#pls forgive any errors

[cheriecoke]

starry silence

dazai x reader my lil contribution to the chaos that was today's episode <3 not quite a reunion, but the aftermath of one ෆ. i'm happy he's safe & sound, but he must be so tired. :( sfw !! kind of sad bc i’m also dealing w jjk leaks i love being in pain (i don’t)

as dazai slept, moonlight cut across his face, highlighting the contours of his skin, the dark maroon cuts and bruises that had been littered across his face. though he seemed the image of a soldier home from war, his freshly washed hair and soft breaths turned him into something much more gentle. dark strands fell in soft waves over his head, shifting as he stirred, his inhale just a skip before his breathing evened out once more. 

you traced his jaw, watching the steady streams of air flow through his chest, out his nose. he looked so angelic, so tender in that waxy moonlight, comprised of something otherworldly and earthly all at once. 

a soft sigh left his lips as you traced his chin, and something about that sound of relief, of him relaxing completely under your palm, had you choking up. tears pricked at the edge of your waterline like sharp needles, each one filled with something poisonous. 

dazai didn’t move, but you curled into a ball, squeezing your legs to your chest as he slept on.

he’d been out for hours, ever since he’d gotten out of the shower, collapsing in a pile of long limbs stretched toward every corner of the room.

the blankets were much kinder to him than the steel bed he’d slept on at meursault, where he’d always kept one eye open. now, though, even his own clothes fit him poorly, like the white prison pants that had hung so loosely off his waist. 

under his t-shirt, the angles of his collarbone had become sharper, the planes of his stomach much flatter than you remembered. though his features had never been soft, even the skin of his cheeks had thinned, stress taking more of a toll on him than he'd admitted.

it was peaceful night outside, no sounds of screams to be heard in yokohama. you were certain that you’d absorbed every ounce of turmoil that had lingered in the city beyond your doorstep, and it gathered up in your chest like a bundle of fiery energy. something that you weren’t sure how to get rid of without bending over the porcelain toilet. 

everything had resolved itself, hadn’t it? yet, you couldn’t shake the twisted anxiety that lingered in your chest, even when dazai was right beside you, sleeping soundly with no lasting injuries. 

you rested your chin on your knees, letting that emptiness swallow you whole, disappearing somewhere that wasn’t entirely there. the steady rise and fall of dazai’s chest was the only thing that kept you grounded, kept you from drifting away, lost in a spiral of every possibility that hadn’t come to be. 

a small sound of misery left your lips, and you bit down hard, tasting blood as two salty drops rolled down your cheeks. though the cry had been nearly inaudible, dazai heard it nonetheless, alway attuned to you, even the simple fluctuation of your heartbeat a beacon for him across the universe. 

“what’s wrong, darling?” his words were quiet, like he was hesitant to break the atmosphere, in fear that he might startle you. 

you blinked, not sure when your vision had become so blurry, and twisted your neck, letting your jaw rest against your shoulder. “nothing,” you said, but your smile was weak, and the word was hardly a sound at all.

dazai had tucked his cheek under his hands, blinking up at you with sleepy brown eyes that so resembled a child's. it hurt you all over again, that this aching soul who had never seen the beauty in himself had almost been taken away from you. 

your lips parted, but the words halted at your tongue as you pinched your eyebrows together, trying to explain what exactly was within you. it wasn't quite sadness, but it wasn’t relief either, a cumulation of everything you’d ever felt, and something entirely new. 

though, as always, dazai seemed to understand. he reached a hand out, fingers slender and delicate, placing them on your wrist. “it's not good to hold back your tears, my love.” 

as if you’d just been waiting for dazai’s permission, you shook once more, silently, the tears rolling down your cheeks faster, harder. he sat up, bringing you closer with every moment, until you were wrapped in his warm arms. ones that were battered and bruised, but still the safest place in the world. 

he smelled clean, more like himself than he had when you had reunited with him, and that fact alone sent another nauseating wave of emotion over you. you gripped his shoulders, his chest, unable to get any closer, even as you tried to fuse yourself into his being, turn yourselves into one whole that could never again be separated.

dazai kissed your temple, holding you as you cried, saying nothing until you could form the words to explain the ache that in the deepest part of your stomach, stretching to the back of your throat. 

“i was so close to losing you, osamu,” you said, and even if dazai denied it, even if he said he’d always had it under control, you knew that wasn’t true. one slip up, one miscalculation, and you never would’ve seen him again. a single error by chuuya, by ango, by yourself… 

dazai’s fingers twitched against your spine, and he, for once, was faced with uncertainty. like he hadn’t considered what would’ve been ahead of you when he was gone for good, even if his death would always be a possibility. even if you'd always known that if the world wouldn’t kill him, maybe he’d do it himself.

“i’m here,” dazai said, and it wasn’t a promise, but it wasn’t a lie, and you'd accept it for what it was woth. “I’ll be here.” 

there was no way to predict how long that would hold true, but you’d grasp that last spark of hope tightly nevertheless. you'd shelter it away in your loving embrace until the universe clawed it from your bloody palms, stealing the very last light that it had dropped down from heaven into your life.

and that would have to be enough.

"i probably won't write anything abt the episode, i really need to work on—" … rylie is such a silly liar (´｡• ◡ •｡`) ♡

[lovebugism]

love romanticizing my silly little fics by outlining them like screenplays <3 (feat. snippets from the breakfast club!au that's been plaguing my brain. maybe this will see the light of day soon, but who's to say? 👹)

[scribeoffate]

Thinking about if there is Mother’s Day or some variation in Arnes. Cuz really why not? And bb Rhy is very excited to pick out a gift for his mother. The guards and Tieren are taking him out to the market and then he sees Kell isn’t ready. And clearly he demands that Kell comes along, Kell has only been his brother for a few months but Rhy knows that they should pick out a gift together. Or maybe even get her two gifts. And Kell protests a little, but even 5 year old Rhy is a force of nature so obviously he finds himself dragged along on this adventure. And while Emira isn’t his mother, she’s been… kind enough. And it’s pretty fun to do stuff with Rhy. And he likes Tieren so they go.

And because apparently I am in a saccharine mood (rare) it actually all goes really well and they pick Emira out a nice present and she smiles at both of them when they present it to her. And even better she hugs both of them after.

And then (because the aforementioned mood is rare) imagine Rhy finding the gift in his mother’s things, after she dies. Holding it in his hands and remembering. And wondering if Kell noticed the spike of pain wherever he is right now. Maybe he sets the gift on his nightstand before composing himself to go to do kingly things.

[morganaspendragonss]

If you're taking fic requests can i ask for a story where the 126 is at a call and mateo gets trapped and/or hurt and nancy freaks out or vice versa? If not its completely fine!

pull apart the darkness while we can

also for the prompt "i'm cold, come closer" on my @anyfandomgoesbingo because i WILL see a prompt intended to be fluffy and make it angsty title from in the embers by sleeping at last ao3 | 1.4k | hurt mateo, worried nancy, s5 finale spec, open ending

It’s her oath that keeps her going. The one she swore so many years ago, back when she was young and green under Michelle; the one she swore again when the 126 reopened after the explosion, and again after the fire. 

To conserve life, to alleviate suffering, to do no harm; it’s what she has lived her life by for over fifteen years and it’s what’s kept her strong even through losing patients and partners alike.

Now, it’s the only thing keeping her from falling to her knees in despair, from bursting into tears and giving up. The asteroid is still on its way, still likely to wipe half of Texas off the map, but Nancy keeps bandaging wounds and administering painkillers and comforting every terrified person who passes through their ambulance. For the first time in her career, this work feels futile, pointless when all these people, and Nancy herself, will die anyway when this thing finally hits, but she is duty-bound to keep going, so she does.

None of them have had a minute to rest all day, and it’s exhausting but it’s good; it means she doesn’t have time to think about the asteroid of Damocles hanging over their heads. She just has to focus on one call, and then the next and the next like it’s just any other day, until they either die or they don’t.

Still, she can’t ignore the way things get more and more apocalyptic as the hours tick by, and she sees her own fear reflected, albeit well hidden, in TK’s eyes. She knows he’s called Carlos and Sofia all the way in Switzerland; Nancy herself has called her dad and her brother and sister. They all said the same thing: no goodbyes, it’ll be okay – and she nodded and said them back, all the while knowing none of them believe it.

It breaks her heart that the one person she hasn’t been able to talk to is Mateo. He, like her, has been buffeted between calls, leaving no time for a kiss, or even a squeeze of the hand. Nancy isn’t a religious person, but she prays they’ll be able to do all that, one last time before the end.

They’re not even back in the ambulance after wrapping up one call when another comes crackling over the radio. Signal’s been getting worse, so it’s hard to make out the details, but it’s enough to know that it’ll be a bad one, and that it’ll take a long time. Too long, maybe, but they have to try.

By the time they get there, the scene is crawling with first responders and walking wounded. There’s the same grim look on everyone’s faces, and Nancy feels her own expression settling as she takes it all in. Debris from the asteroid had hit an industrial park, practically flattened some sections while others are crumbling dangerously. Half the firefighters are manning the hoses while the others are running in and out of the destroyed buildings, bearing victims in various stages of collapse. There are ambulances dotted around and a triage area set up, and even from a distance Nancy can see that there are very few green tags, and perhaps more black tags than she’s ever seen at one call.

She exchanges a glance with TK, getting a nod in return, and looks around for the IC, who materialises suddenly at their sides and shoves helmets into their hands.

“Secondary collapse,” he explains succinctly. “One vic and a firefighter trapped in the rubble; we’ve stabilised it as much as possible and extracted the civilian, but the firefighter needs medical attention before we can move him. You’re up, 126.”

Nancy lets TK take the lead on this one, once they’ve been more thoroughly briefed by the firefighters assisting the rescue. It’s not that she’s never dealt with situations like this one before, but he has infinitely more experience and she trusts him to steer them right.

The tunnel to their patient is low and narrow, forcing Nancy to duck her head even while crawling, and her backpack scrapes the roof with every movement. She’s pretty much reliant on touch to find her way, which means it’s a shock when TK stops suddenly and her helmet crashes into him.

“Dude,” she hisses. “What the hell?”

“Um.” TK pauses, and when he next speaks, his voice has taken on a slightly hysterical tone. “So we’ve found the patient.”

“Okay?” She shoves at him. “Move it.”

TK still hesitates. “Nancy, listen, it’s–”

“Oh, hey guys.”

When Nancy shoves him this time, TK obliges, and soon they’re emerging into a slightly more open pocket where their patient is lying, blood streaking across his face as he stares straight ahead. Nancy manoeuvres herself past TK to kneel at his side, her hands trembling as they hover over a body she now knows so well.

“‘Teo,” she breathes, a slight hitch in her breath betraying the tears she’s trying so hard to hide.

“Hey, Nance.” He smiles and his eyes flick towards her, but his head doesn’t move and his voice is strained with pain. “Don’t worry,” he tries anyway. “It looks worse than it is.”

She laughs wetly and tries to compose herself as she switches her dirty gloves for clean ones. “I’ll be the judge of that. Where does it hurt?”

“Mostly my chest?” Mateo phrases it as a question, as if he’s not really sure himself. “And I, uh. I kind of can’t move? Like, at all.”

“Okay.” She swallows and turns; without even asking, TK is already there with the C-collar. Still, she says anyway, “Full spinal precautions.”

She tries to be quiet, but Mateo overhears her. “It’s bad, isn’t it?” he asks, voice trembling. “Be honest with me, Nancy.”

His fear is palpable and it shatters the cracked halves of Nancy’s heart until she can feel each individual piece stabbing at her insides. But there’s no time to dress her own wounds while she has a patient needing her help.

“It’s not good,” she confirms. “But we’re gonna look after you, Mateo, okay? I promise.”

He smiles again. “I know you will.”

They work as quickly as they can in the small space, but Mateo’s injuries are extensive enough that it’s still slow going. Nancy has no idea how they’re going to get him onto a backboard, let alone get him out of here, but she pushes those thoughts aside as she continues working; preserving life, alleviating suffering, doing no harm.

Until–

A crash, outside.

Then another.

Screams.

The precarious ground they’re on shakes, and Nancy throws herself over Mateo, feeling TK do the same at her back, and she swears the world is coming to an end.

And then…

It doesn’t. 

Yet, she reminds herself. And anyway, it’s not like they’re any less screwed, because the light signalling their way out is gone. She has no idea where TK is, or any of the others, and a glance at Mateo in the failing light of her torch shows his face has turned ashen and his eyes are closed. But he’s breathing; she can see that too, and that’s all she needs.

“Mateo!” she cries, rubbing her knuckles along his sternum. “Come on, wake up. You gotta wake up so we can get out of here, please.” Nancy has to swallow a sob down and she bows her head, hair hanging in her face. “I need you.”

Then, like in a fairytale – a really shitty one where they’re trapped in a hole with no hope of rescue – Mateo groans and doesn’t quite stir, his eyes opening to slits.

“N’ncy?” he asks, and she has to lean down and kiss him.

“I’m here,” she assures him, taking his hand. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Neither,” Mateo slurs. “Hey, Nancy?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m cold, can you come closer?”

Nancy nods and this time doesn’t bother to hide her sob. “Yeah.”

She shifts as close to him as possible, lying down next to him and resting her head on his chest. Her instincts – her oath – tells her to keep going, but it’s obvious, now, that this is it. After all they’ve faced, this is where it ends.

And this, holding him, is how she can fulfil her oath.

Silence falls, broken only by their breathing for what could be seconds or minutes, until her radio crackles. The IC’s voice comes over, slow and distorted by static, but the message is clear.

Ladies and gentlemen, it’s been an honour.

[belovedapollo]

Hello! I'm genuinely curious about this so I really hope it isn't a rude question (and if it is, then I am so sorry and please do delete this! 🫣)

I wanted to ask about your (internet) name. From what I understand based on your blog you're a transman and therefore male but you go by Rose, which is a traditionally female name (at least in my part of the world!). Can I ask what your thoughts are surrounding this decision? Do you feel like Rose is an androgynous/male name more than a female name? Or do you not have any gender-related sentiments attached to it, and it therefore doesn't make a difference to how you feel?

You’re actually asking this in the kindest way and I’m very thankful for that! I use the Rose for myself on social media because I am very paranoid and I come from a friend circle that was very toxic and controlling. To me Rose is nor female or male name. When I was in high school we had to read and analyze Romeo and Juliet and one of my favorite parts is the balcony scene after the party. Juliet proceeds to have this monologue about their families rivalry and how their names are the cause of their pain. There is this part:

What's in a name? That which we call a rose

By any other name would smell as sweet;

and it has stuck with me ever since. I don’t think anyone on the internet needs to know my real name. It’s enough to see me as me. Does it make any sense ? I’m also a big fan of The Little Prince and the story of the Rose makes me always think of how I needed to grow up to become a better version of myself. Also I really like roses as flowers.

Again, I’m very thankful of how nicely you came to ask me this question. Being trans is already a lot of “explaining yourself” and people can be very rude or pressing.

But yeah, Rose is what I go by on the internet and is far away from my real - life name 🌹

[thatone-galaxi3]

The Lamb

oh hey look its my very own Lamb sona,, sweet

(10/?? 2024--04/06 2025)

So funny story about the first drawing, it was the very first CotL art that i started but i got so nervous on making it good i never had the heart to finish it lol

It was only when I had the brain blast idea on making them cunty that i figure the worst that happens is it looks kinda meh and i change it later. So technically they were both finished at the same time (and i totally ripped the base for the heart fleece i wasn't redrawing the whole Lamb just for that) but I really could've been done with it months ago.

I guess thats just a lesson in perfectionism huh

Anyways time to ramble about my wonderful lamb Eden.

Eden calls her cult grounds simply 'The Garden' (a very obvious play to The Garden of Eden and paradise as a whole)

While she may look all cute and fluffy she is very willing to turn to violence and Cannibalism at a moments notice, and often uses fear as a resource. Not so bad that her critters fear her, but they certainly dont get much slack either. And its best not to talk about what happens to the traitors...

You may notice on my second design, her horn has a ring for her lovers. She is very poly and has three spouses, one ofc being the wonderful Nari that they have a totally normal and non toxic relationships with :> dont worry about it :>> I think ive already posted about all the spouses before so I wont get into to much detail bc i will ramble for hours and no one cares that much lol

The earrings might be one of my favorite parts. Every time a Bishop is defected she takes there crown as and erring. The reason why Leshy has two chains is because it took me three tries to beat him, the only Bishop aside for Nari to give me that much trouble (the prick). The earrings were meant to keep track of where i was in the game as i drew her, but then i never did lol. Its still a fun gimmick and if i do end up drawing more of her it'd be easy to know when it takes place now.

The flowers were again for the Garden imagery and the glasses are just because i need them and think they look cute. + it'd be easier to draw just red dots instead of full eyes if need be :)

[defensivelee]

Six Lives Won't Make You Happy: Thou Shalt Have No Other Gods Before Me

A dog fight, a mock trial, a humiliating execution: James certainly has his schedule full this time around! He has decided there can only be one winner in each of these, but Bentinck and Mary have other plans, and so do others he would not expect, clawing at the edges of his heart. Victory seems inevitable with his enemy finally kneeling before him, but that's where he makes his first mistake...

Of course, here is the AO3 link! Please enjoy this one, I think it's my favorite so far.

CW: explicit violence (more than usual), torture, murder, death, use of guns, drowning, fire, heavy drug use, addiction, smoking, drinking, implied/referenced domestic abuse, implied/referenced child abuse, objectification, dehumanization, indoctrination, public humiliation, rape threats, sexual assault, normalization of rape/sexual assault, implied/referenced child sexual abuse, implied/referenced non-consensual incest, implied/referenced pregnancy from rape, mild necrophilia.

“You could never tell now, but your father used to fight in the arena, too.”

Mary looked to her uncle as he sat down beside her at the bar, his massive, striped horns catching the neon lights above him. He flicked his tail dismissively when the bartender came by; much to her surprise, he had not come here to drink.

“He did?” She pushed her hair from her face, sticking to her with sweat. In her drunken daze (though she had so far smoked more than she had swallowed any substance), she couldn’t remember if James had told her such a thing. She couldn’t imagine why anyone other than an Ally or a hostage would fight in an arena. It was fun but pointless bloodshed, the risk too high for the reward.

“Yes. In the Southern Kingdom, while we were in hiding.” Charles laughed. “He acts as if he’s ashamed of it. I hope he isn’t, because there’s nothing wrong with what he did there.”

“He killed people?” That wasn’t a surprise. He still did it all the time.

“Well, yes, but that’s not the part he worries about.” Charles curled his lip back to show his teeth, lifting a finger to tap at a canine. “Right here, Mary, he used to have tusks. Long, regal things, and rare, too.”

“He’s talked about them,” she said. She’d heard about them often, actually, when she was younger. The days were all blurred and incomprehensible in her head; even if she were sober, she could remember very little from that time, but she knew that in their games, he had liked to say that he was going to bite her. She would hold up her little hands to his mouth, and he’d snap his teeth, flashing the golden ones at her, and she’d fall back with a squeal.

Her mother said that he used to bite her all the time. She always teased him for it, said that he acted like he still had those big, glorious tusks of his. He said that he was glad they were gone, for he could speak and eat properly now, but sometimes Mary thought he was lying about that.

Everything was alright then, when her mother was still alive. When James still loved Mary because she was his daughter and nothing else. Now she had to give him reasons to love her, reasons justified in blood and devotion.

“Good, otherwise this would be a very awkward revelation,” Charles said, tapping his tail against her shoulder. “Anyway, they worked wonders in the fighting rings. King Louis had never had a human in his arena before, so he sent James in, expecting him to die...but he won, Mary! He had never bitten anyone before, but in that moment he tore right through a devil’s throat and became the first human in centuries to kill one of those divine beings.”

“And did you ever kill one?” Mary hoped she didn’t sound too accusatory. But she had to wonder, then, why James wasn’t the one leading the Disciples if he had managed to kill a devil before his brother.

“Yes, Mary, many times after,” Charles said, his yellow eyes widening slightly. “I’ve told the stories before.”

“Forgive me.”

He smiled and continued. “It wasn’t the last time James fought for the Sun King, and the ring certainly wasn’t the only place. Louis turned him into his little fighting champion. Those powerful tusks were the only reason James wasn’t immediately killed when he entered the Southern Kingdom.” He shook his head, lowering his voice. “They saved his life then. They secured victory after victory. And yet...what good was it for Louis?”

Mary shrugged. She knew little of that devil save for the spell that called him, and the protections he had extended to her father. And even that she could not make sense of.

“It was Louis who ripped them out,” Charles said. “But it wasn’t the end of the world. By then, James could defend himself without biting once. It was just as well; devil blood is disgusting. Have you ever tasted it? Slightly metallic, but more than that, it’s a stinking, bitter liquid, burns your throat like alcohol.”

“Sounds like fun,” Mary said. She stared listlessly ahead at the glowing clock on the wall, reading the Infernal on the walls. Or so she tried, but she hadn’t understood the written words in a very long time.

“Maybe to some people,” Charles said thoughtfully. He flung his tail over Mary and laughed again, and she laughed too. “The fight’s about to start; come, sit next to me! We could even bet on the winner. I say it’ll be that feisty little dwaallicht remnant we caught last month.”

“Oh, no, thank you, sir,” she said, getting up. “I’ll be with my father.”

Charles stood up with her, following her to the back, past the stages and the smiles, where she opened the door and heard the cheers from the ring below. It was the same as always, blood everywhere, the brothers smoking and cheering on the relentless death.

“I just- do I have to go?” she asked, looking back at Charles.

“I can cover for you,” he said. “If you’d like that.”

“Yes, please, I-” She stepped away. “It’s just the same thing every time, you know? It’s boring. Suffering needs a reason; that’s what makes it satisfying.”

Charles raised an eyebrow, perhaps with confusion, though she didn’t know if it was because he hadn’t understood what she said or simply didn’t believe it. But he shrugged and walked past her towards the stairs.

“I’ll just say you were a little more fucked up tonight,” he said. “Don’t talk to any strangers out there, Mary.”

“I won’t.”

“And who knows?” He waved a hand at her. “Maybe we’ll get an Ally in here soon. It won’t be so boring then, won’t it?”

She shook her head. “Not at all,” she said, and turned away, just about collapsing back into her seat.

🝰🝰🝰

The fight’s about to start.

The agitated cries of four hundred Disciples filled the room, all looking down to the arena and anticipating the fight and subsequent execution. Fights like these were held once a month when Charles was alive, maybe twice if James couldn’t wait any longer. Of course, he saw no reason to delay them any longer than his supposed mourning lasted, so here they were again, Mary sitting between her sister and father.

“I don’t know how he expects Marly to fight,” Anne said once James had turned away to speak to Maria. “Something happened yesterday—”

“Whatever it was, he’s an Ally.” Mary shrugged. “He’ll be fine.”

Anne lowered her voice. “James stabbed him. In the fucking thigh. He could’ve hit an artery in there, do you know how dangerous that is?”

“Well, he didn’t, so Marly should have healed up nicely.”

“Have you ever cared about anybody that he’s hurt?” She leaned in towards Mary, her eyes widening in disbelief. “Even yourself?”

“If he’s hurting anyone, they deserve it.” Mary rolled her eyes and pushed her away. “We’ve talked about this, Anne. Everything we do here is for the sake of our future!”

“The sake of our future!” Anne mocked. “I’m not even going to be a fucking Overlifer, you’re the heir! Where would that leave me?”

“Um, my second-in-command?”

“WHY THE FUCK WOULD I EVER WANT TO SERVE YOU?”

“Anne, will you stop yelling?” Maria leaned over and scowled at her stepdaughter. “You can argue about whatever it is later.” She gestured down at the arena. “We’re about to witness justice being served, your father doesn’t need the extra stress.”

“It’s an execution,” Anne said dryly.

“Which is still justice,” Maria said, looking back at James expectantly.

“That’s right, Anne, and you’ve caused enough trouble for me as it is.” James glared straight ahead at the arena. “You know what could have happened with Marly? He could have bled out, he could have been out for a while, and then who is going to bomb all those trains? It isn’t going to be me.”

“I’m not the one who stabbed him,” Anne said, it being her turn to roll her eyes.

“It was your fault!” James leaned over Mary, who ducked back in her seat, looking frantically between her sister and her father. “Don’t you dare roll your eyes at me, you insolent, ungrateful girl! Come here-” He reached out towards Anne’s horns, and Anne shuffled to the side. “Stop moving!”

“James, by all the stars, enough!” Maria pulled back on his tail, and James turned to her with blazing eyes.

“Don’t tell me how to discipline my daughters,” he snapped.

“I- I’m not telling you to do anything,” she said, clearing her throat as he settled back down beside her. “I’m just suggesting that maybe you’re causing a scene and maybe we should get on with the fight. There’s four hundred of our people here, and they’re all looking at you.”

James snorted like a slighted bull. “You see, Anne? You see what you do?”

Anne sat back down with a huff, turned pointedly away from Mary, who realized she was breathing hard, her heart beating its way out of her chest. She looked down and buried her face in her hands.

Calm down. He’s not mad at you. Everything’s fine.

If anything, he’s pleased. He’s very pleased with you.

Why did Anne have to be like this? It was as if she searched for every opportunity to enrage James, to go under his nose and mock him and Maria behind his back like a true heretic. She knew what would happen, and still she did it anyway.

“Why can’t you just obey?” she asked out loud, her voice shaking. “Why don’t you understand how things are?” Then, slightly louder: “Is it true? You won’t serve me when- when James—” She couldn’t finish the sentence; losing Charles stung, losing her father was unthinkable.

Anne swallowed with what looked like great effort and focused her gaze ahead on the sands. Her tail came to a rest behind her. “I- do- do you really expect me to answer that right now?”

“I guess not. I’m sorry.” Mary looked back at James, who glanced down at her and took her hand, smiling as he adjusted the microphone over his mouth. In an instant, all kindness was gone from his eyes as he looked to his Disciples, his grin suddenly one of contempt.

“Hello, my dearest, beloved subjects,” he said, quieting down the last excited murmurs and whispers. “It’s been long since our last fight, hasn’t it? As a reward for waiting so patiently, I have made sure this one will be as exciting as it’s never been before. Most of you by now have heard of a dwaallicht spirit’s attempts on my divine lives, and both times we have beaten him, crushed him like the worthless dog he is!” He leaned back and waved his arm about triumphantly. “That’s right, today we have here the legendary Duke of Monmouth!”

The Disciples did not cheer as usual, instead looked on in disgust. From one end of the arena, the aforementioned spirit was dragged out onto the sand, his blank white eyes widening as he looked out at the audience. The chain was unclipped from his collar.

“Heretic!” cried Maria abruptly, her voice carrying nearly as well as James’ microphone did. “Look upon this heretic!”

At that the Disciples joined in on the chant, heretic, heretic, heretic, jeering and hissing, fangs bared and tails whipping in the air. James didn’t say a word, only watched through lidded eyes as Monmouth stumbled back and shook his head.

Mary, too, kept her mouth shut. She knew that if she joined in, it wouldn’t sound sincere.

This is going to be...unreal. Though she was sober today, it all still felt like a dream. It was a stupid hope, her wish to wake up before he had to die.

“Good girl,” her father murmured at Maria. Standing, he smiled at Monmouth and raised his voice once more. “We have no room for traitors like this spirit. Charles was too friendly with these little beasts, and I have tolerated it. But no longer! All his mistresses, all his half-bred children— they are not welcome here unless they serve us from their proper places beneath us.”

“And I can serve you!” Monmouth yelled over the noise of the audience. “You don’t have to kill me, you- sir, please, do you remember when I was a boy? You were the one who taught me how to use my powers to help you. I was named after you!” He reached his magnificent claws out as if he were about to call for his shadows, but a second glance around seemed to remind him that he couldn’t win a fight here. Instead he attempted to smile. “Sir, you- you can’t say this is what my father would have wanted.”

James snorted. “And what do you know of that? He was never your father, he was only my brother. Do you think he’d turn the whole world over to defend an insignificant little mutt spirit, all to go against me? His real blood, the only person he ever gave a fuck about?!” He shouted the last part out, then shook his head. “No. I will not spare you because you have deluded yourself into thinking that I ever loved you as a nephew. You only affirm that I am making the right decision with this insolence.”

Monmouth flicked his ears back in horror, and James looked back to the audience. “This is not just any fight. This is an execution that he cannot win his way out of. And his executioner we all know very well. My champion, my Ally, my most beloved John Churchill!”

Marly entered from the other side, resplendent in the small golden chains hanging off his shoulders and waist, and the shimmering green of his rings, earring and nails. As usual, most of his body was exposed to the audience, showing off the tattoos that James so loved; only his chest and crotch were covered by black and green silk. And around his face was strapped a traditional accessory of the Allies who fought in the arena of an Overlifer: a gold wire muzzle.

Despite this, he always sauntered out in the same way, so sure that he would win this fight like he had won all the others. Today he walked only with a slight limp, but Mary could see no wound on him; much of his thighs were covered by the chains and jewels. Other than that, he seemed fine, as she had guessed. Maybe his smile was even more annoying today.

Should have stabbed him harder! She rolled her eyes when James waved down at Marly, who knelt on the sand before him and bowed his head low.

“I have no reason to believe that he should fail today,” James said, and Mary recognized the slightest hint of a warning in his voice. “Remove the muzzle.”

Sarah hurried out behind Marly and began to gently pull the muzzle from his face, her tail twitching as she looked from him to James. The excitement buzzing in the air seemed to pause when she leaned in to kiss Marly, gripping his hand tightly. James only raised an eyebrow but said nothing as Sarah skipped up the seats to sit next to Anne.

“Your greatest honor is to die,” he went on instead.

There it is. Mary’s heart skipped a beat. It was about to begin.

“Today, I will refuse it,” Marly replied. He raised his hand in the air and called up a spear from out of the devils’ realm, and James sat back, his tail lashing forward once in satisfaction.

Monmouth held his hand out cautiously as Marly approached him. “Wait,” he said. “Marly, you- you and I, we’re—”

“We are nothing!” Marly stabbed his spear into the sand, and behind Monmouth, another one sprouted up from the ground, brushing by his tail. The spirit yelped and ran to the side, his wounded tail flying between his legs.

“Are you making this boring on purpose?” Marly narrowed his eyes. “Fight, damnit!”

“I’m not going to fight you after what happened last night,” Monmouth said firmly.

You have to at least try to survive! Mary clenched her fists on her legs.

Marly looked around at the Disciples, some of the front rows having grown quieter with curious whispers, all wondering out loud about what Monmouth could possibly be referring to. James seemed unaffected, merely tilting his head to the side when Marly looked up at him.

“It is not your place to mention that,” the Ally spat, glaring back at Monmouth. “You think I can’t fight now? You think anything can stop me? I have the power to destroy everyone here!” He threw the spear at the dog, barely missing him as he flew into the air, now a raven as he had been when Elizabeth shot him.

“Oh, you son of a—!” Marly called for the spear again as the bird flew frantically towards the exit. James stood up then, his eyes wide, but he had no need to worry as the spear melted in Marly’s hands to form a long chain. He threw it out at Monmouth, and it wrapped all around his wings just as he was flying out, pulling him back sharply. He fell to the sand with a dissatisfied caw.

“I thought you would have learned by now,” Marly said, dragging Monmouth back towards him. “I can only catch you easier in the sky.”

“Very good,” James muttered, sitting back down. He turned to Mary. “He better turn back before Marly kills him. Where’s the fun in killing a little bird?”

“It wouldn’t be a face we recognize,” Mary said.

“Yes, that’s exactly the problem.”

Mary sighed, looked back to the fight.

“You want a real fight, Marly?” Monmouth flapped his wings, trying and failing to shake the chains off of him. “Very well.” The shadows and ribbons around him began to draw closer to his body, his wings and feathers appearing to grow and grow until they were not feathers but fur. Sharper teeth glistened from a snarling black mouth, raised high in a powerful bark.

Mary’s eyes widened. A real dog.

And he’s huge!

“Shit, John, don’t waste time!” Sarah whispered frantically. “Kill him now!”

Monmouth ripped off the chains with a fierce growl, beginning to pace around Marly, a new confidence under his starry black pelt. “We haven’t had a real fight in a long time,” he said.

“You think I can’t handle an animal?” Marly pulled the chains back in, letting them wrap around his wrists.

Monmouth snarled again, leaping at Marly and throwing him back against the sand. The Ally rolled to the side as Monmouth brought his jaws down on his stomach, scoring wounds along his waist and thighs. The audience cheered as they had in the beginning, and James lit a cigarette, grinning down at Marly as he dragged himself out from under Monmouth, his blood dripping onto the sand.

“Maybe I shall be their champion after this,” the spirit said, stepping forward.

Marly slammed a hand down on the sand, and three spears drove upwards from the ground beneath Monmouth, digging into his belly. He let out a shriek, rearing up on his hind legs and tearing the spears out of his body. All save for one disappeared back into the sand, and Marly took the last one, pulling himself back up to his feet.

Monmouth was panting now, licking his whiskers, before running once more towards Marly, snapping his jaws in the air. Marly jumped to the side and onto Monmouth’s back, forcing his spear into him before the dog could manage to throw him off. Monmouth turned in a circle, desperately trying to shake Marly off, but the Ally only buried the spear deeper until it poked out through Monmouth’s chest.

“Too easy,” James remarked. Raising his voice, he shouted, “More, more, Marly!”

Marly smiled up at him, then pulled the spear out, eliciting a loud whine from Monmouth. He stumbled forward, unsteady on his feet, and Marly took hold of one of his ears, the spear shrinking down into a whip. He brought it down against Monmouth’s haunches, and the dog sprung forward, once again bucking in the air to throw Marly off. But he was too weak to thrash around any harder, only spinning around as Marly whipped him. The sound was familiar to Mary, sending a thrill through her.

At last Monmouth bowed his great head, his shaking body returning back to its usual humanoid state. Marly twisted the whip in his hands, turning it back into a spear and bringing it down through one of Monmouth’s folded ears. Monmouth cried out, his shivering slowly coming to a stop as Marly stepped off of him. He ripped the spear carelessly back out.

This heartless bitch! Mary swallowed hard, feeling James’ hand on her shoulder.

“What, can’t fight anymore?” Marly kicked Monmouth in the side. “Get up.”

Monmouth said nothing. His gaze was fixed on the ground in front of him, but he was not dead, Mary knew. No, this was Marly’s power that James loved so much, the ability to drain the movement from a person when he drew enough blood from them. It was rather useful, Mary supposed, to be able to end a fight quickly, but she imagined it as some kind of cheating, even though there were no rules.

“Kill him now!” Maria yelled beside James. “Now!”

This is what happens, Monmouth, you should have known. Mary narrowed her eyes as Marly turned his spear into an axe. He raised it slightly, as if in hesitation, but surely he knew it was too late for that now.

This is what happens when anyone defies James.

Marly brought the axe down on Monmouth’s neck, and the shadows engulfed him fully, pooling around the sand like blood. Marly waved them away, letting the axe fall into them and disappear back into the realm of the devils. When he stepped away, the body was gone, leaving nothing of the remnant.

He’s with Charles now, wherever that may be. Mary bowed her head. She didn’t care what James said; Monmouth had always been family, and she’d remember him as she liked. Oddly she wasn’t as upset as she thought she’d be. Maybe she just had to give it a few days.

Or maybe she had no problem with this after all, but she had no idea.

“The traitor is dead!” Maria called out, springing out of her seat and raising her tail and fist triumphantly in the air. “Long live our Overlifer, long live James Stewart!”

She was met with echoing sentiments from the Disciples, some of them even applauding their leader, and this time Mary joined in. James laughed with almost giddy delight like she’d never heard from him, flinging an arm over her and leaning in to kiss her face.

“You know I do this all to protect you,” he said, “though he really wouldn’t have ended up down here without you.” He lifted her head in his hands, and she looked into his glistening eyes. “I love you.”

“I- I love you too!” She attempted to smile, but he thankfully broke away from her and walked over to Anne, ruffling the hair between her horns.

“I forgive you for last night,” he said. “Just don’t do it again.”

Anne coughed, leaning away from James’ cigarette. “No- no, of course not.”

“You know I love you, Anne.”

“Yeah.” She stood up and began to follow Sarah down towards Marly, flicking her tail at her father. “I know very well.”

James sighed as he watched her go, turning to Maria. “Sometimes I wish she had stayed small. She was a lot sweeter. And a far better listener,” he added with a snort. “Nowadays it’s like I give her one order and she feels compelled to do the exact opposite.”

Maria shrugged. “Maybe you should let her live on her own. I mean, she’s been with you so long—”

“I would prefer to stay here, Maria,” Mary interrupted. “And I’m sure Anne would as well. We’re the heirs, we need to stay where our Overlifer is should anything happen.”

“Exactly,” James said. “They’re safer with me, Maria. The whole world would break them if given the chance.” He shook his head. “I have been protecting them since they were born, and I will do so until they die.”

He made it sound as if he would outlive them both. It was possible, Mary knew, and likely, even, with the way she went about things. She had already decided that that wouldn’t be so bad, either.

They were to host a very late dinner that night back home, much to Mary’s disappointment— she’d been looking forward to getting high again and streaming into the morning. But James said she had to be sober for the celebration, since it wouldn’t be just family.

She didn’t really care for any of the Disciples there, though, and she might as well have been drunk for the way she watched them laughing in the limo on the way back through her tired eyes. She fell asleep leaning on Anne, half-dreaming of the vicious dog still barking, with blood staining its teeth. It was Maria who woke her up a while later, gently adjusting the glasses back over her nose, and she followed everyone inside in something of a stupor.

She stopped by her room first to look for her lighter; everyone would be smoking there, so at the very least James would have to allow it for her, as well. When she stepped back out in the corridor, standing alone in the vast darkness, the booming, merry conversation below tempted her to retreat back into her room.

James’ voice was louder than everyone else’s, which was unusual— that had been the role of his brother’s. But she realized then that it was on the same floor she was on, coming from down the hall, where his room was. She headed toward the stairs first, but in the end she turned back to follow James’ voice. He had no reason to be up here if he had to entertain his guests.

“Well, heal it up quickly,” he was saying from behind the door. “I don’t want you bleeding out like that in front of everyone.”

“It’s not that fast,” answered Marly’s voice, and Mary stifled a sigh of relief that it was only him and no one else. “Besides, I was bleeding out in front of four hundred of your people and you said nothing then.”

“It’s the arena, you are in fact expected to bleed a little.”

“So they can expect it again now.”

“Ah, John,” James sighed. “You know, I do love that about you...”

Mary didn’t hear the rest as she backed away. Whatever happened between the two was none of her business, but it certainly was Maria’s.

“I think James is done looking at you for the night,” Mary said as she sat down at the table, quiet enough so as not to arouse the attention of the Disciple guests, but loud enough so that Maria could still hear her over them.

Maria sighed. “You know it’s always like this for a while after every fight. Both in and out of the arena.”

“An Ally doesn’t deserve to have such attention showered on him by an Overlifer,” Mary grumbled.

“No.” Maria glanced up as James walked in with Marly at his side. “He doesn’t.”

Mary had no idea why her father wanted her sober; as the night went on, everyone around her drank to the point of what might have been death had Marly not quietly slipped their glasses away from them and told them to get a grip on themselves. It was the worst thing about him, the worst thing about the whole circle of Sarah, Anne, and a few others— they thought they were so much better than everyone else here.

But it wasn’t even close. She was the heir, and Marly was an Ally, a sycophantic, sickening Ally kissing James right in front of the latter’s wife. She had hated him before, but she hated him more now for all he had done tonight. James returned every little kiss and touch until it would have been voyeuristic for Mary to stay any longer. She nudged Maria and murmured that she was going back upstairs.

As she stood she heard someone knock on the front door, and she rolled her eyes. Whoever it was, they were lucky James was too drunk to notice anyone new; he would have had their head for coming this late to his celebration. She walked over to the door and opened it.

“Mary, baby, hello!” Elizabeth Villiers wagged her tail at the sight of her. “Is your father in?”

“Um, yes, but he’s—”

“Perfect! Bring him in, Anne!” Elizabeth turned to the side, and then the aforementioned sister pushed past Mary, shoving forward the furious, wiggling body of William Henry Nassau, letting him fall hard to the ground.

Mary stumbled back in shock. “You- you actually got him.” His hands were tied rather messily behind his back, his face obscured by a tight blindfold and gag. Around his horns, ropes had been woven in and tangled like webs, and it was from their excess that Anne pulled him back up on his knees, forcing his head up towards her.

“I followed your orders,” she said, glowering down at William with a cold satisfaction Mary had never seen from her before. “If you had known half of the shit he’s done to Hans, it would have been much easier to capture him. Trust me.”

“Is that so?” Mary laughed nervously. “Ah, well, great job.” She had drank very little tonight, but she thought she might be sicker than anyone else now.

Anne looked up, the cruelty in her eyes replaced with the usual concern Mary had come to associate with her. “This is what you wanted, right?”

Mary swallowed and nodded. “Yeah. I’m not- not mad, I just didn’t expect it, I mean—” She stared at William’s tail, lashing with indignance. “You really did it. You might have just saved the Disciples.”

“Have I?” Anne looked down at the floor, and Mary took her hand.

“Yes. Thank you, dear, it means everything to me.” She pushed the hair from Anne’s face and smiled at her. “James is going to be very happy.”

“I know.” Anne still didn’t look up.

Mary hurried back to James, who was coughing in the midst of his laughter, another cigarette lit in his hand. Marly sat on the table in front of him, one of his legs on the Overlifer’s shoulder, and they both glared at her when she tapped at her father’s tail.

“Forgive me,” she said, bowing her head at her father, “but the Villiers sisters have returned. They have William with them.” “Are you serious?” James stood up, looking around at his guests.

“Yes. He’s by the door.”

“Marly—” James coughed again, then handed his cigarette to Marly, waving his hand. “Tell everyone! Go, go! Meet me there.” Turning to Mary, he took her hand. “Take me to them.”

Elizabeth was tying the ropes around William’s horns into somehow even more elaborate knots, an increasingly difficult task as William bucked his head up and down like a displeased horse. She stood up when she saw James, and Anne brought her foot down on William’s back, forcing his head down on the floor.

“Well, well, he looks much nicer like that, it must be said,” James said, running his tail over William’s spine. “You see, Lilli? You’re much prettier when you keep your mouth shut.”

William clenched his fists. Behind them, a few of the Disciples guests, led by Marly, came warily out of the dining room, their eyes wide as they stared down at the rival Overlifer.

“And hopefully we never will have to hear you speak again,” James said. He nudged William’s horn with a foot. “How many lives do you have left? Five, at least, right? Nevermind, I’ll ask you later. Then we can figure out how many executions I need to plan. Oh, Mary, we are about to have so much fun—” He looked back at his Disciples watching. “And once we get rid of their leader, dealing with the fuckin’ Devils will be much easier. That Ally, too, the fuck was his name? Ah, Bentinck...loyal Hansi.”

Anne’s grip seemed to tighten around the rope she held, her gaze fixed on William before her. James turned to her and Elizabeth with a lopsided smile.

“Such good girls,” he purred. “I ought to reward you; what are you thinking? Perhaps you would like the greatest gift of all, the divine touch of an Overlifer such as I...” He ran his tail under Anne’s chin, lifting her head up, but she pushed it away, shaking her head rapidly.

“Money would do just fine,” she said.

“Are you sure? I can make you-”

“I’m very sure. Both of us.”

James glanced uneasily at Mary, then flicked his tail at Anne. “Your loss, ladies. One last thing— take our prisoner to one of the smaller arenas outside of the city, with Mr. Spencer, and make absolutely certain that he does not escape.”

“We can’t leave him here?” Anne asked.

“Fuck no, that’s like rescuing, say, a wounded bear, and bringing it into your house just for it to tear you apart later.” James shook his head firmly. “I’ll look at him tomorrow. We have a great trial planned for you, William, you hear that?”

“Trial?” Mary said. “For what? We know everything he’s done, don’t we? Nothing is going to stop us from killing him.” At these words, William curled his tail in closer, and Mary wondered then if this was the last glimpse she would catch of him before his executions. It was a cruel wish of hers, but she wanted to say goodbye, at least, thank you for the hope but I didn’t need it anyway.

“It’s more of a ceremony than anything.” James shrugged. “It’s new for everyone here, nobody has seen an Overlifer’s execution before, like how they used to do it in our oldest days.” He lifted his tail at Anne, who stepped off of William and pulled him back up to a sitting position. James then took William’s chin in his hand, wiping at the drool from underneath the gag. “Tomorrow I’ll set things right with you. Tomorrow.” He pushed William’s head back, spitting down onto his face, and the Disciples laughed as James walked back over to them.

“If he escapes,” he went on, staring at the Villiers sisters, “after all this, I will seriously fucking kill you.”

As soon as he was gone, Mary cleaned William’s face up with her sleeve. “Alright, keep a close eye on him. Knock him out if you have to.” She drew back when William tried to twine his tail around her leg.

“He’s perfectly safe with us,” Elizabeth said, patting William on the head. “Besides, I’m sure he has enough of a concussion from the beating Anne gave him.”

“What? Anne did it?”

“He deserved it,” Anne muttered, looking away. “He’s no better than your father.”

“He’s far worse than him, actually,” Elizabeth said with a pointed look at her sister. “Alright, William, let’s go!” She tugged at the rope in a manner not unlike that of a loving master to their dog, but William did not stand, instead jerked his head from side to side, pulling himself towards Mary.

Oh, William. Mary turned away, began walking up the stairs to her room. “Just go with them,” she called. Deepening her voice and thickening her accent, she added, “Tomorrow I’ll set things right with you.” She heard laughter behind her from the sisters, and smiled to herself as she went into her room, collapsing on the bed.

Her followers had been expecting a stream tonight. She knew some of the younger ones would be worried about her, and she’d seen enough theories about her role in her father’s supposed terrorist group (which, impressively, were all correct) to know that there would be speculation about this if she didn’t apologize and come up with an excuse in some hasty post. But she couldn’t even bring herself to do that. Despite all the noise downstairs, she fell asleep.

It was the sound of her door opening that woke her up later that night, or rather in the earliest hours of the morning. She noticed that everything had fallen nearly silent now, the only sound being the footsteps approaching her. She looked up, saw that it was only Maria.

“What happened?” she whispered.

“Nothing.” Maria looked around the room with wide eyes as she closed the door and sat down beside Mary. “Marly’s just taken my place on the bed again, and I’m not listening to that. Do you mind if I- if I sleep here, with you?”

Mary shrugged. “I don’t mind.” She stared up at the ceiling as Maria got under the blankets next to her, wrapping an arm and her tail around her. The embrace was as warm and protective as it had been when she was younger, and she leaned into it, giggling when Maria pushed strands of hair away from her face.

“I heard about William,” Maria said.

“It’s great, isn’t it?”

“Do you think it is?”

Mary turned away. “I guess I’m supposed to.”

“Right.” The two were silent for a while, long enough that Mary thought Maria had fallen asleep, until she spoke up again. “There’s more devils in here than usual.”

“Oh, yeah?” Mary was too tired to pull Maria away from her tormented little world tonight. Sometimes it was fun to play along with the delusions, the hallucinations, though James never saw the sense in encouraging it.

“Yes.” Maria shuffled closer to Mary, glaring out at some unseen enemy in the darkness. “I don’t know why they’re so angry at you tonight. They’re usually very quiet here.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “I’ll protect you, alright?”

“You sure will.”

“I’m sorry I can’t do more.”

“You’ve done enough.” Mary smiled over at her. “I don’t trust anybody else with the devils. Go get them, girl.”

Maria smiled back, but in the way that Mary knew meant she saw right through the supposed sincerity and found amusement instead. She was tired of it; well, so was Mary. Her stepmother turned away with a sigh, and Mary let her hand fall from the bed, praying for the devils to take it and drag her down to their realm.

🝰🝰🝰

The sun glared through a hole in the wooden roof, on occasion blinking down at William when a wispy cloud passed over it. He only knew this because the light over his closed eyes would go away for a moment, and then he’d open one eye and it’d be just a little darker where he sat.

His body felt much too stiff now, and every little movement from where his hands were tied, high above him on a pole, sent an angry spark down to his shoulders, his back, all the way to the base of his tail. It was coiled around the same pole, tied higher than even his hands so that the tip dangled just over his head. He wanted to look down, shoot daggers with his eyes at all the Disciples here, but in the position his head was forced up in, the only thing he could see was the sun, on his knees before it like a servant of the Southern Kingdom.

Fucking Anne. It was all he could think in the midst of what might have been delirium or some kind of fever. He felt sweat fall from his hair to his neck, and yet he was freezing, his spine pressed against the cold metal behind him. Having stared at the sky since last night, he thought he was perhaps still caught in a dream.

Damned Villiers girl. Fucking Anne. Fucking Hansi.

Ooh, that was new. Was he seriously going to be mad at Bentinck?

Yes, he decided. In fact, for all he knew his Ally had betrayed him, whether he had intended to or not. He couldn’t believe that of Bentinck, but when he shut his eyes again, all he saw was the way that lovely blue gaze had fixed on Anne. And he knew that Bentinck would die for her, would kill for her.

Was I never enough? I gave you what you wanted. What does she have that’s so much better?

William bit into the gag, hearing his own breaths heavy around it. Bentinck wasn’t stupid. And yet, this was the second time he’d been left behind, left alone so Bentinck could fulfill his private little ambitions with a Disciple he either hated or loved. Did he think William could wait for him to finish?

Bentinck would come for him. He had to, or William would know then that, yes, this was all real, intentional, and that yes, Bentinck was willing to betray everything he’d ever known for one Disciple lover. And he didn’t want to know that.

In the meantime, in his mind he was thinking of all the ways he was going to kill the Villiers girls, but especially Anne for the utter humiliation she had forced him through with the gun. And then he’d get James, and then Mary—

Poor Mary! She had sounded shaken when they brought him in, and he had wanted to stay with her. But, if he remembered correctly what Anne said, it’d been her orders. What did she want from him?

She’ll save me like she did the first time. He’d known, when he was younger, that if there was one thing he would not let his father take from him, it was going to be Bentinck. That was what set him free. And if Mary was anything like him, she would do the same; she would realize that there was no blood family in the world worth losing him for. For all he had shown her, she owed him everything.

He didn’t know why everyone had such a problem with it. This romance shit was easy.

