#//There have been many thoughts and feelings on his dynamic with them and how it's treated in canon.

[noggy]

Ninjago dr s3 spoilers

Felt like they could have gone more transformers with the design, also give bro wings he gotta be more bird.

Also Minor brainstorm over dynamics

I feel it would have made more sense for sora to go with Zane and zanth over Lloyd, Frak and riyu. So Lloyd could get more room to think over Arin leaving, Frak would be a good character to bounce off Lloyd's personal feelings of letting Arin go. ( Imo it does not give any major showing of his opinion besides the end of season twist moment) ,over Frak's opinion that Arin is clearly getting manipulated, bros been through this before. It could be tied to his whole thing in crystalized about not getting a choice. Would also give some context to Lloyd letting Arin and sora go, even if it's dangerous to do so, letting them choose their own path.

And for sora and Zane, I feel it has really good potential for a dynamic. Like that but with Zanth dancing with the bird and have Sora be the one to be " Zanth that's goofy stop," and Zane could pipe in explaining " that's just how you communicate with birds", Sora would just be confused and Zane would elaborate saying something like "my brother was a bird" only making Sora more confused. Also it would be cool if they followed the bird to the other monastery, the episode is already" here is nostalgic Zane thing, it would fit. Could also explore Sora's question about Zane dealing with his grief over Pixal's disappearance, maybe add some foreshadowing to Sora's choice to go with Arin and Ras. ( honestly I have so many thoughts I'ma make a follow up post eventually)

[optics-anddesign]

wowow adore the conversation in the comments! have so many thoughts abut not enough room to type them in the comments so boom reblog ! pinging @muse-of-fire as u seemed very interested in my thoughts :]c

For anyone that is not the 3 people that were chatting in the comments: this is a very long post about the hypothetical logistics of consent within Severance, there is much discussion of rape/SA/forced pregnancy below so tread cautiously & stay safe.

I’ll start with saying I think most of this really depends, on a lot of factors, and a lot of personal feelings, and a lot of dynamics. I’d say this is the case for most things bodysharing, and it tends to be near impossible to set any sort of standard within bodysharing dynamics, so I’m not really going to try.

Okay

I don’t think any severed person having sex automatically falls into the non-con category, but it does have a lot of chances to go there especially given the circumstances the severed people exist within.

I think at baseline, it’d already be pretty fair for any innie to feel violated at the fact that their body may have been used for sex before, or may currently be being used for sex, and that they can’t remember it & don’t have any idea what it did/might do to them. But I think the main issue here is how the innies are treated and that they are unable to figure this information out or set boundaries around it if desired, I think because of the structure of Lumon and the power dynamic set up between the outies and innies that an outie having sex after they’ve been severed could constitute as SA against their innie if the innie felt that way about it. In this case I also think it could be reasonable to class whoever their outtie had sex with as an assaulter as well if that’s how the innie felt, but it would strongly depend on the intention behind the act, if they knew the other person was severed and again, the innies feelings on the situation. I don’t think it would really be reasonable to condemn that person as a rapist (nor do I feel that way about the outtie in this scenario) but I think it would be entirely justified for an innie to view their outtie/someone their outtie had sex with that way.

On the inverse I don’t really think innies having sex can be classified as SA against their outie because the outie most likely signed a consent form, as gemmafuckingscout mentioned Mark does acknowledge his innie having a girlfriend as a possibility, and given that it happened aswell with Burt and Irving and knowing how Lumon operates I think it’s safe to say it’s probably in the waiver somewhere. But either way I think since the outties purposefully created the innies they should reasonably assume this full person they consented to sharing a body with may want to pursue romantic or sexual relations and I think them deciding that’s Not Allowed, especially with the current dynamic between outties and innies, is probably not reasonable. I don’t think it would be unreasonable for them to potentially feel violated by it, but I do think it would be unreasonable for them to attempt to class it is SA from their innie or be upset with them for it. I think that’s probably something they should’ve thought of before getting severed, and although the blame is ultimately with Lumon for inventing this whole structure and misleading them about the logistics of it, I do think the outties hold responsibility to think critically about what they’re agreeing to, and to realize there is no way to make a perfectly compliant work you without the system Lumon has set up, and that obviously any other person you create is going to want a full life, and that might include sex. I don’t think in this scenario whoever the innie had sex with could be said to have assaulted anyone either, especially considering the other person is highly likely to be an innie themself, however again it really depends on their intention, and I would still understand if the outtie felt violated or uncomfortable by them.

NOW

As far as an innie OR outtie getting sexually assaulted, I strongly believe that automatically counts as sexual assault against all parts, innie, outtie, Gemma’s 25 room friends, if one of them is assaulted they have all been assaulted. Mostly because a lot of aftereffects of sexual assault are physical, and we know through real science that the body will still feel those effects, including the emotionally ones, to some degree even with no recollection of the event. So even if there is zero emotional bleed through between severed states (which I personally don’t believe) the parts of the body they share like the nervous system and shit are going to remember what happened. They also share the same body so any physical injuries that happen during the attack, any diseases contracted as a result of it, or any pregnancies that occur will be felt by both of them, like in the case of Jame’s assaults we know he got severed workers pregnant and one of them even sued him for it.

I will also say for Mark S’ assault specifically, him and Mark Scout were already reintegrating at this point and we see Mark Scout get flashes of the assault, so it’s most definitely effecting both of them, even though Mark Scout doesn’t yet know what he’s remembering was an assault.

Dear god this is long. Okay-

Now in regards to a severed individual committing SA and what that would mean for the other part of them, I think it would be extremely reasonable for either innie or outie to consider it as SA against them as well. Someone pretending to be you to manipulate or harm another is already going to feel violating, throw in the fact that it was actually your body and that is going to get so much worse. I think the outtie could reasonably consider their innie committing SA as a SA against them aswell, as it’s not something you would reasonably assume your innie would do when consenting to them existing, and your body being used for something you (hopefully) morally disagree with is going to be a lot more emotionally taxing than your innie just having consensual sex. I think as long as this hypothetical outtie doesn’t make themselves out to the primary victim, it would be incredibly reasonable for them to consider it SA. In Helly’s situation I think it is even more reasonable to consider it sexual assault from Helena given that it was an outie, who’s already subjected their innie to a life they don’t want, who’s already got this extreme power dynamic (especially in Helena’s case) coming in and using their innies identity and body in a way she did not consent to in order to have sex. We see this invoke a lot of classic post-SA feelings in Helly and I think it’s incredibly reasonable to consider this as SA against Helly, though again I would still say to leave room for Mark S being the primary victim.

WOWWEEE okay I think that’s all my main thoughts. Uhm random things I considered while writing this???

- Was thinking about poor Gabbie severed purely for giving birth and realized it’s totally fucked to get pregnant at all while severed, imagine how horrific it would be to wake up one day pregnant & have to live w that for 8 hours a day for 9 months and then never get to see the baby, holy shit.

- Ethics of and outie and innie having consensual sex? Certainly not inherently unethical but I’m struggling to picture how/where it would even happen without a huge power imbalance. Like the only outties and innies that really interact are boss/employee of Innie Slavery Incorporated so idk where one would find this hypothetically consenting couple, but it’d be interesting to discuss. Though I admit I fear that conversation might get ableist really quickly lol.

ERRMM yeah idk how to end this if anyone actually read all of that holy shit respeect idek how I wrote that, i’ve been writing for like 2 hourz instead of sleeping so i’m gonna go do that probably baiii and thanks for the great convo everynyan :]]]]

CW: Assault. On boundaries, excusing vs explaining, and Helena Eagan at the ORTBO

(to be clear, the following is concerning fictional characters and events from a television series. I saw a post that made me angry, reblogged it with a reaction, and then deleted that response. I then came here to write. It is me, wading through my feelings and thoughts, and not a complete, thorough dissection of SA, generational trauma, gender dynamics, or anything else. just me being pissed at what I just saw)

actually, nah, im not touching that post with a 10 foot pole. but i will take the opportunity to fume here in my journal.

that the apologetics for characters is WILD. and just because YOU are willing to forgive/excuse someone for SOMEONE ELSE'S assault, it doesn't make it excusable, or forgivable.

the gymnastics to make a character sterilized and palatable are sometimes sooooo upsetting.

you can like a character, sure. and also, she's a fucking r*pist.

both things can be true.

its offensive af to see that shit in my feed tho.

as though it's totally understandable and therefore forgivable why a person who was raised without boundaries would grow up to then violate others' boundaries. it can be explicable and still inexcusable

it can be explicable and still unforgivable

and there are millions of people who grow up without boundaries, abused, etc, and yet, never fucking sexually assault someone

to say such things, as though most assailants, not just this one character who happens to be adored, were not also raised under circumstances where they weren't taught boundaries. are they automatically completely sympathetic characters? but i guess this is the same internet that had to be begged to stop calling jeffrey dahmer hot

i also think we're having this conversation because the roles were not reversed. not that the world takes SA seriously at all, but certainly doesn't take SA against men (edit to add: and particularly SA against men, perpetrated by women) as even being real, most of the time.

i gotta get outta here

[egophiliac]

Since book 7 part 5 (the part where we meet Meleanor/Maleanor 👀) is coming to EN this month, i would love to see your take on lilia’s proposal to meleanor! i mean they were like little kids right? it couldn’t have been that serious…i think the only reason she even brought it up again is because she could tell lilia still genuinely loved her…(even if he didn’t realize it himself?) but, oh well! Let’s think about silly childhood shenanigans to numb the pain! ^_^ (orz)

oh shit?! get ready for a doozy guys, it's comiiiiiing ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

I chickened out of posting the whole thing (look, I get VERY carried away when it comes to these wacky kids and their Tragedy), but I do believe that it probably ended with Lilia getting embarrassed and just shoving the first thing he sees into his mouth to try and cover for it.

(we're just lucky it wasn't a frog this time)

[benevolenterrancy]

hi! I recently came across your tgcf fics, and I wanted to say you’re a phenomenal creator. the recovery series fic and the gloves fic and just all of them. thank you for your content and great attention to detail.

do you have any thoughts/hcs on FXMQ and Xie Lian you’d be willing to share? within the original story or the universes of your fics!

Thank you so much, I'm glad you're enjoying them! (ﾉ*^▽^*)ﾉ.｡:*☆

hmm, random thoughts about the FXMQ... a silly headcanon: Feng Xin has very much been hoisted by his own petard by heckling Mu Qing! That is to say, he'll harass Mu Qing relentlessly about something stupid only to be confronted with a similar situation and realise that there's absolutely NO way he can act in anyway similar to Mu Qing or he'll never hear the end of it.

(For example, he has tolerated some truly atrocious divine statues in the past because he's heckled Mu Qing so much about how picky he is with his divine statues that there's no WAY he can say ANYTHING without seeing that smug bastard's face in his head so he just has to bite his tongue and tolerate some unspeakably ugly statues.)

Mu Qing doesn't generally suffer from similar overthinking (he'll just prepare to kick FX's ass if he dares to say anything about it) except for things more directly related to himself. I think he genuinely finds sewing/embroidery/etc rather relaxing work but he'd rather die than have anyone ever see him do it because he's made such a big deal about not doing that sort of "servant" work anymore.

(He actually really enjoyed stitching Ruoye back together because it gave him the perfect excuse -- he's returning a favour!! and Xie Lian is hopeless!! of course he had to!! -- and he secretly considered using white thread to embroider some invisible little designs just because he doesn't quite want to stop... only he knew he'd get caught if he messed with Xie Lian's spiritual device like that and gave up the idea)

[termagax]

re: "good girl" i think they say it once randomly as a joke and its just one of those things that gets him wayyy more than they expected it would. so now its their secret weapon and they use it very sparingly and every single time he gets super embarrassed about it but it works ill tell you what.

[kingspuppet]

I just think some of the Thieves should be really close friends....yeah friends...with Goro. >.> Friends that commit the cardinal sin of public hand holding...

[ceramicbeetle]

one of the many reasons Aabria is such a good GM is because of the very keen eye she keeps on the social dynamics and interactions that happens at the table and i absolutely Love her for it

[biblicalhorror]

Ultimately, I do get why Saccharina was/is such a controversial character. By design, she exists as a central plot point to the story at large in a way that the other characters really don't, and I could see why her play style might have rubbed viewers the wrong way, especially if they've personally experienced DnD players who bulldoze over other PCs character beats and cannot handle not being the center of attention.

However. Keeping in mind all of the character's background, specifically being abandoned by both parents and raised by abusive bulbian nuns, growing up knowing that her only saving grace for not only the familial love that she desperately craved, but also her entire future and destiny, rested on finding her father and taking her rightful place on the throne of Candia, it makes a lot of sense that Emily would play her the way that she does. Yes, she is purportedly in her mid-twenties-ish while Ruby is a teenager, and under normal circumstances, she should be expected to be the grown-up. But Ruby had a large, mostly loving family and all of the resources in the world for most of her life. Developmentally speaking, Ruby and Saccharina are on a somewhat level playing field. Of course Saccharina is emotionally stunted after what she went through. Of course her main tools for emotional processing are repression and projection. The way Emily played her, in my opinion, was extremely accurate and empathetic to the way that person would actually act in real life.

Especially because it seems like so much of her personal identity and sense of self-worth comes from realizing her destiny as the true queen of Candia. She's been told that will be the thing that will finally get her the loving family she's always wanted, but thanks to the circumstances of their meeting, they were immediately cold to her and shut her out. I could totally see a traumatized emotionally stunted 20something taking that extremely personally and that triggering all of her already existing abandonment issues and inferiority complex. Given the context of the character's backstory and the vastly different way that Emily Axford plays Fig, for example, the hate that she got as a player seems wildly unfair to me pretty much no matter how you slice it.

It also seems like a fair amount of the hate stemmed from parasocialism and people assuming that Siobhan was actually mad at Emily irl, which is of course also an expression of misogyny in itself because it will always be assumed that women are incapable of acting without their actual, irl feelings being mixed up in their performance.

[nereidprinc3ss]

fixation

in which you love spencer reid's hands so much you could... well, you could practically eat them. or at least let him put his fingers in your mouth.

18+ (fluff, suggestive) warnings/tags: finger sucking...lol....., established relationship, ummmm d/s adjacent dynamics, like softdom spencer but there's no sex, pet names, teasing a/n: this was inspired by @gublersg1rl who said 2 nights ago she would suck spencer's fingers as he was reading a book. my beautiful angel with so many great ideas in her beautiful head. anyway this will not be my magnum opus in terms of quality but its just a fun short little thing I hope u like :D

Spencer is reading. 

He got home forty five minutes ago, and he’d hugged you and he’d kissed you—and they were good hugs and kisses, but as you sit curled on the opposite end of the couch from him, watching him read, it doesn’t feel like enough. Three days isn’t the longest he’s been gone, but you missed him like he was gone longer. And now, he’s not truly ignoring you—but he’s not giving you enough attention. It’s unintentional, but it’s making you feel all kinds of needy and overly-affectionate anyway. 

Especially when he’s so gorgeous. Ankle crossed over knee, lithe fingers skimming over the page to keep track of his place. Those hands are truly distracting. It’s unlike you to be struck by such wildly inappropriate thoughts so out of context, but here you are, having been without him for days, practically feverish on the couch as you imagine all the things they could do. All the things they have done. The way they've traced down your bare spine, up your side, so lovingly in the middle of the night... how they've touched you elsewhere...

And... that's enough.

Despite the whole committed relationship thing, you still feel a bit scandalized picturing him like that. And you know from experience these thoughts will only get worse if you stay over here, staring at him, wanting him, so you crawl across the couch and under his arm, settling your head in his lap and looking up at him expectantly. He chuckles—a quiet, dry thing, that says he’s only partially surprised by your behavior. 

“Well hello,” Spencer says, taking one hand off the book to settle on your leg. 

“Hi.”

For a moment he just studies you, affection seeping into his eyes along with the humor already there. “Can I help you?”

“Mhm.”

His brow darts up. 

“With what, baby?”

Baby. Your whole body tingles. He only calls you that when he’s feeling especially soft toward you and your whims. In turn you soften, and you both become rather mushy. 

Unfortunately your brain is not excluded from melting, and you look up at him helplessly. 

“Um…”

Spencer’s hand falls from your knee, taking an unnecessary but appreciated route down your thigh and up your stomach before settling on your cheek. He brushes away a few baby hairs before two knuckles begin drawing soft lines from the corner of your mouth up toward your ear and back again, and your stomach becomes a hail of butterflies. He’s got this soft smile on his face and you love him so much and he’s so sweet and perfect,��you could just—

You’re not thinking very clearly when you tilt your head, angling your chin up until you catch his fingers against your lips. His eyes remain on yours as he traces the shape of your mouth with those same two knuckles—until you’re slowly parting, obstructing his path and offering a very different kind of invitation. Spencer’s eyes narrow fractionally and you watch the way his focus changes, the way he only tests the waters at first, letting the tips of his fingers trace the length of your bottom lip, before barely tugging down just enough to feel the soft warmth of the border of it. They skate over the ridge of your teeth and find the tip of your tongue, at which point you can’t help from closing your lips around his fingers, eyes fluttering contentedly as you draw them deeper into your mouth. His brows draw together, and those pretty pink lips part soundlessly like you’re the eighth wonder of the world in a way that has your thighs clenching. You hear the book shut and fall carelessly to the side table. He doesn’t even bother saving his place—too busy bringing that newly freed hand to your hair and combing gently against your scalp. 

It’s strangely calming to have him like this—he’s undeniably with you, undeniably close, against your lips and tongue. All your worries about his distance dissolve and you feel incredibly comforted. With his other hand, his thumb begins stroking a line from the bridge of your nose up your forehead, and you could pass out. 

“Comfy?” He asks after a long moment, slowly withdrawing his fingers from the heat of your mouth. You pout. 

“I was.”

Spencer hums, eyes soft on you. “I don’t think I should be nurturing your oral fixation, angel.”

“You didn’t like it?” You challenge, turning your head inward to nose at his stomach. He  cups your cheek with damp fingers and pointedly turns your head outward again. If he wasn’t so blushy and flustered and cute you might’ve cared more about the feeling of your own spit on your skin. 

“Don’t make it about me.”

You allow a minute to pass in silence. 

Fine.

“I liked it,” you say shyly. 

Spencer’s response is deeply fond as he smiles down at you. “Did you?”

Like he couldn’t tell. 

“Mhm. You should let me do it all the time.”

His smile flickers wider the way it does when he’s about to tease you. 

“I don’t know if you deserve it. I don’t know if you can be good all the time.”

You make a face. “Shut up.”

“Is that what we say when we want something?” Before he can pull his hand away, you nip at his fingers. He laughs. “You’re off to a terrible start. I think you need to work on your manners. Not bite the hand that… goes in your mouth.”

“Is that the saying?”

“I’m pretty sure,” he nods sarcastically, helping you up until you’re sitting across his lap. He lovingly tucks hair behind your ear, eyes warm as they flit across your face up close. “You know, that was incredibly unhygienic. So much bacteria it boggles the mind.”

“Yeah? That kinda turns me on.”

Spencer leans in to kiss you sweetly, choosing your mouth over his worry about bacterial transmission. “You are so psychologically concerning,” he whispers against your lips. You sling your arms around his neck. 

“Because of the bacteria thing or the oral fixation thing?”

His hands settle on your hips. “Both, lovely. For so many reasons.”

It’s only another tease, but you pull back anyway so he can see the full force of your pout. “Don’t say that. It’s mean.”

“I was kidding! It was a joke. I was joking.”

“It was mean.”

“Okay,” Spencer begins, patient and happy to untangle this ridiculous snag if that’s what it takes to make you content again, “Freud’s psychosexual stages of development are contentious at best. I’m not worried about your oral fixation because I don’t really believe in such a thing. I was just teasing you, but I’m sorry I hurt your feelings.”

“So you’ll let me do it again?”

Spencer pulls you back into another kiss. 

“You’re kind of insatiable, you know that?” 

When you don’t answer, only wait for him to respond, he sighs goodnaturedly. 

“You know you can have any part of me whenever you want it.”

You give him a winning smile and kiss his cheek in reward. 

“You’re so nice, Spence.”

“I thought I was mean.” 

“Now you’re nice.”

“Because you got what you wanted?” You nod enthusiastically. He seems not quite as thrilled, though perhaps distantly amused by his own helplessness when it comes to you. “Yeah, I feel like that happens a lot, doesn’t it?”

But it clearly doesn’t bother him that much. He’s still smiling when you kiss him again. 

[illyrianbitch]

Are We Still Friends? — Part Six

Pairing: Reader x Azriel

Summary: The night of the gratitude banquet arrives. Your life will never be the same after it.

Warnings: insecurity and overthinking, deep introspection, reader processing every feeling ever, IC friendship dynamics, Az is in his jealousy era, reader chewing him out, a kiss, a confession and more!!

Word Count: 12.6k (happy finale!)

Part Five | Series Masterlist

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

The days slipped by quickly. You spent most of them in your head, avoiding social interactions except for the ones you deliberately made time for—helping Adrin pick out his clothes for the banquet and shopping for a dress with Mor and Feyre. Azriel had been busy. You hadn’t seen him.

You felt guilty for being relieved. But you were. You couldn’t handle seeing him. 

It hit you last night, after Mor dropped off your dress—neatly wrapped in its protective bag—and you crawled into bed. When your gaze landed on your wrist, on the hair tie still there, everything suddenly became clear. You couldn’t run anymore. You couldn’t ignore it.

You were in love with Azriel.

There was a certain discomfort that came with realizing you had been walking through your life half-blind. Like a fog had lifted, revealing a path you had already been traveling, except now you could see it for what it was. And you wondered—how long had this been true? How long had you been this blind?

All these years of knowing Azriel, of loving him in some way—platonically, protectively, whatever it was—you had never truly seen it. But now that you did, you couldn’t unsee it. And it ached. Deeply.

Your fingers pressed absently against your sternum, rubbing small circles over the bone as you made your way down the hall. Over and over, like it might ease it. Like you could massage the feeling away.

You knew better.

It didn’t subside. If anything, it settled deeper, curling into your ribs. Lingered. Even as you reached the kitchen—and faltered.

Because you heard him.

A quiet hum, soft and unhurried, the way he always did on slow mornings when he thought no one was listening. And his shadows—they slipped past the doorframe, curling like wisps of ink, reaching. They knew you were there. They always did.

You thought about leaving.

But before you could turn, the humming stopped. A beat of silence. Then—

“Y/n?”

You exhaled sharply, bracing yourself before stepping inside.

Azriel was already watching you, his expression unreadable for a moment before it shifted into something softer. Familiar.

“Good morning,” you murmured.

He smiled—small, easy, like nothing between you had changed. Like your world hadn’t tilted on its axis.

He lifted a cup in offering. “Tea?”

You accepted it with a quiet thanks, leaning against the counter as Azriel took a seat, his own cup cradled loosely between his fingers.

Silences like this weren’t unusual. They were often comfortable—the kind of quiet that settled when you were both still waking up and bracing for the day ahead. But this morning, it was different.

Azriel glanced at you. “You okay?”

You were almost tempted to laugh at the question, but you suppressed it.

You nodded, exhaling. “Yeah. Just… lots on my mind.”

He hummed in understanding. His gaze had yet to leave yours.

A beat passed. Another. You shifted your weight against the counter, eyes flicking down to your cup. “You ever feel like you have too many thoughts, and it’s just… disorienting?”

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I know exactly what you mean.”

Another stretch of silence. It wasn’t quite tense, but it wasn’t easy, either. Then, after a moment, he cleared his throat. “So, tonight…” He hesitated. “I was wondering if maybe you’d want to get something beforehand. I’m assuming the finger food will be too extravagant for us, like usual.”

You hesitated. His words were fumbling a little, but you didn’t think too much about it. You had been overthinking everything lately. 

“I would, but I’m actually bringing someone tonight,” you said. “I’ll be waiting for him.”

Azriel stilled. “Oh.” His head tilted slightly. “You’re bringing a date?”

