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hongism · 2 years

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mists of celeste ➻ 48

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, angst ➻ word count: 30.4k ➻ rating: M ➻ warnings: language, violence, explicit content ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you aka Months into your stay aboard The Horizon, it becomes apparent that things are not as cut and dry as you thought, and that you might have bitten off more than you could chew with this crew.

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──────────── act six ➻ part seven

With nothing much to do but recover from your wounds, days bleed together on the ship.

You wouldn’t have much of an idea of what the others are up to in this extended period of nothingness because your days are spent between your room and the infirmary. Yunho claimed a few weeks at minimum until your ear fully heals from the abuse it suffered, and you feel that recovery time in full thanks to the accompanying vertigo that overwhelms you whenever you stray too far from your room for too long. It comes with its own set of unique perks, you suppose, ones that are rather singular to you. Minho doesn’t press you to attend any awkward therapy sessions, for the time being, writing you off as still being too injured to have a good and coherent discussion about your mental state. You don’t have to see your captain or his lieutenant thanks to their near-constant seclusion to the bridge in the days that follow after your return. Jongho and Yunho frequently come to visit you if only to curb your loneliness, and Wooyoung has seemingly taken upon himself the job of getting food to you in some manner. Some days, the din in the mess hall is too much for your addled brain to handle.

And, perhaps the most precious of them all, the darling live-in nurse of yours with his deep dimples and endless patience. You move from your room to his so often that you might as well simply move your belongings into his space, to share it together and have things be simpler that way, but San insists that you both still need the option to have your own rooms should the need arise. He thankfully doesn’t urge you too hard to talk about any of the happenings on Rathmos, yet his eyes hold endless questions every time he looks in your direction. It isn’t a topic you can run from forever, you suppose.

Wordless comfort becomes your greatest friend in those days as well. Whether it manifests in the form of lopsided smiles or minute touches, you are deeply grateful for it all. Even when Seonghwa is the next to deliver it unto you.

He appears rather suddenly on your doorstep on the fifth day of your return to the ship. Your ear is still ringing terribly for no particular reason, and you’re in the midst of reaching for the next dose of medicine Yunho set out for you when the door slides open to reveal the lieutenant. San is at your side as always, tucked beneath the sheets and sleeping the morning away despite it being two hours from noon. Moments pass where the two of you simply exchange silent stares. You wait as patiently as you can for him to say something — anything, really — and take your pills in that breadth of quiet that flows through the room.

“I brought some books,” he says at last once you’ve set your glass of water back on the bedside table. It’s only then that you notice the small stack cradled underneath one of his arms.

“You can come in.”

Seonghwa moves stiffly despite the invitation into your space, and he wastes no time in striding right towards the table where your water sits and laying the set of books down beside the glass. San hasn’t budged in the slightest beside you, and you can still only see the top of his head against the cradle of sheets he’s bundled up around his head. You reach down to fidget with a few strands that are out of place, smoothing them down to be less mussed until you’re satisfied before returning to look up at the man on your left. He clears his throat as quietly as he can manage. His gaze is glued to San’s form but you can’t read whatever emotion rests in his eyes.

“They should be light reading, so nothing too — too strenuous or taxing to try to understand. I figured you needed some new material about Sirens, so I took a few from Captain’s shelf while you were away.”

It takes you a moment to process the fact that this is the first you’re seeing of him since whatever odd altercation you witnessed on the bridge days ago. Seonghwa at least seems calmer now than he did then; whatever rage was boiling up inside him with Hongjoong has subsided before you and left more questions than answers. Then, the man had admitted the guilt laying heavy on his shoulders, and now you can feel a dull ache presenting itself in your chest. It is not one of your own creation or one that comes from your current feelings, so the only logical explanation is that Seonghwa is the one in some type of pain right now. You don’t dare inquire about it.

Seonghwa steps back from the bedside table and draws a hand up to card through his black hair, pushing the longer strands off his forehead and out of his eyes. His appearance errs on the side of unkempt in many ways, and you can’t help but think that he desperately needs a haircut if only to keep it from falling over his eyes when he lets his hand fall from his face.

A dry laugh leaves his lips, red and swollen like he hasn’t stopped biting them for more than a minute today. Why he’s laughing, you don’t have the faintest idea. You also can’t fathom why words won’t come out of you, but in the same vein, you have no idea what there is even to say to him right now at this moment.

“Once you’re finished with them, I can take them back myself so don’t worry about having to return them on your own.”

Then, he moves to face the door once more and you finally find some strength to say something in response to his kindness.

“Thank you. For the books. I’ll read them well.”

Seonghwa shifts to look back at you over his shoulder, and the gleam in his eyes is so bright that you nearly feel guilty for not having more to say to him. He doesn’t smile, simply presses his lips together and into a thin line, but he does nod several times. You wish to talk more. To ask him of his mother, of what happened between him and Hongjoong for things to be so soured by the time you returned, to know something as small as how he’s doing and whether he’s okay. It’s clear in your eyes that he is most certainly not, and perhaps that is what keeps you from asking the rather pointless question.

“Of course. Take care today too, Y/n.”

He leaves after that though you don’t stay alone in the room for long before there is an actual knock on the metal and it slides back open to welcome another friendly face. Well, somewhat friendly in that you’re grateful to see Yunho yet he looks equally as perturbed if not moreso than the man who just graced your chambers not long ago. Despite the (very forced, mind you) grin on his lips, his brows are drawn together so tight that it looks painful.

“Good morning, Y/n. Are you ready to go?”

San finally shifts at your side as you move to climb out of bed.

“’orning?” he mumbles through the grogginess and the sheets, rolling onto his back to look around the room. Sleep still rules him for the most part, making his eyes squint harshly as he fights to make out the figure by the door before he glances up to where you stand beside the bed. Yunho’s smile turns more fond in the seconds that follow, and he glances away as you reach for a fresh pair of pants to slip on. San throws an arm down across the bed over the place where you were just laying. You reach down a hair to squeeze his hand in your own. “Have a good day,” he says as though you won’t be returning to spend the rest of your day with him here soon enough. You return the well-wishes yourself anyway.

“The morning dishes are waiting for you in the kitchen, Sannie!” Yunho chirps with more energy to his tone once you join him by the door. The only thing you hear from the man still tangled amongst your sheets is a prolonged groan that echoes his feelings about the notion, but Yunho doesn’t linger any longer to debate it with him.

“Is everything alright?” you ask after the door slides shut behind you, leaving San and his whining alone in your bedroom. Yunho hums.

“Of course, Y/n.”

A frown catches on your lips before you can think twice about stopping it, and Yunho reaches out to drop one of his large hands atop your hair.

“No need to worry yourself sick over little old me.”

“Did something happen? Seonghwa seemed upset too.” Yunho’s hand falls away from your hair, and you move to replace his with one of your own and smooth out whatever mess is left there from your sleep. The man beside you doesn’t falter, per se, but you can’t help but notice the tension that creeps into his shoulders in the blink of an eye at the mention of your lieutenant.

“Everything is alright as far as I’m aware. I’m sure we’ll know soon if that changes though.” It isn’t the answer you are particularly eager to hear but it’s the one you are given nonetheless so you leave it at that without pushing the subject further. He takes you straight to the infirmary as expected, yet it is more surprising to enter an empty room, one void of Minho that is. The man is usually in at this hour, either sitting in the corner on one of the spare stools or shuffling through his tablet as Yunho dresses your fading injuries.

Your distracted mind serves to hinder you a bit as it blocks you from hearing anything that said doctor has just said to you.

“Hm?”

His smile is kind still, even at the sight of your blatant confusion. “I asked how your ear is feeling?”

“Oh, it’s alright. Still ringing a bit from time to time but I don’t get as dizzy or nauseous walking around now.” You sit at the edge of one of the beds to let him take over, angling your head a bit to give him access to said injury.

“Good, you’re making good progress on healing. The next few weeks shouldn’t cause you much pain or trouble as long as you avoid more strenuous activities.” He leans away from you briefly and that prompts you to shift to eye him out of curiosity. “Well, erm, you can get away with some activities. As long as San does the heavy lifting that is. But then again — I suppose he shouldn’t be blowing your back out any time soon either, he needs to be careful too. I’d recommend doggy style, that won’t put too much pressure on his back or your head! Might try cowgirl too if he’s feeling up to it, but you’d have to do most of the work there to not put too much weight on his lower back. And—”

“Yunho, my god?”

“Oh, do you guys not like those too much?”

“Um, it’s—” you fumble over your thoughts, jaw hanging open as you search for any kind of response. Yunho blinks back at you as innocent as ever with big brown eyes that whole genuine concern in them, and you sit there shocked into a flustered stupor thanks to the very abruptly mentioned discussion of what sexual positions you should indulge in with your lover. “A bit personal, don’t you think?”

“I’m still your doctor, Y/n, and that goes for both of you. Merely offering up some things for you two to try. Although he used to enjoy wat—hm, no never mind. I’ll keep that bit to myself.”

“Yunho!”

“Now you wanna know, huh?” Your lips draw into a tight frown but you don’t say anything to confirm or deny the accusations. Yunho presses closer still, hot breath hitting your ear as he murmurs his next words very pointedly for you to hear them. “Our dear Sannie has always been something of a backseat driver, prefers that to driving or riding shotgun, that is.”

Heat hits your cheeks at the insinuation behind what the man is saying, and as much as you try to remain as still and silent as possible to pretend that you are unaffected by the words, that ploy only seems to be a dead giveaway. Yunho throws his head back as a laugh takes over him, and (albeit at your expense) you are glad to see the tension melt just a little bit. That cannot last for long, or so it seems, because his expression turns somber once he seats himself at one of the small rolling stools nearby.

“Ah, before I forget — though I’m sure you’ve realized it by now — I’ll be transferring all my notes and files over to Minho now. Well, I already have; that’s what he has been reading through for the past few days. But as your doctor and former psychiatrist of sorts, it’s only proper that I inform you verbally about the change too.”

“Could… could I ask what brought on the decision?”

“There is a myriad of reasons why this—” he gestures around the room as though it holds the answers “—is happening, but ultimately it was a mutual decision made between Hongjoong and me.” You regret making eye contact with the man mostly because the mere mention of your captain makes his eyes glisten with wetness you aren’t used to seeing there. Reaching out, you lay a hand over one of his. “I apologize. It truly isn’t that big a deal, so there’s no need to worry. The morals of some of the things I choose to do will be a lot less muddy now, at least, if I continue to do those things at all.”

That piques your interest more than it ought to, considering the fact that it truly is none of your business to pry into that side of things. Still, you are horrible at leaving well enough alone. And, well, it is equally as tragic to see Yunho sitting before you with such a heavy air of insecurity and lacking confidence this way. Whatever thoughts you intend to share never come to fruition though because the door slides open seconds later to reveal a somewhat unexpected face for you.

“Good morning to you both.” Minho’s hair is a bit more faded today, a dusty purple that stands out against his tan skin, and he wears a grin you find yourself dreading. “Y/n, you have time on your hands, no? I’d like to conduct our first meeting today if you don’t mind.”

Your face must fall at the notion because Yunho lets out a little mirthless laugh next.

“It was only a matter of time before you got cornered, Y/n.”

“While you’re here — you can stay put, Yunho, I’ve got a few generic questions that I’ll need to ask you as well about your talks thus far with her.” Minho flits around the room with a surprising amount of gusto, almost as though he is excited by the idea of having this talk with you, which is a feeling you cannot return in full. “You indicated in her file that you found evidence of memory loss. Could you go into a bit more detail about that?”

“Ah, well… she might be able to answer that better than I would.” Yunho twists to face the other doctor who now stands leaning against one of the beds on the other side of the room. “They administered the military serum on her at age fourteen, then again at age eighteen.”

“And — Y/n, you can answer this if you’d like — those were the only two factors related to her memory loss? Nothing external?”

“I wouldn’t know, but I suppose that would be the case.”

“If you’re asking what I think you’re asking, then no, she has never shown any indication of drug or alcohol abuse. At least not while here as part of the crew.” Yunho looks almost offended by the thought, and you’re grateful that he is so fiercely defensive on your behalf.

“Y/n?”

“No, never.”

“Do you drink?”

“Not… not regularly.”

“Medications?”

“Just what Yunho prescribes.”

“And those would be?”

“Oh, I didn’t update her file… um, an antidepressant that has a sedating effect. I give her two 150 milligram tablets, to take at night, then she’s taking some generic, non-addictive painkillers as well. That’s all though.”

“I checked the stock the other day and you seem to have a few more addictive options. She doesn’t take those?”

“No, I give her an alternative just because I find it works better.”

“Right, and I’ll cross reference what you listed here in her file with her later. I wanted to ask about prior treatments you have worked on with her? The efficiency, effectiveness, so on and so forth.”

“I have those listed in her file as well, but we’ve done some work with trauma-focused cognitive behavioral therapy. I found that to be quite effective for someone who has suffered the way she has.” Minho draws his lips to one side, humming his acknowledgment as he gives a few nods as well.

“That should be a good starting point for us as well then, I’ll keep it in mind.” The doctor suddenly glances up and across the room. He makes eye contact with you only briefly before sliding over to Yunho and offering a smile that makes his eyes turn to half-moons. “That’s all I needed to ask of you as of now. If anything changes, I’ll let you know.”

“Of course.” Yunho doesn't appear as pleased with the current state of affairs, but he seems to at least realize that he doesn’t have much say in the matter. Hands coming down hard to slap against his thighs, he huffs out a rather hefty sigh and gives you a lopsided smile. “Remember my advice, Y/n!”

It brings a bout of laughter out of you, and even though you roll your eyes at the comment, you are grateful for him alleviating some of the tension coursing through the room currently. Minho is left in the dark about it, to your delight as you hardly need the man knowing anything about your sex life as long as you’re able to keep him from prying into it. Yunho dips out of the room with a small wave sent in your direction, and while you don’t get much of an eyeful towards how he and Minho truly interact, you do catch Minho’s watchful gaze following the man out the door. Silence drapes across the room the moment the door slides back into place, and the only thing to fill the void of talking between you two is a quiet hum coming from the air conditioning unit.

“I will be asking you a variety of rather uncomfortable questions, Ghost.”

“Are you intent on calling me that for the duration of your stay here?”

“Will that prove to be an issue?”

“It’s not very—” you wave a hand through the air near your head “—personable, is it?”

Minho fights back a smile, chin ducking to his chest to conceal his expression, and he pushes up off the bed he’s been leaning against.

“I am not here to be your friend, I’m afraid. I understand that your previous doctor operated under that method, but I think it’s rather obvious how that didn’t work out in the slightest. The whole reason I am here is because of his failures to separate work from outside relationships, and in turn, pleasure. Being personable… that is hardly my concern as of now.” He moves further inward, closer to where you still sit where Yunho left you. He tucks his tablet under his arm then extends a hand in your direction. “Shall we move somewhere more comfortable?” He shifts his gesture to urge you to move off the bed, and you do so without questioning it. “I have been seeing many members of your crew these days, but you have turned out to be one of the most evasive.”

Your immediate thought is to wonder who on earth has been avoiding the doctor as desperately as you have, but you can count at least three almost within the same split second.

“It’s only been four days,” you offer up in your defense instead, watching the man’s back as he leads you out of the infirmary and into the hall. He pauses to direct his shoulders toward you.

“Four days is a long time, Y/n. Especially when we occupy the same space.” He arches a brow in your direction, and it prompts you to shift your gaze to the ground.

“I take it back. I would prefer if you called me Ghost instead.”

He laughs as he turns forward once more but spares you from any further awkward conversation until you reach what you know to be his room only because of its location directly across the hall from your own. Without thinking, you stare over at your door, thoughts going to San within a second.

“He’s not in there, you know,” Minho says. Your focus drifts back to him. “We ran into each other on my way to the med bay.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You hardly needed to.”

You purse your lips. Minho grins a bit and motions for you to enter his room, the door having slid wide open in your moment of distraction.

“Come, come. We haven’t got all day, you know.”

The room looks familiar in a lot of ways. His is equally as bland and unadorned as yours, although where you lack in terms of interior decorating, he has you beat. A nice low table and two very plush-looking armchairs complete with what must be a rather expensive velvet which leaves you to wonder a) where the hell Hongjoong sourced that from and b) why you haven’t had the thought to ask for nicer things for your room in the extended period of time you’ve been on the ship. Atop that wood table sits a checkered board with black and white ivory pieces laid over it in a meticulous pattern.

“Do you know the game, Y/n?” Minho ignores your previous request to not use your name. He motions towards the chessboard with the same coy smile pulling at his lips.

“Yes,” you mutter as you push further into the room and make your way to one of the seats. “Is this some psychic technique?”

Minho dips his chin to his chest and laughs.

“I’m not a psychic, Y/n. Psychologist.” He takes place in a seat right as you sit across from him, and his tablet is laid on the armrest to be quickly forgotten. “The only rule I’ll implement as part of our game is that you must announce your move when you make it. Fair?” The board is exceptionally bland in comparison to the other objects around the room — a boring, old wooden thing — but it has numbers and letters etched along the sides of it as well.

“I start?”

“White moves first.”

You aren’t keen on playing a game with this man, but unfortunately, your pride does not come with an off switch so there are bigger things at stake than simply a lost game. You’ll be damned if you lose such a simple game.

“Pawn to B4.”

“Knight to F6.”

You pause.

“Is this all we are going to do? What happened to those tough questions you were going to ask me?” Minho leans his weight all the way back and crosses a leg over his knee. The only response you get is a shrug. It irks you for no other reason than as a snooty display of nonchalance. You push forward until both elbows rest atop your thighs and you are halfway bent over the table when you make your next move. “Pawn to C3.”

“Pawn to C5.”

Is he playing a true game of chess with you? Or one of patience?

“Pawn to D4.”

“Pawn to B6.”

“Queen to A4.”

“Pawn to B5.”

Your eyes glaze across the board, taking in the scene laid out before you. It is a foul defensive move, one that leaves him open to lose the piece that he just moved and he has no attackers to take your queen as immediate revenge. Sure, maybe you could lose a pawn, but even so, you could simply steal a piece in retaliation no matter where you move your queen.

“Queen to B5.”

As you lift his pawn off the board and move it over to your side of the table, Minho hums.

“Who is to blame for Han Jisung’s death?”

You drop the pawn as your hand spazzes briefly, a gut reaction to the sudden mention of the man, and in a split second, you feel yourself back on those cliffs, under a bright sun and surrounded by dirt.

In your nightmares, your hands are stained red with blood that is not your own and your tears drip onto the cheeks of a man you failed to save.

“Pawn to A6.”

“Queen to A4.”

“Who killed Hyunwoo?”

That question is deceptively easy. You know the man who pulled the trigger, but in reality, was it not you who put him in that position to begin with? Is his blood on your hands too? The feeling of his arm around your neck and a bullet whizzing past your face to lodge itself in his head is far too real.

“Pawn to G6.”

“Bishop to G5.”

“Pawn to D4.”

He takes his first victim from the board, stealing away one of your pawns and moving it to his side, and for the first time thus far, you see his offensive hand.

Fuck.

He left that pawn unattended for so long that you didn’t think he would use it to attack quite yet. Had you anticipated such a move, you could have moved your bishop forward only two spots and would have been ready to take an act of quick revenge on the attack but—

“Hyunwoo was ready to kill you.”

“He had a family,” you utter just as quickly, cutting through Minho’s humming to knock white ivory against black. “Pawn to D4.”

“So do you, Y/n.” The words shouldn’t hit like a punch, and yet they do, and you are left to stare blankly at the board between you as Minho moves his other knight to C6.

You do have a family, but it is not the same as what Hyunwoo would have had. A child, one that came from him and his lover. His family by blood, one that he made together with another in the hopes of sharing a beautiful life together.

“Pawn to F4.”

“Knight to D4.”

His second victim is not one you could have saved.

You retreat.

“Queen to D1.”

The first night you shared with San after getting back from Rathmos was an awkward and stilted one, but the conversation you shared does come to mind now in light of Minho’s silence.

“I won’t ask how you’re doing because I know that’s a rather pointless question right now.”

“You can ask. But my answer will probably be pretty shitty for a while.”

“Pawn to H5.”

San had sighed and tucked his body closer to yours in the bed. You felt his forehead press between your shoulder blades, against the fabric of your shirt that was so thin you felt each puff of breath leaving his lips. Blindly, you reached behind you in search of his hand, and when you failed to find his immediately, he came to the rescue by looping his fingers through yours and securing a tight grip on you. The silence lingered like that for a bit, until you pulled his hand back over your waist and cradled it close to your stomach. If he noticed how desperate your touch was, he at least had mercy enough to not speak a word about it. For some reason, some part of you wished that he would have said something.

“Pawn to G3.”

“I’m not your therapist, Y/n, and I understand that it’s not my place or right to be either. You have someone else for that. As much as I want to be that person for you, I know it’s not good for either of us to push that. But… just — what can I do for you, Y/n, that can make this an easier burden to bear? Anything you can or want to give me, please let me support you however is best for you.”

“Queen to B6.”

“I don’t think I know how to process this,” you say at last, not pulling your stare up from the game. You aren’t losing necessarily, although the board does look horribly grim and you have taken to playing defensively as Minho prods you with more questions. It’s a cruel trick to win, you think. “Queen to D2.”

“This being…?” Minho prompts you gently now, and he leans forward to share more of his attention with you. You wave a hand through the air as though it can answer his question. “Pawn to D6.”

“Honestly, I’m unsure whether I know how to process death in general. What I thought I knew in the past turned out to be smoke and mirrors. Now, I’m being told by everyone around me that it was an act of self-preservation and that I would have died if not for their deaths. My own brain is telling me that it’s mere logic at play, that this had to happen one way or the other.” You knew, deep down, that you were not walking off that planet without a line of corpses in your wake. It’s just that you did not expect Hyunwoo to be counted amongst those corpses. And when Jisung resigned himself to a death that did not feel just, your chest burned at the thought of letting him fall. “Bishop to F2.”

“I knew the moment I saw you pulled aboard our ship that you would bring death at your back.”

“How reassuring, doctor.”

“But I knew it would be the hands of your captain that would spill blood. A fiercely possessive man, one that Jisung very much underestimated. Queen to B7. He should have known that the Scourge wants you too much to simply let you slip through his fingers.” Those words make your neck and face burn with embarrassment, but there is an underlying sense of… pride there too. The idea of being that important, the thought that you could hold such value to Hongjoong at all. Coming from a man who has made a profession out of reading and understanding the human psyche, you perhaps take Minho’s word with too much trust.

“Queen to D4.” You make a hasty attack against better judgment, glowing with your newfound pride as you steal a knight from the board. Something in your expression must push a thought to the forefront of the doctor’s mind.

“I would not parade such things around though. It is hardly a good observation, hardly something you want to have on your shoulders. Being wanted by a man such as him is nothing glorious, not when he only wishes to have power over you. Queen to G2.” When he takes a bishop as revenge, you realize that you have worked yourself into a corner. Any offensive move you make from here on out will come with a cost — the last line of defense keeping Minho from forcing you to move your king into more vulnerable positions. “You should not wish to be desired by him. That will be a quicker downfall than anything else.”

You, unfortunately, have to give something up as bait.

“I wish to be valued by my captain to some degree.”

“Clearly you already are, no? The lengths he went to save your life, I believe it is safe to assume you hold some purpose in his eyes.”

You don’t speak it out loud but internally, you know the exact reason why. Without you, Hongjoong would be thrust several steps back and have one less Siren on hand. One less key to whatever treasure it is he is after. It might feel nice to be needed by the man, but you cannot disillusion yourself to the point where you forget that you are merely a piece in his own game.

“Every time I close my eyes, each time I revisit what happened, I see myself failing to protect the lives I held in my hands. No matter how much they earned their ends, or how much they deserved to die; I only see failure.” It is your turn to drive the subject back and forth across the unsteady waters Minho has you rowing through.

"The innate urge to protect yourself is not a sin, Y/n. Far from it. You cannot bear the burden of blame or guilt for that."

“If it had been people from this crew in those positions, I would have failed to save them.”

“They would never have been put in such a position. Surely your logic can tell you that much.”

It sounds awfully demeaning right off the bat, but once his point sinks in, you see the truth in it.

“Queen to E3,” you murmur. The game hardly holds the interest it did earlier, especially with such a heavy discussion overlaid on top of it, but you entertain Minho nonetheless. His gaze was turning impatient either way. He too seems to have lost intrigue in it as he pushes his queen forward to take your knight without much care for how vulnerable it leaves him. Yet when he looks up and across the table at you to make direct eye contact as he pulls your piece from the board, you cannot help but feel cornered yourself.

“Check.”

“Rook to G1,” you respond perhaps with too much excitement. His queen falls harshly when you knock into it, and it rolls off the edge of the board to join the other five pieces you have taken from him thus far.

“Messy.”

Your proud little grin falters and you scan the board desperately to see where you could have messed up. You are still in control, still have the upper hand, if anything he is the one who has played messy, so why is it that he is calling your techniques that? Uncoordinated? Sure, you aren’t in peak playing condition, but you also aren’t an expert at the game. Basic rules are basic rules though, and you understood those well enough.

“Taking out the king’s right hand just for better access to him. That’s a bit foul, don’t you think? Bishop to G4.”

You hate the implications of that.

“You were trying to do the same to my king. It was a modem of self-defense. Not even, it was to protect my king. You threatened check?” You state it as though it is something obvious. “Queen to D3.”

“Yet you figured out quite quickly that my queen was merely there to attack should you move to threaten my king. So why did you bait the attack? King to C8, rook to D8. Castling.”

“Queen to A6.” Another of Minho’s pawns is snatched from the board in haste as your frustration with the man climbs ever higher. “Check.”

“Taking a throwaway comment to heart? I was merely referring to how you play the game, Y/n. But it seems to me as though you took it otherwise. King to C7.”

A grimace rests upon your features now, and pride is quickly thrown out the window in favor of ending this before the doctor decides to make any more out of pocket comments. You bring your right hand up and sweep it across the tops of your pieces, just enough to catch on the crown of your king and knock it flat on its side.

“I resign from your game.”

“Waving the white flag? You were so close to locking me into a checkmate or forcing my own surrender. Why give up now? I’ll give you a chance to retract your decision.”

“I don’t want to play your stupid game of dumb tricks trying to get me to admit to things that are not even true!”

“It bothers you to some degree.”

“All I was doing was playing your game!”

“How you play is quite telling. That’s the whole point of me introducing the game. I’ve used the same technique on all your crewmates this far.”

“And have you implied that they would throw out their own lieutenant so that they could have the captain for themselves as well?” A scoff slips out alongside the words, pushing inquiry into your tone even though it’s hardly a question.

Minho shakes his head as he reaches across the table to lift your king back up, setting it upright in its previous position.

“Your captain is your king, Y/n, not mine.” His voice stays soft now. You watch his hands without saying a word as he moves both his pieces and your own into new positions, finishing the game as he sees fit until your queen forces his king into a checkmate. “This game, your moves, how you play — it is how you view people’s positions on the crew. You defended your king fiercely, yet used your queen to both attack and defend. You did not move your king a single time, telling me that you consider your captain to have a very passive role in whatever plans he makes for his crew. Using the queen so heavily, I see how much you value the lieutenant. How he is the one you consider to have the most impact and weight on the decisions of the crew. Perhaps he has encouraged Scourge to do things for you in the past? In the same vein, you made strong use of one of your bishops, only to leave the second firmly beside the king. In my eyes, that one that remained still is how you view Yunho, while the other would take the shape of San. Your knights, the Berserkers, your rooks both Yeosang and Wooyoung. Where does that leave you, Y/n?”

“As a pawn,” you state simply. In the long run, it holds some truth to it because of what you are, and Seonghwa will never have to stoop down to such a level because of his relationship with the good captain. Hongjoong has shown Wooyoung enough charity to have you believe that he would also hold a higher value than you, but perhaps he and Yeosang have ulterior motives in concealing Wooyoung’s identity the way they do. That, and even Seonghwa, Hongjoong’s nearest and dearest advisor, will not breathe a word of it to the captain as far as you know. It feels a bit too cruel to imagine that Seonghwa would lie about such things but at the end of the day, you don’t really know what he would tell Hongjoong.

“Do you wish to take another’s spot, Y/n?”

“I already asked kindly for you to stop calling me by my name.”

“I see.” Minho offers a thin-lipped smile that unsettles you more than anything else.

“Are you content with this game then?”

“The mind is a fascinating and wondrous thing but…” the doctor trails off as his face contorts. “It is also a leech. You will learn to overcome these thoughts, and there will come a time when you do not feel as though they control you. I serve as an instrument to your sanity, Ghost. I am not here to make you worse, or better for that matter. Simply to give you an outlook from someone on the outside looking in, to help you reflect on yourself and what changes ought to be put in place for you to find a steadiness you feel you lack right now. No one person can cure another entirely. It is my belief that that concept is where we need to start with you. I cannot cure you of whatever leeches reside in your brain. Please know that first and foremost. Yet I will do my best to offer tools to help you subdue them yourself.”

“I understand that… I am not capable or responsible for fixing the people around me.” This sort of talk reminds you an awful lot of the one you shared with Hongjoong back before things devolved into further chaos, in your shared bath with bare skin and exposed hearts on display. Dwelling too long on that memory sends you down a different path, however, and you cannot afford to be so distracted before someone who can read your expressions with ease.

“It’s a subconscious reaction coming from within. You may not intend for it to happen, but I can tell you now that the reason it does happen is because of what you suffered in the past. Even if those memories were constructed or blocked off for some time, your subconsciousness believes that all the misery that happened around you in the past was a burden on your shoulders. There is a great deal of guilt within you, Ghost, and that guilt is what drives you to seek to fix others. A form of penance for the wrongs you believe you committed in the past.”

“I know now that I did not commit all those wrongs though?”

“The fake memories were replaced with rather awful real ones, were they not?”

You fall into silence at that comment, left to watch the doctor reach down to the ground and pull something out from under the table. It’s nondescript for a short period before he stands up and leaves his perch across from you. A small white pill bottle with no label or defining features. You recognize the pills that spill out well enough to garner that they must be painkillers, although Minho puts up quite an incredible front before you haven’t seen any indication of pain in the man all this time. Blinking at his back, you wait without speaking as the doctor moves to collect water from his bedside table and throws pills back.

“If we refer to saving people as your forte, how would you go about operating on me?” he inquires several moments later after he has swallowed and put the pills in his system.

“Why are you asking me this suddenly?”

"Consider it a... professional curiosity."

"You said I shouldn't try to save you."

Minho's chin dips forward as he laughs, and moments later, he's looking up at you through half-lidded eyes.

"I am asking you to try."

"Out of curiosity,“ you state somewhere between a question and a blunt comment.

"I wish to see what you think you are capable of, Ghost." The words bite a little bit, not enough to truly offend you, but you do catch the hint of a sneer on the doctor’s face as he pushes the statement out.

“But?”

“But you use sex as a coping mechanism, and you simultaneously believe that sex is how you can fix the people around you. You use your sensuality as a tool to patch holes, and it’s a sorry charade for you to try to fix people without talking through things with words. I hate to be the one to tell you that you are—” Minho cuts himself short to offer a strained grin “—lacking in certain areas when it comes to my typical trysts. So, unfortunately for you, you can’t offer sex to fix me. How else would you go about it?”

Your time with Seonghwa could certainly be reduced to some form of coping on both sides, but you feel positively wretched calling it as such. There was also a great deal of comfort that you found in him being a Siren, a break in your cycle of loneliness, and two aching people seeking love in each other. Yeosang — yes, you can admit with ease that you fucked him in an attempt to fix the shattered pieces between both you and him as well as him and Wooyoung. As for San, well, in your humble opinion you think Minho is entirely wrong. You were trying to fix him well before he ever fucked you in that bathtub. And given his very convincing passion in the heat of that moment, you would almost hazard a guess and say that he was trying to pick you apart rather than put you back together just briefly.

Minho, either fed up with your lack of responses or simply posing rhetorical questions now, finishes his train of thought himself.

“You would create a new problem, a new danger, a new blip in the carefully constructed plans that could easily derail everything first. Then you would martyr yourself, much like you did with your queen piece, and sacrifice yourself for a faux sense of justice. After that, you would aim to correct the problems you created in the first place just to come back and tell me that you’ve done it, you’ve solved the issue, you have saved me.” His little gasp and wave in your direction both feel wholly facetious. “Feel free to correct my assumptions, though.”

You get up from your seat and eye the door. Minho watches you from where he stands, glass dangling between three of his fingers with no real grip.

“By the way, you’re aiming to take the queen’s spot for yourself. You took mine out the first chance you got.”

You’ve made your way to the door by now, not intent on staying to listen to the man pick you apart and lay you out like a corpse under inspection, but the sound of something shattering stops you where you stand. Whipping your head back, you stare over at the scene with wide eyes. Minho lets out a small noise.

“Oops.” His grin is deceptively simple. “Should I warn him, hm?”

“If you consider that to be your job, then yes.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Tell the captain.”

“That’s more like it, Y/n. Thank you. You’re free to leave.”

•─────⋅☾⭒☽⋅─────•

That discussion with Minho eats away at the edges of your brain for days to come, preying on you whenever it gets too quiet around you, and you find yourself avoiding Seonghwa even more than you already were. It isn’t obvious, at least, seeing as the man seems equally keen on avoiding you in return. Since leaving those books with you, he hasn’t graced you with his presence. The books are a welcome distraction from your thoughts. You make a note to tell him as much when the two of you stop this odd dance you have with each other.

Tonight, you are in San’s room for a change. It isn’t the strangest thing for either of you since you drift between each other’s spaces every other day or so, but you also haven’t deigned to sleep in the same room as him since that talk with your new doctor.

“Something on your mind?” It ought to be criminal how San looks so damn good dressed down in his plain white tee and plain black sweats. Although, the way he’s currently leaning up against the doorframe leading to the bathroom with dimples pinching his cheeks might have some crazed effect over your brain too.

“Lots and lots,” you say in response before biting out a thin-lipped smile. He approaches the edge of the bed slowly, coming to a stop right beside where you have your legs crisscrossed underneath you, and he lays a hand atop your head.

“How’s your ear today, hm?”

“Better than usual.”

“And how’s your head, star?”

“Haven’t had any complaints?” you toss the joke out as a form of cheap self-defense, trying to deflect a little bit more to buy yourself some time and courage to actually speak on it. San, thankfully, returns with a huffed-out laugh and ruffles your hair under his palm.

“Now, I wouldn’t know a thing about that, would I?” His hand skates from your scalp down to your jaw and catches on the soft point of your chin. “We could change that.”

“San…” Swallowing feels like drywall climbing down your throat all of a sudden. Your legs move on their own accord, slipping out from under you to dangle over the lip of the bed as San brings his other hand up to your face.

“I’ve spoken with Minho a few times.” He leans over you, and you let out a breath when he brushes his lips over your forehead. “About myself. My history, along with more recent things.” You find fondness in his gaze when he pulls back to simply cradle your face in his hands. “There is a lot I’m dealing with internally. A lot I’m afraid for you to see, and things I don’t want you to see. Not because I don’t trust you. I should have led with that. Not because I don’t trust you, Y/n, but because I don’t want you to see me weak any longer. It feels like all this time, since all the way back during our mission on Echidna, you have been the one looking after me. I keep… missing out on the chance to take care of you in return. The past week has helped with that, a lot actually, I — I take so much pride in looking after the people I love, Y/n. So thank you for allowing me that much.”

“You always make things sound so romantic.” Your hand finds one of his, looping your fingers around his wrist and clinging to him with a loose grip of your own.

“I just — I think that Minho will help.”

That makes one of you.

“Well, if or when you’re ready to talk about those things, I’m here to listen.”

“One day I’ll be brave enough to talk about it with you. Promise. For now, it’s hard.” His lips draw into a slight pout. Part of you wants to kiss it off his face. “In my eyes, I need to be strong for you right now so that you can lean on me when you don’t feel strong enough to stand on your own. I’ll lean on you in return—” he pauses to inhale a short gasp “—both literally and figuratively. So you needn’t worry about that. I just want you to know that if it seems as though I’m holding back on talking about where I’m at, it’s only because I’m not fully ready to delve into my headspace. I don’t want to hide things from you, my love, and even having things I don’t want you to see right now feels like a crime of its own.”

“It’s not,” you reassure quickly, shaking your head against his hands. Your reward is a pretty smile that lights up San’s whole face in the blink of an eye. There is some level of bargaining in this, however, and you realize well enough that he is opening the gates for you to step through and talk about yourself more seriously as well. You want a fair exchange, to give him trust in return; bailing out with a “well I’m not sure” would be entirely rude off the back of his raw honesty just now.

Slowly, San pulls his hands away from your face and shifts so that he can sit down beside you on the bed. He presses his body so close to yours that your thighs touch, his sweatpants warm against your bare skin.

“Minho brought up a lot of things I don’t think I wanted to hear.”

“True things?”

When the silence starts to lull, San darts a hand out to clamp down around your thigh. The squeeze he gives you is a small comfort that urges you to answer the question to the best of your ability.

“I fear he sees things in me that I don’t yet know myself.”

“I think — and I could be entirely wrong about this — that he is not that much different from Yunho in terms of knowledge alone. Practice and approach, however, would be like comparing apples to oranges.” Except Yunho never accused you of wanting to off your lieutenant in an effort to gain a place by your captain’s side. Which you don’t. You don’t want to bring any sort of harm to Seonghwa. Why would Minho say such a thing? Rather, imply it but the semantics are hardly important in comparison to the thing you are being branded with by the new doctor.

“He said I try to fix others as an act of penance for what I’ve done wrong in my past.”

“Do you believe that to be true?”

“If it was, why would I stay in the company of so-called sinners?”

San reaches around your face to slide rough fingers over your cheekbone. He hums.

“To fix said sinners. Are you a sinner, Y/n?”