He heard someone yell ahead of him, over the voices of the working Disciples. Out here in the tiny arena, what looked more like an arena for dog fights, all they had been doing was herding dwaallicht spirits back into cages. They would slap spells onto the bars that the spirits would occasionally slip through with enough power, and then the Disciples had to go chasing after them. He saw one run past him out of the corner of his eye, kicking sand up towards him.

“Ugh, I’m sick of doing this shit,” he heard another Disciple say, kicking a spirit back into its cage and throwing it into the truck. “Back at the club, the spirits never escape, and James doesn’t even use any spells!”

“It’s because they’re so scared of him,” one replied. “That’s what I’m thinking. They smell the six lives on him. And it was the same with Charles too, Ferocity rest his soul.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice? So feared and respected you just can’t be bothered?”

“Sounds kind of lonely.”

“We have an Overlifer right here, why don’t we ask him?”

“No, you fools.” It was a deeper voice, speaking with its own streak of authority. “The Villiers ladies said not to take off his gag. They said he had even managed to cast the Louis spell once with no trouble at all.”

“That’s fucked. He can just call up the ruler of the Southern Kingdom at any time, no big deal.”

Yeah, real fucked, isn’t it? William straightened himself up against the pole, and he heard the Disciples gasp as if they expected him to call Louis up with nothing but his fucking eyes.

“I really appreciate it, Mr. Spencer, but I don’t see why James would trust us with, you know, the only other Overlifer in the world,” said the first one that had spoken once they had all seemed to recover from their brief fright. “He’s not going to escape, but like, what if he does?”

“He won’t,” came the self-assured voice again, so-called Mr. Spencer. “We brought him to the very edge of a fine society for a reason. If he slips out, we’ll catch him quickly, like we’ve caught all the spirits.”

Try me. William huffed through the gag.

“Man, I’m bored,” another stranger piped up. “You guys want to call snake’s eye for an eye?”

William froze. They wouldn’t do that here, would they?

Hurry up, Hans! He tugged frantically against the ropes, trying to snap the ones tying his legs down, and a Disciple walked over to him, swinging a cattle prod around on his gleaming red tail. His eyes were not malicious, but curious as he pressed the cattle prod to William’s side.

William jolted, his whole body tensing as the Disciple leaned in, smiling in a sort of disinterested way. It was worse than any smug triumph, but all he could do about it was glare defiantly back at him, biting as hard as he could into the gag to stifle his gasp.

“Boring,” the man remarked, stepping away, and William realized it was Spencer. He let himself fall limp, the tip of his tail twitching furiously as Spencer smiled back at him. “I don’t think he would take very kindly to it.”

“But it’s an Overlifer...”

“When will we ever get a chance like this?”

“Enough,” Spencer snapped, his gaze darkening. “We don’t have James’ permission. If any of you lays a finger on him, I’ll cut it off. Get back to work.”

The Disciples obeyed, grumbling, and William stared at the man in front of him. His dull, pink hair was obscured by a hood of black and red silk, like the ones that Ally servants usually wore, but he didn’t have the rest of the usual attire save for the black gloves. They were, however, marked with red pierced mullets all along his arm, meaning that at the very least he was some sort of spirit handler. His horns were striped in the usual Eastern, black-and-white manner, decorated with rings and chains dangling between them.

“Don’t mind if I smoke, do you?” Spencer asked, lighting his cigarette and taking a drag from it with the smile back on his face. “Heard you have asthma, among other things. This fresh air must be nice, hm?” He brushed his tail against William’s cheek. “My name’s Robert, but dwaallicht spirits call me Master Spencer.”

Oh, great. William winced, trying to shift his head away from the tail.

“James will be here for you before it’s dark,” Spencer went on. “I have no idea what he plans to do to you. He still has us torture people for information, but...” He rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell anyone, I just think he wants to do it for fun. It doesn’t work, does it? I mean, it never has for me. Anyway, just be aware you might not be coming out of here in one piece.”

As if he hadn’t already guessed!

The sun was setting when the Disciples began to leave, leaving only Spencer behind. By then William’s breaths were coming out in raspy gasps, and the aching all over his body had faded into the background, though he knew it would return with a vengeance once he was free. More than anything, though, he was bored, and only found entertainment in all the ways he was imagining he was going to yell at Bentinck.

Spencer stepped out of the arena, his gaze fixed on something beyond William. The Overlifer was still for a moment before realizing he was alone here, and he began to toss his head back, trying to use his horns to rip through the ropes. All the while he pulled down on the ropes binding his wrists above him. It burned, and he paused for a moment before feeling the cattle prod shock his tail.

“Ah—!” His eyes widened, and then Spencer was walking around him, flanked by James and Mary.

Mary! William tried to pull his head down to look at her. She stepped behind James, who smiled down at him.

“Finally got a noise out of you,” Spencer said with a shrug. “We’re getting there.”

“It’ll be much more than that when I’m done with him,” James said. “Leave us, Spencer.” His vassal having obeyed him, he walked over to William, his horns blocking the sky above them. “Good afternoon, William. How are you today?” He reached down to stroke William’s horn. “Please don’t be so upset about this. You already know that you should have never been born. I’m sure you heard it many times when you were young, but it only holds more truth now. You were never meant to lead the Devils of Orange-Nassau, and you were never meant to challenge me.” He shook his head with a chuckle. “And now, your fate is to die. Your father really was a fool, but then, so was your mother, for not strangling you before you even took your first breath.” He lashed his tail, and Mary stepped forward, slicing the ropes from William’s wrists and tail and shoving him to the ground.

Now, get up! Fight! But as William lifted his head, his body seemed to lock in place, burning with every breath he took. More than that, he was dizzy with both hunger and a headache, and he let his head fall. Here was a chance to escape, but, miserably, he knew he couldn’t take it.

“Fucking weak,” James spat. “Look at me, up here. Look at me.”

William kept his gaze on the ground, and he was met with James’ foot slamming down on his horn, forcing his head on its side. He tried to kick out as Mary stepped onto his tail and began to tie his hands behind him again. He glared up at the grinning figure standing over him.

“Charles and I saved you, you ungrateful little brat,” James said coldly. “And all we asked was that you never receive your six lives. I truly thought for the longest time after your father died that you still had some sense of honor, that you respected the promise you made to your mother. For that I still held some respect for you, for still fighting me despite knowing that you had only one life to lose.”

You never respected me. William tried to wrench his head free. Certainly, he had made that promise, but it was in the midst of a delusion, a frantic hope, on a day when he thought he was destined to be anything less than an Overlifer. He hadn’t expected James to think he would actually keep it. Even back then, sitting in the car with tears in his eyes, he hadn’t believed it of himself.

“Maybe I would have taken you in,” James went on. “Maybe I could have loved you. Your mother meant a great deal to me, more than even a sister— I would have proudly helped her with her child after all we had been through together. But it was you your father came for; he shot Mary because he had you.”

No. He never cared for me. William’s eyes widened as James leaned in. There was a frightening expression on his face, a hungry enthusiasm he remembered from that horrible night, the last night his mother was alive. When they had fled to James and Charles in the hopes that they could finally escape William’s father. Knowing they would only make him angrier and still going anyway.

“It was you who killed her,” James said, lifting William by his shirt collar and pulling him up. “I still see her in your eyes, the way she would glare at me when she would tell me she wished I was better. The way she looked at me before telling me she was getting married to a man who had raped her just to create you!”

William stared back in horror. How could he bring that up now?

James smiled back at him. “Even before your birth, all you did was hurt her. I know she loved you, and even if I can’t fathom why, I will kill you and fulfill what she would have wanted.” He leaned in to whisper. “She would rather see you dead than fighting me. She was an Easterner, through and through, and only realized her mistake when your father murdered her.”

“No!” he cried out through the gag, and James laughed, throwing him back down on the sand. A shudder ran through William’s body as he landed, his tail twisting inwards in pain.

“Her last words to you made that much clear,” James said. “You know, I can never get that out of my head. How she looked at me, and then at you...a scared little boy...poor little one.” He kicked William in the side, and William clenched his fists so hard that he felt his nails begin to draw blood from his palm.

Her last words. He didn’t remember them. He knew he had heard, and yet the moment he saw her bleeding out in James’ arms, his father staring ahead with those empty eyes of his...all of it had faded. He forgot how to speak, how to understand.

“She was right.” James knelt down to pull William’s head up by his hair. “It should have been you.”

So that was what she had used her dying breath for. To tell him that she wished he was in her place.

He had called her traitor all this time, traitor for trying to escape; he couldn’t say that now. He glowered at James, trying to blink back his tears that came as if he had just lost her all over again.

“Crying already?” James shoved him back and stood up again. “It isn’t even your trial yet. Pathetic.”

William lifted his head defiantly. Behind James, he saw Mary staring in silence. Staring at him. It might have been with pity or horror or both, something so kind as that. And he had no idea why; for all he knew, she had it far worse with someone like the monster before him.

“Well, I hope your father taught you a little something about defeat,” James said. “It’ll pay off now.” He shrugged his shoulders back and smiled. “I look upon you with the eyes of a serpent.”

No! William shuffled back in terror, only allowed to shake his head to express his refusal. In the back of his mind, he realized he had been waiting for this moment with the heaviest dread; he could not let it happen again. Not to him.

He fought desperately against the ropes, holding his tail out towards James to keep him away. He heard his rival laugh above him, and he looked up at Mary as if she could stop him. He knew she couldn’t.

But James merely shook his head, still laughing. “Oh, William. You think I’m serious?” He narrowed his eyes. “I’d rather die than touch you. That’s an honor you don’t even deserve.”

Good, because it’s an honor I don’t want. William brought his head down, trying not to let the terror show on his face. He wasn’t afraid. He couldn’t be, James was leaving him alone. It was fine.

So why was he shaking?

“Spencer,” James called, looking away. “I’m done with him. Do what you like.” He flicked his tail dismissively down at William. “I’m excited to hear much more from you at the trial, and then the execution. Maybe the first one won’t be so much to you, but you can only die so many times before it starts driving you mad.”

“That’s what it did to Charles,” Mary said, and James nodded.

“That was just his problem,” he said. He glanced back at William one last time before walking away, motioning with his tail for Mary to follow him. But she merely watched him go, sitting down beside William as soon as he was gone.

“Don’t say anything crazy,” she said, reaching behind his head to take off the gag. “William.”

“Mary,” he breathed, licking at his lips. He hadn’t realized he’d been drooling so much. He shut his mouth, swallowing gratefully, finding that he had nothing to say after all. He just wanted to sleep.

“I- I had no idea he was going to do any of that,” Mary said. She looked around before leaning in to push the hair from his face. “I don’t know anything about what he just said!”

“It’s nothing...”

“Well, it has to be something!” She helped him sit up, drawing back as if in fear before kissing him. William winced but returned the kiss.

“What are you going to do about all of this?” he asked as he pulled away. “You’re going to have to kill your father.”

“What?” Mary stared blankly at him, and he coughed.

“I mean, that’s what I did. When he threatened to kill Bentinck...” He trailed off, realizing Mary was glaring at him.

“You killed your father?” she said. “By all the stars, William, that’s- I’m not doing that just to save you!”

“What are you talking about? Aren’t I worth more than an abusive piece of shit who-”

“He’s not abusive!” Mary cried. “Devils below, you sound like Anne! Both of them! He- he loves me, and I’m sorry if your parents didn’t, but not everyone is like that.”

“My mother did love me. She was just afraid.”

“Really? Wishing you were dead was love?”

“She thought it was better than the way I lived,” he let out in a rush. He had never said it before, not even to himself nor in his head, as if he had never realized it, but he knew now. “She was wrong, but she didn’t say it because she hated me.” He lowered his voice and looked down as Mary reached out to hold his face. “If- if she did hate me, though...I would not— blame her.” He gasped, realizing he was crying, and Mary wrapped her arms around him.

“Mary, look,” William began, shifting back. “I- I lived through all of that, and I’m here now, where I’ve always wanted to be. You’re already older than I was when I killed my father.”

“Don’t start with this again,” Mary warned.

“I couldn’t have imagined it, either,” he said. “I didn’t have anyone to save me, but you- you have me.”

Well, there was always de Witt. But that was someone no one could ever know about. He swallowed at the memory of the execution and tried to smile at Mary, who now looked at him with disgust.

“You think you’re my savior?”

“I just want to help,” he insisted. “I think everyday of living under my father, and how you live, and I- I hate to imagine it. Mary, you need to get out, I don’t want to have to fight you—”

“Oh, so you just want to eliminate an enemy, is that it?” She only gave him a sad smile this time. “What gave you the right to stay, then?”

“I- I had to lead them—”

“So you don’t think I’ll take over the Disciples after my father dies?” she asked. “Fine, I don’t either. But I love him, and he loves me, and I intend to serve him until the day I die. I’m going to finish what you never could.” She stood over him, and as he looked up at her, his breath caught painfully in his throat.

Ferocity help me!

“I’m going to fulfill my father’s destiny,” she said. “Not rip it away from him. And if that means you have to die, then so be it. I’m sorry, William, I’m really glad I met you.” She smiled at him, her eyes glistening under the rising moon. “I think so, anyway. You and I— did you ever think it was anything worth fighting for? I killed you.”

“You’re not going to save me?”

“You will be saved.” Mary stepped away. “Goodbye. I’ll try to keep an eye on Bentinck for you after you’re dead.”

No! William wanted to call out, but he didn’t want to bring James here; that would only give her trouble. So he watched her go, still searching for something to say, anything that would convince her, before Spencer stepped out under the darkness.

“I feel like I heard more of that than I was supposed to,” he said, and William’s eyes widened.

“Don’t you dare tell her father, you-” He was cut off when Spencer pushed the gag back in his mouth.

“No, no, don’t worry about it,” he said. “I won’t. I have my own secrets.” He laughed in a sort of dismissive, exhausted way as he knelt down to pull the ropes off of William’s legs. “We all do here. If Mary wants to leave, fine by me.”

William was brought inside into the barn full of screeching, hissing spirits. Some of the more humanoid ones were covering their ears, but perked them up when they saw William pass by.

As uncomfortable as it was to lie on the hay in one of the larger cells, where many smaller spirits were sleeping, he greatly preferred it to staying outside in that arena, stinking of blood and death without dignity. He only wished he was untied so he could stretch out; the pain was all the same.

“Try to sleep,” Spencer said, hopping on top of one of the cages. “You’ll want to be wide awake for your trial tomorrow.”

🝰🝰🝰

“My lord, are you in there?” A servant knocked on the door. “It’s almost time and you’re not even downstairs. Do you need help?”

Bentinck groaned and lifted his head from his hands. He might have needed help doing his makeup again, now that he was looking into the mirror, but he couldn’t let anyone see him like this. Then they might ask why, and then he had to explain that he’d just lost the only two people in the world who mattered.

“No,” he said. “I’ll be out in a second, hold off the visitors for a little while.”

“If you say so...” He heard the servant step away, leaving nothing but the sound of rippling water to soothe him. He closed his eyes.

He was fine. He was fine, of course, at least his head was, though everyone had thought it was such a horrible shock that one of their beloved Allies was injured, which was the dumbest, fakest thing he’d ever seen. Only Govert Bidloo, William’s ridiculous doctor and spy, had brushed off his injuries, saying he’d be fine the next day, like always— and, much to Bentinck’s annoyance, he was right.

If anything, he had asked more for William, who was definitively not fine. Bentinck had hesitated to tell him, knowing very well how Bidloo would react.

“You left him alone with a Disciple?!”

“Well, I was alone with one too-”

“Both of you, idiots! Unbelievable! I can’t believe this is the man destined to rule the world!”

“I’m going to go get him, and then I’m going to kill those Villiers girls.”

“Oh, that would be very nice, our facility really needs new bodies.”

It had offended him in the moment, but the way Bidloo was speaking to him made him feel something of a whipped dog; he had no inclination to defend William in front of him. For the longest time Bidloo had been the only one able to speak that way about their leader, and no one had said anything about it.

The worst thing was that, once again, he was right. What an idiot Bentinck had been! To believe that these Disciples had ever had anything beyond James on their mind, to ever dare to love one— it was worse than treason! He knew William would forgive him, as in all things, but it was more than he deserved.

And now he had to go save him, killing as many of those damned Disciples as he could on the way there. If he could, he’d kill James and Marly, the arrogant snakes, but it was Elizabeth he was looking forward to strangling the life out of. Treacherous viper!

Then there was Anne, whom he couldn’t do anything to.

He knew she had loved him. It hadn’t been enough, apparently, but she had loved him, of that he had no doubt. And he had loved her too; no, he did love her, despite all the attempts he had made to hate her now, to try to think of how furious William must be and all the things James was doing to him.

What she’d done was unforgivable, and here he was, trying to fix his makeup and go meet his followers, all while realizing that he couldn’t kill the Disciple who had done this. It was pathetic, it was betrayal.

“Ferocity,” he breathed out, stumbling back into the little stream of water in his room. The heat had never made him dizzy, but today it did, and he sat down in the water, looking down at his reflection, blotted out by the dim lights over his head.

There was yet another knock on the door, and Bentinck clenched his teeth. “I’ll be right down there!” he yelled.

“Well, your thoughts are very loud, could you perhaps quiet them down a little?” came the voice.

Ally George! Bentinck swallowed, forcing himself to think of nothing but the water flowing past his fingers. He only realized he hadn’t answered when George opened the door, looking around the room in wonder.

“Oh, it’s beautiful in here,” he said. He walked over to push aside the vines and flowers falling from the walls, examining the posters of old brand deals and photoshoots hidden under them. “Ooh, that one’s pretty— oh, alright, that’s nudity- um-” He stepped away, glancing at himself in the vanity mirror, before stopping beside the flowing stream, running his fingers through the small waterfall spilling over the wall. “Wow. It looks so much nicer in your room.”

“Thank you,” Bentinck said. “Can you leave now, please?”

“You sound very troubled,” George said sympathetically. “I love a Disciple too, you know. Her name is Anne, but this one’s Stewart, not Villiers.”

“I believe I noticed when you first came here,” Bentinck said, sitting back up on the ground. “How much did you hear?” Nosy bitch, he added silently, at which George made a visible effort to ignore.

“I’ve only been up here for a few minutes,” he said. “But when you’re sitting by the waterfall, it dims it a little. I couldn’t hear it from where I was, but the water seems to quiet you down, doesn’t it?”

“I guess.” Bentinck shifted uncomfortably. He’d never thought of it that way.

“So, James has your master? William?”

“Um—”

“Anne told me about it yesterday!” George said, his eyes brightening. “Oh, it sounds like they’re going to have a lot of fun over there. I mean, not fun for William,” he added apologetically, “nor very fun for your Anne, if her love for you is real.”

“It’s real!” Bentinck insisted.

“I don’t doubt it, but it’s hard to tell just through your thoughts,” George said. He shrugged. “I mean, loyalty to the Disciples is a very difficult thing, from what I hear. No one there is happy anymore, not under James— some never were happy. But you stay anyway, you know? It’s so hard to walk away.”

“I would have run from James a long time ago,” Bentinck said, finally letting all his thoughts back out into the open. Everything he tried to hide, he was sure George knew, either through James’ daughter or Marly or through his own observations. And out of everyone who could have had this power, perhaps George was the best choice, after all.

He’s not...technically an enemy. Bentinck sighed.

“No,” George said. “I could never be a Disciple, after everything James has done to Anne.” He leaned in and smiled down at Bentinck. “See, maybe you could run from them. But could you run from William?”

“Of course not, he’s my friend.” Bentinck shook his head, glared back up at George. “How many times do I have to say it to people? He’s not like James!”

“And if he were?”

“Then I wouldn’t love him like I do. It’s not that hard.” He rolled his eyes.

“It’s very easy to say you would leave,” George said. “But you didn’t grow up there. You didn’t see James as a younger man, you didn’t see the lengths he went to protect his daughters, you didn’t hear the promises he made to Marly and Maria. You didn’t hear the promises he made to everybody.”

“You think I don’t know how a cult works?” Bentinck asked.

“One would expect a better understanding from someone who’s in one.”

“The law may say we’re a cult,” Bentinck said, standing up again, “but we know what we really are. We are the protectors of the new faith, a new world that we’ll bring forth when all of you Allies are dead and the Disciples are defeated.” He stepped towards George, who backed away, his eyes widening. “You’d do well to remember that.”

“Yes- yes, very- ah, very well,” George stammered. “But you can’t say any of this is-”

“What? Is what?”

“I’ve looked deep into the minds of both Disciple and Devil.” He shook his head helplessly. “I don’t know how any of you can think like this. I don’t know how you can call yourselves good.”

“Must look that way to an outsider,” Bentinck said, watching with satisfaction as George seemed to melt back into the wall. “But James is the only true evil here.”

“Yes.” George swallowed. “Yes, he is.”

“I’m glad we can agree on that.” Bentinck turned away, splashing George with a flick of his fingers through the waterfall. “Maybe we can agree on something else.”

“Please don’t finish that thought.”

“We’ve both lost someone to James.”

“Anne isn’t dead.”

“Not yet, but-”

“Oh.” George’s eyes widened. “Your father.”

What? Bentinck looked at him with bewilderment before realizing who he’d been thinking about mere seconds before, the face that had come to his mind before he’d even known it.

No, it’s not him! That was a long time ago! But the images came anyway.

The flick of a blade in the air, a raised tail, horns gleaming with blood—

There’s so much of it.

A hand running through his hair—

It was all his fault.

Lies woven through promises, told through endlessly black eyes.

Stop listening- I know you’re there— ENOUGH!

George flinched back, and Bentinck looked to the waterfall, focusing on the sound until he thought the blood on his hands had washed away with the water.

“You’re right,” George said gently. “It was a long time ago. I’m sorry.”

“James can’t take William too.” Bentinck thought of nothing but his tongue forming the words. He would not lose William; he wouldn’t even dare imagine it.

“Truly, I would help you if I could. But I can’t say I condemn what James does and then turn around and align myself with William.” At the corner of his vision, George smiled. “I’m only here for Anne, no one else.” Bentinck heard him open the door. “You should probably go down there. Your followers are waiting for you.”

Damn them all, Bentinck wanted to say. Damn them if Anne is not among them any longer.

🝰🝰🝰

Mary wagged a finger at the camera as she spoke, addressing the thirty thousand people watching her. Sometimes, it was hard to love her followers, knowing that many would die when James ruled the nation, and that she deceived them, but having smoked enough tonight from her glass pipe, right now she loved them all equally. And she knew she meant more to them than any Ally. Whatever she said, they would respect her and listen, and slowly, they would find themselves under the world of the Disciples without even realizing.

That’s how we make them ours, James.

“Let me tell you something before I go, chat,” she said, leaning back on her chair. Glancing at the window, she saw that James was getting into one of his cars with Maria at his side, the sun setting over them. There was a strange pang in her chest as she watched them go, but it was only for a second, and then she was smiling back at the screen.

“I worry about the state of Altos Diablos, honestly. I don’t really like to talk about politics on stream, but you hear about the bombings and the assassination attempts...” She sighed at the thought, at how often she’d been at the heart of them. “And you just wonder, will it ever be safe? Grand Cabaret is becoming more and more openly hostile, and it’s looking like it might be war. Real war. And we haven’t had real war on this planet for a very long time.”

She flicked her eyes to the chat. Good, it was working; many said the same thing. A war was coming.

“Alright, I’ll be clear, then.” Now that I have you.

She leaned in from her chair, pushing the stuffed tigers and rabbits and wolves to the side, all of them gifts from either her fans or her father. Her followers adored them, had even helped name them, but there was no room for them now. “I don’t think it’s heresy to criticize our government,” she began. “Allies are chosen to lead us, so why is Master Lucky proving again and again that the devils might have been wrong?”

Yes, yes, yes, this was it— much of her chat was confused, but one by one they began to tentatively agree. She didn’t care if they said it just to please her, it did please her!

“Some Allies are better suited to other things with their fame,” she said. “For example, we would never say Ally Marly is qualified to lead us, right? Just because he’s an Ally?”

Devils below, can you imagine, she saw one message say as it flashed by, and she laughed.

“No, no, it’s unimaginable,” she said. “Lucky should have stuck with his position in the army. Such a military-minded man can’t lead a nation wanting peace! Here’s my idea!” She slammed her hand down on the table. “We get the devils back in charge! Bring back the Four Kingdoms! Summon them like the ancients used to do, get them to solve our problems for us! You know, I hear good things about the Hanoverian devils of the Eastern Kingdom.”

Are you okay? asked a donation as it popped up on the screen.

“Me? I’m great! Why would you ever ask that?” Mary shook her head in disbelief. “I mean, you know, I shouldn’t even answer! That’s not for you to know! I’m perfectly fine!”

They’re going to make you apologize for this later, said another subscriber.

“What? Who the fuck is they? The Allies? The devils?” Mary narrowed her eyes. “You guys? ‘Cause I’m not taking any of this back. Just because my daddy’s controversial doesn’t mean I have to be!” She groaned and leaned back against her chair again, pushing her hair from her face. She was sweating, she realized, and the pounding of her heart was agitating her.

“Just think about what I’m saying!” she yelled as she sat up. “It’s not radical to say the devils would do better! Because they would!”

Now they were getting worried; she was losing them. Some of them liked to see when she was high on stream, others not so much. It seemed like there were a lot of the “not so much” crowd here tonight.

“You’re all going to see one day, and you’ll be grateful for it,” she said. “Good night! I’ll be live later this week, maybe on Friday. Pretend this never happened.” With that, she ended the stream and started to laugh, picking up one of the wolves that had fallen to the floor. She held it close and laughed even harder.

It’s not long now, not long at all. James would fix everything. All the kids who had watched her when she started five years ago were now nearly adults, forming their own opinions of the world around them— and some of them would turn to her father for answers.

It was all going as he had intended. And who could ever suspect her, he liked to say.

“They love you more than I do.”

“By all the stars, Mary, what the fuck are you doing in there?” Her sister’s voice came from outside the door. “Are you high again?”

Mary nodded but didn’t answer. She spun herself around on her chair, humming as she pet the wolf.

“Damnit, Mary,” she heard Anne say. “Hurry up, I need to talk to you about something. Quickly, now that James isn’t here!”

“Ugh, fine, what is it?”

Anne opened the door, and Mary tossed the wolf at her face. Anne caught it rather clumsily, setting it back on the desk and walking over to lean against the window. Her tail closed the blinds behind her.

“You shouldn’t get high in front of so many people,” she said, glowering over at Mary as she searched through the files on her computer. “Are you listening? It’s already caused enough of a scandal!”

“And I’ll have you remember that that’s what got me so many followers,” Mary said, fanning herself playfully. “What do you want, anyway? You never come here. If you wanted to join in on the stream, it’s too late, and if you want drugs, you have to wait for James—”

“I don’t care about your stream or your crack, or whatever it was this time,” Anne snapped. “It’s about Monmouth.”

“Oh.” Mary laughed without meaning to. There was sickness at the back of her throat. “Pretty good fight, huh?”

“No,” Anne said, raising an eyebrow. “Not at all. I don’t care about the fight. I mean, I do, but-” She paused, making an effort to swallow. “But it’s over now. Monmouth is dead, our last hope is- he’s dead.”

“Last hope?” Mary shook her head. “That’s James. They may have the same name, but don’t confuse them with each other. Now that’s just insulting.”

“Our last hope to escape James, I mean!” Anne cried. “I wouldn’t want to see Monmouth rule either, but at least he wouldn’t have kept us here.”

“Escape?” Mary looked over at her, bewildered. “Come on, Anne, why on earth would you want to escape? We’re happy here! We’re safe! We’re going to inherit the world when James dies, and we’ll lead everyone to peace and prosperity, and they’re going to love us— we’ll be their saviors.” She waved her hand about as she spoke. “Isn’t that what you always wanted?”

“I’ve never said I wanted that. And neither have you.” Anne flicked her tail dismissively. “Besides, you don’t just make people love you. You have to earn it. And you’ve done very little to earn it from this nation.”

“They’ll be grateful when they realize,” Mary murmured. She lifted her nails to her lips and nipped absently at them, staring up at the ceiling. “I mean, it sounds nice, doesn’t it?”

“No,” Anne said. “Ruling by fear?”

“No one’s afraid of us.”

“They should fear you.”

“Me?” Mary let out a shaky sigh. “They have nothing to fear from the Disciples as long as they obey.”

“And it’s the same with us,” Anne said. Her eyes were bright in the gathering darkness. “James is fine until he isn’t. You want to call living with him safe? You want to say we’re happy?”

“I’m very happy,” Mary said. She was drawing blood from her nails now; it hurt so bad.

“Mary, quit doing that,” Anne said, walking back over to her. “I know we- we have a destiny. But it could have been fulfilled without everything James has done to us. It could have been fulfilled without fear and pain.”

“No,” Mary breathed out. “Never. It was all necessary. Every drop of blood.”

“Even Charles?” Anne lashed her tail with frustration. “Don’t you see where this religious war got us? We’re losing people, everyone is losing people—”

“Charles was the most necessary death of all.”

“What? Yeah, maybe- maybe to you.” Anne stepped back as Mary stood up. “You’ve always wanted to see James in power.” She hesitated before adding, “He killed him, Mary. James killed his brother. You and I, we’ve always known it.”

“Oh, have we?” Mary laughed. “Why does everyone always say that?”

“Because it’s true. You know it is.”

“Maybe,” she said, glancing to the side towards the drawers under her desk. “But no one knows him like I do. Killing is a great thrill to him, but it all changes when you bring his brother into the equation. Of course he wanted Charles dead. He’d lost his mind, Anne, do you remember that? And he wasn’t even that old! Well, as it was, James saw that the Disciples needed a stronger leader, right? Someone more certain in where their destiny lay.”

“So he killed him,” Anne said. “We all know how it ends.”

“No, no, no, no!” Mary said, clapping her hands. “No, this is where it gets better. He loved Charles, you see. He always did! I mean, I can never understand that— if I had to kill you, I would.”

“What?”

“No, there’s no time!” Mary went on. “What was I saying? Ah, yes, I mean, no. James did not kill Charles! But he did tell me, one lovely night, that he was worried for his brother and for the Disciples. He told me he was so very, very concerned, that something had to pass...”

“He told you about this?” Anne’s eyes widened.

“Oh, he didn’t just tell me. He gave me one fascinating order, just one, but by far the greatest I have ever received—”

“You killed him.”

Mary nodded ruefully. “Should have seen the look on his face. Poor thing.”

“Mary, you-” Anne raised her voice. “You killed him—!”

“Yes. So, you know, in the end, I guess James and I did betray him.” Mary opened a drawer and dug through the tangled wires. “It was out of love, or whatever you want the excuse to be today.”

“You’re heartless,” Anne whispered. “Did you see the state of his body?”

“Of course I did, I’m the one who left it like that.” Mary found what she was looking for and turned to Anne. “So what now?”

“What now?”

“Well, you know, James kind of told me to...kill anyone who found out?” Mary pulled one of her knives out from the wires, twisting it in her fingers and lifting it up towards Anne. “I’m terribly sorry, I don’t know why I told you any of this. I guess I thought it would be kind of funny, but now you have to die, so...not really.”

“You’re going to kill me?” Anne stumbled back, holding her hand out defensively. “Right now?”

“Yeah, when else do you want me to do it? When I’m sober?” With that, Mary lunged at Anne, shoving her back against the wall and raising the knife over her head.

Anne gasped and caught Mary’s hand by the wrist, lifting a leg to kick her in the stomach. Mary grunted sharply and fell back, and Anne tossed her head back as hard as she could, her horns shattering the window behind her.

“Fuck, you’re paying for that!” Mary shouted. Frantically, as Anne ducked out of the window, Mary drove the knife forward, managing to pin the tip of Anne’s tail to the wall. She heard the scream come from outside at the same time she heard a snap, and then she was staring at nothing but broken glass and the fluffy, decorated tip of her sister’s tail.

She’ll bleed out! Mary pulled the knife out and thoughtlessly followed Anne through the window, letting out a yelp as she landed hard on her feet, pausing to catch her breath. She saw Anne’s tail disappear through the trees ahead, and Mary ran after her. She hadn’t expected to kill someone today, but she wasn’t complaining.

She wasn’t tired yet, simply winded; she thought she could run forever. Anne certainly couldn’t, Mary thought as she advanced on the lashing tail. 

Just as it came within reach, as her fingers brushed the bloody fur, her foot halted under her, running into what might have been a branch or a lifted root. She let out a cry as she fell forward, managing to catch herself before she landed on her face.

By the stars. She propped herself up against the tree behind her, realizing how loud she was panting. It was the only thing breaking the silence here; sometimes it would be the screams of James’ prisoners, but no one would ever find them here. Anne had already disappeared.

“Oh,” Mary gasped, lifting her head to the sky. She had almost caught up. And then what?

Even if I loved you once...

Of course, she should have guessed. James hadn’t been able to kill Charles, either.

🝰🝰🝰

He was woken by Spencer after a fitful night of sleep, a boot’s heel slamming into the tip of his tail. He bit into the gag and hissed like he had when he was a child, but Spencer wasn’t fazed. He took hold of one of William’s horns and lifted his aching head up, tying a blindfold over his eyes, and then tugged at the rope around William’s wrists, forcing him to stand.

He was pushed back onto a wooden stool, where Spencer tilted his head up with the slightest of touches. He felt something fitted around his neck— a collar. It was made of leather, William could tell. It seemed to tighten around his neck when something was clipped onto it from the front, a chain judging by the rattling sound.

“That will do very well,” Spencer murmured as he pushed the hair out from under the collar, brushing it back with what might have been a comb.

There was the sound of something else clicking and jingling, and William realized there were horn bands being clipped around his horns, the gold chains and assorted gems being spread between them. Then he heard something like scraping above him, his head being jerked back. His horns were being trimmed, but to what extent, he could not guess.

He felt the chain go taut, forcing his head to tilt slightly upwards. The gag was slipped out of his mouth, and he let out a relieved gasp, taking deep breaths.

“What- what’s all this for?” he asked.

There was silence on Spencer’s end save for footsteps heard a distance away. William lashed his tail indignantly. “You do not get to ignore an Overlifer. Is this for the trial?”

“I don’t like it when dogs bark senselessly at me,” Spencer said, his voice coming closer. “Open.”

“For what?”

He was met with a backhanded slap to the face. He stumbled to the side, nearly falling off the stool if it weren’t for Spencer pulling him back up by the chain. The sting became a burn when he felt a gloved hand cup around his cheek, the thumb forcing itself past his lips. William huffed and bit down as hard as he could.

“Fuck—!” Spencer sprung back. “See, this is the thing about all Western spirits. They all bite.”

“Call me a spirit again and it’ll be your throat next,” William growled.

Again, Spencer did not answer. Instead, he felt fingers dig into his hair, pulling him out of the stool and then slamming his face against the wall. William’s teeth came down on his tongue, and as he stumbled back he tasted blood over his lips as well, falling from his nose. He thought he could have fainted. The hanging gems rattled by his ears.

“Oh, James isn’t going to like that look,” Spencer said, the wince evident from his tone. “But I have a feeling the hot stick wouldn’t have worked on you, anyway. Will you behave now?”

“You- you really think—”

William was cut off by his tail being suddenly twisted at the base, where the sharp bend was. He let out a fierce hiss through clenched teeth, and Spencer’s free hand came around his neck, pinning his head back on the Disciple’s shoulder.

“We cannot have a trial and execution without obedience and discipline,” Spencer said. “Count the seconds I hold your tail this way or it will only get worse.” As he spoke, he coiled the tail around and around his wrist, and William gasped, kicking fiercely at Spencer’s legs behind him.

“I will kill you myself—!”

“Common, easy threat,” Spencer said. “But a false one. You will not get out of here to kill anyone ever again. Count for me, little one.”

Little one! William tried to think of any spells that would work without any slip of paper, but that was an ability reserved for Allies and his six life. A life that, if all went horribly wrong here, he would reach soon.

He tried to kick again, but Spencer curled his own tail around William’s legs. His breath was warm beside William’s cheek.

“Go on,” he said. “Just count. It’s so easy.”

“Fuck you,” William snapped.

“So it shall be this way,” Spencer said. He brought his hand back up to William’s hair and pushed his body down against the floor. William winced as his chin came down on it, dust rising up beside him.

Not now! He inhaled sharply and coughed, feeling Spencer’s heel on his back as he tried to sit back up on his legs.

He felt his tail bent over something like a ledge, what might have been a cell door. “Same as before,” he heard Spencer say. “Just say it.” He began to press William’s tail down over the ledge with one hand, the other pulling back on the tip.

William coughed again, a shudder running through his body. He would not count, he would not do anything these Disciples told him to do. Yet it was taking a greater and greater effort to keep his mouth shut, whimpers beginning to form along with his wheezes.

No, no, no, don’t make a sound.

He felt something snap at his tail where Spencer was holding it. He bit his lip hard, failing to muffle a shriek, but Spencer did not stop.

“That’s just a few bones,” he said. “There’s more where that came from. I will go until all of this tail is broken, if I have to.”

“One—!” William cried hurriedly. “Two. Three. Four.”

“Very good. Until ten.”

“Five. Six.” Tears came to William’s eyes as Spencer squeezed his fist around the broken bones. “S-Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten, now let go!”

Spencer dropped the tail, and William curled it in with much effort, trying to catch his breath. He was forced up to his knees by the chain on his collar, cutting away yet more air.

“Now,” Spencer said, “that looks good.” There was another gag shoved into his open mouth, but this time his lips did not close around it. It was his bloody tongue hanging out instead, leaving his jaws open, drool forming there relentlessly. The blood was cleaned from his face, his shirt unbuttoned so his saliva would not stain it. At this he turned away with a grunt of displeasure.

There was the sound of a phone ringing, and Spencer dropped back. “Good morning, sir,” William heard him say, “did you sleep well?”

There was a pause, and then Spencer laughed. “I was just asking. Yes, he’s still here.”

Is he talking to James? William tugged at the ropes around his wrists. He tried to push his tail in between the knots, but the force of it would send a sharp pain from the bottom of his spine all the way to his horns. He shuddered and tried to swallow back a groan.

“Yes, I’ve been doing- yes, I know,” Spencer was saying. “But he’s given me quite a challenge, I-” He stopped, then sighed. “Yes, he will be there. I broke his tail, and maybe his nose, too- oh, please—” There was the sound of something whipping the air; an irritated tail, no doubt. “It’ll be difficult to get him to hold still. I’ve just made it easier for you. No, I haven’t- he’s not dead— fine, give me a moment. I’ll be there soon.”

William jerked his head back in the chain, only for it to pull him forward onto the ground. It was in something of a daze that he realized Spencer was pulling his hair again, dragging him outside, the approving hisses of the spirits fading behind him.

Maybe I will die here. It came to him like a thunderbolt. He should have fought like one, but then—

He recognized the motion all over again, the roughness of being shoved into the trunk of a car. He tried to kick out at Spencer, but his movements felt too sluggish, his head pounding like he was high all over again. But there was no peace here, only a dim sensation of panic as he felt a hand run through his hair.

“I see now why you were granted six lives,” Spencer said.

What? William’s face flushed as he felt the saliva wiped away from his chin again. He heard Spencer step back, and the door was shut over him.

At least his mouth was open this time. With the movement of the car, though, he felt something else begin to drag him below, where the devils lay. They wanted him now. In a dizzying moment he came to the conclusion that his father was among them, and that he had to fight, but he did not want to...the darkness became absolute; what a waste.

🝰🝰🝰

Bentinck’s phone was ringing again, late into the night. He felt as if he’d been on calls for most of the day, scolding the Madams and the bombers and the dealers for their insolence to their Overlifer, who was perfectly fine, thank you very much, he will get back to you in a few days, now stop calling; he’s very busy. Nobody needed to know William had been captured and that he wasn’t back yet.

Well, he would be back tonight, Bentinck had decided, before anyone found out. He wasn’t sure where William was, but maybe stopping by some of the Stewarts’ many residences would give him a clue. Or, better yet, he was already there.

Right now, however, he had to answer this last call. He picked up the phone, his sigh becoming a groan when he saw who it was.

He answered and placed it on the table as he worked on loading his gun. “Hello, Bidloo,” he said. Of course, the one man who William would trust with this information was also the most annoying.

“I’m outside,” Bidloo said.

“What?”

“Outside...your house. Open up.” “I’m sure William would appreciate your concern, but there’s no need for you to come in,” Bentinck said, laughing nervously. He shrugged off the tension on his shoulders and tried to remember what some of the Infernal spells were, in particular the ones spoken in the dialect of the Southern Kingdom. Those were the most useful, but the most elusive.

“I will bomb the place if I must,” Bidloo said. “What are you doing this time? How many men are in there?”

“It’s- it’s just me, Bidloo,” Bentinck said, rolling his eyes.

“You’re planning to go get him by yourself, aren’t you?”

“Well, who else is going to?”

“I could do it. Easily.”

“Then why haven’t you?” Bentinck snapped. “Look, you’re welcome to try, but you know you were never very good at the spells, nor protecting yourself from them. And they all know you well, especially James— he’s got a reason to want vengeance, after all the Disciples you’ve institutionalized.”

“Oh, yes,” Bidloo said, as if he were remembering a fun day of his childhood and not the countless sessions of torture.

“Well, here’s something you don’t know,” Bentinck said. “You don’t care about death. It’s all impersonal to you, isn’t it? Doctor.”

“Oh, you know, it puts food on the table.”

“It would be a waste to let you go out there and kill everyone who stands in your way,” Bentinck went on, “because it would mean nothing. Meanwhile, I have something I need to do over there. Right now, they’ve taken my friend, and when I was a boy, you know James-”

“Murdered my father,” Bidloo interrupted. He barked out a laugh. “So you think only you can kill him. You think it’s only fair.”

“No, William has to do that, but...maybe just one life.”

“You don’t make the death of a person right by killing someone else,” Bidloo said. “You’re just killing more people. Revenge is just a concept, Hansi.”

“Don’t call me that,” Bentinck said, his face flushing.

“In any case, sounds like you’ll get way too caught up in other things that don’t pertain to the mission. Like your emotions.” Bidloo lowered his voice. “You’ll need someone there to orient you. With your power, you could become a truly threatening force to the Disciples. You just need to focus.”

“I’m not going to let you come with me.”

“Why not? I have something that you know you need. You can’t go out there without it.”

“Really? You?” Bentinck snorted. “And what the fuck could that be?”

“Some doll named Anne Villiers,” Bidloo said, yawning as he said the name. “The spy who deceived you. You, Bentinck, she deceived you. Someone who should have seen the motivations of the Disciples in her long before they came to fruition. Alas...your emotions were quite a distraction, weren’t they?”

“You—!” Bentinck jolted. “You have her?”

“She came to our facility, yes,” Bidloo said. “She was asking for you. Silly girl, I took care of her for you, don’t worry.”

Bentinck hung up and walked outside, past his gardens and past his gate, where Bidloo was waiting in his car, poking his cat-like face out of the window. His rather jarring appearance was illuminated by the fluorescent street lamp above; while one horn was huge, striped, curling in towards Bidloo’s head in the typical Northern manner, the other was cut short near the base, the remains of it unevenly spiked.

“Did you kill her?” He felt as if his heart had frozen in his chest, tensing for the answer.

“No, she has valuable information, I’m sure,” Bidloo said. “But she refuses to share it with me. She said she needed to speak to you outside of your meeting hours, but didn’t know where to look— save for our facility, of course, seeing as there’s a Devil running around the place.” He pointed a finger at himself with a chuckle. “She showed me the R and said she could do dreadful things to me if I didn’t help her.”

“She threatened you?”

Bidloo shrugged and rolled down one of the back windows. “Ask her yourself.”

He looked up, refusing to believe that he saw her then, sitting behind Bidloo, her eyes wide as she brought a hand up to adjust the hair around her face. It was that movement that convinced him; it was Anne.

“Hans!” She leaned out the window, accidentally kicking Bidloo as she did so. “I- I thought he was lying, and he was going to kill me, or something— like he has with everyone else. He was kind of rough, I mean—” She paused, looking up at Bentinck’s stunned face. “Oh...”

“Anne,” he breathed. “You did come back.”

She hesitated before opening the door and leaping into his arms, squeezing her own around his neck as if she’d been waiting for it. “I love you, Hans, I’m so sorry, I didn’t-” Her voice broke, and she seemed to become smaller, burying her face in his chest. “I’m sorry.”

“You know I would always forgive you.” Bentinck stroked at her hair, surprising himself with the truth. “From the moment I realized, I forgave you.”

“No...” She looked up again. “But that’s what made it so easy, Hans.”

“It was worth it.”

“You- you know, I didn’t want to leave you.” She let out a bitter sigh. “I didn’t want to lie to you, either, but Mary ordered it of me, and James, he- well, you know James.”

“Too well,” Bentinck growled. “This is all his doing, Anne.”

“The truth is, I didn’t do it just for him,” Anne said, her gaze hardening over. “I mean, for Mary, of course I would do anything for her. But after everything you’ve told me about William...I thought that maybe you would-” She stopped as Bentinck leaned in, his eyes narrowed. “Yes?”

“You think I would be better off without him,” he said.

“He doesn’t deserve you, Hans.”

“He’s my friend, Anne, for the last time—”

“If Mary treated me like William treats you, I would have already left the Disciples,” Anne cut in. “And come to you. But there’s a reason I’ve stayed.”

“If William treated me like how you say he does, I would have already left, too,” Bentinck said firmly. “I know you mean the best, but- but he’s my friend, and I love him, and now he is in danger because you- because you thought it was good for me.” He turned towards Bidloo, trying and failing to blink away his tears. “I don’t know what I’ll do now.”

“I’m sorry. I knew it would be this way.” Anne’s hand slipped into his.

“Just don’t- don’t get caught up in things that don’t concern you.” He ran his thumb over her hand, though he intended mostly to soothe himself. He felt scars there, near her wrist.

“One last time, then?”

“What?” He turned his head back to her.

“Tonight is William’s trial,” she said, “and his first execution. It may have already started. That’s why I had to find you again. I don’t like him, but things would only get worse if we let this happen.”

“What?” Bidloo spat from the front. “And you didn’t think to tell me that first?”

“Why would I tell you anything? You kind of kidnapped me.” Anne waved him off. “We have to go, Hans.”

“Yes- yes, let’s go.” Bentinck started to step away, but then glanced back at Bidloo. “And I suppose you’d like to take us there.”

Bidloo turned his icy gaze to the Ally. “Why, thank you for the invitation.”

🝰🝰🝰

A hand came down on his head, pulling at his hair and jolting him out of his uneasy sleep. He was still breathing hard, his tongue lolling out of his mouth, becoming more dizzy with every sharp wheeze of his. He deliriously wondered if he had lost a life, and now the cold air that he was breathing in was from the realm of the devils.

“William. Hello, darling.”

No devil could speak like this. He turned his head to the side, and a thumb suddenly shoved itself into his mouth, forcing his tongue down with a sharp nail. He gasped, heard laughing from above.

“He looks like a mess,” came the voice. It was James, William realized, and it made the reality before him more certain. He had to escape or he would die.

No one is coming to save you!

He kicked a leg out, trying to sit up, and the chain on his neck was pulled hard, forcing him up on his knees. He lashed his tail behind him, letting out a heavy sigh at the renewed pain there. He had almost forgotten.

“Come on out, step lively! You’ve been sleeping all day.” That was Spencer’s voice, the voice of a snake as cheerful as ever. There was a gloved hand on one arm, a firmer one on the other, helping him stand with deceitful kindness. He swayed on his feet, wondering if he should run now, but the chain remained taut. He wouldn’t get far.

Or I’ll just fall on my nose. He looked up, trying to make anything out through the blindfold.

“You know, it’s kind of nice, this silence from you,” James said, his voice making William’s head seem heavier. Like a venomous lullaby. “It’s nothing at all, really, but it’s a sound that few are blessed to hear.” The hand came back around William’s head, another one on his cheek, the same one that had been in his mouth seconds before. He recognized the movement, his heart speeding up.

He jerked his head back, but James brought him closer still, slipping his tongue into William’s mouth. It wasn’t a kiss; no, this was the first taste of many that would undoubtedly come later, and some would venture further than others. He stifled a cry, trying to lift his head as James ran his tongue along the roof of William’s mouth, down to his teeth, and finally his lips, where the tongue lapped away William’s drool and replaced it with its own.

Devils below. He shuddered as James stepped back, his breath leaving him when he bent forward and began to retch, the tip of his tail shaking. He might have fallen if it weren’t for the hand buried in his hair keeping him up. He wasn’t sure if anything came out of him, but he could taste nothing at the back of his throat.

“I thought your father would have taught you better than that,” James said, the disapproval evident in his voice. “Well, Spencer, bring him in. I have to make sure everything is ready. I can trust you to watch him again, yes?”

“It’s been my great pleasure, sir.”

What was this place? The heat as Spencer pushed him inside convinced William it was a Hoerenkast, a strange choice for an execution. These places meant nothing to Overlifers, and it would surely be noticed if someone was brought to die here, especially someone like William.

They were all watching, he thought, and laughing. No one cared. He’d kill them all when he got free.

“We’re coming to some stairs,” Spencer said into his ear. “Be careful. We have time.”

Stairs? William could hardly keep himself up when he was still. His legs shook as he was pulled up the steps, his tail held out stiffly behind him in an instinctual attempt to keep him balanced despite the sharp pains near both the base and the tip. Spencer still held on to him, though William was tempted to bat him off. He didn’t need help for this.

He fell to his knees once they made it to the top and he heard a door close behind him, his head still forced up by the chain. The collar felt as if it were choking him, cutting off the air he had already so desperately needed. He hoped he wouldn’t have another attack— Spencer was not the sort to help him.

“Oh, little one,” he heard Spencer say, a tail running under his chin, “we can’t have you passing out in front of everyone. Would you like some water?”

Please! William nodded rapidly. His throat had been increasingly dry these past few days; he had been given nothing to eat nor drink. Eating very little he was used to, often skipping meals since he was a boy, but the pangs in his stomach could hardly go unnoticed now, and water he could not go without. Certainly he couldn’t escape like this.

“I know where I can find your weakness,” Spencer said, his voice low behind William. “You’re very easy, you know.” A sharp heel dug into William’s back then, pushing him down so that his chin rested on the floor. Before him, he could hear the gentle running of water, and realized that they must have been by one of the Hoerenkast’s streams.

“There’s your water,” Spencer said. “Drink.”