“It’s not exactly a date. I just asked him to come with me.”

Azriel nodded slowly. “Who?”

“Adrin. I invited him the other day.”

“Adrin,” he repeated, like he was testing the name on his tongue. “Madja’s apprentice?”

"That's the one."

You could practically see the wheels turning in his head, but he said nothing at first, just watched you, his shadows flickering across the floor like they knew something you didn’t.

He studied you like he was waiting for something more. When nothing came, he frowned, his voice turning cautious. “And he’s coming with you… tonight?”

“Yeah,” you replied, “I thought it’d be nice. He’s helped us before. He's nice.”

Azriel didn’t say anything, but you saw it—in the way his breath hitched, in the flicker of hesitation in his eyes. He had something to say.

You exhaled sharply. “Okay. What is it?”

His gaze shifted, like he was considering denying it.

“Hm?” he hummed, feigning innocence. “Nothing.”

You leveled him with a look. “Az.” A beat. “Just spit it out, yeah?”

A frown tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I don’t know. It just feels... strange, don’t you think? I mean, inviting him to something like this?”

You bristled at the words, at the insinuation that you needed a reason to bring someone. Needed to justify it to him.

 “Az, it’s just a regular banquet, and I wanted to invite someone. That’s not a crime.”

“I didn’t say it was.”

"Then what is this judgmental look you have?" Your voice came out more defensive than you meant. “I’ve known him for a while. It’s not like he’s a stranger.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like it’s just some casual get-together, either.”

You hated that this conversation made you wish for something else. Made you wish it was a date. A real one. That tonight was light and exciting—the kind of night that made you blush, that made you feel wanted. The kind of night that made you feel like someone falling in love, not someone realizing they already had. So deeply, so entirely unreciprocated that you hadn’t even noticed it had happened.

“I’m not making some huge statement by inviting him. It’s just a banquet.” You swallowed, forcing the irritation down. “A banquet to show appreciation for those who help us. I thought it’d be nice. He’s helped us before, you know that.”

You thought back to what Azriel had said about not wanting to be the last one standing, like love, companionship, was a prize to win before someone else did. A race. And maybe, mentioning you were bringing someone made him defensive, made him feel like he needed to be looking again. The thought made something bitter rise in you. Something akin to embarrassment. 

Azriel didn’t reply right away. When he finally spoke, there was a resignation in his voice. "Right. I do know that."

You couldn’t find the right words to reply, so you settled for silence once more. You finished your tea, rinsed out the cup, and set it in the sink. You felt his eyes on you as you turned and told him, “I think, for now, maybe we should stay out of each other’s personal lives. Not comment on any romantic prospects.”

It sounded like a good idea—like a boundary you could hold, something to protect yourself.

But Azriel’s expression flickered, a discomfort settling across his face. “So Adrin is a romantic prospect?”

You huffed, shaking your head. “Well, that's not–that’s not the point.” You pressed your fingers to your temples, willing away the irritation clawing at you. Then you dropped your hand, looking at him again. “Way to pick and choose what you hear, by the way.”

"I'm just clarifying."

"Look. I know I was right about Selene. But I think we have very different approaches to our personal lives.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

You tilted your head slightly, studying him. "Well, I do. It might be better for us to keep our opinions to ourselves."

Azriel blinked. Then, quietly—“I don't want you to keep your opinions to yourself.”

Your breath caught.

His voice was careful, his fingers curling slightly around his cup. “Your opinion is the most important thing to me.”

And then your chest tightened. Azriel couldn’t say things like that to you.

The words slipped out before you could stop them. “Maybe it shouldn’t be.”

Silence.

Azriel’s grip tightened around his cup.

You swallowed. “I should go.”

And with Azriel’s eyes still following your every movement, you left— the ache in your chest even deeper than before.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

The entrance to the banquet hall was a grand display of velvet-draped archways and soft golden faelight. You spotted Adrin just beyond the doors, hands tucked neatly behind his back, his casual, loose, linen clothes traded for deep navy formalwear. He looked up as you approached, a large, bright smile forming.

"You clean up well," you teased, stopping beside him. "I could’ve picked you up from your apartment. Like a proper date."

Adrin huffed a quiet laugh. "And risk making the citizens of Velaris burn with jealousy over how we look together? I’d never be so cruel."

You rolled your eyes and laughed. The lightness of the sound surprised you. "I suppose we do look rather stunning."

His gaze lingered for a moment before he said, softer, "You do. That dress is quite beautiful."

You barely resisted the urge to fidget, instead smoothing your hand over the fabric. 

Mor and Feyre had helped you get ready at the river house, the way they always did before events like these. The three of you, despite everything—despite mates, despite growing older, despite how much life had changed—still made time for it. A tradition you refused to let go of. It was something sacred, in a way. The girlhood none of you had ever really gotten to experience, stolen by war or circumstance.

You suspected Mor had noticed you were in your head more than usual, that something about tonight felt different. She kept checking in, little glances through the mirror, hesitation when you’d asked her to help pin your hair up. Her fingers had lingered as she tucked the final strands into place, ensuring the hairpiece she used hid the infamous hair tie beneath it. She hadn’t asked, but you could feel the question lingering in the way she looked at you.

“Mor chose it for me,” you said, offering Adrin a playful curtsy. "I’ll let her know her taste is still undefeated."

A few more guests drifted past.

"This home is beautiful," Adrin murmured, his gaze sweeping over the high ceilings and intricate paintings covering the marble walls— all painted by Feyre herself. "I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Your High Lord and High Lady have elegant tastes. I must admit, I feel slightly out of place."

"It’s just another event," you said lightly. "Don’t let the elegance scare you. Most of the guests already know you, anyway. The ones that don’t will have the pleasure tonight. Nothing to stress about."

Adrin exhaled, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve. "I wouldn’t say I’m stressed. Out of practice seems more fitting. I haven’t been to many events like this."

"Oh? Does Thesan not throw many?"

He tilted his head. "Some. But even then, I wouldn’t attend. Not everyone is as close to their High Lord as you."

You blinked. "I never thought of it like that."

Adrin smiled faintly. "It’s not a bad thing. It’s quite beautiful, really. It humanizes Rhysand—far more than the stories some might hear about Night."

For you, Rhysand had never been just High Lord—he was Rhys, the friend who stole the last pastry off your plate just to be an ass, who gave the best advice when you needed it most, who once drunkenly tried to shove more marshmallows into his mouth than Cassian. You knew he was powerful. Knew that the weight of his title was immense. But it was easy to forget. Easy to take for granted just how rare it was to have a ruler who felt like family. A ruler who was family.

“I appreciate your open mind. It’s not easy for many people to see past Rhys’s past.”

Adrin’s eyes softened. “I can see the heart beneath the power.”

You glanced around the hall, watching as laughter and conversation rippled through the guests. When you turned back, you caught Adrin scanning the crowd as well. You took the spare moment to examine him further.

Adrin had the kind of beauty that belonged to the quiet hush of morning. His golden-brown skin carried a softness—not kissed by the sun, but by first light, the gentle warmth before the world fully woke. Vitiligo traced around his right eye, trailing down his cheek, leaving a streak of white in his dark curls. Even his eyelashes and brow were dusted pale. There was nothing severe about him, nothing unreadable.

You wondered how many admirers he must have. How many people in the streets of your city turned to gawk when he passed. How many hearts he’d left broken when he left his home and moved to Velaris.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” you said, drawing his attention back to you. When his warm eyes met yours, you continued. “What made you come here? From Dawn?"

He titled his head, taking a moment to collect his thoughts.

"When I heard that Night and Dawn were fostering more exchanges—trade, apprenticeships—I jumped at the chance," Adrin said. "It seemed perfect. It’s been an honor to train under Madja, to learn from one of the most talented healers of all Fae alike." He shot you a look. "I have you to thank for that opportunity."

You raised a brow. "Me?"

"I heard it was your diplomacy that strengthened those relations between our courts," he said. "That made Velaris known for the oasis of opportunity it now is, rather than the secret gem of Night it once was."

You hummed, a smile pulling at your lips. Even now, after all these years, it still felt nice—validating—to be acknowledged for your work. For the vision you had continually strived to achieve for your court, for Prythian.

"Well then," you mused, "you’re welcome."

It was fascinating, really—how simple his answer had been. That he had made the choice to leave home with such certainty. You didn’t think you could ever do the same.

"Do you miss the Dawn court?" 

Adrin exhaled, thoughtful. "Yes, but not how you might think. I rather love change." He glanced at you, curiosity flickering in his expression now. "Do you?"

"What—miss Dawn?"

He laughed. "No. Do you like change?"

The answer should have been easy. You’d never been afraid of new things—your entire life had been built on pushing forward, on carving out space where there was none. But lately, change felt like something different. Like something looming. Like something you weren’t sure you wanted.

You fought the urge to glance over your shoulder, to scan the crowd for a familiar figure wreathed in shadows. You hadn’t seen him since this morning.

"No, actually," you admitted. "I despise it. I know it’s necessary for growth, but… I like things the way they are. I don’t think I’d want to leave my court. Not for long."

Adrin nodded. "With a life like this, I’m sure I wouldn’t either."

You let the words settle between you for a moment before exhaling. "Come on. Let me introduce you around."

Adrin extended an arm, eyes gleaming with humor. "Lead the way, shepherd of change. I am your sheep for the night."

You chuckled, looping your arm through his as you stepped into the light.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Adrin had slipped easily into conversation with Cassian and Nesta, asking them about their mating ceremony with a curiosity so good-natured even Nesta had warmed to him. You’d been content just standing there, watching as he made the connections you’d hoped he would.

When he left to get you both drinks, you lingered, half-listening to Cassian’s exaggerated retelling of something Nesta had told him from a recent book of hers. Your eyes drifted across the scene—the candlelit tables, the swirling gowns, the food laid out in delicate arrangements that looked more like art than a meal. Unlike most elaborate events Rhysand and Feyre threw, tonight had hors d'oeuvres that actually appealed to you. You made a mental note to try some of the rosemary and honey tartlets once your stomach felt less uneasy.

You let your gaze drift once more, scanning the crowd without much thought—until you saw him.

Azriel.

For a second, everything else faded. The music, the conversation, the clinking of glasses. The world narrowed to the space between you and him.

He looked good—unfairly so. He’d cleaned up well, the sharp lines of his suit making him look effortlessly put together, dark hair styled just enough to look like he hadn’t tried at all. 

If Adrin had been handsome in a way that was warm, inviting, then Azriel was beautiful in a way that stole the breath from your lungs. It was gut-wrenching, disarming, the kind of beauty that felt borderline sacred.

And gods, the way he was looking at you. Not just looking. Watching.

Your stomach flipped, something deep inside you tightening painfully. The air between you stretched thin. Humming. Waiting. It made your fingers twitch at your sides, made your feet shift like they might carry you forward without your permission.

And yet, somehow, you couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think—

“Here you are.”

The moment shattered. You blinked, the noise of the banquet rushing back in as Adrin reappeared at your side, pressing a glass of champagne into your hand. You took it with an appreciative smile, downing half of it in one go and ignoring the way your fingers trembled around the delicate flute.

Adrin turned back to Nesta, launching into another carefully respectful question, something about her Valkyrie training, but you barely heard it.

Not until Adrin nudged you, drawing you back. “Should I be concerned?” he murmured. 

You blinked. “About?”

“That the Shadowsinger is currently glaring at me like he wants me dead. Have I offended him?”

Confused, you followed his gaze—

Azriel was still watching. Only now, the look was different. The sharpness of it, the intensity—it was aimed at Adrin.

A full glare.

You barely swallowed down the sound of disbelief that threatened to escape. What the hell was his problem?

Heat rose to your face. You forced yourself to breathe, to roll your shoulders back. “It’s nothing,” you muttered, waving it off. “Don’t worry about it.”

But when you turned back, Nesta was looking at you. A direct, knowing look. You glanced back at Azriel, still staring, then back at her. She knew.

You gently brushed your champagne flute back into Adrin’s hands. “Excuse me for a minute?”

"Of course," Adrin said easily, though concern flickered in his warm gaze. Nesta took the opportunity to step in, calling over Gwyn—a plan you’d both briefly gone over before the night began.

"Adrin," she said, "let me introduce you to my friend and fellow Valkyrie."

Adrin’s voice drifted after you as you stepped away.

“Oh, by the Mother, is that an Invoking Stone?” His breath caught, reverent. “Beautiful—I’ve only ever read about them.”

You didn’t need to turn to know Gwyn was smiling, could already picture the soft pink dusting her cheeks. But the moment barely registered, drowned out by the weight of the gaze still burning into you.

You had more pressing matters.

You didn’t spare Azriel a glance before grabbing his forearm and dragging him into the nearest empty room.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Azriel barely moved as you pulled him in, letting you manhandle him like a bag of heavy rocks. His brows had only just begun to furrow when you spun on him, still gripping his wrist. His skin was warm beneath your fingers, the corded muscles of his forearm shifting under your grip—but you refused to let that distract you.

Not now.

It took you half a second to realize where you had dragged him. A library. A new one, judging by the scent of fresh wood and the pristine bookshelves lining the walls. You hadn’t even known this room existed. Your gaze flicked over the tall windows, the deep blue rug, the shelves still waiting to be filled. You hadn’t explored the house since the construction finished, too preoccupied with—

No. Focus.

You turned back to Azriel, finally letting go of his wrist. His wings twitched slightly, and his shadows curled at his feet like smoke, their edges sharper than usual.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” you demanded, crossing your arms.

Azriel blinked, his head tilting slightly. “What?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“No,” he said flatly. “Or else I wouldn’t have asked.”

A heavy breath caught in your throat as the words lodged themselves somewhere between your teeth and the pit of your stomach. Azriel’s voice was cool and even. It only made you angrier.

“Are you serious right now?”

His hazel eyes studied you.  A flicker of something passed through them, quick as a shadow in candlelight, but then it was gone.

Fine.

You squared your shoulders. “I’ll spell it out. Why are you glaring at Adrin like that?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I wasn’t glaring.”

You forced a breath out of your chest—through your nose, just to keep yourself from losing it. A sharp, humorless laugh left you. “If that wasn’t a glare, I’d hate to see what you classify as one.”

His expression didn’t change, but his wings tucked in a little tighter, hands flexing at his sides. You noted that his shadows had stilled, barely a ripple in the air now. They’d decided to be a quiet, unassuming audience, it seemed.

“I have known you long enough to recognize a glare, Azriel. Stop it.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

You huffed, your fingers twitching at your sides. “I don’t know what the hell your problem is, but you need to fix it. Now.”

Azriel’s jaw ticked, and for the first time, his expression hardened. He remained silent.

“If this is about me bringing someone and you being here alone, then you need to get over it,” you said.

“That’s not it.”

“Then what is it?”

Silence once more.

His shadows stirred again, coiling around his boots, floating across the ground beneath you two. You could see the muscle in his jaw tightening, but he didn’t speak.

You sighed, pressing your fingers to your temples before meeting his gaze again. “Okay, well, whatever it is, I need you to find the reason, and I need you to swallow it. And if you can’t swallow it, I need you to shove it so far up your ass that you’re too focused on the discomfort to glare at him like that again.”

His lips parted slightly, like he wanted to respond, but nothing came out. His eyes flickered, scanning your face. Then they glazed over, as if he’d been pulled deeper into his own mind.

It didn’t stop you from continuing.

“Adrin is a guest here,” you went on, voice firm. “I invited him. He is kind, he is nice, and he hasn't done anything to you. In fact, he has helped you. So do not treat him like shit.” You stepped closer, tilting your head. “You haven’t even bothered to talk to him. The least you can do is not look at him like you’re imagining his head on a spike.”

Azriel’s gaze met yours, his voice low as he finally spoke, “I just think it’s rude that your date isn’t paying attention to you. He’s had his eyes on Cassian more than you tonight.”

You blinked, disbelief tightening your chest. “What?”

“You heard me.”

You scoffed. “Adrin has been perfectly attentive and respectful. What, did you expect him to have his hands all over me? What the hell is wrong with you?”

Azriel didn’t respond, but his shadows gained speed as they curled closer to his boots—like they were restless now, waiting for an order.

“This event is supposed to be about harmony,” you continued, “You’re embarrassing this court. You’re embarrassing me.”

That seemed to land. His lips pressed into a thin line, and something flickered in his expression—something raw, something almost like guilt.

“Do not give me a reason to be mad at you,” you added, voice low. “Because I will take it. You have no idea.”

A long beat of silence. Then—

“…Alright,” Az muttered. “Fine. I’m sorry. That was not my intention.”

The apology came so easily. You narrowed your eyes, studying him. He was still too quiet. But for now, you’d take it.

“Good. So, we go out there, and if you interact with him at all, you need to be pleasant. Maybe even smile.” You tilted your head. “And if you can’t do that, at least fix your face.”

Azriel blinked, brow twitching. “My face?”

“Yes. The one you’re currently wearing. You look like I just asked you to kill yourself.”

“I’m not wearing a face,” he said dryly.

“Yes, you are.”

“This is just my face. I don’t have many faces.”

“Well, find a new one.”

The sharpness faded from his eyes and the frustration in your chest loosened slightly, giving way to something else—exhaustion, maybe. 

“Okay, okay,” he said after a moment. “Fine.”

You nodded once, steadying yourself before turning for the door.

Right before you stepped out, you glanced over your shoulder. “Fix the face.”

Azriel exhaled through his nose, lifting his hands in mock surrender. “Consider it fixed.”

Then, he gave you a large grin—so obviously forced it made you cringe.

You rolled your eyes. “That is not what I meant.”

Still, you smiled despite yourself. A little amused, a little tired. And for a brief moment, before you turned away, you swore you saw a real smile flicker across his face, too. Soft and fleeting. It made your heart skip.

Before it could beat faster, you left.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Azriel found you again an hour later.

You sensed him before you saw him—the shift in the air, the way the room seemed to settle in his presence. Then his shadows, curling toward you before slithering back, as if unsure if they were welcome.

You weren’t even sure why you’d walked away from Adrin and your friends. Maybe you needed space. Maybe you needed to breathe. It wasn’t until you stepped back—from the conversation, from the laughter, from the gentle touches shared between lovers—that you realized.

This was the first time you’d noticed. The first time it had stung.

How alone you were.

You didn’t look as Azriel approached. Instead, you fixated on the guests around you, on their easy smiles and warm hands clasped together. It would hurt to look at him. You already knew.

And yet, you felt him watching. Felt the heat of him beside you.

It was sad. All of it.

You’d assumed falling for your best friend would be a gift. Imagined it would be easy, uncomplicated—a love that came with a quiet understanding, someone who knew you better than you knew yourself. It sounded simple enough. You would know, and they would know, and that would be it. The kind of love that people dreamed of, that stories were made of.

It was funny, in a painfully poetic way, how reality differed from daydreams. You almost wanted to revisit every love story you’d ever read, to pick them apart, to see where they’d lied—where they’d dared to be hopeful.

A shadow curled at your wrist before slinking away. 

"Do you have another complaint for me?" you murmured, just loud enough for Azriel to hear over the music. “Maybe feeling bothered that Adrin isn’t slobbering at my feet like a hound desperate for food?”

Az huffed a quiet breath. "No."

Your lips pressed together. You wanted to hold on to the annoyance, to the way he’d been needling at you all evening, but the weight of the room was different now.

Azriel must have known it too, because after a pause, he shifted slightly, extending a hand toward you. "Dance with me?"

Your gaze flicked to his outstretched hand, then back to his face. His expression was carefully neutral, but his wings… His wings were tucked in tight, the only real tell of his discomfort. You knew he didn’t love events like these. The crowds, the attention. He wore it well—carried himself like he belonged, like nothing touched him—but you knew better.

And that’s why, despite everything, you sighed, placing your hand in his.

His shadows stirred again, wrapping briefly around your wrist before dissipating. Pleased with your choice.

"Your perfect date seems to be enjoying himself."

You felt it again—that ache in your chest.

Your eyes flicked over Azriel's shoulder, landing on Adrin. He was still standing alongside Gwyn, but the two had been joined by Lucien and Elain as well. Adrin was laughing at something Lucien was saying. He looked… comfortable. Bright. Perfect.

Perfect in the way that should have made your heart skip, that should have made you feel something when he smiled. But you felt… nothing. Just awareness, a passing observation. And then your gaze drifted back to Azriel, to the sharp lines of his face, the way the faelight caught in his eyes. Made something in them simmer.

"Not perfect," you murmured.

You didn’t like perfection. It was too neat, too curated—like something fragile on display, meant to be admired but never touched. It didn’t crack, didn’t bleed. And you didn’t want that. You never had.

"I wouldn’t want perfect anyway," you added, glancing briefly at Adrin and then back to Azriel. "Perfect isn't real."

Azriel said nothing at first, but his grip on your hand tightened briefly. You wondered if he understood.

His other hand rested against your waist as he led you through the steps. You felt his touch like a burning mark, your heart beating faster at the way he stroked his thumb along the fabric of your dress. The tension from earlier still lingered between you—thin, stretched taut. You wondered if he still wanted to bring up Adrin once more. But instead, Azriel said, "I didn’t get to tell you earlier, with you scolding me and all."

You rolled your eyes, casting your gaze aside.

"Which was very warranted," Azriel added, the corner of his mouth twitching as he leaned in further. "But, you are… breathtaking."

Your eyes snapped back to his. The way he said it—quiet, certain, like it was fact, undeniable and absolute—made something shift beneath your ribs. You forced yourself to keep breathing, to move past the moment before it could settle too deeply.

"Thank you. Mor helped me pick the dress."

Azriel guided you into a spin, and when you turned back to face him, he said, "I wasn’t referring to your dress."

His hand found yours, fingers lacing through before you could think too much about it. It was an easy thing, effortless—like it was second nature to him.  "I was referring to the person wearing it."

Your pulse stuttered. How could anyone else compare to this? How were you ever going to find someone who could make you feel like this?

The thought unsettled you. Maybe because it was the first time you let yourself acknowledge it. Maybe because you were starting to think he felt it too.

Because you knew Azriel. Knew him well enough to sense the shift—not just in yourself, but in him. There was something new in the way he watched you, something careful, deliberate. At first, you thought it was guilt, that he was still making up for the way he hurt you. But it was more than that. The way he looked at you now—really looked at you—it made you wonder if this realization had struck him too.

But you had seen him with Mor. With Elain. With Gwyn. You had seen the way he watched them, the way he softened, the way he held himself differently in their presence. And never—not once—had he looked at you like that.

So maybe this feeling was yours alone. Something to swallow like a bitter tonic, a remedy that only worsened the sickness.

The dance was slowing. You saw it in the way couples began to separate, the way the musicians readied to shift into something new. You and Azriel stilled, as if time itself was reluctant to move on.

His eyes traced over your face. "It’s different," he murmured. "Seeing your entire face like this."

Your brows furrowed slightly, and his lips twitched, like he knew you didn’t fully understand. Then his free hand lifted—hesitating for just a second—before his fingers brushed lightly against the side of your face, just above your ear, where your hair had been pinned back.

"You usually let it fall forward," he said. "I’m used to you hiding behind it."

You didn’t know what to say to that. You didn’t know what to do with the way he was looking at you. You wondered if he knew how much this pained you.

And when the music came to an end, you all but scrambled away from him, seeking out Adrin again.

Adrin told you about everything he’d learned from Lucien—the invitation the Vanserra had extended to explore the Day Court. Autumn too, if Adrin wished. You tried to listen. Tried to pay attention. To ignore the burning gaze of Azriel, to pretend you hadn’t seen the way his expression faltered when you pulled away.

You stayed by Adrin’s side all night, introducing him to more court members. Always finding your way back to Cassian, Nesta, and Gwyn. But no matter how much space you put between you and Azriel, you felt him.

Always, you felt him.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

The banquet had begun to settle into its last echoes of laughter and music, guests beginning their slow trickle home.You stood with Adrin near the entrance, the golden glow of the banquet spilling onto the front gardens.

