles your clit, tongue running through your folds, providing you with eons of paradisiacal pleasure. He shoves his face deeper into your cunt, violently capturing it with his plush, swollen lips and his grasp on you becomes harder.

You feel him smirk against you before he brings those bunny teeth of his and bites down on your clit. Your body jolts at the impact, but still manages to send hot, orgasmic spikes of arousal through your veins.

“Oh fuck,” you sharply moan, the need to come undone too prominent now.

“Come for me, angel,” he coos at you, hands moving to soothe your lower back. His dulcet voice does it for you and you feel your orgasm wash over you vigorously. Your hips grind against your husband's stupidly handsome face and he laps at your palpitating pussy.

Your mind spins and stomach bubbles as you come down from your high. Jungkook continues his assault, lapping at thecum that stains your cunt before he pulls away. You meet his desperate eyes, shimmering lips and a scandalous grin as he pants harshly.

You beckon him to you eagerly, hands growing taxed as you reach for his sweaty neck and pull him in for an all too chaste kiss. Smothering your mouth with his, you groan as you taste your essence on his enticing lips.

You devour his mouth, nibbling at his plump lower lip.

“God, you’re so fucking perfect.”

You chuckle at him simping over you once again, tugging him closer. Your legs immediately wrap around his waist and continue to mouth at him languidly, tongues tangling together.

Jungkook smiles against you, gushing at your sudden boldness. He runs his hand up and down the expanse of your back, gleefully continuing to make out with you.

But he isn’t done yet. When you were teetering on the brink, Jungkook pulls away, standing and stripping off his own clothes in seconds. His cock is hard and throbbing, and you can’t help but reach for him, your fingers curling around his length.

“Not yet,” he growls, stepping back. Jungkook positions himself between your legs, aligning himself with your entrance.

“Look at me,” he commands, his eyes boring into yours. “I’m fucking you full of my cum tonight.”

With that, he thrust inside you, filling you completely. You cry out, your nails digging into his shoulders as he claims you, his hips snapping forward with brutal precision. Every thrust is deliberate, every movement calculated to bring you both to the edge.

Jungkook’s hands grips your thighs, holding you steady as he pounds into you. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he moans, voice ragged. “Always so tight and ready for her husband.”

You cling to him, legs wrapping around his slim waist as you meet every thrust, your bodies moving as one. The tension between you is electric, crackling in the air as you both race toward release.

Then, without warning, Jungkook pulls out, flipping you onto your back and positioning himself between your legs once more. He grabs hold of your hips, lifting you slightly before slamming back into you.

“Ride me,” he demands with his sultry voice.

“Jungkook!” you cry, your hips rising to meet his, your body instinctively obeying his command. You shift your position, your core contracting around him as you take control, riding him with everything you had.

“Jungkook, you fuck me so good.”

“I know baby, I know,” he says, almost condescendingly.

Jungkook’s hands grips your hips firmly, his fingers digging into your skin as he guides you with precision. You feel the intensity of his desire in every movement, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers, “Ride your husband’s dick like you mean it.” His voice is low, almost a growl, sending shivers down your spine.

You obey without hesitation, rising slowly at first, the sensation of him inside you igniting a fire that spreads through your core. Your breasts bounce gently with each upward motion, the weight of them reminding you of how close you both are to this shared dream.

Jungkook’s eyes never leave yours, his dark irises locked onto your gaze as if he can see straight into your soul. There is no doubt that he probably could.

“Faster,” he urges, his hand moving from your hip to your thigh, encouraging you to pick up the pace. You comply, drawing in a sharp breath as your body adjusted to the rhythm.

The room is quiet except for the sound of your bodies colliding, the slap of flesh against flesh echoing softly. Jungkook’s other hand finds your breast, kneading it roughly as his thumb brushed across your nipple, sending electric shocks through your system.

“Do you feel how ready you are for me?” he murmurs, his voice dripping with possessive heat. “Your body is perfect, so wet, so tight for me.” His words sent a wave of pleasure crashing over you, and you can’t help but moan loudly, your head falling back as you surrender to the sensations.

Jungkook takes advantage of your distracted state, shifting his hold on you and flipping you onto your back once more. His chest pressed against yours, his weight grounding you as he begins to thrust deeply, each movement deliberate and unrelenting.

“Tell me you want this,” he demands, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks. “Tell me you want my baby.”

The intensity of his question catches you off guard, but the truth is already bubbling up from deep within you. “Yes,” you whine, clutching at his shoulders as his thrusts grow more urgent. “I want you, I want this… want us.”

His response is rough, hips snapping forward as he drives into you with renewed vigor. “Good girl,” he praises, his voice thick with arousal.

“So good for me.” He reaches between you, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing in circles that synced perfectly with his movements.

You cry out, your body arching off the bed as the pleasure builds higher and higher. Jungkook’s hand moves again, this time slipping lower, two fingers pressing into you alongside his cock. “God, you’re so wet for me,” he notes, voice strained. “So ready to become a mother again.”

The combination of his fingers and his cock was overwhelming, every nerve ending in your body lighting up like a firework. You can feel the orgasm building, closer and closer until there is no holding it back.

“Jungkook!” you scream his name, your body convulsing around him as you come, stars bursting behind your closed eyelids.

He doesn’t stop, not even for a second. If anything, his movements become more intense, his breathing ragged as he chases his own release. “Stay with me, baby,” he commanded, his voice gravelly. ��Don’t let go yet.”

You cling to him, your legs wrapping tighter around his waist as he continues to pound into you, his fingers still working their magic. “Almost there,” he grunts, his thrusts becoming erratic as he nears his climax. “Almost…”

And then he freezes, his body tensing as he comes inside you with a deep groan, his seed spilling into you with an urgency that betrays his desperation to make this moment real. “Mine,” he says roughly, voice breaking as he collapses onto you, his breathing heavy.

For a long moment, neither of you speak, the only sound heard is the rapid beating of your combined hearts.

Jungkook’s lips find yours, kissing you deeply as if sealing the promise they had just made.

“This is just the beginning,” he whispers against your lips, his voice filled with conviction.

“Our family starts here,” Jungkook affirms, caressing your hips softly.

The morning sun crept over the horizon, its golden rays slipping through the cabin’s frosted windows and telling you a story that today will be a perfect day.

You stir first, the soft glow coaxing you from the cocoon of blankets. Jungkook is still fast asleep beside you, his face relaxed in a way that makes your heart swell. His hair was tousled, his lips slightly parted, one arm flung protectively over your waist as if even in sleep, he couldn’t bear to let you go.

Careful not to wake him, you shift slightly, your gaze falling on the fireplace across the room. The embers had long since died, leaving a bed of ash that glowed faintly in the morning light. Outside, the snow glittered like diamonds, untouched and pristine.

Last night replays in your mind, every whispered word and shared touch lingering like a secret promise. A soft blush warms your cheeks as you rest a hand on your stomach, wondering, hoping.

Before your thoughts spiral further, Jungkook groans beside you, his arm tightening around you as his eyes flutter open. He blinks a few times, his face slowly breaking into a sleepy smile as he finds you watching him.

“Morning,” he sighs, his voice rough with sleep.

“Morning, baby,” you respond, brushing a strand of hair from his face and leaning in to kiss his forehead.

Jungkook leans into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed again for a brief moment. “You’re glowing,” he says softly, cracking one eye open to peek at you.

You chuckle, shaking your head. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true,” Jungkook pronounces confidently, pulling you closer until your foreheads touch. “Last night…” His voice trails off, a grin spreading across his face. “Let’s just say I think we’ve got good odds.”

Your stomach turns at the memory of Jungkook fucking you so intensely. You’d been at it most of the night, Jungkook wanting to try as many positions as possible. Your husband's stamina was as high as the chances of you being pregnant already.

“Confident, are we?” you tease, though your heart is still skipping at the thought.

“With you? Always.”

The two of you lay there for a while longer, wrapped up in each other and the promise of what was to come. Eventually, the sound of tiny feet padding down the stairs broke the peaceful quiet.

“Eomma!” Areum’s voice calls out, bright and cheerful.

Jungkook groans dramatically, burying his face in your neck. “She’s too good at waking up early,” he mumbles, making you laugh. “I thought I might be lucky enough to have you ride me into being fully awake.”

“Come on,” you chuckle, nudging him playfully. “I’ll ride you later.”

With a sigh and a mumble of ‘you better’, Jungkook rolls out of bed, grabbing a pair of fresh boxers from the open suitcase and tossing his hoodie to you.

“Get it on, we don’t need to show her our anatomy just yet.”

You chuckle, quickly slip the hoodie over your head, before padding out to meet Areum, who stands at the bottom of the stairs clutching her favourite stuffed bunny.

“There’s snow everywhere!” she exclaims, her eyes wide with excitement.

“I know, princess,” Jungkook brightly says, scooping her up into his arms. “Maybe after breakfast, we can go outside and build the biggest snowman you’ve ever seen.”

“Really?” Areum’s face lit up, her joy infectious. “Bigger than the one at yoonie samchon’s house?”

“Of course,” he replies, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Ours will be much better.”

That competitive streak will never die.

You watch them with a soft smile, the sight of Jungkook cradling her so naturally makes your heart ache in the best way.

“Eomma, you’ll help too, right?” Areum asks, turning her bright eyes on you as she finally notices your presence.

“Of course,” you warmly respond, reaching out to take her into your arms. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

As the three of you settle into the kitchen, the smell of fresh coffee and pancakes filling the air. A quiet sense of peace lingers and you feel whole.

Jungkook catches your eye over the rim of his coffee mug, his lips quirking into a small, knowing smile. He didn't say anything, but he didn’t need to. You knew. You always did.

Whatever the future held, whatever new adventures or challenges lay ahead, you knew you’d face them together.

And maybe, just maybe, there was already a tiny spark of new life waiting to join your little family.

A Quiet Christmas was exactly what you needed.

You reach for your phone, capturing a photo of your husband and Areum scrunching their noses as they laugh at one another.

The photo is quick to make it to your instagram, with a sweet caption that summarises it all.

Our Quiet Christmas.

And there we have it! I hope dad!jk made you feel as cosy as I felt writing this 🦢! Merry Christmas, my loves ; I hope you have a wonderful Christmas 🎄.

Here is my masterlist if you would like to check out my other works <3

↠ Taglist : @iamstilljk @lovingkoalaface @kooeuphoria @jeonsgf-97 @taeskrve @freshmoondragon (names in italics - I was unable to tag)

[ultravi0lence14]

Born In The U.S.A

dean winchester x angel!reader

1.3k | fluff, fem pronouns

summary: in a spur of the moment decision, dean decides to take his wide eyed angel on a road trip to see all of his favourite places in america.

“dean, are we there yet?” your sweet voice drifted through the small confines of baby, sending a smile onto dean’s face as he counted that being the fourth time you’ve said that in the span of five minutes.

you were so used to flying wherever you needed to go, that it took dean a good couple of months to explain to you that driving took a little more time than your usual choice of wing transportation.

he gave your thigh a light squeeze with the hand resting on it, turning his head slightly so he could see your bewildered expression. “almost there, sweets. just another hour or so.”

you and dean had spent the past couple of days in the impala together, driving around different places in america so he could show you his all time favourite spots.

he had realized you didn’t know much about earth, and in a last minute decision, he whisked you away from the bunker and left sam and cas to deal with any up coming cases.

dean hadn’t expected you to be so ecstatic. he was expecting you to worry about leaving the workload on sam and your brother. though he was greatly surprised when you jumped into his arms, hands hugging tightly around his neck as you peppered countless kisses on his face and neck.

the excitement confused him slightly, asking you why you weren’t worried. you just smiled at him, revealing that you’ve been undergoing an unfamiliar feeling of need for dean and just dean. you wanted some alone time with him, and dean winchester wasn’t one to complain about that.

so the two of you set off on your journey, the open road and dean’s favourite american destinations in front of you.

the stops you two had been on were pretty eventful. dean had started off in chicago, parking his car and taking you on a stroll throughout the city. you were confused on what he wanted to show you until the two of you stopped in front of what dean called ‘the big bean’. you looked at him bewildered, dean’s excited face confusing you more. your lips parted with lack of words before you looked at dean with a subtle look of wonder. “why is it called that, dean? it’s just a giant, metal blob.”

he followed up your trip to chicago with the next stop being in north carolina. dean brought the two of you to a truck stop, explaining that this was the first place his dad let him drive the impala. he followed that up with going inside the small convenience store attached and buying you a shirt that said ‘truck life or no life’. he ended up taking a picture of you wearing the shirt, you wearing an even more confused face to match. he posted it to his friends only facebook page, the caption reading, “my angel is better than yours.”

your last stop was in minnesota, dean pulling into a sleepy looking diner that had you fearing for what he had up his sleeve. though you were thoroughly surprised that all dean had in mind was expressing his love for what he called ‘the best apple pie in the whole damn world.’

countless times you told him it was a waste of time to come here. that all food tasted like molecules and you wouldn’t be able to enjoy it. dean didn’t seem to care though. he just kissed you on the cheek, leaving a slight residue of apple filling as he spoke through a mouthful of pie, “with you here, it’s all i could ever dream of.”

now you two had been driving for a day or two, not stopping until you got to maine; per dean’s request. you didn’t know what he had in store for this state, but you were starting to get antsy trying to figure out what it could be.

dean seemed way to calm for your liking. classic rock cassette taps playing in the background as his fingers tapped the beat on your leg. the angelic side of you wanted to worry, but the other side that loved and trusted dean with your entire being said otherwise.

as he turned onto a dirt road that was off the side of the highway, your bewilderment grew ten fold, not understanding where dean was going to take you. the impala rumbled to a stop, your curiosity leading you to lean forward and get closer to the windshield to a get a better look at where dean had taken you.

in an instant it all made sense. the willow tree that overlooked a mossy pond took over your vision, and dean was grinning ear to ear as you whipped your head to look at him with a surprised smile on your face.

“dean,” you breathed out, opening the car door and stepping out into the earthy atmosphere. “this is the place where we met for the first time.”

“it is, sweets. possibly the best place america has to offer.” the grin on dean’s face could outshine a million suns, following behind you as you slowly walked towards the droopy tree. the two of you had met here around one year ago; castiel had heard static over angel radio, implying at a rogue angel was coming down to earth.

you’d rebelled like cas, seeing all the good that he was doing for humanity and disagreeing with the harsh and lucrative beliefs of the angels. when you fell underneath that willow tree, wings and grace gone, you were so confused, harbouring the knowledge of millennia and eons with no knowledge in how humans operated in today’s society.

when cas quickly transported sam and dean to the location in a remote location in maine, the group of three found you huddled underneath the willow tree, soaked to the bone from landing in the pond and shaking like a leaf. your knees were brought to your chest and you were rocking back and forth, reminding dean of a petulant child who just got caught doing something they shouldn’t.

the brother’s decided that cas should approach you. and when he did, you looked up at him with these big and wet eyes that had dean’s heart breaking in half. he heard you mumble a, “why do i feel like this, castiel? why is there this hollow pit in my stomach making everything feel so empty?”

“you’re experiencing human emotions, most likely a sense of heavy sadness.” his gentle nature and smile brightened your face a bit, allowing you to follow his actions as he softly gripped your elbow and raised you to your feet.

“come with us,” dean spoke lighter than he’s ever heard himself. “we’ll teach you how to live.”

the rest was history, and now, dean stood under the same tree where he saw you for the first time. he remembers how scared you were that day, eyes fleeting over the bunker like something was going to jump out and kill you.

for a couple of months you were in a rough place. missing your brother’s and sister’s while slowly adapting to human life. dean was by your side the whole time, and those moments spent together was what grew the profound bond between you two. this is when dean started to feel his heart stop and clench anytime you came into a room; the time he fell in love with you.

“dean, this is amazing.” there was a teary lilt to your voice, and in an instant you’d turned around and collapsed into dean’s arms. he was warm against the biting air, bringing you close into his body as his hands found purchase in stroking your hair.

“thank you.” the two words left your mouth in breaths, smushing against dean’s chest as he smiled down at you, leaving a kiss on the crown of your head.

pulling away from you at an arms length, following up by wrapping his arm around your shoulder, dean walked the two of you towards the willow tree, a little smile decorating his face. “honestly angel, we can just tell people you were born here. no one needs to know. though to me, you’ll always be born in the u.s.a.”

“isn’t that the song sam likes?”

“oh sweetheart, i have so much more to teach you.”

*dean totally has a facebook account with only ten followers where he posts almost 10 times a day and i’ll die on that hill.

tags: @a1ecmcdowell @jasvtsc @ostaramoon @cosmicanakin @fallbhind @aylacavebear @rubyvhs

[sansaorgana]

— HUMBLED (I)

PART TWO

PAIRING — Sauron x fem!Vala!Reader // Morgoth x fem!Vala!Reader

SUMMARY — Grown tired of living in your sister's shadow, you offered yourself to the one whom she had rejected once – Melkor. You regretted it quickly as he turned out to be a cruel lover and you became the very first subject of his twisted tortures meant to reshape one's spirit. In his eyes you were nothing by Varda's shadow but in the eyes of Mairon the Maia you have always been the only and the most holy goddess. When his master is gone, he can finally get close to you.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — I had two ideas for Sauron with Morgoth's ex and honestly? I will probably write one more because I like the other idea a lot, too. This fic is quite dark because of the nature of Reader's relationship with Morgoth. Not gonna lie, it was a challenge to write a Reader who is a literal Goddess but Sauron himself inspired me to explore this dynamic when he seemed to be so proud of the fact that it was a God himself torturing him... 👀 The Reader in this fic is a Vala (and Varda's sister but she remains undescribed as well), so she changes her appearance like Sauron does but I am not describing any of her forms in any details. In the next part there will be some goo/blob!Sauron + Halbrand and in this part our favourite ginger loser makes his comeback! 🦊 Apparently, I can't write him as a dom... 😂 Well, surely not with someone who is so much above him. Huge thanks to @dinsbeskar once more because we were brainstorming about this idea together. ⭐ Special thanks to @olchr-1 as well! 💚 PS – I haven't described how Morgoth looks like either but I imagine him as a tall, black haired hottie like on the fanarts. 💀😂 There is also a slight mention of the Reader being originally promised to Aulë, which was inspired by the story of Hephaestus and Aphrodite.

WARNINGS — Reader is evil (reshaped by Morgoth but not completely evil), domestic abuse (with Morgoth), mentions of Sauron and Reader being tortured by Morgoth, SMUT, sub!Sauron

WORD COUNT — 4,330

🔞 THIS FIC IS 18+ 🔞

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

HUMBLED (I)

The very first thing you remembered was beholding your sister Varda being crowned one of the mightiest of the Valier and Queen of the Valar, Queen of the Stars, a beauty beyond the description of Men and Elves. So pure to reject Melkor and marry his brother Manwë instead – King of the Valar.

You followed your sister nearly everywhere, hoping to bask in her light but it never seemed to be enough to make you feel warm. You were greedy – at first, you were jealous of her husband and insisted on her spending more time with you than with him, striving for all of her affection. Once you realised that it was a lost cause, you began to detest Manwë.

You watched Varda situate the stars in the heavens above Arda as if they were jewels and you were the one setting them alight with the fire burning within you for they could lighten up the firmament. You were responsible for the treacherous element that the fire was – useful in many ways but also dangerous if not used correctly or with malicious intent.

Aulë The Smith began to court you as he watched you set the stars on fire. He was dreaming of how perfectly you two would go together if you were to fuel the fire inside his forge – the source of all his creation would come from you.

Everyone, including your sister, was encouraging you to become his wife for his heart was of a noble kind. Your own heart remained unsure but you wished to marry as well instead of only watching Varda and Manwë sharing a bond you could only dream of. Aulë, however, was not who you were dreaming about.

It was Melkor that you were drawn to; Manwë’s powerful brother, the very same whom your sister had rejected once and he had grown to resent her. You were observing him often because he fascinated you and you probably were the only one amongst the Valar who understood him. You were outcasts, both of you, but you were better at hiding it.

He was sometimes observing you as well, from the corner of his eye. You could feel his gaze on you and you knew that he had to feel the same way you did – he could see the malice inside of your heart for his was the same.

Whenever you would spend time with Varda dancing in the flower fields, you could feel Melkor creeping in the shadows and watching. Of course, he was there for your sister but still, some of his gazes were reserved for you only.

Therefore, on the eve of your wedding to Aulë, you forsake the light and seeked the shadow as you sneaked out of the palace you lived in and you found yourself knocking upon Melkor’s doors. There was no fear inside of you, only pure determination.

And you knew you could never replace your sister; your power was a mere shadow of hers. Yet, you offered yourself to Melkor on that night and he took you in, claimed you as his own and made you his bride. Before dawn, together, you fled from Arda for some time, leaving behind sorrow and dismay.

Your sister was most grieved by your betrayal. Alongside her, Aulë descended into a state of melancholy until Manwë mentioned to him the possibility of courting Yavanna instead and The Fruit-Giver became his wife – that union became one of harmony and love unlike the one you would have with The Smith.

You always fascinated Mairon the most – (Y/N), Mother of Flames, Aulë’s lost love. As his disciple, Mairon observed you humbly before and he knew his master’s heart enough to know that Aulë would always feel bitter towards you. Yavanna was his love match but she could not fuel the fire inside his forge and become the source of his creation.

What a source of inspiration you were for Mairon, though. The same way others worshipped Varda, Mairon worshipped you. Everytime he stared at the fire inside the forge, your image was all he could think of as the thought of you lingered in his mind constantly. You were long gone from Arda after eloping with Melkor but he hoped it was not yet over, that he would see you again. In the early days, when his spirit was still pure, he often fantasised about you being taken back by the Valar and forgiven by them, so he could build altars for you amongst the kins that would yet awake to inhabit Arda.

Some of his bolder daydreams were about another form of punishment for you – he would have you humbled in the name of redemption, bound to a lowly Maia. He meant himself, of course. He imagined the Mother of Flames becoming the source of his creation, fueling the fire within his forge and watching over his craft as his very own wife. He wondered how jealous Aulë would be then and how humiliated you would be, yet he was certain he could make you happy and fix the malice of your spirit with his undying love and endless devotion.

And perhaps that blasphemous dreams of Mairon the Maia, bold in their insolence, would be a kinder fate for both of you and the whole Arda. Because, in the meantime, you were starting to realise with bitter clarity why you should have stayed away from Melkor, the Dark Lord, in the first place.

In his greatness, he dwelt in solitude and his mind remained ungraspable for you. He would rarely let you inside to allow you to see the world the way he perceived it. Though he desired you, it was not as an equal, neither as companion nor as lover. And even in his desire, there was contempt, too, because as Varda’s sister you were a reminder of her rejection, which still lingered within your husband as a wound unhealed. And your beauty, your power, your holiness… They were nothing but pale echoes of your sister’s qualities; faint reflections of her no matter how hard you tried. And each one of your failures to meet Melkor’s towering expectations was met with your husband’s wrath.

None among his servants who would later know him as a cruel master ever dared to complain about his punishments in your presence because you were his first subject of torment, his earliest experiment in reshaping the will of another and they knew that you survived things they could barely think of. You were a Vala and you could endure the worst treatment, therefore in your suffering he reshaped you in ways that would shatter even the mighty Maiar. Melkor forged you anew and twisted your already spoiled essence to his dark design.

Alone in his presence you felt belittled and humbled. But by his side before others, you were exalted and invincible – cloaked in the might of his dominion – and that illusion of power became intoxicating. For allowing you to get sedated with such greatness was enough to worship him like he was Eru himself and out of all your offerings, he loved that devotion the most about you.

To be his wife was not easy – it was a torment and perhaps you were burdened with the most difficult fate out of all the Valar. Yet, it was what you had chosen willingly for yourself and you carried this responsibility with pride, trying not to think too much of the life you could have lived instead. You were made for much bigger things than spending your whole lifetime resting in the sunlight and being followed by the forest animals like some of the Valar ladies were. No, you were aiming for greatness and the price for it was pain.

When Mairon came to your husband’s service, you sensed immediately the amount of his worship and devotion towards you. You sometimes wondered if the Maia joined Melkor for him and his power or were you the real reason for his spirit’s betrayal. His devotion amused you but you offered him no kindness as his yearning for your favour was met with cold indifference. Even though he was desperate for more of it, he should know better and be grateful for your rejection. Because if Melkor would realise the true nature of Mairon’s feelings, he would not go easy on him and his wrath would be merciless. 

Sometimes you wondered how it was possible that Melkor could not sense Mairon’s admiration for you. Perhaps he thought of it as something innocent – something expected from his servants to feel towards his Queen. Perhaps he thought of it as silly and pathetic, unworthy of his attention, because he knew you would never humiliate yourself to betray him for a servant.

Or perhaps your husband cared about you even less than you suspected.

After Melkor’s defeat, you were hiding inside your fortress in the North from the wrath of the Valar. Your husband’s absence was welcomed by you with relief but also a huge emptiness within your soul. You had been his companion for ages and to be left alone now felt oddly wrong. Many of the creatures of darkness expected you to take the leadership but you stepped away instead, wishing for a calmer and more peaceful time at least. 

The power you had once craved now was something you dreaded. Your husband’s ways had drained you nearly completely, you were a shell of your old self. You wanted nothing but to crawl inside a hole and spend another eternity there, resting as a person unknown to the outside world. 

Mairon was the one who took all the responsibilities upon his shoulders and while committing to his duties, he would always emphasise he was fulfilling them in your name. Forever a servant he would remain. 

Now, without Melkor’s eyes observing him constantly, he gained more courage to bask in the remains of your corrupted light. You sensed his gaze on you wherever you would go.

Your wish, however, was to go much further away and Mairon knew about it, which was worrying him. He was trying his best – nearly desperately – to reunite your husband’s armies and dark creatures of the shadows, to become their leader and build a realm for you to rule over. To become worthy of you.

“My Lady,” he kneeled as he approached you and he kept his eyes low although you knew he dared to look up here and there, too tempted not to lay his gaze on you. “Please, grant me an audience,” he pleaded.

“You wish for an audience, Mairon? But is it not you preparing to get crowned very soon, my cunning spirit? Soon it shall be me asking for your audience,” you teased him and he looked up, his eyes filled with panic. Melkor would punish him for such schemes but you were not him and his influence was upon you no more. 

“I might crown myself the new Dark Lord, my Lady, but I would never consider myself to be above my Goddess,” he confessed and you smiled sadly as you approached him to grab him by his chin.

He swallowed thickly out of fear but his eyes remained soft, filled with nothing but pure admiration. In Melkor’s eyes you had been Varda’s unworthy shadow. Perhaps no one had ever perceived you with such devotion as Mairon.

“I shall build you altars in my realm; in every village, every town, every city. And in the capital of my kingdom where I will reside, I shall build a temple where you can find your peace,” he breathed out. “Just, please, do not abandon me.”

Your soft smile turned into a smirk when you let go of his chin and moved your hand to his ginger hair to caress it softly like he was your pet.

“I must, Mairon. When you build your temple for me, though, then I might come back to reside there. But until then, we must part,” you insisted and walked away at the sight of his eyes getting wet.

“Will they ever follow me without you by my side?” He asked, unsurely.

“They will not. Not all of them. Can you not see that it is a cursed path, destined to become a failure, to follow Melkor’s steps?” You turned around to look at his face once more. “Run away with me, Mairon. Forsake this realm, forsake your schemes,” you proposed and he gasped, visibly contemplating his answer. But the sparkles faded away from his eyes very quickly.

“No,” he shook his head. “I must stay and heal Middle-earth. I cannot abandon its people because of my own selfish desire,” he resisted you as you chuckled at that.

“You are no god, then, Mairon. Gods do whatever they wish. Spirits like you were created to serve,” you teased, cruelly as you sat on your armchair and he moved uncomfortably, looking away, but he remained kneeling and humbled.

“Allow me to serve you then, Mother of Flames,” he dared to whisper, nearly inaudibly, his breath shaky and lips trembling.

You tilted your head, thinking about his words. You would leave this realm soon, perhaps forever. He surely deserved a little treat before your departure for all the worship and devotion he had been gifting you with. And you deserved to give in to desires of your flesh as well after all the treatment your husband had given you.

“Come to me,” you ordered, harshly. You watched him trying to stand up slowly but you quickly stopped him. “On your hands and knees,” you explained.

Mairon glanced up at you as if he could not believe the amount of humiliation you would put him through now. It was true that back in the day you had often contrasted with Melkor’s cruelty but now Melkor was no more and you had been taught the craft by the very master of it.

Perhaps his influence was still upon you and it would remain there forever. 

You waited with an eyebrow raised and Marion gave up eventually, crawling on the floor towards you. He might have been humiliated and embarrassed but his eagerness was obvious in the way his eyes sparkled at the sight of your legs getting closer and closer to him. And when he was nearly in front of them, you opened them slightly as he gasped and looked up at you with admiration. He could not believe the access you had just given him while you smirked at his obedience.

“Serve me, Mairon,” you requested, wickedly. “Let my taste remain on your lips and might you never forget it while you build your kingdom in my name. I will come back to you then, my sweet, unless the Valar find and imprison me before,” you leaned in to caress his cheek with your finger gently.

“I shall fight them then. No matter how much it takes, I will release you and bind you to me instead,” he whispered.

“Bold of you, mighty Maia, to speak of such matters,” you let out a laugh. “Even as the greatest of your kind, you would still only be gifted with a mere shadow of my powers. We will never be equal, Mairon,” you reminded him and his eyes welled with even more tears at such a harsh reminder.

He cursed Eru himself for creating him as such a low spirit because this way he could never be worthy of you and to be able to walk by your side as your equal was all he had ever wanted.

“Let it be then… Anything to be close to you, my Lady,” he cooed. “Please, allow me to touch you,” he begged as he moved even closer to your legs.

“Proceed,” you nodded and watched him closely, observing his every movement, every gaze, which probably intimidated him even further but you could sense his desire to please you becoming too grand to care about anything else.

His hands wrapped around your ankles and moved up slowly, brushing your skin as the skirts of your dress pulled up, revealing your calves for him to admire. He had never seen them.

Well, perhaps he had. He had often sneaked up on you here and there and you had known about it but welcomed it with nothing but a chuckle as you had been pretending to be oblivious.

However, he had never been so close to them. To you. He crawled up even closer as he planted soft and devoted kisses to your exposed skin. You had never known kisses like these because Melkor had been mostly devouring you, tormenting you, using you. 

Mairon sighed and you felt a shiver go down your spine at the feeling of his fingertips brushing the back of your knees. You slid lower on the armchair as your skirts pulled nearly all the way up, exposing your thighs to him. Your obedient servant gasped and looked up at you once more as if he was asking if that part of you was allowed for him, too.

“Have I told you to stop?” You challenged him and he nodded before burying his head between your soft thighs to kiss and lick them softly, breathing the sweet scent of your skin as if you were the holiness personified.

Wicked thought it was for you were the most corrupted and fallen out of the female Valar and yet you doubted any of them were worshipped with such eagerness as you were now.

“If we never left Valinor and I never followed Melkor,” you breathed out, caressing Mairon’s ginger hair and playing with the delicate strands of his hair between your fingers, “you would be my disciple and we would spend forever in the fields under the sun with you worshipping me, my sweet spirit,” you shared your fantasy with him and he whined at that as he moved his face further and deeper, his nose nudging your glistening cunt as he requested for your legs to open even wider.

“So impatient,” you pointed out and grabbed him by his throat to pull him away. You felt him swallow underneath your hand and then you forced him to look up by grabbing his chin. It was slightly wet already from your leaking cunt and you leaned in to give him a possessive, open-mouth kiss; to taste yourself on him as his eyes widened but he gave in immediately.

While granting him with a kiss he would never forget, you opened your legs further and further, giving him full access to the sweet nectar between your thighs and he whined into your mouth like a brat when he realised what you were doing. He laid his trembling hands on your thighs and moved the folds of your dress even further to the back, making sure your cunt was all exposed for him.

The cold air of the room caused your clit to twitch and swell before his thumb found it and brushed it. Now it was your time to moan into his mouth. You broke the kiss and pressed your forehead to his as you closed your eyes and took a few deep breaths in. Pleasure without pain was an experience brand new for your flesh and you had to steady yourself as he watched in awe.

“A-allow me…” Mairon pleaded and your eyes opened once more as you looked deep into his with a nod.

You laid back in the armchair and watched him with curiosity but also a hint of contempt to see a spirit so mighty humbled like this – perhaps you could understand Melkor more than you had ever expected to be able to but it was truly fascinating and pleasurable to humiliate other spirits. 

To be able to kiss and lick your cunt, to devour it – it was surely a life-changing experience for your sweet Mairon. His usually calm demeanour changed in an instant, reminding you of a hungry hound as he whined and whimpered, lapping on your juices as if it was the sweetest nectar granting him immortality. He was intoxicated as his hands squeezed your thighs to keep them open and allow him to feast eagerly. 

Your body of a goddess allowed you to go on without breaks; a peak after peak as you shivered and trembled, caressing his head and meeting his hazy, devoted gaze once in a while to let him know he was doing good. Your praise meant everything to him for all he had always known was your husband’s reprimands. 

Your flesh could go on and on but your mind of a goddess was a demanding one and soon you grew simply bored of his ministrations, therefore you pushed his head away and crossed your legs, taking away the access from him.

Mairon’s face was flushed, his eyes foggy and skin glistening from sweat and your juices dripping down his chin. He was kneeling and looking up at you mindlessly as if he would follow your every order now, no matter how self-destructive it would be.

“You’ve served me good, Mairon,” you grabbed his chin and smiled at him. “Good servant,” you emphasised.

“P-please,” he whimpered and you furrowed your brow before realising what he begged you for.

His own release.

“Was not your kin created to serve mine? I do not think our creator blessed you with such desires, Mairon. Do not be a dirty liar,” you teased him.

“Please, my Lady,” he whined, desperately.

You sighed and rolled your eyes.

“Alright, then, let me see for myself,” you smirked and pushed him down onto the floor before getting out of your armchair and straddling him like a predator would trap her prey before sinking her teeth into him.

He looked so pretty like this – both excited and turned on but also absolutely terrified of you. You could do everything to him and he had no other way but to accept it. And he knew – he knew very well – that you could be as cruel as Melkor if you only wanted to be.

Melkor’s brutality had been driven by his own whim. Yours would be driven by your revenge for all the centuries of being treated like his dog. Beaten dogs tended to bite deadly and Mairon knew.

“Do not fear me, sweet Mairon. I only want to see for myself if it is true that you have fallen and corrupted yourself so much with your devotion towards me that you have been gifted with desires of the flesh,” you smirked. “Or cursed with them,” you pointed out as your hands worked on his robes and the trousers underneath them swiftly and quickly.

You gasped and laughed when you saw how hard he was already after all those hours he had spent between your legs. He blushed even further and his cheeks were crimson red now like his clothes.

“This must hurt,” you pointed out with a sinister chuckle. “Is it the first time for you?” You asked, brushing his thighs with your fingernails, making him shiver under your touch but refusing to actually pay any attention to his hard and reddened cock with its tip swollen and twitching, leaking precum.

“No,” he confessed, nearly inaudibly.

“Interesting,” you hummed to yourself and leaned in, your face so close to his that your noses brushed. “And what were you doing usually when it happened?”

“Nothing,” Mairon confessed, his face wincing out of shame. “Nothing, my Lady. I would never… I would never dare to…” He gasped after every word, so sweetly desperate and frustrated but not brave enough to ask you to do anything in particular. He would never order you around.

“Oh, my sweet, poor Mairon… You should have come to me each time and I would have helped you,” you grinned at him although you both knew it was not true. None of you would have ever dared to commit such an act behind Melkor’s back. “Do you want me to ease you now?” You asked.

“P-please…”

You reached towards his twitching cock and grabbed his wet length as you watched with cold fascination while he struggled and writhed underneath you. A few pumps of your hand was enough to make him spill himself with a whine, bucking his hips into your hand as you kept jerking him off to make more and more of his seed spurt out. 

His body of a Maia did not need breaks but there was always a limit to how much seed any male flesh could produce. And when you felt he could absolutely do no more, you stopped and watched him catch his breath as you giggled, laying on top of him and intertwining your legs. One of your hands kept caressing his sore and softening cock gently as your other hand pulled his head closer to your chest, burying his face between your breasts and caressing his ginger hair strands.

“Please, do not go… I will be so lost without you,” Mairon looked up to meet your gaze and you smiled sadly at that.

“Do not start again,” you scolded him.

“Can you at least stay for the coronation?” He pleaded but you shook your head.

“No. I must leave tonight, as soon as possible,” you leaned in to kiss his forehead and a short while of silence occurred.

It surprised you greatly but some part of you began craving to take care of him now. As if the sinful act you had just performed with him, which stained you in a way – because what else would you call lowering yourself to pleasing a Maia? – as if it had forged an attachment between you two and bound you to him indeed like he had blasphemously suggested before.

You definitely had to leave and hide from the Valar, seek your own peace of mind. But you knew already that you would be back for your sweet Mairon sooner than both of you expected.