“I think I have made mistakes and will continue to do so. Does that make me one?”

“Not in my eyes.” San’s lips stretch a little bit. You find yourself leaning into his space until your head rests against the firm line of his shoulder. “I have said it before, but others labeling us as wretched and awful people is not important. Yes, we steal, and cause havoc from time to time, but tell me truthfully, have we ever harmed an innocent in your time here?” You aren’t sure you could file through your memories quick enough to come up with an answer, so when San continues his train of thought, you’re grateful. “We hurt those who deserve to be hurt. Take from those who have an overabundance of things they do not need for themselves. Defend ourselves when we need to, and protect the ones we care about as necessary too. Rather than calling it mending the people around you, I would say you’re just doing what you can to help them. So no, I don’t think you are trying to fix anyone but yourself, Y/n, and that shouldn’t be considered a crime.”

“He also said I use sex as a coping mechanism, but I… I don’t think that’s what it was when we were together.”

“I know nothing much of how it was for the others in your life, but in my humble opinion, what we took from each other was not any sort of coping. Pent-up tension and a release of a lot of really heavy emotions. And something I truly…” San pushes you back slightly and sinks from the bed to the floor. Your fingers twitch against the mattress as he slides down to his knees with hands tucked over each of your thighs. It’s lewd, positively lewd, and your gut twists with anticipation of what’s to come next. “I want to have you properly still. Shall we try again and see?” San rests his chin atop one of your knees, head tilting to the side as a pout returns to his lips. “Not because we have to or to deal with outside forces, but because we want to, yeah?” His fingers twitch at the hem of the shirt keeping you modest. You stole it from none other than him, an item that sits a bit loose on your frame and hardly keeps you modest with no pants on, but that decision looks entirely intentional now that you have San on his knees between your legs ready to take more. “We can indulge in one another, darling, so that I may show you it has nothing to do with any sort of coping mechanisms.”

Your jaw stutters over nothing, and you fail to find any sort of response to properly articulate what’s running through your mind at breakneck speed. San lays his lips against the inside of your knee, exhaling over the skin in a way that sends goosebumps across your whole body.

“Words, my dear, otherwise I won’t know how to properly have you.” When he tilts his chin to the side, the gesture makes him look almost childlike — a kind of curiosity and wonder in his eyes that makes you want to pull his face to your stomach and cradle him there. What his hands choose to do next erases that desire and fills you with something much different though: he skates his hands up the outer sides of your thighs and dips beneath the fabric of your shirt to reach higher until his fingertips meet the band of your underwear. You haven’t forgone that article of clothing at least, even if you already set the elastic band you typically wear around your breasts aside. “Might I be somewhat rough with you?”

“Have me in whatever way you like, San,” you murmur back as he begins the slow drag of pulling your undergarments off. “I trust you to take care of my needs.”

“Don’t—” San’s gaze turns dark as he dips his chin down and looks up at you through his lashes. “Do not tempt me, star. I’ve told you that I am insatiable, have I not? I would taste you first but — fuck, Y/n, I am not a patient enough man.”

Two fingers drag along the line of your folds, slipping between them to skate over your more sensitive parts. It brings a shiver out of you almost immediately, and your lips part to bring a fresh gulp of air into your lungs just to be cut off in a moment’s time. San presses his lips to yours with a sort of heated fervor. You meet him in his passion, letting him push up hard against you. You tumble backward together and fall down flat on the mattress with San draped over you. His touches become desperate, and once his fingers slip deeper into you, your back curls in on itself to welcome him deeper.

“I am not patient, Y/n, I want you. I want to take you, so — so badly, fuck, it’s like I need you to breathe.”

True to his word, he kisses you like he wishes to consume you with his lips. Greedily, he thrusts his tongue against the line of your lips and enters your mouth with the same intensity that he uses with his fingers. It’s vastly different from how he had you the first time, where there had been slow and calculated passion to his movements; now, there is profound hunger in how he rubs his fingers along your insides and tangles his tongue with yours. You take what he gives you with just as much lust. San’s chest heaves when he parts from you, breath so heavy that it comes out in pants, and his pupils are blown wide from where he looks down at you. The look in his eyes is borderline deranged, lips almost glossy from the spit shared between your mouths. You want more.

“Does it feel good, darling? To have my fingers spreading you open from the inside out—” he steals another kiss from you as you try to respond “—to feel me inside you, prepping you for something bigger, hm?” You slap a hand hard up against his shoulder as San crooks his fingers to accentuate his words. The noise that escapes comes out a bit strangled. “My pretty, my darling, my star, you’re mine tonight, you know?” He almost frantically reaches up with his free hand to tug at your shirt, and you have enough sense left to help him pull it off your body. He leaves you nude against the sheets, lips separating from your skin so that he can lean back and ravage you with his gaze instead. “Let me make you mine.”

“Pl-Please, San, I want it.” You push your hips up against his palm as he cups his hand around the curve of your body, fingers still buried knuckles deep. He coos at your reaction, and a smirk twists the corners of his lips as you try more desperately to ride the slow thrusts of his fingers.

“Already, baby? I’ve barely had you as is, you already want more?” San hoists you into a new angle, one that has your hips up off the bed and him bent over you. His knee presses alongside your waist and digs into the plush cushion of the mattress. “Does it feel that good?” he growls out through gritted teeth.

“S-San,” you whimper, hands still scrambling to find purchase on him in some form. He folds you further to mold you with his touches, and the most you can manage are a few weak moans as pleasure jolts through you.

“Just wait until I give you something bigger — see how you come undone under me then.”

His words and attitude both leave you dizzy to an unnerving degree, but not an unpleasurable one because you are ashamed to admit that you are enjoying the tremble in your muscles as they’re forced to work in positions you aren’t used to, along with the cruel edge to San’s teasing that is such a polar opposite to how he is day by day. The man over you now is an entirely different beast that houses a quirked lip and a narrow stare that makes your insides feel like lead.

“Take — t-take me from b-behind, ah, San, San, please?” Your lips quiver so harshly that it’s hard to bite the request out, but it earns you a new flare of desire in San’s expression. He’s so quick to comply like he’s possessed by the mere thought of your words and has to do as told lest he dies. You moan against your arm as he flips you over onto your stomach with so much force that you bounce on the bed. “Good god—”

“Is that what you wish to call me? Are you so reverent, my love?” The words catch you off-guard in more ways than one because he breathes them right against the shell of your ear without warning. Coupled with the content of what he’s actually saying, you reach a hand behind your back and grab at his body blindly. “Be wary, darling, I may ask you to worship me if you say it too many times.”

The flat of his tongue drives wet and hot along the nape of your neck, and he barely bothers with pulling away to breathe. Instead, he simply gulps down hungry breaths of air as he kisses a path down your spine. The tattoos under his lips burn with each little nip and pinch of his teeth.

“Would mark you like this myself if I could,” he murmurs at the midpoint of your spine before he traces the ink on you with the tip of his tongue. “Would tattoo my marks into your skin, I’m so greedy, Y/n. I’m so hungry, I wish to devour every part of you.”

“I want you inside, San, I want you to take me.” Your hands sit above your head, atop the pillows lining his bed, and trembling with such intensity that you can barely close them around the cushions to brace yourself for his oncoming touches.

“So good for me, using your words so nicely and prettily to tell me what you want.” The pillow under your hands is wrenched away. He merely has to tap the outside of your hip for you to understand what is it he wants from you, and modesty is thrust aside when you push your backside into his firm stomach. San slides the pillow between your abdomen and the mattress quickly, then lays the flat of his hand against your tailbone and shoves you down hard into the cushion. “It makes me want to ravish you, Y/n. Don’t you know that? Know what you do to me? So fucking—”

You cry out as he grips your hips hard enough to bruise, and he yanks you back to meet the firm length of his cock. It’s all a taunt, really, because he doesn’t give you quite what you asked for and instead drags himself across your ass in a crude mimicry of the real thing.

“Why do I wish to ruin you so desperately?” The piercing sitting at the tip of his length catches on your rim briefly and threatens to make way for something larger. You catch yourself before you attempt to push back and urge him deeper, holding your hips firm where they are despite how he’s squeezing you. The desire is there, though, and you would gladly take him even with the added sting of pain. “If you just do whatever I ask of you so easily, what can I do? Tell me: do you wish to have me now?” His tone is breathy beyond belief but you still understand him just fine.

“Yes, San, darling, baby, sweetheart, please,” you ramble through a whimper, “I can’t t-take it anymore.”

“So good and patient for me,” San coos. He pulls his hips back to line up against your entrance, slipping a hand down between your legs to spread you further, and you let out a breathy sigh of relief before he even begins his slow descent into you. The slow drive is hedonism of its own, a heavenly feeling that has your skin burning with pleasure. San sets your body alight with the flame of desire in a moment’s time. The blunt round of his piercing runs along your insides, and while you had him once before, that one time was not nearly enough to make you grow accustomed to the sensation. It feels new all over again — a foreign pleasure but very much so delightful nonetheless. “Enjoy me, star, you’ve more than earned it.”

You moan into the sheets, lips parting and sucking the fabric into your mouth as you huff air greedily into your lungs. It leaves your tongue dry and makes your throat burn a little more with each noise that San punches out of you, as he begins to drag his cock in and out against your walls. The rhythm he finds is a steady one-two quick thrusts followed by a sharper one that drags a bit longer and forces his length further into you — and the roll of his hips against the backs of your thighs is sinful at best. The way you rode him back in that bathtub feels clumsy now in retrospect and a tad on the embarrassing side because San fucks well, and far better than you could have anticipated from that sloppy first time. You almost regret asking to be put in this position because you know the sight behind you must be one to behold. Taut muscles, his firm abdomen, brows pinched together in focus as he drives his cock into your hole over and over; you want to see his face contort with the pleasure so badly, but the angle simply feels too good for you to ask him to switch things up now. San, as well, seems to be enjoying this position to the fullest given how he fucks you firmly against the pillow propping your body up for his use. His hands are starting to roam, letting up on that harsh grip from before to reach for your ass instead. He takes the flesh under his palms into his grip and digs half moons into your skin.

“Whatever will I do with you, Y/n?” San groans as he squeezes tight. “You’ll let me have you again after this, right? After you cream that pretty cunt all over my dick, yeah?”

“S-San, holy shit.” The tightness enclosed around his cock seems to urge him on faster and harder, until the point where the thrusts turn into horribly needy drives into you. His composure cracks, letting a deep moan slip out, and you revel in the litanies of his pleasure as they wash over your body. The skin around your hips and ass both hold a delicious burn to them, made better by the way his nails dig in deeper as he pushes himself closer to an orgasm.

“Can you do it, baby? Come from just this?” The pressure in your head builds to a breaking point, and the dryness in your mouth couples with that sensation to make you dry heave through a moan. San brings a hand to the back of your head and brushes his fingers down across your scalp.

“’m close,” you choke out, eyes barely able to make out San’s form in your peripherals. The pressure of his hand laid against the nape of your neck provides just enough to push you into the waters of sensory overload, tipping you over the edge of that waterfall, and you squeeze your eyes shut so tight in the pleasure that you see white behind your eyelids. San pushes into you with more fervor but only manages three more full strokes into your body before he stills deep inside your walls. He doesn’t even need to ask where you want him when your body is still trying to squeeze him deeper into you. He spills his release inside you, a throbbing heat that continues as your own orgasm milks him for all he’s worth.

He slips free of your walls seconds after your body loosens its grip on him only to rest his used length on your backside and lean over your folded body. He brackets his arms on either side of your head, and when focus returns to your gaze, you see there is a slight tremble in his forearms even now.

“You’re leaking all over the sheets.”

“It’s yours — blame yourself, you put it in me to begin with,” you whine out in protest. Not before reaching over your shoulder to slap the side of his head, of course.

“And clearly I didn’t fuck it into you well enough,” San says to the back of your skull. His hips jerk against your backside as though to prove a point. His soft length twitches against the line of your ass, and you feel him pull away too far too quickly for your liking. In response, your body moves on its own accord and forces you to turn over. You knock into San’s arm in the same movement, bringing a breathy laugh out of him as he falls down beside you on the bed in full.

“Let me—” greedy hands urge him further onto his back “—please?” San’s brows knit together in quiet bewilderment now, but he does nothing more than push himself up to his elbows and watch you with those fierce brown eyes of his. “Have to make good on a promise, don’t I?” You blink up at him through fluttering lashes, taking a place between his legs yourself, and all you have to do is lay a hand against the bone of his hip for him to understand what you’re after. He scrambles to tangle fingers through your hair. With a firm yank, he tugs you off his length just before your tongue can make contact.

“Fuck, you know… you know exactly what you’re doing to me, love.”

You smile up at him. This time when you lean closer to his cock, he lets you have what you want. You drag the flat of your tongue over him, pausing at the tip to suck him into your mouth. His piercing drags along the ridges of your palate and prods at the softness near your throat. Taking him deeper only heightens that sensation until you can hardly breathe around him. He’s not the largest partner you’ve had, but you also wouldn’t call yourself an expert in these sorts of pleasures so it’s hard to contain the way your throat desperately wants to constrict around his semi-firm length. It takes you only a few shifts and seconds to find an angle that is comfortable enough for you; hands splayed across the toned lines of San’s abdomen and pushed up onto your elbows to take him further.

“You look so good even like this, Y/n, how is that possible?” You watch his head tip back through your lashes. The muscles in his neck ripple with the accompanying tension. “Will you let me take you again after this? Before I — ah, before I come?”

You don’t take the time to separate from him entirely and instead hum out what you hope reads as approval to him. The weight against your tongue is intoxicating in its own right. The thought of stopping where you are crosses your mind, firmly set over him with his tip brushing the back of your throat and that cursed piercing rubbing hard into your soft palate. Instead, you run your tongue along what parts of him you can reach like this just to feel the tremors rush through his thighs.

“Hngh, maybe I ought t-to be the one… worshipping you.” His subtle praise sits heavy on your skin, fueling the quick pulses of your tongue around him. Briefly, you entertain the thought that this is the first time he has had this kind of pleasure in a very long time, although that is something you have no true knowledge of without prying verbally. Still, nonetheless, it feels delightful and sends surges of pride through you to see him fall apart under your ministrations so handily. “Could tell everyone my religion’s you.” You gag yourself on his length just so he can feel the tightness of your throat, and that seems to be a tipping point for him. The hand in your hair grips tighter and tugs upwards until you can breathe without his length buried deep in your mouth. “Cm’here.” You chase the line of his body until your faces are close together, lips pressing hot and heavy against his without pause. Even with the taste of your debauchery on your tongue, San licks his way into your mouth to feel you from the inside out. Despite his fervor, the kisses slow your pace a substantial amount and bring your racing heart down from its high.

The headiness of your orgasm has drifted away some, but desire sits heaving in your bones.

“Turn around for me, star,” San says as he sits up with you. You do as told without question, distracted solely by the way his fingers trace over your sides and leave goosebumps in the wake of his touches. Part of you wishes you could have brought him to his high with your mouth alone, but the arousal in your gut has built itself back up to a point of heady desire, something you don’t want to ignore or prolong longer than you have to. “Let me have you like this.” Lips caress the soft skin of your shoulder, and hands rush to fold over your abdomen and drag you back against San’s chest. “It’s easier on both of us.”

The stretch is less obscene now that he has thoroughly used you, but you still hiss air through your teeth as he pushes back into your hole. You start moving your hips along his length almost as quickly as he enters you; even with his hands holding you firm atop him, you still have control over the pace and the movements of your hips. A stark difference from how he just had you minutes ago although you would hazard a guess that he holds more power over you than you initially believe. He doesn’t exercise that power, though, and instead sits back on his heels to let you settle into something steady and pleasurable for both of you.

“You’d look pretty with piercings here, love,” San exhales, breath huffing out and stirring your hair gently. His fingers pinch around the rounds of your nipples as he speaks. You drop down along his length harsher, and he responds by biting around the juncture of your neck and shoulder. “And here—” he teases the skin around your belly button, then lower he moves to touch closer to where your bodies meet “—here, especially.”

You curl in on yourself as he rolls your clit between the pads of his fingers. San giggles behind you and folds his back along the curve of yours like he can’t bear the idea of being separated by even an inch.

“Shit, shit, not — not fucking now.” Your brain wrenches you out of the grips of pleasure at the first sign of San’s distress, quickly distinguishing between his pleasure and what now reads as frustration. In the blink of an eye, you ease off of him and turn to face him directly, hands moving up to cradle his face between your hands.

“San? San, darling, what’s wrong? Are you—”

“My b-back, my back. It’s fucking sei-seizing, shit.” Through the pain contorting his face, you find a flicker of an apology in his eyes.

“Shh, lie down, it’s okay.” San groans as you lay him back against the mattress, his hand seeking yours once he’s fully reclined on the bed. You let him take hold of you.

“Don’t stop, baby, please, don’t. I don’t wanna stop yet, it doesn’t hurt—” lie, but you can forgive him for that much “—I want to finish with you still.” You admire both his resolve and determination but your heart is still racing with panic rather than sexual excitement. His hand squeezes tighter around yours. “Please, Y/n, let me finish in you one more time. I’ll be okay, you can ride me again like before I… I need you.”

He makes it more than a little difficult to deny him anything, and in the very least, his body still seems more than a little interested in the activities you were just partaking in. With his hand clenching around yours, he stares up at you with an unbridled desperation in his stare that makes you cave further to his whims.

“I was never going to deny you that,” you whisper back. He keeps his hand over yours as you push up to your knees and settle your legs on either side of his hips. Still, you are wary to not lay much pressure on him.

“Thank you, thank you, please finish with me.” You don’t move until you watch the frantic heaves of his chest start to return to something more normal, and even then, you sink yourself down over his length slow enough to give you both time to savor the sensation to the fullest.

“I want you to indulge in my body,” you whisper through the strain in your voice, “as much as possible, as much as you enjoy.”

“Do not… tempt me beyond this.” San lays his hand flat against your abdomen, palm molding the skin underneath to fit his grip, and you rock your hips forward and backward a little. As his eyes roll back, you pull yourself almost completely off of his member and sink all the way back down to draw a moan from both your lips and his. Those sounds fuel your pace into something driven by pleasure, and you hardly bother trying to remain steady along him. You feel the full weight of that piercing like this, though, as it drags along the inside of your walls at a fresh new angle and makes your hands tremble atop San’s. He does not try to move away from you in the slightest, but you don’t take the risk either and keep both your hands laid over the one he has against your stomach. “Come for me, darling, let me see you—”

“S-San.” His name comes out through a whimper and a breathy whine, as you squeeze your eyes as shut as they can be without robbing you of the sight of the man beneath you. With one under your belt already, it is hard to deny the building tsunami that creeps up on you. San’s words fade to mere white noise as the lust-addled part of your brain begs for a high, making your mind go blank in the face of that desire. San’s face contorts in a pretty way, and when a new wave of warmth fills you from the inside where your bodies meet, your own gut pulls so tight that the damn finally bursts and you come undone over him. Your hands fall down to press on either side of his body, tremors passing through you until you are shaking uncontrollably atop San. He brings you down from your perch to lay you against the bed; a sweet turn of what you did for him earlier, though it comes with a stinging emptiness because he pulls his cock free of your clenching walls to lay you on your side. Complaints are already on the tip of your tongue when he lies down behind you and pulls your body flush with his.

“Thank you, my star, you did so well for me.” His breath is warm on the back of your neck. Legs tangling together atop the mattress, the two of you settle into a comfortable quiet that consists only of the sounds of your heavy breathing for what feels like hours (in reality, you know it to be mere minutes).

“How do you feel?” you ask when your throat doesn’t feel like it’s bleeding from overuse.

“’m okay, promise. Felt kind of like a muscle cramp, but in my back, you know?”

“Mhm, next time—”

“—next time, I won’t push it.”

“Thank you.” You’re the one to sigh out the words this time, while exhaustion creeps into you and the warmth of the man at your back eases you further into the mattress.

“I wanted to ask…”

“Hm?” It’s hard to keep your focus straight even now, but you give San as much attention as you can manage.

“If…” San trails off as his lips caress the back of your shoulder. You shiver at the sensation, along with the feeling of his fingers tracing over your spine between your shoulder blades. “If the opportunity arose, one where you could have me and another at the same time, what would your answer be?”

The suggestion doesn’t startle you nearly as much as it ought to, you think, but perhaps it’s the lingering aftershocks of your orgasms that make you hazy.

“I trust you to be gentle with both me and my needs.”

“I wish to see you ruined at another’s hands,” he whispers against the crest of your ear. Your thoughts disperse. “Crumbling under insurmountable pleasure, under another’s body, filled by someone else. I haven’t stopped — forgive me if my thoughts are too much, but I haven’t stopped thinking about what you might have looked like under Yeosang’s body. How he pleasured you, how he took you, what you said and did with him. I-I crave to see you pleasured by another before I have you myself.”

“San,” your voice quivers, thighs tensing and squeezing together as he murmurs the filth into your ear.

“Only if you wish for the same, my dear. I am perfectly satisfied without such things.” His hand splays out against your spine to lay flat against your bare skin.

“No, San, I—” He is barely touching you, purposely not teasing too much in how his hands wander across your body, and yet you feel a sudden tension in all your nerves. Fragile threads of restraint pull taut. “I want… I would be satisfied with t-that.”

“With what, my dear? Tell me with your words, tell me all that is on your mind, so that I might understand in full.”

“I would like it…” San rolls you to the side so that your back lays flat against the mattress, and he is quick to drape his form over yours. “For you to watch.”

“Watch what, dear?”

“As — as someone else took me, and had me, with your eyes on me the entire time.” He steals a gasp from your lips as his kisses trail from your neck up to your chin. “Want to watch you too, s-see how you react and… see me come undone at another’s hands.”

“Y/n.”

“I want you to come take what’s yours after.” Your hand stretches up to caress the sharp lines of San’s jaw. “After I have been thoroughly used, I want you to show… want you to take me apart completely after.” He pants into the open lines of your mouth, as his right-hand slips down between your legs and takes place near your core once again. You are quickly losing track of how many times the two of you will fall into this pleasure together tonight, but the sheer quantity is not something on your mind now. Lust — rampant and unabridged — takes hold of your mind instead.

“I would do anything you asked of me, star. Give you anything. Pleasure you in any way.”

“More,” you whisper against his mouth. His plush lips drag over yours without real purpose.

“Say the word and it’s yours.”

“Take me again, please.”

San laughs as he pulls himself down along the line of your naked body, and he only stops once he has his face pressed against your abdomen.

“As you wish, darling, but first let me indulge in tasting you.”

•─────⋅☾⭒☽⋅─────•

Days later, you find yourself away from the man you have attached yourself to so closely these days. Time apart does a heart well, or so they say, but you aren’t sure you could even count yourself towards that saying when you will return to San before waking hours are over. Nonetheless, courage struck you this morning, and you felt a burning need to act on it before you lost the will to. Seated beside the woman you used to consider a sister with the news that not one but two of your former comrades died on account of your life is a lot more daunting than your mind painted it to be.

Soojin, in the very least, is quite patient with you, sitting in silence beside you in the mess hall as you both overlook a rather heartwarming scene. Luca darts between metal tables several feet ahead of where you sit, little hands outstretched to grab at the much taller and far more intimidating figure that Mingi encompasses, all while Jongho referees from behind with all sorts of lively commentary to entertain the young boy. It works like a charm seeing as the child wears a grin that threatens to split his cheeks. Despite the lack of laughter coming from him, you imagine he would be indulging in that little joy if he could. The scene makes your news feel all the more heavy though. It is hard not to overlook the third presence lurking about your table with Soojin too; the resident pink-haired bounty hunter graces you with his presence but offers nothing in the way of conversation. You aren’t sure whether you ought to be grateful for that or not.

“Jisung’s dead,” you start out of nowhere, hoping that it lessens the blow at least a hair.

“Huh.” Her exhales sound akin to a laugh. “Your doing?”

Minho would want you to say no. As would San, maybe even Yunho for that matter. You settle for something else.

“Somewhat.”

“That feels… reassuring actually.” Soojin’s gaze locks onto where Luca chases Mingi’s heels.

“Hyunwoo intended to administer the serum on me once again, to reinforce the damage he already did.” You look from Luca to Jongho and find the Berserker’s gaze lingering on you for a split second. “He earned himself a bullet in the skull.”

The suddenness of a hand touching yours brings a shaky inhale out of you, and when Soojin squeezes at your fingers gently, you dare to look over at her.

“Are you feeling alright?”

“A bit betrayed, but what’s new?” The woman makes a nondescript noise and draws her lips into a thin line.

“I’m sorry,” she starts, hand already pulling back from yours, “that everyone in your past has turned out to be this way. You were… used for so many years, and there is no excuse for the rest of us not lifting a finger to stop it. I can’t ever be in a position where I can be family to you again, both because of my personal agenda but also because that wouldn’t be fair to keep you latched onto another thing of the past. Although—” she grins as Mingi feigns being knocked to the ground by the little boy behind him. Jongho darts in to finish the job for Luca, crashing his weight over Mingi’s body to keep him pinned to the ground as Luca claps. “I think you have that covered just fine.” Though quaint, the smile you exchange with the woman is nothing short of reassuring.

“Will you still try to find Ash and Juyeon?”

“Yes, I think so. Nightingale here has already arranged to help find some contacts who can expedite the process for me. But Luca is priority number one right now, finding someplace safe for him to heal and be raised normally.” Soojin tilts her head to the side as she smiles wider. “The Brute is the one who has been keeping him the most company besides me, you know. Makes these little paper toys and things for Luca to play with. It’s strange to see.”

“But good?”

“You wouldn’t think a man like that would know the first thing about how to look after a child, but I suppose their mutual quietness allows for them to communicate in other manners. I imagine having to say goodbye will be difficult for Luca.”

“You haven’t changed your plans even a little?”

“No.” She sits up straighter, pushing her elbows off the flat metal behind you both. “This is no place for Luca to stay. I can only hope to give him some sense of normalcy in life after this has all gone by.”

“Is he—” you cut short to think through what you are trying to get at properly, but there is no real way of speaking around it. “Is he a Normie?”

“Hell if I know. No red eyes, so I guess that’s indication enough. Could be anything else though.”

“Marks on his back?”

“You mean like scars or tattoos?”

“The latter.”

“No, not a single one. Why?”

“Well, that narrows it down some more, doesn’t it?”

Soojin hums before shrugging. If she wants to say something else, she opts not to.

Before you can ask anything further, two things happen at once. Nothing immediately distressing, which is some mild comfort, but a stroke of horrible timing or a nasty coincidence. Yunho steps into the mess hall from one side with both hands shoved deep into the pockets of his sweatpants, and at the same time, on the other side, Hongjoong steps through the archway with Seonghwa in tow. Neither the captain nor his lieutenant looks particularly pleased at the moment, though that likely has nothing to do with Yunho. Nightingale moves away from his perch on the other side of Soojin without any indication of a goodbye and heads straight for the pair like he’s been summoned silently. Seonghwa shifts his body to let the man slip by comfortably before stepping after him without wasting even a second. You make the grave mistake of shifting your gaze to your captain, eyes finding Hongjoong’s in a moment of fierce eye contact. Your stomach twists into a particularly tight knot under the weight of that stare. With no words exchanged or even an expression to paint his features into something understandable, all you can do is feel deeply unsettled. Even when Yunho crosses the path to get to where Hongjoong lingers, you sense those piercing eyes drilling holes into the side of your head.

Too far to hear a word being said and not nearly adept enough in the art of reading lips, you are left to simply watch as Yunho and Hongjoong exchange a myriad of words spoken without much visible emotion. That is until Yunho reaches out to grab for Hongjoong’s forearm as the shorter man is turning away; it’s then that you see a whole blossoming of emotions unfold like toppling dominoes. Hongjoong yanks himself free of what he views to be an offensive touch, brows twisting together until he has hardly any space between them, and if that anger wasn’t enough to get his point across he straight up scowls at the man standing across from him. Yunho reacts in kind, and you can hardly blame him when a simple touch seemed to warrant such vitriol. Apparently baffled as you are, Yunho tilts his chin to the side sharply before taking a few steps backward, as though waiting for Hongjoong’s mood to magically alter in mere seconds. When it does not, the healer ducks his chin to his chest and, in a very familiar fashion, retreats back the way he came like a dog with his tail between his legs.

“I will miss the occasional dinner and a show I get out of watching your crewmates interact though,” Soojin adds through a hum, confirming that she too has witnessed what you did. “Not sure there’s a person in the universe who could fix whatever the fuck goes wrong between these people but—” she throws her hands up briefly “—also not my job.” Her stare on the side of your head feels pointed.

“It’s not my job either,” you mutter. Nonetheless, you are on your feet a second later. “I’ll come have dinner with you later, yeah?” You drag your gaze past where Hongjoong lingers on the other end of the room before looking down at your companion.

“Sounds like a plan to me.” She does not ask where you’re off to or what you intend to do, although she seems to have a good enough idea with the half-smirk she sends your way before you depart to tail after Yunho. Hongjoong’s gaze feels just as hot on your back as hers does.

Your first inclination is to head for the medbay in the hopes that Yunho went there rather than his room. Rounding the corner a little too quickly, however, lands you almost running right into a wall of a human with mismatching hair outside the room directly across from yours. You quickly dip back behind the corridor you just darted out of before the man catches sight of you, which may be entirely futile but the sound of another voice cuts through the air and tells you that you are most definitely encroaching on a conversation you have no business being part of.

"Sometimes, we experience love in ways that are wholly singular to us. And we may understand that love is complex, difficult to understand, and impossible to explain in words alone.“

It’s Minho, which makes a fair amount of sense seeing as that is his room Wooyoung now stands outside of. You could dip around Wooyoung and excuse yourself, but you have also been avoiding Minho for two days (successfully) and he knows you aren’t a busy person. If he were to see you passing by now at what is clearly the tail end of a session with Wooyoung, you fear you might get snatched or offered up as a faux sacrifice to the therapist.

”What often goes unnoticed when it comes to love is that sometimes we know how to love and we know how to experience it, or how to give that love to someone the way we know and understand it, but other times, that love is impossible to be experienced by the other person. We receive different kinds of love, just as we give different kinds of love. What is love to you, Wooyoung, is not the same as what love is to Yeosang. You cannot expect him to love you in the same exact manner as you love him. He will love you differently, but that does not make his love any less than yours.“

“I’m aware of that,” Wooyoung mumbles back, almost incoherently.

”I fear you've been unfair just as much as he has because when you reach this wall, you are the one to push him against it and then blame him for its existence. And while yes, there is a burden of guilt that he must bear, there is one that you have to take on your own shoulders too. That wall may exist because of him, but it is not in your right to drive him against it the way you do. You must learn to compromise if you want to continue to love him and be loved by him, otherwise, there won't be any love left between the two of you."

“…okay.”

“Good for today?”

“Sure, yeah.”

“We’ll talk again soon, Wooyoung. Have a good evening.” You wait until you hear the door sliding shut before you exhale the breath you were holding, and you are about to poke your head back around the corner when Wooyoung beats you to it and leans over to look at you first.

“Hi.”

“I didn’t mean to — I didn’t wanna interrupt, I’m sorry.”

Wooyoung huffs out a laugh and waves his hand through the air.

“Nothing you don’t already know luckily.” He shifts to point his index finger directly at you. “I don’t have to chew you out this time but I’m onto you.” You break into a smile of your own upon hearing the lilt in his tone, peeling yourself from the wall to properly round the corner and stand alongside him. Wooyoung falls into step with you, and once you are several steps away from Minho’s room, he leans over with his hand cupping the side of his mouth to whisper in your ear. “He’s onto you though, I think he knows you’re avoiding him.”

“Is it that obvious?” you return through a whisper of your own.

“Quite.”

“I gotta get better at avoiding him then. I’m not ready to be snatched again.”

“I’ll go in to distract him so you can run next time.”

“I suppose that means it’s going well for you?” you ask, pleasantly surprised with his willingness to go back to the therapist so soon. Given your prior conversations with him, Wooyoung hasn’t had the most luck with opening up to Yunho in the past. Perhaps there is some comfort in exposing the deepest, darkest parts of yourself to someone who does not know you all too well.

"It went… well, I guess. It's not as fun as it sounds, you know. Having all your flaws and shit laid out like that but — but I know he wasn't trying to be mean about it, just trying to help, so I'm trying to take it that way." Wooyoung purses his lips as he pauses his walking briefly. “I haven’t gotten around to telling him — you know, but that’s quite the conversation starter. ‘Oh, and by the way, I can kill people in my mind and the brother of the boy I killed in my mind is on this ship looking at me day after day like I don’t go to sleep and see his dead brother’s ghost-body-spirit-whatever in my dreams every night.’ I think he’d have to pull out an entirely new notebook to dissect that one.” You wince despite the nonchalance in Wooyoung’s tone because he’s right — it does sound much harsher when put that way, and you can’t even begin to imagine how any doctor would tackle that. “But… but he’s really good at mediating between Yeosang and me. Picks up the pieces where we don’t know how to communicate and helps us get it out of our systems in a healthy way.”

“I’m glad about that,” you whisper, not hiding the smile that stretches your lips, and Wooyoung laughs in turn. He loops one of his arms around your elbow and tugs his body closer to yours.

“You know, if you wanted to, I wouldn’t be opposed to loaning my lover out again as long as I’m aware of it beforehand this time.”

“No, no, oh my god, no! I swear it was a one-time thing!”

“That’s what they all say, Y/n!”

“Aren’t you being unfair?” you whine with his laughter ringing loud in your ears.

“Where are we even walking to? Isn’t your room in the other direction?”

“Ah, that’s—” it takes you a second to realize that you’ve walked past the infirmary already, and you swivel to correct your trajectory only to have your focus ripped towards someone else entirely. “Seonghwa?” Wooyoung makes a noise of confusion before turning as well to find the man you’ve set your sights on at the other end of the corridor.

“Ah, Lieutenant?”

“Very sorry to intrude.” The man bows his head a little as he approaches, only slowing down when he’s a few feet from the two of you. “I’m merely on my way down to take inventory in the cargo bay.”

“Are we stopping somewhere soon?” Wooyoung inquires after a breath of hesitation.

“Yes, we’ll be offloading goods once we do, and I did not wish to burden our Berserkers with it when they already have their hands full with the child.” The tip of his tongue pokes out between his lips briefly as he blinks between you and Wooyoung. There is some restraint in his expression, enough to keep you from understanding what is on his mind. “I was going to ask for your assistance, Y/n, but if you’re busy—”

“I’m not.”

Seonghwa’s lips remain parted even after you interrupt him, but he does not say anything straight away.

“Um,” Wooyoung starts, peeling his arm away from yours, “this is awkward, so I’m gonna head off to my room, but I’ll see you both in a little while for dinner maybe? Well, I’ll see you, Y/n.” It’s no secret that Seonghwa and Hongjoong never join the crew for meals these days, not that Hongjoong ever did to begin with. But if you were being honest you would admit that you can see the weight (or lack thereof) of that decision in Seonghwa’s face.

“I’ll do my best to join you tonight too, Wooyoung,” Seonghwa reassures quietly. Wooyoung draws his lips into a pout but says nothing, and it is abundantly clear that he reads the words as hollow promises.

“Sure, Hwa, see you.” Wooyoung reaches out one last time to squeeze your forearm before he heads off in the direction of his bedroom. Moments later, it’s just you and Seonghwa standing in the middle of the corridor, though the lieutenant seems wary of even that fact with the way he angles his chin to the side to look back at the infirmary doors.

“Should I be comforted by the fact that you’re acting this way with everyone?” you ask before you can stop the thoughts dead in their tracks. Ironically, that is what seems to get the man across from you to loosen up.

“Walk?”

You offer a nod and shift to let him lead the way even though you know the path down there like the back of your hand by now. Falling into step alongside the taller Siren, you reach out for any stray emotions coming from him. It’s shockingly cold to stand beside him instead.

“I’ve been meaning to find a good time to talk with you but it’s hard to get you alone.”

“You only have to ask. I would make time for you, Seonghwa.”

“Of course.”

Quiet drapes back over the two of you, the silence only filled by the soft click-clacking of his boots against the metal floor and the shuffling of your own sandals.

“You can ask anything you’d like. I’m sure there are many more burning questions on your mind right now.”

“No, actually. I have none.” You have a myriad of curiosities eating away at the edges of your thoughts, but no fully formed questions jump to mind that aren’t just broken and jumbled ways of asking what the hell is going on with him. Seonghwa inhales sharply enough for you to hear the air enter his nose. He bypasses the archway you are more familiar with leading to the primary cargo bay and instead leads you to the elevator just before it. The hum of the ship stills momentarily as you follow Seonghwa onto the lift, and he punches the button pointing down hard. You don’t make a habit of going to this other bay often solely because it’s never asked of you, and the one time you did go down there was too far back for you to remember clearly. You almost believe the man is going to have you both stew in silence the whole ride down when he speaks just before the lift grinds to a halt.

“My mother is alive.”

You jerk your head in his direction, and the elevator thuds to announce your arrival at the lower bay like it’s enunciating Seonghwa’s words. He angles his chin to look at you almost shyly, offering the barest ghost of a smile and motioning for you to step off the lift first.

“That shocking?”

“A bit,” you say under your breath, pulling your gaze away from him to step further into the bay. He follows quietly and only offers a noncommittal hum as he steps over the threshold of the elevator.

“My mother is alive,” he continues just as before, “but won’t be for much longer. She’ll ill. Terminal, and there’s nothing that can be done for her. We… we had known that she was living in the Upper Echelon but didn’t realize she was bedridden or that gravely ill.” Seonghwa lifts a hand and waves it through the air with no real direction or purpose. You follow on his heels closely as he moves about the bay, but you still don’t quite know if he’s fully aware of what he is doing down here either. “She had a caretaker at least and also an adopted child around my age. We met.”

