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salem-s · 4 months ago

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01 ─ PLAYING THE PART UNDER THE SICILIAN SUN (18+) ── RAFE CAMERON

SYNOPSIS when your image-obsessed mother catches you and Rafe Cameron ─ your friends with benefits ─ in a compromising situation, you must lie and say you're dating. It spirals out of control when your mother invites him to your cousin's upcoming wedding in Italy, and spirals even further when he says yes. SERIES MASTERLIST | NEXT PART

WARNINGS suggestive themes, nudity, swearing, graphic imagery.

WORD COUNT 5.9k. Yikes.

SONG OF THE CHAPTER forget it by blood orange

“I’m gonna hop in the shower, so here.”

You gather each item of clothing he sporadically scattered across the room earlier, bunching it in your arms and hissing as his belt loop harshly knocks against your elbow. You plop the pile on his belly as Rafe lounges lazily, one arm resting under his head and the other skimming over his bare torso.

The act neglects to faze him as he simply watches you, the thin grey sheets bunch up dangerously low around his hips as the clothes sit – with no intention of going back on his body anytime soon – idly in his lap.

If anything, his eyes do all the talking: come back to bed. Now.

Pushing the wordless message to the back of your mind, you notice that he makes no effort to move, instead his eyes scanning up and down your nude body.

You scoff at his sloth. “No, by all means, take your time.”

He hums teasingly at the attempt to act tough. “You don’t want me to join you, baby?”

Rafe’s nimble fingers reach out to grab you by the waist, his sweet talk stirring something scandalous in your tummy. But you swerve his touch, knowing you'll undoubtedly give in if he gets his hands on you, and you have too much to do today to even contemplate going back to bed with him right now.

“Nuh-uh, Cameron,” you warn seriously, waving a finger at him, trying not to grin at his ridiculous pout. He looks too comfortable on your bed, like he was made to lay there. “I need to have an everything shower.”

“And I should care because..?”

You roll your eyes, as if it’s obvious. “My everything shower time is me time. It’s forty five minutes of work. I’m sweating. I’m cleaning. I’m shaving. You don’t need to see all of that. I don’t want you to see all of that,” you say sternly.

Instead of seceding, Rafe scoffs in utter disbelief. It’s almost mean.

He sits up in bed, clothes bunching on his lap.

“So, let me get this straight. You’ll let me see your gaping asshole, but you won’t let me see you shave?”

You and Rafe have this mutual agreement where you sleep together when it’s convenient, or when someone’s bored, or after a night of drinking and smoking and one wants to lay around and have a little fun. It’s simple, no strings attached or added complications, because neither you nor Rafe have the emotional or physical capacities to even consider being in a romantic relationship in this day and age.

At least that’s what you repeat in your head over and over again, reiterating the mantra more than you do your own class notes.

But that's besides the point.

Towards the end of freshmen year, your separate friend groups collided after a risky run in with campus police. The experience undoubtedly brought you all closer to the point where, by the end of the year, everyone was already planning shenanigans to get up to at the start of sophomore year, and it just snowballed from there.

Your friendship with Rafe, however, started rocky. The two of you liked to quip and jab at each other – often at the expense of the other. It was more teasing on Rafe’s side and defense on yours, because a favorite past time of yours is putting cocky men in their place when they try to act up around you. And if Rafe is good at one thing, it’s being overly confident in every situation he manages to squeeze himself into.

Months of tennis-match-bickering back and forth led to one night where Rafe accidentally found you walking back to your dorm in a state of hysteria after you got love-bombed by your three-peat situationship – a nice boy named Jeremy who simply wanted to take the next step – muttering to yourself incredulously. After making sure you literally weren't in a state of psychosis, Rafe had shrugged off his jean jacket (which wasn't very warm) to give to you and walked with you.

You had lamented on why people couldn’t just take casual sex literally, how it’s impossible to find someone who understands the meaning of casual. In his oh-so-well-mannered nature, Rafe was eager to agree on this case and point, how relationships never work in college anyway, that it’s impossible to have fun these days without the other person ruining it by expecting more.

One thing led to another and you both created the agreement: casual sex. Friends who constantly bicker who also happen to have sex. Two people who hook up when it’s convenient with no emotional repercussions whatsoever. The idea seemed much easier since you and him are neighbors in the dorm, his room being ten feet to the right where you share a concrete wall.

While it solves the walk of shame problem, it augments the issue of when Rafe brings other partners over and the noise gets a little extreme. You often wonder if he can hear whenever you bring someone else, and a small part of you hopes so, because the girls he brings home are genuinely so fucking annoying.

(Because it doesn’t really help when Rafe’s the best lay of your sexual career. Not that you'll ever have the gall to admit that to him.)

You bark out an unattractive laugh at his crudeness, and ignore the flip of your heartbeat when Rafe grins cockily at the noise. Taking a towel out from the drawer, you wrap it around your body and spin around to face him, still unmoving with no sense of urgency or implication that he’s leaving anytime soon.

“You’re loitering. Go back to your room.”

Rafe tilts his head to the side, almost inviting the confrontation. “You know I can eventually fuck a yes out of you, right?”

Duh, you think. You're well aware of the effect his body has on yours even if your mind keeps telling you no, it’s nothing more than sex and it never will be.

However, he takes your silence as contemplation, a lazy smirk etching his lips.

“Sweet girl,” Rafe drones out, his saccharine tone taking a slight warning as if to say make up your mind.

But no, you're not falling for that stupidly endearing pet name that regretfully makes your mind turn to mush. “Nice try. Get dressed.”

“Can you help me? I forgot how.”

You roll your eyes, opening your mouth to respond but three harsh knocks at the door interrupt your thoughts. And thank god, because you aren't sure how to respond to his incessant flirting without eventually giving in, since his relentless attempts at a round two, three, four are usually successful.

Despite the interruption, you stand confused, eyes darting to the mini clock on the nightstand showing the time.

“Fuck’s sake. Marianne's early, we aren’t supposed to leave until ten.” You dart your gaze from the time to the man in bed, watching you with a mischievous gleam in his eye. “Jesus. Will you get dressed?”

Rafe doesn’t move, instead he stretches his arms up and you have to tear your gaze away. “Will you tell Mare to give us, uhhh, like, ten minutes?”

“You’re insufferable,” you huff, clutching the towel tighter as you move towards the door to look in the peephole. “I’ll have you know that I–”

You freeze when you look in the peephole, hand hovering over the doorknob. Heart dropping to your feet, you suck in a harsh breath as if the wind is knocked out of your chest, already feeling its beat thumping against your rib cage a mile a minute.

It’s not Marianne behind the door.

It’s your mother.

Your mother who you've been ghosting for the past month.

Shiiiiiiiiiiiit.

“Know what, baby?” Rafe eggs on lazily, unbeknownst to the shit show that just began.

His voice thrusts you back to reality, stumbling back a few steps as you suck in another harsh breath, mind racing at the premature anxiety induced encounter that’s about to happen.

Your mind reels: your overly pretentious and spectacle-driven mother is behind that piece of wood. Rafe is still naked on the bed. Your mother’s been hounding you about several issues for weeks now that you've pushed to the back of your to-do list. You doesn’t have any clothes on and–

Oh, god, neither does Rafe.

You spin around as three more knocks make you jump out of your skin, locking eyes with him as you gesture to his clothes urgently.

“You need to leave.”

The complete 180 in behavior makes Rafe furrow his brows. “Wh–?”

You run over to him, grabbing his shirt and forcefully shoving it over his head and messing up his already tousled hair. “I’m not fucking around. Get dressed. Now,” you hiss stern-fully, ignoring his confused gaze because it just increasingly pisses you off more.

“Mare will live if she sees a sliver of skin,” he begins to defend, grabbing at your waist like a toddler and frowning when you swat him off.

“Yeah, well, it’s not Marianne at the door, it’s my fucking mom. So. Get. Dressed. Now.”

Rafe has the audacity to laugh in your face.

It only makes your stomach bubble in anxiety as you huff and throw the sheet off of his legs, messily pushing his legs through the holes of his boxers and jeans to urgently usher him to do what you're asking of him. Again, he makes absolutely no effort to move, instead watching you with an amused look.

“Why are you panicking?” he asks nonchalantly as if the whole situation isn’t an anxiety attack waiting to happen. “I’m great with parents.”

“No,” you immediately warn.

“I’m, like, the parent-whisperer.”

You continue to try (and fail) at dressing him. “Not while you’re my fuck buddy. She cannot know about this.” Your head whips back and forth between the door and the boy lazily lounging, chest heaving.

It’s infuriating how relaxed he is. Rafe reaches up and pushes some hair out of your face as three more knocks break the sound barrier. “Well, baby, I’m already here.”

“Fuck,” you mutter, pressing the heels of your palm to your forehead. “Fuck. I’m not screwing around, Rafe. Get dressed.” Then, pathetically, you add, “Please.”

Three more knocks, more like pounds, snap you out of your millisecond pity party. Stepping away from Rafe, you exhale shakily and push back the same strand of hair he attempted to brush away. Your brows furrow in thought, eyes trained on the ground as you calculate your plan of attack as a silence falls between you both.

Rafe manages to stand, pulling his jeans up the rest of the way and buckling his belt. The whole time he’s obeying your command he’s frowning, unable to discern if he’s frowning at the fact that you're so worked up over a parent (or how you used his real name) or how he’s actually listening to you.

“Okay,” you say sternly after a moment, mind made up as you slowly walk towards the door with your eyes trained on him. “You’re gay.”

“What?”

“It’s the only explanation that won’t get me viscerally berated. That, or you pretend to be my boyfriend.”

“You’d rather me be gay than be your boyfriend?”

You laugh humorlessly and it makes him frown deeper. The way you don't elaborate – nor stop laughing – makes his irritation bubble out of thin air, hands clenching at his fists at the fact that you think it’s so funny for the latter to be true, as if he could never provide that for you, as if the concept is a fantasy.

But the laugh dissipates as quickly as it came, your hand ghosting over the doorknob as you point to him with a shaky finger. “Don’t play.”

Then, you open the door a crack to reveal your mother.

Paulette is the living, breathing epitome of a trophy-wife-turned-emotionless-mother. Whatever concept a PTO mom has, it’s Paulette in a nutshell.

She drips heavily in subtle designer that, undoubtedly, looks flawless and effortless, but unfathomably performative as it simply flashes people on how much money she likes to flaunt. She donates to various charities but not without announcing the act with the specific amount coat-tailed to the sob story. She likes to doll you up into her perfect mold model child, while viscerally berating you behind the curtain and nitpicking all of the things you do wrong. She likes to make fun of your style and independence and blame it on the lack of male attention in your life.

Long story short? The two of you don’t get along.

Paulette curtly says your name in greeting and it’s hardly friendly. “I’ve been standing here for ages.”

You put your body in the small crack of the door frame, doing your best to shield your mother from seeing Rafe.

“Hi. This couldn’t have been a phone call?” you ask hurriedly, sheepishly, cheeks already flaming at the periculousness of the situation.

Paulette narrows her gaze like a hawk. “Apparently not. You haven’t answered a single one of my calls.” Then, she sighs as if being here is an inconvenience. “I’m done standing here, angel. It reeks of skunk. Let me in. We need to talk.”

“But–”

“Enough,” she snaps, not giving you the chance to think before she puts a perfectly manicured hand on the door, pushing it open with such force that it causes you to stumble. “I do everything for you and you can’t even–”

Paulette pauses when she steps into the dorm room, taking in the sight of Rafe, who stands tall and lean at the edge of the bed, thankfully fully dressed.

The silence engulfs the room as the door clicks shut, you clutch your towel with a pained expression etched on your face at the scandalous scene unfolding. Paulette’s stern gaze shifts from Rafe, to the unmade bed, to your basically naked body, and back to Rafe.

You shift uncomfortably after a beat. “Uh, mom, this is–”

“Rafe,” he suddenly introduces himself, flashing Paulette a charming smile that has you frowning in confusion. Since when does he have that kind of smile on the back burner? You nearly roll your eyes when he takes a step forward, politely offering Paulette his hand to shake. “Rafe Cameron.”

“Rafe,” Paulette repeats slowly, as if phonetically sounding it out, "Cameron."

You cough awkwardly at his outstretched hand. “He’s my f–”

“I’m her boyfriend.”

Your blood runs cold as you whip your head around to stare at him. The audacity of him–

But Paulette takes his hand and shakes it firmly, making a small hum of contemplation that has you holding your breath in anticipation, in anxiety. Silence engulfs them once more.

Retracting her polished hand, Paulette studies Rafe with a curious look.

“Boyfriend?” she hums cautiously. You nearly puke. Rafe nods. Your mother says your name again accusatorially. “You didn’t tell me about this.”

Rafe doesn’t falter. Instead, he beams and dials the charm to an eleven. “I asked her a few weeks ago, so it’s pretty new. And private. We haven’t even told some of our friends yet.”

You reel. How is he this calm? How is he making this up on the spot as if it’s been rehearsed? Why does he look so damn happy? Why is your heart in your throat? Can he stop smiling like that? Because it’s making you think that he–

“Weeks?” Paulette shoots you a look. “Is that so?”

You shrink under your mother’s gaze, not trusting words so you simply nod instead.

Paulette huffs at the response, putting her hands on her hips as she glares at you with an incredulous look. “You could’ve saved me the time and patience, if you just told me.” Paulette rubs out a growing migraine.

Your irritation suddenly spikes. The condescending tone in your mother’s voice, the way Rafe’s fake smile slowly starts to fade as he further discovers the dynamic between mother and daughter, the way you're is still standing in your too-short towel– it’s all too much.

“Okay, as much as I love the reunion, what exactly are you doing here?”

Paulette looks at you as if you have two heads. Exasperated, she throws her hands up in a really? gesture, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world for you to be able to read your mother’s mind. You reciprocate the motion sarcastically.

“The wedding?”

You furrow your brows. “Wh– Jessa’s? What about it?”

Paulette then proceeds to ignore you, turning her full attention to Rafe, who’s been watching the entire conversation like a tennis match. “Has she told you about the wedding?”

Rafe’s gaze darts to you, cautiously shaking his head at your widening eyes. “Uh, no.”

You know where this is going, and panic surges to your throat.

You quickly jump to step in between your mother and Rafe.

“He’s not coming!”

The panicked tone startles all three of you, as you blink a few times and then clear your throat. You take a step back to gather yourself at the sudden outburst, but nearly jump as you bump against Rafe’s chest. There’s no escape with him right behind you and your mother right in front of you.

You've never felt more trapped. And underdressed.

Paulette raises her brow in offense at the tone of voice, at her daughter’s manic behavior, almost egging you on to continue embarrassing yourself.

Although you take a deep breath and remember the situation, finding your cool and taking a long, deep breath. That cool almost goes out the window when Rafe takes a particularly deep breath that makes his chest gently graze your back.

“Uh, well, we haven’t talked about it yet," you defend shakily, the tone so unlike your normal demeanor. "But it’s over Thanksgiving, I assume he has plans with his family.”

Then Rafe does the one thing you don't want him to do.

He fucking shrugs and opens his mouth. “I don’t have plans.”

(Actually, he does. But those plans entail trekking the long drive home, enduring a week of arguing with his dad and step-mom about ridiculous shit, drinking with his home-town friends, and spending Thanksgiving with his family where they all either pretend to like each other for one night or fight so violently that the kitchen is covered in thrown food. It’s a plan he’s been dreading, honestly.)

Paulette huffs as you feverishly blink, thinking of all the ways you can kill Rafe before you let this whole ordeal happen. Strangulation, maybe.

Your mother hums your name. “See? This all could’ve been avoided if you asked him and answered the phone.”

“Mom,” you say without thinking, voice threatening to shake with anger, “did you really come all this way to interrogate me about a date?”

Poison could be easiest, you think. It is a woman’s weapon, after all. No one would suspect if he all of a sudden had food poisoning, maybe from the dining hall or from all the food service he greedily orders. Remember when Arya–

“Interrogate is a strong word, angel,” Paulette pffts, almost mockingly. “You were the only one at Mariano’s wedding last summer without a date. Do you know how many excuses I had to make for you?”

You can’t help but scoff. Needle between the toes. “I doubt people really cared about the nuances of my love life.”

A slight ping of pain pokes your heart, knowing deep down that your mother has to hand out excuses for your lack of respect for tradition, never having a good enough suitor to bring home to the family and kickstart a life with, which is an aspect of the women’s lives that seem to matter most to these people.

It makes you want to puke.

“But now I do,” her mother retorts, gesturing to Rafe. “This time, it’ll be far less embarrassing for us.”

Stab wounds. A hundred of them.

All you can do is sigh.

Pushing him off a cliff. Cutting his dick off and leaving him to bleed out in this room. Strapping him to the roof of a car and driving it off a mountain.

As you daydream, Paulette sighs in content and claps her hands. “That settles that. Now, angel, I booked a reservation at the Hilton before Ronaldo drives me back. We need to go over your dress fitting alterations before I go since you’ve neglected to tell me your measurements. They have a good vinaigrette dressing we should try.”

“Sounds delicious,” you deadpan, but her mother either doesn’t pick up on the sarcasm or flat out ignores it. The thought of sitting alone at lunch with your mother settles a kettlebell in your gut. “Let me get dressed quick.”

“Oh, angel. You’re doing your hair and makeup too, right?” Paulette asks, the thought of you walking out in a nice outfit without doing anything to fix up your appearance being downright appalling.

You reel, this type of behavior being nothing new. Instead of snapping, you simply nod and bite her tongue. Silence is better than whatever fight a backhanded comment will cause.

Paulette exhales in relief. “I’ll wait in the car for you, it’s the Mercedes out front.” She turns towards the door then stops, offering Rafe a curt nod. “It’s nice to meet you, Rafe. I’ll see you in Italy.” Then she remembers something. “I hope you have a passport.”

Then with that, she’s out the door, leaving you and Rafe to stand in silence.

Beat.

You feel him behind you, inches away. You don't even know if you can turn around and look at him without grabbing the nearest sharpest object and shoving it in his throat or twisting and pulling his balls off like an apple off a tree.

There’s a reason you told him to avoid the whole boyfriend alias, and this being the reason.

You mother has always been keen on appearances, embracing the rather traditional gender roles in society. The women in your family thrive on the concept of a strong man to provide for his partner, for his family, and you have yet to express favor of that drastically sexist and outdated notion. The thought of pursuing a career, a life outside of relationships, is seen as selfish.

To bring someone home to meet the family means being someone who is sought after, yearned for, loved. It’s an embarrassment to be older than twenty and not introduce a partner, for whatever stupid reason, because most of the women in your family marry young, having taken advantage of their youth and sinking their talons into men who either inherit generational wealth or did the bulk of the schooling to be in the well-off positions they’re in today. Last summer, you showed up to a wedding dateless, and – according to your mother – there’s never been a more embarrassing feat for the familial image.

Once in high school, Paulette paid off a boy in your grade to go out with you for a few months so you'd have a date to her upcoming charity gala. It was your first ever boyfriend, if you can even call him that, so safe to say you have a hard time trusting people – specifically men – when it comes to dating.

Real dating.

Which is something you know Rafe cannot provide.

It doesn’t help that Rafe is a conventionally attractive man – who you have repeatedly pushed down your feelings for – who realistically is a perfect candidate in Paulette’s eyes. He’ll only fuel your mother’s instinct to flaunt her daughter’s ability to reign in someone like him: charming, rich, handsome.

Boy, Paulette will have a field day introducing someone like him to the rest of the family. It makes you want to kill him with a gun.

Breaking you from her violent thoughts, Rafe chuckles nervously behind you. “I feel like you’re mad.”

Understatement of the century there.

You scoff. “Mad? You think I’m mad?”

“Well, yeah–”

You spin around, facing him with a twitch in your eye and a quivering lip. “I’m not mad, Rafe. I’m fucking furious. I’m seconds away from throttling you right now.”

“Whoa,” he says in surprise, throwing his hands up in surrender with wide eyes, “I just did you a favor. I got her off your back.”

Rolling your eyes so hard it kickstarts a migraine, you can’t help but laugh darkly.

“Off my back,” you scoff in disbelief. Then you shake your head and walk over to the dresser, shimmying out of the towel and slipping on underwear. “Off my– You opened the biggest, grossest, evilest can of worms you could even imagine.” You clip on a bra and move towards throwing on a casual dress.

All Rafe can do is watch and attempt to defend himself, teetering between irritation and wanting to joke about the whole ordeal. “Okay, well, you didn’t really give me much of a script to go along with.”

You shimmy on the dress, looking at him incredulously. “Yes, I did!”

“I wasn’t about to play gay!”

You throw your head back, groaning. Slipping on a pair of heels he’s never seen before, your face burns incredibly hot, and it feels like your skin is on fire as his eyes don’t leave your figure.

“You had one job, Cameron. One!”

“No, it’s not–” Rafe huffs in exasperation, throwing his head back in frustration as well. The words don’t seem to come for a moment, but then he looks back at you, softer, more hesitant. “You don’t…You don’t think I can do it?”

“Do…what?”

“Be one? A boyfriend?”

Oh, the laugh you let out is audacious, as if the entire concept is the biggest comedic joke on planet earth. Apparently, the thought of it is hysterical because it makes you double over, damn near clutching your pearls as you howl.

The sound pisses him off, and he can’t help but scoff at the utter display of mockery. “What the fuck is so funny?”

Is he kidding?

“Rafe,” you spat incrediously as you come down from your laughter, “zoom out for a second. There’s no way you’re going to convince anybody, and it’s not like I’m gonna be any better.”

There’s a pause between the two of you, and you can practically see the smoke coming out of his ears as he clenches his jaw, looking at you as if you've just offended his entire bloodline. No matter how hard he pouts or if he really snaps his jaw, he has to know that’s the gospel truth, otherwise he’d be an idiot.

Although the sight makes you confused, but you blame your sudden dizziness on the previous interaction with your mother because there’s no way he’s getting upset about this right now. He has to know this is hilarious, right?

It’s only the truth: Rafe Cameron has repeatedly told you that he doesn’t do relationships, only holding short-term girlfriends back home when it was all the rage, that he can’t picture himself being tied to one girl forever. The thought was completely unheard of for him.

Maybe after college, is what he told you one day as you both lounged lazily, I’ll really start thinking about it. He had said that right before kissing you.

Rafe unclenches his jaw and narrows his gaze at you in calculation, either soaking in your words or coming up with his next rebuttal. Whatever it is, he thinks about it very carefully so that it leaves you waiting in anticipation.

“I could convince people,” he says cautiously, more to himself. “Totally. I could.” Rafe unclenches his fists, then whispers, “You really think I’d be that bad at it?”

The slight hesitation in his voice halts your movements, and you put your hands on your hips. “Give me a break. That’s not what this is about.”

Rafe’s shoulders sag. “Then what?” The sudden disposition makes you want to scream.

Why does he care so much?

“You’re… You’re just not coming.”

“Wh–” Rafe starts, reeling in confusion.

You shush him with a pointed finger. “No. You’re not. You’re gonna have the flu, or something. Maybe an incurable disease. I haven’t decided yet.” You sit down at your desk and hurriedly curl your eyelashes. “Whatever it is, it’ll be so badly…bad that you won’t be able to go, or even lift a finger.”

Rafe can’t help the twitch of his lip curling up into a smirk. “Is that a threat, baby?”

“Don’t baby me, right now. I’m not your baby.”

“Sorry, baby.”

“Seriously, Cameron. I’m about to twist and pull your balls off.”

Fully grinning, Rafe finds himself moving from his vantage point, sauntering over to the desk and resting his hands on your shoulders as he leans down close to her ear. You ignore the thump of your heartbeat, figuring it’s the aftermath of such an anxiety inducing conversation with its best kickstarter: your mother.

“Like an apple,” you emphasize with a gesture of plucking an apple off a tree in an attempt to regulate your dizziness from his close proximity, “just twist and pull them right off.”

Rafe rubs gentle circles in your muscle tensions, clearly finding the whole thing amusing. Prick. “You done?”

The relaxed tone makes you roll your eyes. “On second thought? You’d probably be into that. Freak.”

“You know me so well, hm, baby?”

“Nice try.” The honey in his voice almost makes you falter. Almost. “You’re still not coming.”

His thumbs massage the knots as he shrugs nonchalantly. “I dunno. It seems like it’ll be fun.”

You pause putting on mascara, looking at him through the mini mirror in disbelief. “Fun?” He shrugs again which makes you raise a brow. That's not the word you'd use, frankly. “You haven’t met my family.”

“I can totally woo them over. We already have so much chemistry.”

“The only time we’re not arguing is when we’re fucking.”

“I’ve never been to Italy,” he sighs dreamily, straying away from the point. “Been to Spain, Greece, France. But never Italy. I’ve always wanted to go.”

“No.”

“The food, the girls, the history.”

“No.”

“You’re really depriving me of my dream?”

“Yes,” you hiss, finishing your touches to your requested makeup. “Besides, I doubt you’ll be able to find a flight for next week.”

Rafe furrows his brows in confusion. “Jesus. The celebration’s a week long?”

You sigh irritatedly, moving to brush through your hair. He frowns at how aggressively you rip through the snarls. “No. The wedding’s two days after Thanksgiving.”

“Why are you going so early?”

A flicker of panic rises in your throat as you pause, moving to say something but stopping yourself. The last thing you want is Rafe Cameron weaseling himself into your life. It feels intrusive and oddly personal, and it suddenly dawns on you that you don't even know his middle name. Or if he even has one.

The thought of knowing more about him makes you nervous. But the thought of him knowing more about you makes your stomach churn queasily.

So you simply settle on a nonchalant shrug. “I just am.”