MASTERLIST

[starsstuddedsky]

Persimmon Problems

jaemin x reader

summary: fantasy crushes are all fun and games until it stops being a fantasy and he’s really talking to you. but what are you supposed to do when he invades every part of your life?

genre: fluff, angst, university au, non idol au, he’s not a frat boy but he’s basically a frat boy, inaccurate depictions of student council, I don’t actually know what this is

warnings: swearing, drinking, implied sex (it’s pg-13), lmk if I missed any

wc: 18.3k (oops)

a/n: ahahaha remember that jaemin dream… yeah. anyways so I’ve looked at this for so long that I don’t even know what this is anymore, all I know is that I can’t keep working on it. also I still don't know what a persimmon tastes like so.. yeah. I really wanted to try one but if this stays in my drafts any longer I will go insane. I hope you all enjoy!!!! as always I'd love to hear what you think :)

You’ve never had persimmon before but you think maybe it’s the best word to describe Na Jaemin. He is a persimmon in your palm, an unknown flavor to be discovered if you dare to bite. It doesn’t help that he chose to wear orange today, the sweater a shade away from pink. 

There’s a pinch at your side. “You’re staring again.” 

You glare at Renjun, who doesn’t bother to look up from his laptop, working on the graphic for the student council. “Was not.” 

“Whatever,” he says. “Just don’t let the pretty boy distract you from paying attention because I needed to finish this yesterday.”

“The only one distracting me is you, and you aren’t pretty.” You pretend his silence is agreement instead of him trying to force you to take notes as Professor Bae closes up the lecture. 

It’s not that you can’t focus around Na Jaemin–your perfect notes at the end of class prove just the opposite. Jaemin simply exists in another world. There is your corner, mostly filled with student council responsibilities and never ending university work, and there is Na Jaemin, honorary member of every frat on campus. Not that you’ve been thinking that much about him, but his Instagram shows up in your recommended often enough for you to know that he goes to parties nearly every weekend. The sliver of overlap in the Venn diagram of your world and his only includes Microbiology on Tuesdays and Thursdays from 1 to 4, and that’s enough for you. To fantasize about him from here, a fruit you’ll never have the opportunity to try. 

Jaemin starts to turn around and you quickly turn to Renjun, resisting the urge to peek at him out of the corner of your eye. You look at the shapes on Renjun’s computer instead. 

“That looks like shit.” 

“Trust the process,” he says. 

“You spent the entire lecture working on this, you are aware we have a lab where you actually have to do things right?” 

“You don’t think you can handle it on your own?” 

“Stop trying to bait me into doing all the work.” You close your laptop, standing and stretching. You see Jaemin out of the corner of your eye, a blob of black hair shuffling down the aisle toward the door to the classroom. The orange-pink sweater is actually a cardigan, large cream colored buttons keeping it together. That’s when you realize you’re staring again. Shit. 

“Are we eating before lab or do you seriously think you’ll finish that thing in the next thirty minutes?” You ask Renjun, who still hasn’t moved. 

“You want to be president when you aren’t even pressuring me into posting the election announcements that were supposed to go out yesterday?” 

“I want to eat something before we have to stare into microscopes, so what do you want?” You wonder if he’s focused enough to miss you grabbing his wallet out of his bag. 

“Whatever you want is fine and if you use my card it will literally decline.” You curse and toss his wallet back into his backpack. 

“Should have taken that class with Chenle, his card never declines.” 

“That’s because it’s his parents’ black card.” He finally looks up from his laptop at you. “Are you getting the food or not?” 

You open your mouth to say something extremely witty and/or smart, but your stomach rumbles. “I’m going to fire you when I’m president.” 

“And who else will put up with your bullshit?” he calls as you walk down the aisle. You prepare a mature response (sticking your tongue out at him), walking backwards. Directly into someone—bouncing off their chest, more specifically. 

Hands grab your shoulders before you can react, straightening you before you have a chance to fall. “Woah there.” 

“Holy shit, I’m so sorry,” you say as you turn around and find Na Jaemin staring at you. Apologies spill out, even as he smiles at you, a true, knees-to-jelly, threat-to-sunshine smile. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he says. 

“Sorry,” you repeat. Your brain struggles to diversify its vocabulary with him looking at you, smiling with his eyes in full focus. His eyes are so dark it’s difficult to distinguish between his pupils and his irises. Staring, again, the third time in an hour. Why can’t you be normal around him? 

“I was blocking your way out anyway, so it wasn’t all your fault.” He steps back, letting you out of the aisle. At least, giving you the space to do it, since your feet decide not to work. He tilts his head at you, sending your brain into a spiral of predictions, ranging from he’s going to ask you out (rather fantastical) to he’s going to tell you that you have something stuck between your teeth (horribly realistic). 

Instead, he says, “You’re YN, right?” 

“Yeah. How did you know that?” 

His smile widens when you say yes. “Student council vice president, right?” 

You don’t trust your voice so you nod. 

“I’m Jaemin,” he says, extending his hand for a moment like he wants to shake hands but he pulls away at the last second. “Your picture is on the website.” 

“Nice to meet you,” you say, mouth going through the motions on its own since your brain’s whiteboard has been wiped completely clean. The only thing left is NA JAEMIN in giant bold letters, bright red marker and all. 

“Yes, it is,” he says. Does he know the effect his smile has on people? Legally it could be considered a weapon. He pauses a moment longer, like he wants to say something else but instead he turns away, walking back to his seat, waving at half the class because of course he does. 

You don’t have to turn around to feel Renjun staring at you. You don’t feel like hearing his judgy comments, even when they’re only passed on through his eyes. Whoever said eyes are the window to the soul was right—Renjun’s give you a clear view of the most judgmental person you have ever met. You leave the class without looking back. 

Very few places nearby campus sell edible food, and even fewer are ever empty enough to be able to grab food and eat before the three hour lab starts. Today is even worse than normal, as if everyone has chosen to be hungry at the same time as you. You end up at a 7/11, grabbing Takis since they’re the only chips Renjun will eat. You grab an iced tea, tapping your finger in line as you wait. Getting the food was enough of a distraction to keep you from thinking about Jaemin but as you wait for the person in front of you try to get a discount using a coupon that expired three months ago, you go over every millisecond of the interaction–and god, you were so awkward. All you really did was apologize to him, you couldn’t even move. You have got to grow up, stop acting like a middle schooler with a crush. 

The cashier finally gives up, giving the person a discount and waving them out. You set your food down and smile at her. She does her best to put a customer service smile back on her face, though you can see the exhaustion. You thank her as profusely as you can. 

By the time you make it back to the lecture room, there’s barely five minutes left of break. 

“Thank god, I’m starving,” Renjun says, grabbing the bag out of your hands. You keep your iced tea on the side farthest from him, glaring at him until he tilts the bag so that you can reach it too. “We are going to make Donghyuck cook tonight, I need real food.” 

“Agreed,” you say, covering your mouth with your hand so you don’t spew hot chip dust everywhere. 

“And I took pictures of you embarrassing yourself in front of Jaemin, so please try to replace me as your social media correspondent.” He smiles at you over the purple bag. 

“You’re horrible, has anyone ever told you that?” 

“Music to my ears, sweetheart.” 

.

.

Unfortunately, Renjun’s graphic does look good, though still not good enough to warrant how much time he spent on it. The messy shapes don’t look half as bad when they’re the right color, and all the information is listed (not in Comic Sans, though it’s only a matter of time before he tries to use it again. You have yet to find out if he actually likes the font or just wants to be annoying). He posts it an hour after the lab, which wasn’t half bad. Your percent error was under 50% for once. 

It’s a Friday morning, no classes since your university actually listened to the student requests for a three day weekend, which the student council (you) takes full credit for. Unfortunately, that doesn’t mean you are responsibility free. Instead you sit in cheap plastic chairs rented from the events and planning committee and under a tent that’s in serious danger of blowing away. 

You cling to your ball cap, NCIT STUDENT COUNCIL embroidered on the front. The papers in front of you whip around, the weights on top of them holding steady. At least it isn’t raining, though the thick clouds overhead get darker every minute. 

Realistically, there’s no reason for you to be here. All the information about running for student council is posted online and with over 30,000 students, only a small portion of the student body actually care—none of whom are walking around campus at 11 in the morning on a Friday. You pull the blanket tighter over your shoulders. Just another fifteen minutes and then Jisung will relieve you. Mark should be the one freezing his ass off since he’s the one that insists on upholding tradition, but as president he takes advantage of avoiding work whenever he can. 

Only two and a half months before that privilege is yours. Assuming you are elected, of course, but there’s no real danger in losing that. You’ve been a part of the council since freshman year, appointed as vice president as a sophomore. Few people have more qualifications, and fewer are actually interested in the position. Usually the competition comes from within the cabinet, but none of the rest of the guys have said anything about the running, though that might be because you haven’t shut up about the position since freshman year. Either way, the position is all but yours, and there is absolutely no reason you need to sit here when you could be studying for midterms. 

A strong gust of wind blows from in front of you instead of behind and this time you are too slow. Your cap flies off your head, tumbling across the empty quad. You shuffle after it, keeping the blanket wrapped tightly over your shoulders, which helps protect you from the cold winds. Unfortunately, said cold winds don’t stop blowing, and your hat blows faster than you can shuffle. It reaches to the sidewalk on the opposite side of the squad by the time it finally stops. 

Moving as fast as you can wrapped up one dry day away from mummification, you try to snatch the cap before it gets blown away again. You bend down to reach for it but a pair of sneakers appear in front of you and a mitten-clad hand grabs it before you can. You stand up and find Jaemin, wearing bright red earmuffs that have a green headband to make it look like a pair of cherries. He holds your hat out, smiling when he sees you (when he recognizes you?). 

“What’s wrong? Hat got your tongue?” He waits, with an expectant smile. The boy next to him, wearing more layers than you, shakes his head. “Sorry,” Jaemin says, “bad joke, I know, but I couldn’t help it.” 

Even the most lovesick part of you can’t defend him on that one. You take your hat from his outstretched hand, sticking it back on your head when you realize what your hair must look like after crossing the quad with all the wind. 

“It’s Jaemin, from microbio,” he says, as if there’s actually a chance you don’t know him. 

“Thanks, Jaemin from microbio.”

He flashes a smile that warms you better than any sun. “My pleasure, Vice President.” 

“You can just call me YN,” you mumble. 

“Where’s the fun in that?” You swear he winks, though maybe it’s the wind blowing in his eyes. 

The boy next to him nudges Jaemin with his shoulder, keeping his hands tucked safely in the pockets of his jacket. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?” 

Jaemin rolls his eyes. “This is Jeno, he’s–God, I guess he’s my best friend.” He glances at Jeno, unimpressed. “The position is temporary.” 

“Thanks!” Jeno says brightly. 

“Jeno, this is the vice president of the student council,” he says. 

“YN,” you say, “I’d shake your hand but…” You show your hands, stuck keeping the blanket wrapped around you. 

“It’s alright, I lost my gloves, so my hands are stuck here.” Jeno lifts his jacket with his hands in the pockets, just to prove his point. 

“Hey, I didn’t get a handshake,” Jaemin says. 

“Did you need a handshake?” 

He tilts his head, showing off his jawline, not that you’re paying attention to that at all. It simply calls attention to itself, and who are you to ignore a jawline that could have been sculpted by Michelangelo (not the ninja turtle). He must be cold with so much skin exposed. 

“I’ll settle for some advice,” Jaemin says. Right, maybe you shouldn’t be comparing his face to famous works of art mid-conversation (save it for the Instagram stalking like everyone else). 

“Advice?” 

“I was actually looking for you anyway.” Jaemin glances at Jeno before meeting your eyes again. “The student council election is open to anyone, right?” 

“The presidency is open to seniors that are enrolled here, but yeah,” you say. “Why?” 

He shrugs. “I’m going to apply.” 

You blink at him. “For president? Of student council?” 

“Yeah,” he says. Jeno shuffles beside him, stuffing his hands impossibly deeper into his pockets. 

President… but that’s your position. If it wasn’t for the senior-only rule, you’d already be president. You rose through the ranks, suffered through a vice presidency with Mark to get here–it’s your position. 

“Do I apply there?” He asks, pointing at the table you’re supposed to be sitting at. 

“The application is online,” you find yourself saying, “you have to submit a resume and go through a qualifying process, and submit your proposals for campaign policies and a whole bunch of other stuff, it’s all on the application information.” You’re about halfway through your own application, though it’s mostly copying and pasting from the document you’ve been working on since you joined student council. 

“You can scan the QR code on this blanket, it’ll take you to the application.” You hold it straight, cursing Renjun in your head for being so creative with marketing. You look like an idiot, waiting for him to scan your shoulder. 

“Cool,” Jaemin says, pulling out his phone, but instead of scanning the code, he hands it to you, a new contact profile with your name already in it. You glance between the phone and the smiling boy. “Can I ask you if I have any questions?” 

Jaemin is asking you for his phone number. To help with his campaign, against you. Your brain works in overdrive, trying to determine how you are supposed to feel. Your heart doesn’t hesitate to take advantage of the internal turmoil. You put your number into his phone and hand it back to him. 

“Sure,” you say, even as your brain screams at you not to. “Whatever I can do to help.” 

He grins and your brain fully malfunctions, gears popping, cartoon sparks flying. “Thank you, YN.” 

“No problem,” you mumble, knowing that’s not true at all even without a functioning brain cell. You should have let him call you vice president when you had the chance–this is so much worse. 

“I should go back,” you say, taking a step backward, a gamble considering your history of walking backwards around him. Trying not to linger in Jaemin’s presence is like a planet resisting the pull of gravity to the sun–no matter how hard you try, you can’t beat physics.  

 But maybe he isn’t the sun because when you take another step, Jaemin takes a step to follow you. Are there stars that revolve around planets? But Jaemin doesn’t revolve around you, he doesn’t even exist in your solar system. Maybe a black hole is a better metaphor, sucking you in from a galaxy over. You should stop making metaphors based on middle school astronomy. 

You peer at Jaemin as he continues across the quad, walking leisurely beside you as you shuffle. Jeno trails behind slightly, risking the cold to pull out a phone. 

“Are you following me?” 

Jaemin looks at you over his shoulder, raising his eyebrows. “You think you’re that special already?” Before you can answer, he laughs. “But, yeah, I am. I can’t leave you all by yourself out here, anything could happen.” 

“As opposed to by myself at the table?” 

He shrugs. “There’s two chairs. I could sit with you.” 

It’s your turn to raise your eyebrows, looking him up and down. He’s got a puffy jacket (bright red, probably to match with the earmuffs) and jeans. “You’d freeze in five minutes.” 

“You could–” 

“Are we going to Doyoung’s or not?” Jeno calls from behind you. 

“Right,” Jaemin says, “I definitely did not forget about that.” He glances at you. “Rain check?” 

“I’m sure there will be plenty of opportunities for you to keep me company freezing my ass off,” you say, “but seriously, I wouldn’t let you stay anyway.” You reach the table, turning to face him. 

Jaemin pouts. “Why not?” 

“For starters, I don’t want to be responsible for the hypothermia you’re bound to catch,” you say, “and it’s a student council thing. You’re not a part of the student council.” 

“Not yet.” 

Right. The standard, crush-threatening-the-dream-you’ve-spent-three-years-working-toward-situation. “Also, no offense, but I barely know you.” 

“Offense taken,” Jaemin says, holding a hand over his chest. “We’ve taken half a class together!” 

“We’ve spoken twice if you count today!” You say. Does he really not get it? “At the very least it would be awkward.” 

“I take full offense to the idea that I could ever be awkward,” Jaemin says. He folds his arms over his chest, eyeing you. “I’ll prove it to you.” Your gut twists, sending off the warning bells, but there’s no way Jaemin is actually flirting with you. He probably hates the idea that someone doesn’t immediately trust him with their heart and soul. He doesn’t need to know that you already do. That’s why there’s simply no way he’s flirting with you–it simply doesn’t make sense. 

“Dude, we seriously need to go,” Jeno says. “Doyoung is spam texting.” 

Jaemin wiggles his eyebrows at you. “I’ll see you in class.” 

“Bye Jaemin,” you say. You watch him walk away with Jeno, throwing his arm over his friend’s shoulders. He doesn’t look back at you. 

What just happened? 

Jisung approaches so quietly you jump when you turn around and he stands in front of you. “Was that Na Jaemin?” 

“Yes–wait, how do you know him?” 

Jisung avoids your eyes, turning to watch the pair of boys trudge away. “Renjun talks.” 

You’re going to kill him. But first you need to defrost, so you hand the blanket over to Jisung and jump a few times to warm yourself up, trying in vain to make up for the loss. 

“What was he doing here?” Jisung asks, wrapping himself so tightly his feet are bound together. One strong push would send him tumbling over, probably unable to get up. If only it was Renjun. 

“He wants to be president.” 

“Of student council?” 

“Apparently.” 

“Huh.” Jisung sits back. “Aren’t you supposed to be president?” 

“Yep.” 

“Huh.” Jisung stares at you. 

“Have fun!” You say. The air without Jaemin is so much colder. Maybe your toes have frostbite. “It’s cold!” 

Jisung grunts, huddling down and you don’t spare a second look at him. There’s a solid chance he’s texting Renjun already, since your best friend has decided to be a dirty gossip. You walk along the sidewalk and try to tell your heart that no matter how pretty his smile is, Na Jaemin is bad for you. Your heart reminds you that he saved your hat. 

Your phone vibrates in your pocket. You pull it out, fully expecting to see a message from Renjun but instead a string of numbers show up. you better save my number :). You stare at your phone until it fades to black, which is why you know the exact moment it starts to snow. Though it’s March and the groundhog didn’t see its shadow, a snowflake falls on your phone, melting quickly. You walk home in the snow, thoughts of Jaemin piling up a snowbank that no plow can clear. 

.

.

For breakfast on Tuesday morning, you have an untoasted bagel with a side of impending doom. You woke up with the feeling, a knot in your gut that usually only appears before exams or after you drink too much coffee, but today has chosen to warn you of unknown horrors yet to come. It has to be the dream you had, only you forgot it the moment you woke up. 

[Bitch #1] You’re just trying to avoid jaemin. 

You don’t know why you expected Renjun to support you. Unsurprisingly, he found out about Jaemin’s intent to run for president before you made it back to your apartment, and dedicated an hour to lecturing you over FaceTime, then spent the entire pregame on Saturday side eyeing you. 

Jaemin’s message sits at the bottom of your recent texts. He hasn’t sent anything since Friday, though neither have you. You close your phone and try not to think about him, an impossible task. In the end you can’t think of a valid excuse, and go to your morning lecture. It’s one of your favorite classes (world history of medicinal developments 1200-1600) but today your mind drifts, still trying to figure out why today feels so off. Are you forgetting an assignment? You’ve checked the syllabus for all of your classes and the reminders your professors sent out but nothing has slipped past your the list on your planner. You check your outfit after class to see if you put something on backwards but you look fine. By the time you head toward microbio, you’ve resigned yourself to a day of inexplicable anxiety. 

You should have trusted your gut. 

You take one step into the room and the knot in your gut twists itself into a mess that spells out leave now while you still have the chance. 

In your normal spot at the back of the classroom, sitting beside Renjun, sits Jaemin, grinning and waving at you like he’s been sitting there the entire semester. 

You walk carefully down the aisle of desks, stopping in front of him. “You’re in my seat.” 

Jaemin doesn’t seem to notice Renjun’s snort, opting to smile at you. “Hello YN, it’s nice to see you.” 

“Hi Jaemin,” you say, “you’re in my seat.” 

He rolls his eyes, sliding his backpack to the side and slipping into the next seat over. “I was just getting to know Renjun.” 

You glare at your best friend, sitting beside him. “I’m sure he’s been lovely.” Renjun smiles innocently, turning back to photoshopping a graphic of the student council.  

Jaemin pulls out his laptop, sitting leaning back into the chair. Is he planning on sitting here for the whole class?  

“What are you doing?” You ask softly. Renjun continues to click around, not even pretending not to eavesdrop.

“I told you, I could never be awkward,” Jaemin says. 

“Speak for yourself,” you mutter, shrinking in your seat. Does he really not notice the class staring at you? Okay, maybe staring is an exaggeration, and it’s not the whole class, but the people he normally sits with keep glancing back at you and whispering to each other. 

Professor Bae walks in and they turn back to the front, saving you from (more) embarrassment. From the corner of your eye, you watch the boys at your sides—Renjun doesn’t bother to open the notes doc he shares with you, opting for continuing the edit, which you can’t really complain about because it’s the series of posts you asked him to make. Jaemin pulls up a cartoon series, Teen Titans, volume off with the subtitles on. 

“Is this what you do every class?” You whisper. 

Jaemin looks away from his fake typing for a moment. “She grades for attendance, not participation.” 

“Are you even passing this class?” 

Jaemin grins. “Sweetheart, I skew the curve.” Just to prove his point, he pauses the bickering superheroes and pulls up the grade review for the class. True to his word, his scores are well above average, rivaling your own. With the exception of Renjun, you haven’t met anyone who’s gotten similar grades. 

Jaemin smiles, switching back to the show. He exudes confidence, and why wouldn’t he? Not only hot and popular, he’s smart too, smarter than you—it takes you hours of studying, exam cram sessions, paying attention in class—he doesn’t even hide that he isn’t paying attention, and from his reputation alone, you know he doesn’t spend as much time studying as you. Does he know what he’s getting into with student council? Even the laziest of presidents put in several hours of work a week.

Jaemin laughs at the show. Renjun finally glances at you, raising his eyebrows at Jaemin in a silent question. You shrug, mouthing, I don’t know either. He purses his lips and turns back to photoshop. You’re sure the second Jaemin steps away he’s going to be on your ass again. 

Belatedly, you realize you’ve spent far too much of the class thinking about Jaemin. Professor Bae has already moved on from weekly announcements to new topics, meaning you have a date with YouTube review videos tonight. Thank god Professor Bae actually cares about her students and has recorded lectures. You just have to hope you didn’t miss one of the exam hints she only drops during class. 

Jaemin and Renjun stay quiet for the rest of the class period, though it does little to help you actually focus. Between Jaemin existing next to you and the inevitability of Renjun’s judgment, it’s hard to stay focused on virus identification. You take half the notes you usually do. 

But can you really blame it on them? It’s you that loses focus, you that is distracted by Jaemin beside you when he doesn’t actively try to pull your attention. He may have disrupted the balance of the universe by sitting beside you, but that doesn’t mean you have to fall off the scale. 

Professor Bae announces the end of lecture a couple minutes early. You swear you see her raise her eyebrows at you and glance at Jaemin before disappearing into her office for the half hour break before lab. Is it too self-absorbed to wonder if she’s taking things the wrong way? But what is the wrong way? None of it makes any sense except that maybe Jaemin is too stubborn for his own good. Funny how a week ago he didn’t know your name and now you can say he’s ‘too’ something. 

“So what do you normally do during break?” Jaemin asks. “Other than bounce off the chest of your roguishly handsome classmates.” 

You roll your eyes to keep him from noticing how flustered his comment actually makes you. “Go over the prelab in case someone forgets to do it–”

“I always do it!” Renjun says. 

“–but usually get snacks and do homework. Lately Renjun has been doing a lot of student council work during class, but that’s because he doesn’t know how to manage his time.” 

“Says the one who asked me to design a scheduler for them.” 

“Just because you’re good at Canva doesn’t mean you’re on top of your work.” 

Renjun shakes his head. You can tease him all you want, at the end of the day, you know that it doesn’t really matter. The truth is, he just doesn’t need to study as much as you. Sort of like Jaemin, and absolutely nothing like you. 

“What do you normally do during break?” You ask. 

Jaemin purses his lips. “Well, my lab partner rarely does the prelab, so usually I let him look at mine.” From the row where Jaemin normally sits, a guy in a striped yellow polo glares back at you. 

You glance between him and Jaemin, who turns away from his partner to look at you. “Should you go over there?” 

“Probably.” He doesn’t make a move to get up, instead tilting his head and smiling at you a little. “You’re very interesting, YN.” 

You cough, breaking eye contact to fiddle with the A key on your laptop which is in serious danger of falling off. “Well, your lab partner is probably going to try and inject you with a virus during lab if you don’t go over there.” 

Jaemin laughs. “You’re probably right. I’ll talk to you later.” He stands up and glances at Renjun, who finally looks away from his laptop. Jaemin nods at him and flashes a smile at you, showing perfect rows of white teeth, and finally turns around, backpack half open in his hand. 

You tear your eyes away from him, turning back to Renjun, who sits with his elbow on the armrest, chin in hand. He softens his eyes and looks up at you. “You’re very interesting, YN.” 

“Shut up,” you say, pushing his elbow out from under him, though he doesn’t fall like you wish he would. 

He shakes his head. “I do not like that guy.” 

“Really?” You frown. “Why?” 

“The fact that you’re even asking me that.” He sighs. “He’s just not my favorite type of guy.” He glares at you before you can tease him. “You seem to exclusively be attracted to shitty men, and then I become associated with them through proximity and it’s overall not a fun time for me.” 

“Okay first of all, you barely know Jaemin,” you say, “and second of all, nothing’s ever going to happen with him.” 

Renjun raises his eyebrows. 

“Seriously,” you insist, “he’s literally Jaemin, and I’m… not his type. You can hate him all you want but don’t do it on my behalf.” 

Renjun stares at you a little longer. He doesn’t believe you, and he’s probably right not to. But he turns back to his computer and doesn’t argue back. 

“I didn’t do the pre lab, though,” Renjun says, “that was a lie.” 

“I’m going to kill you and make it look like an accident.” 

.

.

Jaemin doesn’t show up to class on Thursday. You stare at your phone, the single message in your conversation with him. Curiosity and something bitter boil together, making it impossible to think logically. He acts so friendly around you it would be easy to mistake him for a friend, but it’s not like you don’t have friends. You wouldn’t have a second thought about sending a text like this to Renjun or Donghyuck–but you’ve never felt butterflies when either of them looked at you. 

So when your phone dies, you slip it into the pocket of your sweatshirt instead of trying to fight Mark for a charger (ever since “someone” stole one, he’s been overprotective of the cords). It’s movie night anyways, it’s not like you need your phone. 

“Wait,” you say, “since when are we watching Endgame?” 

“We literally just voted,” Donghyuck says, “You could have tied it for Lilo and Stitch but you weren’t paying attention.” He glares at you. 

Mark throws an arm over your shoulders. “It’s all good, YN can just make the popcorn.” 

“It’s hitting buttons on a microwave.” 

“Oh, would you look at that, the movie’s starting!” Mark says, pushing you off the couch and towards the kitchen of his apartment. You glare at him, but the guys have made you watch Marvel movies enough times that you are glad for the excuse to escape any part of it. It’s bad enough you can hear it from the kitchen. 

The shelves in Mark’s apartment are tall enough that he keeps a stool in the kitchen so that he can reach the highest of them. Of course that’s where he keeps his popcorn, so you jump as high as you can, snatching the box. Except you pull a little too hard and the box flies clean out of your hand, your feet slipping out from under you. You tumble to the ground, narrowly avoiding banging your head on the faux marble countertop. 

A moment later, Donghyuck appears standing over you, box of popcorn in one hand. “You could have just used the stool.” 

“That’s so much work.” 

“And yet it keeps you off the floor.” He holds out his free hand and helps you stand. Your tailbone hurts a little but otherwise it seems you dodged major damage. 

“You okay?” Chenle shouts. 

“Fine,” you shout back. You wonder what the odds are that they’d let you bleed out to finish the movie—probably higher than what you want to calculate. At least Donghyuck is as anti-Endgame as you. 

He sets the box on the counter, pulling the plastic off a bag and putting it in the microwave for five minutes. You would’ve just used the popcorn button but Donghyuck insists it tastes better this way. He turns around, leaning against the counter and studying you. 

“So,” he says. 

You raise your eyebrows. “‘So’ what?” 

“So, Jaemin.” Donghyuck stares at you, eyes unreadable. He’s been like this ever since you met him—pulling people apart with his eyes and extracting the most important bits, all with a smile on his face. He knew Shotaro was going to drop out before Shotaro did. 

“He’s…” A friend? A crush? The guy you wish would stay out of your life so you could keep daydreaming about him? 

“He’s sort of famous,” Donghyuck says. “Or infamous, depending on who you ask.” 

“And if I ask you?” 

Donghyuck smiles like this is going according to his script. “He’s lots of fun to party with. I don’t know anyone that doesn’t like him.” 

“But?” You jump when the first piece of popcorn pops. 

Donghyuck pins you down with his eyes. “But he isn’t the boyfriend type. I mean, I’m not best friends with the guy, but it’s pretty obvious, and I talked to—”

“Stop.” You hold a hand up. “I know exactly what kind of guy he is, I’m not an idiot.” 

“I’m not saying you’re an idiot, I just—”

“Donghyuck, I get it.” You stare back at him. “I really do, but I promise I know what I’m doing.” Okay, maybe that last part is a lie, but you know what you aren’t doing. You don’t expect a single thing from Na Jaemin. 

“I heard he’s running for president.” 

“Come on,” you say, “you think he can beat me?” Donghyuck raises his eyebrows. He won’t call you out on it, but he doesn’t have to. Your lie doesn’t even convince yourself. Jaemin has it all—grades, good looks, and, most importantly, popularity. Yes, he can beat you. Easily. 

“Why are you helping him?” 

“Jisung can’t keep his mouth shut, huh?” 

“Renjun was actually the one that told me, but that’s not the point,” Donghyuck says. 

“He hasn’t even asked for help,” you say, “and it’s not like I’m going to give up. I just…”

“You like him,” Donghyuck says. He raises his eyebrows, waiting for you to try to deny it but you won’t fight a battle that’s already lost. But you won’t admit it either. 

“I know what I’m doing.” 

Donghyuck chews on his lip for a moment. “Just be careful,” he says, “I do care about you. A little. Just a tiny bit. And from what I know, Jaemin is a good guy, but I don’t want you to get hurt because he isn’t what you want him to be.” 

“Gross, stop acting like we’re friends,” you say. 

“Never mind, I take it all back,” he says, “and I won’t be your vice president.” 

“Too late.” You shrug. “You already signed a contract.” 

“Fine, I’ll veto everything you propose.” 

“You don’t have the power to do that.” 

He tossed his hands up. “What is the point of being vice president?” 

You beam at him. “Doing the shit I don’t want to do!” 

Donghyuck opens his mouth to argue back but he pauses, sniffing at the air, and that’s when you realize the popcorn has long since stopped popping. Behind Donghyuck, smoke rises. 

He curses, pressing the button to open the door only to take a wave of smoke straight in the face. At least the bag isn’t on fire. You laugh as he waved his hand in front of his face, coughing. 

“Dude, what is that smell?” Mark shouts from the living room. 

You spend half the movie bickering with Donghyuck while trying to get the sharp smoky scent out of Mark’s kitchen. By the time the Avengers have all the infinity stones again and are in the final battle, you are curled up on the floor with a blanket, the popcorn bowl confiscated by Chenle when he realized how much you and Donghyuck ate while making it (it sort of tastes like smoke anyways). Two Marvel movies later, Mark shakes you awake and sends you and the rest of the guys out. 

You’re so tired by the time you get home, you plug your phone in and fall asleep. That’s why you don’t see the message until your alarm goes off the next morning. 

[Na Jaemin] you busy? 

.

.

For the past three weeks, you’ve tried meditation. Renjun swears by it, but you’ve seen him lose it over half a quesadilla, so it doesn’t exactly instill confidence in you. Still, you set aside ten minutes every morning to listen to the podcast he sent you. It’s meant to be calming, to connect you with yourself, and usually you do feel better, at least for a few minutes. 

You peek at your phone, checking how much time in the lesson is left (3 and a half minutes). No new notifications. 

Jaemin’s message gave you a heart attack when you woke up. He sent it at 8:12pm, probably right after your phone died. So seeing his message first thing in the morning woke you up pretty fast. You sent an apology that you definitely didn’t rewrite fifteen times, and now you wait. 

But no, you’re meditating right now. Clearing your mind, not thinking about a single thing except the air that floods your lungs, letting your heart beat twice before releasing the air again. You peek your right eye open. No new notifications. 

The narration ends and you sigh, laying back on your bed and checking your schedule for the day even though you’ve memorized it. In half an hour you need to be in the library to meet with your study group, then a council meeting, some space for lunch (which will undoubtedly end up crashed by Chenle or Donghyuck), then more homework in the afternoon. Tonight you’re supposed to go to a party thrown by one of Mark’s friends from grad school—depending on whether Renjun can find out if he’s a poli-sci major or not. 

You jump when your calendar disappears and the incoming call screen pops up. You stare at Jaemin’s name for a couple seconds before your brain begins to function again, and you slide the button at the bottom of your phone to answer the call. 

“Hello?” 

“YN,” Jaemin says. His voice is a little deeper than normal, raspy like he just woke up. “I was starting to think you’d blocked me.” 

“Sorry, my phone died last night and Mark doesn’t let anyone use his chargers.” 

Jaemin laughs, the phone distorting the quality, sounding choppy and un-Jaemin. “Damn, does the student body know he treats his council like this?” 

You laugh a little but can’t think of anything else to say. The silence stretches longer as Jaemin doesn’t speak either. The ceiling of your apartment has a constellation of holes, evidence of the former tenant’s antics. You have yet to figure out exactly what it could be—stabbing the ceiling with a broomstick? What does Jaemin’s ceiling look like? He’s so hard to pin down, like the more you get to know him the less he makes sense. He’s the type to have a messy room with clothes tossed everywhere and a bed that’s never made, yet he’s also the type to keep it neat, put up diagrams to match the college aesthetic of studying even if Jaemin himself is allergic to it. 

“So,” Jaemin says, apparently realizing you aren’t going to say anything else. “I actually texted last night because I wanted to see you.” 

You shove down the butterflies that spring up. “For what?” 

“First of all, it’s cruel that you don’t think I’d want to see you just to see you. But also I was gonna ask to go over microbio together because I heard a rumor that Professor Bae talked about the final.” 

“Don’t you have a lab partner?” 

“Yeah, he’s who told me she talked about it. Unfortunately he’s worse at taking notes than me.” He pauses. “Besides, you’re much cuter.” 

“Oh.” The butterflies breach containment, digging like madmen trying to escape your stomach. 

“So are you free?” 

Despite just checking your schedule, your mind goes blank. You frown, trying to remember what you’d just seen, and thank every deity that might exist that Jaemin can’t see your face right now. 

“I’m free after the council meeting. How is 12:30?” 

“Damn, council meetings on Fridays,” Jaemin says, “that works though. Meet you in the library?” 

“We can use the council room on the third floor,” you say, “no one else will be there.” 

“Okay,” Jaemin says, “see you soon, YN.” 

“Bye, Jaemin.” 

The butterflies have turned into zombies, rotting in your stomach and spoiling the leftover popcorn from last night. It’s just sharing notes. It’s just Jaemin. He’s just a boy from another world. The butterflies groan and demand chocolate. 

.

.

Council meetings feel a little bit like the Magic School Bus series. The tagline plays in your head: A normal council meeting? With this group? No way! 

Some of the blame can be directed towards having such an eclectic group of majors, Mark as the only true political science major. The rest of the group has been adamant about keeping the council safe from political science majors (how Mark doesn’t see the horrors of his classmates you truly don’t know). Another point towards Jaemin, being biochem and pre-med. 

Though being a non-poli-sci major doesn’t mean he can handle the presidency. Mark can barely do that. Not that he’s a bad president. Though it sometimes feels like you do all the heavy lifting for him to take credit for, he does work hard. No, Mark’s problem isn’t his leadership—it’s that he doesn’t know when to give up. 

The council meeting is long done but he continues to bicker with Donghyuck, who holds the entire student council hostage. 

“It’s a proven fact,” Mark says. “How are you arguing with science?” 

“Can science tell me what I feel?” Donghyuck folds his arms over his chest. His laptop has faded to black, the meeting notes long forgotten. “This isn’t about facts, it’s about my experience!” 

You check your phone. The meeting has already gone over fifteen minutes. Any longer and Jaemin could walk in on a very not-empty room with Mark committing a crime against Donghyuck for saying that Froot Loops have individual flavors. Maybe it’s time to intervene. 

“You’re just gaslighting yourself,” Mark says, “it’s not physically possible!” 

“Well, you’re not physically possible!” 

“That makes negative sense. I’m getting dumber listening to your attempts to argue.” 

“Okay,” you say, standing up so quickly your chair falls back. “This isn’t council business anymore. All in favor of concluding the meeting?” According to the official rules, Mark is the only one that can conclude the meeting, but Jisung’s hand flies up, followed quickly by Renjun and Chenle. 

“Cool, majority rule,” you say, ignoring the outrage on Mark’s face. Donghyuck pretends to be mad too, but he was only arguing with Mark to piss him off. He’ll probably follow the older boy around just to ruin his day. The two always have some fight going on—you’re convinced the reason Donghyuck agreed to be your vice president (if you win) is just because Mark would hate it. 