“I’m sorry,” you mutter. Eyes glued to the back of his head, you notice once more that he is in dire need of a haircut of some sort — the black strands growing longer by the day and he needs to tuck them behind his ears just to keep them from getting in the way now.

“He’s a true Elitist actually. I’m sure my mother is happy about that, probably why she picked him but… he was enough to get her into the upper district it seems. Not part of the military — would have likely had to kill him if he had been. I spoke to her for some time, although she could barely speak more than a few words. And I don’t think she was at all pleased to see a man such as Hongjoong by my side. Yet despite that, she clung to my hand the entire time I was there. Like a lifeline.” Seonghwa turns to you near the wall, and suddenly he is leaning back against it and slumping most of his weight on the surface. Slumped like this, he is almost at eye level with you. You don’t find any ounce of the closure you so desperately wished for him to have in his features. He starts again with a whisper and a gaze locked on the floor beneath your toes. “Although she couldn’t say much, I think I understand what she was trying to tell me. Rather than fighting a war with those demons at my back constantly, I need to find some kind of forgiveness for what she did to me, what she put me through, how she treated me.”

It still feels inherently wrong to see tears against his cheeks, even when they spill so beautifully from his big round eyes and paint his cheeks with misshapen streaks. You so desperately wish to reach out to him now, but at this point, you aren’t such what a mere touch could do for him.

“I couldn’t kill her even after all of that. Quite horrific, if you ask me.” Lips folding into a grin, Seonghwa’s mouth doesn’t quite close all the way and leaves him grinning almost like a madman. Tears still flowing and lips close to quivering painfully, but your gaze seems to have found its home on his features. You can’t help yourself any longer and reach out to him, combing a hand across the side of his face to tuck those unkempt strands back behind his ear. His fingers dart up to close hard around your wrist, startling you with both the speed and force he puts behind the motion and drawing a quiet gasp from your lips. He pushes up from the wall enough to enunciate the height difference between you. “I held the knife to her neck, the one sitting on her bedside table that she had used to cut fruit earlier that day, and in turn, she held my hand. Not once did she ask to be spared. The caretaker sat to the side with her hands folded in front of her and watched. Her son stood in the doorway and advised me not to make a mess. Hongjoong remained at my back with a hand set firmly between my shoulder blades and did not speak a word to me. No one asked for mercy.”

Seonghwa’s head shakes back and forth as he speaks, as though it is a foreign concept to him.

“For the first time in my life since joining Hongjoong’s crew, I felt I had control again. Back then, there was always a choice but I obeyed without question so many times that it became a sin to even entertain the idea of not doing what I was told to do. A choice I could control even though the outcome of that decision was not up to me. I realize now that going so long without free will in that sense is what drove me to behave so wildly. When Hongjoong set the decision in my hands, I was so overwhelmed with the thought of having to choose for myself that it made me spiral into insanity.”

“He said he’s always encouraged free will though, always wanted the crew to make decisions for themselves.”

“I didn’t want to be lieutenant, princess. Sure it was a choice but… when your captain asks you to be his closest confidant and right hand, who in their right mind would say no? He’s given me as much free will as a man could ask for, but I can’t say no to him.” Seonghwa squeezes his eyes shut tight, and your hand falls back down to your side as he releases you. “You understand, don’t you?”

You don’t, really, though you also don’t have the heart to step all over Seonghwa’s feelings and vulnerabilities either.

“He—” the man cuts himself short immediately and his expression contorts to one of surprise, as though he can't believe the thoughts that just came to his mind and nearly spilled out of him. What leaves his lips is clearly internally doctored and adjusted. “In all his attempts to make perfect accommodations for everyone’s preferences, of course, things are bound to slip through the cracks. I asked for nothing but to be at his side as long as I am physically able. Being lieutenant puts me in a position of power I hate, puts me over others, and asks me to treat them differently, but what was the other option? San? I would never ask to damage his heart further with this work. Let Hongjoong suffer and stew alone with no one to help him when difficult times strike? Make him do all this endless searching and work with no guidance or support? I’m here because I want to be, but I am lieutenant because I have to be. In the very least, it takes my free will away.”

“Seonghwa…” It is hard to hear him question the man he cherishes so dearly like this, hard to watch the carefully constructed temple devoted to his captain crumble down around him so gloriously. Yet it is especially painful seeing those bright eyes dim more as time goes by when he mentions the man he supposedly loves more than life itself. If love is meant to be part of life then why is it that it is draining Seonghwa of his?

“I will serve my captain in whatever way he needs me to now because I know I will not be around long enough to help him see his duty through to the end.”

“What?”

That terrifies you beyond belief. Seonghwa shakes as he waves off the horror of what he’s just exposed to you. You are far too afraid to ask him to elaborate.

“Enough about me. How are you doing?”

Swallowing hard, you fight to find your thoughts through the messy swirl of emotions between the two of you. “In fairness, that’s all anyone asks me these days. I’ll come to terms with it in my own way eventually.”

Seonghwa stretches his hand up between your bodies, aiming to take yours in his, and you allow the touch to persist without much thought. His long fingers toy with yours and slip between the gaps to hold you without much force behind his grip this time. Part of you recognizes this moment of vulnerability for what it is and feels that innate pull toward him. You have yet to resist the weight of this sensation with him — you were resolute when it was Hongjoong presenting you with this sort of vulnerability, but Seonghwa looks so damaged and pitiful before you now that you want to fall into familiarity. In fact, you think you would if not for that thought of Hongjoong that intrudes on your thoughts the second you’re leaning into Seonghwa’s space.

“I’m sorry, Seonghwa, I-I can’t use you like that again. Even if it’s what we both want, not like this, not when… not right after a conversation like that.”

Seonghwa blinks up at you through wide doe eyes with tears dotting the corners of his eyes. It makes it near impossible to deny him, especially as his fingers linger in the air when you pull back from his touch.

“I apologize as well, Y/n. As much as infatuation was present when with you, there were underlying intentions that I did not want to face sooner.” He brings that very hand up to shove its way through his hair once again. “Though now, in both retrospect and in the aftermath of a newly-wrought disaster in my relationship with Hongjoong, I am able to see that clearer. We both have a habit of pulling innocent people into our petty games of jealousy.”

“None of us are all too innocent,” you state but Seonghwa waves it off.

“Some more than others. Yunho is.” It shocks you to hear him bring up the healer first, considering the less than stellar interactions you’ve witnessed between them in the past. “Yunho is so unbelievably naïve and we’ve both twisted that to benefit ourselves in inappropriate ways.” You are fully aware that he doesn’t intend to call you the other half of his wrongdoings, and there is no room for any sort of mystery surrounding who that other person could be. Not when said man has already been a near-constant topic for you two thus far. “I fear he’s in the process of being ripped limb from limb in a lion’s den, while I sit back and watch it unfold as though I have no control over it.”

“It’s Yunho’s choice, whatever it is. That isn’t your responsibility to bear.” You pause briefly to look over Seonghwa’s distraught expression. “What Hongjoong chooses to do isn’t your fault either.”

“I appreciate your kindness,” he speaks through a whisper, “but the one who led him to that cage of death was none other than myself. In an attempt to make a compromise for a man I wanted so desperately in the heat of a broken and vulnerable moment. It was not Hongjoong who made the decision that would be Yunho’s undoing, but rather me, Y/n. Again, I will need to fight a battle with forgiveness.”

“What happened between you all while I was away, pretty boy?” You throw the nickname out only to offer him some bit of comfort over something that is clearly weighing on him, tearing him apart inside, and creating the despair eating him alive.

The lieutenant’s dark eyes flit up to yours, holding them firm in a stare that makes your skin itch with discomfort.

“A murder of innocence, I presume.”

“If you are going to talk in riddles around the issue then I do—”

“It’s time for dinner, no? I believe Wooyoung is hoping to see us both there.” Seonghwa pushes off the wall, expression closing into something blank and steely, and you find yourself more annoyed than anything else.

“That’s it?”

“What?” Seonghwa tilts his head a bit as he eyes you. That action feels demeaning beyond belief, as though you are in the wrong for asking to understand him better. “What more can I say, Y/n? Perhaps consider that I do not want you to know this mistake of mine out of a selfish desire to keep whatever crumbling image you have of me in that pretty head of yours structurally sound so that it does not fall apart completely.”

“I’m sorry. I understand.”

“Okay.” Eyes squeezing shut, Seonghwa heaves a deep breath before repeating, “okay.”

“We can go now.”

Needless to say, that minute altercation does happen to make things unbearably tense between the two of you on the way back up to the main sector of the ship. While Seonghwa had already been in something of a mood beforehand, you feel it in yourself now, something that must bleed out to him because once you step off the lift, the man places a hand between your shoulder blades and simply allows it to rest there as you walk right back to the mess hall.

“I am not upset with you, princess. You did nothing wrong.”

“I’m sorry for prying where I shouldn’t have,” you respond honestly. “It feels like we’re more distant when you call me that.”

“We are.” The answer should not upset you to the extent that it does. “I am holding you at arm’s length for both our sakes, Y/n. Allow me the same time you are asking for yourself.”

Seonghwa drops his hand from your back as soon as you step into the mess hall, and immediately, your gaze zeroes in on where San sits alongside Wooyoung and Yeosang of all people. There’s a plate full of food right beside him in an empty space, and given how Jongho occupies a spot at a separate table with the other members of your crew (aside from the captain himself of course), you safely assume that he’s reserved that spot for you. Seonghwa peels off to the kitchen, likely to get food for himself, and you cross the floor on quick steps to slip down beside San.

“There you are,” he exhales through a dimpled grin. “I was worried I would be subjected to listening to Yeosang’s dry humor all night.”

“So amusing, truly San, you are quite the comedian,” comes the scathing response from said man, but Wooyoung laughs at least. Under the table, San’s hand finds your knee and settles down atop it with his index finger carving indistinct patterns into your pants.

“Ah, Seonghwa!” Wooyoung cuts his laughter short to greet the lieutenant with a blinding grin, the kind that even Seonghwa cannot resist returning right now, and the man sinks down on the bench between you two. “We were just theorizing about where we’re headed next!”

“Theorizing? Have you any ideas?”

“Well, I suggested that maybe we were going back to Geofflan since you said we’re offloading cargo, but Yeo said we could do that anywhere so now I have no ideas.”

“I suggested Yuki!” San adds through a mouthful of food.

“You’re both a bit off. Vida.”

“Vida?” Wooyoung and San parrot the lieutenant in unison, although it seems their minds go in two separate directions.

“For… Jongho?”

“Nightingale said he had business there, no?”

“No, and partial no. He will be leaving with our two guests in a short while, but we’ll be stopping on Gorgon for our business.”

“Gorgon? God, for what fucking reason? Sorry — not that I’m complaining, it’s just that it’s humid as fuck there! I’m not made for humidity,” Wooyoung whines, throwing his head back against Yeosang’s shoulder.

“Hm, well, you’re welcome to put in an order for anything personal products you need once we offload the cargo. If you’d rather not leave the ship. But since we have business beyond just sales there, the entire crew is going to be given time to do as you please.”

“We’re being given downtime?” you cut in, drawing Seonghwa’s focus over to his other side.

“Yes, possibly a few weeks' worth.”

“What about—never mind.”

Seonghwa purses his lips but does not press you to finish your thought, which you’re grateful for, although San’s hand squeezes a little tighter around your thigh. You had intended to ask of Kebos, and perhaps when or if Hongjoong intends to keep his promise to you. That issue seems far and away right now especially given your company at the table with you, so you file that away as yet another thing to ask the man later on down the line.

Dinner continues in that manner, with Wooyoung being the one to drive the conversation as he sees fit, and you focus more on your food and San’s hand as it drifts and comes to rest on the other side of your hips. He stays like that for most of the time, hand flat on the bench and pushing himself into your space because of you, but there is so much inherent comfort in having him close that you cannot bring yourself to mind. When Wooyoung announces that he’s going to turn in for the night with Yeosang getting up as well, you’ve already lost track of time. Only Jongho and Mingi remain at their table a little ways away with their other four companions out of sight, and for the most part, it seems everyone has polished their plates of food.

“Goodnight guys! See you tomorrow!” Yeosang declines to echo the well wishes himself, but the remaining three of you return them in full for Wooyoung’s sake. San makes no move to get up himself, and with Seonghwa still picking at the food on his plate, you choose not to move either until he’s done.

“Where are we leaving Nightingale?” San asks after a brief respite in conversation. The lieutenant’s gaze flicks across the room to the back of Jongho’s head.

“Auriga,” he says under his breath. “Hongjoong will arrange for transport from Gorgon for him; we won’t waste fuel flying over there ourselves.”

“Ah. I suppose that’s for the best anyway, no?” San’s gaze rests in the same place that Seonghwa’s does, but you duck your chin and stare at the table instead. It’s something you aren’t privy to, something you aren’t obligated to understand either, and what you do know isn’t enough to have the same understanding that they do. “Is Hongjoong… well?”

“Asking me?”

“I haven’t seen him since we left Rathmos, Hwa. Rathmos.”

“He’s been—”

“Busy? Hwa, the fucking loaner Spectre sees my captain more than I do these days.” San pushes his other arm onto the table and presses his forearm down hard against it. Moreso than his tone, the underlying anger behind his concern is shining through his features.

“I was going to say that he hasn’t been well. Going to Gorgon is a risk as it is, but he won’t change his mind about going there. It feels as though we have had more fights in the last few weeks than in the past ten years, I can’t get him to eat a full meal more than once a day, and he only eats those meals when Yunho or myself brings him something to eat. Yunho’s hardly going up there anymore because they had a falling out, and now Hongjoong refuses to see him altogether. Even I do not know what the hell he talks of with Nightingale as I am not invited to those conversations and am told to get the fuck off the bridge if I stay past my welcome. I imagine you would have better luck learning things from Yeosang as he is allowed to speak with Hongjoong more than I am right now. He’s a fucking wreck, San, and we’ve seen him like this before.”

“What’s on Gorgon that’s so important?”

“Help for Mingi,” Seonghwa whispers as his eyes flicker back to that table yet again. “There’s someone there he believes can help Mingi. He wants to take the risk.”

“Then we take the risk. If it’s for Mingi…”

“I know, that’s not the problem. Gorgon is the problem.”

“I thought it was a paradise planet?” You chip into the conversation at last now that it’s drifted off the topic of Hongjoong and into something you know even a sliver more about. “And relatively safe for fugitives and criminals.”

“It — it is, but there are too many rumors of folktales surrounding it for a total sense of safety.” Seonghwa cracks a half-smile, one that is a bit more genuine and worry-free this time. “It’s my job to nitpick these finer details after all. I just need to talk over the particulars with Yeosang a bit more then I’ll be less wired over the plan.”

“Of course.” San grins back and reaches the hand resting on the bench up to pinch at the back of Seonghwa’s arm.

“Here, Y/n, I’ll take your plate.” Seonghwa takes your plate to set it atop his own upon your approval. “Oh, and San? You aren’t banned from going to the bridge. You hardly need an invitation to go see your captain after all these years.”

“I know,” the Spectre exhales in response. “It’s just that I would prefer to have him ask after me instead.” Seonghwa moves away from the table with a nod, although you don’t imagine he’s happy hearing San’s answer. Once he deems that the man is far enough away from you two, San leans into your space and presses his lips close to your ear. “Y/n?”

“Hm?”

“Would you — with me present, that is, be opening to having him tonight?”

“Having… Seonghwa? Tonight?” It’s almost best that you are tucked so close to San because it keeps you from jolting off the bench altogether.

“If it’s too soon, that’s alright. I know it’s not even been a week since we discussed it the first time. Or if you aren’t comfortable with him, we can consider someone else.” San shifts his hand to your waist, propping his face up on a closed fist on the other arm, and the new angle lets the two of you see each other’s faces better. Slowly and deliberately, you shake your head back and forth.

“If anything I would feel more comfortable since I’ve already been with him. I’m just trying—” San lifts his eyebrows when words fail you out of the blue. “I want to separate craving to have sex with him because I desire him and trying to fix him through it.”

For a moment, San’s stare simply lingers. Then he’s snapping into action and smacking his lips against each other, darting forward to press them to the ball of your cheek.

“I’ll be there to take care of you — both of you. Keep the minds turned off from everything else for a bit. It’s meant to be something that is enjoyed by everyone involved, and I desire to give Seonghwa some respite from all he’s been dealing with these days. There are, of course, other activities we could partake in. It’s just a matter of seeing where the night takes us. But I wanted to ask upfront in advance.”

“I trust you with that, yeah.” San pulls his arm back around to your front and lays it atop your thigh.

“It’s just an offer, my star,” he reiterates firmly, “not one you have to accept if you do not feel ready.” A smile splits your cheeks at the concern lacing his tone. Before you can stop yourself, you’re reaching up to poke your index finger against the tip of his nose.

“I wouldn’t dream of doing something I’m not ready for with you. You know that to be true.” The man knocks his head against yours as gently as he can manage.

“Wait for me briefly while I go talk to him.” Even when he moves, his touch persists — dragging over the lines of your body with nothing but a grazing press of his fingers over your clothes. He takes his plate with him too, leaving you with an empty table and empty benches around you. You aren’t uncomfortable with the sudden fact that you are alone, but you don’t stay there for long and instead get up to make your way over to where Jongho and Mingi still linger in the mess hall on the off chance that San and Seonghwa stay for more than a few minutes in the kitchen.

“Good evening,” you greet quietly, sliding down to sit next to Jongho.

“Oh, you snuck up on me, Y/n. Where'd you come from?”

“From like, two tables over, dipshit. Don’t play dumb.” The thwack you give to the back of Jongho’s head is nothing but lighthearted, even if he whines like you’ve just wounded him fatally. “Mingi, have you been recovering well?” It’s been weeks at this rate since his recovery mission, but with all that has gone on day in and day out, you have not found time (or made time) to ask how he’s been. And perhaps, just a tad inkling of curiosity resides in you to see if there’s some blatant issue Hongjoong would be concerned about. Not that you care if he is concerned specifically — Mingi is your crewmate as well, after all.

“I have, yes. The child has been helpful too in helping me balance the onslaught of emotions constantly happening throughout the ship. When he’s… happy, it makes things easier.”

“I’m glad to hear that. That’s—” you smile “—that’s really good news.”

“What about you, Y/n? You cleared to get back to our sparring session yet?” Jongho nudges you in the side with his elbow, digging into your ribs sharply, and now it’s your turn to feign injury.

“Not if you attack me unprovoked! Beating me up beforehand won’t make you win, you little punk!”

“I won last time fair and square!”

“He always loses to me too, Y/n. Maybe we oughta fight each other instead.”

“Oh, now you’re turning on me too? I’m the strongest on the crew, everyone knows it!”

“So why are you losing to both of us so much?”

“Bite me, you big bully.”

You lean back as you laugh, eyes flitting over to the kitchen as you see movement in your peripherals, just in time for San to slip out with Seonghwa in tow and that little Cheshire grin toying at his lips.

“If you want me to knock you on your ass so badly, ask me in a few days. Yunho says I’ve only got ‘til the end of the week then I’m free.” For good measure, you flick the side of Jongho’s head as you get up before sending Mingi a little wave of goodbye on your way to reconvene with San.

“Come, my star,” he says once you’re close enough, extending a hand in your direction. It’s one that you take without question albeit with a wandering gaze over to where Seonghwa stands on the other side. “Let’s go to my room?”

“Yeah,” comes your breathy answer.

It’s the second walk you take with Seonghwa that is full of rigidity, although this time around, it is coupled with a wave of anticipation so strong that you feel like you might fall over. You fumble with the touchpad outside the door so much that San lays his hand against yours to steady your shaky fingers and press them flat to the surface. Still, you’re the one to pull him into the room, and the sound of his ringing laughter eases the swell of nerves in your stomach bit by bit. Seonghwa lingers just outside the door, still hesitant and restrained for understandable reasons, and he remains there until San pulls back to urge him into the room as well.

“It’s okay to want this,” San mutters as he takes Seonghwa’s face between his palms. The Siren nods in slow approval to the sound of the door sliding shut behind him. “This is together, it’s with each other, there’s effort on all of our parts.” He turns to where you stand and beckons you forward with a simple jerk of his head. “Neither of you is using the other with this. It isn’t about using someone for your own pleasure or dispelling the feelings you may harbor towards another. It’s okay to want to take this now, for what it is and what it offers.”

San steps away slow and deliberate, letting you fill the gap he has just created in front of Seonghwa. Despite having been with him so many times already, either on account of the lull in your nights together or simply because of the distance you have found wedged between you, it is impossibly difficult for this to be as easy as you imagined it would be. San is patient with you both nonetheless and leaves the edge of your vision seconds later. The silence drags so much that you feel yourself rapidly coming to the conclusion that there is some invisible barrier that will make this impossible for either one of you.

“I asked him if he wants to fuck you.” The sight of your lover peeking out from behind Seonghwa’s back as he speaks the words through a curled grin is dizzying to say the least. “He said yes, with a passion.”

“I-I—”

“I kissed him in the kitchen after he said that, couldn’t help myself when his eyes were so wet with want.” Much like a devil perched atop one’s shoulder, San props his chin up on Seonghwa’s, and his gaze gleams as he stares over at you. Seonghwa wets his lips frantically, cheeks flushed so pink that you can see it burning his skin even under the low lights. “I gave him permission but of course… I reminded him that—” Seonghwa cuts through San’s speech with a choked gasp. You can’t tear your gaze from either man’s face to discover why that’s the case. “I reminded him that he needs your permission above all else. Does he have it, my darling?”

“He does,” you exhale just as quietly. San hums out his approval then splays his hand across Seonghwa’s back to shove the man forward and further into your space. In an attempt to keep himself from barreling right into you, Seonghwa jerks his arms out to steady himself by gripping your arms hard. The eye contact you share can’t last more than a second but it’s more than enough to break whatever seal was holding you back, and you push up to your toes to lay your lips on his. Whatever hesitance is left in him dissipates the moment he joins you. Wandering touches feel all too familiar, when his tongue teases the seam of your mouth and his hands drift to find a more comfortable place along the lines of your waist. Reluctance be damned, you think before yanking him harder against you and urging him to move elsewhere in the room. Seonghwa lets you push him to the bed. When the backs of his knees hit the edge, he almost eagerly tumbles down to the mattress. Your bodies separate for the briefest of moments then, only for you to reposition yourself and straddle his hips like this now.

Seonghwa is all too eager to touch you like this as well. He quickly rucks up the end of your shirt so that it sits at your waist and exposes a strip of bare skin underneath.

“Be careful,” San warns from somewhere behind where you’re sprawled over Seonghwa’s lithe form.

“Are you gonna stop me?” The lieutenant quips back, though his tone doesn’t hold any genuine sharpness.

“No,” comes the truthful response anyway, “but I am going to remind you that you have my treasure in your care tonight.”

The mattress dips as San presses a knee atop the bed, and you blindly reach out behind your curled body in search of some sort of physical contact with the man. He skates over your hand just enough for you to grab hold, snagging his index finger and curling your hold around that digit until you have him wrapped tight in your grasp.

“Treat her as such, if you would.”

A hand on your cheek is all it takes to pull your attention forward. Hair pulled forward to blanket his forehead completely, Seonghwa looks entirely delicate and vulnerable in this light. That much would make perfect sense given your positions and the situation you find yourself in, but there is something else to the way he looks at you. Sad, forlorn in a way, and almost bittersweet. Something gone wrong in the past perhaps, and given the chance to do it right, here, now.

“We all have our treasures,” he murmurs as he cups your cheek and drags his thumb over the skin there. The fondness in his eyes isn’t lost on you. “I promise you that yours will be cherished gently by me tonight.”

You pause then in a struggle to place the emotion rushing through Seonghwa’s eyes. When you do find a name for it, you pull your free hand forward to clasp around the one Seonghwa has against your cheek. Fear, you think, is a powerful emotion, one that holds even more weight when those fears are placed in another’s hands with nothing but trust. He doesn’t put that trust solely on you; San shares in the burden, and perhaps he carries more than you do. The man under you refuses to voice those fears, but you take them into your palms and cradle them with great consideration because despite the rampant lust and physical attraction hanging between the two of you still, you do care deeply about him in some odd, unique way. The last thing you wish to do is shatter that trust he’s offered up so graciously, even if some would say that San is the one sacrificing in this situation.

“We’ll both do the same in return for you, Seonghwa,” you whisper. Wrapping your fingers tighter around his, you cling to him as you speak and hope that he feels what you’re trying to convey to him. There’s a second hand lingering at your hip in the same spot that Seonghwa currently has his. The feeling of San’s rough palm overlapping Seonghwa’s slender fingers is enough to tell you that San agrees, that he is still okay with all this, and that he too will take care of Seonghwa alongside you.

“Switch places for me,” San orders in a low tone, one that makes your gut twist. As it turns out, both you and Seonghwa are all too eager to listen to his words. You are only slowed by San’s hands as he tugs fabric from your body in a rush to strip you down to nothing. Once he frees you of them, you throw yourself back on the bed with a light thud, and Seonghwa presses himself along the length of your body and between your legs.

“Hi,” he utters against your lips from where he lays on top of you.

“Hey.”

“You…”

“I?”

Seonghwa doesn’t finish his thought, taking your lips with his once again only briefly before he’s dipping down to caress your cheeks and jaw with the same adoration. When he moves lower, you inhale sharply, and your legs draw up around his hips in efforts to cage him in and keep him right there with you. There’s a hand drawing teasing lines along your abdomen between your bodies, two fingers tracing the skin in a poor mimicry of what you oh so desperately wish he would do lower. His kisses reach your clavicle and pinch the thin, fragile skin there until it stings.

When Seonghwa sits back on his heels, you get quite the sight because it’s on account of San dragging a hand up the column of his throat and forcing the older away from your body. Seonghwa’s blinking turns almost drowsy as the touches persist and move to his hips. The odd excitement in your chest accelerates with newfound passion, only to deteriorate into a sharp panic when San goes to strip the other of his clothes.

“Wait—” you inhale sharply as San’s fingers reach the bottom of Seonghwa’s shirt, and without thought, you jerk to stop him from moving the fabric upwards. Nervous eyes flit up to Seonghwa’s, meeting briefly to find nothing but reassurance there.

“I know, my darling,” San murmurs against the crest of Seonghwa’s shoulder, where bare skin meets his neckline. “I’ve known.”

The words seem purposefully vague, as though giving you a chance to take them as something else, but you cannot fathom doing so upon locking eyes with San himself. A deep understanding lingers there, coupled with hands that collect yours in his grasp and urge you to dip under fabric to meet warm skin.

“You can sense each other’s feelings, no?” San hums. His fingers slip between yours at Seonghwa’s hips to dig his nails into flesh. “Then I shall see to it that you both feel the full extent of pleasure by my hands tonight.”

While you’ve been more than eager to take San as is, you know you can’t give Seonghwa that same luxury without pain, and the man seems to understand that just as much as you do when he drags along the line of your slit to nudge fingers into you. They push deep almost instantly, stretching you gently along his digits as his lips return to their ministrations across your chest.

“Y/n, my love, can you take us both tonight?”

“Hm?” Your gaze comes back into focus on San where he sits at the edge of the bed.

“Shall I have you in the same way I did the other night?”

The implication makes your cheeks burn, the soft exposure of what exactly you and San have been getting up to, and you cannot conceal how much you tighten at the thought with Seonghwa’s fingers buried in you.

“Please,” you moan as the man atop you teases a particularly sensitive spot. San chuckles, and the sound comes out almost gravelly.

“I’ll let him have you first, then you’ll be mine, darling.” Despite saying as much, San shifts his position once more to where he can see where you and Seonghwa are joined. You imagine this is the fantasy he had mentioned to you before, and he seems almost more into the act unfolding before his eyes than you are, if not for the constant pressure Seonghwa puts against your insides. The noises he elicits are not muffled either, for better or for worse. “Paint her pretty with your marks, Hwa. I’ll cover them with mine before the night is over.”

Seonghwa pulls off your chest with red lips swollen from the efforts of his love bites. Wordlessly, he pulls his fingers free of your cunt and urges them between San’s own lips without a breath of hesitation. The sheer depravity of the act makes your jaw drop open, but the shock persists as San welcomes them onto his tongue and moans around Seonghwa, taking the taste of you off him entirely. His fingers are connected by strings of saliva when Seonghwa retracts them and lays them down across the column of your throat.

“Are you ready for me, princess?” You feel him at your entrance, threatening to nudge deeper any second now.

“Take me.” You secure your fingers around Seonghwa’s wrist in an attempt to urge him to keep his hand at the base of your neck, but the slight lack of oxygen does nothing to mute the noise that escapes you when he sinks his full length into you in one fell swoop.

“Fuck, you fill her so well.” San sounds on the edge of deranged. He scrambles to get back behind Seonghwa on the bed, only barely able to position himself high enough along the other man’s back to see over his shoulder and down to where Seonghwa sits inside you. “I knew you would, knew you would take her so nicely.” San hisses against Seonghwa’s ear as he speaks. He dips his hands down to cup the backs of your knees for the lieutenant, letting Seonghwa simply rest his hands on the mattress so he can fuck you with ease.

“Let me fuck her, San, please.” You wonder if it was unbearable at all for Seonghwa to take control himself when he seems to enjoy being told what to do and how to do it so much more.

“She told you to take her already, Hwa. Won’t you do as told?” Seonghwa’s chest heaves. The sweat at his brow threatens to drip lower, especially with the franticness of his blinking in this very moment, but he pulls himself free of whatever thoughts are plaguing him long enough to drive into you with a shallow thrust. “Has it been that long since you had me bossing you around, hm?”

“Last time—ah, last time I was with you, there was another body present then too.” Seonghwa struggles to find a steady pace with San’s body locking him in from behind, but each nudge against San’s grip on your knees forces his cock to roll across your wall so you can’t find it in you to complain about the sensation one bit. “Last time we had each other, Hongjoong was there. It was Hongjoong.”

“Shh.” So San has had his time with the captain too?

Seonghwa is far too gone to listen to reason right now, you imagine, and you also strongly believe that it is nigh impossible for the man to turn his brain off completely. Regardless of the throes of passion. San can only redirect his thoughts so much. Even him, your brain supplements. It makes you wonder how deep those roots go and how far Hongjoong’s reach extends to have such an effect over this many of his subordinates.

“Let’s switch again, so I can better prep her to take me as well.”

San has to guide you both into the new position but he does so with a gentle patience until you are firmly settled atop Seonghwa’s body and lined up to take his dick at this new angle. There are hands at your hips and at your waist as you lower yourself along his length, an overstimulation of your senses that does not let you fully process the two bodies in front and behind you at present. You’re able to direct the pace this time around at the very least, but it does not stop Seonghwa from thrusting up to meet you halfway with each drop of your hips. The pleasure riddling your form pushes the limits of what you think you can handle already; the mere thought that San intends to have more soon makes you want to come undone.

In fact, you nearly do when he surprises you from behind with a cool hand running along the curve of your backside. It would be inaccurate to call this the first time you have partaken in this particular sort of pleasure, and it isn’t even the first you’ve done so with San himself considering how you did so a mere three days ago during a morning shower. Feeling his fingers press over the tight ring of your rim this time, however, makes your stomach fold over on itself.

“Tell me if it’s too much even for a second,” San murmurs to the back of your neck. Reaching around yourself, you steady yourself on his forearms and slow your pace to short pulses to better accommodate San’s fingers. The first noise to leave your lips earns you a plethora of encouragement, and Seonghwa lays his hands atop your thighs to massage the tensing muscles underneath. Beyond how horrifyingly exposed you feel, the sensitivity flowing through your whole body makes you embarrassingly loud. Every little touch and shift of San’s fingers as they stretch you open for something much girthier has you biting your lip to keep the sounds at bay. Those attempts turn out to be in vain. Seonghwa’s length still twitches against your walls, adding to the mounting stimulation that San is encouraging little by little. Your breath can’t come into your body quick enough for you to recover.

“Breathe, princess.”

Your lashes almost blind you as you blink down at Seonghwa. His hands work over your thighs more methodically now, effectively keeping you from jostling on his cock which seems to be moreso for your sake than for his.

“It’s—”

San inches a third finger into you, and you just about pull off Seonghwa entirely.

“It’s so much,” you choke out at last. The noise devolves into a sob just as quick.

“Tell me to stop and I will, darling.” San combs a hand down your back.

“Don’t want you to.” Your words slur on the way out, and you can only hope that they sound far enough apart from anything remotely close to ‘stop’ that San will get the message.

“Say it clearly for me,” he answers instead, crushing those hopes.

“Don’t. Don’t want to stop.”

“Need more time?”

You very likely do but the idea of staving off the pleasure of having them both at once burns you to the core.

“N-No, just take it slow.” San echoes his agreement and pulls his fingers free of you before returning to run along your ass with something much more prominent. Seonghwa urges you to bring your arms forward, fingers looping through the gaps between yours and securing you tight in his grip at the exact moment pain contorts your features. It hurts drastically even with the prep and care San gave you, and it’s far worse than it was even a few days ago probably thanks to Seonghwa. Maybe you should have asked San to go faster just to spare you the agony of feeling each inch push into you with another cock already filling you so deeply.

“You’re almost there, darling, it’s almost over, I promise.” San kisses the side of your head as he bottoms out, remaining so perfectly still that even a deep breath might disturb him. For what it’s worth you do truly try to think — about anything under whatever sun you’re closest to — it’s just that the sheer fullness radiating through your body makes your brain feel equally as full, and as time goes on, Seonghwa loses more and more of his grip over his emotions. They’re almost spilling over in full now, although you’re certain you are doing the same thing yourself. It’s to the point where you cannot distinguish where your pleasure ends and his begins or vice versa solely on account of how closely entwined they are. It might very well be that swirl of emotions making your body relax under its pressure.

“Move, please.”

“So good for me.” San rocks against you without warning, and even though you gave him permission to do so, it still catches you off-guard. Your moan breaks halfway out of your mouth to become nothing but crude silence. He takes you so beautifully, with a passion and a force that drags you along Seonghwa’s cock just as much as his own. The fog in your brain is turning you damn near delirious for every time your eyes flutter shut to drink in the feeling, the sharp edges of metal rings that aren’t there seem to dig against every single one of your fingers.

There is hardly anything you can do to stave off your orgasm when it rushes towards you, but San does not ask you to hold it back even when you warn him. Instead, he rolls his hips against you harder than before pushing you along Seonghwa’s cock until your walls flutter and squeeze hard around your fellow Siren. He pushes himself up into you as much as he can with you squeezing around him in such a way before he too finds his high in you. Only San stays behind, stilling his thrusts just to push you down over Seonghwa’s body with enough force to knock the air out of said man’s lungs. He yanks your hips up, and Seonghwa’s softening length slips out of you, trailing a mess with it. Just before you think to complain about the hollow emptiness that comes with that action, San is thrusting hard into your cunt, hands firm enough at your hips to bruise the skin and bone underneath. His orgasm comes with much more bells and whistles — mumbled expletives that turn into moans as he pushes his seed into you alongside Seonghwa’s.

“Fuck’s sake, I’ll believe in any god out there if this is what praying gets me.” San’s words fall on deaf ears as you reach down to cup Seonghwa’s cheeks. You see the tears there, alongside the sweat striping his skin, but you don’t know where to begin.

“Surely I will be going to hell for this,” Seonghwa laughs. His eyes are unfocused and hover on the ceiling despite your hold on him.

"If you are to go to hell, then I imagine we can go together," you say between breaths, hands still bundled around Seonghwa's face. The comment brings a second laugh out of him, low and unabashed as it rumbles up from his chest and leaves his lips. The feeling is fleeting for sure, but you can't miss the skip in your heartbeat or the tightness in your chest that follows, the swarm of butterflies pushing its way into your gut immediately as you're greeted in this intimate setting with the man who had you first amongst these pirates and criminals.

You find him again after a bit of bedtime recovery as required by San. He’s just gotten out of the shower, seemingly, given his current state of affairs that you can see from your position in the doorway.

“Why is San a special case to Hongjoong?”

“He’s never told you?” The question lingers in the back of your mind asking which he the man is referring to, but you don’t get the chance to say anything before he’s talking again. “San is the first person Hongjoong tried to fix, and the first person who failed to fix him in return.”

Seonghwa pauses as he’s shaking the water from his hands, blinking over at where you stand by the doorframe through the reflection of the mirror.

“I suppose fix is a bad word to describe it. When San first came into the crew, he was obviously still in a lot of agony over what had happened with his previous crew. Yet the first sign of kindness Hongjoong showed him practically flipped a switch in him. Turned him docile, made him hang on Hongjoong’s every word and breath. He did anything and everything Hongjoong asked of him, like a loyal dog, and that’s what earned him that nickname. They had something of a mutual agreement, I suppose you could call it, where they both knew that they were both dealing with traumas that couldn’t be fixed by each other. Hongjoong, put in a position of such strong leadership at such a young age and forced to grow up before he should have. San, reeling from a betrayal and the death of his father figure at the hands of people he ate and slept beside. Hongjoong wanted to fix those fears but… after the mutiny, that shattered. Hongjoong didn’t know what to do with himself in a lot of ways back then but what it awoke in San were fears that Hongjoong promised would never become reality, all made worse by the fact that Hongjoong almost died back then. I think wanting to protect San and the fragile glass shell he put around San in an effort to keep him safe was the only thing that kept Hongjoong from giving up entirely back then if I’m being honest. I don’t like admitting that but it’s all just skepticism anyway.”

“And him knowing?”

“Hm?”

“Of you being a Siren, I mean.”

“Ah, that. Well,” Seonghwa hesitates to let the air out of his lungs, gaze pausing on his reflection in the mirror as he towels his hands dry. “What’s there to say? He’s known as long as Hongjoong has. I’ll admit that I omitted that when telling you originally but I also didn’t wish to complicate things for you if you didn’t want him to know about your identity yet. Had I told you, would you have been able to brush it off entirely or worry around him constantly?”