This was the water he was offering William? From the warm stream, where countless Allies had sat before? He shook his head, trying to lift himself back up again, but Spencer brought his heel down on his head next, sending a fire down William’s spine. He grunted and narrowed his eyes under his blindfold.

This will be the first and last time you treat an Overlifer this way. Who did Spencer think he was, treating William like a common spirit? Even rival Overlifers deserved respect.

He doesn’t believe in me. He felt his face warming up, whether it was from anger or embarrassment he couldn’t say, but he heard Spencer sigh.

“Are you going to make me regret this? Drink.”

Like a fucking dog? William took a shaky breath, but obeyed, bowing his head further to lap from the stream. It was bitter, bringing no relief with its warmth, and then he realized he couldn’t even swallow with his mouth forced open. He tried again, lapping up more, but he only coughed once it reached his throat, feeling it drip back out of his mouth.

You sly fucking rat. He shuddered as the heel pressed down harder on his head. What had he looked like to Spencer? Like the obedient little spirit the Disciple wanted?

Well, he would never be that. He paused, then sprung up, throwing Spencer’s heel off of him. He turned his head around wildly, when he felt a hand grip his hair hard, forcing his head up until tears came to his eyes.

“Behave,” Spencer said simply, and then his head was pushed into the water. William gasped involuntarily, water filling his throat until he choked on it, his open mouth still refusing to swallow it. He stiffened, spasms running down his back to his tail. His nose was burning; he thought the water might have been boiling—

“Had enough of a drink?” Spencer asked as he brought William back up again.

William was still gasping, coughing with water running from his nose and lips. Inexplicably, he was trying to swallow, but it only made him choke more, his chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath.

He heard the door open, a stern, familiar voice say, “Is he ready? James is about to make the announcement.” It was Ally Marly, and even in the midst of this shitshow William felt the fur on his tail stand straight up at the sound. “What are you doing to him?”

“He wanted a drink,” Spencer replied, “so I gave him one.”

“You think you’re hilarious, don’t you?” The chain on William’s collar was pulled upwards, his hair being tugged along with it, and he stumbled to his feet, too stunned to do anything but follow the two Disciples. “James isn’t going to be happy with how you made such a mess of his hair.”

“Cute, isn’t he?”

Marly snorted. “Sure.”

He was going to die for the third time. He couldn’t say it scared him, but with every step his body only shook more, the emptiness in his stomach growing.

🝰🝰🝰

Only the most trusted of Disciples were allowed to watch the execution of their greatest enemy, only the most useful. They were all here, all people Mary knew and hardly liked, just as she despised the looming presence of the Tenth Honor Hoerenkast. She supposed it was all a very symbolic, triumphant thing, to kill an Overlifer in the temple of their most obnoxious rivals, but she couldn’t stand the devils that were watching from the stained glass or the tapestries. At least it was only them, and no one else— Marly had asked all the servants and other Allies to leave the place to him today, for an “event.”

Stupid, obedient Disciples. Everybody here, standing in the largest meeting room where Marly usually met with his starry-eyed followers, waiting for their glorious Overlifer to begin speaking. She didn’t know why, but today, she hated them all.

James was sitting on Marly’s throne, smoking as always, his head leaning on Maria’s shoulder as she stood beside him. They were speaking to each other, and though Mary was closest to them she couldn’t make out anything. It was only when Maria looked up and beckoned for her to come that she heard what James was complaining about.

“Where is your sister, Mary? We can’t start if everyone isn’t here.” He twitched his tail furiously with annoyance. “She’s always doing this shit.”

“I don’t know,” Mary said honestly. She hadn’t seen Anne since she had fled yesterday. She had kind of expected her to return at some point, which made no sense, now that she thought about it. Coming back wouldn’t mean she would be spared, especially if James knew now.

But he didn’t know. Mary had decided not to tell him— she could handle Anne on her own, and when she was dead she could tell James all about it and watch his eyes light up with pride. For now, though, he didn’t have to know, because then Anne didn’t have to die just yet; there was no clock ticking for Mary, urging her to do it now, now, now, kill your sister.

She could do it whenever she liked. She could decide all on her own. It wasn’t deceit or treason, surely, as long as she still did it.

She would do it, of course. She wasn’t like James. For now, she just had to deal with the displeasure on his face as he looked around the room, then sank back into the throne with a sigh, lifting his cigarette to his lips. “She’ll hear about this when she gets back,” he muttered, “I’ll drill it right into her fucking skull.” Oh, Anne. Mary sighed. Always making things worse for yourself.

“And your little Villiers friends?” James asked. “I see Elizabeth, but where is Anne?”

“That...I don’t know, either.” That was a little bit more worrying, though at least this Anne had the advantage of having actually pleased James immensely a few days back. He couldn’t be too harsh on her, could he? She was the reason they were all here.

“I’m starting to suspect treason from your sister,” James said, “and insolence from your friend. Tame that girl, Mary, or I’ll have to do it myself. As I must do all things around here,” he added with a yawn.

I’m sorry, you’ll have to remind me who captured William and who didn’t, came the tempting retort in Mary’s mind, but she only smiled and bowed her head.

“Yes, sir.”

“James, please, today is supposed to be a happy day,” Maria said, placing a hand on his shoulder. Mary could see that she was already tense, the tip of her tail stiffly twitching behind her. “Don’t stress too much about it, you’ll make your nose bleed again.”

“I’m not stressed,” James snapped, batting her off. “But can you blame me for wanting my daughter here to witness this victory? This is the longest she’s been out of my sight, and it is at the worst possible time.”

“It’s barely been a day,” Maria said. She reached down to take his hand, lifting it to her lips to kiss it. “She’ll come back. Just get on with it, before William finds a way to escape. The longer we wait, the less time we have before someone inevitably comes and tries to rescue him.”

“We don’t have to wait for them,” Mary added.

James paused, then stood up, kissing Maria on the cheek as he did so. “Very well,” he said. “We shall begin.”

Finally. Mary stepped back, taking her place back beside Elizabeth. She had no regrets over this, none at all; she only wished she could have been the one to capture and kill William, as had been the original plan for years. It was a simpler way for him to go, the way Charles would have liked, without ceremony nor honor. But Charles was dead, and now his brother...

Well, he’s a little different, isn’t he? She took a deep breath and looked up at her father. And William was never meant to go out so easily, by the hands of someone like—

You.

“Welcome, all Disciples, to the first of many trials for our captured Overlifer,” James began. “This is an ancient ceremony, one that hasn’t been performed for centuries. However, today I’d like to bring it back as a celebration of our victory. Our enemies are now on the verge of defeat. We have their leader.”

No one else deserves him. Mary held her hand over her heart. It was going too fast for all the nothing that was going on. So do it, James.

Kill him.

“The Overlifer must answer for his crimes,” James went on. “He must admit that what he did to us was wrong, and that his existence, in reality, holds no meaning. He must acknowledge me as the true authority of humanity. He must beg for my forgiveness.” His eyes glinted, and the Disciples all leaned in with interest. “But it will not be granted.”

At that, the curtains flew open behind the audience, and they all looked back to see William himself, dragged in by Ally Marly and the spirit handler Robert Spencer. At the sight of him the Disciples began to cheer and roar, jeering at him as he walked by each of them.

“Fucking snake! Look at him drool!”

“Half-drowned mouse!”

“We got Spencer on this guy? He must be pretty damn weak!”

“Call snake’s eye for an eye, sir, let him service us!”

“Bring him down!”

“Let him kneel!”

Devils below. Mary’s eyes widened as William came by her. He was in an even worse state now, wheezing through his open mouth as water dripped down his face and hair. The tip of his tail was strangely twisted, his shirt ruffled and torn open at his chest, a blindfold tied around his head. His horns, however, were trimmed into sharper and neater points than Mary remembered, with chains of gold tied in between them.

“Kneel before James Stewart, animal,” Marly said, slamming his heel down on William’s tail. William jumped, hissing under his breath, and Marly pulled on the chain on his collar, bringing him down before the stream running in front of the throne. Spencer bowed towards James, then ducked back into the crowd of Disciples, his eyes flashing as he watched William.

What’s he looking at him that way for? Mary shook herself with disgust.

“Wasted no time,” she heard James say as Marly handed him the chain. “Good boy.”

Marly made no comment, merely sat beside James on the armrest of the throne and smiled down at William.

Self-satisfied cunt. Mary rolled her eyes and fixed her gaze on William. Under the dim light of the candles above he was beautiful, a figure at its finest when it was bound, his wet locks gleaming like his eyes would have had it not been for the blindfold. With his head forced up, he looked as if he were defying James.

“Look at that,” Elizabeth muttered beside her.

“I’m looking.”

James cleared his throat, and the whole room fell silent. They all watched their Overlifer stand, his eyes no longer anything but cold, his lips letting loose gray smoke. He brought the chain closer and stepped over the stream..

“Look upon this blasphemer, this criminal,” he said. “William Henry Nassau; our most persistent enemy, and the most convincing of liars. I shudder to think what deceit he infects his Devils with to ensure their loyalty to the wrong Overlifer.”

Really? Mary could almost laugh.

“When he is dead, the Devils will come under my control, under the right Overlifer,” James continued. He stepped forward, pulling the chain up until William was forced to lift himself off his legs. “They shall never remember you, William. You, who were born through evil, and have led the life that your father wrote out for you from the moment you were born.” He curled his lip back in disgust. “It’s pathetic to watch. You’re just like your mother.”

Why bring that up now? Mary swallowed. He just had to get it over with!

William’s only response was a wide lash of his tail. James glanced at the audience, then pressed his cigarette down on William’s tongue.

The shriek that came from him was what broke the spell; as he fell back, crying out and shaking his head, the Disciples began to laugh again, some of them clapping their hands. Maria’s eyes widened behind James, but she said nothing.

“Our glorious leader has finally gotten a scream out of the imperturbable Defender of the Faith!” Marly yelled, invoking the ancient name for the leader of the Devils of Orange-Nassau. “Long live James Stewart, long live the Restoration!”

The Disciples echoed his call, Elizabeth joining in with much enthusiasm. Mary hesitated, then lifted her head to take up the cry, watching William furiously pull back on the chain. James did not look up, kept his gaze frozen there, upon William. The only indication of life from him was his tail swaying slowly behind him in satisfaction.

He raised his hand, and the Disciples eagerly shut up again in no time at all. James brought his hand down to lift William’s head, untying the gag and pulling it out of his mouth. There was a pause as William swallowed, closing his mouth and then opening it once more, this time to spit at James, “Fuck you!”

Oh, William. Mary shook her head, the gasps of the Disciples audible around her.

“Is that all you can say?” James asked. “Nothing to defend yourself?”

“I don’t- I don’t have to defend anything that I-” William cut himself off with a cough. “That I have ever done. I know who the real Overlifer is here. It’s not you, you- you fucking fraud! Do you think you have any right to treat me this way? If I would ever kill you, th-there would be no ceremony! You don’t fucking deserve it, you piece of shit, fucking creep—”

“Do you realize from where you’re talking right now?” James tilted his head to the side. “I can make your death so much more painful than it has to be.”

“Ha!” William laughed viciously. “You were already planning on that. Sadistic bitch!”

“What was that?”

“Oh, you didn’t hear? I knew you were getting old, but you’re hardly in your fifties!” William laughed again. “But you did hear! I called you a bitch and a sadist, both, even—”

James drove his knee upward, striking right under William’s chin, sending him flying back against the floor. He let out a hiss as his head landed, and James snorted, circling him with a flicking tail.

“Had your fill?” he asked. “Insolent brat.”

Mary’s breath hitched as William sat up again. “Never,” he said. “Lying, cheating, arrogant viper, relying on your daughter to do everything for you! Lazy, apathetic—”

It was James’ turn to hiss like a primitive devil. He took William by the neck and forced his head under the water at the stream, bringing his heel down onto it again and again. He took William’s flailing tail and twisted it around his wrist.

“Holy shit,” Elizabeth snorted.

Now he’s really mad. Mary looked down at the floor, her vision blurring before her. It was just as it had been at the fight— this sick uncertainty in her, even without her father’s eyes on her. But they would turn towards her soon, she was sure of it.

“Are you alright?” she heard Elizabeth ask. “Mary, pay attention.”

“I- I know.” Mary inhaled sharply. “It’s just- just the drugs again.” She looked up again, realized with horror that her father was looking straight at her.

“You do not get to say anything about my family,” James growled, nodding once at Mary and then glaring back down at William. “What do you think you would know? Hm?” He pulled William back out, kicking him in the side as he bowed his head, coughing and taking in raspy breaths. Surprisingly, he managed to bite back any noise this time, though he shuddered at the impact.

“Nothing to say now?” James smiled back at the stunned audience, as pleasant as he had been at the beginning. “Very well. Let the trial begin. Like the fight from before, it can only end in one way— death, as many times as it must come to him.” He brought William’s head back up by the chain, speaking over the hacking coughs. “William Henry Nassau is charged with the following crimes—”

“You- you and your fucking theatrics!” William cut in with evident effort. “Flashy bitch! That’s why you have- you’ve got your wife on one arm and an Ally on the other! An affair with an Ally, now that’s fucking rich from an- an Overlifer who claims he’s valid!”

Shut up, William, by the stars! What did he think he could do from this position?

Maria narrowed her eyes and glared at Marly, flicking her tail dismissively at him. James looked between the both of them, then turned back to William, his eyes bright with rage.

“Oh, you never know when to shut up, do you?” he snarled. He lifted William up by his collar and stepped over the water, throwing him back against the throne. “Then let us go through your crimes this way, shall we?”

“I plead guilty to all of them.” William curled his lip back in a sneer, his tail twitching erratically.

“So you admit it,” James said. “That you did send assassins after me, my brother, and my most valuable Disciples.” As he spoke, he drove his fist into William’s face, hard enough for William’s head to bounce back and blood to begin dribbling out of his mouth and nose.

“Yes,” William gasped out. He still bared his teeth.

“That you did kidnap, torture, and execute hostages you promised to return to us unharmed.” James dug his fingers into William’s hair and shoved him back to the ground, keeping his hold on William’s head to land another blow on it.

“Yes.” William bit hard into his lip, making a sound like he was trying to swallow, and James let him fall.

“That you did cause the death of my people in your terrorist attacks all throughout the nation, whether it was intentional or not.” He landed another vicious kick in William’s ribs, then his neck, and finally his head, where a startling crack was heard from his horns.

“Yes.” From where Mary was standing, she could not see his face as he answered.

James took the chain from William’s collar and swung it carelessly around in his hands. This time he did not pull William up, rather he let him stay on the ground, and instead raised the chain behind him and then brought it down against William’s back.

“AUGH—!” William roared, his whole body jolting, and the Disciples leaned in with renewed fascination.

“That you did intercept our lines of weapons, narcotics, Westerners and Northerners, whatever it may be, and caused us a great loss in profit.” James folded the length of the chain in, bringing it down again with more force.

William’s answer came in his scream. “Yes—!”

“That you did disrespect me and my divine authority.” James held his foot over the tip of William’s tail and did the same as before. Mary swore the screams were louder this time.

“Yes!”

James didn’t pause anymore, not beyond a few seconds between each lash of the chain. “That you did murder your mother as a boy.” His voice seemed to grow quieter with every accusation, as if in a nervous anticipation.

“Yes, by the stars— yes!” William was still quick to answer, though Mary thought he might have been choking on his own blood, dizzy with agony even she couldn’t imagine.

“Murdered his mother? What’s all that about?” Elizabeth murmured.

Mary shook her head helplessly. To James, it must have looked that way, and he must have believed in it; therefore he was correct.

“That you did break the promise you made to her before her death,” he went on. He kicked William again, knocking him back down as he tried to right himself under the relentless whipping. The chain made a lovely, unfamiliar sound as it came down.

William let out a long, breathless shriek, breaking off with a retching cough. “YES!”

“That you did murder my brother,” James finished, pulling William closer by the chain and lifting him in the air by his neck. He really was so small. “Three times over.”

William did not answer, and James smiled as he lifted the blindfold from his eyes, revealing the many bruises underneath. But those very eyes were still narrowed in defiance and hatred as they raked over James.

“I-”

“It’s a yes or no question, William, don’t make this difficult for us,” James said, squeezing his fingers tighter around his throat. “It’s the same as all the other ones.”

I’m so sorry, Mary thought, involuntarily, then cursed herself for it. But she saw William’s eyes roll back, heard his breaths begin to quiet down, and thought right then of how needless it all was, every drop of blood spilled to arrive at this moment, every breath stolen away. She wasn’t satisfied at all.

And you, William? Would you do the same? She focused on his quivering lips. He wanted to say something. Of course he did.

“You’re asking the wrong person, sir,” came a firm voice from behind the audience.

Mary turned, along with all the rest of the Disciples, and recognized her sister there, illuminated by the numerous candles near the entrance. Her eyes shone as she lifted her head, and Mary realized that behind her stood what must have been an Ally, if she could guess from his dark eyes. Ally George, she remembered now. A new Ally of New Amsterdam, the one who could read minds.

Does she know him? She winced when his gaze passed over her. Ah, don’t look at me—!

“Anne, my princess, you’re just in time,” James cooed, letting go of William. The latter fell to the ground, gasping sharply, and Marly called a spear from the devils, holding it over William as if to guard him.

“Don’t call me that,” Anne spat. “Liar.”

James raised an eyebrow. “What makes you say that? It’s a lot coming from someone who disappeared without notice right before this momentous execution. You missed the best part.” His eyes widened when he saw the Ally standing behind her. “And who is this you brought us?” He twitched the tip of his tail at Maria, whose hand drifted to her gun.

“Why does it matter to you?” Anne asked.

Don’t make him mad again! Mary ducked her head as James stepped over the water, his tail lashing slowly like that of a cat poised to pounce. Indeed, his eyes were the same way— focused on nothing else at all.

“If you bring an enemy right before me, then of course it matters to me,” he said. “Unless this Ally wants to join us.”

“Nobody would want to join you after all you’ve done.” Anne turned her gaze to all the rest of the Disciples. “Your crimes, even as an Overlifer, are excessive. But I’ll only name the one that everyone here cares about. Ferocity knows nobody gives a shit about how you’ve treated us.”

“What are you going on about now?” James rolled his eyes. “Anne, come in here. Step aside from the Ally.”

Anne edged closer to George, and Mary swallowed. Oh, they do know each other. A little too well.

“I confronted Mary a few days ago,” Anne began, and Mary’s heart stopped. “She confirmed something I had already suspected, from the moment I saw our late Overlifer’s body. That James Stewart is responsible for the death of his brother.”

“What?” James turned to glare at Mary.

“I- I wasn’t—” Mary didn’t know what to say that would keep James’ secret any longer. There wasn’t any excuse she could offer other than she was high, but even that made no sense to her. She couldn’t fathom herself, her own reasons, her own life.

The Disciples were staring at Anne with an angry sort of confusion, like they didn’t quite believe her yet, even with the lack of any denial on James’ part— not until she said the next thing.

“Ah, responsible, yes,” Anne said, “but not quite the assassin. I’m sure it comes as no surprise that it was Mary who murdered him, under his orders. She told me this herself with the utmost honesty. But, in case you still don’t believe me, I’ve brought us a mindreader.” She looked to George expectantly. “What’s my father thinking now?”

“He’s wondering what to say to convince them all that you’re lying, or crazy, or both,” he said, rather pleasantly. “I think you’re neither.”

The Disciples recoiled like swiped flies, letting out shocked hisses and whispers, their frantic gazes darting between Mary and James and then back to Anne. James’ eyes widened, but he said nothing to defend himself.

“Without any remorse,” Anne continued, “it was the both of them that carried out this plan, and they succeeded because none of you could be bothered to look within our own ranks, towards our so-called leader. Do you think evil knows any limits?” She lifted her tail, the once-beautiful tip now bandaged and bloodied. “Do you think James would have been content to die without the glory of his brother? No, he is greater than one life.”

“So he needed six,” a furious voice muttered from within the audience. Mary couldn’t tell who it was, but that was what pushed the quiet Disciples over the edge, finally allowing them to set free their outraged, horrified cries.

“Say it isn’t true! What’s your defense, sir?”

“Mary told her this? How do we know she was telling the truth?”

“How do we know Anne is telling the truth?”

“That’s Ally George, isn’t it? His powers aren’t a lie!”

“Was Monmouth right, then?”

“Did you do it, sir? Did you kill your brother?”

“We can’t be too hasty—”

“Mary, is it true?”

That last one was Elizabeth, watching Mary back away fearfully. There was not hatred nor suspicion there, only a cold certainty.

“I- I must follow his orders,” was the only thing she could manage.

In all of this, James remained silent. He was staring at Anne with something unreadable in his eyes. She stared back, lifting her head as if to challenge him.

“It was William, wasn’t it?” Marly asked behind him, keeping his spear over William. “You loved your brother, you- you wouldn’t have.” He reached out towards James, then drew back when he received no answer.

“You still think Anne would lie?” Sarah hopped over the stream to stand at his side, and he sighed bitterly, looking back down at William.

As he did so, Maria ran over to Mary, taking her by the shoulders. “Mary!” she cried. “I- I told you James had killed Charles, he told me himself, he was so proud of it, but- if you knew, Mary, that it was you— why didn’t you tell me, did you think-” She took a shuddering breath, her eyes filling with tears. “How could you do this?”

“Did you expect me to disobey?” Mary’s voice broke; she was crying, too.

Maria hesitated, as if she were about to say something else, but then James raised his hand, calling for silence. Miraculously, he was obeyed, though Mary guessed it was no longer out of respect, but impatience. They wanted to hear his explanation, his excuse, more of his lies that they would happily swallow up if it meant they could go back to hating the true enemy— William, still lying breathlessly before Marly.

But, for once, he did not lie. “Yes, I ordered Mary to kill Charles,” he said simply. “And she did very well. I never expected her to reveal this information, much less so easily,” he added, in a tone that sent dread through Mary, “but it’s out now. What will you do about it?”

The Disciples did not reply, frozen in terror. James raised his voice.

“I ask you, what will you do?” he shouted. “What do you think you can do to me? I have my six lives now. I was chosen by those trembling devils, scared of my power! Do you hear that? My power! They knew what I had done when I came to them, and they didn’t care. They know an Overlifer must do anything to forward his destiny.” He shook his head slowly, lapping at the blood that had started to run from his nose with his tongue. “Charles had lost his mind. He was not fit to lead us any longer; I freed him, and I freed you. Ungrateful little rats.”

“You really expect nothing to come out of this?” Anne blurted. “He’s a traitor, everyone! Do something!”

James laughed, even as the blood ran into his mouth, staining his golden teeth. “What?” he asked. “What are they supposed to do? As long as I have my six lives, they’re mine and they know it. Their loyalty cannot waver. They realize now that this was not the act of a traitor— this was an act of love.”

Love. Love. What is all this, love? Mary couldn’t even pretend to believe it anymore.

It was a moment before Maria pulled away from Mary to stand beside her husband. “I stand beside James Stewart,” she announced, “always.”

And then, much to even Mary’s shock, the rest of the Disciples began to relent, echoing her promise, bowing their heads as they did so. Elizabeth did the same, and Mary soon followed, hoping it was real enough for James. She didn’t know if it was real enough for her.

Marly was the last one to speak. “I follow James Stewart.” He did not look at the Overlifer.

James grinned at Anne, who looked around at the Disciples in bewilderment.

“Love,” she whispered, then, louder, “love! If that’s your definition, then I love you, too, sir.” With that, she took the gun from her belt and shot her father in the head.

“James—!” Maria caught him before he fell, his body convulsing in her arms. Mary ran to help her as the shouting Disciples rushed beside her, crowding around their leader— desperate to do anything, but knowing they could do nothing when they saw the blood pouring from his shattered face. He was already dead, his first life spilling all over Maria.

Mary reached out to take her father’s hand. She waited for the fingers to squeeze around her wrist, to bring her closer. She heard Maria crying out his name, holding him to her chest protectively as the Disciples leaned in.

You’ll come back. Mary let go of his hand with some difficulty, stepping away as the candlelight swam and blurred around her. She let out an involuntary sob and covered her mouth. 

Just do it soon.

Someone had to die for this, and she knew who. Looking over the crowd, she looked up towards the entrance, towards her sister.

She was speaking to Sarah, Marly at her side, nodding as if he were listening. Anne held a spell out towards him, and he seemed to read it over before nodding once more. Then she looked behind her shoulder, meeting Mary’s gaze.

You killed our father, Mary wanted to scream. But she couldn’t bring herself to pull out her gun.

And I’ll do it again, Anne seemed to respond with her sneer. She turned decisively away with Sarah and George, dropping the spell on the floor. Her lashing tail knocked over two of the candles by the curtains as she left.

What did she—?

The flames of the candles brushed against the curtains, and the fire started slowly...burning away at the stars...flickering over the slip of paper on the ground...and then Mary realized what the spell was for.

“Louis help me!” she uttered in horror before taking one of her own spells from her pocket, praying it was the right one. Slamming it on the floor, she screamed, “Louis le Grand, délivre-nous du tout mal!”

The shadows came up at the same time as the explosion, shielding all of the Disciples. It had never once worked for her before, but now they seemed to embrace her with their protection, as if they’d been waiting for her and not the other way around. It was a strange sensation, and she wagged her finger in a circle almost too eagerly, letting the shadows retreat again.

Thank you, Your Majesty, she thought as she looked around the room, though there wasn’t much to see aside from the smoke, rising high over the flames that surrounded her. Her eyes stung at the heat, and she bowed her head, running back towards Maria.

“What- what is all this?” Maria yelled over the panicked exclamations of the Disciples.

“Fucking Anne! And-”

“Western fire spell, it looks like,” Marly interrupted as he ran up beside them, kneeling down beside Maria to brush James’ hair from his face.

“A whole spell was used?” Maria’s eyes widened. “We have to get out, now!” She lifted James in her arms, and Marly began to help her; remarkably, she hissed at him to back away.

That’s right, traitor. Now there was something Mary would have to tell James when he came back. Perhaps Marly had even known what Anne was here to do. Sarah undoubtedly had.

“Up here!” she heard Spencer cry out. She looked back and saw him shooting one of the stained glass windows, the faces of the devils falling before them. He shot out two more and looked expectantly back at the Disciples, gesturing with his tail to follow him out.

William! Mary remembered. She had to get to him before the inevitable stampede did, pushing past her to escape.

“Oh, it’s so hot in here,” Maria panted beside her. “I think I’m going to faint.”

“That would be a really bad idea,” Mary said unhelpfully. “I’m taking William.”

“What? Why not just let him die here?” Maria asked. She looked smaller than ever beneath the towering flames, with her husband slumped in her arms. “We don’t have time to waste on him!”

“Maybe you don’t.” Mary ran ahead to the throne, where, perhaps worryingly, William still lay. The fire was drawing ever closer, she realized, clawing at the windows as if it wanted to follow the Disciples out. She saw tails getting singed on their way out.

It’ll be more than that if we don’t hurry. With the windows shot out, who knew how long it was until flashover?

“William,” she said as she crouched beside the body lying before her, turned away from her with only a twitching tail to indicate its terror. “I’m here.” She lifted him in her arms, perhaps a little rougher than Maria would have.

He was still alive, thankfully, and conscious, though he looked like he was on the way out, his eyes drifting open and shut and his chest heaving rapidly. Mary untied his hands and stood up, grunting at him to hold on to her neck. He had enough strength to obey, but not very well.

“You- you said goodbye to me,” he whispered against her cheek.

“You’re not leaving after this,” she said, and he laughed, shaking his head.

“No. Neither of us...”

Nearly all the Disciples had emptied out, leaving only Maria dragging James out of the window. Marly helped her up, precariously balancing over the windowsill. It was a little higher than what a normal human could jump to.

“Mary, hurry if you’re going to take him!” Maria called. “I’m not leaving here without you.” She hesitated before jumping back down, running to Mary’s side. “Is he heavy?”

“Not- not at all.” Mary was breathing hard; she wondered if it was the smoke she was breathing in. She had to keep her head low.

“Marly, take William,” Maria ordered, taking William in her arms and pushing him up towards Marly. “I’ll help Mary up.”

Marly shook his head. “I have to take James first. William can afford to lose this life.”

“But we can’t!” Maria said. She gasped as the flames seemed to fly at her face, and she stepped back, holding her tail over Mary. “Hurry up, Ally, or we’ll burn alive in here!”

“Just...hold on a second. I’ll be right back.” 

“What?” Maria raised her voice. “Get us up there or so help me James!”

“Our leader cannot die,” Marly said. With that, he took James by his shirt collar and hopped outside, dragging his master with him.

“Fucking Allies!” Maria looked around the room frantically, and Mary held William tighter. The fire rose higher before them, blocking out their last three hopes with its heat and what must have surely been its anger.

“You should have- have left without me,” William said. “You only have one—” He broke off, his body shaking all over with the force of his coughs.

Oh, that was right. She was going to die here. It wasn’t such a bad way to go, but oh, so woefully dishonorable, at the hands of traitors.

Traitors like Marly. He wasn’t going to come back, of that she was certain.

“We don’t have time to wait!” Maria pressed closer to Mary, her tail flicking with terror. “Do you have any protection spells left?”

“Not ones that can stop fire.”

“Oh, no,” Maria breathed, looking up at the ceiling. “Even the devils are fleeing. No...”

“Now’s not the time, Maria.” Mary only wished she could make this death less painful for William. She didn’t know what was worse; being beheaded or burning alive.

“Mary.” She felt Maria’s hand on her wrist. “Please- please don’t be afraid.”

“What?” “The only thing that scares me more than this is losing you.” Maria blinked, and her eyes seemed to flicker through the smoke, the only soft light among the flames and darkness. “When faced with that, you’ll see this is nothing at all.” She raised her voice, and shaking as it was Mary only felt more afraid.

“Maria—”

Maria screamed something in an ancient tongue Mary didn’t know, wrapping her arms around both her stepdaughter and William. Mary closed her eyes as the heat all around them might have killed them, when the darkness was lit by the endless blaze tenfold.

But she realized she could still think, she was still awake, and when she looked up she saw Maria still holding her, the massive white wings from her back being the only thing shielding them all from certain death.

  🝰🝰🝰

There was smoke in the distance, Bentinck noted as he rested his head against the window of the car. Bidloo was driving rather recklessly at this point, cursing drivers under his breath, but all of Bentinck’s thoughts were on William, now that Anne was back with him.

“Is that the Hoerenkast?” he heard her ask from behind them.

“Why would they burn anything for an execution?” Bentinck turned his head sharply towards her. “Are they—?”

“The first execution wouldn’t be so brutal,” Anne rushed to reassure him. “James said that he’d drag out the suffering even more each time. Maybe...maybe it’s something else.”

“What would a first execution look like?” Bentinck knew that was the wrong question to ask, but he couldn’t look away. He had to know what he was facing, what would happen if they were too late.

“Just the usual, I think,” Anne said. “Slit his throat. Let him bleed out.”

Well, we’ve seen countless of those, haven’t we? He’d seen how the blood ran out, how the prisoners choked on it, how their eyes widened when they saw their life spilling on the ground.

But, of course, neither William nor Bentinck had ever been on the receiving end.

He had already convinced himself that it wasn’t the Hoerenkast that was on fire, so when they stopped in front of the building and saw the smoke rising from the windows, from the open balconies, it felt as if his breath had been knocked out of him.

Like William’s breath surely would be if he was in there. He began to open the door, but Bidloo held a hand over his shoulder.

“Are you trying to get hit? We’re still on the street!”

“You’re not seriously asking me to wait!” Bentinck argued. “William is in there!”

“Nobody knows that,” Bidloo said. “So at least try to look calm, alright?” He hesitated before adding, “I’ll let you off here, just don’t do anything stupid. But get out now, we’re causing traffic!” He shoved Bentinck towards the door, and the Ally opened the door and stepped out into the street. He looked back as he crossed, realizing Anne was following him.

“I didn’t even have to ask.” He smiled down at her as he stepped onto the sidewalk. “I knew you’d be with me.”

“And I knew you were going to attempt something stupid,” Anne said. She looked up at the Hoerenkast, speaking over the distant sirens approaching. “Back here again, huh? Well, you’re not going in there this time, Hans.”

“What else am I supposed to do?” Bentinck shook his head. “You know that nobody in there is going to save him!” He began to walk towards the entrance, where it didn’t look like the fire had reached yet, but Anne took his hand.

“Mary- Mary might.”

“You’d risk his lives for might?”

“You’d risk your life for William?” Anne glared at him, pulling him towards her. “You’re powerful, but you’re not invulnerable. You can’t just walk through fire.”

“Maybe the fire hasn’t even reached him yet,” Bentinck said. “Anne, I have to do this. I’ve explained to you before how much I need him, and how much he needs— me.”

“You don’t need anyone in your life, Hans, you just think you do.” Anne lifted a hand to cup Bentinck’s cheek, taking a sharp breath. “But I want you to be happy.”

“Yes.”

“You can’t be happy if you’re dead. So just—” She kissed him then, and he shut his eyes, nearly forgetting everything else. He couldn’t allow himself to, but he let her warmth slow his heart, ground him in this reality, where he could have her and William and they could all be happy.

“I trust you to survive,” she said as she backed away. “I know you won’t let me go with you, so at least take that.”

“With pleasure,” Bentinck said. He looked up, realized with alarm that there were Disciples he recognized crowding the sidewalk, some of them with singed tails or horns, most of them coughing. They were coming from the back of the Hoerenkast, glaring up at it as if they were questioning the audacity this heretic structure had to dare to burn with them inside of it. And yet...among them, he could not see James, he could not see Marly nor Mary, and, most importantly, he could not see William.

“Go with them,” Bentinck said to Anne. “Don’t let them see you with me.”

“I love you,” she said, turning away from him.

And I love you. He didn’t need to say it out loud to know that she knew. Ducking away from the crowd, he waited until they were all looking either at each other or at the street to dart inside the building, shutting the door behind him.

It was remarkably calm here at the lobby, where a servant was usually there to greet him. He wondered if Marly had the place cleared for the execution; he had the authority to do so, and no one would have questioned him for it. It would just be an event for the pleasure of the devils, surely. William had Bentinck do it all the time for his own events.

They really don’t even have fire alarms in here? Bentinck looked up, seeing faint wisps of smoke on the ceiling. It was the oldest Hoerenkast in the city, yes, but there had to be some sensible upgrades made along the decades.

He knelt on the floor, sending his senses out everywhere around him, letting himself melt into the distant sounds and smells. He was the smoke, he was the flame, he was the aura—

Who’s there?!

He jolted out of his focus, his head jerking up in terror. Never once had he heard a voice interrupt him. But he recognized it, knew where it was coming from, and that was enough for him to go on ahead, the air becoming lighter and hotter around him as he advanced through the winding halls.

As he turned a corner he found the source of the fire; one of the meeting rooms, the largest one here, where Ally Marly always met with his followers. The whole of that hall was beginning to catch on fire as well, with the tapestries hanging on the walls burning away. It was through the haze of smoke that Bentinck saw the aforementioned figure step forward.

“It was you,” he said to Marly as he approached. “I thought you would have left with your Disciples by now.”

“I had to come back in,” Marly hissed. “Trying to hurry this shit along.”

“So you want this place to burn down?” Bentinck asked. “It seems needlessly dangerous to do it while everyone is inside.”

“Makes it more believable,” Marly said. “Just another one of those terrorist attacks.” He yawned, and that was when Bentinck saw that he dragged a limp body in one hand, dangerously close to the flames spreading around them.

William? He leaned in with narrowed eyes, only for a spear to come up in front of him, nearly slicing through his eye had he not jumped back at the last second.

“Why does he matter to you?” Marly held the body up. The head, torn open and bloody, was nearly unrecognizable, but the jagged horns convinced Bentinck of its identity.

“James,” he breathed. “He’s dead.”

“Once, maybe.”

“Did William do this?”

“William! Ha!” Marly grinned. “He is already dead as well.”

“What?” Bentinck shifted his glare back to him. “Where is he? Is he in that room there?”

“You’re not going there.”

So he is! Bentinck bared his fangs, raising his hand to call the claws of the devils to help him. They came to him like they never had when he was a boy, and as he brought his hand back down he shot them forward, glowing little blades heading towards Marly’s neck.

Marly leaped up with impressive speed, high above Bentinck, still holding James. He landed on one of the windowsills and tore a tapestry down easily, with strength that Bentinck thought might have failed him in this heat. He waved it in the air, the subsequent winds fanning the flames back, letting them move faster towards Bentinck.

Go now! Before it gets worse! He would not stay here to fight Marly, not this time. He ran forward, jumping as high as he could over the flames, waving the smoke away with minor Northern wind spells and keeping his head bowed. He could breathe in smoke like the devils could, but he didn’t know for how long, and that didn’t stop his eyes from stinging both at the brightness and the ever-increasing heat.

He heard glass shatter once, twice. Marly was breaking more windows, more oxygen was being let through. He stepped forward, trying to make anything out through the smoke, only for something to burn at his legs.

“Ah—!” He sprung back, but stopped short when he felt heat touch him there too. He could not move from his place. Were his clothes on fire already? He rolled back on the ground, kicking his legs out to try to put it out.

Oh, shit. He looked up desperately, seeing glowing eyes glinting at him through the smoke, a flippant hand waving it away as simply as if it were a bird. There was Marly, walking through fire, now holding James in both arms with more care than Bentinck thought that man deserved.

“There will always be someone more than you,” Marly said. “The devils have chosen me.”

“They chose me too!” Bentinck cried, his breath hitching and breaking off with a cough.

“Ah, Lord Portland, dripping poison onto everything he touched,” Marly went on. “A fearful beast in his time. But Lord Marlborough bested them all; the commander of fire and thunder and power ruined every devil that came his way! You’ll have no such privilege.” He looked almost manic, with his wide, red eyes and the sweat dripping down his hair. “My lord.”

“You think you’re the only one who can survive this?!” Bentinck spat. “You’re not any more powerful than all the other Allies.”

“With James at my side, I think I rather am.” Marly lifted the limp head in his arms, leaning in so that he almost kissed the bloodstained lips. “I didn’t want this to happen. I wish I could be happy with him. I wish I didn’t—” He paused, his voice breaking. “I wish I didn’t feel like I could hate him everyday. Like I could kill him. How can you be happy with him?”

With him? Bentinck began to crawl forward, muttering the wind spells again. It was a very narrow path to drag himself through, and he had to curl in on himself as the fire would begin again behind him. He bowed his head, praying he knew where he was going.

“I wish I could just let him die. And you can do that so easily right now. So why don’t you?”

“I have never known fear like you, my lord.”

“I hope all four of you die here,” Marly said at length, and then there was silence behind Bentinck, nothing but the roaring of the fire to fill Bentinck’s ears.

All four of you? Well, who were the other three? He looked up dizzily.

“William!” he called. “William— please!” He didn’t know what he was begging for. He knew he was in the room when the darkness was replaced by nothing but orange, orange, orange, everywhere around him, where even the wind spells couldn’t help him.

I can’t go in there like this! He could call King Louis, the only spell that could protect him now— if the king decided to listen. And nine times out of ten, he never did, even to the most skilled of Allies.

I have to try. He rested his head on the ground, shutting his eyes and pounding his fist on the floor.

Louis le Grand, délivre-nous du tout mal.

He didn’t dare believe, but then he felt the heat begin to draw away from him. He could still hear crackling, wood creaking; had it worked? William said everything was silent among the shadows. He cautiously looked up and gasped.

It was not shadows, but James’ wife, Maria Beatrice, with that blinding aura of hers. Maybe she was someone whom Bentinck should have feared, but she never joined the fights, never went out to kill. She was always beside James, his quiet, perfect little love.

Now she stared down at him with majestic, feathered wings held up defensively over his body to keep the flames away. Clinging to her was Mary, swaying like she were about to fall (and indeed she might have, seeing the exhaustion and confusion on her face), and in her arms she held William.

William! His head lay against Mary’s chest, his tail and arms hanging limp.

“No,” Bentinck blurted, stumbling to his feet. Maria watched him warily as he leaned in towards William.

“I knew you would be here,” Mary said simply. “Do you want him?”

“That’s not even a question,” Bentinck snapped. He held his arms out for William, and Mary handed him over as she leaned back on Maria’s wings. Bentinck didn’t know of any spell that gave anyone wings as big as these, especially ones that rendered Maria impervious to fire, but he couldn’t be bothered to ask right now.

“William,” he said, his voice shaking as he moved the hair from William’s bruised face. There was blood all over it, still falling from his nose and lips. It had made a mess over his neck, where there was a curious collar strapped there. “What did he do to you?”

William didn’t answer. He was wheezing sharply, and dangerously, and Bentinck decided that talk could wait until later.

“I don’t suppose you’ll walk me out,” he said to Maria.

“James would be so very, very happy if you died here,” she said. “Don’t you want him to be happy?”

“N-No, not really.”

Maria hummed thoughtfully. “I let you go the first time Mary killed him, and he didn’t even look my way. You know, there always has to be someone to stop him.”

“Yes.” Bentinck bowed his head. He had no idea where she was going with this, but maybe if he agreed with her they could hurry this along. William wouldn’t last long here.

If he has lasted at all. William had grown eerily quiet in his arms.

“We’re not letting him go after this,” Mary coughed beside Maria. “We can’t, not now that we have him after all this time.”

“There can only be a proper confrontation between them at the end of the world, when the trumpets of the apocalypse sound at last,” Maria said. “It’s no good trying to force an execution. No, both Overlifers are greater than that.” She nodded at Bentinck. “Stay under my wings.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much.” He still didn’t know what she meant, but followed her as she walked through the fire, as unbothered by it as Marly had been. Perhaps she was an Ally too, albeit one that James had kept secret, but Bentinck couldn’t see black in her eyes.

“What apocalypse? What the fuck are you talking about, Maria?” Mary was hissing. “I’ve tried to be nice about it, but you know how James feels about letting your delusions affect the way we do things. If you let him go because of this, he’s going to kill you. And I don’t want that for you.”

“Are you going to tell him?” Maria asked.

“No, but—”

“Then we have nothing to worry about. Trust me...he’ll be pleased when the time comes.”

They ran into the firefighters on their way out, who were rather startled to see the generally unharmed group, especially Maria, who had not even a hint of soot on her face like the others. She folded her wings in behind her as they stepped outside.

“Is everyone okay? Somehow?” asked the one firefighter that had followed them out. “What spell did you use, my lady? It might be useful for us inside.”

“It’s not a spell anyone else could use,” Maria said. “I’m sorry. I wrote it myself.”

She did what? Bentinck turned his head sharply towards her.

“Oh- well—” The stranger glanced back at Bentinck through his mask, then stepped towards William in alarm. “What about him? Is he conscious? Come, let me take a look at him.”

“That- that won’t be necessary,” Bentinck said, backing away and holding William closer.

“What? But look at him, my lord, he’s not—”

“I’ll take him to a hospital myself, thank you.”

“But he needs to be checked over now.”

“It isn’t necessary,” Bentinck insisted again. “I promise, I know what deadly looks like, and this isn’t it. He’s under my- my divine protection and preference. He’ll be fine, at least for a little longer.” It was bullshit, but most people seemed to fall for it. He hoped this man was also most people.

The man paused, then bowed his head. “Very well. But I advise you to make it quick, my lord. It looks like he inhaled a lot of smoke.”

“I’ll be going now, so there’s nothing to worry about.”

He could tell he hadn’t made an entirely convincing argument, but what else was he to do? He was right, after all; checking over William wasn’t necessary, and nobody could look at him now without revealing the dangerous secret.

Because you’re already dead.

He nudged William’s horns, watching the head roll slightly to the side against his chest. He hadn’t imagined it; the labored breaths had stopped.

Aren’t you?

“Hans!” That was Anne calling for him. He turned away as she approached, and she placed a hand on his shoulder. “You actually got him.”

“Thanks to Maria,” Bentinck muttered. “No one else.” Could he have saved this life if only Marly hadn’t been there to stop him? Or was William already losing this one when he got inside?

He must have known. He must have thought I left him there. He ran his fingers through William’s matted hair, strangely wet and dry at the same time. He could smell the blood all over him, and he tried to imagine what it was that had caused him to bleed so much, what kind of pain he’d felt before he died.

“I’ve never wanted to do anything else but save you,” he said, trying to smile down at the body. “I’m sorry.” He blinked rapidly, but he let his tears fall once Anne wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing up close behind him.

“He lost a life?” she asked.

“His third,” he said, finally allowing himself a sob. “Already his fucking third. Six lives are supposed to last you, Anne, but everyone- everyone wants him dead. He must have been afraid. He must have been so afraid.” He took a shaky breath and bowed his head, burying it in William’s neck. “I would have lost him that first time.”

“He would have lost more if you hadn’t come for him,” he heard Anne say into his ear.

He didn’t have to lose any at all. If it weren’t for the deceit of the Villiers sisters—

No. He looked up, turned towards Anne. She had to follow orders. She was afraid.

“I- I suppose it had to happen,” he said.

She nodded. “And he’ll be all the more powerful for it. You were very brave to go in there, Hans.” She lifted a hand towards his face, then drew back with a nervous laugh. “But you need to get cleaned up, seriously.”

“Bentinck!”

They both looked up then, seeing Bidloo run towards them with his head bowed, like a charging bull. Under the red lights of the fire trucks, he looked more like a vengeful spirit as he approached, peering down at William in Bentinck’s arms.

“Why aren’t you getting him checked over?” he asked. “What if he-”

“He’s dead, sir,” Anne cut in. “There’s nothing more we can do for him. And there’s nothing we should do for him— we can’t make it known to anyone else here.”

“Dead?” Bidloo stumbled back, his eyes widening. “What- but you— no, Bentinck, let me look at him.”

“I’m sorry, Bidloo, I tried,” Bentinck said. “But it was too late, he couldn’t breathe—”

“It’s always too late for you!” Bidloo shouted, startling the Ally. “You can never get to him on time, you can never be at his side when he needs you— why do we even have an Ally if he’s fucking useless to us? His power means nothing! You put yourself through this for nothing!” He glared at Bentinck for a moment, then turned away with a huff.

“Come on,” he said as he walked away, his voice ominously low. “I’ll drive him to your place.”

Bentinck swallowed and turned his head up to the sky. He couldn’t make himself follow, not yet.

“He’s right about that last part, though,” Anne said.

“Not helping.”

“Maybe if you—” She cut herself off, and Bentinck looked down again to see both Elizabeth and Mary walking over to them.

“What now?” He glared pointedly at Elizabeth, who laughed and waved at him.

“You will remember that Maria saved your life,” Mary said.

“She did?” Anne asked. “Why would she do that?”

“I don’t even know how she did it,” Bentinck said, shaking his head helplessly.

“I wish she hadn’t,” Elizabeth said with a dismissive flick of her tail. “Anne, have you been with this guy all day? I was waiting for you at the execution! Why haven’t you just knocked him out and taken William back yet?” Her eyes glittered. “It worked well enough the first time.”

Bentinck opened his mouth, an excuse for her ready in his mind, but Anne held her hand up to silence him.

“I’m going with him,” she said. “I’m not coming back here. I’m done with James, and you and Mary, especially Mary— you should be, too.”

“You are?” Bentinck couldn’t stop the delight from springing onto his voice. “Anne—!”

Elizabeth’s tail furiously whipped the air behind her. “I said he wouldn’t love you.”

“Even if he didn’t, I would have left, anyway,” Anne said firmly. “I didn’t know where I would go without him, but I know now. I’m not going to serve the man who has abused his whole family, my best friend—”

“Please don’t say it like that,” Mary said, clearing her throat, and Anne turned to her, her gaze softening.

“Mary, please,” she said. “Come with me. I don’t want to leave if I don’t know that- that you’ll be safe.” She reached out and took Mary’s hand, squeezing it in her own.

“Trying to steal the princess away right from under our noses!” Elizabeth hissed. “I don’t care what happens to you, Anne; James will be hearing about this.”

“You will not be telling him, Elizabeth,” Mary said, batting her on the shoulder. “That’s an order.”

“You’re just letting him go? Letting both of them go?” Elizabeth gestured at William. “We are so close, Mary. Do you want to make your father furious when he comes back?”

“When he comes back— is he dead?” Anne asked, her eyes widening slightly.

“Yes, for a little while, anyway.” Mary shrugged like she was pushing off the memory of however her father had died. Bentinck wondered if it had been in the fire as well. “You can go, Anne. Watch over William for me.”

“You’re not coming?” Anne tilted her head to the side. “Mary—”

“I just can’t,” Mary said with a bitter sigh. “He doesn’t need to lose two daughters in one night. I have to stay, I have to believe that things can get better. I’ll never be safer than I am with him.”

Does she really believe that? Bentinck couldn’t imagine William ever saying that about his own father.

Anne glanced at Bentinck, then ran into Mary’s arms, refusing to let her out of the embrace.

“I don’t want to fight you,” she whispered, her shoulders shaking.

“They’ll never make us enemies,” Mary promised. “Neither William nor James.”

“I love you. Please take care of my sister and- and yourself.” Anne pulled away, wiping at her eyes.

“I’ll do my best.” Mary turned towards Bentinck, though she kept her gaze on William. “You can take him now. Just remember what Maria said— he can’t keep running forever.”

Bentinck gave her a slight nod. “William will be the last one standing. Thank you, and...thank Maria some more for me, too.”

“She doesn’t want to hear it,” Mary said. She whisked away, back towards the Disciples, but Elizabeth stayed longer, her gaze becoming harder by the moment.

“I’ll kill you both myself,” was all she said before she turned to follow Mary.

The ride to Bentinck’s house was mostly quiet, with Bentinck trying to shake the soot and ash off his hair, face, and clothes. William could get cleaned up later— certainly he didn’t mind waiting at the moment. He noticed Anne staring at him with an amused glint in her eye, visible even in the darkness.

Bidloo was the one who carried William inside, setting him on Bentinck’s bed, which Bentinck suspected was intentional. But he didn’t object, instead sitting down beside William and fiddling with the burnt tail. He noticed it was twisted unnaturally near the tip.

“I still wonder what they did to him,” he said. “This is broken.”

“I’m sure he’ll tell us himself when he wakes up,” Bidloo said, keeping his gaze on the ground.

If he wakes up, Bentinck added to himself, though he knew William would. It was only his third life. And then he would be on his fourth...three more deaths and then Bentinck could really say his friend would never wake up again.