Jisung leaves first, eager to escape from Donghyuck and Mark. Donghyuck pauses long enough to write a few more summarizing notes on the meeting but catches up to Mark before he can vanish, continuing to pester him about Froot Loops. 

“Going home,” Renjun says, “we’re going out tonight, by the way. Turns out Taeyong is an econ major, and also a former frat president.” 

“Huh,” Chenle says, “I can’t believe neither Donghyuck or me know him.” 

Renjun shrugs. “I need to finish a couple projects since nothing will get done tomorrow.” He grins. “See you guys later.” 

“Bye Renjun,” you say, tapping your phone screen to check the notifications. 

[Na Jaemin] in the library  [Na Jaemin] lost in the library  [Na Jaemin] nvm found the stairs 

[yn] need me to come find you? 

[Na Jaemin] nah i don’t get lost (yes please) 

“You’re texting with Jaemin?” Chenle breathes over your shoulder, making you drop your phone. Unfortunately it’s still open, your messages easy to read and Chenle doesn't hesitate to snatch it. At least the rest of the guys left, only Chenle is nosy enough to wonder who you’re texting. 

“This is painful,” he announces. He hands the phone back to you. “You could at least add an emoji. Or, like, send more than one sad message.” 

“Why?” 

Chenle shakes his head. “You are texting the Jaemin, right? Na Jaemin?” 

“Is there any other?”  

“You’ve got a chance here,” Chenle continues, ignoring your question. “Not many people—well, I’ve actually heard he’s quite experienced but that’s beside the point, because you have a chance and that’s rare.” 

“Genuinely, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You glance at the door, just in case Jaemin appears. Somehow you don’t think you want him overhearing this conversation. 

“Okay, look,” Chenle says, “you’re you. Student council, 4.0 GPA, plans to be the next director of the WHO or whatever—”

“That’s not at all what I want.” 

“—never a second you aren’t working, and then there’s Jaemin, and sure he’s a STEM major too, but the he’s type that strolls through life, who has things fall into his lap because he’s hot and lucky but you can’t really be mad about it because he’s Jaemin.” He pauses, like that explains everything. But you already know that Jaemin exists in a realm outside your own. Chenle waits a moment longer then shakes his head. “You know what, you’ll figure it out eventually.” He glances at you with a frown. “Maybe.” 

“Good bye, Chenle,” you say pointedly. 

He moves extra slow, closing his laptop only after spamming the save button. He once forgot to save a spreadsheet after a two hour budgeting session and you think he’s still traumatized. Still, spending a full thirty seconds hitting CTRL + S is excessive even for him—he’s stalling, trying to be as nosy as ever. 

“I’m meeting him at the elevator so you can stop stalling,” you say. You hover over the send button, Chenle’s “advice” infecting your brain. You hit send before you can overthink it any more. 

[yn] on the way now 👍 

Chenle sighs, returning to peeking over your shoulder. “You’re hopeless.” 

You grin and give him a thumbs up. “Thanks buddy. If you hurry you can run into him in the elevators.” 

Chenle perks up, grabbing his still-open bag and sprinting out the door. You feel a little bad for lying to him, but he was the one that didn’t read Jaemin’s messages closely enough—evident from missing the fact that he’s on his way up the stairs and how Chenle thinks he might actually be flirting with you. You shake your head at the thought. 

Just when you reach the doorway to the stairs and wonder if you should meet him in the stairwell, the door flies open. Despite climbing three flights of stairs, Jaemin breathes normally. A different backpack than usual is sling over his back, bright orange, like… well, an orange. (Persimmon, your brain unhelpfully supplies). 

“Hi,” he says. “Sorry I’m late.” You wonder how anyone is immune to his smiles. A smile like that robs you of everything irreplaceable and leaves you missing it as soon as it’s gone. 

“You’re not late,” you say, showing him the time on your phone as you walk to the council room. “Exactly on time.” 

“Oh.” He glances at you, and when you turn your phone back to face you, you understand the awkwardness. 

[Chenle] good luck 🤪🤪🤪

[Chenle] have fun with the hottie 🔥🔥🔥

[Chenle] but not too much fun 😼😼

You clear your throat, praying he didn’t get a chance to read all of the messages. “Chenle’s just making fun of my emoji use. Or lack of emoji use.” 

Jaemin nods. “I hate to take the side of someone I’ve never met over you, but he might be right.” 

“I use a perfectly respectable amount of emojis,” you say. “Besides, I’ve never seen you use any.” 

“You’re just going to have to text me more to find out.” 

You’ve never been so happy to see the doors to the council room. It’s nothing more than a glorified study room, with a rectangular table that stretches in the middle of the room, eight wooden seats set around it. A giant whiteboard stretches the majority of the back wall. The only truly special part of the room is the projector that hangs from the ceiling, with a screen that needs a button to come down. The walls that line the hallway are glass, along with the doors, so that anyone can see the council discussions, though tucked away in the back corner of the third floor, only the occasional passerby is subject to the bickering. 

Jaemin raises his eyebrows and whistles. “This is nice.” 

“Don’t lie,” you say. “The only nice thing about it is that we have full access to it whenever we want.” You point to the sign that reads Student Council Members Only. Truthfully, the six of you use it more as a private study room than for actual council work. 

“It is nice,” Jaemin says, holding the door open for you. He pauses in front of the whiteboard. Chenle had been sitting closest to it, apparently spending the final thirty minutes of the meeting drawing out different game plans for the basketball club he somehow has time for. 

“Chenle,” you explain, “he thinks he’s a part of the Golden State Warriors.” 

“How much council work actually gets done in these meetings,” he says teasingly. 

“You catch on fast,” you say. “It took me the full first year to realize how incompetent we are.” 

“How come?” 

“The president just wanted resume padding. He was incredible at sucking up to faculty and making the right people think he was a great leader, but he would send us fresh-terns to pick up condoms and sent Donghyuck with a fake to get drinks once.” 

“Fresh-tern?” 

“The freshman interns,” you explain, “since the president is the only elected position and the rest of the council is appointed, the only way to get known is through the ‘internship,’ which technically is open to anyone but only freshman are dumb enough to dedicate that much time to a job that does absolutely nothing—like, it doesn’t pay or even guarantee you a spot on the council in the future. It’s all based on whether the president likes you or not. 

“Anyway, our president last year was marginally better, and he tried to abolish the seniors-only president rule but couldn’t get it to pass in time, so we ended up with Mark. Not that Mark is a bad president, though council meetings could be half as long if he wouldn’t go on tangents every two minutes.” You stop, realizing how much you’re talking. You’ve come dangerously close to telling him the truth about the presidency. Jaemin says nothing, probably bored. “Anyways, we’ve got a few new initiatives this year but mostly we try to maintain the annual events and keep Mark’s head on his shoulders until he graduates.” 

“Sounds like fun,” Jaemin says. 

“Sometimes.” You pause. “How’s your application going, by the way?” 

He glances at you, smile fading a little. He turns back to the whiteboard, this time studying the fading drawing Renjun made a month ago of a goat fighting Donghyuck. “Still figuring things out. Mostly working on my campaign goals.” 

You nod. A part of you wants to press further, learn more about his plans—but because you want to beat him or because it’s Jaemin? Why is it so difficult to think clearly around him? 

You sit at the table and open your laptop, pulling out your notes. He sits beside you, scraping the chair against the tile floors until his knee is an inch away from yours. He must not notice the way your breath catches in your throat when he leans closer. A moment later and your brain is invaded by his scent, a clean smell like laundry detergent or body wash. 

“It’s organized by subject,” you explain. “Usually I take notes in class and then Renjun reviews and organizes it with keywords and highlighting and this coding system that I don’t really get but he swears by. Either way it works for us.” You show him the keyword that Renjun uses to signify exam hints, combining it with the past class’s date to cross reference the relevant information. 

Jaemin lets out a low whistle. “This is crazy.” 

“Yeah,” you say, “Renjun puts a lot of time into it. But when we study for exams, it’s worth it.” 

“You know Renjun from student council?” He asks, beginning to type a few notes. 

“I guess that’s where I met him first,” you say. “But he’s pretty much my best friend. The whole student council is pretty close, way closer than the group Mark came into. He tells us horror stories about how they made the fresh-terms compete just to turn them against each other, though that’s back when it was filled with poli-sci majors.” 

“None of you are poli-sci?” 

“I’m public health,” you say, “and Mark is poli-sci, but the rest of the guys avoided it. We swore that the next council would be free of the plague of poli-sci majors.” 

“You really hate them?” 

“They deserve it,” you say. “But also it’s because I made the mistake of dating one last year.” You shudder at the memory. 

“Really?” Jaemin looks away from his laptop, staring at you instead. 

“Don’t make fun of me,” you whine. “It was a moment of weakness and he confessed to me with cookies.” 

“Not making fun,” Jaemin says. “Were the cookies at least homemade?” 

“Well, yes.” You shake your head, trying to stop the next bit from coming out. But Jaemin raises his eyebrows and you can’t help it. “He had his ex make them, actually.” 

“No!” 

“Yeah, and then dumped me for them after, like, two weeks, and the guys are all convinced that he cheated on me with them,” you say. “So, no, I don’t really like poli-sci majors.” 

“A good observation,” Jaemin says. His approval makes your cells glow—scientists could discover a new form of bioluminescence from within you. 

Jaemin continues to stare at you, eyes full of warmth. It’s so easy to get lost in them, glancing between the pure dark chocolate and fond smile on his lips. The change in light when your laptop screen fades snaps you out of it. 

You eye him. “Do you even need these?” 

“Nope,” Jaemin says. He grins at you. “Just an excuse to see you.” He turns back to the laptop and continues to copy your notes into his document. You turn around, giving him no chance to see the smile that creeps onto your face. You seriously need to get a grip. Jaemin needs to get a grip and realize that he can’t flirt with you like this, not without completely upsetting the balance of the universe. But even as the world slides sideways, you smile. 

.

.

“Nothing special.” That’s what Renjun said when you asked him what he wanted to do for his birthday. But March 23rd falls on a Friday this year, and everything snowballed from there. 

That’s how you find yourself wearing an outfit even the most lenient parents would dub inappropriate, wearing more body glitter than exists in the state of Utah, taking your fifth shot. 

“Sixteen more to go,” Renjun says, patting your back. Why you promised to match him shot for shot, you aren’t quite sure. You had reasoning, at some point. Definitely before the shots. 

At least you aren’t alone—Donghyuck curls his lip after his shot, lime slice snatched out of his hand by Mark before he can take it as a chaser. Mark laughs as he grimaces. 

 “What’s our motto?” Donghyuck shouts. 

“Two and three to infinity!” Mark shouts. 

“Nobody goes to the hospital!” You shout. 

“To the grave!” Renjun shouts. 

“Huh, I guess we should have coordinated that,” Donghyuck says. “I was thinking something more like ‘happy birthday Renjun.’” 

“Shoulda said something,” you say. You take a step to the couch, the world tilting to the side, though maybe it’s actually you because you stumble into the wall. It holds you up until you make it to the couch, sighing as you reach solid ground. A couple people sit next to you, friends of friends of Renjun whose names you don’t know regardless of the alcohol. 

“You’re YN, right?” The girl closer to you says, making you feel a little guilty for having no idea who they are. She beams when you nod. “I live in Apollo Hall, Karina is my RA, she says you aced biochem.”  

“Oh, yeah,” you say. “Who do you have?” 

“Professor Ahn,” she says. 

“He’s good,” you say, “I had him for a different class and he talks off topic all the time but if you visit him in his office hours once, he’ll remember and be more lenient on the research report. I can send you my notes, too, if you want.” 

She smiles even wider. “Really?” 

You nod, your brain sliding around your skull with the movement—not a good sign, only five shots into the challenge. 

The music changes, a Britney Spears song that Donghyuck must have slipped into the rotation. The girl’s friend drags her up to dance before you get the chance to ask for her name. 

Dancing sounds like so much fun, until you stand up and realize that you’ve been hydrated too well. Your bladder announces its need for attention much like the maintenance worker that fixed the leak in your shower—loud and last minute. 

You push your way through the people crowded at the edge of the room, making your way to the hallway where the bedrooms and, more importantly, bathroom are. You pass by a semi-familiar face flirting with a girl from Renjun’s study group, but your bladder gives no time for your brain to make connections of recognition, let alone time to wave. 

Finally, you break the crowd, ignoring the couple making out concerningly close to Donghyuck’s bedroom door (something you like to call “not my problem”). All your focus is on the door to the bathroom, a piece of lined notebook paper taped on with RESTROOM scribbled in marker. Just as you reach for the handle, the door swings inwards. 

You might have caught yourself, two or three shots ago. Instead you tumble forward, the floor coming to meet you fast. And then you aren’t. 

“We have got to stop meeting like this,” Jaemin says, laughing. He caught you by the elbows, your face pressed into his chest. He helps you straighten up, though he doesn’t let go of your arms. 

“Jaemin.” You grin at him. 

He tilts his head. “You’re drunk.”  

“You’re pretty,” you say. Jaemin tilts his head and smiles at you. Endearing. Endearing, that Jaemin has an amused expression on his face. Like he is endeared by you. How funny. 

But he really is pretty. He must be hot in the leather jacket, loose over his broad shoulders. Yes, those broad shoulders. He’s hot too. But first, he’s pretty. His black hair falls just above his eyes, loosely split down the middle, framing the perfect angles of his face–the perfect line of his nose, gentle curve of his cheekbones, that jawline–and of course those lips. Perfect lips. 

Jaemin leans closer. “You’re prettier.” 

You burst into laughter, stopping only when you snort. “You almost sound serious.” 

Jaemin doesn’t say anything else, still smiling at you, only a couple inches of space between you. Ignoring those lips this close is impossible. They’re the prettiest shade of pink, and he must have put on lip balm–or maybe it’s the lighting–because they glow. What do they feel like? They have to be soft—you’d bet everything in your pocket (if these pants had pockets) he tastes sweet. Like a fruit, a yummy, juicy fruit, dripping with juice, which reminds you—pee. 

You push past Jaemin, into the bathroom. “Need to pee.” 

He catches his hand on the door before you can close it, frowning a little. “You’re not going to slip and crack your head open?” 

“Nope,” you say. “Really need to pee.” He lets go of the door and you slam it shut, using one hand on the counter to steady yourself while you fumble with the lock. After an eternity, you finally get to the toilet, which, despite the number of people crowded in a house of two college guys, isn’t totally disgusting. 

Two minutes, an empty bladder, and clean hands later, you push the door open. Your balance has improved just enough for you to feel confident in your ability not to die on the dance floor—and with perfect timing because Break Your Heart by Taio Cruz just started playing. You find Donghyuck in the middle of the room and join him, grinning when he cheers. 

Renjun appears halfway through the next song, shots in hand. More of the tequila ends up on the ground than in your stomach by the time you knock it back but Renjun shouts, “Six!” anyways. 

Another 2000s hit plays (it’s definitely Chenle’s playlist, which reminds you that you haven’t seen him in a while) and you get Renjun to stay on the dance floor for the full song. It’s hot and sweaty and you wouldn’t be anywhere else in the world. 

Donghyuck cheers again, hyping up the people that join your little circle. You turn to see Jeno, wearing a piece of fabric that technically could be called a shirt though it really looks like a hole for his head that’s completely open at the sides except for the ties at the bottom. Beside him, and right next to you, Jaemin grins at you. He throws an arm over your shoulder, pulling you against his side. 

“And I was like baby, baby, baby, oh!” You shout along with the song, vaguely aware of the rest of the guys singing along—except for Jaemin, who waits for Ludacris’s verse to come in to rap it word for word. 

Renjun drags you away before the next song can start. “Number seven,” he shouts in your ear over the bass. 

“What about Donghyuck?” You glance behind you where he starts a full performance, an empty water bottle as a microphone. 

Renjun shrugs. “He’ll catch up.” 

You watch Renjun struggle to pour the tequila, holding the bottle with two hands off the edge of the counter to get the mouth as close to the paper shot cups as possible. You can’t see how much tequila actually makes it into the cups but it burns its way down, sending your stomach spinning. Only a third of the drinks you are supposed to take with him but you’re already questioning the next round. 

Renjun gets dragged away from you by some people you aren’t even sure are actually his friends, but you lose track of him when someone tugs on your hand. Jaemin, again. He lost his jacket at some point, wearing a shirt that matches Jeno’s, showing off his considerable arms. Even in the poor lighting from the strobe lights Donghyuck set up, you can see the definition in his biceps. 

Yeah, you’re definitely staring. 

Jaemin asks something but you can’t hear him over the music. You step closer, stumbling a little on your own feet. As always, he catches you, arm sliding around your waist. 

“How are you doing?” He shouts over the music. 

You grab his other forearm to keep yourself from falling over. “I’m so hungry.” 

Jaemin leans closer, lips brushing against your ear. “Wanna get out of here?” You raise your eyebrows at him and he grins. “The McDonald’s, across the street?” 

“I need French fries,” you say, letting go of his arm and spinning out of his embrace to face the door. He catches you before you can go too far (and fall on your face), looping his elbow through yours. 

As soon as the door closes behind you, everything falls silent. Not everything, because you can still hear the bass from inside the house, and cicadas sing, and the highway is close enough to hear the rumbling of engines passing by. But quiet falls in the space between you and Jaemin, a breath waiting to fall free. 

He doesn’t let go over your arm, using his other hand to brace the three steps in front of Donghyuck and Renjun’s place. He leans on you as much as you lean on him, magnets stuck to each other, except magnets don’t struggle to stay upright crossing an empty street. Maybe if they could get drunk. 

The street light flickers above you, crackling electricity. You can feel Jaemin’s bare arm against yours, firm muscle held taut. You peek at the boy beside you, his head tilted to the sky. Pretty. You won’t say it again for fear of being repetitive, but it’s the right word for this moment. Not just Jaemin, but the chilly night air, the faulty light above you fighting with the neon lights to illuminate your breath. You’ll blame the alcohol in the morning, but tonight it’s all pretty. 

Jaemin swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, and he turns to meet your eyes. It’s definitely the alcohol but you don’t look away. 

The crosswalk changes to the white man, beeping at you to cross the street. You tear your eyes away from him, settling for clinging to his arm to make it past the striped crosswalk illuminated by headlights. 

You’re hardly the only drunk couple at McDonald’s. Jaemin notices you limping a little and drops you off in a booth, stumbling on his own to order. You must have done something dancing, though you don’t remember anything hurting. Your ankle hurts now, so you lean your head into your elbow and watch Jaemin’s back. 

The fluorescent lights can’t make him look sickly. They show his arms in their full glory, open sides revealing enough of his body to make you self-conscious. The hint of a farmer’s tan dusts his arms, shoulders just a shade lighter than his forearms. Where did he get that from? 

So many questions about him. So much to know. So little you do know but you like him so much it gets so hard to tell. What matters. 

Jaemin puts his wallet into his back pocket, turning around and smiling when he meets your gaze. He slides into the seat across from you. “Potatoes are incoming.” 

“Do you know what persimmons taste like?” 

“What?” His brow furrows, a cute frown that makes you forget what you’d asked. 

“Never mind,” you mumble. Opening your mouth any more around him is a dangerous game—you aren’t quite sure what will spill out. 

He reaches out to tap his finger on your arm. Like the sun, being in his atmosphere makes everything warmer, his touch boiling your skin. The heat flows through your body, each cell vibrating with the need for something. 

“You feeling okay?” 

It takes considerable concentration to work past his finger, which has graduated to drawing shapes, and answer him. “Renjun wanted to do twenty-one shots for his birthday but seven is beyond enough.” 

Jaemin whistles. “Is Renjun going to survive tonight?” 

“Probably not,” you mumble. “That opens up a council position. You could be a good social media person. Your face is pretty enough.” 

“Is that the only requirement for student council?” Jaemin asks. “Being pretty?” 

“You can’t be a poli-sci major either,” you say, “which you pass. It helps that you’re smart, and kind. I like people that are smart and kind.” 

“That’s a low bar,” Jaemin says. “What else do you like?” 

“Hm…” Your voice rumbles, a funny feeling in the back of your throat. You hum for a little longer before you remember Jaemin asked you a question. What do you like? 

“Sharks. They’re much cooler than dolphins. And potatoes, I love potatoes. I like Renjun. And Donghyuck. And Mark, even though he’s a poli-sci major. I like Chenle and Jisung. They might be my favorite people.” And you. I like you so much I don’t know how to say it. 

“What about doctors?” Jaemin leans closer, intertwining his fingers with yours. “Do you like doctors?” 

You lift your head up, pouting your lips at him. “Doctors have needles. I don’t like needles.” 

Jaemin laughs. “Even if the doctor is super rich?” 

“Rich? From taking all my money?” You cry. 

“Rich from saving people’s lives,” he says. “Like a neurosurgeon.” 

You squint at him, the blurriness of your eyelashes mixing with the blurriness of the alcohol and canceling out until his face becomes clear. “Are you actually pre-med because of Grey’s Anatomy?” 

Jaemin looks away, running a hand to the back of his neck. “Maybe.” His biceps are almost enough to distract you from his admission. Almost. 

“Oh my god.” You can’t hold back the giggles, trying to cover your mouth with your hand. Tears prick at your eyes and you gasp for breath, stomach twisting the alcohol with the giggles and turning over itself until you aren’t sure if you’re starving or need to throw up. 

“It’s a perfectly respectable career!” Jaemin says. 

“You want to be Patrick Dempsey?” You say between giggles. “Not even McSteamy?” 

“Hey, he’s—wait, you watch it too?” 

You shrug. “It’s fun.” 

“Then how are you making fun of me!” He cries. 

“I didn’t go into medicine because of it!” 

Before he can say anything else, the workers shout a number. He glances at the receipt and shoots you a glare without a drop of malice in his eyes and leaves. 

Jaemin being silly. Jaemin bickering with you. Hard to believe that even two weeks ago, you never would have believed he watched children’s shows in class and chose his profession because of a soap opera. Jaemin who keeps surprising you, who makes you want to believe that maybe he’s from the same planet as you after all. 

He brandishes the brown paper bag in front of him like treasure. What does it matter that you’re grinning because of him and not the golden treats inside?

“For you,” he says, setting the bag in front of you and tilting it on its side so you can reach inside for the fries. “I didn’t know what sauce, so I fought… Okay, maybe flirted with the worker, but the important part is that I got one of each.” He pauses glancing at you. “Which apparently you don’t need.” 

“So good,” you say, eating them properly: no sauce, just freshly fried golden perfection. You look up to find Jaemin smiling at you… fondly? Is that what’s in his eyes? 

“What?” 

He shakes his head. “You’re just cute.” 

You stare at him, fry halfway to your mouth. He looks down, the tips of his ears tinted red as he grabs a fry and dips it in honey mustard. 

The rest of your time at McDonald’s is dedicated to properly enjoying the French fries and not at all sneaking glances at Jaemin sneaking glances at you. You finish the fries long before the swirly feeling in your stomach goes away. The butterflies must be drunk too. 

“Back to Renjun’s?” Jaemin asks, standing up and extending a hand for you to take. The most dangerous handhold of your life. You don’t think twice about taking it. 

“Mm, I’m pretty tired,” you say, “and Renjun was pretty adamant about the twenty-one shots thing. If we go back, he won’t let me go until one of us is in the hospital.” Walking is easy when Jaemin lets you lean on his shoulder. Standing just outside the McDonald’s, your shadows stretch ten times as tall as you, the lines between you and Jaemin undefined. 

Jaemin raises an eyebrow. “You aren’t worried about him?” 

“He swore to send Donghyuck to the grave before him, he’ll be fine,” you say, “plus Jisung is there, sober. They’ll be fine.” 

“And you?” 

“I’ll be fine when I get home.” You tilt your head up from his shoulder only for him to look down at you, his nose brushing against yours. Your breath catches in your throat, heart pounding. But you don’t move away and neither does he. 

“Take me home?” 

He doesn’t move for a heartbeat, eyes flickering to your lips. Then he turns his head straight, patting your head with his free hand a couple times. “Okay.” 

You whisper directions, a ten minute walk from Renjun’s place. The walk home is considerably less stumbly, your balance recovered halfway through the fries. You cling to Jaemin’s arm anyway, more afraid of letting him go than falling. 

The building appears far too quickly, Jaemin pushing open the glass doors and walking you to the elevators. You don’t dare say a word to break the silence as the elevator dings to the third floor. He waits until you reach your door to disentangle himself from you, standing with the tips of his sneakers a millimeter away from yours, catching your hands in his. 

“Goodnight, YN,” he says. 

No. This isn’t the time for goodnight, not when every atom in your body might explode if he takes a step away. You tighten your fingers around his. 

“Do you want to come in?” You ask. “See my apartment?” 

He tilts his head, a little frown creasing his brow. “Okay.” 

You fumble with your keys, hands shaking when you open the door. Emotions swirl around you, making it difficult to tell the difference between excitement and anxiety, if it exists. Calling the place an apartment is a bit of a stretch. Glorified broom closet is your preferred term–a bed shoved against the far wall with a tiny window next to it, desk tucked in next to it like a puzzle piece without enough space for a chair, a door for your bathroom, directly next to the “kitchen” of a stovetop oven and sink, and a closet that barely fits your coats.

Beyond being tiny, you left the place a mess, second, third, and fourth contenders for outfits strewn on your bed, unwashed dishes in the sink. The entryway is the only space for the two of you to stand together comfortably but you lead Jaemin farther in, balling up the clothes and tossing them into your hamper underneath the bed. 

“I don’t normally have company,” you explain. 

“It’s okay,” he says, “my room’s a mess too.” He picks up the pink teddy bear from your bed and smiles. “A gift?” 

You shake your head. “Bought it myself for surviving sophomore year.” You pull the great white shark out from beneath a blanket. “Freshman year.” 

“Cute,” Jaemin says, still looking at the bear. 

You follow Jaemin as he wanders the tiny room. He pauses at a framed picture of the student council that sits on your desk. It was a gift from last year’s graduating cabinet, the whole group, president, appointed cabinet, unofficial members, and the fresh-terns, fifteen people in total. 

“That one’s my ex,” you say, the word still strange in your mouth. “If you count two weeks as even dating.” 

“The one in red?” 

You nod. 

Jaemin snorts. “I’m way hotter than him.” He sets the picture and turns, and suddenly only a couple inches of space separate him from you. This close, you can see exactly how pretty he is, long eyelashes that cannot be natural, even longer when he stares at his toes instead of meeting your eyes. And, this close, you can see the soft pink of his lips, lower lip jutting out just a tiny bit. 

Not drunk, not yet sober, it’s easy to lean a little closer, brush your lips softly against his. The kiss is over before you can think about it. 

You open your eyes to Jaemin staring at you, eyes wide, somewhere between disbelief and fear. You open your mouth to apologize but he moves faster, hand coming up to cup your face and pulling you closer until you kiss him again, your hand instinctively catching you against his chest. He links his fingers with your free hand, tugging you even closer to him. 

He moves slow at first, a gentle kiss that takes your breath away anyway. He pulls away when the stars flood your brain, smile boyish and sweet. His thumb strokes your cheek into the shape of a heart. Then he slides his hands to the back of your neck, letting go over your other hand to wrap around your waist and pull you against his chest. 

Jaemin knows how to kiss. He moves like it’s his last chance, desperate lips telling truths words can’t capture. And you might not have as much experience, but you understand the language of desperation. A never ending chain of fireworks explode within you, pushing you to wrap your arms around his neck, kiss him even harder. Your hands move on their own, tugging at the cloth of his shirt until he leans back, breathing heavily. 

“How far you want to go?” He asks, chest rising and falling with each breath. “You know consent is so sexy.” 

You laugh, giddiness making it difficult to think. “You have a condom?” 

Jaemin grins, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out his wallet. He slips the shiny packet out, tossing his wallet to the floor along with his shirt. He gives you a proper amount of time to ogle his chest before tugging you against him again, your heart pounding so hard against him he must feel it. 

He tilts your head towards his until his lips brush against yours, and when he speaks, you feel every word. “Now where were we?” 

.

.

[Na Jaemin] sorry I had to go :( [Na Jaemin] wish I could have been there when you woke up  [Na Jaemin] but! I have a surprise [Na Jaemin] [image attached] [Na Jaemin] see you in the morning <3 

You blink at the message, a picture of him wearing a fuzzy headband in the middle of his skincare routine. Your head pounds a little, but otherwise your hangover isn’t too bad. Definitely not the worst it’s ever been. 

No, the strange feeling in your stomach is something else. Last night is burned into your memory, every move, every touch. Jaemin, who you fell asleep beside, though the timestamp on the texts show he didn’t stay much longer after. Not that you expected him to. It’s Jaemin, you remind your traitorous heart. No matter how much he flirts, no matter what he did drunk, he was never yours. 

Your phone rings, but it isn’t Jaemin. 

“Hey,” Renjun says. 

“You sound awful,” you say, throat aching. 

“You’re one to talk,” Renjun says, “and you didn’t even get to double digits. Donghyuck out-drank you.” 

“And how’s Donghyuck doing?” 

“Throwing up in the shower, it sounds like.” 

You laugh, the motion, sending your stomach spinning. “Happy birthday Renjun.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, “I actually did call for a reason.” 

“I am not helping with clean up,” you say, “Chenle swore he’d do all of it since he bailed on set up.” 

“Not that,” Renjun says. “I’ll be over as soon as I can walk without passing out.” He hangs up, leaving you to frown at the empty screen. 

Well, considering how late he got back, Jaemin probably won't be awake any time soon. You need to shower and rehydrate and try to convince your stomach to take something—and with how Renjun sounded over the phone, it seems like you’ll have plenty of time. 

An hour later, slightly burnt toast, and post-Advil, the headache is mostly gone. Your stomach still twists at the thought of Jaemin. You jump at the doorbell but find Renjun wearing a mismatched sweatsuit and his bright orange crocs, glasses nearly sliding off the bridge of his nose. He wears the hood of his sweatshirt up but you can see tufts sticking up. 

“God, did you shower?” You catch a whiff as he passes by, reeking of tequila. 

“I was serious about coming over as soon as possible.” He groans, collapsing on your bed. “I think I maybe came over too early though. Might need to throw up.” 

“Do you want toast?” You offer. 

He glares at you. “Just sit.” Renjun rarely speaks with patience but today he seems extra short on it. Maybe because of the hangover, but the way he glares at the carpet before turning to look at you makes you wonder if something else is wrong. His eyes soften a little when he meets your eyes, his frown lightening just barely. 

“I really wish I didn’t have to tell you this,” he begins. “Did you go out with Jaemin last night?”

“He… took me home,” you say. “What’s wrong Renjun?” 

“Last night—well—this morning, I met some guys from Sigma Nu, who are friends with Jeno and Jaemin,” he says, “who were talking about how Jaemin is going to be president. About how he’s messing around with the frontrunner, trying to distract them or fuck around, trying to take the presidency.” He falls quiet, studying your face. 

“He wouldn’t.” Your voice feels so small. 

He wouldn’t, you said, but you can’t even convince yourself. Your heart flounders, drowning in a lake of its own creation, choking on fantasies. Your brain takes control in the chaos, gears turning despite the crashing waves. Facts don’t need oxygen. 

1) Jaemin approached you about the presidency first 

2) he pretended not to know you were running 

3) he’s known for hooking up with anyone 

4) he never belonged in your world 

The conclusion is obvious, a conclusion you could have come to much sooner if you weren’t too busy getting swept off your feet by his easy flirting and sweet smile. Though your heart doesn’t want to believe it, it makes too much sense. So much more sense than the hope you were stupid enough to believe in. Jaemin isn’t that type. How many of your friends told you that? How many times did you tell yourself that? But you let him hurt you anyway because he held your hand and called you cute. How quickly a fruit can rot when it sits in the palm of your hand. 

Jaemin doesn’t exist a universe away–he lives in your world, worse than a cliche. The type of boy that made you want to believe in him, even when you knew better from the start, and maybe that’s the worst part. He never hid who he was, what he wanted. It’s you that wanted more, that believed he could want something more. How pitiful. 

“I’m sorry,” Renjun says softly. “I wanted him to be different.” 

“Did you? Because everyone was telling me about how I needed to be careful, protect myself, not get hurt over him. Did any of you consider that I didn’t ever expect anything from him?” You shake your head. “No, you all thought poor little YN, getting their feet swept out from under themself over a boy that doesn’t give a shit about them? A boy that’s actively trying to stop them from achieving a dream they’ve had since they started college? Well, guess what? You all were right. Congratulations.” You bite your lip trying to hold back the tears but it’s too late. 

“I’m sorry,” Renjun repeats. He pats your arm, looking away when you swipe at your eyes. He waits for you to take a shaky breath, hand on your arm. You grab the teddy bear, trying not to hear Jaemin calling it cute. 

“I slept with him.” The admission burns its way up your throat. “Last night.” You sigh. “You don't have to tell me I’m an idiot.” 

“Okay, I wasn’t going to say that,” Renjun throws his arm over your shoulders. “Though I’m kind of regretting sitting on the bed.” He scoots a little forward but squeezes your shoulder. “You’re going to do things you regret, there’s no stopping it.” 

“Why do you always have to be right? Why am I exclusively attracted to shitty men?” Your chin digs into the innocent bear, jaw tightening. “Why can’t I just like a boy that likes me?” 

“Do you think maybe you liked him too much?” Renjun asks gently. “Like maybe you liked the idea of him more than Jaemin himself.” He pauses, squeezing your arm. “Don’t let a boy that isn’t real hurt you.” 

You lean into his touch, resting your head on his shoulder. “But he was real. Sweeter than persimmon. Like a strawberry. Or a mango.” 

“Okay, I’m not understanding.” 

“I thought he was a persimmon, a magic fruit I could imagine tasting sweet or sour or tart but he’s real and even though his flavor isn’t a mystery, it’s better than what I could have imagined. Like taking a bite of a pineapple and it’s the best pineapple you’ve ever had, juicy and sweet.”

“Okay first of all, that’s a terrible metaphor, please stop talking about how he tastes or I will throw up,” Renjun says. “Also persimmons are real.” 

“I know that,” you snap, “but I’ve never had one, so they’re magic to me.” You stare ahead, grateful Renjun knows when you just need a little bit of time to work up the courage to say what you need to say. “I’m saying you are right. I didn’t really like him, not at first. But it’s worse than that because when I did get to know him, it was so much better. He wasn’t a dream, he was a boy who watches Grey’s Anatomy and does skincare even after a night of partying.

“I know it makes more sense, that his flirting wasn’t real, that he was never really interested in me. But nothing real about him makes sense, and I want to believe in him, still.” You purse your lips. “Pretty pathetic, huh?” 

“You really liked him,” Renjun says, “that won’t just go away.” 

“That would be too easy,” you mutter. 

Renjun laughs. “You’re going to be fine. There are so many better men.” 

“That’s what you said last time,” you say. 

“And I was right,” Renjun says, “Jaemin is better than last time. Marginally. At least he isn’t a poli-sci major.” 

You snort. 

“See, you’re already laughing at him.” Renjun pushes you off his shoulder, standing up and groaning. “Now, I’m going to throw up in your bathroom, and then we can watch dumb action movies until your brain rots. The rest of the guys are supposed to come over, though I think Donghyuck is still throwing up.” 

You bury your face into the bear. “Does everyone know?” 

Renjun pauses. “The guys from this morning were sort of proud to be the ones to tell us.” 

You groan. The door to your bathroom closes but you barely hear it. You clutch the bear a little tighter, as if the fluff could break through your chest and fill the spilling hole in your heart. 

It would be too easy to blame Jaemin, to pretend like none of the pain is from your own stupidity. But you already told Renjun. You knew it from the start. 

Knocking at the door, a knock that means only one person. You wipe the tears from your eyes and take a deep breath that does nothing to steady your heart. 

“God, I was afraid I was waking you up.” Jaemin starts talking as soon as you open the door. He holds up a bag, a tray with two iced coffees and a hot cup. He looks unfairly good and, of course, he grins at you. “I wasn’t entirely sure what your hangover cure is, so I got hot and iced coffee, and there’s a breakfast sandwich and a donut and also these potato things, I really wasn’t sure what you’d like, but–” 

“Did you know that I was running for president?” 

Jaemin freezes, frown slowly curling his brow. “What are you–”

“Just answer the question.” You grip the door handle, knuckles turning white. 

He pauses a moment too long. “It’s not like that.” 

“Never talk to me again.” You fight the urge to slam the door, but your neighbors don’t have to suffer your wrath. You shake your head, “I can’t believe I fell for your bullshit.” 

Jaemin opens his mouth but you close the door, sliding the deadlock as hard as you can. He has the audacity to try to explain himself. If you didn’t want to hear him out so badly, you might laugh. Instead you turn your back on the door, sliding down it until you can rest your head on your knees and sob. 

.

.

Jaemin makes it halfway down the aisle of seats on Tuesday before you turn to Renjun, panic and tears in your eyes. He glares at Jaemin so hard he freezes in his tracks and doesn’t try again. He doesn’t look at you in class, not even a peek. On Thursday, he walks straight to his seat. 

