#master of all genres at once

[sallyrooneygf]

Victor Frankenstein, everyone

[clarionglass]

here we go :) part one of three, updates to be released weekly!

---

sam says 4 (game master cinematic universe, part 3)

Ruby was at her mum's for a family dinner she couldn't miss on pain of death, apparently, and the Doctor was many things, but a family dinner kind of guy wasn't one of them—particularly when Carla had already slapped him once in the short time he'd known her. He thought he'd broken his streak of bad luck with mums, but… well, seemingly not. So he was companionless for a few hours, and while he could wait for her to get back, maybe catch up on his reading—what was the point of waiting when you had a time machine? 

He ran his hands over the TARDIS console, marvelling at her clean lines and metallic flourishes, the way that even now she felt brand new but familiar, and paused. He’d just pop off for a quick adventure, nothing too dangerous, but—where to go?

He could scan for a distress call nearby, and pitch in to help. He could drop in on Donna and Shaun and Rose, beautiful Rose, and see how they were all doing. Or he could just hit the randomiser button, and jump in feet first wherever he ended up.

He remembered a conversation from a long time ago, when he wore a different face, and his gorgeous TARDIS wore a face too, for the first and only time.

“You didn't always take me where I wanted to go.”

“No, but I always took you where you needed to go.”

He grinned. Who could resist an offer like that? He pressed the button and whooped as the time rotor spun into action, ready to see where the universe would take him.

---

Apparently, he was needed pretty close to where he already was. Earth, 2024. Huh. Same planet, same time—within a few months of where he’d left Ruby, even. The main thing that had changed was the location: he was now in the good old US of A. California, to be more specific, and Los Angeles to be more specific still. And to really narrow it down, the Doctor discovered as he poked his head out of the TARDIS doors, he was in… a broom closet. Not bad, as a parking spot—a bit squeezy, but out of the way. And as he poked his head out of that door, he could finally see he was in the backstage corridors of a studio of some kind. Film or TV, if he was to hazard a guess, it was a different vibe from Abbey Road.

With a shrug, he decided to go exploring.

It couldn’t have been more than a minute before a young woman wearing the full-black outfit, headset, and permanently stressed expression of a production assistant came running up to him.

“Are you the fill-in Sam organised?” she asked breathlessly, and honestly, seeing the look on her face, the Doctor didn’t have the heart(s) to tell her no. And really, what was the Doctor, if not a professional fill-in? This, this was why he had a randomiser button on the control panel, because whatever he was about to get himself into was going to be fun.

“Sure!”

“Oh, thank god,” sighed the production assistant, relief dawning across her face. “When Ally tested positive this morning, I thought we were sunk for the record, because we called around and we couldn’t get a hold of anyone. But then Sam said he could get someone in, and, you know, here you are, and just in time, so—ah, yeah, if you could follow me this way?”

Smiling all the way, the Doctor followed his guide through to hair and makeup, looking around as they went. The studio seemed to belong to a company called Dropout, according to the branding scattered around, and things seemed, at least on the surface, to be… well. Fine. He couldn't tell why he'd been brought here yet, which meant that when he found the reason, it was going to be particularly tangled. He couldn't wait! 

And then he looked back at his guide, still engulfed in a miasma of anxiety, and realised he'd been too busy looking for clues to notice the person right in front of him. 

“Hey, it's cool, you've found me,” he started with a gentle smile. “You can relax. Hi, I'm the Doctor. What's your name?”

“Oh!” she said, startled. “The Doctor, yeah, of course. Um, hi, I'm Kaylin. Look, sorry, it's just that I've been so busy this morning, I'm so distracted… Shit, and I would've completely forgotten to get your details too. There's paperwork to fill in, but you can do that later. Um, just for now, though, can I get your pronouns?”

The Doctor thought for a moment. “He/him, for now.”

Kaylin nodded, making a note on her phone. “Okay, cool! And do you have any socials?”

“Not me, babes,” he replied. “I'm hardly sitting down long enough to be able to update, you know?”

“On a day like this, I know exactly what you mean,” she said. “That's okay, Lou didn't have socials either for the longest time. Right, so if you go through there, the team will get you sorted, and once you're done, someone will take you up to the greenroom. All good?”

“All great,” the Doctor replied. Kaylin flashed him a quick, relieved smile, then hurried off.

Hair and makeup was a fairly quick process, the sound mixer fitted him with a microphone, and before too long, Kaylin was back to take him upstairs. 

“This is the greenroom,” she said, pushing the door open. “The rest of the cast for the episode are already here—they’re great guys, and they’ve both been on the show a lot, so they’ll be able to help if you’ve got questions. And if you need anything else, just come find me or any of the other PAs, okay?”

The Doctor nodded, beamed at Kaylin, and walked in.

---

The greenroom was small but comfortable, and its occupants, two men around the same age as the Doctor appeared, looked up as he entered.

“Oh, you’re new,” the taller of the pair said, clearly giving him the once-over.

The other sighed with a mixture of fondness and exasperation, just as clearly used to his friend’s antics.

“Hey, I’m Brennan,” he said, levering himself up to standing from his perch on a chair arm, and holding out a hand. “That’s Grant.”

The Doctor took it warmly. “The Doctor. Just passing through, and happy to help.”

Grant’s eyebrows quirked. “Doctor… something?” he prompted.

“Or is it just ‘the Doctor’?” Brennan asked.

“Just ‘the Doctor’,” the Time Lord confirmed cheerfully. “You’ll get used to it, everyone does.”

Grant didn’t look convinced, but—

“Copy that,” Brennan shrugged, and settled back on the arm of the chair, returning his gaze to the door.

Grant, in turn, looked at the Doctor and rolled his eyes in a clear expression of ‘no, I don’t know why he’s like this, either’.

“Okay,” the Doctor said after a moment of watching the watching. “I wasn’t going to ask, but now I think I have to. What’s up with the door?”

Brennan huffed a laugh. “Well, the last time there was one of those up—” he pointed to the Out of Order sign stuck to the bathroom door, “—we got locked in here for the game.”

“He’s paranoid,” Grant interjected.

“Well, yeah, maybe,” Brennan retorted. “Or just cautious. Because Sam’s been acting weird lately, and we’re coming up to the last few records of the season, so he’s probably planning something way out of the box for the finale. And the original cast was you, me and Beardsley, so…”

He shrugged one shoulder meaningfully, and Grant nodded, conceding both the point and the potential for chaos.

“So if Sam comes in to give us the briefing, rather than waiting til we’re on set,” Brennan continued, “or there’s anything else weird going on, I’m gonna know about it right from the beginning.”

He turned to the Doctor. “The only reason I'm not quizzing you is because I know for a fact Beardsley was genuinely scheduled for this, so you can't be a plant by the production team. No offence.”

“None taken,” the Doctor smiled. “That sort of thing happen often, does it?”

Grant and Brennan exchanged a look. 

“More than you'd think,” Grant answered with a grimace. 

“Alright,” the Doctor said slowly, then brightened. “So what is it we're actually doing?”

Grant gave him a disbelieving glance. “You don't know—?”

“Very last minute fill-in,” the Doctor said breezily. “But don't worry, I'm a quick study.”

“Well, you're not that much worse off than the rest of us,” Brennan said encouragingly. “You know about Game Changer, obviously, if you know Sam, and we only find out the rules of the game once we get on set. Hopefully,” he added, with a dark look back at the Out of Order sign. 

The Doctor nodded. No, he didn't know Sam, and he didn't know Game Changer, but he could work out the situation from context clues. This was a game show. And with the Toymaker banished, and Satellite Five not coming into existence for another 198000 years, give or take, he found himself smiling. Maybe third time would be the charm. 

“Mmm, hopefully they aren't going to throw you in the deep end,” Grant said. “Because Brennan might seem lovely now, but as soon as we get out there, he's a whore for points. He'll stab you in the back and won't even blink.”

Brennan barked with laughter. “Yeah, and you wouldn't?”

“Excuse you, I'm always a goddamn delight,” Grant replied, the very picture of injured dignity. 

“Oh, absolutely!” agreed a new voice. The Doctor turned to the now-open door to see a bearded man in a pinstriped suit smiling broadly. “That's why we keep inviting you back!”

Grant bowed sarcastically. “Why, thank you, Sam. Good to know I'm appreciated by someone here.”

“Always,” Sam replied, gently but firmly ending that particular path of the conversation. He scanned the room, and his eyes lit up when they landed on the Doctor. 

“Ah, you must be the Doctor!” he said with obvious delight, walking over with his hand outstretched. “I'm Sam—thanks for filling in for us, you've made sure we're going to have a good show. Seriously, it's a pleasure to have you here.”

“Aw, cheers!” the Doctor smiled, shaking the offered hand. “Glad I could help out, I'm really looking forward to this!”

“Well, great!” Sam exclaimed, then took a step back, regarding all three players in turn. “Now, folks, I'm just letting you know that we're just about ready to start the record, so if you can start heading down, that'd be great.”

Grant and Brennan nodded—Brennan, the Doctor noticed, with relief. 

“See you down there,” Sam said, smiling. “Have a great show, and—”

His eyes caught on the Doctor's for a second, twinkling. 

“Good luck.”

---

Backstage, the Doctor, Brennan and Grant were marshalled into podium order and given a final briefing from the crew. And then, with a thumbs-up from Kaylin, that was it.

Showtime.

“Get ready for a Game Changer!” came Sam's voice from onstage. “Tonight’s guests: he can shoot off a monologue with laser accuracy; it’s Brennan Lee Mulligan!”

Brennan, his back to the camera as the curtains opened, spun on his heel and, with a stone-cold expression, pointed finger guns straight down the barrel, before letting the facade crack open. “Hi!” he exclaimed, and walked over to the leftmost podium.

“It’s his first appearance, but he’s already on fire; it’s the Doctor!”

The Doctor leant against the archway to the stage and flashed a broad smile towards the camera, then in a few skipping steps, had bounded over to the next free podium. What the hell, why not make an entrance?

“And even in the toughest of mazes, you’ll always be able to find him; it’s Grant O’Brien!”

Grant dipped his lanky frame into an approximation of a curtsey, spreading his arms wide, then sauntered over to the closest podium with a grin.

“And your host, me!” Sam announced, a ring of manic white showing around his irises as he beamed down the barrel of the camera. “I’ve been here the whole time!”

“This,” he continued, pushing his microphone shut and stowing it in his jacket pocket, “is Game Changer, the only game show where the game changes every show. I am your host, Sam Reich!” 

As he said his name, he looked at his hands, front and back, as if he was pleasantly surprised to be himself, then gestured towards the three podiums.

“I am joined today by these three lovely contestants! Now, you understand how the game works.”

“Of course not,” Grant started. “You know we don't.”

“We can't, Sam, that's the whole point of the theatre you've set up here,” Brennan said over him. 

“Not yet,” was all the Doctor said, anticipation starting to drum a tattoo of excitement against the inside of his ribcage. 

“That’s right!” Sam said brightly, shooting finger guns at the camera. “Our players have no idea what game it is they’re about to play. The only way to learn is by playing. The only way to win is by learning, and the only way to begin is by beginning! So without further ado, let’s begin by giving each of our players fifty points.”

The Doctor, biding his time, watched the reactions of his fellow contestants. Grant looked at the front of his podium, checking the point total, and nodding approvingly when he saw that yes, it was sitting at a round fifty. Brennan, on the other hand, was starting to frown.

“Players, Sam says: touch your nose,” Sam began, and Brennan sighed the sigh of someone who wasn’t happy to be proved right.

“Oh, no,” he groaned. “Oh, you son of a bitch. Wasn’t one this season enough?”

He touched his nose anyway, as did the others, and Sam smiled encouragingly. “Sam says: touch your ear.”

When they all did, Sam nodded. “Touch your other ear.”

Everybody held still, fingers on the ears they had originally touched.

Sam beamed. “Easy, players, right?”

“You say that now,” Brennan said darkly. “Which makes it worse, because all you're doing is setting us up for failure.”

Sam gasped, pretending offence. “Would I do that?”

“Yes,” Brennan and Grant replied in unison, which drew a grin from the Doctor and set Sam off chuckling.

“And I'm not having it,” Brennan continued, leaning his elbows against his podium and pointing at Sam with the hand not touching his ear. “You better watch yourself, because I know how this game works, and you're not going to get one over on me.”

“Strong words, Brennan!” Sam said, clearly delighted by this response. “Okay, then, let's start making things a bit more interesting!”

The game continued as per Sam Says usual, some rounds done as a group and some individual. Points were won, sure, but lost slightly more frequently, and even the Doctor found he was having to concentrate to avoid getting caught in the host's traps. 

It was fun. Genuinely, it was like playing a game with friends, and the Doctor felt himself leaning into it. There wasn't any sign of danger—maybe there wasn't a mystery to solve at all, and the TARDIS just decided he needed a total break. 

Well, probably not. But the way things were going, he was able to let himself hope. 

“Alright, players,” Sam said a good few rounds in, just as pleasantly as he would start any other question, and the screen behind him dinged as a new prompt popped up. “Survive the death beam.”

For a second, everything was frozen perfectly still. 

And then came the crash, the explosive noise of heavy machinery moving relentlessly through a drywall set.

The Doctor was already moving. “Everyone down!”

“Duck!” Brennan yelled at the same time.

The two of them hit the ground within milliseconds of each other, but Grant was still paralysed in the face of the giant, science-fiction type laser cannon that had just ploughed through the wall. 

It whined ominously, screaming its way to fever pitch. And then a sharp pain in Grant’s ankle made him stagger, pitching forwards onto the carpet behind the podiums as the Doctor rolled away to avoid getting pinned.

“Sorry, babes,” the Doctor whispered. “But it was either kick you to get you down, or—”

A hideous metallic screech ripped through the air, and all three of them could feel the crackle of ozone as a beam of energy swept across what had, moments ago, been neck height.

“…Or that,” the Doctor finished with a grimace.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Grant breathed, suddenly very conscious of every inch of his 6’9 frame. “Thanks.”

“Well done, players!” Sam exclaimed delightedly from above them. “But… sorry, I didn’t say ‘Sam says’, so that’s a point off for everyone.”

“What the fuck!” Brennan snapped.

“Are you actually insane?” Grant demanded at the same time, his voice overlapping with Brennan’s.

In response, Sam just wheezed with laughter. “You can come back to your podiums,” he said, cheerfully ignoring them.

Nobody moved.

“Very good!” he acknowledged, and even without seeing his face, the grin was obvious in his voice. “Okay, Sam says: come back to your podiums.”

Although the words were innocuous, and his tone was just as light and breezy as usual, there was nevertheless an edge hiding just underneath the surface. And while the death beam loomed large in the minds of all three players, it was impossible to consider disobedience as an option.

Slowly, they stood, returning to their places. Now they had the time to look at it properly, the death beam was even more sinister, and Brennan and Grant both kept flicking nervous glances its way, ready to move if it looked like it was charging up again.

The Doctor, however, was focused purely on the man standing in front of them. Unbothered, Sam met his gaze like a challenge, a mischievous smile playing about his lips.

“Oh, you’ll love this one,” he said, and the screen changed. “Sam says, starting with Grant: say my name.”

Grant frowned in confusion, but answered quickly nonetheless. “Sam Reich?”

The man himself shrugged tolerantly, moving on. “Brennan?”

Brennan just stared at him coolly. “Do you take me for a fool?”

“Well caught, Brennan!” Sam said happily. “Sam says: say my name.”

“Sam,” Brennan replied, suspicion clear in his voice. “Samuel Dalton Reich.”

He nodded, still with a hint of indifference. “And lastly, Doctor.” His smile broadened. “Sam says: say my name.”

It was easy. Too easy. And as the Doctor looked into the eyes of the man calling himself Sam Reich, he felt his hearts stutter in recognition, because something had changed. He wasn’t hiding himself anymore, and while the face was different yet again, the Doctor would know the shape of that soul anywhere. It was impossible. It was inevitable.

“You can’t be,” he breathed. 

Sam smirked, leaning in across his podium. “Oh, but Doctor… I’ve been here the whole time,” he stage-whispered with a wink.

“He said you lost,” the Doctor said, shaking his head, looking wrong-footed for the first time that Brennan and Grant could recall. “You lost, and he trapped you.”

The other two watched, uncomprehending, but Sam just smiled, drumming his fingers against the podium with an audible beat, fast but distinct. Four taps, four taps, four taps. “I’m waiting.”

The Doctor took a slow, deep breath. Set his jaw. 

“Master.”

---

missed an installment of the game master cinematic universe?

original idea by @ace-whovian-neuroscientist: x

art by @northernfireart concept: x scissor sisters sketch: x sam and his doppelganger: x

writing by me (!) part one (escape the greenroom): x part two (deja vu): x part three (sam says 4): you are here!

[chuluoyi]

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐋𝐘 (𝐔𝐍)𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋

- sylus x reader

master and servant. man and his right hand woman. you and sylus are labeled many things, but does love exist in many labels of your relationship?

genre/warnings: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—angst, fluff, unrequited love, explicit smut, fwb, jealousy, hurt/comfort, description of major injury, blood loss, gore, assassin!reader (not l&ds mc), spoilers! takes place throughout long-awaited revelry

note: my very first love and deepspace fic! :') w.c 5.2k ! i have a severe brainrot omg tagging @sanriosatoru per request <3

Everyone knows of your relationship with Sylus.

The leader of Onychinus and his notorious lady assassin, you two strike fear into his foes and allies alike. You are as deadly as you are beautiful, and that's more or less why he keeps you around.

What everyone doesn't know, however... is that behind closed doors, you too share his wealth and his bed.

“I don't mind to spend the whole night with you,” he’d whisper in your ear seductively at nights, deft and veiny hands roaming your body all over. He often made you ride on top of him, dark burgundy eyes hazed with lust, knowing full well that you desired the very same goal he did.

And you’d respond his hunger with the same fervor, crashing your lips into his, your tongues intertwining, your hips moving vigorously against him.

“Ahh... ah!” Before you knew it, his cock—thick and long in size—slid inside you in such a snug fit, making you throw your head back and dig your sharp nails into his skin.

“Keep me going with your voice, kitten.” Sylus growled, eyeing your wobbling lips and tightly-pressed eyes as he sank even deeper inside you. “Yeah, just like that...”

Sylus always began roughly, seemingly not minding your breathless moans and wishes, and you liked him that way too—

“Is this... all you've got?” you panted in a hoarse voice, sweat lining your neck and forehead, the coil in your belly tightened so deliciously each time he thrusted into you. “Surely... y-you can do better...”

“Ha,” he gave a low snort, his red eyes blazing as he grabbed your bum and squeezed it, making you gasp. “Careful what you wish for... sweetie.”

And then your vision literally tilted upside down—Sylus gladly flipped your position so he could see you even better. This way, he also had even better access to you, intertwining your hand with his, spreading your legs wide so he could rut into you.

“—!” Breath was knocked out of your lungs as immeasurable pleasure washed over you, crashing and receding in an instant. You almost screamed as your back arched.

He broke into a satisfied smirk. “Let it out,” he murmured against your neck, biting gently into your skin, voice muffled. “You never hold back with me, do you, hmm? So, don’t start now.”

“You b-bastard...” you looked up at him with a breathless smile, knowing how close you were to losing your wits.

He simply made your nights worth remember. His allure was undeniable, with a voice that was naturally sultry. And his hands... fuck, they did heaven's work.

It didn't take you long to finally reach your climax, and once you did, your moans were the nastiest all night as you continuously lined his back with scratches.

You could feel how he was chasing his own orgasm all the while, before pulling out right at the last minute and made a mess on your belly, falling beside you.

“Tired?” Sylus’ chest rumbled with laughter as you laid sprawled there in a haze. His eyes narrowed at the sight of your burning cheeks. “I really like this look on your face right now.”

You rolled your eyes, catching your breath and shivered. “I bet you tell that to all other women you manage to lure to your bed.”

“How presumptuous.” He sent you a sour scowl. “I have a high standard— you should consider yourself lucky.”

Well, you do. Holding back a smile, you changed the topic. “I’m cold. Clean me up already.”

“Now, now… what a spoiled little thing you are…” Sylus chuckled, his voice deep and low, yet wrapping his arms around you nonetheless, hoisting you up.

Nights of passion. Mutually beneficial relationship. Nothing more and less.

No strings attached.

This is thrilling. Intimacy without commitment is more than enough to spice your checkered life. After all, what could be better and more rewarding than fucking the hottest man in N109 Zone and getting away with it?

At least, you thought so.

. . .

“Damn, you’re going to make me sore…” you grumbled, letting out a deep sigh as you sank into the sheets after he had cleaned you up, still basking in the afterglow and ready to drift off to sleep. “Ahh...”

Sylus’ lips curved into a wry smile as he watched you make yourself comfortable on his bed, slipping on his black shirt. “Well, I’m just that good, and you did ask for it.”

“Are you going out?” you asked in a small voice, teetering between sleep and wakefulness as you noticed him taking out his favorite gun. “It’s midnight.”

“Luke and Kieran said she has arrived.” Sylus said in low voice, not even sparing you a look. “After all, she has gone through all that trouble to come here, it is only right that I greet her myself.”

The woman. Sylus had told you several times, how a woman with Aether Core and powerful Resonance Evol would eventually come to N109 Zone. And that when the time came, he would make her resonate with him.

A part of you didn’t really know what to feel about this vague plan of his. “Will you bring her here too?”

“I’ll have her stay here until we have reached resonance,” he responded casually while shrugging on his coat.

Sylus valued others depending on their worth. He said it so himself—he isn't a philanthropist. He saw potential in your evol—the Speech Manipulation—which is why he rescued you three years ago, even after you had swung a blade to his throat.

This time must be the same. You played with the edges of your hair. “Well, consider me jealous then. Seems like I’ll have a rival soon.”

Your quip finally caught his attention, as he finally turned to you, one side of his mouth upturned.

“Ha.” Sylus strolled over to where you lay on the bed and placed a hand under your chin, letting out a throaty chuckle. “Is there even anyone brave enough to go against you?”

You shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. “We shall see about that.”

Little did you know, the coming of this new girl would be the start of the undoing of your mutually beneficial relationship.

You would've expected the woman bearing Aether Core inside her to be way more interesting than that clueless, weak and easily spooked hunter from Linkon City.

But your and Sylus' definitions of interesting clearly differed though, as you caught him smiling after he pulled the most outrageous stunt on himself— having her shoot him right in the heart.

“She is funny,” he said to himself, almost snickering even as you wiped the blood off his toned body. “She was shaking so much the moment I pulled the trigger.”

“Is that your only finding—” you snapped as you wrapped the bandage around his bare chest, fuming. “—after shooting yourself just to mess with her?”

Luke and Kieran told you how he had used his Evol to pull the hunter girl onto his lap, then handed her a gun and made her shoot him. You couldn't believe it at first, until the sight of Sylus staggering to his bedroom, his shirt bloodied and clutching his chest made you almost scream in horror.

“Is that really necessary?” you scowled, tightening the bandage with more force than needed. “Or are you just trying to get her attention?”

Sylus’ sharp gaze settled on you then, seemingly not taking your comment well.

“What’s got you so worked up about this, hmm?” he asked, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he observed your cross expression. “Last I checked, we agreed not to get involved in each other’s personal affairs.”

Personal affairs, he said? Everything you two had done had long past breached all personal boundaries.

But the fact remains that you two are nothing more than—

“Fine.” You tied the bandage abruptly and about to storm off, making no effort to conceal your ire. You couldn’t say you were worried or that you hated seeing blood smeared across him. That was never in the agreement.

Until you felt a hard tug on your arm—

“And where does the angry kitty think she is going, hmm?”

Before you could discern it, your back was pressed against the wall—your left arm pinned beside your head, with Sylus filling your view.

His sculpted abs were right in front of you for the taking, his scent permeated the air, and his unsettling swirls of crimson eyes had you completely captivated.

“Have I ever told you that you look beautiful when you’re angry?” Sylus laughed as he leaned in, gripping your chin with his other hand. “If I didn’t know you were more than capable of slitting my throat in my sleep, I’d want you to look at me like this every day.”

It struck you how your heart raced wildly under his intense gaze. With his perfect face so close, the only sound that seemed to be most prominent was the pounding of your own heartbeat.

“What’s wrong? We’ve been closer than this,” Sylus taunted with a wide grin, his breath warm against your ear as he pressed his body against yours. “What’s making you so nervous?”

If you knew anything about Sylus, it was that he took pleasure in seeing you squirm in his hold. You glared daggers at him. “I hate you.”

“How lovely.”

“You’re infuriating,” you spat, devoid of any amusement.

He barked a satisfied bout of laugh once again, before releasing your chin. However, to your surprise, that very same hand groped your chest roughly—

“Then perhaps...” he hummed, a wicked glint in his red eyes, whispering to you with sultry voice right before he pulled you into him and devour your lips in heat: “You can help to fix me, sweetie.”

His kisses were hot as his tongue and hands made his mark on your body. Pressed against his bare skin, you gripped his strong, broad shoulders as he lifted your legs to his waist.

As always, he managed to dissolve all your lingering thoughts with lust. You just never knew one day you would finally reach the last straw though.

. . .

"Are you going out again tonight?" you muttered, tracing your fingers along his abs as you lay in his arms, still a bit giddy after your passionate session.

"No, I'm sleepy," he replied quickly, his voice low as he pulled you closer and closed his eyes. "Go to sleep already, kitten."

"I can't sleep."

"Poor you. I can though."

You quirked a frown at him. "You're so annoying these days."

"Oh?" Sylus cracked his eyes open, a smirk on his lips. "If you find me so disagreeable, you can always make me obey you, no?"

Your speech manipulation could make people do your bidding and it was a pretty useful talent. Apart from the first day you met Sylus three years ago in the wasteland of N109 Zone, you had never tried using it on him again.

"I won't, you idiot." You sighed and turned away, your back facing him. The idea of bending him to your will somehow didn't sit right with you. It was against your conscience now.

"Why are you facing away? It's freezing," he grumbled almost in a petulant voice. You nearly rolled your eyes, until you felt his strong arms wrap around your middle from behind.

"Why are you hugging me? We’re not usually this touchy after sex."

"I'm telling you, I'm cold, and you're my heat pillow."

"You're so damn insufferable..."

Despite your sharp retort, a smile found its way to your face. Moments like this were rare, and when he was the one seeking you, you couldn't help these butterflies in your stomach. Still...

You two are not in love, dammit. Sometimes it confused you a great deal. What is love anyway?

“Caw, caw, caw!”

“Mephisto, shush.”

Sylus’ robotic pet crow had surprisingly taken a liking to you shortly after you began living in the base. He obeyed your commands just as he did with his owner. The same couldn’t be said for Miss Hunter though, as Mephisto seemed to have a strong dislike for her.

You were idling at the living room with the crow when you realized how close it was to dawn.

“Luke, Kieran,” you called to the twins, who were bickering over a crate of oranges, frowning. “Where did Sylus go?”

Both stopped and looked at you, and Kieran blurted out, “Boss? Oh, he went out with Miss Hunter!”

You supposed you shouldn’t be surprised, but you were nonetheless. “And he still hasn’t come back?”

“Ah, yeah... but I think they just went on a short errand. He’s probably back or already on his way?” Luke mused, and you clicked your tongue.

It irritated you, it gnawed at you—how Sylus had been spending so much time with that hunter these days. He was trying to make her resonate with him, but still, the way you saw it, he was going through his playbook—

Just as he had done when he pursued you.

Calling her “kitten”, “sweetie”... everything he did with her seemed like a replay of the first year you spent in this place.

Deep down, perhaps you had hoped that, in some way, Sylus would see you as you saw him. Love might be out of reach in your bleak existences, but you at least wished he would consider you an irreplaceable presence.

You were petty, and you knew it.

“Mephisto,” you whispered to the cooing crow as it turned to you pliantly. “Go find and bother her, okay? Don’t let her out of your sight,” you added, letting the bird fly away on your command.

Deciding to rest in his room, you left the living room with a sense of exhaustion. You had stayed up for Sylus on a whim, as he had promised to share his plans for the upcoming auction soon. However, sleeping at dawn was giving you frequent headaches, and the habit was wearing on you.

You took a bath and then headed to his bedroom, and you would have never guessed what scene you'd walk into—

Sylus, in his bathrobe, and that girl… nestled against his chest on his bed. The very same bed where you two made out just the other night.

“Y/N?” Sylus looked at you over the girl’s shoulder, and you were frozen on the spot, feeling an indescribable rush of emotions washing over you.

In the next moment, the hunter girl scrambled away from him in panic, her face flushed with shame. “I-it’s not what it looks like! I swear! Sylus— I was just trying to find his brooch and—!”

In that instant, something inside you turned ice-cold. Her frantic explanations—none of it registered to you. The fact that he let her into his bed was enough for you.

You weren’t sure if Sylus noticed, but your eyes darkened, your fists clenched, and a storm raged within your chest.

“Sorry for intruding,” you said frostily, cutting her off and casting a contemptuous glance at both of them before turning on your heel and slamming the door shut.

It was no use, you finally realized. In this twisted relationship you two shared, there could never be anything more than hot sex and flirtations.

Somehow it hurt more deeply than you expected, as though your heart were being scorched. Yet, you couldn’t even find the tears to cry—as you weren't allowed to do so.

Sylus noticed the change in you immediately.

You vanished from the base and returned in the evening, not sparing him even a look and he could tell then that you had come back a different woman.

And it was the part he hated the most. These days, he couldn't read you at all.

"Luke and Kieran, keep an eye on her tonight," he instructed his two underlings as the two of them were getting ready.

"Who? Miss Hunter?" Luke questioned.

"Or boss lady?" Kieran supplied.

Both of them liked you as well. Unlike him, you’d spend your free time indulging their nonsense, and over time, they even gave you that friendly moniker.

They didn't really know the nature of your physical relationship though. Or at least, didn't really know fully.

"The latter," Sylus gruffly replied, and then he went to the hunter girl to prepare her as well.

He had a justified explanation. If you had asked him, he would tell you nothing had happened. Your ire was better than silence, definitely a hundred times better than this.

But why didn't you come to him?

And why does he want you to come and demand him for an explanation?

However, tonight was the auction for the Aether Core. He had to finish this first before he could get a word with you later.

At least that was what Sylus had thought... until he saw you at the auction venue.

You were stunning in that black cocktail dress. He didn’t know when you had your hair done, but you looked as if you had spent the entire day preparing for this occasion despite having barely two hours after coming back. You were definitely a head-turner, drawing the attention of many vermin as you navigated the ballroom with grace and everlasting smile.

And it grated at him. Severely. Sylus's eyes were locked on each lowlife hell-bent on taking his life and desperate to get into your pants, knowing he would end them all tonight.

...and as if it wasn't enough, he then saw you entertaining one of them with that sort of smile you used to reserve for him.

. . .

"Mm-hm, really?"

"Yes, I've heard they are inside the safe number 209."

You coyly smirked, looking the man with mask in front of you, whom you had led to a deserted hallway, who had been complying and smiling at each and every question of yours.

"Thank you then." You flashed him your best smile, about to go back to the main hall.

"And uh, miss," he suddenly turned to you in a flurry. "I believe I haven't gotten your name—"

You chuckled, facing him again. "Oh, you want to know my name?"

"Very much so!"

This was like bread and butter to you. You effortlessly wrapped an arm around the man's neck, standing on your tiptoes, and whispered in his ear:

"Halt."

He went rigid the moment the command left your lips, and you could feel his panic rising as you pulled away.

"W-what happened—!?" he thrashed against the invisible hold manifested by your Evol in pure panic, to no avail, whereas you regarded at him with a cold smile.

"What a shame. I planned to let you be, but then you gave me the perfect opportunity." You maintained your eerie smile as you pulled out a thin, needle-like blade from the hem of your dress. "You have been a great help. Thank you."

With that, you slit his throat, and blood splattered onto the ground in a continuous pool as he jerked, collapsing like a broken statue.

You felt nothing at the sight, but you knew you weren't alone as you felt his presence.

"You started the party without me?" Sylus' deep voice resonated through the hall. "Didn't know you have that much of bloodlust this early, sweetie."

The clench of your heart was still there, even when you had decided to discard all your lingering feelings for this man. Still, you put on the perfect poker face when you met his eyes.

"I want this to be over and done with quick. I'm exhausted already."

Sylus eyed you calmly, yet somehow it felt as if the depths of those red eyes were trying to assess your soul. "Your actions said otherwise. Is flirting with him necessary?"

"You're one to talk, Boss," you scoffed at the last word. "As long as it entertains me, why isn't it?"

Sylus didn't deign you with an answer, and you decided to pour more oil into it.

"Strictly professional, no?" You lifted your chin defiantly. "Last I checked, we were not supposed to meddle in personal affairs—"

You didn't realize it until he did, because the next thing you knew, his right eye suddenly glowed with that terrifying shade of crimson. "You—!"

He has seen it all. In the three years since he took you in, Sylus had never used his Aether Core-infused right eye on you to peek into your mind. The first and only time it had happened was when he restrained you from attacking him on the day you first met.

This was the second time. And now, he knows. Of your petty feelings, of your deepest, truest desire.

At first, Sylus remained silent, but then his eyes narrowed at you, low voice booming through the hall.

"Jealousy is unbecoming on you, Y/N."

And after all that he knew, that was the only thing he could come up with?

You felt shame wash over you. You wanted to run from him. This was too much because he most definitely didn’t reciprocate your feelings, did he?

"I don't want to hear it," you resolved, the space around you felt constricting all of a sudden. You walked past him, about to break into a sprint—

Sylus immediately caught a hold of your arm though, sending a glare at you. "You—"

"It ends here," you blurted in heat. "I don't want it anymore. We're through, Sylus."

"Listen to me!"

He snarled at you, and it was the very first time he did so. However, you paid him no mind and pulled out your ace card, staring hard into his eyes. You could feel the start of his black and red mist, but your Evol was faster—

"Move."

His hold on you loosened, and he jerked back several foot away from the impact. You kept your manipulation on him, avoiding his fury-blazed eyes, bolting away before he could catch you.

. . .

The night escalated so much worse than you had imagined. Explosions and a sudden appearance of an Arbiterwings threw the whole auction into chaos.

You were fighting off the sudden wave of wanderers alone, relying solely on your blade since your voice was too hoarse to use your Evol. When one of them struck you and sent you crashing into a wall, you just sat there in a daze.

It was exhausting. Usually, Sylus would be by your side, covering your back at the very least. He wouldn't let a single scratch get to you. His black and red mist of doom would dominate the battlefield, offering you protection while at it.

You loved that bastard. It was so beyond stupid. Why did you have to ruin everything by having these feelings? If your heart was gone, would these feelings go with it too?

You got your answer sooner than you thought.

White-hot pain engulfed you when something impaled you right in the chest. The searing agony was mind-blinding, the only thing you could discern was your own wails.

No, the feelings didn’t go. Even as you teetered on the brink of death, that damned love only evolved into many regrets.

And in your final moments, you could've sworn you felt the exact moment your heart stopped beating.

"Oh my god! Luke! She is here!"

"Kieran...! Is she alive?!"

"So much blood—! Luke, call Boss! Call Boss here!"

"Boss! We found her!"

"What do we do?! Shit! It's right... in her heart..."

"What!? Boss! S-she is...! Oh lord..."

You had a dream, and it was of your first meeting with Sylus.

Three years ago, in the wasteland of N109 Zone, you were a mere scavenger until he found you. You had thought he was a threat much like others in this lawless city, so you unwittingly showcased your Evol before him in defense, until he pinned you down on the hard ground, crimson eyes holding you in place.

"I'm giving you two options: go with me and live, or die here in vain," he had told you then, a smug smile on his face. "I assure you, so long as you're still useful to me, you won't have to worry about food or roof above your head ever again."

What kind of homeless person would refuse that tempting offer?

Since you followed him, Sylus had never been untrue to his word. He made good of his words, idly engaged you in his circle, showered you with gifts, and at one point—

"You're... trying to tempt me, aren't you?" he growled amidst kisses, pinning you on his desk. Apparently, seeing you up close and personal every day in his home had worn down his patience. He was just a man, after all.

You wickedly giggled, even breathless, cradling both sides of his face and admiring those ruby eyes of his. "What if... I am?"

"Then consider me tempted, little kitten," he chuckled, his baritone voice casting a spell over you. "Remember though, curiosity can kill most cats."

Thus began your thrilling relationship, and you knew you would gladly stay with him just to have a taste of that heaven. And you knew too, he wouldn't cast you easily this way.

And of course, so long as you are useful to him, that is.

When you came to, you felt warm, and your position was so comfortable that you were almost lulled back to sleep.

At first, it didn't register to you where you were. The scene before you was so familiar, but you were so lethargic that you were late to recognize it.

"Awake?"

Sylus' bedroom. The realization dawned on you as that deep, low voice questioned you flatly. You jerked instinctively, looking up at him as he came into view, holding a glass of wine.

He was still the same. Even with you out of commission, he would still indulge himself with his wine. Somehow you couldn't really pinpoint what you should feel about it.

However, Sylus then did the thing you didn't expect him to. He went back to his pantry to get a glass of water, and then he came to your side to prop you up.

"Drink," he commanded, positioning the glass on your chapped lips. You complied and did so, feeling relief for your throat. Once you were finished, he gently laid you back on the bed and tucked you in, never once taking his eyes off you.

"How are you feeling?"

"Have been better," you quipped dryly. Then it dawned on you that he had never been this gentle with you before. He was showing care, which confirmed one theory you had about him: Sylus could be considerate when he chose to be.

The very fact that you ended back here didn't really faze you much, because in the end, you belonged to him out of all people. Just one thing that still didn't make sense in your mind: "What did you do?"

His burgundy eyes squared at you. "What?"

"There’s no way I could've survived that," you mumbled, trying to gauge his reaction. "You must’ve done something."

“Ha, when it comes to these things, you’re sharp,” Sylus said with a light scoff, and you frowned.

"Answer me."

"Aether Core," he supplied. "It was now in you, repairing your coronary system."

"You..." you were rendered speechless. "You—what? You infused my heart with a Protocore...?"

Just like the one in his eye, he had implanted you with that dangerous fragment that was from something as horrific as a Wanderer. The very thought made your breath hitch.

"Stay calm," he commanded, his hand found yours when he noticed your horrified expression, squeezing it as if to provide some sort of reassurance. "You'll be fine."

"H-how... why..."

"That was your only chance, or you would’ve been dead." Sylus' tone was harsher now, his jaw set firmly. "I keep telling you not to rush in carelessly, and yet you did. Did you even know how bad your state was when I found you? No, you didn't."

The way he spoke made you feel as though you were being blamed, and overwhelmed with your frustration, you retorted sharply, "No one asked you to save me."

Awkward silence lingered for a good one minute after your jab. You turned away from him, feeling conflicted, because you knew you should be grateful that he did so, because it meant the Aether Core inside you now was the one he had been looking for in that auction.

He gave it up to save you.

Still, it confused you.

“If I died...” you began, bitterness creeping into your voice. “Then it just means I’m no longer useful to you. You always discard things that no longer serve your purpose.”

You turned back to him, meeting his impassive gaze. “So why? Did you pity me after discovering my feelings? Is that why?”

There are many labels in your relationship. Master and servant. Onychinus leader and his right-hand woman. But you were also his lover, even unsaid. Was that fact that did it? Or a mere charity for the weak, you?

Suddenly, Sylus placed his palm over your chest, right where your heartbeat pulsed. You stiffened, bracing for some sort of impact.

But no, it wasn’t anything sensual like he usually did. His hand—large and warm—was a comforting presence, resting on your chest and feeling the steady rhythm of your heartbeat.

"Haven't I told you that I never act out of pity?" Sylus' voice was strained but softer than usual, his deep burgundy eyes holding yours. "Do you really need me to spell it out?"

You didn't dare to look away, for the moment of truth was right in front of you.

"My only regret is not being able to pull you back," he said quietly, his tone somber. "I shouldn't have let you get hurt."

Oh. You blinked, taking in his sincere words, something inside you softening and warming at his words.

You had noticed it too. Despite his roguish exterior, he had always looked after you during your time together. It was just that you hadn’t dared to hope for more.

“The naughty little kitten has managed to worm her way into me, it seems,” he chuckled then, flashing you that cocky smile. “So now, she has to be held responsible for her actions.”

His red gaze narrowed as he added. “Moreover, since I have saved your life— you owe it to me not to throw it away so easily. So you can’t rush into danger carelessly again, you hear?”

Those playful remarks were enough to dispel your doubts and insecurities. They answered everything you had been questioning, and knowing it, finally you let out a relieved sigh and exasperated snort. “You shameless bastard...”

And when he leaned in to place a fleeting, innocent kiss on your forehead, you realized that, in his own way, he saw you just as you saw him, even if only a little.

Sylus settled into the bed beside you, wrapping his arms around you and letting your head rest on his arm. Tonight, there were no passionate kisses, no steamy foreplay, or dirty talks— just you being alive and well in his embrace.

“How long have I been out?”

“Three weeks, woman. Luke and Kieran keep mourning you everyday.”

“Three weeks?! How did you manage without me for that long?”

Sylus glanced at you, a contented smile on his face as he held you close. “It’s been horrid.”

Neither of you would be caught dead saying “I love you”, and yet, regardless, you knew that right this moment meant so much more.

[sea-salted-wolverine]

my mutual, my love dove, my baby girl (gender neutral) we do not share the same tastes, and that is okay. You are responsible for at least one if not more of the filtered tags on my dash. I love you, but I do not love the things that you love. I fully believe that you said something clever and witty and insightful about one of the most deranged derivative pieces of media on earth. I do not know if you actually said something witty and clever because I have the tag blocked. I appreciate your tagging habits that allow me to do this.

Apple of my eye, delight of my heart, you have recently gotten into a new thing. I did my research. I went into the tag. My darling this is the magic of online friendship. Because by God it is bad. And if I knew you in real life I would have to politely smile at a spot just behind your ear whilst you ramble on, but thank God for the tools that allow me to literally filter out your fascinations that I have no interest in.

Sweetheart, I strive to match your meticulous tagging habits that you may do the same to me. You do not need to hear me ramble on about redneck bullshit if you do not wish to. You may ignore my weird art shit with no ill will from me. My lukewarm takes on whatever fandom I've toppled into ass first need not mar your day. The power of the filter makes you a God and you may interact with the version of me that never talks about rocks for hours on end. Admittedly, if you filter out all of it I may be kind of quiet but if that is the version of me you wish to encounter upon the wild plains of this hellsite we call home, all power to you.

And do you know, my beloved, what the best part of all of this is?

We never need to bring it up because not once in a million years will I notice that you haven't interacted with some random genre of posts. Truly we are the masters of our fates. Blacklist that bitch.

[flwrstqr]

∿ LOVE ON THE SPOT — PARK SUNGHOON

preview. › you, a world-renowned oscar-winning actor known for your exceptional talent, and sunghoon, a celebrated formula 1 driver, find yourselves entangled in an unexpected fake marriage. at an extravagant party, your parents announce an arranged marriage to a man you despise. desperate to escape, you impulsively point to sunghoon, a random stranger in the room, and claim to be married to him. as sunghoon plays along and you navigate this fake marriage, could genuine feelings develop from such an impulsive decision?

meet the cast. f1 driver!sunghoon x actor fem!reader (feat noh yunah from illit + cho miyeon from gidle + hyung line of enhypen + other cos)

genre. fake marriage, strangers to lovers, opposites attract, slightly enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, romance, medium fic, crack, angst

word count. 13k+

warnings. cursing, partying, drinking, profanity (no nsfw or smut), lots of bickering between them, sunghoon being very cold in the fic, fighting, yn being drunk, kissing, small grammar errors

danielle's note 𖥔 i really wanted to write an f1 racing au but like even tho i dont really watch f1. but I LOVEE f1 aus,, theyre js so hot yk!!! (and this fic is for my sunghoon girls!!!! wink wink im looking at u jenni) so i hope u guys enjoy this :333 also ignore how its like lowercase than uppercase cause i wrote this for 1 week..

﹙⠀ PLAYiNG . . . bad boy by red velvet, woke up by xg, break up with you girlfriend by ariana grande, so american by olivia rodrigo, like that by baby monster, the great mermaid by lesserafim

YOU'VE BEEN IN SPOTLIGHT FOR AS LONG AS YOU CAN REMEMBER. YN LN in another movie and killing it. The world knows your name, your face, your every move. A famous actor, adored by millions, you’ve mastered the art of charm on-screen and off. Cameras flash wherever you go, and you’ve become a professional at smiling through it all.

Then there’s Sunghoon, the world-renowned F1 driver. Where your world revolves around precision under the watchful eyes of fans, his is all speed and adrenaline. He’s intense, reckless even, living life on the edge at 200 miles per hour. Headlines scream his victories, and you’d think he’d be like every other celebrity you’ve met—full of ego (well has high ego somewhat). But Sunghoon is different.

You’re polar opposites, and everyone knows it. You, poised and polished, carefully calculated in the public eye. Him, unpredictable and wild.

Yet, somehow, your paths crossed, and despite the differences, there’s an undeniable pull between you two. Maybe it's just a play or an act. Or maybe, just maybe, opposites do attract.

THE PARTY WAS BUZZING WITH ENERGY—celebrities everywhere, people laughing, glasses clinking, and the music providing a backdrop to the scene. You stood with Miyeon and Yunah, doing your best to enjoy yourself despite feeling like you'd rather be anywhere else.

“Why do we keep coming to these things?” you sighed, taking a sip of your drink.

Miyeon grinned. “Because you only live once,”

Yunah laughed. “And because there’s always a story by the end of the night.”

You were about to respond when you felt a sudden dread creep up your spine. From the corner of your eye, you saw him—Youngdae. The boy you’d hated since forever. He was strutting towards you with that insufferable smirk on his face, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

You groaned. “Great, here we go.”

Miyeon followed your gaze and rolled her eyes. “Ugh, of course he’s here.”

“I swear he has a radar for wherever you are,” Yunah muttered under her breath.

Before you could brace yourself, Youngdae was already in front of you, flashing that arrogant smile you’d come to hate. “YN, looking stunning as always,” he smirked, leaning a little too close.

You took a step back, barely suppressing an eye roll. “What do you want, Youngdae?”

He chuckled, clearly not picking up on your disinterest. “I just wanted to say hello. Maybe catch up. You know, we could make a great pair, if you gave me a chance.”

Miyeon sighed dramatically and rolled her eyes along with you. “Can you just not?"

Youngdae shot her a look before refocusing his attention on you. “Come on, YN. Why keep fighting it? You and I—”

“Are never going to happen,” Yunah interrupted, stepping between you and Youngdae with a firm hand on his chest. “Back off.”

Youngdae frowned but didn’t push it. He simply shrugged and gave you one last wink before walking away.