“I didn’t say anyth—”

“You didn’t need to, Y/n. But I’ll state again that it was never intended as a slight against you or to mislead you. It would have been uncomfortable had I brought it up to you then, and if San decided he wished for you to know then he would have said something.” Perhaps you should have thought about the other side of things as well: to wonder if it was something important enough to share, and if that answer is yes, then why would San not tell you sooner?

When you look up from the floor, Seonghwa has turned away from the mirror to face you, lower back pressed against the edge of the counter as he crosses one ankle in front of the other. It feels a bit like a lecture with the way he also goes out of his way to fold his arms over his chest and stares down at you.

“Y/n, I adore you—”

“This feels like a belated confession at best.”

“—but you are not entitled to know everything.”

You shut your mouth so harshly that your teeth clack together.

“Please, Y/n. Some parts of our pasts are things not meant to be shared with others. If San wishes to tell you, then that is his prerogative but — back when our crew was made of nothing more than Hongjoong, myself, and San, we dealt with quite a bit. I would not wish anyone to know those things or what we went through then. It’s because of those pains that we are able to be here today, renowned and strong in ways we could never have dreamt of then, and while those experiences painted how the future would be, they are not memories I wish to share with others. The things we did would paint a horrid image to the rest of the crew. San is a special case to Hongjoong. He’s a special case to me, otherwise, I would not trust him the way I did with you both tonight.”

Seonghwa pushes past you without saying anything else yet the moment he steps a few feet away he seems to second-guess himself. Doing a quick turn, the man returns to your side and draws you into a fleeting hug. He dips down right after to lay his lips against your cheek.

“Thank you, princess. For both trusting me and worrying over me. I appreciate it.”

You smile.

“Right back at you, pretty boy.”

San and Seonghwa exchange little in the way of words. You don’t push your way into their conversation but whatever San does say earns him a laugh and a soft peck to the top of his head. Watching Seonghwa leave as well doesn’t feel nearly as eventful as expected. You return to bed with San, climbing in and under the sheets alongside him through softly exchanged pecks and giggles. The moment feels too pure, too precious, and all-around too… perfect. You wish that the part of you waiting to destroy these niceties did not exist at all.

“Seonghwa told me why you’re a special case to Hongjoong.”

“Did he?” San sighs loudly, laying flat on his back and angling his gaze to the ceiling. You stay curled towards him with your own stare tracing the lines of his side profile in the low light.

“He said that you had to do horrible things to make ends meet back then when it was just the three of you.”

“Of course we did, darling. But I… it was — it was nothing in comparison to my first crew.” Except when San tells the truth, he does not fumble with his words or stutter. “I know what you are thinking, and I am telling you that it’s not true.”

“I just worry that they are not entirely that different from your first captain.”

“Hongjoong and Seonghwa are not bad people, Y/n.”

“I fear that you can’t see it, San.”

The man turns in bed, a hasty motion that makes your breath catch in your chest as he stares you down with an uncomfortable intensity.

“I know them in ways no one else does, and I know that at their core, they are not bad people. No matter what has been done in the past and no matter what is done in the future, this crew is full of people I love and trust unconditionally. That includes you. And it breaks my heart that you would distrust them so heavily to claim that they are twisting me and manipulating me for their gain. There is no gain to them doing such a thing, nor have they ever given me reason to believe that to be the case.”

San reaches a hand across the gap between your bodies and cradles your cheek in his palm.

“Everything that happened in the past is exactly that: the past. My loyalty is my pride, darling. Being able to do what is asked of me falls under that umbrella as well. My captain, my lieutenant, Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Scourge, Bringer of Death — whatever I call them, the mindset remains the same.”

Hongjoong once called this man a well-fed dog, but it only leads you to wonder how deep that loyalty goes.

“If one of them asked you to kill a member of the crew, what would you do?”

“Y/n…”

“You would do it?”

San’s nails drag over your skin as he curls them into his palm and pulls away.

“I think you should go back to your room, Y/n.”

“San.”

“I do not wish to have this conversation, my dar—Y/n.” He moves from the bed too quickly for your liking, and you have no choice but to sit up to follow him as he stands up and pulls a shirt over his head.

“San, wait, please I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable—”

“I will see you to your room.”

You stumble as you get out of bed, hands trembling at your sides as you rush to follow him before he can get too far away. There’s so much regret in your bones at this moment, a fear that you’ve ruined this beautiful thing set before you in the blink of an eye, and even if this is just a blip in the grander scheme of things, you see it crumbling before you. San exits the room without looking back at you. You aren’t fool enough to stand your ground where you are and risk making matters worse. Following him into the hall, you chase after him as best you can without legitimately running him down.

“San, let’s not leave things like this, please.” You’re able to grab hold of his wrist as he’s swinging an arm back in time with his steps. If asked to recount how exactly things devolve from there, you aren’t positive you could properly explain it. What you do know is that you somehow end up pressed into the wall with San’s hands caging you in on either side of your head. The hand you reached for him with is similarly pinned against the metal, fingers curled around your wrist to keep you in place.

“Do not ask this of me.” He’s seething before you with an anger you’ve not seen before from him, and it is especially not an emotion San has ever directed towards you either. “Hongjoong would never ask anything like that of me. Seonghwa couldn’t even if he wished to.” Through the frustration in his tone, you find doubt. You refuse to ask but it’s clear he doesn’t believe the words leaving his mouth currently, either because of past experience or simply on account of knowing how volatile the men he is at the mercy of can be. “Do not ask these things of me, I’m begging you.”

San’s grip on you relents but then he’s sinking out of your vision and leaving you to stare at the opposite wall of the corridor. His hands don’t touch you again despite remaining on the wall, stopping by your hips as he hits the floor with a muted thud. You bring a hand up to cover your mouth as though afraid a noise might slip out. San’s fingers skate to your hips and delicately press over the thin fabric covering your skin. His breath is hot against the patch of skin between your shirt and the band of your pants.

“I am a hunter and I am a weapon of my master’s making. A Spectre, the Shadow Walker. Not because I have to be but because I wish to be, that is the fact of the matter, Y/n. I still wish for things to be that way after all this time. I do not hate myself, I do not still see myself as a slave needing to follow my master’s orders — I see myself exercising my freedom by making a choice. You cannot pretend to know what I want, nor can you tell me that what I desire is wrong. I desire you so deeply, I crave to have every inch of you, but that is not wrong in your eyes, is it?” San pushes closer still, until the tip of his nose presses into the flesh of your stomach, and you inhale sharply around your fingers. “I do what they ask of me only because they have my trust, respect, and loyalty.”

The question on your mind, one you cannot bring yourself to voice, is whether or not Hongjoong deserves any one of those things from him. Thumbs caress the fine lines of your hip bones as San dips his forehead forward.

“I am the Scourge’s Black Dog, Y/n, my captain’s left hand. If asked to bite, I will.” His voice has turned soft, almost holding an undertone of lust in the way he speaks to you. Yet before you can brace yourself for whatever is to come next, his fist hits the wall, and he drags himself to his feet.

“I-I love you,” you force out, hand moving off your mouth just enough to speak those words to the man who is already trying to run away. San’s expression is one of pure conflict, entirely distraught and torn, yet he still chooses to turn back towards his room and leave you there against the wall in the middle of the corridor. What’s even funnier is that you cannot blame him in the slightest.

There’s a fleeting thought as you hear his door open and close down the hall that perhaps this is a tipping point, the last bit of an iceberg that is melting under your feet. You entertain the idea of heading up to the bridge right here and now.

A hand comes down on your shoulder before you know what’s happening around you, firm and unrelenting.

“Come, Ghost. It’s late.”

You don’t get a look at the man who has come to interrupt you right away, as he pulls you off the wall first and lays that warm hand between your shoulder blades.

“I doubt I need to be the one to tell you this, Ghost, but the most dangerous amongst this crew is not myself or Jongho.”

Your head sinks under frigid waters in the scene that is playing itself out like an old theatre play in your mind.

“Nor is it our captain or our lieutenant.”

You reach your own bedroom with Mingi’s assistance and a sinking sense of dread in your gut.

“For a while, I predicted that you would be the one to take up that mantle, given what had been said about you. But I was wrong.”

When the door slides open, obnoxious in the amount of noise it makes, you pause in the doorframe just to look back at the Berserker with you. With all that is on your mind, you ironically find it impossible to find the words you want to say. There is a belated realization, however, that San stopped you outside Mingi’s room, and that whatever Mingi sensed from inside that bedroom was intense enough for him to come to your aid.

“Goodnight, Ghost. I hope rest finds you.”

•─────⋅☾⭒☽⋅─────•

“I love you too.” San extends a hand across the bed, inching towards where your feet are tucked underneath the covers. You hate that he’s the one to find you first; it would have been better if it had been you to seek him out, to apologize first then speak about things later. Yet here you are, propped up against your pillows with a book taken from Seonghwa’s library on Sirens in your lap as San comes to sit at the foot of your bed carefully. “I love you so very much, my darling, I’m sorry I did not say it back the other night.”

Three days, in reality, is not that long, but the radio silence that ensued between you and San was agonizing in its own heinous way. You missed him dearly, even if incapable of voicing it sooner.

“I’m so sorry for asking that of you, San. It was unfair of me.”

“You asked a fair question. A tough one, yes, but it was a fair one to ask.”

“Did it feel fair in the moment?”

“Of course not, dear,” he whispers back, eyes barely pulling up from the mattress to meet yours. “But that’s okay. You apologized, and I won’t deny you any forgiveness because it is not in my nature to do so.”

“I fear it’s in my nature to take advantage of such kindness. Intentional or not.”

“I won’t let you.” Pressing your lips into a thin line, you watch the man’s lips twist into a little grin as he says the words with full confidence in himself. “But sometimes we do what we have to, and if that day ever comes for you, then I do not want you to weigh it on the scales of morality.” San leans across the bed to reach for your face. His smile blossoms fully then, although you can’t find reason for such a sweet expression with what words continue to spill out of him. “Should the day come, I cannot promise to spare you pain. Parts of my past are blackened with cruel intentions and painted with blood. I do not know whether my future is free of that yet. If asked…”

“…you would do what is asked of you,” you finish in his stead. The admission sounds as though both of you are resigning yourselves to fates out of your control.

“They would never ask me to kill anyone here, Y/n. That much is certain.” The bed dips under his weight as he inches closer to you. The sheets keep his body from touching yours more intimately and yet you still feel the full effects of his heady desires just the same. “Behave and I won’t be ordered to bite, my dear. I can only defend you from our captain’s ire so much.”

“Have you before?” you inquire, a bit breathless and choked as San’s grinning lips trail over your collarbone.

“I have defended you like a heretic dissenting with his last breaths.” Hot breaths fan over your exposed skin. Despite his claims of heresy, his tone holds a sort of delicate reverence. “But I fear our captain is so dearly adept at making devotees out of the people around him.”

Your fingers find their way into the hair covering San’s neck, combing through it and scraping blunt nails over skin until you feel him shudder under the touch.

“Demons tend to excel in those areas,” comes your quiet murmur cutting through the stillness of the room.

“At the feet of an angel, however, I would gladly make my home.” San’s dimple flashes for but a moment before his chin is dipping lower, and he tugs the vee of your shirt lower to have better access to the skin underneath. A smile flickers across your own features before you push the book in your lap aside to better fill your time with the man atop you. “I am but a man, Y/n, and I have done many bad things in my time.” He leans up to brace his arms on either side of your body, hands resting close to the taper of your waist. “May I tell you a story, darling?”

Like you could ever say no to him and those kind eyes smiling down at you.

“A story of a black dog and a nightingale, if I could?”

You nod as though caught in a trance, enraptured by the man over you who lets his fingers sink into your skin and inch your shirt up bit by bit.

“It isn’t a pretty tale, a bit debauched I must admit, but really it was the little bird’s fault at the start. He flew a bit too close to the sun, you see, in an attempt to trick the Devil himself. But the Devil has his defenders, and his most loyal comes in the form of a fierce black dog.” You try to focus on his words, the story he’s telling you that is clearly containing more than simply pleasantries and genuine storytelling, but each word comes with a searing touch along your bare skin. It’s intoxicating, a heady fog that fills your mind and you can’t escape it long enough to think objectively about what San is telling you. You have had him before — now in many ways — but something about these skating, barely-there touches distract you from the bigger issue at hand.

Hadn’t the two of you been arguing not long ago?

“The little nightingale made the grave mistake of finding his home in the dog’s house, thinking he could win whatever game he was trying to play. He had his goals, of course, his own family back home that he wanted to bring treasures to, but the dog had a keen nose. One that could hunt down that bird wherever he was.”

Hadn’t you been upset with San? Even though you resigned yourself to accepting his loyalty, you truly were not happy about it. Now, that feels distant.

San leans back, and your hands move greedily to tug at his shirt the moment you have access to it.

“The nightingale made a home beside the black dog, trying to be coy about his plans to take bits and baubles from under the canine’s nose. And all the while, the dog toyed with his feathers and clipped them one by one with his claws until the little bird could not fly anymore.” A hand on the outside of your hip urges you to make room for San to nudge his way between your legs. It’s a natural shift for the both of you, to peel away the sheets and spread your legs for the man that now kneels between them with hands gripping the outside of your thighs all the while. “Every day, the dog would take the bird out to walk amongst giants, to gaze upon the object of his desires freely under the guise that the bird was winning. But at night, the dog would bring him back to his house and clip another feather. By the time the bird realized he could not fly—”

You drop your head back against the headboard as San drags his middle finger along the line of your underwear.

“—he already trusted the dog with his life.”

Reality snaps back to you like a band of rubber against skin, and ironically it’s San’s fingers tugging at the elastic band of your underwear that brings you out of the fog.

What is the point of this story?

What exactly does San want you to feel in regards to that?

You knew the history between Nightingale and this crew was deeply entrenched in arguably awful things but had it truly been to this extent? When he lost his eye, was it by Hongjoong’s own hands? Is the man nothing more than a slave to the Scourge’s whims and will?

A shaky hand manages to claw its way to San’s shoulder, gripping tight and hard without relent.

“San.”

He leans into your touch when your free hand cups the side of his face. The contact is the only thing to stop your incessant trembling.

“San.” Panic slips into your tone without pause, and San is there to pick up on your sudden distress with lips touching the side of your palm.

“My love, shh, don’t fret.” His voice is drenched in honey, a sticky sweetness that fills your senses and makes you dizzy.

“Am I a bird, San? Tell me it’s different between you and me. Please, is it different?”

San’s brows furrow at that. You question the gesture instantly but it comes with complete bewilderment so quickly that you cannot fathom him manifesting such a reaction to deceive you.

“Of course it is, Y/n, that’s out of the question.” His tone, blunt, is very firm and direct in ways that reassure your quaking heart. “This… you… what I get to cherish with you like this is nothing like that story.” San lets his gaze harden a bit as he looks at you but you don’t feel that he’s angry with you. “And I don’t want it to be. Ever.”

“What did Hongjoong do to Nightingale?” you whisper. San retracts his hand from where it rests against the line of your folds and brings it up to clasp around yours on his cheek.

“He ordered the destruction of a psyche by sicking his black dog on him, Y/n. The things I told you were my past… things I said only happened when I was under my Taskmaster’s control… not all of them were contained in those years. What I did to Nightingale was under Captain’s command.”

“Hongjoong’s.”

“Captain‘s.” For whatever reason, San cannot reconcile that they are one and the same. “Hongjoong did nothing to that man. In fact, if you go back and look at the records of the Scourge’s history, you would only find that he has done nothing to any soul unlucky enough to earn his wrath. For he has two hands for a reason.”

“San—”

“I do not feel guilt or remorse over it, Y/n. Does that make me a monster? I tell Nightingale each time I speak with him privately that I regret it, but I don’t. That I am sorry, but I am not. I know I am not, so why is it instinct to tell him otherwise? I protected my crew, my people, and he threatened their safety. He knows that as well as I do. I am so deeply conditioned to manipulate those outside our crew that I fear I cannot even tell when I am being genuine to them. Had I not been bound to a wheelchair at the time, Y/n, I would have—” he cuts himself short as his face contorts with a scowl. Your expression must read something you are unaware of because his gaze softens on you. “I am the Scourge’s Black Dog… and my captain’s left hand.”

He speaks the words like a mantra, like a prayer he has to repeat to himself to remember it. You cling to his face tighter until your nails dig into his skin. Do you feel safe in his arms? Without question. Why can you not bring yourself to question it? Why should you in reality? All this time by his side and he has never once caused you any doubt. If Hongjoong wished to harm you, he would have done so by his own hand by now. That much he has proven in his treatment of you since you joined this crew. Then again, you are under the umbrella of safety that San provides. You are his crew and amongst his people.

San’s eyes glisten as he blinks up at you through wet lashes.

“But I am at your mercy, Y/n. Of that much, I am certain.”

──────────── a/n: hear ye hear ye it is that time of year aka it is questionnaire time 🗣 please take it here (of course not a requirement but it would be immensely helpful to me!) now that that’s out of the way hi. hello. it’s been some time. i know. but i’m hoping that 30k is enough to make up for it and is most certainly 2.5 months worth of writing because i did indeed start this right as soon as i finished the last interim so! i’ve been working tirelessly at it and have tried to bring the best to the table. while i’m sorry it took so long, i am glad that i did not rush it bc it means that i could bring quality AND quantity to you guys hehe <3 end of act six! wow! we’re almost halfway through finally! much to be seen and much seen here in this one i know!

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

#mists of celeste #caly.writes #ateez x reader #ateez series #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #san x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez ff #wooyoung x reader #mingi x reader #yunho x reader #jongho x reader #yeosang x reader

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bellemorte180 · 9 months

Text

For Love or Sacrifice sneak peak

@helpless-in-sleep as promised, here is a sneak peak of your gift. The title is a WIP so that may change but it's what I'm going with right now.

Caroline peered around her room at the villa, the sounds of Aurora’s distraught cries as the final rose was handed to April still rang in her ear. Everyone had winced at the pitch that Aurora screamed at, alternating between tears and threats of violence. It was little surprise to Caroline, and everyone, that Aurora had been the first to go, especially since she made it very clear that she had a history with Klaus; a history Klaus clearly did not want to repeat.

“I suppose we all have ex’s we wish we didn’t.” Caroline muttered as she flopped down on the uncomfortable bed, dreading the fact that she was here at all. She hadn’t wanted to be on television again but Stephen had been so adamant about her “getting back in the spotlight” and that this was “her chance”. It was moments like that, burning under pressure to be a star by both Stephen and her father that she wondered what her mother would have done if she had been alive to raise Caroline. “At least I’m not Elena.”

That had come as a surprise. Seeing two versions of the same person, one human and the other vampire standing in the same room was possibly the first supernatural twist of the show. Caroline had to admit that it might have been nice for them to give Elena a warning beforehand but that authentic reaction was what the show was going for. Elena all but fell into a panic and it did not help matters that Katherine was clearly enjoying the sight. She clearly knew that she was…whatever they were called.

Imagine finding out your some freaky magical recurrence on national television. Caroline thought as she peered up at the wooded ceiling, watching the beams tail across it. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on her breathing as she tried to push the thoughts of everything from Elena to the show to Klaus out of her mind. She couldn’t deny that he was attractive with his dimples and tousled blonde curls. The way his blue eyes trailed over her or the spark in them when she all but insulted him. He was alluring but she could feel the dangerous current that ran under his skin. Vampires were predators. It was terrifying that the world seemed to have forgotten that.

“I don’t like this, Gorgeous.” Enzo had whispered to her during the going away party that was thrown in her honor. The pair watched as Stephen moved around the house as though he was the pageant queen. “Klaus Mikaelson is dangerous. He may have calmed down in order to avoid causing a scene in the media but I have a bad feeling about him on a dating show.”

“Well, hopefully he will just not give me a rose.”

Thinking back, Caroline realized just how naive that thought had been. Watching as Aurora screamed in despair that she did not receive a rose, there was a small hint of disappointment that it wasn’t her. There was something about Klaus that made Caroline’s hair stand on end but it wasn’t exactly fear. He most certainly could harm her but she got the sense that he wouldn’t, simply because he shouldn’t, at least not on television. The question she had was what happened after and if she survived this at all.

A sharp knock on her door pulled Caroline from her thoughts. She sat up on the bed and inwardly groaned. Pressing the soles of her feet to the cold floor, she made her way towards the door, wondering what exactly they could want from her now that the cameras were done rolling. However, she was surprised to find that it wasn’t a producer or some assistant on the other side. She was met with doe-eyes, curly brown hair and a smirk that caused the desire to flee in the opposite direction to kick in.

“Katherine?” Caroline asked, knowing exactly who she was looking at despite her being identical to Elena. She watched as Katherine’s smirk got wider, impressed that she was able to tell her apart from Elena. Without asking, Katherine pushed past Caroline and made her way into the bedroom, looking around with a look of disgust on her face. If this had been Caroline’s home, she might have been insulted by the expression, but she had to admit, for a vampire who had been alive since the dawn of time, Klaus could have convinced the network to provide better accommodations. “Yes. Come on in. Glad you asked so nicely.”

“This isn’t your home so no invitation is needed.” Katherine replied, sitting down on Caroline’s bed and crossing her legs in a seductive manner. She leaned back and peered down at her perfectly manicured nails as she rested on her elbow. After a second, Katherine looked back up and peered into Caroline’s eyes. “Close the door.”

“I’m on vervain. You can’t compel me. The door stays open.” Before Caroline was done speaking, Katherine flashed from the bed and slammed the door, pinning Caroline to the back of it. Her hand was around Caroline’s neck, the nails she had just been examining digging into her skin. Caroline wrapped her hands around Katherine’s wrists, trying to pull her hand away from her neck but Caroline was human; she did not have the strength to do it and Katherine’s hands were tight enough that screaming was impossible.

“Listen up cupcake. I spent the better part of five hundred years fleeing from Klaus. Hell, I killed myself to avoid being used as a sacrifice and I’m most certainly not going to be used as his special vampire. Seeing that he nixed the only other vampire on this show, I’m going to have to make a replacement. A ready-made vampire on a silver platter for him.”

“What?” Caroline coughed out, finding it hard to speak as Katherine lifted her a little bit higher so her feet handled just above the ground. “I don’t understand.”

“I know. But since April and Camille are still consoling a crying Elena, you’re my only option.” Black veins appeared beneath Katherine’s eyes and fangs protruded from her gums. She brought her own wrist up to her lips and bit down, blood coating her pale white skin. She pressed the bleeding wound to Caroline’s lips, forcing the blood into her mouth. Katherine’s grip loosened just enough for the blood to coat the back of her throat.

With a sharp crack, the world went black.

#klaroline #sneak peak #gift #bachelor au

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integra1127grimmreaper · 1 year

Text

Would You Hold It Against Me?

Ike Evans Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Warning: swearing, smut

Summary: The first time you met Ike Evans. Inspire by- The Bellamy Brothers' - If I said you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me.

Dividers created by @firefly-graphics

If I said you had a beautiful body

Would you hold it against me?

If I swore you were an angel

Would you treat me like the devil tonight?

Ike silently sat watching you glide across the dance floor; you oozed both style and flair as your partner led you through the dance.

He had thought taking this business trip to Chicago was a waste of time after the nightmare of a meeting he had been forced to sit through earlier.

But now, after having watched you for the past twenty minutes; his thoughts were completely changed on the matter.

To say that Ike found you interesting would be putting it lightly... truth was; he was completely enchanted by you.

If I was dying of thirst

Would your flowing love come quench me?

If I said you had a beautiful body

Would you hold it against me?

The dance soon ends, and you curtsy to your partner, chuckling and clapping along with everyone as they cheered the band.

Believing you to be a couple, Ike was caught completely by surprise when he and you parted ways thereafter, and you make your way toward Ike's direction at the bar then.

As not to make it obvious that he had been watching you the entire time, Ike slowly turns back to facing the bar just as you reached the vacant seat right next to him.

"Vodka Martini please..." you request from the bartender as you took a seat.

You were just about to hand the bartender payment for your drink, when a large hand suddenly closed over your hand holding the money.

"It's on me..." a raspy voice utters, placing your hand back down onto the bar top.

"Thank you, Stranger..." you smile at him.

"Ike..." the man reaches his hand out introducing himself.

"Y/N..." you reach out to shake it.

"Never seen you around here before, you new in town?"

"Just visiting for business" Ike replies with a dimpled smile.

"And what business are you into, Ike?" you enquire, silently admiring his handsomeness.

"Hospitality" he answers, reaching into his pocket and retrieving a pack of cigarettes.

"May I?" you request one.

Ike offers the pack for you to take one, and as he reaches out to light it for you; your eye catches the glint of the wedding band on his finger.

"I'm widowed" Ike remarks with a grim smile, having noticed your train of focus.

"Oh, I'm sorry for your loss" you reply, feeling a bit guilty at your sense of relieve to his remark.

"It's been two years but thank you."

Now we could talk all night about the weather

Could tell you 'bout my friends out on the coast

I could ask a lot of crazy questions

Or ask you what I really wanna know

Ike and you sat chatting for quite some time; the flirting between you two heavy, as you got to know each other better, when suddenly he breaks the ice.

"I know this might be a bit forward of me... but would you like to go back to my hotel room with me?

Grabbing hold of your purse, you reach out a hand and smirk.

"Lead the way, Handsome..."

Tongue popping out to lick at his bottom and with a broad dimpled smirk, Ike takes hold of your hand to assist you out of your seat.

Settling the bill, Ike wraps an arm tightly around your waist as he leads you out of the nightclub.

If I said you had a beautiful body

Would you hold it against me?

If I swore you were an angel

Would you treat me like the devil tonight?

The sexual tension was getting heavier and heavier by the second during the car ride, that you barely made it into the room when Ike immediately had you pinned against the nearest wall; lips attached to your neck as his hands roamed all over your body.

"Ike..." you whimpered out at the feel of his erection grinding into your middle.

"I need to be inside you..." he growls out, lifting you up with ease and carrying you to the bed.

Ike lowers you to the ground at the foot of the bed, and in an instant you both began undressing each other in-between heated kisses.

"Fuck, you're beautiful..." Ike utters out, cupping your face in his palms.

Tipping down to capture your lips in a hard kiss, Ike slowly leads you backwards onto the bed.

Gripping tightly at your thigh, Ike moves down toward your open legs then, but you grip hold of his hair to pause his movements.

"We'll have all the time for that later..." you pull him upward to lay over you.

"I need you inside me, now..."

"You need me to fuck you that badly, huh?" Ike grins down at you, spreading your legs further to settle in-between them.

"Mhmm..." you bit into you lip at the feel of his cock sliding between your wet folds.

Reaching down, Ike grips hold of his cock; slowly leading it into you, causing you both to groan out as he stretched you more than you ever had been before.

"Fuck..." Ike grunts out, giving a few slow experimental thrusts after you had adjusted to him.

You whimpered out at the fullness of having him so deep inside you, doing your best to rock your hips along with his.

Ike picks up the pace then, causing you to suddenly cry out as he delivered an extremely hard thrust.

"You ok?" Ike pauses, staring down at you in concern.

"I'm fine..." you whimper, gripping hold of his bottom and rolling your hips upward to get him to continue on.

"Please, don't stop..."

Tipping down to capture your lips in a kiss; Ike begins thrusting at a slow pace yet again, gradually picking up in speed and strength thereafter.

It wasn't long when the room was filled with sounds of smacking skin, and the grunts and whimpers of Ike and you.

"Ike...!" you gasp out, grasping onto his shoulders tightly at the feeling of your climax nearing.

"I'm cumming...!" you cry out as your walls clench tightly around him.

"Fuuuuck...!" Ike growls out as your grip around him triggered his own climax; causing him to grip tightly at your thighs as he released himself deep into you.

After a few minutes of recovering, Ike pulls out of you; causing both of you to gasp out that the sensation of it.

Rolling off you, Ike pulls you tightly against his side as the two of you try to even your breathing.

"Come back home with me" Ike utters out suddenly as the two of you laid wrapped in each other's arms.

"What...?" you stare up at him in surprise.

Ike smirks down at you and nods.

"Better yet... Marry me."

Struck speechless for a second, you sit up to look at him better.

"Are you serious?"

Ike sits up too, nodding at you with a dimpled grin.

"Now that I found you, I never want to let you go."

Silently studying his eyes for moment; you bite into your lip, nodding in response then.

"Ok..."

"Seriously...?" Ike looks at you in excitement.

"Yes..." you smile at him.

"Yes, I'll marry you..."

Ike lets out a cry of excitement then, tipping down to capture your lips in a hard kiss.

"Thank you... you just made me the happiest man in the world..."

If I was dying of thirst

Would your flowing love come quench me?

If I said you had a beautiful body

Would you hold it against me?...

Nxt

#ike evans #magiccity #ike x reader #ike x y/n #isaac evans #jeffrey dean morgan #ike #jdm

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pisayers · 1 year

Text

Hivemind

The giant parasol danced over our heads as the wind grazed the smiles on our faces. Gift wrappers and plastic packages flew across the cemented basketball court, halting a 3x3 basketball game with the lower years on the other side. Nobody in the graduating batch cared, however. It was the final Christmas Party that we were going to get as high schoolers, and by mercy of the higher powers who were mad with rain pouring down in torrents for the past few days, the sun shone bright amidst feathery clouds that dotted the clear blue sky.

With a scratch card, a pearl bracelet, Virginia Woolf’s To The Lighthouse, a spiral notebook, a pen thought to have been used by Kurt Vonnegut, and a gray laptop bag all wrapped around my arms, I shambled to a nearby tent and poured all of my gifts on the brown table. To my dismay, my scratch card fluttered with the wind, landing center court on a pair of Converse shoes.

I froze. Around ninety other people on the court and it had to be her. Her black cardigan shielded a shiny purple crop top with laces on her chest that hovered over the golden buckle of her cotton belt. Her leather pants gleamed in front of my eyes as I shuffled my way over to her looking like a balled up armadillo. Luckily, my Brooklyn Nets ball cap-trench coat-dark skinny jeans combo aired a shadowy and mysterious aura around me that blanketed my trembling bones beneath the heavy fabric.

She crouched down and scooped up the scratch card with her milk chocolate fingers, simultaneously readjusting her lumberjack bonnet to expose the bangs of her wavy hair. Every time she smiles and shows off those dimples, it’s as if I slowly melt to the ground like honey. The sweetness emanating from her polished brown eyes is enough for bees to swarm toward her. Each step I took was a staircase branching out into an out-of-body experience that still couldn’t process how I was even inches away from her.

“Sa’yo ba ‘to?” she asked in the cutest voice I’ve ever heard.

“Yep.”

“Awww. Isang piso lang?”

“May nakakuha ng 10k jan. Malas nga eh.”

“Okay lang yan. Baka swertehin ka pa sa susunod.”

Hopefully, luck is enough to carry me through what I’m about to pull off right now.

However, I clocked her best friend hobbling over towards our direction, her cream crutches and walking boot painted with my batchmates’ signatures covered in glitter. The two are almost inseparable and the timing could not be any worse. Tears welled up in my eyes as her friend wrapped her toned arms around her waist, her veiny hands hovering gently on the small of her back. Every neuron in my nerves, every fiber in my muscles, and every calcium deposit in my bones wanted to shred their arms apart like I was busting through elevator doors, but I didn’t have the guts.

I ran away to a spot in the bushes just meters away from the two to calm myself down. Even Mother Nature was screaming at me to just do it. The rustling of the bamboo grazing my flimsy arms, the dead leaves falling on my shoulders, and the bees dancing around my bootleg Mamba shoes were practically shoving me back onto the center court.

Suddenly, a skateboard collided with the banana tree on my right and crashed its way towards me. A short little boy who barely looked like a high school freshman charged towards the skateboard. With a mouth stained with chocolate syrup, baggy cargo pants mismatched with his black death metal tee, and a propellor beanie hat spinning at thousands of revolutions per minute, he jumps at the sight of me, startled and confused.

“Kuya? Anong ginagawa niyo dito?”

“Silong lang. Ang init.”

“Ay, sige po. Kunin ko lang po skateboard ko.”

Nearly tripping over his own untied shoelaces, he stumbled into the skateboard and picked it up by one of its wheels. The thing is taller than him, and clearly, he didn’t know how to use it. Who decided it was a good idea to give him this as a gift?

“Nagawa niyo na po ba?”

Amidst my own thoughts, the question startled me. Gossip around campus spreads like wildfire, I suppose.

He rambled, “Doon lang po siya sa gitna, oh?”

“Alam ko. Mamaya. Layas ka na.”

The boy frowned. It was never my intention to come off as cold. It’s just how I am when on edge.

“Sige, kuya.” he sighed. “Doon lang po ako sa triage kung kailangan niyo ako.”

“Enjoy ka, bro.” as I reached my clenched hand up for a fist bump.

With the widest chocolate grin, the boy ran as fast as the propeller on his head, leaving my outstretched arm hanging in the air.

I sat on the green bleachers, creeping along its sides to make sure no backpack or Aquaflask tumbler falls over. She was still there in the middle chatting with her best friend, their smiles brighter than the midday sun. With eagle eyes, I clocked every detail: the hem of her leather pants getting stepped on by her black slides, the three strands of hair shielding her right eye at random times, and the little tiny bells in her back pocket, jingling as if they were calling out my name. I was so fixated on her that I didn’t even feel the taps on my shoulder as one of the alumni who came to visit offered me a mango salad in a small plastic cup.

“Kahit hindi na po, kuya. Mangingilaw ngipin ko.” I exclaimed sarcastically. Or, at least, I made it appear sarcastic to him. It was true, though. I don’t exactly want to present myself with yellow-stained teeth.

He replied, “Sige. Bahala ka.” as he munched down on the mango bits with a small wooden spoon sticky with condensed milk.

The silence was deafening. I wanted to start a conversation with him, but no topic came out. What a waste of an alumnus’ time on campus!

“Nagawa mo na ba?”

And just like that, the ice between us was shattered. You would think someone studying in UP Cebu would not hear about hearsay in Baguio, but here we are now, I suppose.

“Pa’no niyo alam, kuya?” I asked, taken aback.

He chuckled, “Basta, pre. May connections ako dito.”

In mock frustration, I got up and walked to wherever the wind decided to take me next.

As I tiptoed along the sidelines of the basketball court, her pretty face was still there in the center with a Polaroid camera dangling on her middle and ring fingers. She whipped out a stack of pastel Polaroid film and tucked the plastic bag in the pockets of her best friend’s hoodie. It’s like that opening lyric in Katy Perry’s Firework. Yeah, I wanted to feel like a plastic bag. Yeah, that’s what I’m feeling right now.

To my surprise, the skateboard kid ran up to them and offered to take their photo, the stupid chocolate grin still plastered on his face. Is he just allergic to wiping his mouth? I guess some people don’t care about how they look in public. With bubbling annoyance held back, I watched the kid peep through the tiny viewfinder and double-tap the shutter button, the pastel film squeezing its way out and getting blown towards my direction. Not wanting a repeat of what I will now deem as the “scratch card incident” to my own gossip mates, I lumbered towards the 3x3 game on the other side of the court. Perhaps a basketball game under this trench coat can clear my head.

It didn’t.

How I even entered the basketball game was a blur at this point. At one point, I was substituting a random Grade 9 student who was thirty minutes late for his class, and suddenly, I was now guarding the campus’s basketball coach as the tallest and most capable person on the team that could stop him. My tomato chest and twig-like legs were barely holding on against the violent bumps and collisions he was making with his shoulder, and he bullied his way into the inside of the paint for an easy two points. As I was getting ready to pass the ball back to my teammates, I realized that the game was finished. Coach scored the final point to win the game. The Grade 9 prick subbed me in at the last possible moment of the game.

“Game!” he yelled, followed by an engine-like chuckle that pissed you off every time you got scored on.

Behind clenched teeth, I replied, “Nice game, sir.”

“Nice game.”

I slowly marched towards the underside of the backboard for some slight shade. With gallons of sweat dripping down to my core, I watched the rest of the teachers and staff remaining on the court chucking up shots before their class time. You almost had the assumption that they took the game of basketball more seriously than their actual classwork. Then again, when more than half of your students are getting unos in their report card, no one bats an eye.

I leaned my shoulder on the basketball pole when a ball started flying in my direction, nearly hitting me on the face if not for my quick reflexes. It was an airball. Coach made an airball. I couldn’t believe it.

“Sorry!” he shouted from the three-point line.

“Oks lang po, sir.”

He slowly sauntered his way towards me, his broken glasses nearly falling out a few times with the bullets of sweat making the wrinkles on his face more slippery. Here goes another philosophical reading that I have no care in the world to listen to right now.

“Alam mo, ang lovelife parang basketball lang. Dapat shoot ka lang ng shoot. Oo mimintis ka, pero…”

He proceeded to ramble on, but I was too distracted by her on the center court once again, now all alone. She had her phone out resting on the fingers of her hands, but it didn’t seem like she was doing anything with it. With the droopy eyelids and hunched back, it almost seemed like she was bored, scanning the surrounding area for a random volleyball player or band mate to talk to.

Quietly, I slipped away from Coach, still rambling about the basketballs and the bees. While he was young enough to dominate the basketball court, he was thankfully old enough to not realize that I was out of his sight, sprinting towards the center court with rivers of sweat flowing down to my neck and shoulders. It was time.

“Hi! May sasabihin lang ako.” I muttered.

“Hello! Ano ‘yon?” she replied, the sparks in her eyes making me tear up from anxiety.

The words won’t leave my lips. It’s three fucking words. What am I doing? My eyes are darting everywhere. She’s swaying her hips waiting for me to say something. The skateboard kid bulldozed some teacher’s toddler at the back. Her best friend dropped her popcorn seeing the two of us together. Coach was watching from the sideline. Coach knows what’s going on?