The tone makes him frown. “So, what? You’re just gonna dick around Italy for a week beforehand? Alone?”

“No.” You hate that he’s staring at you with those bright blue eyes, waiting for more, and you hate providing more.

Rafe notices your apprehension, squeezing your shoulders. “Hey,” he says firmly, slightly irritated that he has to beg but refusing to say please. “Stop deflecting.”

“You’re pushy when you don’t get what you want.”

“Sweet girl,” he warns, thumbs massaging circles.

You sigh, knowing he won’t let up until you give him what he wants. Fucking brat, you think. “I’m staying with my nonna,” you admit softly. “Well, she’s not technically my grandmother but she practically raised my dad, so, she basically acts like his mother. She lives in the countryside.”

Rafe pauses his movements, studying your face in the small mirror where you refuse to meet his eye, that one snippet of her personal life taking out a chunk of her dignity. Your gaze is hard, purposefully focused on doing your hair.

He finds himself frowning at the notion that you found it difficult to tell him such a simple thing. More often than not, wants to shake you like a tree to make the fruit fall, to make you tell him more snippets of your life, information he’s been yearning to know but too afraid to ask about.

Well, for fucks sake, you've been sleeping together for three months. God forbid he wants to know a little about you.

“That’s…nice,” he whispers cautiously.

You notice his sullen expression in the mirror, finishing up your hair so you can spin around in the chair and face him. His hands go to rest on the top of the chair as his piercing blues meet your eyes. He looks so fucking pretty right now that you grip the chair to refrain from forgetting the past ten minutes and dragging him back in bed.

Instead, you furrow your brows to try and mask you appreciation for his annoyingly pretty face, studying his expression, trying to look deeper in his eyes to search for anything other than honesty but coming up short.

You both stare at each other for a few moments, trying to gauge the other before you tap out, blinking out of whatever daze you were trapped in.

“Why don’t you have any Thanksgiving plans?”

Rafe shrugs. “I do.”

“Then why–?”

“If you had to choose between hanging out in Italy or having a week-long screaming match with your entire family, what’d you pick?”

That shuts you up.

Fuck. You look up at him with determined curiosity, trying to read between the lines of if he’s doing all of this simply to escape the horrors of his own family, or if he feels compelled to because your mother was standing five feet in front of him, or if he truly loves getting off on torturing you. Whatever the real reasoning is, the anger slowly starts fizzling out of your fiery chest and instead is replaced with calculation.

There is some potential for his presence. He could provide a shield for Paulette’s usual torture. Then, again, he could also fuel it.

“If I let you come,” you start slowly, which makes him stand straighter, “you’ll have to convince them and you need to behave. Especially in front of my nonna.”

Rafe nods, pathetically obedient.

You raise a brow. “I mean it.”

He manages a small smirk. “Did I mention I’m great with grandparents, too?”

You rolls your eyes so hard it hurts. You sit up straight and put a hand over his to make sure he understands what he’s getting himself into. “Excluding her, my family is fucking horrible, Cameron. Like, White Lotus pretentious. They’re rich and obnoxious, can’t mind their fucking business, painfully sexist, and can be everything under the sun that is synonymous to that. I need you to know what you’re getting yourself into. This isn’t a fucking playdate.”

And I’m probably going to be miserable the whole time I’m with them, you want to add, but refrain.

But Rafe only snorts at the irony. He’s been putting up with people like that his entire life.

“And my nonna is gonna put you to work,” you add with raised brows. “She’s going to make you carry shit around, tend to her garden, do a bunch of stuff to prove to her that you’re good for me. She doesn’t play around with me.”

“Baby,” he says, running his tongue over his bottom lip, “I’m about to be the best boyfriend you’ve ever had.”

You snort, turning back to the mirror to last minute check over your features, hoping the results will suffice your mother's high expectations. “Yeah, that’s not gonna be hard,” you mutter, not seeing the way he frowns.

Standing, you smooth over your dress and grab your purse and jacket with a deep breath. Truly, you need to calm yourself down before you crashes out in front of him.

You don't want to admit it, but having him parade around the wedding pretending to be your boyfriend will probably make your life a little easier.

It’ll most likely stop making you feel like a constant disappointment to your mother for a good week, probably the only week of your life where you'll feel an ounce of your mother’s approval. It’s pathetic, you already know, to seek out affection through a lie, and the thought of telling this reasoning to Rafe will not only embarrass you further, but will give him fuel to make fun of you.

It's despicable that you probably can't earn your mother’s love and respect on your own – without a man – but frankly you're sick and tired of feeling like a constant outcast. Perhaps this will finally get your mother to start being proud of your other feats now that the boyfriend question is out of the picture, like for starters, your academic career.

Whilst you wallow in your scheming pity party, Rafe follows you to the door like a puppy, a newfound sense of determination glossed over his features.

“No, you just wait, sweet girl,” he murmurs to no one in particular. “I’m going to be the best fucking boyfriend anyone’s ever seen, show all those other assholes up. I’m gonna hold doors open for you and shit.”

(There’s a tiny part of him that, also, wants to make this experience for you as easy as it can be, because after seeing the tumultuous tension between you and your mother based off of one brief encounter, Rafe can already tell that you were originally going to have a hard time at the wedding all alone. If he can offer even an ounce of consolation or support for you, he’ll take it.)

“Sure, Cameron. Now be a good boyfriend and walk me to the car.”

Rafe fights a smile, excited to start proving himself.

note this is my first time ever posting on tumblr and i still don't really understand the site (i.e. requests and communities and things like that). hope you enjoyed!

#rafe cameron #salem-s works #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x fem!reader #rafe cameron outer banks #rafe outer banks #outerbanks #reader insert #rafe x reader #rafe x you #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe x y/n #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron smut

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qingyuns · 10 months ago

Text

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

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

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

1) The fall that was Pacha’s fault

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

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

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

“No problem.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2) The fall that was a Tepetlisaurus’ fault

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

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

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

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

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

You flinched. “Well, no.”

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

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

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

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

“Oh, right. You haven’t met Ajaw.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kinich turned to you. “Sorry about him.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I have some time."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh no!” she exclaimed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

???) The fall that wasn’t even you

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

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

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

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

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

Kinich was too surprised to scoff. “What?”

“You have a big fat crush.”

“No, I don’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—the realisation hit him like a tidal wave.

Oh.

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

Kinich barely registered her departure.

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

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

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

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

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

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

#kinich x reader #kinich #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin imagines #genshin impact #genshin #genshin fanfic #natlan #mualani #kinich imagines #written works !

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levanterhaze · 5 months ago

Text

── GAMEBOY, BANGCHAN

♡ ― 󠀬󠀬 fratboy!bangchan x f!reader dirty talk, masturbation, rough sex, slight choking, use of nicknames, overstimulation among other things I can't even name

♡ synopsis ― Bangchan is the campus playboy—charming, cocky, and infuriatingly irresistible. One reckless, drunken night leads to a secret you swore you'd never have. Now, hating him is harder than keeping him your dirty little secret.

[10k words ]♡― once again, I must thank you all for your love and for continuing to enjoy gameboy! this chapter is a bit long, but for me it's interesting to write the development of the characters to get where we want to go! don't forget to listen to the playlist and those who just got here PLEASE READ THE PREVIOUS CHAPTERS!!!! that said, have a good read.

♡― THE PLAYLIST.

♡ [part one] ♡ [part two] ♡ [part three] ♡ [part four]

On the corner of my bed Oh, and maybe on the beach You could do it on your own While you're lookin' at me

After absolutely killing your performance of Out Here On My Own, the applause hit you like a tidal wave. A standing ovation. Even Mrs. Baek looked mildly impressed, which, considering her usual stone-cold demeanor, basically meant she was internally sobbing.

And just like that, all the nerves? Gone. Vanished into thin air like they were never even there.

Bangchan had been watching—because of course, he had—but before you could revel in that fact for too long, he got a call and had to bounce. Typical.

You should have been freaking out about the whole making out backstage situation. Should’ve been scanning every corner for witnesses, mentally preparing for a campus-wide scandal. But weirdly? You weren’t. That reckless, confident part of you—the one still floating on cloud nine—did not care. If anything, you could still feel him. His touch on your waist like a phantom burn, his lips still branded on yours.

But whatever. You had bigger things to stress about. The final list wasn’t coming out until Monday, which meant you had the entire weekend to sit in pure, unfiltered agony over it. Luckily, Saturday’s party was the perfect excuse to get out of your head for a while.

Fast forward through a day of pretending to be studious with Sohee—aka desperately trying to focus while your brain replayed that kiss—you finally took a well-earned shower and decided to go for a solo nighttime stroll.

Campus was still alive, students buzzing around in little clusters, laughing and talking like they didn’t have impending deadlines. You shoved your headphones in, following the athletics track, which was mostly empty by now.

The night air had that perfect, crisp breeze—the kind that made you grateful you threw on a cardigan. And just when you thought the moment couldn’t get any better, Wonderwall started playing. You smirked to yourself. Damn, you loved this song.

And yet, with every step, your brain kept poking at you like an annoying little sibling. Anxiety, sure. But let’s not forget the other mess currently occupying premium real estate in your mind—Hyunjin.

You hadn’t talked to him since you drunkenly spilled your guts, quite literally, about your whole Bangchan situation. And if you were being honest, which you weren’t, at least not with yourself, you were actively dodging that conversation. Because talking to Hyunjin meant facing your own feelings, and frankly, you were not clocked in for that emotional labor.

Your phone lit up mid-walk.

Mingyu: can I see you today?

You chewed on your lip, staring at the message. It was almost ridiculous how this boy—new, uncomplicated, and seemingly sincere—wanted something real with you. And yet, here you were, hesitating. Because no matter how nice Mingyu was, your brain wasn’t stuck on him.

It was stuck on someone else.

On a certain maddening, frustrating, insanely good kisser who had, at some point, tattooed himself onto your skin. If physical touch could be permanent, Bangchan’s hands would be everywhere on you. And, let’s be honest, you wouldn’t exactly be filing a complaint about it.

Before you even processed the decision, your feet had already made it for you. You were crossing campus, heading straight for his dorm.

Because you needed to talk. Like adults. No teasing, no sarcastic little jabs—just honesty.

And, okay, maybe you needed to see him, too. Feel him. More than ever.

Your determination was fuel to the fire already burning inside you. Your heart was pounding, your brain was screaming at you to calm down, but your body wasn’t taking any orders tonight. That feverish, all-consuming pull settled deep in your gut, an intoxicating mix of adrenaline, nerves, and something terrifyingly real.

You took the stairs two at a time, like the damn dorm might vanish before you got there.

By the time you reached his door, you were clutching your excitement close, biting back a smile even as your fingers trembled. Deep breath. You knocked, quick and sure.

It’s fine. He’ll listen. You’ll talk. You’ll finally—

The door swung open.

And instead of a tall, dark-haired boy, you were met with her.

She was pretty. Unfairly, effortlessly pretty—the kind of girl who belonged on magazine covers and in the daydreams of poets. Medium height, light hair, bright eyes. The kind of face men went to war over.

Your stomach dropped like a stone.

“Hi!” she greeted, all warmth and ease, completely oblivious to the way the air had just been sucked out of your lungs.

You swallowed, forcing a polite nod. “Uh, hey… is Bangchan here?”

She shook her head, smiling like this was just any other casual conversation. And that’s when you noticed it—his black t-shirt, draped over her frame.

“Oh, no. He went to grab some food.” she tilted her head, something curious in her gaze. “Are you a friend of his? Oh! Sorry—I’m Yeojin. His girlfriend. And you are…?”

Her words hit like a gut punch, sucking the warmth right out of your chest.

A bitter laugh bubbled up, but you swallowed it down, masking the sting with a tight-lipped smile. “A classmate,” you said smoothly. “I just had a question, but… I think it can wait till Monday.”

And just like that, the fire inside you? Extinguished.

The girl pursed her glossy lips, then nodded politely. “Okay. I’ll let him know you stopped by.”

“No need.” the words left your mouth before she could even finish. “Thanks, Yeojin.”

Her name felt like venom rolling off your tongue, thick and bitter, coating your mouth with something vile.

By the time you hit the stairs, you were moving so fast you were honestly surprised you didn’t wipe out. Your pulse was a hammer against your ribs, your breath uneven. Your brain hadn’t even caught up yet—stuck on a loop, trying to process the absolute train wreck that had just unfolded.

He had a girlfriend this whole time.

He lied to you.

He did exactly what everyone said he would.

The sharp sting of disappointment curdled into full-blown anger. Your steps turned heavier, each one smacking against the pavement like a silent war drum. You were so locked into getting to your dorm—so wound up with the need to disappear into your own space—you probably would’ve plowed through half a dozen people without a second thought.

But fate had a sick sense of humor. Because halfway across campus, you spotted him.

Bangchan, heading back toward the dorms, a paper bag dangling from his hand—food, obviously, because why wouldn’t he be casually picking up dinner while your world imploded?

His eyes lit up the second he saw you, but that moment of warmth flickered out fast when you didn’t even look at him. Didn’t slow down. Didn’t hesitate. Just walked right past him like he was nothing—like he was air—nearly clipping his arm in the process.

He stood there for two seconds, frozen, before spinning around. Your name tore from his lips, sharp and urgent.

“What happened?” when you didn’t answer, his voice shot up, strained. “Where are you going?”

You sucked in a deep breath, your whole body practically vibrating with anger. Then, before you could stop yourself, you spun around and marched right back toward him, each step digging into the grass like you were stomping out a fire.

“To my dorm,” you snapped. “Not that it’s any of your business. Oh, and fun fact—I just came back from yours.” sarcasm dripped from your voice like honey laced with poison.

Bangchan blinked, his brain buffering like a slow-loading webpage. The look on his face almost made you laugh—almost. Instead, you just smiled, sharp and humorless. Yeah, process that, asshole.

You turned to leave, but before you could, his hand caught yours. Not your wrist, like some desperate last-ditch grab—your hand. Like he meant it. And the second your skin met his, it was like touching an open flame.

“Let me explain.” his voice was tight, urgent.

“Don’t touch me.” you yanked your hand back like it burned. “I don’t give a shit about whatever excuse you’re about to pull out of your ass.”

His jaw clenched. “Can you stop being so damn stubborn and just listen to me for once?”

You let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Oh, you wanna explain?” you licked your lips, tasting nothing but bitterness. “Go ahead. Explain how you had a girlfriend this whole time while you were fucking around with me.”

The words landed like a punch to the gut—on both of you.

Because, deep down, being with you had never been defined. No labels. No promises. No safety net to fall back on. But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

Bangchan’s brows snapped together. “What? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Oh, don’t even try it.” you scoffed, shaking your head. “You’re really gonna stand there and lie to my face? I saw her.”

His frustration bubbled over, his arms flying up in exasperation. “I genuinely have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about.” his voice cracked with frustration. He looked at you like he was praying for some divine intervention to make sense of this mess. “If you’re talking about—”

“Just go back to your girlfriend and leave me alone, Bangchan.” your voice was steady, but he wasn’t stupid—he saw the fire still burning in your eyes, catching in the moonlight.

And maybe if he had taken half a second to think, he wouldn’t have said it. Maybe he would’ve swallowed his pride and stopped himself from making it worse.

But he didn’t.

“Whatever, right?” he scoffed, voice laced with something bitter. “It’s not like we were anything.”

You pressed your lips together, jaw tight, throat burning like you’d swallowed glass. And for the first time in your life, really the first, you felt so humiliated—so stupid—that your eyes burned with unshed tears.

Bangchan saw it. Saw the way your waterline glistened, saw the way your breath hitched, but you wouldn’t cry. Not in front of him. Not for him.

“If you really think that’s the problem, then that says a whole lot more about you than it does about me.” your voice was sharp, but quiet, like a blade sliding back into its sheath.

And just like that, the conversation was over.

You turned on your heel and walked away, each step fueled by a firestorm of anger, hurt, and something else you weren’t ready to name. Bangchan watched you go, standing frozen in place, and by the time he even thought about stopping you—

It was too late.

Outside your dorm, you yanked your phone out of your pocket, fingers flying across the screen like a woman on a mission. Your pulse was still hammering, adrenaline buzzing under your skin as you pulled up Mingyu’s contact and typed without hesitation.

You: Feel like crashing a party on Saturday?

Barely a beat passed before your phone vibrated with his response.

Mingyu: You had me at “party.”

Bangchan pushed open the door to his dorm with more force than necessary, letting it slam shut behind him. His pulse was still racing, his jaw tight with frustration.

And there she was. Yeojin.

Lying on his bed, scrolling through her phone like she owned the place. His old sweatshirt was hanging off her shoulder, and she barely spared him a glance when he walked in.

“Oh, you’re back,” she said, swinging her legs idly. “Didn’t take you long.”

Bangchan set his bag of takeout on the desk and exhaled sharply through his nose. “What the hell did you say to her?”

Yeojin finally looked up, her expression the perfect blend of innocence and amusement. “Say what exactly?”

His fingers flexed at his sides. “You know what,” he ground out. “You told her we’re together. Why?”

She tilted her head, brows lifting. “I never said that.”

Bangchan let out a humorless laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Yeojin, don’t play games with me.”

“I didn’t, Chan.” she sighed dramatically, stretching her arms over her head. “She asked if you were here, I said no, and I introduced myself. It’s not my fault if she jumped to conclusions.”

He clenched his jaw, glaring at her. “That’s bullshit and you know it.”

She just smiled. “So what if it is?” her voice dropped, teasing, as she sat up. “You used to like when I messed with people.”

Bangchan took a step back when she reached for him, his whole body recoiling instinctively.

“We’re not kids anymore, Yeojin,” he muttered. “And I don’t have time for this.” he grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. “I got Thai food. Help yourself.”

Before she could say anything else, he was gone.

The cool night air did little to calm Bangchan’s nerves as he walked toward the basketball court, fists shoved in his hoodie pockets. His mind was a mess, replaying the way you had looked at him—like he was exactly what people warned you about.

Before he could spiral further, a familiar voice cut through his thoughts.

“Damn, what’s with the face?” Changbin asked, appearing from the other side of the path. “You look like you wanna punch a hole in a wall.”

Bangchan exhaled sharply. “Not a wall.”

Changbin frowned. “What the hell happened?”

Bangchan hesitated before tilting his head toward the court. “Basketball first. Talking later.”

Changbin smirked. “I like where this is going.”

Fifteen minutes later, Bangchan sat on the edge of the basketball court, legs stretched out, elbows resting on his knees, looking like life had personally drop-kicked him.

Across from him, Changbin dribbled the ball lazily, waiting. And waiting. Until his patience ran out.

“So?” Changbin finally asked, passing him the ball. “Spill.”

Bangchan caught it, staring at it for a second before shaking his head. “Yeojin’s here.”

Changbin nearly fumbled the rebound. “I’m sorry—what?” his face twisted in immediate disgust. “What the hell is she doing here?”

Bangchan sighed. “She came to visit. Said she was in town. It’s been years, and I figured—whatever, right? No harm in catching up.”

Changbin let out a dry laugh. “No harm? Bro, she’s a walking red flag. Why would you even entertain that?”

Bangchan pressed his tongue against his cheek. “I don’t know, man. Nostalgia? I mean, we didn’t exactly end badly, we just—” he sighed. “Didn’t work.”

Changbin scoffed. “Yeah, well, I never liked her. You know that.”

Bangchan dribbled once, then tossed the ball toward the hoop. It hit the rim, circled, then dropped through the net. “There’s more.”

Changbin folded his arms. “Yeah, no shit. You’re sitting here like you just found out Santa isn’t real. What else happened?”

Bangchan caught the rebound and exhaled. “She saw.”

Changbin frowned. “Saw what?”

Bangchan gave him a look.

“Oh.” Changbin winced. “Shit.” he let out a slow whistle. “That’s… bad.”

“No shit,” Bangchan muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. “She showed up at my dorm, and instead of me opening the door, Yeojin did.”

Changbin groaned. “Dude. No.”

“Oh, it gets worse,” Bangchan went on, voice dripping with frustration. “Yeojin, being the manipulative little menace she is, basically introduced herself as my girlfriend.”

Changbin stared at him like he just admitted to murder. “And she believed that?”

Bangchan laughed bitterly. “Why wouldn’t she? The look she gave me, man… like I was exactly what she expected. Some asshole playing games.”

Changbin studied him for a second. “And that bothers you.”

Bangchan scoffed. “Of course it fucking bothers me.” he leaned forward, gripping the ball tight. “She drives me insane, Bin. Like—she acts like it’s nothing. Like whatever we had was just this casual, meaningless thing. But then she turns around and—” he exhaled sharply. “Her actions say otherwise. She looks at me like she feels something. She reacts like she cares. But every time I get close, she shuts it down.”

Changbin snorted, rolling the ball between his palms. “So basically, she’s bullshitting, you’re bullshitting, and now you’re both miserable?”

Bangchan shot him a glare.

Changbin smirked. “I mean, she won’t admit she likes you, and you’re sitting here trauma-dumping on me instead of doing something about it.”

Bangchan groaned, tilting his head back against the wall. “She’s pissed, Bin. Like, really pissed.”

“So fix it.”

Bangchan laughed humorlessly. “Yeah. Easier said than done.”

Changbin passed him the ball. “So what now?”

Bangchan caught it, staring down at the faded lettering on the rubber. That was the question, wasn’t it? Because right now, you wanted nothing to do with him.

And honestly? He deserved it.

Saturday morning. Group breakfast. Good vibes. At least, that’s what you were aiming for.

You were mid-story, telling Felix how the auditions had gone, when the universe decided to test your patience. Again.

Changbin strolled in with Jisung, Bangchan, and—you had to blink twice just to confirm—Yeojin.

Of course. Because it wasn’t enough that he lied. He had to parade it around like some kind of grand event.

“I need a fat slice of chocolate cake,” Changbin announced, dropping into his seat. “Something sweet to cleanse the absolute trash energy in the air.”

Your eyes flicked to Yeojin, who was standing a little too comfortably next to Bangchan.

“Yeojin, long time no see,” Hyunjin greeted, all polite and civil.

She beamed. “Hyunjin! Oh my God, it’s really you!” she gushed, voice dripping with enthusiasm. You wanted to be a girl’s girl, really—you did. But something about her tone made your eye twitch.

“Who’s that?” Sohee whispered, not even bothering to be discreet.

“Oh, nice to meet you,” Yeojin said, flashing a smile that felt way too rehearsed. “Yeojin. Chan’s friend.”

She said it like she was accepting a damn award. The table went dead silent. Everyone shared a look.

You, however, remained completely unbothered, taking a slow sip of your strawberry milk like you had all the time in the world.

Bangchan slid into the seat across from you, throwing not-so-subtle glances in your direction—just in case you maybe wanted to acknowledge his existence.

You didn’t. Instead, you busied yourself with literally anything else. The napkins. The straw in your drink. The slow, satisfying process of ignoring him.

If he wanted your attention, he’d have to earn it.

Yeojin was annoyingly easy to get along with. Effortless charm, perfectly timed laughs—like she’d studied the art of socializing and graduated top of her class. And maybe that wouldn’t have bothered you if you didn’t feel an immediate, inexplicable urge to dislike her.

Maybe it was the way she smiled just a little too much. Like she was in on some inside joke that no one else was laughing at. Or how she leaned into Bangchan like he had his own gravitational pull, always conveniently this close to falling into his lap.

For someone who had been so desperate to explain himself last night, he looked awfully comfortable letting her cling to him now.

“So, everyone’s going tonight, right?” Jisung asked, drumming his fingers on the table.

Yeojin jumped on the conversation like it was an open invitation. “What’s tonight?”

“Jisung’s DJing at a party,” Eunji answered, taking a sip of her drink.

Yeojin hummed, tilting her head in that thoughtful but not really way. “I was going to leave after lunch, but… I guess I can stay a little longer.”

She glanced at Bangchan like she was waiting for permission.

Too bad he wasn’t paying attention. His focus was glued to his phone, fingers tapping out a message.

Your own phone buzzed in your pocket.

Bangchan: can we talk?

Your eyes flicked up, purely on instinct. And there he was. Watching you.

You frowned, pulled out your phone, read the message, and stuffed it right back in your pocket. No response.

The table blurred into background noise. Laughter, conversation, the occasional clatter of silverware—it all melted into static. Because Bangchan was still looking. That steady, expectant stare that made your skin itch. That made your chest feel a little too tight.

Your phone buzzed again.

Bangchan: you can’t ignore me forever.

Bet.

You smirked to yourself. If Bangchan thought he could tell you what to do, he had another thing coming.

Grabbing the strap of your bag, you stood up, all casual confidence, and turned to Sohee and Eunji. “I’m heading out with Hyunjin.” no further explanation. Just a statement.

Hyunjin, caught in the crossfire of whatever this was, frowned. “Wait—what? Since when?”

You just kept walking, tossing a grin over your shoulder. “Since right now. Just smile and act natural.”

You made sure to take the long way around the table, passing directly in front of Bangchan—not looking at him. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment. Just air.

Hyunjin, still struggling to keep up, shot a quick glance back before leaning in. “Okay, seriously, what was that? Bangchan looked like he was about to start breathing fire.”

You flicked your hair over your shoulder, your smirk widening.

“Revenge, Hyun. Just a little harmless revenge.”

The house was packed.

Neon lights flickered wildly, splashing the room in chaotic waves of electric blue and fiery red, pulsing in sync with the bass. The air was thick—heat, sweat, cheap cologne, and the sharp sting of alcohol weaving together into something intoxicating. The floor thrummed beneath your boots, bodies moving in effortless rhythm, a silent agreement to just let go.