“Ugh, he’s so persistent,” Miyeon grumbled as she turned to you. “How do you deal with him?”

“I don’t,” you replied with a soft laughter. “I just survive.”

But just as you were about to relax, you saw your parents making their way toward you. Your mom was smiling, your dad looking pleased as ever. You knew that look. They were up to something.

“There you are, sweetheart!” your mom said brightly, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “We’ve been looking all over for you.”

Your dad smiled beside her, looking equally pleased. “We have some news.”

You raised an eyebrow, wary of whatever was coming. “What news?”

“Well,” your mom began, glancing between you and your friends, “we’ve found you a date. Finally!”

Your stomach dropped. “What?”

Your dad nodded as though this was the best thing in the world. “Yes, with Youngdae. His family is very well connected, and we think—”

“No,” you said, your voice rising slightly. “Absolutely not. There’s no way.”

Your mom blinked, looking surprised by your reaction. “What do you mean? He’s a very eligible young man.”

You stammered, trying to find a way out “I… I… I’m already seeing someone!”

Both your parents stared at you, confusion written across their faces. “You are?” your dad asked, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Yes,” you lied quickly, panic bubbling inside you. “I’ve been seeing someone for a while now, actually.”

Your mom looked intrigued. “Who?”

You swallowed hard, desperately scanning the crowd for someone to point to, just to get out of this mess. Your eyes landed on a guy standing by the bar—a tall figure with dark hair and sharp features. You didn’t recognize him at all, but he looked like he could play the part for a moment.

Hastily, you pointed in his direction. “Him. Over there. He’s… he’s my boyfriend.”

Your parents followed your gaze, squinting toward the bar. Your mom’s eyes widened slightly. “Are you talking about him?”

You nodded, still pointing even though you felt like you were spiraling further into this ridiculous situation. “Yes, we’ve been together for a while now.”

Miyeon was choking on her drink at this point, and Yunah gave you a look like you’d completely lost your mind.

Your dad frowned a little. “Who is he? What’s his name?”

You paused, suddenly realizing you didn’t even know the guy’s name. “Oh, uh… his name is…”

Miyeon whispered urgently beside you, “Don’t make it worse. His name is Sunghoon,”

You repeated,“Sunghoon. Yes Sunghoon.”

Your parents exchanged a glance, and your mom raised an eyebrow. “Sunghoon? You mean the F1 driver?”

Your heart stopped. What? You had no idea. You quickly played along, though, trying to keep your voice steady. “Yes, that’s him. We’ve been keeping things quiet because, you know… the press and all that.”

Your dad looked skeptical, but your mom seemed delighted. “Well, why didn’t you say anything sooner? This is big news!”

Your mind raced, trying to think of a way out of this conversation. “We were waiting for the right time.”

“And when did he propose?” your mom asked, clearly hooked on the story now.

You mentally cursed yourself for making it worse. “Yesterday! Yes, he proposed yesterday. It’s all very new.”

Your parents nodded thoughtfully, clearly pleased with the idea. “Well, we’ll have to meet him properly later,” your dad said. “But for now, we’re glad you’ve found someone.”

Your mom smiled warmly. “We’ll leave you to enjoy your night, darling. But make sure we meet him soon.”

And just like that, they were gone, leaving you standing there in stunned silence.

Miyeon burst out laughing as soon as they were out of earshot. “Oh my god, that was insane.”

Yunah was shaking her head, still in disbelief. “Do you even know who Sunghoon is?”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “I have no idea.”

Miyeon grinned, looking like she was thoroughly enjoying this. “Well, you just told your parents you’re marrying one of the most famous F1 drivers in the world. Good luck with that.”

Your heart sank as you glanced over at the guy you’d pointed to. He still hadn’t noticed anything, thank god, but now you were stuck in the biggest lie of your life.

How were you going to get out of this one?

THE PARTY CONTINUED AROUND YOU, the air buzzing with conversation and the occasional laughter. The idea of approaching the guy you had claimed as your “boyfriend” was now looming over you like a dark cloud. Miyeon and Yunah had been laughing about it all night.

“Okay,” you muttered under your breath, straightening your dress. “He's my future husband.”

You caught sight of Sunghoon at the bar again—still tall, still effortlessly cool, and completely unaware of the situation you had dragged him into. Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself and made your way over, trying to act casual as you pretended to be interested in getting a drink.

"One tequila please," you smiled at the bartender.

As you approached, he glanced at you briefly, then immediately looked away, not even acknowledging your presence. You awkwardly stood next to him, waiting for him to say something, but all you got was silence.

“So… uh, hey,” you started, your voice a little too high-pitched from the nerves. “How’s it going?”

Sunghoon barely glanced at you, his expression flat as he responded, “Fine.”

You blinked, not expecting him to be so cold. You cleared your throat, trying again. “So, I’ve noticed you’ve been hanging around the bar a lot. Are you enjoying the party?”

He sighed, clearly uninterested. “Look, I’m not really here to make friends nor do I know you.”

Your smile faltered as you realized this was going to be harder than you thought. “Oh, no, I wasn’t—” You cut yourself off, feeling a bit foolish. You tried to laugh it off, but it came out awkward. “I was just trying to, you know, start a conversation…”

Sunghoon didn’t even bother to look at you this time. “I’m not interested in whatever this is,” he said bluntly, taking a sip of his drink and turning his back to you slightly, as if dismissing the conversation altogether.

Great, this was going really well.

Before you could think of another way, you heard your mom’s voice calling your name. You looked up in panic to see your parents making their way over, all smiles and clearly excited to meet the man you had so boldly claimed as your fiancé.

You felt your heart leap into your throat. There was no turning back now.

With no other choice, you quickly reached out and grabbed Sunghoon’s arm, yanking him closer to you with a forced smile plastered on your face. “Oh, there you are!” you said brightly, doing your best to make it sound natural. “I was just telling them about how we’re, you know… together.”

Sunghoon stiffened under your touch, his eyes darting between you and your parents, confusion written all over his face. “What—?”

You discreetly stepped on his foot, hard, causing him to wince and bite his lip in pain. You shot him a quick, pleading look, hoping he’d catch on.

“Just play along,” you whispered harshly under your breath, your smile never faltering.

He looked at you for a long moment, clearly irritated, but finally sighed, giving in. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, his tone reluctant. “We’re, uh, together.”

Your parents beamed, completely oblivious to the tension between the two of you. Your mom reached out to shake Sunghoon’s hand enthusiastically. “It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you, Sunghoon! We’ve heard so much about you.”

Sunghoon forced a tight smile, his arm still trapped in your grip. “Yeah… same here.”

Your dad patted him on the back, grinning. “You’re quite the catch! Our YN is lucky to have you.”

You could feel Sunghoon’s frustration simmering beneath the surface, but he kept his expression in check. “Lucky, right,” he mumbled through gritted teeth.

You stepped on his foot again, a little less hard this time, and leaned into him slightly, trying to keep up appearances. “Isn’t he just the best?” you cooed, practically cringing at how fake you sounded.

Sunghoon glanced at you with a pained expression, but he played along, his voice strained. “Yeah… I’m great.”

Your parents couldn’t have been more delighted. “Well, we’ll leave you two lovebirds alone for now,” your mom said with a wink. “But don’t think you’re getting out of dinner with us soon! We need to celebrate this engagement properly.”

You forced another bright smile as they walked away, your stomach churning with dread at the thought of dinner with your parents—and Sunghoon, of all people.

As soon as your parents were out of sight, you let go of Sunghoon’s arm and stepped back, giving him an apologetic look. “I’m really sorry about all of that,” you said quickly. “I didn’t mean to drag you into this, I just—”

Sunghoon held up a hand, cutting you off. “Save it,” he said, his voice clipped. “Just don’t step on my foot again.”

You bit your lip, feeling a little guilty, but also relieved that the worst was over. “I’ll make it up to you, I swear,” you said, trying to sound sincere.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You owe me big time,” he muttered before turning to leave, shaking his head.

A FEW DAYS HAD PASSED SINCE THE PARTY INCIDENT, but the chaos you’d caused still lingered in Sunghoon’s mind. He found himself in the garage with his friends, Jay, Jake, and Heeseung, leaning against his sleek, black sports car as they all casually chatted about their lives. Sunghoon was half-listening, his mind elsewhere, until Jake asked him something that brought him back to reality.

“So, are you going to be in the next race?” Jake asked, wiping his hands on a rag after tinkering with his car.

Sunghoon shrugged. “I haven’t decided yet.”

Heeseung raised an eyebrow. “What’s up with you lately? You’ve been distracted since that party.”

Sunghoon stared at the concrete floor for a moment before casually blurting out, “I’m dating or engaged. Or… something.”

The garage fell into silence. Jay, who had been leaning against a workbench, immediately turned to face Sunghoon with wide eyes. “What?”

Jake looked like he had just swallowed his tongue, blinking at Sunghoon like he hadn’t heard correctly. Heeseung, who was tightening a bolt on his engine, froze mid-motion, his wrench slipping from his grip and clattering to the ground.

“Dude,” Jay said slowly, standing up straight. “Are you serious right now? Did you just say you got engaged?”

Sunghoon scratched the back of his neck, looking both tired and mildly amused at their reactions. “Yeah… or something like that.”

“What do you mean ‘something like that’?” Jake demanded, clearly confused. “Since when are you even dating anyone?”

Sunghoon sighed, leaning further back against his car as he explained, “It’s complicated. Some girl at the party basically told her parents we’re engaged because she was trying to get out of a situation, and I got dragged into it.”

Heeseung let out a low whistle. “Wait, so you’re fake engaged?”

“Pretty much,” Sunghoon said, rubbing his temples like the whole thing gave him a headache.

Jay shook his head, still in disbelief. “That doesn’t even sound real, man. Who is this girl?”

“I don’t even know her that well,” Sunghoon admitted, sounding exasperated. “Her name’s YN,”

Heeseung blinked. “Wait, YN LN?”

“Yeah,” Sunghoon confirmed. “That’s the one.”

Jay nearly choked on his own spit. “You’re telling me you’re fake engaged to the YN LN? The one who’s all over the headlines?”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow. “She’s all over the headlines?”

Jake laughed incredulously, leaning against his car for support. “Dude, how do you not know that? She’s, like, one of the biggest actors right now. ”

Sunghoon rolled his eyes. “I don’t pay attention to that stuff. All I know is that she’s got her parents convinced that we’re together, and now I have to figure out how to get out of this without causing a massive scene.”

Jay shook his head, still grinning. “This is insane. You, of all people, caught up in some fake engagement with a celebrity.”

Heeseung smirked. “You’ve been in some high-speed races before, but this might be the wildest thing you’ve ever gotten into.”

Sunghoon groaned, crossing his arms over his chest. “Tell me about it. And the worst part is, her parents think I’m some perfect gentleman or something. They’re probably planning the wedding already.”

Jake chuckled, nudging Sunghoon with his elbow. “Well, look at the bright side—you’ve always been good under pressure. This is just another challenge.”

Sunghoon shot him a look. “Yeah, but this isn’t a race. This is someone’s life we’re talking about.”

Jay grinned. “And yours, apparently.”

Sunghoon sighed again, feeling the weight of the situation settling on him once more. “I’m just trying to figure out how to handle it without causing a mess. I don’t even know why I agreed to go along with it in the first place. Plus, I don't know this girl.”

Heeseung patted him on the back, smirking. “Maybe you just didn’t want to let the girl down. Sounds like you’re already some hero,”

Sunghoon shot him a deadpan look. “Yeah, sure. That’s exactly what I’m going for.”

Jay laughed. “Well, good luck, man. Just try not to end up accidentally married before you figure out how to get out of this.”

Sunghoon rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips. “Thanks for the advice,” he said dryly with a hint of sarcasm. “I’ll be sure to avoid that.”

MIYEON AND YUNAH DRAGGED YOU OUT TO A STREET RACE. you weren’t exactly in the mood for it, but they insisted, pulling you along with promises of fun and a chance to clear your mind (and meet your so-said husband). engines roared, and the night was alive with the sound of revving motors and the sharp smell of gasoline.

as you scanned the area, your eyes landed on a familiar figure leaning casually against a sleek, black car. sunghoon. he looked as cool and composed as ever, his hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket, eyes scanning the crowd with a bored expression. when his gaze finally met yours, his face twisted into a look of irritation, and he rolled his eyes dramatically.

of course he would be here, you thought. but you knew you needed to talk to him about the upcoming dinner. miyeon and yunah noticed your sudden change in demeanor and shot you questioning looks, but you brushed them off, telling them you'd be back in a minute.

you made your way over to where sunghoon was standing. he didn’t bother to move as you approached, just watched you with that same indifferent, slightly irritated expression.

“sunghoon,” you started, trying to keep your voice steady, “we need to talk.”

he raised an eyebrow, clearly uninterested. “about what?” he asked, his tone dripping with disinterest.

“about the dinner,” you replied, not backing down despite his attitude. “my parents want us to be there together.”

sunghoon let out an exaggerated sigh, rolling his eyes again. “can’t you just tell your parents we got into some argument and divorced or something?” he said coldly, his voice laced with sarcasm.

you clenched your fists, trying to keep your cool. “no, i can’t do that, sunghoon. it’s already confirmed. my parents are planning a wedding.”

for a moment, sunghoon’s expression faltered, a flash of something unreadable crossing his face. but just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone, replaced by his usual cold look “a wedding?” he repeated, as if the word itself was foreign to him. “are you serious?”

“dead serious,” you replied, “they think we’re the perfect match or something. and they’re not taking no for an answer.”

sunghoon ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. “this is ridiculous,” he muttered under his breath, though it was loud enough for you to hear. “so what? we’re supposed to just play along with this charade? pretend like everything’s fine?”

“i don’t see any other option,” you said, “if we don’t, they’ll just make things worse. we need to figure out how to handle this.”

sunghoon didn’t respond right away, his gaze drifting away from you as he stared off into the distance, lost in thought. after a moment, he pulled out his phone and held it out to you, his expression unreadable. “give me your number,” he said, his tone more resigned than anything.

you blinked, slightly taken aback by his sudden change in attitude, but quickly recovered, pulling out your own phone and exchanging numbers with him. the whole interaction felt strange, like you were stepping into unfamiliar territory.

“i’ll text you the details,” you said, trying to keep the conversation moving. “we’ll figure out a plan.”

sunghoon nodded, slipping his phone back into his pocket. for a brief moment, it almost seemed like the tension between you two had eased, but then he spoke again, his voice back to its usual coldness. “just don’t expect me to play nice,” he warned, his eyes narrowing slightly. “i’m not doing this for you. i’m doing this to get them off my back.”

THE NIGHT OF THE DINNER ARRIVED FATER THAN YOU ANTICIPATED, and before you knew it, you found yourself standing outside your parents’ house with sunghoon by your side. the two of you looked like the perfect couple, at least on the surface. you were both dressed impeccably—sunghoon in a sharp black suit (for the first time) and you in a simple, black dress that your mom had insisted you wear.

as you walked up to the front door, you forced a smile, hoping it didn’t look as strained as it felt. “remember, just play along,” you whispered to sunghoon as you reached for the doorbell.

sunghoon sighed, barely masking his irritation. “yeah, yeah, i know the drill.”

the door swung open almost immediately, and you were greeted by your mother’s beaming face. “oh, there they are! my favorite couple,” she gushed, pulling you both into a tight hug. sunghoon stiffened beside you, clearly uncomfortable with the affectionate display, but he managed to return your mother’s smile.

“hi, mom,” you said, your voice a little too bright. “we’re here.”

“come in, come in!” she insisted, ushering you both inside. “dinner’s almost ready. your father’s been looking forward to this all week.”

as you entered the dining room, the smell of home-cooked food filled the air, mingling with the scent of fresh flowers. everything was arranged, from the perfectly folded napkins to the silverware.

“you two look wonderful,” your dad remarked, giving you both an approving nod as he took his seat at the head of the table. “it’s nice to finally have a proper family dinner.”

sunghoon flashed a polite smile, though you could tell he was barely holding back his annoyance. “thanks, sir. we’re happy to be here.”

you shot him a quick glance, impressed by his ability to keep up the act, even if it was just barely. every time your parents asked about your “relationship,” you forced a smile and nodded along with whatever sunghoon said, even when he was being sarcastic.

“so, how did you two meet?” your mom asked, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

“it was... quite the story,” you began, trying to come up with something that wouldn’t sound too ridiculous.

sunghoon leaned back in his chair, smirking slightly. “yeah, she practically threw herself at me,” he said with a teasing tone that made you want to kick him under the table.

“oh, did she now?” your dad chuckled, clearly amused.

you felt your cheeks flush, but you kept your composure, forcing a laugh. “he’s exaggerating, of course,” you said, giving sunghoon a pointed look. “we met through mutual friends.”

sunghoon shrugged, his smirk never leaving his face. “something like that.”

sunghoon seemed to take every opportunity to make subtle jabs at you, whether it was a sarcastic comment about your habits or a teasing remark about your so-called relationship. it took everything in you not to snap at him in front of your parents.

finally, after what felt like an eternity, your parents excused themselves to the kitchen, leaving you and sunghoon alone at the table. the moment they were out of earshot, you turned to him, your fake smile dropping instantly.

“do you have to be such a jerk?” you hissed, keeping your voice low.

sunghoon rolled his eyes, leaning forward with an exasperated sigh. “i’m just trying to get through this as quickly as possible. it’s not my fault your parents are so nosy.”

“they’re not nosy, they’re just... interested,” you retorted, though even you could hear how weak your argument sounded. “and you don’t have to be so sarcastic all the time.”

“and you don’t have to be so uptight,” sunghoon shot back, his eyes narrowing. “seriously, you act like this is the end of the world.”

“maybe because it feels like it,” you snapped, crossing your arms over your chest. “i didn’t ask for any of this, sunghoon.”

“neither did i,” he countered, his voice cold. “but here we are.”

before you could respond, you heard footsteps approaching, and you quickly plastered a fake smile back on your face. sunghoon did the same, though his expression looked more like a grimace than anything else.

your parents reentered the room, both of them carrying trays of dessert. “hope you two saved room for dessert!” your mom chimed, setting the trays down on the table.

“of course,” sunghoon replied smoothly, his tone completely different from the one he’d used just moments ago. he even managed to let out a laugh, though it sounded forced to your ears. you joined in, though your own laughter felt hollow.

as the evening finally came to a close, you stood by the door with sunghoon, thanking your parents for the dinner. they were both smiling, clearly satisfied with how the night had gone.

“thanks for coming,” your mom said, giving you both a warm hug. “we’ll have to do this again sometime.”

“definitely,” you lied, forcing another smile. “we’ll let you know.”

as soon as you were out the door, you let out a long sigh, the tension leaving your body all at once. sunghoon walked beside you in silence, his expression unreadable.

“thanks for playing along,” you said quietly, not really expecting a response.

sunghoon glanced at you, his eyes softening slightly. “yeah, well, don’t get used to it,” he muttered, though there was less bite in his tone than before.

YOU WERE IN THE MIDDLE OF A BUSY SHOOT when one of your co-workers approached you with a grin. “hey, we’re planning a party for yunjin’s birthday this weekend! you should totally come,” they said, excitement bubbling in their voice.

you paused, considering it for a moment. parties weren’t really your thing; you preferred quieter, more intimate gatherings. (despite you saying that you were some "extrovert). but you didn’t want to seem like a killjoy, especially since you’d been getting along well with the rest of the crew. “hmm, sure,” you replied, trying to sound enthusiastic.

your co-worker beamed. “great! it’s gonna be a lot of fun. oh, and by the way, it’s a plus-one kind of thing. you can bring a friend… or your boyfriend.” they winked at you, clearly teasing.

you managed a small laugh, though inside, you were already feeling the pressure. “oh, okay,” you said, keeping your tone light. but as they walked away, the reality of the situation began to sink in. a plus-one. great.

back in your dressing room, you slumped into a chair, staring at your phone. you were part of a close-knit trio of friends, and the idea of inviting just one of them felt wrong. how could you choose between them? you knew if you invited one, the other would inevitably feel left out. the last thing you wanted was to create tension among your friends.

hours passed, and you found yourself going back and forth in your mind. should you just skip the party altogether? but then again, you’d already said yes, and backing out now would seem weird. besides, yunjin was nice, and you didn’t want to disappoint her.

finally, an idea began to take shape in your mind. it wasn’t ideal, but it might be the simplest solution. with a resigned sigh, you decided to invite sunghoon. after all, you owed him for putting up with your parents’ dinner, and this could be a way to pay him back. besides, it wasn’t like you were going to have a good time anyway—might as well drag him along.

you typed out a quick message and hesitated for a moment before hitting send.

hey, there’s this party for one of my co-workers. it’s a plus-one thing. wanna come?

it didn’t take long for his reply to come through.

fine. don’t expect me to stay for long, though.

you rolled your eyes at the screen, but a small smile tugged at the corner of your lips. typical sunghoon. at least he agreed to go, which took some of the pressure off you. you quickly texted back a simple thanks, and put your phone away, trying not to overthink the whole thing.

THE BAR WAS ALIVE WITH ENERGY as you stepped inside with sunghoon by your side. people were packed together on the dance floor. laughter and chatter filled the air, mingling with the clinking of glasses and the occasional burst of a drunken cheer. couples were scattered around, some dancing close, others tucked away in corners, stealing kisses that made you roll your eyes.

“this place is… lively,” sunghoon muttered, his eyes scanning the crowd.

“yeah, it’s a party,” you replied with a slight shrug, though you couldn’t help but feel a bit out of place. you weren’t exactly the party type, and neither was sunghoon, which made the whole situation feel a little surreal.

deciding to get a drink to ease the tension, you made your way over to the bar, sunghoon following closely behind. the bartender barely glanced at you as he took your order, quickly mixing up a couple of drinks and sliding them across the counter. you grabbed your glass, taking a sip of the cool liquid, hoping it would help you relax.

sunghoon took a swig of his drink, his expression unreadable. “so, how long do we have to stay here?” he asked, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

“just a little while,” you replied, trying not to sound too eager to leave. “it’s yunjin’s birthday. i can’t just disappear after showing up.”

sunghoon sighed but didn’t argue, taking another drink instead. just as you were about to take another sip, you heard a familiar voice call out your name.

“oh my god, y/n!” yunjin’s voice rang out, full of excitement as she made her way over to you. she looked gorgeous, her outfit sparkling under the bar’s dim lights. “i’m so glad you came!” she exclaimed, wrapping you in a quick hug.

“of course,” you replied, returning her hug with a smile. “happy birthday!”

as yunjin pulled away, her eyes drifted over to sunghoon, and her expression shifted from excitement to shock. “wait a minute… are you with the famous f1 driver, sunghoon?!” she nearly squealed, her eyes wide with disbelief.

sunghoon gave her a polite nod, a small smile playing on his lips. “that would be me,” he said, his tone smooth and calm as ever.

yunjin’s mouth dropped open in awe, clearly starstruck. “i can’t believe this! i didn’t know you were engaged to him, y/n!” she exclaimed.

“uh, yeah… we go way back,” you said awkwardly, trying to keep the conversation light. yunjin was too caught up in her excitement to notice your discomfort, though, as she quickly introduced herself to sunghoon, gushing about how much she admired his career.

sunghoon handled it with grace, his usual cool demeanor never faltering. you watched the interaction with a mixture of amusement and mild irritation—sunghoon always seemed so effortless in social situations, even when he clearly didn’t want to be there.

after a few more minutes of chatting, yunjin finally excused herself to mingle with other guests, leaving you and sunghoon alone again. you downed the rest of your drink in one gulp.

“she seems nice,” sunghoon commented, his tone neutral as he sipped his drink.

“yeah, she’s great,” you agreed, though your mind was elsewhere. you could still feel the lingering stares from some of the other partygoers who had noticed sunghoon’s presence. it wasn’t every day that a famous athlete showed up at a regular birthday party, after all.

as the night wore on, you found yourself relaxing a little, the alcohol helping to take the edge off your nerves. you and sunghoon stayed near the bar, occasionally chatting about nothing in particular. but just as you were starting to feel comfortable, disaster struck.

you reached for another drink, but your hand wobbled, and before you knew it, the glass tipped over, spilling its contents all over your dress. you let out a startled gasp, staring down at the growing stain on your outfit.

“fuck,” you muttered, feeling a flush of embarrassment rise to your cheeks. without thinking, you quickly excused yourself and made trip to the bathroom, hoping to save your dress before the stain set in.

as you stood in front of the mirror, dabbing at the stain with a paper towel, the bathroom door swung open, and sunghoon stepped inside. you glanced up, surprised to see him there.

“what are you doing?” you asked.

“what does it look like? helping,” sunghoon replied, grabbing another paper towel and joining you at the sink. his presence was a little too close for comfort, his arm brushing against yours as he leaned in to inspect the damage.

“i can handle it,” you insisted, though you didn’t move away.

“clearly,” he said dryly, his lips curving into a slight smirk as he continued to blot the stain. the scent of his cologne filled the small space, a mix of something clean and crisp that was distinctly him. it made your heart skip a beat, though you tried to ignore it.

“you didn’t have to follow me in here, you know,” you muttered, focusing on the task at hand.

“someone had to make sure you didn’t completely ruin your dress,” he retorted, his tone teasing. “besides, it’s not like i was having a great time out there.”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress a small smile. “you’re such a pessimist.”

“and you’re such a klutz,” he shot back. for a moment, the bickering felt almost normal, like you weren’t two people stuck in a fake marriage.

as you continued to dab at the stain, your hands occasionally brushed against each other, and you became acutely aware of how close sunghoon was standing to you. the small bathroom seemed to shrink around you.

“you know, you didn’t have to invite me to this,” sunghoon said after a moment, his voice quieter now. “i’m sure you could’ve brought someone you actually like.”

“don’t flatter yourself,” you replied, though there was a hint of playfulness in your tone. “i figured this was a good way to pay you back for that dinner. besides, i couldn’t just pick one friend to invite. it felt… wrong.”

sunghoon glanced at you, his expression softening slightly. “i get it. but still, this whole thing is just—”

“a fake marriage, yeah, i know,” you cut in, a bit more bitterly than you intended. “but we’re stuck with it, so we might as well make the best of it.”

unknown to either of you, the bathroom door had been left slightly ajar, and just outside, youngdae stood with a smug smirk on his face. he had heard every word, and as he quietly backed away, a plan began to form in his mind. he couldn’t believe his luck—overhearing something as juicy as this was too good to pass up.

as he slipped back into the crowd, unnoticed, you and sunghoon continued to bicker in the bathroom, completely unaware that your secret was no longer safe.

YOU HAD NEVER IMAGINED YOURSELF IN THSI SITUATION—standing in a bridal boutique, skimming through racks of wedding dresses with sunghoon awkwardly hovering nearby. your parents had practically forced the two of you to go dress shopping together, giving you an outrageously huge budget and insisting that sunghoon accompany you. after all, what kind of engaged couple doesn’t choose their wedding dress together?

“can’t believe i’m doing this,” sunghoon muttered under his breath, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he stood off to the side, clearly uncomfortable.

“oh, come on,” you teased, holding up a dress with intricate lace detailing. “how bad can it be? just think of it as a chance to play dress-up.”

he rolled his eyes, though a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “yeah, ‘cause that’s exactly what i want to do on my day off—play dress-up.”

you ignored his sarcasm, too engrossed in the rows of dresses before you. everything sparkled and shimmered under the boutique’s soft lighting, and you couldn’t help but gasp in awe every time you pulled out a new dress. “oh my god, isn’t this one so pretty?” you exclaimed, holding up a strapless gown with a flowing tulle skirt.

sunghoon glanced at it, his expression unreadable. “yeah, it’s nice,” he said noncommittally.

“just nice?” you pouted, returning the dress to its rack. “you’re supposed to be helping me choose, you know.”

“i am helping,” he protested, though the way he stood there like a statue suggested otherwise. “i’m here, aren’t i?”

you huffed, turning back to the dresses. after a few more minutes of browsing, you finally picked out a few that caught your eye and headed to the fitting room. “okay, i’m gonna try these on. don’t go anywhere,” you instructed, pointing at him as you disappeared behind the curtain.

sunghoon sighed and leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. he wasn’t sure how he ended up in this position—fake marriage or not, this felt a little too real for his liking. but as much as he wanted to be anywhere else, he couldn’t deny the slight curiosity that tugged at him as he waited for you to reappear.

a few minutes later, you stepped out of the fitting room in the first dress, a simple yet elegant gown with delicate lace sleeves. you did a little twirl, smiling at yourself in the mirror before turning to sunghoon. “what do you think?”

sunghoon’s breath caught in his throat as he looked at you. for a moment, he forgot how to speak, his usual cool demeanor slipping as he took in the sight before him. when had you become this… pretty?

he quickly schooled his expression, trying to sound indifferent. “it’s okay, i guess.”

you frowned, though not completely disappointed. “just okay? really?”

“yeah, it’s fine,” he said, averting his gaze as if the dress wasn’t making his heart race.

you sighed, but didn’t let his lackluster response dampen your mood. “well, i have a few more to try on. maybe you’ll like the next one better.”

as you disappeared back into the fitting room, sunghoon let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. what was wrong with him? this was just dress shopping, nothing more. yet, the image of you in that dress lingered in his mind, making it hard to focus on anything else.

a few minutes later, you emerged again, this time in a dress that was the complete opposite of the first—sleek, modern, with a plunging neckline and an open back. you looked at sunghoon expectantly, waiting for his reaction.

once again, sunghoon felt his heart skip a beat. the dress hugged your curves perfectly, accentuating every line and angle. he swallowed hard, trying to keep his voice steady. “it’s… okay too.”

you raised an eyebrow, not convinced. “that’s all you have to say? you’re not very helpful, you know.”

“they all look fine,” he insisted, though in truth, he was struggling to keep his emotions in check. every dress you tried on seemed to outshine the last, and it was becoming harder for him to maintain his usual aloofness.

you tried on a few more dresses, each one stunning in its own way, but every time you asked for his opinion, he gave the same response: “it’s okay.”

by the time you tried on the fifth dress, you were starting to get frustrated. “you literally said the same thing for the past five dresses,” you pointed out, hands on your hips as you glared at him in the mirror.

sunghoon shifted uncomfortably, feeling the weight of your stare. “well, they’re all okay, i guess…” he mumbled, avoiding your eyes.

“ugh, you’re impossible,” you groaned, though there was a hint of a smile on your lips. “at this rate, we’ll never choose a dress.”

sunghoon glanced at you, his gaze softening for a moment. “you look good in all of them,” he admitted quietly, barely loud enough for you to hear.

you paused, taken aback by his words. it wasn’t much, but coming from him, it felt like a genuine compliment. “really?” you asked, your annoyance melting away as a smile spread across your face.

sunghoon looked away, feeling a little embarrassed. “yeah, really,” he said, clearing his throat as if to cover up the sincerity in his voice.

eventually, after much thinking, you finally chose a dress—a classic, timeless gown that felt like the perfect balance between elegance and simplicity. as you stood in front of the mirror, admiring the final choice, you couldn’t help but notice the way sunghoon was looking at you. his usual stoic expression had softened, and there was something in his eyes that made your heart flutter.

“so, this is the one?” he asked, his voice oddly gentle.

“yeah,” you replied, meeting his gaze in the mirror. “this is the one.” maybe, just maybe, this fake marriage was becoming something a little more real.

YOU, MIYEON, AND YUNAH ARE SPRAWLED COMFORTABLY ON THE OVERSIZED COUCH in Miyeon’s living room, a place you've all come to consider your second house (because of how many times the three of you stay at).

Yunah is on her phone, as usual, her eyes scanning the screen rapidly. Suddenly, she pauses, her lips curling into a smirk. “Well, well, look who’s trending,” she drawls, her eyes flicking up to meet yours. “You and Sunghoon are all over the news. Everyone's saying you’re officially together.”

Miyeon perks up at this as she leans forward. “Let me see!” she says eagerly, reaching out for Yunah’s phone.

Yunah hands it over with a knowing smile. “It’s literally everywhere,” she repeats, her tone teasing but supportive. “You guys are the talk of the town.”

Miyeon’s eyes widen as she scrolls through the headlines, her fingers flying across the screen. “Wow, they’re even calling you the ‘It’ couple of the year,” she remarks, half in awe, half in disbelief. “This is huge!”

You sigh, “I knew the story would get out, but I didn’t expect it to blow up like this,” you admit, running a hand through your hair.

Yunah chuckles, nudging you playfully. “Well, you’re both celebrities in your own right. An actor and a Formula 1 driver? That’s headline gold right there.”

Miyeon hands the phone back to Yunah, turning her attention to you with a curious glint in her eye. “So, how’s it been? Pretending to be married to one of the hottest guys on the planet? Any sparks flying yet?”

You blush, recalling the moments you’ve shared with Sunghoon—the way his gaze lingers on you a little longer than necessary, the way his cologne mingles in the air, the way he complimented you at the wedding dress shop. “It’s… interesting,” you say, trying to keep your tone neutral. “We’re both just trying to play our parts and not let things get too complicated.”

“Too late for that,” Yunah quips, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Come on, there’s gotta be something there.”

Miyeon nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, you can’t fool us. We know you too well. Besides, if you’re gonna be in the spotlight, you might as well enjoy it, right?”

You let out a small laugh, feeling the warmth of their support. “I don’t know… it’s all so confusing. One minute, it feels like we’re just playing a role, and the next, it feels… real.”

Yunah places a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Just take it one step at a time. Don’t overthink it. If it’s meant to be, it’ll happen.”

Miyeon grins, giving you an encouraging look. “And in the meantime, we’ll be here to cheer you on. Fake or not, this is your story, and you get to write the ending.”

THE NIGHT AIR WAS THICK WITH THE ENERGY of the city as you, Miyeon, and Yunah staggered out of the cozy, dimly lit bar you’d spent the evening in. The three of you had gone out for a few drinks to unwind, but a few turned into more than you could count, and now you were decidedly tipsy—no, scratch that, you were drunk. The kind of drunk that makes the world spin and words blur together.

Miyeon, ever the responsible one, was trying to hail a cab while Yunah clung to your arm, giggling uncontrollably at something you couldn’t quite remember. A soft breeze ruffling your hair as you leaned against a lamppost, the ground feeling a little too far away for comfort.

“I should call… someone…” you muttered, fumbling for your phone in your bag, your fingers clumsy and uncoordinated.

Yunah snorted, still giggling. “Who’re you gonna call? Ghostbusters?”

“Sunghoon,” you slurred, finding his number on your phone with surprising accuracy despite the alcohol fogging your brain. Without another thought, you pressed the call button, bringing the phone to your ear as it rang.

On the other end, Sunghoon was sitting on the couch in his sleek, modern apartment, absentmindedly flipping through channels on the TV. He wasn’t really paying attention to anything in particular; his mind was elsewhere. Specifically, it was on you. At first, he’d told himself it was just part of the act, that he was only playing the role of your fake fiancé. But the more time he spent with you, the more he started to question that.

His phone buzzed on the coffee table, and he glanced at the screen, frowning slightly when he saw your name. You never called him, especially not this late. With a hint of worry, he picked up. “Hello?”

“Sunghoon!” you exclaimed, far too loud for a late-night call. Your voice was slurred.

“Are you… drunk?” he asked, his concern deepening. He could hear you giggling on the other end, and it did something funny to his chest. “Where are you?”

“Out… with Miyeon and Yunah. We’re having soooo much fun!” You hiccuped.

Sunghoon’s brow furrowed as he stood up, already grabbing his keys off the table. “You shouldn’t be out there alone. Stay where you are, I’m coming to get you.”

“But I’m not alone!” you protested, sounding like a child. “I’m with Miyeon and Yunah! They’re sooooo funny…”

“Stay there,” he repeated, more firmly this time. “I’m on my way.”

You didn’t seem to hear him, too busy giggling with Yunah about something that had apparently happened earlier in the evening. Sunghoon didn’t waste any more time. He was out the door and in his car within minutes, the engine roaring to life as he sped through the city streets.

By the time he reached the bar, you were sitting on the curb with Miyeon and Yunah, both of whom were also a little tipsy but still more composed than you. The moment Sunghoon stepped out of his car, your eyes lit up, though you didn’t seem to fully recognize him.

“There he is!” Miyeon said, relief evident in her voice as she waved him over. “She’s all yours, Sunghoon. Good luck.”

Sunghoon couldn’t help but chuckle despite his worry as he approached you. You looked up at him with a lazy grin, your eyes glazed over. “Who’re you?” you asked, tilting your head to the side in confusion.

“It’s me, Sunghoon,” he replied, crouching down in front of you. “Let’s get you home.”

You pouted, shaking your head like a stubborn child. “I don’t know you,” you mumbled, crossing your arms. “I’m not going anywhere with a stranger.”

Sunghoon sighed, knowing there was no point in arguing with you in this state. “Alright, alright,” he said, trying to keep his tone soothing. “But we can’t stay here. How about I take you somewhere safe?”

You squinted at him, clearly trying to decide if you could trust him. After a moment, you seemed to make up your mind and nodded. “Okay… but no funny business, mister!”

Sunghoon chuckled softly, his heart doing that funny little flip again. He gently helped you to your feet, slipping an arm around your waist to steady you. “I promise,” he said, leading you toward his car.

The drive was quiet, save for your occasional hiccup or mumble about how the city lights were so pretty. Sunghoon kept glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.

When you arrived at his apartment, Sunghoon helped you out of the car and into the elevator. You leaned heavily against him, clearly exhausted but still stubbornly refusing to give him your address. He figured it was safer to just keep you with him for the night.

His apartment was as sleek and modern as ever, but tonight, it felt different having you there. He led you to the guest bedroom, flicking on the light as he helped you sit on the edge of the bed.

“Here we are,” he said softly, crouching down to help you with your shoes. “You can sleep here tonight.”

You blinked down at him, a smile spreading across your face. “You’re really nice for a stranger,” you slurred, reaching out to pat his head clumsily.

Sunghoon felt his face heat up, and he quickly stood, hoping you wouldn’t notice. “Okay, now go to sleep,” he said, trying to sound firm.

As he tucked you in, pulling the blanket up around you, you suddenly leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. The taste of alcohol lingered on your breath as you pulled back, giggling. “Thank you, stranger,” you murmured, your eyelids drooping heavily.

Sunghoon froze, his heart pounding in his chest. He stared down at you.

“Okay, now go to sleep,” he repeated, this time more to himself than to you as he gently pushed you back onto the pillow.

You were already half asleep, a soft smile on your lips as you mumbled something he couldn't puzzle out. Sunghoon stood there for a moment longer, just watching you.

Finally, he turned off the light and quietly left the room, closing the door behind him. As he leaned against the wall outside, he let out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair.

He was definitely catching feelings for you, and tonight had only made that fact impossible to ignore. But for now, he pushed those thoughts aside, focusing on the simple fact that you were safe, and that was all that mattered.

For now.

YOU WAKE UP WITH A POUNDING HEADACHE. Groaning, you reach up to rub your temples, your eyes still squeezed shut against the harsh morning light filtering through the curtains. When you finally dare to open them, the first thing you see is a glass of water and a single pill on the nightstand next to you.

Grateful, you reach for the water and swallow the pill, hoping it’ll take the edge off your hangover. But as you set the glass back down, something feels… off. You blink a few times, trying to clear the fog from your mind. This didn’t look like your bedroom. Where were you?

You sit up slowly, the blanket sliding off your legs as you take in your surroundings. The room is spacious and sleek, with modern, minimalist decor—a far cry from the cozy clutter of your own place. Panic starts to bubble up in your chest as you swing your legs over the side of the bed, your feet meeting the cool hardwood floor.

You stand, wobbling slightly as the room tilts beneath you. After a moment, you steady yourself and start to walk toward the door. The apartment is eerily quiet, the only sound the faint hum of the city beyond the windows. You weren't kidnapped right?

You wander through the hallway, glancing at the modern art on the walls and the polished furniture that looks like it belongs in a high-end magazine. None of it is familiar. Displays of trophies. Your heart pounds faster as you pass by a living room with a sleek black couch and a glass coffee table, everything impeccably neat. Where are you?

Finally, you reach the kitchen, your breath catching in your throat as you see a tall figure standing by the counter, his back to you. He’s dressed casually, a black t-shirt stretching across his broad shoulders, his hair slightly tousled like he’s just woken up. The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafts through the air, mingling with the sharp scent of something else—aftershave, maybe.

He turns around, and your heart skips a beat. Sunghoon.

He glances at you, his expression carefully neutral, though you can see the tension in his posture. “You’re awake,” he says, his voice low and measured, as if he’s trying not to sound too concerned.

You blink, still half-convinced you’re dreaming. “Sunghoon?” you whisper, your voice hoarse from sleep. “What… what happened? I was with Yunah and Miyeon…”

He nods, setting down the mug of coffee he was holding. “You were,” he confirms, his tone calm “But you got drunk, really drunk, and I thought it was best you stay here. You were pretty persistent about not telling me your address.”

You stare at him, your mind struggling to piece together the events of the previous night. Flashes of memory come back—calling him, the bar, the lights of the city, his worried face as he helped you into his car. You groan, slapping a hand to your forehead as it all starts to make sense. “Very smart of you, YN..” you mumble to yourself.

“Okay, fine,” you say, crossing your arms defensively. “But I’m still not happy about being brought here without knowing.”

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow, leaning against the counter again. “I didn’t exactly have many options, you know. You wouldn’t tell me your address.”

You huff, feeling a little defensive. “Maybe if you didn’t look so much like a stranger, I would’ve!”

He smirks, crossing his arms to mirror your stance. “I told you who I was. It’s not my fault you couldn’t recognize me in your drunk state.”

You narrow your eyes at him, the headache making you more irritable than usual. “Well, maybe next time you should have tried harder.”

“Next time?” he echoes, a playful glint in his eyes. “So, you’re planning to get drunk and forget who I am again?”

You roll your eyes, refusing to back down. “That’s not what I meant. I just… you could’ve left me with Yunah and Miyeon, you know.”

Sunghoon’s smirk fades slightly, and his tone becomes more serious. “They were tipsy too, and I wasn’t about to leave you with them in that condition. You were my responsibility after you called me.”

You bite your lip, realizing he has a point but not willing to admit it. “Well, you didn’t have to be so overprotective.”

He sighs, the amusement slipping from his face. “I wasn’t being overprotective. I was being responsible.”

You glare at him, but there’s no real anger behind it, “Fine, whatever. But you could’ve at least woken me up or something when we got here.”

He gives you a deadpan look. “You were barely conscious by the time we got here. I didn’t think you’d appreciate being woken up just so you could argue with me.”

You open your mouth to retort but realize you don’t have a good comeback. Instead, you huff again and look away, your arms still crossed. “You’re so annoying.”

Sunghoon chuckles softly, shaking his head. “And you’re impossible.”

THE EVENING SKY WAS A DEEP SHADE OF BLUE. the grand hall filled with laughter, clinking glasses, and the low hum of chatter. Your engagement party was a few weeks later than planned, but no less extravagant.

You stood beside Sunghoon, the two of you playing the part of the perfect couple for the night. He looked effortlessly handsome in a tailored black suit. You were dressed in a stunning gown that flowed like water around you.

Sunghoon leaned in close as you both watched your families mingle and enjoy themselves. “Remember,” he said with a teasing smirk, “don’t drink too much tonight. I don’t think I could survive another night like the last time.”

You elbowed him lightly in the ribs, giving him a mock glare. “Very funny. I’ll have you know I’m fully in control tonight.”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm, sending an unexpected shiver down your spine. “I’m just looking out for you.”

You opened your mouth to retort but were interrupted by the sound of a spoon tapping against a glass. Your father stood at the center of the room, commanding everyone’s attention with his broad smile and booming voice. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, “if I could have your attention, please! It’s time for a toast from the happy couple!”

The guests turned toward you and Sunghoon, their eyes bright with expectation. You felt a flutter of nerves as you stepped forward, taking the microphone that was handed to you. Sunghoon stood beside you, his hand resting lightly on the small of your back—a gesture that felt more practiced than genuine.

You took a deep breath and smiled warmly at the crowd. “Thank you all for being here tonight,” you began, “It means the world to us to have our families and closest friends gathered together to celebrate this special occasion. We couldn’t be happier to share this moment with all of you.”

Sunghoon took the microphone next, his voice smooth and confident as he added, “We’re truly grateful for all the love and support we’ve received. We promise to make the most of this journey together, no matter what the future holds.”

There was a round of applause, followed by the clinking of glasses as everyone raised their drinks in a toast. You exchanged a smile with Sunghoon, relieved that the speech was over, but the evening wasn’t done with its surprises yet.

From somewhere in the crowd, a voice called out, “Give her a kiss!” It started as a playful suggestion, but soon others joined in, chanting and encouraging Sunghoon to kiss you.

Sunghoon chuckled nervously, his usual composed expression faltering slightly. “Oh,” he said, turning to you with a hesitant smile. He took your hand and pressed a soft kiss to your knuckles. “There.”

The crowd groaned in playful disapproval, with some guests booing and others laughing at the display. Your father, always the life of the party, wasn’t about to let it slide. “Come on, Sunghoon! On the lips!”

You froze, feeling the blood drain from your face as the room buzzed with anticipation. Sunghoon looked just as caught off guard, his eyes widening slightly before he forced a smile back onto his face. “Uh, okay…,” he mumbled, clearly out of his depth.

Sunghoon turned back to you, his eyes searching yours for a moment as if silently asking for permission. You gave him a small nod, your heart racing as he leaned in closer. All you could focus on was the feel of his breath against your lips, the scent of his cologne mingling with the faint traces of champagne.

Then, he closed the distance, pressing his lips against yours. It was over before it even began, a brief touch that was more awkward than anything, leaving you both standing there, trying to play it off with polite smiles as the guests erupted into cheers and applause.

But just as you thought the moment had passed, your grandmother’s voice cut through the noise “Y/N! Give him a real kiss!”

Laughter rippled through the room, and you felt your heart sink. This was not part of the plan. You turned to Sunghoon, your eyes wide with a mix of panic and disbelief. He looked just as flustered, his normally calm expression cracking under the pressure.

“Haha…,” you laughed awkwardly, glancing around the room for an escape, but there was none. The guests were all watching, eagerly awaiting the show they’d been promised.

With no other choice, you forced yourself to smile and faced Sunghoon again. “Well…,” you began, trying to sound lighthearted even though your pulse was racing. “Here goes nothing.”

You leaned in, your lips meeting his once more, but this time, there was no hesitation. The kiss was slow, lingering longer than the last. Sunghoon stiffened at first, clearly taken aback by your sudden compliance, but then something shifted. You felt it in the way his hand instinctively came to rest on your waist, pulling you just a little closer as he relaxed into the kiss.