I couldn’t take it. I had to go. The gift wrappers are still scattered on the floor. The feathery clouds up in the sky were clumping together. The bees flew around in a frenzy.

“Joke lang. Sorry! Bye!” I stammered.

I ran towards the campus gates out onto the sidewalk. I darted towards the sunflower hills along the horizon. I needed no one to be around me. Just me and my cowardly mind. Can’t even say three words to save my life.

Once I got to the peak of one of the hills, I crashed to the ground beneath me, the earthy soil fresh for planting. I watched as the bees around me crowded upon the sunflowers, clueless as their abdomens trickled down spots of pollen to the fertile land. A little bit of spreading here and there is what makes life exciting, I suppose.

#student

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lazywriters-blog · 2 years

Text

CHARLATAN

YANDERE ALBEDO KREIDEPRINZ

Summary: You get locked in with a handsome fellow who seems quite interested in you. [Modern AU]

Warning: It may contain triggering content. Nothing major, but it's more on the suspenseful side.

She was on her cleaning duty, sweeping away the dirt encompassing the grimy classroom.

In front of her, two girls hastily did their chores, occupying the back seat was a young man examining a dozen of textbooks, invented in his studies to pay the three girls any attention. She looked at them as they bolted out the door with the trash can, she had been told they had to meet up with one of their teachers for a strict meeting.

So, she supposes that had to be the cause for their clumsiness.

"We are done! See you tomorrow tata~" mused her friends, scooping their bags and walking out, closing the door behind them.

She waved them goodbye, wordlessly resuming her vapid task, properly arranging the desks and then putting the brooms in the lockers, glancing around the area, deeming it fair and nicely done does she move to the entrance with her backpack. Only to pause when it remains stuck despite her toils.

It wasn't opening.

She went to the other door, hoping that it was just the crankiness that made it immovable, unfortunately for her, the other one didn't budge either, she grew stiff. All of which succeed in grabbing the male's focus, he calmly asked.

"Is something wrong?" She immediately stared at him, gulping with her lower lip compressed.

"Yes, someone locked the doors while we are still here." She answered, pinching one of her eyebrows up, thinking of trying once more.

The male didn't respond, observing the anxious girl attempt to tug the stubborn barrier away from its position. It was futile.

"Ugh, those girls did this on purpose!" She fussed, it clinked because of how ambiguous they were acting the whole session, albedo watched, silently securing all his textbooks and standing up.

"You mustn't have seen them taking the kegs I presume?" He said, she briefly made eye contact, glancing to the side pondering his words, she hadn't seen the keys she remembered.

"You did?" She implored. He nodded.

"How are we supposed to go home then?" She wondered out loud, facing the modest fella and asking, "have you been locked inside of the classroom before?" Without meeting her eyes, he muttered, "no."

"What should we do? Should we scream till someone comes to open the door?" She indecisively cited, gripping the straps denting into her uniform, albedo gazed at her worried expression, endorsing, "I'm sure they will come back to unlock it for us."

"You think so?" He nods his head, closing his eyes for more emphasis, reassuring her of his message.

"Okay..." She mumbled, striding back to her seat and plopping her belongings down, seeing her classmate do the same and lean back into his chair, crossing his arms.

It was awkward for a while, she kept darting her gaze here and there, comforting herself with silence, until it got harder to dismiss it. She turned towards him, her placement being a litter further away from him.

"So, what were you reading?" She inquired, dimpling on a polite smile. He had already been following her movements, he widened his eyes slightly, head swayed back and tilted.

"Just books on plants, biology." He replied.

She made an 'O' mouth, bouncing her head and engaging him in a staring contest after he didn't seem to have a question of his own to ask. She looked away, still grinning along with forced edges, wrinkling her eyes, feeling her stomach churn.

"Um... What are your favourite snacks?" She continued, urging herself with something so she doesn't get restless.

"No preferences, I have a small appetite."

"I am fond of many things so I can't give you a direct answer." Timidly smiled and rubbed her neck, mildly tapping her shoes to inhabit the hushed room with some liveliness. Nervously starting her speech.

"It sure gets lonely if you are alone by yourself... If there isn't anyone around to keep company." She spouts out without an inkling of a thought, observing the guy remain unresponsive for a moment, casting his turquoise orbs to the table.

"... It does." He soon acknowledged, a little frigidly. She noticed a mild shift in behaviour.

For an uneasy passage of time, she nor he spoke of what they were thinking, fascinating their minds with something but never exposed it to the other. Suddenly, he decided to interrupt the undisturbed calmness, with a query that made her think thrice.

"How hard do you think someone must hit so that the person loses consciousness?"

She wavered.

"That's an... Odd question." She chuckled, unknowingly holding in her breath whilst she thought of a counter-argument. He simply watched.

She stalled for some time, shakily shrugging her shoulders, signalling she didn't know, her chin protecting the neck, keeping steady regard on his upheaval, the atmosphere in the room somewhat altering as the hairs on her arm rose.

"Why do you look tensed?" He interrogated with a monotoned voice, she denied it, laughing "I'm not."

Instantly adding, "do you think they came and opened the door for us?" She questioned, getting up, sneaking a few quick glances nearing the exit with eyes blown wide.

"Is it unlocked?" He raised a question as he approached her frame, she stopped, Swifty shaking her head before turning towards him.

Then, he sprinted towards her.

"I think we should undo the locks now, she's stayed inside for long enough, now we are even!" Said the girl, climbing the stairs alongside her friend.

"Yup, she played the prank on us first. So, I think it's fair to exact that." Replied the confident female, holding her nose high as they neared the classroom.

Smiling to one other before bursting the door wide open and shouting, "Hey lovebirds! Had fun?"

Ceasing upon spotting no one in the room, it was empty, bewildered they scanned the intersections of the class and found no soul hiding there. Waiting to scare them.

"Where did they go?"

One of the two glared at the scene, checking the lockers just in case, and again, the area was lacking any presence of their friend.

"Hey, albedo!!" The girl ran to the door upon hearing her friend call out to one of the familiar names, shocked to see him roaming the halls, they then inquired.

"How did you get out?" The male lifted both his eyebrows, dropping his memo pad to the side.

"Pardon?" He uttered.

"You were inside the classroom when we locked you with her, just when did you get out?" They pressured.

"I'm sorry, you must be mistaken I was in the laboratory the entire time I just returned to take back my belongings."

"Huh?"

It did not match up.

#yandere albedo #albedo kreideprinz #yandere imagines #yandere #yan yan #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact #genshin impact imagine #genshin impact x reader #yandere oneshot #yandere drabble #yandere albedo x reader #albedo x reader #genshin impact albedo #modern au #yandere albedo kreideprinz #genshin impact oneshots #albedo

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watermelonsugacry · 2 years

Text

Writing Fine Line: Adore You

A/N: Hey lovies!!💚Again, thank you so much for all your love and support for this series! Our family is growing and I’m so excited to share more of this concept with you guys! Guess what song is coming up next 👀

Summary: YN and Harry have known each other since 2010 when they were put in a band together called One Direction. Since the band split up, YN and Harry have kept in close contact, may or may not have grown deeper feelings for one another and have continued to help each other create music. After having helped Harry with HS1, he has invited YN back again to Malibu to help make Fine Line. This was how Adore You was made. (2.7K)

Genre: harry x 1dbandmember!reader, friends to lovers, slow burn,

Warning: slight smut (?) idk, possible typos

side note: italicized is voice over commentary (I wrote this kind of like the Behind the Album documentary) bold are things Harry actually said irl

Writing Fine Line series Masterlist here!

Previous Chapter: 🍒

YN plops down next to Harry out of breath. The thin, white sheet comes along with her and barely covers her and Harry's hips. Other than the sound of each other catching their breath, it’s silent in YN’S bedroom. Harry runs his hand over his hair and feels how damp his hairline is. He can still taste YN’s strawberry flavored lipstick on his tongue and has become absolutely obsessed with it as of late. His butterfly tattoo flutters its wings on his stomach.

The sound of YN’s giggling causes Harry to turn his head to where his love is. A smile of his own crawling up on his face. A thin layer of sweat covers YN’s skin and Harry can’t help but love the way the soft yellow light shining on them makes her look like an angel. The dark night sky can be seen behind YN from her open ceiling to floor windows. The soft breeze from outside makes the sheer curtains from her high bed frame gently sway around them.

YN also turns her head to look at Harry and smiles lazily at him before letting out another fit of girlish giggles.

“What’s got you being a giggling mess over there?” Harry asks, still slightly out of breath.

“That was awesome.” YN sighs with a bright smile on her face. “That was awesome!” She exclaims. When she opens her eyes, she sees Harry's dimples becoming more prominent as his smile grows. YN lifts her hand excitingly up towards Harry, making him chuckle and meets her hand midway in a high-five.

“Whoo!” YN raises both of her fists in the air. “Team work.” Her hands plop down on the bed beside her and she close her eyes again.

Harry’s eyes squint even more as he lets out a laugh from her comments. Never in his life has he ever had this reaction after sex from his past lovers. They’ve always either used him for sex for a title of sleeping with the Harry Styles or were models he was set up with from their management. He’s never experienced what it was like to laugh during sex, some times having to breify stop due to their stomachs hurting so much. Or having to stop and change positions due to a leg cramp. It’s never a dull moment when the two are together.

And it’s not merely sex, it’s so much more than that. It’s being with someone in their most vulnerable state, being so comfortable with one another, and loving one each other.

After seeing YN’s reaction to their physical activities, he doesn’t think he could ever be with anyone else.

“I adore you.”

YN breathing comes to a slowed halt. She turns her head to the right to look at Harry's face to make sure she heard correctly.

“W-what?” YN says, her eyes looking like deer's in the headlights.

“I adore you.” Harry says, as if it is the most oblivious thing in the world. He gives her a breathless laugh like he’s in disbelief he actually said the words he’s been meaning to say for weeks out loud.

“No.” YN says furrowing her eyebrows.

“No?” Harry questions, his satisfied disposition never going away.

“No.” YN repeats and sits up, the thin sheet falls and bunches on the tops of her thighs. “You can’t adore me.”

“The hell I can’t.”

“Well I say you can’t.” Harry begins to see that her once blissful state of mind has been washed away under the warm lights in the bedroom. He panics at the sight of YN gathering up the thin sheet, bringing it to cover her chest as she goes to leave the bed. He’s quick to pull her back down and trap her body underneath his.

“Wait, hey.” He says softly. “Y’alright?”

“I...I just—” It’s just the fact that it’s the highest form of love you can give someone else and she’s absolutely terrified at the idea of loving at that level. They weren’t even officially dating, just continuing whatever this off and on relationship was. She loves him—no matter what the status of their relationship was—but this...this is intimidating. “Y’just can’t” She huff out.

Harry bites back a playful smile at her pouty lip. She’s really going to be the death of him.

“Well, whether you like it or not, I adore you. I adore you so much that it’ll be the last thing I’ll ever do.”

YN eyes flick back and forth between his, the ones that can consume every fiber of his being. He can sense the fear beginning to creep up into her skin and it’s the last thing he wants her to feel. “I don’t expect you to say it back, Lovie. Just needed to tell yeh.” He says, his thumb rubbing against the apple of her cheeks.

There he goes again, flaring up her love for him. She knows that he’ll never pressure her to do anything she’s not comfortable with but this new side of their relationship keeps opening new doors, new feelings, for things that are anything but that. As scary as it is, YN can’t find the strength to stop and maybe that’s what’s more terrifying than anything else.

“Come back to me, baby.” Harry whispers in the space between them, pulling her back from her intrusive thoughts. YN ranks her fingers through his hair before pulling him in for a kiss. She puts all of her love and passion into the kiss, wanting him to know that while she might not ever be able to say his words back to him, she’ll love him with everything she has. It doesn’t take very long until the two are clutching and grasping at each other.

“M’so far gone for you.” Harry pants into her mouth. The whimper that comes out of the back of YN’s throat is all he needs for him to pull her back on top of him again.

“Wait.” YN pulls back so quickly that he’s left trying to catch her lips again.

“What?” His eyes are wide with a mix of panic, passion, and just overall confusion. Does she not want to do this anymore? The couple goes back and forth all the time that it can cause the other to become a bit dizzy every now and then. “What happened, honey?”

He can feel her breath fanning over his lips and has to hold himself back when he sees her lick her lips.

“You be on top this time. My thigh was ‘bout to get a cramp out earlier.” She says with a scrunch of her nose.

A laugh erupts from the back of Harry’s throat, both relieved and amused by her antics.

“Baby, I’ll do just about anything you want.” He says, pulling her to his chest and flipping them over.

“Stop laughing at me.” YN says against his lips—well, against his teeth as he lets out another chuckle.

“M’sorry, baby.” Harry drops his forehead to her collarbones, his chest vibrating against hers. YN can’t help but join in, wrapping her arms around him and basking in this moment.

YN is snapped out of her memory daze from a couple months ago at the sound of a wave crashing into the shore. With a slight shake of her head, she goes back to her task at hand.

From the outside mini bar, Harry admires the way that YN has taken it upon herself to make a sand castle as some of the crew sprawls out among the beach, has a couple of drinks and talks amongst themselves. She’s wearing one of her favorite blue bikinis with a short-sleeved, oversized white button up acting as a shawl.

“When are you planning to pop the question of Ms. Jones?” She asks the guitarist as she packs sand in her small bucket. Mitch is sitting near her on a low beach chair with a beer in his hand. His woven beach hat sits on top of his head with a pair of black sunnies.

“Later rather than sooner it seems like. H already helped me pick out the ring. Thanks for getting her size for me, by the way.”

“Don’t mention it.” YN flips her bucket over in the sand and smiles happily when the tower stays intact. “But what’s keeping you?” She looks up at Mitch and she immediately knows the answer.

“Sarah.” They say at the same time.

“Can’t blame her for knowing what she wants. Remember how long she made you wait before she agreed to date you.”

Mitch takes a glance behind her before snatching the child's toy from her fingers.

“She’s a stubborn one, she is.” He says before taking a drink of his beer. “But I love her for it.” YN holds back from swooning at Mitch’s words. She remembers the nights where she and Harry would gossip to one another about the drummer and guitarist. He would tell YN about the way Mitch would slowly rotate until he was able to see Sarah that day in rehearsal. Or she would tell Harry about the way Sarah would try to discreetly ask if Mitch was coming to an event with them. YN’s heart could just burst at the way their relationship has blossomed.

“M’happy for you. You can’t take any moment with her for granted, you know. Once you find your person, you can’t let ‘em go.” Underneath Mitch’s hat, he gives her a knowing look. Before he can say anything, YN lifts a finger at him. “Ah—shut up.” He raises his hands up in defense, a smug smile resting comfortably on his lips. “Now, can you go get me some water, pretty please with a cherry on top?” She sweetly dangles her little pal bucket in front of him.

Once on his feet, he winds his leg back and motions to kick her castle down. YN is quick to put her hands out in defense but sees that his foot stops right before it meets her creation. He chuckles at her reaction and YN mockly laughs back before giving him the finger. Mitch pretends to catch it and puts it in his pocket as he walks out towards the shore.

YN playfully rolls her eyes and pats the sides of her sand castle with a content smile on her face.

“For you, m’lady.” A watermelon margarita is presented in front of her face. A small slice of watermelon and a lime wedge hang off of the rim of the glass. She gasps excitedly and takes the drink from Harry’s ring covered fingers.

“Thank you, my good sir.” YN hums into the rim of her glass as he sits in Mitch’s previous spot.

“Got a nice place there.” Harry nods down to her sand castle.

“M’expecting a call from Vogue for one of those house tours once m’done with it.” YN giggles. She looks out at the ocean in front of them on the secluded beach. “It’s beautiful out here. Wouldn’t mind getting a place of my own around here. To just open my back door and take a walk along the shore with my morning tea.”

“Or afternoon margarita.” Harry teases. He can picture her in that life. Being disconnected from the rest of the world and being free to do anything she pleases. Anything they please. “Wanna go in for a dip with me?”

“Mhm. Later though. Need to finish my castle before my deadline with Vogue.” Harry nods in amusement and stands from his seat. He crosses his arms across his torso and pulls the end of his shirt over his head, leaving him only in his white, swim trunks. YN lets her gaze linger until she sees his face again, distracting herself by taking a sip from her red drink.

“See you then.” Harry says before stepping around her. He sees her set down her drink and begin to maneuver the sand again. “Or maybe now.”

Harry picks her up and throws her over his shoulder, quickly walking to the water.

“Harry!” YN shrieks in laughter.

On the way, they pass Mitch with her pal of water. All YN can do is continue to laugh and cling to Harry’s torso before he drops the two of them in the water. When she resurfaces, she’s not even mad or upset. She’s relieved, happy. She needs this. She needs to spend time with her best friend without the stresses and worries of their romantic history.

YN takes notice of the way Harry’s smile hasn’t changed since she met him all of those years ago. He’s still the same boy who’s silly and playful. The one who would spontaneously and uncoordinatedly dance with her on stage when they were in the band. Who let her braid his hair whenever she wanted to once it was long enough.

The boy who wants to take everything in and live in the moment. The one who loves with everything he has, who cares so deeply about the people he loves.

YN laughs when Harry shakes his head, the water from his hair slashing all over her. Her white button up clings to her skin as she makes her way closer to him.

“What?” Harry lets out a chuckle at her stare.

“You’re my person.” YN cranes her head back to look into his eyes. “You know that, right? No matter what, despite everything—the good and the bad—you are my person.”

Harry nods seriously. “And you mine.”

“You’re stuck with me. M’not going anywhere.” He doesn’t want her to anyways.

“Neither am I. Can’t imagine my life without you. You’re my best friend, YN.”

“I love you.” YN smiles sweetly at the man in front of her. She means it, in every way possible.

“I adore you.”

YN bites back the smile threatening to appear on her lips with a shake of her head. “No.”

“No? Still?” Harry teases. YN giggles and shakes her head once again. He bumps her forehead with his. “Say it.”

“Nope.”

YN lets out a yelp when Harry grabs her hips, lifts her off of her feet and throws her back into the water.

“We wrote this in a day, we just had so much fun making it. They’re usually the ones that end up kind of working the best, the ones where everyone’s having fun making it […] they kind of just write themselves.”

It’s safe to say that after the morning at the beach, it has definitely lifted everyone’s spirits from yesterday's melancholy esque recording and producing session.

What better way to continue to lift up the group’s mood than make some music. And by music, this means YN sticking Harry in the recording room until he’s done all of the harmonies that she wants him to. Harry’s more than happy to comply as he gets to sing a love song directly to her, over and over and over again.

“It’s the only thing I’ll ever do.” He repeats. YN closes her eyes and dances in her seat to the harmonies they’re stacking. “I’d walk through fire for you, just let me adore you.” He sings to her through the window only to be met with a shake of her head, the two of them unable to wipe the smiles off of their faces.

“It’s about that initial infatuation stage when you get that heavy feeling of just bliss, like a blissful, very joyous connection with someone.” Harry says, smiling to himself. “Nothing else matters and all you can think about is that other person. I feel like it’s kind of rare to continue to have that connection with someone. Not completely impossible, but rare for sure.”

The studio space buzzes with energy. Tyler messes around with some music synthesizers while Kid and Harry toggle with the panel full of buttons as Mitch and YN play various instruments in the recording room. Mitch experiments on the drums and riffs some awesome melodies with his guitar. YN plucks at the strings of the bass guitar against her hips as she moves along to the music playing through her big, studio headphones.

“This song is definitely the most poppiest song on the album. It was just so fun to make and...has a lot of happy memories connected to it.” YN nods and looks at Harry who’s off to the side of the camera. “Really love the way it turned out.”

Next Song Here! 🍄

Taglist:

@wobblymug @be-with-me-so-happily @ashtongivesmebutterflies @kiwiskiwiskiwi @darlingdesire @obsesseddd @hopefulwastelandcreation

#harry x 1dbandmember!reader #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #writing fine line series #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #one direction #one direction fanfiction #harry styles #harry styles x you #writing #harry styles series #harry update #harry styles fluff

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taeyongtime · 3 years

Text

when the shadow meets the light

genre: hogwarts!au | fantasy | fluff | romance

featuring: hufflepuff!taeyong x slytherin!reader

word count: 15,703 words

a/n: a hogwarts!au collab with the awesome @chipsandwaffles! ofc any collab idea we do would be dotae lol

↳ 🚨: one tiny physical fight where punches are thrown and teeth may be broken, sprinkles of profanity

It is no surprise that the first thing you hear stepping into Hogwarts is a question asking if you were Kim Doyoung’s sister.

Soon after the Sorting Hat places you with the tables of emerald green robes, upperclassmen and students your year flock to your seat next to your brother, who simply offers a smug nod as he begins a spiel of how the family had expected nothing less (old-money purebloods such as yourselves were a shoo-in for the Slytherin House, no doubt about it). Chimes of agreement follow, an occasional joke on how your parents would have reacted if you had been sorted into Gryffindor or Hufflepuff garnering a gasp of shock from the crowd.

Imagining if you had been sorted into Hufflepuff brings about a budding headache and you politely ask for them to give you space to eat, your stomach famished from the long train ride and the sheer conviction to not let go of your purse strings to purchase snacks from the cart that rolled down the aisle every hour or so. Luckily they oblige, and your brother sighs as you dig in, piling your plate high with potatoes, meats—basically a little bit of everything you can reach within arm’s distance.

“You’re going to become a pig if you continue to eat at this rate.”

“Oh, shut up and eat your own food already.”

Doyoung scoffs and picks apart his bread, tossing bit by bit into his mouth. “I hope you won’t speak to any of the Professors here in that tone.”

“Please stop nagging me when I’m eating. It’s annoying.”

A dirty look sent your way, he adds a final word of putting some vegetables into your diet before leaving to find a different seat where someone would listen rather than provide a rebuttal to his every sentence. Naturally, you ignore his nagging and reach for another portion of potatoes, gravy dribbling down like a volcano had just erupted all over your plate. More meat, more biscuits, you eat until your stomach is at its limit, threatening to implode at everything you had just ingested.

Pushing your chair out, you search the sea of heads for your brother but fail to spot the lanky second year who was all the rage for the Slytherin house. Not wanting to look at all this food any longer and certainly not having the energy to sample any of the decadent desserts, you ask your neighbor on the right for directions to the Slytherin common room, heading out to find the entrance yourself without waiting for everyone else.

“Where do you think you’re going, little lady?”

Turning around, you meet the eyes of the headmaster, his hands clasped together as he waits for your answer.

“I… I think I ate too much,” you begin slowly, calculating each word. “I wanted to look for the way to the Hospital Wing.”

“The Hospital Wing will be to your right. Madam Pomfrey will have something ready for you by the time you get there.”

“T-Thank you… Sir.”

“Next time, find someone to accompany you,” he adds with a knowing smile, “Especially when you have yet to discover the way to the Slytherin Common Room.”

Spooked, you hurry towards the Hospital Wing and endure another bout of nagging from Doyoung when he comes running after hearing from an upperclassman that you had gone to see the school nurse after the feast.

—

Year One is over before you know it, and you find yourself back on campus grounds again once August ends, following your brother off the Hogwarts Express and into the Great Hall to be seated for the welcoming ceremony and accompanying feast. Once you find a spot along the green tables for Slytherin House, your brother slides in on your right and another quickly fills in the left, the dimpled smile offered your way a sight for sore eyes.

“How was your summer, Y/N?”

“Bo-ring,” you reply in kind, rolling your eyes as your legs kick underneath the table. “You should’ve brought me with you to France, Jaehyun.”

“Next time,” the second year says with a chuckle. “I don’t think you would appreciate the beauty that is Quidditch when you never showed up to any of my games last year.”

“It’s a pointless sport,” you refute. “Chasing a little golden ball in the air while risking getting your teeth knocked out by Beaters? No thanks.”

“You just haven’t seen a good game yet.”

“Shh!” Your brother’s sharp voice hisses in your ear. “The Sorting is about to begin!”

A hush falls over the table as the Sorting Ceremony begins. Just last year you were one of those children waiting in line to be sorted, the feeling of anxiety at your sorting still as palpable as ever as you watch each sortee be divided into one of the four Houses at Hogwarts. A few enter the ranks of emerald, but most make their way to the rich scarlet and gold of Gryffindor or warm honey of Hufflepuff, two of the most popular houses across the campus compared to your very own.

“Really, you’re so yappy whenever you’re with Jaehyun.”

“Okay, Doyoung, go find somewhere else to eat if you find me annoying.”

“I never said that.” Against your protests, he scoops some peas onto your plate along with some carrots. “Eat some vegetables, you need it.”

You immediately push the vegetables onto Jaehyun’s plate once Doyoung turns his head the other way, reaching for two slices of corned beef and a breadstick to fill the empty space next to the mountain of potatoes and gravy. Jaehyun finishes his plate before you and you split half of your breadstick, keeping the left half while handing over the right.

“Thanks.”

“Did you not eat anything on the train?” you ask incredulously, amazed at his second full plate when you barely made a dent in yours.

“I did earlier, but I’m starving now. Haven’t had a bite since they were sold out of chocolate frogs.”

“Pig.”

He oinks in return and you laugh, catching a glance from your brother and ignoring it once his attention is again captured by someone else calling his name. You were used to it by now, the wonder boy that is Doyoung being the pride of Slytherin House since he first set foot onto Hogwarts. It was the same pretty much everywhere–someone asking for Doyoung, wanting him to do this, do that, praising him for whatever genius accomplishment he pulled off this time.

You loved your brother, but sometimes you wished people would ask about you too rather than shove you under his shadow all the time.

Going to bed early after dismissal from the Great Hall, the next morning you return to the routine of classes, meals, homework, studying for exams, more homework, and so forth. It is still something that needed time to process after each leisurely summer, the never-ending cycling of academia that left little room for free time when there was so much to do. Not one to socialize much and not at all interested in going to see Jaehyun at his Quidditch games, you choose to spend most of your time in the library when you didn’t need to be in class, the peace and quiet comforting when you wanted to be alone (which was all the time).

Today, you find yourself not in the mood for Potions on such a fine sunny Tuesday afternoon, thus you make your way to the library once you finish lunch, courteously greeting the librarian before scurrying off to your favorite spot by the windows. Madam Pince was stern to all students entering the library, but your frequent appearance last year and diligence in following library rules made you more tolerable than most in her book. Hence, the blind eye cast when classes are going on is a gift you never take for granted.

Laying your bag and other things onto the table, you head over to the Care of Magical Creatures section and pull a few volumes off the shelves. Two hours easily fly by as people begin to trickle in, your eyes scanning the pages of information on fairies, elves, and other creatures of the like. Currently not enrolled in a Care of Magical Creatures class, you ponder on the thought of taking it as an elective next year as you return the books you had just finished reading in exchange for new ones.

After making sure everything is placed in the correct alphabetical order, your fingertips graze along the spine of each book, eyes locking in on a volume regarding dragons when another set of hands reaches for it at the same time. The physical contact catches both you and him by surprise, neither saying a word until you break the silence as you glare at the black-and-gold robed Hufflepuff who wanted the same book as you.

“Let go, I got it first.”

“I… Go ahead.” He gestures for you to take the book and you do so, letting out a huff of indignation at the audacity after. Mumbling an apology again, he reaches for a book on the upper shelf and you roll your eyes before turning tail to return to your table. Waiting until your Potions class was over, you pack up your things and head to the librarian’s desk, only to be stopped in the process of checking out the book on dragons you had successfully taken (stolen) off the shelves.

“The gentleman behind you had put in a request to reserve this book.”

Your eyes meet the Hufflepuff who you’d bumped heads with, a hesitant smile etched across his lips as he points at the book in your hands.

“I wanted to tell Madam Pince I found it on the shelf, but then you took it, so…”

“Fine.” You hand over the book gruffly and overlook the glare in Madam Pince’s eyes for your ‘rough treatment’ of school property. “Take it.”

“Have you finished reading it? If not—”

“Take it already.”

You flinch at the feeling of his fingers against yours and quickly pull your hand away, running out of the library without speaking another word. Tossing the encounter with the Hufflepuff out the window, you make your way back to the Slythern Common Room, where a certain Jung Jaehyun bounces up from his seat on one of the leather sofas the moment he sees you enter.

“You missed Potions today, Y/N.”

“Can I see your notes later?”

He nods without skipping a beat, grabbing your hand and pulling you after him. “Only if you come with me to watch one of my Quidditch games.”

“What,” you exclaim, “No, I don’t—”

“One game. That’s all I ask in exchange for my notes.”

“Ugh, fine!” Forgoing the resistance, you let him drag you out and towards the stadium, where the stands were already divided to parades of yellow and green respectively. Not sure where to go since Jaehyun was a Beater on the Slytherin team, you inch your way through the lines of already-filled seats when you part ways. Everywhere was full with people you didn’t recognize until you see Haechan, one of the first years you knew through Doyoung. Your best friend should have at least saved you a seat if he was going to drag you to watch his game, the nerve.

“Is this spot taken?”

He shakes his head and you sit, accepting the offered pair of binoculars when the game begins. You recognize your brother’s voice over the speakers narrating the events of the game and all you see are broomsticks flying left and right. Up, down, and back again while balls of every shape wiz by threatening to knock unsuspecting players off their brooms. Cheers and boos simultaneously sounding out across the stadium, the whole ordeal is chaotic and you roll your eyes at how people found this entertaining and worth the time.

“Here,” you begin, handing back Haechan’s binoculars. “I’m going to go back to—”

“The Snitch! Lee Taeyong has just spotted the Golden Snitch!”

A hush falls over the entire crowd and you snatch back the binoculars, intrigued by the sudden overcast of silence. Through the lenses, you spot a lean figure picking up speed while chasing what looked to be a small golden ball. Recognizing him as the Hufflepuff from the library, you watch him zoom around the Slytherin team, ducking just in time to avoid a Bludger to the head. He reaches his arm forward and seals the Golden Snitch in his grasp, spinning to a loop-de-loop and throwing a fist in the air triumphantly with the Snitch fluttering its wings in defeat.

“And that’s the end of the game! Hufflepuff wins, 150 points to 40!”

“That’s it?” you exclaim. “End game after he catches that stupid ball?”

“Y/N, the Snitch is worth 150 points,” Haechan deadpans. “It’s the fastest and hardest ball to see and catch out of everything that goes flying around. We’d be here all day if the game doesn’t end after someone catches it.”

“Okay, I get that. But he caught that thing in like… just 20 minutes. Aren’t games usually longer than that?”

“Taeyong’s the best Quidditch Seeker at Hogwarts in all of the teams! No one’s been able to take the Quidditch Cup from Hufflepuff since he joined his first year.”

Impressed by the statistics, you aim your binoculars down at the grounds where both teams had landed and were getting ready to change out of their robes. Spotting the Hufflepuff Seeker immediately, your heart warms at seeing the wide grin on his face, his teammates huddling around him to lift him up in the air to celebrate another win under their belt.

“Hey, can I get my binoculars back now?”

Snapping out of your trance, you hand over the lenses back to Haechan. Who would’ve thought the soft-spoken boy from the library was capable of such a stellar performance at a sport you always thought was stupid?

As the crowds begin to disperse, you push your way out of the stands again, hopeful of catching the Hufflepuff Seeker before his team leaves for the locker rooms. However, the one who greets you at the base of the steps is one of emerald green and not honey yellow.

“Did… Did you see me?” Jaehyun pants, wiping a gloved hand over his sweaty forehead.

“No,” you say pointedly. “Our team sucks compared to Hufflepuff’s.”

Your friend covers your mouth with the same sweaty gloved hand just in time to avoid the inquisitive gaze of the Slytherin captain. Squirming, you elbow his stomach and he winces, finally letting go after telling his teammates he’ll catch up soon.

“You did not just touch my face with your sweaty glove.”

“Look, I know you hate Quidditch, but maybe keep that to yourself and not say stuff like that in front of those who love it?”

“…Maybe I would like it if you guys played better. Look at how well the badgers did today.”

“Please,” Jaehyun laughs, clutching his broomstick. “They have Taeyong!”

—

The beginning of third year is spent buttering up to one of the upperclassmen on the Slytherin Quidditch team to learn more about your growing crush on a certain Hufflepuff Seeker, and you find yourself dismayed to discover that he was a year older than your brother. It would be hard to find a chance to talk to him when the chance to share classes wasn’t possible at all.

Yuta had figured it out after two minutes of answering your questions about Taeyong but promised to keep it a secret after you made a deal to buy him a pack of Chocolate Frogs each time you went to Honeydukes, which was growing to be your favorite place to go to in Hogsmeade after obtaining the needed signature on the permission slip given at the start of fall term. Clearly not in your favor when you went to Honeydukes at least once every weekend, but the empty coins in your purse were worth it if it meant you got to know just a little bit more about Taeyong despite only speaking with him once.

Unfortunately, you weren’t the only one who had fallen into the group of people who had “Taeyong Syndrome” (as labeled by your brother), but you certainly spoke nothing of it when his fans spanned across campus, not wanting to be teased when you were in Slytherin of all houses.

“Professor Slughorn sent me an invitation to a get-together tonight,” Jaehyun says to you one morning at the breakfast table. “Want to come?”

“No thanks,” you grimace. “I’m not interested in your little Slug Club parties.”

“But Doyoung said—”

“Especially not if Doyoung’s going to be there.” All appetite lost, you forgo finishing your plate of eggs and head off to Transfiguration, where Professor McGonagall was already waiting to begin her lecture on Animagi. However, your mind plagued at the thought of the stupid Slug party, you barely hear anything presented regarding the transformative nature of the professor’s feline Animagus and end up with two days of detention for not paying attention when the professor had asked you to identify her Animagus—the simplest question in the book to get wrong.

After your day finishes without any more trouble, you use the last hour before your meeting with caretaker Filch to take a walk around the lake. The fresh air into your lungs is a refresher after the stressful morning, and you find yourself recharged and ready to meet your fate of cleaning out the school bathrooms when you spot the immobile figure lying by the water. Panic settles in when you identify Taeyong, and you get no response after poking his shoulder or even his face.

Is he dead??

Ruling out the possibility of drowning when you take note of his dry yellow robes, you reach for your wand. One wave of the nine-inch vine wood wand and he is levitating in the air.

“Please be okay,” you murmur as you pick up your pace, eventually breaking into a run with the Hufflepuff Seeker floating above you. “Please…”

It feels like forever until you see the corridor leading to the Hospital Wing, and Madam Pomfrey is equally as surprised when she sees you together with the still-levitating Hufflepuff.

“What is going on here, young lady?”

You set him down and the nurse holds him steady while you nearly fall to the floor yourself.

“How is he, Madam Pomfrey?”

Noting that you had avoided the question, she rolls her eyes and you follow her into the Hospital Wing.

“He’s not… dead, is he?”

“Not dead, just overworked,” the nurse says briskly after getting him settled on an empty bed, “He’ll recover after getting food and a good night’s sleep.”

Relieved, you nod in thanks and she conjures another chair for you to sit at with her wand. It lands with a soft plop next to his pillow, and you collapse onto the seat from the strain of keeping your wand steady while running to get Taeyong here.

“T-Thank goodness you’re not dead.”

You don’t know how long you remained by his side, but you feel a shift in movement and find yourself slumped on the bed. Somehow you had fallen asleep and it is just your luck that Taeyong had caught you.

“Do I…” He waits for you to scoot back and frowns. “Do I know you?”

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, “I saw you by the lake but you weren’t moving, so I thought you were dead and brought you to the nurse. But it turns out you’re not dead, just overworked and…”

Cut off by the warm laughter, your ears grow warm and he smiles once you look back at him.

“Thank you. I’ll be more careful next time.”

“Is your schedule packed this year?” you ask bravely. “Madam Pomfrey said you’re overworked.”

“Ah, a bit? With classes, Quidditch, and prefect duties, it’s more than what I usually do.”

“Why don’t you just drop what you can’t handle? Life is short and should be spent in ease, not in stress.

“Sorry,” you mutter at realizing you were still speaking to an upperclassman, “That’s just my take on it.”

“That… That makes a lot of sense,” he muses. “I’ll think about it.”

“…Okay.”

“I’d better go,” you speak up after a moment of awkward silence. “Glad to see you’re okay.”

Without waiting for his reply, you turn tail and leave the Hospital Wing, holding a hand over your erratically beating heart after the brief conversation.

◇

[one week later, Hufflepuff Common Room]

“Catch.”

Taeyong looks up from his seat in the Hufflepuff Common Room, hand outstretched to catch the Chocolate Frog thrown at him just in time.

“Yuta, did you add something to this?”

“I did not,” the Slytherin insists, “How can you think of your good friend who has come all this way to visit you like that?”

“Where did you get a set of Hufflepuff robes?”

“The same source who provided me with the frogs gave me these robes to wear to sneak in here.”

“Should I be concerned in any way about a Slytherin having access to Hufflepuff robes?”

Yuta smirks. “Are you going to report me, Mister Prefect?”

“I quit already. It was too much to handle alongside classes and being promoted to Quidditch Captain.”

Taeyong slowly unwraps the Chocolate Frog in his hands, setting aside the card before biting into the sweet chocolate.

“This is good.”

“I’ll tell her you liked her chocolate frog then.”

“Who?”

“My source aka Doyoung’s sister,” Yuta answers. “I believe she was the one who brought you to the hospital wing last week.”

His mouth drops at remembering the Slytherin girl who had mistaken him for dead when he had fallen asleep by the lake.

“That girl is Doyoung’s sister?”

“And an avid fan of yours, from what I hear. Again, don’t ask me how she got these robes.”

The conversation at the hospital wing returns to his mind, a smile begins to form on Taeyong’s lips as he finishes the rest of the frog.

“I see.”

—

You try not to think about Taeyong after returning home at the end of your third year at Hogwarts, but the letter under your bedroom door one summer afternoon takes you completely by surprise when you glance at the returning address.