Jisung was at the DJ booth, throwing in ad-libs between transitions, hyping up the crowd like he was born for this. A remix dropped, shaking the walls, and the entire party roared in approval. Off-campus ragers had a way of making reality blur, like stepping into a fever dream.

Perfect.

Eunji and Sohee spotted you first, their eyes going comically wide, like they’d just witnessed the second coming of Christ.

“Jesus, look at you,” Sohee gasped, gripping your arm for dear life.

Eunji gave a solemn nod. “This outfit should be illegal.”

You twirled, just enough to let your skirt flare out, a little reminder of why you picked it.

“Drinks first, right?” you pointed at Hyunjin, who gave you an approving nod.

You peeled away from the group, squeezing through the sweaty crowd toward a corner where a massive keg stood like a beacon of bad decisions. There were stronger drinks, but you decided to take it easy—for now.

Then, in half a second, you felt it. Like your body already knew, like a moth drawn to a flame.

Under the pulsing red lights, he looked dangerous. A predator in slow motion, moving through the crowd with that effortless, lazy confidence that made people either run toward him or clear a path. Flashes of white and blue caught the sharp cut of his jaw, the faint sheen of sweat at his collarbone. A contrast—razor-edged and infuriatingly soft all at once.

And yet. You couldn’t focus on any of that.

Because Yeojin was practically clinging to him.

Talking—laughing, leaning, performing—but Bangchan barely seemed to notice. If anything, he looked somewhere else entirely. Somewhere you were. Because the second your eyes met, his focus locked in.

And he started moving. One step. Then another.

But before he could take a third, an arm slid around your waist.

Mingyu.

His touch was warm, firm—a perfectly timed lifeline. His lips brushed against your ear, voice low and deliberate. “Have I mentioned you look insane tonight?”

A slow, satisfied smile curled on your lips. Perfect.

Through the neon haze, you caught Bangchan’s reaction over Mingyu’s shoulder. Electric blue light flickered across his face like something straight out of a movie scene.

Oh, he was pissed. Not just annoyed. Not just irritated. Seething.

Jaw clenched. Shoulders tight. Eyes locked onto you with an intensity that sent a delicious shiver down your spine.

Good.

Mingyu pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. “Dance with me?”

You let the question hang, stretching the moment just because you could—fully aware of your audience. Then, with a casual flick of your fingers, you grabbed Mingyu’s wrist and turned back to your friends.

And that’s when the remix hit.

The song of the summer. A full-blown club anthem blasted through the house, lights flashing in sync with the bass, and suddenly Eunji and Sohee were dragging you onto the dance floor. You barely had time to toss Mingyu a look before pulling him into the crowd with you.

Sohee was already wrapped around her boyfriend’s neck, hair flying as she danced like she was possessed, while Minho just laughed at her antics. Jisung was losing his mind behind the DJ booth, hyping up the party like a man on a mission.

And Bangchan? He didn’t move. He just watched.

Watched as you danced. Watched as Mingyu’s hands found your waist. Watched as you threw your head back, laughing, moving with the beat like you had nothing to prove.

And under the pulsing red lights, with silver glitter catching on your cheekbones, you didn’t just look good. You looked untouchable.

And he looked like a man about to start a war.

You spun around, arms draped over Mingyu’s shoulders as his hands trailed down to your waist, pulling you into the rhythm. To anyone watching, you two looked dangerously close—every move synced, every touch easy, like this was something more than just a party moment. But in the back of your mind, a small, annoying voice reminded you that this wasn’t about Mingyu at all.

Still, too late now.

The strobe lights flashed in bursts, making everything feel like a glitch in time—jumping, dancing, bodies moving like there was no tomorrow. You lost sight of Bangchan for a while, which was probably for the best. So, you let go. Had fun. Actually enjoyed yourself with your friends.

Until someone slammed into you, knocking the air right out of your lungs.

One second, Mingyu was right there. The next, he was gone, practically launched across the floor. “What the—” you barely got the words out before you saw the damage.

Changbin stood there, wide-eyed, drenched in a suspiciously pink drink, looking like he just survived a battlefield. And Mingyu? Equally soaked, equally stunned, like he was still processing what the hell just happened.

“Dude, shit—sorry!” Changbin shouted, voice barely cutting through the music.

You blinked, taking in the absolute mess before turning back to him. “Are you good?”

Changbin nodded rapidly, looking between you and Mingyu like he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or start running. “Yeah, yeah, my bad!”

Then he turned back to Mingyu, hands up like a man pleading for his life.

Mingyu just let out a sigh, lifting the hem of his now ruined white T-shirt like he was mourning a fallen soldier. “Alright. I’ll be right back,” he said, shaking his head before disappearing into the crowd.

Meanwhile, Changbin grabbed your arm, his expression serious—well, as serious as someone drenched in a neon-pink drink could look. He gestured for you to follow, weaving through the bodies until you reached the foot of the stairs.

“What?” you asked, crossing your arms.

“Can you grab me a shirt? I left one in Jisung’s backpack.”

You took a second to assess the situation. Changbin, slightly tipsy, covered in pink, blinking at you like a lost puppy. He looked ridiculous.

With a dramatic sigh, you caved. “Fine.”

“You’re the best,” he said, clasping his hands like he was praising the heavens. “It’s in the room on the right, upstairs.”

You turned, climbing the stairs while dodging couples making out on the steps like it was some kind of kissing marathon. Once you reached the hallway, you scanned the doors—long corridor, a few rooms—until you spotted one slightly open on the right.

Alright. In and out. Quick mission.

Stepping inside, you started searching for Jisung’s bag—first the floor, then the bed. Nothing.

And then—

Movement.

From the corner of your eye, a figure emerged from behind the bed, rising like a shadow from the dark.

Your breath caught. Bangchan. Standing there. Watching you.

A black cable twirled between his fingers, slow and deliberate, his gaze unreadable under the dim glow of the hallway lights.

“What?” you were the first to break the silence, arms crossing instinctively. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Bangchan gave you a flat look, holding up the black cable like it was evidence in court. “I should be asking you that. I came to get Han’s charger.” he raised an eyebrow, gaze sharp, like he wasn’t entirely convinced.

You opened your mouth, fully prepared to deliver something scathing—but before you could get a word out, the door swung open again.

“Sorry, kids! Not opening this door until you sort yourselves out!”

You barely had time to process Changbin’s smug, drunken grin before the door slammed shut.

For half a second, you froze.

Then you launched at the door, fists pounding like you could open it through sheer rage. “Changbin, open this fucking door right now!”

No answer. Just the distant thrum of music, too muffled for anyone outside to hear you scream bloody murder.

You yanked at the handle—definitely locked.

With a sharp inhale, you turned, glaring daggers at Bangchan, who was just… standing there. Watching. Amused.

“Are you just gonna stand there? Do something!”

His lips twitched, like he was this close to laughing. “Pretty sure this is your problem, not mine.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Oh, so now you don’t wanna get involved?”

Bangchan sighed—slow, exaggerated—before strolling up to the door, resting a lazy hand on the knob, and giving it a completely useless jiggle. Then he turned back to you with a straight face.

“Yeah. It’s locked.”

You stared at him. Blinked. Then scoffed so hard you nearly choked.

“No shit, Sherlock. Are you serious?”

Bangchan couldn’t help it—he laughed. Because you were spiraling, and honestly? It was funny as hell.

“I’ll call him,” he said, still smirking.

You rolled your eyes so hard they nearly left your skull and made your way over to the double bed in the corner. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” you muttered, collapsing onto the edge like this was some Shakespearean tragedy.

Then a thought clicked, and suddenly, everything made sense.

Your head snapped up. “Wait—” you shot to your feet, eyes narrowing. “He knows. You told him.”

Bangchan barely looked fazed. “He kinda figured it out on his own, if that makes you feel any better.”

Which wasn’t exactly a lie. Bangchan was so into you, stealing glances constantly, and Changbin wasn’t stupid. The man could read a room like it was his job.

You dragged a hand down your face, exhaling sharply. “This is a nightmare.”

Bangchan tilted his head, amused. “Jesus, is it really that bad being stuck in here with me? Last time, you weren’t exactly complaining.”

The second those words left his mouth, you hit him with a look so deadly he immediately shut up.

“Just get Changbin to open the damn door, Bangchan,” you said flatly, plopping back down onto the bed, dead center, legs crossed like you were settling in for a long, miserable wait.

You pulled out your phone, thumbs flying across the screen as you sent a message to Hyunjin—the only person who knew about the whole situation. You could have asked Sohee, Eunji, or even Mingyu, but that would just open a very annoying can of worms.

And you were not in the mood for questions.

This couldn’t be real. No way. The second you got out of here, Changbin was getting his ass handed to him. And Mingyu was probably already wondering where the hell you’d disappeared to. Just like Yeojin was probably searching for Bangchan.

Perfect.

“He’s not answering,” Bangchan announced, completely unfazed. “Which means he’s ignoring me on purpose. So, we wait.” he sat by the window like it was just another Tuesday, leaning back on his palms.

“This is your fault.”

That earned you a scoff. “How the hell is this my fault?”

You shot him a glare. “If you hadn’t spilled everything to him, none of this would be happening.”

Bangchan let out a dry laugh, tilting his head like you were so predictable. “Right. And if you hadn’t jumped to conclusions without actually listening to me—like you always do—none of this would be happening either.”

Oof. Direct hit. You hated when he had a point.

“I have nothing to hear from you,” you muttered, crossing your arms and staring at literally anything else in the room.

Silence.

Annoyingly, maddeningly, deafeningly loud silence.

Bangchan rested his arms on his knees, watching you like he had all the time in the world. And pretending he wasn’t there, yeah, that was a joke. His presence was like gravity—pulling, heavy, impossible to ignore.

Less than ten minutes passed before the anger started simmering down. Because that’s how it always went with him. Like a fire that burned too hot, too fast.

“You seriously thought she was my girlfriend?”

You turned, locking eyes with him. “What else was I supposed to think? She said it herself.”

Bangchan hummed, tapping his fingers against his knee. “She’s not. Yeojin’s an ex—from high school. Ancient history.” he exhaled sharply through his teeth. “She’s just… a little clueless.”

“A little?” you let out a sharp laugh. “She was wearing your clothes when I showed up at your dorm.” you rolled your eyes, but Bangchan only smiled. Because, yeah, that sounded a whole lot like jealousy.

Then something clicked. “Wait—what were you doing there that night?”

“Nothing.” you looked away, ignoring the sudden heat crawling up your neck.

His laugh was soft, almost teasing. But the way he was looking at you? Like you were the only thing worth seeing? That was dangerous.

“C’mon. Seriously.”

You groaned, rolling your eyes, because he was so annoyingly persistent. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Doesn’t it?” Bangchan tilted his head, lips curving in that cocky little smirk. “I doubt that.”

“Well, I don’t care,” you shot back, folding your arms in defiance.

Bangchan pushed himself off the floor, moving to sit on the edge of the bed—close, but not too close. Still, he was big. Broad. Built like a problem. And despite the space between you, he somehow took up all of it.

Worse? He smelled stupidly good.

“What do you want?” you asked, bracing yourself for the answer—because Bangchan was stupidly honest, and you weren’t sure you were ready for whatever was about to come out of his mouth.

But he didn’t say a word. Just kept looking at you, pupils blown wide, gaze slow as it dragged over your face like he was trying to memorize every detail.

Then, finally— “Why’d you come that night?”

You swallowed. “I went because… I wanted to talk. And… I wanted things to be okay between us.”

For a second, he just stared at you like you’d punched the air out of his lungs. Because you had gone after him. To fix things. To close the distance.

“You wanted to?” you barely nodded before he let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. “Well, we’re two idiots, then.” his lips curled slightly, his whole energy shifting. “Because that’s all I want.”

Your eyes locked, and something about the way he was looking at you made your chest tighten. He had this insane ability to make you feel completely seen, like he could pick apart every thought in your head just by watching you.

“Why?”

Bangchan was never one to hold back, never afraid to be himself—especially when it came to being honest about what he wanted. And right now, he was this close to just laying it all out. Because the truth? He was ridiculously into you. More and more, every damn day.

“You’re stubborn, and I’m an idiot,” he muttered, lips pressing into a thin line before he let out a short laugh. The kind that made you laugh, too, before you even realized it. And honestly it pissed you off a little how easily he could do that—swing you from one extreme to another like it was nothing.

“Look,” he sighed. “I’m just gonna be straight with you, like I always am. I’m not playing games. I didn’t mean it when I said we were nothing.”

“But we are,” you mumbled, even though the words tasted like a lie. You weren’t anything. No labels, no relationship. Just a mess of late nights and tangled sheets—until things got way too complicated.

“I don’t want us to be nothing,” he said, shrugging, like he was just casually throwing his cards on the table. “Because ever since that first time, I haven’t wanted anyone else.”

Your breath caught, and suddenly, the bed felt too small, the room too warm. What the hell? You hadn’t expected this conversation to go there.

Bangchan? Not with anyone else? That was news. The guy was basically campus royalty when it came to hookups. Half the girls in your year had probably been in his dorm at some point.

And now he was sitting here, telling you this?

But now he was standing there, saying it out loud—no one else. Just you. And it sent your stomach into a tailspin.

“I shouldn’t have given you shit for it,” you muttered, nodding like that would somehow make the awkwardness go away. “I mean, since we’re not… you know.”

Bangchan lifted an eyebrow, clearly amused by how flustered you were.

“Oh, I know,” he said. “But you don’t get it. I don’t want anyone else.”

Your pulse spiked. Too fast. Too loud. What the hell was he trying to say?

“No, you’re just—” you let out a breathy, nervous laugh, stepping back like that would help. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Bangchan didn’t let you go far. His hand caught yours, warm and steady, fingers wrapping around your wrist before he pulled you closer—right between his legs.

And then his hands were on your waist, fitting there like they belonged.

Your breath hitched.

His voice, suddenly lower, smoother, like silk wrapped in heat. “I know exactly what I want.”

Your eyes met his, and damn it, he was beautiful. That kind of beauty that wasn’t just about sharp jawlines and perfect features—it was something deeper, something that burned. The way his eyes locked onto you, glowing under the dim light. The way his expression was serious, but there was still softness lingering beneath it.

You knew what you wanted too. You just weren’t ready to admit it.

Your hands moved before your mind could catch up, tracing the curve of his brow, the sharp edge of his cheekbone—slow, like you were trying to memorize him by touch. Then, without thinking, you cupped his face, thumbs brushing over his skin.

Bangchan didn’t pull away. Didn’t even flinch. He just leaned into your touch, like this was normal, like you did this all the time. But you didn’t. Not like this.

Then he kissed the back of your hand, soft and slow, and damn it, you smiled.

“Say what you want,” he murmured.

“I…”

“I don’t care if I’m your dirty little secret,” he cut in, voice rough, low, burning at the edges. “I don’t care about any of it. As long as you’re mine, I’ll take whatever you’re willing to give.”

Something shifted inside you—hot, sharp, irreversible. Like a match hitting gasoline.

Bangchan tilted his head, pushing a strand of hair from your face. “What are you so afraid of?” his lips curled into a half-smirk. “You hate me that much?”

You let out a breath, shaking your head. “I don’t hate you.” your fingers tightened against his jaw. “Not even close.”

Bangchan pulled you in, arms locking tight around your waist, pressing you so close you could feel every breath he took against your skin. A shiver shot down your spine, anticipation curling in your stomach. You were teetering on the edge, seconds away from giving in—giving him everything. And if he was willing to take whatever you had to offer… What was stopping you?

With one swift move, his hands traced up the back of your thighs, fingers pressing into the sensitive skin behind your knees, guiding you onto the bed and onto his lap. The air between you shifted, crackling, something unspoken but heavy settling in the space only you two could understand.

It was automatic—this need, this burn. Like gravity, like the sky being blue, like the way your chemistry was always one spark away from setting the whole place on fire.

You tangled your fingers in his hair, yanking back just enough to force his eyes on you. And God, he looked wrecked—vulnerable in a way that made your stomach flip, pupils blown wide like he’d already lost the battle.

That’s when you kissed him.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet. It was desperate—a clash of want, frustration, and every second of tension that had built between you. Like a wave crashing against the shore, wild and uncontrollable. You rocked against him, fingers tightening in his hair, barely biting back a moan when his hands gripped your ass, lifting you further into him.

Your skirt had already ridden up, but Bangchan wasn’t complaining.

He knew exactly what he was doing—kissing, nipping at your skin, hitting every spot that made you gasp. But it wasn’t enough. You needed more. More contact, more of him.

Your fingers found the hem of his shirt, tugging it up with shaky hands. Bangchan barely hesitated, lifting his arms, muscles flexing as he pulled the fabric over his head. The low, guttural sound that left his lips sent a shiver through you—deep, raw, almost primal. And God, he looked unreal.

“You want me to stop?” he murmured against your lips, voice thick with restraint.

You shook your head immediately, body betraying you with the way it trembled against him.

“I can stop,” he teased, but this time, the possibility made your stomach flip. Your eyes snapped to his, filled with something dangerously close to panic.

Stepping back, just for a second, you took him in. And no matter how many times you’d seen him like this, you never quite got used to it. All of him. Broad, sculpted shoulders, solid arms, every inch of him screaming strength. And all of that was yours.

Bangchan smirked, eyes narrowing with smug satisfaction. “You look like you want something.”

You huffed a laugh, shoving him back. “Shut up.”

But before you could move away, his hands gripped your waist, pulling you down with him. You landed against his chest with a startled yelp, his warmth pressing into you.

Then he kissed you—slow and deliberate, like he was savoring every second, every breath, as if the night stretched endless before you, mapping every inch of your lips with his own. Your laughter faded, swallowed by him.

Pinned against him, you could feel the effect you had on him, the heat of him beneath dark denim. And if there was one thing you knew, it was how to push him over the edge.

So you kissed him harder, rolling your hips against his.

His hands flew to your ass, squeezing before delivering a sharp slap that had you moaning into his mouth. That was just how it was with you two—obscene, messy, utterly shameless. And nothing turned you on more.

Your fingers found the zipper of his jeans, finally breaking away from his lips to look down at him. Bangchan pushed up on his elbows, watching you through half-lidded eyes, his breath ragged as he fought to stay still. His fingers twitched, desperate to put an end to the torturous wait. He was so hard it was unbearable—just seeing you like this had him on the edge.

He didn’t hesitate to help, making quick work of what little fabric still separated you. And fuck, you were drenched. Just the sight of him like this—wrecked for you—had your whole body tightening in anticipation.

There were so many ways this could go, and you wanted them all. One night would never be enough.

Your hand wrapped around him, firm, deliberate. A shaky curse tumbled from his lips, his head tipping back as he melted into your touch. He was barely holding it together when you lifted your hips, and for a second, he thought you were going to sink down onto him. Instead, you slid against him, rolling your hips so he could feel everything—dragging over your entrance, teasing up to your clit before sliding back down.

“Holy shit,” Bangchan groaned, voice strangled.

His hands twitched, reaching for you, aching to do something. But before he could, you leaned in, pinning his wrists down against the mattress.

He was at your mercy now. Completely helpless. And he fucking loved it.

Meanwhile, your hips kept moving, sliding over him, teasing but never giving in. The sheer size of him, the way he dragged against your clit with every slick roll of your hips—it was maddening. You lost all sense of rhythm, chasing pleasure in short, frantic motions, needing more, always more.

Bangchan was wrecked beneath you. His breath came in ragged bursts, his chest rising and falling as he groaned through clenched teeth, letting you take what you wanted. And the sight of him like this completely undone because of you? It was enough to make your head spin.

Your wetness mixed with his pre-cum, making a mess between you, the heat of it dizzying. Another deep grunt tore from his throat, and fuck—his orgasm was creeping up way too fast. He wasn’t about to let that happen. Not yet.

Your grip on his wrists loosened, your body trembling above him, so damn close—

“Want me to fuck you?” the words were a rasp, low and filthy against your skin.

And God, hearing him say it like that, made you feel absolutely ruined.

You were right there, wavering on the edge, but then—Bangchan’s hands gripped your waist, flipping you with ease. Your fingers dug into his shoulders as he pulled away, standing at the edge of the bed.

For a second, frustration flared hot in your chest—he’d just ripped away a mind-numbing orgasm—but the way he looked at you, eyes dark and full of promise, made it clear.

He wasn’t done. Not even close.

With impressive speed, Bangchan yanked your panties down, leaving you in nothing but that tiny skirt. You reached for your blouse, tearing it off without a second thought. Meanwhile, he fished a condom from his pocket, standing at the foot of the bed like he owned the place.

You bit your lip, taking in the sight of him—so big, so stupidly gorgeous.

Bangchan climbed onto the bed, his strong hands wrapping around your thighs, keeping them pressed together. His voice was low, commanding. "Spread your legs."

Your breath hitched, but you obeyed, parting them slowly. The skirt inched higher, higher, until it was bunched up around your waist.

He muttered something under his breath, gaze locked on how wet you were—for him. Almost dripping. You bit your lip, the weight of the moment thick in the air. "Please..."

Bangchan leaned in, kissing your stomach, then up to your chest. One arm braced against the bed, the other gripping himself as he brushed his cock against your cunt. The slow drag, the teasing, was cruel, and he knew it. He was watching you unravel—your body torn between frustration and aching need.

You were this close to grabbing him, to taking what you needed, but before you could, he caught your wrists in one hand, pinning them down.

"I'll let you..." his voice was a husky whisper, dark and full of promise. He kept that agonizing friction going, dragging against you, just enough to drive you insane. "But you have to tell me."

You were burning up, mind hazy, barely able to process his words. "Bangchan," you tried for something firm, but the second the tip of his cock rubbed against your clit—just the right mix of pleasure and frustration—a strangled moan slipped out instead.

"Tell me what you want, and it's yours," he murmured against your lips, smug as ever.

Your gaze met his, dark and needy. He picked up the pace, teasing you mercilessly—only to stop again. You let out a desperate whimper. This was torture.

"Just say it, love."

Your fingers dug into his shoulders, frustration bubbling over. "Your ego is too big."

Bangchan chuckled against your skin, stealing a quick kiss. "You know what else is big?"

You hooked a leg around his waist, pulling him in close. His breath caught, and for a second, he just looked at you—lips parted, eyes searching yours, ready to dive in.

"Guess you'll have to show me."

And Bangchan never turned down a challenge.

The moment he let you go, he was all action—rolling on the condom with practiced ease before yanking you flush against him. "Gonna fuck you so good you'll take it all back."

Then he slammed into you, deep, all at once, knocking the breath from your lungs. Stars burst behind your eyelids. Fuck, you’d never get used to the stretch. And neither would he, not with how tight you clenched around him, inch by inch.

Bangchan started slow, deliberate, watching every little reaction like he was committing it to memory.

"More," you gasped, nails dragging down his back.

And who was he to deny you?

A low, guttural curse slipped from his lips as he gripped the back of your leg, struggling to keep himself in check. But even he was failing. That dark, insatiable hunger inside him wanted to ruin you, break you apart piece by piece, and devour whatever was left.

"Yeah..." his hand found the back of your neck, and in one brutal motion, he buried himself to the hilt. Your eyes rolled back as a cry of pure pleasure ripped from your throat. "Fuck."

He did it again. And again. Testing you. Seeing just how much you could take. And then restraint snapped—his rhythm shifted from slow, deliberate thrusts to deep, relentless strokes that had you gasping, moaning, melting beneath him.

Your lungs fought for air, your body wrecked by the force of him. A tangled mess of curses and broken sounds spilled from your lips.

Bangchan leaned down, catching your mouth in a searing kiss, fucking you through every ragged breath. The filthy, desperate moans leaving his lips had you clinging to him, desperate to consume every last one.

"Bangchan—my God!" your fingers dug into his back like an anchor, but you were weightless, floating, dissolving into nothing.

You tried to pull him closer, but he straightened, still gripping your throat, keeping you right where he wanted.

"Say it." his thrusts were brutal, hitting so deep you thought you’d break apart. Faster. Harder. You cried out, a mess of pleasure and desperation, dizzy on the edge of something devastating."Tell me— you want me? Wanna cum on my cock?"

Your vision blurred, the sheer intensity forcing a tear to the corner of your eye. It was too much, but not enough, never enough.

"I want you," you choked out, voice ragged, shaking. "Fuck—" you barely finished the sentence before your body gave in, collapsing into pure, obliterating pleasure.

Bangchan caught your bottom lip between his teeth, sucking on it before murmuring against your mouth, “Good girl.”

Then his hand slipped between your bodies, finding your clit as he thrust into you, his fingers moving in tandem with his strokes. And that was it. The tipping point. Your back arched, but he pressed a firm hand to your stomach, pinning you down as pleasure overtook you. The last few thrusts sent you spiraling, your body clenching tight around him as you came hard, waves crashing over you.

Bangchan cursed under his breath, his grip tightening as his own release hit him like a freight train. "Fuck, fuck, fuck—" his whole body tensed, abs flexing as he emptied himself, barely managing to keep from collapsing on top of you.

Your chest rose and fell in sync with his, both of you wrecked, tangled, completely undone. He was so close, his forehead pressing against yours, damp hair sticking to his skin. And just like that, you kissed him—slow, deep, something unspoken passing between you. A shift.

Something had changed, and you both felt it.

"We need to stop doing this," you muttered against his lips.

Bangchan pulled back slightly, his brows knitting together. "What...?"

"Having sex in strangers’ rooms," you teased, the corner of your mouth quirking up. "Bad habit."

Relief flickered across his face before it was replaced by something far more dangerous. "Then let’s go to mine," he said smoothly, his voice thick with intent. "I’m not done with you."