Then, just as quickly as it started, it was over. Sunghoon pulled back, his eyes searching yours with an expression you couldn’t quite read. He looked almost shocked, as if he couldn’t believe what had just happened. But he quickly masked it with a smile, a little forced, but enough to appease the crowd.

The guests erupted into applause, their cheers and laughter filling the room as you blinked.

As the celebration continued around you, your gaze caught on a familiar face in the crowd. Youngdae. He was standing off to the side, his eyes narrowed as he watched the two of you. There was something in his expression—something smug, knowing. It sent a chill down your spine.

THE MORNING WAS SUPPOSED TO BE LIKE ANY OTHER—calm, uneventful. You were scrolling through your phone, sipping on your coffee, when a notification caught your eye. At first, you thought it was just another article about the engagement, another gossip piece speculating about your relationship with Sunghoon. But the headline stopped you cold.

“Sunghoon and Y/N’s Relationship is All Fake and Scripted.”

You felt your heart drop into your stomach, the words blurring in front of your eyes. Panic surged through you as you clicked on the link, your mind racing. How did they find out? Who could have known? As the article loaded, your breath caught in your throat when you saw the author’s name.

Youngdae.

You scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping your lips as the reality of it set in. Of course, it was him. You should’ve known he was up to something, but you had been too distracted.

As you read through the article, each line felt like a slap to the face. He had all the details—the fake marriage, the carefully staged moments, even the reasons behind it all. It was as if he had been there, watching every step of the way, waiting for the perfect moment to expose the truth.

Your hands trembled as you scrolled through the comments, each one more vicious than the last. People were calling you a liar, accusing you of playing with their emotions for publicity. The overwhelming wave of hatred and disappointment made you feel sick.

It was all true. Every word of it. The relationship was fake. You knew that from the start, but seeing it laid out like this—so cold, so calculated—made it feel real in a way that shook you to your core.

You set your phone down, staring blankly at the wall in front of you. The buzz of your phone pulled you out of your daze—numerous missed calls from your parents, texts asking you to explain, to do damage control. But you ignored them. Right now, you couldn’t face them. There was only one person you needed to talk to.

Sunghoon.

THE ROAR OF THE ENGINES FILLED THE AIR the scent of burning rubber and gasoline lingering as you stood by the bleachers, watching the cars speed around the track. It felt like déjà vu, standing here again, in the same spot where you first met Sunghoon. Back then, you had watched him win with ease, his car a blur as he crossed the finish line in first place. Today, you found yourself here again, but everything felt different—heavier, uncertain.

As the race continued, your eyes were locked on Sunghoon’s car. You had come here to support him, to clear your mind and maybe, just maybe, find a way to fix everything. But when his car zoomed past, your heart skipped a beat. His eyes briefly met yours, a flash of recognition in his gaze, but then he looked away, ignoring you completely. A cold wave of dread washed over you.

The race was intense, but something was wrong. Sunghoon wasn’t leading like he usually did. For the first time, you watched as he struggled to maintain his position, falling into second place. It was subtle, but you could see the frustration in his driving, the slight hesitations that weren’t characteristic of him. When he finally crossed the finish line, there was no victory in his expression—only a bitter disappointment.

You didn’t waste any time, rushing down the bleachers, making sure to keep your face covered so no one would recognize you. You had to talk to him, had to find out what was going on. As you made your way to the pit area, your heart pounded in your chest, each step feeling heavier than the last.

You found him near his car, his back turned to you as he spoke with his team. He looked different—tense, his shoulders hunched with frustration. When he finally noticed you, his expression hardened, the coldness in his eyes hitting you like a punch to the gut.

“What do you want, Y/N?” he asked, his voice laced with bitterness.

You froze, taken aback by the harshness in his tone. “I… I just wanted to talk,” you managed to say, your voice trembling slightly.

“Talk about what?” he snapped, crossing his arms over his chest. “Us?”

“Yes,” you whispered, feeling a knot form in your throat. “About us.”

Sunghoon let out a harsh laugh, shaking his head. “There is no ‘us,’ Y/N. It’s over, isn’t it? They know, we know—it’s over.”

His words stung, each one like a dagger to your heart. You opened your mouth to protest, to explain, but nothing came out. He scoffed at your silence, his eyes narrowing in anger. Your eyes dart to his bruised knuckles but you don't ask.

“Sunghoon, please,” you tried again, your voice breaking. “I don’t understand why you’re acting like this.”

“Why?” he echoed, his voice rising in frustration. “Because this is the reason I got second place! Because I couldn’t focus, because all I could think about was this mess we’re in!”

You felt a sharp pang of guilt, the weight of his words sinking in. “Sunghoon, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Enough!” he cut you off, his voice firm and unyielding. “Just forget it, okay? We don’t know each other. It’s better that way.”

You stood there, speechless, as he turned away from you, his figure retreating into the crowd. 

(EARLIER, FLASHBACK)

PARK SUNGHOON STOOD NEAR HIS CAR, focused and mentally preparing himself for the race. But something was different today, a tension in the atmosphere that he couldn’t quite place.

As he made his way towards the pit lane, his eyes caught sight of a figure approaching. It was a young man, tall and lean, with a smug expression plastered across his face. Sunghoon squinted, trying to place the familiarity of the stranger. The man walked with an air of arrogance.

“Who are you?” Sunghoon asked, his voice cold and clipped, betraying the irritation that was beginning to simmer beneath the surface.

The man stopped in front of him, tilting his head slightly as if considering the question. “Youngdae,” he replied, his tone dripping with mockery. “I’m YN’s ‘close’ friend.”

The words hung in the air, the taunting lilt in Youngdae’s voice making Sunghoon’s stomach churn. His mind raced, trying to recall where he had seen this guy before. And then it clicked. The engagement party. Yunjin’s and…your engagement party. Sunghoon’s jaw tightened at the memory.

“And?” Sunghoon demanded, his voice now laced with suspicion. “What do you want?”

Youngdae smirked, clearly enjoying the effect he was having. “Oh, I just wanted to let you know,” he started, his tone nonchalant, “that I know everything. And YN… she’s been doing all of this for me. She told me she liked me.”

Sunghoon’s world tilted at those words. His heart stuttered in his chest, “What?” he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper, as if saying it too loudly would make it true.

Youngdae’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction. “Yeah, she’s been playing you, Sunghoon,” he continued, his voice taunting. “The whole marriage thing? It was just a way for her to escape, to protect me. She’s mine.”

Sunghoon’s blood boiled, his vision narrowing on the man in front of him. Lies. They had to be lies. But the seed of doubt had been planted, twisting and turning in his mind. “Oh really?” Sunghoon muttered, his voice low, dangerous.

Youngdae barely had time to react before Sunghoon’s fist connected with his jaw, sending him staggering backward. Youngdae straightened, wiping the blood from his lip, his smirk only widening.

“Touched a nerve, did I?” Youngdae sneered, stepping forward as if ready for more.

Sunghoon didn’t wait. Another punch.

Finally, with one last kick, Sunghoon sent Youngdae sprawling to the ground, breathing heavily, chest heaving. He stood over the other man, fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles bruised and bloody. But the pain in his hands was nothing compared to the ache in his chest.

“Congratulations,” Sunghoon spat, his voice thick with emotion. “You got yourself a girlfriend.” The words tasted bitter on his tongue.

With that, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Youngdae on the ground. Was it true? Had everything between you been a lie?

IT HAD BEEN A WEEK SINCE THE WORLD YOU CAREFULLY CONSTRUCTED CAME CRASHING DOWN. The memories of that awful day played on a loop in your mind, leaving you exhausted and drained. You spent countless hours crying, the weight of Sunghoon’s words crushing you. Miyeon and Yunah sat by your side, their attempts to comfort you. They tried everything—funny stories, your favorite movies, even bringing you your favorite snacks—but nothing seemed to help.

Meanwhile, Sunghoon was a mess of his own. The usually confident and composed Formula 1 driver was now a stressed for the past week etched deeply into his features. He had barely slept, and when he did, his dreams were haunted by images of you—your smile, your laugh, and the pain in your eyes when he had turned his back on you. He didn’t want to think about it, but it was all he could think about.

He was sitting with Heeseung, Jay, and Jake. Heeseung glanced at Sunghoon, noticing the way his friend had been uncharacteristically quiet, his gaze unfocused as he stared off in the distance. Heeseung finally broke the silence, his tone cautious, “So… you ended things with YN?”

Sunghoon let out a long, heavy sigh, his hand running through his hair in frustration. “Yeah,” he muttered, the word filled with regret. “She was just using me to get some guy named Youngdae.”

Jake raised an eyebrow at that, his skepticism clear. “Her? Use you?” There was disbelief in his voice, as if the idea itself was absurd.

Jay, who had been scrolling through his phone, looked up with a frown. “Did you not read the article?” he asked, his tone serious. “The author is Youngdae. He’s the one who exposed your fake relationship or whatever.”

Sunghoon blinked, the words taking a moment to sink in. “What?” he muttered, confusion lacing his voice. He straightened in his seat, pulling out his phone with shaky hands. His fingers fumbled as he searched for the article, the one he had tried so hard to avoid reading because he thought he already knew the truth.

When the article loaded on his screen, he read it carefully, his eyes scanning every word, every sentence. As the pieces started to fall into place, his heart began to race. The tone of the article, the subtle jabs at both you and him, the not-so-subtle gloating—everything screamed of someone with a personal vendetta. Youngdae. The man who had approached him before the race, taunting him, planting seeds of doubt in his mind. Sunghoon’s eyes widened as realization hit him like a freight train.

“It was all a lie,” he whispered to himself. He looked up at his friends, his expression one of dawning horror. “She wasn’t using me. Youngdae set the whole thing up.”

Heeseung, Jay, and Jake watched as the realization washed over Sunghoon, each of them exchanging worried glances. “Yeah, it looks like that asshole was trying to mess with you both,” Jay said, his voice calm but firm.

Sunghoon’s thoughts were a whirlwind as he pieced everything together. The way Youngdae had approached him, the lies he’d told, the article designed to twist the truth and drive a wedge between you two. How could he have been so blind?

“Shoot,” Sunghoon cursed under his breath, his heart pounding in his chest. “I need to talk to her.”

YOU SIGHED, tugging at the sleeves of your jacket as you followed Yunah and Miyeon through the bustling crowd. The roar of excited fans and the distant rumble of engines filled the air, a constant reminder of where you were—somewhere you hadn’t wanted to be. Yunah had practically dragged you here, insisting that Sunghoon wouldn’t be part of the lineup today. “Just come along for the fun,” she had said. “It’ll be a good distraction.” And you had reluctantly agreed.

But as you found your seat and the contestants started to make their way onto the track, your heart nearly stopped. There he was. Sunghoon, as he strode confidently towards his car, the cheers of the crowd rising in volume.

“You lied, Yunah,” you muttered, narrowing your eyes at your friend.

Yunah winced, offering you a sheepish smile. “Oops. Guess I got that wrong.”

Miyeon chuckled, nudging your shoulder playfully. “Well, you’re not leaving now. We paid for these tickets!”

You rolled your eyes, trying to push down the pain that had been gnawing at you for days. It wasn’t easy seeing him after everything, the memories of your last encounter still fresh and raw. But you couldn’t deny the way your heart skipped a beat when his eyes met yours. For a fleeting moment, a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, but you couldn’t bring yourself to return it, instead looking away quickly, focusing on the crowd.

The race was intense, the final race of the season. whoever won this race would be crowned the champion. Your eyes followed Sunghoon’s car as it sped around the track. You could feel your chest tightening with each passing lap, the anticipation building as he edged closer to victory.

And then, in a blur of speed and adrenaline, Sunghoon crossed the finish line first. The crowd erupted in cheers, the energy electric as the realization set in—he had won. Again.

Sunghoon stepped out of his car, triumphant, the smile on his face broad and genuine as he accepted his trophy. But then, to your surprise, he grabbed the microphone, his voice booming through the speakers.

“This is my fourth year being the champion of this season,” he began, his tone proud but also tinged with something else—something softer. “Thank you, everyone, for your support. It means the world to me.”

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, hoping the moment would pass quickly, but then his words took an unexpected turn.

“And to those who don’t think YN and I are together… we are,” Sunghoon continued, his eyes searching the crowd until they found you. Your breath hitched as he held your gaze. “And I love her. I truly do. I think it’s the way she laughs or smiles. It’s just the way she gives me butterflies. A composure I can’t hold when she’s with me.”

Your eyes widened, confusion and shock swirling in your mind. What was he doing? Was this some kind of joke? But his expression was serious, sincere, and there was a vulnerability in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before.

“I’m sorry, YN,” he said through the mic, the words raw and honest. Before you could process what was happening, you felt hands on your back—Yunah and Miyeon were pushing you out of your seat, urging you forward.

“Go on!” Yunah whispered excitedly, while Miyeon giggled beside her.

You were practically shoved onto the track, and suddenly, you were standing in front of Sunghoon. The world seemed to blur around you, the noise of the crowd fading into the background as all you could focus on was him—just him.

Sunghoon’s eyes softened as he looked at you, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. He stepped closer, lowering the mic, his voice now just for you. “YN, I’m sorry for everything. For just leaving you with no explanation. I let my insecurities get the best of me, and I almost lost you because of it. But I swear, that’s never going to happen again.” You stared at him, confusion on your face.

“ I pieced it all together, and I realized how wrong I was. I was stupid, and I’m so sorry. But I love you, YN. I love you more than I can put into words. And I want us to be official, for real this time.”

Your heart was pounding in your chest, overwhelmed by the flood of emotions washing over you. It felt surreal, like a dream you were afraid to wake up from. “Actually?” you whispered, needing to hear it again, needing to know this was real.

“Actually,” Sunghoon confirmed, a small, hopeful smile on his lips.

A smile slowly crept onto your face as you felt the last of your doubts melt away. “Well… I love you too,” you said, your voice trembling with emotion.

And then, before you could say another word, Sunghoon leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a soft kiss. His hand cupped the side of your face, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek as his lips moved against yours.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and smiling, Sunghoon’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “You know,” he began, his voice teasing, “when you were drunk a few weeks ago, you kissed me on the lips.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” you asked.

“I was just waiting for this moment,” he replied with a grin, pulling you into another kiss as the crowd cheered around you, their applause now a distant echo.

THE CITY WAS ALIVE WITH A SOFT GLOW. Sunghoon drove through the city. You sat beside him, your hand resting comfortably on his as the cool night air streamed in through the open window, brushing against your skin and sending a pleasant shiver down your spine.

The world outside was quiet, peaceful, a perfect contrast to the whirlwind of excitement that had surrounded you both ever since the news broke. Everyone knew now—about the engagement, the wedding plans, the future that was waiting for you both just around the corner.

Sunghoon glanced over at you, a soft smile playing on his lips as he admired the way the moonlight highlighted your features, making you look even more ethereal.

At every green light, he would lean over, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. His lips were soft, lingering just long enough to make your heart flutter, before he would pull away with a grin, only to repeat the sweet gesture at the next light.

“Do you know how beautiful you look right now?” he murmured, his voice low as his fingers intertwined with yours, giving your hand a light squeeze.

You smiled, a blush creeping up your cheeks as you looked over at him. “You always say that,” you teased, but the warmth in your voice showed how much you loved hearing it.

“It’s because it’s true,” he replied softly, leaning in for another kiss as the light turned green. This time, the kiss lingered a little longer, his lips moving tenderly against yours.

When he pulled back, a grin on his face that matched your own. “I can’t wait to marry you,” he whispered.

“Me neither,” you whispered back, leaning in for one more kiss.

[red-riot-unbreakable-heart]

Shoto Todoroki x Reader | First Kiss ❄️🔥💋 PART 4

Part 1: Linked Here | Part 2: Linked Here | Part 3: Linked Here

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Ship: Shoto Todoroki x Fem Reader! 💋

Genre: Fluff, Romance, S*xual Tension, Making Out, Smut

CW: MDNI!, A18+, kissing, romance, sexual tension, spicy scenes, lemon

Link to My Master List

“Sir, UA has such a strict and well-planned curriculum. What could possibly have been “neglected” by the faculty and staff?”

Aizawa smirks at Ida as if the young Engine hero has made a particularly funny joke. He looks out at the class and takes a deep breath before his next statement:

“This afternoon Recovery Girl and Midnight will be joining us as we discuss a crucial topic. We are going to walk you through an Intro to our Sex Ed curriculum.”

The class is silent. Then, a hiss rises from the back right of the classroom.

“Yesssss. Yesss! Finally! You’re finally granting permission for us to appreciate all of the gorgeous ladies in our class! It’s my time to shine - ”  Mineta’s unhinged chattering is silenced when Mr. Aizawa easily wraps him in his capture gear.

“Does anyone else have an inappropriate comment to share?” The teacher asks lazily. The class says nothing. Mineta whimpers pathetically beneath the layers of binding cloth and Erase rHead ignores him.

There’s a bright knock at the classroom entrance. Before anyone can answer, the large door flies open to reveal UA staff members Midnight and Recovery Girl. As usual, Midnight is sparkling with energy, smiling devilishly at the class as she glides into the room. Recovery Girl has less flare as she steps into the classroom – her movements are quiet and stiff. The wrinkles on her face tell stories of a lifetime of hero work.

“Hello, Class.” The school nurse says as she stands before them all. “I’m so sorry we didn’t get to this conversation at the beginning of the year. There’s just been so much chaos and injury lately surrounding UA, we weren’t able to prioritize the Sex Ed curriculum the way we normally do.” She beams at them, looking pleased to be out of the infirmary for once.

Midnight sweeps her arms out dramatically. “Your changing hormones are no doubt running rampant! We’re here to tame you little demons. Let me dominate this conversation and teach you the true meaning of pleasure.”

Mineta groans audibly from within his binding cocoon, and a look of disgust flashes across Mr. Aizawa’s face.

“Settle down, Midnight.” He turns to address the class at large. “As part of the curriculum we will have monthly Sex Ed & Health seminars run by Midnight, Recover Girl and me. During these sessions we will discuss the basics surrounding reproduction, consent, and safety. We will also split into small groups where you can feel more comfortable to ask potentially embarrassing questions.”

“To kick things off for today, we’re not going to give you the classic “your bodies are changing” lecture you get in middle school. Instead, we’re going to set some ground rules for living in a shared dorm space with classmates your age.” Mr. Aizawa shifts on his feet and looks over at Recover Girl, prompting her to take over.

The elderly hero shuffles up to the front of the class and grins up at them through thick coke bottle glasses. “Here’s the deal, kids. We realize that you all live on the campus and that your scholarly lives overlap with your home lives in a new and unique way. This is a unique situation, and we ask that you do your best to prioritize your studies and your health at all times. If you find yourselves struggling with your mental or physical health, we ask that you speak to one of us and we can create a plan together to help you get on track.”

“Additionally, we’re expecting you to be respectful of each other’s personal space. You all share a dorm, so between class and dorm life you will be together 24/7. This can be fun since you’re fairly friendly with each other, but eventually there will likely be conflict and disputes. Please come to us for help mediating any tough living situations, we are more than happy to step in and help you sort through challenging relationships.”

“And speaking of challenging relationships…” Midnight cuts in, tossing her thick purple hair over her shoulder as she squares up to the class. “Let’s talk about dating.”

At this point, most of the class’s faces are bright red. The room’s vibe has shifted from curious to uncomfortable and awkward.

“Most of you are 16 now, and understandably you may start to take notice of your classmates in new ways. You may want to explore relationships beyond friendship.” Midnight winks at your class meaningfully. “You are all independent young adults and we can’t control how you feel about one another. But unfortunately, we will be enforcing a strict no dating policy this year.”

“What!?” Mina and Toru cry out in unison. Midnight’s mouth quirks into a sad smile and she looks over at the girls. “Sorry, ladies. We have never had a dorm program before, so there is still much to figure out. Obviously we aren’t going to monitor you all 24/7. But we are going to trust that you are all being appropriate in the dorms and respectful of each other. And that means no dating and no physical relationships between students.” You feel your ears burning at those words, you wish you could look over to see Shoto’s reaction. Thankfully, you’re sure that he’s got his typical stoic look plastered on his face.

“Rest assured, there will be plenty of time in your life for dating and exploring your sexuality with consenting partners. But for now – you are all students first. Focus on making this year at UA count. Learn all you can and grow into strong, supple young heroes.”

Recovery Girl chimes in, a sweet smile on her face. “Despite our zero tolerance policy surrounding dating and physical relationships between students, we will be educating you on the finer points of consent, protection and building healthy relationships in our monthly seminars.”

Mr. Aizawa releases his hold on Mineta and drags himself back to the front of the classroom alongside his fellow educators. “Please remember – you are all minors. We want to reinforce that relationships with adults are strictly forbidden. If any adult approaches you inappropriately at an internship, at an agency or in public we implore you to report it to us so we can deal with it and keep you safe. Many people around Japan know who you are due to the televised broadcast of the sport’s festival. I’m not saying this to scare you – but I want you to be aware that your faces are fairly well known and not every fan that approaches you has good intentions.” He rearranges his binding scarf around his shoulders before looking back out at his class.

“Are there any questions?” Mr. Aizawa scans the room with interest. You turn your head to see if anyone is raising their hand. To your surprise, Shoto’s arm is in the air.

“Yes, Todoroki.” Midnight calls on him, pointing at him with her wildly inappropriate tiny leather whip. “What’s your question?”

“I don’t understand.” Shoto says in his typical flat tone. “You’re going to teach us about sex but you don’t want us to have it?”

And just like that, the tension in the room breaks. The entire class is laughing out loud.

“I’m serious.” Shoto says blankly, not understanding the giggles surrounding him. “Shouldn’t we be executing practical examples of the knowledge we’re learning? Isn’t that how our training works?” Shoto’s brow is creased a bit in obvious frustration, but this just makes everyone laugh even harder. Even Bakugo is joining in at this point.

“Why Icy Hot – you tryin’ to get laid!?” Katsuki cackles out, adding to the chaos.

“Quiet.” Mr. Aizawa’s quirk activates, his hair rising up into the air intimidatingly. The laughter fades quickly. The teacher decides to take mercy on Shoto. “We’re going to give you knowledge and background on these subjects so that if you do eventually want to have a physical relationship after graduation, you’ll be able to do it safely.”

“Think of it this way.” Midnight says, putting a finger to her chin as she talks it through. “We’ll be teaching you Sex Ed theory. Later on in life you can use what you’ve learned and practically apply that theory.”

Shoto still seems a little miffed, but finds this answer acceptable.

“Any other questions?” Recovery Girl prompts.

Mina raises her bright pink hand. “Are the other years allowed to date? Or is it just our year?”

“That’s a good question.” Recovery Girl says encouragingly. “As of right now, dating and relationships are off limits for all course levels. However, we have made a few exceptions for members of the senior class who have recently turned 18 and are in good standing with their grades and internships.”

“Isn’t the age of consent in Japan 16?” Kaminari raises his hand but doesn’t wait to be called on. “Most of us here are 16 – why can’t we date?”

“This is what we have decided on as a faculty. You will abide by these rules.” Mr. Aizawa says firmly, causing Kaminari to shrink back into his chair. “Any other questions?”

No one else raises their hand. “Thanks for the time everyone. You all know where to find me!” Recovery Girl waves kindly at everyone as she makes her exit.

Midnight cocks her hip and waves her leather whip around one final time, signaling an end to their awkward discussion. “Thanks for listening, class! I’m excited to take this journey of physical maturation with you all.” And with that, she leaves as well.

Mr. Aizawa looks out at them all, clearly exhausted. He lifts his arm and reveals a small clicker in his hand. He hits the combination of buttons that open up their hero costume closet. “Alright, everyone – get changed and meet at the gym for combat training. It’s going to be a long afternoon.”

-----------------------------------------

Combat training is exhausting as per usual. It’s so intense that you don’t have the headspace to really mull over all that Aizawa, Midnight and Recover Girl have told you. One big question does eat away at your nerves, though – given the class wide dating ban, will Shoto want things between the two of you to end?

During the training class, Shoto doesn’t even glance your way. You ignore him in kind, focusing all your energy on your sparring matches with Tsu and Ochaco. The whole afternoon is intense, your body quickly becoming sore from all the movement. When the bell rings to signal the end of classes, you’re immensely grateful. You troop to the locker room with the other girls and indulge in a long, hot shower.

You have a quick dinner in Class A’s dorm with the rest of your class, scarfing down some leftovers as you complete some homework at one of the many kitchen tables. Shoto sits down next to you with his own meal and textbooks.

He makes a show of setting up his homework – opening his textbooks slowly and laying out all of his pens on the table between the two of you. As he sets out a pencil, he purposefully flicks it so that it rolls into your bowl of soup. You look up at him in surprise and he flashes you a gentle smile, moving his hand to grab the rogue writing implement. He touches his pinkie to yours for a few seconds as he scoops up the pencil. The light touch sends electricity up your arm and you quickly pull it away.

You know that Shoto did it purposefully by the way he smirks at your reaction. You work quietly next to each other for the next hour, studying in parallel. It feels strangely intimate and strange – it’s almost like in studying next to each other, you’re flaunting your secret for all to see. Part of you keeps waiting for Shoto to turn to you and ask to review the day’s earlier Sex Ed discussion, but he keeps his head down in his work.

After an hour or so he packs up his books and gets ready to leave. Before he does so, he glances around to ensure that everyone else is occupied before he reaches towards you and draws a small star in the corner of your notebook page. A moment later, he’s gone – marching back to his dorm room with his stack of books and writing instruments.

You stare down at the tiny star, a smile pulling at your lips. You’re not sure exactly what Shoto intended the star to mean. But you’re sure as hell that if Shoto was breaking off your little hookup arrangement, he wouldn’t take the time to scribble a sweet doodle in the margins of your notebook. Maybe you should just text him and ask what he wants to do – what he thinks? You shake your head to clear it before diving back into your English homework.

-----------------------------------------

A few hours later, you end your evening in Mina’s room.

You and Mina are huddled on the floor around Toru, who is drawing out a battle plan on a small white board.

“Alright.” Toru says, concentrating. “Here’s a list of all the supplies we would need to throw a totally-rad-top-secret-awesome party. And here are all of the variables we will need to figure out in order to pull it off in secret – distracting Mr. Vlad King is going to be our biggest challenge. Ugh, and then there’s Monoma. We’re gonna need to keep him from blowing up our spot again this time.”

Mina grabs the dry erase marker from Toru’s hand and quickly crosses Monoma off of the list. “He won’t be a problem this time around.”

You give Mina a questioning look. She waves you off. “We’ll get to that in a minute. Let’s focus on party supplies first. We will need to pick up soft drinks, chips and snacks. We can ask someone to grab paper goods like cups, plates, napkins, etcetera…ooo we should ask Sato to make some sweets!”

“Do you really think the whole class is going to be up for this? They’re all still way pissed about the curfew rule.” You ask skeptically.

“I’ve started asking around on the down low.” Toru chimes in, drawing some hearts stars in the corners of the white board. “So far everyone is pretty interested. I think the class needs a break to blow off some steam. Our course load has been so crazy lately, it’s been a while since we were last able to have some fun as a group.”

“Who did you ask?” You’re curious.

“Despite some initial hesitance, Ochaco and Tsu are in. They convinced YaMomo to come as well. I think she even said she’d bring some tea or something. Midoriya is all in, too – he’s going to work on getting the class rep to be cool with everything. Shoto and Tokoyami said they’d show up if it happened, but they weren’t too keen on helping with the planning process. Sero and Kirishima said they can help us with any heavy lifting. That’s it so far – I’m going to keep spreading the word tomorrow.” She notes all of the people who have expressed interest down on her white board.

“What about Minetta?” Mina asks, making a clear yuck face. “Like, I know he’s a member of our class. But lately he’s been extra gross.”

“Ugh…yeah we kinda have to invite him, don’t we?” You say, thinking back to a time earlier in the month when Minetta tried to smack your ass in the cafeteria. “He’s the worst.”

You’re distracted when you feel your phone buzz in your pocket. It’s Shoto. You turn to read your phone so that the others can’t easily see the screen.

Shoto: Hey Y/N. I have been thinking a lot about the Sex Ed class today. I’m concerned that by continuing together we’re breaking the rules.

Y/N: Yeah, I was thinking the same.

Shoto: To be honest, I don’t really care about the rules. I think we should do it anyway.

You smile and warmth bubbles up your chest.

Y/N: I’m in if you’re in.

Shoto: I'm in 💯.

You set the phone down, trying to ensure you’re not smiling an unnatural amount.

It buzzes a second time. You flip it over, expecting another text from Shoto. Instead, you’re surprised to find a message from Honenuki.

Honenuki: Hey Y/N! Check out this song, it’s been a favorite of mine lately.

 You click on the link and it immediately takes you to a YouTube video for an old 1960s song. “Some Kind of Wonderful” by the Drifters. You hastily click pause before the song can buffer and start playing.

Y/N: Can’t wait to check it out!! Here’s one I’ve been listening to.

You shoot back a Spotify link to the latest Sabrina Carpenter song and put your phone back on the ground.

Honenuki: Sweet, I’ll take a listen!

“Oooo who’s texting you, Y/N!?” Toru puts down the white board so you can all get a clear view of it. She reaches for your phone but you snatch it away before she can grab it.

“No one crazy. Just Honenuki from earlier.”

You now have Toru and Mina’s full attention. “Whaaaaat!?” They both cry out, scrambling over each other to get closer to you.

“What did he say!?”

“Did he ask you out?”

“Is he confessing?”

“OMG does he want you to sneak out of our dorm and over to Class B’s so he can make sweet love to you!?”

This last comment from Mina brings you all to silence. And then you break into a fit of giggles.

“No, guys, its not like that! He’s just nice!”

“Ok, ok. We believe you.” Toru waves Mina’s comment off with invisible hands. “And its not like any of us can pursue a fated romance anyway. Not with the new “rules” that have been announced by Mr. Aizawa, Recovery Girl and Miss Midnight earlier today.

Mina rolls her eyes. “Yeah what the hell was that about? It really feels like these extra Sex Ed classes came out of nowhere.”

“Hmmm.” Toru caps her dry erase marker and presses it to her unseen lips. “I wonder if something happened to trigger this response from the teachers. Do you think people in one of the first year classes are actually dating?”

Your stomach drops.

Mina gasps. “Oh my GOD! Do you think someone we know has been having sex!?” She shrieks out, and you and Toru shush her.

“Absolutely not!” Toru flails her arms around for good measure.

“There’s no way.” You say with a shaky laugh. You try to keep your face from flushing. A thought hits you. “And even if people were…doing sexual stuff…how would the teachers know?”

“Maybe someone got caught!” Mina declares, her antennae twitching thoughtfully. “Think about it…maybe a couple was sneaking around in the dorms and one of the teachers caught them banging on campus during a faculty patrol.”

“That would be so scandalous!” Toru yelps.

Your mind is whirring at 100 miles per hour. Did your teachers find out about your little rendezvous with Shoto Todoroki!? The timing seems so suspicious. You try to think back to the past 24 hours – had you left any clues? Had you been too loud? Your mind is in free-fall as you recall the way that Mr. Aizawa had knocked on Shoto’s dorm room door while the two of you were wrapped up in a compromising embrace.

You take a few calming breaths and try to snap yourself out of it. Really…even through Mr. Aizawa had knocked on Shoto’s locked door, how could he have possibly known what you and Shoto were up to on the other side of it? These new school policies had to be totally unrelated and a coincidence. Besides – it wasn’t a crime to be in another classmate’s room. Even if Mr. Aizawa had heard your voice from within Shoto’s dorm, there wasn’t any evidence that you and the youngest Todoroki were up to anything nefarious.

“Ok we are definitely going to investigate this whole situation further.” Mina grabs a hot pink post-it note and sharpie off her desk and returns to the floor. She peels off the top note and writes on it with big block letters: “Who’s Hooking Up At UA?” she sticks the post-it to the wall beside her desk alongside a few other notes listing out projects like “Master Ultimate Move” and “Ace Next Math Test.”

“This has become a mission of utmost importance. The UA tea must be spilled.” She says wisely.

You feign interest and nod in agreement as Toru lets out an affirmative “mhmm!”

At this exact moment, you wonder if you should tell your friends everything about you and Shoto and your steamy hookups. If you tell them now, you’re sure that they will help you figure out if Mr. Aizawa and the staff know that you’ve been intimately engaging with Todoroki. Mina and Toru are absolute masters of gossip and know exactly which strings to pull to get intel. They’re going to make amazing heroes one day, especially Toru with her insane stealth skills.

But no. It feels safer to keep it to yourself. Everything that’s happened – specifically Mr. Aizawa and Endeavor knocking on the door while you’re half naked and moaning in Shoto’s arms – is so totally embarrassing. You can’t bare the thought of explaining the whole situation to your two friends. Would they laugh? What if someone were to overhear? You think to all of the heroes in training with hearing and stealth-based quirks running around the school. Privacy was so hard to come by, it was so easy for it to be compromised. Now the boundaries that Mr. Aizawa had spoken about earlier this morning are stating to make sense to you. You’re all living in such close quarters and respecting each other’s privacy and personal space really should be paramount.

The real question on your mind is this – if you and Shoto continue to smooch in secret, how will you avoid getting caught? The entire student body is likely on high alert, looking for any potential transgressions surrounding the no dating rule.

“I wonder how the other classes are feeling about all these new rules?” You muse.

“We’ll know soon enough.” Mina says, checking her phone. “Actually, we’ll know in 2 minutes.”

“What do you mean?” You ask, nervous at her tone. Toru uncaps her dry erase marker and scribbles down a few more notes on the white board.

There’s an unexpected knock on the door that causes you and Toru to jump.

“The key to all of our plans has arrived.” Mina hops to her feet and scampers across the small dorm room. “Ladies, I present to you our secret weapon.”

She opens the door and reveals the last person you’d expect to be in the Class A dorm – Nieto Monoma.

Monoma stands in the doorway, tall and annoyingly handsome. He’s smiling genuinely and you’re surprised to see him looking so…normal. Typically when he’s within speaking distance of any Class A students he’s a loose cannon.

He smiles down at you and Toru, eyes flickering over to the white board. Toru reflexively moves to cover the plans with her arms, but being invisible it doesn’t do much to deter Monoma’s gaze.

“Hello ladies.” He says in that slippery tone of his. You’ve never seen Nieto in casual wear before. Tonight he’s wearing soft black sweatpants along with a grey band logo crewneck. When he’s acting like a normal human being, his face is actually quite attractive. His long blonde bangs fall gracefully across wide grey eyes in a graceful aristocratic way that reminds you a bit of Shoto. “I heard we’re going to get into some trouble together tonight.”

“Nope. Absolutely not.” You turn and glare at Mina, shooting her your best “WTF” expression.

“Mina! We can’t trust him – he ratted us out last time!” Toru says angrily, still unsuccessfully attempting to keep the whiteboard of plans out of site.

Monoma’s face creases into a frown. “Yeah…about that…”

Mina shushes him and beckons him into the small dorm room. She checks to make sure no one is out in the hall before closing the door soundly and turning the lock. She means business.

Monoma joins the three of you on the floor around the white board. In his dark attire, he looks very out of place among Mina’s hot pink room decor. Mina waits for everyone to get situated before speaking.

“Monoma is sorry. He reached out to me last week to formally apologize to us for tattling on our last party.” Mina says, straightforward and to the point. “He wants in on our next big bash.”

“What’s with this sudden change of heart?” You ask skeptically, crossing your arms as you survey Monoma’s face. He looks embarrassed, maybe even guilty as he meets your eyes.

“Well, you see - ” Monoma starts to speak, but Mina cuts him off with a quick wave of her hand.

“Let me do the talking, blondie.” She shuts him up. “Girls, this time around Monoma can’t rat us out – not now that we have leverage.”  She grins at you and Toru. “There’s something that Nieto here desperately wants. Something that only the three of us can provide at this time. And in exchange for that thing, Monoma is going to keep Mr. Vlad King out of our hair.”

“He can do that?” Toru says doubtfully.

“He can.” Mina says confidently, turning to the blonde intruder with a grin. “Okay, now you can apologize to them, Monoma.”

The Class B menace shifts uncomfortably on the floor, eyes slightly downcast. “Look, I know it was shitty of me to report you guys last time. I shouldn’t have - ”

“Yes it was shitty! We have a stupid curfew now because of you!” Toru bursts out, clearly pissed that her time is being wasted listening to Monoma.

“I know and I’m sorry!” He actually looks sincere. You wonder what the “leverage” Mina mentioned could be to make him act like a regular human being capable of remorse. “I was jealous of your class and the party and I didn’t think things through before I went to Mr. King. After I told him I…well, I regretted it immediately.” He hangs his head in shame and his regret actually feels sincere. His long blonde bangs cover his eyes and he stares at the ground, waiting for you all to speak.

“We would have invited Class B had we known you were interested. But we were under the, ugh, impression that some of you hated us so we didn’t even think to reach out about the party.” You say, feeling a tiny bit sympathetic at the way Monoma’s head is miserably flopped over. “Honestly we didn’t think our whole plan through last time, which is why it was so easy for the whole thing to fall apart.”

There’s a pause. Toru chimes in “Yeah, we definitely could have thought our plans through more. But your hatred for our class contributed to the disaster.”

“I don’t hate your class.” Monoma says slowly, feeling out his words. “I’m just…jealous of all the attention you guys get from the media and from the teachers. I thought that was pretty obvious. We’ve all worked so hard to get here; I thought that once I got to UA it would be an even playing field. But so often it feels like Class A gets preferential treatment.”

“I can see how you would feel that way.” Toru says stiffly, still unwilling to trust Monoma. “That’s a reasonable feeling. But you could have just tried to get to know us instead of acting like such an asshole all the time! We don’t want Class A to always be in the spotlight the way it is. Surely you see that.”

Monoma sighs. “For the past year I’ve really let my insecurities rule the way I act towards other people. And it’s made me an absolute dick. Look, guys, I’m legitimately sorry and I really want to help you make this party thing work. I’d understand if you don’t trust me and if you don’t want me involved. But please give me a second chance.”

You look at him distrustfully. “You’re saying all the right things, pretty boy. But what I really want to know – what’s this supposed “leverage” that we have over you here? How can we guarantee you’re not trying to lull us into a false sense of security so that you can eventually betray us?”

Mina grins. “Do you want to tell them, Monoma? Or should I?”

Nieto blushes, patches of scarlet bloom on his pale cheeks. “W-well…Mina said she could do something for me. Something I haven’t had the courage to try to do on my own - ”

“Spit it out.” Toru says, clearly reveling in his discomfort. “We don’t have all day.”

“R-right.” Monoma takes a deep breath, trying to regain his usual swagger. “There are two things that I want. The last time I reported your little scheme was because I was jealous I wasn’t invited. So obviously this time around I’d like Class B to be part of the party. And the second thing I’d like – a chance at a kiss.”

“You sound crazy.” You smirk at him. But you glance over at Mina and she nods at him, encouraging him to continue.

“So I figured as a more formal apology I could help you all pull off this party. I can distract Mr. Vlad King and make sure you don’t get caught. And in exchange, you could invite my class and give me a turn at Spin the Bottle.”

This is a lot to digest. You’ve never heard Monoma speak so rationally before, and you still fear it’s some kind of elaborate ruse. Also…he’s interested in your game of Spin the Bottle!? Weird.

“So who do you want to kiss?” Toru asks, a giggle bubbling up. “…Kendo!?”

Monoma looks away, embarrassed.

“Nope, that’s not it.” You say, grinning at Monoma’s obvious embarrassment. “If you don’t tell us, we have no shot at making it happen for you.”

“It’s Hitoshi Shinso.” Mina says knowingly, crossing her arms. “You want us to rig spin the bottle so that you’ll be able to kiss Shinso.”

You and Toru gasp and Monoma’s cheeks get red again. He covers his face with his hands, hiding himself from sight.

“Shinso!?” You and Toru cry out in shock. Monoma looks up at you all, his eyes wide. He’s got that unhinged look that you’ve come to expect from him during training exercises.

“Of course it’s Shinso!” Monoma bursts out – he’s back to his usual self. “He’s a goddamn wonder! He’s the only member of your class that truly deserves the prestige that Class A seems to exude!”

“Dial it back, dude.” Mina admonishes, and Monoma comes back to himself.

 “Listen. At this point, you guys have been around me in our joint training sessions enough times to know that I can be…challenging as a classmate and as a friend. Shinso doesn’t treat me like I’m some kind of burden or freak. Over the past semester, he’s become one of my closest friends. He’s kind and thoughtful and brave. Jeez, I have such a massive crush on him, I’m not even sure what to do at this point.”

He rubs the back of his neck in embarrassment but continues on. “I overheard you all talking about your crazy ‘spin the bottle’ plan last month and its been stuck in my brain ever since. It would be the perfect way for me to organically be affectionate with Shinso. I don’t have the courage to confess my feelings to him on my own, and I thought that maybe… well maybe if the two of us kissed, then I could finally know how he feels about me. I could see if we’re more than friends.”

“Anyway I really shouldn’t have ratted you out to the teachers, that wasn’t cool. You have my sincere apologies.”

“What’s in it for us, Phantom Thief?” You cross your arms.

“Monoma is going to help keep Mr. Vlad King off of our trail. He and Class B are going to cause a diversion that will keep any teachers away from our party for a few golden hours. And a few members of Class B want to come to the party, of course.”

“How long have you been working through this Mina?” Toru asks in awe.

“Monoma and I started chatting about it after he ruined out last party. I went to confront him about being such an asshole, and he actually apologized immediately.”

“Now how are we going to guarantee a kiss between Shinso and Monoma?” You wonder aloud to your friends.

Mina gives her trademark toothy grin. “Leave that to me.”

You survey him, still untrusting. “We’ll think about it. But first, I want some intel.” He looks up at you curiously – he clearly wasn’t expecting this.

“So what does Class B think about the whole Sex Ed thing and these new rules? Where do you think this is all stemming from? Tell us what you know.”

“Hm.” He smirks at the three of you. “Alright.” Monoma launches into a detailed description of his day. It sounds extremely similar to your own experience - Midnight and Recovery Girl had joined Class B for a similar talk during their morning courses. Class B was just as shocked by the Sex Ed discussions and the new dating rules as Class A. According to Monoma, there are a handful of couples within the class that have been dating for a while. He wonders aloud if maybe the new dating rules are specifically targeted at them.

“People in Class B are hooking up!?” Toru gasps at the tea. “Who!?”

Apparently Shihai Kuroiro and Kinoko Komori have been dating for quite a few months, and Kosei Tsuburaba and Sen Kalibara have some kind of sexual tension situation going on where they might be dating in secret but no one is truly sure.  Oh and Setsuna dated Rin for a while, but they broke up and it was a whole dramatic thing. I think she’s started going out with Reiko now.”

You are shocked at the amount of dating drama Monoma is describing amongst Class B’s members. You instantly feel relieved, realizing that the dating ban can’t possible be about you and Shoto. It’s clearly a response to Class B’s previously uninhibited horniness.

“So are they all stopping now that the dating ban has been put into place?” Mina asks, clearly loving all of the intel.

“I think for the most part everyone is just going to continue on with whatever they’re doing. Everyone will just be a little more careful in front of the teachers and staff.” Monoma says thoughtfully. “I’m sure these rules are more about Class B than Class A – I don’t think I’ve heard anything about dating in your class?”

“Nope.” Mina provides helpfully. “No relationships that we know of at least. There’s definitely tension between certain members of our class. And we’re absolutely going to see if we can play on that tension with our Spin the Bottle pairings.”

“Mina, we can’t control who kisses who in Spin the Bottle. That’s the whole point of the game – the unpredictability of it all!” Toru says in shock.

“Oh so you’re saying you don’t want to kiss Ojiro?” Mina smirks at your friend.

“I’m not saying that.” Toru amends. “But there’s no way for us to pull the strings with this game. We’re at the mercy of the bottle!”

“Like I said earlier…leave that to me.” Mina winks.

When he’s acting like a normal person, Monoma isn’t actually all that bad. He’s actually pretty genius when it comes to strategy. Toru passes her white board over to him and he assesses your plan so far.

“What do you think?” Toru asks. Your current plan to distract Mr. Vlad King relies on a series of continuously unhinged prank calls that will divert him to different parts of the campus over the course of two hours. It’s not a great plan, but it’s the best you all have come up with in the past half hour.

“It’s a start, but I have a much better plan.” He reaches out his hand for the dry erase marker. Toru hands it over easily. He uses the palm of his hand to erase out a corner of free space. He draws two squares and marks the “Class A” and “Class B.”  He then sketches out another rectangular shape to represent the faculty and staff living quarters. “We’ll need to intercept Mr. King in between the faculty building and the student dorm buildings. I can run up to Mr. King and tell him that I have an urgent issue that I need his help with. I’ll lead him away from the dorm buildings and towards the combat training facilities.”

“What will you tell him?” Mina asks, leaning forward on her elbows.

“I’m going to say that a student from Class A went to do some solo training at night and ended up getting himself into trouble. Then I’ll point him in that direction before returning to the Class B dorms.”

“What student from Class A will be the diversion?” You wonder aloud.

Monoma’s smile sparkles in the light of Mina’s fairy lights. “Minoru Mineta.”

-----------------------------------------

The week goes by faster than you anticipated. You get pulled back into the whirlwind of UA life – classes, tests, training, studying. It’s all so much and sometimes you feel like you can barely breathe. You’re so busy you barely have time to grab a private moment with Shoto.

Late on Wednesday night, you’re lounging in the common area with Mina, Ochaco and Tsu studying for an upcoming English exam. You’re starting to get sleepy when you receive a text:

Shoto: Hey Y/N. Up for a quick study session?

You smile, knowing that he probably means he wants to hookup. You feel pretty prepared for the upcoming test and are caught up on all of your homework…so why not?

Y/N: Absolutely. Meet in my room in 10?

Shoto: See you then.

You make some lame excuse to your friends about needing beauty rest and hustle your way to your bedroom, tossing your book bag on the floor as you make sure everything is clean and tidy. Everything is in its place and your bed is made for once. You breathe a sigh of relief – Shoto is just so put together. It would be a little embarrassing for him to see your room in a messy state.

It’s been a few days since your last tryst with Shoto and between classwork and training those days feel like they’ve passed as months. Your body is exhausted from training but you feel jittery and horny at the thought of all the things Shoto will do to you when he arrives.

A moment later, there’s a knock. You wrench open your door with nervous, bubbling energy. You pull Shoto into your room and lock the door behind him soundly.

“You weren’t followed, right?” You whisper breathlessly as you loop your arms around his neck and move to give him a kiss on the cheek.