.

.

Chenle doesn’t bother to throw his packages into the recycling after opening them. He says he’s hanging onto them to make moving out easier, but really he’s just too lazy to break them down. You have to step around them to get into his apartment, since he thought it would be fun to make an obstacle course out of them. Navigating these sober is hard enough, you have no idea how he makes it to bed after a night out. 

But today, it’s worth it. It’s been two weeks since you cut off Jaemin, a month since the day you bumped into him in class (a month and three days but who’s counting?). He doesn’t look at you anymore. You haven’t fully escaped him–every once in a while you’ll hear his laugh from the other side of the lecture room. The sound still stabs between your ribs, a wound turned new each time you hear it. But it cuts a little more shallow each time. One day you won’t feel it at all. 

And today, Chenle got a puppy. 

She cries before you make it over the baby gate in Chenle’s room. A tiny ball of white fluff bounds toward you, tripping over her own feet. 

“Hi baby!” Your voice automatically rises three pitches looking at her. “Aren’t you just adorable!” You crouch down, letting her jump on your knees. She won’t sit still long enough to be pet, sprinting around your feet, then back to Chenle sitting on the floor, back resting against his bed. 

“Hi to you, too,” Chenle says pointedly. 

“Hi Chenle,” you turn back to his puppy. “And hello puppy!” 

“Her name is Daegal,” he says. You can hear him rolling his eyes. “‘Cause she’s got a big ass head.” 

“Chenle is so mean to you!” You coo at the puppy at your feet. “But that’s okay, I’ll take good care of you. You can come home with me!” 

“You hear that baby?” Chenle says. “YN wants to pay me $1000 to take care of you!” 

You stare at him. “Did you seriously adopt a $1000 puppy?” 

He shrugs. “She’s really cute.” 

“You’re insane.” Daegal settles down enough to let you pat her head. 

“I invite you into my home for some much needed puppy love and this is how you treat me?” Chenle sighs. “To think that I felt bad for you, that I told you about her before anyone else. This is how I get treated for my kind heart.” 

“I don’t need your pity,” you say. Daegal licks your hand. 

“It’s not pity.” He pauses. “Well I guess it is pity, but you’re also my friend YN. Believe it or not, watching you live the sad boy lifestyle over some dude, again, is not fun. I’d much rather watch you being happy with my puppy.” 

“You’re the one who brought it up,” you mutter. 

Chenle claps his hands, making Daegal jump. “But that does remind me, everyone has been too much of a coward to ask, but I’ve heard from tertiary sources about his reputation, but I’d love a first hand account.” 

“What are you talking about?” You eye him. 

“How was the sex?” 

“You’re seriously asking me that?” 

He shrugs. “Well, yeah.” 

You pick up Daegal, staring at her instead of Chenle. She wiggles her tail, then her paws, so you set her back down. “I’m not answering that.” 

Chenle narrows his eyes, studying you. “That means it was good.” 

“That’s not at all what I said.” 

“And yet you’re not denying it.” 

“Please shut the fuck up.” 

For once he listens. With Renjun, silence means peace–he doesn’t say anything that doesn’t matter. When Chenle doesn’t speak, it means he has something to say and he isn’t sure how to say it. You peek up at him and your suspicions are confirmed. He chews on his lip, frowning at you. 

“Just tell me.” 

Chenle purses his lips. “He dropped out.” 

“Of school?” 

He rolls his eyes. “The election.” 

You stare at him. “Seriously?” 

“He hasn’t touched his application since Renjun’s birthday and Donghyuck said yesterday he emailed and said he wasn’t going forward with it.” He doesn’t say anything about how technically you should be checking the email. 

“But it doesn’t make any sense.” 

Chenle shrugs. “I’m just telling you what I was told.” He stands up. “Now! How much do you like cleaning up dog pee?” 

You glance down at Daegal, who squats in the middle of the room, a dark stain on the carpet beneath her. Chenle tosses you some paper towels and a can of Febreeze. 

“Why am I cleaning up after your dog?” 

“Because you tried to steal her,” he says, “and I’ve already done this three times today and I’m really sick of it.” 

You shake your head but pull off a paper towel and press it into the stain. 

“We’re going out tomorrow night, by the way,” Chenle says. “And you’ve passed two weekends in a row so you’ve hit a cap for the month. You have to come with, no ‘buts.’” 

Apparently the grace period of pity is over. Whatever, it’ll be nice to do something other than hiding in your room watching Powerpuff Girls. And maybe you will see him. Maybe you’ll get an answer to the giant question mark that’s lodged itself in your heart when Chenle told he dropped out. Maybe the little caterpillar of hope that’s survived these past few weeks can metamorphize. 

And maybe he’ll break your heart again. But you won’t get any answers daydreaming. 

.

.

How Renjun can still drink Tequila, you truly do not understand. Ever since his birthday, the thought of it makes your stomach flip, and you didn’t even drink that much. But he sips on the margarita, insisting it doesn’t taste like alcohol. 

“It’s disgusting,” you say, pushing it closer to him. “I am not drinking this.” 

He rolls his eyes. “You do realize the whole gimmick of this place is all their drinks are made with tequila, right?” 

“No one told me that!” You glare at Chenle, who showed up at your door at exactly 8:00pm and dragged you to the bar. “For the record, I would have pre-gamed. But I guess I can be the babysitter tonight.” 

Chenle cheers. “Donghyuck, you’re back in! YN is babysitting!” 

Your drink slides down the table to Donghyuck, interrupting whatever ‘conversation’ he was having with Jisung. 

“I thought the whole point of dragging you out was to make you have fun,” he says. 

“You better be fun, then,” you say. 

Donghyuck raises his eyebrows but eventually take a long sip. “Brain freeze!” He cries, clutching his forehead. You laugh with the rest of the guys. It’s almost normal, except you can’t help but peek at the door whenever somebody walks in. 

The night passes and the guys get more drunk. The bar gets more crowded–soon you are squished between Renjun and Chenle, barely able to breathe as the music slowly gets louder. The tequila looks more and more appealing but the guys need at least one person sober to make it back alive: Chenle arm wrestles a stranger while Donghyuck has some poor soul cornered, practicing his pick up lines. 

When Chenle loses, you push past him, muttering something about fresh air that they probably can’t hear. You push through the crowd of drunk people, trying not to remember the last time you did this. 

You squint at the steps, edges difficult to see with so little light. Who builds a bar on the second floor of a building? You make it to the final step but misjudge how close it is and your foot slips off the edge, sending you tumbling forward. You might have caught yourself, but you don’t have to—strong arms catch you mid fall, wrapping around your waist and swinging you clean off the stairs and onto solid ground. You aren’t surprised at all to look into Jaemin’s eyes as he lets go. 

He frowns at you, eyes so dark they look black. Maybe it’s the lack of light, but the twinkle in his eyes, the glint you’ve come to recognize as trouble, is missing. 

“Hi,” you say. 

He drops his arms, stuffing his hands into his back pockets. “So you’re talking to me now?” 

An apology begins on your lips but you can’t push it out. Not when you still don’t understand. “Can we talk?” 

He glances at you. “Have you been drinking?” 

You shake your head.  

“Okay.” He doesn’t walk away, folding his arms over his chest. 

When you imagined this conversation, the sun shined so that you could see the warmth in his eyes. He smiled at you, called you silly for ever doubting him. The Jaemin in your head wouldn’t ever do something to hurt you. 

But Jaemin doesn’t exist in your head–it’s far past time you learned that. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I shouldn’t have just cut you off. But I thought… I don’t know what I thought, let alone what I think now.” You force yourself to meet his cold eyes, searching for a hint of warmth. “Chenle told me you dropped out of the presidency.” 

He nods slowly. 

“But Renjun told me that someone told him that the presidency is the only reason you ever pretended to like me, but if you dropped out then I really don’t get it. Not that I ever got it in the first place, though, because you’re you and I’m me, and everyone kept telling me that, like I didn’t already know that you are supposed to be a persimmon and grow on a tree far far away from my lemon or pomegranate or whatever kind of fruit I am, because the point is we were never meant to be.” You take a deep breath, realizing that you don’t exactly sound sane. “What I’m trying to say is that it doesn’t make sense. It made sense when you were trying to cheat me out of the presidency, but you dropped out. And it doesn’t make sense.” 

Jaemin blinks slowly at you. “You would rather believe that I was trying to rob your presidency than that I actually like you?” 

“Do you?” 

He frowns. “Of course I do. I like you so much I think about things I’ve never wanted before, the silly shit–watching horror movies as an excuse to cuddle, having picnics by the river, buying groceries together–I wanted to do all of it with you. 

“You talk a lot about how we’re different people—who gives a shit? If I’m the type of person that wants to be with you and you’re the type of person that wants to be with me, why does any of that matter?” He takes a step closer to you, and you can see you were wrong. His eyes aren’t cold, they’re full of emotion, dark waves of hurt. “What do I have to do to prove it to you? Should I tell you how pretty you are? How incredibly smart you are—not fake smart like me, but really smart. And when I’m around you, I like who I am. I know it’s cheesy but you bring out the best in me. 

“I know I fucked up. I should have told you how I felt before anything else, and I shouldn’t have left. I regretted it as soon as I was gone but it was terrifying to lay next to you and give you my bare heart, even when I didn’t think you would ever try to hurt me.” He takes a deep breath. “I don’t know if it hurts more thinking that you never wanted a relationship or thinking that I’d ever stoop that low. I mean, everyone tells me about my reputation, but I didn’t think you cared about any of that.” 

Tears prick at your eyes. How could you be such an idiot? Listening to all the wrong people, especially yourself. Jaemin doesn’t exist in another world, he isn’t any kind of fruit. He’s a boy that you like that likes you back. It doesn’t have to be any more complicated than that. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, reaching a tentative hand out to rest against his arm. “I’m so sorry.” He drops his head, sighing. “I was an idiot.” 

He sighs, staring at your hand. You start to drop it but he grabs it, squeezing your fingers. “Where do we go from here?” 

You study him, eyes finally adjusted to the darkness. Jaemin who is not a fruit, not an alien, just a boy. 

“Hey.” You reach out and cup his cheek, waiting for him to meet your eyes. “My name is YN. I think you’re really cute.” 

For a heartbeat he doesn’t move. Then he smiles, cheek rising underneath your hand. “Hey, my name is Jaemin. I think you’re really cute too.” 

“Oh really?” You slide your hand to the back of his neck, wrapping your other arm across it. His arms wrap on your waist, pulling you into a hug. He squeezes you flush against him, head tucked into your shoulder just as yours is tucked into his. 

“I know we can’t start over,” he says, “but can we start again?” 

“How about this time we just talk to each other?” You say, tapping your fingers on his shoulder. “No more rumors and gossip.” 

He nods, chin digging into your neck a little. “I swear, I won’t give you any reason to doubt me ever again. I won’t be the kind of guy your friends call a red flag.” 

You loosen your grip and lean back to look him in the eye. “Wait, did they seriously say that to you?” 

“I ran into Donghyuck after I dropped out and we had a very… one sided conversation with his side doing all the talking,” Jaemin says, “and Renjun made it obvious from the start that he didn’t like me.” 

You laugh a little, then even more when he pouts. “You’ll win them over again.” 

“They really don’t like me,” he says. 

You cup his cheek again. “You’ll change their minds.” He leans into your touch, closing his eyes. You lean forward, resting your forehead against his. He gasps a little, hands tightening on your waist. 

“Now, am I remembering incorrectly, or are you an amazing kisser?” You ask. 

He grins, leaning forward and closing the distance without wasting a second. Neither of you can stop smiling, lips and teeth gnashing together but it’s still the best kiss you’ve ever had. 

.

.

You stretch an arm out, only to find more bed instead of empty space. You sit up, shivering as the blanket falls away. Right, you fell asleep in Jaemin’s bed. His room is much bigger than yours, sharing an apartment with Jeno. He has enough room for a dresser and a nicer desk, even a chair. It seems he lied to you about being messy, because even when you show up unannounced, like today, his clothes are neatly folded and the biggest mess you’ve found has been three dirty dishes in the sink (which you later found out were Jeno’s). 

Jeno, apparently, isn’t all bad–he did let you in even though your boyfriend was still out. He doesn’t fully trust you, but then again, your friends don’t hide their mistrust of Jaemin either. You maintain your earlier stance that time will heal that wound. 

You hear a knife against a cutting board coming from the kitchen, so you wrap the blanket around your shoulders and shuffle towards the sound, unable to stop the smile from spreading up your lips when you turn the corner and find Jaemin standing at the counter. He glances behind him and grins at you, and even though you just woke up from a nap and probably have messy hair and marks on your face, he says, “you look sexy.” 

“So cheesy,” you say. He laughs and turns back around. You slip behind him and wrap your arms around him, burying your face in his back and closing your eyes. He radiates warmth better than any blanket. It’s too easy to lean against him, take a deep breath of the scent of his laundry detergent and cling to him. Jaemin moves slowly, careful not to hit you by accident. 

“What’re you doing?” 

“A surprise,” he says, “at least my attempt at one.” He sets down the knife on the counter and taps on your hands, pulling them apart gently and spinning around to face you before setting your hands back on his waist. He tilts his head at you when you purse your lips and frown. “What’s wrong?” 

“Still no ass,” you say, patting him a little lower than his waist. 

“Hey!” He sticks his lower lip out. “I’m trying.” 

“No one’s perfect,” you say, sliding your hands back up and sneaking a kiss to his cheek. 

“You are,” he says, cupping your face to kiss you properly. Jaemin still kisses like it’s his last chance, drawing out every moment, lips lingering on yours until your head spins. It’s only when you can’t breathe that he finally pulls away.  

“Good answer,” you say. 

He smiles. “If you come to the gym with me I’d be more motivated to get an ass you’d be proud of.” 

“You send enough pictures for me to know that if I saw you at the gym I would never survive,” you say. “You want me to die?” 

He laughs, squishing your face together with his hands. “If anyone’s going to die, it’s going to be me, because you are too cute.” 

He presses another kiss to your lips, still squished together in a pout. He laughs at the outrage on your face, letting go of your cheeks and slipping his hands behind your neck, kissing you one more time for real, letting go far too early. 

“The surprise,” he says. He lets go of you with one arm, turning to the cutting board and holding up a slice of what he was cutting. It looks a little bit like a tomato, though it’s more orange than red, and about the size of a golf ball. 

“A persimmon?” 

“I still don’t really get the persimmon thing,” he says, “but I’ve never tried one.” 

You blink at him. Jaemin makes it so easy to fall in love. He holds the piece closer to your mouth, waiting for you to open. A persimmon tastes sweet and mild and rich, a little bit like honey. Jaemin eats his own piece, frowning and nodding. 

“No more magical mystical fruit,” Jaemin says. 

“You’re going to make an amazing trophy husband,” you say. You tap him on the nose. “Maybe we could even be a power couple.” 

He grins. “We’ll be so cool. Like Beyoncé and her husband.” 

“Jay-Z?”

“Whatever.” Jaemin flips his hand. “The important part is that I am Beyoncé.” 

You smack his shoulders softly. “Hell no, Beyoncé would never have a flat ass.” 

“It always comes back to the ass.” He sighs. “Be honest: are you embarrassed by me?” 

Once you never thought he could be embarrassing. That was before you knew he staked his career on a soap opera and wears jorts to the gym, before he called you drunk just to confess he accidentally stole your pencil, before he spent three hours putting up campaign posters for you (and then another two getting written up by campus police for not having permission). Before you fell in love with him. 

“By you? Never.” You pat his cheeks. “Your ass leaves much to be desired, though.” 

thank you for reading!

[hades-in-bloom]

Scars

Leon S. Kennedy x Reader

summary: thinking of Leon’s scars (with a little bit of touching).

warnings & contents: fluff; assumed older Leon (more of RE6 and Vendetta, although I keep using ID! to illustrate); could be age gap, could be none; lots of cuddling; mentions of violence (sorta); the reader could be any gender; no mentions of y/n

a/n: a blurb, because I can. As always, proceed at your own risk. Minors DNI! Masterlist xoxo

soundtrack: billie eilish — when the party’s over

***

Leon’s figure was resting on top of the bedsheets, his bare back exposed to one’s curious sight with his features relaxed, while he was catching up on hours of sleep he was deprived of this week; thanks to another one of those excruciating missions. You couldn’t hold back a small smile; he looked so peaceful, lying there with disheveled dirty blonde hair and not a glimpse of worry on his face—something you would die to see more often after everything he has endured.

You were doing your best to stay as quiet as humanly possible so you wouldn’t wake him up when your gaze got drawn to the network of scars, interspersed with moles, scattered across his pale skin. There were a couple of fresh bruises flourishing into purple and yellow blobs, too, adding to a rich picture. You winced like you could feel his pain. You’d never get used to seeing him this way—seeing him hurt.

Your touch was lighter than one of a feather when your fingers slid over one of his scars, tracing its shape slowly, with care. This one seemed to be old, fading away over the years, thus one of the rarest ones—as there were many more those anew, coming in different shapes and shades of pink. It didn’t matter, though, how many of them were on Kennedy’s body—you knew them all, keeping the count.

You pulled your hand away in a swift motion as you felt Leon stir. He was still half-asleep when he opened his eyes a crack, his gaze fixed on your features. You looked guilty.

“Hey,” he muttered hoarsely with a faint smile. He didn’t sound irritated—rather exhausted. “Can’t keep your hands off of me, sweetheart?”

You chuckled softly as you eliminated the distance between the two of you, and then rested your head on the edge of his pillow. His hand immediately wrapped around your waist, pulling you even closer.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to wake you up.” You pressed your lips against his forehead. You kept your voice barely above the whisper, hoping he’d be able to go back to sleep.

He hummed, “It’s okay,” with his eyes almost shut again, as his mind stayed in the half-place between awakeness and dreams. His thumb caressed your side mindlessly, soothing himself down.

You put your hands on his back in a kind of hug, feeling the bumps of his scars under your fingers.

“You have never told me their stories,” you said quietly, cradling him with your touch.

Leon’s body tensed slightly, his face now hidden in the crook of your neck. His warm and even breathing sent shivers down your spine.

The man became silent for a moment, taking his time before he replied, “I don’t believe these are stories that I should make you listen to.”

He preferred not to bring his work home.

You didn’t insist—you have always respected his choices. You left a kiss on his temple while Leon hugged you tighter.

“I’ll listen to anything you’d be willing to tell me, handsome.”

He smiled; you could feel his lips stretching out on the skin of your neck. It wasn’t a trust issue; Kennedy could tell that much—but he needed time to gather the courage to drag you into his waking nightmare.

“Maybe one day, sweetheart,” Leon sighed deeply, his tone calm as he admitted; his eyes now closed. “Maybe one day.”

You spent the next minutes running fingers through his hair until he drifted back into a blissful sleep.

[s3thwrit3sstuff]

❝ You’re the one who brought the dawn to my eternal nights. ❞

Ω!reader x α!jeong-hyun | omegaverse AU, fluff, NSFW | sub. bttm. reader (AFAB) | NOT PROOFREAD | wc: 4k

warnings: graphic description of violence, mentions/descriptions of CA (physical, mental, emotional), mentions of dog attacks, guns, power imbalance, yandere tendencies, mentions of drugs, stalking, mentions of torture

masterlist: how you met (mob yanderes) : pt. 1 (K.JH); pt. 2 (K, JH); pt.3 (K. JH)

authors note: @xuxitheii come get your meal "...(Y/N) could be a performer/singer at a gentleman's club..." *song on repeat: Gangsta by Kehlani (spec. the flashback version)

* YN is described as wearing more fem. clothing as he performs

He doesn't understand why he is the way he is. If Jeong-Hyun could voice his thoughts in a more concise manner, he would tell others that though the life he leads, with death awaiting at every corner, was perfect for him — he wishes he could do anything else other than this.

That, although, he is a violent man he only ever uses it as a necessity; a reaction, a defense.

A dog does not bite for no reason.

But he is not a dog.

He is a man.

Seo-Yun tells him this with such a kind smile, his heart hammers out of his chest each time she does. Jeong-Hyun doesn't understand why it does that.

When he was a child, he'd been thrown into the dog fighting rings as the opener. The new top dog would snarl at him, foam at the mouth as it barked while he cowered into a corner that did not exist. The men and women who cheered from above him, around him, disorientating as his pumping veins all but thundered with each beat of his heart.

The lights, the announcer yelling into the microphone, the beer cans thrown into the ring to push him out into the centre — and if that didn't work, the electric cow prods they'd jab at him from every side until he leapt into the rabid dogs maw.

That would get his heart racing the same way.

That visceral fear. It was a familiar emotion for Jeong-Hyun. Fear was a friend, a constant, the tremors in his hands, the clenching of his jaws, the scars on the insides of his cheeks.

Seo-Yun's kindness brings him fear and he does not understand but he cannot say this out loud.

Why? He doesn't know.

But when fear is not a constant, other emotions tentatively make way to the top. These, comes with wants rather than needs. Jeong-Hyun finds himself wanting things outside of needing to survive a fight, or of stomaching down the gruel he was given once a week.

Now that he can breathe, he can want and Jeong-Hyun is floored by this.

Seo-Yun provides whatever he wishes. A landed house with an open concept interior, soft clothes for when he is home, things he'd need for the pack of strays he adopted. When he is hurt, she hires the best doctors who stick needles into his inner elbows and with each lazy drop of the thick liquid it makes Jeong-Hyun’s nerves cool into beautiful numbness.

The money he gets doesn’t exactly hinder his wanting either. He can simply flash some of the notes and suddenly everyone bends over backwards.

Everything seems more feasible and within his grasp. His dream of simply surviving now a mishappen...blob.

A blob that has no shape. No colour. No ideals. No goals. He simply fulfils his sister's wishes because he loves her and can clearly see her dream in its vivid colours.

Then, as if the world had finally listened to his incomprehensible thoughts, you came into his life.

It was night time  — most of Jeong-Hyun's activities is when the sky is dark  — and he'd been accompanying his sister in her discussions with some drug lord.

Swaying favours, swapping fielty, trading a few secrets and cash for more access.

The usual business.

Jeong-Hyun hated the entrance of it. The narrow pathway between two buildings, climbing down the stairs into an even tighter foyer, before being let in. Even then, the tightness does not dissipate.

This gentleman's club — with it's heavy red drapery along the walls that reek of cigar and artificial fruit flavoured smoke — and the yellow and dim lighting that was meant to be moody...

He saw it as nothing more than headache inducing nuisances.

Secrecy was a must considering what goes on beyond these doors.

Gambling, prostitution, drugs, money laundering — the whole nine yards.

But fuck, couldn't they afford a bigger spot?

Seo-Yun glanced his way, then to his curled fingers and white knuckles. They meet their gazes. He offers a grimace, his left eye twitching just slightly, and shakes his head. Being uncomfortable was the norm for him before Seo-Yun. He can perserver. There was nothing here that he wasn’t used to.

The girls here knew better than to lay hands on him.

Or perhaps they were too frightened with how intimidating he was. With his broad shoulders and imposing height, his good eye shining in the low light; he wasn’t shy about flooding his space with his scent either.

Jeong-Hyun didn’t give a shit if it was unseemly or ungentlemanly. If it got the message across that he wasn’t someone you shoved around — he didn’t care if it made noses curl or cheeks turn red.

The girls, however, crowded his sister.

Her scent was more muted despite the core of it being alpha-like. A musk that all alpha’s equally shared as a base note. She grinned, using her tall frame to make them coo as they hung onto her arms.

She’d always been so nice to the whores. Jeong-Hyun rolled his eyes, air escaping through his nose as Seo-Yun tucked some hair behind one of their ears, purposefully ghosting her wrist along their jaw. Their brain basically exploded, pupils growing so wide it made Jeong-Hyun think of a rat’s shimmering eyeballs.

Seo-Yun gives them a lipless, yet coy, curl of her lips. No teeth in sight, demure in their presence. It helps that they're familiar with her cues. Afterall, this was not their first time visiting this establishment.

But tonight was different. Because, once again, this was the night everything changed for him.

They were seated in the VIP area, tucked in a cove to ensure privacy whilst still having a clear unblocked view of the stage. The curtains lifted just as they sat down, Jeong-Hyun spreading his legs as a clear sign of impoliteness. His gun holster peeks from his leather jacket.

There’s the strum of a bass guitar. The echoing twang making him unclench his jaw as he turns his head to face the stage.

You were a sight he’d never seen, and he’d seen plenty.

Gaping bullet holes. Guts spilling with billowing steam as insides meet the outside. Ears and fingers torn apart. Heads splattered open on the concrete. Brain matter swirling down the concrete of a butcher shop.

All that horror dissipates into smoke.

You were dressed like an angel. An angel for gangsters like himself, anyways. No snowy white wings and cherub rosy-dusted cheeks and tight blonde curls.

Instead, you had elbow-high gloves that were beaded with pearls around the seam. The flesh of your thigh has a tantalizing shimmery hue of your skin tone, twinkling faintly as you swayed your hips and shimmied your fur-covered shoulders.

Did you know you pout every time you sing into the microphone? Nothing majorly obvious, but he was enchanted by the colour of your gloss and how soft your lips looked.

He noticed.

He remembers hearing your voice lift every time you smile as you sing. How adorable the crease between your eyebrows was as you crooned to the audience.

When you started to walk off the stage, he had to stop himself from snarling as the alphas in the crowd began cheering and whooping. Seo-Yun’s hand on his nape makes him damn near short circuit.

She’s staring at him with her brows furrowed. It’s his scent. That sharp, spicy, scent of a displeased alpha — he’d been seething so much the girls were cowering next to his sister.

Jeong-Hyun was an uncaring asshole but not a heartless one. He offers a grimace as an apology, uncurling his fists and turning his head around again only to be met with the sight of your gloved hand.

You’re singing. He can lip-read you from how close you are, and he can feel how warm you actually are — from the stage lights most likely. But most importantly, Jeong-Hyun can smell you.

That haunting smell of rare flowers blooming under the moonlight, hidden in their own utopia away from mankind. You smile at him, sweet and coy and insincere. This was just a transaction to you after all.

He brings his knees closer together, the bump of his throat bobs. You rest your hand on the collar of his jacket, leaning down and whispering the lyrics the song into his ear/microphone.

You're new to this place.

None of the other 'entertainers' dared to place hands on Jeong-Hyun. He wasn't fond of strangers invading his space, despised it really, and he had no problems letting it show. Yet, as though under a spell, he does nothing as you brush a hand to his chest.

Your voice echoing sin, your breath causing his mishappen ear to redden as his sullen skin flushes. When you pull back, he expects to see at least a smidge of disgust.

He wouldn't fault you for it. His years growing up inside of a dog fighting ring had not left him looking pretty  — his teeth were exposed on the left side of his face. Skin ripped off after a particularly rough day with an adrenaline-pumped mutt. His left eye was milky, perpetually tugged back from the scarring, there'd also been the pinkish scar across his neck. That'd been man-made, and you had probably felt the way it dipped and caved like a canyon across his skin.

The reason he wears gloves was because of the other scars too. Chunks of flesh missing, divots, messily stapled fingers.

Jeong-Hyun was a beast. He expects to be treated like one.

You smile at him. Lips parting to show just a sly of teeth, curled lashes making the stars in your eyes shine brighter as you peer down at him. There's just the slightest wisps of steam coming off your skin from the stage light behind you, but you seem completely unbothered by this.

His pupil constrict into slits when he feels your gloved hand trace upwards, grasping onto your wrist so harshly he sees your brows twinge in pain. Yet, you continue to sing. His grip doesn't loosen, keeping you awkwardly in place.

The show must go on.

He's held your wrist away from his neck, but your fingers stretch and his shock is written across his grotesque face. They stroke faintly on the underside of his chin  — a brush, a featherlight touch.

You use his shock to your advantage. As his grip falters, you swiftly slip your hand away and turn your back to him.

"Are you alright?" Seo-Yun speaks from his side. Watching him as he stares at you climbing back on stage, the left side of his face was harder to read. But she can tell he's clenching his jaw, nostrils flaring.

But he wasn't angry. Not the slightest bit.

It was no surprise Jeong-Hyun missed a few important milestones due to his childhood. Of course, Seo-Yun had hired the best doctors to rectify that and for the most part, he's been acclimating just nicely. But complicated emotions always escapes him. Instincts often wins over for Jeong-Hyun.

You were the first person in his life that had made him feel no fear  — you made him feel unabashed desire.

Ideally, you'd prefer to perform in a proper bar. One with less shady figures. Where the men with tattoos aren't so shameless in showing off the knife sheaths near their waist. But it's tough to be a singer in this day and age. Bills, bills and more bills.

Not to mention loan sharks.

You don't understand why fate had decided to put you through these battles  — to make your father pass and graciously leaving you with nothing but his debts. It royally pissed you off. People tell you to not speak ill of the dead, but fuck him.

You hadn't been rolling in dough before he decided to drop dead but you'd been fine. Living in a small, closet-like, apartment near your college; working part-time here and there and then busking at night. Life hadn't been easy but it'd been simple.

Now? You were here in a room full of the scum of the Earth. You didn't even want to imagine what they do for a living. You were just grateful that you'd been hired here  — the pay was enough to keep the loan sharks from banging onto your poor door and splashing red paint all over your entrance. You had to drop out but you can always continue once you survive this.

Because that's all that matters now. Surviving.

So even if you're pulled into the lap of some gangsters lap or have your nape be grabbed at as you sing and twirl around the room in a true Jessica Rabbit-esque fashion, you endure.

Because you'd rather be groped than be dead.

You deserved to be alive, goddammit.

At least you weren't like the other omegas 'entertainers' in the room. You didn't think yourself as above them, not at all, but you were grateful your shady contract didn't mention any backroom work.

Tonight, like most nights, began with the curtains raising to reveal you. The  — in all the ways that count  — untouchable omega in his sparkling outfit of feathers and velvet. You sing and dance, walk down the stage to the wolf-whistles of many, and make your way through the room.

A few familiar faces stick out. The man with the lip scar grips your waist as you walk past and you look at him from over your shoulder, pretending to be delighted at the sight of him uncrossing his legs to show the tent in his pants.

Pig.

Then, there, at the more VIP tables. A woman in a red dress, surrounded by other omegas all fawning over her. Next to her, an imposing figure.

His profile was so beautiful. His nose had a subtle curve, the tip more round than sharp, and his strong brows complimenting the deep-high crease of his double eyelid. Such a strong jaw, inky black hair tousled but in the way that makes him look like a boy rather than a gangster.

With his legs spread, and his broad shoulders. His gloved hands crossed over his chest. You place yourself between his knees and when he turns you're momentarily caught off guard.

Holy. Fuck.

You'd seen scars before. Missing fingers, milky eyes, nicked lips, tattoos having a streak of pink flesh forever ruining it. This guy must've royally pissed someone off to have his fucked up like that. Despite that, as his good eye processes you're in front of him, he clams up like a shy school girl.

No slimy smirk, no rough hands gripping at your ass, no flare of scent. His cheeks are dusted with pink and his mouth gapes. When you touch him, he stiffens just slightly, but he keeps his hands to himself. Behind you, the bassist's fingers stutter, missing his rhythm for a split second before smoothly recovering.

Leaning in, you continue to sing right into his good ear, feeling the scars on his chest through the thin shirt. Which gives your nimble fingers to the chance to feel the leather straps he had and your eyes widen.

Fuck, he must be some sort of legend here, huh? Sitting in VIP, having a fucking gun on him.

You glance at the woman behind him and you suck in a quick breath as she narrows her eyes at you. The girls around her all shoot you concerned expressions, lips pursing as they ping-pong between you and the scarred man beneath you.

Oh, shit. Were they together or something?

You pull away, attempting to keep your heart calm as you continue to play off this entire act as smoothly as you can. Lifting your hand upwards, just to tease his Adam's apple and then turn away.

But the second your hand is past his collarbones, he reacts. His grip is deadly. Your bones wheeze under the pressure and the leather gloves he wears creak along with it.

Be calm, you tell yourself. He can't shoot you in the middle of a show in front of everyone...can he?

Cold sweat beads down the back of your neck. Still, you keep your composure.

The show must go on.

He looks at your face and falters, so you offer his chin a quick brush as thanks before you swiftly turn to walk away. Your heart racing in your chest. The stage, the stage is safe.

Not if he decides to shoot you from there, you think solemnly. You shoot him another glance, and your gazes clash together. His hands are on his lap, gripping his knees instead. Far away from his gun.

You're safe.

You're safe.

You're safe.

The curtains close and you close your eyes, placing a hand over your chest as you grip onto the microphone stand. A hand grabs at your shoulder and you barely suppress the yelp when it spins you around. It's the bassist, a tall lanky alpha with his wavy hair always neatly slicked back. The entire band is standing, making their way to you with concern so evident between the crease in their brows.

"Are you fucking stupid?"

Instantly, their concern makes you annoyed. You smack his hand away and frown. You put the microphone back in its place and take out your in-ear, sighing tiredly as you walk past them.

"No, I'm not stupid, hyung." He chases after you behind stage, his bass still slung across his neck.

"Then you must be suicidal! Do you know who the hell you just groped?" Your shoulders raise and your cheeks warm. You turn to glare at him, tugging away that stupid feathered boa and scowling.

"I didn't fucking grope anyone! Shit, what's the big fucking deal? I didn't know he had a girlfriend, or wife, or madam, okay?" He shakes his head and takes steps towards you, hands raise as he emphasizes his shock.

"That's Kim Jeong-Hyun. Kim fucking Jeong-Hyun. And the woman behind him? That's his sister, Kim Seo-Yun."

"Ha-Joon-hyung, there's a million fucking Kim's in this country. Gangsters don't have a gangster-pedia, I don't know who they are, nor do I care," you say exasperatedly. Ha-Joon's hands flap around wildly for a moment as he stutters, trying his hardest it seemed to not just grab your shoulders and shake you around.

"Hyung, I'm really tired  — " you turn " — and I'm not interested in knowing who they are. I'll just avoid them next time, okay? I've got an early shift tomorrow, see you."

Ha-Joon's hands drop to his side as he stares at you walking away.

"...He's fucking crazy...that kid is fucking crazy..."

A week or so after that, your life continues as normal. Your legal part-time job had been uneventful. Not much customers, and the few that were there had been polite. You hope your shady part-time job was as mundane. Arriving through the back of a seafood restaurant, you greet the dishwasher who'd been smoking as he crouched under a flickering light.

"Hey, got any leftovers from tonight?" he nods, offering you a smile as he stands. "Got some packed away for you already, left it in your room."

You beam up at him, thanking him and slipping under his arm when he opens the door for you. The restaurant was winding down, cleaning up and preparing the drunkards that'll meander in. You greet a few familiar faces, expertly getting out of their way until you finally reach the door that leads you underground.

Your room was tiny. A vanity squeezed in with one flimsy rack of clothes and a poorly ventilated bathroom. You find your dinner awaiting you and eagerly sit down to feast. But then something catches your eye.

Flowers were normal. Not wanted but easy to get rid off.

These were not flowers. You stared at the box for a moment. Chocolates? No. It's a wide box. A lot of chocolates? Sighing, you reach over and stare at the unfamiliar logo on the box, picking up the note it came with.

Keep u safe - K. JH

You blink a few times as you stare at the messy handwriting. When you look at the box again, you are torn between feeling relief that you hadn't pissed him off and feeling a bit scared that you'd apparently caught his eye. When opened, the box reveals a fucking knife. Not an ordinary kitchen knife either. It was a proper fucking knife — for hunting. Animals and people. The blade was shining under the bulbs of your vanity; the handle rough and hefty and dark. You drop the lid, taking a step back only to stiffen as a familiar voice speaks from behind you.

"Fucking weirdo, right?"

"Boss!" You turn and bow at the waist, he regards you with a smile and nod. You straighten up and turn your attention to the fucking knife on your desk sitting all pretty and safe. Next to it seemed to be its sheath, along with some sort of straps.

He bought you the whole fucking set?

"What kind of alpha gifts an omega a fucking knife? Kim fucking Jeong-Hyun, that ugly bastard," he enters the already too small room and you bump into the clothing rack to give him room. He lifts the knife and whistles, eyeing the sharp edge.

"...Do you wanna take it?" you wonder as you watch his face from the mirror. He cringes, tilting his head and hissing through his teeth as he uses the mirror to glance your way too. "And lose my fucking hand? Hell no. If any of his sisters men sees me with this? I'm as good as dead."

He slips the knife into its sheath, carefully putting it back in the box then kicking the fallen lid to your feet. He notices your dinner and picks up the plastic bowl, taking the lid off and taking a sniff. He leans on the table and shamelessly grabs the plastic spoon in the plastic to take a bite.

"I forgot to tell you not to get in their way, my mistake. I thought with a face that ugly you'd be too scared to get close anyways." He speaks through mouthfuls of rice. You lose your appetite.

"Who is he, sir?" you shifted your weight from one foot to another. He chews, swallowing thickly then answers.