He turned to you, his expression softened in the dim light. “Thank you,” he murmured, and before you could ask for what, he leaned in, pressing a warm, fleeting kiss to your cheek. When he pulled back, there was something earnest in his gaze. “For sharing the night with a friend. For showing me all these connections I might not have made on my own.”

You smiled, something fond curling in your chest. “You would’ve made them eventually.”

“Maybe. But I like the way it happened tonight.”

“Thank you for keeping me company,” you told him. “You don’t know how much I needed it.”

With one last smile, he turned and disappeared down the path, his silhouette vanishing into the dark.

You exhaled, rolling your shoulders before making your way back inside. The warmth hit you immediately—the lingering energy of the night still alive in the laughter, the flickering faelights, the press of familiar faces.

Your family. 

Rhys stood at the center of it, Nyx in his arms, tossing him into the air. The babe let out a shriek of joy, his chubby hands clapping together as he was caught again with ease.

“Bachelor of the evening,” Cassian declared, raising a half-empty glass. “In all his two feet and six inch glory.”

Nyx, unaware of the meaning but basking in the attention, beamed a chubby smile, curling into his father’s chest. 

You watched them, something warm and tight settling in your chest, even as Cassian snorted at his own words, making a joke about another six inch glory. But still—still—there was something else stirring within you. That restlessness in your bones. That all-too-familiar, infamous ache.

Before you could think twice, you turned, feet carrying you swiftly down the halls, toward the back of the manor.

The stone steps were cool beneath you as you descended into the garden. You exhaled, lowering yourself onto the edge of a stair, forearms braced against your knees. The air was cooler here, quieter, the sky stretched wide above you—clear and endless.

Behind you, the door creaked open. Light footsteps. Familiar.

Mor lowered herself onto the step beside you, the silk of her dress brushing against your arm. She didn’t say anything at first, just settled into the silence with you.

Then, gently, “You okay?”

Your thoughts were loud, pressing in from every angle, twisting over themselves until they became nothing but static. You let out a laugh, dry and brittle. “My head physically hurts from how much I’ve been thinking.”

Mor nodded, tilting her head back to look at the sky. “And have you come to any conclusions?”

“I might not be as patient as I once thought.”

Mor laughed, the sound carried off by the night breeze. “What makes you say that?”

You turned to her, lips pressing together before you admitted, “I was tempted to throttle Az in front of everyone.”

Mor’s lips quirked up, the faint remnants of her red lipstick catching the glow of the faelights through the windows. You were sure there were countless champagne flutes and wine glasses that now bore the mark of her lips, a kiss print of her perfect lipstick. There was something sweet about how the color was faded now. Years ago, it would still be perfect—because years ago, Mor would’ve excused herself to touch up her makeup almost every half hour. She didn’t do that anymore. These days, Emerie held her attention, made her forget anything other than the night unfolding around her.

“Not interested in adding to your growing reputation as a public street fighter?” Mor teased. “I would’ve helped you drag him to the street.”

You shot her a scowl. “Not funny,” you muttered. Then, hesitantly, “Do people really think that?”

She snorted, shaking her head. “No. I’m messing with you. But imagine how fun that would be.”

“We have different definitions of fun.”

“And that’s what makes us such great friends.”

Mor leaned in, looping her arm through yours, pressing it to her chest as she rested her head on your shoulder. The cool metal of her jewelry sent a shiver through you. You resisted the urge to frown at the large, chunky bracelet on her wrist—the one she’d taken from Selene. You’d already rolled your eyes at it earlier in the night, warning her it was probably cursed. She had only shrugged and said that nothing related to her could be bad luck—and that it matched her gown perfectly. She wasn’t wrong. It did.

You hummed, amused, and rested your head against hers.

“So what did Az do?” she asked after a moment.

“I don’t know what got into him. He was so rude tonight.”

“To you?”

“To Adrin,” you clarified, huffing. “Gods, it infuriated me. I had to scold him like some child before I lost my own mind.”

Mor lifted her head slightly. “Is that where you pulled him off to?”

You turned just enough to meet her gaze. “You saw that?”

She sat up, stretching her legs out in front of her. “I’m very observant.”

“Nosy is the word I’d use.”

Mor nudged you with a laugh. Then she shifted, pulling her arm away as she readjusted her position. “Do you know why it bothered you so much?”

Your brows knit together. “It was rude,” you deadpanned. “Adrin was a guest. Az had no right acting like some pompous guard dog.”

Mor nodded solemnly. “Yeah. Maybe we need to get him retrained.”

Despite yourself, you smiled, a quick image flashing in your mind of Azriel’s unimpressed face whenever one of you made a dog joke at his expense. Even the ones about his loyalty. Not that you could blame him—you probably wouldn’t appreciate the comparison either.

“It was also a bit offensive that Az paid more attention to me tonight than he has for months,” you admitted. “Not even to me. To Adrin. I don’t know why that bothered me so much, aside from it being bad manners.”

Mor gave you a knowing look. “Can I ask you something? But you have to promise you won’t get mad.”

You narrowed your eyes. “When you say stuff like that, I don’t want to promise anything.”

She pouted slightly. “Please.”

You sighed, turning to face her more fully. The new position left you exposed to the chill, no longer shielded by your hunched posture. Your knees brushed, the fabric of your dress rustling against hers. “Fine. Tell me.”

Mor hesitated, studying you carefully. Then, softly, “Do you think it bothers you because you want him to pay attention to you this much… normally? And not just when you bring a date?”

You dropped your gaze to your lap, to your fidgeting fingers. “I mean, maybe. Yeah.”

Mor craned her neck, trying to meet your averted gaze. “Maybe because you have feelings for him?”

Your head snapped up so fast you were surprised you didn’t break something. Though, based on the sharp pull in your neck, you might have strained a muscle.

“What?” 

The sympathetic look Mor offered you was enough to draw the ache in your chest back to full strength. 

“Am I wrong?”

You could’ve lied. Could’ve shaken your head, laughed it off, brushed past it like it was nothing. And maybe Mor would’ve let you. Not because she let things go easily, but because she knew you—knew when to push and when to step back.

But you didn’t lie.

Because the weight of it, the truth of it, had been pressing down on you for too long.

“Maybe,” you admitted quietly.

The words settled over you like a breaking wave. The minute they were out in the open, everything rushed back—every ache, every stolen glance, every frustration and lingering sadness. The realization of it felt like a stone lodged behind your ribs, pressing into you from the inside. Your throat burned. Your eyes stung.

You swallowed hard, but it did nothing to push down the lump forming there.

Then your lips quivered. And that was enough to make you break.

You turned away, hands pressing against your face as a shaky breath left you.

“Gods, Mor,” you mumbled, voice unsteady. “I feel so dramatic. I-I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Oh, honey.” She placed a hand on your shoulder, gently squeezing to call your attention back to her. When you met her eyes, something flickered across her features. “Are you crying?”

“Not yet,” you sniffed. 

She blinked. Once, twice. Then said, “Give me a minute, okay? I’ll be right back. And then I want you to tell me everything.”

You didn’t question it, just nodded as she disappeared inside.

When she returned, her presence was quieter. She sank beside you, draping a shawl over your shoulders—one that matched the color of her dress. Her shawl. And on her own form, she wore one in deep purple. Emerie’s, you assumed. You hadn’t seen her wear it before.

You noticed, too, that Mor’s jewelry was gone. The rings, the collection of bracelets. She tended to do that when she was overstimulated by the sounds—when the weight of metal felt unbearable against her skin.

You tipped your head back, staring at the sky. No more tears fell, but they lingered, heavy behind your eyes. The lump in your throat was smaller now. Bearable. You swallowed against it, against everything that wanted to rise with it.

“I was content,” you said finally. You inhaled deeply, swore you heard your ribs rattle with the effort, and turned to look at Mor. “With being single. With waiting for whatever was supposed to happen. I never thought I’d be the last one standing, but I didn’t mind. It never felt like something was missing.”

Mor’s brown eyes scanned your face, a small crease forming between her brows. “And now?”

Now.

Now, you wondered if you had never felt that ache because you had been loved so deeply by people like Azriel. Loved in a way that had made you think—foolishly, blindly—that it was enough. That it would always be enough.

But the words tangled in your throat before you could voice them. Your mind was funny like that sometimes—so many thoughts, so fast, so loud, and yet, when you reached for them, they recoiled. Shy. Timid. As if they, too, were embarrassed by their own existence.

“Now, I feel like something was stolen from me.”

Mor blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I always thought…” You paused, digging through your mind, clawing for the right words. “I thought love would feel different. That I would know when it happened. That it would be this big, overwhelming thing—fireworks, explosions, something cinematic.” You shook your head. “But with Azriel, it never felt like that. It felt… calm.” Your voice softened. “Like home.”

Mor’s expression gentled, but she didn’t speak. Not yet. And you were grateful for it, because now the words were spilling out, untamed and raw.

“And I hate that I didn’t get to figure that out on my own,” you admitted, your voice cracking with the confession. “That Selene and this ridiculous situation forced me to see it before I was ready. I didn’t get to sit across from him at breakfast, watching him drink his tea, and realize—slowly, comfortably—that this could be the rest of my life.” You swallowed hard. “Instead, it feels like everyone else saw it before I did. Like my feelings aren’t even my own. I feel… embarrassed.”

Mor’s brows knit together, and she reached for your hand. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about. You know that, right?”

You let out a humorless laugh. “Doesn’t matter. It feels that way.”

And maybe that was the worst part. That something so personal, so yours, had been made into something for everyone else to witness. That, maybe, they had already formed their own conclusions.

“I’ve never really dated.” The words felt foreign, like they didn’t belong in this conversation. But they did. “Not really. I never searched for it, never felt like I needed to.”

Mor traced her thumb in slow circles against your knuckles.

“I thought it was because I was happy. Because I was fulfilled, platonically. That I never ached for a mate or a partner because I was already surrounded by love. But now—” Your throat tightened. “Now, I wonder if it was just because of him. If I loved Azriel this whole time and never noticed. If my heart already knew there was nowhere else to look.”

Mor’s grip on your hand tightened.

“But he looked,” you continued, barely above a whisper. “Azriel has looked.” You swallowed hard. “Gods, Mor—he even looked to you.”

Mor’s lips parted slightly, guilt flickering in her expression before she caught herself. “That was—”

“I know,” you cut in. “It’s not about that. It’s not about you. It’s just—” You exhaled sharply, rubbing your temple. “I’ve never been this aware of myself before. My shortcomings. My inexperience. I’ve never thought about any of it because I never had to.”

But now, every interaction with Azriel felt different. Now, every glance, every touch, every conversation—changed.

And gods, maybe, just maybe, people would think Selene was right.

Maybe they would think you had pushed Azriel away from her because you were jealous, because you had always wanted him for yourself.

You looked at Mor. “I didn’t talk to Az about Selene because I was jealous. I swear, Mor. It wasn’t like that.”

Mor shushed you. “I know.”

“But what if he doesn’t? What if everyone—”

“No one else matters.”

Mor’s gaze softened. She brought her free hand to your bicep, her palm warm as she ran it gently down your skin. The cool night air clung to you, but beneath it, you still burned. From your thoughts, from your grief, from the overwhelming realization that had come too soon.

“Y/n,” she said after a moment. “Do you truly think Az doesn’t feel the same way?”

“Yes,” you said with certainty. But after the words left your mouth, they felt hollow. You bit the inside of your cheek. “And even if he did, I’m not sure that would help me.”

“What do you mean?”

You stiffened. Loving Azriel was not the same as loving anyone else. Loving him was easy, yes—but the way Azriel romantically loved was sickening. It was obsessive, gluttonous.

You were afraid of what it might mean to be on the receiving end of it.

Because Azriel had always glorified the ones he loved, turned them into something untouchable, something divine. It was the kind of love that replaced religion. And you—you—were not divine. You were not flawless. And that alone made you doubt yourself.

Azriel had seen your faults. The way you held grudges, the way you sometimes bit down your emotions until they cut into you, the way you weren’t always kind. In a friend, those things were forgivable. But in a lover?

Flaws in a lover could be a sin for Az.

And you didn't think you could survive it—the moment he realized you weren’t something worth worshiping.

Better, then, to never let him try.

You decided not to answer Mor’s question— not properly at least. Instead, you shrugged, turning your gaze back to the night before you, to the calm gardens and the skies that illuminated them.

“I just do.”

Mor hummed. She understood that the conversation was over. You were tired. And there was nothing she could say that you hadn’t already dissected a thousand times in your mind. So she pulled you closer, and you let her, resting your head against the crook of her shoulder.

The door creaked open behind you. You didn’t acknowledge it, but you felt Mor shift, felt her hair brush your cheek as she turned to greet the new addition to your self-pity circle.

And then you felt another familiar presence. The scent of night-chilled wind, sea, and citrus, the familiar shift in power—a presence heavier than Azriel’s, but just as consuming. Even more at times. 

Rhys settled beside you with a groan, joints creaking as he got comfortable.

It made you smile, just a little. Old man.

“I was wondering where you two went off to,” he said. “What are you doing out here?”

You let out a small sound—something noncommittal, something that didn’t quite fill the silence. “Oh, you know. Contemplating every single sense of existential dread.” You gestured vaguely. “Talking about the weather.”

Rhys lifted a brow. You paused, sparing him a quick glance. “It’s nice weather.”

He made a sound—half a hum, half a laugh—and rubbed his knee. “I don’t know. I can feel rain coming.”

You didn’t say anything, just glanced up at the sky—still clear, the stars bright. Some rain sounded nice. Peaceful. Something to wash away the past few days.

Rhys looked over at Mor. “Emerie is looking for you.”

Mor exhaled, glancing between the two of you before pulling away. Her hands, fingers now cold from the night, squeezed your face gently. “I love you,” she said softly. “Come find me if you need anything, okay?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

She hesitated for just a second before standing up and disappearing into the house. You watched her go, the warmth of her touch still lingering on your skin as you turned back around, finding Rhys already watching you. He had that look—one of quiet concern, of something like careful patience. The image of a concerned father. An older brother. 

“You don’t have to babysit me, you know,” you muttered.

Rhys snorted. “Trust me, I’ve had enough babysitting for the night.”

“Yeah, but don’t you want to be inside with everyone else?”

“Are you trying to kick me back into my own home?” he asked, amused.

You shook your head. “No, I just don’t want you to feel like you need to be out here with me.”

“I don’t feel like I need to be anything,” he said simply. “I haven’t spent much time with you lately. I want to be out here.” His voice softened. “After all, this is a banquet thanking people who’ve helped this court. Who has helped more than you, the one I trust to help repair our image?”

You let out a quiet laugh. “Well, I did some damage recently, too.”

“Until you get banned from an entire court, I think you’re alright.”

The conversation settled into a lull, quiet stretching between you. 

Then you said, “I’m assuming Mor told you some things.”

“Not really. But I can assume.”

You swallowed, looking away. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay,” he said easily. “We don’t have to.”

“But…” You glanced at him, suddenly tired of holding it all in. You had always been honest with your family—always told them the truth, even when it was difficult. And after opening up to Mor, after feeling the weight of it ease just slightly, you realized how much you had missed this. How much lighter a burden felt when it was shared, when you weren’t the only one carrying it.

Rhys seemed to understand before you even said another word. His expression shifted, something like realization settling in his gaze. And then, carefully, you felt the light press of him in your mind. A knock.

You let your walls down.

You felt his presence as he sifted through the memories—watched his face change as he saw it all.

After a long moment, he straightened slightly, exhaling as he looked at you. He squinted, tilting his head. “Oh,” he said. “I see.”

“Yeah.”

You turned away again, resting your head in your hands. Your chest felt a lot lighter now. Your thoughts a little less heavy. Rhys didn’t say anything. He just stood, brushing off his pants before stepping down the stairs.

You frowned, watching as he descended a few steps, then extended a hand toward you.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

“We’re going on a walk.”

“A walk?”

“Yes,” he said. “I think you need to clear your mind.”

You hesitated, eyeing his outstretched hand. He only smiled. “Someone very special in my life used to take me on walks when I was overwhelmed.”

Your lips parted slightly, a flicker of recognition sparking in your chest. You thought back to those early years—when Rhys was newly High Lord, when he was drowning in responsibility and grief he wouldn’t even acknowledge. You had forced him to go on walks back then, dragging him away from his desk, ignoring his protests. He had hated it at first. And then, eventually, it had just become something you did.

A quiet tradition.

You smiled—small, almost sad—as you pushed yourself up. “Are you sure you want to leave everyone?”

“I think they can handle us leaving for a few hours.”

You scoffed. “Don’t speak too soon.”

Rhys huffed a laugh, shaking his head as you stepped down to join him. And then, without another word, you walked.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

There was a certain shared understanding between you and Rhysand— two people who had seen each other at their best and worst. For an hour, as the familiar rhythm of your footsteps matched each other’s perfectly, it felt as if the world had paused just enough for you to feel like you belonged again.

When you finally reached the townhome, Rhys stopped, his hand on your arm like he was trying to keep you from walking away too soon.

“You’re not foolish for not realizing it sooner,” he said. “It’s a gift, really. To love so fully, so completely, that you don’t even notice where friendship ends and something more begins. Most people can’t do that, you know. We’re… very lucky to have you.”

You could only manage a smile in response. Rhys pulled you into a hug, his arms tight around you as he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Get some rest,” he murmured, pulling away. Then he grinned, a familiar one that only he could pull off. “If you keep overthinking, I’ll have to start charging for my emotional support. I don’t come cheap, you know.”

“Are businesses no longer discounting damaged goods?”

Rhys let out a dramatic gasp, clutching his chest. “Ouch,” he said, eyes wide with mock offense. “I take back everything about you being loving.”

“Night, Rhys,” you said, your voice warmer now. Genuine. “Love you.”

His smile softened, no longer the teasing grin. “I know.”  And you could hear the affection there.

Then he turned and began walking down the path, whistling a nursing song that you were sure Nyx had been fixated on. Rhys reached the corner, paused for a moment as if to make sure no one was watching, then disappeared, winnowing into the night.

Dramatic even without an audience. You shook your head, a small smile still tugging at your lips, before entering the townhouse and making your way up the stairs. 

You stopped when you saw him.

Azriel. Sitting against your door like he was waiting for something—someone. You. His eyes met yours, locking in place as if he’d been holding his breath this whole time. And in a blink, he was on his feet, moving like something had snapped, urgent, too fast for comfort. 

“Y/n,” he said, his voice low. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

You paused, pushing the door to your bedroom open slowly, not fully meeting his gaze. “Why?”

“I was hoping we could talk.”

You sighed, shoulders sagging as exhaustion settled over you. You didn’t want to have this conversation—not right now. It wasn’t that you didn’t care about what Azriel had to say, but everything just felt too much in this moment. You needed space, time to breathe and clear your head before diving into whatever this was between you two.

Tomorrow. You could deal with it tomorrow, with a fresh perspective, when you weren’t so drained. Tonight, you just needed to sleep, to wake up with your head in a better place, ready to handle it all. You wanted Rhys's words to be the last thing in your mind. Something comforting. Soothing.

“Maybe tomorrow,” you muttered, stepping inside. “I’m tired.”

“I’ll make this quick.”

You moved toward your bed, placing Mor’s shawl across your sheets. “Az, seriously. Tomorrow.”

He didn’t move, and when you glanced up, he looked at you then—really looked at you—and your breath caught in your throat as he asked, "Do you have feelings for me?"

You froze. A strange, cold knot twisted in your stomach. “Oh, not this again,” you groaned. You looked away, instinctively crossing your arms across your chest.

“Yes, this again,” he pressed, stepping closer. “I want an answer. Please.”

“Come on, Az.” You forced control over the tremor rising in your chest. “What did I do this time? Stare at you too long? Breathe too loud? Did you mistake me scolding you for some strange forepla—”

“I heard you,” he interrupted, and the words hit like a slap.

It felt like the air stopped moving. You couldn’t breathe.

“What?”

“Tonight,” he said, voice quieter now, “I heard you and Mor. I found this in my pocket.” He pulled out a bracelet—Selene’s, the matching piece to the one Mor had worn earlier.

Your heart slammed into your ribs. You opened your mouth to explain, but nothing came out. You needed something—anything. "You—you misunderstood."

"Did I?" His shadows stirred restlessly around him. “I-I didn’t hear much. It went quiet too fast, but from what I did hear… Did I really misunderstand?”

Your face burned, the heat spreading so quickly it felt like your skin might catch fire under his stare. You turned away, pulling your arms tighter across your chest. “Azriel, I don’t—”

“Just tell me the truth,” he urged, his voice cracking. “Please.”

You couldn’t respond. The words wouldn’t come.

A long silence stretched between you.

“Okay,” Az said, and his voice was so soft, so unlike his usual tone, it almost felt foreign. “Then I need to say something.” 

"Az…" You turned to him, meeting his eyes as you said, "Just, please, don’t.”

Your response didn’t seem to register. Azriel closed his eyes, taking in a slow, deep breath, like he was steadying himself before a plunge. 

“That night,” he started, “when I cleaned up your cheek, you asked why I listened to Selene. Why I said you had feelings for me. I told you I didn’t know.” He paused, dragging his hand over his face. “I lied. I know why. It bothered me when she said it. More than I wanted to admit. I told myself it was just because it made me uncomfortable—but that wasn’t it. I think the real reason I couldn’t stop thinking about it was because a part of me wanted it to be true.”

Maybe it was the exhaustion, or the way Azriel looked so exposed in front of you, but his words didn’t land right away. You blinked, trying to process, but before you could speak, he continued—his voice somehow even softer now.

“I thought if I said it out loud, you’d laugh it off. Call me crazy. Maybe you’d correct me. Then I could force myself to never think about it again. But you didn’t. And gods, the look on your face when I said it... it was like I’d hit you.” 

Another silence settled between you. For the first time, you were grateful for it, because one look at Az told you he wasn’t finished, that there was more he needed to say.

“I think I’ve always loved you,” Az said, and the words cracked something open inside you. “I didn’t know it—not at first. I thought it was normal. Of course, I wanted to be around you all the time. Of course, you’d be the first person I thought of in the morning and the last person at night.” His voice wavered, and he shook his head, a bitter smile tugging at his lips as his wings fell lax. “But it’s not. It’s not normal.”

His gaze finally met yours, steady, like he was holding you there with it. You’d never seen him look at anyone like this—not Mor, not Elain, not Gwyn. 

“I can't lie to you, Y/n. I can’t pretend I don’t love you. You’re everywhere. You’re everything.”

You couldn’t breathe. The world around you narrowed, collapsing inward until there was nothing left but him. Azriel loved you. The relief that hit you almost made your knees give out. 

His chest rose and fell quickly, like he was bracing for impact. The earlier desperation was gone, replaced by something more timid. "Please," he whispered. "Say something."

The pressure in your chest—the ache that had burrowed beneath your ribs for weeks—dissipated in an instant. Every concern, every gnawing worry. All that remained was the quiet comfort that Azriel had always given you. That ease, that feeling of home you’d only ever found in him.

You exhaled, and before you could stop yourself, a laugh slipped past your lips—breathless, almost disbelieving. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk that much. Like, ever.”

Azriel blinked. For a moment, you thought you’d broken something—but then, his lips twitched, a hesitant smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. 

“Well, there was a lot of ground to cover.” He exhaled through his nose. “But if you don’t feel the same—if this isn’t what you want, I’ll step back. I won’t push. I promise.”

You wanted to cry, to laugh, to praise the Mother that he felt the same. Instead, you closed the space between you. Slowly, you reached up, fingers threading through the mess of his hair, smoothing away the strands that had fallen across his forehead. You traced the line of his cheekbone with the barest brush of your fingertips, committing it to memory, savoring the way his breath hitched beneath your touch.

You hesitated—just for a heartbeat—before cupping his face in your palm.

And then, you kissed him.

He didn’t react at first. He just stood there, completely still, like he hadn’t even processed what was happening. You started to pull away, suddenly unsure—

But then he made a sound, something like a sigh of relief, and his hands found you.