“This isn’t a spy movie, Y/N.” He winces as you kiss him, and you grimace as you notice a delicate bruise blooming on the side of his face from a rough training class. You step away to take him in – aside from the slight bruise on his face, he looks relatively unharmed. He’s wearing a pair of navy blue sweatpants paired with a plain grey t-shirt. The short sleeves of the shirt really show off his toned hero-in-training arms. His muscles bulge gently around the stack of books he’s cradling in his arms.

“What are the books for?” You ask curiously.

He looks at you, confused. “I thought we were studying.”

Oh. You face palm. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that Shoto is so goddamn literal. You do like that about him – he tends to be mercifully straightforward and his motivations are easy to understand. He’s not cryptic like the other boys in your class - Kaminari who hides his nervousness behind flirtation or Bakugo whose true feelings are constantly masked behind aggression and death threats. No, Shoto is all softness and direct communication. You need to remember that.

“Shoto, I thought you wanted to do another kind of studying.” You waggle your eyebrows and wonder if he’ll catch on to your innuendo. He doesn’t.

“So you don’t want to prepare for the English test on Monday?” He asks, confusion coloring his voice. “I thought I was pretty clear that I wanted to study from the way I texted you.”

You facepalm.

“No, Shoto, I want to make out.” You state plainly.

“Oh. Oh!” Shoto tosses his books to the ground and grabs you by the waist, wrapping his arms around you as he dips to briefly connect your lips. He breaks the kiss and looks down at you, smiling softly. “We can make out.”

You roll your eyes playfully and reach up to cup his lovely face. “We can definitely study together later though.” You lean in and touch his lips with your own. He groans into your mouth, eager.

“I was looking for an excuse to hangout with you.” He admits in between kisses. “This is really nice, but I like spending time with you outside of physical intimacy. You know that, right?”

You smile into his lips. “I like that you’re so straightforward Shoto. But now I feel bad – do you want to actually study? I don’t want you to get a bad grade because of me.”

“No, I don’t really care about studying anymore.” He tightens his grip on your hips and turns you so that your back is against the door. He moves to kiss across your jawline, down your neck. His hands drift up to the hem of your shirt and he moves to pull it easily over your head.

“Holy fuck.” You breathe out as he presses you back into the solid wood door. His movements are gentle, but firm as he keeps you in place. He kisses down the expanse of your clavicle, letting his tongue roam smoothly across the tops of your breasts. He shifts to get down on his knees so that he can move his mouth across your stomach, kissing and licking the exposed skin there. He stops for a moment to take his phone out of his pocket and lay it on your desk before diving back into spreading kisses across your skin. Wherever his lips touch, he leaves a trail of goose bumps in his wake. He reaches up, up, up with his fingers so that he can wander the stretch of your bra–clad tits. He takes his time, smoothing fingertips over the cotton cups of your bra until he finds the places where your nipples lay underneath. He pinches lightly on the fabric and it’s enough to make you moan.

“Shh.” He whispers against your stomach, quieting you. It feels incredible, to have your body worshiped this way by Shoto. Each of his movements is so purposeful, so tender. You never want it to end.

“You promise you’re not going to fail English class due to my seductiony ways?” You ask weakly as he continues to kiss towards your belly button. Shoto laughs softly, a happy sound.

“I swear that pleasuring you isn’t going to ruin my grades. At least not yet. Can I take off your bra?” He asks quietly, bright eyes gazing up at you questioningly.

“Um, duh. Yeah you can take it off.” You say, wanting him to keep going. This pulls a grin out of Shoto’s typically serious face. The small bruise on his cheek crinkles along his smile lines. His hands slide up your body and around to your back. He fiddles with the clip to your bra for a few moments before managing to undo the clasp. He slides the straps down your shoulders, and slowly pulls the cotton fabric away from your body to reveal your perky breasts. The room is chillier than you thought, and your nipples harden as they are exposed to the crisp air conditioning. Shoto looks up at you with a look of awe.

“Incredible.” He breathes, before leaning up to take a nipple into his mouth. He swirls his tongue around your pert bud, eliciting another moan from your sweet mouth. He doesn’t bother to shush you this time, instead moving to knead at your other breast with his sure fingers while he uses his lips to suck on your nipple. He continues this for a while – using his mouth on both of your breasts and ensuring each gets equal attention. You bite your lip and try to keep quiet, running your fingers through his two toned hair and nodding encouragingly when he does something you like.

By the time he gets to his feet so he can kiss you on the mouth once more, you’re absolutely soaking wet. There’s a spark between your legs that you’re having a hard time ignoring. You need him in the absolute worst way.

“Sit in my desk chair.” You whine, pushing lightly at his chest so you can get away from the door.

“Hmm?” He says, clearly not listening. His eyes are hazy with desire as he looks at you.

“The chair.” You point. “Sit down.” He doesn’t ask any questions or argue, he walks over to the chair and takes a seat.

“Thank God.” You say as you walk over to him, tossing a leg over his lap so you can straddle him. You brace your hands on either side of Shoto, gripping the back of the chair as you make yourself comfortable. You lean down and capture his lips in a scorching kiss as you sit down, cowgirl style, on his lap. He’s so deliciously hard beneath you, and you’re thankfully both wearing sweatpants so the friction between you is buttery and smooth as you find the perfect angle to grind your pussy against him.

“Y’N.” Shoto groans out in surprise, there’s no way he could have anticipated this. He literally thought you two were going to study tonight. You grin and move your hips fluidly, grinding against his fat cock again. You’d do anything to satisfy the need that’s building up in your core.

“Shoto…Shoto put your hands on my - ” You don’t even need to finish your sentence, Shoto hears you loud and clear. He reaches for your breasts and plays with your nipples as you dry hump him on your desk chair.

“Ah! Yes!” You manage to say between gritted teeth. “Shoto, I think I’m gonna…”

He presses his lips to your own, essentially shutting you up as you bounce on his lap, grinding your way to an orgasm. He slides his hands down to your hips and helps guide your movements, shifting a bit beneath you. The new position presses the tip of his hard cock against your clit the next time your hips roll. Its wonderful and delightful and just the thing that pushes you over the edge. The orgasm hits you in a wave and you break away from Shoto’s lips so you can gasp in pleasure as you ride it out. Shoto is smiling at you, so open and genuine. He’s enjoying watching you get off – it shows on his face and in the way his cock twitches against you beneath a few layers of clothing.

When you finally come down from your high, you pull him into a hug and slump against his shoulder.

“Fuuuuck, Shoto.” You whisper, your breath slowing down. “That felt so good.” He brings his hand up slowly and traces an icy finger down your sweaty back. You feel your muscles relax beneath his touch.

“You’re incredible, Y/N. Thank you for that.” He says, voice tinged with something akin to awe.

You stifle a laugh. “You’re thanking me for cumming?”

“Thank you for being comfortable enough with me to do that. It means a lot.”

“Shoto, you are literally the sweetest.” You press a kiss to his soft cheek before slowly removing yourself from his lap. “Dang, between this morning’s practice and what we did just now…I am sore.” You find your shirt on the floor and throw it back on over your bare chest. You scoop up your bra from the floor and toss it in the hamper.

“Maybe I can help.” Shoto stands up from the chair and strolls over to your bed, hoisting himself up onto the tall mattress before beckoning you to join him.

“You’ve already helped me so much tonight.” You say, fluttering your lashes up at him until he blushes.

“Just get up here.” He pulls you up onto the mattress and into his lap so that your back is against his chest. You can feel he’s still a bit hard beneath your butt, but he seems to be ignoring his boner in favor of taking care of you. A true gentleman – Kirishima would be impressed.

“Where are you sore?” He asks, resting a hand on your waist.

“My lower back.” You point to the spot. Shoto lifts up your shirt and covers the sore muscles with his strong left hand. He spreads his fingers wide, covering as much surface area as possible before activating his quirk. His left hand slowly warms up like a hot compress. You feel his palm grow steadily warmer and you feel instant relief flood through your back, making you sleepy and comfortable.

“Shoto, this is heaven.” You praise, leaning your head back against his chest and letting your eyelids drop. He kisses the top of your head.

“Good. I just want to make you feel good Y/N.” He lets you relax into his hand and doze for a bit. You’re comfortable and happy and feeling very cared for. The silence is comfortable, but after a few minutes Shoto starts to hum an old 90s song and the rhythm of it lulls you into a true sleep.

An annoying buzzing sound wakes you. Over on your desk, your phone is buzzing and blinking incessantly – someone is trying really hard to get ahold of you. You ignore it, trying to focus all of your attention on the way that Shoto’s right hand is carding through your hair.

“Mmm.” You hum with pleasure as he drags delicate fingertips through your scalp. Your phone continues to buzz. You’re annoyed and can’t enjoy yourself properly. You reach out and stop Shoto’s hand before it can go any further. “I should really check that.”

You get to your feet and adjust your sweatpants, secretly cursing whoever is trying to get ahold of you. You open up your phone and the screen reads “Mina Ashido: 4 missed calls.” Huh? You quickly hit redial. The phone barely rings once before Mina is squealing into the phone.

“Mr. Aizawa is doing a curfew checks! Make sure you’re in your room!” She all but shouts into the phone.

“What!?”

“It’s only 10:05 and he gave Toru and I detention for being out in the common area past curfew! He said he’s doing bed checks and knocking on doors next. Are you in your room!?”

“OMG!” You hang up on Mina and frantically wave your arms at Shoto.

“Aizawa is doing bed checks! You need to get to your room now!”

Shoto’s eyes widen and he quickly scoops up his English books from the floor. You push him towards the exit in a panic. You wrench the door open and quickly look up and down the hallway – it’s mercifully empty. Mr. Aizawa clearly hasn’t gotten to this floor yet.

“Okay, it’s all clear – go, go, go!” You push Shoto from the room bodily, his eyes still large and overwhelmed as he goes.

“But wait, I didn’t get to kiss you goodbye - ”

“This is life or death Shoto! Get out of here!” You push him in the direction of the staircase and quickly shut your door behind him. You hear his footsteps recede down the hallway and breathe a sigh of relief.

You call Mina back in a hurry. “Hey, sorry I hung up! I was out in the hall and had to make a beeline to my room before Aizawa made an appearance. He hasn’t been up to my dorm yet.”

“Thank goodness I got ahold of you before you got caught after hours! Lucky timing.” Mina sighs. “Now Toru and I need to spend tomorrow evening cleaning the classroom since we ‘broke curfew.’ This is bogus!”

“Wait that sucks.” You look in your mirror and fix your static hair as you chat. Suddenly, you have an idea. “I can come and help you, though. We can discuss our master plan while we clean!”

Mina laughs. “That would make it more fun! You’re such a good friend Y/N. I can always trust you to make things a little brighter.” You feel a knot form in your stomach at these words – Mina still has no idea about you and Todoroki. The magnitude of this secret weighs heavily in your heart. You bite your lip with anxiety. Should you tell her? She majorly saved your butt with that warning call…

“You too, Mina. You’re the best.” You say. You can’t seem to find the words to explain your Shoto situation to her, so you opt not to tell her. Your stomach continues to turn over in guilty knots. You hear hard footsteps coming up the hall, followed by the sound of distant knocking. “Oh my goodness I think Mr. Aizawa just made it to this floor. I’d better go.”

“Bye, girl! Text me!” Mina hangs up, leaving you to finish adjusting your appearance in the mirror. You make yourself presentable, pulling your hair up into a clean ponytail and adjusting your clothes to look less rumpled. A moment later, there’s a hard knock on the door.

You take a deep breath to center yourself and try not to look super ultra guilty when you open the door. Your teacher stands looming in the doorway, his hero costume looking a bit worse for wear. He must have just come back from patrol. He looks world weary and exhausted, the deep shadows under his eyes look worse than usual. His eyes are bloodshot – a typical side effect of his quirk.

“Oh, hi Mr. Aizawa. Is everything alright?” You ask brightly.

He glares down at you, but not unkindly. With his reddened eyes, he just tends to glare.

“Just doing a random check to make sure everyone’s sticking to curfew.” He says, voice gravely. “I’m surprised you weren’t in the common room with Ashido and Hagakure, you’re usually inseparable.”

You blink nervously at this – is he onto you or are you just being paranoid?

“Yeah I wanted to get some quiet reading done tonight. And you know how they are…definitely not quiet.” That’s the dumbest thing you’ve said all day, but for some reason Aizawa buys it.

“Yeah you kids are definitely one of the rowdier classes I’ve had over the years.” His sour look softens into an almost-smile. “Please go to bed at a reasonable time – we have a lot of training this week.”

“Will do!” You chirp out – you can’t believe you’re actually getting away from this situation unscathed.

He moves on to the next room and mutters quietly, almost to himself - “I caught Todoroki out of his dorm, too. We’re going to need to review the definition of “curfew” in homeroom class tomorrow.” He gives you a vague wave and you shut the door quickly, breathless. So Shoto didn’t make it to his room – from the sound of it, he ran right into Aizawa on the stairs.

You reach for your phone to text Shoto about the situation, typing out a quick “You got caught!?” accompanied by some shocked emoji faces. You hit send, and are surprised when you hear a buzzing noise coming from the direction of your bed – in his haste to escape your room, Shoto left his phone on your pillow.

“Aw, crap.” You scoop up the phone in its plain grey case and see your own text flash against the screen. You place it on your nightstand and resolve to discreetly give it to Shoto before class the next morning. Poor Shoto – caught for breaking curfew. You feel bad knowing that you’re the reason he likely has detention with Toru and Mina.

You get ready for bed - pulling on your comfiest pajamas and smoothing moisturizer across the planes of your face. You’re exhausted and still basking in the afterglow of your little hookup with Shoto. It would be so nice if he were here with you right now to cuddle. You wish you could run your fingers through his soft hair and watch him fall asleep in your arms again. Despite his absolute insane skills in combat training, Shoto is such a sweet quiet soul. You want to praise him for his sweetness, and help him realize that there are so many wonderful pieces of him aside from his powerful quirk.

You settle into bed and get comfy amongst your plushies, settling in for a good night’s rest. Your alarm is already scheduled for the next morning, but you double check that it’s set anyway. You take a moment to scroll through Instagram and are startled when Shoto’s phone starts to buzz on your night table. You scoop it up out of habit and read the screen. It’s a text from YaMomo.

Momo: “Hey Shoto, you left your sweatshirt in my dorm room yesterday evening. Come pick it up tomorrow? Good night.”

Um…WTF!?

End of Chapter.

---------------------------------

OMG wowwww I have been working on this update for a while! I have been writing Part 4 + 5 simultaneously, so you won't need to wait that long for the next update to drop! Part 5 is going to be *even more steamy.* In the next part, our character and her friends throw a big party and the class participates in a high stakes game of ~spin the bottle.~ I think you're all going to really enjoy it (and all of the ensuing drama, ofc!).

Thanks so much for reading and for your continued support on this + other stories! I hope that this was worth the wait. ☺️ Feel free to check out my other spicy works on The Master List pinned to the top of my blog!

❄️🔥THE EXCLUSIVE ICYTHOT TAG LIST🔥❄️

Oh and YEAH!! I started a tag list - if you’re interested in being on my tag list for Shoto's First Kiss chapters, please let me know! This tag list will hence forth be known as the "IcyThots" (get it...like IcyHot but instead we are all Thots for Shoto!? Heehehehe). If you commented enthusiastically on the past chapters I added you to the tag list - let me know if you want to be removed and I will absolutely take you off! I'm still new to this whole thing, so appreciate your patience!

XoXo, Red Riot Unbreakable Heart ❤️

❄️🔥THE ICYTHOTS🔥❄️

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[the-boy-meets-evil]

building blocks | yjh (teaser)

(agreeing to be the teaching assistant is the last thing you want in a semester where you're already swamped with work. but, you need a letter of recommendation from the professor and you're out of other options. enter jeonghan, the menace who signs up for the class seemingly on a whim and disrupts your entire routine.)

pairing: master's student!jeonghan x TA!f!reader genre: university!au, strangers to ?? | fluff, some angst, smut rating: explicit, minors DNI (for the full fic) word count: 842 for the teaser (est. 12-14k) warnings: none for the teaser (full fic: smut, drinking, eating, etc.) full fic: september 13th!

a/n: i wanted to drop a teaser of my fic for the TA collab hosted by the amazing @camandemstudios. those two have been working so hard on this and i can't wait to read all the fics. but go easy on me because i know next to nothing about structural engineering. credit to @caelesjjk for this banner, it's so amazing 🥰

join my taglist here or leave a comment to be tagged in the full fic!

Your entire academic (and professional, for that matter) career has been a battle. A fight to be taken seriously. A fight to get the right classes. A fight to make the right connections. A fight for every inch that you’ve gotten. There are times that you wonder if it’s all worth it, wonder if anything should be as hard as this. But, all you’ve ever wanted was to be an engineer. To be able to leave your mark in some sort of meaningful way, even if that’s also a little conceited. It’s all you want and you’re so close to getting some much needed room to breathe. 

Except…

You have to make it through one last semester of this damn Master’s program. You had been able to find a sponsor to allow you to commit to a final semester full time, with only part time research work. That’ll put you in a good position to carry on for your Ph.D, with your dissertation topic already picked and funded. Things had been going entirely too smoothly, in hindsight. You should have known. Everything about your application to the upcoming program is perfect. Except for the final recommendation. And, of course, the professor to give that recommendation won’t just give it to you to recognize the years you’ve put into this. No. He implies that there’s something he needs from you.

Nothing really awful, in the grand scheme of things. Not for someone that does want to return as a lecturer at some point down the road. It’s just that you didn’t really want to be forced into a teaching assistant position for Professor Choi’s introductory structural engineering course. It’s the course that weeds out who’s actually going to carry on with the civil engineer branch of the Master’s program from those who may switch out to something that better suits them. Which, again, isn’t a huge deal, except that you remember how burnt out the TA looked from when you took the course and it’s the last thing you need during your last semester. It’s also hard to know that some portion of your future hinges on doing this. It’s also hard to forget another friend of yours admitting Professor Choi had given him a recommendation without the hoops.

Whatever.

What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger and all that. 

So you schedule your regular meetings with the professor, make a separate email folder for all course related communication, jot down the important dates, and figure out which lessons you have to help plan. First up is going to be the introductory class. Professor Choi comes in and introduces himself while you distribute the syllabus, an odd task when everything is available online through the portal, but he likes things in hard copy. Once he’s done his introduction, he leaves the rest of the first class to you, as he had with the TA in your course during your first semester. For a moment, you consider pointing out that this is a Master’s level course and you don’t really need to do the typical introductions. Most of these people have busy lives and, even though they’ll have to work together on projects, can manage without syllabus week. But, Choi is old school and you know it. You also need his letter, so what’s the point in trying to change his system? You’re not here to do anything other than fill a spot that he was having trouble filling, get your letter, and go. 

When you scan the roster before the first day, nobody particularly sticks out. There are a couple of relatively familiar names, though you’re not sure you can place faces to them, but most of the students seem to be in their first semester of the program. It only takes getting to the introductions for someone in the course to stick out.

“Well, I’ve always been good at building Legos. I figure, how different can it really be?” one student answers.

It takes everything in you to school your face back into a politely interested expression when the rest of the class bursts out laughing. Your initial reaction had been incredulity. Surely he couldn’t be serious. There’s no way someone just wandered into this program because he liked building Legos. The laughter from the rest of the class dies down and you keep your attention on him.

“Why did you really join the program?” you ask. That’s what every student was supposed to be sharing. A problem for this student, apparently.

“That is why I joined,” he says with an infuriating smirk. 

“What did you say your name was?” you ask.

“Jeonghan,” he answers without anything else.

You consult the roster in front of you and put a star by his name. This is someone you know you’re going to have to keep an eye on. 

“Did I get a star already?” he prompts, earning another few chuckles from his classmates.

“Something like that,” you say and then turn to the person next to him. “And why did you join?”

i hope you enjoyed it! and less than a week til the full fic is posted 🫣

taglist: @newjihoonie, @tinyelfperson, @dokyeomkyeom, @miriamxsworld, @hongrizon, @klecksstorys, @sunflowergyeomie, @gyuminusone, @aaniag, @straykidswhoo789, @kimseokgen, @beomesbabe, @haolistic, @vanishingboots, @babybae-shisui, @harry-the-pottypus, @okiedokrie-main, @nuttywastelandmentality, @writingbarnes, @gyuhao365, @jjin-kun, @divinityyy, @dibidibidismynameisleeknow, @jelly-n (strikethrough means can't tag)

[kingofbodyrolls]

Say I Do (m) | jjk

Summary: you and Jungkook tease each other at your wedding reception.

Pairing: jungkook x female reader (no Y/N and unnamed)

AUs: non-idol!au, wedding!au

Genres: smut– like it’s just smut, nothing else 🤣

Rating: mature/explicit/R18 – this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact!

Word count: 5,2k

Disclaimer: I do not own BTS or know them personally and this work of fiction is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only. The actions and personalities described in the story do not reflect those of BTS— it’s just fiction. Also, if you would kindly read the tags/warnings before reading, that would be lovely: and if you don’t like whatever is described in the tags, just hit return and find something else to read. Thank you 🌸

Warnings/tag: unprotected sex, exhibitionism, voyeurism, public sex, handjob, oral (female receiving), dirty talk, slightly rough sex, choking, biting, spitting, ass grabbing, impreg kink, degrading names (whore used once).

Author’s note: I made this for my lovely friend Lua (@letjungcoook7)!!!! SURPRISE!!!! I hope you like it! I was inspired to make this because of our chat, and I just want to say that you are so fucking lovely, sweet and kind 💖 I really hope this isn’t too much, but I just had too 🥹 I really wanted to make it dirty, but it ended up being more sweet instead, I’m sorry! I love talking to you and I just wanted to let you know that I adore and treasure you 😘 

Honestly Lua, I just wrote this to tell you how beautiful you are– mind, body and soul. Thank you Lua, I love ya 💜

This is just something very short while I work on ‘My Heart’s Home’. But I hope you like it, and please let me know what you think: my inbox is always open, and I love to hear from you, even a reblog/comment will put a big smile on my face 💜

Also!!! This is written from Jungkook’s POV (well I tried, lol). And normally I don’t describe the reader/MC, but she does have a tiny bit description in this, but I still feel it’s vague enough. But if that isn’t your thing, it’s completely fine 🙂 This is not proofread (because I’m too lazy for that right now).

This has nothing to do with my other fic 'say that again (I dare you)', but if you want to read that I'm not opposed (it's also a jjk fic) ✨

Fancy reading on AO3? 😉 

Rising gracefully to his feet, Taehyung's infectious enthusiasm fills the room as he declares, “I propose a toast!” His radiant smile sweeps over the myriad of guests you meticulously invited to your wedding—more than a hundred souls sharing in the joy of your love story. 

As he prepares to speak, Jungkook can't help but marvel at the grandeur of the occasion. Despite his personal inclination towards a more intimate celebration, he wouldn't dream of denying you this moment, surrounded by the warmth of friends and family who have come together to witness the union of two hearts.

Despite Taehyung's earnest attempt to capture Jungkook's attention with a throat-clearing preamble, Jungkook finds himself inexplicably entranced elsewhere. Even in the midst of one of his closest friends delivering a heartfelt wedding speech—something he should be wholeheartedly absorbing—but it’s hard. As hard as his dick that you’re palming over his dress pants.

The tantalizing dance of your hand sends ripples of pleasure through him, an intoxicating distraction that eclipses all other thoughts. It's an artful symphony of sensation, each movement crafting a masterpiece of desire within him. The struggle to concentrate on anything else becomes an exhilarating battle. Fuck. 

You, the mischievous enchantress, wield your allure like a potent spell. 

A tantalizing awareness of your own danger courses through your veins, and you wield it with an expert finesse. Every knowing glance, every sly smile, is a calculated move in the game you effortlessly play. You've mastered the art of ensnaring him, wrapping him around your finger with a magnetic force that compels him to dance to your whims. It's a dangerous dance, but he willingly succumbs to the intoxication of your charm, embracing the thrill as much as he cherishes the intoxicating love he feels for you.

What the fuck is Taehyung saying?

Taehyung’s words dissolve into a meaningless buzz, drowned out by the illicit symphony you're orchestrating beneath the table. The audacious zipper sliding down and the tantalizing exploration of your hand over the fabric of his boxer briefs command all of Jungkook's attention.

Profanity trembles on the edge of his tongue, but it's lost in the overwhelming sensation that eclipses any coherent thought. Your stealthy touch renders him blissfully oblivious to everything else unfolding around him.

Suppressing a low, guttural sound, he clenches his teeth, using every ounce of willpower to stifle the moan building in his throat. As desire courses through him like a wildfire, he willingly parts his legs, a silent invitation for you to explore more boldly, granting ample space for the electrifying touch of your hand over the hardened length of his cock.

He marvels at your audacity, finding it both exhilarating and daring that you'd embark on such a provocative escapade during your wedding reception. Yet, deep down, he acknowledges that it's a reflection of the wild spirit that has always defined your relationship. It's a shared affinity for dancing on the edge, reveling in the allure of danger, and delighting in the thrill of engaging in activities that should, by all accounts, remain private. It's a facet of your relationship that has always been magnetic, drawing you both into a world where the risk of being caught only adds to the intoxicating excitement.

In the blink of an eye, your hand deftly maneuvers beneath the fabric of his boxers, sending a shiver down his spine. A hiss escapes his lips as your long, slender fingers confidently envelop his cock. The warmth of your touch is both a balm and an inferno, and he instinctively tilts his head back in the chair, a silent plea for discretion. 

As he surrenders to the delicious sensation, he can't help but cast a furtive glance around, fervently hoping that the clandestine ballet unfolding beneath the table remains a tantalizing secret shared only between you.

Despite the uproarious laughter echoing through the room in response to Taehyung's speech, Jungkook remains oblivious to its contents, ensnared the choreography of your hand beneath the table. 

The mirthful ambiance only fuels his curiosity, surmising that Taehyung must have delivered a punchline or shared a humorous anecdote. Meanwhile, beneath the table's concealment, your hand skillfully traces a tantalizing path along his hardened cock, drawing a hushed hiss from Jungkook's lips. 

With a steely resolve, he masks any trace of emotion, locking his features in a stoic facade and maintaining an impressive silence. His determined effort is not just to conceal the electrifying sensations your actions are evoking, but also to safeguard the clandestine intimacy you both share from the prying eyes of the unsuspecting guests. 

Every fiber of his being is a coiled spring, resisting the urge to yield to the pleasure that threatens to unravel beneath the veneer of his restrained expression. 

As his gaze shifts towards you, he's met with an unexpected sight—there you sit, an image of demure elegance in your exquisite white gown. 

The fabric caresses your curves in all the right places, accentuating the allure of your figure. The daringly low neckline teases a glimpse of the captivating silhouette of your bosom, leaving him momentarily breathless. The off-the-shoulder design unveils a generous expanse of your soft, tender skin, a tantalizing sight that aligns perfectly with his preferences. 

Despite the provocative allure of your attire, your outward appearance betrays no hint of the illicit affair transpiring beneath the table. If he didn't intimately know the secret you were concealing—your hand discreetly exploring the realm beneath his pants—he'd be fooled by the serene facade you present, seemingly absorbed in the captivating rhythm of Taehyung's speech.

In a silent plea of gratitude, Jungkook revels in the fact that the attention of the guests is fixed on Taehyung's speech, sparing him the scrutiny of prying eyes. 

Little do they know, the real spectacle unfolds beneath the table, where your touch becomes an exquisite torment. 

Every movement of your hand is a tantalizing dance, a blend of ecstasy and torture that threatens to unravel him. With a teasing finesse, your soft fingers caress his frenulum, tracing a path towards the depths of pleasure. The deliberate slide over his slit elicits a shiver of pure ecstasy, leaving Jungkook teetering on the precipice of desire that you expertly navigate.

Your hand envelops him, a cocoon of warmth that intensifies with each skillful stroke. The pleasure coursing through him is undeniably exquisite, a testament to the mastery of your touch. Yet, a lingering awareness tugs at the edges of his consciousness—an impending climax that threatens to unravel the careful threads of restraint. The exquisite sensations you evoke compel him to desperately anchor his thoughts, to redirect the intoxicating focus from the captivating dance beneath the table to Taehyung's speech.

The challenge lies not just in resisting the magnetic pull of pleasure but in maintaining a semblance of composure, navigating the delicate balance between the ecstasy you're orchestrating beneath the table and the public façade demanded by the occasion.

“We’ve been friends for so long, how many years is it now, Gguk?” As Taehyung poses the question, a hushed anticipation envelops the room, and all eyes converge on Jungkook. 

Fuck. 

All eyes are on him and he can’t think— he’s mind is clouded with thoughts of you. 

Taehyung– Fuck. How long have they been friends? 

In a sudden stumble of recollection, he breathes out, “17 years,” the weight of the shared history resonating in the room. Yet, the gravity of the moment is unexpectedly intensified as you administer an assertive squeeze around cock. Fuck.

With a chuckle that slices through the tension, Taehyung seamlessly continues his discourse, effortlessly reclaiming the attention of the room and redirecting every wandering gaze back to him. A collective exhale echoes in Jungkook's mind, a silent gratitude for the timely diversion that spares the clandestine spectacle beneath the table from becoming the unwitting center of attention. 

Relentless, you maintain the rhythm on his dick, displaying an unwavering determination that hints at an intention to push him to the brink, right under the unsuspecting gaze of the gathered guests. 

As the divine caress of your hand propels him perilously close to the edge, a surge of urgency overtakes him. Desperate, he turns his face towards you, eyes silently pleading for respite, but your gaze remains steadfastly elsewhere. 

Frustration wells within him, and he attempts to use his hands to guide yours away, only to find your grip tightening in response. The conflicting forces of pleasure and restraint collide within him, his muscles tensing as a hitch in his breath betrays the precarious precipice upon which he teeters.

Leaning in, you bring with you a halo of your natural sweet scent, an intoxicating allure that wraps around him, overwhelming his senses and leaving him slightly dizzy. 

Your lips, soft and plush, delicately find his cheek in what appears to be a tender gesture to the outside world. To the unsuspecting onlookers, it's a simple, sweet kiss on the cheek. 

Little do they know, in that same moment, your daring move involves not just the gentle press of your lips but the subtle exploration of your other hand slipping under his boxers to fondle his balls.

Fucking hell he’s gonna come.

Ecstasy courses through him like a wildfire, an imminent eruption fueled by the intoxicating cocktail of your skillful touch on his balls, warm breath teasing his ear, and the relentless grip on his pulsating desire. The threshold between pleasure and release narrows to a perilous edge, and he finds himself teetering on the brink, held captive by the maddening symphony of sensations you've orchestrated. 

Despite his valiant efforts to remain attentive to his friend's speech, the sheer mastery of your pleasure-inducing touch proves insurmountable. Every deliberate stroke, every strategic squeeze of his balls, propels him further into the abyss of ecstasy. In a moment of surrender, he can no longer contain the torrent of desire, and ropes of his essence surge forth from his throbbing dick. His lips bear the weight of a stifled moan, as you keep stroking him through his orgasm.

Beside him, your chuckle is a symphony of sweetness interwoven with a hint of mischief, a melodic backdrop to the ongoing crescendo of pleasure you expertly administer through his orgasm. 

As he traverses the realm of oversensitivity, a low, guttural grunt escapes him, drawing the curious gaze of Taehyung, engrossed in his ongoing speech. Though momentarily caught in a gaze of questioning inquiry, Taehyung forges ahead, resuming his speech with a peculiar stare, unwittingly oblivious to the spectacle unfolding beside him.

Thank fuck both of your parents aren’t seated right next to you. That would have been utterly mortifying and embarrassing.

With a deliberate finesse, you retract your hand from his crotch, guiding it gracefully over the table, where you nonchalantly employ a napkin to erase any lingering evidence. Seated there, you adopt an innocent facade, a picture of angelic composure that conceals the fact that, mere seconds ago, your hand delved into the forbidden realm beneath his pants. 

With an audible exhale, he reaches for a napkin, hastily attending to the aftermath on his pants. The damage is fortunately minimal, thanks to your deft intervention that efficiently captured most of his release. Smart girl.

But a mischievous spark ignites in his eyes, a silent vow echoing beneath the surface - oh, he's going to get back at you for that, you little minx. 

–

As the notes of the classic wedding waltz envelop the room, Jungkook marvels at the surreal reality—he gets to call you his wife now. The ethereal glow surrounding you transcends the physical, a radiant aura that has always defined you. Despite your humble protestations about your own beauty, he's captivated by the undeniable truth: you've always been, and continue to be, an enchanting vision. Countless times you've confessed to feeling otherwise, but in his eyes, you're a masterpiece. In this moment, as you dance together, you're not just a part of his world; you are his entire universe.

Gazing into the pools of your sweet, doe-like eyes, their exquisite almond shape captivates him, holding his attention in an unbreakable trance. He contemplates the nuances of your beauty, from the enchanting curvature of your slightly upturned nose to the endearing moments when he can't resist playfully poking it during your teasing exchanges. Every inch of you, in his eyes, is a masterpiece, and he pledges to vocalize his admiration every day, a ritual aimed at etching your beauty into your own consciousness. 

He dreams that with each affirming word, he'll weave a tapestry of self-love around you, until the day you see yourself as he does—undeniably, breathtakingly beautiful.

As you dance, your eyes ablaze with an unmistakable love, he luxuriates in the intensity of your gaze. A daring current of desire propels his hand, gliding with deliberate intent down your body until it boldly claims your ass. 

Uninhibited, he seizes it with audacious confidence, the bold move oblivious to the watchful eyes surrounding you. A soft, mischievous squeeze elicits a sweet chuckle from you, a harmonious note in the symphony of shared amusement that reverberates through the party, as the crowd collectively succumbs to the captivating allure of your uninhibited dance.

As the soft strains of the music envelop you both in a waltz, your heads draw nearer, the enchanting melody echoing the tender dance of your hearts. With the song nearing its end, he seizes the moment, leaning in intimately close to your ear. The hushed promise that escapes his lips carries a tantalizing undercurrent, his warm breath grazing your skin as he vows, “I'm going to get you back for earlier, babe.”

He senses the subtle shiver coursing through you as his touch lingers, a silent testament to the shared electricity between you. As the final notes of the song fade into the applause and cheers of the crowd, seizing the perfect moment, he leans in, embracing you in a sweet and passionate kiss. 

As the rhythm of a more upbeat song invigorates the dance floor, he seizes the opportunity to whisk you away from the lively crowd. Amidst the pulsating beats and the vivacious laughter of the guests, he guides you outside the building, their merriment gradually fading into the background.

In the crisp night air, he asserts a sudden dominance, pressing you against the sturdy wall. His gaze, infused with an unmistakable hunger and need, locks onto your beautiful eyes, creating a magnetic tension that reverberates between you. 

“You are a little minx, you know that?” His words, not laced with anger but rather a dangerous undercurrent of arousal, hang in the charged air. Your chuckle, a sweet symphony that further stirs the tempest within him, prompts a hiss as he succumbs to the magnetic pull, diving fervently into the captivating abyss of your mouth.

The kiss intensifies, a collision of passion that is both hard and rough, fueled by an undeniable need. In the urgency of the moment, he can't afford to wait, the impatience palpable in every fervent press of lips. 

You envelop him in the embrace of your arms, fingers intertwining at the nape of his neck, while your gaze rises to meet his. In the depths of his eyes, once warm brown orbs now transformed into pools of near-black intensity, a reflection of the potent arousal coursing through his veins. 

Your hand embarks on a daring journey, descending to the front of his pants once more, and the response is instantaneous – hardness reignites, a testament to the insatiable flame you kindle within him. Desire for you pulses like a constant current, an almost permanent state of arousal that defies logical explanation. Whatever enchantment you cast upon him, it's an irresistible force that weaves a tantalizing spell, leaving him perpetually captivated by the mystique of your touch.

Breaking away from the embrace of your soft lips, he wears a smirk laden with both warning and allure. “You're playing with fire, babe,” he remarks, the subtle edge in his voice echoing the intoxicating dance of danger and desire that swirls between you.

In a hushed whisper that flutters against your ear, he breathes, “You've been a naughty girl.” 

The words, laden with an undercurrent of sultry authority, send a shiver down your spine, awakening a cascade of tingles that traverse the landscape of your entire body. 

Descending to the delicate expanse of your neck, he peppers it with soft, almost teasing kisses, each touch a prelude to the symphony of sensations. Then, in an abrupt shift from gentle caresses, he bites down, coaxing from you a loud moan that resonates through the air—an intoxicating sound that echoes in the depths of his desire, a melody he'll never tire of hearing. 

Continuing his explorative journey, he ventures further south, his lips descending to the curve of your breasts. With a deliberate tenderness, he places a kiss atop the soft expanse of your tender tits.

Gracefully sinking to his knees, he gazes up at you with a mischievous smirk, the air thick with a heady mixture of desire and anticipation. His tongue darts out, grazing his lips in a provocative dance of anticipation, signaling the imminent exploration of pleasures yet to unfold. 

With an assertive grip, he seizes the front of your dress, drawing it away in a swift, purposeful motion. Despite the abundance of fabric, he deftly bunches it up with ease. “Hold your dress, please,” he directs, handing you the end of the gathered fabric. 

“Hmm. Nice lace stockings, and that girdle—what are you doing to me?” he murmurs, his voice a tantalizing blend of desire and fascination. His gaze lingers appreciatively on your beautiful thighs encased in nude stockings adorned with lace at the top, fastened to a concealed girdle on your waist.

His eyes widen with a mix of surprise and arousal as they land on your wet and glistening pussy, the evidence of desire trickling down your thigh. “Oh my god. You're not wearing panties?” he breathes out, his voice carrying the weight of both revelation and anticipation. A subtle lick of his lips betrays the intensity of his reaction.

A playful chuckle escapes your lips as you hover above him, and without a moment's hesitation, he immerses himself in the intoxicating warmth of your desire. His lips eagerly find their destination, tracing a decadent path from the delicate folds to the pulsating essence of your clit. 

The sensation ripples through your body, igniting a shiver that becomes an involuntary response to the electrifying dance between tongues, pleasure, and the shared yearning that binds you together.

He embarks on a tantalizing journey of tongue and suction, starting with teasing caresses that send tremors of anticipation through your body. His hands, strong and purposeful, find purchase on your thighs, holding you in a firm grip as he orchestrates a symphony of pleasure with his skillful tongue, creating an intoxicating dance that blurs the lines between sensation and desire.

A throaty moan escapes your lips as his nose delicately brushes against your pulsating cl*t, his tongue delving as deep as its voracious hunger allows. The exquisite sensation of his exploration elicits an involuntary clenching around him, a testament to the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you.

Your thighs, unable to withstand the intensity, succumb to a tremor, trembling beneath the intoxicating caress of pleasure that consumes you.

His dexterous fingers ascend to your throbbing clit, and with a skillful touch, he sets in motion a rapid dance of pleasure, causing your entire body to quiver with newfound intensity. The quickened rhythm of your breath becomes a symphony of desire, a telltale sign for him that you're teetering on the precipice of ecstasy.

Eager to reciprocate the pleasure you bestowed upon him within the confines of the reception, he fervently laps at your tender folds. Simultaneously, his fingers engage in a deft dance around your throbbing clit, orchestrating a symphony of sensations that echoes the pulsating rhythm of desire between you.

With the harmonious fusion of his skilled tongue and nimble fingers, he orchestrates the unraveling of your senses. As ecstasy courses through you, your body convulses in euphoria, your walls clenching around his tongue, and the pulsating rhythm of your clit intensifying under the spell of his fingers. 

Waves of pleasure surge through you, causing your body to quake, and in the throes of ecstasy, you release a high-pitched, strained moan that bears his name—an intimate symphony of pleasure that lingers in the air.

Breathless and overwhelmed, you gasp out his name, a plea woven into the words, “Fuck, Jungkook. I can't stand up anymore.” As he gracefully withdraws from your core, his gaze rises to meet yours, locking in a shared moment of intensity.

He chuckles, the rich timbre of his laughter lingering in the charged air. “I know, babe. Do you want me to fuck you against the wall?”

You draw in a sharp breath, and he keenly observes the subtle clench of your hand, the fabric of the dress tightly gathered within your grasp. 

“Fuck yeah,” An unbridled affirmation escapes your lips, a primal declaration of desire. As he rises to his feet, a surge of urgency propels him to capture your mouth in a hungry kiss. The taste of your own release lingers on his lips, creating an intimate communion of shared pleasure that binds you together in the aftermath of passion.

As he engulfs you in a fervent kiss, the symphony of desire playing out between you, his hands deftly navigate the zipper of his dress pants. With a purposeful movement, he unveils his throbbing cock, stroking it in rhythmic cadence. 

His hands, driven by a primal urgency, seek out the contours of your a*s with a possessive intent. “Jump up, babe,” he commands, the resonance of his voice weaving a spell of anticipation. As you obediently jump, he effortlessly lifts you, cocooning you against the wall. 

In a brief struggle against the bulk of your dress, both of you grapple with the fabric, pushing it away from the front of your entwined bodies. A shared chuckle hangs in the air, a lighthearted interlude in the midst of fervor. But as the fabric yields to your efforts, Jungkook seizes the opportunity, moving in with an insatiable hunger to bite at your neck once more. 

With a sultry whisper, he breathes, “I'm gonna fuck a baby into you, would you like that, hmm?” 

The words, pregnant with promise, glide against your ear, and the responsive clench of your legs around his waist speaks volumes. A knowing chuckle escapes him as you endeavor to pull him even closer, the shared desire resonating between you in the charged space.

“Please,” your plea, a desperate yet fervent entreaty, escapes your lips, a poignant melody of desire that resonates in the charged air. The subtle smirk that graces his lips is both a testament to your undeniable need for him and an acknowledgment of the power he holds over your cravings.

With a deliberate touch, he locates his throbbing cock with one hand and skillfully aligns it with your dripping entrance. The tantalizing dance begins as he teases your slick folds with the head of his pulsating dick, creating an electrifying friction that amplifies the anticipation between you two. 

“Gguk, please,” you plead with a mixture of desire and frustration, your voice echoing the urgent need for him to bridge the gap between anticipation and fulfillment. However, he remains steadfast, skillfully teasing your slick folds without granting the entry your body craves. 

With a desperate plea escaping your lips once more, he finally relents. The moment stretches with anticipation before he forcefully thrusts his thick cock into your eager pussy. The collision is met with an audible impact as your back forcefully meets the wall.

He forgoes the customary pause for adjustment, intuitively aware that you relish the exquisite stretch when he enters you so abruptly. Without hesitation, he plunges deep into your core, reaching the furthest recesses, his thick length grazing against your cervix. 

“You’re so big, the stretch feels so good!” 

You gasp breathlessly against his body, overwhelmed by the sheer size of him. The intoxicating stretch sends waves of pleasure coursing through you, a visceral reminder of the intensity between you two. Determined to fully immerse yourself in the sensation, you pant against him, actively striving to ride the wave of pleasure, desperate to fuck yourself on him, the relentless pursuit of ecstasy evident in every ardent movement.

He establishes a relentless rhythm, driving into you with a force that resonates against the unyielding wall of the building. The symphony of your combined panting echoes in the air, a melodic accompaniment to the unbridled passion unfolding. Jungkook, captivated by the primal symphony, savors every delightful noise escaping your lips—a harmonious blend of desire and surrender, heightening the intensity of the fervent connection shared between you.

As he thrusts into you, each powerful motion striking your cervix, he elevates the intensity by trailing one hand up to your neck. With a gentle yet possessive touch, he wraps his fingers around your throat.

He knows you like it dirty and rough, and fuck he does too. 

His taunting words, laced with a playful yet provocative tone, cut through the charged air. “Did you enjoy the little game with your fingers down my pants while Tae was making his speech?” The rhetorical question hangs between you, a teasing challenge that elicits a subtle clenching reaction around him. 

In a sultry revelation, he whispers, “'Next to your bridesmaid and your parents. You naughty girl.” The hand steadying against the wall takes a firm hold of your ass, squeezing the soft flesh with deliberate intent. A resonant moan of pleasure escapes your lips, harmonizing with the rhythmic cadence of his thrusts as he skillfully targets your sweet spot. 

“So naughty,” he breathes, punctuating each fervent thrust with a rhythmic intensity that sends shivers down your spine. “You enjoy getting off in front of your friends, huh?” His words, infused with a seductive blend of desire and provocation, become a tantalizing soundtrack to the relentless grind of his dick into you.

“And getting me off too? Whore,” he seethes into your ear, the heated accusation leaving a scorching trail of desire in its wake. Your response, a shiver against his body, fuels the intensity of the moment. 

As he continues to fuck you with an unrestrained force, your breasts bounce in a mesmerizing rhythm that captivates him. So fucking perfect.

“Stick your tongue out,” he commands, his eyes intently fixed on you as you obediently roll out your tongue, anticipating the act you relish. The charged moment lingers, pregnant with expectation. With a deliberate move, he spits on your waiting tongue, and you, the embodiment of submission, dutifully swallow it.

Damn it, he knows he won't last much longer if he continues to be entranced by the rhythmic bounce of your enticing breasts—they possess an almost hypnotic allure over him. And that tongue of yours, oh, it's pure seduction. 

“And you can't even wait until we reach our hotel suite to be fucked. So fucking needy, and I love it,” he declares, a blend of admiration and desire lacing his words. The deliberate clench of his fingers around your throat follows, a subtle yet potent assertion of control. His gaze remains fixed on your eyes, watching with a predatory intensity as they dilate even more.

As he tightens his grip, the sensation of his fingers constricting around your throat elicits a primal response—your walls clenching around his cock. The synchronized symphony of pleasure and control intertwines, and a guttural groan escapes him, an audible testament to the ecstasy coursing through his veins. 

Driven by an insatiable desire, he redoubles his efforts to fuck you even deeper.

“My filthy wife,” he pants into your ear, the possessive term dripping with desire, a declaration that ignites a primal response within you. The sultry proclamation elicits a moan of his name from your lips, a vocal affirmation of the all-encompassing pleasure coursing through your body. His acute awareness of your nearing climax manifests in the rhythmic clenching around his dick, a tangible sign of the intimate dance between you two.

“Fuck, Gguk. I'm so close again. Fuck!” you pant fervently against the curve of his neck, the words laced with desperation and desire. He senses the mounting intensity in your voice, a symphony of passion reaching its crescendo. 

Yet, he's attuned to the nuances, recognizing the subtle signs that your body, though on the brink of ecstasy, bears the weight of fatigue, having navigated the day in those tantalizing heels. 

“You crave an audience, don't you? Want people to watch you, to hear you,” he moans into your ear, the words a sultry declaration that fans the flames of desire between you two. The acknowledgment of your shared exhibitionist desires ignites a fresh surge of pleasure, prompting an instinctive clench around him.