"His sisters monster. Her hellhound. Nobody has any idea what hole those two freaks crawled out of, but they've been killing entire fucking gangs in the 3 years they're here. Entire bloodlines." He points the spoon your way, splashing some soup your way and you flinch as some rice sticks to your cheek. You frown, he ignores it.

"3 years, fucking insane! Burning down buildings, painting entire towns red until the leader puts his head on the floor and submits. Fucking brats, she doesn’t even use honorifics when speaking to me. That bitch."

Okay, perhaps you should have listened to Ha-Joon.

"You know I heard that once he cut off someone's arms and legs and left them crawling on the ground? Sicked his dogs on them. Heard that poor bastard's dick got torn off by some German Shepherd."

Your appetite was officially gone and your face was surely a shade of green now. He glances at the box again, shaking his head as he takes another hefty bite of your dinner.

"He give a note or something?" You squeeze the card in your hand and slip it behind you. He scoffs as you shake your head. "Yeah, thought so. 'pparently he's dimwitted. Just stay away from him next time, yeah? Hurts my heart just thinkin' of your pretty face getting ripped apart."

He pats your shoulders as he walks out. Well, there goes your dinner. For a moment, you take a moment to process what you’d been told before you reread the note in your hand.

Keep u safe — K.JH

After that night, like some ironic joke, you haven't felt safe. You feel followed. Everywhere you went, you were certain someone was there to watch. In the beginning, when the hairs on your neck prickled in the middle of your part-time job of serving people food, you thought that it was just paranoia. But then, then, you start seeing them.

Men in black caps and face masks. Women with their phone camera always tilted your way. Just in your peripheral, always avoiding your gaze and smoothly slipping away when they know that you know.

That knife was still in its box, you refused to use it. Keeping it under your bed out of all places. But lately, you swear all you can think about when you're at home is how its just right there.

Keep u safe.

Did he know something you didn't? Was he actually just trying to give you a fighting chance against these pro-stalkers? Or were you losing your goddamn mind and the stress was getting to you?

A month of this and you were already contemplating carrying a weapon that'd just get you in more trouble. What did you know about handling a knife like that?

You were scared of nicking your knuckles whenever you were cooking. Did he think you would just magically understand how self-defense worked?

You knocked on Ha-Joon's door. He's been expecting you so he opens with no trepidation. You had a backpack and a duffel bag, greeting him politely and he allows you inside his home. It's nothing grand but he had a guest bedroom and he pitied you enough.

"Thanks, hyung" he shuts the door behind you and sighs. "Don't mention it."

He was a scaredy cat but he couldn't let you keep this up. You'd been sleeping in the room backstage, putting on more concealer and constantly gazing off into nothingness. One of the band members had offered you cocaine and the second he saw you even contemplating it he knew you were at your wits end.

It's one thing to keep gangsters entertained, it's another to be dirtying your hands with the same filth.

He leads you to your room, hoping that sleeping under the same roof as another person would give your anxieties some reprieve.

You place your things down and sit at the edge of the bed, swaying a bit and he bids you goodnight for now.

When the curtains raise, he's there. Right there. In front of you, looking up at you. His sister was nowhere in sight. Instead, there's a pack of men and women behind of him. They're not even looking at you, they have other omegas or betas hanging off their arms and seem intent on keeping their gaze away from you.

He's staring at you. Tilting his head slowly, the left side of his face kept hidden in the shadows and you try to keep your heart calm but when he looks at you like that — like he wants to swallow you whole.

The lyrics slip your mind, so you play it off by glancing at the band instead and moving your body to the beat.

Breathe, you remind yourself. You're fine, you're okay, you're safe.

The flash of gore erupting behind your eyelids with every blink was not helping. Your imagination runs wild, conjuring the image of a human torso wriggling desperately on the ground as dogs viciously ripped into him as he screamed.

You squeezed your eyes shut, inhaling sharply as you shakily bring the microphone to your lips. Don't tremble, don't let your voice waver. The boss was going to cut your pay if you fuck up.

When you turn to face the crowd again, Jeong-Hyun isn't looking at you anymore. He's signing to the man closest to him, his movements short and concise. The man, who wore sunglasses, nods and then stands. He disappears into the crowd.

You slip down from the stage, as per your routine, and feel instantly trapped. The pack of his men were like maze walls, cold and uninterested. When you approached, they curl their lips in a quick huff, turning their head away and your hand hangs in the air dejectedly. The prize at the end of the maze was obvious. He was waiting for you, looking at you from over his shoulder as you feebly attempted to find someone else anyways.

It was beginning to look pathetic. Every time you did attempt to head over to the leering alphas in the back, you found long legs blocking your way.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

You put a smile on your face and float to his side. He doesn't smile, doesn't leer, he fucking blushes. Your brows twitch but you place a hand on his shoulder and move to sit on his lap. He instantly moves to keep you steady, hand floating away from your waist and you wonder if the stalkers were truly his doing.

What kind of mobster is he? Surely a 'hellhound' would be more vicious in their pursuit. You press your chest to his shoulder, curling one hand behind him and brushing his untainted skin. He faces you and his eye was glimmering like molten gold.

When you brush under his jaw — being wary of his neck — he lashes tremble. His gaze softening at once. You experimentally cup his cheek, and he all at once leans into your hold; like a puppy.

You're stunned.

Keep u safe.

There's no way these strange men and women were because of him. It's not like he's the first person to send you gifts — although he is the first person to send you a fucking knife as a gift — and you do interact with dangerous people nightly. Perhaps he really did mean well. In his own weird way. You continue to sing on his lap and he looks up at you like you're the moon.

Monster? Him?

Perhaps the sleep deprivation and working yourself to your bones is starting to cloud your judgement but you reach behind and guide his hand closer.

He can feel it. The shape of the sheath and hilt, just under the slit of your long-dress. Not an ideal place, it’s too high. If you attempted to use it, the fur coat you wore would get in the way and you'd be wasting precious seconds. He flicks his gaze to your thighs and you can feel his gloved hands lift your dress. You squeeze your thighs, eyes widening in alarm but that deadly grip keeps you still.

He pulls the dress up and slips it over your unarmed thigh. The fur coat you wore is keeping it all concealed, so he slips his finger underneath the top band around your thigh.

Too fucking tight, Jesus Christ.

He tugs and your thighs jerk. He fixes it one-handed, seamlessly loosening it and tightening it just right. Your leg tingles in relief. The lower band is still the same, so he loosens it and tenderly strokes the hexagonal pattern that pressed into your skin. Then he fixes the knife, pulls it down so the hilt won't get stuck and just as you finish your song he slips the dress back in place and his hands float away.

When you stand, his eyes flutters close when you brush your wrist across his cheek; he takes a deep inhale and stares at you. If he could, he’d put your scent in a bottle. To savour forever. That mountain peak, that valley of rare flowers — his and only his.

Jeong-Hyun stares up at you. Honey and milk-coloured eyes glowing like the moon.

There's flowers waiting in your room this time. Dark red flowers, an unusual bouquet of exotic flowers. You shut the door behind you and inspect them, noting the card slipped between the petals.

Pretty like u — K. JH

This was a significant improvement from the knife. Your thighs prickle at the memory of his touch and you shake your head. Sitting down, you lean in to take a whiff and the blend of scents makes your ears warm. That base, a woody blend of oak and ash; a constant burning ember.

It smells like Jeong-Hyun. Kim fucking Jeong-Hyun.

He was strange. From his scribbly handwriting to his muted self; the scars on his face and body; the bashfulness he exhibits; the attentiveness he provides you with.

Those big hands adjusting the gift he gave you. Silent, admiring, courteous.

You place your arms on the desk and melt onto it, brows furrowed.

There’s no way you would ever catch yourself falling for him. You weren’t jetting to be some helpless omega ensnared in some mob romance. This wasn’t going to happen. You could imagine fucking him or being sweet with him, but could that actually happen?

You’ve had enough with loan sharks and now weird stalkers.

You just wanted to survive.

Shutting your eyes, you hide your face in your arms.

Just survive.

Everything will die down soon enough. Still, as you move to remove your coat and undress yourself — the sight of the knife holstered to your thigh as you stand naked in the mirror, it stirs something in your hindbrain. Your inner-omega, that stupid little shit, was incredibly pleased. Goosebumps spread as you remember his touch and you inch closer to the mirror.

You slip a finger under the strap and shudder. The flowers scent had permeated through the tiny room and you feel like he’s here. All over you. Close enough to feel how he burns.

Bowing your head, you curse under your breath. Slick was beginning to appear and you can’t risk stinking up this room. It’s a stupid risk and you aren’t fucking stupid. Not a damsel omega in distress.

Your stomach howling in hunger distracts you enough. Reaching for your casual wear, you hurriedly dress and shove the knife into your backpack. You glance over at the flowers as you open the door.

“...Fuck.”

The bouquet box is small enough to fit under your arm but not small enough to be inconspicuous. So you don’t flinch when the guy who guards the backdoor of the restaurant asks if you need him to dispose of it.

“Nah, these are way too nice!” you chirp out. At this, he pauses and raises his thick brow. Flustered, you bid him goodbye and rush to Ha-Joon’s idling car.

Pretty or not, you know how people would see it. An omega accepting an alphas gifts, twice now, was an obvious sign that the courting was being accepted. Ha-Joon’s displeasure at the sight of flowers was so obvious you send him a pleasing look he disregards.

“You’re really losing your head...”

“I’ll throw ‘em out! But not here, okay? What if he sees I do and he turns me into a human stick?” Ha-Joon’s face turns white and he mutters that you have an active imagination. But your lame reasoning has him reluctantly nodding so you count it as a win.

Unbeknownst to you, the sight of that bouquet under your arm had already made Jeong-Hyun’s heart flutter. He watches as Ha-Joon’s car drives off, hidden in the shadows as he takes special notice of his license plate.

You were accepting his gifts. His knife and his flowers. Jeong-Hyun felt his lips twitching and he pushed himself off the rough walls to continue keeping his eyes on the car. A lightness in his step that dissipates as he takes notice of an unnerving sight. The headlights of a car in the alleyway across from him.

Rationale should tell him this was most likely just a coincidence but his instincts bare its teeth. The car pulls out and goes along the same road that Ha-Joon’s had. He huffs through his nose, brows furrowed.

Trouble.

Jeong-Hyun’s knuckles whiten as he imprints the car's license plate to his memory.

Danger.

When it escapes from his sight, he turns sharply on his heel and makes his way to his own car. He gets inside, grinding his teeth together as he fishes his phone out from his jacket.

Keep u safe.

[leighsartworks216]

For A Cuddle?

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Wrote this this morning bc the brainrot is real

Warnings: mentions of dried blood, referenced blood drinking and hunting

Word Count: 535

Masterlist

AO3

You're so tired. Your eyelids droop, almost fluttering shut, before you blink them open once more. It's late at night. You haven't slept at all. You certainly could, if you allowed yourself to give in to the warm embrace of dreams. But you didn't.

Astarion went out to hunt a while ago, and hasn't come back yet. This was completely normal. Sometimes he'd be out all night and only come back in the wee hours of the morning. Other times he was gone for just a few hours. You don't recall when exactly he left - so you can't really tell if it's been a couple hours or several. All you know is you feel wrong laying in your bedroll without him. There is an emptiness that could only be filled by him.

You were so tired - you didn't need him to be there to sleep. You could sleep now. And tomorrow you could ask him to lay with you until you fell asleep, before he goes hunting. But tomorrow was so far away. You wanted him beside you now.

"Still awake, darling?" Had you been more lucid, his voice would have startled you. He'd have laughed and remarked on your lackluster performance as a lookout. "I thought you'd be asleep by now."

You hummed noncommittally, rolling over toward the sound of his voice. He was kneeling by your bedroll. It was extremely reminiscent of the time he tried to sneak a bite. Now you freely allowed him a drink whenever he wanted it. "S'waiting for you," you murmur. He almost can't make out the words.

"Why is that?" he asks softly. His voice is so nice... His hand brushes through your hair. "Why did you stay up, my dear?"

"Lay with me?" It's almost a whimper. A plea.

He huffs a laugh. "You stayed up for a cuddle?"

You nod, leaning into his fingers as they gently detangle knots and massage your scalp. "Please?"

He doesn't say anything for a moment. He watches you force your eyes open repeatedly, trying to keep them trained on his face even as exhaustion blurred his features into a pale blob. Every time he runs his fingers from the crown of your head to the nape of your neck, they fall shut just a little longer. When he's quiet for too long, lost in studying your face, you make a sort of whining noise and reach clumsily for him. His cheeks hurt from smiling so much.

"Calm down, love, I'll stay."

You watch as best you can as he shuffles to lay down beside you. Before he can get fully comfortable, you're pressing your face into his neck and wrapping your arms around him. You don't complain when he continues to shift and get settled in. Once he does, however, he can feel your body fall slack in his arms. Your breath evens out against his neck; your heart slows to a steady thrum.

He presses a kiss to your head. Your hair is greasy, with flecks of dried blood scattered throughout, and you didn't smell too pleasant either. But you were soft and warm, and he couldn't find it in himself to care otherwise.

"Sweet dreams, my love."

[ilium-ilia]

In Limbo

simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader | mafia!au | masterlist

Chapter Fourteen: repeat \\ repeat \\ repeat

tw: violence, death, gore, non-con, grief

Suddenly, you are sixteen again. 

Your father’s face is printed onto a piece of paper, and he won’t stop staring at you. It’s an old picture. The grain is thick and fuzzy, distorting the features of his appearance worse than a dream. His nose runs into his cheeks, which runs into his jawline—all morphing together until he’s nothing but a blob of flesh. It’s impossible to discern the color of his eyes through the flare. It’s a terrible photograph. Amateur. Your father never liked when people took photos of him. This was the only good one your mother could find before his wake. 

Someone soliloquizes on the podium before your father’s body. They speak into a microphone as they rattle off some meaningless eulogy that doesn’t quite reach your ears. The volume of their voice blares through two large sets of speakers, but it’s a waste. There’s not enough people in attendance for it to be of any use. A whisper would suffice. It’s only you, your mother, and a handful of blurry faces you don’t have the energy to attempt to place names to. 

All you can do is sit there and look at the memorial bulletin and the fuzzy pictures of your father’s face when it was still warm and full of life. 

“Would you like to see him?” 

Paper crinkles in your hand and you shake your head. This version of your father—the one held delicately in your grasp—is the only one you want to remember. Tears blur the image where they well and fester in the corner of your eyes. It stings. Bitter needles piercing through your scaleras. You swallow down the grief and look up at your mother as her inflamed eyes stare back at you. They burn as they desperately attempt to hold back her own sorrow from streaking down her face. It is then—that you realize—you have to go up there with her. 

For her sake. 

A few small steps disrupt the path to where your father lays peacefully in his casket, and each one you climb feels treacherous. The air grows thinner where it gets caught in your nose. It sears your throat as you try to force it into your lungs anyway. 

Head propped up on a pillow, the top of your father’s forehead peeps out of the casket as if playing peek-a-boo. He wears a suit, something sleek and mostly black, and it does not fit his personality. Not the rambunctious, cheeky man that raised you. He looks… old. Like he hasn’t been long for this world for quite some time. Eyes closed, hands resting upon one another—he looks like he’s sleeping. Immobile. Peaceful. 

But it’s wrong—contorting—incorrect—this is not your father. Not this corpse with his scraped up fingers and tiny sutures attempting to conceal violent compound fractures. The bones aren’t straight. They can’t be set straight. There’s nothing living left to heal. And his lip. Busted. Fat and wide, but not swollen—his face droops because of it. As if he’s melting. As if he’s been rotting all along. Poorly matched makeup stains the sides of his face, a waxy sheen obscuring the entry and exit wound that burrows through his brain. A small hole by his temple. Then, large portions of fractured skull gone and promptly fixed up, erasing the violence that had been wrought upon him no better than scotch tape over a leaky pipe. 

This cordolium is too thick to swallow. Too blisteringly violent to go down easy—too sharp. You stare at him because it’s all you can do. Stare, and think about how those fingers had once taught you how to play cat’s cradle. How those lips used to curl with mirth as he held you tightly. Now, he is ruined. Broken apart and shoved back together for a hasty goodbye. He was alive, and now he is not, and he lies here in front of you as if trying to convince you otherwise. 

There is a desperate attempt in trying to remember him how he was when he was still full of vigor with that shine in his eyes, but you can’t. It’s just him. Him, with crooked fingers and deep lacerations and this suit he would never be caught dead in—this version of him replaces all the others that you had grown to love. 

His death ruins him—ruins you—and you fear with this anguish inside of you, it’ll kill you, too. 

Just as you feel yourself start to slip through the floor—down into the depths your father is soon to be buried in—a hand grounds you. It’s soft. Gentle as a feather as it rests on your shoulder. You blink, and you are back in this building with this corpse and these strangers. 

“I’m sorry for your loss. Truly.” 

A voice speaks with a Russian lilt, and it has you turning your head only to be met by the face of a stranger. You’re unsurprised; there are very few people you recognize in this place. Murky eyes look at you the way everyone else has since your father’s passing—with pity. His hand falls from your shoulder as he glances at the body. The stranger does not flinch despite the proof of violence strewn before him. 

“It’s hard, losing a parent,” he continues. “You will have to be stronger. Smarter. But you seem like an intelligent girl. One that knows how to stay out of trouble.” 

Something buzzes at the base of your skull. An incessant insect that traverses through your brain, leaving holes in its wake. It devours everything but the neurons that allow you to fear. 

“Who are you?” It’s meant to be a gentle question. One in curiosity; a polite excuse to learn about this strange man. Instead, it bites. 

Still, the man does not flinch. 

His full attention returns to you with a courteous smile and an outstretched hand. He does not answer your question until you take it, and his fingers are ice cold as they wrap around yours. 

“Vladimir. A friend of your father.” A gentle buzz irritates his pockets as his phone goes off, and he releases your hand in favor of glancing at the screen. You watch him with a dull face as he smiles at you. “I’m afraid I can’t stay long. I hope you are able to find peace. My thoughts are with you, friend.” 

This man—Vladimir—excuses himself, but you do not respond to his farewell. You’re tired of saying goodbye. You watch him leave, phone pressed against his ear as he escapes the building and vanishes into the bitter December air. 

Despite the well wishes bestowed upon you and your mother, peace doesn’t come easy for either of you. Each day is full of tears and wordless meals while your nights are plagued with bad dreams and a bed that doesn’t feel comfortable with your father’s absence in that empty home. Any attempt to quell this throe is met with vicious backlash. Movies offer no comfort without his aimless commentary. Delicious meals taste bland without his assistance. The walls are cold without his laughter. 

You are a shell. A husk void of all the feelings that make life worth living. 

Against your mother’s wishes, you return to school. She tells you to stay home. She begs for you to not put too much pressure on yourself, but you rot in that place. In that house. Maggots fester in your skin the same as they do in your father’s, except you waste away in the comfort of your bed instead of a casket—

—you cannot stand yourself. You cannot stand the fact that you draw breath while he does not. 

Your teachers attempt to tell you that you are allowed to take a longer bereavement period. All of them had come to the same conclusion of exempting your end of term exams in favor of your mental health. Their concern falls on deaf ears as you continue to participate with glassy eyes and mindless doodles in the corner of your notes. They offer you resources. Counselors and books on healing. You speak to no one and read nothing. 

It’s difficult to explain how terrified you are of facing the truth. So, you don’t. You continue to participate through your exams, and on the last day of term, you are given a bouquet. Stunning sympathy flowers clump together with red ribbon, complete with a card signed by most of your classmates and teachers. Their handwriting is beautiful. Elegant swirling letters dance across the paper in some well meaning note, yet your eyes can’t focus on it. Just like everything else, your mind filters it until it’s out of reach. 

You walk home. It’s grueling in the frigid weather, and you’ve forgotten your tights to wear underneath your skirt. Or, maybe you did it on purpose. To feel something, even if it’s pain. Bare skin tightens and freezes against the breeze, and even the petals of your flowers begin to wilt midway through your travels. They shrivel and curl into one another as they huddle close to your chest to feed off of your warmth. You’re killing them slowly in your own selfish way, and yet they still cling to you as if you can save them any better than you can save yourself.

The TV is on when you arrive home. Muffled voices drone through the speakers, none of which properly reaches you. Ignoring it, you don’t even bother to take your shoes off or announce your presence before slipping away into the kitchen. Over the weeks, both you and your mother have been bombarded with floral arrangements from distant family members and friends. They’re much too lazy to offer their condolences in person. There’s bound to be a leftover vase for you to resuscitate these poor, withered plants in your hands. 

Your mother is in the kitchen, and she is sitting. 

Legs wide on the floor, back slumped against the cabinet under the sink, her eyes burn a hole into the ground in front of her. It isn’t until the tips of your shoes dip into thick cruor that you fully realize the blood on the ground. It’s everywhere. Spreading along the linoleum, soaking into the crack just under the sink—she is motionless and torn to shreds in front of you. Offals press out of her stomach just underneath where her hands rest, attempting to keep herself from spilling. Now, she cools on the floor with parted lips and dried tears on her face. 

“Mum?”

She does not respond. She only stares at the floor. 

A hand clasps over your mouth before you’re able to process the mess in front of you. Pitiful feet squirm and thrash as you’re dragged through the room, flowers soaring through the air and blood smearing the soles of your shoes. You’re violently spun around and shoved against the wall where the back of your head collides with the paneling with a dull thud, sending your vision whirling. 

You attempt to make sense of the black hair and green eyes in front of you. Of the hips that pin you against the wall while this intruder leans back to get a better look at you. Yet, when he smiles with teeth just as sharp as the knife that he presses against your throat, all you can do is stand there and panic. 

“Easy now,” the man warns. Each syllable washes over your nose with mint so strong it burns your eyes—like he’s trying to hide something vile behind the freshness, but it isn’t working. “Pretty thing you are, aren’t you? Yeah… Yeah, let’s try to keep it that way. Gonna move my hand and you’re gonna keep those lips sealed, right? You’re not gonna give me any trouble.” 

The only thing you can think to do is nod. To confirm you’re not a threat. To do anything to ward off the blade against your throat. Still, when he removes his hand, you whimper. Eyes wide with terror, you look over this man and find nothing recognizable. Not his attire nor grin—not even the heavy cologne that burrows into his clothes. There is only one thing that seems remotely familiar, and it’s the heavy lids over his eyes like he’s ravenous and sizing up a good meal to eat. 

When he asks for your name it stumbles from your lips like it caught on your tongue on the way out, and he gives you his in return. Marco. He says it as if you are having a polite conversation; like your mother isn’t slouched against the cabinet by your feet. 

“Sorry about the mess. Dear mum wasn’t very cooperative. But you seem like a smart girl, hm? So you’re gonna stay quiet and listen to what I have to say. Nod.” 

Just as ordered, you nod with a tremble, forcing your throat to bob against the blade. Marco allows himself to drink in the sight of you. Blood stained shoes, long winter skirt, pristine coat—your mother had just ironed it for you that morning. Delicate and careful hands had worked with grace to make sure you looked well and proper while off at school. It’s a sour memory, now. Those hands now cover a mortal wound she couldn’t save herself from. 

“I’d like to apologize about the loss of your father. Good man, he was. Hard worker. Managed to get himself in a bit of a mess, though.” A wince tears through your throat at the pressure of his hips against yours, and he finally seems to register just how close he is to you. Offering you a smile in faux reverence, he moves back only an inch before pressing the tip of his knife against your sternum. You can’t feel its blade through the layers of your clothes, but the dread that stains the steel is unmistakable. “It’s the type of mess that gets a man killed. The type that got your mum killed. One that’ll kill you too if you don’t play your cards right. 

“Now, your sweet father works—well… worked—for a very important man named Vadimir Makarov. Ever heard of him before?” 

Vladimir. Your mind reels as images of your father’s funeral flashes before your eyes, forcing you to remember that strange man and his cold grip. Is that the Vladimir he speaks of? The same man who offered you kind condolences? 

“Makarov… that sounds familiar,” you admit. 

Marco’s smile is accompanied by a chuckle so saccharine it turns your stomach. “Yes. Yes, very good. Smart thing, you are. Everyone knows him. Everyone’s heard of him. Makarov. The Russian Mafia. Your father worked for him.” 

Confusion rattles your bones as you shake your head, bottom lip jutting out and trembling. Marco sneers at it—he revels in the twitch of your skin as you shudder against him. 

“But, no… No, my dad worked-”

“Your dad was a liar,” Marco interjects, bored. “A fat fucking liar, yeah? I’m sure he didn’t mean any harm by it, but dad kept a lot of things from you. He worked for Makarov as a drug runner. Sure you know what that is, right? A transporter? Makarov makes a lot of money off of that little side business of his. Lost a lot of cash for the big man the other night. Got himself killed trying to deliver a shipment. Lotta money we’re short on now. Care to venture a guess, babe? How much do you think we’re missing?” 

Numbers spin in your head like slot machines. This isn’t a game you want to play. Some deranged guessing game with a knife against your chest and your back pressed against a wall. You wish he would kill you already. You wish he would leave you to rot on the floor next to your mother where you can cool and congeal in peace. You hope you’re buried between her and your father. You’d like to be able to reach out and touch them both again. 

“Roughly three hundred thousand,” Marco eventually answers once he’s had his fill of your petrified silence. 

The number he names is astonishing and cruel. Your mouth opens in an attempt to respond, but nothing comes out. All you can do is stare at the widening sneer growing on his lips. 

“I know. Bad, isn’t it?” he humors with a crass chuckle. “Imagine how we feel, getting shorted like that. Not very good. Of course, he’s too dead to pay it back, so I tried to talk to good ol’ mum. Didn’t take too kindly to me visiting. Wasn’t very keen on wanting to pay back what your family owes. But you seem smarter than that. Smart enough to know what your options are, yeah?” 

Reading between the lines is easy when he’s carving the message into your throat. It’s your turn to pay. Your turn to right your father’s sin, and if you don’t? 

Linoleum can only hold so much blood. 

Maybe you wouldn’t mind joining your mother on the floor. You’d be too dead to care. At least this incessant void that continues to swallow you whole would be sated. There would be nothing left for it to feed off of. But then you look at Marco. Verdant eyes bore into you with more than just curiosity. More than a sick sense of power. There are things worse than death. A filthy wanton desire taints his lips as he wets them, and for a moment the stale viscera mixes with the mint on his breath and you think you’re going to be sick.  

“I… I don’t have that money. I-I’m still in school, I’ve…” Whatever you’re trying to say, it won’t come out right. It catches on your teeth—sticks to the confines of your throat—and chokes you. 

“Quiet now,” Marco coos. Convinced that you’re not going to run, he drops the knife from your chest but the weight still feels there. “I’m not a monster. Of course it’ll take time. We’ll work out a payment plan. Wait until you’ve got yourself a job, something proper without worrying about school. I’ll make things nice and easy for you. Always better that way, right? We have a deal then?” 

Before his words properly register, you’re already nodding, desperate to get him off of you. You’d do anything to fawn and appease this terror as he stares you down, lips peeling in a gibe. 

“Good. Good… Wanna make another deal?” Before he continues, he slips his hand into his pocket where he stows that wicked blade after flicking it shut. With both hands free, he’s able to move easier. A warm hand settles on your waist and it burns through your school uniform all the way to your skin, layers turning into ash underneath his fingertips. You don’t fully register what he’s doing until his other hand brushes against your cheek—your blood runs colder than your mothers. “I’ll knock the price down by a quarter if you let me fuck you.” 

This is your fault. You should have seen this coming. From the very moment your back was against the wall and Marco had you pinned, this was his idea all along. And instead of fighting, you froze. Let him close in on you until you were caged. Leashed. Attached to him by a string of infinity that you can’t seem to break through. He feels it, and you feel it too. That lure. That connection that allows him to take and take. 

A crucible ignites in your stomach as the hand on your waist ventures lower, the thick fabric of your skirt bunches as he moves it to the side. Your legs attempt to knock together, to shut him out before he even enters, but he’s quicker. Faster. Stronger. His knee darts between them, and you try not to cry when he chuckles. This is his bread and butter. His favorite meal and the only sustenance he desires. 

“I’d be gentle, of course. Like I said, I’m no monster. Could show me your room. Bet your bed’s plenty soft. Like you, huh? Pretty, soft thing, aren’t you?” Greedy fingers sear the insides of your thighs as he travels up and up… the tears begin to fall when his fingers reach your underwear. You feel the hot press of his fingers against your sex and the pressure hurts. You squirm, shoulders fidgeting and hands trembling as the foreign feeling taints you. “I’d knock it down by half if you’re a virgin.” 

You want to close your eyes. To pretend it’s not happening until it’s over. You don’t. You look anywhere but him as the tears mark your cheeks, and you swear they’ll create canyons in your face if they continue at this pace. Cutting deep until the flesh erodes away and there’s nothing but bone left. So you look away. You look at your mother. Her crumpled form hasn’t moved. She’s just the way she has been. The way you found her. Forever frozen in her last moment—with her final breaths—hands attempting to stitch together something she can’t. 

Her eyes are dead, and she is dead, and you are glad. You are glad, because you don’t think you could survive her witnessing what’s about to happen to you. 

“Just say the word,” Marco eggs. He’s luring you in, fingers pressing harder, and it aches. You should be apoplectic. You should be raging against him, but you can’t. 

Wavering hands slither between your body and Marco’s, palms flat against his chest as you attempt to melt into the wall behind you. Amused, he cocks his head. Avaricious eyes rake over your face, drinking in the sight of your tears like he wishes he could grab a taste for himself. 

“I’ll pay the full amount,” you mutter. You can’t look at him when you speak. You can hardly even get the words out as is. “All of it. I’ll do it.” 

He huffs in a patronizing scoff that has his breath fanning across your face again. Menthol burns your eyes and evaporates the tears on your skin. You wish you would evaporate with it. 

“I’ll pay it, just… Please stop.” 

There is a fleeting moment where you don’t think he will. You’re convinced he’ll continue to take, to ravage you on the bloodstained ground next to the corpse of your mother, but he relents. Hand sliding away from your thighs, your skirt covers yourself as he releases you. Without his weight pinning you like a specimen to an examination board, your legs give out, knees turning into jello as your back slides down the wall. He chuckles, and it is purely virulent. 

“Alright, alright. No need to get fussy,” he sighs. “The other half of the deal is still on, then. We’ll make arrangements at a later date. Best you stay in town, babe. Would hate to have to track you down somewhere else.” Marco pauses, filth stained hands shoving into his pockets as he glances around the mess he’s made of both you and your mother. “Call the police. You’ll need help cleaning up. Tell them you came home and found her like this, but don’t tell them about me. About anything else. I’ll know if you do. Makarov’s got eyes and ears everywhere.”

Vision tunneling, you nod. It’s the only thing you can think of doing as you stare at the stain on the floor. 

“Hey.” His shoes come into focus as he stands in front of you, and he gently kicks the side of your leg, prompting you to look up at him. He’s amused. You’re nothing more than meat to him. “That other offer is still on the table. Just in case you find yourself changing your mind. I’ll be seeing you later, babe.” 

The door slams behind Marco as he leaves you. Crumbled flowers lay on the ground where they feed off of your mother’s blood as they tenderly rest next to her. You want nothing more than to crawl into her lap as if you were a child again—to feel her embrace as you sob. Aren’t you still a child? Only sixteen and still in school? You feel like an adult shoved into a child’s body—or a child shoved into an adult’s. You’re fractured. Spiraling and sparkling like kaleidoscope fractals to be gawked at with wet lips and greedy tongue. 

You are in between a girl and a woman. In your prime state, you are now a meal, and Marco is everything more. 

It isn’t long before flashing lights smother your neighborhood beneath azure waves. The officers arrive before the ambulance does, and they find you curled up and shivering on the front steps of your home. They call out to you—amicable and sweet—but none of it reaches you. Trembling fingers clutch your phone as you stare at the pavement at your feet. Unlike the kitchen floor, it’s pristine and clean; void of all blood and gore, and yet you still see it. It haunts you. Scarred deep into your retinas until all you see is red. 

When a pair of shoes invades your vision, you are certain it’s Marco again. Already come to collect your dues, and more. But when you look up, you’re met with a new figure. A kinder figure. There is not a single shred of any giddy virulence that you had been subjected to before. He keels in front of you with a hand on his knee, like the motion has his bones screaming at him. He doesn’t seem to care about his pristine pants as old dirt begins to stain his uniform. 

“Hey there, love.” His voice is friendly and soft, and it’s enough to coax you into making full eye contact. You squint as blue lights diffuse around the back of his head, but you can see him smiling. You wonder how he can muster such a feat when there’s a corpse in the house behind you. “Come on. Why don’t we get you somewhere warm?” 

For the next few hours, you are a broken record as you retell your falsified story to investigators. You relive every gruesome detail except for the one that scares you most. It doesn’t feel good to lie. You hate lying. It makes you swelter with perspiration beading along the back of your neck as if you’re cooking in an oven under their gaze. If they see your deception, they don’t say anything, and so you keep repeating what you were instructed to. You walked home. You found her body. You called the cops. 

You walked home. You found her body. You called the cops. 

Somehow, after it’s evident that the fringes of your family died off with your mother, you end up in the care of the same officer who cajoled you from the stairs of your home. You don’t argue with it. It’s certainly better than sleeping on the streets for the night, or tucked away in the back of some crime scene. 

His name is Sean Gilroy—the Chief Inspector who now works the case of your mother’s death. It’s quiet in his car. There’s nothing but the hum of the engine and grind of the weathered road beneath the tires, but he breaks the odd silence to tell you about his daughter. He’s proud of her, his sweet Aelin. She’s older than you; already moved out and engaged. It’s small talk. Just something to keep your mind off of everything. 

You appreciate it until he shares that you remind him of her. You nearly apologize for it—that he might have a daughter like you. 

His wife—Jianna—freezes at the sight of you when he brings you inside of his home. Puzzled at your presence, she brushes it off quickly before welcoming you as if you’re old friends. Her voice is sweet and quiet like a mother reading a bedtime story as she brings you to a room that’s too well lived in to be a guest room. Somehow, they already have spare clothes and toiletries on hand, something that they urge you to use at your convenience. 

It isn’t until you change and lay in the bed that you realize that the Gilroy’s are used to fosters. Vagabond, wayward children with nowhere else to go. You wonder how many other kids have laid in this bed before you to stare at the same empty ceiling as you do. 

You don’t sleep even though you desperately want to. You’d give anything to not be conscious through this new, miserable existence. Instead, you rot in that bed with your soiled body, still marked from Marco’s fingerprints. Your fingers twitch for something warm, for something you can use to burn the essence of him off of you, but you think you’d have to burn yourself alive with it. Immolate yourself as an offering to whatever sick god decided you deserved this fate. As long as the memory lives on, so does the crime, and so does your shame. 

Shame for being alive. Shame for enduring what you had to. Shame for surviving it. 

Come morning, you slip into the bathroom to try and clean yourself up properly. You want to wash your hair and face and forget the blood that stains the soles of your feet. Sean and Jiana provide everything, and they don’t skimp on anything either. When you exit your shower, your skin has never felt softer, and for a simple, fleeting moment, you’re convinced you might be able to sleep despite the sun’s position. 

Everything falls apart when you brush your teeth. 

Mint floods your mouth, smothering your tongue with its cooling burn, and it hardly begins to foam before you’re freezing. Your stomach recoils; twists and thrashes at the flavor as you try to will the nausea away, but you can’t, because underneath the menthol and frigid bite, there is your mother. There is your mother, and her offals, and her dead, glossy gaze; and there is Marco with his fingers pressing into you and his breath on your face—and there is you, too weak to do anything about it. 

Your toothbrush clatters to the floor just as your knees do. Torso curved, stomach constricting, you hardly make it to the toilet before you throw up. It’s vile. Bitter bile coats your tongue, washing away the aftertaste of the horror with acid. You pray it torches your senses. You want it to render them completely useless so that you’ll never have to think about that man or that kitchen or the mess ever again. 

“You alright in there, sweetie?” The question comes with a gentle knock and a fair amount of concern from Jianna. Feet shuffle just underneath the door in your periphery, and you try to quiet yourself as your stomach lurches once more. 

You spit the last remains of vomit out of your mouth. “I’m alright.” 

Christmas passes by in a blur you can’t remember. There are vague conversations that stick—how Aelin is traveling for the holiday, how she can’t be home, but they’re grateful you’re here—but it’s nothing of value. Just muffled voices to be added to the soupy mess of your brain. Disconnected. Disjointed. Bereaved, you spend your days wandering this strange home like a ghost as you try to pilot out the rest of your seemingly decreasing lifespan. Marco’s threats still ring fresh in your mind, as do his hands on your skin. Surprisingly, it’s a very simple life. Work, pay, repeat. Pray Marco doesn’t hurt you. Repeat. Try to forget. Repeat. 

Repeat. 