The next kiss wasn’t hesitant. His fingers pressed into your waist as he pulled you in, tilting his head, deepening it, like he didn’t want to waste another second. And you felt it—every inch of it. The ache, the longing, the unbearable relief of finally knowing. Every agonizing thought, every moment spent convincing yourself this was one-sided, crumbling beneath the warmth of his mouth against yours.

No kiss had ever felt like this. Not in all your years, not in all your life.  Like something was finally, truly yours. It was sharp, it was bright, a rush that sent you spiraling in a way you hadn’t known you could.

But even with your heart glowing in your chest, there was no dramatic shift. No world-altering moment. It just felt right. A quiet kind of certainty. The kind that settled into your bones and left you with nothing but butterflies.

You pulled apart slowly, foreheads resting together, lips still brushing as if reluctant to let go. The cool touch of his shadows grazed your skin. You weren’t sure if it was them or the kiss itself that made your skin tingle.

Azriel’s eyes fluttered open a second after yours. The way he looked at you—so close, his hazel eyes bright with green flecks—had your chest tightening. It made you breathless. His smile softened the furrow in his brow, the motion pulling at his cheeks in a way that made your heart stutter all over again. 

His thumb ghosted over your cheek. “Are you crying?”

You blinked, still so caught up in the haze of everything, in how your heart was doing this erratic dance that you couldn’t quite follow. You lifted a hand to your face, and—shit, there were tears. You hadn’t even noticed. “Oh. Well, guess I am,” you said, a half-laugh slipping out before you could stop it, but it sounded hollow, a little shaky. “Awkward.”

Azriel made a sound, something close to a laugh of his own, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes, not fully. “What is it? Did I do something wrong?” 

“You have no idea how much I’ve been overthinking the past few weeks.”

Azriel’s expression softened as his finger moved, brushing over your lips now. “If it makes you feel better,” he said, “I’ve been in complete agony too.”

A proper laugh slipped from you. “Well, good,” you said, a little teasing, but it felt good to say it. “It does make me feel better. You deserved it a little bit.”

He smiled, amused, his gaze flicking between your eyes and your lips. “I did, didn’t I?”

A soft hum rumbled in your chest in response, something between a smile and a sigh. His thumb continued its slow, deliberate path across your lips, tracing the edges like he was memorizing them. You didn’t stop him.

You let your hands fall, landing gently against his chest, where you could feel the steady, rhythmic pulse of his heart beneath your palm. 

“So, what do we do now?” You asked quietly, the question coming out before you could stop it. 

Azriel’s motions slowed. “What would you like to do?”

“Well, we probably have to talk about what this means.”

He nodded. “Probably.”

You couldn’t help it. “And we really need to figure out how we’re going to move forward, how this changes everything…”

“Mhm,” he murmured, his focus now completely on your face, his fingers tracing your features, exploring them in a way he’d never been able to. 

“Az,” you murmured. “Are you listening to me?”

He didn’t hesitate as he met your gaze and responded, “I would never make the mistake of not listening to you again.”

The sincerity in his voice made your breath catch, every other thought fading in the wake of it—until your stomach growled. You grimaced. 

“Actually,” you said, tapping a finger against his chest. “You know what I would really like to do now?”

“Tell me.”

“I could really go for some food.” 

Suddenly, Azriel stepped back, eyes lighting up like an excited child. You frowned at the loss of contact. “Wait here.”

Before you could even process what was happening, he was already gone, running out the door. A few seconds later, he returned, breathless, looking slightly too pleased with himself as he held both hands behind his back. “I  have something for you.”

You eyed him. “Is it a bug?”

Realistically, you knew it wasn’t. Or at least, you hoped it wasn’t. But Azriel had never looked this pleased with himself before, never this close to giddy. That, combined with the way his hands were securely tucked behind his back, reminded you that—before anything else—Azriel was your best friend. And your best friend knew exactly how to mess with you at the strangest times.

Azriel’s expression faltered for a second. “What? No. Why would it—never mind.”

Then, hesitantly, he revealed it: crumpled in a piece of an appetizer liner, slightly worse for wear, was the rosemary and honey tartlet you’d eyed earlier. You melted at the sight and reached for it gently, cradling it in your hands like something precious.

Azriel looked almost sheepish. “We can get a proper meal, but I noticed you were looking at it earlier—at the banquet. You never grabbed one. So I thought…”

A laugh slipped out before you could stop it. A real one. Centuries. Centuries of friendship, of knowing him better than anyone, and somehow you’d never seen this. Never noticed how deeply he noticed you. How foolish you had been. How lucky you were now. 

Azriel frowned. “What? What’s funny?”

“Nothing,” you said, shaking your head, still laughing softly. “Its just— of course you noticed.” 

His lips quirked like he wasn’t sure whether to be amused or suspicious. “Well, yeah.”

“Thank you,” you murmured, reaching out again, pressing your palm against his cheek for a beat before turning your focus back to the tartlet. You turned it over in your hands. “Why is it squished?”

Azriel winced, like the question itself embarrassed him. “Doesn’t matter,” he muttered, brushing it off.

You lifted a brow. “Okay.”

You stared at it for another moment, then turned, setting it carefully on your bed.

He frowned. “But the crumbs on your bedsheet—”

You shook your head, smiling with a teasing eye roll. “Just kiss me, neat freak.”

His protest faded as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your mouth to his. Once, then again, and again, until you were sure even his shadows felt the need to look away.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

You and Azriel hadn’t slept.

Not for any reason that would have had Cassian waggling his eyebrows at you—though you did, naturally, find yourself thinking about it—but because the night had slipped away in conversation over greasy food from a little restaurant south of the townhouse.

The early morning light stretched through the windows, soft and golden, as Azriel stood at the kitchen counter making tea. You watched the familiar sight of him steeping the leaves, the way he moved like this was just any other morning.

But it wasn’t. Twelve hours ago, this had felt impossible. And now it was here.

You curled your fingers around the edge of the table, trying to process the weight of it. It wasn’t heavy, though. That was the strangest part. Not that you now knew how his lips felt against yours, or how his heartbeat sounded when it synced with your own, but how there had been no grand shift, no dramatic revelation. No bolt of lightning splitting your world in two. 

Just this—Azriel placing a mug in front of you, his fingers brushing yours, his lips quirking as he sat by you like he always had. Except there were small differences now— his chair was closer, next to you more than it was across. You found yourself focusing on smaller details, his dark lashes as he looked down at his cup, the way his fingers curled around the ceramic. You did your best to suppress any fleeting thoughts at the sight of them. Those ideas could be addressed later. 

It all made sense—the infuriating, vague notion that people had told you over the years: when you know, you know. You’d always hated that. How could no one ever explain it? How could no one ever find the words? But looking at Az now, you understood. There were no words. Just this. Just the way your heart settled at the sight of him. 

“You’re staring,” Azriel murmured, watching you over the rim of his cup.

You hummed, taking a sip of your tea. “You’re pretty.”

Azriel choked. Caught completely off guard. He set his mug down, coughing once, and when he looked at you again, his eyes were narrowed. “That was disgustingly sincere.”

“I know,” you grinned. “You’ll survive.”

Your mind drifted back to the night before—how the two of you had been desperate to catch up on all the things you had missed over the past few weeks. You’d told him about Adrin’s extensive mirthroot collection and how well you thought he’d be suited for Gwyn. He’d groaned, muttering something about needing to apologize. And then Az had told the story of how Cassian had slapped him for being an idiot. Three times. You’d really laughed at that one.

Somewhere between it all, between the easy conversation and the warmth of having him near, it had hit you again and again—this is it. This is what you could have for the rest of your life, if you were lucky.

Azriel hummed, setting his cup down. He knocked his knee against yours—once, then twice, like he was testing something. And then he reached over, grabbed the side of your chair, and scraped it just an inch closer to his.

You shot him a flat look. “Don’t tell me you’re a clingy boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?” Azriel raised a brow jokingly. “I don’t remember us labeling anything.”

“Oh, right. My mistake. In that case, I should probably tell Nesta to back out of the Gwyn and Adrin plan—”

“Don’t you dare.”

You smirked over your tea. “Why not? It’s not like I have a boyfriend to be upset about it.”

He stared at you for a beat, smiling as his eyes softened with a warmth that made your stomach flip. Seconds later, you were both laughing. Quiet, warm laughter that filled the kitchen, that curled around you like an embrace.

And then—

A shift, a subtle pull, like the air had thickened and the room was just a little smaller. It wasn’t a shock, nothing sudden or harsh. It was smooth, like a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding until you exhaled, like the feeling of stepping into the sun after hours in the cold. 

This was it. He was it.

Azriel froze, eyes widening as the feeling settled. Then, like he was testing something—searching—he tugged, just a bit, like he wasn’t sure if it was real. You sucked in a breath, hand instinctively rising to your chest. You felt it, in the way it seemed to resonate through every nerve, like a pulse echoing through your ribs.

He cleared his throat, a soft sound, almost nervous, and then his voice came out, rough but teasing, “Clingy mate, actually.”

Your heart stumbled over itself. A laugh caught in your throat, half breathless, half disbelieving. And then you were kissing him, pressing your forehead against his, letting the warmth of him, of this, sink into every part of you.

“Bold of you to assume I accept.”

Azriel laughed deeply before he was kissing you again, grinning against your lips as you laughed into his. And when you pulled back, breathless and giddy, you knew—without a single doubt—that you’d never stop choosing this.

Never stop choosing him.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

authors note:

and.... it is a happy ending after all :D awsf? nation how are we feeling tonight🎤

theyre mates, your honor!!! theyre mates and in love!!! im so sorry this took so long my loves, i rewrote it like 6 times. im still worried it doesnt do them justice but hehe we ball

i do have at least two more works for this little universe! a small lil epilogue planned for these sweethearts AND another surprise piece... which is already at 10k (hint: we get…another perspective of the night. plus a fun lil convo with a certain matedhaired male...). the surprise should be out next week, and the proper epilogue (with a timejump!) sometime after. and im always so so open to doing lil one-shots for this universe

thank you all again for reading <3 i hope i've done this lovestory justice.

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: 

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@cheneyq @darkbloodsly @motheroffae @azrielsbbg @evergreenlark 

@marina468 @azriels-human @book-obsessed124 @bubybubsters @starswholistenanddreamsanswered 

@feyretopia  @yesiamthatwierd @azrielrot @justyouraveragekleemain @marigold-morelli 

@mrsjna @anarchiii @alittlelostalittlefound @melissat1254 @secretsicanthideanymore

@m4tthewmurd0ck @beardburnsupersoldiers @isnotwhatyourethinking @tothestarsandwhateverend @raginghellfire

@angel-graces-world-of-chaos @acoazlove @paradisebabey @inkedinshadows @mellowmusings

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@booksaremyescapeworld @knoxic  @wynintheclouds @dacrethehalls  @louisa-harrier

[hwanghyunjinenthusiast]

one way; cbg

part i | part ii | part iii

🖊️⇝ pairing; afab!reader x beomgyu

🖊️⇝ word count; 17.3k

🖊️⇝ genre; enemies 2 lovers, smut, & angst

🖊️⇝synopsis; things have gotten much more complicated in a relationship that spawned from simplicity

🖊️⇝ warnings; thoughts of suicide and murder, brief descriptions of gore, PIV, balls in mouth, lots of kissing, not super smut heavy, manipulation, betrayal, descriptions of depression, assault (the usual), passionate sex, the l bomb

📜⇝ aw man, this is very BITTERsweet. Idk how I feel about this. Ask me in a week and I'll either love or hate it. I didn't go into part one expecting to flesh out their relationship, so please forgive me if this long awaited finale doesn't reach your expectations. I am happy to finally say it's finished though!!

You didn’t remind Beomgyu of anyone. Maybe before you started having sex, that’s why he was so sure. He felt like he was experiencing deja vu from how similar you were to those groupies. Just awkward, quirky, and harmless. You’re only here to do your job and just happened to become friends with this celebrity. The romantic feelings that developed, oh those are to be expected. Of course you fell in love! But if another handsome, famous fella came around and was willing… that love is suddenly conditional.

But then you were letting Beomgyu bite your lip and rip your clothes off, you were shoving your tongue down his throat and letting him fuck you in every conceivable position. While still remaining kind and loyal to Soobin.

You were even open about the things Beomgyu did to you. You didn’t care how it made you look or if it would scare the others off. You didn’t present it as this passionate sexy moment, but the clumsy and somewhat comical situation it was. You were comfortable with them. Letting them see the real you even if it wasn’t exactly attractive. Maybe Beomgyu was wrong about you.

Then he’d catch these glimpses. Moments where he really saw Hyesoo in you. Everyone would be laughing and then suddenly you’d bring up a recent accomplishment of Soobin’s. It seemed weird to shift mid-conversation to boost him up. But when Beomgyu looked around, no one else saw anything wrong with it. He was hyper analyzing you and he was trying to stop. It was hard not to think about Hyesoo period, but with a new woman cozied up in their dorm it was even harder.

When you’d hit Soobin’s arm while laughing, buy only him snacks and drinks, laugh at his jokes harder than anyone else, fall asleep with your head on his shoulder. No matter how much he tried to stop himself, he couldn’t stop thinking you were buttering him up. Locking him in.

Here he was, staying up until 5 am dwelling on every thought that enters his brain. He lays stagnant in your bed, staring at the ceiling but really at nothing at all. His head flops to the side and he catches a glimpse of your peaceful expression. His eyes track down to your arms curled around his bicep. He looks back up at the ceiling with a lengthy sigh. 

He needs to leave.

It started with him staying a little longer to eat up the food in your fridge. You staying to chat with some of the guys. Him staying to help clean up the vase that fell and shattered during your ministrations. You staying to clean yourself off and mentioning that maybe he should bring by a few spare items of clothing in case he wants to shower at your place. Now both of you have clothes at the other’s house and he’s spending the night.

He could dwell on everything he should or shouldn’t be doing right now or he could stop fighting how the warmth of your presence is lulling him to sleep.

–🖊️⇝

Beomgyu wakes up in the absence of your warmth. If his memory serves him correctly, you’re off to practice by now. He can’t help feeling pathetic as everyone rushes off to their duties while he lounges around. He only has one month left of his suspension before he’s back on the grind. He wants to just enjoy it, but the loneliness of it all after years of constantly being surrounded by hoards of people was undeniably crushing. The people he does see are usually rushing around before leaving him in an empty house.

He slumps out of your room and is hit with the scent of freshly made toast. He spots you in the kitchen, rushing around with a piece of toast dangling from your teeth. Upon seeing Beomgyu your eyes widen, brows raising as you prompt him.

“D’you like butter on your toast? Actually, don’t say anything, I’m doing it.” Your speech is muffled until you take a bite and set the piece down. When Beomgyu finally reaches the kitchen he sees you sloppily slathering butter onto two extra pieces of toast. You place them on a small plate before pushing it toward him. You quickly steal another bite of your toast before scowling at him. “You better not leave a mess for me to clean up.”

Once you finish chewing you’re still maintaining eye contact with Beomgyu. He stares intently, and you wonder if he’s still groggy from just waking up. Then his eyes break away to the state of your hair. He gives another second of thought before sweeping the unruly strands into place.

“You’re going outside, where people will see you.” He tsks.

“Said people should mind their business.” You punctuate by tearing off a chunk of your toast, maintaining eye contact pointedly. You throw the matching jacket to your sweatpants over your shoulder. “Lock my door before you leave!”

As the door shuts, the sound echoing through the now empty apartment, Beomgyu feels hyper aware of how much empty space surrounds him where he stands. The loneliness looms over him, a reminder no matter where he goes. He may joke around, but Beomgyu tries not to whine about his problems. It feels especially inappropriate since you were in this same situation, bound to this apartment with a suddenly empty schedule. But for you, you weren’t sure if you were getting fired or worse, getting stuck in the dungeon for years with no end in sight. 

He thinks about that the entire time he stays within your walls. Where you stood, sat, and lied in limbo. From the couch, he glances over at the spot he found you lying in the day after you wrecked your house. A dark, malicious feeling crawls up his spine and he squirms. Staying in your house was already confusing for him, but with this feeling of what… guilt? He had nothing to feel guilty over. He was protecting his members.

Either way, it was overwhelming. He leaves your home, locking it on the way out. His dorm had his things. He can play video games all day until his eyes dry out. It was undeniably unfulfilling, despite it being what he craved since his trainee years. It felt as empty as his home.

He intentionally has his headphones only over one ear so he can hear when the door clicks open. It’s too quiet to be more than one member. Whatever, he’ll take what he can get. He leaves the game lobby, throwing his headphones off and rushing out of his room. When his eyes are met with blonde hair he stops in his tracks. Soobin silently regards him, not sparing him an ounce of emotion as he makes his way to the fridge. He grabs a soda, pops it open, and throws it back. Beomgyu waits patiently, he needs the interaction and Soobin has to give up this silent treatment at some point.

Soobin empties the can and tosses it, a silent conflict bleeding through his indifference to Beomgyu’s presence. Both men stand in silence, Beomgyu surveying each twitch in Soobin’s expression.

Soobin grits his teeth, hoping if he squeezes hard enough this aggravating feeling flaring up will pass. “You know what really pisses me off?” He snaps once he fails.

The relief he expected doesn’t come. There’s a pang of anxiety creeping up his spine in its place. “That I’m mean to your friend-”

“That I have a feeling this is all about that situation you refuse to talk about.” Soobin immediately shoots down his quip, sparing none of his valuable time for Beomgyu’s antics. Soobin finds that new trials and tribulations rear their ugly head just when he thought he’d gotten used to them. Recently Beomgyu has been one huge trial. He hasn’t been a good leader when dealing with this but Beomgyu is also his friend and roommate. Is he not allowed to just be upset by the actions of someone so close to him? Physically and emotionally?

When he looks over at Beomgyu it’s clear from the look on his face that he’s still not going to engage. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy. Letting out a lengthy sigh, he decides it’s time to abandon his personal grievances for now.

“You slept over at her house?”

Finally, it felt like someone was clamping their hands around his throat. “What, are you jealous or something?” He melts back into his usual self.

“I’m your leader.” Why does he even remind him anymore? It’s becoming increasingly apparent that the title means nothing to him.

“Yeah, you love reminding me of that fact when it’s convenient but it doesn’t apply here.” Getting his fill of interaction, he leaves the kitchen in favor of the living room. “It’s none of your business.”

“It became my business when you got in trouble. You’re on suspension, Beomgyu.” Yet again reminding him of something he clearly doesn’t care about. At least, he thinks he doesn’t until Beomgyu stops. His back is turned toward Soobin but he can still tell that it got to him.

Beomgyu no longer feels isolated but he does feel trapped again. Like the exits are too far away for him to escape and he’s forced to face this. “I don’t blame you for not speaking to the therapist they provide us with the risk of your confessions being reported, but if you tell me what’s going on we can figure this out. I’m also your friend, Beomgyu. You can talk to me.” He says softly, jumping at the chance of an opening.

This is the same guy he would laugh with until it physically hurt but he still couldn’t stop. The one who’d sneak him extra food as trainees. He’s a lovable dork who has proved on so very many occasions that he cares about each and every one of his members. Beomgyu can see it, he can feel it whipping around in the air. Soobin is right and he’s being stubborn again. It’s like the walls are closing in and pushing him closer to Soobin’s hurt but hopeful eyes. Beomgyu shuts his own.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

Before Beomgyu can see the full transition of his expression he whips around, making his way to his room.

“Really? You’re still gonna pretend nothing is wrong?!” Soobin’s increase in volume is ignored as Beomgyu slams the door behind him.

–🖊️⇝

Tomorrow is Beomgyu’s last day in suspension. Yeonjun proposed they throw a party, just another excuse for Yeonjun to party. He invites anyone whose schedule is free which turns out to be a surprising amount of people. Friendly Yeonjun knows pretty much everyone in this generation and some from previous ones. This once empty building waiting to be bought was filled wall to wall with idols, models, and actors. 

Everyone notable in Beomgyu’s life saw the suspension as a no-touch subject that dampened the mood, except for you of course, the delightful person you are. Here? People are coming up to him with a tone that can only be described as vengeful.

“HYBE seems like such tight asses. You guys should ditch that place and come sign with KQ.” Hongjoong delivers a solid pat to Beomgyu’s back as he guides him to the stacked liquor table. “Let’s forget about all of that tonight.” Hongjoong messily pours two shots, either from having too many already or from sheer excitement to let loose. He hands Beomgyu one before raising his into the air. “To freedom!”

It’s almost surreal. The music feels like it swells as reality starts to dawn on him. His containment is soon to be over and he is completely surrounded by people. Things were finally gonna start looking up again.

“To freedom!” 

They both knock back their shots and submerge themselves back into the crowd of people with refreshed energy. His first instinct was to find you for some celebratory cum dumping, maybe fuck you into the wall of one of these fancy port-o-potties.

“Hey.” 

The voice leads Beomgyu’s eyes to a pair of sultry eyes and plump lips curved into a flirty smile. She was a perfect ten with a rack sitting pretty, the round, soft spheres of her cleavage taunting his already horny brain. Jisun was always a nice piece of eye candy. “Catch up to me,” She gestures to the shot in her hand, “and then let’s play.”

–🖊️⇝

Beomgyu is strange. He clearly still holds some resentment toward you, or at least skepticism, but he’s still around a lot. And you are too, which feels like poking the tiger. If he suddenly decides he still hates you he can rat you out with proof this time. You did blackmail the man. But this is just easier. Being strict and clear about your relationship was exhausting. Sometimes you don’t want to journey right back home after getting your back blown out.

All it would take was one joke from Beomgyu about you being clingy and you would’ve snapped back to the strict rules. Then he spent the night over your house and you felt a little at ease.

That meant you could finally have a sleepover at their dorm, staying up all night with Soobin watching scary movies and then being too scared to sleep. It also didn’t hurt having something warm to snuggle up to. The strangest part? Beomgyu seemed to be easing up. He stopped giving you that look as much, as if he’s trying to catch you scheming.

The party was much needed, and judging by the vibe of literally everyone else around you, all the partygoers would agree. There’s this overwhelming sense of relief and it’s intoxicating. Nobody can be as relieved as Beomgyu, wherever he is. You keep an eye out for him, in case he wants to monkey around in some pocket of the building. 

“Hey!!” Soobin grabs your shoulder to stop you as he maneuvers around you. “There you are!”

“And here you are! I can’t believe you’re here and not at home watching anime!” You lean a little closer for him to hear over the music.

“I know! I decided I could try and blow off some steam since I pretty much have the day off tomorrow.”

“Pretty much?” You ask, curious if a monthly diet and exercise report was a company-wide event.

“We’re having a meeting before Beomgyu is reinstated. They said it’d be a small one but I’m still blowing off steam in advance.”

“Yikes. Let’s get some drinks in your system.” You guide him to the alcohol like a nurse escorting a frail patient.

All four of you were downing shots like your life depended on it on opposite sides of the bar. Beomgyu was caught up far before you and Soobin drank your stress away, so away he went. Jisun was whisked to whatever private area they stumbled across first. The spacious storage closet behind the first door he opened seemed like stumbling across the gates of heaven. With a swift turn, he flashes Jisun a smirk and pulls her in. 

“Have you seen Beomgyu yet?” You probe, trying to look casual and not let your genuine inquiry slip through. You’re realizing the longer you’ve gone without seeing him today that you may crave more than just a quickie. A flash of his signature smirk passes through your mind and your stomach fills with a joyous warmth. You find yourself smiling. You quickly drop the smile, peering at Soobin as he stares at the ceiling.

“Not yet. I decided not to look for him and just let him relax. This party is for him after all.” He speaks quietly and you can tell there’s a lot more going unsaid. “For all we know he might not be here.” You laugh, having to force it as this feeling you can’t– or won’t– describe dawns on you. Soobin sighs, not able to shake the conflict in his head.