“Then scream my name, let everyone in the damn party know how damn good I'm fucking you,” he commands, the intensity of his voice sending shivers down your spine. As your walls clench with even greater fervor, pulsating around his dick, a wave of your liquid envelops him, transforming the intimate connection into a slippery dance of shared pleasure.

You unleash his name with a primal scream, the sheer force of your ecstasy reverberating through the open air outside. Your head drops against the curve of his neck, seeking refuge in the haven of his embrace as the waves of pleasure cascade over you.

He relentlessly thrusts his dick into you, the urgency palpable as he seeks his own release. “I'm gonna give you a baby, just like we've always dreamed of.”

“Ahhh, fuck, yes!” The exclamation bursts from your lips, a little too loud, as an uncontrollable surge of pleasure courses through you. Your teeth instinctively seek refuge on his shoulder, sinking into the firm flesh in an unbridled act of both ecstasy and restraint.

“Fuck, babe, I'm gonna come,” he confesses with a guttural moan, each subsequent thrust punctuated with the desperation of impending release. His rhythm stumbles, an involuntary response to the intensity building within him as he hurtles towards the precipice of his orgasm. And then it hits him.

The rhythmic bounce of your tits in his face, the soft and sweet scent that envelops him, and the melodic cadence of your voice—all converge to cast a spell on his senses. In the midst of your lovely moans, he succumbs to the intoxicating blend of sensations, unleashing a torrent of white-hot semen deep inside your spent pussy. 

Panting and gasping, you both struggle for precious breaths, bodies slick with the sheen of sweat acquired in the throes of passion. Amidst the shared exhaustion, a mutual chuckle reverberates between you, an intimate exchange that encapsulates the postcoital atmosphere.

With your head nestled against his, you gaze into the depth of his eyes and confess, “I love you, Gukkie.” The words, tender and raw, bridge the physical intimacy you've just shared with the emotional vulnerability of a heartfelt declaration.

“I love you too. Every damn inch of you, you're so beautiful,” he pants, a declaration infused with both desire and admiration. As he smiles at you, the post-passion glow accentuates the sincerity in his eyes, turning the exchange into a powerful affirmation.

He'll never tire of professing his boundless love and adoration for you, vowing to weave those sentiments into the fabric of each passing day. The promise to remind you, with unwavering devotion, echoes in his commitment to articulate his love every damn day.

Please let me know if you liked it with a comment, reblog, and ask or whatever 💜

[written-in-flowers]

His Obsession: Demon!Mingi x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Incubi!Mingi x Fem!reader | side pairings: demonline x fem, yunho x mingi

Word count: 17k

Genre: smut, fluff, and slight angst MINORS DNI

Summary: A startling realization has YN questioning everything she knew about herself. With help from Mingi and the mysterious "Dennis", she learns quickly that she's more than a mere slave.

Tags: master/slave dynamic, enslavement, bondage, poly relationship (mmmf), animal death (a mouse), monster fucking, tentacle sex, demon fucking, bisexual sex, foursome (m/m/m/f), threesome (m/f/m?), science experiments mentioned/implied, suspension, tit fucking, dirty talk, name calling, cream pie, anal sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, mentions of violence/torture, very slight feederism, voyeurism, auralism (slight), double penetration, rough oral sex, oral sex.

Previously on Pretty Pet > Next

***

Must he be tortured this way? Mingi thought he might lose his mind at this rate. Standing outside Seonghwa’s bedroom, he overheard everything. From the “fight” with Yeosang to you accepting the loser's punishment, Mingi stood by as always and listened. He considered sneaking inside to watch from the shadows, but knew better. Part of being a bodyguard is remaining at his post unless called elsewhere. The young lords hired him for a reason; he won't give them an excuse to fire him. 

Instead, Mingi stood by the door and listened. He heard your loud moans and groans. The images your sounds created tortured him. He spent his entire day around you whether you knew it or not. Mingi stood watch as Jongho helped you bathe. He stayed outside the rooms you occupied. On the few times you went into the city, he walked right behind you. That was his place: five paces behind you. This meant he was subjected to your body. Your soft floral scent wafted over to him each time you moved; his eyes constantly landed on your ass, taking in the shape and curve of it from afar. The night he watched Hongjoong tie you up was the best thing he'd ever seen. Mingi couldn’t count how many times he stayed up late thinking of his dick in your throat. 

Mingi turned his head when the door latch clicked. Yeosang walked out of the room, dazed and exhausted from his time with you. He felt compelled to ask his cousin how things went. He died to know the details. Yet, all he said was:

“Rough fight?”

“Brutal, but I won.”

“As expected.”

“It got me the weekend off too.”

“Nice and well deserved.”

Yeosang bid him good night and walked towards the stairs. Mingi pictured himself in Yeosang’s position, floaty and giddy from the entanglement. You always sound so good. He yet to find a slum girl who fucks half as good as you. The ones he came across only did it because he paid them well. You sincerely enjoyed it and that alone aroused him. 

“Are they finished yet?” 

Yunho came around the corner with a tray of tea and biscuits. No doubt San or Seonghwa called for food to feed their pet. Yunho, handsome and tall, was the most devoted out of all the servants. He truly did not let his emotions get the better of him or let it interrupt his work. Though Mingi noticed that you tempted even the strongest of the staff. Cold serums and syrups became regular parts of his meals since you arrived. 

“I think so,” Mingi answered. “You're free to go in and attend to them.”

Yunho glanced down to his crotch to see the bump. Mingi’s cheeks flushed a light pink at the realization. He covered them with folded hands, acting natural and casual, but Yunho already saw. He stepped to him, eyes downcasted at the bulge, and he smirked. 

“Again, Mingi?’

“I can't help it,” he defended. “She's…”

“I know. She sounds so pretty,” he said. He then caressed the bulge with one hand, and Mingi crumbled. “She's not the only one. How about once they're asleep, you come to my room and we take care of our problems together?”

“Oh? You're a bit compromised, Mr. Jeong?” Mingi reached out for his groin, already feeling the length hidden in his pants. “I thought the house manager controlled his urges.”

“I can hold them off,” he said in a low voice, tracing the seam of Mingi’s pants. “Unlike some demons I know…”

“You'd get hardons too if you heard her getting fucked multiple times a day.”

“I bet I would. Too bad she's a slave,” he said, “I don't think I'd be able to control myself otherwise.”

“Then let's hope they throw her in the greenhouse. I don't mind getting a bit dirty.”

“I know you don't.”

Yunho grazed his lips over Mingi’s, then stepped away to open the door. The tightness Yunho created swelled inside his boxers. An image of having both you and Yunho made him internally whimper. He'd do anything to taste you again. He couldn't wait for tomorrow at least. It'd be a Hongjoong day, and the middle brother never refused a third partner. 

But Yunho’s body is equally delightful. 

****

His lips always felt so good on your skin. His plush mouth started at your shoulder before making its way to the curve of your neck. His thin arms always encompass you entirely to keep you close as he kisses you. You could hear him faintly inhale your scent, taking in your aroma amongst the mess around you. He didn't care if his brothers happened to be right beside you. To Hongjoong, for those few minutes of daybreak, in the silence of the bedchamber, you are his and only his. 

“Morning,” he said sleepily in your ear, kissing you just underneath the lobe. It'd become his favorite spot to kiss. 

“Morning,” you croaked, your voice hoarse and body aching. 

“Sleep well?”

“Like a baby.”

You slid from San’s arms and into Hongjoong’s completely. His smooth creamy skin glowed in the rays of light breaking through the curtains. Out of all the brothers, Hongjoong continued to be the enigma. Spending time with the brothers one at a time gave you an idea of their expectations. San expected hot meals and a clean apartment. Seonghwa liked intelligent conversation and listening to you play the piano. Hongjoong left you guessing and wondering. His schedule remained ambiguous, his preferences and kinks changed daily, and he never did the same thing twice. At times, he acted like a child, but you learned he mostly did it to annoy Seonghwa. He kept you on your toes, and you liked that. You snuggled against his chest when he pulled you in, and planted a soft kiss on his lips. Laying in Seonghwa’s bed, underneath the warm blankets, you could sleep in his arms forever. 

“Do you still feel any pain?” he asked, his hand gently rubbing your back. 

“Nothing out of the usual,” you said, shutting your eyes and washing yourself in his touch. “Your hands are rough,” you pointed out suddenly. 

“Do you not like that?”

“I do,” you assured him. The hand on your back slid down to your ass, tenderly cupping before coming upwards again. You put your hand on his chest, idly swirling patterns into the soft flesh. “It feels good on my skin.”

“I work with my hands often,” he told you, brushing hair from your face. “It comes from handling weapons and other things all day.”

You refused to learn what ‘other things’ are. “Gloves are a thing, you know.”

“I use them,” he said with a soft laugh, “But I sometimes like using my tools with bare hands. Something about breaking someone with nothing between me and them but my knives just…” you felt him shudder against you, “It gives a rush. It is the only time I feel anything, to be truthful.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve done every drug and drank every drink known to man,” he began, fingers gently tracing your spine. “I have tried every stimulant possible. Nothing has yet to beat torturing the people who end up in my chair. There’s a specific type of high you get when you’re slicing someone apart, and there’s nothing they can do but scream.” 

“Why does that not surprise me?”

“Because you’ve seen my dungeon,” he replied in a soft laugh. 

“I’ve also been on the receiving end of your whip. Many times, I might add.”

“I’ve never done it to an extent you don’t like,” he added. 

“And I imagine your victims don’t get that luxury.”

“They were terrible people in life, and it’s what they deserve now. I mean,” he scoffed, “You’re telling me that I should’ve let Hitler live out his afterlife in peace?”

“Hitler?!” your eyes widened. “You’re kidding.”

“Not at all,” he shook his head. “I’m not killing single moms that I stalked in the park or beating up old people. The people who end up in the lower dungeons deserve to be there. It makes what I do a million times more enjoyable than it already is.” 

“Still, it’s…”

“Gruesome? Gory? Psychopathic?”

“Sociopathic. You know what you’re doing is wrong.”

“Eh, is it, though? I’m only doing to them what they did to people in life,” he defended. 

“It really is a fine line.”

“Very fine.” He then gave you a sly smirk, “Just like you.”

You giggled, letting him lean in for another kiss. Tenderness laid in every caress of his lips on yours. A hand squeezed your breast, a rough thumb passing over your nipple softly. He drew it out of you so easily. Each of them coaxed your need from you like a milkshake through a straw. You loved and hated it. Rolling onto his back, Hongjoong swung your thigh over his groin and let you straddle him. He’d remained naked throughout the night, which brought on more torture for you. Hands falling to your thighs, he gently squeezed them and grinded into you. You rested your arms on either side of his head, somewhat trapping him underneath you as you kissed. 

“Grind into me,” he said in a breathy moan, encouraging you with a push of his own. “I want you to get wet for me again.” 

The both of you laughed softly and you did as asked. You really took in the length and width of him underneath you. Some people noted that your ability to handle a demon’s cock was impressive. Your body must be accustomed to them, you supposed. You certainly did not complain. His mouth finding your nipple, he sucked firmly while you rolled your hips over his hardening tip. This added a sprinkle of pleasure to top what was already built within you. Soon, needy whimpers and low grunts became muffled by your kisses. 

Excitement boiled in your stomach when he aligned himself with your entrance. You didn’t hesitate to slide down to the very hilt. Your body froze with the fullness he brought, only able to move because of your need for him took over. Hongjoong laid underneath you, hands on your thighs as he watched you rock your hips back and forth. Dark eyes rolled back, his head tilting into the pillow as your walls snuggly gripped him. When you started riding him up and down, you noticed another hand reach up to tease your nipple. 

“Now this,” San said, voice hoarse from sleep, “I love waking up every morning.”

“I couldn’t help it,” Hongjoong groaned, teasing the other nipple. “She makes me hard without even trying all that much.”

“You started it,” you smiled, taking a particularly slow and shallow bounce. Leaning over him, you brought him in for another kiss, “I was fine laying here and talking until Yeosang came.”

“Yeosang won’t be taking you for today.” Seonghwa wrapped himself around San from behind, and you couldn’t help noticing the hand hidden under the sheet. “I gave him the weekend off. Jongho will be taking care of you for a while.”

“Though, I doubt you’ll be complaining, huh?” Hongjoong, taking both your hands, started pushing up into you. You freely let out your moans, his tip pressing into the sensitive core. “Or did you like hate fucking him?”

“I lo-loved it,” you admitted. “I loved it so much.”

“We’ll keep that in mind,” said San, eyes dropping as Seonghwa’s hand worked him slowly. He reached down to your clit, and you whimpered when his thumb started teasing it. “I’d love to man handle you that way. If you can't fight off skinny little Yeosang, you’ll definitely have trouble with me.”

“I think I’d lose on purpose.” 

Seeing you eyeing both him and San, Seonghwa removed the covers for you to see them pressed together. His narrow hips snapped up into San’s pert, firm ass, as he jerked him with the other hand. Hardly anything turned you on as much as watching your masters with one another. Something about their hard bodies pushed together, and strong hands roaming each other aroused you. San whimpered meekly when Seonghwa languidly stroked him in time with his thrusts. Nothing seemed off limits with your masters. Incubi, you’d learned, engaged in sexual acts regardless of gender or sex. It appeared to energize and fuel them rather than slow them down. 

Soon, Hongjoong and Seonghwa had you and San on your backs and knees in the air. Your hand snaked its way to San’s raging hardon, and he did the same to you. The slow build up quickened into a dire need that all four of you shared. In that moment, in the privacy of Seonghwa’s curtained bed, it was only you and them. Nothing could penetrate through the fine velvet curtains and interrupt you. With San’s fingers teasing your clit, his cock throbbing in your hand, Hongjoong’s dick filling you and Seonghwa pounding away at San, sent you over the edge sooner than you’d liked. But, this didn’t upset your masters at all. In a few quick pushes, Hongjoong spilled his thick hot seed inside you. This heightened your climax, and you pushed down to meet him. 

“You really do love being cummed in, huh?” he teased, holding you close and keeping himself deep inside you. 

“Yes,” you breathed, the last few drops of arousal disappearing in your orgasm. 

“Fuck, thaT’s so hot.”

You both gave breathy laughs before kissing. Next to you, San’s back arched as Seonghwa prodded his prostate dead center. You continued stroking him until  the tiniest of drops reached up to his chest. His stomach tensed and covered in white streaks, he never looked better. The four of you laid in silence, your collective breathing being the only sound in the room. Any minute, you expected the curtains to open and shatter the peaceful bliss floating around. You didn't want to leave the bed, not when you had your masters with you. Their arms kept you safe even if sticky and sweaty. But, Hongjoong left you first. 

“I'm starving,” he said, kissing you. “I'll see you at breakfast.”

You whined when he rolled away and left the bed. “I'm going to wash up,” San told you, “I'll be in the dining room later. You get some more sleep, if you want.”

It left you and Seonghwa alone. Even in your sleepy haze, you sensed the tension building. Not the passionate, sexual urge that usually boiled over between you, but something much more serious. Nervousness fumbled your insides, and you didn't know how to diffuse it. 

“YN,” Seonghwa said softly. Not your pet name. He said your true name; you thought you imagined it at first. When you didn't respond, he turned his head, “YN.”

“Master?”

“I am giving you one chance and only one,” he said. All tenderness from before left his voice and you wondered what you'd done. “I want an honest answer. If you answer honestly, I won't be upset with you.”

“Yes, Master?” 

“Are you a cambion?”

The question made you pause. “Why would you think that?”

“Answer my question.”

“I'm…I'm not, obviously. I'm human. I've always been human. I would know if I wasn’t, wouldn't I?”

Seonghwa stared at you intently. Even in the dimness of the curtained bed, you saw the crimson rimming his eyes. 

“I'd have eyes like yours, wouldn't I?” you continued, “I'd have horns and a tail-”

“-Not necessarily,” he said. “You can easily take more after your human parent than your demon one.”

“Master,” a trickle of fear started down your throat to your lungs, “I'm not. I can't be. If I was, they would have known when I came here.” 

“If your demon parent didn’t register you, then no, they wouldn’t. What were your parents’ names?”

“Jimmy and Andi.”

“What was Andi short for?”

“Andromeda,” you answered. “It's actually my middle name in my previous life. Relatives liked calling her ‘Big Andi’, and me ‘Little Andi’. They still did it even when I grew up-” you stopped when you saw his eyes widen. “What…Master?”

“Andromeda? Are you sure?” 

“Yes.”

He sprung out of the bed, wrapping himself in his satin bathrobe. You saw a realization come to him, and right when you sat up, he looked to the door. 

“Mingi!” 

Your bodyguard came from out of the shadows, giving a head nod. “Master Seonghwa?”

“Make sure Kitten gets her bath and breakfast,” he said distractedly, tying his robe. You could tell his mind ran ahead of his body. “Tell Yunho I'll be having my breakfast in the library today.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Master,” you crawled to the foot of the bed, “What's going on?”

He left you confused on the bed. You stared at the doorway in hopes he may return and explain himself. Yet, he never did. Why did your mother's name bother him? Why did he think you weren't human? You are. You can't be anything else. Rufus tried passing you off as a demon before, and they'd seen right through that. Everything he listed could be coincidence. The thought stayed with you as you slipped off the bed. Mingi made to grab your chemise for you, but you walked past him to the bathroom. As you moved around preparing your own bath, you wondered what brought up the question. You thought back to last night. Nothing appeared too out of the ordinary other than you wrestling with Yeosang, a demon. He must be mistaken, you realized sliding into the tub. 

“Here.”

Mingi came up beside the tub with a small glass bottle. You recognized the bubble bath mixture Jongho usually put in the water. Looking at the water, you realized you'd forgotten to put it in. 

“Oh, thanks,” you said, watching him pour a few drops into the water. Long fingers moved through the water to create small trails of bubbles for you. 

“What's going on?” he asked, shaking water off his hand. “He had that determined look in his eyes.”

“He thinks I'm a cambion.”

Mingi paused, as bewildered as you felt. “He's not serious?” he finally said. 

“He is,” you replied. You started cleaning yourself off, feeling the grime of last night coming off with each stroke. “He freaked when I told him my parents’ names. I don’t see the big deal. It's not like he'll find anything. I'm not a half-demon. If I was, I wouldn't be a slave. I wouldn’t have gone into a circle. I'd be living here like a normal demon, not like this.”

“You must have done something that caught his attention,” he said, taking a seat on the stool beside you. “Like, the door. Whoever did that nearly broke it off the hinges.”

“It was Yeosang,” you told him. “He's the demon, not me. He obviously got pissed at me, and blew them open without meaning to.”

“Yeosang might be a grandson of Satan, but he's an expert at controlling his emotions,” Mingi said. “Yesterday was one of the few times he’d broken it. When I saw you all torn up and limping, I thought he'd hurt you, but you said you'd both fucked instead. Yeosang can usually hold himself back; he only indulges when permitted, but there he was, forcing you into submission and making you cum like crazy.” He hesitated, watching you clean up, then he said, “I can see why Master Seonghwa might think you're not human.”

“What?”

“You…Most humans, normal ones, can't handle demon dick like you do. I know it's a weak excuse, but it's a start.”

“I've been a pleasure slave for a long time. My body is used to it.”

“Humans don't get used to it. You get trains run through you, and all you get is a bit of soreness the next morning. Come to think of it…” He let his fingers aimlessly move though the water. “Master Hongjoong’s whip doesn't leave lasting marks on you.”

“I heal quickly.”

“Your body isn't supposed to heal quickly here. Any injury you get is supposed to last much longer, getting infected or possibly worse instead of better. It's part of anybody’s punishment.”

“Then…” you found it hard to counter his point. “Then, I don't know.”

“And not to mention, if you were human, I wouldn't want to fuck your brains out every time I'm around you.” He saw you laugh at his lewd confession, and he grinned, “I mean it. There’s something that…” he let out a deep breath, eyes free to scan your naked chest, “Makes it hard to resist you.”

“It’s not me. It’s your preference for humans over other demons. I don’t get why you like us anyways,” you said. “Humans aren’t as beautiful or sexual as succubi or incubi. We’re not, you know, sex personified.”

“They might not be, but you are,” he replied. “The humans that have come through here aren’t able to handle living here. Children born from Prince Asmodeus have incredibly high sex drives,” he laughed softly, “They can fuck multiple times a day and feel nothing. You might get a bit weary, but that must be the human in you. I’ve heard you, YN,” he let his fingers linger over towards you, “You love dick…” you gasped when his fingers grazed up your collarbone to your neck. “You seek it out sometimes.”

“I do not,” you laughed, letting him bring you closer by the back of your neck. “It seeks me out.”

“But you take it,” he said, voice low between you. His eyes fell down to your lips, a longing filling his eyes, “Hard and long and as many times as you could get. You have one orgasm, and you want more.”

“Orgasms are great,” you said simply. “They’re like cookies. You eat one, and you want a second.”

“You’re not wrong.”

Giving him a smirk, you stood up from the water. Your body soaking wet, you let Mingi take a good look at you before stepping out of the tub. “Do you mind getting me a towel? I always forget to keep it near me.”

Mingi went to the shelves of towels and toiletries, and brought you a large fluffy towel. Rather than hand it to you, he wrapped you in it snugly. You let him dry you himself, enjoying his hands on your body. The arousal he stirred became nearly intoxicating. It wasn’t your fault you lived in a house full of horny incubi. If they didn’t want to sleep with you, they wouldn’t. If you didn’t want it, you’d push them away when they tried. Being with one of the servants or one of your masters was  a regular part of your routine. It became your favorite part of the day. You knew you should have a little bit of self-control, but that didn’t exist here. Not when Mingi slowly moved down your body, thorough with his drying. Biting the inside of your lip, you held back a whimper when he brushed lightly over your sex. 

Alright, you loved sex, so what? That didn’t make you a cambion. Loads of people had copious amounts of sex every day. You knew you’d done it plenty in your previous life and in your new afterlife. You simply had more stamina and energy. It didn’t mean anything. 

Mingi delicately moved the towel down your thighs to your legs and feet. He didn’t spend much time there, since he easily came back up. Your pussy clenched when his thumbs pressed against your inner thighs, gently pushing them apart. You reached down to your sex, and rubbed it in circles inches from his face. Mingi’s mouth hung open when two fingers pushed your lips apart to reveal your hard clit. 

“See?” he said, looking up at you, “A regular human wouldn’t be so eager to fuck again.”

“You started it,” you accused, wetting two fingers with your mouth and returning to your touching. 

“And you have to finish it, right?”

“Unless you’d rather I didn’t?” you stopped touching yourself, despite your body’s protest. “I can go about my day just as easily,” you picked up a bathrobe hanging by the door, “Without a single care.”

“Tease,” he hissed, eyes focused on your body. 

You laughed at his disappointment, and walked out of the bathroom. Hongjoong didn’t like you dressed, so you walked right to his personal dining room down the hall in his own quarters. He sat on a high backed chair at the head of the table. He looked up from his plate when you approached. Without a word, you untied your robe and hung it by the door. Hongjoong’s eyes scanned over your body walking over to him. Before you could reach your seat, Hongjoong pulled you onto his lap and wrapped an arm around you. 

“You're sitting here,” he declared, snapping his fingers for a maid. “I have great plans for us today.”

“Such as?”

The maid placed a rice bowl with an egg and sliced beef on top. Hongjoong mixed it with a pair of chopsticks, then held it to your mouth. You ate the mixture, enjoying something more filling than the light meals Seonghwa and San serve. Hongjoong watched you eat, eyeing your mouth and seeing you swallow. Everything. Anything. Despite what he told you, there appeared to be very few limits to your master's kinks. He fed you again, and you ate normally rather than put a seductive spin on it. 

“Firstly, I'd like to take you to work with me,” he began. He poured you coffee, adding your preferred cream and sugar, “I think it'd be good for you to see where I work. You'll get a better sense of what I do, and its importance.”

“Do I have to? I'd rather keep my food in my stomach today.”

He laughed, dabbing your mouth, “Yes, sweetheart. I feel I hardly spend any time with you because I'm always working. I don't want you to think I'm avoiding you.”

“I don't think so. I know you're busy.” 

“But I still want to be with you,” he said. He held your coffee cup as you drank, “And then I thought we would go into the city together. The nicer part, not the slum areas, of course.”

“That sounds nice.”

“It is. I told Seonghwa you need to stretch your legs outside the house. You should see the world outside the little errands San has you do. There's so much more out there.” He fed you another mouthful of rice, and watched you eat. Unlike others, even when aroused, Hongjoong kept himself together. “Besides, I want to fuck you in other places too.” 

You kissed the tip of his nose, “Of course, you do.”

He laughed, “I've told you how irresistible you are. It's pure torture. You're the slave, but here I am completely enthralled by you.” He kissed along your jawline, “It's vastly unfair. I want my money back.”

“You didn't pay for me,” you laughed. 

“Then I want a replacement,” he joked, kissing down your neck. “How am I supposed to focus on my work when I have you in the back of my mind, hm?”

“Prioritize?”

The two of you laughed before kissing again. He gave an audible sniff that curved a smile on his face. “You're wet,” he said, hunger lacing into his voice. “I can smell it. Who?”

“Mingi.”

“What did you two do?”

“Nothing. I may have teased him a bit.”

“You're so mean,” he chuckled, kissing you again. “Maybe I should leave you naked in a room with him? Let him take out that frustration you're always leaving him with.”

“As long as you watch…”

He breathed deeply before bringing you in for a kiss. He'd just snaked his tongue into your mouth when the doors opened. 

Seonghwa marched into the dining room with purpose. Fear jumped into your throat at the sight of his eyes trained on you. He still wore his satin robe from the bedroom, his hair messily pushed back from his face and you're sure he hadn't bathed yet either. You gasped when you saw a knife and a small mouse in his hands. You heard its hysterical squeaking, wriggling in Seonghwa’s fist trying to escape. 

“Morning to you too, Brother,” Hongjoong drawled. “Please, join us…” 

“Give me your hand,” he said to you, roughly taking your wrist. 

“Master!”

“Hwa! What the hell are you-Hwa!”

You yelped in pain as the blade slipped down the pad of your thumb. Seonghwa squeezed it until thick droplets of blood started spilling. He brought the mouse up to your thumb, and you saw the pure white coat stained with red. The creature wriggling in his hand, Seonghwa placed it on the table. Your stomach turned seeing the suffering animal. Reaching forward for water, you moved to relieve and clean the animal before Seonghwa snatched the glass from you. Manic squeaks and squeals slowly faded, its tiny limbs eventually coming still as the mouse fell limp. A few final breaths became very still in seconds. 

“Oh no,” you frowned, allowed to draw closer. “Why would you do that?” you snapped at Seonghwa, forgetting yourself. “He was an innocent little mouse-”

“-He did exactly what I expected. He drank your blood, YN,” he cut you off. “He drank your blood and died.”

“What? That's…” 

But he was right. Looking down at the table, your blood still stained its mouth. You never heard of mice dying from drinking blood. Your mind tried pulling an explanation to counter Seonghwa's theory but nothing came. The mouse sat dead next to your breakfast, eyes still open and mouth gaped. You rubbed the dried blood between your thumb and forefinger in thought. Something inside you refused to believe it. Seonghwa and Hongjoong must be playing some sort of trick on you. 

“Um, okay, wow,” said Hongjoong uncomfortably. “That's interesting. Care to explain what this is all about, Seonghwa?”

“Andromeda.”

“What about her?”

“YN is her daughter.”

“Yeah, okay. Pet is a cambion, sure,” Hongjoong laughed in disbelief. 

“She is.” 

He withdrew a piece of paper from his robe pocket and placed it in front of you. By the frailty and faded ink, it came from one of his older books. Your mouth dropped when you saw the portrait of a young woman wearing the medieval garb of a lady. Her face so similar to yours, she kept her hair underneath a cloth held with a golden circlet. Mama. It reminded you of that one Halloween party from your childhood. You'd dressed as a fairytale princess, and you requested your mother be a queen. She'd worn something similar then too. Your head started shaking. Underneath it, Seonghwa had written over the name. 

“Andromeda, daughter of Princess Lilith, botanical sorceress, Lady of Eden, 1st generation.” 

Hongjoong said what you'd been thinking. “Andromeda? Our half-cousin Andromeda?” he scoffed. “No way.”

“Nobody knows what Andromeda got up to when she left. She didn't contact anyone down here,” he said. “She very easily could have married a human and had a child with them.”

“Then why didn't she register her?”

“She might not have wanted Lilith to know about her,” he replied. He turned to you, “Your mother was a demon. She was a half cousin through Lilith, our aunt. Her blood was poisonous; so poisonous it killed people in seconds. You can do that too.”

“No, I can't.”

“Then explain what just happened,” he challenged, nodding to the dead mouse. “Did the mouse eat some bad cheese? Maybe it passed out due to shock? Got sleepy? YN, so many things are strange about you. Other people around here might not have noticed, but I am starting to.”

“I'm human. I have to be,” you disagreed again. “I can't be anything else. If my mother was a demon, she wouldn't have let my dad beat her. She'd fight back. She could've killed him. My mom…” you looked down at the picture, “She was an angel. I was the bad one. Sh-She liked baking cookies and knitting. She read me bedtime stories, looked after me when I was sick, made me lunch, watched movies with me and took me everywhere with her. My mama wasn't a demon. Demons are cruel and mean. My mama was a sweetheart, the nicest woman you'd ever meet. If she were a demon, she wouldn't have…” 

Your throat closed up and you stopped speaking. You tried finding the lie in your memories. You might have missed it in a passing moment; she may have tried telling you and you ignored her. Mama never kept secrets from you. You held her photo in your hands. Her face bloomed in the forefront of your mind. Not the face of a demon, but of an angel. You pictured that face with a busted lip, or a black eye, sitting by your bed to check your temperature. You saw her in the backyard garden, gently touching the flowers as they bloomed. She’d admire them on her fingertips. You remembered one daisy blooming right in her palm. 

“She was,” said Seonghwa, breaking into your thoughts. “There are too many similarities to ignore.”

Hongjoong touched your braid, letting it wrap around one of his fingers. “I’ve never fucked a second-cousin before…” he said lustfully, “Sounds hot.”

“Hongjoong, please,” Seonghwa said sharply. “Kitten, there is one more thing I’d like to test.”

“Because using my blood to kill a little mouse isn’t good enough?”

“A real scientist doesn’t base their hypothesis on a single test,” he said. He stood up straight and said, “I want to take you to the greenhouse.” 

“What? No!” Hongjoong protested, “The greenhouse is for the other servants and slaves, not Pet.”

“Dennis is the only thing that can prove the other part of my theory.”

“No,” Hongjoong said more strongly. “Dennis will devour her.”

“No, he won’t. She has demon blood. She has Andromeda’s blood in her veins. If anything, he’ll love her.” 

“Seonghwa, no,” he shook his head. “It's my day with her and we already have plans.”

“Your plans will have to wait. This is important.”

“And who exactly are you to be ordering her around on my day?” 

“The eldest son of Prince Asmodeus, The Duke of Lust, a Lord of Depravity and Master of this house,” he retorted firmly, anger flaring in his eyes. “You can skip work and go with her if you want. You can be the heroic knight to her damsel in distress.” Seonghwa looked down at you, cupping your chin gently, “This is really important. If you’re an unregistered cambion, we need to fix it before anyone else finds out.”

“Why does that matter?”

“It matters because it means you’re not a slave.”

The words took you by surprise. “But, I’ve seen cambion slaves before?”

“They’re there by choice or circumstance,” he shrugged. “Cambions live freely here, and can live well depending on how high they are in the food chain. If someone found out you lived here, we'd all be in serious trouble.”

“Pfft, what kind of trouble? You guys are nobility. It's not like you'd get thrown into prison or anything.”

“We would,” said Hongjoong, serious as he gazed at Seonghwa. “Having an unregistered cambion in your house is almost like having kidnapped someone. Since we stole you rather than paid for you, they'll think we kidnapped you.”

“Obviously with a little look in my head, they'll see that's not true.”

“They won't care. San…” he sighed defeatedly, rubbing a temple. “He shouldn't have killed him.”

“Is murder illegal around here?”

“If it's demon on demon crime, yes,” he said. “Just because we're in Hell doesn't mean there aren't rules or laws in place. How else would our society keep going without it?”

“A lot of things would come out if the wrong person found out about you,” Seonghwa said. “I have to fix this. If I get down to the registration office now, I can head this off.”

“They'll ask about her.”

“Jackson is there,” he said. “He's head of the registration department. He'll help me out with a bit of money.” He quickly pecked your lips. “I'll see you tonight, Kitten.”

“This greenhouse sounds pretty unsafe,” you said anxiously. 

“Nonsense. You’ll have me, Hongjoong and Mingi with you.”

“No, you’re not going to inject yourself into my day with Pet,” Hongjoong said firmly, putting his arms around you. “You go sit in someone’s head and learn all the terrible things they’ve done. Pet and I will be going to the dungeons like I’ve planned.”

“Hongjoong-”

“-You can do your little experiment on your own day with her. I honestly do not care either way if she is a cambion or not. She’s still going to be my sweet pet,” he said, taking a drink of wine. “It only seems to matter to you, so do it on your own time.”

“As the eldest-”

“-Take your age and shove it up your ass, Hwa.”

“Don’t make me drill a hole in your head. We’d hate for you to lose any brain cells still left to you-”

“-Try it then, pretty boy-”

“-Hey, have you guys seen the mouse I had in this trap?” San came through the door holding a small metal box. Too distracted by trying to peek inside, he didn’t notice his brothers glaring at one another. “I was going to give it to the hellcat that keeps sniffing around the scullery door.” He looked up and saw you first. He gave a soft smile, “Well, don’t you look pretty like that? Maybe we should keep you naked all the time.” Then he saw the mouse next to your plate and frowned, “Aw, man. Who killed it?”

“YN did, technically,” said Seonghwa, still staring at Hongjoong. “She has poisonous blood.”

San let out a soft laugh, “Ridiculous. If that were true, we’d all be dead by now.”

“We never drank enough. This mouse, however, drank plenty.”

San came over to poke the dead animal. “I guess that hellcat will have to eat scraps again.” He looked at Seonghwa again, then at Hongjoong, “Have you two been arguing again?”

“Seonghwa wants YN to go to the greenhouse and see if Dennis will eat her.”

“What?” San’s eyes opened wide, “Seonghwa, we can’t do that. She’s a human. Dennis will devour her.”

“He won’t,” Seonghwa said confidently. “If she’s anything like her mother, and if this mouse isn’t already an indication, Dennis won’t do anything to seriously harm her.”

“Okay, yes, the mouse thing is weird,” San agreed, “But taking her there? Damnit, Seonghwa, even I don’t want to go there and I’m the best with swords.”

“And I prefer to keep my head in tact, thank you very much,” added Hongjoong. “Pet is coming with me to the dungeons. You can go with her another time.”

“If anyone should go, it should be Seonghwa,” said San. “They won’t harm him. He made them.”

“No, they won’t,” said Seonghwa, “Which is why she is safe if she goes with me.”

“And you can do that on your own day with Pet. I am taking her with me, and that’s final,” Hongjoong concluded.

“He does have a point, Brother,” San leaned towards Seonghwa, who stewed in his resentment, “Whatever weird experiment you have planned can always wait. Hongjoong doesn’t get to be around Darling all that much. He does work a lot more than either of us.”

“Thank you, Sannie,” said Hongjoong.

“Besides, you'll need to register her as soon as possible. Any experiments will keep you from getting there before they close,” San added. 

Seonghwa looked at the three of you in defeat. He'd have to wait, and he hated that. “Alright, fine. I'll go to the office.” 

Seonghwa turned from Hongjoong to you. Normally, his eyes would be drinking in the sight of you, but not today. He examined your face. You almost heard the wheels in his mind turning as he considered his options. The dead mouse will stay with him the rest of the day. A mind like his does not simply let things go. You gazed back at him innocently. Yes, what happened concerned you; the possibility of facing a higher punishment for it definitely worried you. Your mother’s portrait on the table burned its eyes into you from afar; her name and birth year bold and black against the worn out page. You couldn’t find a proper explanation, no matter how hard you tried. It only raised more questions for you.

“You’re not going to take her to the dungeons like that, are you?” asked San with concern.

“Of course not,” Hongjoong scoffed. “Wooyoung is waiting in her dressing room. I want her to look extra special for today. Mingi!” 

When Mingi came out of the shadows, you wondered how much he'd heard. He thought you didn't know he liked creeping in the dark corners of the keep to watch over you. Your bodyguard claimed he did it as part of his job, but today is proving it's more than only work. 

“Yes, sir?”

“Take Pet to Wooyoung. She needs to get ready.”

“Yes, sir.”

The three brothers each gave you a soft kiss and farewell before you left the room. Out in the hallway, underneath the morning sunlight, you started thinking. You pictured every time you found your mother in her workroom in the flower shop or in her personal garden. Plants commonly grow in their seasons. Daffodils thrived in the spring; marigolds bloomed brighter in the summer; petunias grow best in the fall, and primrose was a winter flower. Yet, in your mother's garden, they grew regardless of the season. The herbs she used in cooking sat on the kitchen window, always bright and never wilting. You always thought she must've had an extraordinary green thumb. It never occurred to you that perhaps she might be able to control them. But, if she had poisoned blood, why did your father live so long?

“Morning, sunshine,” Wooyoung greeted you when you entered the dressing room. One of the assistants put you in your usual robe, “What’s the occasion today?”

“I’m going to the lower dungeons,” you said, not really acknowledging him as you sat at the vanity table.

“Oof, that’ll be an experience,” he laughed, moving over to a rack of winter clothes, “You’ll need to bundle up then. I’ll keep makeup minimal today.”

“He’s taking you there?” asked Mingi with surprise. “Is he insane? You shouldn’t go there.”

“I don’t really have a choice,” you told him in the mirror.

“After everything going on, he wants to prance you out into the world as a slave?” Mingi continued incredulously. “He can't beat any possible allegations if he is flaunting you in front of people.”

“Allegations?” Wooyoung’s head perked up at this. Sensing gossip, he turned from the closet, “What allegations?”

“The Masters think I'm a cambion,” you answered. 

Wooyoung gasped. “Shut up, no they don't!” 

“They do.”

“What makes them think that?”

You told him about the dead mouse as he worked your hair into a plait. Wooyoung’s jaw dropped when you explained the portrait and her name. 

“I don’t get it though,” you said when you finished. “If I had special traits or whatever, wouldn’t they have shown themselves by now?”

“I’m sure the only reason they’re revealing themselves now is because you’re around us so much,” said Mingi. “In the human world, you didn’t have any other demon relatives and your mother didn’t nurture that side of you. She might have thought you didn’t have them anyways, which would be incredibly stupid of her to believe.” 

“I never showed it, so why would she think that?” you defended her. “I didn’t have anything particularly interesting about me like that. It wasn’t until I started high school and began working.”

“What do you mean?” he asked. 

“Getting what I wanted out of people was my superpower, not plants,” you stated. “I can see that my charm or manipulation of people could be a trait, but nothing else. I stopped going to my family’s flower shop when I started high school, and I lost interest in gardening with my mom. I don’t have any connection to plants like Seonghwa thinks. That’s dumb, and weird.”

“Not really,” said Wooyoung. 

And untrue. Your mother let you help her a lot of the time. Being surrounded by the various flora, it became a home away from home. The only time you avoided it was when your father ran the store. He always disturbed your peace by forcing you to work the front counter or stock other merchandise. Mama let you handle the plants. It felt therapeutic. You only stopped going because you wanted to be cool. Cool people didn’t work. 

That must have killed her. 

You were such an asshole. 

“Damnit,” Wooyoung’s sharp curse cut through your thoughts, “They didn’t leave the makeup kit. How could they forget that? It’s the most important part! How can I make you glow when you’re lifeless and dull?”

“Um, wow.”

“Hush, you know what I mean. I can’t make you sparkle without the right tools,” he sighed irritably to himself. “I’ll be back. You stay here.”

Alone with Mingi, you continued staring at yourself in the mirror. ’Botanical Sorceress’ the paper had read. The longer you thought about it, the harder ignoring it became. You pictured your mother sitting in a room full of plant life. She’d feed off them while they fed off her. But, you couldn’t wrap your head around your father. Did he know and that’s why he hated her? Your mother claimed he loved her, but you found that hard to believe. You couldn’t recall a single time your father showed her any softness. You recalled a time he chastised her for not bringing him take out at work; a thing he could’ve easily have done himself. When she walked away in tears, you decided then you’d never be her. If she had demonic abilities, why did she let that happen? 

“You really do look like her though,” Mingi cut through your thoughts. “I can see the family resemblance.”

“I think that’s why he hated me.”

“Who?”

“My dad.”

“You think he hated you because you looked like her?”

“Or maybe because he knew what I was, and never said anything. I can’t imagine him being okay with marrying a demon,” you said, playing with the end of your braid. “If she never told me, I doubt she told him.” 

“Maybe if she had, he would have run away and she would've raised you on her own. That's what happened with my parents. My father found out about me and ran tail to the living world."

“Seems demons aren’t so different from humans after all.”

“I’ll be one of the few to admit that,” he nodded. “A lot of our society down here mimics the human world. Your currency and class systems; your government, your culture, languages, clothes, and forms of entertainment. My mother used to tell me how much different Inferno used to be before humans. You’d think we were primitive.” 

“I’ve noticed it before, especially with the masters’ different styles. It’s so…”

“Exaggerated?”

“A bit.”

He walked over to you, hands on your shoulders. “Now that you’re a cambion,” he said, “You won’t be forced to wear and live how they want. You could have all this crap thrown out,” he gestured to the different closets around the room, “And have your own clothes made. You’d get to do what you wanted…” his eyes looked down to your exposed chest, “And who you wanted.”

You giggled at his sudden change in tone. “Oh, what, Mingi? You’d be my pleasure slave instead of my bodyguard?”

“I wouldn’t mind the demotion,” he smirked, hands sliding down your shoulders. Your body tensed when he kissed your neck. “It’d be worth it if I get to fuck you as often as possible.”

You turned in your seat to face him, seeing the lust filling his eyes. Tracing his sharp jawline with your fingers, you stopped at his chin to run your thumb under his lower lip. Bringing him in for a kiss, you kept it light with your lips hardly touching his own. He hummed when your tongue flicked over his lips, and darted his tongue out to meet yours. Standing up, you guided him backwards to a couch where you stood between his knees. Mingi’s hands ran up and down your hips and thighs as you slowly began swaying and whirling your hips. Seeing his mesmerized stare, you felt your sex tightening from arousal. He made it too easy to tease him. 

“Fuck…” he breathed when you sat right on his crotch. 

His bulge pressing to your pussy, you let out soft moans that made him throb. You felt his hand slide up your spine to your shoulder while the other went down to your ass. A light tap to your cheek brought forth a whine. Right as he grew comfortable with your grinding, you stood up to straddle facing him. You leaned forward to kiss him, the both of you moaning as you grinded into one another. Mingi’s large hands felt rough against your soft skin, much like Hongjoong’s. His full lips kissing down your neck to your breast raised the heat between you. A sudden flare of need burned between your thighs. The outline of his dick grew against his slacks, and you couldn’t stop yourself from grinding into it. 

“Where do you want it, Mistress?” he moaned into your neck, smacking your ass the way you liked. 

“My pussy,” you answered breathily. “I want your dick stretching my tight pussy.”

Mingi had just laid you down when a cough interrupted you. Yunho stood in the doorway, doing his best to ignore your position as he spoke. 

“Wooyoung had to rush back to his shop,” he said, “So, you’ll have to get dressed on your own.”

“She can do that later,” huffed Mingi, who went back to grinding into you as he massaged your breasts. “She’s busy.”

“Master Hongjoong is almost finished getting dressed. He’ll be waiting for her in the car.”

“It won’t take long.” 

“Mingi,” Yunho said his name sternly. 

You saw the frustration pent up in Mingi’s clenched jaw. You kissed him briefly, putting your hand over his, “We can always do this later.”

“But, I want you now,” he groaned, kissing you deeply. “I want to fuck you, Mistress. Please, tell him to leave so I can pound you into the couch.”

“Mingi,” you giggled, “Go.”

“Can I have a taste at least?” he pouted, brown eyes big and pleading. “I’ll be quick, I promise.”

“Mingi.”

“Fine,” he huffed, kneeling up and taking a deep breath. “Yunho’s right-”

“-Yes, I am-”

“-Master Hongjoong will throw a fit if you’re late,” he said, sliding off the couch. “I suggest bundling up for the lower dungeons. The ninth circle is the coldest point in Hell.”

“Okay.”

His eyes traveled down your body to your bare sex. You couldn’t help yourself from spreading your thighs to show him your wetness. Teasing Mingi became amusing. He gulped thickly at the sight of you gently rolling your fingers around your clit. The snap of fingers broke his concentration, and you saw that Yunho conjured a silver platter with two small crystal vials. He brought them over to you and Mingi. 

“Cold serum,” he answered your questionable faces, “None of us has time for sex. There’s more important things going on. Drink.”

Mingi begrudgingly opened one and let the drops touch his tongue. You copied him, shuddering at the chilly, clear liquid dropping into your mouth. It reminded you of cough medicine with its bitter, sharp taste. The heat in your cheeks immediately cooled down. You almost felt steam coming out of your ears, and the thumping of your heart slowing down. The juices covering your sex dried up almost instantly, turning into an uncomfortable crust that you couldn't ignore. Any arousal you had disappeared in seconds. 

“Good. Mingi, get some breakfast,” Yunho ordered, “And YN, you should finish getting dressed. You both have a long day ahead of you, so there's no time for delay.” 

Mingi, palming his softening bulge, gave you another longing glance before going out the doors. Alone once more, you moved to clean the mess between your legs. 

“Mistress…Come to me, please. I suffer through this hunger alone.”

You whipped around, expecting Wooyoung or Mingi to have returned. Except, you only saw the open doorway. Your throat closed up on the words you tried to say. 

“I must feed….I need your essence….”

The low hiss sound from somewhere outside the dressing room. Picking up your robe, you walked back into your bedroom. You stared around for the source of the voice, but didn't see anyone. 

“Mingi?” 

“Mistress….”

You followed the voice out into the hallway. Hongjoong waited for you downstairs, so you knew you shouldn't take long. But, your feet continued moving as curiosity got the better of you. The voice continued whispering, and you swore it sounded from inside your head. You hesitated at the top landing of the stairs. Staring down into the carpeted staircase, your ears strained to locate the sound. A part of you said you should go back. You should wait for Wooyoung, and then go to work with Hongjoong. He’ll be extremely upset if you make him late. He’ll use it as an excuse to “punish” you. But, that strange desire pulled you down the stairs. Instinct led you through the house  into the garden. Here, the voice became louder. Walking past flower beds and grassy hedges, the strange voice came out amongst the leaves and petals. You almost thought it might be coming from the plants themselves. 