And he lost the first three so quickly...

“Don’t let him die again,” Bidloo said, as if he’d just been thinking the same thing. “He’s burning through these lives.”

“I know.” Somehow Bidloo saying it out loud made it more real.

“I can’t- I don’t want to deal with that.”

“I’m going to protect him, Bidloo, I promise.” Bentinck reached a hand towards Bidloo’s shoulder. “Nothing else will come first. I failed before, but- it won’t happen again. No Disciples will ever get their hands on him after this.”

Bidloo snorted. “Some promise.” He glanced at Anne.

She had stayed quiet this whole time, staring at William with an unreadable expression. The white light trickling in through the windows shone upon her tiny horns, her glossy, dark hair, giving her the appearance of a woman made of ice with how still she lay beside Bentinck.

She looked like she could shatter, he realized. There had always been danger with the Disciples, certainly, but there was no one more wanted in the world than a traitor.

🝰🝰🝰

No one could know who had died.

No one could know he was dead.

It was a hope of nonsense, a hope that would be disappointed by morning. But it was still there, as heavy as the body that Marly dragged along with him.

He had to take it to Anne. Or he had to tear James apart himself. And then that hope would be reality.

But “reality” is so boring.

He saw the car waiting in the distance. There was no one else here, watching him from the shadows. It was just him and James. Him and his— master. The love of his life.

A lie. She was only up ahead.

John, don’t do this to me.

He was imagining it.

I gave you everything.

That didn’t make that any less true.

He lifted the body up, bringing it towards his face so that the head came to lean against him. He felt the lips press to his neck, like they always did. The only difference was that James did not sigh against him.

Is that it, sir? Do I take your breath away? Marly leaned back, smiled up at the empty eye. One seemed to have been shot out, or there was too much blood to see it; no matter, there was still the other one left, sightless and beautiful.

He bowed his head and met James in a kiss. How many times had James kissed him awake, he thought wryly; how many times had he lay there in a petrified daze and James had kissed him anyway?

In the end he turned away. He could have left him to die here, but—

I have never known fear like you.

[darling-gemini]

35, Wyler!!!!

35. Future Perfect (Pass the Mic) by Enhypen

"No, just--stop it, let me talk."

Wednesday falls silent as the words leave Tyler's lips, his voice raised along with his hands. She does then, her fire momentarily put out as she stares with a rage filled gaze. They'd been fighting for the better part of thirty minutes and things were coming to a head. To anyone looking in, it may look like they wouldn't make it through the night.

"This is so stupid," Tyler mutters under his breath, bringing his hands up to his face to rub at it. He turns away from Wednesday then, his back to her, and takes a few steps in the opposite direction. "This is so stupid, we shouldn't be fighting like this."

It was true, it was likely pointless to get into a shouting match when they'd been through so much together. Still, Wednesday stands with her fists clenched together, withholding her anger as she waits for him to talk, to get to his point.

"Look, I--" He starts only to interrupt himself with a sigh. "I need you to stop protecting me, Wen. I want- I need to stand on my own feet sometimes. And it's not like I don't appreciate you looking out for me, I do, always, but this... This isn't helping me. You're hurting me, Wen. Please, I'm asking you to just stop."

It's this that takes the wind out of her sails. Wednesday's shoulders fall slowly and then all at once, and her fists turn to open palms as she watches him, waiting for him to turn around, to face her. He does, only a moment later, tears welling in his eyes.

"I'm asking you to stop because if you don't, I'll leave, and... And I don't want to leave." He says with a world-wary sigh. "I wanna be with you. I want to be with you until we're old and gray, but I can't just--I can't keep pretending like this behavior is okay. It's uncomfortable, and it's weird, and--and not in your usually loveably weird sort of way. I need you to let me find my own voice, and be there for me to lean on, but I don't need you defending me at every turn. I'm a big boy, I can protect myself, I promise."

"And what if you can't?" Wednesday asks, her voice cracking with emotions she hadn't felt this extent of in years. "What if there comes a day when you need me, and I'm not there?"

"You're always there, though." He points out, taking a step closer. "You're like, impossible to get rid of. You're like--you're like a cockroach that way."

Wednesday crinkles her nose and says, "I hate that line," which earns a laugh followed by sniffles from Tyler.

"My point," He says, taking yet another step closer, reaching out to take her hand, "Is that I believe that you'll be there for me when I need it. I know that can put my weight on you, and you can put your weight on me. That's how this works, this... Relationship stuff."

"Do you swear by it?" She asks, her usual edge making its way back into her voice.

"I swear that no matter what comes at us, no matter what life puts in our way, I want us to build a future together. It may not be perfect, but it'll be ours. You just have to let me build out my own life first, in whatever shape that takes."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay."

Okay so this turned out way different tonally than the song that inspired it, but the bolded words are taken from the English translation of the lyrics so as to tie this whole thing in somehow!! Hope you enjoy💕

[kintrash413]

Summary: A very helpful step-by-step guide on how to build Decked Out 2, written by Tango himself! Full fic under the cut.

Step 1: Have several years of experience.

You don't need to understand redstone, but you do need the experience. You don't need to know how the base components work, only that they do. With enough time, you can trial and error your way through anything.

Step 2: Cut yourself off from your friends and stop attending events.

This is going to take a while, you need to accept that before you even start. Your friends will understand at first, just keep telling yourself that it'll be worth it in the end. Eventually your friends will grow worried that you're not eating or sleeping and ask you to take a break. The best time to take a break is never. Consider that step 2.5.

Step 3: Realize you're always hungry.

At first you'll think your friends are right, that feeling is normal. You might even indulge in a short vacation and redownload that app on your communicator reminding you when to eat. But eating won't satiate your hunger, and eventually you'll realize it grows worse the longer you spend away from Decked Out 2. Remember step 2.5.

Step 4: Efficiency isn't nearly as important as just getting it done at all.

There will always be the temptation to make things more efficient, more compact. If you indulge that temptation you'll never finish your work, and you're already missing your friends.

Step 5: Those thoughts aren't your own. This hunger isn't your own.

You keep staring at your friends and wondering what they'll look like as they're overwhelmed by their own panic. You want to see the fear in their eyes as you kill them. You wonder what their blood tastes like.

(This isn't really a step… repeating the points of step 3? Cut out.)

Step 5: Fear you might've created something alive.

The redstone keeps shifting without your intervention, and the very walls breathe as you pass by. You certainly didn't mean to create life, maybe you should've studied redstone better back in step one. What will happen when the season ends? Can it feel pain? Does it cry out when you break it? You should really be more concerned about yourself.

Step 6: Kill your darlings.

Don't be afraid to tear out old redstone that isn't working! The time lost is painful, but the better systems make you stronger.

Step 7: Turn off your communicator.

Your friends are calling you constantly. They're worried for you, and they're worried about the way you look at them. It's important to minimize distractions while you're working.

Step 8: You can't tell the difference between Decked Out 2 and yourself. Your heart beats with every redstone pulse (you're always on the verge of a panic attack). You can feel the bugs in your code like an itch, and you're always itching. The blue in your fingers from building the first floor isn't going away. Look into a mirror and realize you don't recognize your reflection.

Step 9: Invite your friends to enjoy your work!

Willing victims crowd the front door and you couldn't be happier (so why don't you feel free?)!

[cbeargyu]

𝙉𝙀𝙀𝘿 𝙏𝙊 𝙆𝙉𝙊𝙒 ― 𝑗. 𝑗𝑎𝑒ℎ𝑦𝑢𝑛

summary: after you tell a lie, there's no turning back, y/n doesn't know what to do now that she told the whole frat that she slept with the best boxer in college: jung jaehyun.

pairing: college boxer!jaehyun x student afab!reader

genre: strangers to friends w/ benefits to lovers, smut, angst (y/n is such a fool), college life.

wc: 27,4k

warnings: this fic is slightly inspired in manhwa peach sorbet. humor, cursing, breeding kink, fingering, blowjob, kissing, sex scenes in a nutshell💀, smoking, alcohol.

part ii here.

playlist: ✧ need to know ; doja cat ✧ tio ; zayn ✧ entertainer ; zayn ✧ common ; zayn ✧ rear view ; zayn ✧ you wish you knew ; zayn ✧ swim ; chase atlantic

notes: i hope you enjoy it and sorry for my bad english T-T english isn't my first language so pls forgive me if i had some grammar errors bc i'm still learning😁🙏 and yeah i love zayn 😭

“being a virgin in high school isn’t a big deal, y/n” that’s what your friend, kang saeran said, at that moment she was a virgin as well, but once both of you graduated, she slept with her boyfriend. damn liar. you thought because nowadays you were in your sophomore year in college and still nothing of action.

yeah, you had some boyfriends in the past, but never took the next step and had sex, maybe because you were afraid or because you thought that you wanted to be a virgin until you got married to the man you loved… how wrong you were.

none of your childhood friends went to the same college as you. that feels like starting from zero again. as a birthday present, your parents rented a small room for you close to the college, so you can become more independent and have your own space and avoid all the troubles with the roomies at the college sorority. 

at some point, you were excited, because you started to imagine all the privacy you would have and that meant one thing; have sex whenever you like. but the sad reality was other, you were always busy with school tasks and barely had time to hang out with friends, also add that you just went on some dates but nothing else. It’s like men weren’t interested in you in a sexual way, even in a romantic way. but, come on! you were pretty, funny, and have great music taste, what the hell is wrong with them then? 

“when did you lose your virginity, y/n?” you almost choked with your bubble tea when jinsol asked that without any filter, as if it were anything at all, maybe it was for her, but you… damn, you were a fucking virgin as hell. 

“perhaps she’s a virgin” jungeun mutters and giggled, you gave her a dirty look. 

“shut up, and nope, i’m not a virgin.” you lied, staring at your friend with confidence in your eyes, you thought your performance was too good because both girls looked at you expectantly for you to continue with your revelation. “was with my ex-boyfriend from high school, we had sex after the graduation party, on the couch at his parents' house” jinsol frowned and jungeun couldn't help but let out a laugh, although she tried to cover her mouth when jinsol nudged her, sorry, she said biting her lips as if she was avoiding at all costs not to laugh at you.

“wow… too much information if i can tell…” it was what jinsol said, on the inside, you were dying of shame, why should you have stuck your tongue out and said that? besides, you were unintentionally exposing how kang saeran lost her virginity. at least they didn't know her, so the ethics can be screwed if they want to. 

“well… it’s the first time i've told you this so… i’m sorry if it sounds weird to you”

“it did” jungeun mocked of you once again. 

“bitch, you’re starting to piss me off” you pointed your finger at jungeun in a threatening manner, maybe you were getting defensive, but you had to protect your secret from now on. "why don't you tell us how you lost your virginity?" 

since then, you and your friends have talked little to nothing about her active sex life at the moment. now and then, jungeun tells them that she will go on a date with some random dude on tinder and won't return to the sorority until the next day. she doesn't care about the sanctions she receives. jinsol is a beauty in the social science department and most of the guys have a huge crush on her, however, she recently started dating qian kun, an exchange boy in the music department, while you, well, you are in good health and doing well in your studies.

summer days are coming and that means summer vacations, you could return to your parent’s house or maybe apply for a job near the college. today was friday and your first class started at 9:30 am, it's still early so you decided to make a little stop at Starbucks on your way to the college. you ordered the usual; iced mocha. you took a seat near the window while checking your instagram feed, behind you were sitting some girls from the same department as you, you recognized one of them as park sooyoung, one of the college goddesses, she was barely wearing makeup and still looked too beautiful, her lips were pigmented in a strong red that stood out with her milky skin. she was laughing with her friends, you didn't avoid paying attention to the other's conversation when you heard the word sex.

“is he really as good as they said? i heard he can last up to five rounds in bed” 

“it was spectacular, have you heard that phrase that says “he would makes you see stars”? well, it was like that” sooyoung covered both cheeks realizing the blush that was appearing on her face. the other girls squealed and congratulated her.

“i heard about a rumor going around the frat that said that if you sleep with him, it’s 100% sure you’ll cum within five minutes” they squealed again and sooyoung kept nodding.

what you didn’t understand was, who the fuck are they talking about? thousands of images came to your mind, trying to give shape to the man they were describing, how prominent or spectacular he must be to have such abilities as if he were a god or something.

“i’m telling you girls, having sex with the leader of the boxing club was the best thing i could have done, besides, i would like to go out on a date with him, he’s not only good in bed, he’s also very attractive, at least i want to see him once again” that was what sooyoung said with a smile on her face, everything about her seemed to glow, is that the result of a good fuck? 

you thought about the boxing club- you didn’t even know there was a boxing club at the college, to begin with, let alone know who the leader is, but he must be someone good-looking as the rumors said. you didn’t give the matter any more thought and headed to the college, straight to your first class.

but your mind wouldn’t leave you alone and started to imagine all the possible faces and bodies that could be assimilated by someone handsome knows how to fuck and who, undoubtedly, must have a good body because he’s a boxer. you wish for a moment you hadn’t listened to that conversation that had nothing to do with you. oh, you did. in the end, you would regret it, because that night, your friends would invite you to a frat party to celebrate the arrival of summer and when you had too much alcohol in your system, the others decided it was a great idea to play “truth or dare” with an empty soju bottle that was there.

it was the turn of taeyong from the psychology department to turn the bottle, at this point you felt too dizzy, however, you knew how to hide it very well, next to you was jinsol, who was muttering something that you couldn’t understand well, maybe she was saying you to go to sleep or go to the restroom to vomit.

you opened your eyes in surprise when the tip of the bottle pointed at you, taeyong’s corners rose wickedly, and everyone was waiting expectantly for his question, you knew he would say something stupid as was common, something silly to make fun of you. but, even in this state, you weren’t going to allow it.

“who was the last person you had sex with?” that felt like a bucket of cold water on you, everyone laughed at the question, as direct and blatant as lee taeyong.

“what kind of question is that, hyung? we were asking about our kinks” jungwoo tapped taeyong’s shoulder in a friendly manner as if he could feel the tension in the air from the question.

and the thing is, you hadn’t done anything wrong to taeyong to make him dislike you like that, you just refused to go on a date with him because he wasn’t your type and he kept bragging about how he had slept with all the girls in the department.

“what’s wrong? you won’t answer? of course! your only last time must have been when you lost your virginity on your in-laws’ couch, or so jungeun said” taeyong let out a cruel-sounding laugh, everyone was completely silent, he was starting to cross the line.

you quickly looked at jungeun, the only one capable of telling taeyong that, she was choking on her beer when taeyong revealed that. “i swear i didn’t tell him everything!” was her only excuse as she wiped it off the beer with the back of her hand. the feeling of disappointment and humiliation was starting to rise in your chest.

the others tried to defuse the heated moment, taeyong looked at you with victory in his eyes, as if he had achieved his goal. but you were too stubborn to leave it at that, so you firmly answered his question:

“since you are so interested to know, i slept with…” your mind was not thinking clearly, you barely knew how to formulate an understandable sentence, you looked around and felt that long minutes passed, and taeyong staring at you coldly with his jaw clenched and arms crossed over his chest denoting the annoyance.

“a member of the… boxing club” damn you and your damn obsession with using someone else’s testimonials to pass them off as your own.

everyone’s eyes widened, what you had said was unheard of, and the questions of who it is were not long in coming. 

your gaze inadvertently fell on jungwoo, who was snacking on some of the fries on his left side. “jung…” you barely mumbled.

“jung?!” minkyung shouted out of nowhere as if she had hit the person you were talking about, but you just were inventing everything, wasn’t it? “you’re talking about jung Jaehyun?! oh my god, that man is so hot! you were keeping that secret well, y/n!” now all the girls were screaming around you, except jungeun and jinsol, who were looking at you dumbfounded. jinsol reacted quickly and congratulated you, although she didn’t know why she was doing it.

jung… who?

“are you… serious?” taeyong asked in a low voice, incredulous at your words. but when you nodded firmly, he licked his lips, thinking about how he could take more advantage of this situation. “well since you are so close to jaehyun, why don’t we invite him?” everyone innocently supported taeyong’s plan, as if they wanted to bring a couple together, but taeyong’s intentions were different. you bit your lips, holding in the anger that this motherfucker was provoking in you.

“do whatever you want, lee” when taeyong started to type jaehyun’s number on his phone, your heart started to race, you began to sweat and you didn’t know if it was the effects of alcohol or if you were just going to pass out from anxiety. taeyong had a nice conversation on the phone, it seemed that jaehyun was training and didn’t want to leave it just for a stupid party, as he said.

“come on, bro! we have a special guest here, i’m sure you want to see her” everyone started cheering. the line was silent until jaehyun said he would be here soon. fuck, he was just making things difficult.

the minutes went on forever and internally you wished he wouldn’t come through, but you could not chicken out, now you had to face thing as it was, also you had to figure out how you would keep your reputation after this, the most difficult thing was that you didn’t know jaehyun’s personality, apparently he is close to taeyong, what if he is just like him? you would certainly be done.

you heard the guests shouting as they announced jaehyun’s arrival, and you barely heard a deep voice complaining about making him come to a party in the middle of the night, you swallowed hard, and suddenly, the descriptions given by the girls at starbucks started to run through your head again.

god damn.

you were in big trouble.

no.

in a huge problem.

you were sitting on the ground when the huge figure of jung jaehyun landed in front of you, he frowned when you looked up to see him, god damn, his face was so beautiful, or maybe you were too drunk, but you looked into his dark eyes and you almost swore you were reflected in them.

his hair was falling over his face, he was wearing a loose sleeveless shirt showing his worked arms, his skin shone a bit, it must be the sweat from the training he was doing, underneath he only had black shorts revealing his strong legs, shit, you began to feel hot on your face from looking at him intensely.

damn, when you said you fucked someone from the boxing club you didn't expect they would bring a real person here just because you threw in a random name.

"hyung! why didn't you tell us that it was you who took away y/n's purity!” lee donghyuck put his arm around jaehyun's neck, but he didn't flinch. he just looked at you out of the corner of his eye, trying to understand what was going on, but without being too obvious.

"shut up haechan! didn't you hear that taeyong said that y/n lost her virginity a long time ago?" donghyuck was pushed by heejin, causing jaehyun to wriggle out of his grasp.

you could only close your eyes and swallow your shame, shit, how you wish you weren't there right now.

"why did you never tell us about this, y/n!" minkyung nudged you, very cheerful in her drunken state, but she only managed to plunge you further into embarrassment. the worst thing was that jaehyun looked annoyed with each passing minute.

"i didn't know you had high standards, y/n, it's amazing to know that jaehyun gave you a chance in his bed" when taeyong said that, something in you snapped, any hope of pride gone.

“h-hey jaehyun, I thought we'd never see each other again…” you said, completely nervous and shaking.

“must be a coincidence, y/n”

jaehyun gave you a smile that managed to send a chill through your whole body, even more so because of the tone he used when he said your name as if he had tasted it from his mouth before letting it out.

without warning, jaehyun wrapped you in his arms in a warm hug and it denoted a lot of confidence, but your body was rigid, you could barely react. the others yelled obscenities like go get to a room, but you only paid attention to what jaehyun whispered in your ear.

"okay, you will ask everyone to excuse you, but you have to leave with me, did you get it?"

as an automatic reaction you nodded, and once jaehyun separated from you his aura changed completely, now he smiled and his eyes turned half moons, two tender dimples appeared on his cheeks and you could look at his face for the first time with a dazzling smile from him.

“okay guys, thanks for inviting me, but i have to go, jaehyun will walk me home-”

"wow, you guys are going to fuck!" minhyung yelled out of nowhere, jinsol gave him a death glare and he gulped, realizing his mistake. "oh, I mean, they'll just walk home, yeah," he cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck.

in an act of trust, you took jahyun's hand and intertwined it with yours, although the boy's body tensed, he hid it quite well, both of you left the building and the walk became awkward, neither of you was able to say anything while you moved away from the gaze of others, but you didn’t let go of each other's hands either. before going out into the dark, you noticed how jaehyun's knuckles were worn, and bruised with recent reddish wounds.

you led the way home without saying a word, the route was usually seven minutes, but this time you felt that your home was ten miles from the fraternity. once in front of the door of your home, you swallowed saliva, preparing yourself mentally and physically for the reverence in search of forgiveness from you and all the next generations.

“did you say that... you and I met and that... we had sex?” the slowness of his words was painful and humiliating, you stopped your walk, but you weren't able to turn to face jaehyun.

“please forgive me, i was too drunk, i know it's not an excuse, but at that moment... i just said the first thing that came to my mind, i didn't expect that there was someone with the name jung in the boxing club. i'm sorry, i got you involved in this lie, but if my friends and the whole frat find out i lied i’m all done, the truth is… i'm still a virgin, i've never slept with anyone and-...” you started talking so fast that jaehyun could barely understand everything you said, he chuckled because your speech was so random jaehyun didn't know how to feel right now, maybe used or just like a idiot that ruined your lie for being called jung and join the boxing club.

jaehyun was silent for a few moments, however, that was not uncomfortable, it was more like he understood your situation, even though you had dragged him into your lies, he listened to you carefully.

“if you want, i’ll say it didn’t happen” jaehyun whispered, bright darkness appeared in his eyes and his lips curved up in a strange smirk, he took a hand out of his pockets and brought it closer to your face, slowly caressing your cheek with his thumb, you didn't know if it was you or him who was burning in the heat. “but where’s the fun in that?” 

the softness with which he caressed your cheek was intoxicating, due to the closeness you could smell his cologne and a faint of sweat, but it wasn't a bad thing for you in those moments, it felt so raw and intimate, god, you were in front of a real man. instinctively, you brought your face closer to him, tilting your head to try to reach him and you even stood on your toes, this only made jaehyun giggle, who saw it as something cute of you, there was no doubt that you were completely virgin.

with parted lips you asked for jaehyun to kiss you, so desperate for his touch and wondering what his saliva tastes like, your thoughts were rising as you felt jaehyun's breath on your face. and as if jaehyun read your thoughts, he kissed you slowly, you could only move your head to give him better access, your hands ended up on his chest where they squeezed his shirt hard and jaehyun's other hand landed on your neck, pushing you towards him.

his kiss increased when without warning, jaehyun pushed his tongue into your mouth, first licking your lower lip and then going all the way in, at first you were surprised, but it didn't take long for you to reciprocate and keep up with him. a heat was present in your crotch, and hot gasps left your mouth that was barely silenced by jung jaehyun's wild and intoxicating kisses.

god, you didn't want to stop, but the lack of oxygen was present in both of you, managing to separate for a few moments, jaehyun stared at you and you did too, it was as if his eyes were calling you to keep kissing him and how obedient a girl you were, you pushed your lips to his again, this time leading the rhythm and placing your arms around his neck, stroking with your fingertips the fade of his hair and the tips of his ears.

this time you felt jaehyun's hands slightly climb up your hips until they slipped under your blouse, you gasped at the contact of his cold hands touching your warm skin, at this moment you were letting yourself be carried away by hormones, you were not thinking correctly with your head, but you didn't care, you wanted to rub yourself against jaehyun's body to relieve the burning sensation in your crotch.

suddenly, the sound of a call coming in made you jump. jaehyun patted his front pocket and took his cell phone out, it was none other than lee taeyong, you rolled your eyes without jaehyun seeing you and he took the call.

"we're in front of her house, yah... calm down, i'm about to go back to the frat, we won't do anything tonight..." his words made your heart skip a beat, your cheeks turned redder than you thought they were already after the hot kissing session. jaehyun was going along with your lie and that was so... sneaky.

"i have to go, i don't want to have another penalty for leaving the rooms late" jaehyun took a deep breath and put both hands in his pockets as he watched you slowly search for the keys. you were kind of disappointed that it all ended like this tonight, being interrupted by that motherfucker.

"okay then, see you around...?" he said, with some doubt in his voice, you looked up and noticed a sparkle in his eyes. hope. as if it were a romantic movie, you dropped everything you had in your hands and you kiss his lips, a short and pure kiss, but full of feelings and desire, jaehyun could barely flinch because you quickly separated, when you turned embarrassed, a smile already decorated her reddish lips.

"thank you jaehyun"

"why do you thank me?"

"just because of everything..." you smile shyly, alcohol does have a strong effect on you. "see you later" you assured and that made jaehyun feel safe. your word was everything. soon you would see each other again.

a week later, you hadn't seen jaehyun near the college, even though you didn't want to be so obvious looking around for him, you always kept an eye on the crowd when you were walking around campus.

finally, the only thing you know about him is that he belongs to the boxing club, nothing else.

also, you don't know where the boxing club is.

would it be weird for you to ask for the location?

the uncomfortable questions from the people who attended the party that friday were all around you but ceased on tuesday when that topic was no longer new.

jinsol recommended you not see jaehyun anymore, when you questioned her why she simply said "there are many rumors around him, i don't want that to involve you" even though you tried to understand her, the word rumors, were very ambiguous; what other rumors will exist around Jung Jaehyun besides the ones you heard in the cafeteria?

otherwise, jungeun sent you a lot of messages apologizing to you for telling taeyong about your "closeness" and that she didn't expect you to have fucked jaehyun. well, it was a lie, but only he and you knew that.

you stopped thinking about everything that had happened in the last few days and focused on the strong pain you felt in your neck, it must be the stress, you thought. although the summer vacations were approaching and with it the end of the semester, you felt a bit pressured with the exams and final deliveries, yesterday you did nothing but study and now these were the results. you fondled the painful part and let out a small moan.

taking classes on saturdays, having body pain and the extreme heat was the perfect recipe to alter your mood, even though you were wearing a light button-down shirt and shorts you felt the sticky feeling on your skin beginning to upset you.

you decided to stop at starbuck's to buy something cold, as soon as you arrived at the establishment the air system greeted you, thank heavens the place was not so crowded and there were some empty tables, you thought if it would be a good idea to sit down for a bit to check the essay you were about to submit next week.

"hello welcome, may i take your order?"

"hi, i'd like a venti ice americano, please-"

"two venti ice americano, please."

you were interrupted when someone taller than you, perched on your right. it was none other than jung jaehyun, smiling warmly at the cafe worker with those beautiful dimples, you were dumbfounded, the woman typed the computer and confirmed the order, jaehyun in one brisk movement, pulled out the cash ready to pay for you.

"my treat, okay?" he said, how was it possible that he did everything so naturally? you could barely say anything, you merely mumbled a slight thank you, but he looked so comfortable around you that you didn't know what to do.

when your coffees were delivered, you sat down at a table in the back. strangely, you felt like a girl on her first date of a lifetime, your heart was pounding hard against your chest and your hands were sweating, no matter how hard you tried to wipe them against the fabric of your shorts it wasn't enough.

"thanks for the coffee, jaehyun" was all you managed to say, he squeaked and took a sip of his coffee.

"it's nothing" he shrugged his shoulders downplaying it, he shook his hair and you noticed light beads of sweat, surely he came from training or something. also, you saw that the wounds from his fists were still there, but not only that… the veins on his arm and hands were too marked, that image was so hot. you had never had any fixation with people's hands, but seeing jaehyun's hands made you change your mind and you couldn't think of them touching you, around your neck or on your… "y/n?" you jumped in place when you heard him call out to you. "are you okay? it seems your mind is occupied with something else" he recited as if he could read your thoughts, you swallowed saliva and quickly denied.

"it's not that, it's just… i'm a little stressed from school these days, i've barely been able to rest properly" your hand caressed the back of your neck, massaging it lightly. jaehyun's eyes carefully followed your every move without you noticing.

"i can tell, I've heard that the finance department is very strict and stern, isn't it?" wait a minute, how does he know which department you belong to? hearing that threw you off a bit and you couldn't help but ask him.

"how do you know I'm in the finance department?" jaehyun smiled as if he had been caught.

"well, i've heard a lot about you."

it only took a second for your face to change color. what could he have heard about you? you wanted to ask, but your throat closed up in that moment. you felt your body tremble from the thoughts growing in your mind. why was jaehyun suddenly so interested in you? was it because of the lie, perhaps? jaehyun might have noticed the change in your expression and let out a small laugh. that was all it took for all the embarrassment to drain from your body, making the atmosphere lighter and allowing your muscles to relax. without meaning to, you smiled too.

you realized how easy it was to talk to him. despite his attractive appearance, anyone would think he would be the typical arrogant guy for being part of a sports club and sleeping with many girls, but jung jaehyun was the complete opposite.

you kept bumping into things as your drink slowly dwindled, leaving only the ice cubes in sight. even though the conversation flowed naturally, you both knew you were skirting around the main issue, avoiding the heart of the matter. if only you hadn't been interrupted yesterday—what would have happened? would jaehyun have slept with you? so many questions, and a mix of fear about knowing the answers.

"do you mind if I walk you home? It's getting late" jaehyun suggested, swirling his glass in the air, causing the ice cubes to clink from side to side. you glanced at your own glass, now empty. you had both lost track of time. when jaehyun stood up, a strange feeling hit your stomach, and without thinking, you bit your lip. your house was close by, so you decided to play it cool and go along with whatever random topic he’d start talking about next.

on the way home, you couldn't stop thinking about what to do. would it be too cold to just walk inside and act like nothing’s happening? would it be too much to ask him to come inside with you? would he think you're too easy? you weren’t sure of the answers to the flood of questions swirling in your mind, but one thing was certain—you both felt the sexual tension. even when your shoulders brushed against each other, you could feel electricity shoot through your body with every tiny touch. jaehyun seemed calm, or at least that’s the image he was trying to project.

once you stood in front of your apartment door, jaehyun spoke: "I really enjoyed the conversation. rest well, y/n" jaehyun slipped his hands into his pockets and gave you a small, lopsided smile. "I hope next time we meet, you don’t act like a stranger." you parted your lips, searching for the right words. his face seemed like it was waiting for something more.

are you waiting for something more? you thought. it was hard to say goodbye now, and without hesitating, you said:

"hey, jaehyun, it’s saturday and it’s still early. why don’t you come in?" you rubbed your arm, trying to calm yourself, as your heart raced a mile a minute. the seconds you waited for his response felt like years. jaehyun's smile widened, and he nodded.

you opened the door and felt the warmth of your home welcoming you, while inside, your mind was spinning. I invited him. I actually did it. in reality, it was the first time you had brought a guy over—someone of the opposite sex, someone you were interested in.

and you were interested in him in the most sexual way possible.

"thanks for inviting me" jaehyun said with a grateful smile, showing off his adorable dimples. you weren’t sure if it was the whole situation, but even that innocent gesture sent a wave of heat through your body, especially between your legs. quickly, you took off your hoodie and tied your hair into a ponytail.

"it's been really hot today. do you mind if I take a quick shower?" you asked, waving your hands as if trying to cool yourself down. jaehyun raised an eyebrow, curious.

"go ahead, I’ll wait," he said, sitting down on the small sofa in your living room. you could feel two things pulsing: your heart and your vagina.

suddenly, the mood shifted, as your movements became a bit clumsy—like when you accidentally kicked the edge of the dining table, causing you to curse under your breath. when jaehyun moved closer to help, you quickly pushed his chest away. "I’m fine!" you repeated, not looking him in the eye.

"if it feels awkward, wouldn’t it be better if I leave?" jaehyun's voice was calm, trying to understand you. it was more than obvious that you were feeling uneasy about everything that had happened between the two of you, and he understood why the situation suddenly felt weird.

"n-no!" you quickly said, looking at him with concern. jaehyun stepped a little closer. "you don’t want to... do that?" your cheeks turned pink, and your gaze dropped to your feet, feeling truly embarrassed. jaehyun let out a small chuckle, realizing that, in fact, you were a complete virgin, acting like a high school girl.

"what’s so funny?" your cheeks puffed up, feeling both embarrassed and a little annoyed at the thought that jaehyun might be making fun of you.

"nothing, you’re just really cute,’ he said, lifting your chin to lock eyes with you. you could see the confidence in his gaze while you were a bundle of nerves and anxiety. "you’re really beautiful, y/n" his free hand now took yours, which was smaller than his, and that only turned jaehyun on even more. slowly, he walked back to the sofa and sat down, leaving you standing in front of him, your chest right in his view. "in any case, there’s no need to shower... you’re going to sweat again anyway." your face flushed even more, fully grasping the double meaning of his words, but your body jolted slightly as you felt jaehyun’s warm hands slide under your shirt, moving up to reveal your breasts, pushing your bra out of the way. you had to admit, the sight of jaehyun massaging your breasts was undeniably hot.

you were lost in his soft and exciting touch that you didn't notice when jaehyun caught your left nipple between his lips, the hot and wet sensation of his tongue making you gasp. the man's hands slid over your waist, pulling you closer to him, you were so fucking horny.

a new sensation made you jump as jaehyun grabbed the other nipple with his fingertips, rubbing it. you felt wetter and wetter, weaker and weaker, and if it weren't for jaehyun's strong arm holding you, you might have fallen at any moment.

you don't know how much time passed, but jaehyun switched to your other nipple, and you could see how the left one was shining with saliva and swollen... an image that made you even wetter and feel incredibly hot.

"let's go to bed" in an instant, he pulled your soft flesh out of his mouth, looking at you with lust-filled eyes, his lips swollen and shiny with saliva. though you were a little dizzy with excitement, you hadn’t realized how far things had gone. you were about to head to your bed—then what would happen?

before you knew it, you were already lying on your bed with jaehyun on top of you. you watched as he took off his shirt, revealing his well-toned body, worthy of someone who belonged to the boxing club. he tossed the shirt somewhere in the room and leaned down to kiss your lips with hunger and desire. obscene sounds escaped from his mouth, gasps and moans filling the room.

jaehyun's fingers reached your panties, pulling them aside to finally touch your most intimate place, and you opened your eyes in surprise.

‘it's really wet down here,’ he said with a smile on his face, slowly caressing you. his fingers slid over your flesh, from your clitoris to your labia. why did it feel so good? despite the intense sensation, you felt embarrassed, covering your face with both hands. ‘are you sure you've never done this before?’ jaehyun asked with a grin, as his fingers stroked you up and down."

“I told you that I have never—AGH!’ you couldn’t even finish the sentence because something entered your body. jaehyun had inserted one of his long fingers, which quickly began to move in and out. it was your first time, and the sensation was strange and a little painful; your face contorted and your body stiffened. you were so tight that it hurt, but soon your moans turned into pleasurable groans. was this the power of jung jaehyun that all the girls talked about? the feeling of someone else doing it was truly different; you would never have reached this level of excitement on your own. jaehyun added another finger, and the wet sounds echoed even more in the room. without warning, a knot formed in your stomach, and you knew something was about to happen, so you quickly grabbed jaehyun’s wrist, trying to stop him. “w-wait, ah! I f-feel... I feel something coming...’” as soon as you finished the sentence, a clear stream shot out, soaking the pink sheets of your bed. you let out a sweet moan that made jaehyun doubly hard. you closed your eyes, recovering from the incredible orgasm you had just experienced. when you opened them, you saw jaehyun’s proud expression and a large puddle in your crotch—again, the wet sheets. “but what the—! I just washed them this week!” you almost started crying because washing sheets is the worst. jaehyun just giggled. before you knew it, he was unzipping his pants and...

what he released from between his legs was not something ordinary. come on, you had never seen one in person, but this was nothing like what you had seen in porn pages or the images that strangers sent to your message inbox. this was simply huge in every sense of the word. how was it possible that it could fit inside you? the tip was pink, and veins started from the base of his abdomen, wrapping around it. it looked quite hard, and you could barely appreciate it before he began to roll a condom over it. where had he gotten it? who knows, but you couldn't stop thinking about the size. “what’s wrong, y/n?” obviously, your reaction had thrilled him, feeding his ego. “do you think it won’t fit?” one corner of his lips curled into a sly smile.

"are you challenging me? of course, bring it on!’ you said, feeling confident because y/n wasn't just any girl; you were a competitive girl, and this was nothing. you knew it would hurt at first, yes, but your hunger for sex was stronger, and you were sure that soon you would have that chunk of meat buried deep in your wet pussy.

"I like confident girls" jaehyun said, leaning his face closer to yours and licking his lips with lust as he took your legs, positioning himself between them. once he was nestled between you, he ran his hands over your captivating body. first, he gently took your shoulders, caressing them from top to bottom, then he traced his warm tongue along your neck, sending shivers throughout your body—especially in your swollen pussy. afterward, he massaged your breasts, which weren’t particularly big, and sometimes you felt insecure about that. however, seeing how perfectly they fit in jaehyun's hands made you feel so sexy. did jaehyun think the same?

how was it possible for him to be so good at this? his touch quickly left you weak and dizzy. was it because he had had a lot of sex before? that was clear; he was handsome, had a great body, and above all, he was well-endowed down there. no girl could resist.

"I’m going to put it in" he leaned closer to your face, and you felt his warm breath. that’s when you realized that what was about to enter you was something big, hard, and thick. maybe you shouldn’t have challenged him like that. perhaps just a little, you were starting to fear that the process would be too painful.

you clung to his arms as he slowly slid inside you. he caressed your cheek and whispered, "relax, don’t tense your body too much"

it was easy for him to say that, as he wasn’t the one being penetrated. however, he was incredibly gentle, even when he was fully inside you, your body stiffened. your head tilted back as you breathed quickly, trying to adjust to what had been inserted into you for the first time. "I won’t move until you feel ready, okay?" his nose brushed against yours in a compassionate gesture, and even that filled your heart. small tears gathered at the corners of your eyes, and it was jaehyun who gently wiped them away. "you’re doing so well, y/n."

despite the pain that ran through your body, your mind was focused on the pleasure that the situation was giving you: jaehyun’s naked body on top of you, jaehyun inside you, jaehyun with a blush on his face, jaehyun having sex with you. it was the only thing you could think about, and it only made you wetter. little by little, the pain faded, and suddenly you were begging him in a voice that betrayed your surrender, asking jaehyun to move.

then, the hard and fast thrusts came without hesitation. you could only focus on how your breasts bounced and how barely you could hold back your gasps of pleasure. jaehyun looked satisfied, seeing the sheer thrill on your face. you couldn’t think straight; you could barely keep your eyes open, and you weren’t sure how much longer you’d last, as you were getting wetter with each movement.

‘wow, you’re really soaked,’ jaehyun commented with a grin on his face, almost as if he were mocking your state. you didn’t even care; instead, you pulled him closer, clinging tightly to his body.

suddenly, your phone started ringing—someone was calling you. it was so unexpected, and jaehyun seemed to care about it as he paused and asked, ‘you should probably answer that.’ but before he could even reach for the phone, you grabbed his hand and guided it to your breast, whispering softly, ‘don’t stop, please,’ while biting your lip. you were close, you could feel it, and whoever was calling could go to hell right now.

this made jaehyun even more turned on. for a moment, he didn’t know how to react, but as your legs wrapped around him again, he could only smirk, proud of his bedroom skills, enough to have the ex-virgin begging him not to stop. he knew you were enchanting, but he didn’t know just how much. so, he grabbed your waist, lifting it to penetrate you deeper and faster. this technique made your moans even louder, filled with pure excitement. combined with the sounds of skin slapping, the creak of the bed, and jaehyun’s gasps, it all created a unique melody in the room.

“oh, i'm going to cum...” jaehyun warned as his movements became harder against your body, you felt the pounding hit hard against your hips and how his fingers were marked on your waist painfully, but all this combined only brought you closer to climax too and from one moment to the next you were untying the knot in your stomach through a sweet orgasm, giving a squeal as a result. jaehyun took off the full condom and looked at you on the bed, trying to catch your breath, your legs quivering with pleasure and your nipples still erect. there was no choice but to take another condom. “ready for round two?” he whispered in your ear.

although, you were processing how good your first time having sex had been, you didn't think you were completely ready for a second round, however, you couldn't resist against jaehyun, and without thinking, you ended up sweaty and exhausted after 4 more rounds. 

it had been two weeks since that night with jaehyun—two long, chaotic weeks where everything seemed to fall apart piece by piece. a fire had broken out in an apartment two floors above yours, thick smoke swallowing the hallways, alarms screaming through the building. even though your place hadn't been damaged, the inspectors had evacuated everyone to assess the structure. you'd bounced from couch to couch, staying with friends for a night or two at most, but their living situations were tight—shared sorority houses, cramped apartments, boyfriends already occupying the only free space. now, you sat alone on a bench across from the university, phone in hand, scrolling aimlessly through your contacts, desperate for someone, anyone, to call. going back to your mother’s place wasn’t an option—you knew the arguments would start the second you walked through the door. you craved your independence, even if it meant being homeless for a few days. the problem was, you didn’t have the money for a hotel. not even close.

you look at jaehyun's contact for a second, you stop to think if it would be a good idea to call him, I mean, you barely know each other, you slept together once, would that be enough of an excuse for him to let you live with him for a while?

you don’t know what to expect when he answers. you’re clutching your phone like it might slip out of your hand from how fast your pulse is racing. and now, with your apartment unlivable, your options reduced to zero, you’re doing the last thing you wanted—calling him.

it rings. once. twice.

then you hear his voice, smooth and casual like nothing’s changed.

“hey. y/n?”

you swallow thickly, your voice trembling despite how much you try to sound fine.

“hi. i know it’s… late. and random. and maybe you don’t want to hear from me, but i didn’t know who else to call.”

there’s a pause, but it’s not uncomfortable. it’s quiet, like he’s listening closely.

“what’s wrong?”

you sigh, eyes stinging as the reality settles deeper into your chest.

“there was a fire in my building. the apartment above mine is completely destroyed, and the structure’s unsafe. they told me i can’t stay there. i don’t really… have anywhere to go right now.”

another pause. this one longer. you brace yourself for something like damn, that sucks or hope you figure it out.

instead, he says softly, “i’m at the pool hall with a couple of friends. you can come. we’ll talk here.”

you don’t know what to say to that, so you just whisper, “okay. send me the location.”

you arrive about thirty minutes later. the place is half-lit, old wooden floors scuffed from years of dragging chairs and boots, the smell of beer and smoke embedded into the walls. the second you step in, you spot him—jaehyun, in a black t-shirt that clings to his shoulders and jeans that do too much justice to his thighs. he’s bent over a table, lining up a shot, lips parted slightly in concentration. he looks good. too good.

when he notices you, his face relaxes. his body straightens. no hesitation.

he waves you over. “you made it.”

you nod, offering a small smile. “hi.”

“guys, this is y/n,” he says, turning to the two men beside him. “yuta, taeyong.”

they both greet you, yuta with a mischievous glint in his eye and taeyong with something a little softer. polite, but unmistakably curious.

“nice to meet you,” yuta says, and you catch his eyes flicker down your outfit—tight jeans, fitted top, just casual enough to not scream i dressed up for someone, but still enough to make their jaws subtly tighten.

jaehyun sees it. you feel it in the way he stands a little closer to you.

“chill,” he tells them, easy but pointed. “she’s way out of your league.”

they laugh, pretending like they weren’t staring, and jaehyun turns back to you.

“want a beer?”

“sure.”

he brings one for you without asking what kind. cold glass touches your palm, and his fingers brush yours just a second longer than necessary. he doesn’t mention the call again. doesn’t ask you anything serious. just hands you a stick and nods at the table.

“you play?”

“twice. maybe. terribly.”

he grins. “that’s more than most.”

you play a few turns. he’s good. effortlessly good. you’re not, but you’re trying. then your turn comes up again, and you bend over to line up your shot. you don’t realize how far you’re leaning until you feel it—the air shifts. someone’s watching.

you glance sideways. yuta’s not even trying to hide the way he’s looking.

jaehyun clears his throat, sharp.

“dude. seriously?”

yuta looks away like a scolded child, taeyong biting back a smile.

jaehyun’s voice is low now, just for you. “you might want to bend less, unless you want to start a war.”

you raise a brow, playfully. “they’re just looking.”

“yeah, and i don’t like it.”

he walks around the table, stops behind you. “want help?”

you nod, and he steps close. closer than he needs to. his front presses lightly against your back, firm and warm. he leans down, guiding your arms, his chest flush to you, his breath skating along the shell of your ear.

“hit the green. angle it toward the corner pocket. trust me, you’ll nail it.”

but you’re not listening. not really. not when his hand slides just a little too far down your arm, or when his hips nudge forward, enough to feel him. he’s doing it on purpose. there’s no way he isn’t.

you shift, bump your elbow lightly into his ribs. “you’re kind of all over me. i can’t focus like that.”

he chuckles, stepping back with both hands raised. “my bad. force of habit.”

you shoot. the ball sinks clean.

his voice lights up. “see? you are good.”

you smile despite yourself. “maybe you’re not a terrible coach.”

he high-fives you, fingers curling briefly around yours, and for a while, the game continues. laughter. teasing. another round of beers. the weight between you two loosens just a bit—but never disappears.

eventually, it’s time to leave. the guys stretch and yawn, pretending they aren’t already planning their next stop.

“we were thinking of hitting that new bar on third,” yuta says.

“nah,” jaehyun replies instantly, grabbing his jacket. “i’m taking y/n home.”

taeyong raises a brow but doesn’t argue. “alright. catch you later.”

once outside, the air feels cooler. quieter. you walk in silence for a few blocks, your body relaxing more than you expected. and then he says it.

“so… what happened exactly?”

you exhale, the weight returning. “the apartment above mine caught fire. no one got hurt, but they say the building’s not safe. i can’t go back until it’s inspected and fixed. and all my friends live with their boyfriends, or in places too cramped to take someone in.”

he nods slowly, not pushing.

“you can stay with me,” he says after a beat. “just… not tonight.”

you look up at him, confused. “why not?”

he scratches the back of his neck, a little embarrassed.

“my roommate kicked me out for the night. his girlfriend’s coming over, and well… you know.”

you do. you laugh a little, half amused, half exhausted. “so that’s why you were out?”

“yeah. didn’t feel like hearing them fuck through the wall.”

you both fall silent, until he looks to the right. neon lights spill across the sidewalk in pinks and reds. your eyes follow his line of sight.

a motel.

he glances back at you, one brow lifted. “wanna crash there for tonight? i’ll get you a room.”

you don’t even hesitate.

“yes. please.”

he smiles, soft and genuine this time. “come on, then.”

and for the first time that night, you feel like you might actually sleep without everything collapsing around you.

the motel room was small and stuffy, the thick summer air clinging to your skin the moment you stepped inside. the door clicked shut behind you, and jaehyun immediately moved to the wall-mounted control, turning on the air conditioner with a low hum that filled the silence. still, it was warm, your skin damp with sweat and exhaustion. you sat on the edge of the bed, waving a hand lazily in front of your face as you tried to cool off, your other hand pushing your hair away from your neck.

“fuck, it’s hot,” you muttered, fingers fumbling with your hair, searching for a hair tie that wasn’t there.

“here,” jaehyun said, tossing something onto the bed beside you. it was a small plastic bag, printed with the motel’s name in red cursive. you opened it, expecting maybe a water bottle or a towel, but instead found a collection of travel-sized soaps, a tiny bottle of shampoo, a mint, two condoms in gold wrappers… and a hair tie. your fingers brushed over it before you looked up at him with a raised brow.

“you know this place too well.”

he scoffed, smirking as he leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. “maybe you’re just the one who doesn’t know anything.”

his voice held a mocking edge, teasing you like he always did, like he hadn’t fucked you stupid on your own bed two weeks ago and left without so much as a real goodbye.

you reached into the plastic bag and pulled out the small collection of motel goodies, letting your fingers slide over the items until they wrapped around the foil square. it crinkled softly between your fingertips as you held it up, raising your brows as your eyes flicked to him.

“do these even fit you?” you asked, tone playful but low, teasing.

he huffed a quiet laugh, pushing his tongue to the inside of his cheek as he stepped closer, arms still crossed over his chest.

“not really,” he said. “those are standard size. they don’t fit me right.”

you rolled your eyes, even as your cheeks burned with something you didn’t want to name. reaching back, you tied your hair up with the elastic, then stood up to stretch, pretending not to care that he was watching you.

jaehyun checked his phone and sighed. “i should go. the guys are probably already at the next bar.”

your chest tightened, confusion blooming low and sour in your stomach. you blinked. “you’re leaving?”

“wasn’t the plan to crash here just for you?” he teased, but there was something unreadable in his eyes.

you hesitated, lips parting. you didn’t want to ask him to stay. you didn’t want to sound needy. but the thought of him walking out again, of sleeping alone in a motel bed you hadn’t paid for, filled you with a sudden ache.

“it’s hot as hell out there,” you said, stepping closer. “you should shower. you’ll feel better.”

he arched a brow. “i showered before going out.”

“so what?” you shrugged, fingers toying with the hem of your shirt. “i think you should shower again.”

he stared at you for a beat, eyes darkening as the realization clicked into place. “ah,” he murmured, tilting his head. “so that’s what this is.”

your body moved before you could think—crawling up onto the bed, slow and deliberate, your eyes never leaving his. he didn’t move, just watched as you reached him, rising on your knees to press your palms to his chest. his shirt was soft and damp against your fingers. you tilted your face up to his, lips barely brushing his collarbone.

“don’t go,” you whispered. “you’re already here… might as well make it worth it.”

his hand slid to the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair, lips ghosting over your temple as he muttered, low and sinful, “you’re playing a dangerous game, baby.”

your heart skipped a beat. you weren’t even trying to hide the way your gaze dropped to the bulge in his pants. his words shouldn’t have made your thighs press together like that, shouldn’t have sent that deep, pulsing warmth down your spine, but fuck—he was so casual about it, so sure of himself, it made your breath hitch. he was already hard. you could see it now. and he hadn’t even touched you yet.

you let the condom fall onto the bed as your hand drifted slowly to the front of his pants, fingers hovering before you made contact. the heat radiating through the fabric was almost unbearable, and when you finally palmed him through it, his jaw flexed. your voice came out soft, a little shaky, but full of intent.

“can i see it?”

his eyes darkened immediately, and he didn’t say anything for a moment, just watched you with that unreadable expression that made your stomach twist. then he nodded, slow and sure, backing up and letting himself fall onto the bed. he pulled his shirt off in one swift motion and laid back, propping his hands behind his head, the muscles of his arms flexing, chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm that made your mouth go dry.

“go ahead,” he murmured, “since you’re so curious.”

his pants were already unbuttoned, boxers peeking out from the waistband. your gaze dropped to the heavy outline straining against the fabric, your fingers trembling slightly as you reached for him. it was your first time doing this—your first time touching a guy like this—and you felt nervous, eager, clumsy all at once. you tugged his pants lower until they pooled around his thighs, revealing the thick bulge beneath his briefs.

when you finally pushed those down too, your eyes widened slightly. your hand wrapped around him, a little too firm, and you felt him twitch under your touch.