You just laughed, shaking your head as you reached for your clothes. No argument, no teasing comeback—just that breathless, satisfied chuckle that told him you were just as wrecked as he was. And God, he admired you. The way you moved, the way you carried herself, as if what just happened was the most natural thing in the world. Like you hadn’t just left him completely undone.

He leaned back against the bed, watching as you slipped your blouse on, covering up inch by inch what he had just memorized with his hands, his lips, his tongue. A damn shame.

“I could go like this all night,” he murmured, voice thick with lust. His eyes dragged over you, slow and deliberate. “I’d never get tired of you.”

You paused for half a second, then, with a smirk, you glanced at him over your shoulder.

“Sweet talk won’t get you another round.”

He grinned, unbothered. “Who said I was asking?”

"Alright, lover boy," you sighed, straightening your skirt. "Call Changbin so we can get out of here before we end up adding ‘breaking and entering’ to our list of bad decisions."

But Bangchan just huffed out a laugh, reaching into his back pocket. You frowned, watching as he pulled out something small, something metallic—

And then he dangled a tiny key in front of your face.

Your breath caught. "You absolute—"

"Had the key the whole time?" he finished for you, grinning like the unapologetic menace he was.

You just stared at him, utterly gagged. "Are you telling me we could’ve left at any time—and you let me believe we were locked in here?!"

Bangchan had the audacity to laugh, and before you could get a single word of protest out, he grabbed your wrist, yanking you against him and crashing his lips onto yours. You let him. You melted into it, kissed him back like you weren’t even a little mad.

When he finally pulled away, his breath ghosted over your lips as he murmured, "I’m sorry, baby." But he was still laughing. Not sorry at all.

"No, you’re not," you shot back, trying—and failing—to sound pissed.

"You’re right," he admitted without shame, pressing another kiss to your mouth, slower this time, smug and indulgent. "But, in my defense… I knew you wanted me just as bad as I wanted you."

You narrowed your eyes, heat licking at your spine because—damn it—he wasn’t wrong.

Cocky bastard.

Still, you snatched the key from his fingers and shoved him toward the door. "Move before I leave your ass locked in here and tell everyone you cried for help."

Bangchan just smirked, twisting the doorknob with infuriating ease. "Joke’s on you—I’d make it sound sexy."

Bangchan slipped out first, leaving you alone in the dimly lit bedroom, the air still thick with everything that just happened. You took a breath, running a hand through your hair and letting out a low, incredulous laugh. Insane. That was the only word for it. Completely, absolutely, batshit insane.

You took your time freshening up before heading downstairs, blending back into the party like nothing happened—like your whole world hadn’t just been flipped on its head by a cocky bastard with unfairly good hands.

You found the drinks and poured yourself a beer, the cold liquid grounding you, when Hyunjin appeared at your side, eyeing you suspiciously.

“Mingyu was looking for you,” he said, tilting his head. “For a while. Then he gave up and left.”

You took a slow sip of your beer, carefully masking any reaction. “Huh. Tragic.”

Hyunjin squinted. “Okay, where the hell have you been?”

You shot him an easy smirk. “In the bathroom, Hyunjin. I have bodily functions like every other human being.”

His eyes narrowed further. “For that long?”

“Maybe I got lost,” you said with a shrug, taking another sip. “Or maybe I was reevaluating all my life choices.”

Hyunjin was still staring at you, unconvinced. “You were with someone.”

You huffed. “Stop being nosy and dance with me.”

Before he could pry any further, you grabbed his wrist and pulled him onto the dance floor. The bass thumped through your veins as you moved to the beat, thankful for the temporary distraction. But Hyunjin was sharp—too sharp. His gaze flickered to something over your shoulder, and then his lips parted in realization.

You didn’t have to turn around to know. You felt it.

Bangchan was across the room, talking to Changbin and Seungmin like he hadn’t just been inside you not too long ago. But the way he looked at you—steady, knowing, like he was still feeling every second of what just happened—Hyunjin caught it immediately.

“No way.” he gaped at you. “You didn’t.”

You met his stare, unfazed. “I did.”

Hyunjin groaned, rubbing his face like this was his personal crisis. “You two are so fucking messy.”

You just laughed, finishing the rest of your beer. “And yet, I’m having a great time.”

A while later, when you finally decided you’d had enough social interaction for one night, you nudged Hyunjin. “I’m heading out.”

He nodded. “Cool, I’ll get you an Uber. I’ll go with Lix.”

Before you could even reach for your phone, a familiar voice interrupted. “No need.”

Bangchan. Standing way too close, hands in his pockets, looking like the devil who got exactly what he wanted.

“I’m driving back,” he said smoothly. “I’ll take you.”

Your mouth opened, but Hyunjin’s eyebrow was already rising, looking between the two of you like he had front-row seats to a drama he needed to see play out.

“I can go alone,” you said, keeping your voice level.

Bangchan smirked. “I insist.”

You sighed, side-eyeing Hyunjin. His expression was nothing short of feral with interest.

“Fine,” you muttered. “But no funny business.”

Bangchan only chuckled, walking off first. You lingered behind for a few beats before following, slipping out quietly, only Hyunjin watching your exit with a smug, entertained look.

He was never letting you live this down.

The night air was sharp against your flushed skin, a cruel contrast to the heat still licking at your nerves. Bangchan stood by his car—a sleek, black beauty that suited him too well. Under the dim glow of the streetlights, he looked almost unreal, all sharp lines and confidence as he pulled the passenger door open, his gaze never leaving yours.

You hesitated. Not because you didn’t want to get in. But because you knew—the second you did, there’d be no turning back from whatever the hell this was becoming.

Bangchan saw right through you. He always did.

His voice dipped low, rough with amusement. “Get in, baby. Or I’ll put you in myself.”

Your stomach flipped. You rolled your eyes, masking the way his words sent a pulse of heat straight through you. “Such a gentleman,” you muttered, but your lips twitched, betraying you.

Still, you slid into the seat, the cool leather kissing your bare thighs. He followed, reaching over—closer, closer—until his fingers brushed the seatbelt, tugging it across you.

And suddenly, the air inside the car felt thick. Heavy.

His breath ghosted over your collarbone, close enough that his lips could’ve skimmed your skin if you so much as moved. You could feel the warmth of him, the way his fingers lingered just a second too long before clicking the buckle into place.

Your throat went dry.

You cleared it quickly, forcing out something—anything—to cut through the tension threatening to swallow you whole. “I’m exhausted.”

He pulled back just enough to smirk. “Sure you are.”

The car hummed to life, but your brain? It was shot to hell.

Because now you had to sit there and endure the sight of him driving one-handed, muscles flexing, veins peeking through his skin like temptation itself. It was obscene, the way he handled the car—like he did everything else. With control. With ease.

You swallowed, shifting in your seat, pressing your legs together.

Bangchan noticed. Of course, he did.

His smirk deepened, eyes flicking toward you before drifting back to the road. “Something wrong?”

“Nothing,” you lied, voice far too even to be convincing.

He made a sound, low in his throat, clearly unconvinced. Then, like he lived to ruin you, his hand dropped to your thigh—warm, steady, fingers pressing just enough to make you feel it.

Your breath hitched. “Bangchan.”

He leaned in slightly, just enough to let you catch the edge of his scent—clean, intoxicating, laced with something that made your pulse stutter. His thumb stroked slow, lazy circles against your skin.

“You’re always ready for me, aren’t you?” his voice was nothing but a taunt, silk-wrapped sin.

A shiver licked down your spine. The worst part? He was right. And he fucking knew it.

His fingers crept higher, brushing against the inside of your thigh, deliberate and slow. “I could fuck you right here,” he murmured, his breath feather-light against your ear. “No one would see. No one would know.”

Your body responded before your brain did, every nerve alight, screaming at you to let this happen.

But you had to be smart. For once.

With every ounce of restraint you had left, you grabbed his wrist, halting his movements before they ruined you completely. “I have to go.”

For a moment, he just looked at you, eyes dark, unreadable. Then, his lips curled—not in disappointment, but something far more dangerous.

“Fine.”

But before you could breathe, before you could move, he reached for you, tilting your chin up with maddening ease. His gaze locked onto yours, deep and knowing, before his tongue swept over your bottom lip, slow, deliberate, claiming.

Then he kissed you. Deep. Slow. Devastating.

By the time he pulled away, you were wrecked. Breathless.

“Goodnight, baby,” he murmured, unlocking the door like he hadn’t just unraveled you in a single move.

You barely remembered getting out, legs weaker than they had any right to be. As you walked back to your dorm, dazed and burning, one thought rattled through your skull like a warning you’d never heed:

He’s gonna be the death of me.

♡ taglist ― @kenia4@chrizrizz @meerabmalik @gnabnahcsworld @gncbnahc @jinniejjam @skzworldx @itsacatastrophe-xo @soonie1010 @4ng3l-ch1ld @justwonder113 @tsunderelino @eastjonowhere @lyracarvahall @akindaflora @victoriaaf @ebnabi @wickedbutlovely @bitchysunflower11 @grandpasb0ng

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rosiestdreams · 19 days ago

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[6:35 PM]— insatiably yours

—pairing: kuroo tetsuro x female!reader; genre: light smut, suggestive, fluff, established relationship au! beach au! college au! ; wc: 1.1k; warnings: cursing, kuroo is... obsessed to say the least! suggestive content (groping)

haikyuu! masterlist

This might just be the best idea Kuroo Tetsuro has had all year.

The sun is shining. The heat settling onto his bare skin. The soft sand, sounds of laughter, and the roar of the waves. He’s perched under the beach umbrella, soaking in the view. It was picture perfect. Exactly what you needed after a long week. And it all began when Kuroo suggested that the two of you go on a day trip to the beach.

He had thought nothing of it, initially. Throughout your three month relationship and year-long friendship, you shared stories of practically living on the beach. Of how the ocean was your home, the fish were friends, and how you were on the verge of taking up a job as a part-time mermaid just to feel the freedom of being in water once again.

You missed the beach. Transferring to Central Tokyo for university meant that the nearest beach wasn’t 5 minutes away anymore. It was 40. Maybe even an hour.

And so, he offered. He’d borrow his dad’s car, the two of you could grab some snacks from the grocery and head to the nearest beach from the city. You could swim, lounge, enjoy the heat and the ocean. The two of you would watch the sunset– salt hair, and tanned skin– maybe share a kiss (or two… or three) and then ride home, summer songs blasting through the radio. He’d take care of it. The perfect beach date. All you had to do was show up.

It was worth it to see the excitement light up your face. Ever since he set the plan in motion, you had been buzzing; practically glowing with anticipation. It motivated him to put in the work. Even if his dad was hesitant about letting him drive the car that far; he begged. He got your favorite snacks, grabbed the cooler from his family’s storage, and prepared everything that the two of you would possibly need.

But he forgot one tiny detail.

It would be the first time Kuroo would see you in a bikini.

And dear god, was he in for a treat.

Kuroo couldn’t take his eyes off you. You had joined a group of girls playing beach volleyball. Your eyes shined, as if you couldn’t be happier. And that’s cute and all… It’s one of the things Kuroo loved about you.

But with each jump, your tits bounced. With each dive, your ass came in full view. The curves of your body, all soft and tanned, glowed.

Kuroo doesn’t know why he’s so unprepared for this. He’s seen you naked before. You’ve shown him pictures of you in a bikini whenever you would share funny stories you’ve had on the beach growing up. He should have expected this. But it’s different seeing it in real life.

Your bikini wasn’t even that skimpy. It was a simple black two piece. Yet… God he might be drooling. Is he drooling? Who cares? His perfect girlfriend managed to be even more divine. Is this possible? Did he die and somehow end up in paradise? This must be. You're getting closer. He could see your tits bounce even more now. Oh heavens above–

“Testsu?” He looks up at you, dazed. Eyes glassy. Not quite back on earth. “Are you alright?” You grab a water bottle as you speak, and Kuroo watches as you drink. Fuck. How did you make drinking water look so good?

He pulls you in, causing you to yelp, until you’re practically straddling him. Your chest pressing against his. He feels the smoothness of your back, warm and soft. He squeezes, sighing happily. “Fuck baby, you’re so hot.”

You look up at him, blinking. His eyes hold yours in worship. Like you’re the best thing he’s ever seen (you are), and he can’t believe that you exist, here in his arms. Like it was meant to be. You giggle, wrapping your arms around his neck, forehead touching his.

“What? Can’t handle me in a bikini, babe?” You whisper, all sultry and sweet. Kuroo groans.

“Do me a favor and just wear bikinis from now on.” You laugh wholeheartedly, flicking his forehead in the process.

“I can’t do that, dummy. You want me to show up to class in a bikini?”

“You’re right. Nevermind. Can’t handle other guys looking at you like savage beasts when you’re all mine.” His hands find a place just above your ass. He squeezes. Your breath hitches. His hand grounds you, but sets you aflame.

“Testsu, we’re in public” you hiss. He hasn’t let go, instead choosing to bury his face at the crook of your neck. Inhaling your sunkissed scent.

“I know. Torture. I can’t love you properly like this.” He places soft kisses along your neck. And you gasp, feeling him stiffen underneath you.

“You do things to me, you know,” He says, softly; kisses trailing up to your jawline. “When you’re like this. In your element.” He reaches your earlobe, giving it a tiny nip. You gasp, clutching him tighter.

“Makes me want to ravage you.” You look at him, wide-eyed. There’s a pout on your lips.

“That’s not fair” you whine slowly. “We haven’t even gone in the water yet!”

The two of you stare at each other. Want and desire run throughout Kuroo. The need to keep you close, to love you in the way only he can burns him. But he can wait. Patience is a virtue, after all.

And nothing beats a sweet reward after a long, hot, day.

“Alright baby, you got me” He chuckles, pressing a light kiss to your forehead. “Go swim your heart out. But after?” His voice deepens, sending chills down your spine and tingles down your core. “I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”

He watches your face light up in embarrassment and desire. Like magic. You look up at him, debating. Wanting his touch. Yearning for his promise to be fulfilled. Yet, it can wait. You know that more than anyone.

In retaliation, you bite his shoulder out of instinct, causing him to yelp. Giggling, you break free, standing up and stretching.

“Well then, what are we waiting for?” You say, giggling. “The faster we finish swimming the faster you can do what you want.” There’s a mischievous glint in your eye, one that ignites something in Kuroo. A challenge.

“Catch me if you can.” You say, running straight towards the ocean. Kuroo blinks. Before laughing quietly to himself, admiring you running away from him before he stands up, running after you.

“Oh I will, baby” He says, more to himself. “And when I catch you… I’m never letting you go.”

want to have my go at writing nsfw one day, so i will ease myself into it by writing more suggestive stuff!

also i listened to lemon drop by ateez while writing this hehe :)

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo tetsuro smut #haikyuu fluff #hq x reader #kuroo x you

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koveragewithkiera · 1 month ago

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“Let Me In” Pt. 1

Modern AU: Smoke x Annie

This wasn’t supposed to turn into an actual mini-story, but it did lmaaooo. Will be following my idea for the song “Let Me In” by. Tanerelle, but I learned shortly after crafting this idea that I must always include plot with my porn so here we are. This will be part 1 before the good stuff comes, but I hope y’all still enjoy it and that it gets everyone excited for the next part :). I will be uploading the second part of Witchy before that though because I need to get more coordinated with my stories lol.

WC: 3.2k

Characters: Smoke (29), Annie (29), Stack (29), and Dee (OC; 25)

Enjoy! :)

————————

He was back.

After four years, two months, and eleven days, Elijah “Smoke” Moore finally returned home. Home not simply being Mississippi, not simply Clarksdale, but home.

When he’d showed up to his home (or what he believed would still be home) for the first time in half a decade, he was met face to face with the barrel of a wooden Ruger Nine the second the front door opened. It was far from the first time Smoke was placed in such a predicament, but he couldn’t remember the last time it caused him to freeze up. His eyes quickly shifted to meet the holder of the firearm, seeing her eyes piercing into his with a searing glare. He’d been blessed in his youth to witness the many emotions those beautiful eyes could hold, but never had he seen such resentment held in them.

Smoke hadn’t thought to put his hands up, some part of him didn’t feel to be in true danger, but his voice shook slightly as he’d finally spoken after a small stare-off between the two. “How you be?”

As her eyes hardened even further and her finger brushed up against the trigger daringly, he realized those words were clearly not what she wanted to hear. This time, his hands did raise a bit. “Come on now, Annie.”

“Figured you had to be a haint.” His heart stuttered over the sound of her voice, he’d yearned for it so even with the bitter tone of it. She dropped the barrel, but her grip remained the same. “And I don’t take kindly to trespassers.”

Smoke didn’t exactly relax, but he did sigh as she continued to guard the door. He shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “I’m guessin’ you not gone let me in?”

Annie raised a lethal eyebrow his way, not a single ounce of her softening under his gaze. “You should consider yourself lucky I’m lettin’ you leave this property unscathed.”

She took one calm step back, placing the rifle into one hand as her other promptly slammed the door right in his face. Smoke didn’t flinch at the action, just dropped his head with a dry chuckle before walking from the porch and towards his truck. He hadn’t known how he’d expected the interaction to go, but he at the very least hoped for them to speak more than a couple of sentences. And at the very very least, he hoped she’d let him into her home. Their home. A home they’d built with one another, cherished with one another.

This was the first of a long line of rejections he would face in the coming weeks.

———————————————————————

Clarksdale was a small town, and it was absolutely impossible to avoid running into one another, no matter how hard Annie definitely tried. But things didn’t become any easier with how intentional Smoke became about entering her life once more. During the second week of his return, he dined in the very front booth of her restaurant, Mama Lucille’s, for four nights straight with the hope she would eventually cave into even a sliver of an interaction. On the fifth night, he had only just parked his truck when his phone lit up with a notification from his brother.

Stack: So… apparently you just got banned lmao. Dee just told me

Smoke’s lip curls up as his fingers type furiously.

Smoke: How the fuck she know that?

Three little dots pop up and disappear just as quickly.

Stack: Annie texted her. You def ain’t gettin that no time soon 💀

Smoke’s head falls back with an annoyed groan as he tosses his phone to the side. He has half a mind to walk in anyway, maybe pretend to be his twin just to at least make her speak with him. He decides against it, Annie could tell the difference between the two with all five of her senses blocked away. He pulls out of the parking lot with a sigh, already thinking of his next potential plan.

———————————————————————

Stack gets a mysterious allergic reaction about a week later after the siblings have brunch at the diner. It’s nothing dire, but it hits him when they’re on the way home and he realizes his tongue is feeling a bit bigger than normal.

He’s in the middle of blabbing about something neither his sister or brother are paying true attention to when he realizes what’s happening. “The fuck? What the fuck they put in my food?!”

Dee startles a little in the back seat, her eyes rising up from her phone at the clear panic in Stack’s voice. “What you mean? You only had pancakes, bacon, and grits.”

Stack snaps his seatbelt off and starts shuffling around the truck to look for his EpiPen. His panic increases tenfold when he realizes it’s not in there. “My tongue is swelling up, I think they slipped me something!” His words start to get a little muffled as he feels around the swollen muscle. “Them niggas tryna take me out!”

“Relax, aight.” Smoke’s voice isn’t unusually calm, but it’s clear he’s not as shocked as the other two. “We just need to get you that stuff from Annie.”

Stack’s too busy trying to dramatically draw his breaths in (it reminds them of him as a kid) to notice Smoke’s behavior, but Dee clocks it immediately with a howling laugh. “Elijah, you did not!”

Smoke’s eyes remain forward on the road, already en route to Annie’s house. Their house, but he ignores that thought at the moment. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

This draws Stack’s attention as his memory finally clicks the last time he had a reaction without his EpiPen. Smoke was usually the responsible one of the two, but there were two things Stack absolutely never left the house: his blade and his fucking pen. His head whips towards his brother with a shout. “Di’ ‘ou do som’in to my ‘ood?!”

Smoke rolls his eyes defensively. “Nigga, why would I do something to your food?”

Dee checks around the backseat area just in case, her head shaking in amused disappointment. “Cause the last time his EpiPen went missing was when Annie kicked you out the house for a week.”

“‘ou mo’da’fucka’!” Stack’s hands twitch to wring around his brother’s neck. His face just drops into his hands with a distressed groan.

Dee rubs a soothing hand over Stack’s shoulders, trying her damndest to not laugh in his face. Her eyes find Smoke in the rear view mirror. “You're going straight to hell, you know? This won’t kill him, but this gotta be something only the Devil would accept.”

Smoke meets her eyes with a shrug before returning to the road. “I ain’t do shit to his food. They could’ve gave him the wrong order.”

And he wasn’t lying. He didn’t touch a thing on Stack’s plate.

But if he accidentally slipped a bit of his grapefruit juice into Stack’s glass of orange juice, then sue him.

By the time they make it to Annie’s home, Smoke has semi-figured out what exactly he plans to say, with no help from either of his siblings. As he approaches the door, he wonders the possibility of being met with a rifle yet again. But this time, the door opens to an even more devastating sight.

The last time he’d come to her house, he hadn’t been able to properly appreciate the sight of her for long before the door had been shut in his face. This time, he couldn’t seem to focus on anything but.

His eyes first land on the dark jeans that accentuate the curves of her thighs and the long length of her legs. They scroll up slowly to her waist, where a pretty brown belt cinches around it, before reaching the tucked ends of her knitted, sleeveless, cream turtleneck. The entire outfit glues to every slant of her figure, and what a figure she’d grown into over the last few years. Smoke would’ve felt like a voyeur of sorts if he weren’t so familiar with what laid beneath the tight layers.

Her hair was slicked back nicely into a ponytail with a bump at the end, and it swayed as she opened the door. Her tone is clipped and expectant, and if he had to bet, she’d likely seen the exact moment the truck pulled into the driveway. “Yes?”

Smoke sets his shoulders, keeping his eyes on hers with a quieter tone. “Stack’s having a reaction.”

Annie’s gaze only grows more agitated before she dips her head with a heavy scoff. She bites her lip in a necessary attempt of restraint before maneuvering herself to gain full view of the truck. She makes eye contact with the younger twin as he sulks in the passenger’s seat. “Stack!”

Stack shoots up at the sound of her yell, immediately rolling down his window. Dee rolls her own down as well, waving to the other woman with a bright smile. It almost breaks through Annie’s reserve, but she responds to Dee with a polite nod before gesturing her head to Stack. “Come on!”

Stack exits the truck quickly to ensure Annie doesn’t change her mind. Smoke feels a small twinge of hope, but it is swiftly swiped away as Annie blocks the side of the door he attempts to slip through.

Her eyes harden in warning. “Just him.”

Stack freezes up as he balances between the outside and inside of the doorframe. He shrivels as the two stand in a bit of a stare off, but his decision is made as the throbbing of his tongue only worsens. “‘orry ‘moke, ‘ou ‘ook my pen.”

Smoke would feel betrayed if he wasn’t so focused on the way Annie’s eyes dangerously gleamed into his. He was trying his damndest to find something, anything, that would help him break through to her. He doesn’t even fully register that Stack has entered the household, instead finding it increasingly harder to voice his thoughts. To voice anything really.

His lips move before his mind is able to catch up, but it's already too late. “You look beaui-”

She shuts the door before he can even finish the sentence. His jaw tightens, his teeth threatening to crack his golden grills, as he slowly saunters to the truck with an air of defeat. When he gets in the driver’s seat, Dee doesn’t give him her usual shit this time, but she does advise him to take his foot off the metaphorical gas pedal.

“That’s one thing she could never stand about you. You always gotta make something happen as soon as possible. Sometimes, things just gotta come along on their own.”

Smoke shakes his head with sigh, resting back on the headrest. “I don’t want her thinking I gave up.”

Dee shoves his shoulder softly, shutting down that reservation instantly. “She knows you too well for that. Trust me, this isn’t the type of thing you can force ‘Lijah.”

———————————————————————

Though Smoke doesn’t say as much, he does in fact take Dee’s words into consideration. When they get home that evening, he makes the final decision to step back from his scheming. It’s an agonizing effort, and as time wears on, it only places his mind even further from being productive at work. Stack takes notice of it first, but only bust his balls over it, throwing quips at his chivalrous act of celibacy and how stupid of a commitment it was to make in the first place. As for Dee, she wouldn’t care too much about his muddled focus if not for how downright pitiful he becomes in the face of business.

Now Dee loves her brothers more than anything on this earth, but even that has its potential limits.

It’s on the fifth week of their return that she bustles into Smoke’s room with a barely-spilling bucket of water in hand. “Get up, Smoke.”

Her older brother grumbles something under his breath about it being too early, pulling the comforter further along his body. It’s enough of an answer for her. She empties the bucket in one swoop, and Smoke’s limbs flail about in an image comparable to that of a cat escaping a bathtub. A loud thud echoes around the room as he falls from the bed in a tangle of soaked sheets, coughing and heaving from his sister’s sick attempt of practical water-boarding.

His head finally manages to submerge from the sheets, his words fighting to escape through his shaken demeanor. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

It doesn't deter his little sister in the slightest, her hand placed on a pointed hip. “We’re going to the supermarket.”

Smoke reaches for his phone, his eyes widening in the face of Dee’s audacity. “It ain’t even 9 am yet!”

Dee’s voice remains steady as she explains the plan. “Annie goes to the supermarket on Broughton St. at 9:15 every Saturday morning before the rush comes at 10:30. We need to leave here at 8:45, you have 30 minutes to get ready.” She turns to walk out of the room with that, but he stops her just as she reaches the door.

“Wait, wait.”

She turns back to him with an unfazed expression. He’s still gaining his own bearings due to the last fifteen minutes, but he has to ask this first. “Why are you doing this? I thought you said not to scheme.”