Walking through the garden, your body relaxed to the sunshine. The cold serum you'd drunk melted away from your bones. Something pulled you further down the winding paths, and towards an archway leading off from the garden. Apprehension kept you by the entrance. Down the long footpath, you saw glimpses of a building in the distance. The greenhouse. The voice, like a call in the wind, stayed firmly in your head. You must go further. You took tentative steps across the cool earth underneath you. Your robe felt stifling in the humid air, but you didn’t dare take it off in the woodland area. The sounds of birds came from somewhere above you, with other animals likely hiding in the bushes and shrubs. Last thing you wanted were bug bites. 

A tall structure made of iron and glass stood at the end in a circular clearing. Stained glass windows lined the wide dome ceiling, with iron details weaving intricate patterns on the frosted glass walls. The plants lining the bottom seemed healthier than those of the natural woods. You found their bright citrus colors strange for the current season. Their stems grew against the outer walls, blossoms on the vines covering the front door. You wondered how you could get through when the withered branches slid aside. Taking a deep breath, you turned the knob. 

The place came alive the moment you entered. Every lungful breathed life back into you. Being amongst the lush greenery and the hard packed dirt brought you back to a simpler time. You gazed around to see the place covered from top to bottom in varieties of plants. Without saying anything, you walked over to a pink and purple hibiscus hanging out of its pot. Melancholy came over you seeing its withering petals and drooping stem. It looked so alone and sad. Holding it up by your fingertips, you imagined it bright and blossoming as it should. 

And then it did. The hibiscus’s lank, wrinkled petals gradually became colorful and healthy; its limp stems and leaves turned into a strong dark green. It might as well have always been this way. A certain kind of strength radiated from the delicate plants. You gasped and let go of it, but you couldn’t let go of the strangeness. 

“Mistress…”

You turned your head to find the voice, but didn’t see anyone there. Walking to a planter of yellow flowers, you noticed their strange petal formation. They resembled Canterbury bells, only these had their petals upright. When you took a closer look, they resembled lips. 

“You're cute,” you grinned, finding the strange flower more endearing than off putting. 

Leaning down, you tried getting a sniff before one of them tilted towards you. You’d moved back, seeing the bright yellow petals opening and closing like puckering lips. The others around it began doing the same, all of them vying for your attention. You heard their cooing and sniffing, and you closely examined one of them. They smelled like honeysuckle, or some relation to it. The most curious one brushed itself to your cheek, humming delightfully as you let it “kiss” you. 

“Must feed…”

“Is that you guys?” you stupidly asked the sentient flowers. 

They shook their heads. Flowers do not shake their heads. You gasped when something soft bumped into your leg. Looking down, you saw a few of the lip-flowers poking through your robe. You giggled, their soft petals akin to real human mouths. They bumped your robe enough to open it, their petals touching your warm thighs. It sent tingles up your spine, and you let out a soft giggle. This should shock or scare you, yet it didn’t. It felt playful. Flirty. Fun. 

“Naughty,” you said coyly. You bent down to cup one in your hand, seeing it giving you smooching motions, “Do you know where that voice is coming from?” you asked sweetly. 

The yellow mouth slipped from your hand and turned towards the other end of the walkway. “Thank you.” 

You actually gave it a small kiss, causing the flower to shudder with delight. Walking where the yellow-mouth indicated, you reached a wall of four leaf flowers with bright white, yellow and pink petals. Getting within a few feet of them, they ruffled and hummed. Your gut told you to keep your distance, but you couldn’t help it. Gently, you traced a finger over one of the arrow-shaped petals. The inner parts were magenta with yellow and white gradient towards the tips. The flower vibrated against your fingertips, and you giggled from the sudden shock. The sound of rustling leaves made you turn around. 

“Ah!” you screamed. 

Dragging its way over to you was a plant about half your height. Orange and purple petals fanned out like a lion’s mane, a long slit baring sharp teeth startled you. Thick leaves acted like arms, billowing slightly as it moved to you; it hissed through its teeth as it moved closer. Your heart thumped in your chest, and your feet went backwards to escape it. Your back hitting the wall, the other flowers vibrated. Immediately, they hummed against your skin like a body massager. Your fear shot through your throat and down into your stomach, twisting it in circles. A quick flash of what this plant might do came across you, and you nearly screamed. The sluggish plant came right up to you, its head pointed up as it reached out. 

“Mistress…”

“Huh?”

The plant moved away to let you step from the wall. Then, it started moving towards an archway of flowers. The foreboding darkness beyond should have been a clue to stay behind to anyone normal. But, you are not ‘normal’, are you? 

Walking away from the floral wall, you followed the walking plant. The sheltered archway ran down into the darkness, where the vegetation was thickest. As you walked through, engulfed in the muggy atmosphere, your nerves began settling down. It felt like home. Your hands went to the tie of your robe, and the smooth fabric slid off your shoulders. Your bare skin exposed to the elements, you felt rejuvenated. Your skin absorbed whatever floated in the air, basking in it. 

In a secluded part of the greenhouse, you saw several orange and white flowers growing from the walls. Their petals opened up upon your arrival, their stigmas resembling darts. You saw their heads turning as you walked by, like snipers following their target. 

“Mistress…”

It sat against the back wall. Thick vines kept it stuck to the walls and floors around it, with large petals as big as small beds underneath it. Its petals resembled those of a lotus, pointed but deep shades of orange instead of pink. It had no visible eye sockets, but you still felt it watching you. Vines sticking from behind the petals stayed upright, curved as if waiting to reach out and grab you. In the center of the petals, you saw a vertical slit with pointed teeth like your guide. A Venus Flytrap mixed with a lotus flower. Dennis. The creature everyone in The Black Keep feared beyond anything else. Seeing his massive size, you understood. Dennis could likely eat an entire horse in one swallow. 

“Hello, Dennis,” you said. Your greenhouse guide slumped away to a corner, where it became one with the vegetation against the wall. A child of Dennis, you guessed. 

"Mistress,” Dennis said in a low hiss, “Please, I must feed. These demons and their slaves do not fulfill me.”

“And what is it you need?”

You heard more soft hissing, and out of the corner of your eye you saw something creeping along the floor. “Your essence,” he said, vines starting to coil and extend. “Your sighs and sweat. It is the only thing that sustains me. My creator gives me scraps. I wish for full meals. Please, Mistress, let me drink from you. Let me absorb you. It has been too long.”

A soft vine wrapped itself around one ankle, and your entire body froze. 

****

“Whoever invented cold serum should be burned at the stake.”

Mingi leaned against the kitchen wall. With you safely sitting in the dressing room, he’d gone into the kitchen for a quick breakfast. Chewing into a breakfast wrap, he watched Yunho polishing silverware by a sideboard. The tall greed demon insisted that nobody polished Master Seonghwa’s utensils better than him. Mingi agreed. The gold forks, knives and spoons shined in the half-light. All around them, servants washed, cooked, and cleaned. He saw maids taking baskets of laundry into the scullery, and footmen walking out into the car garage with car-washing equipment. Cook, a portly demon with big horns and dark crimson skin, mumbled to himself as he prepared ingredients for lunch. The servants’ quarters and the kitchen were the busiest places in the entire keep.

“If you'd fucked her,” Yunho said, “Master Hongjoong would be late for work. He's already irritated because he has been waiting ten minutes.” 

“But…” he sighed, “She feels so good.”

He laughed, “I bet.” 

“I was so close, and you snatched it from me,” he grunted and threw a napkin at him. Yunho and him both shared a laugh, before the elder spoke. 

“So, she's a cambion, huh?”

“Master Seonghwa says that her blood poisoned the mouse. I don’t know of any humans who can do that, do you?”

“Is that what happened?” Yunho whipped his head over to him, “Shut up.”

“It’s true,” he nodded. “I heard the whole thing from outside the doors. Master Seonghwa wanted to take her to the greenhouse, but Master Hongjoong was against it.”

“For obvious reasons. That creature devours anything and anyone who crosses its path. I remember finding Linette stumbling through the garden dazed and delirious.”

“Did she tell you what happened?” he asked with interest.

“She said she’d gone in there to water the plants, and she got too close to the archway,” he said, going back to polishing a fork. “She told me he fucked her senselessly. She couldn’t sit down for days.”

“How delicious.”

Mingi couldn’t help picturing you the same way. His mind went back to your first night with Hongjoong. Tears streaked down your soft cheeks, each hit causing a sob or whimper that made him incredibly hard. He had you right in his arms. He’d been minutes from having his cock deep in your throat. Then, Yunho took it away. Mingi internally groaned thinking about it. Your soft gagging, choking and sobbing would have him cumming in minutes. You’re big enough of a slut to orgasm from that alone.

“He almost ate her afterwards,” said Yunho. “She managed to get away somehow; she says she doesn’t remember.”

“Gosh, could you imagine if she really is one? She wouldn’t be a slave anymore.”

“Maybe that’s why Master Seonghwa is so worried about it,” he guessed. “If she is a cambion, then they can all be in serious trouble. Harboring an unregistered cambion is illegal.”

“I think they’re more worried about her having freedom.” Jongho stood nearby with a tray of dirty dishes. He dumped them in the sink as he said, “If she has freedom, she’s not under their control anymore; they won’t have a pleasure slave.”

“They’d have to treat her like a person,” Yunho snorted. 

“Who’re we talking about?” Yeosang walked across the kitchen, munching an apple. Mingi noticed he wore a plain shirt and pajama bottoms. A day off for your main handler. 

“YN. She’s a cambion,” Jongho told him, turning on the water to start rinsing dishes. 

“Psh, ridiculous,” Yeosang jeered. “YN? No, they must be mistaken.”

“It’s true,” Yunho said, polishing the knives. “Master Seonghwa found evidence to prove it. He’s on his way to the registration office right now.”

“Who’s her demon parent?”

“Andromeda,” Mingi answered. “She was one of Lilith’s daughters.”

“Ah, so a cousin to our masters,” Yeosang bit into his apple, chewing it before he said, “They must be mistaken. YN is a human. She’s shown no signs of any sort of demonic ability.”

“Apparently, she killed a mouse,” said Yunho.

“How?”

“With her blood.”

“Impossible.”

“It’s true,” Mingi chimed in, “I saw the mouse myself. It had blood all over its mouth.” 

Yeosang took the information quietly. He munched on his apple, leaning against one of the counters. “Hm…So, she did break the doors last night…How interesting. How could she have gotten away with this for so long? Somebody before now must’ve realized it.”

“She must’ve not been around demons,” said Yunho. “And those slum brothels are not exactly training grounds. My guess is since she’s in close quarters with multiple demons, her abilities are beginning to flourish.”

“Perhaps,” Yeosang nodded. “If her mother kept it a secret…then no, she wouldn’t have known. Master Seonghwa must be delighted,” he chuckled through his apple. Biting off a piece, he then said, “Imagine the experiments he’ll put her through. It’ll be intriguing to see. I hope he lets me sit in on them.”

“He’s taking her to the greenhouse,” said Mingi. 

Yeosang’s eyes widened, “Is he now? Is that safe? Dennis can be quite ferocious if he’s hungry enough.”

“I’ll be with her,” Mingi said, “So, yes, it'll be safe.” 

“When was he last fed?” asked Jongho out of curiosity. “Who was there last?”

“Charlotte,” answered Yunho, “She went last week, I believe. She still has those little marks from the yellow-mouths.”

“I quite like those,” he said. “They’re cute.” 

“Yeah, if they’re just kissing your cheeks and you’re not trapped in their garden bed.” 

“I like it,” Jongho shrugged. “I fell in it one time by accident, and it was a unique experience. They got my pants open and started doing that kissing thing all over my dick,” he chuckled softly, washing a dish in the soapy water. “Psh, trust me, boys. If you like overstimulation, the yellow-mouths are the way to go.”

“Sorry, I’m not very eager to fuck plants,” Yeosang rolled his eyes and bit his apple. 

“Imagine YN fucking them,” Mingi sighed, finishing his wrap and tossing the paper aside. “She’d look so pretty in the dirt with them all over her.”

“Please, don’t start,” laughed Jongho. “I already have to watch the woman bathe and dress all the time. Don’t give me any more wet dreams.”

“All she gives me are wet dreams,” sighed Mingi. 

He thought about the possibilities. If you no longer wore a collar, that meant he could have you. You’d be a Mistress, and they’d all be at your mercy. He’d gladly give up his blades and armor to be your personal pleasure slave. 

“Very. I somewhat hope Master Seonghwa is right,” Yunho admitted, picking up a wine glass next. He started wiping the metal stem, “If they take away her slave status and she’s given a title, she wouldn’t have to bind herself to anyone.”

Mingi snorted, “And you could keep watching her through your little peepholes.”

“Don’t act as if you don’t listen at the doors,” Yunho smirked knowingly. “I’ve seen the boners you get standing there just listening.” 

“You should see the ones I get helping her bathe,” Jongho said, putting the last dish on the drying rack. Grabbing a dish towel, he wiped his hands and arms as he said, “I’m just saying: if she becomes a Mistress to the house, I’ll turn in my gloves and put on a collar for her.”

The rest of them laughed. Yunho moved to speak before the nearby door burst open. They all looked to see Wooyoung, eyes widened and terror in his face. 

“Mingi, Mingi!” Wooyoung hurried over to him, “YN’s missing.”

“What?” he stood up straight, his body going into work-mode. “How? When?”

“I left her in the dressing room to grab my makeup kit from my shop, right? When I came back, she was not there!”

That did not sound like you. Mingi admitted you certainly understood your place in the house. You knew leaving your room would hold everything up; it’d hold up Hongjoong, who was not the patient brother. Mingi turned to the window beside him. The kitchen and scullery had a small courtyard that led out into the gardens beyond. 

The outskirts of Inferno were lush and full of life, albeit a little hot at night. But, the picturesque landscape hid all kinds of ferocious beasts meant to stalk and attack lost souls. From what he always understood, people who land in Hell are met with a dense forest. They have to survive the everchanging elements, the predators in the trees and bushes, and try to avoid any sentient carnivorous flora. If they reach Inferno’s gates, they’re led into a whole new level of terror. Mingi knew he personally avoided going into the woods if he could help it. You’d begun embracing the seclusion and tranquility of the family gardens. If you’re anywhere, the garden is a good start.

“You all search the house and the grounds,” he said. “I’ll look in the gardens. She likes going there.”

“But why go there now?”

“Beats me,” he shrugged. “I’ll ask when I find her.”

He hurriedly walked out of the kitchen, faintly hearing Yunho call attention to the others. You knew better than to wander off on your own. Not only did his masters worry you might run away, but the woods were dangerous. Your safety is his sole responsibility. He is your bodyguard. If something happened to you under his watch, the masters would make him regret it. Walking through the straw-ladened courtyard, he saw servants already rushing to commence their search. He went past them to the garden doors, cutting through hedges and bushes. 

“YN!” he called out in the thick of the garden hedges. “YN, where are you?!”

No response. He wouldn’t forgive himself if you’d been attacked. He hated the idea of some vicious predator springing out of the bushes. Humans do not heal in Hell. Your injuries would fester and bleed out; being unable to really “die”, you’ll suffer until a demon takes mercy on you. Mingi pushed through bushes and hedges. He peeked over stone walls, checked inside the various enclosures and fountain areas. He didn’t see you anywhere. A terrible thought then occurred to him: the greenhouse. Maybe you stupidly decided to test Seonghwa’s theory on your own. A sickening feeling filled his insides, and injected more adrenaline into his veins. Mingi snapped his fingers, and teleported all the way across to the forest exit. There, he caught a whiff of cherry blossoms. 

Your sweet scent carried downwind from the dark path. Mingi unsheathed a knife from his belt and cautiously stepped inside. More sweet blossoms caught in his nose, and usually it made him dizzy. There’d been times where that floral fragrance lured him to you. Whenever he walked behind you, your hips swished it over to him. It’d make him long for closeness. He’d think about kneeling before you, kissing your thighs and hips as he groped you. Then, he’d slide his tongue over your sweet sex. Mingi shook his head when he reached the greenhouse door. The vines normally cutting people off remained to the side, allowing him to open the door with ease.

The plants always made him uneasy. Erotic creations of Seonghwa’s, each flower had its own purpose. The little yellow-mouths sucked and kissed to madness. The vibrating flowers, he knew, tickled someone until they pissed themselves or passed out from laughter. He saw a large orange and blue flower sitting amongst a bunch of smaller bulbous flowers. The plant wiggled a stamen from the center when he passed, asking for him to sit on it. He knew if he did, he’d never get out. 

Mingi hoped you hadn’t gone near the darker parts of the conservatory. There, Seonghwa created the deadlier plants: snake-like vines that trapped someone to a wall while they violated them; several purple flowers with vines that could entrap and suffocate their prey. He shuddered thinking of you becoming one of the cocooned victims of the Seonghwa’s spider-like plants. 

“Oh my god! Yes, yes, yes! Just like that! Fuck!”

He recognized your moans right away. It came from the darkened archway, and his stomach dropped. Dennis’s lair. Mingi held his knife tightly, then made his way into the darkness. He heard your heavy breathing, occasionally muffled or disrupted in between groans. Mingi gulped thickly imagining what he might find. A soft pressure under his boots made Mingi look down. Your robe, pure white with floral stitching, laid on the ground. His entire body shuddered. His palms started sweating, and he swallowed the thickness of his throat when he finally found you. 

Lifted off the ground by four vines, two of them kept your legs open as a fifth and sixth focused on your center. Your back contorted to the pleasure the vines created, writhing in their grasp as they “fed” off you. Mingi tucked away his knife, his jaw dropping when a thick vine snaked its way between your parted lips. The sensual sounds you made told him you’d sucked it plenty of times already. He took in the shape of your lips and the hollowness of your cheeks. By the lewd gagging, he knew Dennis sunk himself deep in your throat. That familiar warmth the serum froze off slowly returned. Mingi moved further into the room, staying on the fringes and keeping his eyes on you. When he got a look at the front, he salivated. 

One yellow-mouthed flower focused on your hard clit, no doubt kissing and sucking the erect nub. Two tendrils, about as thick as any demon, shoved in and out of your wet holes with ease. A creamy white substance oozed each time one of them withdrew, and Mingi audibly groaned. He loved picturing your pussy after the masters finished with you. He thought of them smearing their seeds all over your tight walls; he pictured himself filling you until his cum gushed back out. When one tentacle pulled out, it smeared your throbbing clit with more fluids for the yellow-mouth to feed off. He groaned again, eager to taste it himself. 

Unbuckling himself, Mingi stuck his hand in his pants. He watched two thin vines wrap around your breasts. They bounced in the plant’s grasp, your nipples hardening when the tips teased them. Mingi breathed deeply seeing another slide between your tits, up your throat and into your mouth again. The one that it replaced slipped behind you, and Mingi groaned, picturing what might be happening. Your stifled moans went in time with the two inside you; you stayed helpless and limp in their grasp, surrendering yourself to them. Taking hold of himself, Mingi started in slow strokes. He wanted to be deep in your mouth; your tongue tracing the thick veins. He’d give anything to have at least that pleasure. 

“Mingi?” 

His name came out in a surprised pant, and he looked to see you staring at him. Dennis, however, did not stop. He only slowed down enough for you to speak properly. 

“YN…I was looking for you…” he said, still idly pumping and focused on the drool on your chin. “I was…Wow…”

“You enjoy watching, don’t you?” you asked lustfully, whirling your hips around to get more inside you.

“I do,” he moaned, “But you know that. You’re such a fucking…”

“A what?” 

The vines holding pushed you upright, almost into a sitting position, and helped you bounce on the vines instead. You pushed your chest out for him, making sure they moved each time you did. Your moans became louder; you whimpered and pleaded with him. He loved seeing you like this. He loved seeing you completely bare, writhing from pleasure and needing more of it. Mingi thought of every time he listened to his masters bed you; he constantly wished it were him making you cum that way. San’s comment of keeping you naked all the time haunted him. He wouldn’t be able to do his job if you walked naked freely. He suffered from his visions enough. 

“A tease,” he growled, tugging down his pants to pull himself out. Mingi gritted his teeth when you stuck out your tongue for another vine to fill it. “God, you’re a fucking tease. You know how badly I want to fuck you, and you constantly dangle yourself in front of me.”

“I thought you liked that?” you played dumb, letting him see you drool over the quivering vine. 

“I do,” he said, “If I’m the one who gets to fuck you.” 

“And it’s sad when you can’t, huh?” you licked up the throbbing vine, keeping your eyes on him. 

“It is. That's all I think about when I see you.”

“What do you think about?” you grabbed it with both hands and stroked it while you sucked the tip. 

“Get the fuck over here and I'll show you.”

He stormed over and nearly yanked you out of the plant’s grasp. Falling into his arms, Mingi put you on the soft-packed earth, straddled your middle, and forced your face to his cock. A rush of relief came over him the moment your tongue touched his thick head. Your scent captivated him. He forgot all reason and sense as he sunk further. He didn’t start slow. His primal instincts took over, and he held you by the hair. Every dirty thought he had about you sprung to life before his eyes. Each time he thought of sneaking into your bed came to his head. You’d teased him far too long. When creepers pushed your breasts together, he stuck himself between them. 

“Keep your tongue out,” he ordered, pumping himself with your tits, “Keep it out.”

You did for a moment, but you only flicked him. Mingi trembled each time his head reached your tongue. The gentle brushes along with your supple tits had him aching for a release. It grew even higher when more yellow-mouth flowers sprung up through the vines. Mingi quickened his pace when their airy kisses touched along his pelvis and inner thighs. He groaned deeply once they reached his balls. Unlike a human mouth, they lightly tickled him in every stroke. When he heard your own moans grow louder, he figured Dennis’s tentacles went back inside you.  

“Fuck…YN,” he breathed your name, watching you work him so easily. The intense pleasure built up in his balls, which only became more sensitive. He started pinching your nipples, making you moan on his cock. “Such a pretty slut,” he growled, pushing his hips forward into your face, “I guess we know the truth now, huh? Maybe you’re not a weak little human after all.”

He chuckled through gritted teeth when he felt tiny creepers slide up his torso to his buttoned shirt. The thin ivy popped off his buttons to flick his nipples. For some reason, he thought you might be making them do that. Mingi didn’t complain. He straddled your chest more, shoving himself in your greedy mouth. Streams of controlled moans came out as you sucked him more firmly, letting him dip into your throat every other thrust. When he withdrew, tapping his cock on your pretty face, you stuck out your tongue to lick his wet length. The vines inside you had you whining pathetically beneath him. He saw your hips moving up and down as you chased down more pleasure. He’d never seen a more beautiful sight before now. 

“You’re going to pay for it,” he grunted, “Pay for every time you flaunted yourself in front of me…For every time you made me hard and walked away…You’re a fucking slut, and you’re going to be treated like one.” 

What you said when he pulled out fueled him:

“Then do it.”

Releasing you, Mingi and Dennis let you roll onto your front. The fact that you so eagerly spread yourself and lifted your hips amused and pleased him. He watched the fat vine refill your gaped ass while a thinner one teased your clit slightly. That left your pussy all for him. He didn’t care if his master whipped him for it. He didn’t care if they slit his throat. He’d fuck your cunt like it was his. Your body sinking into the dirt, he knew any sweat or fluids replenished the ever-hungry plant behind you. It was how he fed, after all. 

“How many times has he made you cum, huh?” he said in your ear, sliding off his pants completely before burying himself deep in you. “One? Two?”

“Two!” you gasped when he suddenly filled you. He saw your fingers curl up in the soil, and tiny sprouts grow around them. “Just two!”

“Only two?” he slapped your ass, watching it ripple each time he met it. He watched Dennis fuck your ass in time with his thrusts. When he concentrated, Mingi could almost feel them touching inside you. “Just two? No, no,” he smacked your ass again, “We need you to cum way more than that. That’s barely enough to keep him properly fed.” 

He already felt your walls gripping him, and he nearly lost his mind. Mingi held onto your waist as he bottomed into you. He knew he’d eventually have his chance with you, since nearly all of them have, but he never imagined this. In the greenhouse, he could do whatever he liked with you. Cambion or not, he can ravage you as long as he wishes here. Nothing ever aroused him as much as that thought alone. Except perhaps the vine forcing itself into your mouth. 

In a couple of more thrusts, he felt you tighten around his cock as another orgasm approached. Mingi kept the same pace throughout, listening to your gargled moans. He knelt there behind you to watch you unravel in front of him. He took in the constricting muscles spasming in every wave; he saw it bring out this animalistic need that had you pushing into him. Mingi loved it.

When he felt the beginnings of your orgasm start, his own followed. Pent up frustration came out in each stroke, hungry and numb to anything around him. Your pussy pulsed in time with him, exactly as he always imagined, as you both came together. It was everything he’d wanted and more. Mingi didn’t let up for even a second. He couldn’t stop. Even as waves of pleasure came over him, he simply did not feel satisfied. When he withdrew from you, his cum stayed just at the brim of your entrance. He bent to lick it, but something got there before him. 

A flower, dark orange like Dennis’s petals, spring from the earth to your oozing sex. You whined as it hummed against your pussy. The same type of flowers grew around him, pulling his cock further down to suck up whatever remained on his skin. Their pistils and stamens gathered up the translucent fluids leaking from him; their tickling teased another hard on. 

“Get on top, baby,” he said, voice slightly hoarse from his heaving breaths. “Come here. On top of me, now.” 

He pulled you onto him this time. Vines kept your hands behind your back, and wrapped around your torso. Dennis clearly had no problem helping you properly fuck him. Mingi did not complain. He slapped your bouncing tits, giving your nipples hard pinches every so often; he pushed up into you whenever Dennis held you in place. He knew the plant went back into your ass by your breathy moans. The sentient plant did anything in its power to make its victims cum endlessly. He swore something in the air kept his victims going until they simply could not. 

But something about you did the same thing.

****

You don't know how long it went, but the sky nearly darkened by the time it ended. The muggy atmosphere, the humid air and the nutrient soils blinded you to reason and reality. As your body constantly rolled and moved around in the dirt, you slowly became one with the beings around you. Mingi's presence only heightened the experience. The soft soil and residues left on you entered your pores. You felt yourself ascending into a higher form, a higher being. As Dennis absorbed you and Mingi one final time, you did not feel like YN YLN anymore. Your body became electric. A strange feeling ran through your bones, spreading all over until it became a part of you. After the final orgasm, your body flopped onto the dirt patch Dennis initially created for you. The smell of the trees above you became your constant aroma. The flowers that had participated or spectated became more dear to you than anything else. Is this how your mother felt in her garden? 

“That was intense,” Mingi laughed, laying in the dirt with you. He lifted his head to see Dennis quiet and still, “He seems satisfied.”

You could hardly speak. You gazed up at the colorful glass above you. The growth covered most of it, but you caught the gist of the scene. A group of young maidens appeared to be occupying different spots of a garden similar to the one outside. Peacefulness came out through the art and onto you. It sounded sappy, but you finally felt at home. Of all the places you've ever been, in your before and afterlife, this greenhouse was home. Here, you feared nothing and nobody. Here, you are accepted and loved. Truly loved. You wore no collars in the greenhouse.

“Are you okay?” Mingi asked, though you hardly heard him. “I'm sorry I was a bit rough towards the end. I couldn't help myself. I promise next time I'll be gentler.”

Your fingers slipped into the dirt underneath you. Parts of it turned warm after you were on top of it for so long, yet others remained cool. You subconsciously made spirals in the ground, soaking in the euphoria of this new stage. A butterfly in the painting caught your eye. A beautiful monarch with orange and black wings fluttered from one panel to another. A butterfly. That is how you felt. Your human form was the cocoon you shed as Dennis took you. He guided you out of that existence and into another level. Turning your head, you saw white and blue flowers grow around your fingertips. 

“It's beautiful here,” you said softly, watching one flower coil around your finger. It became a piece of you as you brought it out of the dirt. “Don't you think?”

“Yeah, it is. Look, we definitely need to head out now. Hongjoong is probably furious with us right now. We've been here way too long,” you heard the panic come as his senses cleared, “He'll kill us for this-”

“-You go,” you interrupted him. The blossom grew across your fingers. It embedded itself in your skin, turning brown as it became a hardened vine. You watched it wrap itself around your arm, and gradually stop around your shoulder. “I want to stay here.”

“YN, you might be something new or whatever, but Hongjoong likely went to work without you. If we clean you up, and get you there asap, then he might spare us both.”

“I don't care.”

“You don't care? Did Dennis rob you of your senses completely? The Masters do not handle disobedience lightly.”

“Let them try,” you said, more flowers blooming on your arm and shoulder. 

Yes, let them try to punish you now. Punishments up until now have been sexual, but you knew your “masters” could easily become violent. Let them. Your vines will strangle them and anyone else who tries. 

“YN,” he stood up from the ground, though with difficulty, “Please, come with me. If I show up without you-”

“-Tell them where I am and that I didn't come with you. That way, they'll at least know where I am.”

You truly didn't know what the masters might have in store for you. Cambions could be slaves, but that's usually by choice or necessity. You wouldn't want to be a slave anymore. You wanted to live as you'd done so in life: freely and carelessly. 

“Do not heed his warnings, Mistress,” Dennis said in your head. “I will be your new protector.”

A smile came across your face. “I don't like the name ‘Dennis’. It sounds so childish and lame. A creature of your magnificence should have a powerful name that strikes fear into people.”

“What shall I be called then?”

You thought about it deeply. Mingi spoke up again, “YN, I'm not joking.”

“Caesar,” you said, holding your hand up to admire your work. “No, that's a salad dressing.”

“YN!”

“Alastair? Octavius?”

“I quite like Octavius.”

“Then it's settled. You're now Octavius.”

“You can't give Master Seonghwa's plant a new name.”

“I just did.”

“YN, you have to come with me right now.”

“You must go, Mistress. The young masters will not take your absence well. They may see it as disobedience.”

“They would,” you scoffed. “Anytime I do anything that doesn't directly involve them or their dumb schedules, they get upset. They're like children. Why do I have to pretend to be a housewife? I don't cook or clean or do anything meaningful. I'm not so stupid that I can't learn things at my own pace and in my own way. Why do I have to be restricted to their empty lives?”

"Because they believed you to be a lesser being than themselves. You have now nor have ever been less than anything but a goddess."

"Hm, I like the sound of that."

“You better hope they never hear you say that,” warned Mingi. “I don't have time for your shit. Let's go.”

“Hey!”

Mingi lifted you off the ground with ease. You struggled out of his grasp, but being thrown over his shoulder made that harder. You looked at the vines covering the ceiling. The urge to have them trap Mingi came strongly, but nothing happened. The plants stayed stationary and silent. Mingi carried you out of the greenhouse, where the nightly air blew through your matted hair. Outside the greenhouse, you felt empty once more. Mingi might as well have ripped you out of your home. He carried you back to that suffocating house and your masters. The lace collar you wore became more apparent than ever. 

Inside the house, Mingi took you all the way to the sitting room. Your body tensed at the presence of others in the room. 

“Darling! There you are!” 

Mingi placed you before them. All three brothers must have been alerted about your disappearance and came home early. You couldn't help resenting them. For the first time in a while, you hated your slave status. While being treated more like a princess than a slave was preferable, being confined to the keep made you start hating them. After experiencing the freedom and comfort of the greenhouse, you didn't want to be in the house. You wanted freedom. 

The sight of you stunned all three into silence. Smeared and caked with mud and leaves, you never felt more at home in your own skin. They eyed the branch wrapped around your right arm, the blossoms softly hissing and rattling in this new environment. Clearly, whatever ideas they'd created of you proved to be true. Your appearance concerned them, and it was refreshing. 

“It seems I was correct after all,” Seonghwa said, staring at the blue and white blossoms on your arm. “YN inherited her mother's ability.”

“Wow,” San stood up first, coming over to you cautiously. You saw him considering the best way to approach you. “You look…different, Darling.”

“Is that bad?”

“Not at all,” he assured you. “Maybe a little cleaning up, but other than that, I…” his eyes turned from shocked to fondness, “Still think you're the most beautiful being in existence.”

You smiled at him. 

“How do you feel, Kitten?” Seonghwa asked, getting up from his couch. He closely examined your face and hair, seeing all the mud and tiny twigs stuck to it. “Any pain or bruising anywhere?”

“No,” you shook your head. 

“And what did Dennis do exactly when you saw him? How did you end up there?”

“He called me.”

“He called you?”

You told them about the greenhouse. All of them listened intently to your story, not distracted by the dirtier details of it this time. Seonghwa already anticipated your response, but San and Hongjoong sat in silence. He continued examining you while you talked, closely observing the flowers on your shoulder and feeling your skin. By the time you got to Mingi, he turned to the bodyguard. You expected him to snap, and demand to know where Mingi went. 

“It wasn't Mingi’s fau-”

“-What did you find when you got there?” he asked him, cool and collected. 

“Dennis-”

“-Octavius-”

“-The plant was feeding off her,” Mingi continued. 

“And how did you end up involved?”

“I….Um, well…I suppose in the heat of the moment and her teasing me, I let myself get swept up in the moment. I couldn't control myself. She's so,” he took a deep breath, “Intoxicating.”

“Intoxicating?” Seonghwa glanced over at him once, then said, “Did you kiss her at any point?”

“I don't think so.”

“Taste her blood?”

“No, sir. I'm not really into that.”

“Good, then you're less likely to die.” 

“We can't kiss her anymore?” said San. 

“I'm not sure,” he said. “I don't know how potent it is. Yeosang and I tasted her blood last night and had mild discomfort but nothing dangerous. Kissing her hasn't appeared to affect us physically…” 

He then pulled you to him for a kiss. Deep and slow, Seonghwa cupped your jaw as he worked your mouth open. His hot tongue slithered past your lips, running over teeth and tongue to savor you. A slow inhale went through his nostrils, as if taking in the scent of you. This brought on a hunger that came out in soft grunts. You giggled at his reaction, amused by how easy he made it. 

“Intoxicating for sure,” he said between kisses, forcing himself to pull away but unable to. “Your kisses can be deadly in their own way.” 

“Let me try.”

San pushed him aside and brought you into his arms. He pecked your lips a few times, tasting you tentatively before his eyes darkened. He moaned the moment your tongues touched. Hands wandering down your body, San did not seem to care about the state of you. He grabbed the back of your thighs and you jumped into his embrace. Legs locked behind him, he'd started moving you to the mantle behind you.

“Deadly for sure,” San chuckled between kisses, pressing you to the column. “We might have to hang a warning from your neck,” he joked, nuzzling your nose, “‘Caution: Kiss At Your Own Risk’.”

“In that case,” you replied, hands going through his hair, “You are all very big risk takers.”

“For you? Absolutely.” 

Right as you started kissing Hongjoong appeared. 

“You had your turn,” He remarked, taking you from San. “It's my day, after all.”

His kiss, heated with passion, became equally enthralled. Taking your hands, Hongjoong let the natural aphrodisiac overcome his senses.  

“Now I know why you're so irresistible,” he moaned, bringing you to his couch to straddle him. “Your kisses are better than drugs,” he chuckled drunkenly, kissing and grinding into you. “I know I’d do anything you wanted for more of these kisses.”

“Anything?’ you smirked. 

“Anything,” he replied. “No safeword needed either.”

“I wouldn’t be so cruel, Hongjoong,” you said, happy to use his real name. Pushing cherry locks from his face, you kissed him again. “But, it’d be a nice change of pace to have you crying from overstimulation.”

“I think I like cambion YN,” he sneered, leaning in to kiss you. 

“Not now, Hongjoong,” said Seonghwa, pulling you from his brother's lap. 

The eldest demon took deep breaths to fight off the toxins inside him. San and Hongjoong moved to you, but kept their distance. The three hovered around you like carrion crows, eager to feast on your flesh. The intense attention reminded you of happier days. You touched Seonghwa’s chest, fingers tracing the buttons of his clean shirt. The light specks of dirt stood out against the white material and you knew it’d irritate him. Yet, at that moment, he hardly noticed it. 

“What do we do now?” you asked him. “You registered me with those people, right?”

“I did,” Seonghwa answered, nodding. “Jackson told me he’ll slip in your name and erase you from the human records. It’ll be like you never went to the circles.” He eyed the collar around your neck. He hooked it with his forefinger, and you saw the sadness in his eyes, “You’re not a slave anymore.”

The words carried weight inside you. “I’m not?”

“No,” he said, letting go of your collar. “Since you’re Lilith’s granddaughter, you get the title of ‘Lady’.”

“Lady, huh?” you grinned, “Sounds cool.” 

“Yes. You’re a Lady of Eden now.”

“Eden? Like, Adam and Eve’s Eden?”

“Yes, that eden.”

“Do I have to go there?”

“Not if you don’t want to,” Hongjoong said, “But it’d be good of you to present yourself to them. You know, make it known that you’re here.”

The idea of going to another unknown place in Hell made you uneasy. San noticed your discomfort and said, “Lilith is always happy to greet one of her blood. She won’t turn you away if, you know, you decided to live there with them.”

“Would that bother you?”

“A bit, but I would understand,” Seonghwa said, but you didn’t believe him. Dejected, Seonghwa kept looking at the lace collar on your neck. “I don’t want to lose you.” He touched one of the white flowers, not bothered when it hissed at his touch. “I like having you around. It feels nice having someone who shares my interests, and whom I can spend time with comfortably. Yes, the sex is always nice, but I speak for myself and my brothers when I say we enjoy having you here. You being a cambion doesn't bother me. It worries me because, yes, we can receive serious punishment for that, but you leaving me upsets me more.” 

“I like having someone who enjoys the same things as me,” Hongjoong said. “You aren’t afraid. You like experiencing new things with me. I don’t have many people to do things like that with me.”

“It feels nice having someone to come home to,” San added. He turned you around, and caressed your cheek. “If the schedules bothered you, you could have told me. They were Seonghwa’s idea in the first place. He said having you hanging about all day without stimulation might dull your brain. I wanted to keep you happy. You…You were at least a little bit happy?”

Looking at his angular, handsome face, you thought about it. “It’s nice living here,” you said. “It’s the closest I’ve gotten to my old life since I arrived in Hell. It has been kind of constricting and suffocating here and the schedules are complete bullshit, but I went through worse.” 

His shoulders slumped at this answer. “Then clearly, I haven’t been doing my job right.” He kissed you softly, “We can change anything you want. Anything at all.”

“It isn’t like we chained you up in a basement and mistreated you,” Hongjoong scoffed, clearly becoming irritated with the tedious conversation. “We don’t have to decide everything tonight,” he clicked his fingers and Yunho came in a puff of smoke, “A drink, Yunho.” Yunho started pouring drinks from the bar cart in the corner, and Hongjoong returned to his couch. Flopping down on it, he sighed deeply. Even with his carefree response, you saw the hurt in his eyes. “You’re free now. You can do what you want. Whether that be here with us or be somewhere else, then fine.” It was not fine. Not to Hongjoong.

“I never said I wanted to leave,” you assured him, not liking the pain he tried hiding. “I…This has all happened super fast, and I’m not sure what I want right now.”

“And that’s fine,” San assured you. “You don’t need to figure it all out right now. You can go up to your room or the greenhouse or wherever. Dennis-Sorry, Octavius-likely put you through the wringer, so you must be so exhausted and hungry.” 

“Aftercare is important no matter whether with your bodyguard or with a tentacle plant,” said Hongjoong. “You can clean up, and we’ll have dinner.”

“I’m fine like this,” you said, looking at the branch clinging to your arm. “It feels strangely natural to me. I think I’ll stay like this for a little bit longer.”

“Whatever you say, love,” he said, taking the drink Yunho passed to him. He took a drink, then said, “You’re still having dinner with me. I had to go an entire day without you again. I’m suffering immensely.”

“I’m sure you were devastated,” you cooed, pinching his cheek. “I can watch you torture people another time.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

You kissed his cheek, then stood up from the couch. You knew you should bathe, but that alone felt so exhausting. Out of the room, you slumped your shoulders and shuffled your feet. The exertion with Octavius, formerly Dennis, and Mingi finally started hitting you up the stairs. Mingi chuckled. 

“Not as tough as you pretend, huh?”

“I am half-human,” you emphasized. You turned around, “Carry me?”

Mingi laughed, and scooped you off the floor. You’d nearly drifted to sleep cradled in his arms. Your bodyguard tended to have a comforting effect on you. His constant hovering from the shadows gave you a peace of mind. When you felt the softness of your mattress, you lifted the branch to one of the canopy beams. Like water, the hard vine slid off your arm to the natural wood. Through sleepy eyes, you watched it attach itself to the pole. It rooted into cracks in the smooth wood, starting in the middle before it extended itself all over the frames of your bed. A tiny greenhouse, you thought. 

“Wow,” Mingi rested on the bed beside you, “That’s amazing.”

“Thanks.”

“Just imagine what else you could do.”

“I hope to find out.” A thought came to you as you came closer to sleep, “Do you think my mother’s in Eden?”

“Maybe. If she died, yes, she should be there.”

“Hm…good to know…”

You yawned, slowly falling asleep at last. She came to mind again. She loved planting peonies. She said they symbolized love, honor, and beauty. She always added them to bouquets meant for best wishes and joy. You recalled the small potted peonies she put in your bedroom. Despite what friends thought, you kept them growing and healthy. As you drifted, you saw the pink, multi-layered peonies starting to blossom in the nooks and crannies of your four-poster bed. You missed her so damn bad. 

You wanted to see her again. 

***

A/N: Ooooh things are changing in the Black Keep. Don't we love a little development? I hope you guys liked this chapter! Don't forget to reblog and like <3

[palajae]

bigger picture. 

PAIRING... ceo!sunghoon x model!reader | GENRE... childhood friends to lovers!, romance, fluff, humor | WC... 1.3k | lots of bickering, loosely based off love next door (2024)

you breathe in the fresh air with a pleased expression. this was home. it’s been years since you’ve visited, always overseas doing work. your schedule was constantly packed with shoots and campaigns taking up most of your time (and life), essentially never giving you rest time to come back. 

you finally did it. 

maybe your mom would kill you—but that was a later problem. 

especially since you hadn’t told her of your return. 

your suitcase clatters on the rough pavement while you drag it along. your eyes wander around the street you grew up on. strangely enough, it was unfamiliar and familiar at the same time. 

you stop at a building, feeling the sense of nostalgia wash over you. wasn’t this the old community pool? the one you used to visit all the time with-

you squint as you look closer to the construction sign posted on the door. 

under construction: contact park industries for more information. 

you frown. they were turning this place into something else? what a shame. you two practically grew up at this musty pool. 

“i wonder who decided to renovate this area-“

a confused calling of your name stops you in your tracks. it was a deep voice, yet a familiar one nevertheless. 

slowly, you turn in your tracks. your mouth drops open. 

“park sunghoon?! what are you doing here?”

last you heard, he was getting his masters. he looks quite, you swallow, polished in that perfectly styled suit and gelled hair of his. 

he pushes up his glasses by the nose bridge, eyes glinting as he studies you. “this is my building.”

your eyes bulge momentarily, “this is your building?! wha-wait. you own park industries?”your finger points accusatorially at him. 

“as bright as ever,” he notes while narrowing his eyes at you. you scoff immediately, crossing your arms. 

“as snooty as ever,” you snarkily reply back. you instinctively raise a fist at him while he shrinks back. perhaps the situation finally hits the both of you, as silence falls and he clears his throat. 

“you… you’re back.” he glances at your suitcase and then at you. “my mother never mentioned anything about you coming home.”

you internally cringe, pretending to scratch the back of your head. you laugh albeit awkwardly. 

“oh, really? that is weird. i just, uh-“

the sound of familiar voices approaching cause your stomach to drop. you could recognize the sound of your parents’ voices anywhere. of course, in this small neighborhood, you had to bump into them right now. 

you were screwed.

frantically, you eyes scan the area. aha—you were a genius. you fly towards an empty, large box near the entrance to sunghoon’s building. you can only hope it was used for furniture and not trash. 

“what are you-“

you glance up at him and his perplexed expression. “please. just this once.”

and with that, you flip it over and fly under the box to hide. thank goodness it didn’t smell weird. you hear muffled voices of delight as your families spot sunghoon. 

“oh, it’s been so long! are you working on this building?”

you hear him chuckle and roll your eyes. what a sucker for parents. if only they knew his true personality. 

“yes, auntie. i came to check on the construction progress.” 

you hear your mom laugh. your heart pangs as you realize you haven’t heard that sound in forever. 

“oh, you must be so busy as the ceo. we won’t bother you anymore but you have to come soon for dinner!”

“but uh,” your dad sounds confused, “who’s suitcase is this?”

you curse. 

“what was that?”

sunghoon quickly laughs, harshly kicking the box you were under as you hiss. “oh, don’t worry about that! it’s my luggage—you know, i have to start moving into the office here soon. i thought i would get a head start-mhm. you know-“

you were starting to sweat crouching in this box. but sunghoon was moving his office back home, you note. interesting. 

thankfully, your parents leave sunghoon at that and you finally try to lift the box. you grunt, pushing up but to no avail. 

“sunghoon,” you grit your teeth, “if you don’t get off the box in the next minute i will actually kill you when i get out.” 

finally, you’re able to push the box off you with a huff and a glare. 

“i think you should be thanking me.”

one of his perfect eyebrows raises up at you and you want to smack him. unfortunately, he was right though. you sigh, still sitting on the floor. 

sunghoon sighs. “you should really tell your family, you know? they barely see you as is. 

you bite your lip. of course he knew. you had grown up with each other for twenty years. 

“i don’t know why you’re suddenly back, but they deserve to know.”

“alright, alright,” you stand up while dusting yourself off, “i get it mister ceo.”

he makes an offended noise. with a sigh, you grab your suitcase and begin unzipping it. 

“what now?” he doesn’t sound surprised. sunghoon was immune to your antics. 

you take out jacket after jacket, even forcing him to hold some for you. “you know,” you start casually while putting on coats in the dead middle of summer, “safety precautions.”

“so this is the country’s top model, huh?”

you cough, “well…”

“what?” 

you look away, avoiding eye contact. “it’s just a break, for now….”

“who knows? your fiancé?” he shoves his hands in his pockets, studying the floor with an unreadable expression. you eye him warily. 

“yeah, right. i broke it off. it was all for show, anyway. you know the media eats it up.”

sunghoon suddenly glances at you with genuine concern reflected in his eyes. you don’t like it.

“so, you’re saying you broke off your engagement and quit your job?“

“temporarily!” you yell, irritated. he was getting on your nerves again. 

“you should go find your family.” 

“stop telling me what to do, hoon.”

you say it so nonchalantly but it never fails to make him shiver. especially since it’s been so long since he last heard you say that. 

it’s been so long since he’s last seen you, really. when your modeling career took off and you left to travel the world, he thought he’d never see you again. all he knew was your photoshoots online and news from the media. especially when your relationship with a top actor was announced, he didn’t expect an invitation to your wedding. 

certainly he didn’t expect to see you here, right now, standing in front of him. just like back when you two first met all those years ago. 