What you don’t account for are the nightmares. The lack of sleep. The way you can still so clearly smell everything—feel everything. Breath against your cheek. Hand between your thighs. Fear boiling your blood. Mint mixing with gore and death like something clean attempting to conceal something rotten. It follows you. Clings to you. Burrows into your skin. No, it’s deeper than that—it’s not some superficial wound. It slices through thick muscle and sinew and drills deep into bone and the soft tissue of your head. It fries synapses until all you can think about is the despondent ache that pulses in place of your heart. 

Unfortunately, Sean Gilroy can sniff out death better than a cadaver dog, and you’re smothered in the scent. 

“Now, you’re not in trouble,” he says, but his voice carries a sense of authority that nearly has you trembling as you sit on the couch in his living room. He stands in front of you with his arms crossed over his chest as you stare at the photo in your hand. “I just need you to tell me the truth this time.” 

It’s Marco. A grainy, CCTV image of him, but you don’t think you’d be able to forget his face even if you tried. You see him with his hands shoved in his pockets just outside of your house. Your real house. The one your mother still haunts. You swallow thickly as the picture stares through you—you want to look away, but it won’t allow you to. 

“Who is that man?” Sean asks. 

You shake your head. “I don’t know.” 

He doesn’t argue. He doesn’t fight and call out your obvious lie. Instead, he kneels just like he did when he first found you on those icy steps. Soft eyes attempt to peer into yours, but you can’t stop staring at Marco. Not even the static can obscure the smirk on his face, and you feel your stomach churn at the sight. 

“I know this isn’t easy,” he says, voice soft yet still carrying the authority of an officer. “We’ve seen the video. We watched this man walk into your home. We watched you enter long before he left. It’s not easy facing men like that. Someone terrible enough to take life so flippantly. I’m sure he said a lot of things to you, right? Made a lot of threats trying to get you to keep quiet? I promise, whatever he told you isn’t going to happen. Not while I’m around.” 

His confidence is almost laughable, and you would laugh if you weren’t terrified. Marco’s words echo in your head the same way they have for the last few weeks. Makarov has eyes and ears everywhere. Are they listening now? Are they testing you? Trying to see how easily you’ll crumble if given a way out if you’re tempted with even the mere thought of escaping this life that was so viciously forced upon you? 

“I can’t,” you stutter.  It’s weak. Poignant and miserable, especially when accompanied by the tears that mark your cheeks. You cry so often these days you think the well might never run dry. “I can’t, he’ll kill me.” 

“What did I tell you? That’s not going to happen while I’m around,” he assures. “Is he part of any syndicate? Is he on his own? I just need a little bit of information—a name, anything you have—and I can put him away for good. Let me help you.” 

A part of you believes him. There’s a quiet flicker of hope that has you praying he’s right. Perhaps most of what Marco said was an empty threat. Something to get you to be complacent and easy to abuse. Aren’t you, after all, still a child? Gullible and pathetic? The conflict roars in your chest and manifests as shaky hands and ribs that crack with each beat of your heart. 

“I…” This is going to kill you to say. It’s not easy being brave—it’s nothing but asperity. “His name is Marco. He works for a man named Vladimir Makarov and he… he…” 

Everything wants to spill out. The blood, tears, bile—the hands slipping underneath your skirt and the dead eyes that watched your defilement. It’s too much to hold by yourself, and you don’t know what to do with it besides let it fester and metastasize inside of you. When you look up at Sean and see the look in his eyes, you can tell he already knows. That he’s known for a long while. He could see the cracks through your skin like dry desert clay long before you ever showed them. 

He hugs you when you begin to cry, and it feels like your father is holding you. It’s the first fraction of comfort you’ve received since either of your parents died, and you’re unable to hold back the sorrow. You are a leaking faucet. Something that has no choice but to make a mess, and still he holds you through it all. 

When your crying quells enough that it no longer racks your body, Sean asks you if you’ll go to the station with him to give an official statement. He promises that it won’t go public, and that it will stay classified until everyone who could ever want to hurt you is rotting behind bars. 

Still sniffling back snot, you agree. 

This might be the only chance you’ll get to avenge your parents—to avenge the girl Marco ravaged and left to decay in that house. 

The streets of London are packed, leaving you and Sean stuck in tightly knit traffic. Each stoplight you run into seems to last an eternity, and it only aggravates the already untamable anxiety that dwells in the pit of your stomach. A time bomb ticks away somewhere just out of reach, forever slipping through your fingers, and it only gets louder the closer you get to the station. 

Halfway through the drive, Sean calls someone. His tone is clandestine, hushed and soft as if you’re in some other room and not in the passenger’s seat next to him. Only a few of his words cut through the tempest in your mind. He mentions your name. The homicide case involving your parents. Marco and Makarov. The streets you’re passing on the way to the station. Lighthearted complaints about the traffic. His voice shakes when he laughs. 

You think he might be scared. 

There is a moment in time when everything shifts. The air becomes thicker. Your body has felt light as a feather ever since you shared your true confession, yet there’s a trepidation that hangs so tightly around your neck you’re certain you’ll choke. But you’ve been choking all along, haven’t you? Marco’s had a hold of his end of the rope this whole time, slowly pulling and pulling as the nose constricts around your throat like a viper. 

You suck in a breath of air as best as you can while your eyes wander over to Sean. He’s still on the phone, but you can’t understand what he’s saying. His mouth moves, jaw bobbing with his words, but it's nonsense. Silence. Gibberish through static. When you exhale, you look at the steering wheel. One hand guides the car as firm fingers keep it straight while you make it through the intersection. 

When you blink, those fingers suddenly look like your father’s—crooked and wrong. 

Pop!

Your vision is plunged into darkness as a gunshot-like bang deafens you. The muscles along your spine tense and harden as your body is thrown about, seat belt digging into your chest and hips as you’re helplessly tossed—nothing but a ragdoll in the hands of a merciless child. Something hits the side of your head and your ears scream with a high pitched squeal by the time the movement ceases. Your eyes are open, but you can’t see anything. It’s blotchy. Underdeveloped images that fade in and out of existence. Sparkling glass. A white airbag. Blood on your fingertips. 

Something shakes you, prompting you to look elsewhere. Your senses move slower than your body does. You turn your head but your eyes don’t catch up until later. Sean looks at you as he shouts something that makes your ears pulse, but you can’t hear him. His brows furrow as his hand reaches for the side of your head, and when he retracts it, his fingers are coated with ichor. 

Everything begins to stitch itself together as you glance around. Crystalline shards of glass litter your lap. Small pieces of it embed themselves into your arms where beads of blood poke through your jumper. Frigid air hits your face through the broken window, and when you look to your left, you notice the door is bent with metal morphing inwards as if to crush you in its maw. 

Pain rages inside of your skull as more blood trickles down the side of your face. Your hands press against your ears and they scream out at you, but you’re finally able to make out the words Sean speaks. 

“Well get out of this, love, just try to stay still. Fuckin hell, of course they had to hit your side,” he grumbles, voice thick as if stuck underwater. 

When you turn your attention back to him, you see someone standing by his door. One hand stays in the pocket of his jumper while the other opens the door. Sean hardly has the time to look over before the assailant retrieves a knife and plunges it into his stomach. The man does it so easy. It’s a practiced motion. One executed with too much confidence. There’s no sound that accompanies it. No clink of metal or a sickening smack. There is nothing but a gasp. 

Blood flows freely from the wound as the knife is yanked free, and Sean paws helplessly at it with a groan. A stuttering plea leaves your lips, but this man with his dull eyes says nothing as he retrieves the cellphone lying on the floor of the car. He begins to pick it apart, hardware and internals ripped open just like the dying man next to you. He removes a few parts before shoving it into his pocket. 

“Maybe I was wrong about you.” 

The repugnant voice of Vladimir Makarov drowns out the ringing in your ears as he leans through your broken window. Your head only snaps to look at him when he presses against the wound on your head, and he grins at your surprise. He stares at the blood marking his fingers like it’s a trophy. 

“You’re not as smart as I thought you were. Not witty enough to keep out of trouble,” he chastises with a titter. “Let this be a lesson to you. I don’t like teaching the same thing twice.” 

Slurred nonsense leaves your lips as Makarov leans away from the window, attention turning to the man ravaging Sean’s phone. He nods to himself, tossing the phone back onto the floor before looking to his superior. The man dying before him is nothing more than collateral. 

“Come, Andrei. We’ll have guests soon,” Makarov orders. 

They fade into the mess of the commotion around you, melting away like ghosts you can’t seem to catch nor escape. Nothing but dark figures joining the void. You’re always one step behind. Just another piece in a game you don’t know how to play. 

“Sean,” you choke out. Your voice is raw and tight, vocal chords twisting and threatening to snap. “I-I don’t know what to do, please, t-tell me what to do, I-” 

He’s dead by the time you’re able to turn your attention back to him. Hazy eyes stare through the cracked windshield as stained hands rest over his stomach. It’s the same thing all over again. A vicious cycle that spins around you. You’re at the epicenter. Approaching the event horizon that will soon rip you to shreds. For now, it lets you live, but it’s impossible to forget the gravity slowly dragging you in. 

You cry as his body begins to cool. Each sob pierces through you, electrifying every nerve until you’re rendered nothing but a thrashing mess. Your arms flail, glass sent flying as you attempt to free yourself from your seatbelt. Other people have approached the wreck, but their voices and warnings to stay calm do nothing to soothe you. They don’t understand. No one understands. The only person who ever could is lying next to you, dead. 

Each moment that passes is a painful reminder of what you wrought upon yourself. You should have known better than to attempt to harbor some useless meliorism as if you could outrun voracious greed. There is only one way out of this game—this limbo you’ve trapped yourself in—and it involves death. It has to be yours. 

It will be yours, someday. 

Until that day, you continue to let the blood fester on your skin. You know you’ll only ever be clean from this sin when the mortician washes you post-mortem to lay you in your casket.

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[ashwhowrites]

Rockstar! Eddie Munson x Reader, so what if he met reader at some concert and they ended up hooking up, then Reader got pregnant and she told Eddie (like idk, maybe she saw him somewhere, or he gave her his number?) so he was scared at first but then he tried to help her in everything she needed, after some months they started dating, and then they had a girl, and Eddie was like full on dad mode? (I imagine like Eddie being scared about it, bc he liked Reader but they kind of "hate" each other, but it's bc they don't know each other very well, and also I imagine him talking with Wayne, and Wayne being like don't be scared, you're gonna be a great dad, or something like that?) Idk if this made sense, but I hope it does!

I hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy it. Thank you for requesting 🫶🏻

Eddie couldn't help but let the tears run down his face when Y/N handed over their baby girl. Y/N was exhausted, sweat in her hair but Eddie thought she looked as beautiful as the day he met her. She closed her eyes for much-needed rest, leaving Eddie alone with his thoughts and a tiny baby in his arms.

He rocked the baby gently, remembering all the mini-lessons Wayne gave him throughout Y/N's pregnancy. He prepared for this day for the last 9 months, yet he felt like he was in over his head. But he focused on the way his heart exploded with so much love for the two girls in front of him. The very two girls who changed his life for the better and showed him what falling in love was like.

As Eddie listened to the little cries of his daughter, he couldn't help but reflect on everything that got him to this exact spot.

~~~

The adrenaline ran through his veins as he raced off the stage, his shirt glued to his chest with sweat, and the screams echoing in his ears.

Eddie headed straight to the nearest bar and drank until he barely remembered a thing. Some sweet voice in his ear, a soft pair of lips on his, and hands removing his clothes. It was all a blur, he woke up alone but the taste of her was on his tongue.

He went to sleep every night trying to rack his brain to remember her, even a tiny glimpse. He swore he felt her touch still and her scent lingered on the shirt he wore that night.

But Eddie was used to one-night stands so he figured she'd be another figure he fell asleep with but wouldn't wake up to see again.

And boy was he wrong.

~

He felt like he was going to throw up. A beautiful girl, who he learned was Y/N, sat across from him with a sick expression. A number called and called him over and over, it was driving him insane so he finally picked up. He did not expect a girl on the other line to say she was pregnant with his baby.

Sadly, he had to take precautions with his level of fame. He knew getting blacked out drunk with random women was a dangerous game, he just thought he was smart enough to not have consequences.

"How...we sure...proof it's mine?" Eddie squeaked out. The confident man, who held all the charisma in his smirk, was not across from her. The big rockstar who loved the spotlight seemed frozen and scared. His eyes didn't know where to look, so he looked everywhere. His fingers were pressing into his palm, and she guessed he would leave marks on his nails.

"Yes, I know it's yours. And look I know you have this whole touring the world and being a rockstar. I've been a fan of you for years so I know this is a dream you waited forever for, and since we aren't in a relationship and it was a one-night stand, it's your choice if you want to be involved or not. You have my number, use it if you want." She said, she slid over a small ultrasound picture and left the small diner.

Eddie's eyes locked on the photo and he couldn't breathe. The tiny blob made his heart race with anxiety and his stomach twisted in so many knots. If he was terrified of the tiny thing in that picture, he couldn't imagine having a whole baby.

He was torn. In so many ways it would be easier to act like it didn't happen. To continue the tour and never think about it again. She allowed him to run, but yet he didn't want to run away from her. She haunted his memory and he tried for months to figure out who that girl was that he remembered feeling. And now that he saw her, he wanted to see her face again and again.

He found himself trusting her. Not doubting her an inch. His manager told him to demand a DNA test of some sort before Eddie "ruined" his career, but her eyes were honest. He felt like he already knew her and knew she'd always be true to him. She wanted him to have his dream still, but it wasn't fair to pick a dream with a time limit over a child's life....his child's life.

~

Whenever Eddie was stuck in life, he flew to Hawkins and knocked on that tiny trailer. No matter how many times Eddie begged Wayne to let him pay for a big home, Wayne refused. He loved his life in his small trailer.

Eddie told Wayne everything, embarrassed as Wayne gave him that disapproving look when Eddie told him about all the one-night stands.

"And now she's pregnant. It's up to me to be involved or not. " Eddie said, biting his nails as he watched Wayne for an answer.

"And?" Wayne asked, his arms crossed as he eyed the nervous boy.

"And what?"

"What are you telling me for? Don't you tell me that you want me to tell you what to do, boy?" Wayne said, Eddie has been scolded by Wayne many times in his life, and somehow this felt scarier.

Eddie gulped but nodded his head in defeat. "I don't know what to do. I have no idea how to be a dad. I don't know how to take care of myself. I'm irresponsible and don't even have a solid place to live since I planned to be on the road. I don't have anything good to offer her or this child."

"Get over here," Wayne grunted, he uncrossed his arms.

"Are you going to hit me?" Eddie asked, slowly moving towards him.

"No." With the green light, Eddie walked over, he opened his arms thinking Wayne was going to offer a comforting hug. But instead, he got a smack to the back of his head.

"YOU SAID YOU WEREN'T GOING TO HIT!" Eddie yelled, rubbing the sore spot on the back of his head.

"Of course, I'm gonna knock some sense into you, kid! You don't know how to be a dad because you don't have the experience. No one knows how to be a parent until they learn. They have classes and books, and I'll help you. I wasn't a dad until you came along, and I'm proud of who you became. I started with no idea what to do but I made it work. You are going to do the same. Unlike you, she doesn't get the option to run away. And you are not letting her do this alone. Understood?" Wayne demanded.

"Understood."

~~~

Y/N was very shocked when Eddie called and asked to talk. She figured he'd take the opportunity to run and never looked back.

But as her stomach grew, so did her feelings for Eddie. He was the sweetest boy she ever met. He was terrified, but he held it together for her. Whenever she read another birthing book and felt like she was going to panic, he was right there.

When she hit around 5 months, she confessed her complicated feelings towards Eddie. To her surprise, he felt the same. All that time planning for their baby brought them closer together and they understood they'd have a connection to each other that they wouldn't experience with someone else.

Their first kiss, not drunk, was something they both would remember. It wasn't at a huge romantic place with candles everywhere. It was in their own home, in the nursery as Eddie put together the little crib. They were so overwhelmed with the emotion of having a family together and Eddie couldn't wait. He desired to kiss her since the diner and he felt fireworks in his stomach when he first placed his lips on hers.

After a few months passed and she was weeks away from giving birth, Eddie ended his tour early. He made sure he never left her side. Even though their relationship was freshly new, he moved in with her. He wanted to be there all the time for her and their baby. He knew he was in love with her, and he didn't plan to let her go anyway. So why wait?

Wayne was proud, and damn excited to be a grandpa. He turned Eddie's old room into a nursery and begged to babysit whenever it was needed. Wayne fell in love with Y/N within seconds of meeting her. He understood why Eddie was so sure about her.

Eddie read all the books and did all the classes, which meant he might have been too involved.

"Can you sit fine? I can help you." Eddie said through the bathroom door. A loud sigh left Y/N's lips.

"Edward, I told you for the last three hours that I can pee by myself!"

~

"Book says you shouldn't be on your feet this long. Why don't you sit." Eddie said as he quickly through the groceries into the cart.

"Sit where? It's a grocery store." Y/N laughed, having no issues walking through the store.

"Here," Eddie said as he took off his jacket and placed it on the dirty floor.

"Eddie, ew! And I'm not sitting on the floor. There's no way I'll get back up."

~

"Did you cook with the safe foods? Do you have the list of things she can't eat?" Eddie asked as Wayne brought over three plates.

"Edward" both Wayne and Y/N groaned

~

"Lady! You need to move faster. You are holding up the line!" A man groaned as Y/N tried to keep her composure.

"There's a line in front of me! I can't go anywhere, asshole!"

"I hope your bastard of a child doesn't get that kind of lip." The man laughed like his joke was funny. She could feel Eddie tensing as he joined the line next to her. He arrived at the wrong time...or the right time?

Before she could react, Eddie came swinging. His right knuckle cracked against the man's nose. The man dropped to the floor in a groan.

"Don't talk to her like that and don't ever speak about my child like that," Eddie growled.

~

And when it came the day her water broke, he felt more prepared than ever. He held her hand and tried not to flinch as she squeezed it until she cracked his bones. He drove as fast and safely as he could to the hospital. His brain couldn't wrap around the thought that his daughter was hours from being born.

This was finally it

He was going to be a dad

~~

"And now I'm your dad and I'm going to love you more than anything in this world. Your mom is amazing and I can't wait to watch you grow up to be just like her." Eddie whispered, the baby falling asleep to his story as he continued to rock her.

He looked up to see Y/N fast asleep, and he couldn't help but feel a strong amount of love for the two sleeping beauties that were now always going to be part of his life.

Tags!

@bmunson86 @mxcheese @ladymunson @michaelfuckinglangdon @z0mbie-blah @biittersweet @mirrorsstuff @somethingvicked @micheledawn1975 @ago-godance @magnificantmermaid @tlclick73 @hargrovesswifee @cityofidek @manyfandomsfanvergentreblogs @silky-luxe @lokiofasgard616 @loving-and-dreaming @eddiemunsonsbitch69 @thegemaqua @ashlynnkennedy @strangerthingsstories5255 @harringt8ns @pleasinghellfire @whoscamila @stusdollface93 @gretavankleep37 @bellaisswagger

[benevolentcalamity]

Beautiful Little One [Dad!Mihawk x Fem!Reader]

A quick note before we get started, I am only at a certain point in Enies Lobby. (You may know the one.) So like with Crocodile, please refrain from spoilers/fan theories.

Kay thanks, enjoy! Also hot diggity dog I vibe with this aesthetic so hard.

Btw I'm not confident in writing Mihawk since I haven't seen much of him, so pointers would be appreciated. Thanks fam! ^^

Content warning: Childbirth, breastfeeding (I don't know if that needs it, just in case.)

CURTAINS!

Labor was long and torturous.

Blinking in and out of consciousness, you don't recall if you've seen the sun rise and fall even once. The days leading up to this point have all raced together, melted like wax until they're indiscernible. For all you're aware, this baby had been ready to come out since Roger's execution.

A nurse takes the little red mass from beneath your hips, carrying it over to the bucket. Wearily you attempt to lift your head, squinting to see it through the fuzzy world of colors. Violent tremors overtake your body, forcing you back down, another nurse at your side in seconds.

Light pierces into your eye, your lips parted and your tongue pulled out. Your neck and wrists are prodded along the faint sensations of wiping along your legs. Sucking in a breath through your teeth, your one hand comes up to your forehead, eventually your arm falling across your eyes like limp noodles.

"Congratulations, Miss [Name]," You hear through the haze. "She's a healthy little princess."

Eased upright and propped against some pillows, you tear your eyes open, finally beginning to regain focus. Reaching out, you watch the little red blob being carried back to you. As the fog clears, you gaze upon her face, calming from cries you could not hear, and her little hand grips your awaiting pointer.

"... Is he still outside...?" You vaguely recall him coming, or trying to.

"Hawk...eye?" A nurse trembles. "Um... let me go look..."

Your gaze falls to the baby. She's calm and serene, finally in your arms. As her soft coos fill the air, the previous days become but a fleeting dream... No, the pain and sickness of pregnancy is all beyond you, all of it having lead up to her being here. It's all worth it - she's here, and both of you are fine.

Her eyes slowly pry open, gazing up at you. Their amber hue doesn't pierce you at all, but rather it's a warm glow. Not as sharp, not as striking as her father's, but one day, they will be as strong. If she's anything like him... which is quite the opposite of a far cry.

creak

Your head lifts back up, turning towards the opening door. Shadowed by the trembling nurse, Mihawk comes in a bit slowly, as though waiting for you to tell him 'not right now'. To be frank you'd be chuckling if you weren't absolutely drained right now. Gently stroking the child's head you manage an assuring smile.

"Dracule..." You murmur, the nurses leaving to give you some privacy. "Come here... hold her..."

Picking up the pace, he leans over to kiss your brow. "Forgive me, that I wasn't here for the whole thing."

Shaking your head, you maintain your smile, delicately passing her into his awaiting arms. At first it's hard to gauge his expression even with his hat off. His one hand comes up, stroking her little head as her eyes gaze curiously up at him. With a coo from her he brings her up to his face, peppering her little cheek with tickling kisses.

"Hello, little one..." He breathes, an uncharacteristic softness in his voice.

Through her giggles you sigh, relieved. "Isn't she beautiful...?"

He nods, holding her to his chest. "She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." Given how much he's seen on the seas, that's a hard accomplishment, surely. "... We haven't decided on a name for her."

Simpering, you reach to put a hand on his arm. "Well, you have so many good ones."

"As do you." He kisses her forehead. "... I've had Lenore in my mind."

Your senses return fully. "That's a beautiful name. I like it, too."

Holding her up, you notice his cheek crease with a smile as his beard tickles Lenore. For a moment he's completely lost, taking all of her in. From how his head tilts to foil her attempts to grab his beard, to the way his poking fingers tickle her belly, he's spellbound by her. Bringing her close, he kisses her forehead, noticing her beginning to fuss.

Delicately he passes her back to you, and for what must be the first time, a genuine smile is on his lips as you tug the blanket down to breastfeed.

"... Thank you."

Your eyes flicker up to him from her latching. "For what?"

"For the love you've given me, for the light you've brought to my heart..." His hand reaches forward, scooping yours up. "... And for Lenore."

"You..." You falter. "... Dracule..." Lucky you, Lenore has eaten her fill, drifting back into slumber.

"Oh." He notices your exhaustion, kissing your forehead. "I'll find the nurses, worry not. Here, allow me..." Gentle he pulls her from your lap, helping you lie back down. "Get some rest. You've done well."

As you drift off into the stillness, you feel him pull the blankets over your shoulders.

"... So long as I live, you and Lenore will be safe. I promise."

[wonwussy]

By Line

pairing; ceo!wonwoo x reporter!afab reader

genre; enemies to lovers, smut, dramatic af, angst

notes/warnings; TOXIC BEHAVIOR, drugs, alcohol, food, dirty talk, sex in a public place, fingering (f receiving), death mention (?), and y’know sex

word count; 5.3k

this is for @svthub​’s garden collab

You couldn’t believe it is going to end like this. Your years on Earth, coming to a close, because you were thirsty. You are an idiot.

It wasn’t entirely your fault, however. It is his fault too. He’s the one that poisoned you, instead of being a decent human being. Just because you accepted a glass of water, does not mean you consented to dying. Wonwoo is a terrible person, and you did walk straight into his trap.

As you struggle to keep your eyes open, the world in front of you going blurry, you can’t help but think back to what led to you being here. How hungry you were for the facts, for the story. It was going to be your big break into journalism, and you would finally be able to carve your own island out in the field.

You had followed Wonwoo for weeks, making notes of his comings and goings. Who he was meeting with. What he even had for breakfast (he usually nibbled on some kind of muffin while walking to his office building, a coffee in his other hand). You were trying to follow the money, and you were so close to exposing him.

Little did you know that he had been watching you too. Which is how he ended up inviting you to dinner at his penthouse, saying he would give you an interview of a lifetime. He made, as a one Don Corleone had said, an offer you couldn’t refuse.

“What di- did you give me?” you mumble, your head drooping slightly.

Wonwoo simply chuckles, clearly amused with how you’re fighting what he slipped you. “Don’t worry about it. It’s painless. It’s just like going to sleep,” he assures you, before taking a small sip of his wine.

Well, he isn’t wrong about that. It does feel like you want to sleep. Just drift off and not have to worry about anything again. It would be easy. Painless, like he said. Your eyes start to flutter close, but you shake your head and snap them open as wide as you can. “No. I’m no— call the police,” you say weakly, slapping the table to find your phone.

You hear him chuckle as he reaches for your phone and slides it towards him, watching you with interest. “Hm. You’re adorable when you’re stubborn.”

“Shuddup. ‘M not.” You frown at him and blink wearily, his figure turning into a faceless blob. “My phone,” you whine as you start to slump over the table.

Wonwoo finishes his wine and sighs, leaning back in his chair as he picks up your phone. “Cute lock screen. Is that your cat?” he asks, though he’s not expecting an answer from you.

You let out a whine as fear overtakes you, your eyes finally shutting. “You’ll never getwaythis…”

The last thing you remember before the darkness overtook you was hearing Wonwoo laugh at your utterances. “Whatever you say, ace.”

———————————————————————

Funny. You didn’t think you could dream when you were dead. It wasn’t exactly sugar plums, but visions drifted in and out of your mind. Your parents, friends, Henry (you prayed someone would take care of him when you are gone, the gremlin of a cat) were all present… memories, maybe? Was this what they meant when they said that your life would flash before your eyes?

You can feel warmth on your face, which only confuses you even more. It’s bright, even through your eyelids. Was it the bright light that greets you in death? No one ever says it’s warm. It’s comforting. You can’t help but smile at the feel of it, and snuggle further down into the sheets.

Wait.

You wiggle your fingers, and they move. You sit up in the bed and blink your eyes open, heart pounding as you take in the fact that you’re still alive. Alive and in an unfamiliar room. You aren’t sure if you should be overjoyed or scared. Instead, you let out a yelp as you try to scramble out of the bed.

Where the hell are you? What happened last night? Every possibility and scenario races through your head as you get tangled in the sheets and fall out of the bed to the floor with a loud thump. You groan as you roll on to your back, trying not to cry as you hear a knock on the door.

“Are you decent?” a gruff voice asks through the door.

You pause at the question and glance down at yourself, letting out a sigh of relief when you realize you are, in fact, fully clothed. You scowl as you slowly push yourself to your feet and cautiously step towards the door, folding your arms over your chest. “What the fuck did you do to me?” you demand in a harsh whisper, not wanting to open the door quite yet.

You hear him laugh from the hallway, clearly amused with you. “Nothing. Well… I carried you to the bed after you passed out from the sleeping pills that were in your water… but other than that, nothing. I promise.”

Anger rolls through you at his words, and you yank the door open to find him leaning against the door frame with a nonchalant look on his face. “You did WHAT?!” You aren’t sure you heard him right, you couldn’t have.

Wonwoo rolls his eyes at you and runs a hand through his cropped hair. “You looked like you were in some desperate need of sleep, so I helped. You’re welcome.” He pauses as his eyebrows shoot up at your angry, yet confused, expression. “You didn’t actually think I poisoned you, did you?” he asks, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Your blood is boiling at the look on his face, his stupid face with his stupid glasses. But he wasn’t wrong. You did think he poisoned you, but it wasn’t like he didn’t give you a reason not to believe it. And, you guess in a way he did actually do it. “What do you call slipping me sleeping pills in my water? A sweetener?” you nearly yell at him.

“No. I call it a helping hand. I’m a businessman, not a murderer, ace. Killing people isn’t a good look for my company,” he teases as he stands up straight.

You take a step back, your hand still gripping the doorknob tightly as you glance him up and down. You couldn’t deny that he looked good in his oversized white t-shirt and gray sweats, at home casual seemed to suit him more than business casual. Has his shoulders always been so… wide? You meet his eyes and huff when you see the satisfied look in his eyes, scowling at him again. “Well, does your “helping hand” mean keeping me hostage? Or am I free to go?”

Wonwoo steps back and gestures to let you pass him, watching as you stalk into the hallway. “Your things are by the front door. I can call a driver to take you home, if you want,” he offers. He waits for a reply and shrugs when you don’t give one, tucking his hands into his sweatpants. “Though, if you leave now, you won’t get your interview.”

You stop at his words, a small struggle brewing inside you. Leave, and you can rid yourself of this monster and this whole ordeal. But then you won’t get what you’ve been after all these weeks. The truth. Straight from the man (and you use that term very loosely in this case) himself. The temptation is too great.

He knows exactly what he’s doing. Fuck him. You’re not going to play into his hand so easily.

“Complete and unadulterated truth? Everything?”

“Everything.”

Fuck. You slowly turn to face him with a heavy sigh, knowing he has you. So much for not so easily. “Fine. But no open containers from you.”

He grins at you as he walks past, tapping your chin lightly. “You have a bit of dried drool right there,” he comments as he makes his way back out to the living room.

~*~*~*~*~

It’s not too long until you’re both seated in his home office, him behind his desk with a mug of coffee while you sit in a plush armchair on the opposite side (no drink for you, for obvious reasons). Your voice recorder is on and sitting on his desktop, and a pen is poised in your hand as you stare at him. You narrow your eyes as you study him, his own eyes dropped to his phone as he typed out a text. “Are you busy or…”

He hums in acknowledgment and takes a sip of his coffee, not looking up as he finishes his typing. “Sorry. Urgent business.” He finally sets his phone down and directs his attention towards you, offering you a small smile. “Okay. Go ahead, ace. Ask away.”

You roll your eyes at the nickname, tapping your pen against your pad of paper. “Right. Mind telling me what the urgent business was?” you ask, nodding to his phone.

“When you run a multi-million dollar corporation, everything is urgent business,” he jokes. “Right now, we’re in the middle of trying to acquire some land in Denmark. Trying to set up a regional office there, so we can run our European operations a little more smoothly,” he explains. “So far, it’s been a lot of back and forth. If you know anything about Denmark business or land law, you’d be a great asset right about now.”

You shake your head as you scribble some notes down, not bothering to look up as you ask your next question. “Don’t you have lawyers to sort out all that? Or are they around to just make it all look legal?”

Wonwoo quirks an eyebrow up at your question, tapping his fingers against the side of his mug. “We do have lawyers, but not every lawyer is an expert in every law.” He pauses as he sips his coffee, studying you as he does so. “And I always make sure everything I do regarding my business is legal.”

You scoff in disbelief, your eyes catching his as you look back up. “I doubt that. A company as big as yours can’t always do legitimate business,” you mutter. “And I find it ver—“

“Now hold on,” he interrupts, sitting up and leaning forward in his chair. “Is that why you’re so interested in me? You think I’m some kind of criminal?” He, of course, knows what you think, but he wants you to say it out loud. He never would have asked you to meet for dinner if he didn’t know. That, and he definitely had enough of you following him.

Your cheeks warm with embarrassment, but you square your shoulders off as you sit straighter. “Yes. I think you’ve had some illegal business dealings, or you know about it within your company and are covering it up,” you answer, your fingers nervously fidgeting with your pen. “I believe you’ve cheated for your success, and you and your company need to be exposed.”

He can’t help but grin at your words, though he manages to hold back his laughter. It is a ridiculous accusation, of course. Hearing it out loud just made it seem even more so. “So, you thought following me around was going to reveal this big giant scandal?” He pauses as he chuckles lowly, leaning back in his chair. “Ace, you could have saved yourself a lot of trouble, and just asked me straight out in the beginning,” he tells you.

You narrow your eyes at him as he speaks, holding back a scoff. “Would you have told me the truth?”

“Yes. I have no reason to lie to you.”

You study him for a moment, trying to find any scrap of deceit. It’s frustrating that you can’t find one. Either he is an expert liar, or he’s telling the truth. Maybe you’re just shit at reading people, which would make you a pretty shitty reporter. “And I have no reason to believe you,” you finally say, dropping your gaze back down to your notepad.

A tense silence falls between the two of you, and it seems to stretch for hours. Though, it is less than thirty seconds before Wonwoo speaks again. “Look, this relationship isn’t going to work if there’s no… trust betwe—“

“Trust?!” you nearly screech at him. “Trust was tossed out the fucking window when you drugged me! So, I don’t think trust is ever going to be something I have in you.”

Wonwoo frowns at your words and stands to his feet. “I think trust was gone the minute you started suspecting me and following me around the city,” he pointed out, leaning forward over the desk with his palms flat on the wood.

Another silence as you let his words roll around in your head. He wasn’t wrong. You never actually trusted him, but there was no chance of it now, that much is certain.

He sighs and stands up straight again, pulling his glasses off. “I know I shouldn’t have drugged you,” he starts, pinching the bridge of his nose. “That was wrong, and honestly, reckless of me. I am sorry.”

You blink in surprise at his words and the sincerity in his voice. That’s not what you are expecting. An apology.

“But you need to learn when to take a break and get some rest. You’ve been stuck to me like a goddamn shadow, trying to find anything I’ve done wrong. Which, fine, but you’re like a dog with a bone. You won’t let go until you’re satisfied,” he continues with a half amused look. “It’s kind of cute. Your tenacity. I admire it.”

Your cheeks warm as he speaks, and you shake your head. You didn’t want to admit he was right, that you did need a break, but you knew you had to get this story. You clear your throat as your gaze drops to your notepad, scrunching your nose. “My mother calls it stubbornness. It caused her many headaches during my childhood.”

Wonwoo smiles as you speak, studying you carefully. He notices a softness to your edge when you speak about your mom, and can’t help but be a little endeared by it. He reaches for his phone again and unlocks it, muttering under his breath as he scrolls through it.

You look back up at him, confused, and watch him as he mumbles. “What are you doing? More important business?” you ask, furrowing your brows.

“Next Sunday. You’re coming with me to a garden party one of my business partners is hosting. Maybe it’ll give you some insight to what it is I am doing at my business,” he tells you as he looks back at you with raised brows.

You scoff at him and shake your head again. “You expect me to listen to you and just go with you to this party? You don’t even ask, you demand me to? What if I have plans? I can’t just drop what I’m doing and jump at your commands,” you reply with annoyance. Of course, your only plans that day are to nap with Henry and stuff your face with waffles, but he didn’t need to know that. He didn’t need to know that Sundays are your bra and pant free days.

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow at you, tilting his head to the side as he questions you. “Do you have other plans? I just figured you’d end up following me around anyway, you might as well have an invite to the party.”

Your mouth opens and closes a couple times as no words come to you, before you scoff again as you shake your head. “Fine. I’ll go. Not because you demand it, but because I can use it for my story,” you relent, doing your best to ignore the look of victory on his face.

—————————————————————

You draw in a deep breath and let it out slowly, smoothing your hands down the side of your thighs nervously. You are standing outside the entrance to the botanical gardens, where you are supposed to meet Wonwoo for the work party he invited you to, and you suddenly want to turn around and run back home.

You nod once and are about to turn around, when a hand comes to rest lightly on your lower back. You jump slightly at the sudden presence, turning your head to see Wonwoo looking at you with a small smile. “Shit, you’re like a cat sneaking up like that. I should get you a bell,” you mutter, looking back at the gardens.

He chuckles and lets his hand drop, studying your profile. “Hm. I think I’m the one who should get you one, with how you follow me around. I think a collar would look good on you,” he teases, your skin instantly on fire at his words. “So, are you ready to rub elbows with some powerful people?”

You clear your throat, hoping to hide any effect his words had on you, and you straighten your blazer. “No, but I don’t really have a choice if I want this story.” You let out another long sigh and shake your head. “I feel severely underdressed, and this is my best pantsuit.”

Wonwoo steps back to look you over, tilting his head to the side. “You look great. Green is your color. You only need a collar to complete the look,” he jokes, before he steps off towards the entrance. “Come on. All the good hors d'oeuvres are going to be gone if we keep standing out here.”

You watch as he steps up to the security, your mind reeling from the mental whiplash. He really is an insufferable man. Insufferable and incredibly sexy in his light blue suit. It fit him perfectly, and hugged him in all the right places. Seriously, has he always been that broad?! You scrunch your nose at your own thoughts and silently curse yourself and the man you follow into the party.