“Doyoung, where is this?”

Your brother turns around, the family owl letting out a hoot at seeing you.

“What, can’t you see I’m feeding Oliver?”

You shove the envelope into his face. “I don’t know where this is.”

He closes the owl’s cage and scans the envelope, head snapping back up with widened eyes.

“How does Lee Taeyong have our address?”

“I don’t know,” you retort pointedly. “That’s why I’m asking you.”

Grumbling, Doyoung takes the letter and squints. You can already tell from the frown on his face that he didn’t know where the returning address was, which further solidified your hypothesis that this was probably sent from a non-magical city.

“Let me ask my Muggle friend,” he says eventually, handing the letter back. “She’ll probably know.”

“You’re friends with a Mudblood?”

“Rival,” Doyoung corrects, “Did I say friend?”

“Yes, you did.”

Doyoung scowls and you finally break open the seal on the letter, ignoring the shifty eyes looking over your shoulder.

“He wants to meet me at the Three Broomsticks,” you say aloud, “Me. At the Three Broomsticks.”

“What?” Your brother yanks the letter out of your hands. “Why would he want to meet you?”

“Why can’t he?” you retort with a huff. “Move, I’m borrowing Oliver to send him my reply.”

◇

True to his word, Taeyong is easy to spot at the Three Broomsticks via his honey-yellow scarf. Two Butterbeers sit before his table by the window, no doubt growing colder the longer you stand by the door.

“Move out of the way, girl.”

One shove and you nearly trip if not for your quick reflexes. Wand hand ready, you start to make a move to take out your wand but retract when Taeyong stands up upon hearing the commotion.

“Over here!”

You head over to the window. Whoever pushed you was lucky to escape this time unscathed.

“You got my letter?” he starts, gesturing for you to sit.

“Sure did,” you quip, laughing awkwardly at the sudden question. “Did you get my reply?”

“Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

You grab the mug of Butterbeer and take a swig. The sweetness does little to calm the jitters in your stomach, but it’s good enough to allow yourself a moment to grab hold of your scattered attention.

“Have you been to Honeydukes?”

A hiccup leaves your throat before you can respond, and you proceed to take an even bigger sip out of embarrassment. Choking noises from drinking too fast echo across the pub and Taeyong quickly hands over a napkin for the bubbles and beer that dribble down your mouth.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine,” you wheeze, “Perfectly fine.

“Let’s go to Honeydukes.”

You hurriedly finish the rest of the Butterbeer without waiting for his answer. After drinks are done, you take the lead to the candy shop, unable to keep the excitement out of your skipping into your favorite spot in all Hogsmeade.

“The truffles are my favorite,” you tell him when you reach the truffles display. “Double chocolate, lemon sorbet, even the cherry-coffee swirl.”

“I prefer the chocolate frogs,” Taeyong admits, “They also have cards to collect.”

Throwing him the stinkeye, he offers a wide grin in response and you roll your eyes. Against your better judgment, you request the staff to add two chocolate frogs to your order of truffles to bring home. A thank-you gift for the Butterbeers, you supposed. Nothing more than common courtesy in returning the favor.

“For me?” he frowns upon receiving the frogs once the two of you left the shop. “Why?”

“As thanks for the Butterbeer,” you explain. “Take them.”

He takes the chocolate frogs and opens them immediately. Both frogs jump out and disappear around the corner, but his interest is clearly all for the cards at the very bottom.

“Look,” Taeyong gushes excitedly, picking up one of the cards. “It’s Salazar Slytherin!”

“How ironic.”

He pauses, worried that he had said something offensive until you point out the green accents on your robes. A smile tugs at his lips and he hands you the card.

“I don’t collect,” you scoff. “It’s pointless.”

“Well, you can always start now.” He tucks the card into your pocket and you shiver slightly at the sudden touch.

“Cold?”

“No,” you murmur, surprised he had noticed. “I’m going to burn this card when I get home.”

He appears to not have heard the last part, offering his free hand as he then proceeds to take you to the Menagerie to look at the animals. The remainder of the afternoon is spent hopping from shop to shop, a full-fledged Hogsmeade exploration in the company of a boy you had never expected to befriend. Zonko’s, Ollivanders, Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop, and even the Shrieking Shack (the outskirts of it, at least), then coming full circle back at the Three Broomsticks.

“That was fun.” You shiver outside the pub, rubbing your hands together in the growing cold. “I didn’t know there was so much to see besides Honeydukes and the Three Broomsticks.”

“You should say something if you’re cold next time,” Taeyong says teasingly, handing you the bag containing the truffles from Honeydukes while draping his yellow scarf around your shoulders. “I didn’t bring an extra pair of gloves so you’ll have to make do.”

“Taeyong, wait–”

“Keep it.” He loops the scarf two more times and smiles. “You can return my scarf when we go back to Hogwarts in September.”

—

“Why do you have a Hufflepuff scarf in your trunk?”

You quickly bury the scarf deeper within your clothes and the school books required for fourth year. Taeyong had never asked for it back since he gave it to you when he first asked you out, insisting that you keep it even during all the subsequent times you met up with him at Hogsmeade over the summer. You had made it a point that you had your own scarf to wear, but the Hufflepuff vehemently refused whenever you brought the garment out to try and return it to its rightful owner.

Keep it. I’ll get it back from you when we see each other in September.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” you grumble, checking that you packed everything else you needed for the school year. “Why would I have a Hufflepuff scarf of all things?”

“I saw it,” Doyoung says pointedly, “Yellow and black when our scarves are silver and emerald.”

“Your eyes are malfunctioning,” you spit back, closing the trunk and sitting on it to prevent him from opening it to check. “Have them examined before you start accusing me of being one of the badgers.”

Wand hand at the ready, he extracts his wand from his pocket and you do the same with your own. The knock on the door breaks the staring session and both your wands fall to the ground. Whipping your head around, you meet the stern gaze of your mother and dip your head low.

“Get your luggage and other problems sorted out before we leave,” she snaps, “You two are siblings, for goodness sake!”

The door closes, and you turn to look at Doyoung. He returns the gaze and stoops down to pick up his wand, tossing you yours.

“Sorry,” he mutters, “I didn’t mean to point my wand at you.”

You grunt an apology as well. “Likewise.”

“Are you done packing?”

“Yeah.”

Doyoung helps you lift your trunk down and you follow him down the stairs to the parlor, where your mother was already waiting by the fireplace. By her feet are his own luggage and Oliver’s cage–the owl emitting a loud hoot when he spots you behind your brother.

“Ready?”

You and your brother nod, your mother flourishing her wand to lift the trunks into the air.

“Into the carriage, you two.”

The ride to King’s Cross station is mostly silent. Your mother is equally as quiet as she stares out the window, Doyoung fiddling with a book in hand while you wiggle a finger near Oliver. After a few minutes, the owl falls asleep during the ride and you find yourself bored again.

Hope we get there soon.

The carriage eventually rolls to a stop and your brother gently nudges your mother awake from the ride.

“Mother, we’ve arrived at King’s Cross.”

She nods, and you follow Doyoung out, your parental figure the last to exit the self-driving carriage. Once inside the station, you try to ignore the stares at the owl and follow your mother and brother to Platforms 9 and 10, where the Hogwarts Express waits behind the magical barrier that hid it from view of non-magical folk.

“In you go,” your mother gestures at the dividing barrier between 9 and 10. “Take care of your sister, Doyoung.”

“I will, Mother.”

“And listen to your brother,” she says to you especially, “He means well.”

“I’ll try, Mother.”

Before Doyoung can protest, you make a run for it and soon find yourself before the steam engine waiting by the tracks for students to board. You wave to some classmates in your house and Doyoung greets you with a pinch of your cheeks, fully aware of how much you hated it when he did that.

“Let’s find an empty compartment before all the upperclassmen get the best ones.”

Strolling down the aisle, Doyoung finds an empty compartment near the back of the train and enters, placing his trunk at the top and helping you with yours. Poking your head out the window, you see many more students still standing by the platform. Some give final hugs to family members while others wait for friends or significant others to board together. The feeling is both warm yet tugging at your heartstrings once you realize your parents or friends had never sent you off at the platform itself. Ever since you were old enough to attend, it was always Doyoung who accompanied you on the train ride to Hogwarts (Jaehyun usually sat with you halfway or met with you once you arrived at the castle). Not once did your mother step past her spot on the other side to send you and your brother off.

Hell, sometimes it felt like Doyoung acted more like a parent role than that of a sibling itself.

You stick your head back into the train after hearing the train whistle blow, and the steam engine slowly starts to move along the tracks. Eyeing the book in Doyoung’s hands, you peek at the top page and frown.

“Since when have you been taking Muggle Studies?”

“I’m starting it this year.”

“Why?” A smirk stretches across your lips. “Mother and Father don’t know, do they?”

“Of course not!” He lowers his voice in fear of being overheard. “Remember when I told you about my rival? I need to know more about the world of Muggles if I’m going to get top marks this year.”

“Your rival is a Mudblood,” you sneer, “How can she be any smarter than you?”

“She’s a Muggle,” he corrects, “But smarter than everyone else in our year.”

You roll your eyes at his so-called “rivalry” with this Mudblood girl. He had clearly referred to her as a “friend”, a term completely unexpected coming from a Slytherin pureblood. Imagine if your parents found out when they had preached the importance of bloodline in the wizarding world since birth, constantly berating you and your brother whenever either of you got close to those not of pure blood. Not that you didn’t listen to them, but oftentimes you discovered it was those of mixed blood who never put up a pretentious front or took to heart your bloodline whenever the topic came up. Bloodline was only important to those who chose to make it the center of their universes.

Take your brother, for example. Doyoung was everything a pureblood Slytherin could be, yet he had a friend who wasn’t even half, but was of pure Mud–Muggle descent.

“Hey, I’ll be right back,” your brother says, getting up from his seat. “I just saw one of my Ravenclaw friends near the front.”

“Byebye.”

The compartment door opens and your brother rushes out, leaving you alone on the train. Thirty minutes pass and there is still no sign of your brother, who had probably found his friend and was now in deep talk of their new classes or other nerd things. Maybe he even found his Mud…Muggle rival/friend and was chatting her up about kicking her ass in the new school year.

“I thought I saw you in here.”

“What?” you snap, turning your head and flinching when you see Taeyong by the compartment door and not your brother.

“Is this seat taken? I couldn’t find space anywhere else.”

“N-No.” You move Oliver closer to your end and gesture at the available space. “Feel free.”

Nodding in thanks, Taeyong places his trunk overhead and takes the seat across from you. You find it hard to look him in the eye, and Oliver lets out a trill of hoots at your cowardice.

Shut up, you silly bird.

“Is that your owl?” Taeyong asks excitedly. “He’s so big!”

“His name’s Oliver,” you answer, scowling at the proud bird that shuffles in his cage at the mention of his name. “Doyoung and I share him.”

“I have a dog at home,” the Hufflepuff says wistfully, “School rules don’t allow for dogs though, so I only see her when I go home during the holidays or over the summer.”

He makes clicking noises at Oliver and you chuckle. Oliver is equally surprised and flattered by all the attention from this stranger, hopping closer until he is within reach to nibble on Taeyong’s finger.

“Your schedule’s not too full this year, I hope?” you pipe up, the memory of bringing him to the Hospital Wing returning to your mind. “I don’t want to see you collapse from exhaustion by the lake again.”

“No,” he laughs, “That year was tough only because I had just been promoted to Quidditch Captain.”

“Hufflepuff is going to win the House Cup again, I just know it.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” he winks, “Maybe this year Slytherin has a chance.”

“Tough luck when your house has won in the past six years and counting.”

Another knock on the compartment door and this time it is the witch who pushes the snack trolley down the Hogwarts Express. Eyes glowing at the sight of the pumpkin pasties and cauldron cakes, you buy a little of each and (to no one’s surprise) Taeyong asks for two chocolate frogs. You watch as he opens each box, his disappointment evident at the sight of the cards nestled underneath each frog.

“Didn’t get the card you wanted?” you ask in between chews of your cauldron cake.

“No.” He holds up two cards: Celestina Warbeck and Morgan le Fay. “I’m missing Helga Hufflepuff for my set of Hogwarts founders and I’ve never pulled her in all my frogs.”

The thought of being unable to pull Hufflepuff brings about an eruption of giggles from your end.

“Sorry,” you snort at the sight of the pout on his face, “I find it hilarious that you’ve been failing miserably to pull a card of your own house.”

Taeyong tucks the two cards away into his robes and sighs. “Maybe it’s not meant to be.”

“Don’t say that. You’ll get the Hufflepuff card one day.”

“Thanks,” he smiles, letting out another sigh before turning back to Oliver. “At least I also have Oliver to comfort me.”

You bite back a retort of buying him all the chocolate frogs on the snack trolley if he wanted, opting to finish your cauldron cake while he plays with your owl. Once finished, you brush off any lingering crumbs on your fingers and find Taeyong fast asleep, head leaning against Oliver’s cage while the owl remains oddly still as to not wake his new friend.

Remembering his scarf, you quietly get up and pull down your trunk. Opening the lid, you dig up the scarf from underneath your clothes and wrap it around his neck, careful to not pull too tightly. Against your better judgment, you also take out one of your heavier jackets and put it on him like a blanket, thankful that he hadn’t stirred from the extra layers.

Sleep tight, Taeyong.

—

“Is it true? The rumors about you and Taeyong?”

You nearly spit out the chunk of toast still in your mouth, making sure to swallow before opening your mouth to speak. Classes had barely started on the first day of fourth year and you were already somehow entangled in rumors with none other than Taeyong?

“Where did you hear that?”

“I overheard it from Yuta,” Jaehyun responds, tucking another butter roll into the pocket of his green robes. “And Doyoung keeps giving glares towards the Hufflepuff table.”

Locating your brother’s fixated gaze towards the sea of golden yellow, you roll your eyes and sink low in your seat.

“He’s being dumb.”

“Then it’s true?”

“Well…” You turn your head towards the Hufflepuff table. It was difficult to pick out Taeyong among all the yellow. “We’re friends, for starters.”

“Friends,” he echoes, “A Slytherin, friends with a Hufflepuff?”

“Why not?”

Jaehyun finishes the remainder of his breakfast, picking his words carefully.

“I’d be on guard for people who might react negatively to this rumor if I were you.”

“Why?”

The answer arrives midway into your Care of Magical Creatures class, where you find yourself cornered while observing the nifflers running through the maze set up by Professor Kettleburn for this week’s introduction to the creatures currently looking for the shiny things buried underground. The trio of Gryffindor girls hovering above your crouched figure is anything but welcoming, judging by the look of disapproval in their eyes and the crossed arms of displeasure.

“Are you the girl who’s dating Taeyong?”

You push yourself up from the ground and give them a good look up-and-down. “What’s it to you if I am?”

“Someone like you doesn’t deserve him.”

The words taking a larger chunk of you than expected, you don’t realize you already had your wand out before noticing the three recoiled figures.

“What goes on between me and him is our business,” you begin slowly, twirling the nine-inch vine wood between your fingers. “If we’re dating, congratulations you hit the nail right on the head. If we’re not, then boohoo. There was never a rule that stated Slytherins and Hufflepuffs couldn’t be friends.”

“You snake, this isn’t—”

Three gold coins fly out from your robes and tuck themselves into the pockets of the three Gryffindor girls, catching the nifflers’ attention. Screams and sounds of ripping fabric echo in the air as the nifflers abandon the maze and make a run to dig for the shiny gold coins in the girls’ robes, the distraction enough for you to wiggle out of sight and run towards the lake. Finding solace in the quietly rippling waves and sunlit waters, you flop down onto the grass—face first—and relish in the silence.

Apparently being rumored to be dating the Lee Taeyong was a bigger deal than you thought.

It is not until you feel a poke on your backside that you roll over and sit up, wand pointed at the red-and-gold robed newcomer in defense.

“I thought you were dead,” says the Gryffindor girl who had interrupted the peace and quiet. “Just checking.”

You don’t recognize her as part of the trio that had been picking on you in class, scooting away from her only to find that you still weren’t alone after moving away.

“What do you want?”

“Do you know a Slytherin named Kim Doyoung? Tall guy, fifth year, kind of looks like a rabbit?”

A snort leaves your mouth. “I don’t know if he looks like a rabbit but I know him, yeah.”

“Can you give this to him?”

You let out a low whistle at the opened parcel in her hands, the folded cashmere sweater untouched with its tag intact. What was your brother doing, buying this Gryffindor such an expensive gift?

“So? Can you help me give this back to him?”

“Nope. Your gift, your problem.”

She lets out an exasperated sigh. “How hard can it be to drop this off to an upperclassman in your own House?”

“I won’t hand myself over to be nagged for an eternity on invading my brother’s privacy, no thank you.”

“You… Doyoung actually wasn’t kidding when he said he has a sister?”

You give a mock bow, not at all surprised that she knew your name when she was so well-acquainted with your brother.

“Forget it. I’ll give this back to that idiot myself. So immature, declaring me his rival since we first met at our Sorting but giving me a cashmere sweater like we’re friends or something.”

The puzzle pieces click at that moment. Rival. Gryffindor. Friends.

“Wait,” you speak up, extending a hand. This girl–without a doubt–had to be the Muggle that your brother was so obsessed over. “I’ll help you return it.”

She pauses, hands tight on the package. “You sure?”

“I’ll help you return the stupid sweater,” you repeat, beckoning for her to take it out. “Give it.”

The Gryffindor takes the sweater out again and you take it.

“Thanks.”

“I’m going to break your wand if you tell anyone I helped a Gryffindor today.”

A chuckle leaves her mouth, nonchalant at the threat. “Try me. It won’t be the first wand that’s been broken in my hands.”

You take a step back. Whatever your brother saw in this Muggle…

“Also, aren’t you the girl rumored to be dating Taeyong?”

The mention of the rumor brings a heat to your cheeks and she laughs at your reaction.

“Don’t worry, we’ve only heard good things about you in our friend group,” she muses, “He’s always talking about how much he enjoys spending time with you.

“If he likes you, then we approve too.”

You turn away from her, giddiness sparkling in your eyes at the thought of Taeyong potentially liking you more than just a friend.

◇

The Slytherin Common Room is practically empty once you return to the dungeons, but you find comfort at seeing Jaehyun’s furrowed brows before the chess set on one of the tables. He looks up after feeling the tap on his shoulder and breaks into a relieved smile, standing up and looking you over like an anxious mother figure.

“Where have you been?? Your brother has been looking all over for you.”

“Screw him.” Determination rushing through your veins, you grab Jaehyun’s face and look straight into his eyes.

“I need you, my best friend, to help me with two things.”

“W-What?” he mumbles through squished cheeks.

“First, I need you to get me a spot on the Slytherin Quidditch team.” You let go of his face. “Didn’t you say our Seeker is graduating this year? Should be time they start looking for someone to take over.”

“Yeah, but we can’t just–”

“Second, I need you to teach me how to fly on a broomstick.”

The look of disbelief on Jaehyun’s face is palpable to the point that you can practically pluck the shock straight off his dimples.

“Jaehyun,” you begin, waving a hand in front of him. “Did you get all of that?”

He nods. “In essence, yes, but–”

“I’ll find a way to get myself a broomstick and familiar with the rules of the game,” you cut him off, “You just need to put in a few good words for me and be my coach before the first match of the season.”

“Why are you suddenly so interested in Quidditch? You’ve always hated it.”

The image of Taeyong diving after the Snitch and being carried by his team returns to your memory. You realize that was what you liked about him–how he was so passionate about what he loved and the extent of what he would do to be perfect at it. The respect, compassion, ultimately it boiled down to how he never treated others like they were underneath him when he was so popular. In your case, he never saw you as anyone else but you, and it never hit you how there could exist someone who chose to bypass all the other labels thrown your way.

Not as a Slytherin, not as Doyoung’s sister, but as you.

And he had told his friends how much he liked you.

“I,” you start slowly, courage affirming your decision to follow through with your plan. “I want… I want to at least try playing Quidditch when this is something the person I like loves to do.”

—

Quidditch is a stupid game. Stupid rules, stupid balls, and stupid teamwork with everyone else on the Slytherin team.

Jaehyun had done his best to convince the Slytherin Quidditch Captain to let you on the team, but it didn’t get anywhere when you were required to participate in tryouts just like everyone else. Even though you weren’t a stranger to Yuta (who you had practically bribed to get information on Taeyong during second year), as Captain, he apparently had to “play by the rules” anyway.

Stupid. Absolutely stupid.

But somehow, you had managed to outplay all the hopefuls who had attended the Seeker tryouts, avoiding the pointed Bludgers zooming around to knock players off their brooms and soaring high through the sky to find the tiny Golden Snitch. Maybe it was your determination to make it on the team, or maybe it was your brain remembering what you’ve seen Taeyong do from all the times you’ve sneaked into the Hufflepuff stands to watch his matches. Either way, no one dared to dispute your joining of the Quidditch team once the Captain gave his approval.

Perhaps your brother’s thoughts on it all was the biggest protest, Doyoung wringing his hands in disbelief at having to report your play as Quidditch Commentator once the season begins.

“I can’t believe you actually made it on our Quidditch team.”

You turn to Jaehyun with a scowl, punching him on the shoulder. He winces at the impact, still in awe that you of all people proved decent as a Seeker for the team.

“I mean,” Jaehyun says carefully, moving one of his white pawn pieces on the chessboard. “I didn’t expect you to catch on so quickly during our flying sessions.”

“It means you’re a good coach,” you correct him, maneuvering the black bishop next. “Be happy you managed to turn me, a Quidditch hater, into a passable Seeker.” Two moves later, your bishop eats Jaehyun’s pawn, defeat evident on his face when he pushes himself up from the table.

“Where are you going, my good friend?”

“To bed,” Jaehyun grumbles, “I’m not in the mood to play you anymore.”

Chuckling at how competitive he can be, you put away the chess pieces and bump into none other than Yuta on your way to the Girls’ Dormitory.

“Got a minute?”

“Yes?” you begin cautiously, “Already kicking me off the team?”

Yuta grins, patting you on the shoulder. “Why would I do that when you earned the position?

“Follow me, there’s someone who wants to congratulate you on becoming Slytherin’s newest Seeker.”

Beckoning, he leads the way to the Boys’ Dormitory. Once you enter, you have the surprise of your life when you see the splash of honey yellow among the green four-poster beds.

“Taeyong???”

The Hufflepuff offers a wave from his seat on what was likely Yuta’s bed.

“Hi.”

“H-How did you get in? Did Yuta give you our password??”

“So what if I did?” Yuta drawls, rolling his eyes. “Taeyong’s my friend.”

Taeyong smiles sheepishly and you cross your fingers behind your back to not say anything stupid on behalf of your growing crush on him.

“Yuta said you’re the new Slytherin Seeker,” Taeyong pipes up, standing up and offering a hand. “Congratulations.”

You slowly take his hand and feel your face grow warm at the touch.

“I-I tried. Somehow.”

“Go easy on her,” Yuta smirks, “She’s nowhere near your level, Mister Hotshot.”

“I’ll beat you fair and square!” you blurt out, shuffling back immediately. “I don’t need any handouts from you!”

A smile tugs at the corners of his lips, and he exchanges a glance with Yuta. Laughter begins to echo across the dormitory and you abruptly turn so they couldn’t see the look of embarrassment at saying something so brash to one of the best Quidditch players in all of Hogwarts.

When will I learn to keep my mouth shut?

“Okay, party’s over,” Yuta snaps, breaking you out of your thoughts. “Y/N, walk Taeyong out and get some sleep. We have an early team meeting tomorrow.”

“Team meeting?” you grimace. “What for?”

“For next week’s match,” he says pointedly. “First match of the season.”

Suppressing a groan, you nod and gesture for Taeyong to follow. No words are exchanged during the walk to the Common Room and eventually the dungeon entrance, but you suspect Taeyong had done his best to drag it out from your observation of his slow pacing and frequent stops to study the paintings on the walls of notable Slytherins from previous years.

“This is it,” you say once you open the dungeon door. “Good night.”

“When can I see you again?”

It is direct, the feeling of your heart beating faster at hearing his question.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mumble. “I’m a Slytherin and this is the Slytherin Dungeon.”

“I mean, is there a chance for me to see you outside of Slytherin House?”

You openly stare at him, confused until he sighs and rests a hand on your head. Ruffling your hair, he steps through and you’re left in a daze at what just happened.

Close the door, girl. There’s a draft coming in.

Upon hearing the request from the painting directly above the door, you quickly close it and make your way back to the Girls’ Dormitory. Flourishing a hand at your roommate, you land face-first onto your bed, immobile even when she informs you of the darkened room once the candlelight is blown out. You finally sit up after what felt like fifteen minutes of silent thinking, brain buzzed yet heavy at the thought of waking early for your first official meeting with the rest of the Slytherin Quidditch team.

“I need a snack.”

You make your way down to the Common Room, but there are two people blocking the way to reach the kitchens. One being your brother, the other being his alleged rival. You’re too far to hear what they’re saying, but you watch in shock as the Gryffindor flicks her wand, an entire cake flying straight at Doyoung and hitting him square in the face.

What in the world?

He takes a handful of cake and throws it back at her. If you didn’t know any better, you would’ve assumed they were a couple based on the laughter and smiles on their faces. What happens next is the biggest shocker when he proceeds to hold her hand, laughing while she sheds tears and joins him in the laughter.

“... Never mind, I’m going back to bed.”

—

You had to admit, Quidditch had its perks despite being a stupid sport.

Introduced as the newest addition to the Slytherin Quidditch team during Slytherin’s first match of the season against Ravenclaw, the reception had been reluctant at first. However, your brother’s role as Quidditch announcer may have also played a part to change your peers’ perception of you via his unbiased reports on your flying and quickness in spotting the Golden Snitch. Not the fastest flier on the team, but you made up for it with sheer determination, unwilling to let slip the prize when you spotted it first. Sometimes you had help from Jaehyun to swing a Bludger at the opposing team’s unsuspecting Seeker. Other times, a few of the Chasers would “conveniently” gather together in a blockade when passing the Quaffle to give you room to freely fly towards the Snitch without needing to worry about having the other Seeker on your tail. Dirty or not, it was a strategy that paid off when Slytherin reportedly won more matches than it usually did this Quidditch season.

Of course, Hufflepuff was still the superior House team, your eyes following Taeyong more than anything else during matches against the honey badgers.

But as exciting as Quidditch may be, academia still took precedence at the school, hence the diminished hubbub at Slytherin’s unprecedented improvement when midterms rolled around. There were still some rumors floating around regarding you and Taeyong’s relationship status, but even that had to take a step aside as teachers started to assign hefty assignments before the winter holidays. The competitive streak resurfaced when you made a bet with Jaehyun that you’d do better than him on your assignments to motivate yourself to stay focused, your best friend just as eager to kick your ass where it hurts the most. Not that you had anything to prove when Doyoung already proved he had the superior nerd genes, but you find yourself holed up in your brother’s room during the following weeks nonetheless, his space one where you actually find yourself concentrating rather than thinking about other non-academic matters. If people were going to shove you under his shadow, you might as well show them you weren’t his sister without reason.

“Last one to turn in,” you sigh as you and Jaehyun run towards the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. “Whoever ends up getting a higher score buys the other person butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks for one whole week.”

“Deal.”

Remembering the Dark Arts was easy (signature of those in Slytherin), but the point of the class was to learn methods of defending against them, not executing said dark magic. It was always one of the classes you had the most difficulty in, not as easy of a cakewalk as it was for those in the other three Houses.

Not the last Slytherin to leave but certainly not the first, you sigh loudly in relief after the doors shut behind you, much to the amusement of the Hufflepuff standing outside with a chocolate frog in his hands.

“What are you doing here, Taeyong?”

He moves from his spot against the wall and shrugs. “Just wanted to see what you were doing since I have a free period.

“How was class?”

“Horrible,” you groan, “I made a bet with Jaehyun that I’ll score better than him on my assignments, but that’s a story for another day.”

“You can do it,” Taeyong chuckles, a warm sound in the empty corridor. “You’re so smart.”

“We’ll have to see about that.”

He smiles and offers you the chocolate frog.

“Try your luck?”

“Are you still trying to get Helga Hufflepuff?” you snort, opening the box and peeking at the card underneath. “It’s Albus Dumbledore, if you don’t already have him.”

“Keep it,” he grumbles cutely, lips already forming into a pout. “I’ve got at least six copies of his card at home.”

“If you say so.”

You tuck the card away into your robes and ask him about his own assignments. The sixth year starts to ramble about History of Magic being his worst subject, Binns a poor excuse of a professor when he had already died alongside the many years of history taught in his class. It was endearing to hear Taeyong talk about his subjects, the distance between you and him drawn just a little bit closer during the walk down the halls and eventually the library.

“Keep me company while I work on my Potions essay with my friends?”

“Sure.”

You recognize Doyoung’s rival as the only girl in the group sitting by the Care of Magical Creatures section and slide into the empty seat next to her immediately, not wanting to be teased for sitting next to the open seat next to Taeyong when he was supposed to be working on his essay.

“Have you met all of them?” Taeyong asks quietly to not raise the attention of Madam Pince.

“I recognize Yuta and the Quidditch Captain for Gryffindor,” you whisper in turn, giving terse nods to each. They were all older–at least sixth year students and above–but you weren’t going to let that stop you from joining them. “Not the Ravenclaw though.”

“That’s Taeil, he’s Head Boy. He met Johnny in Muggle Studies and they’ve been friends since.”

“Are you done turning in your winter assignments before the break?” Taeil asks.

You nod. “Just finished.”

“That’s great. We’re not done until next week.”

“You’re in Slytherin, right?” Johnny speaks up. “Do you have any insider tips on what Slughorn prefers for his potion analysis essays?”

A loud cough from the front desk intercepts your answer, and you keep your voice down as you give your reply.

“I’m not sure, but I can ask Jaehyun since he’s in the stupid Slug Club.”

“Oh, I can tell you,” Taeyong chimes, handing over a notebook with circles and lists of potion names. “Professor Slughorn told me these ones are what will get more points since the ingredients are rare and the methodology for brewing is rather complex.”

“You’re in the Slug Club?” you exclaim in surprise. “Since when?”

Another loud cough serves as the second warning and you cover your mouth with two hands.

“Since my…fourth year?” Taeyong whispers. “I helped Madam Pomfrey make the Pepperup Potion once to treat all the colds that were going around during exam season and caught Professor Slughorn’s attention that way.”

“He’s the only non-Slytherin member of that Slug Club, too,” Yuta adds. “Right?”

Taeyong chooses not to answer, instead flipping open his copy of Advanced Potion-Making to continue writing his essay. The others snicker at Yuta being ignored and soon follow suit, each diverging to their own notes and textbooks. Occasionally one of them raises a question for clarification, but they remains in their own bubbles while sharing the same table in the quiet library. You glance over at your neighbor, who is heavily engrossed in looking up charms in The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5–one version above your own textbook. It would be rude to interrupt when you were done with your own assignments, so you rummage through your bag and find a spare piece of parchment and your quill, cursing at the lack of an inkpot in your intent to at least do some doodling to pass the time.

“Here.”

You look over and frown at the silver object before your eyes. “What is this?”

“A pen,” your neighbor says in kind. “There’s already ink inside, so you don’t have to dip your quill every time.”

“Is this a Mud—” You catch yourself and rephrase to the more appropriate term for a witch with no magical background. “Muggle thing?”

“Sure is, and quite convenient too. Click the top and try it out.”

You do as she says and nearly jump back at the tip that pops out. Hoping none of them had seen how startled you were at the sight of this “pen”, you fidget a little in your seat before putting it to contact with the parchment. Your eyes widen in wonder at the black ink that follows your every sketch and line. No need to dip quills when the ink never seemed to stop. Once you fill the entire page, you find one of your notebooks and flip open to the first empty page, inked doodles of flowers, shapes, and anything you can imagine making their way onto the blank canvas that was their new home.

“That’s Taeyong, right?”

Yuta leans over and points his quill at a small figure at the top left corner of your page. “No one here has such big eyes other than him.”

Taeyong looks up and you quickly pull your notebook back.

“No, it’s not.”

“It’s definitely Taeyong,” comes the female voice on your left. “There’s even dog ears on his head along with those big puppy eyes the girls scream they’d die for.”

Not wanting to show him your scribbles, you shove your things on the table into your bag in one sweep, ignoring Madam Pince’s sharp shrills to not run in the library as you rush out in embarrassment. So what if you had unconsciously made a doodle of Taeyong in your notebook? It wasn’t like he was anything more than a friend.

To be fair, he didn’t even–

“Watch where you’re–Oh. It’s the snake.”

In your hurried escape from the library, you bump into a group of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw girls on your way out (the one in the middle you remember from your Care of Magical Creatures class). She sneers as she looks over the scattered textbooks and notes on the floor, the other girls eyeing you with scorn when you stoop down to pick up your things.

Ignoring them, you pick up all the scattered items and swing the bag over your shoulder, only to be blocked from every corner.

“Can you please move aside?”

The Gryffindor girl who was clearly the leader of the group extends a hand and shoves you against the wall. You wince at the pain that stings at your shoulders and hold your gaze, too prideful to show that you were scared at the sheer number of them surrounding you. The Ravenclaws don’t say anything, but you can see the disdain in their eyes when the topic of Taeyong comes up.

“We saw you sitting with Taeyong and his friends,” one of the Ravenclaw girls begins, “Are you really not his girlfriend?”

“For the last time, I’m not,” you insist, doing your best to not let them hear the fear and tremor in your voice. “I… At most we’re friends.”

“Friends?” the Gryffindor echoes. Harsh cackles emit from the circle, and passing students turn their heads to look at the commotion happening right outside the library. The girls lower their volume afterwards, but it doesn’t take away the malice in the upcoming threat when the Gryffindor leans in next to your ear, jabbing a finger at your chest.

“You can be friends with Taeyong over my dead body, you little bitch.”

Gritting your teeth, your hands curl into fists and swing. The punch lands squarely on her jaw, knocking her back and bruising her lower lip. A hush falls over the group; they look you over in renewed fear, no longer as daunting as they were before.

“Why you…!!!” She gets up and swipes a hand over her mouth. Blood is smeared across her knuckles, the punch carrying more force in it than you had expected. “You’re going to get expelled for punching an upperclassman!”

“You provoked me first!” you yell, rolling up your sleeves and taking out your wand. “I never did anything to your stupid face until you decided to–”

A hand rests on your shoulders before you can use a curse on her, and you look up just as Yuta eases your wand out of your hand. From behind him, Taeyong pushes his way into the growing crowd. Fury burns in his usually warm gaze and he heads straight for the Gryffindor who had started the entire fight.

“Did you provoke her?” he asks the upperclassman quietly.

She tries to make an excuse, but you can tell Taeyong isn’t buying it from the look of pure anger on his face.

“What makes you think it’s okay to pick on her, huh? Is it because she’s in Slytherin? You’re going to automatically label all Slytherins as bad people?”

It is silent to the point that you can hear a pin drop.

“Try her again and you’ll have to get through me first,” Taeyong hisses, pointing his wand right between her eyes. “I don’t care who you think you are; you don’t treat any of my friends like that, you hear?”

A pang of disappointment swirls in your stomach at hearing him call you a friend. To him, you were only a friend–nothing more.

“Get out of my sight,” the Hufflepuff finishes, putting down his wand arm. “I don’t want to see you near here ever again.”

She blubbers an apology and scurries away, her cronies close behind. As Head Boy, Taeil ushers the other students who had witnessed the scene to disperse, Johnny offering a helping hand while Yuta hands you back your wand.

“You caused quite a commotion,” the Slytherin smirks. “Luckily Taeyong decided to check it out.”

“I’m fine,” you mutter, thanking him for returning your wand. “I had everything under control.”

Taeyong turns his head at your comment and you try your best to avoid his gaze.

“Really. I was prepared for them to come at me ever since the rumor started.”

“What rumor?” Taeyong frowns. “The one about us dating?”

You refuse to elaborate and Taeil conveniently eases his way in between you and Taeyong once the corridor is now emptier than it was prior to the fight.

“Y/N, I will have to report this incident to Professor Slughorn and the Headmaster,” the Head Boy informs you. “You may have to serve detention during the winter holidays since this happened so close to the break.”

“I understand.”

“As Head Boy, I will also be deducting 10 points from Slytherin for use of physicality on school grounds against another student.”

You dip your head lower at hearing the loss of points. “Okay.”

Taeyong opens his mouth to dispute the sentence but a hand nudges at his side. Doyoung’s rival/the only girl in the group glares at the Hufflepuff to hold his tongue, shaking her head.

Noting that you and Taeyong needed some time alone, Taeil takes his leave, Johnny bidding goodbye while simultaneously pulling his fellow Gryffindor away. You still avoid looking Taeyong in the eye, neither speaking a word until he is the first to break the silence.

“Why didn’t you tell me people were giving you a hard time because of me?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lie, looking at everywhere else but his face.

“The others already told me everything. Filled me in just before we came to intervene.”

You mumble under your breath to break the Gryffindor girl’s wand, feet picking up in pace only to be pulled back by a strong grip on your wrist.

“I thought we were friends, Y/N. Friends should stand by each other.”

The word ‘friend’ strikes a chord and you pry your fingers out of his grip.

“Don’t.”

“What?”

“Don’t say we’re just friends when… when I don’t even know if we can still be friends anymore.”

His voice softens to nearly a whisper that you can barely hear. “Why not?”

You bite your lips, hard enough to draw blood. “All the times we met at Hogsmeade this past summer. Your scarf. Even…”

Reaching into your robes, you take out a chocolate frog card and show it to him.

“I’ve always kept the first card you gave me. Salazar Slytherin, a reminder of where my place is at Hogwarts.”