“what?” you call out, breaking him out of his trance. “you wanna fight? you know you’ll lose.”

sunghoon sighs, checking his shiny watch. “unlike you, most people have jobs. i’m a bit busy, so…”

you roll your eyes again, “as if.” 

and with that, you jump him. literally. 

despite the (saddening) height difference, one of your arms is tightly locked around his neck as he splutters. 

“this is what you get for keeping me in that box. i was dying in there you little piece of-!”

just barely, sunghoon manages to use his strength to pull away. he gasps and coughs as you tap your foot with a rather intimidating stare.

you two make eye contact for a good minute or so, before you turn with a humph to grab your suitcase and continue on. 

“this isn’t over, hoon.”

“why me?” he mutters under his breath before making his way to his building slash future office. 

what neither of you two realize is the unconscious smiles plastered on both of your faces. 

a/n ▸ aghhshdhesn ngl posting three days in a row was so weird i can’t keep up 💀ne ways did i write this with the intention of making a part two? that’s up to you to decide :)

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[seonghwaddict]

showering with ateez — masterlist

requested by anon. genre. hc, fluff rating. pg-13. warnings. showering together, kissing, mildly suggestive. wc. 944.

[ lilo’s notes . . . ] thank you for this request anon~ hope you enjoy it!! :3

hongjoong

you love your boyfriend very much, but you can’t deny that he’s a workaholic sometimes he’d forget to take care of himself, but luckily you’re there to help!

so when you notice he hasn’t showered in around three days, rotting on the couch with his work laptop glued to him, you gently walk over a hit the save button, closing the machine and setting it on the table before you pull him off the couch and into the bathroom.

he doesn’t protest, letting you wash him with the soft hands that he loves oh so much. he returns the favour happily, though lazily in his tired state. it’s a quiet activity, barely any words exchanged, but it’s comfortable and intimate in an innocent way.

seonghwa

seonghwa likes things clean and organised. which is why he usually showers twice a day—morning and night. while his morning showers are private and used partially to wake himself up, his nightly showers are reserved to be shared with you.

it happened once, then again, and soon enough it became a routine. you arrive home just slightly earlier than him, and when he comes he wastes no time in pulling you into the master bedroom and then the bathroom.

it’s usually a quick shower, helping each other scrub areas that were hard to reach. and afterwards he dries you off and dresses you and forces you to rest on the couch as he prepares some dinner.

yunho

he’s the one that asks you to shower with him.

he absolutely love love loves the feeling of you washing his hair for him. and when you’re not doing that, he’s clinging to you and just holding you under the pouring shower head. he especially likes using shampoo that will make plenty of bubbles.

if you’re having a bad day, he likes to be the one to take care of all the work—washing your hair and massaging you in the warm shower.

yeosang

he wouldn’t be one to share a shower or anything but i think yeosang would prefer a bath with you. sitting in a warm pool of water and bubbles, relaxed enough to just fall asleep right there.

he’s so shy at first, not wanting to face you but he’ll relax soon enough and have you sit between his legs, facing him with your legs around his lower torso. not a lot of washing gets done, instead the two of you just converse softly and enjoy each other’s presence.

using the bubbles to make a beard and moustache so he can hear your pretty laugh. practically falling asleep against the back of the tub as you rub the vanilla scented soap on his body, drawing little patterns.

san

he loves showering with you, especially after activities in the bedroom. whether or not there’ll be another round in the shower completely depends on you, he’s always happy to cater to what you want.

he prefers for you to sit on the little shower bench, kneeling on the floor to wash legs and areas easier to access in this position. after that he’ll stand up behind you and give you a light massage, occasionally pressing fleeting kisses to your wet hair.

though you try to return the favour and help him get clean, he scolds you playfully and tells you to relax. when it’s all done and your both dried off and in clean clothes, he makes sure to coddle and pamper you for the rest of the night.

mingi

he’s not for or against to showering with you, per se. some days he loves nothing more than to feel your wet skin against his, other days he needs his own space.

usually he loops his arms around your waist and pulls you close, letting the water hit his back as he hugs you. when he’s satisfied, he takes a step back to let you do whatever you need to do in the shower while he takes care of himself.

some days he’s the opposite of the above, way more affectionate throughout the whole process. his hands caress your body and occasionally his lips find yours and kiss you gently. then he’ll whine about getting soap in his mouth.

wooyoung

jung wooyoung is a very playful man and that extends into every activity, thank you very much.

of course, he constantly checks if you’re comfortable, asking before he touches you in any way. but once you give him the green light, he’s playfully flicking water at you. he can’t help but tease you.

he clings to you from behind while his hands slide all over you, mouthing at your neck and shoulders affectionately as you whine because you’re just trying to shower. but, really, you love him and whatever he’s doing. and for a moment you think the situation will take a turn, but then he’s pressing one last kiss to the back of your neck and smearing a dollop of bubbles on your cheek before he steps out, giggling as he wraps a towel around his waist and walks out of the bathroom while you’re left in the shower in bewilderment.

jongho

he’s not big on showering with you, either. but! he does like calming baths.

jongho specifically likes to light some candles in the bathroom before sinking into the warm water with you. you’re sat between his legs with your back pressed against his front, the dense bubbles concealing your intertwined bodies beneath the water.

it’s a really intimate atmosphere; bathing with you. his hands caress your waist, hips and thighs, underwater as his chin rests on his shoulders. neither of you say much, other than him humming little songs or muttering sweet nothings into your ear.

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[sunkissedscribbles]

Mattheo Riddle's Guide To Win Y/N's Heart

pairing: mattheo x fem!reader (house not clarified)

genre: fluff

tw: my bad writing

word count: 1532

summary: mattheo's desperately trying to lure you in by using psychological tricks on you.

a/n: okay, this one might not be the best, but it's sweet. also, i wrote this in the middle of the night lol

masterlist

dividers by @chachachannah

It all started a week ago when Mattheo strutted into the Great Hall in the morning with that stupid, confident grin plastered across his lips.

“It’s 7:30. In the morning,” Theo raised an eyebrow at him as to why he was in a good mood so early for his liking.

“I have the master plan to get Y/N to date me,” Mattheo stated proudly, to which Enzo and Theo shared a look, and the latter snorted a laugh.

“And how are you gonna do that, Casanova?” Pansy chimed in too.

“Psychology,” Mattheo shrugged simply, deeply believing that his master plan would work perfectly.

He read in Enzo’s book that if you want to be appealing to a woman, you should sit across her at a table and if about to win a man’s heart, you should sit right beside him. So, the first trick he tried was sitting across you at the table in all cases, even if it meant two people — including you — sitting on the one side and five people squeezed together on the one across because Mattheo wanted to sit across you with millimeter accuracy. First, you didn’t understand it one bit. You only sensed Mattheo growing weirder by the day and your friends having more fun directly proportionally and putting two and two together, you realized these two are actually related.

The next thing was wearing red. Now this one was a hilarious one; on Tuesday afternoon when you, Enzo, and Mattheo were due to study together for Arithmancy (which, may I mention, Mattheo only took up because you did so too), Mattheo slumped down on the chair across you at the table in the library, wearing a Gryffindor hoodie.

“What on earth-“ Enzo shook his head in disbelief but you had to fight back a loud outburst of laughter.

“Hi, Y/N,” Mattheo grinned confidently but you shook your head with a grin still lingering on your lips.

“Whose is this?” you nodded in the direction of the hoodie hugging his upper body.

See, the problem with wearing red was that he didn’t own a single clothing piece of the colour, so he had to think outside the box and be creative for this one.

He looked down nonchalantly and shrugged with that familiar smirk. “Longbottom’s. I’m sure he doesn’t mind.”

Enzo buried his face into his hands next to you, trying to hold a groan back from escaping as your mouth hung open and your eyes widened. “He doesn’t know?”

“His door was open…”

You, knowing Mattheo, lifted your eyebrows in disbelief as he clearly didn’t tell the exact truth.

“Well- it wasn’t open, but soon it opened magically and I took it as an invitation…”

“You Alohomora’d his door to get a burgundy hoodie for Merlin-knows-what?”

“Well, y- wait. Burgundy? This is red,” Mattheo shook his head as he stiffened. He was convinced it was pure red — boys and their eyes for colours, huh?

Enzo snorted a laugh finally, knowing exactly Mattheo was trying to use the ‘red makes you appear more attractive’ law of psychology on you and he technically failed.

“No, darling, this is burgundy,” you chuckle which by the way, Mattheo found adorable, even in the middle of his embarrassment, plus, you called him darling — so he took it that you actually fell for his trick and, well, for him too.

But of course, there were things in Enzo’s psychology book Mattheo didn’t even think of doing. This was, for one, playing hard to get. Because he knew his eyes would have failed him every time he’d tried to close you out, and he knew exactly how well you were able to see right through him. You being concerned about him was also a problem with this because as Pansy once absent-mindedly drew his attention to how you noticed people’s energies shift pretty quickly, he had to close this option out completely.

Another one was putting on a cocky, intimidating, or prideful look because of the same reason; you noticing the energy shifts, and because no matter how hard he’d tried, that stupid grin had grown on him and your sight only fueled it.

He tried mirroring your body language, too. You were leaning forward at breakfast, tiredly resting against the wooden dining table? He was sitting opposite you, sitting as if he was actually in your mirror. You ran a hand through your hair? Guess what, he had to scratch his head. Even when your leg was bouncing nervously under the desk in History of Magic, he sure mirrored it.

You weren’t oblivious to this either, and you knew something was up — but you simply thought he was playing a prank on you. And your friends being awfully quiet whenever you brought up how weird Mattheo was being around you only added to your suspicion.

“I see” was a common way for him to start whatever he had on his mind. Because, research by MIT showed that women were more attracted to men who used the phrases “I see,” “Okay,” and “Yep.” And for him, he used them until he’s grown sick of them.

But of all the things he’d tried, his favourite — and yours too — was touching. Touching you had always lightened his day, even if it was just a tap on your shoulder to enquire about the time. And his touch provided reassurance for you, whenever he touched you for even a split second you knew you had someone to count on, someone to be comforted by. When you were tired in class he had a shoulder to offer for you to rest your head on (not Theo though because he could go fuck himself rather than sleep on his best friend’s shoulder, respectfully, in the best friend in question’s opinion.) When you were anxious, he chose to put his quill down and not take notes, rather have his hand comforting you by rubbing little circles on your thigh just above your knee (and sometimes a little too high), having his arm around you or playing with your hair, saying he’d borrow your notes later to catch up, which he never did.

However, things haven’t changed for two more weeks. And, as time went on, Mattheo grew more and more desperate, seeking the moment he could finally hold you in his arms and kiss the life out of you. He was waiting for the moment when he could confess his love to you — or, which would have been more convenient, and a whole ego boost for him, to have you come crawling by yourself, singing odes about him. But he realized it was a rather unlikely scenario that lived rent-free in his head.

“That book sucks,” Mattheo complained to Enzo one evening in the common room frustratedly as he sank into the green velvet material of the couch.

“Why so?” Enzo didn’t even look up from his Transfiguration essay he was desperately trying to put a dot on the end of for an hour.

“‘Cause I tried everything! And Y/N still doesn’t have a clue how I love her,” he let out a grunt as he let his head fall back against the backrest of the sofa and rubbed his closed eyes tiredly. “She’s still not into me.”

“I am into you,” your voice came down on him like a rain of cold ice. After nagging for two whole weeks, Pansy agreed to fill you in about what Mattheo called his master plan, and you finally understood what it was all about.

Mattheo’s eyes shot open to see he hasn’t hallucinated your reassuring words in that sweet tone you always talk to him with, and to make sure you are very physically standing there. He quickly got up from where he was and sat on the couch next to Enzo, who seemed to be in a completely other world with how concentrated he was on his Transfiguration homework.

Mattheo quickly made his way over to you, standing just a few feet apart with that stupid grin already growing on his lips as he took you, your gorgeous figure, bright smile, and shiny eyes in. “Are you now, princess?” He asked in a tone sweet like honey while tugging a strand of hair behind your ear.

You rolled your eyes at him before taking a step closer to the point that your chests were grinding against each other, to Mattheo’s biggest pleasure. And before he knew it, your lips came crashing against his in a long-awaited kiss and his arms slithered around your waist so naturally like they were made to be resting there. However, you pulled away after a few seconds before it could’ve got a little too carried away. “Did you really steal Longbottom’s hoodie so that I’d find you more attractive?” You chuckled with a touched but still a little mocking smile.

“Borrowed it. I returned it after you told me it wasn’t the right colour,” he rolled his eyes at you too, but he was the happiest guy on earth right then and there because he had all right to wrap his arms around you like a shield, protecting you from the world and its horrible people.

[writingmeraki]

the etiquettes of a true bodyguard — j.ww drabble.

❝ in which wonwoo proves the theory of humans tending to crave what they can't have and he realises that he definitely wants you.

( or you wonder if this was all your karma catching up to you when you become the bodyguard for the renowned notorious rockstar. )

pairing : rockstar!wonwoo x bodyguard!reader, one-sided enemies to ?? genre : angsty, fluffy. warnings : mentions of attacks, injuries, knives, stalkers, treating of wounds, blood. wonwoo is sort of rude. notproofread.

a/n at the end ( it got too long ) pls read and also lmk what u think of this : )

word count : 3.3k

Don’t believe in rumours regarding your clients. (The truth is far more better albeit there’ll always be exceptions. )

You'd mastered the art of nonchalance. 

If such a thing did even exist but in other words you were very in control of your emotions, usually being able to maintain a calm facade even if there was chaos around you. 

You suppose it was due to your occupation, after all being an agent did require a lot of keeping your emotions in check.

Even when you weren't doing your job and doing something else, it wasn't as if there was some sort of on and off button where you could switch up your personality and let loose. It just wasn't habituated to you. 

Being a bodyguard however was different. A favour is what it was. You owed a favour to someone and that someone made you repay the favour by being a bodyguard for someone else they knew. 

You couldn't argue about it because at the end of it still meant you were repaying back what you owed. 

It was like a glorified version of a babysitter. Following someone around, making sure they don't mess up or get messed up. That's the whole jist of it. 

Or at least it was what you thought initially. 

But you forgot it wasn't children or teens. Rather grown ass adults. Almost your age type adults. 

Said adults being rockstars part of a rock band that was composed of four of them.

Apparently, in this industry it was common for these celebrities to have personal bodyguards because of the threats they'd face such as fans who get a little crazy, jealous people who tend to push the limits to the max with death threats, paparazzi who have no idea what a personal space is and the list goes on and on. 

You never had been a bodyguard before so when you discovered all the reasons a “mere” singer would need one, you were shocked to say the least. 

Yet, a favour is a favour and you would keep to your word and do your best, so that's what you did. Being the best bodyguard was the goal. 

It was your first time doing such a task? Mission? You couldn’t quite understand where this role would fall into because unlike the past where these roles were just disguises, this was actually the real deal. 

And just as you did in the past, you did a background check on your target, no wait clients.

SVT. A short form of seventeen. The year they had formed the band. SVT is composed of four members. They were a rock band that rose to fame over the years, gaining a loyal fanbase due to their unique music style and concepts.

Choi Seunghcheol, the lead guitarist. Also the leader of the band. He was younger than you but he was the oldest amongst the four. He was someone the public adored, his personality was contrary to what usual rockstars were stereotyped as, quite the gentleman.

Kim Mingyu, the drummer of the band. He was coined with a golden retriever like personality, outshining in a room full of people just by his mere presence. Tall, buff and once again quite contrary to the stereotypes. He was the charmer of the group you suppose.

You were wondering if they were actually a rock band at that point, but then came the other two. 

Hansol Vernon Chwe, keyboard player, clung onto the typical stereotypes like it was his coat. Rebellious and confidence was his whole get-go. He was true to his role, on and off-stage.

All of them were in fact, completely different on stage based on your research.

And how could you forget Jeon Wonwoo? 

Saving the best for last you suppose. Jeon Wonwoo, the vocalist. It was as if there was more than enough information to know exactly what he was like. Reckless, rebellious, passionate, charmer. There were numerous rumours surrounding him, in fact they all did, but it seemed he was the public’s favourite. From being a frequent party-goer, to the typical supposed playboy, it seemed that he was always a topic. 

They all did have their fair share of rumours, you had to dig into all the dirt, even the worse one because after all you wanted to be ready for what would come. 

You should have known with the glint in his eyes and the smirk on his face the first time you saw him when you were introduced to SVT, that he was not going to make your goal easier.

Gradually, you got introduced to the rest of them and learnt they were alright, as a matter of truth,you got along with Seungcheol a lot in the way you were both pretty much the oldest, where you were older by two years to him, so it was almost as if he looked up to you for a lot of advice. 

Mingyu was well…Mingyu. He had that energy in him that seemed to outshine any room he walked in and he was actually quite a sweetheart too. Always listened and took into consideration.

Vernon was basically almost like a kid to you. He'd say the most out of place shit that would always catch you off guard and had you contemplating why exactly you were there. It was actually quite a contrast to what you had searched about him. A good contrast, you concluded.

However, you were fine with all of them. The problem begins with Jeon Wonwoo.

Him with his messy hair, messy eye makeup that somehow suited him, lips that curved up into a perfect smirk. He was trouble if it existed in human form. As cliche as it sounded. It was their whole aesthetic though, the messy looks and makeup but he somehow looked like he was born to be a star like that. 

He was reckless though. You think that’s one of his flaws. Or he purposely tried to make your life harder. It seemed, the rumours were not just that, they were the actual reality of him.

And due to the whole rebellious thing he had going on, he hated you. 

Wonwoo in other words, did not like the idea of a personal bodyguard following him around everywhere. He knew due to their subsequent rise to fame, the negative parts would also come. He was fine with having security when they were attending events, going to the airports. As a group it was fine. But he dreaded it the day he was informed by his manager, Seungkwan, each of them would be assigned a personal bodyguard to be with them all times of the day.

Perhaps, it was because he never understood the need for one. He was not attacked physically but then again, it was always better to be safe than sorry. 

The first day he saw you, despite all of them being a bit taken aback by how young you actually were and not only that you weren’t too bad on the eyes either, he was annoyed. 

He could feel it in his bones, you were someone who stuck to rules. Always being by the book. Wonwoo hated that. And he would do just about everything to make sure, you’d quit. He did not need a personal bodyguard before. He wouldn’t need one now. 

How wrong he was about to be proven.

“Mr. Jeon, you should be more care-”

“Don’t call me that.” 

Pausing in your steps, you furrowed your eyebrows in question. You were making sure your own annoyance wouldn’t be shown. Wonwoo did not pay attention to you suddenly not trailing him, going forward towards the midnight grocery store. 

It was ridiculous to think he needed someone to protect him when he was just going for a quick five minute run to the store that was near their hotel to get a drink. 

He was just about to go quietly and be back without anyone noticing but of fucking course, you were able to somehow know. 

“This is ridiculous, it’s just five minutes.” He spoke with anger, his eyes glaring at you, pretty lips in a scowl. You wondered if he knew that despite trying to look intimidating, he somehow looked more pretty. 

“Just? A lot can happen in five minutes.” You said calmly, eyes making contact with him. You could tell he wasn’t used to people not cowering away under his glare.

He inhaled sharply, eyes closing for a brief moment, “Whatever.” 

He pushed past you, making sure to knock into your shoulder. If it weren’t for the brief discontent you felt towards him, maybe you could have appreciated how put together he looked despite it almost being very late. Grey and black were his colours. 

And that was how you’d ended up mid argument, trying to tell him to be careful of the darkness caused by the absence of some street lights. They were turned off probably due to malfunction. It gave the entire street a very eerie vibe because since only a few were functioning, it would be hard to make out who was walking in front of you. 

You were accustomed to the dark, knowing what to keep in mind and always being observant. However, Wonwoo wasn’t. His judgement at the moment was clouded by irritance at your presence. 

It was only for a brief second but you were able to make out a quick flash of movement just in front of Wonwoo. It was fast, likely so no one can know. Wonwoo had turned to putting his attention on his phone, scrolling and mumbling curses at you under his breath. 

The store was still a few metres ahead, standing out by being one of the few only lit buildings. It was due to the glow of the lights of the store, you were able to catch the movement. 

Before you knew it, you instinctively rushed forward and harshly grabbed Wonwoo’s arm, him almost dropping his phone and yelping, you threw him behind you. 

The intruder appeared from the right side, where there was an unlit tiny alley, the perfect place to wait for unsuspecting late nighters. You grabbed the knife that was raised midway, ready to slash into the person ahead. 

It was so fast, Wonwoo felt he would have missed it if he blinked because next thing he knew, he was suddenly shoved far to the left. All he saw was you holding the hand of a fully black clothed person, who was in turn holding a knife. The knife that would have likely pierced him if…if it weren’t for you. 

You did not care if the knife was pressing into the palm of your hand, piercing your skin, all you cared about was making sure nothing were to happen to Wonwoo. And so when you heard what you thought was a gasp of pain, you roughly pushed away the intruder, who was also in shock because he did not expect you. And tonight, he did not want a fight he wasn’t even sure he’d win and so he escaped when he got the chance. 

You quickly rushed to Wonwoo, who’d by your shove, had stumbled and fallen. He didn’t even realise it, trying to make sense of what just happened in the past few minutes. 

“Mr.Jeon!Mr Jeon- Wonwoo!” You were shaking him harshly by his shoulders as he blinked back to reality upon hearing his name. His name for the first time from you. In probably the worst case he could imagine. 

“Are you alright?” Out of pure concern, you held his face, scanning for injuries as you pushed back his hair. You then took his hands and did the same to make sure he wasn’t hurt too bad. Just a little scrap from falling.

Wonwoo, for the good of everything, could not explain why his heart felt like it’d combust the moment you touched his face and brushed his hair. He knew why you were doing it but it didn’t stop his heart from fluttering.

Why? 

He was confused. He hated you. Was it possible he couldn’t quite understand if it was truly hate?

“Wonwoo?” He realised he still hadn’t replied, but when he heard his name for the second time, he also had another realisation. He thinks he likes the way you say it. 

“Yeah- yeah I’m alright I-” He muttered, looking away as he stood up, “Let’s just- let’s just go back.”

He decided he didn’t want to go to the damned store, nor get the drinks. He just wanted to rest. His head felt dizzy at the idea of almost being hurt severely. It was though it only took a few moments for him to realise maybe he had been wrong all along, heck not maybe, he was definitely wrong.

“Okay, let’s go.” 

You didn’t even question him as he trailed right beside you, almost to the point you were in sync, when a while ago, he seemed repulsed at being near you. 

You followed him up to his room, but not before making sure there was no one trailing you and informing the other security around the hotel, regarding the intruder and telling someone to also inform the police.

He didn’t get irritated like he usually would, in fact he was too quiet. 

“Are you actually fine Mr.Jeon?” He frowned, he didn’t like the way you called him, remaining ever so in character.

“No- no don’t call me that, Wonwoo is fine.”

 You blinked once, twice to make sure you were hearing correctly. You slowly nodded, “Oh-kay, but,are you alright?”

“Yes, I uh- I'm fine.”

“My apologies, you weren't able to get your meal.” 

You were sorry? He could have died and you…you saved him but you were the one who felt bad?

He hated the fact that only now was he actually realising what could have possibly happened if you weren’t there. 

He felt stupid. 

Glancing towards you,his gaze drifted towards your hand, the injured one half-heartedly wrapped with a makeshift bandage from your handkerchief likely.

“Let me bandage that for you properly, I feel it is the least I could do.” 

You were about to argue, as you would, about how you’d do it yourself and to not fret over you because it was something you were pretty used to. Besides it wasn’t as big of a deal anyway, just a minor scrap. 

But before you could, he reached out for your hand, holding it in his and looked back up at you. And this time, the way he did, it made you feel…uneasy. His hand felt warm. Very warm. Compared to your bleeding out hand.

Uneasy in a way where your heart fluttered. You couldn’t seem to form a thought as you stared right into his eyes. They were a rich brown colour that reminded you of pools of honey under the sun. It was unusual for you to ever think like that for someone let alone your actual client. 

He spoke in a soft tone, you were sure you wouldn’t hear if you weren’t so close, “Please?”

 It was definitely not normal for the way your throat seemed to dry up upon hearing him say that word. 

“Oh-okay, alright.” And without much thought, you agreed and convinced yourself it was definitely not because of the puppy eyes he’d given you or the way his hand seemed to hold yours as if nothing else in the world existed for him. 

You think those were what you’d call famous last words, because at the moment, you were regretting even agreeing. It wasn’t because of Wonwoo in particular, in fact he did prove to be someone who knew how to bandage efficiently.

But it was also because of him, your mind was simply a haywire. 

You sat down on his bed, immediately hit by his signature smell as soon as you stepped in the room. It was everywhere but not in an overwhelming way, in a way that indicated it was a room that was lived in by him. 

He came up with the first aid kit from the bathroom and sat beside you turning his body towards you as you faced forward with your feet down, feeling unprofessional to even sit fully on his bed. 

Not that the whole ordeal would even fit into your etiquette rule book but perhaps you were beginning to realise, there were certain things you were wrong about. Or right. 

You specifically remember a particular article where the headline described Wonwoo as a “shallow brat with an attitude as well.” and to a certain point, it seemed that they may have been right. But that was not the case now.

Or was it ever the case?

This time, the truth was indeed far better than the rumour. 

It was as if the silence was enough to occupy the space between you two, him carefully cleaning your wound and disinfecting it. He glanced at your face during that part and was unsure whether to be worried or amazed by the fact that you didn’t even flinch when he wiped the hydrogen peroxide over your open cut. 

Your tongue was weighed down by the thoughts running in your mind, it was as if the person in front of you was actually another person. 

He was close to you, and the juxtaposition of moments ago to the current moment almost made you chuckle. It was hilarious how situations could change so quickly.

“There. Done.”

Raising your hand, you examined it with a scrutinising gaze making sure it was properly done. It made him feel slightly nervous yet he did not know if that was the only cause of that or upon the realisation of how your knees were touching the whole time — still were.

You got up, much to his disappointment, nodding along. 

“Good job actually, you’ve done great.” You swore you could see a faint blush painting his cheeks and his ears a shade redder than normal. You clenched your hand beside you, hoping it would calm your weirdly speeding up heart.

And this was when it really hit you, about where you were….who you were.

Clearing your throat, you spoke up, “Well I should get going now. It’s far too late and you should get some rest as well.”

Immediately he slightly frowned at that, blinking in a bit of amazement at how quick you’d changed moods. Then again, the night seemed to be all about too many quick changes. 

You moved towards his door, not wanting to glance at him, not wanting to think or do anything that was definitely not just against your etiquettes but also your overall job. 

He was safe. He was sound too. Everything about him was good and what he needed was rest and you did too because it was one hell of a nigh—

“Wait!” 

You paused in your footsteps, already out of the door as you turned back around to face him.

“Goodnight…Y/n.” 

He stood against the door, as he stared at you with those same honey eyes of his, that you think would never fail to amaze you, even in the most unlikely of situations. 

And for the first time, or his first, he saw you smile. One corner slowly lifted while the other followed as you shook your head. And this time, it was his mind that seemed to blank out because holy shit. 

“Goodnight…Wonwoo.” You said with a grin as you waved him once and then turned back around. Nonchalantly. As if you hadn’t just…just smiled at him the way you did. 

And did you just address him with his first name without him whining about it?!?

His hand reached up to his chest, pressing tightly to his left part and realizing just how fast it beat against it.

Yeah he was sure about one thing.

This was in no way the so-called hatred he desperately wished he felt towards you existed.

But then again, did it ever?

a/n : urm hi. so um this was a very random idea that sprung to me like ages ago literal ages actually and i decided to pick it up and finallly finish this piece? it feels incomplete because i am actually maybe ( if this does well ) making this into sort of a drabble series with this same pairing but yk different scenarios and their dynamics changing as well? sorry if this feels rushed! i wrote like till a certain point way long ago and after that it's recent, i haven't written in a while so please excuse the weird flow as well. i just wanted to have some fun and also post something to show im alive hahaha pls let me know what you think and whether you'd want to read more of this pairing because tbh i kinda love them lollll :DDD

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[inkyajax]

something ‘bout you

character: professor!alhaitham

genre: smut ; modern university au set in teyvat

notes: waaaah it’s finally finished!!! i have no idea how this piece got to be as long as it did but alas, here we are. this has got to be the longest blow job i’ve ever written ehehehe. as always, please heed the warnings and stay safe! | title credit: dangerous woman by ariana grande

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, fem reader, praise, professor/graduate student relationship, sir kink, face fucking, cum swallowing, a teeny tiny bit of manipulation, lying via omission, reader is a film and linguistics student, a bit of academic jargon but nothing crazy or crucial, dom/sub dynamics

words: 8k

synopsis:

Your hand moves entirely of its own accord, touch tiptoeing up his thigh in invitation, inching toward the half-hard lump in his trousers.  He catches your wrist just before you reach his cock, slim fingers braceletting your arm and squeezing once in warning.  “Are you sure you want to go down this path, sweetheart?”  Hooded teal observes you closely, irises shaded into a deep navy, glimmering under the chandelier lights.  The question drips from his lips in a dark, decadent murmur, simultaneously an enticement and a warning, his thumb idly stroking your skin as he awaits your response—an action that brings some semblance of comfort, despite the dangerous thrill sparkling in his eye. You shouldn’t. You know you shouldn’t. Despite speaking to him for the duration of the night, you don’t know this man—don’t know his rank in the department or his status among his peers and how that may impact you in the future. On all accounts, it most definitely is not a good idea.  He seems to know so, too, if his timbre of caution is anything to go by, but that ray in his eye flares, begging you to say yes. “I want you,” you admit instead.

The banquet hall is small yet elegant, beige walls warmed by the fuchsia beams of the setting sun, streaming in thick strips through the floor-to-ceiling crystal windows. Silverware clinks delicately against fine china, glass champagne flutes clacking with front teeth as lips wrap around the edges, daintily mingling with the soft murmur of voices blanketing the room. 

Such is the life of a University of Sumeru elite. 

Classes don’t officially begin until Monday, but the entire graduate faculty of the Department of Linguistics had been invited to a prefatory mixer held at one of the grand hotels in the city. 

It is a long-standing tradition, the email invite had informed you, that the professors and supervisors of the department throw the graduate students—new and old—an intimate yet extravagant start-of-the-year dinner. 

It’s mostly meant for new students—only five accepted into the program per year—to introduce themselves to their colleagues and supervisors, becoming familiar with the faces they’ll be seeing for the next one-to-five years of their lives. 

You had been special enough to receive an acceptance letter into the PhD program, travelling from your Masters program in Liyue to the city of Sumeru to study under some of the most renowned scholars of the subject. 

And so now you stand, lingering near the immaculately organized table of hors d’oeuvres and fidgeting with the crystal flute between your palms, index finger absentmindedly tracing the rim as eager, interested eyes sweep across the room again, soaking up the atmosphere. 

You have worked so hard to get here, to get to this point, to stand in this room with the gilt-edged supremes of the scholastic world and be one of them—a part of this exclusive, highly-coveted club composed of the outstanding, the superior, the royals of academia.

A large, smooth hand yanks you, rough and abrupt, from your appreciative daydream, blinking rapidly as you stare up at the man who is unexpectedly talking to you—talking at you—as if he knows you well, already mid-sentence about the legend of King Deshret by the time your shock dissipates, concentration tuning into his frequency.  

“—And that’s why he went mad.”

Teal eyes hold yours, steady and intent and willing you not to look away, the fingers wrapped firmly around your bicep flexing the moment your stare begins to stray, watching through your peripheral vision as a man with white hair and rust eyes passes by, features set in hard stone. 

It is only after the man is out of earshot that your captor relaxes, fingers loosening but not fully releasing their grip on your flesh. 

“Thanks for that,” he says, suddenly sounding disinterested and distracted, gaze flitting around the room. 

“Was that true?” 

“What?” he looks back over at you, as if he’s surprised you just spoke to him. 

“Was that true?” you repeat. “I thought that since Nabu Malikata had warned him of the repercussions of the ritual prior to them performing it that he knew she’d die—that he knew she had chosen to die—and went mad with guilt due to him choosing his own selfish desires over the love of his life.” 

He shakes his head, swallowing a mouthful of his scotch. “A common misconception, often due to mistranslations and the incorrigible feelings of the translators themselves. Romantics, you know,” he shrugs, head tilting as he observes you, bright yet sharp eyes studying your face in slow, excruciating detail, as he he’s trying to divest your thoughts through your features. “Are you new? I don’t think I’ve seen you around the department before.” 

Razored teal glints like a scalpel as it attempts to dissect you, his scintillating gaze carefully shaving away at any pretences. 

“I am,” you confirm with a nod, struggling to suppress the pride tugging at the corners of your lips as you introduce yourself. “One of the three lucky souls to have been accepted as a PhD Candidate.” 

“Nice to meet you,” the man murmurs, giving your arm another little squeeze in greeting before finally releasing it. “I’m Haitham. Alhaitham, if you want to be formal, but Haitham is fine.” 

His body relaxes, shoulders no longer pinched, muscles no longer coiled as he gets more comfortable, leaning against a large column, his stance becoming permanent. 

“So, tell me. Where did you complete your Masters?” 

Your heart thumps against your ribs, pushing hard breath up your throat, nerves suddenly buzzing beneath the swelter of his intense stare, fighting the urge to shrink away from his fulgurous attention. 

“Liyue,” you say. “I studied under the guidance of Professor Zhongli.” 

“Oh?” he raises an eyebrow in lazy intrigue, notes of condescension glazing his tone, a small smirk adoring his lips. “That’s impressive.” 

“You know him?” 

“Everybody in the academic world knows him, sweetheart. I’m sure you know that, as well.” 

Bashful heat seeps into your cheeks, tingling little pinpricks of embarrassment sprouting beneath your skin. 

“Well, I just—”

“Please,” Alhaitham cuts your off with a dismissive wave of his hand. “The man is a master in several subjects; there’s not a chance anyone who is a true scholar hasn’t encountered and studied his work. What did you study beneath him?” 

“Um,” you begin, wincing at how idiotic it sounds, a corner of his mouth quirking up. “I wrote my thesis under his supervision. During my undergrad I majored in linguistics and specialized in cinema studies, so naturally my thesis aimed at analyzing and dissecting the role and importance of language in film—more specifically, how particular language conveys meaning and impacts the psychology of the viewer, as well as how particular language influences, dictates and affects the way a viewer derives meaning from the piece.” 

“Wow,” Alhaitham breathes, and for the first time tonight he sounds genuinely impressed, sincerely interested, notes of intrigue imbuing his tone. “I’d love to read it, if you’ll allow me.” 

“Of course,” you preen, the pressure on your lungs letting up a little beneath his praise. “It took me nearly two years to complete, and under Professor Zhongli’s supervision I was even able to conduct field studies and experiments to gather information and data.” 

“Is that so?” his smirk grows into a lopsided grin, his eyes sparkling with supercilious amusement. “Like what?” 

“As I’m sure you’re well aware of, how a certain character speaks and the words they use says a lot about who they are and where they hail from, but that’s only half the equation. The other half depends on the viewer themselves—their own background, upbringing, experiences, beliefs, and intelligence all influence the way they will perceive and derive meaning from an individual film. The research concluded that, based on these factors, two individuals from separate classes more often than not arrive at substantially different meanings of the information provided from the same film.” 

“Well done,” he murmurs, appreciative, and you can’t help but glow beneath his words, his commendation a beam of nurturing sunlight, drawing you closer to his heat.

“Thank you,” you say, bowing your head respectfully. “And what about you? Are you a student?” 

He laughs, bright and warm, almost as if your mistake is cute. 

“No, no, I am a Professor.” 

“What do you teach?” 

“Syntactic Patterns in Ancient Runes, and Advanced Morphology,” he says easily. “Speaking of which, will you be TAing any classes this year?” 

“I will! Though I have not yet been approved to teach my own class, only tutorials for the first years. Understandable, I guess, since I’m a new student and all.” 

Your disappointment is palpable, hanging thick and heavy in the air, and his demeanour softens a little, a warm hand clasping over your shoulder.

“Cheer up,” he says. “I’m positive they’ll give you your own lecture the moment you hit your third year—those positions are usually reserved to upper-year PhD’s.” The tips of his fingers press into your muscles in a comforting massage, and you can’t help but lean into his touch a little, body deliquescing. “Which class will you be TAing for?” 

“Intro to Linguistics: Sentence Structure and Meaning,” you make a face, the thought sobering you slightly. “By the way, would you happen to know who’s teaching that class this year? There’s no professor listed on the website yet, but if they’re here I’d love to introduce myself.” 

Something darkens his eyes, his smile turned wolfish, a shock of unease unravelling slow and sticky in the pit of your belly.

“I wouldn’t worry about him,” he says dismissively, though there’s a shard of something submerged in teal irises, sharp and dangerous, glimmering beneath crystal lights. “He’s a jackass anyway. Antisocial, selfish, you know the type. Introducing yourself to him wouldn’t make much of a difference—he isn’t a fan of those overeager polite types, not unless they’re genuine.” 

“Oh,” you frown, deflating a little, ignoring the ice prickling at the base of your spine. “That’s a shame. I was hoping to be on good terms with him.” 

“I don’t think anyone’s on good terms with him,” Alhaitham mutters dryly, eyes narrowing as they sweep across the room, almost accusing in manner. “But who knows,” he says as he looks back at you, hard gaze palliating just a touch. “You might be the one to change that.” 

Confusion sprouts across your face, features crinkling as you draw in a breath to inquire, but a booming voice cuts you off, briskly announcing that it is time for dinner and requesting everyone take their seats. 

“Here,” Alhaitham murmurs as slim fingers cuff your wrist, leading you. “Come sit with me.” 

The dinner is several courses long, but you hardly remember any of them, too caught up in teal eyes and a velvet voice, in the hand that has found it’s way onto you knee, thumb stroking the bone in rhythmic motions through your tights, in the ankles currently tangled around your own, tightening every so often and hauling you a little bit closer—any time you say something that procures that amused little sound, playing on the back of his tongue; any time you say something that raises his brows and leaves his eyes shimmering, head tilted cutely in curious study.

The conversation flows seamlessly as the night passes, as servers bring and remove plates, as guests mingle around the ballroom, arriving to and departing from your table—but the two of you don’t dare move an inch, entirely captivated by your intimate discussion; heads bowed, legs locked, words murmured between the steadily dissipating space between your mouths. 

He tells you about his most recent excavation into the long lost tomb of a prince, about the runes he found intricately engraved on the gorgeous sarcophagus, about what they said and how they fit into his most recent collection of essays—highly coveted information, he had mentioned, sure to note he hadn’t told anyone about this; not until tonight, not until you, his voice taking on a slight air of incredulity, as if he can’t believe he just revealed such information so easily. 

You tell him about the research Zhongli personally funded after you were nearly expelled from the program for sneaking into the film reel archives despite being explicitly denied access—all in the pursuit of knowledge, of course, you had bristled with a roll of your eyes, insisting that such important pieces should not be so inaccessible to scholars—and of the many trips your valued Professor took you on, traversing film festivals across the whole of Inazuma. 

He tells you about his childhood in Sumeru, about what got him interested in semiotics and linguistics, about the first language he learned—and about how his grandmother taught him, eyes gone soft with fondness for the since passed woman. 

You tell him about your childhood in Fontaine, about scraped knees and local theatre and sparkling blue water, about your favourite Fontainian film movements and how they first sparked your passion for the performing arts. 

“I don’t know anything about Fontainian Neorealism or the Fontaine New Wave,” he admits, “but I do know that Sumeru has a flourishing arts and culture sector—and I assume that’s why you’ve chosen to study here. Am I correct?” 

“You are,” you nod with a small smirk, sipping on red wine. “It is exceptionally difficult to study Sumeru’s robust art history without actually being here. All I know are the things I’ve read in books—which are not nearly a suitable substitute for experiencing it with your own eyes.”

“Mm,” he hums in agreement. “Let’s make a deal, then.” 

“A deal?” 

“A trade, of sorts,” he begins, smirking when you blink twice in curiosity. “I’ll take you to a performance at Zubayr Theater, and you take me to see a Fontainan film. Sound fair?” 

“Sounds wonderful.”

A small smile graces his lips, wispy at the edges, a peculiar sentiment sparkling in his gaze. “It’s a date, then.” 

And you can’t help the fizzy feeling that starts to froth in your veins at the word, at the promise of seeing him again, of spending more uninterrupted time with him, just the two of you. 

It must show on your face in some way, must be evident in the sweet, girlish giggle that bubbles uncontrollably past your lips, because his smile stretches, still soft, and he chuckles gently, nothing more than a huff of breath on his tongue.

“I’m looking forward to it, too.” 

The palm cupping your knee is hot and heavy, his grasp flexing with his response, staying itself for a moment before it slides up your thigh, slow and careful and appraising, thumb stopping a millimeter shy from the hem of your short black dress.

Keen teal eyes stay trained on your face, focused in their evaluation, ready to analyze any slight change in expression his action may elicit.

But you only lean closer, legs spreading an inch or so wider, shuffling to the edge of your seat, a silent plea for more. 

A silent plea that does not go unnoticed by Alhaitham, as indicated by his small smile, sharp eyes dulling a little with their inquisition and fingers sinking into plush flesh, grip strengthening before relaxing again, the tip of his thumb stroking the material of your dress.

All without a single hitch in his words, swiftly and smoothly moving onto the next topic. 

And you only fall further. 

You can’t manage to keep your hands to yourself, either, it seems, touch vying and voracious for more of him: playing with the gold bangles encircling his wrist; twisting the gilded jade class ring pressed firmly against his second knuckle; drifting over the back of his hand, a single fingertip outlining the bones and veins contouring his flesh. 

He doesn’t appear to mind, though, flipping his hand over to gift you more access, allowing you to trace the lines of his palm with a manicured nail, his fingers spreading wider, presenting more of himself to you as you vividly discuss Metz and how he built his cinematic semiotics theory off of structural linguistics. 

His hand is nearly in your lap now, your thighs cushioning one another’s, knees bumping clumsily against the edge of each other’s chairs as you subconsciously try to inch closer, caught up in every fucking thing about him; his viscous voice, cascading over you like melty syrup; his vivid stare, so bright and full of passion it’s practically glowing; his magnificent mind, gears churning at a rapid yet efficient pace, producing ribbons of wisdom, flowing smooth and fluid from his lips, confident and self-assured. 

You’re drowning in him, submerging yourself further and further into his presence, more intoxicated by his aura than the wine roiling warm and sweet in your belly. It produces something insatiable, a starved clawing at your chest that grapples for more and more and more of him, every fragment of information you manage to extract doing nothing to satisfy the hunger, instead exacerbating the craving. 

You’ve never met anyone like him before; never met anyone so blunt and real and unabashedly themselves, never met anyone so sincerely scholarly, so dedicated to their studies, so zealous in their never-ending pursuit of knowledge.

It’s inspiring; it’s intoxicating.

Alhaitham’s mind is brilliant, beautiful, an ornate maze of thoughts, each one leading to something new, each one unravelling like the petals of a lotus, sparking further debates, remarks, ponders. 

You could get lost in here forever, you think—stumbling your way around sharp corners and down twisting corridors, consistently in awe of the next thing you discover. 

You must murmur it out to him, dreamy and wine-drunk and wrapped up in him, sentiments streaming seamlessly from your brain to your lips without your permission, because he laughs, the sound mild and tender, his gaze softening. 

“Is that so?” 

“Mm,” you nod, lazy and languid. “It’s so beautiful, Haitham.”

“I’ve never had anyone call my mind beautiful before,” he muses. “But I think it might be my favourite compliment to receive yet.” 

Bubbles of pride tingle behind your ribs, and your chest puffs out a little, spine straightening beneath his praise, murmuring out a little self-satisfied, well, then, you’re welcome. 

“Proud of yourself, huh?” he teases, though the notes infusing his voice are playful, his eyes shining as he studies you, cataloging your expressions.

“Yes, Sir,” you confirm. “You’re a hard man to please.”

“Oh, am I?” he snorts, head tilting in question.

“S’not a bad thing,” you continue, words slurred just a touch, heavy with admiration. Dainty hands find his own, your fingers beginning to toy with his, idle and absent-minded as they curl and straighten knuckles. 

“No?” he smirks, pinky catching yours in a swift hook. “I mean, you seem to be doing a pretty good job so far.” 

“I could do better, if you want me to.” 

It’s bold, brash, and entirely unbefitting, but the offer slips from your mouth without thought or consent, startling you in it’s veracity, a jolt of desire zipping through your veins. 

Your hand moves entirely of its own accord, touch tiptoeing up his thigh in invitation, inching toward the half-hard lump in his trousers. 

He catches your wrist just before you reach his cock, slim fingers braceletting your arm and squeezing once in warning. 

“Are you sure you want to go down this path, sweetheart?” 

Hooded teal observes you closely, irises shaded into a deep navy, glimmering under the chandelier lights. 

The question drips from his lips in a dark, decadent murmur, simultaneously an enticement and a warning, his thumb idly stroking your skin as he awaits your response—an action that brings some semblance of comfort, despite the dangerous thrill sparkling in his eye.

You shouldn’t. You know you shouldn’t. Despite speaking to him for the duration of the night, you don’t know this man—don’t know his rank in the department or his status among his peers and how that may impact you in the future. On all accounts, it most definitely is not a good idea. 

He seems to know so, too, if his timbre of caution is anything to go by, but that ray in his eye flares, begging you to say yes.

Because the desire is too strong, a potent drug infusing your blood and hazing your brain, overwhelming your senses and overriding your better judgement, and you find yourself unable to resist, easily placing blame on the wine and the party and the undeniable allure of this stranger, instead of your own ravenous craving. 

“I want you,” you admit instead, the confession oozing from between pouted lips, stark with it’s honesty, unapologetic with your longing. 

Alhaitham laughs, low and smooth, watching you through thick, fanned lashes. 

“How do you want me?”

He’s playing with you now, a hawk toying with his food between razored talons, forcing his prey to go exactly where he wants it to. 

You can’t find it in yourself to care. 

“However you’ll give you to me,” you respond, brazen but sincere, glassy eyes wide and captivating his own. 

Teal searches your face for a moment, pries apart your features in search of falsities and finds nothing but unadulterated candour, so sheer it boarders on pathetic. 

“All right,” he finally says, hand smoothing along your wrist to press your palms together, lacing your fingers with his and giving a gentle tug. “Come.” 

You tread behind him like the sweetest little kitten, inebriated galaxies swirling in your irises, desperate and obedient and eager for your treat. 