Dee scoffs. “That was before I remembered something I can’t stand about either of y’all.”

Smoke’s face scrunches in confusion. “What?”

Dee’s eyes squint in annoyance. “Y’all are fucking miserable without one another, and you make everybody else just as miserable instead of just talking or fucking it out like normal people.”

They make it to the market a little earlier than Annie but go ahead and start shopping around. Dee takes advantage of the new delivery of fresh produce and sends Smoke off to look through that section while she moves through the other items of her grocery list. He tries his best not to, but every thirty seconds or so, he finds himself glancing at the time on his phone. Annie would’ve gotten there about ten minutes ago, and he knew his woman to be the punctual type when it came to her routine. Ten more minutes go by of him appearing to look through the ripeness of the seasonal peaches before he almost caves into just searching around for her. Then a laugh, that laugh that hadn’t graced his ears in a torturous amount of time, sounds just to the far right of him.

Smoke’s head whips towards the direction, his eyes landing on their target the second he looks her way. And there she is, standing in the middle of the bread section adorned in a white, patterned sundress that falls just to her knees. She’s speaking animatedly with an older, shorter woman, and it’s the most expressive Smoke has seen of her since coming home. It makes him freeze in place, simply wanting to watch her like this during the chance he has to do so. The way her eyes scrunch up when her lips curl into that radiant smile… it will never fail to take his very breath away. He looks at her as if it’s the first time he’s ever looked at her period, and he’s hit with a sudden moment of deja vu.

At 15, Smoke had choked and stepped into the nearest alleyway when she began walking his way.

At 29, Smoke stands still as his mind and soul scream for her to turn his way.

When she finally does so, his heart cracks at the way her smile diminishes in recognition. But it can’t help but beat a little harder when she doesn’t immediately look away.

The older woman in front of her takes notice of Annie’s change in attention, and when she turns to the direction of Annie’s eyes, Smoke is barely able to register the sound of a squeal.

“Why is that my favorite math student?!” The older lady screams just loud enough to be heard, but not enough to disturb the other shoppers.

Her exclamation pulls the two of them from their momentary daze, and Smoke can’t help but give the older woman a small grin once he recognizes her voice. He walks towards the two women with a polite nod. “Ms. Ruby.”

“Oh, it is you!” Ms. Ruby pulls him into a tight embrace, and he has to bend down a good bit to comfortably adjust to her. She pulls away with a squeeze on his biceps. “I was afraid I was mistaking you and your brother for a second, it's been years!”

“Yes ma’am, it has.” Smoke masks his strained tone, trying not to keep straying his gaze Annie’s way.

Ms. Ruby looks between the two with clear joy, the underlying tension in the air falling straight over her head. “This is just the biggest coincidence! Running into my two star students in the same morning!”

Annie’s smile isn’t as genuine now, and Smoke picks up the sarcasm easily. “Yes ma’am, it is.”

Ms. Ruby clearly doesn’t notice as she brings her attention to Smoke. “Well, what is it you’ve got going on now? I feel like I heard about you being engaged at some point.”

This causes Smoke to stutter uncharacteristically, and he can’t help the way his gaze wanders between the two women. “Oh, well yes I-”

Annie cuts him off with a strict tone. “It broke off a few years ago.”

Smoke crumbles under the weight of the statement paired with the hidden glare behind her eyes. He knew her too well.

Ms. Ruby sends him a look of pity, giving his arm another squeeze. “Oh. Well, I am so sorry to hear that Elijah.”

Annie clears her throat abruptly, smiling warmly towards Ms. Ruby. “If y’all will excuse me, I’ve got some more errands to run. It was wonderful seeing you, Ms. Ruby.” Her smile twitches downwards as she gives Smoke a onceover. “Smoke.”

But before she can make her escape, Ms. Ruby grabs hold of Annie’s hand. “Oh well wait, I would just love to have brunch with you two! I leave town tomorrow evening, but maybe we could try in the afternoon?”

Smoke clasps his hands together as Annie’s grip tightens on her basket handle. The two silently communicate for a little before Annie finally takes the leap.

“Actually, I think Smoke might be b-”

Smoke cuts her off before his mind can fully catch up to speed. “I’ll be free.”

Annie’s head whips to him in shock, but before she can reprimand him, Ms. Ruby is already more than excited. “Amazing! Annie? It’ll give me a chance to try that food of yours since I wasn't able to visit your restaurant.”

Smoke watches as she softly bites her tongue, a tendency of hers whenever she’d been holding a few choice words from spilling. She grins harshly, her lips puckering as she responds. “I would love to, Ms. Ruby.”

Ms. Ruby laughs gleefully. “Excellent! Alright, I won’t hold y’all no longer!” She gives them both two quick hugs, waving as she walks away towards the produce section. “I’ll see y’all then!”

They each hold their breath, remaining quiet as she walks away. Once she’s out of ear shot, Smoke turns to Annie with an apology on his tongue. “Annie, we don’t-”

Annie doesn’t give him the chance to say more. “Be there at 1.” She struts off a few aisles away without another word. Smoke takes a self-encouraging deep breath, just barely hiding his excited grin as he walks with a small pep in his step to find his sister.

————————

Hope y’all liked it! The next part is going to be very very fun to write hehe. But wish me luck because I’m deadass nervous lmao. 🫶🏾

Til next time!

Taglist:

@thelifeoflagab , @omgffs , @bigjh , @championshipshade , @mindyouthisismyaccount , @brownskincheyenne , @lizbehave , @hdfen2474 , @sweetarchivistsiege , @strawberrylemonades-stuff , @whysoceerious , @chknnwffls , @thefutureemmywinner , and @partylikemajima

#sinners 2025 #sinners #annie sinners #smoke sinners #smoke x annie #smoke and annie #stack sinners #original character #modern au #wunmi mosaku #michael b jordan #smoke and stack

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12daysofchristmas · 9 months ago

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Join us in the 2024 12 Days of Christmas Challenge as we hope to spread a little ✨holiday joy and cheer✨ through the magic of writing fanfiction & creating art!

About & Rules

The challenge will run from December 13-24, 2024.

The challenge is open to any and all fandoms.

Submissions must include at least one of the prompts for that day but can combine two, three, or all four.

Prompts for the day always include: a word/words, a scenario, a quote, a "famous" quote (taken from songs and movies)

Tag your submissions with #12daysofchristmas2024 and/or mention this blog so that we will be notified to reblog your submissions here. (Also, it would be super cool if you gave this blog a follow!)

Submissions for the day must be posted before midnight YOUR time. We're not super hard-and-fast about this rule, but posting within time is very much appreciated!

If you’re posting your submission directly on Tumblr (as opposed to linking to an external site such as AO3), you MUST use a “keep reading” cut!

Edit: We're now also allowing ALL KINDS OF ART: drawings, edits, aesthetics, mood boards, videos, podfics, fiber arts... go wild!

!! Absolutely NO AI creations !!

Please format ALL submissions with the following heading:

Title Day/Prompt(s) Fandom/Character(s)/Ship Warnings (if applicable): Word Count/Medium (in case it's art): Example: Santa, Baby Day 8 - “Prompt(s) for that day” AEW - Adam Page x OC Warnings: Alcohol, cursing, sexual situations (explicit) Word Count: 7,290 or: Medium: fan video

You can also include a summary, gif, edit, whatever you want! Just don’t forget the “keep reading” if you’re posting directly on Tumblr!

If you're posting on AO3, here's our collection: 12 Days of Christmas Collection

2024 Prompts

Day 1 ❄️ First snow ❄️ Getting soaked ❄️ “Your hands are so cold.” ❄️ “I suppose it all started with the snow.” —Frosty the Snowman

Day 2 ❄️ Little lie ❄️ Trapped together in a snowstorm ❄️ “I thought you knew where you were going?!” ❄️ “I don’t know what to say, but it’s Christmas, and we’re all in misery.” —National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation

Day 3 ❄️ Accelerated heartbeat ❄️ Kissing in the snow ❄️ “Here, take my coat.” ❄️ “Let's hope the snow will make this Christmas right.” —Queen

Day 4 ❄️ Mulled wine ❄️ Playing board games ❄️ “I have no regrets.” ❄️ “Cheer up, dude. It's Christmas.” —How the Grinch Stole Christmas, 2000

Day 5 ❄️ Cookies ❄️ Holiday-themed contest ❄️ “That definitely looks… interesting?” ❄️ “That is exactly why you want a high-quality fire extinguisher right in the kitchen.” —The Santa Clause

Day 6 ❄️ Present ❄️ Making a new Christmas tradition ❄️ “Not another Christmas movie!” ❄️ “You say you hate Washington’s birthday or Thanksgiving, and nobody cares, but you say you hate Christmas, and people treat you like you’re a leper.” —Gremlins

Day 7 ❄️ Decorations ❄️ A little accident ❄️ “I was just trying to help!” ❄️ “I want my house to be seen from space.” —Deck The Halls

Day 8 ❄️ Touch starved ❄️ Telling secrets around the fire ❄️ “Sometimes the hardest part is forgiving yourself.” ❄️ “Santa, can't you hear me?” —Ariana Grande & Kelly Clarkson

Day 9 ❄️ Christmas fair/market ❄️ Late shopping (together) ❄️ “Hmm, this is actually not bad.” ❄️ “When you're still waiting for the snow to fall, doesn't really feel like Christmas at all.” —Coldplay

Day 10 ❄️ Surprise visit ❄️ Lighting scented candles ❄️ “I didn’t know you were here.” ❄️ “You’re skipping Christmas! Isn’t that against the law?” —Christmas with the Kranks

Day 11 ❄️ Fairy lights ❄️ Christmas party/ball ❄️ “I never want this night to end.” ❄️ “I won’t even wish for snow. And I’m just gonna keep on waiting, underneath the mistletoe.” —Mariah Carey

Day 12 ❄️ Feast ❄️ Indoor picnic by the tree/fireplace ❄️ “I baked your favourite cookie/pie/cake.” ❄️ “You are all I need tonight underneath the Christmas lights.” —Sia

Extra Challenge

Angst or fluff, romance or platonic - you're unsure in what direction your fic should go? Spin our

Wheel

and let it decide for you! You can spin it once and write all fics with what comes up, you can spin it daily and change course accordingly, you can spin it as often as you need or not at all - it's all up to you.

Please don’t hesitate to contact us with any questions! Also, feel free to share this post and help spread the joy and cheer!

Happy writing, and good luck 🍀

#12daysofchristmas2024 #christmas writing challenge #christmas writing prompts #writing #challenge #christmas #christmas fanfiction #holiday fanfiction

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melzula · 1 year ago

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Could you write a Sokka x firebender reader that has the plot of the secret tunnel episode but instead of aang and katara getting stuck together it’s him and reader? :)

Don’t Let the Cave In Get You Down

a/n: got two requests for this sokka storyline and i was very excited to write it! i couldn’t find a way to seamlessly include the fire bending part of the request but i could definitely build on that in another piece. hope you enjoy <3

you met the Gaang when they were passing through a small trading village on the outskirts of the Earth Kingdom

they were low on supplies and in need of a shopping spree, so they stopped at your little food stand in search of fresh fruit and snacks for their travels

you seemed awfully young to have your own business, especially when compared to the other merchants, but you were kind and your prices were affordable

their shopping spree was cut short by the arrival of fire nation soldiers, but you quickly escorted them through the backstreets of the marketplace and helped them evade the soldiers

“That was a close call,” Aang breathed out in relief, “thanks for your help.”

“Those guys are jerks, I couldn’t live with myself if I had just let them capture you.”

“Who are you?” Katara asked in awe.

“My name is y/n, and I’ve been hiding out in this village for about three years now. I escaped from the Fire Nation when I was 12 and never looked back.”

“Wait a minute, Fire Nation?!” Sokka exclaimed before quickly pushing his sister and Aang behind him. Raising his boomerang in a threatening manor, he narrowed his eyes at you. “Is this some kind of trick?! Did you just lure us out here so you could capture Aang and get the reward for yourself?”

“Sokka, you’re being ridiculous!” Katara had scolded angrily, harshly pushing his boomerang away. “She said herself she came here to get away from the Fire Nation, I’m sure she’s just trying to make a better life for herself here and you’re not making that any easier for her by being a jerk!”

“I don’t trust her, Katara!”

You’re a little disheartened by the disdain in his voice when he speaks about you, and despite Katara vouching for you you can see that you’re out of place

“I’m sorry, I’ve made things awkward,” you apologized sheepishly, “I’ll leave you now.”

“Wait!” Aang called, stopping you from going. “If what you said is true then… then I think you should come with us.”

“Tell me you’re joking,” Sokka scoffed in disbelief

“If she’s from the Fire Nation then she must have knowledge about the ins and outs of that place. Maybe she can even help me find a fire bending master. We need her help, Sokka.”

Though he was reluctant and very distrusting of you, Sokka realized Aang was right, so he begrudgingly allowed the airbender to welcome you to their team

You agreed to help as much as you can, and the rest was history

From there on out you’re officially a member of Team Avatar, but that doesn’t mean Sokka becomes any more trusting of you

He always keeps a suspicious eye on you, never letting you help with tasks he deems too important to avoid having you “sabotage” the group

His lack of trust in you hurts, you can’t lie about that, but you continue to do what you can to aid the Avatar and his friends and earn their trust

Of course, this all changes when you get to the cave of two lovers

Unlike Sokka, you found Chong and his group of Nomads to be great fun. They’d braided your hair beautifully with flowers from the lake and performed wonderful songs, so despite your predicament you were in a cheerful mood

Being stuck in the cave had put a strain on your group’s mission to make it to Omashu, but you tried to remain hopeful and help as best as you can

Surprisingly, Sokka even puts you in charge of holding one of the torches

“I’m only giving this to you because I know you’re at least smart enough not to waste resources while we’re in here.”

It’s a start

And it’s a good thing he gave you that torch, because it comes in handy when you both end up getting separated from the rest of the group

“This is just great,” Sokka utters sarcastically after several failed attempts to dig through the rock and get back to the others.

“Come on, Sokka, lighten up. We have a torch and your map, I’m sure we’ll be able to figure something out,” you try to console. “What did Chong say earlier? ‘Don’t let the cave in get you down, Sokka.’”

He’s not amused by your singing

It’s a bit awkward being stuck with the boy who’s been so adamant that you don’t belong despite your best efforts to prove that you can be trusted

You don’t speak much and try to stay out of his way and follow his lead, but the tunnels keep changing and you keep getting lost and your torch is about to burn out, so things are beginning to seem hopeless

“Maybe we should try changing our strategy,” you offer only for Sokka to immediately dismiss you.

“Right, like I’m going to let you lead us through the cave. You’ll probably make us get lost on purpose.”

“You know, if you stopped being so judgmental for a second you’d probably realize that i want to get out of this cave just as much as you do!” You snap irritably, surprising Sokka. you’ve mostly stayed docile to try and keep the peace whenever Sokka accuses you of being untrustworthy, but at this point you’re finally starting to get fed up

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” he says softly, and this time you’re the one who’s surprised. You never thought he’d actually apologize to you, and it’s a nice feeling. “What do you suggest we do?”

“Well,” you start with a sigh, “maybe the story is right. Maybe if we trust in love, we’ll find our way out of here.”

“You’re joking, right?”

“Do you have any better ideas?”

You simply shrug, prompting Sokka to let out a heavy sigh. Your torch is going to run out soon, and his map isn’t doing anyone any favors. It seems you have no choice

“How exactly do we trust in love?”

“I’m not sure… the only love I know is the love I had from my parents, but I haven’t felt it in so long… I’m not sure I ever will again.”

“…What happened to them?”

“My parents were peasants with nothing but love to give each other. They were poor, but they were happy,” you explain with a faint smile. “My father was a fire bender, but he kept his gift hidden in fear he’d be forced to serve in the Fire Nation army. He didn’t want to leave me or my mother, but our home was attacked, and he had no choice but to bend to protect us. Our lives were saved, but he was taken away.”

Sokka hangs on to your every word, eyes glistening with unshed tears and sympathy. Your story is similar to his own, and he knows what it’s like to lose your family to the Fire Nation. He feels less disdain towards you now, more empathetic. He still isn’t 100% sure how to feel about you, but hearing your story makes you easier to understand now

“My mother knew I’d never be safe or happy if I stayed there, so she arranged for me to be smuggled out of the Fire Nation and brought to the trading village you first met me in. I haven’t seen or heard from her since, and I’m not even sure if she or my father are even alive.”

“I’m sorry,” Sokka utters solemnly. “Katara and I lost our mother to the Fire Nation, and we haven’t seen our father since he left to fight in the war. I know how you feel.”

“I don’t want to be Fire Nation, you know. None of this was a choice, and I understand why you don’t trust me but I’m not like them Sokka. Please believe me.”

“I’m sorry for always giving you such a hard time. It’s just… it’s hard to believe people from the Fire Nation can actually be good. But you’ve proven that you can be trusted over and over again, I was just too blind to see it.”

“Can we start over?” He asks with a sheepish smile, carefully sticking his hand out for you to shake. Instead, you push his hand away and throw your arms around him in a tight embrace.

The force of your hug knocks him back a bit, and though he’s unsure at first, he eventually returns your embrace by carefully wrapping his arms around your figure

The fire of your torch slowly begins to die, but neither of you seem to notice or care as you enjoy your moment together

You expect to be engulfed in darkness when the flame goes out, but instead you’re met with the beautiful shimmers of the crystals that line the roofs of the cave

“It’s so beautiful,” you murmur in awe, your eyes sparkling under the light

“Yeah,” your counterpart utters quietly, but he isn’t looking at the crystals

“Was she always this pretty?” Sokka wondered to himself

Together, you’re eventually able to follow the crystals and make your way out of the cave

And when you leave the cave, hands woven tightly together, you leave as two completely new people

You understand each other now, you trust each other

And your relationship will only continue to grow stronger from then on out

| atla tags: @sirkekselord @chronic-daydreamer @niktwazny303

#wrote this as hcs hope you don’t mind !#also i am back guys #i think #sokka x reader #sokka imagine #atla #atla x reader #sokka

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ttheggrimrreaper · 6 days ago

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Two is Always Better than One

Kpop demon hunters x demon idol fem!reader Tag list: @kpopgirliez This fic might have smut, Might have Rujinu, miroabby, zoestry, might have smut, I dont know yet, all I know is that y/n is here to cause problems for both huntrix and the saja boys. This chapter has none of the above, but i still dont know for future ones Lyrics from “Love Me Like This” by NMIXX. All rights belong to the original artists and creators. No copyright infringement intended.

"Why settle for one..”You smirked. pressing a claw to your cheek as you stared into the fire. The demon king, Gwi-ma. “When you can have two?” You hummed softly. "You can guarantee more souls, more power, and a solid back up plan should the saja boys fail, which they will, they are nothing more than little boys playing war.”

"Yet so far I have gotten what I wanted. What more do you have to offer?" Gwi-ma pressed. The amused tone of his ever present.

Your smile widened, white teeth glowing against the kings fire. "Well, Female groups are more popular world wide, and heavily criticized, While that may sound negative, in order to criticize, you must watch the content, which gives us even more popularity. So more in person events, more opportunities to steal souls." You hummed, hips swaying softly.

"Youve come prepared Y/n. I am impressed." He chuckled,the fire shaking with movement. then he voice dropped low once again. "What do you want?"

"For my and my girls to go to the human realm, as humans, and continue to live as kpop idols, even after huntrix is dead”

"Granted. Now show me 'your girls'" He approved of your request, you giggled, whistling, a blur flew up the stairs. Three other demons appeared, with an equally pleased and cocky look on their faces as your own.

"hm... very well. But, should Jinu and his group kill the hunters first, you are bound to the demon realm just like any other" You frowned. Huh, so hes making it a game. You held back the chuckle that bubbled in your throat. Jinu, was the least of your worries.

"Of course" You agreed, and with a bow, You and girls turned and started down the stairs.

Your group had one purpose; Win your ‘freedom’. Sure it would be a limited freedom, but still freedom. You didnt gather the first demons that offered themselves up for your group. You watched, assessed, and made sure they fit the boxes you were searching for. You hand picked the best, for both kpop idol appeal, and Idol appeal. You; a water demon. The leader and all rounder of the group. Swift, adaptable. On land you were dangerous. In the water, unstoppable. Kuroka;, your main dancer, the air or sky demon. Whichever people preferred to call them. Agile and untouchable. Her aerial strikes were unmatched. She could fight on one foot and keep her balance. Mika; the main vocalist. A demon made to be a pawn, made to be killed in the line of battle. She didnt fear death, and ran right into battle. Her voice hauntingly beautiful it made even the purest of souls falter. Lastly was Tenshiro, a demon born of shame. One look from her has a person drowning in their own shame, remembering their own flaws and reliving their mistakes. Yet, with a perfect face like hers, it made them want to keep looking at her. She was the perfect main visual.

Now, the hard part wasnt making the songs or the dances. It was letting the girls pick what they wanted to look like in their human forms. You went with your old self, before the demon blood, and gwi-mas voice in your head. They fought for a little, but eventually fell into line. Kuroka chose jet black hair that fell to her knees, curly and bouncing with every step. Eyes just as black to match. Tanned sunkissed skin. Mika went with a blueish black wolfcut. A bold look, but she made it work with pale skin and golden hunter eyes. Tenshiro was the only one you made sure looked good. The others were fine, but you needed Tenshiro to look heavenly. Together, you built her up like a goddess, goddess curls and snowy white hair, paired with gorgeous purple eyes. It would be hard to look away from her, shame or not. Kuroka bounced down the stairs, stretching her arms over her head. “Glad to see it worked, now we just have to pick an opening song and hope all works out.” “Free concert. Thats what Jinu did and worked well, we might not the game show immediately but we can work around that.” Mika shrugged. “Just to choose where… cant do the same place.” You muttered. “I vote night time, We already know that the hunters know that the saja boys are demons, but thats because they were careless to hide their markings. At night, it could help avoid that a little.” Tenshiro hummed “Smart, I like it. Night time it is. I will find us a good place to preform. I was thinking we should do “Love Me Like This.” (by NMIXX) You offered “Yes!! I love that one actually! Alright deal. How does tomorrow sound then?” Kuroka clapped her hands as you all walked. “Mmm…. how about tonight? I just remember a pretty popular place with an open area. Flash mob style, hows that sound?” You smirked. “Done deal.” Mika nodded, Tenshiro giggled and Kuroka cheered. Tonight, you were starting on your way, and you planned it well. Making sure that tonight, was a night the Saja boys themselves would be out, and close by, filming for a variety show.

The city buzzed with energy. You remained leaning on the light pole. Zip up hoodie covering your themed outfit. Normally you would consider this cringy, embarrassing, useless.. But not when your freedoms are on the line. The plaza was alive, but unsuspecting. You checked the time, then sent off the signal. Just you getting up from your leaning spot. Saja boys just finished recording, you can that Gwi-ma for providing that information. The four of you met in the middle and just as quick as the speakers started playing, your cover up coats were off. “Ttwineun simjang soril ttaraga, keojineun ullim oh my, oh my god~” You were already mid move, body moving in sync to the lyrics, skirt flowing along with you. The others in perfect sync with the music as well. It wasn't long before the crowd was solely focused on you. Kurokas hair flipped with the perfect amount of drama. Mikas voice was perfect and addicting, Tenshiro ensuring her face was always in view.

“Can you see the paradise” You and Tenshiro stayed, but Kuroka and mika disappeared. The crowd seemed entertained, and distracted by you and tenshiro. Perfect. Then things started to fall even closer together. You saw one of the boys, Abby to be specific. The puzzle was coming together. Slowly the others appeared, watching you in confusion. If they knew you were demons or not, didnt matter. For the last verse, Kuroka and Mika joined back in in perfect synchronization. It was exactly as you had planned. The crowd clapping and already adoring the show. “Love me like this and I’ll love you like that~” You pulled out the final pose, chest rising and falling with your panted breathes. Mika held up three fingers, Kuroka held up four. You and Tenshiro held up zero. The Saja boys grabbed some attention sure, but after that performance a lot of it was focused on you. “The saja boys!?!” A fan called out squealing. They walked forward, seemingly confused. “What are you doing here?” A fan yelled. You couldnt let the hunters realize you knew the saja boys, it would be easy to figure out you were demons if so. So you squealed, clapping your hands and bowing. “Oh my gosh! Saja boys!! Idol-Sama!!” You bounced forward, the others caught on quickly. Squealing like school girls and looking at the boys with nothing but admiration. “Did you like our performance!?” Kuroka grabbed Mikas arm, playing along. “Did she just say Idol-sama!?!!?” “What!? Oh my god!” Tenshiro bounced forward. The four of you bowed, fake respect, but it was good enough that the fans would be convinced you were just fans of them, not that you actually knew them.You wanted to see if they were as dumb as they looked, so as you stood up straight, you allowed your golden eyes to flash. For a quick second. Jinu was already caught off guard, but based on his eyes widened even further, you figured he got the hint. “Were so honored you saw us preform, but we have to get back to the studio to rehearse for our next live performance!"

‘WHEN!?” One of the fans yelled. Kuroka smiled as she turned to them.

“Take a look at your socials, keep a look out for SIRENE posts! We love you!! See you soon!” Kuroka blew a kiss, you and the others followed along. Waving them goodbye… you were able to slip out easily, the attention going back to the Saja boys.

Around the corner, hoodies back on you, you squealed, for real this time. “How many souls!?”

“Seven! Seven souls!” Mika cheered. That was it, that was the plan. You had Mika and Kuroka leave the performance while you had the crowds attention so they could grab up souls without causing a panic.