“That’s not why I–”

“Plus,” you interject, voice shaking, “With… With the stupid rumors about us dating, can you honestly tell me what you think of me? Right here, right now?”

“I like you,” Taeyong answers earnestly. “I’ve always liked you.”

“Surely you know that everyone here at Hogwarts doesn’t like that you like me.”

“But I know that I like you. Surely you feel the same way?”

What should have been a heartfelt confession brings only doubt in your mind instead of happiness at having your feelings returned.

“It’s not that simple, Taeyong.”

I don’t want you to be the laughingstock of the school by falling in love with a Slytherin.

“Then explain it to me.” He reaches for your hand again. “I can help you.”

You shuffle backward, turning your back on him. The chocolate frog card slips from your fingers, falling onto the floor face-down.

“Thank you for being my first friend outside of Slytherin, Taeyong.”

—

“You’re really not coming home for the holidays?”

A finger wiggles inquisitively before Oliver and the owl nibbles affectionately at your nail before letting it go to groom himself.

“No,” you tell Doyoung with a smile, “I got detention for punching that Gryffindor outside the library, remember?”

The open frown on Doyoung’s face doesn’t stop him from packing up his own trunk, stuffing in some spare robes and extra books. “I can’t believe you punched an upperclassman on school grounds. Thank goodness you didn’t get expelled.”

“People will hopefully learn to not pick on me ever again after this fiasco,” you joke, crossing your arms proudly. “I’m all bark and bite.”

“What am I supposed to tell Mom and Dad, then?”

“I don’t know, make something up. Remedial classes over the break. Jaehyun’s family invited me to join them in Germany for two weeks—that I know is happening for sure because he told me. Anything works if you’re the one saying it.”

You hover over the candy stash in his drawer and pocket the last two bags of ice mice.

“Come on, help your sister out.”

“I’ll do what I can, but no guarantees. They’re going to find out sooner or later and you know it.”

Doing your best to help him pack up his things, you walk him out towards the carriages waiting to bring students going home to take the Hogwarts Express. After a brief hug and final goodbye wave, you watch as the horseless carriages go, hands pumping in the air at the thought of serving detention over receiving expulsion for your misdemeanor against another student.

“Alright! Time to report to Filch at his office!”

Midway to the caretaker’s office, you receive the surprise of your life when you spot the Headmaster standing outside with Filch’s cat Mrs. Norris.

“Ah, Y/N,” the Headmaster smiles. “Just the person I was looking for.”

You give the Headmaster a low bow. “Good evening, Sir.”

“I have decided you will be serving your detention under my watch instead,” he informs you. “It’s the holidays, after all.”

“I’m not feeling well,” you lie, clutching at your stomach for good measure. “I’ll make a stop at the Hospital Wing first, Sir.”

The sudden growling of your stomach betrays you immediately and you duck your head in shame at hearing the soft chuckle from the headmaster.

“Come. Let’s see if I have any snacks lying around in my office before you start your detention.”

After the gargoyle allows entry into the Headmaster’s tower via password, you walk in slowly and are unable to keep your awe to yourself. The office is larger than you expected, windows covering nearly every inch of wall space alongside the multiple portraits of headmasters and headmistresses who used to run the school. Books of all sorts line the shelves placed across the room, and you take a seat before the long mahogany desk underneath the painting of the current Headmaster.

“It appears this is all I have.”

You politely take the offered chocolate frog and smile grimly at the card tucked inside the chocolate. Of all the cards you could have pulled, it had to be the one that Taeyong sought to collect for the longest time.

“Helga Hufflepuff,” the Headmaster muses, “How fitting.”

“Do you collect Chocolate Frog cards, Professor?”

“I’m afraid I don’t. But I’m sure there is someone out there who would appreciate getting this card to join his growing collection.”

“Yes, Tae… never mind.”

A sudden whoosh by your ear catches you off guard, and the book that flies by lands directly before you, flipping open to a page containing a photograph of Hufflepuff’s Quidditch team.

“In the middle, here.”

You follow the finger pointed directly at the young man in the middle who smiles up at you with a cheery wave.

“He… He looks just like Taeyong.”

“Muggleborn, but one of Hufflepuff’s best Seekers during his time here at Hogwarts.”

“Why… are you showing me this, Professor?”

“Your parents were young once,” the Headmaster begins, flipping through the pages. “They had their own lives as well and look where they are now.”

Your eyes widen at the page containing Slughorn and his prized students aka the Slug Club. Besides Taeyong’s father, your mother’s photographic self stares at you sternly before offering a taut wave after a ten second pause.

“Your mother and his father were both beloved by Professor Slughorn for their excellent aptitude for potion-making. While they were from different Houses and disagreed on many things, they were on good terms with each other until they graduated and went their separate ways.

“You are not your parents or your brother, Y/N. You have your own gift and carry power in making your own decisions.”

“Professor…”

The Headmaster holds up a hand and pauses, nodding before turning towards you.

“It seems I’ve forgotten I have an appointment to attend to with Madam Pince regarding expanding the library.”

You pick up on his cue. “What do you need me to do for my detention, Sir?”

“I seem to have misplaced a few volumes and would like them re-sorted into the correct alphabetical order. Do be careful with what you touch and I will return shortly.”

“That’s it? But Sir–”

Gone before you can say another word, you finish the rest of the chocolate frog and stand up from your chair, curiosity tingling at your fingertips to explore the office before going to reorganize the shelves. Looking to and fro, the first thing you see is the Sorting Hat. Oh, the Sorting Hat, the very device that had declared you a part of Slytherin during your Sorting Ceremony.

Instinctively, you pick it up and place atop your head; the crackling voice sounding in your ears startles you as you listen to the Hat speak.

Ah, if it isn’t the Hufflepuff Slytherin girl.

The combination of the two houses brings a look of confusion to your face. “What do you mean?”

Your brother was an easy one, Slytherin the moment he put me on. You, however, you were tricky.

“Tricky?”

The Hat bends itself over your eyes and continues after a moment’s pause.

Ambition, cunning, cleverness, determination. You have these traits that make you particularly suitable for Slytherin. Yet there were two things that weighed heavily in contrast: loyalty to your own heart and a strong moral code for right versus wrong. Very signature of a Hufflepuff student.

“Do you regret placing me in Slytherin, then?”

Regret? The top of the hat splits open to a hoarse chuckle. I’m just a hat! What I think is nothing compared to how you think about your own House and how you feel about those you value outside of Slytherin.

Spooked by the Sorting Hat’s uncanny perception, you abruptly take it off and place it back on its stand. The paintings on the wall murmur inaudibly as you make a quick job of reorganizing the bookshelves, not wanting to stay too long in such a private space. After twenty minutes, you find yourself done with the books and take your leave from the office, only to bump into the Headmaster again once you reach the entrance to the tower.

“Leaving so soon?”

“I’ve finished my chocolate frog, Professor. And the shelves have been reorganized to the correct order.”

He nods in understanding. “Thank you for your help, Y/N. I’m afraid I must also apologize for not having anything else to offer you besides the chocolate frog.”

“No, it’s fine. Thank you for overseeing my detention and for the conversation tonight. I did not know my mother was friends with Taeyong’s father until you showed me the photograph.”

“Good night, young lady. Please do not hesitate to stop by if you ever find yourself in need of more chocolate frogs.”

—

Your parents had been utterly disappointed at hearing about your detention, but you didn’t take their criticism too deeply to heart once spring term rolled around. Hearing the complaints from your brother about getting nagged for not taking good enough care of you was enough to tickle your fancy after so many years of living under his shadow.

Maybe there was more to it–Doyoung feeling just as much pressure for being your brother.

As schoolwork picks up again, you keep your distance from Taeyong and find it helpful in honing your Quidditch skills while balancing homework assignments. Yuta was especially impressed at your growth in catching the Snitch during practice, even at the speed in which you spotted any Bludgers Jaehyun or the other Beater sent your way and quickness in swerving away to avoid a nasty hit. It looked as if Slytherin was finally able to contest for the Quidditch Cup this year–or at least be fair contenders–next to the longtime champion that was Hufflepuff.

“Nervous you’ll lose to Taeyong?”

You scoff at hearing Yuta’s question. What a thing to ask right before the semi-final match between Slytherin and Hufflepuff.

“You’ve got to be joking.”

He shrugs. “He’s been a mopey mess ever since the winter holidays.”

Clutching your broom, you shake off any excess jitters and turn to your captain with a sad smile.

“It’s better that I keep my distance from him. Someone as popular as Taeyong shouldn’t be hanging out with a bad egg like me.”

The stands come into view, and everyone mounts their brooms to enter the field. You follow your teammates as they kick off and make laps around the stands, dots of yellow and green decorating the audience amid the loud cheers from both Houses. Hufflepuff is next to enter, and your heart sinks at seeing Taeyong (the cheers growing significantly louder when he does his signature loop-de-loop entrance). All players line up in position, and you hover higher than the rest to remain in ample height of viewing the entire stadium.

“Welcome to the semi-final match of this year’s Quidditch season,” Doyoung announces from his Commentator stand. “Winner of this match will advance directly to the finals, where Gryffindor is already waiting for a chance to become this year’s Quidditch Cup Champions!”

His voice magically enhanced to be clearly heard across the stadium via the microphone, you watch as Madam Hooch steps out onto the field to start the game. The lock around the box holding the Quidditch balls is unlocked, all eyes fixed on the released Bludgers and eventually, the Golden Snitch. It flutters around your broom, lingering ever briefly before circling Taeyong and subsequently flying off higher into the sky.

“And the Quaffle is released!” Doyoung hollers once Madam Hooch throws the Quaffle high into the air. “Slytherin wastes no time flying straight for the Quaffle, a direct pass to Captain Nakamoto Yuta for an early goal!”

You manage to make eye contact with Taeyong and he opens his mouth, only to close it just in time to avoid the zooming Bludger that nearly catches the tail end of his broom if not for his quick reflexes. Looking away, you turn your focus back to the match and start circling the field, eyes peeled for any sign of the Golden Snitch.

“Alright there, Y/N?” Jaehyun shouts, arms taut before taking a swing at the approaching Bludger. The ball is punted high and far, hitting one of the Hufflepuff Chasers right in the neck.

“Fine,” you yell back, wincing at the Hufflepuff that takes a straight dive downwards onto the ground. “I think I saw the Snitch on the far left side!”

“I’ll cover you; fly up!”

You do as he recommends, making a beeline up. Veering towards the left, you grin at the speck of gold hovering above one of the Slytherin stands. Just short of landing on the head of one of the Slytherin first years, you accelerate and reach out an arm to grab the Snitch.

Or so you thought. Another hand reaches for the Snitch at the same time and ends up grabbing you instead of the winged ball.

“And it looks like the Hufflepuff Seeker managed to grab hold of Slytherin’s Seeker rather than the Golden Snitch! I’m afraid no points will be awarded for that one, Taeyong!”

“Sorry,” Taeyong shrinks back after letting go of you, “I didn’t mean to grab you.”

“It’s fine,” you mutter, soaring even higher after losing sight of the Snitch. “Just leave me alone.”

He does not leave you alone, staying close to your tail the entire way.

“What do you want?” you snap, annoyed at his proximity. The stadium is far from view, only you and him up in the skies. “I’m trying to win here!”

“And you’ve been avoiding me like the plague since winter!”

His outburst catches you off guard. You look away and he flies close enough to the point that you could touch his face with one extended finger if you wanted. Taking a deep breath, you turn back and stare into his earnest eyes. It is now of all the times you’ve been in his company that you notice Taeyong has always looked at you like this–a straightforward gaze that stares straight in rather than glossing over.

“I like you,” he repeats, three words you haven’t heard since last winter outside the library. A smile follows, his eyes softening. “I’ve always liked you and only you.”

“Taeyong…”

“Now that you know how I feel about you, can you tell me how you feel? About me?”

You feel your face grow warm again and you shake your head.

“… You should know by now how I’ve always felt about you.”

“Please. I want to hear you say it.”

You refuse, and he coaxes it out of you with a sudden kiss on the cheek. The gesture takes you by surprise; he stammers an apology and you grab his face with your hands, tired of keeping up the charade to avoid him for his sake.

You have the power to make your own decisions.

“Fine!” you shriek, mouth aching at being unable to suppress the happiness at hearing his second confession. “I like you too, Taeyong! I’ve liked you since I saw you make that winning dive for Hufflepuff during second year!”

The growing grin on his face is contagious, and you find yourself smiling at how lovestruck he looked on his broom.

“... This means you’ll let me win, right? As a celebration for me returning your feelings?”

His eyes harden with a renewed vigor. “Never in a million years.”

Letting go, you blow a raspberry and zoom off, making the gradual descent to spot the Golden Snitch before he does. You’re already going as fast as you can, but Taeyong is faster. The seasoned Hufflepuff Seeker easily overtakes you, shooting a wink before accelerating even more until the stands come back into view.

What comes into view, however, is not the stands, but a Bludger that flies nearly just as fast in his direction. Without thinking, you reach for the extra wand you had nicked from the Headmaster’s Office hidden in your Quidditch robes for any last-minute trickery, yelling out the first thing you can think of to prevent the Bludger from hitting the boy you loved so much.

“Accio Bludger!”

The Bludger pauses right before colliding with Taeyong, instead swerving course to go around him and hit you smack in the forehead from your use of the Summoning Charm. Winded, you fight to keep your eyes open but it is inevitable–the dizziness and gradual slip of your fingers from the broom handle. You feel yourself falling, faster and faster towards the descent that will surely break all the bones in your body from such a height.

“Win… You better…win…”

◇

[from the stands]

No sign of either Seekers is present since they both flew out of range, Doyoung’s attention completely attuned to the moves of the Chasers and defending Keepers to prevent the opposing team from scoring more points. It is quiet, almost too quiet had it not been for the fearful shouts towards the blur dropping from the sky. He squints to get a better look and realizes it is a Quidditch player, standing up from his seat immediately when he sees that it is his sister who is free falling straight for the ground–no broom at all.

“Help!” He gets up, running down the steps with his microphone in hand.

“Someone, help! My sister is falling!”

All attention is turned to the falling Slytherin Seeker. The professors scramble to exit their seats, but before they can do anything to help, there are shouts in the audience towards another figure diving straight for her.

“Look, it’s Taeyong!”

“Taeyong’s making a dive for Slytherin’s Seeker!”

His heart leaping right out of his chest, Doyoung can only watch as the Hufflepuff Seeker accelerates even faster on his broom, arms outstretched and grabbing the falling Slytherin into his embrace. There is no time to regain the grip onto his broomstick, Taeyong rolling into a rough tumble and crashing onto the field from the unchecked speed upon descent.

“Move, move!” Doyoung finally reaches the field and pushes his way through the wall of Hufflepuff and Slytherin players from both teams surrounding the two fallen Seekers. “That’s my sister in there!”

They make way to let him pass and tears pool in Doyoung’s eyes at seeing his unconscious sister. Taeyong stirs, making eye contact with Doyoung and nearly losing his balance as he struggles to stand while holding the passed out Slytherin in his arms.

“H-Hospital,” the Hufflepuff croaks, “Take her…”

“You there,” Doyoung barks, flourishing a hand at the entire Hufflepuff Quidditch team. “Help carry my sister and Taeyong to the Hospital Wing! Now!”

—

“Look! Your sister moved!”

You open your eyes to see Doyoung looming over you, his rival unable to suppress the squeals of relief as she grabs his hands.

“How’re you feeling, squirt?” the Gryffindor asks.

“Uh…”

Your brother moves forward to help you sit up, fixing your blankets and adjusting your pillow while he is at it.

“My head hurts…what happened?”

“You fell,” Doyoung murmurs, unable to look you in the eye. “Straight from the sky like a rocket coming back from space. Thankfully Taeyong…”

Not understanding what weird Muggle invention he had referenced, you perk up at hearing Taeyong’s name.

“Did he win?”

“What?”

“Did Taeyong win?” you repeat, easing out of the cot and into the pair of slippers on the floor. “He caught the Snitch, didn’t he?”

Doyoung and her exchange a look. You ask again, not understanding why they were so silent on the matter.

“Neither of you caught the Snitch,” Doyoung explains, “So the game has been put to an official stalemate. There will be a rematch in two weeks’ time, right before the Easter holidays.”

“How did he not catch it when he’s the best Seeker in the entire school?”

“He decided to catch you instead. It must have been like, at least a fifty-foot dive when he finally crashed onto the ground while holding you in his arms.”

—

The Hospital Wing never caught a break even with visitors, Hufflepuffs and students from other Houses alike all wanting to pay Taeyong a visit since the fateful semi-final Quidditch match against Slytherin. You had no courage to stop by during early hours, hence only making an appearance by sneaking out after midnight to pay him a visit. He was usually asleep by then, but sometimes he would wake occasionally and frown when he didn’t see anyone around despite hearing footsteps and seeing the mountain of chocolate frogs by the nightstand.

Tonight was no different, but this time you freeze at seeing him hold up a hand when you step through the double-doors. The handful of chocolate frog boxes in your arms lands on the floor with a loud clatter and he hurriedly moves to help pick them up.

“No, wait,” you stammer, watching helplessly as he grabs everything off the floor, “I didn’t…”

“I knew it was you,” he smiles, returning to his bed and patting at the empty space next to him. “No one else brings so many chocolate frogs at once.”

You hesitate, but decide to sit anyway. He is still as cheerful as ever tearing open each chocolate frog, one after another just to see the card underneath. Once he’s gone through all of them, you reach into your pockets and pull out the Hufflepuff card you had received from the Headmaster’s office, placing it in his hands.

“For you.”

Taeyong’s mouth drops at seeing Helga Hufflepuff’s card, a wide grin on his face while gingerly extracting it from your hands.

“I’m sorry,” you add, “I didn’t know you would give up on winning the Quidditch match just to save me.”

He shakes his head, looking up at you with his familiar soft gaze.

“I couldn’t let you slip away so quickly when I just found out you like me too.”

After placing the card into the drawer, he reaches behind his pillow and hands over a box from Honeydukes.

“I meant to give this to you in the morning, but now is a good time too.”

You pull off the ribbon and open the box to find twelve truffles sitting in a bed of pink parchment paper.

“You remembered.”

“Mhm. Next time I’ll get you the 48-piece set so you’ll have one of every flavor.”

Clutching the box, you hit him lightly and he laughs.

“You do know we have a rematch to settle right before the Easter holidays, right?”

“Yeah, and?” Taeyong smirks. “I’m going to win, and then you’ll come home with me so I can introduce you to my parents.”

His cheekiness reaching no bounds, you silence him with a kiss and he smiles, pulling you into his embrace.

I’m going to win so I can bring you home to meet my parents, Taeyong. Imagine the shock on their faces when they find out their pureblood daughter is dating someone with “murky” blood.

—

How can you let the Slytherin off the hook easily, Headmaster?

The old man puts down the steaming cup of earl grey from his chair in the office, twinkling eyes gazing fondly at the photobook in front of him.

“I did tell her to stop by if she ever needed any chocolate frogs.”

The first painting to his left lets out a snort, unconvinced. That certainly does not mean she can steal from here. And a wand, of all things!

Flipping the page to the same photo of the Slytherin’s mother and the Hufflepuff’s father, the Headmaster watches the woman in the photo offer a wave before tilting her head slightly upwards to glance at her left. The action unseen by the man in the photo, she shifts closer towards the student on her immediate left and subtly turns her head completely towards him before regaining her composure, staring again once more towards the front where the camera is before the shutter went off to capture the photo.

Headmaster? I suggest taking sixty points from Slytherin for stealing from your office and nearly killing that Hufflepuff Seeker with her rash antics.

“That won’t be necessary.” The photobook closes itself shut, making its way back to its rightful spot on its shelf—curtains pulled on nostalgia for a previous pair of students that could have been but never were. “Why must we punish the shadow when all it did was do everything it could to embrace the light? He ultimately decided to risk his own life to save her, did he not?”

Headmaster!

“Fifty points will be awarded to Slytherin and Hufflepuff for achieving what their predecessors could not. End of story.”

#nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct fanfic #taeyong scenarios #taeyong imagines #taeyong fanfic #hogwarts!au #it has been three long years

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jellifysh · 3 years

Text

spy au, one and a half (comes before second part)

in which the boys get jealous

"I must say Mr.James, I've never seen such a smooth dancer," you purred, charm oozing from your smile.

"It's a gift," he chuckled. "And you are quite the--"

A hand grabbed your shoulder, stopping the gentle sway of your dancing. "May I cut in?" Hoseok asked, smile sharp enough to cut glass. You internally rolled your eyes as he intimidated your dance partner away.

"Uh, yes, of course." The man squeaked out, practically running away from the dark haired man silently asserting his dominance.

"Hoseok!" You huffed as he took your arms, winding them around his shoulder and clasping hands with you as he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer than necessary. His clean smell, like a sunny day, flooded your nose, making it hard to actually stay angry with him. "You scared away a potential client. Why are you even here?"

"To back you up, angel," He said, not ashamed at all. "We heard there's someone here who you've been trying to track down."

"There is. And if you ruin this for me, I will never forgive you." You hissed, nose practically touching his. He just smiled, wide and dopey. "Have I ever told you how beautiful your eyes are this close?"

You sighed, pushing away from him, and he pulled you back in spinning and dipping you. "We aren't finished dancing, angel."

"I think we are. You know what I'm here for, so why are you getting in my way?"

"Because," Hoseok said as the lights started dimming. "It's time for the main event, and we saved you a seat."

He led you to a table, a large circle with eight seats, six filled by the boys who wouldn't leave you alone, and you and Hoseok taking the last.

"If you all keep hanging around me like this, people are going to start associating us with each other." You said, crossing your legs petulantly.

"Is that such a bad thing?" Jimin hummed, head resting on his elbow as he gazed at you much too kindly for someone nicknamed the Viper.

"Yes." You said instantly. "You have a reputation, and I work alone. If people think we're working together, they'll be more hesitant about contracting me. And if you get in the way of my paycheck--"

"Relax, princess," Jin waved his hand dismissively, lounging back in his chair with the amount of confidence you'd assume was accurate for an unstoppable member of a ever-growing mafia. "You'll never be short on money with us around."

"I don't need you."

"As you always like to remind us," Yoongi rolled his eyes, looking as bored as ever. "Doesn't this whole thing ever get tiring for you?"

"You act like you even care. I don't think I've ever even seen you smile at me. Why do you let these idiots drag you around?" You snapped back, ignoring the indignant 'hey!' from the other people at the table.

"I smile all the time. See?" He smiled sarcastically for a second, face dropping back into the bored expression he had afterwards.

"Charming," you drawled sarcastically. "And you? Aren't you supposed to be wiser than this, O Genius Mafia Leader?" You questioned Namjoon who had been staring in a stunned sort of silence this whole time.

"You look really pretty today." Namjoon said, hearts practically in his eyes.

"Nevermind." You rolled your eyes.

Taehyung chuckled, enjoying this far too much. "You're stuck with us, doll. We aren't leaving you alone and you need our help, as much as you like to pretend you don't."

"You have to admit, you've been able to relax more since we've helped you." Jungkook commented over his glass.

"I don't need to relax--"

"We know, we know, you are nothing if not a hard worker, but it's okay to relax. You have help, okay?" Namjoon said, seeming to remove himself from his dreamy stupor long enough to flash a dimpled smile at you and you could smell his sweet caramel scent pouring towards you.

You stared at him for a long moment before turning your nose up and looking away, instead directing your attention to the stage where the speaker was beginning to pick up a microphone.

This banquet was meant to be a charity, where the rich would gather and auction on overpriced art pieces. And where the rich would gather, they would network, even those with underground affiliations. No one knew Bangtan was mafia unless they were associated with the darker parts of high society as well, so they were safe to mingle and talk, knowing no one would challenge them in such a publicized event. It was the same way you could be here. To everyone else, Bangtan were successful and reclusive CEOs and you were a foreign model.

Or, at least, the fake identity you were using tonight was.

The speaker droned on and on about how lovely the event was and how much the paintings cost. Some were nice but most were overhyped, though there were pieces that you loved. Every painting you looked at for a little too long, the boys would bid on, making you roll your eyes.

"These are going to look so good in our future house, don't you think, wifey?" Jin said, as the auction ended, people free to move around again. You drifted away, ignoring him, cutting through the crowd and getting your eyes on your target.

Aidan King. A relatively young, arguably handsome, up and coming drug and human trafficker, slimy and hated by many. He was smarter than your usual clients, always surrounded by armed bodyguards and careful about who he hung out with.

But he could never resist a pretty girl.

You strutted over, capturing his attention casually by dropping something nearby and bending to pick it up. Cliche, definitely, but it piqued his interest and got him to walk over.

"Hey." He said, cocky smile on his face. "This is an amazing auction, right?"

You nodded eagerly, pretending to be honored to be here. "It was incredible. All the pieces were so beautiful."

"A couple friends of mine actually put together this event," he bragged. "But I don't remember seeing you on the list. I'm sure I'd remember a pretty name to go with a pretty face." He took your hand pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

You giggled girlishly, "I'm Skye Mitchell. I came as a plus one." Giving him a fake name would be the best move, even one of your fake identities' names might reveal too much information about you if he was really as careful as they say.

"Well, no reason you should miss out on any fun." He said, pulling you closer by your arm. "I have something in the other room I'm sure you'll like."

You followed him, skipping along happily as the men you left behind glared after you.

"What does she think she's doing?" Hoseok growled, arms crossed as he rose from his seat.

"Who is that?" Namjoon asked, all mirth gone from his expression.

"I didn't get a good look," Taehyung murmured.

"Brushing us off to rush away with some random guy?" Jimin scoffed. "I don't think so."

Namjoon looked towards the youngest as they watched you disappear around a corner. "Jungkook,"

"On it." He said, following you before Namjoon even had to finish his sentence.

"I'll get to the cameras," Yoongi said, taking off.

"I'll cover you," Taehyung followed him.

Meanwhile, Aidan was showing you a large sculpture, an interactive art piece that was quite impressive actually. You didn't have to fake your interest in the piece as he conversed with you about it.

He put a hand on your shoulder, moving in closer than comfortable. His scent burned your nose, burnt cinnamon. "I have more things like this in my mansion. Why don't you join me? This banquet will go on until midnight, but a girl like you deserved a more fun time." His hand trailed a little too closely to your chest and you acted like it didn't make your skin crawl as he pressed himself to your back.

"That sounds lovely." You said instead.

You caught the smug grin on his face as he escorted you to a back entrance, likely thinking he had gotten away with kidnapping another girl for his underground prostitution business, but you readied yourself to grab the dagger you had strapped on your hip.

Before you could though, another knife was plunged into his neck and he fell to the floor, writhing in pain. A boot stomped down pushing the knife all the way through, the body slowly stopping all movement. You turned finally, seeing Jungkook standing there, a dark gleam running through his eyes as he turned and glared at you.

Before you could get a word out, he hefted you up over his shoulder, fireman carrying you out of the building. His sweet citrus scent smelling more like a burnt orange peel, like a scented candle that had burned all the way down leaving nothing but smoke. Your omega instinctually pushed out your own strawberries and cream scent, emphasis on the cream, as you scrunched up your nose.

He stopped a couple streets down, pulling you into an alleyway. Finally taking a moment to breath, you huffed and turned to him, demanding an explanation. "Jungkook, what are you doing--"

"What am I doing?!" He exploded on you, friendly smile long gone. You had never seen him so angry. "What are you doing, following random assholes around? You don't even know who he is, he could be--"

"My target. He is my target and I had it handled!" You threw your hands up in exasperation.

"Oh." He blinked, all rage gone, hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck. "I guess it's good I killed him then." He chuckled sheepishly.

"Ugh, and the mess you made, you're cleaning that up! You ruined my mission, you fix it." You ordered, checking for any blood stains on your shoes. Clean, luckily.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll make Soobin and his boys do it." He shrugged casually, firing off a quick message on his phone. He sidled closer to you, seeming to be trying to silently scent you, calming himself down with your scent.

"Why are we over here anyways?"

As you asked that question, a limo pulled up, black and sleek. Jungkook opened the door and you were faced with a car full of angry alphas. You internally groaned, preparing yourself for the most ridiculous ride ever, and hopped in, Jungkook sliding after you.

The limo was quiet spacious, the seats facing the interior of the car so all of you could face each other without turning. The scent of anger was so strong and bitter you let an involuntary whine, burying your nose into your own wrist.

"Care to explain what happened tonight?" Namjoon began, face a mask of cool indifference.

You fidgeting for a moment, not used to being looked at so cruelly by them. "I don't see how it was any of your business--"

"Always trying to run from us." Yoongi drawled, face blank but the amount of hate in his eyes was startling. "And yet you'll run right into the arms of someone else."

"You still smell like him." Taehyung growled, pulling you half on top of his lap to rub his cheek into your scent gland, his pine and seawater smell permeating the air around you. "How dare he put his hands on you."

"Guys, I wasn't-- he was a contract. A target." You defended, watching everyone relax a bit. "Do you really think I'd do that to you?"

Your scent soured slightly and Taehyung whined. "Don't be sad." He said, redoubling his efforts to scent you.

"I'm not," you denied.

"You don't have to lie. And you don't have to pretend like we don't affect you. We were meant for each other." Jin said. "Can you blame us for thinking that maybe we don't matter to you that much?"

You didn't know what to say to that. "I..." you took in a deep breath, turning to look out the window. "I think maybe it'd be best if we kept some distance between us. Our jobs are too risky, anything could happen to us at any time, it's best we don't get attached."

"Well, what if we already are?" Hoseok huffed.

"You'll regret this more if you ignore us and then something happens to one of us. We should be making the most of this--" Jimin tried to reason.

"Take me home please." You cut him off, crossing your arms and sliding back into your seat.

Jimin pleaded, "Y/n,"

"Namjoon." You looked directly at the leader, knowing they wouldn't stop unless he said so.

Namjoon looked at you, something indiscernable in his expression before finally saying, "Okay."

"What?"

"Joon, you can't just--"

He raised a hand, quieting everyone instantly. "We'll stop contacting you directly. But we refuse to just forget about you. If you don't want to talk to us, fine. But we'll keep watching over you so we can help where we can."

"And only if you know I wouldn't be able to handle it. I don't need you stepping in to do my dirty work all the time." You clarified, and a tense moment passed before Namjoon nodded.

"Understood."

"Good."

A silence filled the air, and you knew the boys weren't happy, but at least now you knew you'd have some peace.

#spy au #whoooo #bts x reader #ot7 x reader #ot7 x yn #a little past three but that's okay right?

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angelguk · 3 years

Note

omg so i sent in an ask re angst jock jk n oc ! but then i also realized its highly possible these 2 break up at one point while in uni mostly bc of the "are we dating bc its convenient" kinda dilemma and then it just pushes them apart bc they think theyre losing theirselves while being in such a close relationship,,,cue save ur tears by theweeknd BUT i just know when they grow up a lil bit more, theyll end up together <3

here we go! (the beginning of the end....may be...)

didn’t include save your tears as the soundtrack but may haps for the follow-up :3

pairing: jock!jk and oc

warnings: angst, yes the break-up scene, jaykay being an ass (a very huge one motivated by his own insecurities and selfishness – translation: he’d rather break her heart and carry that weight than be the heartbroken one), chayoung is no longer Seed of Doubt but something else (still up for debate but she’s fairly nice here), not edited but hey atp that’s part of my branding (also i would like everyone to consider that oc is not the greatest gf ever like guys don’t hate jk alone!!)

soundtrack: bags, clairo + stay, gracie abrams + say you know, alina baraz

(titled — honeymoon fades)

Jeongguk’s contact name hasn’t lit up the screen of your phone for six days now and you haven’t seen his face for just as long. It’s weird to go from constant incessant communication to complete and utter radio silence. Not a single meme deposited in your Instagram inbox, no random notification from his Twitter. Just silence, quiet brewing silence.

It breaks two days later when Chayoung finds you coddled under your duvet, mouth stuffed with the saccharine sweetness of mint chocolate. (Jeongguk kept a stash of it at your place but who was around to eat it anymore apart from you?).

“And why do you look like you live in a dumpster?” She’d hummed, ripping open the curtains you’d involuntarily welded shut.

“Because that’s how I feel inside,” you’d retorted, pushing aside your laptop. The screen is stuck with an image of an idiotic character named Nabi kissing the spawn of Satan. You hope for her sake it works out. Chayoung had huffed at your response, fondly whacking your head with a stray pillow.

“Well get over that feeling cause we’re going out tonight.” A declaration, the fierceness in her feline eyes a warning that you’re not allowed to even think of saying no. That doesn’t mean you hadn’t tried – sorrowful eyes and pouted lips as you begged her to spare you. But Chayoung is a force of nature, one that could easily wreak havoc on your delicateness. And she does though, with a string of comments that propels you out of the miserable burrow you’d dug up.

“You’re killing everyone, you know?” She’d supplied, yanking open your closet. “You’re sulking, Jeongguk is shutting down. He’s said like five words since this whole...thing...you have going on.”

You couldn’t help but scoff at that, toying with the corner of the large grey shirt donned on your body. Jeongguk’s shirt. One of his favourites actually. You’d thought about stealing it after spying it on his obsessively neat laundry pile, but after seeing your wandering eyes he’d given it to you instead.

“He always does that,” you’d said after Chayoung had whipped her head in your direction, curved eyebrows perplexed. “I mean, shut down. It’s his emotional response to things that bother him. Complete detachment so it hurts less.”

She had just stared at you, a long meaningful look at left your skin prickled.

“Huh.”

“What do you mean ‘huh’?”

A measured step forward, her body weight sinking into the edge of your mattress a moment later. “I mean, you know him so well.”

“Of course I do he’s my best-friend,” you’d said, indignation coating your words

“No–No you're not getting me. You know him. You know he wouldn’t make the move to reconcile–”

“But he should!”

“You told him to go away! He’s trying to listen to you even though he’s hurting!”

And maybe that was it, that simple implication that you were causing him pain that had you pausing, reviewing the things you’d said to him – the things you’d felt.

“But,” a timid rebuttal, “I just–I just need him to show me that he cares.”

“He does,” Chayoung had returned. “So much. And he misses you. He’s probably just afraid that you don’t feel the same.”

“But I do! He knows this.”

“Does he?” A question in her eyes, one that you’re afraid you know the honest answer to.

You say things and never mean them, he had said, eyes hard.

That had hurt you but perhaps he was right, there are things you hadn’t told him, feelings you hadn’t truly expressed. And Jeongguk had always been good to you, so understanding and caring, trying to fill the places were you lacked. Wasn’t he the one who planned the majority of your dates? Remembered all the important milestones of your relationship while you contributed the bare minimum. You hadn’t even told Chayoung about the surprise he had planned for your one-year anniversary, the shame of your own choice hanging heavy over your head.

So that’s why you’re here, staring at the back of his head forlornly as the music drifts around you, flashing florescent lights bathing him a hazy glory. He hasn’t seen you yet (something you’re thankful for because oddly enough you feel sick to your stomach). It feels like you’re skating on thin ice, waiting for the impending crack to sound through your heart, ice water swallowing you whole immediately. Chayoung is the one who pushes you forward, gingerly plucking the idle drink from your hand, Jimin aiding her efforts with a soft smile your way.

It’s time for you to try the way Jeongguk has, put aside that bumbling ego that oversees your actions and adopt the humility he’s always granted you.

“Go,” she murmurs. “He misses you.”

And God you hope he does because you’ve missed him too.

Except the moment his honey eyes land on you you know he hasn’t.

“Jeongguk,” you mumble. Yoonoh is frozen beside him, concerned gaze flicking between your faces. Your own eyes are stuck on him, the shape of his nose, the curve of his lips, the subtle hint of the dimple in his cheeks.

You’ve missed him, and it slips from your heart and brims in your eyes, vision blurry as your blink those stray tears back inside.

“Hi,” you add, when his silence doesn’t break.

“I should probably go,” Yoonoh lets out, awkward words bumping into the wall of tension standing firm between you to. He settles a hand on Jeongguk’s shoulder, sending him a look that feels loaded. “See you guys later, right?”

You nod, finally noticing the lump clogging your throat. “Yeah, sure.” Jeongguk just hums, the edge of his cup caught between his lips. Yoonoh flees within seconds, leaving you to wade through this alone.

“I–I know you’re not happy with me right now, but please, can we just talk?” He blinks at you, it feels like a premonition. “Please?”

“Okay.” The simple word fills you, like a hollow you weren’t aware of finally found the cure needed.

“Okay,” a small smile on your lips. Jeongguk’s face is still unreadable. He guides you up and away from the deafening sound of the song bleeding from the speakers, into an empty room, the door closing behind him muting the music and giving way to the own pounding in your head. Nobody says anything for a second, both of you navigating this uncharted territory of animosity. Until Jeongguk sighs, melting into the bed at the centre of the room. You follow suit, allocating enough space between the two of you. You’ve ever had to do that before.

“You said you wanted to talk?” Jeongguk finally cuts through it, eyes unforgiving when he glances at you.

“I did! I do–Just Jeongguk,” you can’t help it drifting out. “I miss you.”

Nothing, not even a flicker in his eyes. He eyes shift to the floor instead. “Okay. I that what you wanted to say?”

“No–No not just that! I’ve missed you Jeongguk and I’m sorry. I’m sorry that i went off on you like that and I’m sorry I haven’t been the best towards you and I’m sorry that I’ve made you feel like I didn’t care about you–or made you feel like the things I said or did had no meaning behind them. Because they do–they do because I love you. I love you so so much and I’m sorry if I made it seem like otherwise.” You automatically extend out for him, hoping to grasp on his thing floating to fast away from you. Jeongguk shifts and you hand tumbles down to the empty space between you instead, halted by his hesitance.

His head drops into his palms a second later, a broken exhale leaving his lips. The motion cause the silver bracelet on his wrist to slip down the length of his arm. It jolts something in you. Jeongguk had given you a matching one but you’d ripped it off after the last argument and hadn’t considered putting it back on. But Jeongguk was still wearing his.