But you’re just a touch too impatient, it seems.

Because he barely makes it to the washroom, free hand on the doorknob, intending to throw one last glance back at you—one final confirmation, are you sure? written in the motion—before you’re surging forward, soft palms cushioning a defined jaw, dainty fingers hooking behind the hinges and yanking, crushing his lips to yours.

It isn’t graceful in the slightest, a rough mangle of tongues and teeth, incisors catching on lips and canines scraping slick muscle, but Alhaitham recalibrates quickly enough, large hands curling around your hips and pulling you to his form. 

The door to the men’s washroom swings open as your knotted bodies fall through it, hinges loose and creaky, the metal handle slamming against the tiled wall, the resounding bang! bouncing throughout the room.

The stumbling of your footsteps echoes around you, obnoxious smacking of lips and slurping of tongues amplified by the open space as you gulp down his breathy little chuckle, the sound warm and tingling as it spills down your throat. 

A tangled mess of legs and limbs, you fall into the first available stall, rickety door whacking off the side, the lock jingling from the force. 

He allows you to crowd him into a corner, hinges of the flimsy door tinkering again as your legs slotting together and your tongues grind, tips teasing each other in curling little licks, catching one another and then slipping away, tracing the ridges of teeth, burrowing into the divots of cheeks. 

A strong hand stays wrapped around your neck, nails just barely nipping your skin as he grips you in place, his other hand busying itself with a palmful of your ass, fingertips planting bruises into soft flesh. 

A responding hiss slithers from your mouth into his, the sound massed on his tongue, the muscle folding around it and sucking, savouring your pain until it melts into his flesh.

Your hands are indecisive, traversing the buttons of his shirt and the loops of his trousers until, finally, they find his belt, fingers eager and vying as they pick at the heavy buckle, and he snorts. 

“It’s cute, how utterly desperate you are,” he mumbles into the kiss, slippery mouths sliding together, leavings streaks of saliva painted across chins. 

You are desperate, too desperate, and if you were of sound mind you’d be rightfully embarrassed of such behaviour, pawing at him like some impatient teenager, pathetically aching for more of him. 

But the wine and the glamour and Alhaitham’s intoxicating taste—cedar wood and mint, cloaked by expensive scotch—has cast a murky cloud over your brain, stuffing your skull full of nothing but ardour, dulling all of your senses, honing all of your needs, to him, him, him. 

The thigh wedged between your own, sculpted from strong, lean muscle, flexes twice, hitching up further into your core, a pitchy mewl spilling onto his tongue as a reward. You can feel his cock, hot and hard and pressed tightly against your hip, rutting into you in small, uneven little motions, dense heat sprawling, slow and sticky, in the pit of your tummy. 

“God, you’re already making such a fucking mess,” he nearly moans into your mouth, thigh tensing again in emphasis, cotton doused in slick arousal. “And I’ve barely even touched you. I guess you really do want me, don’t you?” 

And although his words are teasing, imbued with notes of playful mocking, his tone is sweet, almost as if he’s in awe of how honest you were. 

“S’bad,” you whimper, tongue sketching out the curve of his cupid’s bow. “So bad.”

“Yeah? Tell me,” he pants, a hand wreathing around your jaw, keeping your stare trapped in his. “Tell me what you want.” 

The demand is damp as it drifts across your face, scalding little pinpricks erupting beneath your skin, paired with a low whine of embarrassment. His gaze is too vehement, eyes wide and unblinking as they impel you, your own lids squeezing shut in the face of such fervour. 

“Ah!” the hand clamped around your jaw tightens. “Open them. Look at me, and tell me what you want. You’re a big girl, I know you can do it.”

It almost hurts to look at him, another bout of humiliation flushing through your veins as you squint, features twisted up in a wince. 

“C’mon,” he goads, fingertips thrumming against you cheek once in a fluent wave. “Where’s that big beautiful brain gone now? You were so eloquent at dinner.”  

“I—I wanna ride your cock!” you nearly sob, the profession a stringy plead shoved from your tongue, tangled in threads of saliva. “I really wanna ride your cock.” 

“Aw, how precious,” he clicks his tongue, as if it’s such a shame, words filtered through a slight faux pout. “Too bad naughty girls don’t get to ride my cock.” 

“Wh-What?” you blink, tears beading at the corners of your eyes, just barely caught in outer lashes. “Naughty?”

And, oh, the smile that spreads across his cheeks is downright sinister, eyes flashing with levity. 

“Do good girls put their hands all over a stranger’s cock?” he tilts his head, that shiny sliver in his iris catching in the light. “Does that not qualify as misbehaviour to you?”

“But—But I—I’m good!”  

The response is automatic, barreling up your throat and out your mouth before you have a moment to seize it, a fierce need to prove yourself igniting behind your ribs, eyebrows knit cutely as you stare at him, eyes beseeching despite your bratty tone. 

“Are you?” he raises a brow, eyes hard, but mirth plays with the corners of his lips. “Your behaviour thus far says otherwise.”

“I am!” 

Your gaze steadily holds his own, daring, challenging, insistent, your features scrunched up in a stubborn petulance.

“All right, prove it to me,” he says after a beat, exhaling an amused little huff. “Show me you’re a good girl and suck my cock.” 

And that’s all the encouragement you need, really, desperate to prove yourself worthy and capable as you slide down his body, knees on his toes, lidded stare never breaking contact with his own—heavy, dark, starving.

His collarbone, sharply prominent and peeking out from beneath his shirt lapels, heaves a little with his laboured breaths, the faintest sheen of sweat beginning to lacquer the bones, catching delicately in the fluorescent light. 

Nosing along the impressive bulge straining against his trousers, you hum a little in appreciation, trailing hot, humid kisses up the length in a haphazard outline. A hushed giggle vibrates in your throat as his cock jumps beneath your touch, begging for what Alhaitham would never dare to, tongue unfurling from your mouth to roll, slow and hard, over the clothed head. 

The slick muscle wraps itself around the tip as best it can, wet heat seeping through his pants as your tongue siphons his cock into your mouth, lips closing around the head and suckling, hard. 

A breath snares on his sternum, his hips twitching once in complement, chased by a low, alluring chuckle. 

“Huh,” he says to himself, though the letters are breathless. “I didn’t know good girls were little teases…” 

The implication is not lost on you, and you roll your eyes, grumbling out a muffled no fun into his groin before your fingers immediately get to work—button popped, zipper tugged, knuckles curled in the elastic waistbands, hauling his pants and briefs midway down his thighs. 

His cock is just as gorgeous as he is, thick and velvety and twined with pulsing veins that surge and swell the moment they’re wrapped in your tongue.

It’s impossible to silence the pathetic whimper of appreciation that spills from your throat the moment his cock is free, massive and magnificent, and you can’t resist nuzzling your cheek into it in admiration, catlike, the flushed head leaving a fat streak of pre-cum painted just below your eye.

A curse pries its way past his lips, fading into a breathy exhale, his fingers latching beneath your jaw and tilting your face to his, taking a moment to cherish the sight. 

You look so beautiful stained with him—glistening pre-cum dashed across your check in a perfect stripe; lips swollen and licked raw, shimmering with his spit—and he can’t help but stare, ravenous pupils having gnawed away at teal irises, desperate to soak up as much of the scene as physically possible, leaving nothing more than a thin ring to outline the orbs. 

His thumb swipes through the sticky substance, rubs it into your skin until it’s gone dry, seeped into the tissues and absorbed completely, and your neck strains a little, yearning to present more of your cheek to him, offering.

Another second or two passes as he grants himself one final moment of marvel, before his fingers release your head, a non-verbal command to continue. 

And you obey flawlessly, instantly. 

A dainty hand wraps around the base of his cock, tongue darting from between raw lips to lap kittenishly at the head, flattening along the curve and dragging twice in unhurried succession before digging the point into his slit, procuring another pretty pearl of pre-cum, oozing enticingly to adorn the tip. 

It’s so dense, so bloated it looks mere moments away from dropping, your tongue stretching out   far and wide in a precursory measure, ready to catch it when it falls. And it does, only a beat later, dripping slow and gross into your waiting mouth in a single strand, thick and viscid.

A hefty moan resounds in your throat as it seeps into your tastebuds, his flavour bitter and strong, fluttering lashes framing rolling whites. 

The noise that splinters in his throat is strained, yearning beneath a heavy hedonism, and his fingers tighten in your hair, a subtle caution. Smirking, your glance up at him again, sinful tongue laving lasciviously over your puffy lips, yet your eyes are not bratty, instead glittering with such potent awe it almost hurts, like he’s some sort of veneered saint, exalt pouring from your gaze. 

It crushes down on his chest, flattens his lungs and makes it difficult to draw in breath, oxygen stalling in his throat, the urge to yank you up and kiss the goddamn life out of you near unbearable as it tears at his chest. But he comes back to his senses, restraint held intact by a single spider silk thread, a dull, distant voice in the back of his skull reminding him of your task, of your lesson.  

You seem to know, too. 

No words need to be spoken, no warnings need to be issued, the hand around the base of his cock flexing slightly as it readjusts its grip, feeding him to yourself, taking him inch by inch down your eager throat. 

“S’it,” he encourages as he watches you, eyes lidded and hazy with lust. “That’s it, baby, take as much of it as you can for me.” 

The incentive, haunted by the ghost of potential praise if you succeed, only makes you more avid in your quest, throat stretching around his girth as you stuff it full of his cock, reflexes instinctively attempting to push him from the gummy column, constricting as you gag around the head.

It’s hard to know what he likes—how fast, how deep, how rough and filthy—but from the limited information you’ve gathered tonight, you can infer that he isn’t a fan of teasing; at least, not when he’s the one being teased. 

“A little more,” he instructs, but the command is gentle, a thumb skimming along the line of your jaw, hinges straining as you immediately submit, mouth opening wider, throat sexpanding further as you take more of him, more for him.

“Fuck, look at that,” he pants out, thumb caressing your jaw again before his palm cups beneath your chin, tilting your head up, the action inadvertently forcing his cock farther down your throat. “You’re so good.”

Blinking twice in response, you stare up at him, irises encrusted with stars of worship, their shine unhindered by the bleary gloss of reflexive tears that have already begun to collect, lashes clumped into soaked spikes, just barely keeping the torrent at bay.

He’s not sure he’s ever felt more respected, revered, in his entire life. 

Another blink—a quick beating of lashes—sends crystalline dewdrops flowing down your cheeks, the softest sniffle, half-stifled, shuddering delicately around his cock. 

“H-Hah,” he breathes out, an involuntary little sound pulled from deep within his chest, your agape mouth working itself open greater, lips stretching over his bulk.

He holds you still for a moment, takes time to admire such a pretty sight, hips jolting slightly, eyes watching as the bulge in your throat jumps, as you choke around him but don’t dare push him away, instead squeezing the base of his cock, attempting to jam it down even more. Your chin juts forward in a futile attempt to aid, salacious squelching echoing throughout the bathroom as you swallow, hard and with conviction, trying to lead him further into your body. 

The back of his knuckle swipes through a stream of glittering salt, collecting your tears on his skin and bringing it to his mouth, tongue washing over it slowly, savouring your taste. 

And you wait. 

How very good of you.

“Keep going, sweetheart,” he finally says as he releases his grip, permitting you to take control again. “Show me how much of me you can take down your throat.” 

And, really, that’s all of the enticement you need, head beginning to move the instant he demands it, mouth gliding down his shaft, slow and steady, until the tip of your nose just barely brushes your second knuckle. A pause, a mere millisecond for him to feel your throat convulse, before you’re pulling back up, lips puckering as they tighten around his shaft, glazing his flesh in a thin, shimmering film of saliva. 

Each stroke of your mouth has your pace accelerating, opting to keep your fist wrapped firmly at the base of his cock to steady it instead of allowing it to follow the trajectory of your lips.

It grows sloppy quick, your spit-soaked hand readjusting it’s slippery grip as your upper lip repeatedly bashes into it, the threads of saliva keeping your mouth and finger connected snapping each time your lips reach his head, nearly pulling off of his cock completely before your mouth sinks down again

“Yeah, yeah, there you go,” he grunts out, words torn around the edges, breathing raw and ragged. “Good girl, my perfect girl, doing so well for me.” 

A whine reverberates around his cock, your legs spreading slightly as your back bows and your neck arches, an ambitious attempt to take more of him, throat gaping and split open, drenched cunt grinding into the toe of his polished shoe. 

He groans a little, the sound tapering off into something choked and broken, his hips stuttering forward and involuntarily plunging his entire length down your throat, body retching at the abrupt intrusion. 

And suddenly, all of this isn’t exactly enough for you. 

Because while you can nearly fit all of him down your throat on your own, and while he seems to be more than satisfied with your progress, there’s still an inch or so that you’re missing, palm curled around it in a manner that’s almost protective, and you want to take all of him. 

You want to prove that you can take all of him, for him. 

A thick, milky string of spit and pre-cum dangles and droops heavily in the space between your lips and his cock as you peel your mouth from his shaft entirely, wrecked little coughs furling on your tongue, eyes wet and wide and full of reverence as you look up at him, imploring.

With a little effort, he hefts his lids open from their sedative state, staring down at you with glazed, gluttonous pupils, head tilting a little in inquiry.

“I want you to fuck my throat, Sir,” you rasp out in explanation, voice rough and raw, request grating against your throat. “Please, fuck my throat, Sir, please.” 

The plead is garbled, drooled out from the corners of your mouth curled in copious drivels of foamy spit, collecting on your chin and dripping off your jaw in viscous glass cords. 

Chest heaving with ragged breath, he watches as drool drizzles across your collarbone and exposed bosom, sticky and sloppy. You’re making such a mess—he’s making such a mess of you, and you’re so willing, so unwavering, raring for more. 

“Fuck,” he nearly whines out, the curse cracked. 

Deft fingers grip your face, blunt nails biting into your cheeks as he forces your head up further, an attempt to get a better look at you. 

“Yeah?” he breathes, the word drifting across your face, eyes hunting after it in an almost rabid manner. “You want Sir to fuck your mouth?” 

A whimper vibrates on your tongue, head nodding as best it can in his firm grasp. 

“Uh-huh, uh-huh, wanna take as much of you as possible, Sir; wanna take all of you, Sir; wanna be so good for you, Sir,” your head quirks a little, nuzzling into his touch. “Please, help me, help me show you how good I can be.” 

Your confession is molten and dreamy, flowing from your lips in one thick, continuous stream, your eyes limpid, desperate with the desire to please. 

“Though you’ve proven you are capable of doing it on your own, it’s precious that you’re asking for my help.”

A hum of contemplation rumbles in his chest, head tilting in observation, his scrutinizing gaze framed by heavy lids, eyes now slow and steady as they search your face.

“You need Sir to guide you, huh?” he’s asking as his other hand replaces your own, wrapping around the base of his cock and giving it two good, quick pumps before bringing the head to your lips, mouth obediently dropping open, a sound of confirmation playing on the back of your tongue.

Yes, yes, you’re nodding, tongue curling in the air a little, almost as if enticing him closer.

“No, not need,” he revises, smudging a thin stroke of pre-cum across your waiting, urgent tongue. “Want. Isn’t that right?” 

It’s true—you don’t technically need his assistance, could manage perfectly well on your own the task of sucking him off and stuffing your throat with his cum, but you want his aid; want to show him that not only can you succeed, but you can surpass.

“Please,” you whimper, the word a distortion trembling against the tip of his cock. “Please, help me be the very best for you, Sir.” 

Something sharp flashes in his pupils, hungry and craving and full of teeth, his chest stuttering with it—a growl he snuffs out, strangles in his throat before it can grow into a coherent response, replaced with a simple nod.

“All right, all right, baby,” he’s pacifying as you take his cock down your throat again, the hinges of your jaw straining as your mouth stretches around him. “Sir will help you out this time.” 

A mewl of thanks vibrates around his cock as he threads himself down your throat, his hips jerking once, fast and short, a matching whimper spilling from his lips. 

Delicate fingers curl in his waistband and tug a little, begging him to fuck deeper, and he concedes, groaning out breathy praise as your nose presses into that neat smattering of curls adorning his pubic bone, lips kissing the root of his shaft. 

“Christ,” he whines, hips thrusting forward a hint further as he leans back against the stall wall to get a better view, your throat tightening around him with the action. “So fucking gorgeous.” 

The stuffed full column of your throat ripples around him as you swallow with conviction, a greedy attempt to garner him even deeper into you, his shaft swollen and protruding in your neck. Tear-lacquered eyes close briefly, forcing streams of crystal to leak from the corners as you nuzzle into his groin again, the laudatory action causing gummy walls to spasm around his cockhead. 

“F-Fuck,” the curse fragments on his tongue, head tipping back against the flimsy stall wall, angular jaw and Adam’s apple on display. “Look at you, so full of me.”

There isn’t any more time to admire, though, as idle chatter, muffled and indistinct, seeps under the heavy washroom door, yanking both of you from the heavenscape you had conjointly created and shocking you with a bitter dose of reality. 

There’s no warning after that, the brute reminder of the steadily encroaching public entirely shattering whatever trance the two of you had been enveloped in, Alhaitham’s hips snapping sudden and sharp, fucking your throat with a renewed vigour. 

Your grip on his slacks tightens, knuckles curling over the waistband in a feeble attempt to help him, to pull him even closer, jaw wrenched open even wider as his hips work, so fucking dedicated to him, to pleasing him, despite the pang beginning to settle deep within the hinges.

It’s rough, and sloppy, and so fucking hot, scalding saliva smeared all over him—coating his thighs and dribbling down his balls and soaking the matted curls at the base of his cock, slippery and sticky and stained with you. 

“Doing so—so fucking good for me,” he pants out, pace never faltering. “My perfect little toy.” 

Something mangled and muted sounds in your throat, another pair of tears cascading down your cheeks and streaking them with pretty gleaming trails.

It hurts, your throat burning and fucked raw with every ram of his cock, your lungs beginning to shrivel as he smothers your breath, routinely shoved back down in time with the piston of his hips, chest swelling painfully beneath the backlog of unreleased air. 

Hiccups splutter around him as you desperately try to draw in tiny gulps through your nose, the fluttering of your throat eliciting another hoarse groan, tumbling from his lips. 

The ache in your jaw has radiated across your face now, a pounding in your temples keeping flawless rhythm with Alhaitham’s thrusts, a twinging in your cheeks weighing heavy on the bones, creeping into your sinuses.

Yes, it all hurts so very much, but you take it all for him, just like a good little girl is supposed to, just like he asked, just like you promised you would—dutiful, doting, devoted.

And even though his hips are ruthless, avid in their chase to catch his impending high, his grip is tender, the knuckles rooted against your skull firm but not painful as they hold your head in place, his thumbs massaging soothing little circles along your hairline.

You’re weeping around him now, a potent concoction of drool and tears trickling off your tongue in viscid strings, the slick muscle curled flush around the underside of his shaft, protecting sensitive skin from the edges of sharp teeth. 

A dull pain is beginning to seep into the tip of your nose, no doubt a response to the constant collision of your face into his pelvis, and you can feel the early formations of a bruise, fragile capillaries busted open from the consistent blunt force. 

“Oh, Christ,” he gasps, eyes squeezing shut for a moment before springing back open, gazing down at you with fervour. “M’gonna—ah, ah—” his hips judder, thumbs pressing into the sides of your head, steadying his grasp. “M’gonna cum, and I want you to—f-fuck—to swallow it all, y’here me? Don’t waste a single fucking drop.” 

And, well, you’re nothing if not unwaveringly obedient.

Two more drives of his cock, rough and rapid, and then he’s forcing hot, thick cum down your throat, stuffing the column full with his potent seed.

It’s so much, too much, and you sputter around him, the syrupy substance overflowing back up your throat and into your mouth to seep, slow and sticky, past the tight seal of your mouth.

But he helps you with that, too, holding your head still and pressing your face tightly to his pubic bone, ensuring that his cum shoots straight down your throat as his cock continues to throb weakly, weighting your tongue. 

And you, obedient little girl that you are, devour all of it, even the few stray dollops of cream that managed to escape your mouth and roll down his balls, tongue curling hungrily around them and sopping up the remnants with gentle sucking. 

Truly, you did not waste a single fucking drop. 

And he’s so proud of you. 

“C’mere, precious,” he’s breathing out once he’s sure you’ve swallowed it all, releasing his grip on your skull and hoisting you up, strong hands hooked beneath your armpits. 

He hauls you to your feet in one fluid movement, pliant legs struggling to find stable footing on the tiled floor, and props you up against his body, supporting you. Those big hands cup your jaw, tilting your face to his, aquamarine flying across your features—quick, but efficient—and surveying the damage.

“You were so perfect,” he murmurs, sowing a smattering of chaste kisses along the top of your head. “You were so, so perfect for me.” 

A response hitches in your throat, mangled by the sob desperately attempting to claw past it, and Alhaitham frowns, concern creasing his forehead. 

“Hey, you okay? Huh?” gentle palms tip your head up even further, thumbs killing tears as they swipe over your cheekbones. “You okay, sweetheart?” 

“M’fine, Sir,” you croak out, voice ruined but eyes filled with reverence. “Th-Thank you for giving me your cum.” 

The worry saturating his features is eradicated in an instant, eroded by tender awe, his lips twitching into a small smile as his eyes sweep across your face again—slower, this time, more deliberate, appreciative—thumbs continuing their soft caress. 

The sudden shouting of his name decimates any potential response before it has a chance to form in his mouth, a low growl of irritation rumbling in his chest. 

“Yeah,” he calls back, the moment the washroom door swings open, effectively halting the perpetrator in their steps. “I’ll be there soon. Give me a moment.” 

His voice is hard, stern, cold yet dripping with authority, the meek messenger squeaking out some semblance of acknowledgement before rushing from the room. 

You’re still sniffling, cheeks stained with dried, crusty salt, hair mussed and messy, and his frown returns as he looks back at you, his features pinched, reluctance weighing heavy on his form. 

“You’re sure you’re okay?” 

“I am,” you nod in his grasp, finally standing on your own two feet, as if to prove it. “Promise.”

His eyes hold your own for a moment longer, assessing, before he accepts your answer as truth, fingers beginning to fuss with his dishevelled tie. 

“All right,” he sighs out the words as he primps, palms smoothing down his shirt, wrinkles casualties from your fingers. “Take your time to regain your bearings.” He looks up, a sardonic grin on his face. “I, unfortunately, have business to attend to. Such is the life of a Sumeru professor.” 

“Oh, yeah, I’m sure it’s such a drag to be faculty at the top university in the world,” you snort. 

“Enjoy your ignorance while it lasts,” he retorts, but his smile has softened to something playful. “You’ll learn soon enough.”

“Looking forward to it, Sir.” 

“Good.” 

He refolds his lapels one last time, squaring his shoulders as he mentally prepares, turning toward the stall door.

“Oh, and uh,” hand curled around the stall handle, he pauses, throwing a glance over his shoulder, eyes shining with something mischievous. “Maybe next time you can actually ride my cock, like you wanted to.” 

Head quirking, confusion crinkles your brow, your eyes searching his face. Next time?

A smirk spreads across his lips, smug and supercilious. 

“See you in class on Monday, Teaching Assistant.” 

[onlygarden]

[my precious little petal] - yang jungwon

genre: smut

description: sub jungwon, unprotected sex, orgasm denial, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, oral sex (male receiving), tiny bit of biting. jungwon is cute and whiny hehe

a/n: this fic is my reaction to those mirror pics jungwon posted a few days ago in that tanktop....... i suffered so much after seeing that and i finally put most of my thoughts into words heheh. also, i think this answers a few of the requests i received, so i hope you all thoroughly enjoy this : ]

divider: @dollywons <3

jungwon feels like his body is being enveloped in a pool of silk, each of his senses and nerve endings being stroked so gently, slowly, and smoothly. each and every goosebump underneath his skin is being lured from sleep, with such delicacy, rising eagerly towards the perpetrator of his pleasure; you, the only woman who could ever reduce him to such a desperate little trembling petal. his eyes swelled with adoration, amazement, and delirium as he helplessly watches each of your movements. 

your clothed hips settle flush against jungwon’s, his hardening cock throbbing immediately upon contact. a wispy gasp escapes jungwon’s mouth, the pleasured air flying from his lips involuntarily. his hands reflexively fly towards your hips, as if there were magnets attached to them. 

“look at me baby,” your voice interrupts him from his daze of anticipation and fascination, and he obediently tears his eyes from your hips to meet your fond gaze. 

you lean towards him, his eyes slowly closing as you draw closer, and you revel in the feeling of his velvety lips against yours. they truly felt like a flower petal.

you slide your tongue into his mouth, swirling and gliding it along his, enjoying the way his breathing quickened beneath you. when you begin languidly grinding your hips against him, jungwon bucks up into you on impulse; he could never dream of having control over the way his body reacted to you. jungwon’s nails dig into your hips, his breathing traveling in and out of his nose quicker by the second as your movements continued. 

you pull away from his lips, opening your eyes to soak in his expression. his lips were so swollen and pouty, and his eyelids drooped from the heaviness of the pleasure you showered him in. “noona..” he breathes out. 

“what is it, baby?” you ask him, smirking, trailing your finger along his exposed collarbone in the tank top he wore. the tank top that got him into the position he’s in now.  

“i need you….” he tells you, craving so much more than what you’re doing to him now, but still enjoying every second of it. 

“just be patient, baby,” you respond. but for jungwon, patience is the most difficult skill to master when you’re on top of him. 

you still the movement of your hips, shifting slightly to place kisses along his jaw and down his neck. he’s breathing heavy, his hands coming up to grip onto your shoulders as you suck on the space between his neck and shoulder. your tongue slides up jungwon’s neck until you reach his earlobe, flicking against it to gauge his reaction. he shivers, whining so breathily, making you want to completely devour him. 

“lean up a little bit baby,” you direct him, and his body obliges before his mind even registers your words.  

you grab the hem of his shirt, sliding it up and pulling it over his head. jungwon lifts his arms to allow you to undress him, his body eager to lay bare before you. 

once his body relaxes again, you lick along his collarbone, biting a piece of the skin that rested upon it gently. a startled, breathy ‘ah’ leaves jungwons lips at your sudden intrusion on his skin. 

you begin to kiss down the space between his broad chest, traveling down to his toned, slim stomach. unable to resist the urge again, your tongue darts out to glide along the lovely skin on his stomach. jungwon whines, further igniting the desire within you, as you delight in the sensation of his muscles twitching and quivering beneath your slick tongue. 

kissing along the waistline of his sweatpants, you intend to prolong the inevitable action of sliding his pants down for as long as possible, wanting to drive the already quivering jungwon into a pitiful frenzy. 

“b-baby, please,” he begs. he’s so flustered, his breathing refusing to settle down. 

“please what, baby? what is it that you need?” you know exactly what he needs, but you cannot allow the gratification of the words tumbling from his mouth to pass you by. 

jungwon’s cheeks are dusted with a subtle pink, his bottom lip sliding underneath his teeth as he opens his mouth to answer you. “your mouth.. baby. please i need your mouth so bad..” he answers, and his imaginary resolve is brutally shattered; not that he would ever even pretend to resist you. 

“of course, baby, you’re so cute,” you tell him, his face heating up further from the praise you bestow onto him. it was such an innocent word, and you always used it to describe him, but the way you tossed the word out under such obscene circumstances made him lose the breath in his lungs.

you place your index fingers underneath his waistband, skimming beneath his pants until they land on either side of his hips. he’s still breathing so heavily, finding more difficulty in withstanding your teasing for much longer. answering his pleas, you pull his sweatpants down, and his hips lift slightly to allow you to remove them completely. 

his cock meets your wicked eyes, and your stomach is set ablaze at the way he strains against the confines of his boxers. you notice a darkened patch, pleasantly satisfied by his aching need for you making itself known in the way his precum caused dampness to spread along his boxers. 

you plant your tongue flat against the damp spot, and his cock jolts at the delicious contact. your mouth waters as you register the salty taste of his precious essence. 

jungwon whines again, sounding so strained and breathy that you just couldn’t wait to pour an abundance of immense pleasure onto him any longer. 

you curl your fingers underneath his boxers, slowly dragging them down and tossing them aside. jungwon’s cock was always such a pretty sight to admire; he was extended upwards, fully sprung for you, the arousing light you provided always guiding him to bloom freely.

his cock jumped ardently in anticipation as you wrap your hand around his shaft. his breathing gains volume as you leisurely lick the underside of his cock, resulting in more precum gushing from his slit. jungwon gasps unabashedly at the sensation of your tongue against him. 

you fully envelop his beautiful, pleading cock into your mouth, your lips wrapping around him and your nose brushing against the skin of his lower stomach as your throat constricts around his tip. jungwon’s breathing comes in short, shallow pants as you begin to massage the underside of him with your tongue. impulse electrifies him and his hips jolt upwards, the warmth and slipperiness of your mouth gaining full control of his movements. 

you keep your lips wrapped around him, still sucking gently as you pull your mouth off his length slowly. your mouth was already watering for the ravishing sight before you, and you gather saliva on your tongue before spitting onto his tip, allowing it to combine filthily with his precum, and watching patiently as it rolled down the side of his length. jungwon whines impatiently, and you simply look up at him, smirking. 

you decide to tease him further, the enjoyment you gained from his squirming body and pleading expression never fading. you gather more saliva on your tongue, opening your mouth and rolling your tongue out, allowing the saliva to glide down and drip onto his tip. 

jungwon can hardly withstand the sight and the sensation, his cock throbbing and his body shuddering as he attempted to prevent his sanity from bursting at the seams. 

“hah, n-noona, please!” he breathes out, moans seeping through his words.

noona. you’re certain he’s unaware just how feverish your body feels whenever that word tumbles out of his mouth. 

you begin stroking his cock, spreading the mixture of saliva and precum along him, quickening your pace faintly as his breath hitches and he cries out to you softly. his hands reach out to dig into your shoulders, pathetically scratching at your back and tugging at the shirt you wore. good god, the sight of him behaving this way was driving you absolutely insane. he was so needy, so helpless, and so pitiful, clinging onto you as if you were his source of life.

your mouth engulfs him again, and he moans with each breath he takes as you begin to bob along his length at a steady pace. after gliding your mouth all the way down the expanse of his cock and allowing him to make contact with the back of your throat, you pulled your mouth back up sucking him with just enough tenacity. you continue your actions until his moans increase in volume, sounding notably strained, and his fingers thread into you hair. 

“ah, fuck! noona, i’m close, i’m-” jungwon’s eyes snap open as you snatch the ecstasy of your mouth away from him, leaving him reeling and viciously pent up. “b-baby! keep going, please!” he begs, his hands moving to your shirt to tug at it, exasperation and frustration leaking through his words. he begins bucking up against your cheek, beyond the realm of desperation for your touch. you simply smirk at him, receiving the exact reaction you were hoping for.

“i like making you wait, baby,” you tell him calmly, and his cock twitches hard at your words and your sinful expression. 

jungwon gasps as your mouth takes him in again. you waste no time in quickening your pace, your hand and mouth rhythmically moving along his cock, and your idle hand moving to fondle his balls. 

“oh god, oh fuck!” jungwon moans, babbling and stuttering out half sentences as you submerge his fragile little senses in so much pleasure. 

your tongue swirls around his tip, your movements unfaltering as jungwon nears his climax once more.    

“n-noona! don’t stop, so close!” jungwon announces hurriedly, the moans which left him nearly making his words incoherent. 

your pace quickens, and jungwon’s body responds as his hips buck towards you uncontrollably, his cum beginning to spill into your mouth. jungwon is writhing as intense pleasure courses through every imaginable crevice of his body, his eyebrows drawing inward as noisy, stuttered moans leave his mouth.

your movements slow down, and you stroke him gently as his mind and body struggle to regain composure from the orgasm you gave him. you swallow every drop of his cum, leaning back down to lick his cock clean of the cum that leaked out of your mouth when he came so plentifully. 

jungwon’s eyes squeeze shut at the sensation. he’s writhing, his hips jerking upwards as his body becomes so sensitive that the lightest touch from you sends tremors of unbearable pleasure throughout his body. 

you gaze at him, smiling subtly and fondly, admiring the way his chest rises rapidly as he attempts to regain control of his breathing, the way his face is notably flushed and a bit sweaty, and the way his cock still twitches from the pleasure he received. 

you lift your body off of him, standing up to remove your clothing. jungwon’s exhausted eyes examine each subtle movement of your body, his face and neck beginning to heat up in anticipation. 

jungwon’s body is still attempting to recover from your tongue work when you return to his lap, settling your silky cunt onto his length. 

“n-no more, please! can’t take it,” he manages to say, much to your surprise, as he bites onto his bottom lip. his eyes shine with a plead for you to stop, simultaneously begging you to continue since he never wants this moment with you to end. 

you lean closer to him, stroking his flushed cheek with your thumb. “baby, you’re not even crying yet, i know you can take more,” you tell him, entertained by his pleas. 

you place your lips on his, shoving your tongue into his mouth again, indulging in his weary response to your kiss. you begin grinding your hips along his length, spreading your essence along him, feeling him grow completely stiff beneath you once more. 

jungwon cries into your mouth, his hands twitching as if he desired to grab onto your hips, but he’s already so spent from your previous actions that he’s unable to will them to leave his sides. 

you pull back, swallowing the feeble breaths and whimpers that left jungwon’s mouth, and begin to line his precious, aching cock up with your entrance. 

jungwon’s drained body lay readily beneath you, an endless spring for you to indulge in.

you sink down onto him, engulfing him in your drenched pussy, flooding his cock with a wet warmth that he can never grow accustomed to. you were surrounding him, overwhelming him, but he absolutely loved to drown within your lavish fountain. 

“oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” choked, breathy moans leave jungwon’s mouth, and he’s not sure his body is able to comprehend how good you’re making him feel in this moment. 

you begin gliding along him, moving your hips up and down lusciously, and jungwon’s senses start to blur as you stimulate him far outside of the range of his limitations.

“you’re doing good, baby..” you tell him, finding the way he’s trying so hard to hold himself together endlessly endearing. 

you cannot ignore the pleasure he brings you, his perfect cock filling you up so well, sliding against spots inside of you that you could never hope to reach without him. he sends your body to such unimaginable heights by simply laying back and allowing you to use him, and you’re utterly astonished by him. 

“n-noona, you feel so fucking good..!” he babbles, finally willing his hands to fall limply onto your hips, swimming in a pit of incomprehensible bliss, god you were just heaven to him.

you speed your hips up, eager to send jungwon soaring to staggering heights of rapture and delight.

“p-please! please! i need to-” he announces, tears beginning to pool above his eyelid, waiting patiently to fall. he can hardly bear to form coherent thoughts as the sensation of your pussy sends him to a state of wild hysterics. his climax is approaching him hastily, and he knows he can’t hold out any longer.

“let go, baby, don’t hold it in,” you assure him, feeling your own orgasm as it prepares to crash into you. 

jungwon’s mouth falls open and he trembles violently, sobbing as he writhes under the intense pleasure of his orgasm. the initial silence as his orgasm hits him is shattered by a series of loud moans erupting from his mouth so delectably. 

his hips buck into you beyond his authority as he continues to spill into you, and he musters the strength to squeeze onto your hips, his hands latching onto them in a nonverbal plea. 

you continue to move your hips, gliding along him as you seek your climax, circling your clit as it finally sweeps over you with fervor. you moan loudly and shakily, your legs trembling a bit as you slow down, eventually bringing yourself to a complete stop.

you lean down, placing an affectionate kiss onto jungwon’s plump lips, bringing your hands up to wipe his fallen tears away. you place kisses over his entire face, wanting to shower him in bounds of tender adoration after wearing his body out.

“you did well, baby. you were so cute, you know?” you tell him, smoothing a few damp strands of hair out of his face, wanting nothing obstructing such a breathtaking view. 

he simply smiles tiredly at you, telling you to ‘stop it,’ making you giggle.

“i love you,” you say, continuing to smile fondly at him, squishing his face with your hand momentarily. 

“i love you, baby,” he returns effortlessly, his eyes holding more appreciation and love for you than they can even handle. he runs his hands along your back, the only movement his body can manage after your delightful torture. jungwon makes it so clear that he’s completely content and at ease with you.

[asmutwriter]

American Beauty/American Psycho (Part 1)

DESCRIPTION: You are an introverted woman. Working at a local book shop, keeping to yourself, not really on any social media. However, one small act of kindness makes you appear on the radar of a very specific superhero.

A/N: I didn't know what title to call this story, I had 'devil' and 'angel' playing on my mind. But then I was listening to Fall Out Boy and 'American Beauty/American Psycho' came on and I thought it was perfect for this story. So it is very, very loosely based off of that song

WORD COUNT: 2292

Next / Master List

WARNINGS: swearing, fire, burning house

DISCLAIMERS

-  This is fiction. Please always talk to your partner before doing anything and make sure they are ok with what you are doing beforehand

You run a finger through your hair. Letting out a sigh as you look at the pile of books before you. The small library you work in had closed for the night. You had the job of putting back all the forgotten books into their rightful place. Taking out all the different genres, placing them into their corresponding piles. Going to each shelf and placing them alphabetically in their correct places. You take a step back. Nodding at your work as you move onto the next section. Doing this for each of the small piles you'd managed to accumulate.

Once you had done this you make your way down the isles. Making sure there aren't any late night readers or sleeping students inside before you lock up. Thankfully there were none. So you head outside. Pulling the door too before locking it. Jiggling the handle to check it was locked. Placing the keys into your jeans pocket as you make your way through the chilled night air. Wrapping your arms around yourself. It was early autumn so you hadn't quite gotten used to the warm days yet chilled nights. Not having dressed appropriately for it. Only a thin hoodie keeping you warm.

Your nose catches scent of something. Causing you to stop in your tracks. You look around. Listening. Trying to see anything. Then you spot it. A blazing building. "Fuck". You mutter. Running over as you watch the building going up. Before you can think about anything else you hear a piercing scream through the night. Running over as you see someone by a downstairs window. A young boy, his fingers scrambling at the frame. Retracting his hands at the heat. You motion at him. Yelling through the night. "Stand back". Going into your pocket and taking out a pen. He stands back a little way. You wrap your fist around the item. Smashing it into the glass. Shattering. Reaching inside you pull him out. Holding him as he coughs. Moving him a safe distance away.

"My mum. Shes in the house. Plus my sister". You look back. A loud crack. You turn back to the boy.

"Do you know what floor they are on?"

"Top floor. I think the top floor". You nod. Hands on his shoulders as you keep his gaze.

"Stay here". You run back over. "Fuck". You mutter. Going in through the open window. "Hello!" you call out. No answer. You go to the door to the rest of the house. Pulling your hoodie sleeve up over your hand as you open the door handle. Feeling the heat grow intensely around you as you enter what looks like a living room. A body lies on the floor. Going over to it. You crouch down. Checking for a pulse. Nodding to yourself as you feel the slight beat of her heart. You grab her arm. Pulling her up as you sling her over your shoulder. Going back to through the house to the open window.

You aren't sure how but you manage to get the woman out of the window you entered through. Contorting yourself with her still over your shoulder. Going over to the boy as he watches. Tears staining his cheeks. "Mum!" he sobs. You lie her on the floor. You place your head near her chest. Hearing a soft yet distinct heart beat. The boy kneels down. Taking her hand in his.

"Stay here with your mum". You stand up. Rushing back over to the building. Climbing through the window as you are met with a monstrous fire. The room you were just in now fully engulfed in flames. Lapping at the sofas in the living room. You spot the stairs. Making a bee line for them as you dart up them. Hearing the sound of them slowly burning away as you go up. Three closed doors.

You stay silent. Hearing the crack of the fire below you. The distant sound of a toddler crying. You dart to the door the noise is behind. Opening it you see a very young child crying. Hands on the edge of her crib as she looks at you. You go over to the bed. "Shh" you try to soothe her. Picking her up and holding her close to you. "Its ok. You're ok". You go to the door again. Going to walk down the hallway. Seeing the fire now licking up the stairs. Destroying your only exit. You cradle her close to you as you go back into the bedroom. Shutting the door behind you. Grabbing a blanket form the side and placing it under the door. Trying to prevent the smoke from coming through.

The child still cries as you hold her close to you. Trying to soothe her as you turn around. Just as you hear a loud cracking noise. The middle of the floor starts to cave into the fire below it. Not daring to move, scared the floor will give out completely. You stay close to the wall. Pressing yourself a flat against it as you can. Among the crackle of the flames you hear voices. Firemen must've arrived. You call out. Your voice dull against the noise of the fire, and the slowly falling floor.

"Help. Please help". You call out. A soft sob coming through your voice. The door opens. You look. Expecting to see men in yellow enter. Instead, seeing a blue suit. Being met with his equally blue eyes. You'd seen him on billboards and newspapers. Homelander. He goes to walk into the room. "No!" you almost yell. Hand going outwards. Motioning at the floor.

He stills. Looking at you. Then the floor. Analyzing the situation before his gaze going back up to you. He outstretches one of his hands. You go to move towards him. The all to familiar sound of the fire making you still in your movements. You shake your head. Causing him to take a step closer to you. You move the child. Handing her to him.

"Get her out please". He looks at you. Going to say something but you move the girl closer. "Take the damn child!" you say. Fear in your voice as it fills the room. He takes her from your hands. Holding her close as he looks behind him. Then at the floor in front of him. Obviously assessing his best way out where the girl is unharmed. You watch as he looks at the ceiling. His eyes lasering a hole into it. He flies the girl out. You let out a breath. Glad the young child is safe.

The floor jolts slightly. The suddenness making you take it a sharp breath. Shutting your eyes as you press further into the wall. Your heartbeat echoing in your ears. Making you unable to hear anything else around you. The crack happens beneath you again. You fight back the tears. Pushing your lips together.

You jump as you feel something touch your arm. Eyes flying open as you meet Homelanders gaze. His hand on your upper arm. "Wrap your arms around me". You try to move. Lifting your arm up just as another creak fills the room. Your arms going firmly back to the wall. Shaking your head as you look at him

"I-I cant" you whisper. The floor cracks again.

"Yes you can". You shake your head. Shutting your eyes again. Feeling the floor start to shift under your feet. A soft whimper escaping your lips. "I'll catch you". You look at him. Wide eyed. The terror evident in your features. "Trust me". You watch his eyes. His still. Calming against yours. Slowly lifting your arms up. Trying to ignore the fire slowly eating its way through the floor. He puts an arm around your waist. You gently put your arms around his neck. Just as the floor falls out from under you. Your soft grip on him changes as you cling to him. Hiding your face into his shoulder as the comforting feeling of floor gets whisked away from under your feet. He remains hovering. The warmth of fire licking at your feet as he flies up. Away from the heat.

Your mind to overwhelmed by everything, plus hiding into his shoulder. You don't take in the fact he's taking you out of the previously made hole in the ceiling. Flying both of you out safely. Your legs nearly give out from under you as they hit the soft ground. Your arms still clinging to him as you tilt your head slightly. Looking at the paramedics tending to the unconscious girl on the ground. He gently rubs the lower of your back. "I'm going to need my neck back". He whispers into your ear.

"Shit. Sorry" you unwrap your arms. Going to move away from him. Wobbling slightly on your feet. Your arms coming out to balance yourself. He brings his hand out. Stabilising you by holding your arm. He tilts his head down. Looking at you through his lashes. Swaying slightly as you regain your composure. You look over at the woman on the floor. Her son sat next to her as their young daughter gets checked over by a paramedic. "Is she ok? Will she be ok?". You look at the blue eyed hero. Eyes tiredly scanning his face.

"They are doing everything they can do make sure she lives". You look back at the woman. Thats when you notice the small group of people. Neighbours all wrapped in coats and dressing gowns as they watch the scene before them. Some with their phones out. Recording the situation. Recording the fire. Recording Homelander. Recording you.

A paramedic comes over to you. You watch as his lips move. Obviously speaking to you but your overwhelmed senses don't take in what he says. You shake your head at his words. "I need to go home" you whisper. Looking at the crowd of people.

"Miss we need to make sure that you're ok".

"I'm ok". You smile at the paramedic. Homelander watching you as he keeps his grip on your elbow. "I promise I'm ok".

"Why don't we get you checked out, hmm?" Homelander says. You look at him. A smile on his face. You shake your head.

"I don't want to be a hassle. You've got the woman and her children to prioritise over me".

"You are just as much my concern as they are. Please miss" the paramedic says. Smiling at you as he takes the arm that was being supported. Taking you over to an ambulance. Checking you over. Once hes confirmed that everything is ok with you, he gives you the all clear to go home. Saying that they can organise transport but you insist on walking. You turn to try and find Homelander. Wanting to thank him for saving your life. But you see him talking to a news reporter. You press your lips together. Turning on your heels as you make your way back to your home.

You open the front door. Having a quick shower, changing into your pyjamas, then getting into your bed. Trying to fight the pesky nightmares. It isn't much after 8am when you hear your bedroom door burst open. Your curtains being forced back. You let out an annoyed groan. Bringing the covers up and over your head. Your roommate comes over to you. Grabbing the covers and pulling them down.

"Your famous!" she says. You sit up. Blinking your eyes awake as you look at her. She hands you her phone. A video pops up. The reporter from yesterday on the screen.

"A mother and her two children were saved last night from a house fire believed to have started from a cigarette butt. Thankfully no one was hurt, and we can put it down to this anonymous hero who risked her own life to save these three souls. A neighbour recorded the incident - describing it as a miracle and heroic act"

The video cuts to you. Helping the boy out before going inside the building. A few minutes passing, worried voices filling the background before you appear. Carrying the mother out the window. It cuts back to the reporter.

"Although Homelander himself managed to make it to the scene, firefighters and paramedics have both said that if this woman hadn't stepped in when she had then the family of three would have likely all been killed. Just goes to show the world that you don't need powers to be a true hero". You turn the screen off. Looking at your roommate.

"Fuck". You say. You pull the covers off of your legs. Going out into the kitchen. She follows behind as you grab out the orange juice. Filling a glass.

"Did you actually get to meet Homelander?". You place the orange juice back into fridge. Nodding.

"He saved my life".

"Thats so awesome". You scoff. Drinking your juice.

"I wouldn't describe nearly dying as awesome, but I understand what you mean". Placing the cup into the sink. You run a hand through your hair. Lightly massaging your scalp before bringing them down. "I'm going to head to work"

"You nearly died last night". You go over to the bathroom. Picking out your toothbrush. Applying some toothpaste.

"I am aware". You start brushing your teeth.

"And you're going to work?". You nod. Spitting and rinsing out your mouth with some water before looking at her. Drying your hands on a towel.

"Bills aren't going to pay themselves". Lightly tapping her nose. "I'll pick up a Chinese on the way home". You smile at her. Hand motion for her to leave the bathroom. She takes a step out. She goes to say something as you shut the door on her.

Next