You laughed off the thrill of the performance, cheering and celebrating your success. Atleast you were until a voice cut through.

“Well, look who thinks they can steal the spot light?” Jinu spoke, the saja boys. All of them. You looked over your shoulder at them, unimpressed.

“Steal what spot light?” Tenshiro blinked, pouting her bottom lip slightly.

“We know your like us.” Abby growled, standing behind Jinu. You took a step forward, smiling.

“So your not as dumb as you look, good to know.” You hummed, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “Now what I cant seem to understand is what the problem is?” You lied, and obviously, you knew what the damn problem is. Jinu cant hive memories taken away if you kill the hunters.

“You took my idea, although being demons, I am not surprised. What I cant figure out is why you're not already after the hunters. We could work together, you know, take them down in one fight. 9 demons against 3 flimsy hunters. “ he smirked, putting his hand out. Already assuming you were going to take the deal.

You pushed his hand away and rolled out eyes. You leaned against Mika, checking your nails. “The hunters arent our targets.” You hummed. Jinu paused, unsure. Kuroka and Tenshiro walked to be behind them. Kuroka being dangerously close the pink haired one. Romance was it? You lifted your gaze from your nails to the boys again. “You are.”

Silence followed. Two types of it. Minor fear and confusion from the boys, and pure confidence and power from you and the girls. They were making this game, just too easy.

“Is.. is that supposed to scare us?” Jinu hissed, markings appearing for a moment.

You shrugged. “If you were smarter it would.”

“You think the city can handle two demon groups?” Abby glared at you.

“No, but were not here to share.” Mira hummed softly, a mock pout taking over her face.

“Enjoy the spot light while you can idol-sama” Tenshiro whispered, running a finger along Abbys jawline. He was quick to smack her hand away. “Well, we have to run” She pouted, Kuroka and her rejoining you and Mira.

“Keep watching Saja boys.” Kuroka started, your backs turned to them as you walked. “The shows only just begun~” You said in unison. It didnt matter if they were worried or not. All that did matter was everything was coming together. The hunters didnt know you were the new demon group, and even if the saja boys tipped them off, they had no evidence. Who believes a demon anyway? Further more, with more souls going to Gwi-ma, the more restless the hunters the will get.. Your hoping they will tire eachother out, work themselves to the bone while you relax and enjoy the fruits of their labor, only to come in at the last second and finish them all off.

#huntrix x reader #saja boys x female reader #saja boys #saja boys x reader #baby saja #abby saja #jinu kpdh #mystery kpdh #romance kpdh #kpdh #kpop demon hunters

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ironstrange1991 · 5 months ago

Text

Affection

Pairing: Supreme!Strange x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5,9k

Synopsis: A night at one of Tony's parties ends in a serious fight between you and Supreme and now he must find a way to make you forgive him.

Warnings: Use of the word "Whore", SMUT: prenetrative sex, angry sex, orgasm denial.

A/N: This one was supposed to be a brain rot smut, but I ended up developing the emotional part much more than the smut itself, however I really liked the result and I also thought it matched the inspiration that was the song. it is within the Multiple Stephens universe because I needed to include Defender Strange for plot reasons. I hope you like it and have a good reading ;)

Supreme Strange was a affectionate man. Maybe he wasn't the most romantic or the most attentive. He definitely wasn't as sweet as Defender or as understanding as the good doctor, but he prided himself on being a affectionate boyfriend. To his own standards. Sure, he used to get a little mean when he got jealous and you said he had a sharp tongue when he drank, but so what, right? Saying I love you or go fuck yourself were two ways of saying he cared, it was affection all the same.

He sighed, checking his phone for the tenth time that morning alone, acknowledging that maybe he had crossed the line in the last fight you had. Just a little. You refused to talk to him, you didn't answer his texts, and you were clearly waiting for a formal apology, but he wasn't the least bit inclined to do so once he knew that, even though he had crossed the line in his reaction, he had every right to be angry.

It all started at one of Tony Stark's parties. The night had started off really well, the three Stephens were there, you were happy about that because it wasn't common for the three of them to go out with you. You both had drunk that night. Stephen and Defender not much, but he had drunk a lot and you had allowed yourself a few glasses of champagne. You danced, to electronic music, which he hated, but at the time it seemed fun, you kissed, you made love in one of the tower's rooms - although making love wasn't exactly the name he would give to what you did there - and everything was fine until he saw you full of smiles and looks with Thor Odinson. You were friends, he understood that, but from friends to what he was witnessing there was a huge distance. You were practically sitting on the Asgardian's lap while you idiotically tried to lift his damn hammer. - And Supreme found himself wondering if you weren't trying to lift something else from the Norse god. It was indecent and ridiculous and he found himself wondering why the others weren't as outraged by the scene as he was. They both just watched the scene from afar and laughed and talked to each other like the good friends they were.

In the end, Supreme couldn't contain himself, much less hide his displeasure with the allegedly innocent joke, and a minute later he was dragging you by the arm to the huge balcony of the building and hurling every kind of accusation and insult that his dirty mouth could muster.

"I can't believe you're saying that!" You replied indignantly and slightly offended.

"Oh no? That's because you can't know what I'm thinking." He spat back, "Do you have any idea how ridiculous you looked there? As if having three cocks isn't enough for you. Do you need another one?"

"You're drunk," you accused, and your eyes filled with tears, but he didn't let them move him.

"I'm not the one embarrassing myself for everyone to see. You should be ashamed of yourself acting like a fucking whore." He said, and your answer came too quickly for him to defend himself. You slapped him hard in the face and then raised your fists against his chest, striking him while you gave in to your tears and rage.

"You bastard, I hate you. I fucking hate you." You said it over and over until he grabbed your hands and pushed you against the wall, keeping you trapped there and making you look at him.

“You're mine, do you understand? Fucking mine!" He shouted and then kissed you roughly. Too roughly. His kiss, always full of love and passion, felt more like an assault to him, and he liked it.

You tried to fight him, but there wasn't much your small frame could do against his muscular body other than surrender, and that's exactly what you did, and somehow he knew that was where he really hurt you, when he made you see the power he had over you. But you kissed him back, even if you were angry, and it was impossible to know if the night would have ended differently if the two of you hadn't been interrupted by Defender Strange. Always him. The good Samaritan.

"Supreme, let her go." He heard him say just as he had taken your lips by force again and you were giving in. "You're drunk and you're hurting her."

Supreme could have started a fight right there, but he just stepped away, looking at his other self with disdain. "If you were half the man you think you are, you would be as offended as I am by that deplorable scene." He accused.

"Because I'm a better man than you are, I know there was no malice on either side. They were just having fun, and you would know that if you weren't so sickly jealous."

"Because I love her." He said through gritted teeth.

"Because you confuse love with possession," Defender replied and Supreme felt an overwhelming urge to punch him in the face, but he just walked right past them both, walked back to the lounge, grabbed his suit jacket that was hanging on the chair and left.

When he woke up the next morning his head felt like it was going to explode and the memories of the fight seemed distant and to some extent not a big deal, but when you didn't look him in the face during breakfast, he understood. Three days later he was checking his cell phone waiting for you to answer the countless texts he had sent just that morning while he was confined in the compound waiting for the Avengers meeting to end. He was leaving on a mission with Barton, Rogers and Romanoff in a few days and he didn't want to leave things as they were, but deep down he knew he had messed up terribly with you, even his narcissistic ass understood that his reaction wasn't normal and the fact that everything had happened at a Stark party, in front of your friends, only made things worse for him.

...

You were tired and it wasn't even noon yet. To be honest, you had no idea how you would get through that day and your mind kept playing with excuses to get up, grab your things and leave the office. Your cell phone wouldn't stop buzzing with texts from Supreme, each one more eloquent than the last and you knew their pattern well. First he would apologize saying that he had overreacted, then he would blame you for something you hadn't done, then he would say that even if you hadn't done anything wrong, you should avoid that kind of situation once you knew him and knew he would be angry. Again, he would blame you, but then he would apologize for the overreaction he had, and the cycle would go on and on.

He was so different from the other Stephens that sometimes you wondered if it was possible for them to be the same person. Stephen would never treat you like that. Defender would never talk to you like that, but Supreme always found a reason to take out all his frustrations on you and you hated him in those moments, but you couldn't help but love him in all the others.

"Y/n? Did you hear what I said?" You heard Phil saying and were dragged back to your reality inside the office, to the sound of the extremely loud air conditioning, the incessant typing on the keyboards of the computers in the booths next to yours, the hurried footsteps and the ringing of the phones.

"I'm sorry." That was all you said and he stared at you for a minute, rolling his lips and then repeated the question.

"The Link Dynamics files? I need to deliver everything to their lawyer this afternoon. Tell me you didn't forget!"

Of course you forgot. "Of course not! I'll finish reviewing them. I’ll bring them to your desk in a minute."

Phil's worried frown turned into a wide smile "You're the best, Y/n." He said and left.

To some extent, the desperation to finish your work in time for the 1pm meeting helped you forget about the issue with your problematic boyfriend and thus you managed to avoid the intrusive thoughts that told you to run away from work and lock yourself inside your room to watch bad TV shows and eat junk food.

By the end of the afternoon there were at least twenty texts that you didn't bother to read and when you got home the Sanctum was silent and your chest was enveloped by warmth when you smelled food coming from the kitchen indicating that Defender had already arrived. You took off your shoes and left your bag and keys on top of the sideboard and followed the smell to the kitchen where you found him distracted by the stove.

You didn't bother to announce your arrival, instead you approached and wrapped your arms around his waist and rested your head on his back.

"Hi there" He chuckled, stroking your arm lightly and continued with his work. "Long day?"

"You have no idea." You groaned.

He hummed, finishing stirring what looked like a very juicy and fragrant stew. "Since you’re here, taste it for me and help me decide if it needs anything else." He asked, gently turning and bringing the spoon to your mouth, his other hand under the spoon to make sure not a drop would stain your white blouse. It was a fish stew and although you hadn't seen it, you could taste the potatoes and carrots, as well as paprika, thyme, garlic and olives perhaps. You hummed, slowly savoring it and then pretended to think for a second. "More salt, perhaps." You finally said and he raised his eyebrow.

"Really? That's not what I had in mind. I thought more pepper."

You shook your head. “No, it’s fine as it is. It’s just that you know me, I like my food with a little extra salt.”

He smirked. “I guess a pinch wouldn’t hurt.” He turned and added a pinch of salt to the stew and stirred it gently and you found yourself staring at him. He looked gorgeous, even though he looked completely normal. He wore black sweatpants and a gray long-sleeved t-shirt. His hair was tied back in its usual ponytail and his feet were bare. You loved it. Seeing him in his most natural, domestic form, doing normal things like cooking. The image always made your heart skip a beat.

“I didn’t expect you to cook tonight. I thought you’d be tired. I was already deciding between having a sandwich for dinner or ordering something.” You confessed, watching as he turned off the heat on the pot and removed a pan of gratin vegetables from the oven. He carefully placed it on the counter. "I was anxious. You know how I get before missions. I thought it would be a good idea to have a proper dinner before I go."

You couldn't hide the pout you made, and he smiled at you quickly. "I'll be back in three days." You crossed your arms. "The last time you said that you were gone for almost two weeks."

He let out a small laugh. "I know, but this time is different. I have no reason to believe something so big could happen to keep me away for so long."

You nodded, still reluctant. "I still wish you didn't go."

"Me too." He confessed and dedicated himself to setting the table and you smiled watching him arrange each plate and dish in its proper place. He was always meticulous in this matter and you found it super charming. Although the Sanctum had a beautiful dining room, you were used to eating in the kitchen. It was spacious enough and had a certain comfort that the sterile living room lacked. The smaller table could seat six people, but Defender was used to always setting out four plates. That night, however, he hesitated when setting out the fourth, but did it anyway.

You sighed as you watched him finish arranging everything and finally gave in to the matter that hung over you like a gray cloud.

"I know I can't leave things as they are, but I don't know how to move on as if nothing had happened."

He finished setting out the cutlery on the table and then rolled his lips, thinking of the best way to say what he was thinking.

"Say it."

"He's not gonna change, baby. We've been at this too long to understand that this is just the way he is, and I can say that for sure because he is me."

You shook your head. "Sometimes it's hard to believe that. You would never talk to me like that."

"But the man I was would. I've evolved, baby, I've gotten better with time and pain, but Supreme is the way he is, and you've always known that. You were already irritated with him from the start, remember? But you fell in love with him anyway."

You lowered your eyes because you couldn't bear to look him in the eye. 'Because he's you and you're Stephen.'

"Yes, I know. We are Stephen and I’m pretty sorry for that" He said nodding. “You know I don’t blame you for falling in love with him. I just need you to understand that he is the way he is since the beginning and we don’t have any reason to believe he’s gonna change.”

Somehow you felt guilty about the situation you had put yourself in at that party. Even though there was no malice in the joke with Thor, you had a few more glasses of champagne than you should have and that affected your judgment. Sober you would never put yourself in that situation knowing that Supreme was there watching you and by understanding that things didn’t get any easier.

"It's just... I hate him sometimes." You confessed, feeling the weight on your chest intensifying.

"But you love him anyway." Defender finished. "It's okay to admit it. I know. I always knew, since day one."

"What should I do then? I can’t pretend nothing happened." You asked, genuinely lost, but he just smiled politely.

"Rule number 16, baby."

You sighed. "You guys can't interfere when I get into a fight with another Stephen."

"Exactly. And I think I interfered too much that night, but I don't regret it, tough. I just can't tell you what you should do. However, I can tell you what I wish you wouldn't do."

You waited.

"Let him go on a mission without you guys having resolved this."

You stared at him, understanding very well where he was going with this. If something happened and Supreme got hurt, you would never forgive yourself. "Now I hate him even more." You sighed and Defender came closer, pulling you to nestle into his chest. "Love and hate are awfully close, baby. Now, let’s forget this matter for a bit so we can enjoy our meal together. What do you think?"

You nodded and he smiled contentedly, gently lifting your chin to kiss you. He did it slowly, just a touch of lips that lingered over time and made your knees go weak. It was how he got everything from you. Gently and lovingly. With Defender Strange things were always that way.

When your lips parted you let out a little moan and then confessed "I love when you kiss me like that."

He frowned "Like what?"

"Like you. Soft and gentle. You can get anything from me like that, Defender Strange."

He let out a little laugh "You think I'm soft, huh?"

You smiled feeling your face blush "Only with me. Outside you are a feared and highly respected sorcerer."

"Okay, good to know I can keep the appearances." He hummed contentedly and then kissed you again the same way.

"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone that you're super sweet."

"Thank you, baby." He said, smirking and kissing you one more time before pulling away and ordering, "Now I think it's best if you go upstairs and change. We don't want the food to get cold."

You nodded, reluctantly pulling away from him.

"While you're at it, tell the doctor that dinner is ready. He should be in the library." He asked.

“Okay” You said walking away.

...

Supreme was distracted on the phone, confirming the last details of the mission when he heard a knock on the door. He had gotten out of the shower and was in front of the mirror, gathering the courage to shave when he was interrupted by the call from his fellow Avenger, and they had been on the phone for several minutes. Since he took a while to answer, he heard the sound of the bedroom door opening and a voice calling him, but he didn’t bothered to answer.

"I believe everything is fine, but if you have any questions, you can call me later, Romanoff." He said, hanging up the phone.

"Supreme" Defender called and he threw the towel in the sink, giving in to laziness and leaving the bathroom.

"Dinner is ready. I thought you would want to eat with us instead of here." Defender informed, entering the room.

Supreme shook his head. "I don't want to be where I'm not welcome." He said simply. In the last few days, you had refused to sit at the table with him and that had broken his heart deeply, but he understood, or at least he was making a huge effort to understand.

"She's still mad at you. God knows she has her reasons, but she's not okay with the way things are." Defender sighed. "She misses you. Just apologize and get it over with, Supreme."

He stared at his feet for a few seconds. "I really messed up, didn't I?"

Defender chuckled nervously, "That's what you always do. You let your emotions speak louder than reason. It's amazing how different we are in that way. I have so much trouble acting with my heart instead of my head, but with you it's all the time."

Supreme sighed heavily, putting both hands on his hips, his head still down, and then nodded, glancing at Defender regretfully. "I love her. I'm jealous of her. When I saw her..." He stopped, shaking his head to rid himself of the memory. "I know I should control it, but I can't. She's mine” He stopped himself and shook his head. “Ours. She is ours. This... I can understand this thing we have because it's us, but when any other man gets close to her, I just lose my mind."

Defender nodded, "She loves us, Supreme. There is no one else. But we need to treat her much better. You need to treat her much better, Supreme. What you did... the things you said to her were unacceptable."

"I just said it, I wasn't thinking straight..."

"You called her a whore."

Supreme looked at him in surprise "I didn't."

"Yes, you did. You hurt her. She told me."

"Of course she did." There was no way to refute that. Defender was right as always and Supreme wanted to go back in time to erase that horrible night, but he couldn't do that. He needed to deal with the consequences of his actions.

"Say you are sorry." Defender ordered with his authoritative tone that always made Supreme's blood boil in his veins.

"Do you really think I haven't done that before?"

"Do it again. Say it like you mean it. Say it bluntly, without apologies, without blaming her for something you did because that's what you always do!"

Yeah, there was no way to refute that either.

"Why do you even care?"

Defender sighed, "I told you. She loves you and misses you. That's why." He said, turning to leave the room. “I just can’t stand to see the sadness in her face.”

Supreme went back to the bathroom and stood in front of the sink, staring at his reflection in the mirror. He looked fine. His defined chest and visible biceps were a source of pride for him. After all, the hours he spent at the Compound gym listening to bad music had to be paid for somehow, but at that moment all he could see were the bags under his eyes resulting from sleepless nights. He knew Defender was right and he was wrong, and that was hard for him. His narcissism made everything about him, you said, but what you didn't know was that being like he was could hurt him a lot.

When he finally went down to dinner, he found you and the other Stephens already eating. Apparently, Defender had cooked that night and you were all delighted with him, giving little compliments while humming with each bite of food.

"I mean it. That's the most delicious flounder I've ever had in my life." You said, which made him almost roll his eyes, but he held himself back.

"You're still here. I thought you'd already left." Doctor Strange said as Supreme sat in the place reserved for him and right in front of you.

"Tomorrow. We're still working out some details." He answered while serving himself.

"What's the situation?" The doctor asked.

"Possible misuse of ancient magical artifacts in southern Russia. Some people died in unnatural ways, which caught the attention of the Avengers. They could be relics, which I doubt."

"I remember Wong saying he has an inventory of all the magical relics on this planet so if one go missing he would know." Defender confirmed. "Whatever it is, it's not sorcery."

Supreme took a forkful of food and had to hold back his satisfaction. It was indeed delicious and somehow that only made him feel even worse. How was it possible that one of them knew how to cook so well and the other two could barely boil water to make spaghetti?

"Witchcraft, perhaps. We've faced things like this before." Doctor Strange guessed. "You could ask Maximoff for her opinion."

"No, I can handle it." He said, glancing subtly at you. You were eating in silence now, but you must have been staring at him because your eyes met, and he could see your cheeks turn pink before you looked away.

Doctor Strange shook his head. "It's up to you, but dealing with witchcraft can be dangerous." "No. It's fine with me. I've dealt with plenty of witches in my universe." He bragged and then sipped from his glass of the white wine Defender had chosen for the evening. An excellent choice, to say the least.

Stephen didn't press the issue, but you looked directly at Supreme for the first time that day and spoke visibly irritated. At that point he suspected that the sound of his breathing was enough to irritate you. "Let's hope your arrogance doesn't get you killed one of these days, Stephen. I honestly don't know how you can stand yourself."

That hurt.

"Come on doll, don't be like that." He found himself begging as he watched you stand up and threaten to leave the table. The idea that you would rather give up such a delicious meal than endure being in his presence was devastating to him.

"Don't call me like that!" You almost yelled at him, which made him snap too.

"I'm sorry, okay?" He almost shouted the words, standing up as well. "I'm sorry. I hurt you and said things I shouldn't have. I overreacted and it wasn't your fault. None of this was your fault. I'm so sorry."

He couldn't believe how saying those words felt like it lifted a weight off his chest. He needed this as much as you did, apparently.

However, it took you so long to show any reaction that the relief was quickly replaced by the fear that he had somehow managed to make everything even worse. You just stood there staring at him. The other Stephens didn't dare say anything. Supreme was pretty sure they were barely breathing for fear of breaking some stupid rule of theirs by interfering. "Honey... I love you. Please, talk to me. Forgive me. It wasn't your fault, it was my fault and my fault alone and I'm sorry for saying otherwise and I'm sorry for being the way I am, but please, I can't take this anymore. I miss you." Your reaction to his words was so abrupt that he barely realized what you were doing when you ran and went around the table and then threw yourself into his arms. The next thing he knew, he had your head in his hands and was kissing every inch of your face, forehead, eyes, nose, cheek and only then did he kiss your sweet lips and the little moan you let out when he deepened the kiss made his whole body tingle.

"Finally" he heard one of the Stephens say softly.

"Why did it take you so long to say it?" You asked against his lips.

"Because I'm a fool." He heard himself say and then pulled you back to his lips.

...

There were so many types of sex and you loved every single one of them. Lazy sex, when you woke up in the morning together and could afford to stay in bed late. It was usually slow and unpretentious. There was also homecoming sex, when Stephen came back from a mission after being away for weeks. It was always hard and desperate and full of sweat and saliva. Midnight sex, when one of you woke the other up to make love, sometimes it ended in cockwarming and both of you fell asleep without cumming, but that was never the goal.

That particular night you were introduced to a different form of sex, one that everyone talks about but that you had never experienced: Makeup sex.

You barely realized how you got to the bedroom. One minute you were eating dinner and the next you were devouring Supreme's mouth as he slammed the door behind you and you jumped on his lap. A moment later you were both naked and he was directing his cock at your entrance.

He wasn't gentle, actually, the thing about makeup sex is that it's not gentle. There's too much feeling involved and a desperate need to satisfy a pent-up desire.

"Shit, honey..." he cursed through his teeth as he finally buried himself inside you. The stretch was welcome and before he could say anything that would ruin the moment, you shut him up with another kiss, using the situation to your advantage to take control of the kiss. You used the support of your hands on his shoulders to bounce on his dick and your eyes rolled back with pleasure and you found yourself confessing on his lips.

"Oh I missed this. I missed you."

He groaned contentedly holding you by the ass and helping you move up and down on his cock, but a minute later he was throwing you on the mattress and coming on top of you. He entered you quickly and your legs locked on his hips while your nails dug into the skin of his back. He forced himself against you like a desperate man, it was something primal and delicious and your body responded to each thrust with the same desperation, producing more and more of that wetness that made him slide inside you with frightening ease and at the same time made an obscene squelching and wet sound.

"Fuck" He rasped between your lips "You're so fucking wet for me, honey. Feels so good."

You just hummed in response, at that point your mind was completely incapable of formulating a sentence, your heart was racing and there were so many emotions involved.

"I missed you so much. I'm sorry, love. I promise I will be better. I just... was so jealous. I am so jealous of you all the time and when I saw..."

"Shut up, Stephen" You said using all your strength to push him off of you. He didn't resist, he just rolled over on the bed and let you go on top of him. You slid him inside you again, taking control with a certain desperation and he allowed it. Supreme was not submissive, in fact he never allowed himself to be in a position where he was not in control, but that night he did not hesitate to let you ride him and you did it with force, with anger, with something more than just the pleasure you felt. It was as if by subjugating him like that you were making up for everything he had put you through in the last few days.

It didn't last long. And you didn't care. Your eyes closed, feeling the familiar tightening in the pit of your stomach and you didn't fight against it, you kept moving, grinding against him like an animal in heat as sweat ran down your neck and your breathing became labored and labored. The muscles in your thighs ached with the intensity of your movements, but you didn't care either, you needed to keep going, you needed your release, you needed that sweet catharsis to wash your soul and body and maybe then you could leave everything that happened behind. Sex as a cure. When the knot finally broke you let out a moan so loud that you knew anyone inside the Sanctum could hear it, the orgasm so strong it felt like you were going to pass out right there. It was over. You were his and he was yours and love had healed everything. Love would always heal everything.

...

Stephen had never felt that way before. It was easy to say that he had never seen you act that way before. The way you used him to reach your high was almost offensive, as if he was nothing more than a cock you could rub yourself against until you got what you wanted and that should have made him angry, but on the contrary, it was fucking hot. Maybe, and just maybe, he could understand the appeal that submission had with Defender. It was sexy with you.

However, when he realized that when you were done you simply dismounted him and threw yourself on the bed without giving him the chance to join in that bliss with you, he understood. The sex hadn't been for him, and you still hadn't said you had forgiven him.

You lay there in silence, and he chuckled nervously feeling his dick throb in protest. He ran a hand over his face and then turned to look at you and there were tears in your eyes and his heart broke into pieces knowing that it was his fault.

"I never meant to make you mad, you know? I was joking. Thor is like a brother to me. All of them..." You stopped as your voice broke and then took a deep breath before continuing. "They're my friends."

He was silent for a minute. All the adrenaline from the unfinished sex was quickly fading and replaced by remorse. "I know."

You wiped a tear that ran down the side of your face and then smiled at him, and the smile was sad. "There is only you, Stephen."

It wasn't easy for someone like him to admit when he was wrong, but in that moment, Supreme understood how cruel his behavior was and how he always managed to hurt you even when he knew you were the person he loved most in the world. How fucking contradictory could that be? His stomach churned with self-disgust, but he took a deep breath and cupped your cheek gently and pulled you in for a kiss. Soft, slow, completely unlike the sex had been, but with the same intensity of emotion involved. When your lips parted he could feel his eyes wet with tears he refused to shed and he was finally ready to tell you how sorry he was for everything when you covered his mouth with your fingertips and smiled.