“not so rough,” he said, his voice low, half-laughing, half-breathless. “be gentle.”

you nodded, swallowing hard, adjusting your grip, your thumb brushing along the tip. the weight and warmth of him in your palm was foreign and overwhelming. your head dipped forward and you kissed him there, soft and uncertain. he sucked in a breath, his abs tightening, his hand still behind his head but his knuckles whitening with the way he gripped the pillow.

you let your tongue trace slowly along the underside, tasting him, feeling him throb with every slow movement. then you wrapped your lips around the head and began to take him in, your hand stroking what you couldn’t fit just yet.

he made a sound—a sharp breath, a curse under his breath—and when you looked up, his face was flushed, his eyes half-lidded with something between shock and desperation.

“am i doing it right?” you asked, pulling back slightly, your lips glossy, your voice soft and unsure.

“fuck, yes,” he groaned, his head falling back against the pillow. “you’re gonna kill me if you keep looking at me like that.”

his hips bucked slightly, involuntary, and you took him deeper this time, slowly, carefully, adjusting to the rhythm, feeling the way his thighs tensed beneath your touch. his breathing grew heavier, his abs flexing with every flick of your tongue, every soft suck, every messy, eager movement. he reached down, fingers threading into your hair, not to guide you, just to anchor himself, as if grounding his sanity with the feeling of you.

“shit, baby—” he moaned, his voice rough now, desperate. “just like that. don’t stop.”

you didn’t. you hollowed your cheeks and moved faster, more confident now, loving the way he twitched on your tongue, the way his composure was crumbling second by second. his fingers tightened in your hair and his thighs trembled slightly.

“fuck, i’m close—” he gasped.

you kept going, feeling his release building, tasting the salty pre-come on your tongue, and when he finally came with a low, strangled groan, hips jerking, voice broken and raw—he said your name like a plea.

you swallowed, slow and deliberate, licking your lips as you looked up at him. he looked dazed, ruined, beautiful. his chest was heaving, sweat on his brow, his skin flushed.

“jesus,” he whispered, a half-laugh escaping his lips as he finally let go of your hair. “where the hell did you learn to do that?”

you just smiled, your lips still tingling, proud of yourself, of how undone he looked—like you were the only one who had ever touched him like that.

you crawled back up the bed, breath still shallow from everything you had just done, and started peeling your clothes off one by one. your fingers fumbled slightly from how needy you felt, pulling your shirt over your head, tossing it aside without care, followed by your bra, panties, everything that separated your burning skin from his. his eyes were on you the entire time—hungry, intense, reverent. he didn’t say anything, just licked his lips and let his gaze roam across your body like he was starving for it.

“i want to ride you,” you said, voice low, thick with want.

his mouth parted slightly, surprise flickering in his eyes, before he leaned over to grab something from his wallet on the nightstand. “wait,” he murmured, pulling out a foil wrapper—different from the motel ones. thicker, black, and unmistakably his. “these are the ones that actually fit.”

you watched him tear the wrapper open and roll it on effortlessly, his movements confident but still urgent, like he’d been holding himself back just for you. when he was ready, he laid back again, arms slightly outstretched, his eyes locked on yours.

“come here,” he said. “you can ride me now.”

you bit your lip and moved quickly, like you couldn’t bear to wait another second. and you really couldn’t—you’d been on edge for days. the stress, the instability, not knowing where you’d sleep, all of it had pressed down on you like a weight you couldn’t shake. but when you were with him, everything slowed. everything made sense. and right now, you just needed to feel him, to get lost in him.

you straddled his hips, your knees on either side of his thighs, palms pressing against his firm chest. his hands found your waist, warm and steady, as you guided yourself over him. he was so hard, so thick, and as you slowly lowered yourself onto him, you gasped—half from the stretch, half from the overwhelming feeling of finally, finally being this close. his cock filled you inch by inch, making your walls clench around him involuntarily, your breath hitching as you adjusted.

“fuck, you’re tight,” he groaned, brows furrowed, his fingers digging into your skin like he was barely holding on.

your eyes fluttered shut as you took him deeper, until your hips met his and your thighs were trembling from the intensity. you rested your hands on his abs, taking a moment to breathe through it, to feel him throbbing inside you.

“you okay?” he asked, voice softer now, thumb brushing along your hip.

you nodded, leaning down to kiss him, slow and messy. then you began to move—shallow at first, testing the pace, but soon you were rolling your hips, finding a rhythm that made your body light up with fire. every movement dragged delicious friction along your walls, and the way he filled you, stretched you, made you moan softly, needily.

his hands slid up to your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples until they peaked, sensitive and aching. he cupped them both, lifting himself slightly to suck one into his mouth. his tongue was hot and wet, swirling around the sensitive nub while his other hand played with the other breast, squeezing, pinching gently, making your hips grind harder against him.

“god, you feel so good,” he murmured against your skin, lips still wrapped around your nipple, his voice sending vibrations through your chest.

your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling slightly as you rode him faster now, the slap of your skin meeting his echoing in the cheap motel room. your breath came in short, ragged gasps, your body trembling as the pleasure built. he sucked harder on your breast, then switched to the other, moaning into you like he was addicted to the taste of your skin.

“jaehyun—” you whimpered, grinding down harder, desperate for release. “i’m close…”

“don’t stop,” he said, breathless, one hand sliding down between your bodies to rub tight, fast circles against your clit. “cum for me, baby. let me feel it.”

you cried out, body shaking as the orgasm ripped through you, thighs quivering, cunt pulsing around him in waves that felt endless. he grunted beneath you, lost in the way you clenched around him, hips thrusting up as he chased his own high, until with a deep moan and your name on his lips, he came too—hard, twitching inside you, eyes clenched shut, body taut with release.

you collapsed on top of him, breath tangled with his, both of you sweaty, shaky, completely undone.

after a moment of recovery, limbs tangled and skin damp with sweat, jaehyun pulled you close and pressed a soft kiss against your shoulder.

“we should shower,” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and husky. “it’s hot as hell in here.”

you hummed in agreement, letting him guide you out of the bed. your legs felt like jelly, sore and shaky, but his arm stayed around your waist, grounding you. the bathroom light was harsh, flickering slightly like everything else in that old motel, but the water came out warm and steady. steam quickly filled the small space.

you stepped into the shower first, sighing as the water hit your back, washing away the sweat and lingering stickiness. jaehyun stepped in behind you, his body pressing up against yours, his arms wrapping loosely around your waist. the moment should’ve been calm, domestic, but his hands couldn’t help but wander.

his lips brushed your neck, wet and slow, while his fingers slid up your stomach to cup your breasts again. “couldn’t stop thinking about these,” he whispered, licking a droplet of water from your shoulder.

you tilted your head, letting him kiss you deeper. your back arched instinctively, pressing into him, and you felt his cock hardening against the curve of your ass. “again?” you teased breathlessly.

“you’re too fucking hot not to,” he said, voice rough, before turning you around so your back was against the cold tile. his mouth claimed yours, tongue exploring like he hadn’t just come not long ago. he lifted one of your legs, hooking it over his hip, and the tip of his cock rubbed against your folds, teasing.

you gasped as he slipped inside again—this time slower, deeper, the water pouring down your bodies as he began to move. the shower was tight, cramped, but that only made it hotter. the sound of skin on skin was drowned by the water, but you could hear him panting in your ear, could feel the way his mouth latched onto your nipple again, his thrusts picking up pace.

you held onto him, fingers digging into his shoulders, your moans muffled against his neck. it was messy, rushed, passionate. and when you came again, clenching around him, he followed quickly, holding you tight as he spilled inside the condom once more, both of you trembling under the hot spray.

after the shower, you dried off, still breathless, your legs wobbling every time you moved. you collapsed into bed with a sigh, pulling the thin sheet over your body. jaehyun lay beside you for a few minutes, stroking your hair, until sleep started to pull you under.

when you woke up, sunlight was leaking through the curtains, weak and golden. the bed beside you was empty. you blinked against the brightness, groaning at the soreness in your thighs and hips. everything hurt deliciously. you reached for your phone on the nightstand, and saw a message waiting from jaehyun.

had to leave early. training. don’t worry about time, i extended the checkout. i’ll call you when i’m done and take you to my place. there’s food for you on the table. eat, baby.

you sat up, rubbing your eyes and looking around. on the small glass table near the window sat a paper bag from starbucks. you got up, curious, and opened it to find a warm cheese sandwich and your favorite coffee. it made you smile—something about the quiet thoughtfulness of it, after such a dirty night, made your chest feel warm.

later that day, you were sitting on the grass outside campus with your friends—jungeun, jinsol, and sooyoung. the sun was soft and the air carried the scent of spring. they were all staring at you like a pack of wolves, eyes gleaming with barely-concealed curiosity.

“so…” jungeun started, tilting her head, “are you going to keep avoiding our questions, or are you finally going to spill?”

“you kept your secret very well” jinsol added with a smirk. “you disappeared overnight and came back all smiley and glowing. bitch, don’t lie.”

you looked away, sipping your iced tea and trying to play it cool. “we’ve just been hanging out… it’s nothing serious.”

“nothing serious my ass,” sooyoung said, lying on her back and shielding her eyes from the sun. “ you think we don't remember how you got when he arrived at the party?”

you blushed furiously, heart pounding, but tried to keep your tone steady. “i’m not giving you the details. and definitely not about that.”

jinsol groaned. “come on. we just want to know one thing.”

“is his dick as perfect as we imagine?” jungeun whispered dramatically, making everyone laugh.

you covered your face with your hands. “i’m not talking about his dick.”

“that’s not a no,” sooyoung chimed in.

you tried not to laugh, cheeks burning. “we’ve only gone out a couple times. that’s all.”

jinsol leaned in closer. “i think it’s only a matter of time before you two become official. honestly, he seems like he really likes you.”

but sooyoung shook her head. “nah. not yet. she hasn’t gotten over dong sicheng.”

that name hit you like a soft, invisible bruise. you looked down at your drink, lips pressed together.

“he was just… a phase,” you muttered.

sooyoung arched a brow. “a phase you’ve been stuck on for like a year.”

“he never liked me like that anyway,” you said, trying to keep the bitterness out of your voice. “i was just his art buddy. his therapist. his background character.”

“yeah, well,” jungeun said gently, “maybe jaehyun’s your plot twist.”

you didn’t reply. but for a moment, you let yourself imagine that possibility. and it didn’t feel so far-fetched.

“actually,” jungeun chimed in, casually tossing a piece of grass into the air, “i heard something about sicheng.”

your head snapped in her direction before you could stop yourself. your heart skipped and thumped oddly in your chest.

“yeah?” you tried to sound indifferent, but the way your voice wavered betrayed you.

“mhm,” she said, glancing at the others. “one of the girls from the art department told me he’s coming back this semester. apparently he finally sorted out his exchange paperwork.”

“guess you’ll be bumping into him again,” sooyoung said, nudging your shoulder with a teasing smirk. “don’t go falling all over him again. please use your brain this time.”

“i didn’t—” you started, but then just sighed. “i know.”

jinsol gave you a knowing look. “well, i hope you don’t fuck it up with jaehyun over some old fantasy. like… jaehyun’s not just hot. he’s actually a good guy.”

sooyoung snorted. “a hot guy with a career path and muscle definition that could resurrect me.”

“he’s not just hot,” jungeun added, more serious. “he’s crazy talented. my brother’s obsessed with local sports and he says jaehyun’s a legend around here. three-time regional boxing champ. undefeated.”

you blinked. “wait, really?”

“mmhmm,” she said. “he’s been competing for like three years straight. he’s got insane discipline. trains daily, eats clean, sleeps early unless he’s too busy fucking you apparently—ow!” she laughed when you slapped her thigh in protest.

but your mind was already conjuring images… jaehyun in the ring, sweat dripping from his brow, his jaw set with sharp focus. his body gleaming under the lights—broad shoulders, cut arms, those tight abs tensing as he dodges, lunges, throws a punch. bruises on his ribs, a scratch near his lip, blood maybe on the edge of his gloves. heat rises to your cheeks as the image lingers—his body slightly damaged but so undeniably alive and powerful, all for something he loves.

he wasn’t just hot. he was dedicated. passionate. and god, he looked good doing it.

sooyoung sighed dramatically beside you. “i want a boyfriend like that. good body. good face. and a dick that ruins lives.”

“jesus christ,” jinsol muttered, snorting into her drink.

“what?” sooyoung shrugged. “i’m just saying. it’s the dream.”

you shook your head, cheeks flushed. “he’s not my boyfriend.”

they all stared at you.

“yet,” jungeun said, grinning.

you looked down at your phone, pretending to be unbothered, but the way your stomach flipped said otherwise.

not your boyfriend. not officially.

but the way he touched you. the way he looked at you like you mattered—like he saw more than just sex.

it made you wonder.

what if he could be?

at sunset, you’re waiting just outside the university gym, sitting on the edge of a planter box as the warm, golden light spills across the campus. the air still holds a trace of the day’s heat, but it's softened now, carried gently by the evening breeze. your phone buzzes in your lap, but you ignore it, eyes focused on the gym entrance.

jaehyun walks out a moment later, his presence like gravity pulling your attention. he’s wearing a fitted black t-shirt that clings slightly to his damp skin, khaki shorts that show off his toned legs, and worn white sneakers. his training bag is slung over one shoulder, and droplets of water still trail from the ends of his freshly washed hair. he must’ve taken a quick shower after practice. his smile is soft, those signature dimples showing as he spots you.

“you ready to head to the apartment?” he asks, stopping in front of you. his voice is calm, smooth, like there's no rush.

“yeah, but… before that, i want to take you out to eat,” you say as you stand, brushing your hands over your clothes.

his brows raise slightly in surprise. “why?”

you shift your weight from one foot to the other. “i just… it’s a thank you. for taking me to the motel, for getting me food, for extending the time. and now you’re letting me stay at your place, so…” you trail off, cheeks heating up.

he tilts his head, eyes searching yours. “you don’t have to do that. it wasn’t a big deal.”

you bite your lip and shrug. “well, it is to me. no guy’s ever treated me like that before, so… i thought it’d be important.”

that seems to catch him off guard. he stares at you for a second longer, then nods. “alright. i’ll let you treat me. but don’t expect me to be easy to impress,” he teases, the corners of his mouth lifting.

you smile, relieved. “what’s your favorite food?”

he thinks for a second, then frowns. “i don’t really have one. i’ve been on a strict diet lately since i’ve got more tournaments coming up.”

your jaw drops slightly. “what do you mean you don’t have a favorite food? come on.”

he chuckles. “i’m serious. everything’s been about protein, greens, hydration… it’s been pretty boring.”

“that’s tragic,” you say with mock seriousness. “you’re in your twenties and you’re telling me you don’t even crave ramen or tteokbokki?”

“okay, fine,” he laughs. “i haven’t had kimbap in forever. does that count?”

you grin. “perfect. i know this place that makes really good kimbap.”

a little while later, you’re both seated at a small table in a cozy street-side diner. the kimbap comes out quickly, warm and fresh, and jaehyun’s eyes light up when he takes the first bite.

“this is really good,” he says with a satisfied sigh.

“you look happy,” you tease, watching the way he leans back in his seat, finally relaxed.

he nods, swallowing. “i am. i’ve got a big fight coming up—i’ll be up against a nationally ranked fighter. if i win, i’ll qualify for the majors.”

your eyes widen. “that’s huge! jaehyun, oh my god, congratulations!”

he rubs the back of his neck, clearly flustered by your excitement. “thanks… i’m trying not to jinx it.”

“you’re gonna crush it. you’re so disciplined and talented—seriously, it’s inspiring.” you smile at him, and it’s completely honest.

he goes quiet for a second, then looks down with a tiny smile of his own. he’s blushing. the tough, cocky boxer—blushing.

“you’re really bad at taking compliments, huh?” you say, laughing gently.

“maybe,” he replies with a grin, nudging your foot under the table. “but i don’t mind it when it’s you.”

you finish eating with that warm, playful tension between you, the kind that always seems to build whenever you’re with him.

you're walking beside jaehyun along the crowded sidewalk, the sun already sinking low, casting an orange glow on the buildings around you. he’s telling you something about a professor at the university who never shows up on time, and you’re half-listening, half-distracted by the soft drip of water from his hair. he smells faintly of soap and cologne, clean and warm. you smile at the way his voice hums, deep and casual.

but then, suddenly—

“jaehyun!” a bright, feminine voice cuts through the air.

before you can even turn, there’s a girl jumping on him—literally throwing her arms around his neck. you blink, startled, and take a step back. jaehyun catches her easily, like it’s nothing, one of his hands settling on her waist, holding her with casual familiarity. his smile grows wider, those pretty dimples showing instantly.

“noona, what are you doing here?” he asks, clearly happy to see her.

“i came to visit some friends,” she says sweetly, brushing her shiny, curled hair behind her ear. her eyes flick down his body like she’s assessing him. “you’ve gotten taller… or maybe just your shoulders?” she teases, reaching out to squeeze his bicep without hesitation.

you feel something twist in your chest. it’s hot and petty, and you know it, but still—you don’t like the way she’s touching him. you don’t like how close they are. how… familiar they are.

is she his girlfriend?

the thought hits you like a slap. no. no way. that would be cruel—after what you and jaehyun did… after he held you and kissed you and let you ride him like you were the only girl in the world.

the girl finally looks at you. her face lights up with surprise and a sly sparkle in her eyes. she's polished—makeup flawless, glossed lips, expensive jewelry. everything about her screams elegance. you suddenly feel plain in comparison.

“oh?” she says, eyeing you. “are you jaehyun’s girlfriend?”

your stomach drops. but at the same time, some part of you feels… relieved. so she isn't his girlfriend.

“ah… she’s…” jaehyun starts slowly, glancing at you, voice uncertain. “she’s my friend.”

“nice to meet you!” she chirps, stepping forward and taking both your hands enthusiastically. “i’m miyeon, jaehyun’s childhood friend.”

“a-ah… i’m y/n. nice to meet you too,” you say, barely holding your voice steady.

miyeon turns back to him with a soft pout. “jaehyun, you should bring y/n to our store sometime. you haven’t visited in so long.”

“i will. soon,” he says, his tone easy, but not committed. she beams and clings to his arm again, pressing against him in a way that makes your skin burn.

after a bit more small talk, she waves goodbye, and you and jaehyun continue walking. you’re quiet. so is he.

the train ride is short, but quiet too. you’re still chewing on the jealousy simmering low in your stomach. you don’t say a word until you’re back on the street again, just a few blocks from his apartment.

“jaehyun,” you say suddenly, stopping in your tracks.

he turns to face you, brows lifted.

you stand still for a second, then open your arms slightly—awkwardly. as if you’re asking for a hug.

he doesn’t hesitate.

jaehyun steps into you and wraps his arms around your body, holding you close. you melt into his chest.

“are you copying my noona?” he teases softly against your hair.

you shake your head lightly, but your cheeks are burning.

he leans back just enough to look into your eyes. “now i really can’t wait to get home,” he says with a grin and a very obvious double meaning.

you scoff and push him back a little, pretending to be annoyed—but you’re not. not really.

jaehyun unlocks the front door with one hand, still carrying his gym bag over his shoulder. he nudges the door open with his foot, letting you step in first. the place smells faintly of laundry detergent and cedarwood. it’s clean but lived-in, with a few scattered training wraps on the floor and a row of protein bottles lined up neatly on a shelf.

“make yourself at home,” he says, dropping his bag with a dull thud. “my roommate, junhoe, isn’t here. he’s probably off fucking his girl somewhere.”

you chuckle, still standing in the entryway.

jaehyun walks ahead, opening a side door. “this is the study,” he says, gesturing. it’s a small room, barely wide enough to fit a desk and some shelves, but there’s a window with good light and it smells like old books. “i can clean it up and maybe get a futon or something in here if you’re staying.”

you nod slowly, looking around, but your eyes keep drifting back to him. he’s leaned in the doorway now, watching you with that lazy, unreadable gaze, the same one he used to look at you that night at the motel—right before you climbed into his lap.

“there’s an extra mattress in my room,” he adds casually, but his mouth quirks up in a smirk that gives him away. “wanna see?”

you raise a brow. “you’re so subtle, jaehyun.”

he laughs, voice low and warm, and then turns on his heel. you follow him down the short hallway to his bedroom. the lights are dimmed, his bed already made, a dark gray comforter spread out neatly. he gestures toward the corner, where a folded mattress leans against the wall. “see? told you.”

but you’re not looking at the mattress.

you’re looking at him.

at the way the veins in his arms stretch as he runs a hand through his damp hair. at the way his shirt clings to the firm lines of his torso. at the faint red bruise just below his jaw—probably from sparring, but it looks like something you'd want to kiss.

“do you want to shower first?” he asks, turning back to you.

you shake your head. "i already showered earlier.”

“true,” he says, stepping closer. “but that was to wash off the sweat.”

“and this one would be to…”

he’s right in front of you now. inches away. his voice drops to a whisper.

“to get dirty again.”

you don’t move. you just look at him, look at the slight twitch in his jaw, the way his eyes flick to your lips. then you reach out, grab the hem of his shirt, and lift it over his head in one slow, steady motion.

jaehyun breathes in sharp and deep as your fingers skim his chest. his body is insane—broad shoulders, thick arms, chest hard as stone and wrapped in smooth golden skin. faint bruises pepper his ribs, evidence of training, and you drag your hands over one without thinking.

“you’re really something else,” you murmur.

“so are you,” he says hoarsely, fingers already at the waistband of your jeans.

clothes come off fast after that.

you fall together onto the mattress, his mouth hungry on yours. he kisses you like he’s starving, hands exploring, groping, dragging down your back. he moans against your lips when you grind your hips down on his thigh, searching for friction.

then he flips you over.

pins your wrists above your head with one hand, the other tracing down your stomach, between your legs.

“still wet,” he murmurs. “even though i haven’t touched you in hours.”

“shut up,” you pant, arching your back.

he chuckles and lowers his head. his mouth finds your neck, your collarbone, your breasts—licking, sucking, biting just enough to leave a mark. you cry out when his fingers finally slide between your folds, slick and slow.

“shit, baby,” he whispers. “you feel so fucking good.”

“then stop teasing me,” you groan.

he smirks. “as you wish.”

and then he’s inside you.

thick. hot. stretching you open all over again.

your back bows. his name spills from your lips like a prayer.

he moves slow at first—deep, careful strokes that make you shudder. but then he picks up the pace. harder. faster. his skin slaps against yours, your breath hitching with every thrust. the bed creaks. his grip bruises your hips. and you love it.

“jaehyun—f-fuck—”

“you like that?” he growls, voice wrecked. “you like being fucked like this? like a real good girl?”

you nod, crying out as your orgasm builds.

“i’m close,” you moan, nails digging into his back.

“come for me, baby,” he pants, kissing your lips hard. “i wanna feel you come around me.”

and you do.

it hits you fast, hard, white-hot.

your whole body trembles. he follows right after, gasping your name, burying himself deep inside you with one final thrust.

you lay there for a while, tangled together, sweat cooling on your skin.

his arms wrapped around you.

his lips brushing your forehead.

jaehyun is quiet for a long time after he comes, his chest rising and falling against yours as he tries to steady his breathing.

the room is dim, but you can feel the heat radiating off his body, the way his arms tighten around you, protective and gentle. he nuzzles into your neck, his lips brushing the damp skin there, not in a sexual way this time—more like he's grounding himself in your presence. you lie there, tangled up in sheets and each other, the only sound being the soft hum of the ceiling fan and your hearts calming down in sync.

he eventually pulls away just enough to look at you, eyes hooded but soft, and his fingers trace down the side of your face, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “are you okay?” he whispers, voice a little raspy, a little concerned.

you nod, smiling faintly, and reach up to cup his cheek. “yeah. just... full. in every way.”

his lips quirk into a crooked smile and he kisses your forehead. “good.” he stands, stretching just a bit before grabbing a clean towel from a nearby shelf. he wipes you down carefully, not rushing, not skipping a beat. he doesn’t say much during it, but the way he handles you—like you’re something delicate, like this moment matters—says everything you need to hear. afterward, he throws the towel into a laundry basket, slips on a pair of loose sweatpants, and pulls a t-shirt over his head. he brings you one of his shirts, big and worn and soft, and you slip it on before curling back into his bed. he climbs in beside you and pulls the blanket over both of you, spooning you close, one hand resting low on your belly, thumb tracing circles into your skin.

you're just starting to doze off in his arms when the front door creaks open and you both hear the familiar thump of sneakers being kicked off.

“yo,” comes a male voice from the hall. jaehyun groans softly and pulls back just enough to peek out from under the blanket.

“junhoe,” he mutters.

a few seconds later, a tall guy with sharp eyes and dyed ash-blond hair pops his head into the room. he freezes when he sees you in bed, cheeks flushing slightly, but he raises a hand in greeting anyway.

“ah... so you finally brought someone home. what’s up?” he says with a knowing smirk.

“shut up,” jaehyun groans.

you sit up slowly, pulling the blanket around yourself as you nod politely. “hi…”

“nice to meet you,” junhoe says. “don’t worry, i’m cool with it. just—maybe not when my girlfriend comes over. she gets… ideas.”

“no problem,” jaehyun replies casually. “i already told her about the study room.”

junhoe raises an eyebrow. “you’re letting her stay here?”

jaehyun just shrugs with that same smirk. “i don’t mind.”

junhoe glances between the two of you and chuckles. “cool. well, i'm grabbing some food and crashing. welcome to the apartment.”

he disappears down the hall and jaehyun flops back down next to you, draping his arm over your waist again. “that went better than i expected.”

“he seems nice,” you murmur, cheek resting against his chest.

jaehyun hums in agreement, and the two of you drift off again—safe, warm, and maybe just a little too comfortable in each other’s arms.

a few days later, you’re at campus, carrying a stack of large framed canvases and a bundle of messy supplies balanced precariously in your arms. you’re on your way to return everything to the storage room after a long morning in the art studio, still wearing a paint-stained hoodie and some old jeans. your focus is on not dropping anything when suddenly, someone rounds the corner at the same time as you—and crashes right into you.

“whoa—shit, sorry!” says a familiar voice as the both of you stumble. your brushes clatter to the ground, but strong arms steady you, grabbing your shoulders gently.

you look up—and your breath catches.

dong sicheng.

he’s smiling, wide and bright, and for a second you almost forget how to speak. his hair is longer now, a little shaggier, his features more defined. he’s still beautiful, unfairly so, but the braces he used to have are gone, replaced by a dazzling, smooth smile. he’s wearing a soft beige sweater and dark slacks, looking expensive in that effortless way he always did. he bends down immediately, helping you pick up your supplies.

“y/n?” he says, looking genuinely happy. “wow—it’s really you”.

“i thought you were on a break?” your voice barely left your mouth.

“i was. but i came back early,” he replies, smiling.

you forcing a smile even though something tugs hard at your chest. “and you… you look great, sicheng.”

he blushes a little, brushing some hair behind his ear. “so do you,” he says, kind as ever. “it’s really good to see you.”

you nod, trying not to let your emotions show. because what are you supposed to say? i missed you. i thought about you more than i should’ve. i wondered what might’ve happened if i’d just said something back then.

but you never did.

and now he’s here, standing in front of you with that same kind warmth in his eyes, and you feel it—nostalgia, longing, something bittersweet blooming in your chest.

you chat for a while, catching up on classes and schedules, and he insists on helping you carry the rest of your things to the storage room. you smile and joke like nothing's off. like you’re not thinking about all the things you never said. because what would be the point now?

still, as he walks beside you, close and careful not to bump your paintings again, you can’t help but glance over at him—at the smile, at the way the sun catches the curve of his jaw.

and you wonder if part of your heart still belongs to him. just a little.

after helping you carry the last of your things to the storage room, sicheng stretches his arms with a quiet sigh and then turns to you with that soft little smile you remember all too well. “hey,” he says, voice gentle, “do you have time for a coffee? i don’t have class until later and… it’d be nice to talk more.”

you hesitate only a second before nodding. “sure. i’d like that.”

you end up at a small café just off campus, tucked between an old bookstore and a flower shop. it’s quiet, the kind of place that smells like roasted beans and cinnamon, with soft music playing through slightly scratchy speakers. you sit by the window, sunlight pouring in and making his hair glow like spun gold. he leans forward on the table, hands wrapped around a cup of matcha, listening to you as you ramble a little about your classes, your projects, the endless deadlines. it feels easy. too easy. almost like the last year never happened.

eventually, curiosity gets the best of you. you glance at him between sips of your drink, then lower your cup and ask, trying to sound casual, “have you been seeing anyone lately?”

he blinks, surprised for a moment. then that smile returns—slow, knowing, maybe even a little amused. “no,” he says. “this year’s been… intense. i’ve been at the dance academy full time, and trying to sort out all the paperwork to get back here took everything out of me.” he shrugs, rolling his cup between his palms. “didn’t leave much space for dating.”

you nod, trying to hide how fast your heart is beating.

“besides,” he adds, his gaze locking onto yours, “there was no one in china who really caught my attention.”

his words hit you in the chest, knocking the air out of your lungs in a way that doesn’t hurt but leaves you speechless. it’s not just what he says—it’s the way he says it, the way his eyes hold yours like he’s daring you to admit something, like he’s just waiting for you to fall into the trap he’s carefully set with his smile and his calm.

you clear your throat. “well… me neither,” you say softly. “no dating. i’ve been really focused on school and, i guess… there’s no one who really stands out to me either.”

he raises his eyebrows a little, his lips curling as if to say “really?” but he doesn’t push. instead, he changes the subject with a soft laugh. “i need to cut my hair soon. i’ve been meaning to, but with everything going on i haven’t had time to rest, let alone make an appointment.”

you hum in agreement, letting your eyes drift over his face, the softness in his features, the way his lashes catch the light.

“but i’m really glad we got to catch up today,” he says, brushing a thumb over the rim of his cup. “i missed this. i missed talking to you. i hope we get to take some classes together this term—maybe even work on a project again. like the old days.”

your heart skips. not in a dramatic, crashing way, but in a quiet flutter that you try not to show on your face. you smile instead, nodding, and say, “yeah. me too.”

the walk back to jaehyun’s place is a blur. your body’s moving through the city, but your mind’s still in that café, replaying the way sicheng looked at you, the calm certainty in his voice, the not-so-innocent way he said there was no one who caught his eye. you keep wondering—was he just being nice? was he flirting? was it real? it shouldn’t matter, not after everything with jaehyun, not when you’ve already crossed that line with someone else… but your heart doesn’t care about timing, or logic, or consequences. it only knows the warm ache of “what if.”

you don’t even realize you’ve arrived until you hear jaehyun’s voice calling out from inside the apartment. “y/n? you’re back?”

you step in, taking off your shoes as the door closes behind you, and he appears from the hallway looking a little flushed, a rag in his hand and a faint sheen of sweat on his neck. “i was just cleaning the studio for you,” he says, waving toward the small room down the hall. “it’s not huge, but with the light in there and some organizing, it’ll be perfect.”

you walk in behind him, noticing how he’s already cleared space in the corner, set up a small table for your supplies, even propped one of your canvases against the wall. on the floor, there’s a mattress laid out neatly with a pillow and blanket, and he turns to you a little sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck.

“i, uh… i don’t have a bed frame for the extra mattress yet,” he says. “but don’t worry, i’m not gonna make you sleep like that. not when you're my guest.” he gestures toward his bedroom. “so, you’ll sleep with me. i mean—not like with me,” he adds quickly, ears turning red, “just, you know… in my room, you can have the bed if you want. i don’t mind sleeping here.”

you shake your head immediately. “i don’t want to take your space. it’s your room.”

but he just smiles at you, warm and sincere, and steps a little closer. “hey. you’re not taking anything. i want you to be comfortable here. i want you to feel like this is your space too, even if it’s temporary.” he looks at you for a long second, and then adds softly, “having you here… it already makes this place feel a little more like home.”

and just like that, something in your chest tightens—not painfully, but deep. a pull of affection, of something dangerous and familiar. you swallow hard, nodding, and whisper, “thank you, jaehyun.”

he grins, brushing his shoulder lightly against yours before walking off to put away the cleaning supplies, leaving you standing in the doorway of your new studio, heart full of too many things at once.

later that night, after unpacking the essentials and arranging a few of your supplies in the corner, you finally let yourself take a shower. the heat is unbearable—sticky and heavy, like it’s pressing against your skin—and jaehyun’s bathroom fills with steam almost immediately. you linger under the cold stream, letting it cool your body, calm your thoughts, and ease some of the tension still wound tightly in your chest after everything with sicheng.

you dry off and change into the lightest clothes you brought for sleeping: an old, thin cotton shirt and a pair of soft, loose shorts. no bra. it’s too hot, and your skin still feels tender from the shower. you gather your damp hair in a loose bun and step out into the hallway barefoot, following the quiet hum of a fan.

you find jaehyun in the studio—his new temporary bedroom for as long as you're staying. he’s sitting on the floor, legs stretched out in front of him, leaning back on his hands with a small oscillating fan blowing directly at his face. his black sleeveless shirt clings to his chest and shoulders, damp from sweat. the fabric is tight, showing off the sharp lines of his arms and torso, and the light gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips do nothing to distract from the way he looks: hot, flushed, and visibly uncomfortable.

you pause at the doorway, arms folded loosely across your chest, and tilt your head. “you look like you’re suffering.”

he turns to you, blinking slowly, his eyes dragging down your frame. you watch him swallow before giving you a small smile, breathless and sheepish. “yeah, the fan’s not doing much. this room is like an oven.”

you glance toward the hallway, then back at him. “you should sleep in your room. it’s cooler in there, and the a/c works. seriously, jaehyun, this heat could make you sick.”

he shakes his head, lifting a hand to wipe sweat from his neck. “i want you to be comfortable. you’re my guest, and that room’s yours now. i’ll be fine.”

you sigh, stepping further inside and lowering yourself beside him onto the mattress, knees brushing. “you’re being stubborn.”

“maybe,” he says softly, then adds with a smirk, “but you look cozy.”

you shrug, glancing down at your own body without thinking. the thin shirt clings to the curve of your chest, damp in places from residual heat and humidity. when you look back at him, his gaze has dropped—locked onto your chest, pupils darkening as his lips part just slightly.

his hand shifts, subtle and tentative, reaching as if to graze the side of your breast with the back of his fingers.

your reaction is immediate—you swat his hand away with a light slap, not harsh but firm enough to snap him out of it.

“don’t,” you say, voice low, a touch breathless. “they hurt.”

he blinks, confused. “they hurt?”

you nod, rubbing your arms. “since that night. i don’t know why. my nipples have been… sensitive. sore.”

he looks up at you again, something like guilt flickering across his face, mixed with an almost embarrassing curiosity. “shit. i didn’t know. i didn’t mean to—”

“i know,” you interrupt gently. “but i mean it. they’re really sensitive. it’s not just a little sore—it’s like… they get too sensitive to touch. even clothes feel like too much sometimes.”

the fan whirs between you, filling the silence with soft mechanical noise. his shoulder brushes yours as you sit side by side on the mattress, skin still too warm, hearts beating louder than they should.

then, softly, he leans closer. “can we… do it quietly?”

his voice is almost a whisper, barely audible above the fan, like he’s afraid of breaking the tension between you.

you turn to him with wide eyes. “jaehyun…”

he watches your face, eager but trying to be patient. “junhoe’s already asleep. he won’t hear a thing,” he murmurs. “and it’s not like he doesn’t know what we’ve been doing.”

you hesitate, biting your lip. “still, it wouldn’t be… appropriate.”

he smiles a little, tilting his head as he murmurs, “maybe not. but that’s never stopped us before.”

he shifts slightly, and that’s when you see it— the prominent bulge straining against the front of his sweatpants, thick and pressing insistently against the fabric.

your breath catches. your lips part unconsciously, tongue darting out to wet them as you swallow, hard.

your body betrays your logic—heat coils low in your stomach, and your thighs instinctively press together.

“…maybe,” you murmur, glancing away as if that could tame the look in his eyes, “we can be quiet…”

jaehyun doesn’t need more than that.

he leans in, hand cupping the back of your neck as he kisses you deeply, hot and hungry and slow. your mouths move together in perfect rhythm, muffled moans swallowed into each other as his fingers slip beneath the hem of your shirt. his palms are warm—calloused in places—and they glide up your ribs, dragging goosebumps in their wake until his thumbs brush beneath your breasts, avoiding your nipples carefully, remembering your earlier words.

you arch into him, knees parting as he presses you down onto the mattress, his body heavy and hot above yours. his sweatpants are tugged down just enough to free himself, and he groans softly against your neck as you reach down, wrap your hand around his length, guiding him to your entrance.

the stretch is slow, agonizingly deep. your breath hitches, nails curling into his back as your thighs lock around his waist.

“fuck,” he whispers, teeth grazing your ear. “so wet for me already.”

you hush him with a kiss, the angle messy and desperate. each roll of his hips is slow, controlled, but the pressure builds so fast you’re gasping into his mouth, fingers fisting the sheet beside you as you fight to stay quiet. his hand snakes between your bodies, fingers circling your clit with just enough pressure to have your body trembling beneath him.

he fucks you through it—deep, slow thrusts that have you clenching around him as you come, mouth open in a silent moan, your body arching into his until you feel like you're floating.

he follows soon after, muffling his own release into your shoulder, breathing ragged, his arms wrapped tightly around you like he never wants to let go.

afterwards, he doesn't move for a while—just rests his forehead against yours, his weight a comforting pressure, your bodies still joined, slick with heat and sweat and something much more tender.

“still too hot?” you whisper, brushing his damp hair back.

he chuckles softly, kissing your cheek. “worth it.”

the morning sun filters through the soft curtains, warming the kitchen tiles beneath your bare feet. you’re already awake, hair loosely tied, moving about quietly in the oversized shirt you changed out of earlier and a casual, short dress—something comfortable and light for the heat. the apartment is still drowsy, silent except for the sound of the pan sizzling and the gentle clinking of utensils as you prepare breakfast.

jaehyun appears behind you, shirtless, with messy hair and sleep still heavy in his eyes. he blinks, confused for a second, before a small smile pulls at his lips. “you’re already up?”

you glance over your shoulder and smile. “yeah. figured it was the least i could do. i’m taking over your space, after all.” you point to the neatly arranged plates on the counter. “i made something special for you—salmon, asparagus with a bit of lemon zest, egg whites with spinach, and some avocado toast. something clean, for your athlete diet.”

he flushes a little, eyes dropping to the food, then back to you. “you didn’t have to—”

“i wanted to.”

he doesn’t answer. instead, he steps closer, so close you feel the heat of his body behind you. his hands find your waist first, then glide up slowly, until his palms cup your breasts. his touch is careful, slow, fingers massaging softly, like he’s remembering what you told him about how sore they’ve been since you had sex. you exhale sharply, feeling the pull in your belly again.

“jaehyun…” you murmur, shifting slightly. “stop. junhoe could see.”

he leans in, presses a soft kiss to the shell of your ear. “he won’t be up for hours.”

but just then, a loud voice echoes down the hall. junhoe’s speaking—no, arguing—on the phone. you both freeze. his tone is annoyed, sharp, like he’s trying not to yell.

you push jaehyun back quickly, and he moves just in time to avoid suspicion as junhoe enters the kitchen. his expression shifts the moment he sees you—his frown smoothing into a smile.

“damn,” he says, sniffing the air. “you’re really making this place smell like home. i might need to learn your seasoning secrets.”

you laugh lightly, cheeks a bit pink, and he drops into a chair like the argument never happened. jaehyun joins you near the counter, acting casual, though you can still feel the ghost of his touch on your skin, the ache it left behind.

later, you're sitting in your morning class, a warm cup of coffee on the table beside your sketchpad. it’s quiet, the soft hum of discussion and charcoal against paper filling the room. you’re halfway through shading the curve of a collarbone when a familiar presence draws your gaze toward the door.

sicheng steps in.

his hair is shorter now—freshly cut, the soft brown strands falling over his forehead in a boyish fringe that makes him look impossibly youthful. there's no trace of the braces he used to wear, and his smile is just as warm, just as bright, but somehow… more refined. he’s dressed simply—black jeans, white oversized tee, sneakers still a little scuffed from dance practice. a tote bag hangs off his shoulder, half full of sketchbooks and folded dance clothes.

he notices you instantly, that same spark lighting his eyes. he waves, then walks over to take the seat beside yours like no time has passed. you smile back, but there’s something soft and bittersweet curled in your chest.

it’s strange—how seeing him again stirs all the memories like dust floating in sunlight.

jaehyun is like heat. sharp angles, smoldering glances, quiet control and intensity. he walks like the world bends for him, and he touches you like he owns your skin.

but sicheng is something else entirely.

his presence is gentle. like water, like a breeze, always moving around you instead of through you. he’s soft-spoken, thoughtful, and so expressive through movement—dance or drawing, it doesn’t matter. you don’t have to guess with sicheng. he always let you see him.

you find yourself watching him while he sketches beside you, his brow furrowed slightly in concentration, tongue peeking out at the corner of his mouth. you wonder if he meant it—what he said yesterday. that no one caught his eye in china. that he was too busy. that he was happy to be back with you.

and yet... you feel a pull in two directions.

your heart remembers how sicheng made you feel—safe, understood, like you were seen. but your body still aches for jaehyun, for the way he touches you, the way he whispers your name like it’s the only thing that matters.

you stare down at your drawing, your pencil hovering just above the page, and wonder how long you can keep walking this tightrope between nostalgia and desire.

the late afternoon light painted soft gold across the pavement as you and sicheng stepped out of the lecture hall, laughter low and easy between the two of you. your sketchbooks were tucked under your arm, the scent of coffee still lingering on your clothes. he said something about the way your shading had improved, and you smiled—genuinely, openly. it felt warm. safe. like home, if home had a heartbeat.

and then you felt it.

the heat of a gaze that wasn’t his.

jaehyun was across the courtyard, leaning against his car, arms crossed over his chest, black hoodie pulled over his head even in the heat. but his eyes—sharp, unrelenting—were fixed on you. or maybe on the way you looked at sicheng, as if he were something sacred, something carved out of soft marble and light.

your smile faltered for half a second. long enough.

jaehyun's brow furrowed, jaw tightening like it was holding back words he didn’t dare speak in public.

you said goodbye to sicheng shortly after, heart already twisting with the weight of what was coming.

the apartment door hadn’t even closed behind you before the silence turned heavy.

“so that’s him?” jaehyun asked from the kitchen, voice flat, almost too casual.

you paused, setting your bag down slowly. “what are you talking about?”

“the guy you were making heart eyes at all afternoon,” he said, turning around. “looked like you were about to drop to your knees and worship him.”

you rolled your eyes, your tone turning defensive. “don’t start.”

he took a step closer, eyes dark. “you really think i wouldn’t notice the way you looked at him? like he was the only person in the fucking world?”

you scoffed, crossing your arms. “and what if i did look at him like that? it’s not like you and i are anything.”

the silence after that was deafening.

you saw it—how his expression dropped, like you’d just pulled the rug out from under him. his shoulders tensed, breath hitching.

“so that’s all this is to you?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper. “just... physical?”

you swallowed hard. the answer was on your tongue before you could stop it. “yeah. i thought we were just... blowing off steam. relieving stress.”

jaehyun looked at you like you’d just shattered something sacred. his hand dragged through his hair, a humorless chuckle slipping past his lips as he stared at the floor.

“fuck. i was really out here thinking we were building something,” he muttered. “that maybe... maybe this could be real.”

“jaehyun—”

“do you like him?” he interrupted, voice sharp now. “that guy. do you like him?”

you hesitated.

then nodded.

“yeah,” you said, voice soft but steady. “i think i do.”

he exhaled slowly, like he was trying not to explode. “right.”

you took a shaky breath, your own emotions catching up with you, fingers tightening around the hem of your dress. “maybe it’s better if we stop... whatever this is.”

his head snapped up.

“what?”

“i mean it,” you said. “you’re... you’re rough when we do it, jaehyun. even after i told you my breasts were sore, you still—” your voice cracked. “you kept touching them. like you didn’t listen. like you didn’t care.”

his face twisted in something between guilt and regret. “i didn’t mean to hurt you—i thought you liked it rough.”

“that doesn’t mean you can ignore me when i say something hurts,” you whispered.

he nodded, lips pressed into a line. “i’m sorry,” he said, stepping back. “i didn’t... i never wanted to make you feel like that.”

you stayed still as he grabbed his keys and water bottle from the table, slinging his gym bag over his shoulder.

“i’ve got training,” he said, not looking at you.

then, almost too fast to register, the door slammed shut behind him.

the echo of it left a hollow ache in your chest.

you stood there, alone in the quiet apartment, heart caught somewhere between anger and guilt. you hadn’t meant to hurt him, but the truth needed to be said.

still... it didn’t stop the sting that came with seeing him walk away like that.

and even though you’d been the one to draw the line, the silence he left behind wrapped around you like a second skin, suffocating in all the places he used to touch.

the gym was almost empty.

just the steady thump of fists against heavy bags and the distant hum of a playlist echoing through the padded walls. jaehyun stood alone in one of the back corners, shirt already soaked with sweat, jaw clenched so tightly his temples ached.

he'd been there for nearly an hour. hitting. dodging. repeating.

trying to erase the memory of your voice.

"you’re rough... even after i told you it hurt..."

the words played in loops in his head, louder than the music, louder than his own grunts as he threw punch after punch into the worn leather bag in front of him. his knuckles burned, taped up but raw underneath, wrists aching from the impact. but he didn’t stop.

"maybe it’s better if we stop."

he hit harder.

"you’re not listening."

harder.

"you don’t care."

his chest heaved with every breath, muscles tight, adrenaline pumping like poison in his veins.

"fuck," he growled under his breath, sweat dripping down his temple.

what the hell did you mean he didn’t care?

he did. too much, probably. that was the problem. he'd been trying so hard to show you, to express it in the only language he knew—touch, closeness, giving you his bed, making room for you in his world. but it hadn’t been enough. or maybe it had all been wrong.

and the worst part? he knew he wasn’t bad at this.

he’d never been the guy to leave girls unsatisfied. the girls he’d been with before? breathless, sore, obsessed. they texted him days later, months later, wanting more.

but you—you had made him feel like maybe none of that mattered.

maybe it wasn’t about the moves or the technique or how long he could make you scream.

maybe it was him.

his fists collided with the bag again, this time with a loud crack as one of the seams split slightly.

he didn’t even blink. just kept going.

“fuck,” he spat again, this time louder.

why wasn’t he enough?

why did it hurt so much to see you look at that other guy—sicheng—like he was art? like he was peace? like he was something soft and safe and deserving?

he hit again. again.

his mind raced.

did you think sicheng would be better in bed too?

gentler, sweeter, more “attentive”?

did you imagine him when you touched yourself now?

did you even think of jaehyun at all?

his vision blurred for a second, and before he could stop himself, he released a brutal, full-force punch with both hands—

CRACK.

the bag snapped off its chain and slammed into the floor with a dull, heavy thud.

jaehyun stood there, chest rising and falling rapidly, staring down at the busted bag like it was somehow your face, or maybe his own shame.

blood dripped from a busted knuckle. he didn’t feel it.

all he could hear was the echo of your voice, and the unbearable quiet that had come after you said goodbye.

the rain hadn’t stopped all evening.

you sat curled on the couch, blanket over your legs, scrolling aimlessly on your phone but not really seeing anything. you kept glancing at the window, hoping to hear the elevator ding, or footsteps in the hallway. nothing. just the sound of the storm, the wind howling against the glass, the relentless rhythm of the water beating down.

where is he?

you chewed on your lip, guilt twisting inside your stomach. he said he had training... but that was hours ago.

you hated that you still cared. hated that even after everything you said earlier, you were still worried. still thinking about him.

and then—click.

the front door creaked open.

your head snapped up. footsteps. wet ones.

you got up quickly, padding toward the small hallway, and then you heard it—a cough. rough and dry, followed by another one.

you peeked out.

there he was.

jaehyun stood in the entrance, completely drenched. soaked hair dripping over his forehead, shirt clinging to his body like second skin—completely see-through. every line of muscle beneath visible, his chest heaving slightly from the cold. his shorts were stuck to his thighs, sneakers squishing quietly against the tiles. he looked like a fucking painting. tragic. stunning. broken.

you inhaled sharply.

“you’re soaked,” you said, barely above a whisper.

he looked up at you, blinking water from his lashes. his eyes were tired. dark. unreadable.

you rushed to his room and grabbed the first towel you could find, returning quickly and holding it out for him.

he took it silently, rubbing at his hair with a few quick motions. droplets still clung to his jaw, his collarbones, sliding slowly down his neck, disappearing beneath the curve of his chest.

you stood there, frozen, watching him.

watching the muscles shift beneath his wet shirt as he patted himself dry. your eyes couldn’t help it—traveling from the hollow of his throat, down the sculpted lines of his torso, tracing the trail of water that disappeared into his waistband.

his gaze lifted suddenly, sharp and accusing.

why the fuck is she looking at me like that? like she wants to eat me alive... when she’s the one who ended it.

he didn’t say it. but you saw it. written all over his face.

your throat tightened. “oh— you should take a shower... before you catch a cold.”

his jaw ticked. he looked like he wanted to say something, but didn’t.

“yeah,” he muttered. and then, after drying his hands enough not to leave puddles, he walked past you, disappearing into the bathroom.

you stood there, heart racing, the scent of rain and sweat still lingering in the air.

later, when the water had stopped running and you heard his door creak open again, you knocked gently on the wall of his room.

he was sitting on his bed in loose shorts and a hoodie, towel around his neck, hair still damp.

“can we talk?” you asked.

he didn’t look at you, just nodded.

you sat down beside him. the silence stretched long.

“i’m going back the day after tomorrow,” you said softly. “they wrapped up the research earlier than expected.”

he nodded again. “that’s good.”

you felt the ache in your chest grow. heavy and stupid.

“i just wanted to say... thank you,” you continued, voice a little unsteady. “for letting me stay. for everything. i know things got complicated but... you didn’t have to be so generous. and still, you were.”

jaehyun looked at you then, something unreadable in his eyes.

“it was nothing,” he said. then after a pause, added, “i really did enjoy having you here.”

you blinked.

having you here.

did he mean sharing space? or sharing bodies? or something in between?

you didn’t ask. you couldn’t.

because suddenly, the idea of leaving felt like dragging a blade through your own chest.

but you smiled anyway. and nodded.