“I don’t know what’s going on with this man. I don’t know how to get him to talk about it-” He stops, raising his hands as if the gesture will help him conjure his thoughts. He shuts his mouth, dropping his hands in favor of grabbing a shot and downing it. “Has he said anything to you? About anything bothering him?”

“To me? Yeah, that’s not really how our relationship works.” You shake your head, tossing your own shot back to try and dull the emotions begging to be unpacked. Is something bothering him? When is something not bothering him? Now that you think about it, you haven’t seen goofy Beomgyu with your own eyes. You’ve just heard about his harmless mischief through the grapevine. “Loveable brat” is how you overheard Chaewon describe him. You didn’t really get either descriptor at first. More like “punchable asshole”. Without the constant screaming and threatening to ruin the other’s career, you suppose you’re getting close to seeing that side of him. The night before he slept over you shared a kiss that was simple. So simple it was loaded. There was no lust behind it, just a tender gesture with no follow up. Just you waking up holding him. And him holding you. 

“Did something happen?” You ask before chewing on your nail.

“Around when we first debuted. I haven’t thought about it in years because he refuses to talk about it. I really don’t think this is just about him wanting to protect us.” Soobin shoves his shot glass away, seemingly giving up on that method since it doesn’t seem to be working.

“Boy, aren’t you glad you got stuck with these guys?” You laugh and he lets one out as well, though unintentionally. He shakes his head, straightening his face. “No, I am. I really am. I’m lucky.” He knows you’re joking, but it doesn’t settle well when he remembers how he’s been acting. Beomgyu’s supposed leader giving him the silent treatment like a child or a frustrated lover. He sighs, letting out another laugh. This time it’s dry, expressing contempt for himself.

“I’m not really in the mood for a party anymore.”

Beomgyu did not ruin your career but he did ruin the mood for both of you and he wasn’t even there. You echoed his sentiments and he convinces you to come over. It wasn’t very hard, seeing as you could both use the company. There are no other members home yet so you didn’t have to share the blanket. You had it wrapped around the both of you like a cocoon as you tortured him with a scary movie. 

“We could’ve been watching The Bad Guys and-” Soobin wails loudly right beside your ear at the world’s most poorly set up jumpscare making you jerk away from him. He clings to you but you pry him off immediately.

“Are you not ashamed? A baby could sit through this.” You deride, shoving him away again when he tries to lean into you. “You’re so mean!” He erupts after trying to grab onto you a third time.

“No, you’re just a pussy.”

Soobin stands from the couch and snatches the remote from the other side of you. He pauses the movie, ignoring your protesting. “Since when were you so comfortable with disrespecting me?” He scolds playfully, setting his hands on his hips. “Last I remember, I was still your senior.”

“Would you rather I kiss your ass like before?” You cock your head to the side with a raise of your eyebrow, speaking about your former crush for the first time to him outside of the initial awkward phase after the rooftop mishap. He finally collects himself, fighting through his shock. He sits back beside you, keeping his eyes on you as he wraps the blanket back around you.

“I like this version of you much better.” He admits quietly, eyes genuine as they gaze into yours. You breathe a small laugh.

“Don’t tell me you’ve got a crush now, Choi.” You reply at the same volume. The atmosphere felt a lot more volatile suddenly, it was as if you both were close to triggering something.

“You’re getting ahead of yourself.” His eyes leave yours, giving you a little time to breathe. “I am turned on, though.”

Your pussy clenches hard, feeling a vortex of pleasure swirl in your stomach. You suck in a breath subconsciously as your eyes become glued to how his tongue skits over his bottom lip. He must be wetting them in an attempt to maintain their softness, unlike Beomgyu who bites at them until they’re utterly ruined. Kind of like he’s doing now back at the party. He just needs some way to cope with the pulsing need overwhelming him when he needs to empty his balls. With two handfuls of Jisun’s tits, he gets a similar feeling. His teeth dig and tug at his poor bottom lip. Better it be his lip than her soft skin. He needs to remember this isn’t you he’s playing with.

Fuck, if it were you he’d sink his nails in until you yelped. Feeling his cock jump at the sound and ache at the thought of you loving the pain as much as he loves inflicting it. That delicious look in your eye exposing how much you want to absolutely ruin him in a way no one has before.

But the look you give Soobin gives Soobin pause. He raises his eyebrows before leaning back, letting his head fall back onto the couch. “You don’t still have a crush on me, do you?”

His eyes are like hot fudge drizzling over a mound of ice cream, melting every inch it touches. Still, something nags at you. You need something inside you and you need it bad… but this should be affecting you much more. “I don’t think you have to worry about that.”

His eyes dip lower, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth. Nag nag nag. It’s just dick, you tell yourself. You just need some hard sex and this feeling will go away. You grab Soobin by his shirt and pull him on top of you. He happily engulfs you with his large body, caging you in as he devours your lips. They’re still slick with his own spit. They squish and slide against yours and your body ignites. You wrap your legs around him and push his bulge into your core. He groans and you grin against his mouth. So vocal.

Beomgyu would say the same about Jisun, except it wouldn’t be praise. It’s just noise with no rhyme or reason. She’s not reacting to the curl of his fingers inside her, her moans don't correspond with the clench of her walls, there’s no sign she’s being caught off guard by anything he’s doing. Just. Noise.

Everything about her just dissolves into meaningless blobs of nothing. His fingers sloshing inside a wet cavern, his hands squeezing doughy flesh, and his lips brushing against mindless flaps that omit noise constantly. It quickly becomes mind-numbing and he can feel himself going limp. If you were here instead, you’d gasp when he pushed his fingertips into your bundle of nerves. Not meaning to dig your fingers into his shoulders but not being able to help how your body naturally reacts. You don’t want to whimper when he sucks on that sweet spot on your neck but you just can’t help it.

He can feel himself get hard again, his fingers curling and pushing into Jisun’s heat fluidly with you vivid behind his clenched lids. Where are you? He’s suddenly pulled out of the heated moment he’s sharing as the question pops into his mind. If he searched for you, could he be inside you right now instead? Jisun’s noises pull him from his thoughts. How pathetic would it be for him to scramble out of the closet, pussy juice still on his middle and ring finger as he looks for you with his eyes wide like a puppy? First he cuddles you and spends the night at your house and then you see him like that? His eyes snap open.

He grunts, pumping his fingers with more vigor. He has a warm hole for tonight. There’s always tomorrow. That frustrating feeling of the intoxicating warmth leaving his groin as you dissipate from his mind is back and he chases it again. The image of Jisun’s exaggerated expressions flicker away behind his fluttering lids before his mind projects your face twitching to keep your bliss hidden. Pleasure so strong that even the raging flames of hatred can’t burn it away. 

A penis entering a vagina was something you were taught was reserved for the pinnacle of love. When you were old enough you were promised tender touches and emotions so deep and complex they would bring you to tears. You and Beomgyu were swept up into the limelight long before you could get a chance to naturally build up such a relationship and experience such a transcendental feeling. Instead, the two of you bastardized the act with one night stands and relationships built on flimsy foundations only to come crashing down from neglect or simply not knowing who was under your sacred roof. How could you not? There’s no time, too much stress, and too much at stake. 

So you fuck and fuck until the act becomes something so unrecognizable that you come out the other end. Letting someone tear at your flesh and tamper with your spirit as they touch you the way someone you love should. Yet here you are with someone who would treat you right, someone who you longed for for so long, someone who holds you like you’re porcelain with passion still flowing through every action. You should be falling head over heels again. Your crush should be flooding back with crashing waves wrecking everything in its wake until nothing is left but your undying need for Soobin. But no. He mouths your neck as he thrusts shallowing, checking in to make sure he’s not hurting you. 

Everyone who taught you about how sex would feel were right about one thing. You were brought to tears. 

“Beomgyu.” You blubber shamefully, gritting your teeth before hiccupping. You fail to suppress it. Everything becomes a blur as tears stream down your face. The self-pity numbs you beyond repair.

Your name leaving Beomgyu’s lips doesn’t feel real. He only realizes what he’s done after Jisun’s warmth is gone. He opens his eyes and she has moved as far away from him as she possibly can in the confined space. Her angry words don’t register as she fixes herself and storms out, brushing his shoulder on her way. Once he was old enough, Beomgyu was taught a little differently. His father would wait until his mother left the room to get filthy about it, wiggling his eyebrows. His friends would boast and fantasize lewdly in the back of the classroom about it. The pinnacle of sex was supposed to be casual with beautiful women. The only hate sex guys his age fantasized about were low-stakes scenarios you only see in porn. What the two of you had? No one with any ounce of self-preservation would touch this with a ten foot pole. They’d call you “psycho”, block your number, and avoid you like the plague.

Not daydream about you while experiencing a man’s definition of the pinnacle of sex. 

–🖊️⇝

Soobin is a saint. He waited patiently for you to calm down, holding you and rubbing your back. He didn’t complain about his lack of finishing once and didn’t make you feel awkward. He just giggled at your swollen face after you finished. You sat quietly on the couch, staring at whatever movie had auto-played.

“You guys are very similar, you know?”

The urge to start crying again chokes you and you swallow it down. “Soobin, that's a horrible thing to say.” You sigh.

He laughs loudly, trying to stifle his overflowing amusement after seeing your eyes get glassy again. “That’s why you hate each other so much I think.” He says once the humor subsides.

“I hate him because he was horrible to me.” You correct, unable to suppress the annoyance flaring up at his ignorant assumption.

“He was horrible to you, right?” He looks over at you, looking back at the tv once he sees your stone-like expression. “But you still resent each other despite you guys not being at each other’s throats for about a month now.”

“Because I’m wary. He’s wary. We both are constantly remembering something horrible we did to one another.” You suck in a breath, ready to vent about all the ways he’s scarred your skin with proof, but which ones were the ones you encouraged? It didn’t feel appropriate to lie or guess no matter how much you wanted to. Fuck, you wanted to scream about Beomgyu and how much you should hate him. You whimper, resting your face in your hands. “What’s wrong with me?”

Soobin doesn’t answer, leaving you with your own thoughts. You find yourself appreciating the silence.

“Do you love him?”

Numb and hollow… yet throbbing and infected. The space between the skin of your forehead and the bone of your skull felt like it was swimming with complicated activity as your brain echoed the devastating question. Not because the answer was yes but because it had to be answered at all. You raise your head slowly from shaking hands before standing from the couch.

“I’m going to sleep.”

–🖊️⇝

Waking up that morning for both of you was somehow more loaded than waking up in each other’s arms. You couldn’t be with each other or away. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t simple anymore and the complication of it all was starting to get exhausting. You slip from beneath Soobin’s arm, careful not to wake him. Beomgyu trudges out of his bed, feet plodding heavily toward his door. Both doors close simultaneously with a dull, echoing thud, neither noticing the other as you both stand in silence. It’s only when you start to move that Beomgyu notices you. His chest rises slightly with a small gasp. There you are.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming.”

For a second your eyes meet his and there’s a flicker of something that excites him. You straighten up. “I was with Soobin.”

“But you could’ve been with me.” Beomgyu can feel himself get worked up at just the thought of something that actually gets him going. 

“Believe it or not,” You draw nearer and Beomgyu’s eyes are locked onto your lips as they part. You lean in and the warmth of your proximity ceases his breathing “he kept me company.” 

It felt like slow motion when you pulled away and winked at Beomgyu. A gesture that should’ve been harmless and maybe even cute made Beomgyu feel like hot curdled liquid was crawling down his throat.

Once you pull back Beomgyu’s expression hardens. His eyes prick you like needles. “What?”

His tone and glare make you flinch. Your smirk flickers away. This is usually how it starts, but a part of you just wanted to cut out all the bullshit and get to the part where he makes you scream his name. But the look in his eye… something’s different. Something’s wrong. 

“I-I had a little fun with Soobin. It didn’t really go far though because I…” You choke on your words, feeling your heart throb when he tore his eyes away. He couldn’t read your mind but you couldn’t stop yourself from believing he somehow sniffed out the pitiful truth. 

Beomgyu laughs dryly and each moment without proper words made you feel like screaming. Beomgyu flexes his hands, avoiding your eyes while he cracks his knuckles. He balls them into tight fists before staring at you with a level of fury that makes your blood run cold. “I fucking knew it.”

The words struggle to leave his lips as if they had to pass through a filter of his growing disdain for you. Quiet, yet still piercing enough to get you stammering. “Y-you can’t be serious. You’re not seriously talking about what I think you are right now are you?!”

And just like that the two of you are back to square one. Everything that happened in the last two months, hell, the last 48 hours feel like they mean nothing. Why would they? It’s Beomgyu’s fault for letting things get the way they are. Beomgyu feels this nauseating sensation curdle in his stomach and it’s strong. So strong it forces a lie out of him. 

“I’m just trying to protect my members. God– is that a crime or something? Why am I the bad guy? You’re not gonna get away with using us like toys. Maybe you’ll have better luck whoring around Enhypen.” He spits out the words, hating the way they taste. This is your guys’ dynamic, right? Now you’ll start throwing things and screaming at him. 

But nothing comes and Beomgyu realizes he hasn’t been looking at you. At what point he looked away again, he wasn’t sure, but he couldn’t get himself to make eye contact again. The lack of response clouds his lungs, a stabbing pain screaming in his temples.

After the silence suffocates him to near death he finally manages to look at you. He has to muster all his strength, but he does. And you’re crying. His body feels hollow. No arousal or sadistic pleasure is derived from this. He can’t even feign it.

Still, the silence won’t let up and as if to punish him, his body won’t let him look away. As if two hands are holding his head in place and as a sinister voice hisses in his ears.

LOOK AT WHAT YOU’VE DONE.

How much time passes, he’s not sure. Enough time for him to realize how much chaos and stress he’s caused to his leader, his members, his company, and to an innocent person with an innocent crush.

More tears well and skit from your cheekbones straight to the carpet beneath both your feet. Darkening the fabric. The words you’ve been choking on finally release, though they sound frail and strangled. “Beomgyu. I don’t know how else to get through to you. I care about Soobin. Fuck…” You don’t attempt to wipe the tears away or cease them in any way. Your head falls as if your neck can no longer support it. “I was starting to care about you.” 

Hostile would be putting it lightly. The activity in your brain and heart is like a dozen hornet’s nests being shaken and preparing to erupt, one for each emotion reaching its peak. You grit your teeth so hard you think they’ll crumble under the pressure.

“You wanna know something? The only person hurting someone by turning on them is you.” You hate the implications this leaves but your thoughts and emotions are on overdrive and you need to leave before it gets any uglier. “I’ll respect your wishes. Friends aren’t worth dealing with this, I’d rather be alone. Just promise me you won’t involve my career in your bullshit this time.”

As you storm away, barely able to look that man in the eye you realize this. This is what you were wary of the entire time. It wasn’t him ruining your career or biting you until he draws blood or turning your friends against you. It was this feeling you were experiencing. Pain so deep you’d almost call it heartbreak. However, it wasn’t earned from time spent with someone who cherished you and made you feel like you were worth something. All this heartache…

You let him do unspeakable things to you. You let him hurt you in ways you would’ve never let anyone else. You welcomed it.

In an alternate reality, you’d be kicked out of your company, stuck with a damning reputation, and banned from the only true friends you had. The man who would’ve caused all that turmoil in your life, with the intent to cause that harm, is the same one who your heart is aching for. 

–🖊️⇝

The curtains across the room have become blurry blobs of color after being stuck staring in that direction for what felt like too long. You had to start, if you’re late sending this video in then there will be another crack. You manage to squeeze your eyes shut and jump start your brain once again from its brief hiatus.

The inhale you suck in shudders beyond your control. The more time that passes with that song out in the open for anyone to hear, the less you can hide your anxiety. You hold your breath until it hurts before blowing out a rushed gust of wind. You’re stagnant again, and before your brain can shut down for one more sweet break you force a smile and hit record.

“Hello precious moonbeams!~ I hope you’re all doing well. Thank you for all the support on Strawberry Jam. I was so worried!” You pout. “It’s a bit of a weird song, right? It’s very different from Laude so I was scared you guys wouldn’t like it. But… wow. The support is…” Sincerity bleeds through as you reflect on traversing your favorite store and then hearing your voice through the speakers.

“Pierce me, Bruise me, keep going until you see strawberry jam”

Your blood runs cold, and your eyes snap up as if you’re being caught saying something you didn’t mean to be publicized. A couple of passersby whisper or stare or gasp. You run out of the store.

Before you can get too sincere you force the smile back in place. “It’s overwhelming. Seriously.” Your eyes get glassy and you chew on your lip. “Thank you.”

All the cracks that have reared their ugly head so far have been mostly forgotten because of the overnight success of your first comeback. Your debut was deemed a flop in comparison to your colleagues, so this was absolutely necessary. It was mandatory. You finally feel like you’re making progress digging out of this deep hole. 

There are signs your company still doesn’t fully trust you.

The first big sign was the debut delays. You were sure they were going to cancel it and that they saw you as a risk. The cracks were treacherous. Then you debuted and the reception was lukewarm. You sat in limbo for days, reading negative comments until your head span. A piece chips off revealing an inky black abyss. 

Then you heard your comeback song. Instead of classy and subdued like your debut, this song was hard to swallow. It was asymmetrical and loud. It was raunchy.

“What do you think?”

You sat in silence, jaw dropped open, a truck sized lump in your throat. You could hear the sound of cracking. But why? This song was a clear hit. You could hear another idol performing it well. 

But it’s yours.

“Ready to record?”

You nod, hoping that will become true with time.

The track plays and your fears ease a bit. You bob your head to the beat. Everything goes fine until the same lyrics that struggle to come out of your mouth approach. You power through. You need this.

“I should hate it but I don’t”

This will be a hit, you can get through this. 

You continue powering through but the dread builds and builds. You hate this line, you hate it so much. Your breath gets caught in your throat right before it’s time and you know you’re about to choke.

“Can’t promise I won’t cry but I…” You sigh and drop your head. You already knew it was coming when they ask you to do it again.

“Can’t promise I won’t cry but I-I know that you like that…”

CRACK

The producer slides his headphones off with a chuckle. “I know. It’s weird, right?” He winces as if he’s mirroring your assumed feelings on the matter. He’s half right. It’s obscene and you hate it. You hate it so much.

“I’m sorry, let’s go again.”

The track replaying is like a death march. Your throat bobs, doing little to refresh your throat that feels like it’s filled with cactus needles and glass.

“Can’t promise I won’t cry but I know that you like that-”

The line processes in your mind and you connect it to the past despite avoiding doing so as if your life depends on it. You reflect on all the times he’s brought you to tears. How hot they felt rushing from your eyes after you frustratingly kissed him for the first time. How helpless and pathetic you felt crying as he restrained your wrists, only to spray you in his seed mockingly. And most frustratingly of all, you crying while revealing that you actually cared about him after he did exactly what you knew he would.

CRACK

The calls of your name are muffled as flashes of his face refuse to leave. You grit your teeth, feeling a frightening level of rage familiarly build up inside you. “I hate him.”

You rush out of the recording booth, mortified as tears stream down your face. He’s done it again. He isn’t even here and he’s done it again. If he could see you right now he’d probably smile. It would probably brighten his day. And you welcomed that monster into your bed.

You’re all the way back home once you realize what you’ve done. The producer is probably calling your manager who is calling the CEO about how much of a pain in the ass you are. You need to get yourself together quickly and get back there. You run to your bathroom and look in the mirror. You plant your shaky hands on the sink

“I’m…”

Your voice wavers. Your resolve dissipates as you stare at the cracks that have transferred to your very visage. A shard dangles where your eye resides before falling away. Again, the black nothingness is left behind and you’ve already forgotten what your face normally looks like.

Your phone starts to buzz and you slowly fade back to reality.

–🖊️⇝

“I have no clue who that is. Why can’t we collab with a Korean artist?” Beomgyu mutters. Soobin grits his teeth and elbows him. He rolls his eyes despite the instant regret. It takes only a minute of fading into the background as the other guys engage in productive conversation for the guilt to fully bloom. On one couch there were four employees and one temperamental child.

No matter where he goes he feels this way. The guys don’t bring girls to the dorm anymore. If they go out to see one, they nervously lie about it and rush out of the door. 

Anytime they bring up a memory tainted with you, Beomgyu is greeted with shocked silence and finds four panicked eyes on him like they’re afraid they’ve poked a tiger.

All those posters, cardboard cutouts, and billboards that are fucking everywhere are like land mines. To anyone else it would be comical to watch four grown, big ass men tiptoeing around a mall like one wrong step will blow their leg clean off.

And the song.

Beomgyu… he is really trying to get better. If he didn’t attempt to, Soobin would probably choke him out. He’s been very patient, but anyone in his shoes would be exasperated. When they’re in public or in a meeting and Beomgyu is being a menace is one thing, Soobin lets him know then and there that he’s serious.

However, when they’re alone, it’s strangely peaceful. He asks Beomgyu about his day and his mental and emotional state. He hasn’t brought you up for a while now. Tomorrow will make 6 months.

Tomorrow comes, Beomgyu’s indifference is slipping. While everyone else walked on eggshells, Beomgyu coasted through the situation like nothing happened. But somehow, the fact that the boys are becoming more accustomed to not bringing you up is bothering him. He only sees you through screens or your likeness plastered on paper or cardboard. 

The last time you physically entered his vision was during your goodbye stage of your debut promotions. It was a brief glimpse but it was enough to show you weren’t doing well. It was an image burned into his memory. None of the photo shoots could replace it. Even longer before that was the last time the two of you made physical contact. The feeling of holding you in your bed is long gone. Everything about you feels like a ghost now.

“Here he is!” Beomgyu looks up from his phone he wasn’t really looking at anyway to see Soobin walking over with some girl. Beomgyu slides down his mask to present the girl with a tight smile and bow.

“This is Jiwon from Cherry Bullet.” 

“Hello.” Jiwon bows with a bright smile and somehow the common gesture illustrates just how efficient of a person she is. He has no clue what a cherry bullet is but something tells him she’s a stellar idol. But why was she talking to him? Beomgyu looks up at Soobin’s phony wide smile before getting distracted by the rest of his members frantically trying to stop what’s happening. Yeonjun tugs Soobin to the side, jaw jutting forward as he grits something out Beomgyu can’t quite decipher.

“I’ve heard people refer to you as a video game protagonist.” Beomgyu’s attention is ripped away from his members as Jiwon speaks again with a little more hesitance this time. What, does she think he’s a ticking time bomb too?

“What?”

“Your visuals.” She clarifies, seeming a little more relaxed now. “Now that I see you in real life I can say I see it too. I didn’t know before but I think that’s my style.” She looks down, still appearing resolute despite the shy action. 

“I don’t usually do things like this, I value my job and image, but I was just so curious about you. I felt a bit weird asking Soobin to introduce me to you but…” As if she realizes she’s been having a one-sided conversation, she stops herself and looks at Beomgyu expectantly.

Every so often, Beomgyu catches wind of a rumor going around about himself. Whether it’s someone he’s cool with reporting back to him or rookies being way too loud and excitable. He supposes every idol experiences this, and most likely they’re as indifferent as he is. He’s a former thug, he’s gay, he’s fucking an executive, and the biggest one:

He’s a womanizer. 

That one sometimes goes hand in hand with the thug one, but it’s mostly referring to his current idol lifestyle. He doesn’t know how it happened. He hasn’t been in a relationship since Hyesoo. He couldn’t be one if he tried. He lets his emotions get in the way. A part of him wishes it were true. Maybe he would stop craving nails raking into the flesh of his back or bite marks on his bottom lip and shoulders. Maybe he would stop waking up with soiled sheets because he has dreams about being ridden long after he’s already cum. 

Of course now he’s thinking of you, despite chatting it up with Jiwoo– or no, Ji…

You’re probably getting relief every other day with how famous you are now. If you even have the time. In that case, you’re probably locking you and some guy in dressing rooms, closets, anywhere you can get privacy for a quickie. 