-*-*-*-*-

Bored. You are actually bored. You did not think it was possible, but here you are, champagne glass in one hand and a tiny cucumber sandwich in the other, bored of listening to all the business talk. Not a single person had let anything juicy slip. No shady deals, no illicit affairs, not even someone discussing a traffic ticket. You sigh and tip back the rest of your mimosa, before shoving the sandwich into your mouth. Well, at least you got free snacks and drinks out of it.

You chew slowly as you turn around, freezing when you see Wonwoo staring at you with an amused look on his face, though he is nodding at the person he is talking with. He reaches up and pokes his cheek, before turning his full attention to his companion.

You mirror his actions and poke your own cheek, your eyes going wide at how puffy it is. You must look like a hamster with food shoved into its cheeks, the way you feel the sandwich there. You finish chewing and swallow, looking around and hoping no one else noticed your uncouth actions.

Though you don’t see anyone paying attention to you, you decide that it is better to dismiss yourself from the party. It seems like as good a time as any to do a little exploring of the gardens. Maybe it’ll give you a chance to leave completely unnoticed.

“Trying to escape so soon?”

Wonwoo’s sudden presence once again startles you, and you jump a little as your heart nearly shoots out of your chest. “Fucking hell! Seriously. Make a noise or something,” you grumble, crossing your arms over your chest.

He can’t help but laugh at your reaction, his hand resting against the small of your back as you both start walking away from the crowd. “I did. I said something.”

You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the effect his touch is having on you. How you wish it is more than his hand on you. “Before you sneak up on someone.” You pause as you glance at him quickly, only to find him looking back at you. “Anyway, I’m not— okay, yeah, I am trying to escape. You didn’t tell me how boring this would be,” you relent with a sigh.

Wonwoo let out a low chuckle and shrugged one shoulder, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Yeah, the daytime parties are usually pretty lame. Now, dinner parties and cocktail hours? That’s where all the excitement is,” he jokes, following you as you turn down a side path.

You snort and shake your head, a tiny smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “You’ll have to invite me to one of those. Maybe I’ll actually get something to write about.” You pause your walk as you read a sign about the foliage, sighing quietly. “You really do everything above board, huh?”

He looks over at you, studying your profile carefully, and nods once. “I told you. Now, do we toe the line with how things get done? Sometimes. I like to push and be aggressive with some things, but I never do anything illegal. Questionable, maybe, but always legal.” He adjusts his glasses and shrugs again. “Losing my business isn’t worth it.”

You bite your lip, feeling ashamed of having suspected him of anything nefarious. Aside from drugging you with sleeping pills, that is. You don’t say anything as you take a right towards another section of the gardens, leaving him to follow after you once again. Your thoughts are swirling in your head, and suddenly his presence is making it hard to think straight. Or maybe it was the three or four mimosas you had.

“I was the first in my family to graduate from college, you know. My parents either didn’t want to do college, or they couldn’t afford it, but they made sure I went,” he says after a moment. “I started this business from the ground up, worked my ass off. I took out loans, nearly went bankrupt. Hell, I lived with my parents for longer than I wanted just to save anything I could.”

You furrow your brow as you come to a stop in front of a small white building, large windows on either side of a stained glass door. You knew he had started the business, but you didn’t know everything he had gone through. Now you feel like a total asshole. “So, no mob connections, huh?” you crack half-heartedly as you push open the door.

He scoffs as he follows you inside, shaking his head at you. “No, sorry to disappoint.” He blinks as he looks around, looking slightly confused. “Where are we?”

You shrug as you look around, your eyes finding a plaque on the wall. You cross over to read it, groaning quietly. “This is where they house the most poisonous plants. Says here, ‘among them are oleander, nightshade, mistletoe, and foxglove’. Huh. I don’t think I knew mistletoe was poisonous.”

Wonwoo can’t help but laugh as he wanders over to a cluster of two foot tall stalks with an assortment of colored flowers. “These are poisonous?” He crouches down to read the small sign staked into the ground in front of them, raising his eyebrows. “Foxglove. They look too pretty to be deadly.”

You swallow as he speaks, licking your lips as your eyes move over him. “Could say the same thing about you,” you mutter under your breath.

“What?”

“Nothing!” You clear your throat as he stands, turning away from him towards a padded bench at the center of the building. You sit and smooth your hands over your thighs, doing your best to ignore the amused look on Wonwoo’s face.

He stands and moves to sit next to you, sitting with his body angled towards you. “You still think I’m deadly?” he asks.

You roll your eyes and scooch back from him a tiny bit. Space is necessary between you two. “You did drug me the other night. So, yeah. And you’re wrong, about not doing anything illegal. That seems like a pretty illegal thing to do,” you point out, raising your eyebrows at him.

He grimaces and lets his head drop in shame. “That really wasn’t my finest moment. Good intentions carried out in a horrendous way.” He pauses as he looks back up at you, apology written all over his face. “I really shouldn’t have done it. I don’t think I can ever apologize enough. And honestly, I don’t ever expect you to forgive me for it. I wish I would have made a better impression on you,” he finishes, his voice quiet as he reaches up to brush hair from your forehead.

You draw in a slow breath as his fingertips brush your hairline, your skin feeling as if it were on fire. “I wish you did too,” you reply in a near whisper.

He leans in as he rests his palm against your jaw, studying you carefully. “Will you let me try to make it up to you? I know I never could fully, but I could give it my best shot,” he says softly, his thumb ghosting across your bottom lip.

“You can do your best.”

And with that, his lips meet yours. His hand keeps a hold of your jaw as his lips move over yours, allowing you to deepen it if you wish, even if he wants to. He shifts slightly so he can move closer to you, relieved that you don’t move away again.

Your heart is crashing within your chest as you kiss, and you reach up to rest a hand on his wrist. You want more, and you are surprised at yourself for nearly craving it. You furrow your brow as you allow yourself to deepen the kiss, brushing your tongue across his lips. Your other hand finds its way to the side of his neck, holding him to you as his tongue tangles with yours.

The kiss only lasts for seconds, though it feels like minutes. You finally break away and are breathing heavily, eyes closed as you rest your forehead against his. “Well… um… that’s a good start… I guess,” you breathe.

He scoffs at your words, though amused, and pulls you to him again. This time, the kiss is more intense, as if he’s trying to prove something to you. You suppose, in a way, he is. How sorry he is. How he’s innocent of anything you think him of. How much he actually wants you.

You start to lay back as you two continue to kiss, wrapping an arm around his shoulders so you can keep him close to you. You’re grateful when he moves with you, hovering over you on the bench. You don’t even care if you're in the middle of poisonous plants, or that you’re even in a public area. You just want him, and it’s clear he wants you too.

He finally separates from your mouth, only to trail his lips down your face and to your neck. “You look so fucking sexy in this suit. No shirt under the blazer,” he mumbles against your skin, before dragging his tongue down between your breasts. “I was praying for the slightest peek this whole time.”

You can’t help the whine that escapes you as he speaks and kisses you, your back arching into his touch. “No one was going to get one. I made sure of it,” you joke with a half laugh.

“I’ll have to get a good look later then.” He lifts his head to look up at you, a cat-like smirk pulled across his lips. “Right now, I am trying to do my best,” he adds teasingly.

You don’t get a chance to reply before he lifts himself up a little, his fingers finding the buttons to your pants quickly. Your eyes go wide as you watch him quickly undo them, though you don’t try to stop him. “Jeon Wonwoo, do you mean to fuck me in front of the foxglove and mistletoe?” you hiss.

He shrugs as he tugs your pants down to your ankles, pulling your underwear with them. He stands and quickly does the same with his own pants and briefs. “I mean to fuck you in front of the foxglove and mistletoe,” he says as he lays back down over you again, his hand finding  your pussy.

A moan falls from your mouth as his fingers slowly tease your clit, and you know he can feel the wetness pooling between your legs. You never had someone get you this wet this fast, and you certainly weren’t complaining. You spread your legs as much as you can, with your pants literally around your ankles, as he slips a finger inside you.

“I can’t wait until I can really get to know you. Make sure I explore everything about you,” he whispers into your ear, his thumb circling your clit slowly. “When we’re not surrounded by plants that could actually kill you.”

You let out a breathy laugh at his words, though your mind is too hazy to fully comprehend what he is saying. Before you can say anything in response, his finger leaves you so he can wrap his hand around himself. You lick your lips as he lines himself up, your eyes finding him as he teases you with his tip. “If you don’t stop that, I will push you into a plant,” you threaten, though you know there’s no way it’d ever happen.

He chuckles and slowly pushes himself into you, causing you to gasp in pleasure. “You feel better than I imagine, ace. So fucking good,” he moans as feels you clench around him.

You move your hips against him, hoping it would get him to move. You fist his jacket in your hands as his cock hits your spot just right, whining as you match his thrusts. You hold him to you tightly, biting on his collar to keep from being too loud. The last thing you want is for someone to find you two, and ruin a good thing.

He speeds up his thrusts, panting into your neck as you match his pace. The urgency to finish doesn’t diminish the pleasure for either of you, nor does the threat of being caught. Wonwoo would swear that it is actually making you more excited, even if you don’t realize it.

It’s not too long before you can feel the coil tighten in you, and you find his lips with yours once again. This time, the kiss is messier, more desperate, and needy. You need him, as much as he needs you. Both of you chasing your high in the middle of some greenhouse, sweating through the fabric of your suit jackets.

You can feel the tip of his cock drag across your g-spot, bringing you closer and closer. You clench down as he thrusts into you hard, hitting you deeper, and it sends you spiraling. You keep your lips locked with his, tongues tangled together as your orgasm hits you in waves.

He helps you ride it out, which only brings him to his own climax. He finally pulls back from you, nearly gasping for breath as he spills into you. His quiet groans fill your ears as he slows his movements, before he finally stops and holds himself above you on his elbows.

You are breathing hard as you look up at him, reaching up to wipe the sweat off his forehead with a laugh. “Well, you might be on the right track,” you tease softly.

He grins at your words, before pressing a light kiss to the tip of your nose. “Good.” He pauses as he glances around, before resting his forehead against yours. “We should get out of here, before both of us are literally caught with our pants down,” he whispers.

You hum in agreement and smile. “Yeah. And now I’m going to have to find another story.”

Wonwoo lifts his head and smiles down at you, tipping his head to the side as he studies you for a moment. “You really think I’m pretty?”

[yaut-jaknowit]

So this ties into my previous transformation ask, so a part two of sorts.

So the transformation continues on from the previous point, scales continue to spread, mandibles sprout, and hair gets replaced by tresses, increase height, etc till they completely yautja.

And maybe for a bit of spice this is signified by the individual going into heat and having a unbaked bun put in the oven (maybe it was a dream that was never able to happen cause different species and what not?)

-🥤

The Wrong Secret to Hold Part 2

Character: Ahtaal (Male Yautja) x AFAB!Reader

Word Count: 4521

Summary: A month goes by until the rest of the transformation completes. It's impossible to reverse the effects this point and left you a Yautja for the rest of your life. Though, that does have some perks. Until you are hit with your first heat.

Author Note: Ekkk! I loved doing a second part to this! It feels like I haven't wrote smut in forever.

Part 2

Masterlist

Ao3

If the scales weren’t the worse thing, it was the tress. Pressure behind your eyes had you curled up in bed. Ahtaal worked diligently with everything in his power to either halt or even reverse the transformation. Some nights, the red Yautja doesn’t come to bed, still glued to his workshop. Every favor and piece of knowledge put together in front of him.

But nothing could be found. It was a miracle you had survived such things. From what others have gathered, these Bad Bloods had been doing this for some time. Other… humans hadn’t been lucky enough like yourself to survive.

Oh, how lucky you were.

Tears stained your cheeks. Pain relief rushed through your veins but did little to quell the headache. It felt like the medicine hadn’t even touched it; leaving you here to suffer in your bed.

All you wore at this point was sheen, silken cloth around your waist. The only modest part of yourself. Everything else had been torn off. The touch of it drove you into sanity. Scratches marred your changing skin.

Ahtaal found blankets from earth that were the only thing you didn’t want to either tear up or rip off your own skin. They felt like you weren’t even lying on anything. Similar to the cloth acting like shorts.

Said male despises leaving you alone in the quietness in your shared bedroom. Yet, if anything is to get done about the situation, he had to act. Plus… the items you’ve thrown at him have bruised his head. Clearly, you didn’t want to be touched. It would happen sacuddenly, leaving him with no time to react.

A hiss surged pass clenched teeth. Your eyes are sealed shut. Star appeared through the darkness. A wave of nausea striking you so hard that color bloomed to life in the darkness. You tensed every muscle harder in reaction and fought off the feeling in the back of your throat. It became a struggle of mind over body.

Until your mouth watered.

Then, you were up on your unsteady feet and stumbling like a drunk into the bathroom. Your hands gripped the toilet bowl just in time for everything you’ve consumed in the last few hours to surge up your throat. Bile spewed. You were a hot mess.

For the next hour, you were glued to the bowl. There was little strength left in yourself to get back up and into bed. The floor wasn’t terrible against your skin. It only irritated you slightly. Your exploding headache was at the forefront of everything.

Soft pitter-patter of feet had you cracking open an eye. Through your blurry vision, you see a dark red blob rush towards you. A weak groan was given when scratchy scales rubbed wrongly at your skin. Words are cooed to you but didn’t quite reach the logic side of your brain. Ahtaal lifts you off of the bathroom floor and into his arms. You clenched your eyes shut again, face twisted with irritation.

With your arms, you tried to push him away, claws scratching against his chest. The Yautja acts no different and continues to gently carry you back out into the bedroom. The feeling of your skin crawling had your hands going up into your hair. Yet, something… unnatural skimmed across the tips of your fingers.

Every muscle in your body went still. That… wasn’t hair. Your first reaction was to pinch the long, rubbery nub sticking out of your scalp and nearly jumped straight out of Ahtaal’s arms. He had to flex his arms to keep you from falling to the ground. The cry that left your lips made the male frantic.

Ahtaal set you down in the concave bed in the floor. His bright eyes were wide while scanning over your scalp for what caused the issue. Then, he saw something sticking out past your hair. It almost… looked like the tips of his dreads. He chittered to himself while thinking and turned your head to look at the discovery closer.

And he’ll be damned.

At random, small sprouts of tresses stuck out. All at different growths. The longest one being about an inch and half. Black in color and the same texture as his own. The transformation was progressing at a rate he couldn’t keep up with. He felt useless, defeated that his efforts had turned null.

Even if he was able to stop the progression at this point, plenty had already changed about you. He knew you wouldn’t be able to look at yourself in the mirror. That pained his heart.

When you dragged your gaze up to him, he froze on the spot. Your eyes had changed from their natural hue to a bright yellow that glowed lightly. Pain was evident in the orbs. He began to purr softly and pinched your chin between his fingers. “Little one,” he cooed in his deep voice. Instinct clawed at his insides to rub his forehead against your own. Anything to comfort you. He knew it would hurt rather than soothe. He still craved he had taken his time on those scums who took you.

“Make it stop,” you cried to him. The headache still throbbed but the pressure and slowly decreased to a point you could see fine now. “My head…” His claws twitched.

Anger boiled below his scales. Not at you. Never at you. It was directed at himself. How could he let this happen to you? To let those scums to change you in such a way. The pain you’re going through. He gritted his mandibles and forced himself to focus back on you. You were his concern. You’re here, alive and with him. Ahtaal continued to purr the entire time.

Words were lodged in his throat. How could he tell you what else was happening to you?

Tears prickled the corners of your eyes again. “Ahtaal, what’s happening to me?” You knew. It haunted over you like death in the air. The look in his eyes told you something else had changed. Something he seemed to fear as well. You were terrified, hands starting to shake.

Curses fly around in his head at the sight. You were scared. The purring wasn’t working his favor. “It’s…” he trailed off for a moment, eyes searching through your own. You noticed how they flickered up to wards your scalp.

With a trembling hand, you used it to touch at the top of your head. Your fingers found a small, bump that sent a shot of electricity down your spine. A gasp tore at your throat at the painful experience. But, you continued to search through your strands, finding more scattered across your scalp. There’s only about a dozen but enough to be noticeable.

You pulled away and fell a few strands of your hair tangled in your fingers. Confusion twisted your face. The hand was brought down. Your eyes nearly bulged out of your head.

A tangled mess of hair had been weaved around your fingers. A lot more than normal. As if… it was all falling out. You cried.

Hard.

The loss of your hair; your nails turning into claws; increased diet; only for a decrease in energy due to your body changing; your eyes color changing; scales appearing across your skin; the increase of height, only by a little; then, the mandibles came along to seal the deal.

At this point, it’s been about a month since the first noticeable changes. Nothing about the cure has led into anything hopeful. Just an idea. A hopeful thought to save you from a life changing experience. But, Ahtaal continued to hit dead ends. It angered him beyond belief. He wanted to help you, his mate, but… couldn’t.

One month turned into two before the last of it solidified into place. There were differences compared to a normal Yautja. You hadn’t grown quiet as large; your body wasn’t able to grow that much. That’s what he could conclude with.

The color of your scales were beautiful in his eyes. He wasn’t expecting them to change. The noticeable scales had changed to an ivory color and speckles across your shoulders, back, forearms, and the outside of your thighs. The rest of it had turned towards a burgundy red that rivaled Ahtaal’s scales.

His fingers skimmed over the prominent ivory scales. Your napping form softly resting in the safety of your shared bed with Ahtaal. Said yautja purred in his throat and ran the back of his claw down your exposed arms. You may despise the change, not even looking yourself in the mirror, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of you. Before, your soft features, plush curves. Just the fact you were the opposite of him both fascinated and weakened him.

Nothing had changed that same love deep in his heart.

Different looks didn’t shift the way he saw you from within. Actually, he felt like didn’t have to be as easy with you. The size and physical strength differences didn’t change his mindset. Ahtaal loved you.

A gentle hum escaped your throat as you shifted around at his touch. Ahtaal deepened his purr and stopped his hand over your hip. “You awake?” he teased and gave your hip a squeeze. You whimpered quietly and rolled over onto your stomach. But, your eyes never opened.

The fur blanket slipped of of your shoulders and exposed the upper portion of your back. Ahtaal’s eyes glistened in the low light. With a grunt, the burgundy Yautja heaved himself up to hover over your back. Your scent waft up into his senses and caused him to freeze on the spot.

Worry gripped his heart. Ahtaal leaned down and brushed his mandibles against the nape of your neck. The scent strong. He peeled the blanket off of your form.

There was nothing hiding the scent from his scenes.

His eyes snapped wide. He could feel his own body reacting and had to bite off a growl from erupting. One of the blankets that made up the bed was crushed underneath his claws. He couldn’t fight off the purring in his throat. Anything to call a female to him. To lure her to him.

You were in heat.

Ahtaal’s thoughts began to clutter with ideas, but the need to breed was constant. It itched, poked, and prodded at his mind. Ahtaal growled this time and backed away from you in a hurry. The last thing he would ever wanted to do to you was harm you. Or scare you if advanced on you.

Everything was hot. A feeling burned your skin. A high-pitch whine bullying its way out of your throat and into the tense air. You cracked open an eye then the other. Something within you clawed for the sight of Ahtaal. Confusion and fear washed over you in a fast, consuming wave. You whimpered and shakily got up on your hands and knees. Your eyes scanned the surrounding area to see a familiar figure beginning to retreat backwards.

One movement to crawl forward had a hiss surging into the air. Pain sprouted to life within your stomach. You curled up on your knees with one arm against your sweaty stomach.

What was happening? Words you wished to voice were pinned in your throat. What you did know was you wanted Ahtaal. He could solve this. He could help you fix this. He’ll take away the pain.

You fought against the pain and lifted up your to meet his dull orange eyes. Ahtaal felt pinned in the moment. All of his movements stopped once you looked directly at him. The pain evident in your teary eyes. They pleaded to him. For help. He marched back across the room and knelt down at your side. Instantly, you leaned on him for support but found something else that intrigued you. The touch against your skin sent an electric pulse to your core.

A keen sounded from you. Ahtaal’s eyes darkened, pupils beginning to expand. The scent of you etched into his scales. His fingers twitched then grabbed you. You find yourself on your back while gazing up at the dark red figure hovering over your pinned form. The furs underneath you soft compared to the male Yautjas actions. Ahtaal leaned down and scent at your neck. The sharp ends of his mandibles dragged across the column of your throat. The sweet sound that arose from you had the blankets on either of your head crushed in a power grip.

This position had either of your legs on his hips and curled behind his back. His own scent washed over you. Your own mandibles chittered against one another. A heady purr vibrating from deep within your throat.

“Aht-aal… What’s ha-ppening with me?” you were finally able to ask in a broken, husky voice. Your hands twitched at your sides. A need to flip the positions began to grow inside of your mind.

Your words seemed to snap him out of his darkening thoughts. Ahtaal was able to pull himself away from your tantalizing scent and find your worried eyes. The pupils were wide but he read between the walls. He cursed lowly to himself for his young blood actions.

“You are… in heat.” A brief pause to let the words sinkin. “You know my ruts? Where I only have the thought to breed you?” Days where he usually refused to let you see him. Again, he was not able to control himself those days. He will never hurt you in way that you don’t consent to. Even if that meant locking himself away for your protection.

Alarm flashed to life in your eyes. An uncomfortable feeling crawled up the length of your spine as sweat pooled between you and the fur blankets. Your mandibles clenched tightly together. “H-heat? I…” You were about to say humans don’t do that. But, this only proves further you are no longer your original species. Yet not fully Yautja either. Just a strange hybrid that appeared mainly Yautja. “Am I going to go mad? I feel like I am.”

The insistent need that gnawed at your stomach grew more and more.

When your hands moved towards Ahtaal, he snatched each of them up and pinned them above your head. You didn’t even see it happen before they were there. His eyes turned dark for a moment before easing up on the pressure.

Ahtaal shook his head. The dark tresses on his head swaying with the move. “No, you are not. It’s natural. All Yautjas do it. Yours is a bit early,” he answered and stroked his thumbs over your wrists. He watched when something passed over your face. A challenge flashing to life in your irises. It called upon his baser instincts.

Your muscles flexed. Immediately, Ahtaal forced more of his weight upon your pinned form. You released a growl from the depths of your chest. The male responded with his own and flared his upper mandibles.

With a newfound strength, you strained against his own strength. The male strategically maneuvered his weight to keep you pinned there. You can see in his gaze that he’s fighting with himself.

“I can help you through this. But… I cannot promise I won’t be kind or gentle. Your heat is causing my rut to quicken. You know how I can be,” he grounded out, hands tightening around your wrists. You knew what he was referring to.

The few past times you’ve seen him amidst a rut has only been at your control. He’s tied down with restraints he knows he cannot break. No matter how hard he tries. He will not let himself hurt you. This time… it was different. Not only were you changed physically, you had begun a heat cycle that had his blood burning in his veins.

There was little time to tie himself down. With the added scent of your heat, he would be lost to the throes. “Do you understand?”

Though, the heat took every rational thought out of your mind, you stopped for just a second. That one moment of reprieve. Until you were nodding rapidly. “I do.” Your back arches off of the bed. The air in the room turning a few degrees hotter. Not once did the pain retreat. “Please, it hurts, Ahtaal. Help me.” You needed help. You needed Ahtaal to save you.

The male lost you once to his foolishness. He will never make that mistake again.

Ahtaal snarled from the back of his throat. One hand took both of your wrists. The other tore at the clothing you wore. A hindrance to a male servicing his mate in heat. Everything was discarded around the bedroom in shreds. You tightened your legs around his waist and tried to throw him off balance to the side. But the male was prepared and widened his stance.

A glint shone in his gaze when he peered down at you. Your mandibles flared with a snarl. This position didn’t off much with him between the legs and your arms are pinned. Ahtaal leaned down and invaded your space. “You thought you could throw me off so easy, love?” he purred then scooped up the back of your knee and pinned it to your chest.

Now, you were effectively pinned and exposed to him.

Sharp mandibles grappled at the skin of your neck and drew blood. Teeth pierced your hide. You howled and arched your back. Ahtaal growled a possessive tone and clamped down harder to get his point across.

Red blood spilled when he released the crook of your neck. It stained his fangs and dripped back down onto your chest. “Mine.” Your leg slips out of his hold and back down to his waist. He shifts back into a straighter position, your hands free.

A hand wraps around your throat the moment you made a move to sit up. Your hands fly to his wrist and attempt to peel him off of you. But Ahtaal distracts you with a thumb dipping between the exposed folds of your core. The struggle wanes. You refocused again and tried to get him off of you again. His hand tightening to a painful point. He continues to tease at your already soaked folds and rubs circles around the three clits at the apex of your sex.

The stimulation throws you into a loop. The fight lost. You tensed up, brain flooded with the overwhelming pleasure. Three compared to one was completely different thrice the amount of pleasure you felt building in your stomach. Let alone your arousal being at an all time high.

Your heels dig into Ahtaal’s back and never wanted to let him go. Your mandibles went slack as the crest was already in sight.

Just by the way your form was reacting to a light touch, Ahtaal could see the way your muscles began to lock down. Behind him, your toes slowly curling. The male couldn’t help the smirk upon his features and pressed a little hard. A gasp tore at your throat. Both of your hands slammed down at your sides and snatched up what blankets they could.

Every thought was wiped from your brain. White started to blind your vision. Ahtaal didn’t change one thing and simply watched you fall. You writhed and mewled underneath him, furthering marking the bed with your scent. A smell he wanted to bathe in. All because it smelled like you. His mate that he was going to breed and knot and fill with his seed. He was going to take care of your heat while satisfying his own rut.

Before you even came down, his hands left and pulled at the loincloth. In the same manner as your own clothing, it was shredded and discarded somewhere. Ahtaal shifted on his knees. One hand rested on the lower portion of your stomach. The other gripped the hard length standing between his legs. He guided the pointed tip towards your dripping entrance.

You felt something prod at your core and pushed slightly in. The tail ends of your orgasm still fluttering your muscles. Ahtaal slid home and felt his hips meeting the apex of your thighs. His hands fist at the flesh of your hips, claws drawing red blood to the air.

When he hilted inside of you, for a moment, there was clarity. The fog lifting. Then, it slammed back down on you ten times harder.

Nothing needed to be said. Ahtaal read it. His dug into deeper into your hips and gripped tightly. His hips pulled back far enough for the tip to be the only thing resting inside of you. One powerful, sudden thrust bullied his thick cock back into you soak, soft walls. The feeling like a drug to him. Ahtaal snarled pounded hard into you, sending your body rocking up until he brought you back down.

Each thrust made an obscene noise. The wetness you produced was plenty enough to keep slide in and out smooth in motion.

Ahtaal was back in your neck, tongue laving at your moist skin. “Pauk, so tight. Squeezing me so good. Gonna breed you. Make you mine. Need to fill you up. Gonna knot you,” he rambled and sank further into the baser instincts that drove his every move. “Mine! Never felt this good.”

On the other hand, you were a mess underneath him. The different body made you feel everything more than usual. Every sense was alit with a fire that burned brighter than the sun. Your hands grappled at his back and drew blood to the surface.

Neon green blood smeared across his bare skin. He reveled in the pain and used it to his advantage. It forced him to quicken his speed with the same amount of force behind each thrust.

“Ahtaal! You-ah,” you tried to blabber something to him. Words you couldn’t even form inside of your head. A straight mess underneath his powerful, mighty hands. “I-I lo-“ a cry cut you off. The male had angled his hips up. His tip struck a spot that made stars appear in your vision. “Fuck! Coming!”

That’s the only warning you gave before your walls clamped down on his continuously moving form. Stars appeared behind your closed eyes. Despite him on you, you arch your back off of the messy bed. A strangled howl echoing back at you. Your claws firmly sat in his skin and refused to let him go until the ecstasy started to wane.

Your limb fell limp to the bed. Ahtaal didn’t stop. He continued to use your body for his own pleasure.

A possessive snarl ripped at his throat moments later. Teeth latched into the flesh on the other side of your neck. More red blood pooled out of the fresh marking. Ahtaal held on tightly. His hips snapped once more against yours before going flush. A pressure built just on the inside of your entrance. His cock throbbing inside of you and spilled his seed as deep as possible. It marked you from the inside out.

He leaned over your equally panting form, head slightly bowed. Finally. He had finally knotted you. The way you were so tight, constricting around him made him dizzy but feral all at the same time. The male forced himself to unstick his claws from your skin.

Red blood dripped down the blacks of his claws and onto your stomach. A palm was placed on top of the blood. Ahtaal slid that hand up between the small valley of your breasts and to rest around your neck. He had marked you with your own blood. But the wounds will leave lasting scars. Making you his. His mate.

Though, the second orgasm of the night. That heat boiled back to life. The flame reigniting. You meet his gaze and growled. “More,” you demanded.

At first, you tried to use your foot to push him back. Until you felt pain race through you. A ball of flesh locking you with Ahtaal. His knot. Not once did you think you would ever take it. The male didn’t want to hurt you. He had knotted you this time.

Ahtaal grasped the back of your knee of the offending leg and pushed it into your chest. “Stay,” he commanded and narrowed his dull orange eyes on you.

Half of you wanted to obey. The other part wanted you to take over control. Be the demanding female his species is known for. The feeling running deep in your blood.

The muscles of your jaw tensed up. “Need more,” you demanded and tried to twist your form to the side. Any way to rise up and take what you needed. That feeling in the pit of your stomach deepens, gnawing down at your insides. You needed more to quell this unbearable heat eating you up.

A dark red hand shot out and grabbed at your vulnerable throat. The male bellowed a warning. His eyes narrowed down on your lying form. “Do not move,” he snapped and tightened his hands. His touch on your throat had your muscles slowly relaxing, finally listening to his command.

When the moment came after an agonizing long time, Ahtaal tugged his hips back. The knot popped out with a gush of seed and dirtied the bed even more. You growled and arched off the bed, butt up. Ahtaal was quick to use his weight against you. Though stronger in this new form, you weren’t able to keep both of yourselves up. He was able to pin you back to the bed.

“Little vixen, fighting me,” he rumbled. His eyes were fiery with a need. Reflecting the same thing you felt. “But, I know what you need. All you have to be is patient. I’ll fill you.”

He didn’t move his hand from around your throat. The other released your leg and gripped the base of his cock again. The tip was lined up with your entrance once more. “I’ll take care of you, my mate.” Then, he entered you in single, brutal thrust.

Exhaustion and satisfaction filled your frame. A lazy, content grin painted your alien features. A low purr vibrated each of your chests. You nuzzled against his chest, panting him with your scent. Ahtaal was marked as yours. No one else could have him. You’d kill anyone who dared looked at him.

His hand petted down your back. “I didn’t even think you would have a heat, little mate.” Though, you had gone through plenty of changes with this new form, he hadn’t thought this would happen. But he had been proven wrong. “I’m not complaining though. You handled me well.”

That excited him the most.

Your purr deepened. “I told you… I could handle you.” For the most part. Both of you are thoroughly marked by teeth, claws, and cum. Ahtaal ensured you were worse of the two. Because it was the first he could lose control and not worry.

Ahtaal hummed and skimmed his sharp claws across your back. “That you did.” The exhaustion got the best of you and pulled down into a deep, peaceful sleep.

[writingroom21]

The Nanny

Pairing: Rafe x Nanny Reader

Summary: Being Wheezie's nanny was great. The only downside was dealing with the oldest Cameron, Rafe. What happens when his fascination with the nanny becomes a reality?

Warnings: Fluff, 18+, unprotected sex (wrap it up y'all), cream pie, mention of oral, fingering (f receiving), mentions of drugs

Wc:8.2K

A/N: Sorry for the long wait it has been a hectic week. I had a lot to do for this job I applied for so I was busy. But good news is that I got it! Anyway last chapter which is sad, but I hope you enjoy. Thank you for all the love this series has gotten. I owe it all to everyone of you!

Chapter 9: Laying All Our Cards Down

There’s a tickling feeling on your chest. It slowly stirs you from your sleep. The objects in you dream fading into shapes, then blobs of random color. Your hand goes to relieve the itch, still half asleep. Your fingers brush against a hand, their fingers the cause of what woke you. 

Rafe’s eyes watched you as you woke up, his fingers dropping the pendant to lace together with yours. Your eyes squint open slightly foggy from sleep still. They clear and Rafe is staring at you, his fingers playing with yours. “You put the necklace back on.” He points out, fine lines wrap his eyes showing his confusion. 

“Yeah.” You carefully look at his face, waiting to see if he will mention last night. “Why?” His blue eyes are burrowing into yours, forcing you to look at him. “You know why.” You won’t be the first to bring it up. Refusing to let him back you into a corner to crack you. His nostrils flare, a sharp breath leaving. “I don’t deserve you. It would never work anyway.”

There he is doing it again. Taking back the things he says, leaving you broken. “Well that’s not for you to decide.” Your voice is tense, starting to get upset at where he’s about to go. “How are you feeling?” He’s trying to ignore this conversation. Once you have it there’s no going back.

He can’t sit here and wait for you to leave him. You may be forgiving him now but in the end you will leave him. His mom died to get away from him, his dad would sell him out in a heart beat to get away from him, no one stays. That’s the one thing he learned growing up. The only constant in his life will only be him.

“Don’t ignore me.” You exclaim, your body shooting up to look down at him. “We are having this conversation now. I just want this to be over with.” Your eyes burn him so badly that he has to look behind you at the wall. “I’m not. Just worried about how you feel after what happened.” Liar. You both know he’s not telling the truth

 “Please don’t tell me that you really don’t want anything to do with me. This means something to me.” Your voice is hopeful, wanting him to say he feels the same as you. “Last night was scary until it wasn’t. That’s because I had you. Now please talk to me.” You plead.

Rafe turns his gaze back to you. His red eyes are lined with tears, he knows what he needs to say. It’s just hard for the words to form and make their way out. “This means something to me too.” It’s a whisper, afraid if he says it loudly he’ll wake up from this dream to reality. To a place where you won’t forgive him, a place where he doesn’t have you. “I’m scared you are going to leave me.” He admits, swallowing his pride.

“Why would you think that? Is that how you view me?” Your mind is trying to wrap around his confession. If that’s what he thought of you then you are hurt even more. You could slightly stand the thought of him just not wanting you anymore. The thought of him not trusting you, thinking that you would just leave hurts worse than when you caught him kissing someone else. A panic rises in your body due to your emotions.

Rafe picks up on this, his hand rubbing the arm that is holding you up. Giving you comfort as he speaks. “That’s not what I mean. I just…” He flops on his back to stare at the ceiling. You place a hand on his chest. Returning the sense of safety he gives you. “Everyone leaves me. You know how sad it is that the only person to actually worry about me since my mom died was you? Before her death my dad hated me and it only got worse after. No one has ever liked me and I was okay with that. Then you show up and change everything. I can’t lose that, I won’t be able to handle it.”

You watch each other, letting the words sink in. He’s shocked he even indulged in that conversation, you are just as shocked that he opened up. “So why would that mean I would leave you?” His hand lays on top of the one you kept on his chest. Giving your fingers a squeeze. “It’s inevitable, everyone leaves. Only a matter of time before you realize I’m worth nothing and you leave too. I’m just cursed.” His fingers have a tight hold on you. Using you as his life line, tethering him to the real world as he feels like he’s drowning.

This talk is starting to feel too real for him. Highlighting all of his flaws to put on a talent show for you. A bright spot light shining on a RUN sign to ward you off. You can feel how fast his heart is beating, pounding against his chest. “You are worth something.” Your hand leaves his, cupping his cheek to make him see you. “You Rafe Cameron are worthy of love. I’m sorry no one was smart enough to see it. But I do.” 

Rafe leans up, closing in on you. “You don’t know half of the shit that goes on in my head. I’m not good enough for you. I couldn’t even get this shit right, I’ll only hurt you more.” His hand brushes hair out of your face, tracing your brow and then your lips. “I won’t hurt you. You deserve better than this.”

A tear runs down his cheek and you wipe it. “See that right there just proves you won’t hurt me. I didn’t want to see it at first but you owned your mistake. You ran after me that night and begged me to talk to you. You kept asking me to give you a chance to speak. Then you gave me those flowers with the note and I realized I was shutting you out. I was afraid of you not wanting me and I iced you out.” You take a deep breath before continuing.

“I’m scared too. It’s okay to be scared, we both let it get the best of us. What counts is what we do after. You kept trying, I hope it’s because you care-” “I do. I care.” He interrupts. “See you care and you tried to put in the effort. You even gave me space because you wanted to respect what I wanted. You made a mistake but you are trying to fix it. You might not see it but you are good. You deserve to be loved, don’t punish yourself for something that isn’t your fault.”

His lips crash on yours, stealing the air from your lungs. The kiss is all consuming, devouring you from the inside out. A moan slips out of your mouth, your hand gripping his shoulder. The sound was like an alarm, alerting him of what he was actually doing. He pulls away from you, his hand moving to your chest to put distance between you both. “I’m sorry I shouldn’t have done that.” 