"me too..."

that night, the apartment was quiet—too quiet, except for the constant hum of the fan coming from the studio. It was the only sign that jaehyun was still there, locked away in that room like he wanted to disappear into the heat and noise.

you stood in the kitchen, stirring the last touches of the dinner you had prepared. the scent of garlic and herbs filled the air, but your appetite was gone. all you could think about was how everything was coming to an end. that in just two days, you’d be gone. back to your place. back to your normal life.

without him.

the thought squeezed your chest.

why did we let it end like this?

but maybe it was for the best. things were getting complicated… you were starting to feel something, and not just for jaehyun. sicheng’s soft smile haunted your thoughts more than it should. and it felt wrong. it felt like you were betraying someone, and you didn’t even know who anymore.

you walked toward the studio and gently knocked on the door.

"jaehyun," you said softly. "dinner’s ready."

a moment passed before you heard his voice, rough but calm. "i’m not eating dinner. i’m cutting it three weeks before the tournament."

you frowned. "three weeks? that’s hardcore."

"it helps me stay in weight class," he answered. "and sharp."

"you’re really impressive," you said honestly. "so disciplined… i don’t think i could sleep on an empty stomach."

you heard the lightest chuckle from inside. it made your lips curve, a warmth blooming in your chest.

"i was thinking," you added. "it’s getting really hot in there. why don’t you sleep in your room tonight?"

silence.

then his voice, slower this time: "i don’t want to make you uncomfortable. not after earlier."

"it doesn’t make me uncomfortable," you admitted, a little too fast. "what makes me feel worse is knowing you're locked in there, sweating your ass off just to keep distance from me."

more silence.

later that night, you watched him drag the extra mattress into the room. he didn’t say much. neither did you. he just placed it gently on the floor and started setting it up like it was the most normal thing in the world.

you crawled into your bed and faced the wall, but you could feel him there. his presence, his breath, his energy.

he was trying to give you space.

and it hurt.

was he doing this because you asked him to? or because he really didn’t want to be close anymore?

you closed your eyes, but sleep didn’t come.

not with your body still remembering the feel of his mouth.

not with your heart aching like this.

the room was still, humid with tension. jaehyun's mattress lay across from your bed, a quiet symbol of the space now between you. you could hear his breathing, steady and calm, and for a moment you wondered if he was already asleep.

you weren’t.

your skin was hot, your thoughts restless. every little thing about the day had only stirred the ache further. the weight of goodbye, the ghost of his mouth on yours, the memory of his body—

"jaehyun?" you whispered.

there was a pause. then, his voice, low and a little raspy: "yeah?"

you hesitated, fingers curling into the bedsheet. "can you… kiss me? just once more?"

a breath caught in his throat. "what?"

"just one last time," you whispered again, barely audible. “before i leave.”

he didn’t answer, not with words. you heard the rustle of his blanket, the shift of his weight. then he stood, walking across the room and sitting beside you. in the dark, you felt his hand brush your cheek. you leaned into it.

his kiss came soft, uncertain at first. lips barely moving. a farewell. a memory in the making.

then it deepened—sweet, aching, slow. his tongue gently parted your lips, as if savoring the moment. like he didn’t want to let it go. you moaned softly against his mouth, hands sliding up his shoulders, fingertips grazing the curve of his neck.

his hands followed the lines of your body, but he didn’t push—just held you, like he wanted to memorize how you felt under his fingertips.

you guided one of his hands downward, over your ribs, across your stomach, lower, until his palm was between your thighs, pressed over your heat.

he froze, breath stalling.

"you're wet," he whispered, stunned. his forehead touched yours. "can i kiss you there?"

your thighs shifted, your core pulsing beneath his touch. and even though the rational part of you screamed don’t, your lips whispered something else— "yes... please."

he didn’t hesitate. slowly, he slid down the bed, pushing the covers aside, placing soft kisses on your inner thighs as his hands gently separated them. your legs trembled as he settled between them, breath ghosting over your already soaked folds. you were burning. aching. breathless with anticipation.

"you’re so fucking sweet," he murmured, lips brushing just above your clit. "i’ll be gentle this time. promise."

his tongue met your heat like he’d been dying for this. slow, deliberate licks, tracing you open, savoring your taste like a man starved. his mouth wrapped around your clit and sucked softly, making your hips jerk against him, a gasp torn from your lips. you slapped a hand over your mouth to stay quiet—junhoe was still in the apartment—but your body refused to obey.

"baby..." he whispered, licking a stripe down your slit. "you said this was the last time... but how am i supposed to let go of this?"

you whimpered as his fingers joined the party, slipping two inside you with sinful precision. they moved in rhythm with his mouth, hitting that sweet spot over and over, your thighs shaking around his head.

you were going to come. embarrassingly fast. "fuck, j-jaehyun—" "i got you," he mumbled, voice deep and thick against your core. "just let go. i want to feel you fall apart for me one last time."

your body obeyed his words before your mind could catch up. the orgasm rolled over you like a wave—deep, warm, toe-curling. you bucked against his mouth, clenching around his fingers, moaning into the pillow to muffle your cries.

when you finally stilled, breath ragged, skin damp with sweat, he kissed your inner thigh again. gentle. reverent.

he crawled back up, resting beside you, lips swollen, eyes dark but soft.

you looked at him. flushed, breathless, wrecked by his mouth, and yet aching for more.

"that wasn’t just a kiss," you whispered.

"no," he said, brushing your hair off your face. "it was me showing you that i fucking meant it. all of it."

the next day, you were in class, sitting beside sicheng. the room smelled like linseed oil and graphite, the mellow scent of the arts building you’d come to love. your hands moved across the canvas, sketching lines with soft, deliberate strokes—though your mind was far from focused.

he leaned over you, reaching for a box of charcoals, and your hands brushed. just a moment. just fingertips. but it sent a shiver up your spine. later, as you both reached for the same jar of solvent, your elbows bumped, and you felt his warm breath near your cheek. again, it seemed like a coincidence, but every little contact made your stomach tighten.

you tried to concentrate, to breathe through the rising heat in your chest, but your thoughts kept pulling you back to last night. to Jaehyun. to the weight of his body. the sound of his voice when he was between your thighs. the way your name left his lips like a prayer and a plea.

you hadn’t even realized you’d been staring into nothing until sicheng turned slightly, studying your expression.

"you're distracted," he said softly, his voice like silk. “you’ve redrawn the same line five times.”

you gave a small, dry laugh and shook your head. “i guess i���m just… tired.”

he tilted his head, that same calm, unreadable smile dancing on his lips. “that’s not the look of someone who’s just tired. that’s the look of someone who keeps thinking about someone else.”

your heart skipped. his gaze was gentle, but piercing. he saw right through you.

you lowered your head, hiding the flush that rose to your cheeks. “i don’t want to talk about it,” you whispered with a sad smile.

he didn’t push. he just nodded. “okay,” he said simply. “but you should come tomorrow night. the dance club has a small showcase. nothing formal. just movement and music. might help you get out of your head for a while.”

you nodded slowly. he lifted a hand and gently placed it on your forehead, checking your temperature.

“no fever,” he murmured. “but something’s definitely burning in there.”

you almost melted from that touch, so full of care. that was sicheng—soft-spoken, graceful, thoughtful. so different from jaehyun, whose touch burned like wildfire and left you gasping.

sicheng’s energy was gentle rain.

jaehyun’s was summer lightning.

when you got back to the apartment, the day had started to fade. you were packing up your things—your sketchbooks, your clothes, the small souvenirs you’d collected during your stay. junhoe was outside, laughing with his girlfriend. jaehyun was still at training. he had warned you it would be intense this week, but told you to call him if you needed anything.

even after everything, he was still… good to you.

you ate alone. showered. and the silence of the apartment began to settle in your bones. it wasn’t just the heat that made your skin feel flushed—it was something deeper. more primal. your thighs rubbed together with a soft friction as you walked around your room, and the sensation only made things worse.

lying in bed, your mind betrayed you. you thought of his voice, his mouth, his hands on you. the way he’d whispered your name while he kissed down your body.

you shouldn't. you shouldn't. but your body ached. your fingers slipped under your shorts, brushing over sensitive skin. your breath caught. then deepened.

you moaned softly, barely biting down the sound. "jaehyun..." you whimpered his name like a secret, hips twitching, your core wet and throbbing from the memory.

you were too far gone to hear the knock at the door. too caught in the heat building between your thighs to register the voice on the other side.

“y/n?” jaehyun’s voice came again, more firm. “i’m coming in.”

you didn’t hear him.

so he opened the door.

and froze.

you were sprawled on the bed, your body arched, your fingers deep inside, glistening with your own need. you were panting, whispering his name in broken sighs, eyes shut tight.

his jaw clenched. his chest rose and fell rapidly as he stood there, rain still dripping from his hair. he hadn't even changed out of his workout clothes yet.

you opened your eyes.

and saw him.

the heat rushed to your face, but your body didn’t stop. not yet.

he stared at you like he couldn’t breathe.

you licked your lips, chest heaving.

“close the door,” you said softly, voice trembling, not from shame—but from desire.

jaehyun stood frozen for a heartbeat, rainwater dripping from his hair onto his shoulders, again, dark patches spreading across his shirt where sweat met humidity. his eyes devoured you—spread open, soaked with need, your fingers still buried in your pussy, slick and glistening under the dim light of your bedside lamp.

he moved.

the door clicked shut behind him.

you watched the muscles in his arms flex as his hand remained on the knob for just a second longer, as if trying to convince himself to stay on that side of the threshold. but it was too late. he had already seen you. already heard the way you moaned his name like a hunger. there was no turning back now.

he took one step, then another, until he was standing at the edge of the bed.

your fingers stilled, but didn’t leave your core. you kept your eyes on him, testing him. daring him.

“i couldn’t stop thinking about you,” you whispered, throat dry. “about your mouth... your hands…”

his breath hitched.

then, as if that snapped the leash he’d been holding all day, he moved. fast.

he dropped to his knees at the edge of the bed, his large hands sliding under your thighs, pulling you to the edge like you weighed nothing. his eyes locked with yours—dark, intense, but still seeking permission.

you nodded.

“say it,” he rasped, his lips barely touching the inside of your thigh. “tell me i can taste you.”

“please,” you breathed. “i need your mouth on me… now.”

he groaned like a starving man given his first taste, and then he was on you.

his tongue swept over your folds in one slow, deliberate lick that made your entire body shudder. his grip on your thighs tightened, spreading you further, anchoring you against the mattress. he licked you again, then again, teasing the edges of your clit before finally sucking it between his lips and giving it the attention you were dying for.

you cried out, your back arching, one hand flying to his hair, gripping it as you rolled your hips into his face. he moaned against you, the vibration shooting up your spine like lightning.

“f-fuck, jae,” you gasped, legs already trembling.

he hummed in response, pulling you closer, burying his face deeper between your thighs. his tongue flicked, circled, then flattened against your clit in slow, rhythmic pressure that made your stomach twist in the best way.

and then—one finger slid inside you. then another.

you clenched around him with a moan that echoed off the walls.

he fucked you with his fingers as his tongue worked your clit like he knew every nerve ending in your body. it was too much. it wasn’t enough. your moans got louder, needier, your hips grinding into his mouth.

you were so close.

“i’m gonna—jaehyun, i—!”

he sucked hard, curling his fingers just right—

and you shattered.

your thighs clamped around his head, your scream muffled by your own palm as your orgasm tore through you like a wave crashing, your body convulsing in pleasure as you rode his mouth, unable to stop the way you trembled.

he held you through it, slow and patient, licking you gently, easing you down with soft kisses and slow fingers until your body finally collapsed against the bed, boneless and buzzing.

when he finally pulled back, his mouth was glistening with you. his chest rose and fell in heavy breaths, his eyes dark and wild.

and then, he leaned up and whispered against your lips—

“your turn to taste me.”

the next morning came quicker than you'd hoped. the sun barely kissed the windows when you were already up, heart still aching with confusion, with memories—tender and hot—that clung to your skin like ghostly hands. you got dressed in something simple, but lovely. not for anyone in particular, or so you told yourself… but deep down, you knew better. for him. maybe.

the chinese classical dance showcase was held in the university’s small theater, adorned with flowing red curtains and warm lighting that gave the place a soft, enchanted glow. there was a hush in the room as people took their seats, the air filled with anticipation and the faint notes of traditional instruments.

and then, when the lights dimmed and the curtain pulled open—he appeared.

sicheng.

draped in silk that flowed with every precise, delicate movement, his presence on stage was otherworldly. ethereal. like he didn’t belong to the same world as the rest of you. he moved with an elegance that stole your breath—arms extended in slow, sinuous arcs, his fingers painting invisible poems in the air. each leap, each spin, was poetry, full of grace and intention. time bent around him. for the minutes he danced, there was no past, no tomorrow. only him.

you were spellbound. your chest tightened with something sweet and dangerous. why does he have this effect on me?

sicheng twirled in the air as if he were defying gravity itself, his silhouette floating with a grace that felt unreal. his hair moved with the rhythm of his body, the folds of his costume danced like soft waves around him. every muscle seemed to flow with pure, clean, almost sacred intention.

your eyes followed him in a trance... but then, a blink—and the image of his body was replaced by another. more solid. more earthly. more raw...

the room was silent, save for the ragged breathing between you. the light was dim, just a small lamp casting a warm glow over the sheets. jaehyun had you pinned against them, his hair still damp, his eyes lit up. he had just made you come with his mouth, his tongue. and now... now he was looking at you with a wicked grin, a drop of sweat trailing down his temple.

“now it’s your turn to taste me,” he said in a low, husky voice, his fingers brushing your cheeks before guiding your face down.

you settled between his legs and took him into your mouth, savoring the heat and weight of his erection, feeling his body tighten with every move of your lips. your fingers traced along his thighs as you let him slide deeper, eager, hungry. he moaned your name, one hand tangled in your hair, the other caressing your neck, your shoulder... his hips trembling beneath your attention.

when he finally came in your mouth, you swallowed it all, never breaking eye contact, as if that moment was a statement. of desire. of surrender. of something you weren't sure was just sex anymore.

a sudden wave of applause jolted you back to the present.

the lights on the stage had changed. sicheng was now bowing, his chest rising and falling gently as he caught his breath, his lips parted in a serene smile. his fellow dancers joined him, their elegant costumes glowing under the soft stage lights, but you couldn’t focus on anyone else. just him. the way a drop of sweat trailed along his jawline, how the fabric of his outfit clung to his body in all the right places. ethereal, beautiful, almost not real.

your cheeks were burning. not just from the warmth of the theater.

you’d just spent the last few minutes with your mind between jaehyun’s thighs.

clapping like the rest, you tried to mask your daze, but your pulse was racing. your lips tingled with memory. and yet… your eyes were on sicheng, on his grace, his soft composure, the quiet elegance that contrasted everything about last night.

he caught your gaze then—just for a second. he smiled. gentle. curious. and maybe, just maybe, a little bashful.

your hands shook a little as you held the floral arrangement you brought of white lilies and soft lavender stems, carefully wrapped in pale gold paper. you hadn't planned to bring flowers. it had been a sudden impulse at a corner stand on your way to the venue. but now, looking at his glowing face and flushed cheeks, it felt like the right choice, not until you saw him step off the stage, cheeks flushed from the exertion, his hair slightly damp with sweat.

you approached, heart hammering, and when you handed him the bouquet, his eyes widened. “for me?” he asked softly, voice like velvet.

you nodded, suddenly shy. “you were… incredible.”

a faint pink spread across his cheeks. around him, a few of his dance friends whistled and nudged each other, muttering playful comments under their breath.

“damn, sicheng. didn’t know you had a secret admirer.”

“who’s this pretty girl, huh?”

he smiled awkwardly and turned to you. “don’t listen to them,” he said quietly, taking the flowers with both hands like they were something fragile. precious. “but… thank you. really.”

you smiled back, heart fluttering wildly. you didn’t know what any of this meant yet. but you knew one thing: for those minutes watching him dance, the only person in your mind was him.

or maybe not...

his friends were still teasing him behind their hands, but in that moment, it felt like you and him were in your own little world.

a quiet pause stretched between you.

then—

“want to go for a walk?” he asked softly. “i still feel like i’m floating. and maybe i need help grounding myself.”

you smiled, heart stuttering in your chest.

“yeah… i think i need that too.”

sicheng walked up to you with his face softly lit by the park’s lanterns, the same ones now catching on the edges of the petals he held between his fingers—the small bouquet you'd given him after the performance. his steps were slow, careful, as if he didn’t want to disturb the fragile stillness between you.

"thanks for coming," he said, his voice quiet, almost like a breath.

you nodded, still caught in the afterglow of watching him move on stage. the way his body floated, controlled yet weightless, like he wasn’t bound by the rules of gravity. you hadn’t expected it to affect you like this. but it had. deeply.

"it was beautiful, sicheng… really. i couldn’t take my eyes off you," you said, almost absentmindedly. your fingers fidgeted with the sleeve of your coat, as if trying to hold on to something more solid than your drifting emotions.

he smiled, just slightly, but didn’t look away.

"you were like a feather in the wind… so light. So fluid. i didn’t know you could move like that."

you kept talking, caught in the spell of the moment. and then, before you realized it, the words slipped out.

"that's why I liked you so much…"

silence.

sicheng blinked, tilting his head like he wasn’t sure he’d heard you right.

"you liked me?"

your breath hitched, panic fluttering in your chest. "i—i mean… i used to. in the past. it was just a little crush," you rushed, trying to backtrack. "it doesn’t matter anymore."

sicheng watched you carefully, his expression unreadable. "so… do you still like me?"

you hesitated. "no!" you said too quickly, too sharply. then softer, almost afraid of the weight your own voice carried. "no..."

but his eyes stayed on yours, gentle but questioning. you sighed.

"maybe. i mean, a little. i think… the feelings are coming back. but i know you don’t feel the same way, and that’s okay. you don’t have to worry or feel pressured or anything like that, sicheng. i just hope this doesn’t change anything between us. i'd hate to make you uncomfortable. and if you want me to stay away, i will. just… please, don’t be upset."

you looked down, cheeks burning, heart pounding in your ears. you’d said too much, or maybe not enough. you couldn’t tell.

sicheng stood there for a moment, as if processing your words. the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze was the only sound between you, a small, peaceful distance that felt so wide in the silence. he stepped a little closer, his eyes soft but intense, and then he spoke, his voice steady and calm, but there was a hint of vulnerability in it.

"don’t worry," he said with a gentle smile, his hand reaching out to lightly touch your arm, offering comfort. "i won’t be upset. i’m not going to ask you to stay away. i'm your friend, and that won’t change because of this."

He paused for a beat, looking at you as if searching for something in your eyes, something more than just the words you’d said. He wanted to make sure you were okay.

"but…" he continued, his voice dropping a bit, "i can't pretend i don't care about you. i think i always have, even if i never said it before. it’s just… it’s complicated now, and i don’t want you to feel pressured either. so, let’s just take it slow, okay? we don’t need to rush anything."

sicheng's expression softened even further, and for a moment, it was like the world around you two disappeared. his smile wasn’t just comforting, it was full of understanding.

you were standing so close to him now, your heart beating loudly in your chest. the air between you was thick with unspoken words, with tension you couldn’t ignore. you hesitated, staring into his eyes, wondering if you were truly ready for what you were about to ask.

“now that you know… can you do me a favor?” the words came out quieter than you intended, the weight of them settling heavily in the air.

sicheng blinked, his eyes narrowing in thought as he processed your request. “a favor? what do you mean?”

your gaze flickered away from his, your voice catching in your throat. you weren’t sure if you could bring yourself to say it aloud. but the urge was too strong, the need inside of you too overwhelming. you exhaled slowly, almost in defeat.

“can i kiss you?”

his eyes widened, the shock registering in the brief silence that followed. for a moment, it felt like the world had stopped. his breath caught in his throat, and you saw the uncertainty flicker across his features.

“you want to... kiss me?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

you nodded, barely able to meet his gaze. "yes... i just... i need to know. i need to know how it feels, how your lips taste. it's... it's been eating at me, this feeling. maybe... maybe it’s just to push this feeling away. i don’t know."

he stood frozen for a moment, his expression a mix of shock and something you couldn’t place. he looked at you for a long, lingering second, his eyes searching yours as if to see if you were being serious. then, he seemed to shake himself from the stupor and scratched the back of his neck, nervous and unsure.

“i… i didn’t think you’d say that,” he muttered, voice a little rough, the words tangled in his throat.

he lowered his gaze for a brief moment, his hand nervously brushing his cheek. “i’m not sure what to think. but…” he trailed off, and when he met your eyes again, there was something unreadable in his gaze. “okay. but… make it quick.”

you felt your heart beat faster at his words, the rush of anticipation and fear flooding through you. you didn’t know if you were making the right choice, but the craving was too strong, and there was no turning back now.

you took a step forward, the movement slow, deliberate. you could feel the tension in your own body, the nervous energy that seemed to hum through the air. his body was stiff, unsure, but he didn’t pull away. he waited.

with shaky hands, you placed them on his shoulders, feeling his muscles tense under your touch. his breath hitched, and you swore you could hear the thumping of your own heart. you leaned in slowly, your lips brushing against his for a split second. It was a soft, tentative touch, like testing the waters. But the moment your lips met, something shifted.

the kiss wasn’t just a kiss. it was a question. it was an answer. you were both asking for something, craving something that neither of you could fully understand.

you pulled back slightly, looking into his eyes, searching for any hint of what he was feeling. but before you could even process his reaction, he leaned in again, his lips meeting yours with more urgency this time. his hand moved to your back, pulling you closer. the kiss deepened, and everything around you seemed to blur, the world fading away except for the heat between you two.

the kiss was no longer short, no longer just a way to silence the burning question. it was desperate, as if you both needed more, as if this was something that had been building for so long that it couldn’t be contained any longer. his hands roamed up your back, fingers digging into your skin, pulling you even closer. you felt the heat rise in you, the growing need to touch, to feel, to be lost in him.

his lips moved against yours with a purpose, his body pressing into yours as if there was no room for anything but the two of you. the kiss continued, each second stretching into eternity, each touch, each brush of skin against skin, sending sparks through your body.

but then, reality hit. you pulled back, gasping for air, your chest rising and falling rapidly. his breathing was heavy as well, his eyes wide, lips still tingling from the kiss. you couldn’t stop the rush of emotions flooding through you—desire, confusion, fear.

“i… i shouldn’t have done that,” you whispered, your voice shaky.

sicheng didn’t say anything immediately. he looked at you, his expression unreadable, like he was trying to piece together everything that had just happened. the silence stretched on, heavy between you. his hand brushed over his mouth, as if he were still feeling the sensation of your lips on his.

you couldn’t look him in the eye, the weight of your actions crashing down on you. the tension between you was unbearable now, and you didn’t know what would come next.

then, in the distance, you heard footsteps. jaehyun. he had finished his workout and was walking out of the gym, just as you and sicheng stood frozen in the aftermath of what had just transpired. jaehyun’s eyes caught yours and sicheng’s, and in that moment, you saw the flash of recognition in his gaze. he froze in place, staring at you both, the confusion and pain clear on his face.

his chest tightened as he processed the sight before him, and in an instant, something inside him seemed to break. all the thoughts, all the moments he had imagined between the two of you seemed to shatter. it was like a cruel slap to the face, reality crashing down on him, and he turned away, the pain settling into his chest, knowing that everything had just changed.

the sound of your footsteps felt heavier than they should have as they echoed through the empty apartment. you were packing your things, moving with mechanical precision, but your mind couldn’t escape the haunting image of last night. the kiss. sicheng. his hands. your heart pounding in your chest like it might explode.

everything about it was vivid. the heat of his body, the intensity in his eyes, the way he touched you... and now, as you stood there, surrounded by your things, you felt lost. something inside you had snapped, and you couldn’t figure out why. you didn’t understand what you had just done.

you had run. you hadn’t even thought about it. you ran from sicheng, from the confusion, from the storm of emotions swirling inside you. you ignored his calls, not because you didn’t care, but because you couldn’t explain something you didn’t even understand yourself. you felt terrible—empty.

you paused, feeling your body shake, your hands trembling. you bent over slightly, resting your hands on your knees, trying to steady yourself. the nausea in your stomach was unbearable, like it was rising from deep within you. it wasn’t the kiss, it wasn’t what had happened between you and sicheng—it was something deeper. something didn’t feel right. It felt wrong. simply wrong.

and then you remembered. the night before. the night you had been with jaehyun. you had been in his arms, lost in him, and it had felt real. sincere. everything about it had been intense, wild, and raw. but now, with sicheng, you felt nothing but emptiness. a hollow sensation that gnawed at you from the inside. why didn’t you feel the same way with jaehyun? why did everything feel so deliriously good with him? why had it felt like it was right, like you belonged there? now, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you had just made a mistake.

you sank down onto the floor, your back against the wall, and buried your face in your hands. the dizziness didn’t fade. the weight of your thoughts was suffocating. you needed to breathe. you needed to calm down.

but how could you calm down when you didn’t know what you were feeling? you had been with jaehyun—everything had felt so right with him, so raw and real. and now… now it all seemed confusing. you had never felt this conflicted before.

you didn’t know if you could trust your feelings anymore.

and then you heard it—the silence, the absence of his presence. jaehyun. he hadn’t come home. you hadn’t heard from him all day. no messages. no calls. nothing.

he had left first. and you hadn’t even had the chance to reach him. you had tried, but it was impossible. the way he looked at you—the hurt in his eyes, the disappointment. you could feel it still. he had seen you, had seen the two of you together, and something in his expression had shattered. he didn’t want to see you anymore. not after what you’d done.

your stomach churned again. the truth was that you didn’t want to be in this mess, but here you were, trapped in a web of confusion, unable to untangle the feelings inside you.

you couldn’t go back. you couldn’t change what had happened with jaehyun or with sicheng.

and yet, here you were. lost in the aftermath.

jaehyun’s footsteps were heavy as he walked down the darkened streets, each step taking him farther from the image that had been seared into his mind. he had tried to push it away, tried to shake off the sting of seeing you and sicheng together, but the moment kept replaying in his head.

he hadn’t returned to the apartment. no, he couldn’t. not after what he had seen. not after the raw, aching pain that twisted in his chest when he saw you, your lips pressed against his. the image of sicheng’s hands on your body, his lips moving with yours, had made his stomach churn with a mix of anger and hurt. he hadn’t expected it—he hadn’t prepared for the jealousy that hit him like a punch to the gut.

his thoughts were scattered as he wandered aimlessly. he ended up at taeyong’s place, needing a distraction, anything to stop the storm of emotions that had overtaken him. he let himself in, muttering a brief greeting before collapsing on the couch. taeyong was there, of course, with a drink in hand, silently observing him. jaehyun didn’t speak at first, just grabbed the glass taeyong offered him and took a long sip, feeling the burn of alcohol slide down his throat. it was the only thing that seemed to calm the fire inside him.

“you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” taeyong remarked, his voice laced with concern.

jaehyun let out a bitter laugh. "no, it's worse. i saw something i wasn’t supposed to see."

taeyong raised an eyebrow but didn’t push him further. jaehyun didn’t need to explain. taeyong always understood. he leaned back into the couch, his mind replaying the scene—your face, the way you kissed sicheng, like you belonged to him. jaehyun felt a tightness in his chest. he didn’t know why it hurt so much. he wasn’t even sure where he stood with you anymore. you had been so distant recently, and yet, seeing you with him, it felt like a betrayal.

it wasn’t that he hadn’t seen this coming—he had. he just hadn’t expected it to hit him this hard. and now, every drink he took seemed to make him forget for a moment, but the feeling always returned. the hurt. the confusion. the jealousy.

jaehyun’s fingers tightened around the glass, his mind swirling with thoughts of you. why didn’t you tell me? his chest ached, but he didn’t want to confront you—not yet. he wasn’t ready to face whatever was happening between you two.

he didn’t know if he was angry, heartbroken, or just lost. all he knew was that he couldn’t shake the image of you and sicheng together, and it felt like something inside him had snapped.

“damn it,” jaehyun muttered under his breath, taking another sip, his gaze distant.

the days passed slowly, like honey sliding down glass—thick, heavy, and impossible to stop.

you left the apartment the very next morning. you didn’t wait for jaehyun to return. maybe you were too ashamed. or maybe… you were afraid of what his silence truly meant. returning to your own place felt like stepping backward into a version of yourself you had outgrown. everything was still the same, but everything felt different.

unpacking was painful. every folded shirt, every book you placed back on the shelf carried the weight of disappointment. guilt clung to you like damp clothes. you had betrayed something you hadn’t even fully understood yet. something tender. something real. something that had bloomed quietly between you and jaehyun… and now was ruined.

yes, you were the one who ended it. you had been the one to say "we shouldn't" back when things got too deep. you told him not to catch feelings. and still—you had let him back in the same way he’d always slipped through the cracks in your walls. and now, after everything, there was nothing.

no calls.

no texts.

no late-night knocks on your door.

even though he knew exactly where you lived.

nothing.

you cried for the first few days. not because he hadn’t come, but because you didn’t know what you wanted him to do anymore. you were angry with yourself—for wanting him despite it all. for needing his arms when you had no right to ask for them. sicheng had kept his distance too. and you? you let him. maybe that was for the best.

your friends tried to distract you—girls’ nights, coffee dates, random gossip and karaoke—but they didn’t know. not really. they assumed you had fallen for sicheng again, that he’d rejected you for good this time. and you didn’t correct them. it wasn’t entirely a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either.

two weeks passed. fourteen days without a word from him. and you were slowly starting to accept it.

until—

it was a thursday afternoon when your paths finally crossed again.

you were at the university gym, dropping off some flyers for the art department's spring showcase. you weren’t expecting to see anyone. especially not him.

but there he was.

inside the training room, under the harsh fluorescent lights, gloves on, sweat clinging to his shirt. jaehyun. focused. sharp. fierce. every punch he threw looked like it carried a piece of the storm inside him. his coach barked something, and jaehyun adjusted his stance, but his movements were tight. frustrated.

you froze outside the glass doors, unsure if you should move or melt into the floor. but then he noticed you.

his eyes caught yours.

and for a moment, everything stopped.

he didn’t look angry. he didn’t look cold. he looked tired.

he stepped out of the ring, pulled off his gloves, and walked toward you slowly, wiping his face with a towel. you swallowed, nerves curling in your stomach like fists.

“hey,” you said, your voice barely audible.

he didn’t answer right away. Just stood there, chest rising and falling, eyes scanning you like he didn’t know whether to breathe you in or let you go again.

“i wasn’t sure i’d ever see you again,” he finally said, his voice low.

“i didn’t think you’d want to,” you replied. you bit your lip. “you didn’t come. or call. i thought that was your answer.”

he looked down, exhaled slowly, then met your gaze again. “i couldn’t.”

his voice cracked just a little. “i tried... every day. but i couldn’t look at you and not remember…”

you stepped forward, just slightly. “I know, i know it was... awful.”

“no,” he interrupted. “you don’t understand. i didn’t stay away because i hate you. i stayed away because i didn’t know how to stop wanting you even after everything.”

silence stretched between you. the hallway suddenly felt too quiet.

“i ruined it,” you whispered.

jaehyun shook his head. “maybe. maybe not.”

another pause.

“i have a fight in three days,” he added, softer. “it’s my biggest match yet. national-level. i’ve been training harder than ever. but… it hasn’t helped.”

you frowned. “why?”

“because you’re still here,” he said, placing his hand over his chest. “and i can’t punch that away.”

tears pricked your eyes, and your breath caught in your throat.

“i’m not asking for anything,” you said quietly. “i just… i missed you.”

his gaze softened. “me too.”

then, slowly, he reached for your hand, curling his fingers around yours like he wasn’t sure if this was a mistake. like touching you might hurt—but not touching you hurt more.

“you coming to watch me fight?” he asked, with the faintest of smirks. “or do i have to win without you in the crowd?”

you let out a soft laugh, choking on emotion. “i’ll be there.”

“good.” he gave your hand a gentle squeeze. “because i want to win with you watching. not for you. just… with you there.”

and for the first time in two weeks, your heart didn’t feel like it was splitting open. it just felt full.

the crowd was louder than you expected. people packed the stands, their voices rising in a chorus of cheers, whistles, and anxious calls. the atmosphere in the arena pulsed with energy, but all you could hear was your own heartbeat.

and jaehyun’s name being called.

you were sitting near the front, just behind his coach, surrounded by other athletes, trainers, and curious fans. the lights dimmed slightly as the announcer’s voice echoed across the arena.

“coming to the ring now… jung jaehyun!”

you stood without realizing, eyes wide as he stepped into the spotlight. his robe slid off his shoulders, revealing the toned body you already knew too well, but now wrapped in determination. his jaw was clenched, his eyes locked forward. he looked powerful, composed—like a storm waiting to be unleashed.

but when his eyes scanned the crowd…

he found you.

for a split second, his expression shifted. just a flicker of softness in the middle of all that steel. and that was just for you.

you felt it deep inside—something warm, something alive again.

the bell rang.

the first round started fast.

his opponent was no amateur—he moved with precision, like a shadow in motion. jaehyun didn’t hesitate. he dodged, countered, landed a jab. then another. you gripped the edge of your seat, body tense with every strike. he was holding his own. no—he was winning.

but then the second round came, and it got messier.

the other boxer caught him hard—right hook to the ribs, then a left jab to the cheek that made jaehyun stumble. gasps filled the room, and your heart dropped into your stomach.

he got back up.

you rose from your seat, whispering his name under your breath like a prayer. come on, jaehyun… come on.

and he did. like a man possessed.

round three was war. each punch carried purpose, rage, and focus. his muscles burned, but he didn’t stop. he pushed through the pain, through the exhaustion, through whatever was still bleeding inside him. because you were watching.

he could feel you watching.

in the final seconds of the round, he landed a brutal uppercut that knocked his opponent clean off his feet. the crowd erupted. the bell rang.

and he won.

you didn’t realize you were crying until someone nudged you, telling you it was over. that he’d done it.

but all you could think was—he’s going to look for me.

and he did.

still breathless, sweat clinging to him like a second skin, jaehyun left the ring and walked straight toward you. no interviews. no press. no team celebration.

just you.

he reached you in two long strides, grabbed your face with both hands, and kissed you so fiercely you forgot how to breathe. the world fell away. no one else mattered.

when he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, he whispered:

“i needed you there. i fought better because of you.”

your voice cracked as you whispered back, “i’ve always been with you.”

and in that moment—under the lights, in front of everyone, after all the silence and all the mistakes—he smiled.

because no matter how broken it had felt…

you were here.

and maybe, just maybe, you were going to be okay.

cbeargyu💭 hey! i’ve been super active here today LMAO. this post feels kinda different from the stuff i’ve been writing lately bc fun fact this was actually the first fic i ever wrote for the platform. BUT i never posted it tho, it’s been sitting in my drafts since 2023 🫣 but i finally decided to upload it today!! it was supposed to be just a one-shot but it turned out way too long, so i’ll be posting part two soon once i go over it and organize it properly :D hope you enjoy it! it’s inspired by a manhwa i absolutely loved called peach sorbet 🩷 totally recommend it btw! <3

[bitterflames]

is this what they call "fuck around and find out"

[ktownshizzle]

Pigments & Playlists [Final] | myg

✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Min Yoongi x female Reader ✎ ˎˊ˗ Summary: Between makeup and music, you find the one person worth blurring the lines for. ✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: Fluffy coworkers to lovers, idol au, older woman (by a few years), smut ✎ ˎˊ˗ Warnings: SMUT MDNI!, Undercut Yoongi!!, MC-noona is the embodiment of “independent check, got her own check”, office shenanigans as always, exhibitionist kink, fingering, edging, very minor pain kink, use of a blindfold, power play (im new to writing this so pls forgive any errors), unprotected p in v, idk tell me if i missed any of it, unfair/sexist HR practices, insinuation of self-harm (assumed wrongly), MC hatin’ on HYBE, happy ending woohoo ✎ ˎˊ˗ Word count: 9k ✎ ˎˊ˗ Posting date: June 21, 2025 ✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes: Yoongi’s discharge today. So proud of you, baby! 💜 Thank you so much @tea4sykes for your brilliant ideas, betareading, and basically keeping me motivated in writing this! Love yew! ✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes 2: Hope you guys enjoy reading this~ Made it a personal goal to publish today, because I didn't know how June 21 was gonna go for us, but I was sure it was going to be emotional. Consider this a gift from me to you. However you may be feeling today, I hope this makes you smile.

[Full taglist to follow in rbs.]

Part One | Yoongi Masterlist

So Yoongi disappeared after he did that. Frankly, how dare he?!

Way too many thoughts swirling in your head while you lay awake and there is no way you’ll be able to sleep.

Your arm flies across the bed as your hand pulls your nightstand drawer and fumbles inside for the one thing you need to help yourself relax…

Nah. Not the rabbit.

Tiger Balm.

You dab a bit on your temples and the tip of your nose and inhale deeply, letting the menthol work its magic. Yup. That’s the stuff.

Unfortunately, you’ve been staring at the ceiling for an hour, heart thudding like something’s wrong. Except nothing’s wrong. You kissed. That’s all.

You kissed and now you’re thinking about it way too much. Not because it was bad. Because it was… something.

And because the more you think about it, the more it’s starting to scare you how much you need it to happen again.

You sigh. Rub at the menthol on your nose, frustrated it didn’t thwart your torturous thoughts.

And then you do the logical thing. You call.

It rings once. Twice.

“...Noona?”

His voice is low, a little scratchy. Not groggy, just sleep-warm.

You swallow. “Sorry. I know it’s late.”

“Nah it’s fine,” he says. “You okay?”

You hesitate. “Kind of.”

There’s a pause. He doesn’t fill it. Just waits.

You exhale, quiet. “Remember when you said I could call you if I couldn’t sleep?”

“Yeah.”

“This isn’t about my ex though,” you say.

“Okay.”

“It’s about you.”

That makes him hum. You hear the faint rustle of his sheets, like he’s sitting up.

“Me?”

“Own up to what you did.”

Faint chuckles crackle through your phone and you can almost imagine how he looks. Eyes like the moon, shoulders bobbing, grin smug as shit.

“What did I do?”

You groan, tack his name at the end of it.

“Been wanting to do that for a while,” he says after a beat. “Is that a problem?”

“I don’t know yet,” you reply. “It makes me anxious.”

He hums softly. “Because?”

“Because I liked it,” you say. “And I kinda hate how much I’m thinking about it. And you’re probably chill.”

There’s a long silence.

Then he says, calm and careful: “I’ve been thinking about it, too.”

“Thought you don’t date coworkers.”

“And then there’s you.”

You let out a huff—relieved, breathy, kinda giddy. “That’s… okay.”

“Yeah.” 

You sit up in bed, pulling your knees in.

“I was gonna wait,” you admit. “To see if you’d make the next move. But then I figured that’s dumb. I’m not a teenager.”

“No. You’re definitely not.”

“You don’t mind it?”

“Mind what?”

“That I’m older?” You roll your eyes, even though he can’t see.

“Noona,” he breathes. “I’m not really someone who cares about things like that. At the end of the day aren’t we all just human beings trying to find a connection?”

God this man. Your mouth moves before you can think about it any more. “If you’re not too busy… you wanna come over sometime?”

There’s a pause. Just enough to make your stomach flip.

 “Noona,” he says, teasing, “are you asking me on a…”

“Yes, Yoongi,” you cut in. “That’s exactly what I’m asking.”

He laughs. Really laughs. Low and bright and warm through the speaker. You want to bottle that sound.

“Technically, I did ask first,” he says. “But yeah. I’ll come over.”

You kick your feet under the duvet before replying, “Okay.”

You talk more.

About nothing. About music. About how Namjoon’s on his ass about a song. About how he’s been working out. You tease him mercilessly about how he just casually dropped the last part.

At some point, the sky turns blue.

When you finally hang up, your body feels softer, a little less anxious. And when you fall asleep, it’s his cute throaty laugh still echoing in your head.

“Yoongi, will you please stop making that face? I’m trying to even out your eyeliner,” you scold, trying not to laugh.

Yoongi, the piece of shit, still keeps at his :] while you skim a q-tip along the outer corner of his eye.

“Yoongi-hyung, why are you acting cutely?” Hobi asks from the next chair. “Are we even filming right now?”

A flush creeps up Yoongi’s cheeks as he responds, mock indignant, “What? This is my face. Not my fault I was born cute.”

You meet Hobi’s eyes in the mirror. Then, he winks. You immediately look away, vaguely mortified.

Wait—does everybody know?

Trying to recover, you boop your powder puff on Yoongi’s nose, sending a cloud of setting powder into the air. “Quit it.”

He coughs once, laughing as the puff drops to his lap. Okay shit, good thing he is wearing khaki slacks and not black pants. But finally, he relaxes.

“Noona, you have a Rejuran appointment later,” Jimin chimes in.

Your head snaps up. “What? How did you…?”

Jimin grins from across the room, eyes glued to your phone screen where it’s charging in one of the other stations. Your sockets were full, so you left it there earlier and a calendar alert must’ve popped up.

“You’re so nosy, Jimin.”

“What’s Rejuran?” Hobi asks, peering over with mild curiosity. “I’ve heard that somewhere.”

“It’s just a kind of facial,” you say breezily, catching Hyein’s knowing glance as she smooths Hobi’s hair with her Dyson. These boys don’t need to know your anti-aging secrets.

“They inject salmon sperm into noona’s face,” Jimin announces with a totally straight face, mischief glinting in his eyes.

“Salmon what?!” Yoongi blurts, snapping his head up to look at you. Hobi recoils with a horrified grimace.

“Park Jimin, when I catch you—!”

Jimin squeals and ducks behind a rack of stage outfits as you toss a blending sponge in his direction, trying not to laugh yourself.

The commotion dies down, and you go back to packing up your powders, muttering under your breath, “It’s not even that weird. Just some polynucleotides. Helps stimulate collagen. Keeps the wrinkles at bay.”

Hobi raises a brow. “I don’t see wrinkles, noona.”

“Exactly.” Now it’s you who sends him a wink back.

Yoongi lets out a low chuckle. You glance at him and catch him typing something into his Notes app. Thankfully everyone goes back to their own damn business.

A second later, Yoongi tilts the screen toward you just enough for you to read it: Friday night?

Your hand holding a brush freezes for half a second over his cheek.

He’s already looking away like he didn’t just casually drop that invite.

“Okay,” you mumble softly under your breath.

The lilt of his lips tells you he heard it anyway.

The door buzzes. You’ve been so chill all day. Still chill. You're chill. (No, you’re not.) You rush to open the door before you make him wait too long.

Yoongi looks… casual. Just a black sweater layered over a gray tee, soft black pants. Hair tucked neatly under a beanie. He looks like your neighborhood ahjussi.

“Noona,” he says, voice muffled behind a white face mask.

“Wow. You’re on time.”

“I try to impress on the first date.”

You try not to smile too big, but fail.

He takes his mask off and hands you a small paper bag. “Dessert.”

You peek inside. Cream puffs from that place in Sinsa-dong that always sells out by 3 PM. “Did you have to bribe someone for these?”

“I have my ways.”

Dinner is simple, something you can make with your eyes closed. Miso salmon, cilantro lime rice, and a cucumber salad. You make this at least twice a month. You could’ve cooked steak or some grilled chops, something that gave a more date-night vibe, but you wanted to make the menu fool-proof.

You eat at the kitchen counter with his insistence, saying you didn’t need to set the dining table all fancy. (“It’s just me.”) So you sit close together on your bar stools, knees almost brushing. He clears his plate like it’s the best thing he’s eaten. You beam.

“Noona, this is really good,” he says, tapping a napkin against his mouth.

You smirk. “Better than Jungkook’s?”

He slides an arm on the backrest of your chair. “Are you as competitive as the maknae?”

“I’m just playing.” You chuckle. “I know mine’s better.”

He smiles, watching you quietly but intently as you sip your wine.

“What?” you ask, his stare is warming the side of your face.

“Just... haven’t done this in a while.”

“Eaten?”

“No.” He tuts, picks up his wine glass and sips before explaining, “Sat with someone like this. Them cooking for me. In their home. Talking.”

Your stomach dips. Not from nerves this time. From the way he admits it. Simple. Open.

You shrug, keeping it light. “Well. You’ve still got it.”

“Got what?”

“You know… the kids call it rizz.”

He laughs heartily, and you feel his fingers curling against your arm. “Was worried I might’ve lost my… rizz.” He overenunciates the last word, his lisp decorating the edge of the sound.

You raise your brow, not buying it. “Liar.”

He bites his lower lip and shakes his head at you. Your eyes track the way his pretty teeth sink against the pink plush and ugh. Again with this rizz.

After dishes are rinsed and placed in the dishwasher and dessert’s split between bites and laughter, the two of you end up on the couch. His arm stretched along the backrest yet again, just shy of your shoulder. Your head tilted toward his, but not touching, even if you wanted to.

There’s some Netflix movie playing in the background, purely for vibes. Neither of you are really watching. You talk about work. Gossip a bit. He asks about that corner shelf in your living room, the one with the knick knacks. You tell him stories about your travels, touring with Seventeen. He says you have the same lucky cat figurine from Hong Kong.

You try not to let his voice get under your skin. It’s different hearing his warm, caramelly tone when you’re not otherwise occupied with evening out his contour or with the buzz of a hair dryer in the background. It’s criminal how smooth it is when it’s all you need to focus on, even more so when he’s being earnest.

He glances at your hand resting on his thigh. (How did it get there???) Then up at your face. You nod before your brain realizes that he in fact did not ask a question.

But then he leans in and all thoughts fly out the window. His lips taste like vanilla cream and maybe the wine you shared earlier. It’s sweet. Even better than the first one because you’re ready for it.

You shift closer, hands finding their way to the hem of his sweater, thumbs brushing warm skin underneath. His breath catches a little. And then his fingers are trailing up your arm, until they settle gently on your jaw. His thumb presses against your cheek, coaxing your mouth open so he can press his tongue against yours. You feel dizzy with want.

His hands stay respectful, never wandering too far. Just the faint brush against the back of your neck, the side of your thigh. But every press of his calloused fingers leaves a quiet, contained fire in its wake. You need more.

You move closer, straddling his lap, never breaking contact with his mouth. He kisses you deeper, sloppier when your weight settles against him. His tongue licks into your mouth expertly and you welcome it. It teases you long enough to make you wonder how it might feel in other places, too. 

Like butter, you're melting, unraveling as his hands find more courage—one sliding up, pausing at your ribs, then higher to cup your tits. He groans into your mouth and it nearly ruins you. You roll your hips forward, barely a grind, just enough to feel him straining between you. Just enough to hear him groan again. 

You make out for what feels like an eternity. But you think you’re both on the same page, when your mouths move a little slower, softer. Air starts to seep between your lips as you retreat. You’re somewhere between wanting more and knowing it’s not time. Not yet. But god, it’s close.

Eventually, he leans his forehead against your shoulder, both of you breathless–maybe a little embarrassed.

“I should probably go,” he murmurs, even as he hugs you tighter at the waist.

“Probably,” you sigh, his undercut grazing your neck and igniting a dull, sweet tickle.

You stay like that for a moment, sharing the soft beat of your hearts as they slow back to normal.

He finally rises, slipping back into his white sneakers as you walk him to the door.

“Thanks for dinner,” he says, lingering by the frame.

“Thanks for coming,” you reply, fingers tightening on the knob as you hold it open.

“Next time, my place?”

“Already booking that second date?”

He pulls his mask on, but not before you catch the shy grin he tries to hide.

“I’ll bring dessert,” you offer.

“Just bring yourself. “ he says, gaze flicking down your body, before settling back on your eyes.

Oh. You are the dessert.

And this time, when the door clicks shut behind him, your heart isn’t racing from confusion. It’s welcoming the slow bloom of potential.

You: Thank you for dropping off coffee and donuts for the team Yoongi: 👌

Yoongi: finished it one sitting You: what? You: i got you 10 pcs 🍊 Yoongi: and? You: you dont get acidic? Yoongi: it’s my favorite!! You: i noticed

Yoongi: [spotify playlist link] You: hey dj suga Yoongi: thought you might like You: listened to it on the drive home Yoongi: favorite track? You: musiq soulchild - just friends Yoongi: me too

It’s not like there was a talk. No formal check-in or DTR. But somehow, as the weeks pass, the rhythm between you and Yoongi settles into something steady. There’s no pressure. No constant push for reassurance. No need to define what already feels known.

You see him constantly at work—during rehearsals, music shows, brand shoots. He’s not overly affectionate, that’s just not him. But there are moments. The way his fingers graze yours when no one’s looking. The way his eyes seek you out as soon as he walks in. The way he’ll shift his chair an inch closer when you’re touching up his base, so your knees knock just enough.

He really makes this whole thing feel easy. Comfortable in a way that still thrills you. Because what can be more thrilling at this point in your life than to finally meet somebody that makes you feel vibrant.

What surprises you most is how little insecurity you feel. You’ve seen how people look at him—the other makeup artists, stylists, managers, external clients. There’s something magnetic about him that draws attention without trying. You’ve clocked it. But Yoongi has a way of making sure you never wonder.

It’s in the way he says your name. How his eyes soften when he talks to you. How he remembers the little things. The tea you like. The one concealer you always complain about running out of. Sometimes you find a sticky note in your kit. Or a box of snacks with your name scribbled on it. Just things that say: I see you. You’re on my mind.

And then there are the others. The rest of Bangtan.

It’s a choreography video shoot day, which always means chaos. Full glam’s not required since most shots are wide, so it’s just you and Hwapyeong handling light touch-ups.

You’re finishing Yoongi’s concealer when Jungkook suddenly rests his chin on your shoulder. “Noona, if I promise to sit still, can I go next?”

Before you can answer, Jimin appears behind him. “She’s doing me next. I called dibs.”

“Not how dibs works,” Jungkook pulls back his arm for a mock-punch and Jimin clutches his heart, rattling off a litany of how Jungkook wounds him.

“Hajimaaa,” Yoongi gives them all a staredown. 

But then from across the room, Taehyung yells, “Noona, help! My concealer’s making me look gray!”

“AISH!” Yoongi snarls with his non-existent fangs. It’s not even menacing. You know now that his canines are blunt. But he tries, so you giggle.