But no… you’re not like that. You only let Beomgyu see the deepest, darkest parts of you because you were pushed to do so. Beomgyu’s face goes slack, staring deep into space. You hated him so much that you didn’t care about bearing the ugliest side of you to him. Gnashing your teeth with your shirt a tangled mess over your torso after you gave up on taking it off. Saying the most venomous things Beomgyu’s ever heard while milking him for all he’s got. Even after things cooled a bit, you would let him touch and taste you before you even showered. Opening the door to let him in with stains all over your shirt and leftover makeup from the day before.

“I thought about jumping off the roof at practice while I was on my break.” You had said to him after couch sex. You guys were watching Community and eating ice cream. You were just joking about one of the characters being dumb. Beomgyu had looked at you, completely bewildered.

“Isn’t this what you wanted? What you’ve been waiting for?” He asks incredulously.

You sigh dramatically.

“Yeah, but I’m so fucking hungry. My body aches and my hands shake so much I can barely hold a pen to write my own name. I made a mistake and my instructor cussed at me and called me useless.” You laughed sharply before letting your head droop over to face him. “D’you know they delayed my fucking debut again? Before I thought about offing myself I imagined slitting my manager’s throat and bludgeoning the dance instructor to death and stripping down so I could smear both their blood all over me until it covered every inch of my skin. It was so brief but so so vivid.” You rushed out the words in a crazed fashion and you looked at him with wide eyes. You smile. “Then I imagined you coming in, we had sex and then I strangled you until your eyes bulged out–” You catch your breath and look back at the tv. You looked down at your hand and groaned. Your ice cream had melted over your trembling hand.

“Fuck it–” You rush over to the trash can and chuck it before aggressively wiping off your hand with a tattered kitchen towel. You stomp over to the fridge and take out one of the multiple spoiled bags of salad mix and dump it in the trash to cover up the tossed ice cream. You throw a glance at him.

“Make sure you eat that all or cover your tracks if you throw it away.” You mutter, finding your voice wavering suddenly. You sniffle, slamming down on the couch. You refuse to look over at him as tears break free from your eyes. You feel him move closer to you on the couch and you grit your teeth. His hand curls around the column of your throat but he doesn’t apply pressure.

“I imagined killing my manager once too.”

You peer over at him, he’s looking down, his thick lashes on display. “Except I stabbed  him over and over and over until he was an unrecognizable mound of mush. You’re right, it flashed by so fast. I was so sickened by it I pretended it never crossed my mind. Yet here we are…” He finally looks up with a smirk. He finally applies the pressure and you inhale a shuddering breath.

He moves his lips next to your ear, his breath fanning on it making you shiver. “Does it hurt?”

Immediately understanding what he meant you nod feverishly. 

“I’ll distract you.” He answers quickly before swinging his leg over and resting his knee on your thigh. He sits all his weight on your thigh and he squeezes your throat. He repeats it again breathily as he stares down at you wistfully. Your strangled whimpers get him straining against his jeans. 

“I-I…” You find yourself speaking against your will. No… this isn’t how this went. He squeezes again and you moan. You want to clench your thighs but his knee is pinning your leg down. You can’t think, it’s perfect. Still, you find your mouth moving. No! There were no more words exchanged after this. You fucked again and he slept over.

“I-I’m so lonely,” Your voice quivers before you begin sobbing uncontrollably. When you open your eyes and blink away your tears you see a twisted wide grin on his face. His eyes are wild. You tremble in fear, unable to speak anymore. No no no no no no no…

“I fucking knew it.”

You gasp for air, it feels like he’s crushing your windpipe.

“Just a sad, lonely, nobody coming to mooch off of us. Pitiful. You want friends? Huh?” You feel blood rushing up to your face. “Too bad. You don’t deserve love. No one fucking likes you and no one ever will. I’ll do you a favor.”

Almost as if he’s beating you to what you briefly daydreamt about, he applies his other hand and you want to scream. Your ears start ringing and you feel something warm trickle from your ears and all of a sudden there’s a bright light and a piercing noise–

You jolt up from your bed, continuing to sob like you did in your nightmare. You stumble out, nearly tripping as you reach to turn the light on. After doing so you slide down against the wall. Sobbing until your chest hurt and you had no air left in your lungs.

–🖊️⇝

There’s no doubt this song has gotten you some perverse comments and unwanted attention, but it must also get you positive attention too. He’s never seen you hang out with anyone else  besides the guys but surely you have an entourage by now. Guys lining up to treat you right. Ones you wouldn’t feel are deplorable enough to casually bring up your murder fantasies to.

“Gyu?”

Jiwon has that confused tone in her voice. God, he tuned her out by accident again. 

“Are you okay? It seems like you’ve been zoning out a lot.” She sounds cautious again. Beomgyu can tell that she’s trying to avoid what might set him off. Did Soobin tell her about you? How he’s just a screaming match waiting to happen?

“To be fair, I’ve had a lot to think about recently.” Beomgyu gives her a look, he knows she’s aware of what he’s referring to. Her awareness is becoming increasingly obvious.

She sits down beside him in the other folding chair backstage. Not dissimilar to when they first met. Even more similar, he notices his members frantically whispering to each other while looking at him.

“Are you still feeling bothered by that?” Jiwon places a hand on his but it doesn’t pull his attention away. Suddenly Kai is casting a fearful look to his right. Beomgyu, already feeling something stirring in his stomach follows his eyeline. 

A pair of black docs accented with black opaque hosiery that almost stop where your red skirt starts. The skirt looks tattered, purposefully so. It’s asymmetrical and overlapped by a black, intricately designed corset top. Your hands that are running through your hair are donned in a red, loosely fitted pair of sheer gloves. Once your arms stop shielding your face and you lift your head, Beomgyu sees your mascara running. His stomach drops.

The stylist scolds you and quickly tries to fix the mess. You don’t react at all, face stone cold. Maybe you just had a bad day, Beomgyu thinks.

It’s cliche, but it never stops shocking you how blinding the stage lights are. They glint sharply, feeling like they’ve sliced your eyes. You shut them, only to quickly open them once you remember people can see you. You force a smile on your face, not caring if it looks like you have a gun to your head. This is all you have left.

The bright light nearly pricks tears back to your eyes but you hold them back just like you hold back the thoughts of the texts your parents sent you this morning. You don’t want to perform today, the last thing you want to do is sing this song that is now ruining relationships. However, now this is truly all you have left. So you flip the switch as soon as the music starts and don’t turn it off until it’s safe to cry again.

You almost melt away on your couch when a knock startles you. You race to the door, thinking it may be your manager. A part of you still expects her to scold you about something she found out. It’s been months but you still fear Beomgyu saying something. A shaking hand pulls open the door.

Myungsoo smirks lazily. Kim Myungsoo. You have to pinch yourself still, despite it being a month now since he first spoke to you. You’re used to people speaking to you first by now. You’d rather they stick around, hang out with you, but that never happens. When he came up and asked you about your song, you were positive you’d probably never see him again. A man you used to have posters of slipping right through your fingers. But then he suddenly stayed put.

“What’re you up to?” He asks before widening his smile. Your heart flutters.

“I was going to take a nap.” You say quietly, very much distracted. Him brushing some of your hair behind your ear doesn’t help.

He waits a beat as he presses his lips into a thin line. “Need help?”

Your heart drums against your rib cage, it almost hurts how much you need it. He’s been teasing you during this exciting yet excruciating month. Hinting that he wants to fuck you but never doing it. You nearly came when he put his hand on your thigh last week.

Now his hand is there again, and it takes every ounce of strength you have to not lift your hips and coax him to where it hurts. He insisted on leaving the television off so you can’t even pretend not to have your full attention on him. 

“C’mere.” He whispers, his voice so warm it melts you. You scoot over and lean your head on his shoulder. You guys stay like that and you’re content– you really are… but it’s becoming increasingly more difficult not to shove his hand down your pants. You don’t know how long it’s been but your body is screaming at you. He should’ve been inside you already, you guys should have been done with your first round actually. Your impatience gets the best of you and you look up at him. He raises his eyebrows questioningly.

“Take a nap. Isn’t that what you said you were doing?”

You laugh dryly, too annoyed to take it back or be mortified at your outward display of your sexual frustration. 

“Is something wrong?” He pouts his lips mockingly. You sit up from him but he pulls you back. 

You let out a strained sigh. “I think I need to be alone to take a nap actually.”

“What, now you’re kicking me out? Did I do something wrong?” His cutesy act is nauseating right now. It pushes you to reveal how you actually feel.

“Aren’t you building us up to be just fuck buddies? Why are you beating around the bush?” You’re desperate, but it’s more than just being horny. At the moment you have no outlet for the overwhelming amounts of anxiety and growing depression. Despite what you had with Beomgyu being… what it was, you remember a wave of serenity after it was all said and done. You bickered as you got your clothes back on but then he left and your body was noticeably less tense. 

“I never said anything about that. You know, you claim you had nothing to do with the song but I’m a little skeptical…” He traces shapes over your bare shoulder and you shrug it off with a scoff before sitting up. The annoyance was building towards being affronted, but you could feel something tingling like a spark crackling inside your stomach. It was back, a feeling you haven’t felt in quite a while. 

“Excuse me?”

“I mean,” Myungsoo shifts toward you, “you’ve been practically begging to be fucked the minute we met. You’re not as subtle as you think.” His faux sympathy melts away once he sees fire glinting in your eyes. He can’t help but smile.

“Shut your fucking mouth.” You spit before mounting his lap and devouring his lips. This is it, there’s no mistaking it. But something’s missing… 

Myungsoo sits there, barely moving his lips against yours. Your hands roam his entire body while his are still by his sides. You pull away, afraid that you were mistaken, but he’s smiling up at you. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before coaxing you to finish.

“You want it, don’t you?”

And so you strip your shirt off, the fabric pulled away to reveal your eyes blown wide with lust. You capture his lips again and it tastes so sweet. You nearly tremble after finally breaking through that barrier that never seems to leave. You feel powerful for the first time in months as you slide your hands under his shirt. You puff out a frustrated gust of air before sliding off his lap and kneeling before him. You look up at him as you unzip his jeans. He smirks the entire time, lifting his hips to let you slide his jeans and underwear down. He exaggerates the movement of stretching his arms back and resting his hands behind his head. You falter, suddenly self conscious. 

“What’s your deal?”

He answers quickly, somehow knowing exactly what you were referring to. “I dunno… maybe I’m just not feeling it yet.” He sighs, reaching for his flaccid member and stroking it disappointedly. “Look at it, so pitiful.”

You swat his hand away, feeling challenged by his words. You start with his balls, licking in between them before circling your tongue around each one. You glance up at him and his cock twitches. His smirk flickers away briefly to revel pleasure while looking at the determination in your eyes.

You’re just so happy to finally taste someone. The way a cock feels in your hands and on your tongue, so silky and soft. So sinfully beautiful when covered in thick globs of saliva. There is truly nothing like it. But again, there was something missing.

Anywhere you and Myungsoo were together turned into a new spot for you to fuck. You’d give him the eyes which he’d ignore. Then you’d touch him. Kiss him. Whisper in his ear. None of it worked until you were pulling him somewhere secluded. Even when you were at his place or him at yours. It was like pulling teeth. But whatever, foreplay for you and Beomgyu was degrading and threatening each other. This was nothing.

It didn’t stop at foreplay, though. Throughout the entire act he’d be so smug, never reacting to anything. Only small glimpses of pleasure could be caught, but if you blinked you could miss it. You find yourself fighting for his passion. However, it remained one-sided.

–🖊️⇝

Jiwon’s ministrations were soft, almost like they weren’t there. She had a pretty pair of lips but they were like feathers against his.

“Noona…” He whispered, brushing his nose against hers.

“Hm?” She barely pecks his lips. Beomgyu inhales deeply before grabbing the back of Jiwon’s head and deepening the kiss. She makes a muffled noise of surprise but her eyes slowly flutter shut. She melts into the kiss for a few lovely seconds before forcing herself to pull away. She clears her throat before grabbing both of Beomgyu’s hands.

“Let’s take it slow, okay?” Jiwon gives him a pleading look and he only groans inwardly. It’s been a minute, and Jiwon is not a woman you come across too often. And they actually have a relationship he can brag about, someone he could see himself marrying. She’s pristine.

“Why, you didn’t like it?” He smirks and she scoffs.

“I did, but I just think it’s better for us if we don’t rush things.”

Beomgyu tries really hard to hide the cynicism threatening to rear its ugly head. Jiwon was finally not walking on eggshells around him. He thinks long and hard about what he’s going to say and panics when he thinks he’s said the wrong thing.

“Fine. But a deeper kiss won’t kill us.” Beomgyu brushes away his train of thought before smiling. 

It wasn’t long before Beomgyu and Jiwon made it official, only telling people they trusted and not risking visiting each other anywhere but their dorms. Even that takes several days of planning. 

“How does it work? We’ve never been.” Taehyun says, leaning forward in anticipation.

Jiwon takes a moment to swallow her sip of tea and to think. 

“This will be my second survival style show. I think that they’re not dissimilar to being a trainee, honestly. The ferocity of everyone around you is still there. This new one is a little less intense, though. I guess the stakes aren’t as high.” Once she finishes talking she takes another delicate sip of her tea. Beomgyu watches intently, admiring how elegant she is. It’s so effortless for her. She continues her mature conversation with his members but Beomgyu is completely checked out. There’s a lingering sour feeling prodding at him as he watches her. It makes his smile flicker away.

“Right Beomgyu?” Soobin elbows him and Beomgyu is finally broken out of his daze.

All Beomgyu’s plugs slowly enter each outlet. “Huh?”

“You were so social during our trainee days, it was hard for people to hate you.” Soobin says, making everyone chuckle.

“Even when they saw you as competition, no dice.” Yeonjun chimes in. It was fun to reminisce until it wasn’t. He was smiling again and it seemed to immediately go away the longer he thought about it. He’s been told this. That he’s unhateable. He’s too silly, a loveable brat. But you managed.

“He could never do wrong. We make a mistake and it would start a fight. Beomgyu would do the same thing and they would just brush it off.” Kai adds, and everyone laughs again except for Beomgyu who’s stuck staring in space, his water bottle static in his hands.

“That’s so true!” Someone gushes through the laughter. 

“Funny how things change, huh?”

The room goes silent as Beomgyu takes a swig from his bottle.

Jiwon looks panicked before laughing nervously. “What do you mean? I’ve never laughed this much before meeting you, and the girls love when you come over. Not to mention having four members who love you. That’s rare, you know.”  

Soobin claps before pointing at Jiwon. “That’s exactly right!”

“What else could you need?” Jiwon rubs Beomgyu’s back, making him realize that she’s not miles away from him like it feels she is. She’s right. So everything will eventually get better.

–🖊️⇝

 “Let’s go to a karaoke bar next!” Eunchae ugly laughs in excitement, already running ahead with Kazuha chasing behind her. Yunjin loops her arm with Sakura before following the younger members, engaged in a personal conversation. On instinct, Chaewon follows close by, yelling for the younger members to slow down.

The five of them have a warm dynamic that’s so enticing. Their figures growing further, soaked in the various vibrant hues of neon signs. It was like a scene out of films you watch alone on your couch. It’s right there.

Freezing as if something dawned on her, Chaewon swiftly turns around to face you.

“You coming?” She shouts.

“Ugh, she never comes. Let’s just go.” Yunjin whines dismissively. Chaewon looks conflicted as her gaze switches between you both. You stretch your mouth into a thin line. 

“I have to get home. I’ll text you.” 

Chaewon wants to protest but when she looks back at her members, they’re much farther away than she thought. Then when she looks back at you, you’re already gone.

From the corner of the bar, you send texts back and forth. Your head slips off your fist and nearly slams into the table before you stop it. Just an hour before, you were here with a group of people. The memory feels like particles of dust floating through the air that you try to clutch in your fist.

“Are you okay? I think you’ve had enough for the night. Call a cab and go home.” The stern, motherly tone of the owner doesn’t offend you at all. You don’t get to answer before she’s off sweeping the other end of the restaurant. You let your body completely slump over, resting your upper body on the table.

A tsk barely pricks at your foggy brain. “What a mess.” Myungsoo sighs.

“Take me home oppa.” You giggle with your cheek squished against the table. He raises his brow at you and you raise your arms. He groans before picking you up from the table and holding you bridal style. You rest your head against his chest, feeling tired against his warmth. You’re just about to drift off to sleep when he’s placing you into the passenger’s seat. You whine in protest but he’s already shutting the door. The gentle car ride makes your lids heavier until they shut completely.

Myungsoo picking you up again has your eyes slowly lifting open. You watch his face as he carries you. His body heat is intoxicating. You can’t stop your eyes from flickering down at his lips. You don’t want to mount him like you usually do, you feel something deeper. Maybe there was a reason he took so long to let you have him at first. 

He lets you down to unlock his door before taking you by the hand and leading you in. You’re cuddling on his bed, still unable to take your eyes off him. He’s caught you a couple times and all he does is smile. This time his eyes linger on yours before whispering for you to come closer. You’re moving as soon as he says to, connecting your lips to his hungrily. 

He smells and tastes so good. You trace your tongue over his bottom lip before pecking his mouth. He grins, letting out a warm, chesty chuckle.

“I love when you guys get like this.”

You laugh, a little confused. You peck him again. “You guys?”

He caresses the back of your neck before pulling you in for a deeper kiss. Your breath picks up as you climb on top of him, smashing your mouths together. He pulls away and whispers breathily in your ear.

“You have that twinkle in your eye. You need me. All you think of is me.” 

You shudder, grinding down on him. You trail kisses all over his neck as he continues.

“If I were to leave, you’d be devastated.”

The thought makes you whimper, nipping at his neck. He hisses. “Stop it.” You say in a tiny voice. You feel his bulge grow more prominent.

“You’d do anything to please me, make me stay.” He moans through the sentence, bucking up into you. Your heart starts thumping, and the longer this goes on the more you realize it’s not because you’re turned on. You lift from him.

“I said stop.” Your face is hot. It’s right, he’s completely correct. You want to have your hands and lips on him at all times and your heart is constantly clenched by the fear that he doesn’t really care about you.

“What? Should I make you bleed instead?” He laughs.

Your chest constricts, your breath getting caught in your throat. Your lips tremble as you quirk your jaw trying to curb the anger bubbling up. 

“What did you just say?”

“Babe.” He sits up on his forearms. “I’m just trying to rile you up a little bit. I’m just having a little fun.” He looks you up and down, he’s getting harder underneath you.

Right… this is something you’re familiar with. Something that could lead to even a moment of serenity. But it’s never that way with him. His eyes judge you and urge you to satisfy him. He doesn’t even have to say a word and you’re scrambling to make sure he’s pleased. You’re giving your all as he lazily lies beneath you, enjoying the show. Exuding passion with nothing in return is exhausting, that exhaustion finally dawning on you.

“Well I’m not.” You say before swinging your leg back over him. You slide out of his bed and start putting your clothes back on.

“Where are you going? Come on, you don’t actually want to leave.” He barely moves, just shifting a little to the side.

“I just need a little space for the night.” You hurriedly slip into your pants, wanting to leave instead of having this conversation.

“No you don’t. You need company like you need water.” His velvety smooth voice that once coaxed you into giving your all to him is gone. What’s left is harsh yet dismissive.

“You don’t know what I need, Myungsoo.” You shoot back, throwing your shirt on the bed.

“I know, everyone knows. You’re so lonely you walk around everywhere like a lost puppy but run away whenever anyone tries to get to know you. There’s a reason you were texting me and not your friends you were just drinking with. I’m all you have. So don’t be stupid.” 

Just like that, the harsh lines in his face melt away and he’s back to smirking, patting the space beside him in the bed.

Is this what you deserve? They say you shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. And he’s right. He’s so right, again. Maybe you should just sink into the warmth and turn your brain off. Turn on the switch to perform.

However, as you think, emotions build inside you. It feels like pressure behind your skull threatening to pop. Tears abruptly start gushing down your face as you grab your shirt and rush out of the door. You can’t stop the ugly noises from leaving you as you rush home in the cold night air. 

By the time you’re in your own bed, your face and head hurt from the intensity of your sobs. There are no tears left as you continue to sob. It didn’t work. You were supposed to use him as an opportunity to take away some stress but somehow it’s worse. There’s nothing you can do. You’ll just have to live with this alone. Forever.

CRACK

–🖊️⇝

“I was so close but I didn’t make it.” Jiwon sighs dejectedly. 

“I don’t know what they don’t see in you! I think you’re a great performer.” Kai laments.

“You did a great job.” Beomgyu rubs her hand and she instantly smiles. 

“Thanks. And at the end of the day I still have my group and you guys.” Everyone gushes at her response. 

Beomgyu’s mind wanders to the place it has been going frequently these days. He wonders what you’re doing. What it would be like if you were still friends with the members. If he didn’t make you cry. Would you be smiling as widely as Jiwon is even after failing?

“Look who’s lost in thought again.” Soobin pats Beomgyu’s back but he’s stuck. He’s nestled deep within thoughts of you.

“You know you could talk to us about anything, right?” Jiwon moves her hand to caress his. No. He doesn’t know this. In fact, he knows it’s not true.

“Why do you think she was crying that day?” Beomgyu doesn’t look up but the table goes quiet. The tension is lathered thick over the air. Jiwon laughs nervously.

“Wait, Beomgyu weren’t you just talking about–” Jiwon attempts to change the topic.

“You would think she’d be really happy right now.” He continues. 

“Let’s not talk about this–” Jiwon tries but Beomgyu turns toward her.

“Didn’t you say I could talk to you guys about anything?”

“But Beomgyu… talking about her is only going to make you more upset.” Jiwon lowers her voice, going back to how cautious she was when they first met.

“Do I look upset? You guys are the ones acting like there’s a gun to your heads when she’s brought up.” Beomgyu resumes eating while everyone else is still frozen.

“Gyu. It’s because you should let go of her. It’ll be better for you.” Her hand that was once soothing on his now felt like an owner trying to calm their dog after someone knocked on the door. 

“You don’t know what’s better for me.” Beomgyu grumbles.

Soobin stands abruptly. “Beomgyu, can we talk in the kitchen?”

“Gladly.” Beomgyu immediately follows the taller male out the dining room and down the hall. Before Soobin could start scolding him he had things to get off his chest first.

“Why did you introduce me to her in the first place?”

“She asked to meet you. She was interested.” Soobin expresses annoyedly.

“I’m sure plenty of girls have done that, why did you decide to do so for her.” Beomgyu probes.

“Because I knew her and trusted her.”

“Trusted her to be able to handle a project.” Beomgyu rushes out. And before Soobin can deny anything he’s rushing toward him with a finger pointed at his face. “I don’t need to be fixed.”

Soobin sighs, uneasy about how this conversation may go. 

“You’re not broken, you’re hurt. Everyone gets hurt, Beomgyu. There’s nothing wrong with accepting help. We’re just trying to help you move on-”

“I don’t want to move on! You guys were so fucking anal about how I treated her and now you just pretend she doesn’t exist?” Beomgyu shouts furiously.

Soobin decides it’s better to just rip off the bandaid. There's no changing the truth. 

“She’s gone. It’s been half a year and she’s made no attempt to reach out to any of us. It’s clear that part of our lives is over. Beomgyu, you need to focus on yourself right now. We can get through this together.” Soobin tries to coax a reasonable reaction out of Beomgyu but it doesn’t seem to be working. He’s only getting more worked up.

“Stop. Stop.” Beomgyu shoves his hands into his hair before gritting his teeth. “I’m so sick of everyone shoving me under a telescope. At least she never pried.”

“Are you insinuating that what you guys had was anything remotely healthy? Continuously hanging around someone who you despise that much isn’t good for either of you. I saw the marks all over her body.”

Beomgyu sees red, he’s grabbing Soobin’s collar before he could think it through.

“You shut your fucking mouth. You don’t know what you’re talking about. You don’t know her like I do.” Beomgyu shoves him away, his glare hot like lava as he walks out of the room. Heading toward his bedroom he doesn’t see Jiwon on the other side of the doorway. She bites her fist as a tear trickles down her cheek. 