"I know. I don't want to talk about what happened anymore, I just want to stay here with you. Please."

And how could he deny that? So he pulled you into his arms and you eagerly snuggled into his chest while he buried his nose in your hair, inhaling its delicious scent. You were so sweet, so fragile and at the same time so strong. There was nothing he could say to explain how much he loved you, he just hoped you could see it in his gestures. Even the bad ones.

You were silent for a few minutes. The orgasm that had been denied to him long forgotten. His blackened fingers continued to slide slowly down your arms and you drew circles on his chest with your nails. It was comfortable and intimate, and he didn't know anything better than that.

It was you who broke the silence after several minutes. Your fingers were now playing around his lips as if outlining a goatee that wasn't there.

"You need to shave." You said and there was a hint of irritation in your voice that was almost comical, and he couldn't help but tease you about it.

"I really don't get it. I thought you liked men with beards. You live with two of them, after all."

You tsked petulantly as if it was obvious what you needed to explain.

"I like beards, not stubbles. They itch and give me allergies. And besides, they give an air of sloppiness that doesn't suit you. I'm used to seeing you always impeccable and I like it. It must be the only good thing about your narcissism."

Ouch. You could have forgiven him - though you refused to say so - but he knew it would take you a while to let it go completely. Either way, he deserved it. Whatever treatment you decided to give him, he deserved it.

"I'll shave in the morning," he said obediently.

You hummed and went silent again for a long time, long enough for him to notice your breathing becoming more regular and low and your body weighing more in his arms and just like that he knew you had fallen asleep. He stared at the ceiling with a relieved smile on his lips, but the relief was contained and he found himself remembering a random moment from last week, but at that moment as he replayed it in his head it gained a new meaning. You and he were in the living room, it was Sunday, his day to be with you and you had decided to spend that time together at home instead of going out. You had dinner and were watching a movie sprawled on the couch. His head was in your lap while you stroked his hair. It was a normal and routine moment, but Stephen passed by you and observed the scene with a disapproving look and teased "You don't deserve her."

At the time he responded with an ironic "Fuck off", but when he remembered, after everything that had happened in the last few days and everything that had happened in his universe, Supreme knew it was true. He didn't deserve you.

Reblog please! Leave a comment if you liked it. Interact! I will love to read all of your comments and opinions. It inspires me to keep writing!

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carnatus89 · 8 months ago

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Shen Qingqiu triple trouble!

So, System Possession AU of @artsarasp is going through, stuff let's say. Angsty stuff. So of course my mind was like.

Let's make shen triplets!

The situation is, Shen Jiu has his fatal Qi deviation, Shen Yuan dies by choking on food and all is normal. But, some error occurs, and both Shen Jiu’s and Shen Yuan’s souls are in danger of disintegrating from the Qi deviation. The System notices this and tries to fix it, forcing the soul to generate a body to occupy from basically thin air. But there’s a problem, since there’s two souls that are now generating a body, meanwhile the original body is still functional, though has been metaphorically dragged through the mud. Thus, both Shen Jiu and Shen Yuan materialize with new bodies while the System is absorbed into the spare body.

So now we have three Shen Qingqius. And the System is Not Happy.

Neither is Shen Jiu to be honest.

Shen Yuan somehow convinces both the System and Shen Jiu that they should pretend to just be brothers, make some bullshit about trapped consciousness to fool the peak lords, while he wacks his brain to try to avoid death or punishment from the enraged System. Which can still give both points and punishments. The problem is that since he got the short end of the stick in the body lottery, he has to be very careful of exerting the body’s limits, so he can’t get agitated. And giving punishments is very agitating. Shen Yuan is basically trying to make the System care. If Wall-E can love, so can the System, wouldn’t it be better for the story if he becomes an active member? It would also be better to leave the story to develop itself organically, think about all the character development! So the protagonist can have a more round support cast! If he read something like that, he wouldn’t have criticized so much the papapa scenes since he could just focus on that! What do you think System-bro?

Meanwhile Shen Jiu is very conflicted, since these, what, fakers? Clones? Some type of demons? Are stealing his face and seem to have some ulterior motive, but both seem eager to ‘help him’ somehow. Granted, the blue eyed freak is creepy as fuck, a fake cherfulness that all his instincts scream to get away from, but he’s mostly… nice. The definition of the word, at least. The other fake is snarky, doesn’t really back down from a verbal dispute, and, while infuriating, it’s more real. Safer, in a way, more honest. Besides, the blue eyed one is useful when trying to find synonyms while writing or finding the name of a song he couldn’t remember well. They can stay, for now.

System is actually scared. They saved the scum villain character, but made a bigger problem while also becoming… vulnerable. How could they make sure the story functions if they have a weak and frail body? They are forced to play along, become a more direct support to the characters to make sure they stay in line. But [User02] seems to have other ideas, and while they must punish him, they really can’t without suffering themselfs. The original scum villain for the most part follows the script, but he also seems perturbed by their presence, which is fine. All is fine, they should be able to fix it.

Somehow.

The three of them are mostly the same in appearance. The major difference that the peaklords catch on is the mark on the forehead (I don’t remember what it is called). Shen Jiu has a lotus flower painted, Shen Yuan has a dot while the System has an empty circle, resembling a zero. Both Shen Jiu and the System have their clothes correctly, while Shen Yuan doesn’t really know how any of his layers of clothes work, so he fastened the belt around everyone, even the outer robe. Finally, the System has their hair tight to their head, Shen Jiu has it a little loose to let it flow but staying neat and clean. Shen Yuan just, tries his best. Finally, the System’s face is kinda cartoonish, they make faces that shouldn't be possible, stretching his smile wide and making their eyes a little too big. Both Shens don’t mention it much, they just say they’re special.

I don’t know what came to me to do this shit, but now’s here, deal with it.

Spanish rambling when this idea just came barreling through my brain.

#system possession #svsss au #svsss #shen qingqiu #shen jiu #shen yuan #This was all made in like an hour #don't judge me

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iznyangwoni · 27 days ago

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DEMON HUNTERS | enhypen smau !

chapter three

You find yourself yawning right after hitting a lesser demon right in its chest, the pink and red particles disappearing in the air. How much time had passed, one, maybe two hours? And you’re still at it. By now you lost contact with Liz and Rei, they’re both probably fighting demons off somewhere around but you cant hear them anymore.

Its deep into the night and yet there doesn’t seem to be a single second of quiet. Each time a DMS song starts playing or an ad shows on the big screen a load of lesser demons comes out ready to attack. You lost count of how many you had to kill just tonight, but you’re glad you were able to save some lives.

You had to admit it, your plan of just ignoring that demon boy band was not only awful, but also incredibly cowardly. Its not like you at all, you’re usually first in line whenever something happens, always with your sword ready and you definitely, definitely, aren’t scared of demons. At least that’s what you thought.

Then you hear a sound, you know for a fact its not one of your friends, nor a human passing by. Its more like a thud, like someone just teleported right behind you. Unlike last time, it doesn’t take you long to react, sword in hand you turn around and there he (or should you say it?) is, right in front of you now, blade against skin.

“Woah, woah, slow down there, i was just passing by.” You recognize him as the deer looking one from last time. Despite his words, you dont pull back your weapon. You can tell he’s a strong one, maybe not as much as the weird dude with dimples, but still enough to be alert. “How convenient, makes it easier for me to kill you.” You say, your blade pushing even harder against his skin, he doesn’t look scared, its pissing you off.

“Yeah, alright, Jungwon told me you’re a fiery one.” It only takes him a snap of his fingers to teleport just a couple of feet away from you. He touches his neck, a grimace on his face. Well, at least you know you hurt him this time. “He attacked me first.” “Yeah he does that sometimes.” You didnt tell the girls, but your shoulder had been burning a lot ever since the guy had attacked you, the scar was deep red for a day and only now it seemed like the pain was going away. Still, you don’t like how his friend just brushed it off like it was nothing.

“I actually came here to say sorry on his part but,” He touches his neck again and this time you can’t help but smirk, happy you actually did some damage. “I guess we’re fair now.” Its true that these days you’ve done your best to ignore them, but you do remember trying to give a name to their faces. He must be Heeseung if the poster you studied wasn’t wrong, or maybe Jake? Its not like it matters anyway.

It doesnt seem like he really wants to fight, but you find it hard to believe that he came here just to say sorry either. “You done? I’ve got stuff to do.” You dont dare let that sword disappear, in these five minutes you were able to understand that Heeseung is pretty good at using that damn teleporting power demons have, and the last thing you want is for him to trap you here. “I guess i was just curious,”

He gets closer to you as he says that, you hate how human these demons look. Its not a secret that their human form is quite the gorgeous one. Heeseung is taller than the majority of them, his eyes are bigger and his features are overall majestic, the tall nose bridge, the plump lips. Indeed too good to be true. “What do you think you’ll do when we win?”

That question makes your whole body freeze, even worse when he gets closer, taking a strand of your hair between his fingers. Your sword pokes at his stomach, but he looks at it as if its nothing. “You won’t win.” “Then why arent you fighting back?” It takes you a few seconds to understand what he’s hinting at. You’ve been too scared to act up, and now you’re in this awful situation. You havent slept well in days, your group keeps being second in charts to them and you feel like an idiot for making this mess.

You know there’s no need to answer his question now. He’s got you all figured out. He knows you’re scared of him, of them. But until he doesnt know the reason, then you should be good. Nothing a little confidence can’t fake. He gets closer to your ear, your blade basically cutting his shirt by now. “Hit me harder next time you see me.” And then he disappears.

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fics-and-quotes-andthelike · 1 year ago

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A Dance in Death

Title: A Dance in Death

Pairing: Alastor x fem!reader

Word Count: ~3,927

In which Alastor takes the reader out to Mimzy’s club. Things go sideways much too soon, but the Radio Demon is quick to make amends.

A/N: Part 2 of sorts to my Never and Always series. Hope you enjoy!

Part 1

Mimzy’s speakeasy was most known for three things.

One, it was known for its captivating acts and performances. Demons and sinners from all around Pentagram City had heard stories and whispers about what could be experienced there. Two, it was known for being one of the most lively and entertaining places on this side of Hell. And three, it was known for being on the wrong side of town, making it the perfect place for no-good demons to spend their time and even do discrete business, so long as they paid their dues to Mimzy, of course.

That last point probably should have kept you away from this place. But you couldn’t help but feel safe knowing that you had come on the arm of the Radio Demon himself. After all, who would dare approach you with Alastor around?

Nobody, as it turned out. You and Alastor had been sitting in a corner booth for almost an hour now, and nobody had dared to come within ten feet of you, save for one unfortunate server who had graciously provided you both with your drinks before scurrying off and hiding, not coming back even once.

And although you enjoyed any time that you got to spend alone with Alastor, you couldn’t help but notice that the two of you were both on edge that night.

You, on one hand, simply wanted to dance. It wasn’t often that you were able to go to bars or speakeasies, and you would have loved nothing more than to lead the demon across from you on to the dancefloor. But you knew better than that. Alastor’s interest in you came with limits that you hadn’t yet discovered, but you’d be double-damned if you were going to find them out tonight.

Although you had to admit, as you gazed out longingly at the dancing demons on the floor, that you wouldn’t mind at least trying to share a drink and a conversation with your partner. But that wouldn’t happen until Mimzy finally decided to saunter over to your table.

Which led you to the reason for Alastor’s impatience.

The whole reason that he had invited you out tonight was because Mimzy had requested an audience with him at her place of business. To discuss what, you weren’t sure, but you knew that the Radio Demon hated to be kept waiting.

His impatience was starting to become evident, though it was likely that nobody around you noticed anything amiss. You, however, had become well versed in reading Alastor’s silent cues.

He had yet to touch his drink, though his clawed hand was firmly wrapped around the glass. He was surveying the building with apparent disinterest, but you could see the way that his sharp gaze roamed over each and every other demon and sinner present. You could see tension in the corners of his ever present smile, even though his eyes were hooded in an expression of mild boredom.

As you downed the last drops of your drink, you risked a glance over to Alastor once again. You had wanted to strike up a conversation since you had stepped foot through the door, but hadn’t wanted to distract him from his thoughts. But when his grip around the glass tightened once again, your internal war finally ended. It wouldn’t do anyone any good to have him suddenly lose his composure and bring the whole place to the ground.

You cleared your throat lightly as you placed your glass back down on the table. You received Alastor’s attention immediately, his eyes darting over to yours. “Yes, my dear?”

You smiled back at him. “Mimzy has a lot of nerve hyping this place up when it has such terrible customer service, doesn’t she?”

With no small amount of satisfaction, you noticed Alastor’s smile ease into something that almost resembled kind amusement. “Indeed,” Alastor hummed. “Though I must say, her choice in song is quite enjoyable.”

You shrugged, looking back at the dance floor. “It’s fine to dance to, I suppose. Not so much fun when you’re stuck sitting and waiting for someone to show up.”

There was no response. You returned your gaze to Alastor to see him looking at you almost curiously. “I wasn’t aware that you were one for dancing, my dear.”

A laugh bubbled up and pushed its way through your lips before you could stop it. You pressed your fingers to your lips to try and conceal it as Alastor tilted his head at you in confused interest.

At the sound of your laughter, his shadow suddenly perked up, quickly making its way over and sitting beside you.

When your giggle had finally subsided, you opened your mouth to respond to Alastor’s comment. It wasn’t completely his fault that he knew so little about your past life, after all, but you hadn’t expected that he, of all people, would make such blatant assumptions.

Before you could get a word out, though, the shadow placed a clawed hand under your chin, tilting your head to face it. Its fingers wandered until they reached the base of your throat before gently clawing their way back up, almost as if trying to coax another laugh out of you through touch alone.

It was so much more intimate than you had thought Alastor was capable of.

But then Alastor waved a hand in the air, summoning his shadow back to his side. It obeyed almost immediately, caressing your throat once more before melting back into the floor and returning to its rightful place.

You cleared your throat again, this time in an attempt to fight the red spots on your cheeks. Not that their presence had escaped Alastor’s notice. His smile had widened dramatically, though thankfully, he chose not to comment on the interaction, instead waiting for a response to his earlier comment.

“I do dance,” you finally replied, looking back up at the Overlord. “I used to dance plenty before…well, you know,” you said with a small grin. “I died.”

Alastor waved away your comment with a flourish. “Ah, yes, I do see how such a thing could impede on your abilities for a moment. Though, if I’m not mistaken, you now have two perfectly functioning legs.”

“But I haven’t been to a club since before I died. And there’s not much opportunity to show off my moves at the hotel,” you replied with a shrug. You tilted your head at the demon. “And you? Do you dance?”

The Overlord smiled wistfully. “Oh yes, I was quite known for my dancing abilities back in the land of the living.”

“I thought you were known for being a mass murdering radio host.”

Alastor shrugged, giving you a devious grin. “I’ve always been multitalented, my dear.”

You laughed again, this time trying to ignore the eager look you received from both Alastor and his shadow.

“You know,” you said slyly once you had calmed yourself, looking down at your empty glass. “I wouldn’t mind brushing up on my skills tonight after your meeting.” You looked up innocently, meeting Alastor’s eyes. “If you haven’t lost your impeccable skills, that is.”

The demon’s eyes flashed. “Careful, mon chere. I-”

“Alastor! How’re you doing, doll?”

You whipped your head around at the sound of the new voice. You stared as a short, blonde woman made her way across the floor, arms raised in welcome and a broad smile on her face.

Alastor, on the other hand, didn’t seem at all bothered as he greeted the woman. “Mimzy, dear,” he drawled, turning away from you. His smile stretched unnaturally. “You are extraordinarily late.”

The woman- Mimzy- waved her hand in indifference. “I’m busy running a business, Al, you know how it is. Can’t eva get anyone to do what you want without a bit of prodding.”

Her gaze slid over to you, eyes widening as her smile grew. “Say, Alastor, did you bring me a new toy?” Her eyes roamed over you slowly. “She’s a little dull, but I can spruce her right up.”

You suddenly felt very exposed.

You recoiled slightly, attempting to keep your movements unnoticeable as you pressed yourself further into the booth to get away from the Mimzy’s prying eyes.

You tried not to notice the way that other demons and sinners had begun to glance over at the sudden appearance of the bar’s owner. They aren’t looking at you, you told yourself. But you couldn’t help but take in Mimzy’s confident appearance and attitude, coupled with Alastor’s calm poise. You could see how the Mimzy could have mistaken you for one of Alastor’s wayward souls.

Almost as if it could sense your discomfort, Alastor’s shadow suddenly reared up and placed itself directly in front of you, blocking you from Mimzy’s line of sight.

“Unfortunately, Mimzy dear,” Alastor said from opposite you, though he avoided looking in your direction. “Charlie has grown quite attached to her little friend, and I doubt she would be thrilled to discover that I had allowed her to become a part of your…”

“Productions,” you piped up. Alastor’s shadow looked back at you in delight before shifting through the air to sit beside you once again.

“Precisely,” Alastor said.

Mimzy only shrugged, giving you a wink. “Well, I’m here if you change your mind, hun.”

She turned back to Alastor. “Let’s you and me talk for a bit, huh? I know this sorta thing ain’t really your cup of tea. I’ve got a room in the back that we can use. Your little doll will be alright on her own for a while, won’t she?”

At her words, Alastor finally turned to face you once again, his eyes roaming over your face for only a moment before he stood. “Of course. I never would have brought her otherwise.”

With that, he made to follow Mimzy without so much as a glance back in your direction. A move that he had made on purpose, you were sure. After all, it simply wouldn’t do to have others believe that the Radio Demon actually cared for someone.

Even so, you couldn’t help but sigh in disappointment as the two sinners walked away. From beside you, in the dim light that the club so generously provided, Alastor’s shadow placed its hand on yours comfortingly. You turned to face it with a smile. “At least I still have you.”

The shadow grinned, using its other hand to gently cradle your cheek, pulling you closer until your foreheads met. You closed your eyes, savoring the feeling as your heart grew light. The shadow might not have been Alastor himself, but you had learned enough to know that it was heavily influenced by Alastor’s own thoughts, feelings, and commands. This was as close to affectionate that he would ever be with you.

Suddenly, the shadow’s touch left you.

You opened your eyes to see that it was nowhere to be seen.

“My, my,” a voice said from behind you. You jerked forward in surprise, spinning around to see a tall, winged imp casually leaning against the booth. He definitely hadn’t been in the building a few minutes ago, you noted.

The imp leaned forward. “What’s a pretty little thing like you doing in a place like this?”

You flushed, glancing around to see if you could catch a glimpse of Alastor’s shadow. But it was as if it had never been beside you in the first place. Which would explain why the imp had decided to approach you at all. Nobody would have dared spoken to you if they knew that you were here with an Overlord.

You opened your mouth to tell him as much before you caught yourself, clamping your mouth shut. No matter how well Alastor’s conversation went with Mimzy, it was likely that he never would have danced with you anyway. There were too many eyes and ears here for him to let his guard down.

“You here alone?” the imp asked, trying his luck once more.

You fixed a smile on your face. If this was your only chance to dance, you were sure as Hell going to take it.

You stood, extending your hand in greeting. “Would you like to dance?”

The imp’s flirtatious smile changed to one of intrigue. “Straight to the point. I like it.”

You wiggled your fingers. “Are we going to dance, or what?”

The imp grinned, taking your hand and leading you on to the dance floor.

Sure, it wasn’t exactly what you were hoping for when you and Alastor had come to Mimzy’s club, but you figured that it would at least be a decent substitute for something that you would never be able to have.

You felt your smile slipping as the pair of you began to move to the music.

You hated moments like these, when you realized that no matter what you did or how you felt, you would never be able to show your feelings for Alastor in public. It wasn’t just the fact that he disliked physical touch, which you had never faulted him for. It was the fact that as one of Hell’s most powerful Overlords, he felt the overwhelming need to keep up an appearance. One that did not, unfortunately, include you.

A gentle touch snapped you back to reality. “You alright?” the imp asked.

No, you weren’t. But you weren’t going to let that stop you from dancing.

You nodded, taking the imp’s hand in yours as you began to move to the music once again. “I’m fine.” You smirked. “Now, show me what you’ve got.”

~~~

If you were to later ask anyone at Mimzy’s speakeasy what had happened that night, you would probably receive a whole mix of stories.

Some would say that the Radio Demon had suddenly appeared out of nowhere, his antlers growing and his bones cracking as he laid waste to the bar, presumably for fun or out of an unjust anger.

Others would say that he had come to seek some sort of revenge on a winged imp that had been spotted dancing before he suddenly disappeared, not to be seen again.

One specific witness, who shall remain nameless, would say that she had been speaking to an old friend about a business opportunity that he had foolishly taken no interest in. As she was speaking, a shadow had entered the room, whispering in its owner's ear. Her old friend had walked away from her, re-entering her bar, where he was met with the view of an imp dancing with the very woman that he had brought here in the first place.

The witness hadn’t even had time to blink before her friend had taken on his true demon form, batting people aside as if they were only flies before promptly picking up the imp dancing with the woman and melting into the shadows with him.

When her friend returned, he refused to say what he had done with the poor imp, though the witness had no trouble making a few assumptions. He had walked over to the women, gently taken her hand, and gave the witness a clipped farewell before vanishing with the women into the shadows.

It was a brutal display, even for the Radio Demon. If the witness had to guess, she would assume that perhaps the woman had something to do with the whole debacle.

Not that she would ever say so to anyone else, of course. She knew better.

You, however, had no trouble saying straight to Alastor’s face what you believed had happened.

“We were dancing, Al. It was harmless. If I’d needed your help, you would have known.”

“You would never have summoned me if he was threatening you, my dear.”

You groaned and buried your face in your hands. The two of you had been going back and forth like this ever since he had so graciously brought you back to the hotel from Mimzy’s bar.

You lifted your head and took a breath before continuing. “If he was threatening me, we probably wouldn’t have been just dancing.”

Alastor’s eyes flashed dangerously, his shadow rearing up and scowling in disgust.

You whirled around and pointed at the shadow. “And you. You went and told him that something bad was happening, didn’t you? You are a liar and a rat, my friend.”

At your words, the shadow suddenly shrank down in size and hid behind its owner, almost as if trying to avoid your accusatory glare.

Alastor, on the other hand, didn’t break eye contact. “He only meant to protect you, my dear, the way he was instructed to.”

“What did you think I would need protecting from, exactly? I can’t exactly die again, can I?”

“There are things far worse than a second death, my dear,” Alastor said with false sweetness.

He was right, you knew. You had almost been subjected to such a thing after your death, when you had sold your soul to the Vees. You still weren’t sure exactly how it had happened, but Alastor himself had found out about you and somehow saved you from a life of imprisonment and torture.

Not everyone was as lucky as you were.

But that wasn’t why you were upset.

As soon as Alastor had saved you from the Vees, you had been determined to help him even a fraction of the way that he had helped you. You owed him so much more than that, you knew, but it was the only thing that you could give. And so, from that moment forward, you had tried your very best to become a solid and stable presence for Alastor, unmoving in your trust in him and, hopefully, eventually something like a friend.

But tonight, you had done the exact opposite. To see the Radio Demon defend you was to know that he felt things like affection, or even something more than indifference. That wouldn’t do for his reputation at all, you knew, and you hated yourself for being the cause of it.

You sighed in defeat, crossing your arms over your chest in defense. “I know that,” you said, holding your position and glaring daggers at the Overlord. “But I also know that you risked a lot today by protecting me. I’m not worth losing your power over-”

You gasped as Alastor appeared directly in front of you, glaring intensely. He didn’t lift a finger, but you swore you could feel the heat of his gaze.

“I do hope you haven’t finally started to doubt me, my dear.”

“Never,” you promised, searching his gaze.

The Overlord stepped back, his stretched out smile immediately concealing his true feelings. “Wonderful,” he said. “Then we both understand that my power and status will forever remain.”

You nodded once before finally breaking eye contact, choosing to look down at the floor.

You could feel the anger seeping out of you slowly, replaced by embarrassment. Of course Alastor would never give up his power for you. Even if someone had truly seen the incident, it was unlikely that anyone would ever be able to use it to their advantage. You were talking about the Radio Demon himself, after all.

“You’re right,” you muttered, wrapping your arms tightly around yourself. “I made a foolish assumption.” You smiled to yourself. “I seem to be full of those today. I’m sorry.”

You were met with silence.

But before you could look up, you suddenly felt the cool touch of a shadow. It rested its hands against your cheeks, tilting your head up to make eye contact. It moved its thumbs in slow circles, leaning down until your foreheads were touching. It didn’t move any closer than that, but you knew that this was more than anyone else had ever received.

It was lovely.

But oh, how you wished it were really him.

The shadow stepped back, returning to its place beside its owner.

Alastor himself acted as though he hadn’t noticed the interaction at all, instead looking around your room as if seeing it for the first time.

“I do plan to maintain my powers, my dear,” Alastor repeated.

Before you could even open your mouth to reply, he pushed forward. “Although,” he said, almost thoughtfully. “I certainly wouldn’t mind losing a few souls to keep what is most certainly mine.”

He looked towards you then, his gaze hard, as if daring you to argue.

And you should have. You should have told him that you weren’t worth losing souls for. You should have told him that you only wanted to help him, never hinder him.

You should have done lots of things.

What you did do, however, was smile and duck your head to hide your rising blush.

You looked back up and extended your hand wordlessly.

Alastor looked down at it before glancing back up at you, his eyebrow raised in a silent question as his shadow looked on eagerly from behind him.

Your smile only widened. “I believe, good sir, that you owe me a dance.”

The shadow nearly leapt with excitement, rushing forward and taking your hand.

You laughed at its enthusiasm before Alastor stepped forward and waved his hand, whisking the shadow away and taking its place.

He placed his hand under yours, bringing your hand up to place a soft kiss on the back of your knuckles before releasing you and straightening. Slowly, he brought his claws to the base of your throat before gently dragging them back up until he reached your chin. He tilted your face up further to meet his gaze before dropping his hand down to yours once more.

With his other hand, he waved his staff, summoning a slow dance tune that seemed to emanate from the walls themselves.

You tried to ignore the heat in your cheeks and looked up curiously. “Didn’t you used to dance to songs that were a bit more lively?”

Alastor smiled gently down at you before summoning his shadow and surrendering his staff to it. “I did indeed, mon chere. But we aren’t exactly alive now, are we?”

You smiled back in agreement. “No, I suppose we’re not.”

You placed your hand on his shoulder as he placed his hand on your waist. He lowered his head down until your foreheads were touching and began swaying, taking you with him on his slow trek around your bedroom floor.

You couldn’t have asked for anything more.