Jin comes to your rescue. “Why are all of you crowding her? You never even get your faces done for choreo. Fuck off,” Then, sweetly, “Hi noona, just a dab of lip balm, please.”

“HYUNG!” Jungkook giggles as he shoves his elder playfully away from you and they continue to horseplay elsewhere.

Yoongi turns slowly to Jimin and Taehyung, unimpressed. “Why are you still here?”

“Because she’s nice to us,” Jimin says, fluttering his lashes at you with zero shame.

“Because we love her more than you do,” Taehyung declares with a shit-eating grin.

That gets Yoongi to raise a brow.

“Okay, enough,” you laugh, pointing your brush like a weapon. “If you want me to do all your faces, line up like kindergarteners and bring me coffee.”

“Done,” Taehyung shoots up immediately.

When they disperse to bother other members of the staff, you catch Yoongi watching you through the mirror.

“I think…” you murmur as you smooth out the edge of his eye shadow, “I just got myself a new set of boys.”

He doesn’t say anything, but the way his smile lingers tells you everything.

When he stands up to finally let one of the maknaes take his spot, he whispers, “For the record, I called dibs.” Then pinches your hip slightly.

You’re still grinning when Jimin plops into the chair and narrows his eyes at you. Eye-smiling. Suspicious. Rightly so.

You: check your studio door Yoongi: ? Yoongi: why Yoongi: what did you do You: just do it

(three minutes later)

Yoongi: you cooked? You: 👩‍🍳 Yoongi: you even packed utensils?? You: i’m considerate Yoongi: shit you the best You: i know you’re busy but now you don’t have an excuse Yoongi: you tryna wife me up huh? You: idiot Yoongi: cmere eat with me You: i have a thing You: meeting a makeup artist friend who started her own salon Yoongi: thats nice Yoongi: but next time come in You: k Yoongi: 134340 You: ? Yoongi: door code You: guarding it with my life

(fifteen minutes later)

Yoongi: (photo attached: empty bento box)

Curious how time has passed and with frequency and proximity, you discover new things about Yoongi. Things that only came with time. Things you wouldn’t catch if you weren’t paying attention. Things you couldn’t have known before.

There are lines you never noticed until you were tracing them at rest. Creases that only surface when he’s thinking too hard, or biting back a smile. Dimples, not on the smile lines, but on his chin, when he’s bored. And then there’s the slightest double chin when he’s slumped and snoozing when schedules get rough. It’s your job to know his face, to fill the lines. There are times you touch him a little longer, not for anything but comfort and maybe your greed. He lets you.

Lips, sweeter than any cherry balm you could ever swipe. But far more frequently chapped than you like so you’ve started packing bottled water inside your kit, making him sip while you let lip mask seep between the patches of dry skin. His lips have become your favorite. Sometimes it splits when he does that shriek he often pulls to make others laugh but then it also presses against your shoulder when he’s too tired to kiss you properly. Sometimes they murmur your name like it’s a sexy secret, and you wonder how you lived before hearing it said like that. 

There’s also his eyes. Small, but somehow holds a significant power. He has a habit of narrowing them, but now you can tell why, when he’s suspicious, or teasing or just tired, or forgot his glasses. You don’t need him to speak. Sometimes the way he looks at you says more than full conversations ever could.

His default expressions are even more cat-like up close. On default :< When he’s playful :] But your favorite is the :3. You always make sure his features stay sharp, complimenting his felinesque features. You pull his liner outward, shade his jaw, angle his brow. Lil Meow Meow, apparently he is called. And what ARMY wants, ARMY gets.

His hair is finer than it looks. Silky in a way that slips easily between your fingers when you card through it absentmindedly, especially when he’s resting his head in your lap. The strands at his nape get extra soft after he showers, curling ever so slightly where they brush against his undercut. He likes when you play with it, especially the buzzed edges, more than he lets on. You figured that out the first time you tugged a little harder and heard the way his breath caught, low in his throat. Now it’s something he leans into, shameless. One tug and suddenly he’s pliant, open.

He smells like tangerines. Rarely does he not have it in his pocket. But also, there’s this perfume he wears. It clings. Intoxicating and addicting, and you wonder if it’s just you who’s not immune. It lives in your hair, your pillow, your skin. You catch yourself breathing deeper when you catch it, like your body recognizes what’s safe faster than your mind can.

You no longer think about what you used to think of him. When he only said four words, and always closed his eyes.

Finally, you know Min Yoongi. Not the pixels, but the person.

You know him now in the noise and chaos of backstage, from watching him when you have your kit open and he’s on his chair waiting to be groomed. 

But you’ve come to know him more in the quietest hours, too. When he wakes beside you in his California king, face bathed in the kind of morning light no makeup could ever imitate. When he opens his eyes, and leans into your space like he always does, all soft and sleepy and sexy.

There’s no need to polish him here. Because this is him at his most perfect in your eyes. When you can just reach for him. 

Not because he’s Min Yoongi, the idol. 

He’s Min Yoongi, yours. Even without the labels, yet.

You: yoongi. Yoongi: ? You: we almost got caught in the fucking meeting room 😭 Yoongi: that was close. You: close??? do you know what would’ve happened if someone saw? Yoongi: i’d probably get a raise You: ddaeng i’d get fired Yoongi: we’re fine You: you are not serious Yoongi: you kissed me You: you pulled me in Yoongi: yeah and? You: AND?? Yoongi: should’ve locked the door You: Yoongi 😩 Yoongi: you wanted it You: i did NOT Yoongi: your hand was where? You: BYE

You (photo attached: wine glass, bare legs, tv in background): guess what i’m watching Yoongi: don’t care Yoongi: all i see is leg You: rude Yoongi: wear a skirt tomorrow You: so direct Yoongi: thought we’re not teenagers You: thought you said you’d behave Yoongi: sure 😃

Another day in the glam room, another TikTok dance challenge Yoongi somehow said yes to. This time with members of TXT. He’s really never beating the allegations of rizzing up his juniors.

He’s already styled when he walks in. And looking at what he’s wearing... Honestly? He’s wearing you the fuck out. And it’s barely noon.

White tank under a greige short-sleeved shirt, pretty, purple embroidered butterflies sitting on either side of his chest. But it’s the jeans—loose, shredded clean through the knees—that have you scandalized like a Victorian maiden seeing skin for the first time.

“Good morning,” you greet.

He hums, eyes you up and down shamelessly and you know the conversation last night is about to resume in the flesh.

“Hey,” he takes his spot on the chair.

“Looking forward to today?” You ask, turning to pluck a brush and pot from your kit.

“You can say that…”

As you face him, he parts his legs, glancing down at the freshly cleared spot on the floor, then looks back up at you. Waits.

You sigh, already knowing what it is. An unspoken invitation to take your place between his knees. To get closer. So you do.

“This what you wanted?” you ask, feigning indifference, as you swirl the spoolie through your brow gel, wiping off the excess on the rim.

“Not exactly,” he says, smirking, knees closing in on the side of your hips. “But close.”

You start brushing his brows up, grooming them into a perfect arch when you feel it. His fingers, slow and sneaky, sliding up your skirt, skimming the soft skin of your inner thigh. 

You look him dead in the eyes.

He winks.

“Yoongi…” you tsk, moving to brush up his other brow.

“Noona…” he shifts forward, tongue peaking on the side of his mouth, which you try try try to ignore.

“Somebody might see,” you mumble. 

“Let them.”

“Such a little shit.”

“You love it.” You freeze when you feel his fingers hook your panties to the side and when he discovers that you’re more excited than you let on, “Oooh. You really do.”

Mortified, is what you are. Soaked from anticipation and some light, slight petting. How dare your body betray you like this?!

“I like your skirt,” he murmurs. The hand that isn’t currently violating you taps the floofy fabric like it’s innocent. As if the other one isn’t busy toying with your cunt.

Dignity hanging by a thread, you grit, “Didn’t wear it for you.”

A bold-faced lie. He knows it, too. “Sure you didn’t,” he chuckles.

His index swipes your folds, lazy, teasing strokes that get deeper with every pass, never quite reaching the one spot you need him to.

“But aren’t you glad you did?” At that exact moment, he flicks your puffy clit, circling it like he’s known exactly where it was all along.

“Fuck,” you gasp, pitching forward, hands gripping his knees just to stay upright.

The pot and brush drops to the floor and rolls into oblivion. Much like your sanity.

He hisses through his teeth as he eases his middle finger inside you, walls fluttering at the sudden intrusion.

“So wet for me, baby,” he grins, lower lip caged between his pretty teeth in his pretty mouth. It’s devastating. He’s devastating. And the way he’s watching you fall apart while knuckles-deep, pumping steadily in and out of your dripping pussy only makes it worse. Or better. Definitely worse. But shit, it feels so good.

“Yoongi… shit…” you breathe, forehead falling into the crook of his neck as your knees threaten to give out. Your palms, slick with sweat, slide beneath the frayed denim of his jeans, desperate for more skin, more heat, more of him. Fingertips dig into his thigh, surely to leave little crescent moons in his flesh. He groans, but doesn’t stop. If anything, he moves with maddening precision, adding just enough pressure to make you whimper. You moan, high and sharp, the sound slipping past your lips before you can stop it.

“Feel good?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Wanna cum?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Do it,” he licks the shell of your ear. “I got you, baby.”

That fuckin’ does it. 

You come with a soft gasp, body jerking slightly as heat rushes through you in quiet waves. It’s not loud, not messy, but it rocks you all the same—your breath hitching, muscles clenching, forehead buried in his neck to muffle the sound.

“Shit…” you breathe, blinking as the aftershocks melt through your limbs.

He pulls his fingers out slow and slick, and you wince at the emptiness he leaves behind. 

Your mouth falls open. “Yoongi.”

“I like seeing you like this,” he murmurs, nudging his nose against yours so you look up. “When you lose control.”

His lips meet yours, stirring more chaos in your mind. When you pull back, trying to reorient yourself, he leans in again.

“Yoongi… fuck, you need to behave, okay?” You mumble against his lips, nipping his plush lower lip before attempting to pull away.

“But noona,” he lifts himself up, bucking against you once just so you feel the hardness between his thighs. “You're making it hard….”

You’re about to give in, when the door creaks open.

You spring backward like your life depends on it, bumping your back against your kit and you suppress the dull pain across your spine. A familiar voice floats in, Hyein, asking if you saw Jimin.

“Nope,” you reply as you start fixing bottles and palettes randomly. You meet Yoongi’s eyes in the mirror and almost crash out when he brings his hand to his lips—without shame, without pause—and licks two fingers clean.

You nearly choke on air.

“Yoongi needs to be out in 5,” Hyein calls out and closes the door.

The company Thanksgiving dinner isn’t really optional, since you’re both employees. But after a magazine shoot, Yoongi lingers as you pack up and still asks if you want to go with him.

“Why do you say it like that,” you laugh. “Like you’re inviting me to prom.”

 “Well… I’m down if you wanna match…” He shrugs, leaning against the wall as he watches you zip up your Zuca.

That’s how you end up in all black—simple, classic, and just a little coordinated with his own sleek black button-down shirt and pants. Yoongi always finds a way to underdress the right way. You compliment him, but he downplays it saying, he just ‘wore an old shirt.’ Yeah, it's the same look from their Grammy performance, but he says it like it should somehow make him look a little less. Joke’s on him, your humble king.

The event is important, but low-pressure. Not quite a red carpet, but still enough eyes to notice when the two of you walk in together. Thankfully Namjoon and Jin are not too far behind with one of their female producers.

You keep a respectful distance, like the professionals you are. But people see. You know they do. A couple of glances. Some whispers. Nothing rude, just… curious. To your insistence and his disappointment, you have dinner with your glam team. Because wouldn’t it be strange if you’re seated with them? You don’t know if you’re ready for a soft launch.

But it sure seems he is. The way he looks at you like there’s no one else in the room. And it’s in the way he caters to you. Like while you’re walking toward the open bar, the strap of your heel suddenly slips loose. You pause, bending slightly to fix it, but Yoongi beats you to it.

He kneels (!!) right there on the marble floor, one hand steadying your ankle as he buckles the strap with steady fingers.

You panic, pulling him by the sleeve of his shirt. “No, you don’t have to—”

 “Let me,” he tells you as he so often does. Head down, thumb brushing the side of your foot, he fixes your shoe and suddenly you’re Cinder-fuckin’-ella in your own damn fairy tale.

Obviously, more than one pair of eyes are turning toward the scene. Cos the scene is not something you see everyday: Min Yoongi, rapper-producer-self-proclaimed bad boy, on his knees for this random girl, rugged hands wrapped delicately on her ankle. 

A couple of stylists from another team, wide-eyed. One of the project managers from digital looks like she might combust. 

Yoongi rises slowly and nods his head towards the bar. You follow him. And that’s that.

After the dinner, you end up at his place. Still dressed up, both of you nursing hot tea listening to a record he chose. Something low and jazzy filters through the room as you curl into his sofa.

“I usually don’t like company parties,” you murmur. “But it wasn’t that bad.”

“Didn’t think it would be,” he says. “I’m glad you came with me.”

He looks at you for a moment, asks, “You okay?”

You nod. “Yeah. I think so.”

You were always a good kid, so you never knew what it felt like to be summoned to the principal’s office. It’s probably something like this then. When two days after the company dinner, you were asked to go to HYBE’s HR department.

You’ve never met this woman before, but it’s clear she’s a higher-up. The tightest hair bun you’ve ever seen, cartoonishly wide cat-eye glasses, you already know she’s ripped at least one person a new asshole in the last five business days.

Not much preamble. When she started, oh, she really didn’t mince words and waste time. The way she looked at you spoke volumes of what she thought you had plotted.

“Miss Y/L/N, it has come to our attention that you have gotten involved with one of the members of BTS. As such, you can no longer be the lead makeup artist for the group effective immediately.”

“Due to our current headcount, we are unable to reassign you to another division.”

“Given the years of our professional relationship, we will still provide you with any recommendations you need should you choose to find employment in another company.”

“Your final pay will be sent to you within 30 business days. Please pack up your things and surrender your ID on your way out.”

Somehow, you are able to hold your head high, temper the storm in your chest, and nod as dignified as you can. “I understand. I’ll see myself out.”

You saw this shit coming. Sniffed it out from a mile away. But that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t sting. You spent more than a decade in this company, shaping and sharpening the creative vision for their two biggest acts, and they’ll let you go all because you decided to date a coworker.

Although they are clearly correct, you are involved with Yoongi, no clear evidence was even presented to you. Nothing was said to indicate that they were in touch with the member of BTS in question to get his side. Regardless, it was never gonna be a man’s fault. She thinks you probably seduced him and took advantage of your close working relationship. Ahh, this is so fucked up. 

“Noona…” a voice interrupts your thoughts.

Namjoon.

“Hey—are you…?”

You swipe a tear quickly from your cheek, but he already saw.

“What happened?”

You pull your cardigan tighter around your frame. Was there a point in lying about it? You sigh, “Got fired.”

“WHAT?” Namjoon’s voice echoes down the hall and your eyes widen like saucers.

He springs into action, stringing you like a marionette into every direction until then you end up in… his studio?

“The hell’s goin’ on?” 

You shrug, take a spot on the couch. “Not much to it, Namjoon. They fired me because they found out about me and Yoongi.”

It’s the first time you’ve acknowledged this to any member verbally. It feels oddly comforting to say it out loud.

“Does he know about this?”

“I haven’t told him.”

“Imma call him right now,” Namjoon fishes his phone from his pocket, but he knocks over something from the side table. It’s a half-full cup of coffee from god-knows-when. “Shit.”

You take some paper towels from his desk and help him soak the brown liquid from the carpet. It’s not really working. His paper towels are kinda thin. And the brown liquid is almost black at this point and it’s making you gag.

“You know what, shit,  let’s just leave that. We’ve got bigger problems…”

“It’s fine. I’m just gonna go.” You rise to your feet, smoothing your skirt down.

“Yoongi won’t allow this.”

“I know. But I did break the number 1 rule.”

“Let’s call him.”

“It’s ok, Namjoon-ah. I’m gonna pack up my stuff and go home. It’s a lot to process and I think I need to just… yeah. I’m gonna go home.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you give him what you hope is a placating smile. “I just wish I got to say goodbye to everybody.”

“We’ll fix it,” he promises.

“No need,” you call over your shoulder. “Nothing’s broken.”

Bzzt… bzzt…

Your eyes crack open, a slow, confused blink. You’re warm, groggy, skin dry from sleep and mouth sticky from wine. The room’s dark except for the kitchen pin lights still on.

You glance at your clock: 11:02 p.m. it says.

The hell? There’s some heavy knocking going on now.

You pull yourself off the couch, legs slightly cramping, brain not quite awake. So out of it you don’t actually check the peephole before you pull the door wide open.

“Baby—what the fuck?!”

Yoongi’s voice hits first. Then his body—arms wrapping you up so tightly, like he’s afraid you’ll slip between his fingers. His coat’s cold but he smells like cedar and mint shampoo..

“I thought you—” he chokes out, one hand tangled in your hair, the other gripping the back of your sweatshirt. “You weren’t answering, I—fuck, I thought you—”

“I fell asleep,” you whisper, dazed, unsure how to hold all of this emotion spilling from him. “I’m sorry.”

His hands come up to your face, thumb brushing your cheekbone like he’s checking if you’re real. His eyes are wet. His breathing unsteady.

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“I did,” you say. “You didn’t pick up. So I just… went home.”

He follows your gaze to the half-full wine glass on the coffee table. His jaw flexes.

“Had a few drinks and crashed,” you add, quietly.

Yoongi doesn’t say anything. He just exhales shakily and pulls you into his chest again, tighter this time. You press your face against his shirt, feel the way his heart is hammering through the fabric.

“I didn’t mean to make you worry,” you mumble.

He doesn’t answer that either. Just holds you there, arms wrapped around you like he needs to physically keep you in his orbit.

You pull back slightly. Look up. “Let me just wash my face real quick. Just sit, okay?”

He nods, wordless, and sinks into the couch like he’s been holding himself up all day.

You go to the bathroom, splash cold water on your cheeks. Brush your teeth. Run a brush through your hair. Change to a lounge set.

You can hear Yoongi’s voice outside. He’s on the phone with someone, and he just told them that you’re okay.

You stare at your reflection, pale and puffy-eyed. Yeah, you’re okay. The lines under your eyes are deeper than usual. But overall, you’re fine.

When you step back out, Yoongi’s sitting with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped like he’s praying. He lifts his eyes the moment you enter, teeth pulling at the skin of his lips.

You sit beside him on the couch, tuck your legs under you. Let your knee rest against his thigh.

“So I got fired…” you say softly, voice thin.

“Namjoon told me,” he says. “I wanted to punch that new HR guy.”

“It’s a woman.”

His lips twitch. “Yeah. Found that out belatedly after I barged in.”

You smile despite yourself.

“Anyway, I talked to Bang PD. He didn’t authorize this. This HR lady, she’s new. A bit too eager, trigger-happy. I think she wanted to make a statement.”

“Well what kind?”

“She said she just wanted to protect Bangtan from people…” he pauses, shakes his head. “Who might be taking advantage of us. I told her you’re my girlfriend. Fuckin’ idiot!”

Oh?

“They could assign you back to Seventeen,” he prattles on, nostrils flaring. “Not like they’ve found a new person to take over. It’s not easy to find your level of talent and they’re stupid to…”

“Yoongi.”

“What?”

“You said something…”

His mouth parts, a little confused.

“No cause you just casually dropped that.”

“Baby,” he hangs his head, pinching the space between his brows with his index and thumb. “That’s your takeaway?”

“Well,” you shrug. “News to me.”

“You’re my woman, okay? Don’t–” he tuts when you almost cut him off. “Baby please don’t even argue with me on this. You know I’ve been yours. And right now I feel guilty. I should have said so earlier and done my due diligence with the paperwork and shit. But I hate getting legal involved in my personal life. Hoba told me to do it. Cause he’s doling out NDAs left and right, but I don't want you to think you're just some hookup. This is on me. And I’m fixing it, okay. They will transfer you to any group you want.”

“I don’t want it,” you say, more firmly than you expected.

“Huh?”

“I don’t want it,” you repeat.

“You don’t want your boys?” 

You roll your eyes, because Seventeen is still some kind of chip on his shoulder. “No. I don’t want pity. Or to feel like they just let me stay because they’re afraid of you.”

“Damn right they are.”

You breathe out, jaw tight. “I want to leave with my head up. And I did.”

Yoongi nods, slow. Like he gets it. Because of course he does.

There’s a beat of silence, but it doesn’t last. Yoongi is still a ball of fire.

“You’re terrifying.”

“Why?”

“You’re so calm.”

You take a moment before you articulate your introspections as you enjoyed your merlot earlier. “You know what? Deep down, I knew it was gonna come to this,” you say. “And if it came down to it, I’d rather just leave HYBE… than you.”

That finally pulls a gentler sound from him. A quiet, pained exhale. His hand finds yours, holds it tight. When you look over, his eyes are glassy again, but his smile is faintly there—gummy, a little lopsided..

“What?” you ask.

He just shakes his head.

“Seriously, what?”

He presses his forehead against yours, closes his eyes.

“I don’t deserve you.”

You kiss him, and he lets you. For a minute or two you savor the way his lips slide against yours, no thoughts, just love. Then he pulls back and says something kind of out of pocket.

“I’m rich.”

You stare. “Okay…?”

“You know I can take care of you.” He says it so earnestly, but you can’t help but giggle.

“I don’t need a Sugar Daddy. How do they even call it if the woman is older?”

“How the hell are you so cool about this?”

“Because I know I have you, but I know I got me, too. I have some money saved up and some stocks I can sell if need be. Market’s looking bullish anyways…”

“You know how sexy you sound right now?”

“Umm talking about the stock market turns you on?”

“Something about a bull…”

“Want me to ride you like a bull?” You raise your brow.

“If you don’t let me fuck you right this second…”

Yoongi removes each button from your top, one by one, kissing every patch of skin revealed to him. You close your eyes, savoring the tiny, wet kisses deposited to your neck down to the valley of your breasts where he lingers for a beat. Purrs as he presses his cheek against your soft mounds and sighs before lifting his eyes to meet yours.

“Use me,” he says. “I know you’re angry, baby.” He peels your shirt down your arms. “Let it out…”

He holds your nipple between his fingers, twists it, and you groan helplessly in response.

“You can punish me. if you want…”

It takes a while for you to process his offer, between butterfly kisses and the teensiest sucks against your skin, a combination that's driving you wild. 

But he’s right. As always. You are mad. Not at him. But the broken sexist system.

“Yoongi?” You tug his hair.

“Hm?”

“Sit back against the headboard.”

He nods and situates himself as you asked.

You walk over to your closet to find a scarf, this white and black Valentino that he gifted you some weeks back. You climb onto him, knees bracketing his hips as you watch the curiosity glistening from his eyes. 

You’ve never really done anything like this before. But you’re familiar with it and you’ve always been down to try anything new. Bonus is you know Yoongi likes to play, so this is perfect. Honestly, he is perfect.

“I’m gonna blindfold you. And you’re not allowed to touch me. Is that okay?”

“Yes.”

The scarf drapes over his eyes, darkening everything he knows, leaving him with nothing but sensation. Breath. Sound. You.

“Use colors, okay?” you whisper, lips barely grazing the shell of his ear.

He nods, swallows. “Yes.”

“What’s it now?”

“Green:”

You hum in approval, fingers ghosting down his chest. “Good boy.”

You take your time with him. Explore his body in ways you never have before. Yoongi shivers. You watch his Adam’s apple bob, the breath hitch in his chest. 

“You asked for this,” you say softly, dragging your nails across his ribs, just enough to raise goosebumps. “So I’m going to use you.” You slap his cheek, earning a soft gasp from him, before his lips curve into a smile. He’s going to enjoy this, you can already tell.

You trace the lines of his body with your mouth. Flick your tongue on his nipples before nibbling on them until they're raw, slightly bruised. You blow cool air against it, earning you a low purr from the back of his throat.

He’s hard already. His huge cock straining against the waistband of his boxers, but you don’t touch him there. This is not like other nights. You want him aching for it.

You slink down to suck faint bruises into the soft dip of his hipbones. Let your nails wander, grazing his soft tummy where pink lines have bloomed like cat scratches. When he moans, hips bucking slightly, you press a palm flat to his stomach.

“Stay still,” you warn.

His voice is a rasp. “Yes, noona.”

You peel his boxers off slowly. His cock springs free—dark at the tip, already leaking. The bead of cum on his tip shines. You circle it once with your finger, feather-light.

“Fuck,” he gasps, hips twitching again.

You slap his thigh—not hard, just enough for pain to mix with the pleasure painted clearly on his face. “I said still.”

His hands flex against the sheets he’s gripping sooo tightly. You see the tension, the need. His mouth opens, lips trembling.

“More…”

You smirk, finally leaning down and licking a slow stripe up his shaft. He whimpers, whimpers! And by god, if it’s not the prettiest sound in the world.

And just for that you can throw him a bone. But you suck only the tip into your mouth and let it pop free. 

His body arches off the bed instinctively and one errant hand makes its way to the back of your neck.

Another slap—gentler this time.

“Sorry, noona.”

“Patience, baby. You wanted to be used, right? That means you wait until I’m done.”

You tease him for what feels like forever. Stroke him gently, then quicker, then stop just when he thinks you’ll give him more. Every whine you pull from him shoots straight to your cunt.

His thighs are trembling. “Noona. More…”

You finally straddle him, not lowering yourself yet, just grinding super slow against the base of his cock, letting your slick drag across him.

“You’re doing so well, baby,” you murmur, stroking his cheek where the blindfold wraps around his head. 

“Fuck, noona, let me touch you.”

“Not yet,” you lean forward, let your tits press against his chest, and drop a small peck on the corner of his mouth. His lips pucker belatedly as you pull back.

“You are so hot like this, baby. So good to me,,” you assure him, sliding a hand down to wrap around his cock, pumping it just once, then again, tighter. “Color?”

“Green. Fucking green.”

Finally, you shift to guide him to your entrance. Still hovering. Still making him wait.

He’s breathless now, forehead sweaty beneath the scarf. “Fuck noona. Put it in. I need to feel you—fuck—need to cum in you, please.”

God, he sounds broken. Ruined.

You sink down in one slow, aching glide, and you moan in unison, in pure fucking ecstasy. Your voice high and needy, his low and desperate. He’s pulsing inside you as you steady your hips, letting your walls adjust, keeping him warm.

“Fuck, you feel—fuck,” he gasps. “You’re so tight, noona. So warm—please let me touch you.”

“Not yet,” you grit out, riding him slow and mean, using him. You let your clit drag against the short hairs on his crotch, finding the perfect angle to get you off. He can probably sense it now in the steady swivel of your hips and the stutter in your breath. 

“Yeah, just like that, noona,” he says, voice hoarse. “Use me.”

You dig your nails into his chest, bite at his shoulder. You pant. Speeding up your grind. His legs are trembling now, the muscles on his thighs, stomach, taut. “Noona…” He’s babbling now, half-words and curses, his head tossing side to side. “Can’t—shit, please—I’m….”

He’s close. You’re almost there.

“Touch me.”

His hands immediately fly towards your hips, pressing you down, deeper. Grabs your ass and guides your movements.

You fuck him harder like this, ride him like your life depends on it. You feel him losing it. Coming undone beneath you. 

“Where?”

“Inside me, baby. Fill me up…”

His whole body convulses, a strangled moan torn from his throat as he spills into you. You follow a heartbeat later, biting down on his shoulder to muffle the sound as you unravel together.

You don’t move for a moment. Just feel his chest heaving beneath you, the sweat between your bodies. You remove the blindfold.

His lashes are wet. He looks wrecked and raw and beautiful.

“Was that okay?” you ask softly, fingers combing his damp hair back from his forehead.

He nods slowly. Smiles. “More than okay.”

You guide him to lie flat again, press your palm to his chest to calm his breathing. You grab a warm towel and clean him gently, kissing each place you left a bruise or scratch.

He pulls you close afterward, arms around your waist, face pressed to your shoulder.

Before you drift off, you remember something you wanted to address.

“Can I ask you something?”

He hums.

“Why were you so worried earlier?”

“Namjoon said you looked a little, like, out of it, you know. And when I couldn’t get a hold of you, I thought you…” he heaves a sigh. “I don’t know why my mind went into that. But I just couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.”

Your heart squeezes. “That’s not gonna happen, Yoongi. I’m yours.”

He hugs you and doesn’t let go.

Post-HYBE life turns out to be pretty… as Yoongi says, slayyy. 

It was tough in the beginning, starting from scratch. You start your own website and portfolio, reach out to friends and contacts to help get your skin back into the game. A few months in, you’re now affiliated with a salon who specializes in editorial and product campaign shoots. Your last one was with Choi San for D&G Beauty.

Yoongi slips deeper into your life until the boundaries blur. A toothbrush in his cup. His shirt in your hamper. 

You never needed to say it. Because you both knew that this wasn’t fleeting. That you weren’t getting any younger. That whatever this is feels constant. 

One night he sends you a Spotify link. To one song. It’s a BTS track.

He usually doesn’t send his own stuff when you exchange playlists (a ritual that stayed on). You listen to it.

🎵Home - BTS

Your chest tightens. Your fingers hover over the reply. But then he calls.

No hi or how are you. Just one question: “Move in with me?”

Life with him is a burst of pigments.

Yellow, in the warm sunlight that wakes you both every morning. Orange, in the tips of his fingers when he’s peeled his umpteenth tangerine. Blue, in the fabric softener he overused to the point that it triggered an allergic reaction for both of you. (Downy is now banned.) 

Green, in the hangover soup you cook for him after a night out. (You, on the other hand, are sober for 2 months now.) Purple, in the marks he leaves on your inner thighs and the soft bruises on your chest. Pink, in the way he blushes when you walk out in his clothes. 

And then, finally:

Red, in the two faint lines. 

You blink down at the stick in your hand, seated on the toilet, heart pounding.

It’s only a minute before the door creaks open.

“Babe?” Yoongi floats in. “You’ve been in here a while.”

He sees your face first. Then the test clutched around your fingers.

He’s piecing it together.

“Omo,” he breathes, stunned.

You nod, heart tight in your throat.

“OMO OMO, you’re pregnant?” he says it with so much disbelief it makes you laugh through the lump in your chest.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?!” he kneels on the tiles in front of you. His hands are on your cheeks, your shoulders, your belly. “Holy shit!!!”

You’re laughing now, ugly and teary. He pulls you into a tight hug, still stunned.

He leans back, eyes wild with emotion. “We’re gonna have a baby?”

“I guess we are.”

And then the tears come, his. Yoongi chokes out a wet little sound and buries his squishy face in your neck. “Fuck. I’m so happy.”

“Me, too.”

You are.

So happy.

So ready.

So loved.

Between pigments & playlists. 

In technicolor. In surround sound.

In the forever you never thought possible.

This spring day.

:)

A/N: Soooo?? Did y'all bogo your shipdas? (dk what the means, but hope you liked it?)

Yoongi is back! While it was a bittersweet note that we got today, I know things are only going to get better from here for him and us. I hope and pray that he knows that he is so so so loved by ARMY.

So the fic! Yes the fic! I’d love some feedback. And a reblog if you are so inclined?

Thank you for reading this you lovely beautiful human, xo

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[itoshiierae]

when you accidentally say you hate them #2 ⊹˚.

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

ᡣ𐭩 ft: rin itoshi, sae itoshi, oliver aiku, nagi seishiro, isagi yoichi

ᡣ𐭩 notes: here’s part one. and once again, this is not proofread HAHAHA. i probably rushed this a little bc i didn’t wanna keep y’all waiting too long, so pls forgive any errors :c but anywayy, here’s part 2. enjoy!!!! <33

ᡣ𐭩 cw: angst (at first), then fluffff <33, you & oliver’s relationship dynamic is wayyy different from the others HAHAH, not isagi being the ONLY confrontational king among the 5 😵‍💫

extras: but let’s be fr, the rest of them are NOT the ‘let’s-talk-it-out’ type unless they’re being cornered lol 💀😭

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

౨ৎ RIN ITOSHI ౨ৎ

the hallway feels emptier without the quiet drag of his footsteps. no soft shuffle of socks, no keys clinking lazily by the door, no sleepy voice mumbling about coffee. just a note, carefully written and left on the coffee table — too neat for how much it hurts.

[“didn’t know if you’d want me around today. left early. don’t worry about it.”]

the kind of sentence that pretends it doesn’t ache to write. you sat with it for what felt like hours— long enough for the coffee to go cold, long enough to wonder if maybe staying silent was worse than saying the wrong thing. the note didn’t move but your thoughts circled it like grief.

you just sat at the table, phone in hand, trying to type the right words.

sent 09:42am: [ i didn’t mean it. ]

sent 09:42am: [ please talk to me. ]

sent 09:43am: [ come home rin. ]

none of them delivered. or maybe they did — and he just didn’t want to answer.

──★

the lock clicks just past midnight. long after you gave up checking your phone, almost as if he came back only when he was genuinely sure you’d stopped waiting for him.

your body jerks awake where you’d accidentally dozed off on the couch — curled up, blanket barely pulled over your legs.

he stops mid-step when he sees you.

he doesn’t say anything at first. just stands there in the doorway, keys still dangling from his hand, his silhouette washed in dim light.

“why are you—” he stops. voice flat. “...you shouldn’t sleep out here.”

you blinked hard, still groggy, heart pounding too loud to answer right away.

“i was waiting for you.. rin,” the words slipping out like a confession you’d rehearsed too many times to forget.

his eyes flicker — sharp for a second like instinct, then soften, like he almost let something show. but just as quickly, it’s gone again. like as if he’s rebuilding the walls even as he looks at you.

“you said you hated me,” he says quietly, not like an accusation but like a memory he hasn’t been able to stop replaying.

“i didn’t mean it,” your voice breaks.

“i was tired. upset. i just… i mean i say things when i’m scared.”

he exhales, low and steady, like he’s trying not to feel too much at once. like he’s caught between staying mad and missing you at the same time.

“you were scared,” he repeats, eyes narrowing just slightly.

“and i was what??? something safe to push?”

after he said that, the silence between the both of you is thick again. but this time, it feels more like a storm circling — not a goodbye. your head dips, slow, as if the guilt weighs heavier than the words did as you gave him a silent nod but not a proud one, more like regret dressed in silence.

“i was scared of losing you. and i still am. i missed you so much rin..”

his shoulders ease, just barely like he’s still holding onto the edge, but some part of him is tired of fighting.

“don’t say things you don’t mean,” he mutters.

“not to me.”

and then, so soft you almost miss it:

“i missed you too… come here now.”

౨ৎ SAE ITOSHI ౨ৎ

you still haven’t fully processed what just happened.

he didn’t yell. he didn’t slam the door, but it still stings. the way that you never truly got to talk it out with him before he went off.

you stood in the middle of the apartment like the argument was still ringing off the walls.

“i hate when you act like this — no… i hate you sometimes.”

and the worst part? you’re not even sure if you meant it. or if you just needed to say something loud enough, cruel enough, real enough just to make him feel something back.

but now the apartment felt empty. almost as if, he took the noise with him when he left.

and you couldn’t stop staring at the door. like if you watched long enough, maybe he’d walk back through it, maybe he’d say something to make it all okay.

but he didn’t.

──★

you sent two texts. one asking if he was okay & another one trying to undo what you said.

he never replied.

but you stayed near the door anyway, just in case the silence meant something other than goodbye.

──★

he came back at midnight, hours after you’d given up sitting by the door, hours after you’d replayed the fight for at least a hundred times in your head. you were curled up on the couch, half-asleep under a throw blanket when you heard the key in the lock.

you didn’t move at first. you weren’t sure if you were supposed to. the door opened with a quiet click — then shut just as softly.

you sat up slowly, “sae…”

he paused, still facing the door as he took a breath.

“i’m tired,” he said, flatly.“can we not fight again tonight?” the words hit like a plea dressed as indifference.

you rose slowly, like the moment might break if you moved too fast.

“we’re not fighting,” you said softly. “not anymore”.

after a pause that felt heavier than silence, you continued, “you know… i didn’t mean what i said.” you whispered.

silence.

and then without turning he said, “then why’d you say it?” his voice so quiet it almost felt like a thought, not a question.

your throat tightened, like the words were scraping on the way out.

“… because i was scared. and hurt. i thought maybe saying something ugly would make you.. i don’t know?? …look at me again??”

he finally turned around to face you, but not fully.

“wait… you think i don’t look at you?” his voice didn’t rise, but it cracked around the edges like that was the one thing he never thought you would doubt.

“not when it matters,” you said.“not when i’m falling apart in front of you.”

for a long moment, he said nothing then —

“i wasn’t ignoring you... i just didn’t know what to say without making it worse.”

your voice snagged on the ache in your chest. you tried to say something, but nothing came out. and then finally— finally he stepped closer towards you. no apology in his expression. no grand gesture, just a tired man standing in a dim-lit living room, looking at someone he wasn’t ready to lose.

“i’m still here,” he said quietly, staring straight into your eyes.

“even if i don’t always know how to show it.”

and the second those words left his mouth, you threw your arms around him like letting go wasn’t an option anymore.

he stayed still, the weight of you in his arms settling over him, something he hadn’t realized he had been missing. and then his hands found your back, unsteady, almost as if he wasn’t sure he deserved this.

“i hate you,” you whispered, half-laughing, half-crying.

“not really... but kind of. but not really.”

you felt his chest rise with the smallest exhale.

“whatever,” he muttered.

“you’re annoying.”

but he didn’t let you go.

౨ৎ OLIVER AIKU ౨ৎ

he didn’t come back for three days.

there were no missed calls. no texts. not even a missed story view. he was gone — just like that. for a moment, it almost felt like the two of you had never been in a relationship at all. you almost wanted to call him but you stopped yourself.

and then on day 4, he walked in like nothing happened.

like you hadn’t screamed that you hated him infront of everyone, like he hadn’t just straight up ignored you & then laughed too loud at another girl’s joke right after you said it. like his silence hadn’t stretched for days and made you question everything.

“yo,” he said casually, tossing his keys onto the dining table.

you stared at him. and he stared right back at you almost as if it really was just another random tuesday morning.

“so… did you make breakfast?” he asked casually.

“yeah… you want some?”

“nah,” he shrugged. “just checking if you still love me.”

you almost felt a laugh rise, but it got lost somewhere between your chest and your pride.

──★

the rest of the day passed like nothing happened. the two of you talked and joked like always. he picked an episode of something he knew would annoy you and you watched it anyway.

halfway through the movie, he even made popcorn, stole your favorite blanket, acted like everything was okay between the both of you.

and maybe for a while, you let yourself believe it was.

but underneath it all, it felt too easy. like walking across a floor made of glass while pretending you didn’t hear it crack. neither of you mentioned about what happened that day. until it happened.

your fingers grazed his when you handed him the remote and you recoiled before he could react. but he didn’t move at all, almost as if your touch didn’t scare him the way his did to you.

neither of you spoke for a while. not out of peace, but tension. until you finally broke it with:

“sooo like… are we really not gonna talk about what happened that day?” your voice tried to stay light but the tension bled through anyway.

“talk about what, exactly? the part where you screamed that you hated me in front of like… twenty people?”

the air between the both of you thickened, dense with the tension that was slowly filling the room.

“i was just… jealous,” you admitted. “i felt invisible. and i wanted to make you look at me.”

afterwards he shifted then, his eyes finally meeting yours.

“but i always look at you,” he said quietly.

“you just don’t always notice it when your head is full of every reason you think i shouldn’t.”

you couldn’t even meet his eyes after he said that.

“so… do you hate me now?”

you swallowed against the tightness in your throat, your voice trembling with something between fear and relief. like you’ve waited too long to have this conversation with him and now that it was here, it barely felt real.

“of course not,” he said without hesitation but his voice carried something heavier underneath.

“but hearing you say that shit… yeah, it did hurt.”

his voice dropped, like he couldn’t believe you would even ask him that question.

you leaned a little closer, gaze fixed on him like you were waiting for a sign or something to prove he still felt it too.

“and knowing you,” he said, a half-smile tugging at his mouth,

“you’ve probably been wondering where i’ve been for the past three days but chose not to ask on purpose.”

he let out a quiet chuckle before continuing,

“… don’t worry, i was at sendou’s… infact, he saw how miserable i looked and almost called you himself until i stopped him & begged him not to.”

you tilted your head and blinked slowly, a silent ‘really?’ stitched into your stare. like you genuinely couldn’t believe that he disappeared for three days, and that’s what he was doing? sulking in someone else’s living room while missing you in silence?

“you’re literally so annoying, you know that?”

and just like that, everything finally felt at ease again.

your relationship with oliver had never been conventional. it’s always been messy, loud, sometimes a little too raw but you’ve always known how to live in it, how to love in it. and you embraced it anyway.

“yeah… i know,” he said, leaning his forehead gently against yours.

“…but please don’t ever say that you hate me again,” he whispered. “even if you’re mad… especially not in front of twenty people.”

you nodded, then let out a quiet laugh before saying,

“then maybe don’t make me feel like i have to scream just to be seen… idiot.”

౨ৎ NAGI SEISHIRO ౨ৎ

the thing about hurting someone like nagi was that he never told you where it hurt, he just stopped reaching for you.

same as before, during all your previous outbursts — he’d go silent, then walked off without reacting. no raised voice. no screaming. just quiet acceptance that stung more than yelling ever could.

after an argument, he’ll head straight to the bedroom and collapse into his blanket like he always does. but that night, he didn’t scroll on his phone. didn’t ask if you wanted to order food. and didn’t say anything when you got into bed beside him either.

he just laid there, back turned to you, face buried in his pillow.

and maybe that would’ve been fine if it weren’t for the way he kept his hands to himself. the fact that he didn’t reach for you like he always did. no sleepy mumbling or quiet complaints. and not even a half-whispered “come here.”

just complete utter silence silence.

you didn’t realize how loud the silence could be. the absence of him & the way it echoed in everything he didn’t do. now you’ve finally had enough of his silent treatment, so you broke first.

“sei…”

but he didn’t answer.

“i’m sorry,” you whispered. “i didn’t mean it earlier.”

the silence lingered long enough to make your chest ache & it even made you wonder if he even heard whatever you just said.

and then finally… he sighed. rolled over slowly, eyes tired but open now to fully look at you.

“then don’t say things like that,” he murmured, voice low. “hurts too much.”

you almost cried then.

but he reached out first — pulled you into his chest, lazy in the way he moved but tight in the way he held your body. and his head rested on top of yours, like that’s where it belonged all along.

“’s okay now… just please don’t hate me.”

and you didn’t know if it was the way he said it, or the way he held you and suddenly, the silence didn’t feel so loud anymore. it just felt like home.

౨ৎ ISAGI YOICHI ౨ৎ

you didn’t know how long you stood there after he left — the door closing softly behind him, like even it didn’t want to make a sound.

your eyes drifted around the room, tracing the path he took when he left almost like if you followed it closely enough, you could walk it backwards. back to the moment before it all went wrong between the both of you.

──★

three hours have passed.

then six.

and before you know it, it was already midnight. you could’ve texted him, but you didn’t. infact, you didn’t know what you would have actually said.

“i didn’t mean it.”?

“come home.”?

“i’m sorry.”?

as much as you didn’t mean it when you said that you hated him, a small part of you still held onto the anger because deep down, all you really wanted was to feel loved by him again. you missed the way he used to show up without needing to be asked.

so you kept your hands busy; cleaned the dishes, folded the laundry, did everything you could to distract yourself. and once it’s all down, you sat on the couch just hoping that the silence would quiet down before your internal thoughts got too loud.

and then, around 2AM, you heard the lock click.

you turned your head so fast your neck cracked and there he was, hoodie pulled over his head, eyes tired but still the boy you’ve never quite stopped looking for.

“… yoichi—” your voice barely made it out before he raised a hand — quiet, but firm.

he didn’t speak, just went straight to the bedroom, dropped his bag, then came back to the living room where you were still frozen on the couch.

and that’s when he finally said it, voice quieter than you’ve ever heard it:

“so… you really meant it? that you hate me?”

you shook your head immediately. “no… no, i was just frustrated.. i was tired and i know it wasn’t fair... trust me, i didn’t actually mean any of it.”

his gaze dropped. “then why did it sound like you did?”

you got up without a word, walked towards him, and gently reached for his hand.

“… because i was hurting, not because i stopped loving you. and maybe i was selfish… but i just wanted your attention.”

“just wanted to feel like i still mattered to you.”

the silence stretched between the both of you. and just when you thought he might let go, he squeezed your hand back and said, “… okay.”

“… and i’m also sorry, for ever making you feel like you came second to practice or winning. you didn’t & you never did...”

afterwards, he leaned forward, slow and steady until your forehead met his chest, like the rhythm of his breath was the only thing keeping you calm.

“just remember this okay?? you’ll always matter to me… you always have. so let me make it up to you… wanna go on a date tomorrow?”

you almost cried right then barely managing a soft,

“yes… i’d love to.”

© itoshiierae 2025 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ please do not modify or repost my content onto any other platforms.

[041ahy]

Pretty Girls Don’t Kiss Rebels ⋆. 𐙚 ˚

✮ bad boy ni-ki x good girl reader (highschool trope)

➤ synopsis ᝰ.ᐟ : Good girls don’t kiss rebels—but she was never that good. ➤ forbidden romance ⭑ wc: 4k ┆⚠️ tw !! verbal abuse / parental emotional abuse, toxic family dynamics, violence / physical injuries, runaway / escaping from home , sexual content – implied, smoking, classism. Pls lmk if missing any tw!! Umm not proofread keke, only proofread the first half 😭

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

ᥫ᭡ hii author nad here !! This is my first fic that I’ve ever written so please show some love!! I may not be the best writer as this is all very new to me !! Decided to give the reader a name instead of y/n !! ( keke ) wc may be off cus I forgot to double check !! Forgive me if spelling or grammar errors <3

Decelis Academy — The prestigious school in South Korea , built on legacy — not dreams . Only those with exceptional academic can enter. There are the elite, polished students and the rebellious, troubled ones — a school of class and status. Students are placed by pedigree — known the “Upper Tier” — the children of CEOs , senators , and legacy scholars. They don’t just get good grades. They expect success — because anything less would be scandalous. The students walk like they’ve already made it. Their uniforms tailored , transcripts spotless and future secured. In Decelis Academy, class and status rule everything.

And then there’s Nishimura Riki — the one name that doesn’t fit.

Teachers flinch when they call his name.

Girls whisper when he walk past.

And the rest of the class? They pretend he’s invisible.

He sits in the Upper Tier , but only because his father is a billionaire CEO , face of international media. On paper , Nishimura Riki belongs. In reality ? He’s a storm in designer boots. He’s tie’s always loose , his shirt untucked , and his knuckles usually bruised from fights that never make the official record.He doesn’t play by their rules , and he sure as hell doesn’t care about his appearance. Because while the rest of Decelis Academy fight to live up to their families , Nishimura Riki fights to burn his legacy down.

✮ ✮ ✮ ✮ ✮

Beauty and brains. That was the only way to describe Sim Aera.

Sim Aera — The daughter of the CEO of Sim Enterprise. Aera glide through the hallways in polished shoes and tailored skirts, always smiling ,always poised. Students look at her and see something unattainable. Untouchable. But what happens behind door , are to remain unknown. Everything about her life is designed , controlled. She’s allowed freedom , but only within line drawn in gold. She’s allowed to choose her clique…but only the one who fit her “level”. That’s how her father says is.

“Stick with people who match your worth, Aera. You’re not like the rest of them”

That only meant no parties unless they’re at a country club and no real conversations with anyone who might “lower the standard” Aera been asked out more times than she could count — by boys with rich last names,perfect status and empty eyes. They all want the same thing: the shiny , high-version of her. The name , the image , the idea.

But she’d never say yes. Not once.

Because none of them makes her feel anything.

Not the way rebellions does.

Not the way he does.

────୨ৎ────

Their First Encounter .☘︎ ݁˖

The smell of bleach and burnt coffee always clings to the science wing. Everything in the lab smells sterile. Aera took her usual seat , her notebook is open as she carefully took notes on everything the lecturer says. Around her students shuffle in , laughter , whispers and gossips filled the lab.

She feels someone watching her. She always do.

Not because she’s interesting — but because she is Sim Aera.

Mr Park walks in, drops a stack of lab worksheets. And clasp his hands. “New partners today, randomised. Check the list on the board” Aera’s mind raced in a blur. Aera only sits with Dain— the only person who she’s comfortable with. They both work well together. Aera glanced at the board , she sees her name and her partner was no other than Nishimura Riki.

The door creaks open , and Aera knew who it was.

Nishimura Riki.

He strolls in, twenty minutes late with a busted lip looking like the rules never applied to him. His blazer’s slung over his shoulder, tie undone, and his sleeves rolled up veins popping. Aera expected him to be seated at the back but no — he stops beside her. “Looks like we’re partners pretty.” he said. Aera hated this feeling , the way her heart does that thing when she sees him. She shouldn’t feel this way, not for people like him , especially not for him.

He’s reckless.

He’s rebellious.

He’s the son of my father’s biggest rival.

And yet, when he sat beside her , she feels it. The butterflies in her stomach. The one she pretends doesn’t exist. His legs spread wide open — almost too inviting. Aera shook of her thoughts. He smells like mint and smoke and something else she can’t name. “Relax, “ he say low. “I don’t bite.” Aera turned her head just enough to glare. “Keep your distance” he just smirks.

God, he’s insufferable.

And yet….

Aera feels her heart rise in her chest. She forces herself to sit straighter. Calmer. Like she’s not thrilled and terrified by how close he is. Like how she doesn��t know exactly how many times she took a quick glance at him during lessons. Aera focus shifted on the worksheet in front of her.

He’s nothing.

He’s dangerous.

He’s not my type.

He’s—

Looking at me.

I glanced up— and he’s already watching me , one eyebrow raised like he can read Aera thoughts. “You always this tense pretty,” he murmurs, “or is it just me?” Aera scoffed. “You’re not that special.” But he just leans back, grinning.

The cafeteria buzzed with quiet chatter and the clinking of trays. Across from her , Dain was mid-rant about the latest drama. Aera half-listened, mind still stuck on him.

“You’ve been quiet.”

“I’m always quiet”

“No, today you’re weird-quiet. Like you’re thinking about something you shouldn’t be.”