“When’s Beomgyu coming over next?” Mao asks, switching to kneel on the couch toward a stone faced Jiwon. Jiwon takes in a quick breath, checking one last time if this is the right move.

“I don’t think he is.”

Mao and the other girls in the room all make a noise in surprise and crowd around Jiwon on the couch. “What the hell happened?” Haeyoon asked incredulously.

Jiwon lets out a small derisive laugh to pair with a tiny smirk as she drops her head. “He’s hung up over his ex.”

The girls all switch between comforting her and cursing him. 

“Who’s the ex?” Chaerin asks angrily.

Jiwon thinks on it again. Fuck it.

“Do you know that song Strawberry Jam?”

–🖊️⇝

Something is unresolved. That much is clear as you both lay in your own rooms, tear stains on each of your pillows. And as long as it stays unresolved, you both will be unable to be loved. 

You’ve denied four invitations to hang out with Chaewon, and you’re surprised she still asks. This month is a free schedule for you to rest after your song promotions are over.

Beomgyu either plays video games until his eyes are dry or lies in bed scrolling through social media. His members pop in to give him food.

Your stomach twists painfully as you watch tv in bed. The colors dance around blurrily as your eyes start to water again.

A month didn’t feel like a month, but you lost track of your days so it makes sense when your manager comes into your room. 

“What’s that smell? Get up and take a shower. We’re going to go over this month’s schedule.” She shuts the door, trusting that you’ll follow orders. Even she used to be kinder to you. What’s the use of attempting to start relationships when they don’t work out. Even your own parents don’t talk to you anymore. You laugh hoarsely. The laughing grows louder and louder until you’re cackling.

You cackle in the shower as well. Is this what happens after you’ve cried so much tears don’t come out anymore?

Beomgyu regretted chasing away Jiwon the minute he did it. She had a similar hurt expression to you when he yelled at her to get out of his room. Look at how each of his relationships ended. Why the hell would Hyesoo stay with a guy like him. Beomgyu’s lip quivers before he’s crying into his pillow again.

You both carry out what’s scheduled for you numbly, so checked out neither of you can add anything valuable to any conversation. 

“Remember how you signed up to be an MC? Well you got accepted! You can continue submitting songs for your next comeback but this should be your priority for now.” One of the women at the table inform you. Fuck, you did do that, didn’t you.

It turns out it’s pretty easy. Just smile and read your lines. It’s much easier to turn your MC switch on, it seems. You had even gotten comfortable with it. Your co-MC is friendly. Formal, but friendly. Everything was working out.

You lift up your cue card in the silence of your empty room.

“And here’s TXT with their new comeback...” Your enthusiasm wanes when you think about standing in a room with him again.

CRACK

It’ll be fine, just flip the switch.

You can feel that he’s there, everyone can feel the tension. The you that was involved with him is switched off right now. Right now you’re conducting an interview. 

Beomgyu slowly fades to the background as you watch the other members, remembering the good memories you had together. Soobin does most of the talking which makes your chest unwittingly constrict. After this you’ll be all alone again.

The makeup artist finally gets done touching up your makeup and you get a moment to stew. Only a short moment as the other MC approaches. 

“Hey, are you okay?” 

The simple question forces your switch off. The two of you made eye contact at the end of the interview, and for some reason a whirlwind of emotions threatened to escape you. You’re not okay.

“It’s just, I know you have a past with Beomgyu.”

“Yeah–” You look up at him as your brain fog slowly dissipates. “What did you say?”

“I heard that you wrote Strawberry Jam about him and I…”

Everything silently shatters, the pieces remaining all clattering to the floor.

“Look at the back of her neck.” You whip your head around to see two idols whispering before looking shocked and scurrying away. You send a shaky hand to the back of your neck to cover it. Doing so makes your sleeve drop and reveal scratches on your arm. You begin hyperventilating as you scan your surroundings. Multiple people, staff, idols, everybody is whispering and looking at you. You block out the other MC yelling after you as you run out of the room.

Was it Myungsoo? Was he retaliating because you left him? You never mentioned Beomgyu though. No… it could only be one person. Tears stream down your face as you hunt for their dressing room. You pass a mirror on the way and get stuck staring at your void of a face. Only a pair of reddened, crazed eyes stare back. You refocus on your hunt and finally find their door. You swing it open and rush toward Beomgyu in a frenzy.

As you enter, everything around Beomgyu is a blur. The staff looking shocked, Yeonjun and Soobin jumping up to restrain you. And you. Your makeup is completely ruined with a look of utter fury on your face as you cock your hand back before striking him across the face. Time goes back to normal as the staff gasp. Beomgyu places a hand over his stinging flesh. It prickles, burning through his numbness. The initial impact of the slap was like a crack of lightning striking him. He feels a blur of emotions threatening to pour out.

“Why the fuck would you do that?! What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Yeonjun and Soobin had successfully restrained you but you thrash to get free. You curse and swipe at Beomgyu, yelling incoherently. Beomgyu slowly stands up and approaches you. Taehyun has to join and hold each arm when Beomgyu is in reaching distance.

“Let me go!” You shriek like a raging animal, trying to rip yourself free. You kick at him, your heels striking his shins and sending a piercing bout of pain up his legs.

“What the fuck are you doing?! Get away from her!” Soobin yells.

“Let her go.” Beomgyu yells over the commotion.

“What?! Why would–” Yeonjun starts but Soobin lets go.

“Just do it. Let him have her.” Soobin spits, scowling at the younger male whose eyes are still trained on you. Taehyun and Yeonjun let you go and you immediately slap him again.

“You just couldn’t help trying to ruin my career again? Do you really hate me that much after I gave you what you wanted?” You whisper shakily, your eyes wild as they take him in.

“Beomgyu… what did you do?” Kai’s voice is weak behind him.

Beomgyu takes your arm and pulls you out of the room. You yell for him to let you go and strike his arm. Each hit is like a jolt of clarity for Beomgyu, the pain an afterthought. He pulls you into an empty room where you begin banging your fists against his chest. He stumbles backward, slamming against the door and shutting it. 

He restrains your arms, squeezing them to keep them steady as you thrash again. “Why?! What else do you want?!”

“What did I do, he asked.” Beomgyu laughed. He throws his head against the door and laughs harder. You look on in utter disbelief.

“Is this funny to you?”

“What’s funny is that I didn’t do anything and somehow shit has still hit the fan. My members are questioning me again, you’re fucking hitting me again.” The amusement Beomgyu was expressing earlier is completely gone as he starts his rant.

“You told everyone that my song was about us!” 

“I didn’t!” He shouts back.

“Then who did Beomgyu?!”

“I’m not the only person who knew about us.” Beomgyu yanks you closer by your arms. You finally manage to free your arms and you drive a finger into his chest.

“But you are the only person who has proven to be malicious enough to do something like this.”

“How do you know it’s not one of your friends? You’re all big and famous now, maybe you shouldn’t go around telling anyone your secrets.”

“I don’t have any friends anymore, Beomgyu!” You shout, your voice cracking as a lone tear rolls down your cheek. “Remember? You drove me away from my only friends. I didn’t go “whoring around Enhypen”. I have no one.” The last of the sentence shreds your throat. You run your hands over your face before pointing at him again. “I’m going through enough and you choose to fuck with me. This is all I have Beomgyu!” You pound both your fists against his chest and again you’re moving in slow motion. He can see it in your eyes. In how hard you clench your teeth. He can feel it each time you strike him.

“Why would you do it?” You sob.

“Slap me.”

You gape at him, chest rising and falling violently as you make up for the amount of air you lost. 

Beomgyu is the one getting riled up now. “Do it. Slap me. Fucking do it–”

You strike him hard enough that the corner of his mouth splits. 

“Do it again.”

Your hand is impacting his cheek as soon as his sentence ends. 

“Again.”

You’re both breathing frantically as you slap him again and another time before he can even ask. He grabs your forearm and yanks you closer. “Do it. I know what you want. Fucking ruin me.”

You grab his face and pull his mouth to smash against yours. He lifts you up and you immediately wrap your legs around him. The taste of his tongue, his blood, it lights you up. All your emotions come flooding out as you grip his shirt and tear it apart. Your noses bump harshly against each other as he repositions you against the wall.

You can barely act on your urges with how intense Beomgyu’s actions are. Every ounce of passion you exude is given back to you tenfold. Within moments of letting you down you are both bare for each other.

Beomgyu’s skin being exposed is perfect for your nails dying to sink into it. You reach your arms under his that cage against the wall and slowly rake your fingernails down his back. He winces, letting out small noises of pain. The anger and sadness inside you has hit its peak. You’re so fucking angry, but the pained look on his face hurts.

You want to do something about your anger, but you still retract your hands and sink against the wall. Beomgyu looks at you confused before drawing closer. You shy away from him, whimpering as the bitter truth sets in.

Beomgyu didn’t force you to stop talking to Soobin. Beomgyu didn’t force you to ghost your friends. Beomgyu isn’t the cause of your loneliness. 

It’s you.

He reaches out to touch you but you push him away. His saddened eyes make you ache which in turn makes you more angry. But you can no longer bring yourself to hit him. A surge of rage sends your own hand across your face. The sting is distracting, it’s something. You strike your other cheek harder and Beomgyu stops you before you can do it again. 

“No.” He takes your hand and pulls it near his face. Your eyes follow your hand as it closes in on him. 

“Hit me.”

Your eyes move slowly towards his lips as they form the words, then up to his dark, big eyes. They’re swarming with depth and emotion. You take in his entire face, reddened by your hand. Lips swollen from your mouth. Hair tousled in the chaos. You see him.

You thought tears would be a rare occurrence by now, but there goes another, skitting from your cheekbone to the floor. You smile bitterly.

“I can’t.”

The gleam of your tears brings life to your otherwise tired eyes. He wants to question why, to wallow in self pity with his own delusional reasoning. But no, in your face is all the answers he needs. The same reason he hasn’t hurt you once this entire time. You sigh, letting your head fall, your eyes darkening as they close.

“I don’t know what else to do.” You express weakly.

Seeing you tremble silently makes his previous attempts to pin his resentment on you seem absurd. Beomgyu lets go of your hand.

“I don’t either.”

It’s like clarity washes over the both of you at the same time as you both take in your surroundings. Assess the situation. You shake your head.

“Then what are we doing here?” You brush past him in pursuit of your clothing, pick up each article scattered around the room. 

“It’s just like we said. We don’t know what else to do.” He says behind you.

You slow your collection as you let his words sink in. You’ve exhausted every other option. Therapy, rough sex, songwriting, diaries, crying. Then you feel his warmth behind you. Your eyes ease closed as you melt into him. Your mind goes blank and for the first time in a long time, it’s not out of force or sheer exhaustion. Both of you relax into one another. You’d have to go out eventually, explain yourself and face scrutiny. Risk people’s opinions of you degrading. There’s nothing to worry about here. You’ve already seen the worst of each other. There’s nothing to guard in fear.

You turn around to face him. He looks different. Softer. Unintimidating. He could say the same for you. You climb on top of him, shivering as his member brushes against your mound. Your lips meld together like softening butter. They glide, becoming slick with the other’s saliva. 

He glides his nose up the side of your face as he slips inside you. Both of your mouths hang agape as he slots all the way in. He’s buried deep inside you, no space left unfilled. The two of you substitute kissing for pressing your heads together, feeling every part of the other's skin. You trail your tongue across his jaw before kissing up to his ear. Every sense is filled with Beomgyu to the point where you can’t think of anything else. His makeup, his cologne, his body wash, his deodorant, his lotion, his taste, his touch, him, him, him. Your heart swells as he showers you with as much attention as you give him and then some.

Your hips move in unison, grinding together. Once you kiss again there’s no longer any space in between. Disconnecting sends slighter louder pants and moans into the air as you both start moving faster. You’ve never heard him moan like this. It’s so unrestrained and vulnerable, exposing his eagerness just as much as his hands squeezing your ass does. 

You find you feel full in more ways than one right now. He saw you at your ugliest and he’s still here right now holding you like he never plans to let go. As if reading your thoughts, he clutches you even closer. You feel a light, bubbly laugh float from your chest as your legs start to tingle. You gasp as you climax with a stutter of your hips. Your movements slow ‘til they’ve almost ceased as you drowsily rest your forehead on his. The two of you rock back and forth in the only clean circle of the room amongst the chaos.

A moment of serenity is all the two of you are granted when you hear a knock at the door. Soobin comes in, looking disappointed as he regards you both.

“Are you done? Everyone’s looking for you.”

–🖊️⇝

Beomgyu got an earful for disappearing that day. You could’ve gotten into an ungodly amount of trouble if the other MC didn’t stick up for you. He felt responsible and was beyond apologetic. You forgave him, of course. He did nothing wrong. Also, you've come to terms with the fact that you know you have nothing to do with that song. It's someone else's demo you got paid to perform. It doesn't define you.

“Hey, are you coming?” Chaewon asks. You go to answer but notice a couple of conflicted looks from her members. A quick thought that you “better not annoy them” crosses your mind. You imagine tagging along and making things awkward and it makes you wince.

“No, I-”

“Come on.” Yunjin says dismissively and pulls you by the arm to follow them to their next location. 

You sit stiffly on the couch, clapping along to Eunchae’s loud singing as everyone around you cheers.

She concludes with two bows and a loud ‘thank you’ into the microphone. 

“Go ahead and pick who’s next.” Yunjin yells gleefully. You’re too distracted to realize Yunjin’s hand is hovering over you with her finger extended down.

“Hmm…” Eunchae pretends to think about it for a comically short amount of time before yelling out your name. Your confusion is cut short by a cheering Yunjin and Chaewon pushing you toward the screen. She hands you the mic which you take hesitantly. Once they're seated again they initiate a chant.

“Sing! Sing! Sing! Sing!”

Your brain does the honors of going over all of the embarrassing ways this could play out. Regardless of that, you’re already singing. It’s either that or running out the door, and the latter would take much more effort and explaining. Besides, what’s the worst that could happen?

You finish to cheers and applause and you bow in response.

–🖊️⇝

Things in the dorm have gone back to being tense. Soobin isn’t giving Beomgyu the silent treatment this time, but it’s clear he’s disappointed. Everyone is under the impression that they hooked up again only to go back to hating each other. Mostly because you haven’t come over yet. Beomgyu was giving it some time, but now he’s ready.

“Stop acting weird.” He sighs, rubbing his nose bridge. “I did have sex with her. No, the song isn’t about me. We don’t hate each other. You guys can stop tiptoeing around me now.”

The members visibly untense, but only to express confusion.

“Where is she then?” Soobin speaks up, casting a stern look his way.

“Why does her being here matter?” Beomgyu finally gets to ask.

“Remember when you called me naive for having faith in her?” Soobin grits his teeth. “After all that she’s still-”

You cautiously click open the door, slowly revealing your apologetic expression. “I was going to wait but I didn’t…” You stop when you see the hardened look on Soobin’s face upon seeing you. “H-hello everyone.”

Kai stands up and marches over to give you a crushing hug. The gesture makes your heart flutter.

“You didn’t even call.” He pouts.

“I’m sorry.” You squeeze out. Taehyun and Yeonjun come next. Taehyun gives you a side hug while Yeonjun pats your back.

“Welcome back.” Yeonjun says with a wide smile.

The moment is interrupted by Soobin walking out of the living room into his own and slamming the door. You immediately follow after him, an action that Beomgyu watches carefully. Of course he notices a sharp pain in his chest, but he sits with it. Studies it. You could be chasing after him to reveal your true feelings and this time he may accept. He doesn’t want that. It even makes him a little bitter, but he can’t stop you. He can say whatever ugly words come to his mind to try and scare you away, but this time they may not work. And you’re not doing anything wrong. Him cuddling with you and drifting off to sleep in your bed doesn’t mean you’re dating. Moreover, you’re not Hyesoo. He’s seen every part of you by now. Regardless of everything, he’ll still be happy to have you in his life.

“You have sex with me and then never show your face again? Do you know how that feels?” Soobin explains desperately with tears springing to his eyes. “I knew the sex was meaningless, that was the whole point, but for you to up and leave afterward like I was just some random guy really sucks.”

“I-I didn’t want to leave, Soobin. I was too mortified to show my face again.”

“Because that’s what you guys being together does! You break down each other and then turn to breaking down those around you just trying to help. It’s selfish for you to waltz back in here like everything is back to normal.”

“It’s not.” You state confidently. “Everything is very, very different now. I can’t go into public spaces without being recognized, I have more people around me than ever before, and Beomgyu and I don’t hate each other anymore. You said it yourself, we’re similar and we wreck everything around us. We do it to ourselves. Beomgyu realizes it now and I certainly do. I don’t want things to go back to normal, because that version of me is gone.” The more you speak, the easier the words come. You smile hopefully at Soobin.

“I’m moving on with or without you, but I’d really love it if you entered this new chapter with me.”

You grab both of Soobin’s hands as his head droops. He’s silent for what feels like decades passing you by. Then he squeezes your hands.

Epilogue 🖊️⇝

Chaewon: you should apologize.

You pass the phone to Beomgyu in the midst of his “advice”. He crosses one arm over his chest as he reads the very short text for an inappropriate amount of time.

“But you didn’t know, right?”

“That doesn’t mean I’m not in the wrong.” You groan, snatching your phone back. He snatches it right back and starts texting. 

“Hey!” You go to take your phone back but he leans away further and further until his body is caging the phone against the couch. You climb over him and bite his shoulder but he just laughs as the text is sent. You frantically snatch your phone back and look in horror.

You: tomorrow at my house 6pm;’2[21

“What the fuck! Beomgyu!” You shriek.

“You didn’t know, therefore you didn’t intentionally do anything wrong. But you did hurt Kazuha’s feelings and the members are very mad at you.” He explains calmly, smacking on his food. 

“Thanks for reminding me of my unfortunate situation.” You deadpan.

“You were worried they think you're a horrible person. Boom–” He motions at your phone with his sandwich. “You can fix that. You’re worried you’re actually a horrible person, but you had no intentions of hurting anyone.”

“Yeah but you weren’t there. The way I said it was so insensitive in context and the look on Zuha’s face,” You whimper and hide your face in your hands.

“You didn’t hurt her on purpose.” The finality in Beomgyu’s voice makes you look up at him. His face is serious. “I’m certain of it. Now come here.” He pats his lap and you’re eagerly scooting over to lay your head on his lap. He sighs.

“You idiot.” He brushes away the tear falling down your face. “Why don’t you listen to me?”

“Hurting someone as sweet as her is pure evil.” You whisper.

“I don’t have to know you to say that an evil person wouldn’t be this remorseful. But knowing you, you’re not the type of person to go into an exchange ready to hurt an innocent person. You’re the type of person who sits quietly thinking about what you could say that will make people laugh the loudest and smile the brightest. I’m very sure that’s what you were thinking that day as well.” He voices his thoughts as he strokes your hair, stroking your cheek with his thumb. He looks down to meet your gaze and you feel the singe of a fire starting in your heart. He smiles lazily and it's the cherry on top of the artwork that is his face. 

You slowly lean up before capturing his lips. It’s slow, tender, loaded. Kissing him after all the chaos feels like lying in a field of dandelions, the seed breaking away and dancing in the wind. His skin feels like the warm hug of sunlight. His voice is like birds singing. You pull away and look at him in awe. He seems to be mirroring your feelings if his drunken expression is anything to go by. He shuts his mouth and brushes the back of his hand against your cheek.

“You’re kissing me outside of us having sex?” Beomgyu sports exaggerated shock and presses his palm to your forehead. His antics force a giggle out of you. “Are you sick?!”

You swipe his hand away, unable to ignore the burning light in your chest as you look at him and he silently looks back. You lean in and kiss him one last time before risking it all once you realize what this feeling is.

“I think I love you.” You whisper, looking desperately at his face to catch anything unsavory. His smile drops, looking genuinely shocked this time. He grabs your face and pecks your lips over and over before moving to the other parts of your face until you're stuck in a fit of laughter. He pulls away with adoration in his eyes.

“I loved you first.”

[termagax]

like ronnies wuest is ALSO really really good but you basically get to say to her everything i wanted to say. about it not being her fault and about how much i love her and want her to be free and live her own life and not tie herself to a sinking ship forever. girl i love you sometimes your family is determined to wallow in the mud but YOU dont have to. but like you get to tell her that straight up. the combo of not getting to say everything i want to say + arcade LEAVING ME FOREVER. SOMETHING I DID NOT KNOW WOULD HAPPEN. just leaves me with this big aching arcade gannon shaped hole in my heart that will never be filled by anything else as long as i am on this earth. i get to go back to my apartment every night and go HONEY IM HOME and kiss veronica on the mouth. i wont see arcade again for months and months and months of in game time. and i miss him dearly.

[murderofravens]

fly me to the moon

pairing: hwang inho/young-il/frontman x fem reader

part: 3/3 [finished]

warnings: age gap (reader is 20, he's in his late 40s) angst, slight masochism, made him very fatherly again, mutual obsession, badly written smut, conflicting feelings, she's kinda crazy about him, brat reader, brat tamer inho, unhealthy dynamics, slight infantilization

summary: you're desperate to piss him off. it doesn't end well.

word count: 4.2k

FULL SERIES MASTERLIST | MASTERLIST

the ankle monitor attached to your leg itches.

you grunt in irritation as you use a spoon to scratch the area. it barely helps— you know the itching is more mental than it is physical. the mere presence of it bothers you. but at the same time, you're relieved. you were given two options— either that, or still having your hand chained to the bed with those insufferable straps. you chose the former. atleast it allows you to walk freely.

you're still not used to this lifestyle. honestly speaking, you've lost track of how long it's been. you mainly tried to count the days based upon the games, but inho doesn't allow you to witness the brutality of the newer games he's designed. he never even mentions them— pretends like it was all a dream and that everything between the two of you is okay. you pretend you don't almost piss yourself whenever his voice switches mid conversation— or when he puts on that mask and grabs his gun before leaving.

while it irritates you, a part of you is almost grateful. atleast this way, you can pretend you don't know exactly how sadistic he can be.

you almost snort at your thinking. you feel pathetic— but then again, do you have a choice?

he's given you free reign of his lavish penthouse— conveniently keeping any and all electronics or sharp objects away from you. which, you need to clap him on the back for. because the first thing you did when you were left alone and uncuffed was look for anything that you could use to hurt yourself— to touch an empathetic nerve in inho. your confidence in thinking of doing so was because he's made it clear how much the idea of losing you scared him. you tried to joke with him the other day— something about him coming back to find you bleeding out on the floor, and he got so furious that he threw his bottle of whiskey against the wall and then gave you an earful about making distasteful jokes. you almost considered running over and grabbing a glass shard and killing yourself in front of him to truly traumatize him like he did with you; but then the thought of your family and your dignity stops you.

you will not kill yourself over a man.

you've thought of many jokes since then, but never dared mention them in his presence.

currently, you were frolicking around— eyeing the massive screen on which he apparently watches the games. you'd insisted upon it once— and he'd pulled you into his lap and allowed you a single glimpse before hiding your face in the crook of his neck and patting your back till you fell asleep to the sound of 'fly me to the moon.'

your eyes narrow. you look around, desperate to find something. there's an itch within you that you need to scratch—it's different than your ankle. it's the itch to be insufferable, to take a sweet little revenge against your old man; to frustrate him and ruin his day like he ruined your life. you can only hope that if you succeed in doing so, he won't kill your entire family in a fit of rage. you've been forcing your heart to believe he's only bluffing, even though you know he isn't.

your eyes fall upon the side table placed by the couch. you look at it, then at the screen. then back at it. with a newfound vigour, you rush forward and pull out the drawer— it's empty except for a few files. you toss them out and hold the drawer in both hands, before looking back at the screen with the most devilish glint in your eyes.

you let out a victorious roar before lunging— using all the strength you can muster and then thrashing the drawer against the screen.

it doesn't budge. the blow has you stumbling over your steps, and the drawer falls upon your feet. you let out a cry, tears of frustration appearing in your eyes. you scream and pick up the drawer again, and then thrash it against the screen over and over— till your hands hurt and sweat builds across your skin.

the screen remains spotless.

amidst your one sided battle, you fail to hear the sound of the door opening.