~~~

If you asked anyone at the hotel what had happened in your room that night, you would receive a few different stories.

Angel Dust would have told you that the Radio Demon had suckered a poor woman into going out with him that night, and you were most likely getting it on.

Charlie would have told you that she hadn’t seen either Alastor or the hotel’s newest resident all evening, though she doubted that the two of you had gone off somewhere together. Right?

Husk would have told you that he felt sorry for the woman who had gotten caught in the Radio Demon’s line of sight. You were such a sweet thing, and you deserved so much better.

You would have simply smiled and shrugged, giving nothing away.

Nobody would have dared ask the Radio Demon, of course.

But if anyone had bothered to ask the shadows, they would have received a rather lovely story about two sinners who had found their peace, only for a moment, dancing in each other’s arms that night.

An Overlord and a sinner.

A woman and a man.

Two damned souls, finding home at last.

Part 3 Here!!

A/N 2: I didn’t get to proofread, but I hope you guys still enjoyed it! If you read the first fic (or even if you haven’t), I’m thinking of making another part where it’s platonic Angel Dust x reader and he finally gets to give her a makeover. Let me know if you want to be tagged!

Also, I want to write more Alastor x reader (maybe a continuation of sorts, maybe not) so let me know if you guys want to be tagged in those!

Taglist: @severusminerva @anh4125 @midorichoco @rapturenyx-blog @maybememoriesx

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onegirlatelier · 1 year ago

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April, 2024 | Shetland lace shawl

Hi there! It’s been a while. I’ve been kept busy by all my university work…and this shawl.

The shawl is knitted to celebrate the wedding of my friend (now friends, I should say). A wedding is really the perfect excuse for all the heritage crafts and heirloom projects that might seem too serious to gift in other occasions. I did ask the recipient beforehand if she would like it, though, and I was so, so honoured that I got an enthusiastic ‘yes’. I’m sure this sentiment is shared by many makers, whatever gift they are making.

Shetland fine openwork, a knitted lace, seems to have emerged with the beginning of the reign of Queen Victoria, who championed and popularised the craft. It was probably spread from the Isle of Unst to other parts of Shetland. What surprised me the most when I first read about it was that Shetland shawls and other lace pieces were largely exported as luxury items and rarely worn by islanders themselves. Women bought yarn from spinners and knitted mostly in their homes. They then took them to local merchants and exchange the finished objects for goods or (commonly after the 1880s) money to supplement the household income. The ‘supplement’ nature of this work probably means it was not compensated as much as a job outside the home would be for the same hours and skills. Besides, it was not always easy to spin an even 1-ply yarn at 1600 metres per 100 grams. For a piece of knitting with a large ‘plain’ area (i.e. only knit stitches), the unevenness was impossible to hide but could only be discovered after the area was worked. Then the maker had to either frog (unravel) the area or continue with the risk of the whole piece not being able to sell.

Whilst it is very reasonable to point out that Shetland ladies did not usually wear this type of lace (I’ve been to the Scottish Highlands once, in summer, and it was not fine lace weather), I imagine that at least for some, it wasn’t just about making money. Some sort of fulfilment must have been from the satisfaction of having a piece ‘properly done’ by continuing and adapting a traditional pattern, technique or material. I think this sort of satisfaction is also why many modern knitters are willing to spend hundreds of hours on lacework.

Intricate handknitted lace items can still be bought today (a quick search on Etsy would show many are form eastern European countries with a long and prominent craft tradition), but many are knitted for friends or family members. It always makes me so happy to see people share the gifts they have made, whether big or small, simple or complex. I joke with my online craft friends that no handmade fibre project can claim to be so unless they have a hair or two woven into it. It is the proof of existence for the maker, who tries to go against the irregular nature of handicrafts and, at the same time, accepts it. It is about wrapping up hours, weeks or months in one’s life, along with the songs they have listened to and the perfume they have worn and the memories they have made, and putting it squarely in someone else’s hands and saying: ‘All this, for you.’

A Wedding Shawl

I have not read anything about there being a standard form of ‘wedding shawl’ in the Shetland tradition. However, there is definitely a category of square shawls with similar sizes and a few construction methods. The samples I’ve seen mostly measure 1.5-2m on one side and have three parts: a central panel, four borders and a strip of edging. It is worked flat in garter lace from centre out.

Neither is there a standardised yarn weight. A widely available yarn is the Shetland Supreme Lace Weight 1-ply by Jamieson and Smith, which weighs at 400m/25g. The Queen Ring Shawl examined by Sharon Miller used a yarn at 700m/25g. From my experience, if you want the shawl to be a true ring shawl (i.e. you want to be able to pull the shawl through a ring) at the size of the Queen Ring Shawl (210cm on the side), go for 700m/25g or finer.

I chose a rectangular shawl because I had very limited time, but I did enlarge it because for me, an abundance of fabric does mean an abundance of cozy happiness.

Pattern

Shell Grid and Spider Webs Puzzle, pattern No.19 in the book Shetland Knitting Lace by Toshiyuki Shimada.

The names of the motifs are confusing. One motif (or two highly similar motifs) might just have two different names if they are produced in two different regions. Names do not mean everything, but I’ve had fun trying to match the motifs with names according to this article by Carol Christiansen at the Shetland Museum.

The double yarnovers (YO's) in the diamonds were called Cat's Eye, but perhaps the 'Spider Web' in the pattern name is referring to the three rows of double YO's in the centre panel. It has a really simple but effective edging.

Yarn

Mermaid Lace, in colourway #naturel, sold by Great British Wool in the Netherlands. This yarn is 75% merino and 25% sea algae silk. ‘Sea algae silk’ seems to be a semi-synthetic plant fibre like viscose, with algae involved as part of the raw material. (At this price point I don’t think it has anything to do with sea silk, which is fibre produced by actual shells.) The brand name for the most popular product of its type is probably Seacell.

I bought the yarn, because I had never worked with this fibre before and was curious. What I like: it was a little cheaper than a wool/silk blend and has blocked very well. The whole skein was continuous so I didn’t have to deal with a single yarn joint. What I do not like: it lacks the sheen and smoothness of real silk and doesn’t feel as strong, although it doesn’t shed. In conclusion, I’d rather use a traditional Shetland 1-ply or another natural fibre yarn.

It's also worth mentioning that whilst I prefer to support small businesses, it was disappointing to have received a 93-gram skein when I had ordered 100 grams. It was one of those days between Christmas and the New Year and I somehow did not contact the customer service, but I really should have.

Needle

2.5mm 80cm circular needles. See modification below.

Modification

This Japanese knitting book follows Japanese sizing for knitting needles. The suggested size was no. 1=2.4mm. I figured that I could use a 2.5mm since I knitted on the tighter side, and in any case it was probably okay to make the lacework a little more open by going up a needle size.

I am not going to give out the pattern, but it is probably necessary to explain the structure of this shawl. The centre is knitted first, and then an edging is knitted onto it by picking up either live stitches or the vertical edge of the centre as you go (see schematic below). The four ‘corners’ of the edging have short-row shaping to help it lay flat. I know that traditionally people can achieve this by other methods, but I haven’t tried any of those yet.

I enlarged the pattern by increasing both the width and the length. I casted on 133 stitches instead of 101 for the centre panel and knitted Part B 8.5 times instead of 5.5. The spider web pattern in Part B requires the stitch count to be (something dividable by four) plus two, so I made one central increase before the spider web to get 134 and a central decrease after it to get it back to 133. Due to the openness of the lace, the change of one stitch is not visible.

The enlargement meant I had to recalculate the edging as well, because the number of stitches available for pick-up changed. Originally, at each corner you do two repeats with four short-row shaping each. I did 1.5 repeats following the original placement of short-row shaping in order to make the total number of repeats fit the number of edge stitches on the centre panel.

The pattern says to Kitchener-stitch the last row of the edging to the provisional cast-on. It just didn’t make sense because that would be two rows too much (the Kitchener stitch row plus the provisional cast-on row). To make the number perfectly fit, I knitted only ten rows of the last repeat (there were usually twelve in each repeat). Then I Kitchener-stitched the end to the provisional cast-on, following the lace pattern. I am quite proud of this solution because it is completely invisible.

Somewhere in the pattern it said to purl (looking from the right side). It seemed strange because the rest of the lace was entirely garter. I knitted those stitches and so far I haven’t sensed a ‘mistake’.

The pattern originally calls for 45 grams of yarn. I estimated (based on the increase of stitches in the centre panel) to need about 80 grams. I ended up using 86 grams. Besides the inaccuracies in my estimation, it was probably also because I knitted much more loosely than expected as it was difficult to tension the yarn tightly at such a weight. Like I've point out in the Yarn section above, I was lucky not to have needed more than 93 grams.

The original finished size is 53*118cm. I ended up with approximately 70*170cm.

Conclusion

This shawl took about three months of my craft time i.e. one full day every week for three months and many mornings before I had to leave for university. Knitting outside my room just didn’t work because I was a) engaged in some other activities that made it difficult to steady my hands, and b) worried about putting a white shawl on any public surface.

The pattern itself is relatively straightforward. The first difficulty was, of course, to understand the instruction written in Japanese. Google translate was horrible so I had to rely on my knitting experience. Fortunately, much of the text description was also found in graphs and charts. Then I had to get my hands used to the tiny yarn. After that, it was only fiddly when I did the edging, because I had to turn about every twelve stitches, and by that time I was handling a giant cloud of stitches on my lap. It did give me a lot of time to go over my favourite documentaries and films, and the last bit of edging was surprisingly quick!

Traditionally, Shetland shawls could be sent back to the maker for maintenance. I think it only fair for me to offer that too because I don’t want a gift to become a trouble (same as how you do not use non-machine-washable yarn for baby knits).

In general, I am very pleased with this shawl. It does pass the ring test, despite not being a traditional wedding shawl size or thickness. I do have a whole lot of actual Shetland 1-ply in my stash, so I am really looking forward to taking my Queen Ring Shawl project out of hibernation in the near future.

Reference list for Introduction

Christiansen, Carol. Shetland fine lace knitting: Recreating patterns from the past. Marlborough: Crowood, 2024.

Mann, Joanna. 'Knitting the Archive: Shetland Lace and Ecologies of Skilled Practice'. Cultural Geographies 25, no. 1 (January 28, 2017): 91–106. https://doi.org/10.1177/1474474016688911.

#knitting #knitblr #shetland lace #lace knitting #gift-knitting #stories

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sambuckyevents · 19 days ago

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Announcing the SamBucky Reverse Bang!

The SamBucky Reverse Bang is a Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes fanwork event, where artists submit artwork and writers create a 3K minimum story based on the work that they claim.

Some things to note:

This event is 18+ only.

No AI-generated fanworks are allowed.

This is a collaborative event: you must work with your partner artist/author.

Our Schedule:

Sign Ups Open: August 1st

1st Artist Check In/Artist Sign Ups Close: August 31st

2nd Artist Check in: September 27th

Artist 70% Drafts Due: October 25th

Art Previews: Oct 29 - 31

Claims Open: Nov 1

Team Check in 1: December 6

Team Check in 2/Posting Date Claims: January 3

Posting Starts: Feb 1

Rules and further information below the cut:

General rules:

Participants must be 18+.

All fanworks must have SamBucky as their main and endgame pairing. The story must focus on these two, but side pairings are allowed. Fanart should be related to the main ship. Threesomes including SamBucky ARE ALLOWED but Sam/Bucky MUST be part of the endgame ship.

Do not share portions of the fanwork in open communities/chats etc before claiming.

Participants are welcome to sign up as both artist and author but cannot claim their own work.

All fanworks need to be created specifically for the event.

Absolutely no AI-generated/assisted media is allowed.

Requirements for Authors:

All fics must be new and unpublished.

All fics must be at least 3,000 words (no maximum).

All fics must be beta read before publishing.

All fics must adhere to AO3 guidelines.

Requirements for Artists:

All creations must be new and unpublished

Any and all forms of art are welcome.

Photosets/moodboards or gifsets must have at least 6 images each.

Videos must be 1:30 or more in length

Mixes must have at least 8 songs and a cover.

Publishing fanworks:

To be included in the wrap up post, fanworks must be completed and fully posted by your post date.

Not finishing a claimed fic or fanart within the event’s schedule results in exclusion from the event’s masterpost and a year-long ban from the event. INFORMATION & FAQ What exactly is a Reverse Bang?

A reverse bang is a fandom event in which an artist creates a piece of art, and an author claims it and writes a fic for it.

Do I have to join Discord/Tumblr/other platform to participate?

Nope! As long as you have access to this Tumblr (because this is where all updates/information will be posted) and a valid email you can provide upon sign up, we do not require you to join any platform.

What pairings are allowed?

Any pairing can be included as long as Sam and Bucky are part of your main ship/end game ship.

What content is allowed?

Any content is allowed as long as it is appropriately tagged for. Authors, you must ensure that your artist partner is comfortable with the content you're including.

Can I use a work created for commission/auction/Patreon reward etc for this event?

No.

Can I tie my Big Bang work in with a bingo event?

Yes, as long as you are able to meet the requirements of both events AND your teammate is amenable to having their work tied to that event as well.

How many works can I create?

We will allow up to three pieces per person for this event. Please be sure that you’re able to meet necessary deadlines before signing up to create more than one work!

Can the story be a sequel to a story?

Not for this event.

What counts as art?

Art is pretty subjective, we’re happy to accept the usuals of: traditional art, manips, videos, comics and moodboards, mixtapes, and podfic. Just ask if what you’re planning isn’t listed.

#sambucky #sam wilson #bucky barnes #sambucky reverse bang

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driaswrld · 2 years ago

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one night only! — gojo satoru and geto suguru.

wc : 2.1k

summary : fem!reader goes to a club with shoko to be free from her scary guard dog besties, satoru and suguru show up anyway, just a bunch of intimacy really. maybe one lil suggestive part w satoru?? mention of wlw shoko and possible insinuation of stoner geto lmao

part of : the star paradox collection.

notes : i headcanon poly satosugu as often toeing the line between platonic love and romantic love bcus these three idiots rlly can't tell the diff sometimes. also shoko is gay and is my gf don't @ me. also this is ooc of how satoru and suguru would be at a club cs lets be fr satoru would be an emotional drunken mess while suguru is in the bathroom smoking or smth

other : im having so many teenage romance thoughts ab poly satosugu. also this was kinda inspired by a poly marauders fic i read agesss ago

current casette : i was never there - the weeknd. me and your mama - childish gambino.

You can feel the bass of the music in your throat, your heartbeat racing to catch up with it.

Parties like these only had one common thread : brainless, brainless fun.

“That one over there,” Shoko murmurs against your ear as discreetly as she can, but just as loud as for you to hear her over the thumping music inside the club. Your gaze moves from the sequin strap across Shoko’s shoulder and over to a girl across the way, a redhead, leaning against the bar and knocking back an expensive looking drink. “She’s pretty.” You turn your head to Shoko’s ear.

Satoru and Suguru have been… hovering these past few weeks.

You love them, truly, the bestest best friends anyone could ask for. But two popular conventionally attractive men by your side at all times? It does put a damper on your love life. Shoko would be able to understand your point of view — if she wasn’t playing for the other team at least.

The redhead looks over her shoulder out at the mass of bodies on the dancefloor, the dark blue dress she has on really accentuates her figure — among other things. “You should go tal–” Before you can finish, Shoko’s mouth is agape, eyes fixed on the girl, and being the wingwoman that you are, you shove her forward a little. “Talk to her.”

“You sure?” Shoko wobbles forward, tipsy but sober enough to take a pretty girl home. The neon lights inside the club flash pink and blue then red and green then pink and—

“I don’t wanna abandon you, name.” You only laugh at Shoko, giving her two firm thumbs up, nudging her forward again, and still, she stands there contemplating. That is, until the redhead turns around and locks eyes with Shoko.

Oh, she’s far gone already.

“Don’t leave my peripheral.” Shoko kisses the side of your cheek and begins to saunter off, just as the song playing in the club changes to a softer, more sensual song.

There’s something about parties. Something that gives you the uneasy feeling two specific people could pop up at any time – two people you’re trying very hard to make clear to that you’re your own woman.

What makes a grown man wanna cry?

You slide back to the spot on the dancefloor you and Shoko shared moments ago, and with a sigh of near relief, you let the music transcend you to a different realm. Your body sways among the masses, a tinge of alcohol probably clouding your judgement because on any other occasion you’d find dancing in public embarrassing—

When it’s time, when it’s time, when it’s time, it won’t matter

There’s a sense of complete euphoria that washes over you, and before you know it, a slender arm snakes around your waist. And despite your better judgement, you know who it is before you look over your shoulder.

It’s an eerily intimate thing, feeling the chill of the six eyes raking over you.

You’re sure Suguru must be the only other person to feel how it feels, the goosebumps that rise on your flesh, hair standing on end. But not in fear. In something else entirely—

“You’re so pretty.” Satoru whispers against the edge of your ear. He doesn’t sound drunk. At the very least he barely sounds tipsy, just a small slur of speech in between, and you look over your shoulder at him.

“Prettier than you?” You stop moving and let out a laugh, and he goes brainless. Crystalline orbs stare down at you, and he pulls your body flush against him, pressing his body into yours from behind.

“Don’t stop,” he mumbles and your body sways, resuming with the rhythm of the blaring music. A whisper of the lyrics leaves his mouth, and you nearly forget how he knows the song — must’ve been in one of Suguru’s playlists. One of those playlists he keeps.

“Satoru—” you’re about to scold him, maybe tell him this is a thin line, one you’ve been toeing for too long.

Satoru brings his other arm around your waist, both his hands meeting in accord atop the flesh of your stomach. He waits for a beat, waits for you to tell him no, but it never comes.

I’m on the edge of something breaking

His head dips to your height, his hair tickles the back of your neck. You can feel the heat from his lips on your skin as he hums along to the lyrics. “Just feel it for a little...” He whispers.

Even in his tipsy but not-so-tipsy state, he knows exactly what he's doing. You think, maybe he’s always known. At least in body but not in mind.

If I keep going I won’t make it

A sigh escapes your lips, something akin to a breath of relief, like a weight lifts off your shoulders.

Satoru’s body grinds forward onto you, and your head tilts back onto his chest, a mouthful of lyrics leaving your mouth in a gasp. “Feels good, yeah?” He grins down at you, pleased, his voice a bit off-key in a more Satoru-like fashion.

“Didn’t know you knew the song,” the words leave your lips as you both lock eyes. He rolls his eyes and sinks his teeth into the exposed flesh of your shoulder playfully.

“Suguru plays it all the time—” He replies, then continues to hum along with the song, his voice barely sounding like his own. “It’s too sexy to not know.”

There’s a sense of comfort in not knowing the depth of what you feel in this moment.

Satoru spins you around to face him, and the breath leaves your lungs. And the moment in between knowing what your relationship is and not knowing all but fades to black.

And with the way he looks into your eyes, and leans forward, you think he just might break the line two.

And it’s all because of you—

The song fades out, to a more upbeat one, and Satoru’s hands fall limp at his sides. Suddenly, you remember how to breathe. And you swallow the lump in your throat, all while he gives you the signature goofy grin you’ve come to cherish.

You turn your head to look across the mini crowd, and Shoko is still there, one arm slung around the redhead as they both knock back shots.

Temporary. It’s no big deal, you and Satoru were just tipsy.

But that sense of relief is short-lived.

Embarrassingly so.

“Boo.” A sharp exhale leaves your lips as soon as you turn your head, and instead of Satoru staring down at you, your view is blocked by Suguru.

You look at him like a lost child, and he rears his head away to laugh at you. “Don’t look so scared, name.” He smirks, slyly, like Suguru always does when he’s taunting.

“You dumbass—” You breathe, a hand colliding with the edge of his shoulder in a soft shove and Satoru can’t help but laugh at the sight before him.

Then, Suguru’s fingers wrap around your wrist, two, then four then he’s tugging you forward, straight into him and Satoru. “Don’t be so mean to me, you’ll break my heart.” He says it so condescendingly, with such a smile that makes your heart leap at your current predicament.

Satoru really wasn’t done. He just brought in reinforcements.

“As if—” You grumble, and the lights dim for a second before flashing a neon purple. And that’s all the time Satoru and Suguru need.

“—I have a heart?” Suguru towers over you, and he bends his knees just a little, resting his chin against your shoulder so you can hear him. “Or as if you could break it?”

You think Suguru’s been smoking. The warmth of his breath against your bare skin makes you shiver a little. You think you feel a little dizzy just from looking at him.

The way his eyes are downcast, eyelids heavy, like he’s bordering on the precipice of eternal sleep or the best dream he’s ever had, one he doesn't want to wake from.

He looks at you like you're the latter rather than the former.

Satoru swings his hand forward, interlocking his fingers with yours, pale slender digits finding purchase between yours as he moves to your side. “As if to both.” He rolls his eyes, and Suguru lets out a soft whistle, “You’re so cold, Satoru.”

The song playing begins to fade out, and Suguru takes advantage of the few seconds before the song switches, that small gap of silence, and he whispers, “Dance with us..?”

“Duh.” You grab ahold of Suguru’s hand with your free one, all while Satoru’s grip on your other hand tightens just a little. “Who else would I dance with?”

These things are no secret, never have been and never will be. And you have a funny feeling you know why your love life remains so stagnant.

How does the old age thing go? Never let your girl have a boy bestfriend. Or worse, two.

The three of you saunter to the middle of the dancefloor, the neon lights flashing shades of blue.

And if you didn’t know better, you’d say whoever the DJ is, they’ve got a sick sense of humor.

Because they manage to play the most romantically erotic song you could ever hear in a club setting. Ironically, a song you recognize from your playlist — no doubt you learned it from one of Suguru’s tracklists. A very extensive one titled with a leaf emoji.

I’m in love when we are smoking that—

Suguru’s arm moves to wrap around your waist from in front, and he tugs you close as the soft tempo reverberates through the room. He shrugs some of his hair off his shoulder, dark eyes finding yours and he doesn’t dare look away for a second.

Suguru must think you're a pipe dream. That you’ll disappear if he blinks.

Your bodies rock from side to side and Satoru doesn’t let go of your hand, instead he slides behind you, following the rhythm you and Suguru have set in tune, raising your intertwined hands to his lips, and for a moment he uses them as a makeshift microphone to sing—

La-la-la-la-la

Suguru grins and he presses his chin atop your head, his other arm coming around to hug you close to his chest, while Satoru meets you both halfway, and it’s really just a sandwich swaying side to side with you in the middle.

I’m in love when we are smoking that—

What initially started off as something so simple, you coming to a club with Shoko wanting to finally get laid since your best friends managed to scare all the guys off — has turned into something so soft, so intimate.

There are never many words, never much explanation when you’re with Satoru and Suguru.

And it’s clear none of the three of you know what this is or where you stand. But for now, that’s okay.

La-la-la-la-la

“You okay?” Suguru dips his head to mumble into your ear, and you nod, words failing you.

In truth, you’ve never felt so soft, so safe yet so… vulnerable. But that’s also okay.

Satoru cranes his neck and leans his body over yours to look between you and Suguru, having not heard a thing. “You two okay?”

And you laugh. Suguru does too.

Suguru’s arms around you keeps you grounded against him, and Satoru’s weight against your back keeps you firm between them. “If you need us to stop… if you need a drink I can—” Suguru tries, but you cut him off with a soft pat to his shoulder.

“Don’t stop,” you mimic Satoru’s words from earlier as your own into Suguru’s chest and he melts. “Yeah?” He whispers.

“Yeah.” You affirm, and he nods, his chin going back to rest atop your head. And you wrap a free arm around Suguru’s middle, the other still softly interlaced with Satoru’s at your side. “M’ happy here.”

“In the club?” Suguru asks, albeit a little louder so you can hear him an amused smile slipping onto his features. “No, just—” Your words fail you. But this, there can’t be any intent without feeling, true unbiased feeling.

And you feel it, coursing through you in soft waves for them.

That unbiased wavy feeling, almost like you’re floating. That feeling for them. Though you don’t quite know what to call it yet.

“Here,” you mumble and a smile stretches onto your face. “With you, and Satoru too.”

Suguru stops swaying a bit, and at the change in movement Satoru stops too, peering over your shoulder to see what’s happening.

But Suguru only grins a little. “I’m happy too,” he says. Then he glances at Satoru, and Satoru glances to you. “I guess if you two are so happy, then me too.” Satoru chuckles.

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