Aera rolls her eyes, turning away.

“Let me guess,” Dain says, voice teasing but not cruel. “Tall, trouble. Smells like smoke and bad choices?”

Aera froze. That’s all Dain needs.

“Oh my god it’s him, isn’t it ?”

“It not— It’s nothing.”

“Sureee, you know you’re allowed to want things, right ? Even if they aren’t picture-perfect.” Ava stays silent, lips tight. Aera continued to eat her lunch brushing her thoughts away. Dain shrugged and just sighed. Aera’s attention drifted to the loud, troublemakers across the cafeteria. Where her eyes are on him. His laugh right and real. He’s sitting on the edge of a table, playing with the cigarette packet.

She watched the way he moves — so completely unbothered, so alive.

And then…

He looks up.

His gaze meeting hers.

He doesn’t smirk this time. Just looks back. Calm. Curious. Like he’s waiting to see what she’ll do. Aera forces herself to turn away. Smiles at something Dain was saying, pretending to be invested in the convo. “Stop. It” Aera reminded herself. But her heart’s still racing.

Rain suddenly poured down , Aera’s driver is late. She ducks into a a covered alcove near the side entrance. But she’s not alone.

He stood there, leaning against the wall like he was born to haunt it. Hoodie up, wet hair curling against his forehead. He doesn’t move when she walks in— just tilts his head slightly.

“Lost your throne ?”

Aera exhales slowly.

“Waiting for my ride.”

“Of course you are.”

The silence stretches.

He flicks his lighter open. Closed. Open. Closed.

“You always this tense pretty?”

“You already used that line.”

“And you’re still tense. Guess it didn’t work.”

Aera lets out the smallest laugh. It surprises even her.

He notices.

“There it is,” he murmurs. “A real laugh. I was starting to think your whole life was pre-recorded.”

Aera hates it — how that one sentence makes her fell seen and exposed all at once. But the worse part ? She doesn’t walk way.

🪼⋆｡𖦹°🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Undesirable tensions .☘︎ ݁˖

We’re only here because of the chemistry assessment.

And no — the irony isn’t lost on me.

Mr Park paired us up for the practical write-up after the lab, and of course, he didn’t care. Just grinned and said “Guess you’re stuck with me, pretty.” Now here we are — highest floor of the library. Quiet. Dim. Private enough for concentration. Or at least that’s what Aera told herself. He’s sitting beside me. Again. Legs stretched out, his knee just barely brushing her under the table — like he wants me to notice. But she won’t give him the satisfaction.

“Do you even have your notes?” She ask, flipping through her labeled binder.

“You mean these?” he says, pulling a crumpled worksheet from his hoodie pocket like it’s a joke.

“Wow. Revolutionary.”

“I am to impress.” he says it lazily, but I feel the weight in the way he watches me.

Aera clicks her pen and focus on the paper in front of her. Photosynthesis and chemical reactions. It’s nothing new. Nothing she can’t handle.

Except…. he’s still watching me.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he says, tapping his pencil against the table. “You’re just really intense when you’re trying not to look at me.”

Aera blinked, lips parting — stunned he’d say it out loud.

“I didn’t mean—.”

“It’s fine.” he cuts in. “I’m used to it. People looking at me like I’m dangerous.” He leans towards me, slow, elbows on the table. The space between them shrinks.

“But not you,” he adds. “You look at me like you’re scared I’ll see something you’re trying to hide.”

And God help me — he’s right.

I forced my gaze to the paper again.

But the words blur. He’s too close. Too calm. Too aware of me.

“You know this project is due Monday.” I say, trying to recover.

“Right,” he says, voice low. “Lets be professional.”

Still feeling his gaze Aera looked up, their eyes met. Silence taking over them. There’s something about this silence that feels heavier than usual. It’s not the weight of books or deadlines.

It’s him.

Nishimura Riki.

Still watching me like I’m a puzzle he dying to ruin.

Aera should’ve said something. About the project. Anything.

But she didn’t.

Because he’s closer now. Leaning forward just slightly, that half-lazy grin gone. His gaze softer,sharper. Curious. Dangerous. Aera breath hitches. The library is quiet. Too quiet. The type of silence that makes every breath feel loud, every heartbeat felt heard. His hand grazes hers on the table. Just his knuckle brushing against hers. Barely anything. But she felt it like a shockwave. And she doesn’t pull away.

Neither of them speaks. They just watched each other like their on the edge of something their not supposed to fall into. Aera’s lips parted slightly. His eyes flicker down — just for a second.

Then she leans in.

Slow. Like she’s hesitant.

Aera’s heart is pounding against her chest.

His breath brushes her cheek.

Their close. Too close.

And then—

“Pretty girls don’t kiss rebels.”

It hits Aera like ice water.

She froze.

He’s smiling, barely — but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Like he’s daring her to prove him wrong. Or maybe warning her not to.

She didn’t flinch. She didn’t have him the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, she inhale, slow, calm, like her heart isn’t shattering against her ribs.

She cleared her throat.

Picked up her pen.

“Good thing we’re lab partners then,” she said flatly, eye fixed on her notes.

He doesn’t say anything.

But she feels it— that pause. Like maybe he expected her to crumble. But she doesn’t. Because Sim Aera doesn’t chase boys who come with warning labels.

Even if her whole body just tied to.

🪼⋆｡𖦹°🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The house is spotless. Always is. It has to be. A reflection of the Sim Family. Clean. Sharp. Controlled.

Just like Aera.

She walk thought the front door and barely get a breath before hearing his voice.

“You were late.”

She turn. Her father stood at the base of the staircase, arms crossed.

“I was in the library. Study group.”

“Watch who you surround yourself with, Aera.” he says flatly. “You know what happens when good names get dragged down.”

The implication hangs in the air like a loaded gun.

Stay perfect.

Stay clean.

Stay away from boys who looked like Nishimura Riki.

Aera nodded.

“Yes, dad.”

No room for emotion. No hint of the heat still burning under her skin from earlier. She climbed the stairs. She changed out of her uniform, removed her makeup, and crawl to bed — limbs heavy with exhaustion and something she can’t name. She reaches for her phone just to check the time.

And there it is.

A single text.

Unknown Number:

➤ Hey pretty, it’s me Ni-ki

No emoji. No explanation. Just five words that shouldn’t make her heart stutter, but do.

How exactly did he get my number ?

Doesn’t matter.

She stare at the screen for a long time. Her fingers hover the keyboard… then retreat.

Instead, she just smile. The first real smile she’d had all day.

She lock the phone, tucked it under her pillow. And close her eyes.

No reply.

But her heart’s still racing.

🪼⋆｡𖦹°🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

It starts with footsteps. Confident, loud, deliberate ones echoing down the hall.

She instantly knew who it was.

She kept her eyes on her locker, pretending not to notice the tulle of whispers as Ni-ki walked into the senior wing. He always draws attention, but this time ?

This time, he’s coming straight towards me.

“Good morning, pretty.” he says, like we’re friends. Like they didn’t almost kiss last night and like the text didn’t mean anything.

Aera glanced at him — sharp, dismissive.

“Don’t.”

He just smirks.

“Don’t what? Talk to you? Breathe near you?”

A few people turn their heads. Girls lean into their friends. Guys start whispering.

“Ni-ki,” she hissed. “Stop talking to me.”

“Why not pretty.” he flirts.

That does it.

She doesn’t even hesitate. She grabbed his wrist and pull, fast and hard, weaving through the murmuring crowd and yanking open the janitor’s closet. The moment were inside, she slam the door shut and whip around.

“Do you even know what you just did?”

He shrugs. “Said hi?”

“Someone could tell my father. Anyone. Everyone saw that, Ni-ki. You don’t get it— he’ll have me pulled out of this school so fast—“

Aera sigh heavily. “Do you get what he’s do if he knew I was talking to you?”

Ni-ki’s expression shifts — just for a second. The smirk fades, like he’s weighing what she’s saying, like maybe it’s not so funny anymore.

“You think I don’t know what it’s like to have someone waiting for you to screw up?”he says, quieter now. “Please.”

Aera pause, thrown off by the rawness in his voice. It catches her off guard.

But only for a second.

“This isn’t just about me getting grounded, Ni-ki,”she snapped. “This is my entire life— my name, my family, everything I’m supposed to be—.”

“And yet,” he cuts in, stepping closer, voice low, “here you are. Pulling me into closets. Letting me get this close.”

His hand brushes the shelf behind her, caging her in without even touching her.

“Why do you care so much?” Aera whisper, hating the way her breath hitches. “You don’t care about school. Or rules. Or anything.”

“You’re right,” he mutters. “I don’t.”

His eyes drop to her mouth.

“But I care when you look at me like that.” The air snaps between them, tight and hot.

“Like what?” she manage to breath.

“Like you’re about to kiss me and hate yourself for it.” He’s too close. “That’s not going to happen,” Aera whisper.

“Then why aren’t you moving?” She doesn’t have an answer. Aera doesn’t move. And neither does he.

They just exist in that breathless space, toeing the line between disaster and something neither of us wants to admit feels good.

“You should go,” Aera say finally.

“You first,” he says, but doesn’t budge.

They stare at each other for another full second — maybe two — before she push the door open and slip out.

Aera did not look back.

But she knew he’s still standing there.

Waiting.

🪼⋆｡𖦹°🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The bell rang, loud and sharp, snapping her out of the moment. Students flooded the hall like a wave. She kept her head down as she moved through the parking lot, trying to ignore the stares, the whispers about the incident. Her phone buzzed, it was her father.

“You’ll be alone until Sunday. Don’t open the door for anyone and stay out of trouble.”

She shoved the phone into her jacket, annoyed at the way her hands were shaking. That’s when she saw him. Nishimura Riki. Just across the street, near the rusted old fence behind the gym. Ni-ki leaned against it like he could barely stand. His hoodie was soaked in something dark. Blood? His lip was split, and there was a smear of red across his cheekbone.No one else seemed to care. Maybe they were used to it. Maybe they were scared of him. But she wasn't. For a second, she stood frozen. Then she made his way towards him. She had to, she needed to.

“Nishimura Riki !”

He looked up slowly, one eye already swelling shut. For a second, he didn’t say anything. Just watched her like he couldn’t figure out if she was real.

“You shouldn’t be out here pretty,” he muttered, voice rough. “Your little royal family’s gonna flip.”

She ignored that, stepping closer. “What happened to you Ni-ki?” her tone filled with concern.

“Does it matter?” He tried to laugh, but it cracked into a cough. He winced, clutching his side. “You should go pretty, wouldn’t want anyone to see you here with a rebellion like me..”

“Not happening.” Her voice was quiet but firm. “You’re hurt. You need help.”

He glanced down the street like he was waiting for someone—or something—to show up. “I’ve had worse.”

“Doesn’t mean you have to deal with it alone.”

Her fingers hovered near his arm. He flinched slightly, not from pain, but from surprise. Like he wasn’t used to kindness.

“Come with me,” she said, softer now. “My parents are out of town.”

His eyes locked onto hers. “You serious?”

“I wouldn’t be standing here if I wasn’t.”

He hesitated, then gave a small, bitter smile. “Guess I’m breaking into enemy territory, huh?”

She smirked, tugging her sleeve over her hand before looping it gently around his. “Guess we both are.”

They stepped into the house, the door clicking shut behind them like it sealed them into a different world—one where rules didn’t matter. Ni-ki paused in the foyer, glancing around at the pristine marble floors and modern furniture.

“Damn,” he muttered, smirking. “Didn’t know I was walking into a luxury rehab center.”

Aera rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at her lips. “Sit down on the couch before you bleed all over it.”

She disappeared into the hallway, rummaging through a drawer until she found the first-aid kit. When she came back, Niki had sprawled out on the edge of the couch, one hand pressed lightly to his side. She dropped to her knees in front of him, unsnapping the kit, pulling out alcohol wipes and gauze with practiced hands.

“You’ve got to stop getting into fights,” she started, voice rising with each word. “You think bruises and blood make you some kind of legend? It’s reckless. One day it’s gonna be worse than a split lip or fractured ribs and—.”

She stopped mid-sentence when she looked up. He wasn’t listening. He was just watching her—head tilted, a slight smirk playing on his face.

“Thought you didn’t care, pretty.”he said quietly.

The words hit her like a soft punch to the chest. Her breath caught. Their eyes locked, and for a second, neither of them moved. The tension stretched thin between them, pulsing.

She blinked first, looking away too fast. “You need to lift your shirt. I need to… clean your wounds.”she cleared her throat.

Ni-ki didn’t say anything. Just grabbed the hem of his hoodie and lifted it up, revealing a trail of bruises, cuts, and muscle that made her mind short-circuit.

Her throat went dry. She tried to focus on the injuries, on the blood—but her eyes kept betraying her, dragging back to the lines of his abs, the way his chest rose and fell so calmly despite everything.

“Everything alright, nurse?” he teased, voice low and smooth.

She blinked again and shook her head as if snapping herself out of a trance. “Yeah. Just hold still.”

As she dabbed at a cut on his ribs, her fingers brushed his skin. It was warm. Tense. He didn’t flinch. Instead, his gaze stayed fixed on her face, and she could feel it—feel him—watching every move she made. The room felt suddenly too quiet. Too still. Like something unspoken was hanging in the air, waiting for one of them to break it.

Her fingers lingered just a little too long as she pressed the gauze to his side. The bleeding had slowed, but her pulse hadn’t. Niki’s eyes never left her. There was something different in his gaze now—softer, sharper, like he was seeing straight through every version of her she tried to be at school.

“You always like this?” he asked, voice low.

She glanced up, startled. “Like what?”

He gave a half-shrug. “Bossy. Brave. Breaking all your little golden-girl rules to save a someone as rebellious as me.”

She was about to say something—something snarky, maybe,—but the words caught in her throat when she looked at him again. The teasing was still there, but it was fading. Replaced by something slower. He was close—too close now. She could see the cut above his brow, the way his lashes cast shadows on his cheek, the curve of his pink plump lips.

And then he leaned in—just enough that she forgot how to breathe.

“Pretty,” he murmured, her name barely a breath.

She froze. Their faces were inches apart. Her heart was a riot in her chest. She could feel the heat of him, the pull.

And for one second—just one—she swore he was going to kiss her.

But then she pulled back.

Just barely. Just enough.

“I—I should finish this,” she whispered, eyes dropping to the cotton swab in her hand.

His smile was crooked. Knowing. “Right.”

The moment passed, but the air between them stayed charged. Like a wire had been lit and neither of them could put it out.

She focused on the last cut near his ribs, trying to steady her hands. But she could still feel his gaze on her—intense, unreadable.

“You don’t have to do all this,” he said suddenly, voice quieter now.

Aera glanced up. “Yeah, well… someone has to.”

He gave a soft snort, almost a laugh, but there was no humor in it. He looked away for the first time since he sat down.

“I’m used to handling it myself,” he said after a moment. “No one usually cares enough to notice. Or if they do, they don’t ask.”

Her hands slowed. “Is that why you fight so much?”

He didn’t answer right away. His fingers tightened on the edge of the couch.

“I don’t know,” he said finally. “Maybe. Feels better than being invisible, I guess.”

“You’re not invisible,” she said softly.

He looked back at her. And for a second, he looked almost… unsure.

“You just saw me bleeding out behind a fence and dragged me into your rich-girl mansion. That’s not normal.”

“No,” she said, offering the smallest smile, “but neither are you.”

They stared again. But this time, it wasn’t tense. It was quiet. Real.

She reached up without thinking, fingers brushing gently across his forehead to move a strand of hair away from the cut above his brow. He stilled at her touch—like he didn’t know what to do with that kind of softness.

“There,” she murmured, eyes tracing the line of his jaw before quickly flicking away. “Way better.”

His eyes held hers, and for once, there was no teasing, no sharp edges. Just him. Raw, tired, real.

She stood slowly, grabbing the folded towel and clothes she had set on the armrest earlier—an old hoodie and sweatpants that had to be her dad’s. Didn’t matter. They were clean. Warm.

She held them out to him.

“Go to sleep, Ni-ki,” she said, voice softer than it had been all night.

He took the clothes, his fingers brushing against hers as he did.

“You always this bossy?”

She gave a small smile, already turning to leave the room. “Only to you.”

Behind her, she heard the faint sound of fabric shifting, of him settling into the unfamiliar comfort of her world.

And for a moment, even with the storm of consequences waiting outside those walls, everything felt still.

Safe.

The next morning, the scent of pancakes and sizzling bacon filled the kitchen.

Niki’s eyes cracked open, the weight of last night pressing down on him. He was still in the hoodie she had given him, sprawled out on the couch. He rubbed his face and yawned, looking around for her. But the soft sounds of cooking pulled him toward the kitchen, curiosity guiding his steps.

He crept up behind her, and crouched down, quietly slipping his arms around her waist.

Aera froze, the spatula halting mid-air.

“What—what are you doing?” she stammered, spinning around, eyes wide with panic.

Niki smirked, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Just making myself at home, pretty girl.”

Her heart skipped a beat. She pushed him away, flustered, her face turning crimson. “You can’t just—” She was at a loss for words. “What are you doing in my kitchen?!”

He laughed, low and teasing. “Relax, I’m not gonna bite.”

“Maybe you should go sit down before you start biting something else.”

Her words had barely left her lips when she realized what she’d just said. She went quiet, her hands busying themselves on the stove again, trying to ignore the blush creeping up her neck.

Niki, on the other hand, only smirked wider, stepping back to lean casually against the kitchen counter. “You really know how to make a guy feel at home.”

Aera muttered something under her breath as she finished cooking, but the tension still clung to the air. Neither of them said anything more as they ate, and for a while, they just existed in the moment, the conversation light but charged with unspoken words.

Later, they were on the couch watching a movie Aera has just picked out. Aera had chosen something light, romantic, nothing too intense. They were comfortable, shoulders brushing, her hand close to his. The movie rolled on, some comedic banter playing on the screen, until that scene came. It was one of those moments—steamy, slow, intimate—just enough to make both of them shift uncomfortably in their seats.

Ni-ki immediately reached for the remote, fumbling with it before quickly pressing the buttons to change the channel. “Right. Yeah, we don’t need this.”

Aera didn’t even look at him; her face was burning. “Yeah, definitely not.”

He chuckled, trying to keep things light, but even he couldn’t deny the heavy tension in the room. The awkwardness hung between them like a thick fog. Neither of them knew what to say. Instead, they both settled back in silence, the movie forgotten, the space between them thick with something unsaid.

Saturday night has came to end too quickly. It was time for Ni-ki to leave. He had mentioned it earlier—something about his father needing him back, about the mess he’d gotten into that still needed cleaning up. The thought of him walking out of that door again left a pit in Aera’s stomach, and she couldn’t ignore it. They were sitting on the porch, the cool night air drifting in around them. The stars seemed too bright, almost too perfect for how imperfect things felt.

“Guess this is it, see you soon pretty.” Niki said, his words heavy with something Aera couldn’t quite place. He stood, stretching out his arms, but didn’t move toward the door. His eyes remained on her, like he was waiting for something—anything. Aera swallowed hard. She could feel the cold creeping in from the night air, but the heat between them kept her skin warm.

“No,” she said quietly, shaking her head. “You don’t just get to leave like this.”

Niki looked at her, a flash of confusion crossing his face, then understanding. She was afraid. Afraid he’d disappear into that dangerous world of his, and she’d never get to understand him, never get to see him without the walls he put up. She needed to do something. She was scared, seeing the image of his wounds still haunts her, it made her protective of him. She couldn’t help it. Without thinking, Aera stood up and stepped toward him. Without saying a word, she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close. The motion was impulsive, a mix of wanting to hold on and needing to let go. At first, Niki stood frozen, caught off guard by the sudden closeness. But then, after a moment, he relaxed into it, his arms slowly coming around her.

Aera closed her eyes, breathing him in, and for a second, everything felt safe—untouchable. He was here, and for this brief moment, he wasn’t running away.

Niki spoke into her hair, his voice barely a whisper. “You’re something else, pretty.”

When they finally pulled apart, neither of them seemed eager to break the silence. Niki stepped back slowly, his gaze lingering on her. “You take care of yourself, okay?” His words were soft, but there was something else behind them.

“I’ll be fine,” Aera said, her voice steady but with an edge of vulnerability. She smiled, trying to cover the ache that suddenly threatened to consume her.

He gave a small nod, his usual cocky grin gone. “Yeah. I know you will pretty.”

He turned, walking toward the gate, but before he crossed it, he looked back one last time. Aera stood still, watching him leave. And with every step he took, the tension in the air stretched thinner, like it might snap at any second.

🪼⋆｡𖦹°🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Aera walked through the front door, exhausted from another long day of school, she didn’t expect much when she stepped inside, just the quiet of her empty house. But what greeted her wasn’t silence. It was her father, standing in the living room, his hands clenched at his sides, his face stormy.

“Aera!” he barked, voice sharp. “We need to talk.”

She froze. Her stomach dropped, not knowing what was coming. She set her bag down slowly, her heartbeat quickening in her chest.

“Dad, I just got home—can it wait?”

“No, it cannot wait,” he snapped, his eyes dark with frustration. “What’s going on with your grades? You used to be at the top of your class, and now—” His hand swept over the papers on the table, the grades slowly slipping over time, still good, but not perfect enough. “What is this? Useless. You’re wasting your potential on these... distractions.”

Aera’s throat tightened. She didn’t answer immediately, knowing that anything she said would just make it worse. She bit her lip, feeling the weight of the words sinking deeper into her chest.

“Are you really so stupid that you can’t see what’s happening here?” her father continued, pacing now, his voice rising. “You’ve been slacking off. Hanging out with people I don’t approve of. And now your grades are slipping because you’ve got your priorities all wrong.”

She could feel the sting of every word, her face burning with embarrassment, frustration, and a sickening feeling of defeat.She opened her mouth to speak but stopped when the next words hit her like a punch.

“You’re useless. A complete disappointment. No one deserves a shitty daughter like you, you’re ruining my reputation.” The words broke through her composure, and she could feel the hot, tight sting of tears forming behind her eyes.

"STOP IT DAD!,” Aera shouted, her voice trembling.

Her father’s expression hardened, but she couldn’t stand it anymore. She couldn’t breathe. The walls felt like they were closing in on her. “I’m done,” she whispered, before turning and walking toward the door. She couldn’t hear him calling her name. She couldn’t stay in that house one more second.

Aera grabbed her phone and sent a quick message.

Ni-ki 🐥 ➤“Where do you live? ➤“Are you alone? I need to get out of here. I can’t do this anymore.”

It didn’t take long for a response to light up her screen.

Ni-ki 🐥. ➤“I’m at my place. I’m alone. Come over.”

That was all she needed to see. She didn’t wait hesitate. She grabbed her jacket, slipped out the front door, and into the night, the sound of her father's voice fading behind her.

When Aera finally arrived at Niki’s house, her heart still pounding from the chaos she’d just left behind. She didn’t knock, didn’t wait for an invitation—she just pushed the door open, eyes welling with tears.

Niki was in the living room, but the moment he saw her standing there—hair a mess, red-eyed and trembling—he was up in an instant.

“What happened?” he asked, his voice serious, though there was a flash of concern in his eyes.

Before she could answer, Aera felt the tears rush forward, too much for her to hold back. She collapsed into him, her body shaking as she buried her face into his chest.

Niki didn’t say a word. His arms wrapped around her instinctively, pulling her close, the warmth of his embrace grounding her. He let her cry, letting the storm inside her crash without interruption.

“I... I couldn’t take it anymore,” she whispered, her voice muffled against his shirt. “He just... he doesn’t get it. He’s always yelling, always blaming me. Telling me I’m useless.” She choked on the words.

“You’re not useless,” Niki said firmly, pulling back just enough to tilt her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze. His eyes were softer now, filled with something Aera hadn’t seen from him before. Something tender. “Don’t let him make you think that. You’re so much more than that pretty.”

Her chest tightened, but the comfort of his words calmed her just a little.

“I just want to get away from all of it,” she whispered.

Niki’s grip tightened around her, as if holding her was the only thing he could offer her right now. “You don’t have to go back there. Not tonight. You can stay here, you’re safe here.”

For the first time in so long, Aera felt like she could finally breathe. She didn’t have to be strong. She didn’t have to fight for anyone’s approval. Not here. Not with him.

Her voice was small when she spoke again, but it was laced with gratitude. “Thank you. For being here, for everything.”

Niki’s thumb brushed her cheek gently, wiping away a tear that had slipped down her face. “I’m not going anywhere, pretty. Not unless you tell me to.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Aera knew she didn’t have to be alone. Not anymore.

Aera stirred, the faint morning light peeking through the blinds, warmth wrapped around her like a cocoon.There was something soft… warm… safe. She instinctively nestled deeper into it, her cheek pressed to a solid chest, the steady rhythm of a heartbeat beneath her ear.

Wait.

Her eyes fluttered open.

Chest?

She blinked, reality crashing in as she realized she was curled up against Niki—his arm thrown lazily around her, their legs tangled under the blanket.

“Oh my god,” she breathed, barely above a whisper.

In her panic, she jolted up—and that was all it took to wake him.

“What is it pretty?” Niki blinked, hair messy, voice raspy. “What—what happened?”

Aera was already scrambling out of bed. “Nothing! I—I didn’t mean to—it’s not—uh, I’ll be back!”

She bolted to the bathroom before he could say another word, slamming the door behind her and pressing her hands to her burning face.

What just happened?!

A little while later, wrapped in a towel, steam still curling in the air, Aera was brushing her damp hair in front of the mirror—finally starting to calm down—when the door suddenly opened.

Niki stepped in, mid-sentence. “Hey, I forgot my—”

His voice stopped cold.

She froze, eyes wide, towel clutched tight to her chest.

“Oh—shit.” Niki’s eyes darted away, face instantly flushing as he slammed the door shut. “Sorry! Didn’t know you were still in there!”

Aera stood frozen for a beat, her heart doing backflips. “It’s fine!” she called out, voice a little too high. “Totally fine! Just... never happened, okay?”

“Yeah,” came his muffled voice from behind the door. “Definitely didn’t happen.”

The silence that followed was louder than either of them could handle.

Later that evening, the mood had shifted—but the tension still lingered. They were back in the living room, a movie playing on low volume, the flickering screen doing little to distract from the fact that neither had acknowledged what happened that morning. Aera got up mid-way to grab some water, needing an excuse to calm herself. But as she turned back to the couch, she tripped over a loose corner of the rug.

“Ah—!”

She stumbled forward, falling—straight into Niki’s lap.

Her hands landed on his chest, her face inches from his, and time just… stopped.

Both froze.

His hands instinctively caught her waist to steady her, but when their eyes met, it was like the air caught fire. The space between them narrowed, heat crackling in the silence. Niki’s eyes flicked from her lips to her eyes—and then back again.

His jaw tightened.

“I—uh—” His voice broke as he quickly lifted her off of him like she’d set him on fire and stood up in one smooth motion. “Bathroom. Yep. Be right back.”

And just like that, he vanished down the hall, leaving Aera on the couch, breathless, face blazing red, and utterly stunned.She buried her face in her hands, letting out a tiny, mortified groan. “What is happening right now?”

By the time night settled, the world felt quieter. Softer.They sat outside again, the stars above glowing just as they had the night before, but something between them had shifted. There was still tension—but now, it was mixed with comfort. Trust. Maybe even something more. When Niki stood to head inside, Aera followed without thinking. At the door, she paused. He turned. Without a word, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. He didn’t hesitate. He pulled her close, his hand settling gently on the back of her head. The embrace lingered—not urgent, not awkward, just… needed.

“Thanks,” she whispered against his hoodie.

“For what?”

“For being there.”

He didn’t answer right away, but when he finally did, his voice was low, warm.

“Anytime, pretty.”

🪼⋆｡𖦹°🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The ballroom sparkled. Stiff handshakes, and hollow smiles. Aera stood near the edge of the crowd, dressed in a silk gown her father had picked out—not for her, but for the image it painted. He’d barely looked at her, aside from a few whispers about posture and the importance of staying away from him. Across the room, Niki leaned against a marble column, all black suit and lazy defiance. His father talked to some executive, trying to make him seem like a business asset, not a threat. But Niki’s eyes—burning, bored, and sharp—never left her. They hadn’t said a word all night. They didn’t need to. Aera’s phone buzzed against her palm.

Ni-ki 🐥 ➤ Meet me outside. Left side terrace. Five minutes.

Her heart skipped. The smile she gave her father as she slipped away was picture-perfect. She walked calmly through the crowd, out into the cold night air.

He was already there.

Leaning against the railing like he belonged to the dark, moonlight kissing the curve of his jaw. When he saw her, something in his posture changed—subtle, but there.

“You wore that on purpose,” he said, his voice low. “Trying to kill me?”

She smirked, her heels clicking softly against the stone. “I needed a reason to survive tonight.”

He stepped closer. “Did it work?”

“No,” she whispered. “Not yet.”

They stood in silence for a breath, the party noise distant behind them. Her father’s voice. The pressure. She looked up at him, her eyes stormy.

“I can’t stay here,” she said. “I can’t keep pretending.”

“Then don’t,” Niki said simply. “Come with me.”

She didn’t answer. She just nodded, slipping her hand into his.

His house was dark when they arrived.
No guards. No eyes. Just them.

Inside, it was quiet—just the soft hum of the city outside and the buzz in their chests. Aera moved first, her heels echoing on the wooden floor as she dropped her coat and walked past him. He followed, quiet, gaze unreadable. She stopped in the center of the room, the silence between them stretching, breaking, melting into something hot. Then she turned. Her voice was soft—but broken, full of everything she was trying to escape.

“Ni-ki…” She hesitated, breathing in deep. “Make me forget tonight.”

The look in his eyes changed instantly—dark, careful, as if checking her for doubt.

“You sure?” he asked, voice husky, serious now.

She nodded, stepping toward him, placing her hand on his chest. “Make me forgot tonight, please fuck me.”

That was all he needed.

Niki pulled her in slowly, his hand resting on her waist like she was fragile glass. His lips brushed her forehead, her cheek, her jaw—everywhere but her lips—drawing her in without taking. His fingers trailed down her back, sending chills through her silk dress. Every movement was deliberate, slow, like he wanted her to feel every second of it. And she did. Her breath hitched when he whispered her name, his mouth finally finding hers in a kiss that wasn’t gentle—but needed.

“Ni-ki.” Aera moaned

“Ri-ki , the name you will be screaming tonight is Ri-ki.”

When they finally collapsed against the mattress, tangled in warmth and moonlight and breathless laughter, nothing else existed. Not their families. Not the consequences. Not the rules. Just two people, lost in each other, trying to quiet the world.

Morning light slipped between the curtains, Aera stirred first, her body sore in places she hadn’t expected, warmth still lingering on her skin like a memory she never wanted to forget. She blinked up at the ceiling, the vivid memo of their intimacy hits her first. Her face flushed instantly. She was still tucked against Niki’s chest, his arm slung over her waist, their legs still tangled like they hadn't moved at all. She slowly tried to shift, slipping out of the bed as quietly as she could, grabbing one of his oversized shirts off the floor and padding toward the mirror.

That’s when she saw them.

The marks. Soft bruises and mark marking her pale skin. A reminder of how deeply she'd wanted to forget—and how fully she had. Just as she reached for her phone, she heard his voice—rough from sleep but laced with mischief.

“You trying to sneak out, pretty?”

Aera jumped, spinning around. “I—I wasn’t sneaking, I was—”

Niki sat up, shirtless, hair messy, a lazy smirk spreading across his face as his eyes found the marks along her neck and shoulder.

“Damn,” he said, dragging a hand through his hair. “I did not hold back.”

She flushed deeper, covering her neck with the collar of his shirt. “You monster,” she muttered, half-joking, half-mortified.

He grinned wider. “Wanna press charges?”

“Only if they come with breakfast,” she mumbled, trying not to smile.

He moved closer, hands resting on her waist, voice dropping. “Or... round two?”

Aera’s eyes widened. “Niki—”

He chuckled, dipping his head to press a soft kiss to her collarbone. “Kidding. Unless you’re into that kind of criminal activity.”

She rolled her eyes, but her heart was racing again, the memory of last night thick in the air between them. They stood like that for a moment, her wrapped in his shirt, his arms around her, both knowing they’d broken every rule—and neither regretting it.

Eventually, she pulled back slightly, her fingers brushing his chest. “What now?” she asked, quieter now. “Our dads... the company...” He looked at her with a calm defiance in his eyes. “Let them talk,” he said. “Let them throw whatever they want. I’d do it all again.”

She bit her lip, and before she could say anything else, he leaned in, brushing his lips against hers in a kiss that was slow and lingering—less fire, more promise.

When he pulled back, his voice was low and teasing.

“I guess pretty girls do kiss rebels.”

[godricgryffinsnore]

If you’re taking requests can I have a Harry Potter x reader with a pregnancy scare during hogwarts pls? And reader proper freaking out cause they’re so young and not ready so Harry is soft and calming and soothing and turns out not preggo but they both think one day

The Bump That Wasn’t ♡ : A Harry Potter Fan Fiction.

pairing : Harry Potter x fem!reader

summary : When an unexpected situation sends tension rippling through Hogwarts and later the Burrow, Harry and the reader navigate the chaos with love, patience, and a dash of humor. With their friends awkwardly supportive and family more involved than expected, the couple learns that even the scariest moments can lead to the sweetest promises.

warnings : Mild suggestive content, Pregnancy scare (may be triggering for some), Light panic/anxiety themes, Flustered characters and secondhand embarrassment, Over-involved family members (humorous), Lots of emotional fluff and teasing. Please let me know if I missed any.

author's note : English is not my first language, so please forgive me for any grammatical errors or spelling errors. Re-blogging is completely fine with me, but please don't copy my work. I love you all. Enjoy <3.

della's note : Thank you so so so much for requesting, babe!!!

word count : 1.1k

main master list

banners : @ithemes and @cafekitsune

Setting: Seventh Year, Gryffindor Tower, post-battle era but Hogwarts is rebuilt.

You sat perched on the edge of the Gryffindor girls’ dormitory bathtub, clutching a potion bottle like it was a bomb.

“I’ve ruined my life,” you whispered.

“No, love, you haven’t.” Harry crouched beside you, his green eyes soft but mildly terrified.

“Oh yeah?” you hissed, “You say that now, but wait till McGonagall finds out I might be growing a baby in her castle!”

Harry held up both hands like you were a frightened unicorn. “Okay. Okay. Deep breaths. We don’t know anything yet. Maybe you’re just late—stress, hormones, you know, school, war trauma—remember? We died last year, literally.”

“I didn’t die, Harry.”

“Well, I did, so I win. Now please, sweetheart, drink the potion.”

You stared at the bottle. “What if it turns blue?”

He gently tucked your hair behind your ear. “Then we handle it. Together. Like we always do. I love you.”

“Don’t say sweet things to me right now, I might cry and vomit.”

“Valid.”

── .✦

Two Hours Earlier:

Ron dropped his toast as you sprinted out of the Great Hall, face pale as Nearly Headless Nick’s knees.

“I… I think she’s going to hurl,” he said, alarmed. “Did someone feed her a Fanged Frisbee?”

Harry went after you. Hermione leaned in. “She’s late, Ronald.”

Ron blinked. “Late for what? Oh. OH.”

“Don’t look like you’re about to pass out—you’re not the maybe-father!”

── .✦

Back in the dorm bathroom, you finally drank the damn potion with your eyes squeezed shut.

“…It’s pink,” you breathed, peeking one eye open.

“Pink! That’s good, right?” Harry said, practically hugging the toilet in relief.

“Yes, pink means not pregnant,” you sighed, falling against the wall, limbs limp with dramatic despair. “Thank Merlin.”

He sat beside you, hands laced with yours. “Well. That was… terrifying.”

“Do you think this is karma for all that snogging in the Room of Requirement?”

“No, that was good karma.”

“…Harry.”

“Okay, okay,” he chuckled. “Look, we weren’t ready. You were right to freak out. But I meant it—I’d have done it with you. All of it. Nappies. Sleepless nights. The whole Weasley-nursery package.”

You turned your head toward him. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious.” He leaned in and kissed your forehead, then mumbled against your skin, “One day, yeah? I’d like that. With you.”

You sighed, melting into his side. “You’re too sweet. I should marry you before someone else tries.”

“You better,” he said smugly.

── .✦

Later That Night:

The four of you were curled up in the common room. Ron was feeding you sweets like you’d run a marathon. Hermione was watching you like she was ready to knit baby clothes just in case.

“I googled—I mean, researched—baby potion side effects,” Hermione said.

“Yeah?” you asked warily.

“Turns out if you are pregnant, you sometimes taste chocolate like cabbage. You gagged earlier when Ron handed you that cauldron cake.”

“She always gags when I hand her food,” Ron said, wounded.

“You once offered me a Liquorice Wand dipped in ketchup.”

“That was an experiment.”

Harry kissed your cheek and whispered, “Still negative.”

You smiled tiredly, hands curled in his jumper. “Yeah. But someday, yeah?”

“Someday,” he whispered.

Ron, from the couch: “Oi, not too soon though! I’d like to graduate without becoming Uncle Ron the Diaper Master.”

Hermione smacked him.

Harry chuckled, pulling you close.

You whispered, “I think we’d make cute kids.”

“Obviously. You’re the hottest witch in the castle.”

“You’re so full of it.”

“I’m full of love. And panic. But mostly love.”

── .✦

Setting: A week later at The Burrow. Post-Hogwarts. You and Harry are visiting the Weasleys.

The scent of cinnamon and warm bread filled The Burrow as you sat politely at the table, sipping tea and pretending not to see the suspiciously tiny knitted jumper folded neatly beside the biscuits.

You nudged Harry with your foot under the table. He looked at you, then followed your eye line—and promptly choked on his tea.

Ron looked up from buttering his scone. “You alright, mate?”

Harry, wheezing: “M’fine. Died once. This is worse.”

“I knew something was off,” Hermione muttered. “Molly’s been humming lullabies and bought baby booties in Diagon Alley yesterday.”

You leaned forward, voice as casual as you could fake it: “Mrs. Weasley, what’s the jumper for?”

“Oh, this?” Molly beamed, patting the tiny blue thing with golden snitch embroidery. “Well, I heard—and I do apologize if I’m being forward, dear—but I heard you two might be expecting?”

You made a noise that was somewhere between a cough and a mouse being hexed.

Harry’s eyes were wide, hands frozen around his mug like it was a lifeline. “Who told you that?!”

Ron raised his hand slowly like a guilty schoolboy. “I may have mentioned you two were acting weird last week.”

Hermione groaned into her hands. “Ronald, you don’t mention things like that unless there’s an actual baby.”

“I didn’t say there was one! I just said they looked like they were either about to faint or propose!”

You turned to Molly, cheeks burning. “Mrs. Weasley, I swear we’re not pregnant.”

Molly’s smile didn’t fade. “Not yet, dear.”

Harry made another dying noise.

Ginny appeared from the living room with Fred and George’s enchanted baby toy (which farted glitter) and whispered, “You lot know Mum already picked out a nursery theme, right?”

“Murder me,” you muttered, sliding slowly down your chair.

── .✦

Later That Night:

You and Harry lay in the cramped attic room, limbs tangled and faces still crimson from the Dinner of Doom.

“She knitted a jumper, Harry.”

“She said she’d keep it ‘just in case.’”

“Just in case?!” you sat up, exasperated. “Are we cows now? ‘Just in case this one births something in spring, best knit early!’”

Harry tried to stifle a laugh, but you glared. He immediately sobered. “No, no, you’re right. Terrifying. Very traumatic. Please don’t hex me, little one.”

You flopped back down beside him. “…Do you think she’s disappointed?”

He rolled onto his side to face you, tracing your knuckles with his fingers. “Maybe. But she’ll be overjoyed when we are.”

You gave him a side-eye. “You sound very sure of yourself.”

“I mean, I’ve seen your baby pictures. Can you imagine a little version of you with my glasses? Or your eyes and my messy hair?”

“…I’m not crying. Shut up.”

Harry leaned in, kissed your tear-damp cheek. “Someday.”

“Someday,” you whispered, curling into his chest. “But first, please stop letting Ron talk.”

“Deal.”

── .✦

Meanwhile downstairs:

Molly placed the jumper back in the drawer with a soft smile.

Arthur peeked in. “No baby?”

“Not yet,” she said.

Arthur kissed her temple. “Should we tell the twins to stop making that baby toy that sings 'It’s a Boy!' every time someone sneezes?”

Molly grinned. “Let them keep it. I have a feeling we’ll need it soon enough."

[colouredbyd]

Finding Rest

poly!marauders x fem!reader

summary: You wake heavy with ache, but no one asks you to explain. They hold you through the silence, through the storm inside you, until the weight begins to lift.

warnings: emotional vulnerability, quiet hurt/comfort, exhaustion, soft intimacy, and themes of safety and healing

wc: 2.1k

a/n: idk why i wrote this tbh. ignore any grammar errors pls english isnt my native language

masterlist

The rain had started before dawn, slow and quiet. A whisper against the windowpanes, soft as breath. Then it deepened, grew fuller, until the sound wrapped itself around the house like a lullaby meant for tired hearts. It was the kind of rain that silences the world without asking, that makes the hours stretch, slow and forgiving. As if the sky itself had grown weary and let its sorrow fall in steady rhythms.

No one wanted to leave the bed. Not today. Not when the world outside felt so far away.

The room stayed dim, quiet in that way that makes you whisper without meaning to. The curtains were only half-drawn, letting in a thin silver light that bled across the floor in soft streaks. It was a kind light, pale and hushed, the kind that touched your skin like a secret rather than setting it aflame. You lay curled at the center of the bed, your body loosely tucked beneath warm sheets, surrounded on all sides by the ones who loved you.

James had dropped his magazine sometime after midnight, the pages fluttering to the floor where it now lay forgotten, a corner bent like a folded wing. Sirius hadn’t moved much since then. He sat by the window still, barefoot and cross-legged in a sweater that probably used to be Remus’s, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He had not said much all morning. He just watched, the rain blurring against the glass, the quiet way you breathed, the little movements that passed between you all like soft tides. The twitch of fingers. The sigh of cotton. The warmth of skin finding skin again.

Behind you, Remus pressed in close, chest to your back, solid and warm and breathing slow. His hand had been stroking your spine in slow, careful circles that never faltered, each one tender and grounding, as if reminding you he was there without needing to be asked. There was no rush in his touch. No question in it. Just presence.

In front of you, James curled on his side, his fingers tangled loosely with yours, thumb brushing over your knuckles like a lullaby all its own. His eyes, soft and half-lidded, never left your face. He looked at you like there was nowhere else in the world he would rather be. Like stillness was enough.

A quiet passed. Comfortable. Familiar. Then Sirius spoke.

"You haven’t said much," he murmured from the window. His voice was just above the sound of the rain, like he didn’t want to disturb the air too much. "What’s in your head?"

You blinked, slowly, as if waking up inside a dream. You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you turned your face slightly toward James, who squeezed your hand without needing to speak. Remus’s fingers paused at the base of your spine, not gone, just waiting.

"Nothing," you whispered, after a long breath. "And everything."

The words hung in the room like mist, not heavy, just there.

Sirius tilted his head. "That sounds like something I’d say."

"Maybe you’re rubbing off on me," you replied, your voice softer than before, almost shy.

A beat passed. Then Remus let out a quiet chuckle, the sound rumbling against your back like thunder in the distance.

"Poor thing," he said gently, mouth near your ear. "Imagine being haunted by Sirius Black’s inner monologue."

Sirius huffed. "I am poetry and lightning, thank you very much."

"You are chaos and coffee stains," James said, lips curving against your knuckles.

"And you," Sirius said, pointing lazily toward him, "are clingier than my favorite jumper."

"I wear that jumper," Remus murmured, eyes closed.

"I know. And it looks better on you."

You smiled, faint but real, and the rain kept falling.

You shifted beneath the blankets, the weight of the silence stretching softly around you. You weren’t sure how to answer. There wasn’t a name for what you felt, not really. It wasn’t sadness, not entirely. It was something quieter, more elusive. A tiredness that settled into your bones and made a home there. The kind of tired that curled into the spaces between your ribs and pressed against your lungs when you tried to breathe too deep. The kind that made your throat ache, not from crying, but from holding everything in for too long.

You didn’t feel broken. Just full. Overfull. Of thoughts. Of noise. Of quiet things that hurt in ways words could not quite reach.

Your heart felt too heavy for your chest, even with their arms around you, even with the way they held you like you were something weightless. A drifting thing they refused to let go.

James raised your joined hands and brought them to his mouth, brushing a kiss across your knuckles so gently it felt like a promise. His voice was low when he spoke, almost reverent.

“You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” he said. “We’re good at silence, too.”

That was the thing. They always knew. Always. You never had to explain the ache. You never had to force your hurt into sentences. They didn’t ask for reasons or resolutions. They simply made space. Soft, patient, sacred space.

Behind you, Remus shifted. His arm slipped more securely around your waist, pulling you back into his chest, anchoring you. His breath was warm against your shoulder when he spoke.

“You’ve been running on empty,” he murmured, quiet and steady. “We see it. You don’t have to keep pretending to be alright. Not here. Not with us.”

Something inside your chest cracked, quiet and sharp, like a brittle seam splitting open. Not enough to break. Just enough to let a little of the weight spill out. Just enough to breathe through.

“I don’t know how to rest anymore,” you whispered. The words trembled out, rough-edged and unsteady. “I’ve forgotten how to stop.”

It came out broken, fragile in its honesty. But they didn’t flinch. None of them did.

Sirius was still at the window, but his eyes found yours, soft and serious. He moved, rising slowly, and crossed the room without a sound. The bed dipped as he joined, slipping in beside James, beside you. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face, fingertips lingering as if trying to smooth the worry from your skin.

“Then we’ll teach you,” he said simply. “You don’t have to do it alone.”

“We’ll show you how to be still,” Remus added, his lips pressing to the back of your neck.

“And how to breathe again,” James whispered, as if each word was a key.

They didn’t try to fix you. They just stayed. Wrapped around you like warmth. Like quiet. Like home.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, the ache inside you began to loosen.

Sirius was by the bed now, kneeling beside you, brushing hair away from your face like you were something precious. His eyes were tired too, but they were soft. Steady. His thumb traced the edge of your jaw and he gave you a look that said you didn’t have to try so hard.

“You don’t have to know,” he said softly, his voice low and steady, like a promise. “We’ll remind you.”

James tugged your joined hands against his chest, the beat of his heart a steady rhythm beneath your palm. It grounded you. The soft pressure of his fingers holding yours, the warmth of his skin, it was a quiet reassurance that you didn’t have to carry anything alone. Not now. Not ever.

Behind you, Remus nestled closer, burying his face in the back of your neck. His breath was warm, slow, like he was drawing calm from the simple act of holding you. His arms tightened, pulling you deeper into the curve of his chest. It felt like he was trying to merge with you, to give you all the peace that he could.

“I just want to feel safe,” you whispered, the vulnerability raw in your voice, the weight of your confession settling heavily in the space between you. “I want to stop bracing for everything to fall apart.”

James didn’t hesitate. There was no pause, no uncertainty in his voice when he spoke, just the unwavering conviction you always found in him. “Then let it fall,” he said softly. “We’ll catch you.”

The words hung there, soft and unspoken, yet louder than anything else in the world. It was a promise, not just from James, but from all of them. A promise that no matter how much the world might crumble around you, they would be there. They would be the soft place to land. The arms that would hold you when you were too tired to hold yourself.

You could have cried. You could have let the weight of everything finally break free. But right then, all you could do was sink. Sink into the softness of the bed, into the embrace of them. Sink into the way their bodies curved around yours like protection, like a shelter from everything that had been too much for so long.

Time seemed to stretch. No one moved. The room was quiet except for the soft, rhythmic patter of rain against the windows, its soothing sound a lullaby to the stillness of the moment. The air smelled like rain, fresh and grounding, and the cotton of the blankets wrapped around you all felt like a gentle cocoon.

Sirius, who had been watching from his quiet corner by the window, finally shifted. He pulled the blankets higher over all of you, making sure you were all tucked in, all safe. Then, he slipped into the space behind Remus, his body folding in beside yours. His hand found yours over Remus’s hip, fingers interlacing with yours in a silent gesture, a reassurance that he was there too.

You were cradled now, surrounded. Protected on all sides, enveloped by the warmth of their bodies, the steady rhythm of their breaths. Worn, yes, but in a way that felt tender. Like all the weight you carried, all the things you couldn’t say, could be let go here. In this moment. With them.

And for once, there was no need to fight it. No need to brace yourself for the inevitable. In the quiet embrace of the rain and the steady presence of them, you were simply allowed to be. Just as you were. And that was enough.

“I love you,” Remus murmured, his voice barely louder than a whisper. It was a promise, but also something deeper—something that had always been true, even in the quietest moments. His breath was warm against your skin, and the words settled into the spaces between you all, as if he were saying something you had known forever, but hearing it again still made your heart flutter.

You felt it again, a soft pressure against your fingers, and James’s voice, gentle and unwavering. “I love you.”

And then, Sirius. His voice was a breath against your hair, the sound of it curling around you like an embrace. “More than I ever thought I could.”

You didn’t need to speak, not in this moment. There were no words left to say, nothing more to explain. You didn’t say it back—because you didn’t have to. Instead, you reached out, your hand moving across the warmth of Remus’s arm to James, and then to Sirius, until your fingers were threaded through all of theirs. One by one, your hands tangled together, and in that quiet, simple act, you found something far more powerful than any words could express.

You were anchored. Not by promises or declarations, but by the warmth of their touch. By the way their presence surrounded you, not asking anything from you but simply being. Just being there.

Outside, the rain continued its steady fall, each drop a soft patter against the roof, a quiet rhythm that blended into the silence of the room. You had been bracing for the storm, for the crash of it all. But now, you didn’t need to. You didn’t have to fear the rain, or the world outside, because in this little space, you were held.

You let the rain wash over the roof and the windows, a lullaby in grey. Its song was soft, gentle, and you let it carry you deeper into the moment, into the peace you had forgotten existed. The outside world could be as loud as it wanted, as harsh as it could be, but you were safe here. In their arms. In the quiet embrace of love that needed no explanation.

And slowly, finally, you allowed yourself to rest. Completely. Without the weight of expectation, without the pressure of what was next. Just in the here, and the now, where you could feel safe. Held. And, for once, simply… enough.