“Stop taking everything back. I want this too, stop running away from us.” There’s some commotion in the hallway but you ignore it. Voices get louder for a second and then fade as they go down the stairs. His eyes catch the pendant on the dainty chain held on your neck. 

He remembers the day he bought it. He had just dropped you off to get the food and stopped at the store. Rafe was walking back to his truck with the bags in his and had to pass the jewelry store. When he got to the front of the shop he looked over and something in him took over. He just had to go inside.

As he walked in, the man behind the counter greeted him. “Are you looking for something specific?” The older man asks. Rafe just shakes his head. “Just looking.” He walks around the store, aimlessly looking at the pieces laying around. He’s not really sure why he came in or why he is even looking at anything. Just when he was going to turn around and leave the store, that's when he saw it.

A dainty necklace that had a sun charm on it. He walks closer to it on instinct, being drawn to it like a beacon. It’s silver, which fits perfectly with the rest of your jewelry, he thinks. The only things you wear is silver, never any gold seen on your skin. “Nice necklace right?” The old man pipes in.

“Huh?” Rafe looks at the guy who is now in front of him. “The necklace. Just got it recently, no one seems to want it.” Rafe looks back down to it. “There a girl you want to get it for.” He just nods, pulling out his wallet without thinking. “Yeah my girl. She uh, she’s like the sun. Thought it would be fitting.”

The man opens the case, taking the piece out for Rafe to see up close. “She must be special then.” Rafe just smiles, looking at the guy as he slides his card over. “You have no idea.” The guy doesn’t move from his spot, looking at the boy that reminded him of when he was younger. “You know it comes with a ring. It was a set this old lady brought in.” He walks over to a different case and pulls the ring out, walking back to the boy. 

“Would you be interested in buying that as well or just the necklace.” Rafe has half a mind to chew the man out for trying to up-sell him. The ring is a band made of silver as well, carvings of a little sun with stars surround the band. His mind is telling him he has no need for the ring. Then the voice in his head stops him, instead of degrading himself it does something different. It reminds him of the car ride, the feeling he had as he looked at you.

He meant it when he said that you were like the sun. A dazzling ray of sunshine personally made for him. You are the greatest thing that’s happened to him in his shitty lifetime. You deserve to feel special too.

“I’ll take them both.” He knows why he got the ring. A part of him deep down knowing that he was falling in love with you. The other part rationalizing the purchase as wanting the old man to fuck off. “You remind me of when I met my wife.” Rafe stops at the door and looks back at the guy who helped him. “I was so in love with her that I bought her an engagement ring a month into seeing her. You just have the same look that I had. I wish you two the best of luck.”

The memory now seems laughable to him. Some random old man could spot how Rafe felt before he could even tell. He only gave you the necklace because he was scared of what he said, he couldn’t have been in love. Leaving the ring in the first drawer on the bedside table. Now he sees just how dumb he really was, he didn’t have anything to worry about. 

“Your love.” That’s all he says to you, leaving you more confused. “What about it?” He chuckles at you, giving you a quick peck. “That’s my favorite song, Your love. I didn’t have one when you asked but I have one now.” This really isn’t helping his case. You sit up fully, looking at him like he’s dumb. He hates that look, especially coming from you. “What the hell does that have to do with any of this? Rafe I’m being serious here, you can’t just keep changing the subject. If you don’t want this anymore just say it.” You kinda feel stupid now. You thought he wanted to work things out, that last night was a step forward in the right direction. But clearly not.

“It’s the song that was playing in the car after Barry’s.” Okay now he’s just getting on your nerves. Who cares what song was playing in the car ride. When you go to speak he puts his hand on your mouth to cover it. “I just couldn’t stop looking at you. You were glowing, so pretty that I couldn’t think straight. My heart felt like it was ready to jump out my chest and my body felt weird. Everything shifted in that moment for me.” His hand lowers, his eyes telling you to not say anything.

“I’ve always had feelings for you, I know that. I’m not dumb. I just thought it was because you didn’t give me the time of day and were so nice. That night when you caught me I figured you would walk away and I got caught up in the moment. Then it escalated and I couldn’t get rid of the taste of you. Every touch was as addicting as the last, I kept craving it. That song, in that moment made me realize how much I actually liked you. Got that necklace right after I left you to get the food. I guess it was my way of telling you I loved you without putting it into words.” 

He said it again, love. Rafe froze the moment his brain caught up to his words. He can’t believe this is how he is saying it. Right after he just figured it out he goes on blurting it to you. Not only that he tells you when you aren’t even together. This is honestly the dumbest he felt and he just said how he isn’t dumb. Good job Rafe.

“Fuck I can’t believe I just said that. Ignore me.” His hands rub his face as he freaks out. Your fingers wrap around his wrist, exposing his face to you. “You said it last night so don’t worry.” You lay down, your chest pressed against his side as he wraps himself around you. “What do you mean?” He plays with the ends of your hair to ground himself. “Last night as you were falling asleep you said you loved me. I just thought it was the drugs and you were out cold after you said it.”

“Oh.” Yeah he has to take his dumb statement back, he definitely is. If he’s already said it then there’s no taking it back, he’s got to commit to it before he chickens out again. “It wasn’t the drugs. Yeah they helped me say it but I meant it. They didn’t make those feelings, they were already there.” You smile, the heaviness you felt being melted away. You move closer to his face.

“Here’s what you missed after you fell asleep. I love you too.” It’s his turn to smile. This one reaches his eyes, creases deepening from the joy. His hand cups your cheeks, thumb caressing your cheek. Pulling you to him, kissing you deeply. Pouring all his feelings into you, hoping you are feeling just an ounce of what he does. He pulls back to talk to you but you have other plans. 

Your lips trail down his neck as he fights to stay level headed. “I meant it when I said I don’t deserve you.” He murmurs into your shoulder, pressing kisses to your skin. You stop, not wanting to move in case this is going in the wrong direction. “But I want to be. I don’t want to be this person anymore. I want to be someone you deserve.”

“I like you the way you are. You don’t have to change for me.” He tugs your hair, coming face to face with your eyes. “I want to do it for me, for us. I don’t like who I am without you, I’m just some addict no one likes. I don’t need to be that anymore, I know I can be different.”

The words seem more for him than they are for you. A way of telling himself that he can get clean and he is worth being with you. “Then I’ll be there every step of the way. I believe in you.” That’s the first time someone has said that to him. He’s been told he was loved before, but not one has believed in him. Now that he’s said he loved you, the feeling keeps bubbling up. 

Like it’s boiling in him ready to spill out once it gets too much. The way you care for him is unsettling due to it being so new, he’s not used to this. But he can get used to the feeling it gives him. The sparks of joy lighting his insides like fireworks.

You lean in and kiss him again, enjoying the feeling of having him close. The days following the incident were awful but they seem worth it now. Some obstacle that needed to be overcome before the two of you could open up. You know for sure that once Ward and Rose got back you would have most likely ended things due to the fear. But losing each other showed you that it’s not what the two of you wanted. You wanted each other.

This kiss was getting heated, your leg bracketing his hips between yours. As you start to grind on him, he stops you. “We should stop.” There’s a knock at the door before you could ask him why. “Who is it?” He shouts towards the door, fingers digging into your flesh as you roll your hips. “It’s Wheeze. Where is she?” You both look at each other not knowing what to do. “She’s not in her room or the house and I know she’s in there.”

Of course she would check everywhere for you. “Go back to your room Wheeze or wherever. I’ll be out shortly.” You answer, trying to get her to leave . “Fine but I better not hear any moaning. Just because I’m okay with this doesn’t mean I want to see it.”

Her footsteps retreat as you giggle. “I want us to take things slow this time. I don’t want to rush in and fuck things up. We should do this properly.” Your fingers drag along his chest, you are still sitting in his lap. “We can do that. Where do we start?” He grins up at you.

“How about a date?”

✶✶✶✶✶✶✶✶✶✶✶✶✶ 

After that morning you had a talk with Wheezie. You and Sarah sat her down to tell her that the night before was not okay. “Wheeze you could have gotten hurt. Someone could have spiked your drink or worse.” You try to reason with her, conveying your worry for the young girl. “I know but nothing happened. I’m fine.” “And if you weren’t? How do you think dad would have reacted if he found out? You would be grounded and out a nanny.” Sarah chimes in, not really making her sister feel any better. “I know you wanted to hang out with your friends but you need to do it safely. Where were they when Sarah found you? You were alone and drunk Wheeze.”

“It wasn’t supposed to go like that. Sure I had a drink or two but I just wanted you to come find me. I thought you would run into Rafe and everything would fix itself. But hey look it worked.” She’s trying to lighten the mood and it ain’t working. You sigh, not knowing what to say. This mess of a night happened all because Wheezie parent trapped you. 

You honestly can’t help but to laugh at the ridiculous thought. “You parent trapped us? Wheeze that’s sweet you cared enough to help us, it really is. But maybe don’t do things that put you in harm's way and give me a heart attack. I was scared when Sarah couldn’t find you and you wouldn’t answer phone calls.” Thinking back at it now she can see how messed up a plan that really is. “It was stupid. I’m sorry for scaring you.”

The rest of the day was simple. Relax around the house as Wheeze was feeling the aftershocks of drinking. Rafe had chilled with you for a little before running off to do lord knows what. But when he got back it was with a single yellow rose and your favorite chocolates. “Thought you could add it to break up the white.” He makes it seem so effortless, as if he has always done this. You don’t understand why he was so worried.

“How about a date on Saturday?” He asks, picking a chocolate to eat. “Sure what are we going to do?” There’s chocolate smeared on his teeth when he answers. “That’s for me to worry about and for you to find out. Now I’m going to go up stairs and shower. Come up and we can watch Bob Burgers or something.” He finishes off with giving you a kiss, walking out like nothing.

You watch as he leaves, a smile displayed. He remembers the small things about you. The foods you like, shows you watch, he sees you. He may not realize it yet but you do deserve him. He can do all of this without you asking, you are used to having to beg for things you want.

Needed new stuff for school beg your parents. When they say no, beg your job for more pay for just that week. First boyfriend, beg him to even notice you when it didn’t come to sex. You had to beg friends to stay in your life even after they hurt you. The last person to care about you in this way has been gone for years. Now a memory you play back to make yourself feel loved. But here he is, the playboy of Kildare, giving you that same love. 

As you make your way to his room you promise yourself one thing. You won’t give up on him, he deserves happiness just as much as you do.

The rest of the week goes similar to that day. You and Rafe would sneak off to spend time with each other. Sharing secret kisses away from prying eyes. Rafe knows that Ward is suspicious, he had made a comment at lunch the other day. “The two of you seem close again.” He stared blankly at his dad. “Just be safe.” It felt like some validation was thrown his way. It’s not like he was trying to hide you but sneaking around made it more fun.

Everyone already knew that whatever happened was water under the bridge, but it seems like you two didn’t get the notice. 

You giggle as Rafe kisses your neck, teasing your bikini straps with his fingers. “Rafe, come one we have to get back. People will start to look for us.” Your words do nothing to stop him. “Let me enjoy my girl. Screw everyone else.” His kisses travel up to your jaw. “Well really can’t screw them if you keep me here.” Rafe knows you are teasing but it rubs him the wrong way.

“You do realize that you’re mine right? Ain’t no way in hell someone else is touching you.” The possessiveness isn’t new but heightened. Since your talk they thought of the other with someone new terrorizes your minds. It’s a new feeling for you, wanting someone to be yours always. To feel a strong sense of anger when thinking of him with someone else. Your arms wrap around his neck, bringing him into a kiss. “I do. As long as you know your mine too.”

“Only yours, baby.” He mumbles on your lips, teeth biting on the lower one to suck in his mouth. “We can go back out now. You go first gotta take care of something.” He nods down to the obvious boner in his pants.  “You know I can help you with that.” You say seductively, fingers brushing against the bulge in his swim trunks. “Let’s wait till after our date tonight, please. Trying to be a gentleman here and treat you right. Plus I don’t put out on the first date.” 

You laugh as you walk away from him.  “No, you just sleep with them before you even ask them out.” You mock him. Leaving Rafe alone to fix his little, well not so little, situation. You grab water from the kitchen before walking back out to the pool. Everyone is there chatting to one another.

A part of the “new” Rafe plan was rebonding with his sisters. Sarah of course was a little wary of the plan but saw how much he actually meant it. She was brought back to when she was little and he would sneak into her room to check for monsters. The little boy who gave her so much comfort was staring at her when he apologized, owning his mistakes and wanting to correct them. Even if she wanted to say no she couldn’t. Even with all of his wrongs he's still her brother and it seems like she’s getting him back.

Wheezie on the other hand was on board once the place was told to her. Being the youngest she doesn’t have many memories with the Rafe before their mom died. The one that was happy and not as broken. She can recall some moments where he cared deeply for her at a young age, barely even an image to see. She never really had issues with him after their mom’s death. Her and Rafe become the background as Sarah was the main event. They connected in a way that they could only understand. She was just happy that Rafe wasn’t as angry as he was before. 

The downside to this plan also meant a new beginning with the pogues, which was hard to do. It took a whole day of you and Sarag convincing everyone that it could work. Which brings you to this right here, pool day. Which is also the same day as your first date. The pogues as well as Topper and Kelce are here. Everyone agreed to be civil for the day, wanting to give Rafe this chance. You don’t know why the pogues said yes but you can’t complain, only happy that they are willing to see the good side of him after all the bad.

It’s been hours of you all getting to know each other. Playing silly games such as never have I ever. It wasn’t till the clock hit four that Rafe realized he hadn’t gotten a moment with you alone. That’s when he dragged you away when no one was looking. That was almost an hour ago, the shame of it all is eating you. Cheeks blushing red as everyone’s eye’s turn to look at you.

They just carry on with conversation, not mentioning what they all knew. You're relieved as you sit down, even more when Rafe sits besides you. His arms wrapping around your shoulder so you are leaning into him. Looking around makes you happy. Rafe has been great all day, no pogue comments or rude remarks. Your friends seem to be having a good time, joking around as if this was a normal day.

The feeling continues as you get ready for your date. Your jams in the shower only improve your mood as you shave. Extending as you pick out your dress, smile so wide your cheeks hurt. You are putting on earrings when there’s a knock on your door. “Come in.” You look in the mirror to see if there are any finishing touches needed. “Wow.” It sounds more like a breath than words. 

“You look beautiful. Maybe we should stay home instead, don’t need people seeing you like this.” He walks in the room, flowers abandoned on your dresser. “Actually nevermind, I want people to see that my girl is taken.” His hands land on your waist, arms hugging you from behind. “Your girl?Taken?” He loves when you tease him. That shit normally pisses him off, yet with you he can’t help but love it. “Yeah my girl. Always been my Sunny.”

He really hasn’t used the nickname much since you told him not to. You miss when he did. Your name doesn’t feel right coming from his lips. It sounds outrageous but it feels wrong. Even the other nicknames he gave you don’t feel the same. “I miss hearing you say that.” You lean further back to look up at him. “Calling you Sunny?” You hmm in reply. He pecks your lips, then nose, cheek, and finally ear. “I miss saying it. Glad to have my Sunny back.”

He twirls you around in his arms. Breaking away only for the two of you to leave the house. The car ride to the mysterious destination seemed to take forever, every turn just adding to the allotted time. As he drives the beach comes to view, waves crashing against the shore. The truck pulls onto a sandy road in between some trees, leading to an isolated part of the beach.

“Found this spot a couple years back. I usually come here when I want to be alone, but I thought it would be perfect for tonight.” The hand on your thigh tightens and releases the flesh. More of a way to ground himself to say that this was real, not a dream. “Why? Want to murder me where no one can see?” Your joke swayed his nerves. The nervous smile replaced with the one you’ve grown to love. “Haha, very funny. If I was going to kill you I would have done it that day on the Druthers.”

You give him a death stare, his dead tone making it seem like he thought of this before. “What? The sea would get rid of all evidence, nice and simple.” He shrugs, putting the truck in park. “Yeah I don’t like that you’ve thought of this before. Maybe I should have shared my location while I had the chance.” He chuckles, pulling you into a kiss. “Too late.” He retorts, getting out the truck to grab the last minute things from the back.

He had set things up the night before. You and Wheezie were having a movie night and he took the time to set up the place. There were fairy lights wrapped around the bare trees, the trunks illuminated by the light. A bouquet of hydrangeas, your second favorite flowers, were in a vase by two trees. It wasn’t a big space, the truck was parked on the road so it didn’t interfere with the layout. It was the perfect amount of space to be on the sand without getting splashed by the waves.

Rafe takes a few blankets out and walks over to where the vase is. You follow picking them up to set out of the way. “Those are for you. Wanted to get you something different than roses to change things up.” He explains as he lays the blankets down. “Thank you, I love them. They are actually my second favorite.” He gives you this little smirk and a wink. “I know.” Then he’s off getting the last item from the truck bed.

How much does he know about you? It’s like he has this book where he writes everything down so he won’t forget. None the less you like how he remembers the small things. It makes you feel important to him. 

You look to see him walking over to you with a basket. Raising it up, he shows the basket off to you. The other hand was holding a bottle of champagne and two glasses. “You didn’t have to do all of this. We could have just stayed in or got food.” He sits down next to you, placing everything on the blankets. “I wanted to do this. Saw somewhere that your actions speak louder or some shit like that.” Even when he pretends not to care he does 

“You’re really good at this.” Rafe watches you from the side of his eye as he takes out the snacks he packed. “What are you talking about?” He moves the basket once everything is laid out, reaching for a strawberry to take a bite. He brings the strawberry to your lips.You take  nibble, the sweetness of the fruit sitting on your tongue. “The whole relationship thing.” You swallow what you had in your mouth. Rafes eyes watch as your tongue chases and remnites on your lips.

“It’s just you care. You get me my favorite flowers, snacks, it makes me feel special.” “You are special.” You smile at him. “So are you. I just need you to know that I appreciate the effort you are putting in. Especially today with the pogues, it meant a lot to me.” He’s leaning on his side as he listens to your words. Soaking in the praise, relishing in the feeling it gives him. “I meant it when I said I want to change. I know they're important to you, so that makes them important to me. Plus they aren’t that bad, I guess.”

The rest of the night was filled with small talk. Taking the time to know each other better. It was easy to get in the rhythm of sharing information, knowing the other can’t judge. He tells you about every negative thing his dad has done. How he feels useless in his life, that he doesn’t know who to be if it’s not done with anger. In return, you tell him about what it was like living with your parents. The constant pressure to be perfect and bring them money. How after your grandmother died every sense of a normal childhood was taken from you. 

Rafe listens as you divulge your inner demons. Wanting to go to your house to yell at how stupid your parents are. How they should be ashamed of treating you like some cash cow. He realizes you two aren’t so different. Both had different experiences but still the same outcome. A home that never loved you. “Have they talked to you sin-” “No. They refuse to answer all of my texts.”

You are both laying on your backs, heads turned to the other. His hand closest to you grabs yours. Pulling it to his mouth he gives it a peck,resting it back down again. “Then you don’t need them. You have me and I have you. Plus my family loves you so the family part is covered. You’ll always have us.” You tear up, emotions bubbling up in you. “You can’t promise that.”

Rafe scoots closer, hugging you to his chest. “Yes I can.” It was a promise. A way of letting you know this is the long haul for him. He’s always known that you were different by the way you were with everyone. Always been drawn to you in some way, something in him not able to get enough of you. He realized that he can’t be without you during the time you ignored him. He’ll be damned if he has to go a lifetime without your love.

You start to kiss his neck, softly biting the skin with your teeth. “It’s our first date.” Your words are mumbled. “Good observation there babe.” His eyes shut, the sensation of your lips on his skin sending shivers down his spine. “You said after our date.” You remind him. His chuckle causes vibrations on your lips.

“Couldn’t even wait till we got home, just have to have me now. Hmm?” He pulls you over him, your hips slotted with his. Using your hips, he drags you back and forth over his dick. Your clit keeps catching the seam of his pants. “Such a little slut for my dick that you want to fuck me out in the open. Fucking me in the car wasn’t enough?” You moan out. No it wasn’t enough. None of him will ever be enough for you, entranced by the mere thought of him. “Never enough.” You moan again as he leans up, his lips meeting the exposed flesh on your chest. Leaving marks over your chest so he can enjoy the look of them later. “Get up.”

Your hands fly to his shoulders pushing him back. “What?” You stare down at him, trying to see if you crossed a line somehow. “We’re doing it right this time around. The first time we have sex again isn’t going to be on a deserted part of the beach. It’s going to be in my bed or yours. I really don’t care which one.” You huff at him, your breath causing some hairs to fly around. “Well maybe I don’t care about that. Maybe I want you here, right now.” 

Rafe is about to give in, only really wanting to make you happy. Willing to let go of the plan he had of showering you properly for your first date. Then you see the look in his eyes, sort of disappointed his plans are being skewed. “Okay, okay.” You say as you get up and reach a hand out. “You better drive fast or we might have to settle for the car again.”

You meant it when he said he needs to be fast. You were down the street when your hands were gripping him through his shorts. Lips peppering kisses along his neck. Rafe was relieved when he put his truck in park. Throwing to doors open and tossing you over his shoulder as he walks into the house. “Put me down silly.” He ignores you and makes his way up the stairs to his room.

You’re grateful that everyone in the house isn’t up. It’s close to twelve so most likely they are all sleeping. Rafe kicks his door open and then shut once you are in. You let out a squeal when he discards you on his bed. “Take your dress off now.” He commands, taking his shirt and shoes off. “Yes sir.”

Taking the dress off you are left in your white lingerie on display. He lets out a whistle, placing himself on top of you on the bed. “A perfect little angel.” He kisses up your stomach, stopping at your breasts to suck on them through the cups. “If only god knew what a whore you really are.” He bites one of your nipples, a shocked yelp forcing its way out of your throat. 

“Shhh. We have to be quiet, don’t want to wake them up.” Now that he thinks of it, he should have said yes when you wanted to stay on the beach. At least he would be able to hear the way you moan for him better. He pulls the cups down, nipples pebbling due to the air. 

Your hands work his pants and boxers down, leaving him naked. Next thing to go were your panties. Really they were only pushed off to the side so his fingers can touch you. You’re soaked, his fingers coated in your juices. He swirls them around, teasing your clit before pushing a finger in. A little impatient he adds another, staring as your mouth hangs open.

“There you go, beautiful. Such a good girl.” You haven’t been touched like this since that day on the Druthers. At first you were too heartbroken to do anything. Then too caught up with making up to even think about masturbating. It’s been a while and you are so wound up you could explode. With one last pump of his fingers you do, squelching noises filling the room.

“Rafe. Oh fuck, right there.” You had no time to recover when he was pushing himself in. He couldn’t wait anymore, his dick was aching to be inside you. This is probably the worst time to be so riled up. He’s been trying to make things better with you that he neglected himself. He couldn’t even think about touching himself this whole time. But now that he’s here, feeling your walls clamp around him he knows he fucked up. 

“Fuck… oh fuck.” He encases your body, his forehead on your shoulder. His arms wrap you, bringing your body closer to his as he nails dig into your back. You match his actions, nails dragging on his back, welts rising as you go. His lips can’t stay off of you, kissing any part of you he can get. Your mind is fixated on the feeling of his hips meeting yours.

Rafe’s perfectly huge dick piercing you g-spot over and over again. The two of you are just a mess of words. None of them are even audible yet you still understand the other. “God Sunny.” His fingers get deeper in your flesh, pain increasing your pleasure. “I’m not going to last long.”

Your left hand holds Rafe’s head. “Please.” His hips pick up pace, hurdling the two of you to your ends. You try to switch your positions, wanting to send him over the edge faster. “No no. Want to see your face. Need to see my pretty girl.” His moans are mixing with yours. The only thing that can be heard in the room is skin hitting skiing and your moans. “It’s okay baby. Fill me.” That was the end of him. He moans loudly as he fills you, his release triggering yours. Slowly rocking his hips to watch you awe stocks face for longer.

Rafe lays motionless on you, the orgasim of his life taking everything out of him. Your arms hold him to you, not wanting to let him go. “Shit that was amazing.” His words tickle you, air following them as they leave to dance on your skin. “Tell me about it.”

✶✶✶✶✶✶✶✶✶✶✶✶✶

It’s been a month since your first date. When Rafe said slow he sure was not kidding. You would fool around when you can but really haven’t had the chance to fully sleep together. Every time you try he finds a reason why you shouldn’t. The furthest you got was when you gave him a blowjob and he ate you out. It’s been a whole month of tiptoeing around to not get caught.

Everyone knows now that you two are practically together. Ward is thankful that the issue is over and you have passed it. He can see Rafe changing, no more fights around the island. But more importantly no more drugs. Rafe quit after you gave him another chance, not fully at first but he got there. Ward was surprised not taking it seriously at first, as time went on he couldn’t deny it. Rafe actually was doing good for the first time in years.

The relationship between Rafe and his sisters had also improved. They spend time together without you now, not for long but they no longer argue. He even hung out with John B, JJ, and Pope alone. Everyone was shocked to see the boys all in one piece. You could say the only issue right now is once again what you and Rafe are.

You know you are exclusive. He had made that clear the night after your date. Saying how he won’t let anyone else get in the way. There was never a conversation about if you are boyfriend and girlfriend. No confirmation that you were fully together. It’s been eating away at you but you want to respect him taking things slow. Which was all fine until the party that happened tonight. 

Rafe was still selling with Barry even though he decided to spot doing drugs. He was going to the party to help push some coke and pills to all of the kooks. Instead of leaving you at home he asked you to go with. “Just come along. We can sit on some couch the whole night.” In truth he just didn’t want to be in a party setting alone. It’s one thing to stay away from drugs when he’s at home, at a party it’s different. 

If he was there by himself he would fall back into temptation. He can still feel the need to get high at times, missing the way it made him numb. Sometimes being sober is too much for him, having to take a few hits of a joint to calm the nerves. Weed and alcohol are the only things he allows himself, since he knows he can control those urges. He needs you there for moral support.

The party was in full swing when you reached the house. Rafe pushes through the house, hand in yours to guide you. He found a couch in the back easily and set up shop. Kook would come by asking for some coke, exchanging cash for a little baggy. Some would sit on the chairs next to the couch and take bumps right there. Others just take their goods and leave. 

Two hours into the party Rafe goes off to the bathroom leaving you alone. The only instructions he gave was to tell anyone who wants to buy to come back later. Which wasn’t a problem, then some guy walked up. “How much for a baggy?”

You look up from your phone to see your ex from highschool. “Ben?” He smiles at you. “Long time no see. Didn’t know that you started selling drugs.” He sits down next to you, leaving arms length of space. “No my… uh no I don’t sell.” You don’t know what to call Rafe. You wanted to say boyfriend but you aren’t really sure.

“Hey.” Rafe’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts. You smile at him but see that he isn’t looking at you. His eyes are trained on Ben. “Hey man. Looks like we got to wait, apparently this saint doesn’t sell.” Ben’s comment pisses Rafe off. “Well I hope not. She would take me out of business.” He’s trying to keep his cool, not wanting to lose his temper after working hard on it.

“Wait, you're the one selling?” Ben asks, he went off to college in a different state so he hasn’t been around much. He doesn't know a lot about Rafe after highschool or you for that matter. Rafe nods at the guy, tossing him a baggy and telling him the price. Ben says your name. “Do you know this guy?” You can’t get the words out since Rafe is answering for you. “Yeah she does. I’m her boyfriend.” 

You look at Rafe, eyes expressing how you feel. When you get happy there’s these golden specks that get brighter. He doesn’t even notice as he and Ben stare at each other. “Wow. Never expected this when we broke up.” The money he was handing over was snatched by Rafe. He wants to punch him in his stupid face. “Yeah well never thought you would cheat on me. I guess we just didn’t know each other.”

The anger Rafe is feeling intensifies. His eyes meet yours, as if you could read his emotions you shake your head. Instead of acting out he gathers the rest of the drugs laying out. Putting them away and grabbing your hand. “Come on baby. Let’s go home.” You try to protest. “Wait, don't you have to sell more?” “Nah go all I needed.” 

Rafe drags you out the house and into the truck. Driving to Tanny hill in silence. “Rafe?” He doesn’t say anything, only focusing on the road. His grip on the wheel is making his knuckles white. “Ray.” The new nickname surprises the two of you. He pulls into the drive-way and sits there. “Ray? That’s new.”

“I don’t know why I said it. Just you call me Sunny and a ray is associated with that. Thought it would be cute, but I don't know.” You feel a little self conscious now. “I like it.” He assures. The truck is silent after. You’re waiting for him to open up to you. “I got jealous.” There it is.

“I know.” He sighs. “You said you were my boyfriend.” He gives you this look. “Yeah no shit. I am.” He doesn’t get why that would be a problem. “You never asked.” Rafe looks at you before laughing. “Fuck I thought it was a given. Just assumed you knew I wanted you to be mine.” Now it’s your turn to laugh. “You’re such a dumbass. You need to ask a girl these things. I’ve been losing my mind over this.”

He gives you a kiss. “Will you be my girlfriend?” The words brush your lips. “Yeah I will.” You kiss him again. Not feeling his hand move around or his body shifting in a weird way. Pulling back something catches your eye. You glance down to see a ring. “What is that?” Rafe grabs your hand and puts the ring on your middle finger. “Got it the same day as the necklace. Was too scared to give it to you at first. This time around I won’t let it get to me. I promise I’m here for the long haul.”

The ring is beautiful, one of the nicest things you own now. Smiling at the boy in front of you, you realize how deep this really goes. Glad that you aren’t the only one who feels the same. “For the long haul.”

[st4r-th0ughts]

Lord, give me one more chance.

I wonder, if this will be the last?

masterlist

Mk1 characters x Liu Kang’s child! Reader

4:00A.M. (Taeko Onuki) ▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:47

ׂ╰┈➤

tw/cw: reader is very much feeling guilt for shedding so much blood, this is a nightmare so dw our pookies ain’t dead, reader remembers very very vague stuff from mk11 timeline (aftermath and being Shinnok’s spawn carries onto the next timeline), it’s like not making sense? Ig cause it’s a nightmare lmfao, gorey scenes and descriptors, body horror, light religious? themes, drowning, neck snap, shits painful in general bruv, third person pov (you/yours), dw shits dark but it’s a bit happy at the end. Mostly.

notes: first time writing a fic that delves into gory descriptors and I’m doing research in how to write nightmares lol so forgive me if it’s unrealistic, corny or smth

summary: A nightmare that comes back every time you fall into dream land.

characters in focus: Liu Kang mainly (father figure), Earthrealm champions, Shirai Ryu duo, Edenian sisters, and Syzoth x Ashrah and the rest are just rlly implied but they still are nightmarish in descriptions lol

ׂ╰┈➤

Heavy breathing. You heave as your feet connect with the cold, stone slate as opposed to the smooth, soundless wood of your bedroom floors. It’s the same. The same. The same nightmare tormenting you for weeks.

Everything around you is hazy. Blurred lines of dull clouds gloss over the supposedly clear night skies, the stars whispering words of goodbye as they disappeared from your sight. You blindly reach for them, stumbling forward as your feet loose its footing despite there being solid ground in front of you.

A scream escaped you as darkness swallowed you whole, your yells echoing against the stone around you, your hands mindlessly scraping the walls that seem to grow further from you, your fingers scraping them desperately, the pain searing as you feel your nails peel and scrape away.

You prided yourself for being the level headed one, the one who didn’t scream while everyone else was panicking, a trait your dear father… your father. He was in the distance. No wait, no, you’re falling. You’re supposed to be falling.

A gasp. Your standing in front a temple. Deep in the forest, in front a worn down temple, the walls crumbling ever so slowly as you step forward. You don’t feel good. You don’t feel like yourself. Your legs are stumbling forward onto the stairs.

The incense burner is abandoned. Everytime you came here, to watch the mortals worship the God of Fire, people pile up in lines to pay their dues. The ash is pale and white as you pick it up and let it crumble in your hands.

The temple is too silent. You stumble through empty halls of prayer halls, staring straight ahead. There are eyes in the shadows. They follow you. Judge you. Whisper about you. It makes you feel nothing.

There’s a small pond in the temple. You remember. Orange… blobs… float around. There’s no lily pads. There’s a statue of him in the temple. A dragon accompanies him. His marble eyes make contact with yours, half of his face having crumbling into fine dust.

You feel parched. You grasp your throat with bloody fingers, the nailless fingers clawing the skin so hard you think you’ll tear out your trachea. Your legs stumble mindlessly to the pond, and you can feel the marble statue crumble and his eyes following you.

Your knees slam into the pond’s edge as you feel them crack and snap as you cup algae infested water into your mouth, the liquid tasteless and stale as the familiar man’s marble feet crumble as it fell forward. The crash is loud. Your ears ring and there’s warm liquid leaking out of your eardrums.

Your head turns, and you come face to face with those familiar glowing eyes, blood seeping and dripping where his jaw should be. His teeth are bloody, his tongue moves in a weak attempt to speak, and his eyes are glassy and bloodshot.

A empty wail escapes his mouth, and you scream in pure terror as he reaches out for you with cold, bandaged hands, scrambling back as you crawl and scrape the floor, gagging as you feel bile rise up in your throat, a sob of sorrow for this familiar man and fear as your vision blurs.

You can’t run. Faces stare back at you. Their faces. Their names. Their voice. It’s a blur. There’s so much blood. Too much blood. The blindfolded man’s throat is torn out. There’s blood flowing and dripping in front of your feet like a river. If you could hear past the heavy ringing, you’d guess he’d be straining whatever words he can make out.

There’s black shards in the American man’s face, his face looking like it was torn apart by a serated knife you stare blankly into his lifeless eyes as a duo step out from behind him, one decapitated as it stumbled forward, blood spurting out of his neck, and the other was split in two, crawling towards you as he cried out in agony.

Your knees are broken. The bones are jutting out of your flesh as you writhe away from the familiar, mangled states of people you’re begging forgiveness from. Why are you begging forgiveness? You don’t know. The words are tumbling out of your mouth, you know they are despite the ringing.

Unbeknownst to you, your frantic movements edging you closer to the pond’s edge as flashes of bodies, bloodshed, and carnage as you shake your head in despair. Why do these memories torment you? Is the Elder Gods punishing you?

You feel your body being shocked as freezing temperatures drag you down. The water is disturbed as your legs scrape the floor, trying to surface to scream and breathe the stale, dusty air. Your legs cramp, and with that, the icy water swallows you whole.

You struggle. There’s an invisible force dragging you down, you thrash and writhe in its grip, your eyes forced open as your faced with bodies floating around you, bubbles escaping your mouth as your hands weakly struggle to locate them, or locate anything alive at all.

Your lungs are burning. Your legs are useless, limp and floating along with the force as your hands slowly cease your struggling, the overwhelming feeling of helplessness as your dragged deeper as the surface is further and further out of your grasp.

You turn your head as you come face to face to a bloodied face. Two of them, lifeless and floating limply in the dark depths of the water. A scarred right eye housing empty eye sockets and missing limbs, and another man with bloodied gray hair had his mask floating not far from his mouth. Or whatever it was supposed to be considering his entire lower face was torn off, the loose flesh making you almost vomit.

There’s too many faces around you. Mangled, bloodied, grotesque. They are familiar. Some… some you know well. Friendly. Some are those you can feel are enemies. People you’ve battled against before. People whose blood you’ve splattered before, and people who’ve sunk their weapons into you as well.

You feel your neck strain as your slammed against the stone hard floor, gasping weakly as bubbles escape your mouth, your eyes darting around to search for a futile escape. You see two ladies. One dressed in blue, one dressed in pink. They look similar. Their faces are intact, leaving your to stare at their beheaded forms as the sharp teethed lady’s face passes too close to your face.

You gag, your vision blurring as you gain a burst of adrenaline, your hands scraping hard against the stone and dirt of the water, trying to move against the force pushing your neck harder and harder against the floor.

There’s bodies beside you, their necks wrangled as you see a green cloaked man with tattoos lie beside with a black eyed lady as the force on your neck becomes unbearable, your vision blurring as you feel the last of your life leave you.

There’s a crack, and everything goes silent.

You jolt awake, a strangled gasp escaping you as your hands grip the covers, your nails intact and neatly cut, your knees are still in place, and you’re not being drowned and chased by abominations of the dream.

Your father is beside you, worriedly feeling your forehead as he wipes the cold sweat with a comfortingly warm cloth, a shiver running down your back as you remember the harsh, bitter coldness of the pond’s water drowning you.

“Are you feeling alright?”

Liu Kang’s voice rings out gently as he pats your back, coaxing the fear out of you with ease as he brought you into his arms, kissing your forehead.

You nod barely as you hug him back, flashes of that statue of him staring at you, his jawless form trying to embrace you into his cold hugs. This is warm. And it feels like home.

Blood is not uncommon in your life. Your father has always trained you to be one of the consistent Earthrealm defenders. You just hope your battles don’t end up shedding blood of people you cared about.

fin.

© st4r-th0ughts 2025, I don’t allow reposts, reuploads, translations, or copies.

a/n: would love to hear your opinions and what I can improve on when writing stuff like these next time!