“Do you really?”

“What?” He’s staring at you know, doe eyes cloudy.

“Do you really love me?” There, that stupid evil vile question that you thought you had the answer to but the words vanish in your head the longer he looks at you.

“I do–what? What are you implying? Of course, I do.”

“Of course, you do,” Jeongguk echoes. His eyes turn to the window located over his shoulder. You can see his head working through something, and you’re suddenly terrified fingertips itching to wander through his curls and coax those thoughts from his head.

“Jeongguk? What the hell are you talking about? Talk to me, please.”

He sighs again, at it feels like your heart splinters. A sudden shake of his head and Jeongguk twists back to face you, a silent tear falling down his cheek.

“You don’t love me.”

“Wh–What are you talking about? I do! And how can you decide my feelings for me?”

“No. You don’t love me the way you think you do–the way you should.” It feels like he’s saying it to more than you, like he’s saying it to himself. “Maybe this the wrong choice to make. You know. Maybe we shouldn’t have done this.”

You shatter just like that, shards on the floor as you stare him, this person that you thought you knew. And maybe the feeling is mutual because Jeongguk is staring at you in a similar way, searching for the courage to say the words you know lie in his heart. Like a loaded cannon, waiting for the match to strike and leave you lying in pieces.

“I think we should break–"

“No,” you cut him off with an adamance that you didn’t know existed until right then. “No, you’re not gonna say that and we are not doing this.”

His eyes narrow then, jaw set. “This is not about ‘us’, I’m doing what’s right for me.”

“How is that right? Huh, Jeongguk? Don’t you care about this? Don’t you care about me?”

He looks away then, ignoring your questions, his throat stuck.

“Jeongguk...” You reach out again, and he allows it, shoulders sinking with the weight of your hand on them. “Don’t you care about me?”

Another heavy exhale, his eyes blinking hard. “I do. And that’s why this won’t work, not the way it should at least. I really think we should end this, or at least reconsider the reasons why we’re together. You say you love me–you say you always have but really–really think about it. About me and us and what we are. I’m sorry, I really am but I just can’t do this anymore.”

He rises then, your outstretched hand tumbling down to the empty space he’d left behind. You can’t move it, can’t breathe, your heart hurtling out of your chest and onto the ground where it lies, fragmented beyond repair and bleeding bare. You glance up through tears, watch him open his mouth and then it and look away.

“Do you mean it?” You finally ask, and his eyes snap to you. He knows what you’re saying. There’s a pause that stretches out for eternity, coloured by the sound of the ringing in your head.

“Maybe.” It cuts right through you, lodging itself deep with intent. And then you just have to nod, swallow the scream clawing at your throat. He murmurs one more apology before his feet carry him away, and you watch, forlorn as you burn his frame into your memory, as your whole world walks out the door.

#jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #au: jock!jaykay #i really abused the hyphen in this but oh well

297 notes · View notes

something-fanfiction-ie · 4 years

Text

The Years

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Warnings: *SMUT* So you embarrass yourself in front of Derek and Spencer, the details of the case are mentioned and are a little intense, and smut. Like, rough, Spencer smut because there is nothing you can say that could convince me that Spencer Reid is a bottom. And swearing.

A/N: AH THE ENDING PROBABLY SUCKS BUT I TRIED REALLY HARD I PROMISE. Also, this is ridiculously long and not all of it is smut. For a hot second this WAS an OC story but I thought you guys would enjoy a self-insert more so I changed it. LOTS AND LOTS OF THANKS TO MY FAV FIC WRITER AND NEW TUMBLR FRIENDS, @reidmorefanfics and @pomsephone Y’all are the best. Also, remember to shower me in reblogs, comments, asks, messages, likes, and anything else you can think of to boost my ego. I LOVE YOU SO MUCH AND THANK YOU GUYS FOR READING!!!

___

“Actually, that reminds me of a joke that I know.” At the front of the crowded lecture hall, a young Dr. Spencer Reid looks over at his partner eagerly, a smile already splitting his lips apart. Derek Morgan, however, looks over at his partner with a mixture of fear and secondhand embarrassment.

“Reid, I don’t think-” Morgan tries to save him, he really does, but Reid tucks his hair behind his ears and ignores him by starting the joke.

“Einstein, Heisenberg, Newton, and Pascal are playing hide and seek. Einstein covers his eyes and begins counting. While Heisenberg and Pascal run off and hide, Newton takes out some chalk and marks a square on the ground with a side length of exactly 1 meter, then sits down inside the square. When Einstein is finished counting and sees Newton sitting on the ground, he yells, "Ha, I've found you, Newton!". Newton however replies, "No you haven't! You've found Pascal!’”

A short, surprised laugh joins Spencer’s small chuckles, dragging his eyes to the location the sound had come from. Derek looks too, completely taken aback that anyone other than Reid had actually understood the joke. Yet, lo and behold, a young girl sitting in the front row with her cheeks stoplight red and her hand nervously covering her mouth.

Proudly, Spencer nods for Morgan to end the talk, his chest a little puffed out and a smug smile twitching at his lips. They wrap things up quickly, eager to grab some food after leaving campus and before heading back to the BAU.

When Spencer turns to gather his things, grabbing his bag, he notices the soft shuffle of feet against the hardwood flooring of the stage. A pair of black converse peek into his peripheral vision, attached to a pair of long legs that make Spencer blush for noticing at all. Lifting his eyes further, he meets the shy gaze of the only person who had laughed at his joke. It came as no surprise when he sees that your tee shirt had a picture of a cat with the words ‘Wanted: Dead and Alive’ in block lettering.

“Dr. Reid,” Your left hand comes up to push a stray lock of hair away from your face, a single gold band wrapped around your left index finger, “I’m (Y/N) (Y/L/N). I just, uhm, I had a couple questions?”

Looping the strap of his bag over his head and letting the familiar weight of it settle against his hip before he responds, Spencer ignores the way Derek looks at him by pretending he isn’t there at all.

“Of course,” Spencer meets your eyes, which are a beautiful shade of (y/e/c). “I like the shirt by the way. I’m not usually much of a t-shirt person, but I might wear one like that.” You laugh, shifting on your feet and twisting the ring on your finger.

“Thank you, I got it as a Christmas present. Along with ten billion other nerdy t-shirts. But uhm, I was curious how old you were when you joined the FBI?” Morgan holds his tongue, pretending to shuffle papers around and not pay attention to the poor girl’s crush.

“I was twenty-two. I finished two of my doctorates the year prior.”

“I thought you had to be twenty-three? I’ve always wanted to join the FBI as soon as I could but I thought I had a little more time. That’s what I read anyways. I could be wrong, you would know more than I do.” You looked down at your shoes, kicking the toe of one converse into the wood, your hair falling forward over your shoulders.

“No, you’re right. I had an age waiver. You’re eighteen? Nineteen? You’ve still got some time to prepare.”

“I’m seventeen, actually.” Your lips skewed to the side, the confession barely above a whisper as you continued to stare at your feet. Spencer blanched, unable to contain his surprise. He was quick to school his features, though, when you finally looked back at him.

“You’re seventeen and you understood his joke?” Morgan couldn’t help but cut in now, stepping away from the table he’d been pushing papers around on and toward the two younger people left in the room.

“A pascal is a unit of measurement equal to one Newton per square meter. By sitting in a square meter, Newton was being one newton per square meter. Which is, again, equal to a pascal. So he was Pascal.” A smile had worked it’s way past the nerves that jumped around your body. You weren’t very used to talking to young, attractive, intelligent doctors who worked for the FBI.

“Although, even if I hadn’t understood the science behind the joke I might have still laughed. You see, there is this thing called the Halo Effect, which is basically a cognitive bias you might develop based on your initial impression of someone that can change how you feel about their specific traits. Essentially, one example would be that someone you find attractive may seem funnier or more intelligent simply because you find them attractive.”

It takes all of a second for your face to turn beat red as you realizes your nervous ramblings have made you reveal the silly crush you had started to develop on the young doctor. Derek’s lips purse in amusement when he sees the similar shade of red that has colored his partner’s cheeks.

“Not that I’m saying I find you attractive,” Your heart stops cold in your chest and you are quick to retract the statement. “Not to say you’re ugly either, because that’s not what I’m trying to say at all. Just that my first impression of you as a nice and attr- I mean, intelligent man could have very well made my amusement slightly biased because I was more willing to like you based solely on my first impression of you. Which was that you are very nice and, and intelligent.”

It takes all the willpower in the world for you not to throw yourself down the stairwell later that day, the embarrassment having barely faded even hours later. The two men had been quick to assure you they knew you weren’t saying you had a crush on Dr. Reid, but they were obviously just trying to protect your feelings. They wouldn’t be FBI Profilers if they couldn’t tell you had a crush on him. The conversation was pretty much over after that, you being suddenly desperate to make an escape and Dr. Reid just as eager to leave the campus grounds.

The whole team teased him about his teenage fan for months after it happened, Derek had been quick to let everyone know when they came back. Reid had tried to hide from them by scrunching down into his seat and covering his face with a book, but it hadn’t helped him at all.

Eventually though, both you and Spencer were able to move on from the embarrassing moment, though neither of you forgot it. Those moments where you’re all alone and the most embarrassing moments of your life come to creep up and embarrass you all over again? The memory always came back during those moments.

The team, however, seemed to forget about it, Gideon and Elle leaving and Rossi and Prentiss replacing them as the years faded the memory for them.

It wasn’t until JJ took her new position at the Pentagon and Ashley left after her brief consultation on the case in New Mexico that the memory came back to truly haunt you both.

The whole team had heard whispers of a ‘probationary agent’ that would be stepping in to assist wherever needed. Hotch was good at keeping quiet and avoiding questions on the matter, somehow keeping Penelope just as much out of the loop as the rest of the team.

No one was even sure when the new agent was supposed to be coming until the glass doors to the BAU opened and in stepped a young woman with (y/h/c) hair and (y/e/c) eyes. Derek squinted his eyes, your face tickling the back of his memory in a way that annoyed him. Spencer tensed, his eidetic memory quick to remind him of the seventeen year old girl that had basically confessed she thought he was cute, and then called him ‘not ugly’ to try and cover her tracks.

“Agent (Y/L/N), nice to finally meet you.” Hotch said, holding the door open as you nodded your thanks and slipped inside his office with a box in your arms.

“That must be the probationary agent.” Prentiss directed the comment at Reid, oblivious to the resurfaced embarrassment that boiled his cheeks to that same shade of red he’d been in that lecture hall seven years ago. He kept his book up in front of his face while he tried to cool his cheeks, looking over the top of the binding and into Hotch’s window.

You’re sitting ram-rod straight in the seat in front of Hotch’s desk that is closest to the door, your box of things clutched tightly in your white-knuckled hands. Your hair is still the same length, swaying at your shoulders. You’ve switched the Schrödinger’s cat shirt for a deep velvet red dress shirt with the sleeves rolled at your elbows.

But even with the obvious nerves displayed in your current body language, it’s easy to see you aren’t the same stuttering seventeen year old Reid remembers. You holds steady eye contact with Hotch, nodding and fluidly responding in such a way that the usually stoic unit chief actually breaks into a grin that dimples his cheeks. When he stretches over his desk for a handshake, your left hand comes up and grips Hotch’s firmly.

“I’m glad it’s a girl, it was starting to feel a little too testosteronie around here with JJ gone.” Garcia had made her way into the bullpen, a cup of tea balanced in her bejeweled fingers as she, and the rest of the team, size up the girl heading for Hotch’s door.

“I don’t think ‘testosteronie’ is a word, baby girl.” Derek teases, trying to ignore the nagging feelings that he knows this girl from somewhere. Maybe they’d met on a case? But no, that doesn’t feel right.

“It is now, Derek. Don’t argue with me or I’ll have to punish you.” She brings the lip of her cup up, sipping at the lukewarm tea still inside and patting Morgan’s cheek with her free hand. Hotch’s door finally opens again and you step out after Aaron.

A hush falls over the room, all eyes trained to the newest and now youngest member of the team.

“We’ll do introductions on the plane, for now I need everyone in the conference room for a case.” Hotch is quick to make eye contact with everyone, his gaze stern and demanding.

Spencer is the last one into the room, practically dragging his feet to one of the chairs around the circle table. Thankfully, you were sitting across the table. Somehow you haven’t seemed to notice him.

“Yesterday Dawes County police found the body of Julia Hastings along a hiking trail in Kladon. This is the second body they have found in the area in two weeks, the first belonging to Heather Greenaway. Both victims are in their early to mid twenties. Hands and feet bound, buried face down. Each victim was struck once in the back of the head, making cause of death blunt force trauma.”

From your spot at the table, you glance up with narrowed eyes as you open the file you’d been given at the beginning of the meeting.

“Where did they disappear from?” Reid asks, a connection forming in his brain as each picture and detail flies up from Garcia’s tablet and onto the projected pictures before them.

“Night clubs around the area, they were working on the night they each went missing. Both girls were bartenders, had been working at their new jobs a week before they were kidnapped.”

“Justin Millers had the same M.O., kidnapping new female bartenders fitting this exact victimology and holding them hostage for a course of five days, beating and raping them before eventually hitting them on the back of the head with a tire iron.” You don’t look up from the file as you speak, flipping through the pictures and quickly noticing the small odd similarities in the victims between this case and Millers’ case.

“Millers has been locked away for a year and a half.” Derek pointed out, using the opportunity to stare at the face of the girl he was sure he knew but still couldn’t place. When you look up at him, your eyebrows furrowed in a way that reminds him of Reid and your head tilted just a little to the side, he can feel his brain grab onto the memory just before it slips back through his fingers.

“I’d guess a copycat. Something seems different, I just can’t put my finger on it.” Your gaze slides over the table, looking at faces to get a gauge of their opinions on you. When you make eye contact with Reid, your eyes widen just a little before you duck your head. You should have known he was still here at the BAU, you’d only hoped he’d went to another unit out of desperation for this job.

“We’ll look into that theory, for now I just want a profile as if this unsub is working from his own killing preferences. We’ll discuss more on the way there. Wheels up in thirty.” Hotch stands, flipping the cover over the top of his iPad before making his way out of the room. Go bags are grabbed, certain persons avoid bumping into other certain persons, and then the eight hour plane ride to Kladon, Nebraska begins.

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N).” Emily tests the name on her lips, having chosen to move by the younger girl after the fourty five minute theory discussion that started the plane ride.

“You can call me (Y/N/N), that’s what my best friend calls me.” You had popped the first two buttons open of your dress shirt and slipped your shoes off to tuck your feet underneath you. Tucked between your thigh and the arm of the seat is a book with a Greek title, in your hands is the open case file.

“Just your best friend?” Rossi asks from across the way, just as curious about the new girl as the rest of them, but a little better at hiding it.

“She’s really my only friend.” You shrug, but not in such a way that you seem bothered by the fact. You reach up to push a strand of hair behind your ear. Reid notices the gold ring that still circles your left index finger, light coming from the window glinting off the metal when you move. It’s the only jewelry you wears.

“A bit of a loner?” Derek joins the conversation, moving up the aisle of the jet with a cup of something hot cradled in his hands. He takes the seat directly in front of you, blowing at the liquid in his cup.

“I was more focused on getting through school than making friends. Emma just happened to be the only person who wouldn’t let me shake her.” There’s a smile on your lips as you talk about your best friend, your eyes soft.

“What did you go to college for?” Derek is fishing, looking for something to tell him where he knows you from. It amuses Reid, who has sequestered himself into a corner a little further away from you than everyone else.

“I have a masters in philosophy, with a focus in Ancient Greek philosophy. I have a bachelor’s in Greek, which is the only other living language I can speak and read outside of English, and I have two doctorates; one in Classic Studies and one in Criminology.” Rossi whistles, shaking his head and leaning back into his seat to express what everyone else is feeling.

“You young people just keep getting smarter and smarter. You know how many doctorates I had at your age? None. You know how many I have now?” You look at him with genuine curiosity, drinking in all the information you can about the people around you like it was a class you were taking to survive.

“None.” The laugh that bubbles from your lips is infectious and carefree, it pulls Reid’s attention away from his book and it drags Hotch from the constant state of worry that he mentally paces in. Emily, Derek, and Rossi all exchange looks before their own laughter fills the air. It’s nice.

The feeling reminds you of that scene in Mary Poppins where Dick Van Dyke and Ed Wynn laugh themselves into the ceiling. So light and carefree that it could lift them into the sky.

“Why all the attention on the Greek?” Prentiss manages when the laughter subsides, reaching down for the book the young doctor has tucked away. Η φόνισσα, it reads with a black and white picture of arms twisted to the side of the bookcover. You make no move to grab for it, letting the other woman flip through the pages.

“My father was a Greek Philosophy professor before he died, I suppose it’s my way of trying to stay close to him.” Prentiss looks up from the pages, a look of sympathy in her eyes.

“And your mother?” The change in your entire demeanor is like cold water on the conversation, freezing the group in their spots. You reach for the book, tucking it back into the space between your thigh and the seat.

“I don’t know.” It’s the only blatant lie you’ve told since they started talking to you, averting your eyes and shifting in your seat. No one presses the topic, giving the new girl the space you need.

You take the case file with you when you go to make a cup of coffee in the small kitchenette situated in the back of the plane. Reid is already back there, pouring a steady stream of sugar into the otherwise black liquid.

“Dr. Reid.” You nod your head in greeting, avoiding his eyes by setting your folder on the counter and pretending to read it. You’ve been going over every detail of the case for so long that you’ve memorized everything there is to know. There are notes and theories scribbled into the margins and little sticky notes with questions scattered around the papers.

“It helps to step away for a little bit, that way when we land you come back to it with fresh eyes.” The utensils drawer clicks shut as Reid grabs a spoon to stir his coffee, risking the chance to finally look at you.

You’re twisting the ring on your finger and chewing the inside of your cheek. Without your shoes on, the top of your head comes to his shoulders.

When you look up at him, (y/e/c) eyes thoughtful and just as curious as the day they met, Reid can’t fight the urge that draws his gaze to your lips. The skin there is so very soft looking, surprising him when the thought of kissing them hits him like a train.

He clears his throat, focusing all of his attention on the coffee cup in front of him. The sugar is completely stirred in at this point, but he kind of wants to stay in the hopes that you’ll strike up a conversation.

“But everyone is different so you don’t have to listen to me, just do whatever helps you.” His shoulders lift in a shrug and he’s glad that nobody is there to see him interact with this girl. They would know how he felt before he could even come to terms with it himself.

As quickly as you are there, you leave. Completely flustered and unsure how to go about navigating a relationship that’s foundation was an unintentional love confession. Maybe, you thought as you leaned into your seat and closed your eyes, if I just ignore him then everything will be fine.

By the time the jet touched down in Nebraska, you had fallen into a dead sleep with your book sitting open in your lap. Emily was the one to reach out and gently shake your shoulder, the smile on her face gentle and motherly. Still blinking away sleep, you quickly scrambled to grab your bag and book before rushing for the exit.

Unfortunately for you, the shoe laces on one of your shoes hadn’t been completely tied. Add that to the speed in which you were trying to separate yourself from Reid, and you managed to trip over your feet and right into the person you were trying to avoid.

Your bag hit the ground, the book following suit as a warm hand grabbed you by your upper arm and pulled. When you collided with someone’s chest, you didn’t have to look up to know who it was. Reid smelled like old books, laundry detergent, and cinnamon.

“Your shoe is untied.” He said, his voice rumbling in his chest. You didn’t look up, afraid the heat in your cheeks would give you away. You looked down instead, noticing the way your feet were inside the breadth of his stance. One shoe’s laces laid precariously around your foot as if mocking you. Quickly, you took a step away and almost tripped again on your bag. You caught yourself on one of the seats, holding a hand out to keep Reid from grabbing you again.

“Thank you, I’m okay. Really.” You didn’t meet his eyes, every lewd thought you’d had during that stupid lecture about his lips and hands and hair came rushing back at you with every glance. You wouldn’t be surprised if he could see each fantasy written on your face like a lusty, ten-cent romance novel.

Morgan, having stopped to watch the two doctors in your clearly flustered states, suddenly felt it click in his brain. Sure, you were older and not as squirrelly as he remembered, but the way you were looking at his partner was nearly the exact same as you had seven years ago.

Feeling smug for finally figuring it out, he walked up to Spencer with his bag thrown over his shoulder, stopping beside him as they both watched you rush for the exit.

“Can you imagine someone having a crush on you for seven years? Oh, wait.” Bending down to grab his bag, Spencer shook his head in such a way that a few loose curls tangled on his eyelashes. A simple sweep of his hand across his face helped to push it away.

“It took you long enough to figure it out.” Spencer took the lead, dreading the car ride with Derek to the medical examiners. He had been hoping his older partner wouldn’t remember who you were, at least, until the case was solved.

“Oh ho ho, don’t think you can avoid this conversation with insults, pretty boy.” Morgan was hot on his tail, and that was exactly where he stayed for the next three days that the team was in Nebraska.

The killer was, in fact, a massive fan of the infamous Justin Millers. It was just a matter of pinpointing which of the crazy fanatics he was, which might have been easier if the local populace was more open to talking to law enforcement.

It was by a brilliant stroke of luck, or rather misfortune, that the team realized sending you undercover would help on many different levels. Not only did you fit the victimology, (all they needed to do was get you a ‘job’ at one of the local bars) but you would also be able to get information from the civilians that were unwilling to talk to the FBI.

Four days into your undercover mission, you found yourself wiping down the counter after closing. The band was packing up their equipment on stage and your boss had already left. Laily, the only other bartender here tonight, was flirting with the drummer while you closed things up behind the counter.

As was customary, the members of your team had taken turns following you around everyday just in case anything happened. Today just so happened to be Spencer’s turn, you’d managed to slip him into the back room before all the customers had left for the night. It was the only reason you gave Laily the okay when she asked if you would be cool closing by yourself tonight.

“I can’t believe after five years of college, I’m back to bartending.” You grumbled, shouldering the backroom door open with a box full of beer in your hands. Spencer jumped up from the crate he’d been leaning against, holding the back of the door open so you could get in a little easier.

“You were a bartender before?” He asked curiously, trying to ignore the way the low-cut black uniform shirt you were wearing fit against your figure and twisted his insides. Factor in the tight jeans that hung on your hips and the sheen of sweat on your skin from the hot summer night and he could barely focus, let alone protect you from any possible threats.

“The years between my college graduation and my joining the FBI, yeah. I could have done something different, I guess, but I wanted to have a normal young adult job before I spent the rest of my life chasing serial killers and such.” You turned to face him, actually meeting his eyes for the first time this week.

Unlike you, he was wearing his FBI Kevlar. The navy blue tie that he wore was tucked into the top of it, the baby blue sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled up around his elbows. You, yourself, were having an awful time trying to keep from getting all kinds of flustered just looking at him.

The young profiler you remember was all wiry and clean cut, the man in front of you is more scraggly. His hair curls around his jawline and his forearms are far more attractive than anybody’s forearms ought to be.

His parents were just showing off, casually bringing a child into the world that looks like that.

“I don’t want things to be weird between us.” He blurted, surprising himself. You could tell by the way his brows dipped down and he took a step back immediately after saying it. Even his cheeks were a little pink.

“What happened between us was like seven years ago and all you did was tell me you had a crush on me. And then take it back. I just don’t want it to affect our work relationship because everyone already likes you a lot and I want to get the chance to like you as well.” For someone who always seems so very shy and awkward, his eyes look directly into yours, narrowing just a little. His tongue pokes out from between his lips and turns all of your bones to jelly underneath you.

He just ages like fine wine and you know that, should you be offered a permanent position at the BAU, that you would have to spend the rest of your working days keeping yourself in check while the man in front of you continued to evolve into a more gorgeous version of himself every year. The Spencer you remember had felt like peak Spencer, now this Spencer felt like peak Spencer, but who is to say that five years from now, when he decides to grow a little stubble and style his hair differently, that he wouldn’t somehow get even more attractive?

You open your mouth to come up with some bullshit answer that you didn’t really mean in order to smooth things over, when the door opens again. Spencer, standing directly infront of said door, looks not unlike a deer caught in the headlights of a truck barreling right at him going way too fast on a backroad.

Time crawls at an unusual pace, the door slowly creaking open and Laily’s voice filtering in the opening. Why did he have to wear that stupid vest? Surely the FBI has bullet proof vests you could wear under your clothing. The only idea you could come up with was, honestly, not a very good one. But it was the only one you had.

Practically launching yourself across the room, you catch Spencer’s lips against your own like the world depends on it. Using your own hands, you position Spencer’s arms around you with one hand on the back of your head and the other grabbing underneath your leg that hooks around his waist. The vest uncomfortably digs into your chest with how close your bodies are against one another, your arms now thrown around his neck, but if he keeps kissing you like this then you’ll be inclined to ignore it.

Just seconds ago he had been begging you to have a normal relationship despite your silly ‘past’ crush, now his tongue was fighting for dominance in your mouth. The irony was not lost on you.

“Oh.” Laily gasps a little when she sees you in such a compromising position. The lights from the bar illuminating every detail so that she could see the way Spencer’s fingers desperately tangled in the strands of your hair or how the muscles in his forearm strained as he hungrily pulled your body even closer than before.

The blush on your cheeks and neck are real when you pull your lips away, fire erupting in the pit of your stomach when Spencer catches your bottom lip in between his teeth for just a second. The look in his eyes is devilish when you tilt your head over your shoulder to meet her gaze.

“I’m sorry Laily, this is my boyfriend, Lance. I just- I heard about all those girls that have been going missing and I asked if he would drive me home.” The look in your coworkers eyes is all you need to know that this does not look like just a ride home. Although, it very well could have led to a ride somewhere if she had been just a handful of minutes slower.

“Nice to meet you, Lance. Gwen, I’ll see you tomorrow. Just,” the mischievous twinkle in her eyes does not go unnoticed by the two doctors in the room still tangled around each other, “maybe clock out before things get anymore heated.” She teases, the tone of her voice suggesting that you will be hearing more of this tomorrow.

“Bye, Laily!” The door clicks shut behind her, followed by the chuckles and giggles of Laily and the band as they leave for the night. You relax into Spencer’s arms, moving as if to pull out of them before they tense around you.

“We should be safe now.” You whisper, looking up into his eyes that burn with an intensity you’ve never seen in them before. That damn tongue sweeps across those perfect lips again, drawing your attention and reminding you that you now know what they feel like locked with yours.

“I think I hear somebody coming.” He whispers back, aware that you can both hear the soft bang of the front door closing and locking shut from the outside. Since the killings, the door was always locked if employees were still inside, as a safety precaution. Nobody else was coming in tonight unless they had a key.

Your lips meet his anyways, too tired to pretend that the heat between you wasn’t there. If this was the excuse he needed to kiss you, then you were all the more willing to give it to him. His tongue sweeps across the seam of your lips, causing them to open against his mouth and deepen the kiss.

Both of his wide hands splay against your hips, curling into the soft skin there and pulling you toward him with such force that you nearly trip. The hard edges of his Kevlar vest dig into your ribs and collarbone, the rough material scratching against your exposed skin as you push yourself up on your toes. When he breaks from the kiss, both of you gasping for air not from the length of it by from the passion, it is not to end your tryst.

His lips find the pulse at your neck, sucking a bruise at the soft skin there and pulling a moan from deep within your chest.

“Won’t- Won’t Morgan and Prentiss get worried,” your brain feels like the motherboard of a computer that Spencer has taken into his hands and slammed into a countertop, you can’t think when his teeth nip a love bite to the hickey he’s made on your neck, “if we, uhm, we take too long?”

If you thought the Spencer you met seven years ago was different from the Spencer you knew now, it was only because you’d never seen his bright hazel brown eyes darken with lust from beneath those impossibly long golden lashes. He was a completely different person as he unstrapped himself from the Kevlar, laying it on the floor with a solid thunk before gathering you back into his arms.

“They’ll be okay,” He said in between kisses trailed along your jawline. His movements are confident as he dips a hand down the front of your jeans and into your underwear. Your arms tighten around him, pulling your face into the crook of his neck when his fingers find the already wet entrance to your sex. His answering growl does nothing to keep you from coming undone as he presses the pad of his thumb to the bundle of nerves there. “I’m guessing it won’t be long before I have you in the palm of my hands, anyways.”

You rock your hips into him, your eyes fluttering shut with a gasp when he thrusts two long fingers inside of you. His other arm is wrapped around the center of your back, holding you to him because lord knows you can’t be trusted on your own two feet at a moment like this.

“Is this why you planned on ignoring me? Because you wouldn’t be able to handle it if I didn’t give you this?” You whimper a response, too focused on the relentless pace he has set with his fingers to come up with anything coherent. Everything about the moment is raw and animalistic, every fantasy you’d had about him during the fifty minute lecture did not even begin to touch on the feeling of his hand actually inside of you.

“Spencer, please.” You whined, dropping your arms from his shoulders and gripping onto his biceps like it will keep your soul from leaving your body. Yet, as heavenly as this felt, and as much as it exceeded your fantasies, you wanted more. Every part of you craved the feeling of his skin pressed against yours, sticky with sweat and feverish to the touch.

On a tight time constraint, Spencer doesn’t make you beg anymore than that. Instead, he delights in the way you cry out when he pulls his hand out of your pants and up to his lips. Your own lips part with a tiny popping sound when you watch him put those same fingers into his mouth with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

“Strip.” He commands, licking the taste of you off his lips and leisurely working at the knot of his tie. You don’t waste a second in crossing your arms over your body to pull the black material over your head and drop it at your feet. Next to come off is your shoes, clattering across the wooden floor when you kick them to the side.

By the time you make it to your pants, Spencer has only undone a quarter of the navy blue buttons on his shirt.

“I need you now, Spencer.” The buttons slip through your fingers, your hands shaking with excitement more than nerves. Although, the nerves are definitely apart of it. Never in a million years did you think you would be here; in the backroom of a bar in Nebraska, with Spencer Reid doing salacious things to you. While on your first case with the BAU, nontheless.

Doing a complete one-eighty, his hands come up to cover your own just before the last button comes undone. His touch is gentle and prompts you to look up into his coffee colored eyes. The light from the single bulb dangling from the ceiling is no good, and yet somehow he manages to look like a piece of artwork painted by the most skilled hand known to mankind.

“We don’t have to do this here. We don’t have to do this at all, if you don’t want to.” You squint your eyes up at him, using your fingernail to pop the last button through the hole on the other side of the shirt. When you let go, the pieces fall away from his chest like he’s caught in slow motion on a Calvin Klein commercial.

“I said I needed you now, not later.” In response, he scoops you into his arms and wraps your legs around his hips. The electricity that pops and crackles between you is nearly visible in the dimly lit room, the fabric of your bra skimming against his collarbone when you breath.

The little whines and whimpers that fall from your lips are driving Spencer crazy, forcing him to push through the door and lower you to a shorter countertop meant for making drinks. Tonight it would be used for other, more wicked things.

“Someone’s a bit excited.” You breathed. There was no way you could take a full breath in a moment like this. Everything was so heated and yet nothing was really happening.

“Shut the fuck up.” And then he was kissing you, his lips warm against your own. Despite the fact that you didn’t think it was possible, he pulled you closer. You knitted your fingers into his curls and gave them a slight tug. God, you loved these curls.

He began sucking a heated trail down your throat, quite possibly leaving a pathway of hickeys. You would be putting makeup over them for at least thirty minutes before you left your hotel room tomorrow, but for now they were heavenly fire against your skin.

Spencer took away his lips long enough to strip from his remaining clothes and throw them over his shoulder. When he stood in front of you looking like a Roman god, bared to no one but yourself, it made you feel like the luckiest person alive.

“I’m so in love with your body.” He groaned just before his lips found your breast, sucking on your nipple. Your head fell back and your eyes rolled to the back of your head. You fumbled for a moment, patting around the countertop before your brain turned on long enough to get your hand between your legs and down to his naked erection.

He moaned into your breast as you began to move your hand. He let go of your boob and went straight back up to your mouth. His whole body was tensed up but his lips were soft as they parted against against your lips. The whole world felt like it was on fire, and his every touch was another lick of flames.

You move your hand faster, enjoying every groan and grunt and moan that finds it’s way out of his mouth and into yours. He’s already close to orgasm, you can tell by the way he breaks from the kiss, your foreheads pressed together and your breath stirring in the small space between your faces. His grip is tight when he grabs your wrist to make you stop.

“No.” Every nerve and thought and feeling was consumed by you and everything else short-circuited. Spencer couldn’t get the words out of his mouth to properly express what he wanted, it wasn’t often that the young genius was rendered speechless.

But you knew, you knew that he wanted to be inside of you. You knew that because you wanted him inside of you just as much, if not more, than he did. You shift your hips around on the counter, getting closer to the edge as you widen your legs.

“I’m on the pill.” You whisper, watching the sudden realization that he hadn’t come prepared widen his eyes for just a small fraction of a second. Just as quickly, the fear turns into that devlish grin you weren’t aware someone so beautifully shy and awkward could possess.

“Thank you, Pincus, Sanger, and McCormick.” You barely have time to question the comment, although later you’ll realize he’s probably talking about three of the minds behind the invention of the birth control pill. No longer taking his time, Spencer positions himself right at your entrance before running the tip of his cock along your wet folds.

“Fuck!” He slams into you, running his entire length into your body, hitting depths you didn’t even realize had never been touched until he was thrusting against them. It sends a wave of pleasure through every cell in your body as you wrap your arms around his shoulders and kiss him like you’re running out of oxygen.

He holds onto your hips as he repeatedly rams his hips into yours. He has buried his face into the crook of your neck, letting every curse and moan muffle into your skin. The glasses under the counter jangle with every merciless thrust inside you. The sharp bite of his nails digging into your hips makes you hiss, but it’s more from pleasure than pain.

There’s no dirty talking anymore. Every ounce of pretend you both go through while around one another is shed like seconds skins, leaving two people so hungry for each other that it had been too much to bare.

Your fingers are twisted around the short curls at the nape of his neck and your teeth are biting into the solid muscle at his shoulder. The bar always had whiffs of sex and sweat in the air that mixed with the smell of alcohol and perfume, but now it was the strongest scent in the room.

Even as your orgasm starts to build in your belly, you want more. You want to hold him so close that your brain wouldn’t be able to distinguish where you ended and he began. Letting go of his shoulder, your head lolls back and your own nails draw long lines of red down his neck.

“Spencer!” His name leaves your lips in a mix of a sob and a moan, the ecstasy of just his touch alone driving you higher and higher. The sting of his nails leave your hips, one hand reaching to the place where your connected and the other coming up to grip your jaw in his hand.

His thumb rubs against the little button of pleasure that causes your legs to start to tingle like they’ve been asleep for too long. All the while, he ruthless pace doesn’t falter. Sweat sticks a few of his curls to his temples, providing a beautiful glowing effect across the smooth planes and angles of his shoulders and collarbones.

He leans forward to catch your lips in a kiss that ends much too quickly for your taste, but you can feel the rapid exhalation of his breaths as it fans across your cheek.

“Come.” Usually a man of so many words, you had always assumed it would be the same in his sex life. Maybe it was true in most cases, but right now his desire to see you succumb to the pleasure of him inside of you outweighs the need to taunt and tease you with words.

Meeting his eyes, getting off on the smug look that twists his lips as much as you are getting off on his dick actually inside of you, you let yourself fall into the sweet release of your orgasm. Spencer doesn’t stop as you come around him, instead he quickens the pace as his own release works its way to the edge.

Your legs are still shaking when he buries himself into you with one final thrust, capturing your bottom lip between his teeth. He chases the sting of his teeth away with the softness of the kiss that follows, loosing himself in the aftershocks of your own orgasm.

Neither of you move, although he ends the kiss to gasp for air with your foreheads once again pressed against each other. His eyes are closed, the dark pink on his cheeks and neck making him look so much younger than he was. You keep your eyes open, trying to drink in every second and commit it to your memory the way it would forever be in his.

When he steps away, leaving you feeling much more empty than you’d felt in a really long time, the cocktail of your orgasms spill down the inside of your thighs. Suddenly feeling a bit self conscious, you slip off the counter with your arm wrapped around your bared breasts.

The air seems too cold, the bar too quiet, and your mind was too loud with insecurities as you tried to steady yourself on wobbly knees. Nevertheless, you attempt to make a beeline for the backroom door. If you go and put your clothes back on then maybe you could go back to pretending like he doesn’t exist and everything will be fine.

That is until one of those solidly handsome arms come out to stop you in your pursuit of denial.

He’s still naked, standing next to you like a statue carved by the hands of Michaelangelo himself. Although, you aren’t sure the renissance artist would sculpt nail marks into his skin, the signs of your heated escapade only darkening with time. You can only imagine what your own neck looks like, several spots of sensitive skin still overly stimulated from his wandering mouth.

From your vantage point, you can see his swollen lips open to say something, probably that this had been a mistake, when his phone rings from the pair of pants he’d so carelessly thrown to the floor earlier. A small frown mars his angelic features, the side of his mouth twitching with aggravation.

His lips on yours are a surprise you weren’t expecting, despite the sexual encounter you’d just had. This kiss speaks more words than he could ever possibly say, easing all the post-coital dysphoria that comes with the sudden fall from the high you’d been on. It’s gentle and warm, the hand on your arm squeezes reassuredly before he breaks away with one last peck to your forehead. It nearly tears your beating heart out of your chest.

“Come to my hotel room later.” And then he bends down to snag the phone from his pants with an aggravated growl, turning away from you as he lies through his teeth to a worried Prentiss on the other end.

In the backroom, having shimmied back into your pants and going to put your shirt back over your head, you fingers find your lips. They’re just a little swollen, exactly like his, but you wonder if he can still feel that final kiss against them the way that you could.

Oh boy, were you in trouble.

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