"it's shatterproof." a heavy voice announces, distorted through the mask.

panting, you drop the drawer and shoot him the meanest glare you can muster with mascara running down your cheeks. he cocks his head to the side— the barrier of the mask between you two making you feel uneasy.

"are you done acting like a child?"

you release a heavy, shaky breath as you stare at him. you want to jump at him, tear that mask off and slam his head against the wall. you want to kiss him and beg him to spare you and your family. your heart races with adrenaline— and your skin feels hot. acting like a child, he says. he's treated you like a child forever. what's so wrong in acting like one?

you slick your hair back, eyes darting around the room— examining everything you can see, till an idea pops in your head.

against your better judgement, you pick up the drawer again. slowly, like a predator, you walk to the side, your gaze never leaving his figure. you stand before his music box— the one with the pretty jazz band that plays 'fly me to the moon,' whenever he watches the games. you've heard it quite a few times since you got here, and you have buried your head in the pillows a few times to avoid hearing it.

you used to adore frank sinatra, but now you can only associate his lyrics with impending doom.

you wish he wasn't wearing that mask, because you would've loved to see his reaction when you ruined something he visibly finds comfort in. you would've felt bad, if he hadn't done the same to you. if he hadn't taken your young-il from you.

you raise the drawer, and then bring it down fiercely. it almost happens in slow motion— how the music box shatters into pieces, and the tiny dolls fall to the floor.

you pant as you drop the drawer then, and wipe the sweat off your forehead. suddenly feeling brave, you shoot him the most smug smile you can muster in your breathless haze.

the silence that follows is suffocating. you blink at him, shoulders rising and falling with your heavy breaths — while he stands there patiently with his hands clasped behind his back.

"are you gonna keep standing there, watching me?" you ask, quirking an eyebrow.

you resist the urge to step back as he advances towards you ever so slowly. he looks at his broken music box, then redirects his blank, masked face back at you.

you egged him on, "aren't you gonna say something?"

"was this supposed to anger me?" he asks. you can detect a hint of amusement in his voice, "a man in my position doesn't have materialistic attachments."

you scoff, vision almost turning red with rage at his tone.

"i think i can afford another music box," he adds dryly, cocking his head to the side, "but what do i do about your manners?"

your eyes narrow with agitation— you were so desperate to piss him off, to evoke an actual reaction out of him; but he isn't giving you one. it frustrates you. before you can do anything, his foot pops out, hits your leg in just the right place to make you shriek and drop to your knees immediately— till the shattered pieces of the box dig into your skin painfully— wood and glass.

"fuck!" you wince, letting out another pained groan. he watches you blankly, and in this moment you wish that mask would just disappear. it makes him look more like a stranger than he already is. you want to see his reaction, even if it is at the expense of your pain. "you— ow! you asshole—"

"language." he chides, bending down slightly so he can grab your hair and yank your head up. you squirm around, trying to get up but he holds you in place, "why must you keep acting like a child—"

"why, i thought i was a child!" you snap back at him angrily, recalling his words from when he refused to send you back into the games. you're furious, "why shouldn't i act like one if you keep treating me that way!"

"do you not want me to?" he asks, giving you a humourless chuckle, "you want me to treat you like the adult you are, huh, darling? i'll treat you like an adult."

you grumble in confusion and he gives your head a little push as he lets go of your hair and straightens up. his hand comes down to shift his robe to the side so he can have access to his dress pants. he pulls it down slightly along with his boxers, revealing how hard he's been by your little show of defiance. your eyes widen and you almost choke on your spit as he grabs your head again, his free hand guiding his cock to your eager mouth, "fuck— is this what you wanted?" he groans, throwing his head back slightly as you wrap your lips around him with the enthusiasm of a slut. he's so unbelievably thick— and all your knowledge for sucking dick comes from porn, so you try your best— forgetting almost every vengeful thought as the skin of his neck is exposed to your vision.

you have never wanted a man this badly.

small cuts on the skin of your knees open up because of the damage you caused, but you can't bring yourself to think about it— not when you lick a long, wet stripe on the underside of his cock, before placing a teasing kiss upon his tip. he looks down at you again, his gloved hand digging into your hair, guiding your head up and down as you try to take him fully into your mouth. your hands come up in an attempt to hold what your mouth can't, but he slaps them away, "put those behind your back."

this time, you obey. your eyes water as he immediately pushes himself to the hilt till your nose presses against the coarse hair at his pubic bone— and only then you know that you are truly gone, because you moan at the smell of him. he lets out a soft grunt again when he pulls your head back, before thrusting in and out of your mouth gently. your hands stay clasped behind your back as he uses your mouth, his balls slapping against your chin as your watery eyes look up at him. you wish you could see him— you want to see his face, you want to see what he looks like when he cums in your mouth for the first time.

you whimper, pulling your head back slightly. he allows you, and you lean down to press a needy kiss to his balls before licking up his cock again. your voice is hoarse when you speak, "let me see your face."

he looks at you for a bit— the stoic face of the mask making you feel more and more isolated— like you're pleasuring someone else. and perhaps, you are, in a way. this isn't your young-il anymore.

"after that little stunt," he answers quietly, voice grim, "you don't deserve it."

you almost whine as he grabs your head again and forces his cock back down your throat— and then you realize what this is. what you thought started as some sort of reward is actually a punishment. you whimper as you gag around him, choking with each sharp thrust as his movements begin to get harsher. tears run down your face as you glare at him, and in retaliation you bring your hand up and grab his thigh. he hisses at being disobeyed, pulls your head forward till you nose is quite literally pressed against his stomach. "hands. behind your back."

despite struggling to breathe, you shake your head as best as you can given the situation. you can't see his face, but you can tell the exact expression he must be making. the one where his eyes get all intense, and his lips start quivering with rage, as if he wants to explode.

you moan slightly and take the opportunity to pull your head back. and then get back to sucking his cock— your tongue rolling deliciously across his shaft as you cup his balls. it almost makes him stumble with shock— the sudden pleasure he feels, judging by the throaty moan that escapes him. motivated by his newfound weakness, you jerk him off while mouthing at the soft skin of his balls, and he almost bends down as he lets out a raspy groan, "fuck! that feels— fuck!"

"language," you tease slightly, voice raspy. you enthusiastically indulge him, your brain suddenly consisting of him, and only him. his voice. his face. his moans. the way his eyes crinkle. you switch from sucking his balls to kissing his tip and jerking him off.

as if to reward you, he suddenly pulls his mask off, one hand of his going up to hold onto the wall for support. he squeezes his eyes shut, and the mere sight of his face has you crumbling— you let out a soft moan as you take him down your throat again. one of your hands slips into your panties, and you start rubbing your clit with vigour as he fucks your throat.

"you little fucking brat—" he grunts, thrusting shallowly in and out of your mouth, the vein in his neck popping and a few strands of his styled hair falling beautifully down his forehead. he's hot when he swears, you think— starry eyed as you look at him. you've never seen a more angelic sight. as you gurgle around his cock, he holds your head down again and throws his head back, cumming with a loud gasp. you cum with a choked moan of your own, your hand shaking as you rub circles into your clit, overstimulating yourself.

you choke as you feel him spill down your throat, and he pants heavily as he slowly pulls himself back, before quickly tucking himself into his pants. you swallow it and cough slightly, covering your mouth with the back of your hand as you wince a little— it leaves a bitter and sticky aftertaste, but nothing too bad. you're sure you'll get used to it. he grabs your wrist and bends down to stick your wet fingers in his mouth, licking your slick off. his tongue rolls around the digits and you moan, eyes dazed as he ensures your entire palm is clean, before pulling back while smacking his lips and humming in appreciation like you were the most prized delicacy in the world.

as if nothing happened, he swiftly picks you up like you're a mere doll— carrying you bridal style to the bathroom. your hair— damp with sweat, sticks to your skin, and your eyes are bloodshot.

and though you can remember your original intention being wanting to take revenge, this somehow felt much more better.

perhaps, you really are too far gone.

you look off into space thoughtfully as he settles you on the bathroom counter. his face is uncovered but guarded— he takes his gloves off, grabs a towel and wets it with water before tending to you. with utmost gentleness, he pulls your bottoms down and tosses them in the basket, before analyzing your wounds.

your panties are so wet it's almost shameful. you got that horny just by sucking his cock. he glances at your face, and you look away sheepishly. the smell of you makes his head spin, but he needs to concentrate on something else. you clear your throat and redirect your attention to his face.

you stare at him while he stares at your knees. he gently wipes the blood off, ensuring no remaining pieces of the music box stick to your skin. he disinfects your wounds and it makes you hiss— he almost winces at the sound, but you're not sure.

you don't understand why he's doing this. how can he hurt you and tend to your wounds at the same time? but then again, how can you hate him and let him do this to you at the same time too?

perhaps, you both are confused. you need someone to rely on, and he needs someone to need him. but neither of you know how to deal with the complications that come with your unconventional relationship, so you pretend it's normal. it's okay.

you look at him but he doesn't meet your gaze. you wish you could go back in time, or travel to another dimension. meet him under different circumstances. perhaps, that relationship would've been healthy. you clear your throat, and change the subject.

"you know, back in the hall," it hurts a little to talk, but you want to hear his voice, and you're desperate to talk about something. anything to end this silence. "before i was leaving to come to you, the old lady said something funny."

he stiffens at the mention of her, and you pretend not to notice. he doesn't glance at you as he cleans your knees, before placing a comforting palm on your thigh. he hums in question, gaze lowered.

"she called you my father," you chuckle slightly, your voice suddenly getting shaky, "isn't that funny? such a funny thing to assume."

he tenses at your words and clenches his jaw. his thumb rubs circles onto the skin of your thigh, before he lets out a small chuckle of his own— it sounds dry. he finally looks up at you— and you almost see a glimpse of your young-il in his eyes. you think he looks upset. you wonder if you offended him, and you consider apologizing, but he interrupts your train of thought.

"really?" he asks quietly, giving you a small smile. it's odd, engaging in casual conversation with him after the little fight you two just had. "well, with how many times i looked after you—"

"—you might as well be," you finish his sentence with a roll of your eyes, "yeah, i know."

he gives a soft, hearty laugh then, tapping your knee. "yeah." he trails off, voice getting quieter. distant. "might as well be."

his mind drifts off. if he hadn't been so late, his kid would've been around your age. perhaps, that's why he immediately grew protective of you during the games. perhaps, it was fate.

your gaze softens, face falling slightly. he looks distant again— like he's fighting a war within himself. you swallow the lump in your throat.

"i saw you that way at first, you know." you said quietly, blinking down at your lap. "you made me feel safe." and now all i feel is fear around you.

he looks at you wordlessly, gaze unreadable. he's thinking— reading you, but you can't do the same with him. he has way more experience at hiding his thoughts and expressions than you do. he's spent decades confined within these walls with people in masks being his only companions— he learned how to wear one himself. permanently. he wants to tell you that you're an open book to him— since the start.

"do i not anymore?" he questions instead, cocking his head to side. you roll your eyes, shoulders slumping as you shoot him an impassive glare.

"seriously?" you ask, voice obvious. it makes him smirk slightly, and he clenches his jaw to hide it.

he cups your face, pulls it up as he looks into your eyes. you don't say a word, simply glaring at him as he places a kiss upon your forehead.

"let me tell you," he quirks an eyebrow— a hint of a smile on his face as he squishes your cheeks, "no kid of mine would be a brat."

you scoff, pushing his hands off as you look away from him. he looks unbothered as he grabs you and puts you back down on the floor.

"i can do that myself, thanks." you huff, straightening your shoulders as you brush past him.

he grabs your hand, pulls you back towards him till you collide into his chest. he cups the side of your face, gently leaning down to rub your noses together. it almost leaves you breathless with how flustered you feel.

"would you rather i give you the silent treatment again?" his voice is unabashedly soft as he speaks. "you didn't like that last time."

your breath hitches, and your heart begins to race again. you clench your jaw before closing your eyes, releasing a shaky breath. you remember collapsing in his arms and crying your heart out when he gave you the silent treatment— being ignored by him hurt and made you feel alone in a way you hadn't felt in years.

you shake your head no.

he smiles. it's almost sinister. his eyes are still crinkly and he would look so utterly adorable to you before— but now, you know his intentions. you can tell when he's smiling only because he's hiding a different approach.

"then you'll behave, won't you?" he whispers, placing a soft kiss upon your lips. you blink rapidly before nodding again.

"good," he says quietly, softly tapping your cheek before letting go and composing himself. "i'll clean that mess up. go back to bed and take a nap, you must be tired after that little show."

you grit your teeth before shooting him a glare, and he merely blinks at you, amused, before you rush back to the bedroom.

he follows not long after, wearing only a black undershirt and his pants. you stare at him as he gently places a tray on your bedside table. you sit up, looking at it curiously. it's a cup of tea.

"for your throat," he explains softly with a pat to your head. the gesture makes your heart feel warm— and once again you start wishing you had met him under different circumstances where he didn't practically kidnap you. that way, your guilty conscience wouldn't berate you for desiring him so much, for being so comfortable around him.

he stands by his own side of the bed, fiddling with his wristwatch. you sit up properly and blow on the tea before drinking it, humming in appreciation. it's your favourite beverage.

he gets into bed soon enough, sighing to himself. you place the empty cup on the table and look off to the side, not wanting to meet his gaze, no matter how good he looks.

he says your name softly and you melt.

you look at him and he tenderly caresses your face with the back of his hand. you wish you could read his thoughts.

you swallow your pride and say what you've been thinking.

"why did you never apologize to me?"

his gaze hardens slightly and his hand pauses. you swallow hard as you await his answer.

"because i'm not sorry," he says calmly, "I don't regret anything i did."

you clench your jaw, "not even hurting me or my feelings?"

he chuckles a little— amused at your naivety, "I don't regret doing anything that brought you to me."

you blink at him before looking away. he forces you to meet his gaze by grabbing your chin.

"i don't regret anything," he repeats lowly, eyes intense. "as long as i get to have you."

"you hurt me." you whisper, voice cracking.

"i know." he nods, "you'll get over it. you're my brave girl, aren't you?"

you grit your teeth so hard you fear your jaw might snap. you glare at him, while he looks at you indifferently. wordlessly, he opens his arms and welcomes you into the comforting little space he created. you consider running off, defying him, breaking the tea cup and using the glass to threaten him or just killing yourself— anything.

bur you don't. like always, you succumb to him, and give up control. you eagerly crawl into his side and he holds your head against his chest. he pulls the sheets over the two of you and pecks your forehead.

"still don't feel safe?" he asks, almost teasingly. you can't believe he keeps trying to joke with you— he's cruel. you scoff, giving him a weak shove and he grabs your wrist and holds your palm against his chest. you can feel his heart beating. you wonder if yours beats this loud too.

you get comfortable a few moments after, and force yourself not to think about your life before the games. before him. you wonder if your family is happy, if they're wondering where you are. you wonder if your mother thinks you're dead, you wonder if she still prays for you. even if your family thinks you're dead, you hope they find happiness and move on from the thought of you. you hope they live a life of ease.

the thoughts make you sniffle and you hold back the urge to cry, burying your head further into his chest. he hums softly, patting your head almost paternally till you fall asleep, and only when he is completely sure that you're out of it, that he allows himself to close his eyes too.

and the next day, the cycle repeats.

A/N: another song title because i have no creativity... anyway this was meant to be a blurb but i ended up writing a glimpse into their relationship because i love them so much. and well.. the smut is mid but i hope you guys enjoyed it. thank you for reading and thank you for the support!! i love all of you.

tags: @bonelessghoul @cowuies @auspicious-lilana @politicstanner @verouys @gloriousjellyfisharcade @carolinevoight @shadowmoonlight0604 @ancrygurl @sunoon @jessgentleman @colorwastaken @loversroq @clown-around-and-find-out @popcorm @xcinnamonmalfoyx @robertthehoover @iloveoldermen0204 @kpopsmutty69 @iamkali @thebluehair23

[tokoyamisstuff]

I need some Mohawk mark head cannons I’m desperate for anything please😞😞😞

Sure thing, I love this unhinged little gremlin! Wrote a whole Oneshot as a special treat for you. 💅

Payback

x f! Reader (gender gets mentioned exactly twice)

Synopsis: In his timeline, Mohawk killed you for rejecting him - and now he seeks you out to do it again.

Warnings: mentions of murder and violence, sexual innuendos, unhealthy dynamics, swearing, not proofread

"Y/N? Im hurt...please, I need you! Y/N...? Ah, shit."

Mohawk was kicking the air in frustration, a little pout decorating his face as he scanned the small apartment for any hint of your whereabouts. He had thought you were home, since the window on the top floor stood wide open. Almost too easy.

Bummer. He was really looking forwards to killing you again...

...after all, last time he wasn't able to enjoy himself. Not really. It all happened so fast, the only thing he remembers is that in his lovesickness, he wanted to make you experience exactly how your rejection made him feel.

Before he even knew it, his fist had buried itself through your ribcage, holding your still beating heart in his own hand. The only way he'd ever get to have it - what tragic symbolism.

Not that he'd ever admit, but that betrayed expression of yours before he could literally feel your heart stop haunts him until this day.

The countless photos you had plastered all over one of the walls piqued his interest. Can't hurt to learn more about the version of you from this world, he thinks.

A particular one he rips off, nothing extraordinary but it bugs him how many they are. Plain selfies with you in various years and situations, together with that pathetic loser - the Mark from your timeline.

Seems like you're rather close, unlike him and his Y/N. And that fucker doesn't even realize how lucky he is.

Mohawk grits his teeth, a familiar jealous anger seething in the pit of his stomach once again.

It should've been him!

You on the other hand are blissfully unaware of the intruder in your house, let alone the catastrophy unfolding on the whole globe right this moment.

It was the day after your nightshift and you had just crawled out of bed, no intention of listening to the news as they only kill the vibe anyways. And in the middle of nowhere that you called your hometown, no one bothered giving an alarm or even evacuating, as it's most likely not going to be attacked.

After a nice, steaming hot shower you stroll out of the bathroom, humming a whimsy melody as you mentally prepare your day off...

...until you notice the stranger right in the middle of your living room.

Your shriek actually caughts him off guard and this moron joins right in, but after the initial shock you merely tilt your head in confusion. "...Invincible?"

Damn. Shit. Fuckfuckfuckfuckingfuck!

Mohawks brain currently had a short circuit apparently, staring at your almost naked form like a deer that had just been caught in the headlights.

Your hair was still damp, a towel - that was way too small for this purpose - wrapped around your curves. Shit. Seems like no matter which universe, you're drop-dead gorgeous. He mentally praises Art for having a groin cup sewn into this suit - or else he would've involuntarily presented something to you he's usually not so shy about.

"The one and only." He manages to regain his cool, smugly leaning against a counter...

...however his mind soon went blank once again when you rushed towards him, wrapping your arms around his torso with your barely covered body pressed against his.

Mohawk freezes, arms itching to return the embrace yet instead he lets them fall limp to the side, hands soon balling into tight fists as you stubbornly refuse to let go.

How dare you.

He should snap your neck like a twig- no, better, break every bone in your body for this insolence...

...but instead, he caughts himself resting his chin atop of your head.

"I missed you, ya know?" he mumbles against your hair, feeling the taunting way his heart flutters in his chest. It's drum is so loud in his head, he's certain you can hear it too. Fuck.

What the hell was he doing? He came here to give you a long, agonizing death, for fuck's sake!

"Well, you are the superpowered alien" you tease, softly poking his chest. "Maybe come around more often?"

Your friend was visibly uncomfortable with the whole exchange, but you didn't seem to notice. Whenever he failed to answer, you filled the gaps of silence with your own babbling instead. It's been way too long and you're simply excited to see him again.

"Is that the new suit you were talking about?" you wonder, still holding onto the sides of his shoulders. Feeling a blush form on his cheeks he quietly glances away, feeling oddly embarrassed under your scrutiny.

"It suits you! But what about that hair?" One of your hands runs through his mohawk and he has to physically fight the urge to purr like some needy stray cat. "...you don't like it?"

You shrug, raising your hands in a placating manner. "No, I mean yes, I mean...it looks super cool and all..." That statement made his chest swell with pride, and he could almost feel his confidence returning. "Doesn't really suit an innocent guy like you though, am I wrong?"

Innocent. Ugh. His variant is so fucking boooring, but he couldn't let his true colors show just yet. This was getting way too amusing.

Only now you noticed the huge gash on his left arm where the fabric of his suit was torn, the blood running down your fingers. Hardly a scratch for a superior Viltrumite like he called himself one.

Again Mohawk felt his chest narrowing at such great display of care, the way you worriedly examined his wound despite knowing how tough his kind was. "This is nothing, it'll be healed by-"

"Na-a-ah!" You scolded him and he wanted to sass right back, but all word of protest died on his tongue. "Come, sit down on the sofa. I'll patch you up."

He complies without second thought, following you like a lost puppy.

The heart wants what it wants.

"You finished whatever mission you were on, right? Because I'm almost done cooking as well" you tell him while working on the bandage, and he has a hard time concentrating on anything else when you're so close, touching him so gently, and your eyes shine so bright. "Be my guest?"

His eyes dart bewteen you any the bandage for a brief while, examining your handiwork before sheepishly accepting your offer. "If you insist...got nothing better to do."

Oh.

When he thought there was nothing to lose by staying for a while, he totally forgot about your absolutely horrid cooking. He remembers it from his Y/N, she used to make it all the time.

In his empire he is provided with the most sublime meals, prepared by the best chef's of across the galaxy...and yet, this homely, nostalgic feeling your food provided is something no one could replicate.

"You still eat this crap?" He picks at the food, plain mac and cheese from the box, but you always claimed you 'improve the flavor' somehow.

"Your fault for not calling beforehand. If I knew I'd be having a guest, I'd have cooked something properly." You scold him playfully, gesturing with the fork to add to your statement. "I mean I'm single and practically live at work, why put in the effort?"

You're single.

That damned boyfriend of yours isn't with you in this universe.

Not that it'd have been any hindrance if he was, but this made things so much more easier.

Back at his dimension, he always wondered what you saw in this guy. He was a nobody that could never even dream compare to his greatness - and yet you chose him over Mohawk anyways.

"You're so broody again today." Concerningly enough, that's basically his standard state of being ever since he became a superhero - and knowing him it meant no good. "Do you want to talk about it, or would you like some distraction?"

His screams had been music in his ears, though...

Mohawk puts the plate down, shuffling a little too close for your liking towards the other end of the sofa. His gaze was stern, softening ever so slightly when you put your hand on the small of his back.

"Say, do you..." he swallows hard around the lump forming in his throat, taking both of your hands into his as he stared at you utterly forlorn. "Did you ever think we could've been more than just friends?"

Huh?!?

That question caught you so off guard, for a second you thought about punching yourself in the face to see if you were dreaming.

It's not like you haven't thought about it before, to be perfectly honest.

Mark Grayson is a fairly attractive guy - inside and out - and you two always clicked well. If it wasn't for the huge distance separating you and him, you might've certainly catched feelings.

Your grandma lived next door with his family, so you befriended each other as kids and played whenever you visited her during the holidays. But life happens and people grow up, so even though his powers would easily allow him to visit you more often, his priorities simply lie elsewhere.

You barely text these days, and see each other maybe once or twice a month at max. Adult life gets busy, that's just the way it works.

Not to mention the most important fact: He currently has a girlfriend.

There was a long pause of silence between his question and your answer, and the more time passed the more anxiety - and violent anger - emerged in his brain.

"Be honest" he pushes at your lack of an answer, insistingly squeezing your hands.

"What, trouble in paradise already?" You cut him off with a judging, almost irritated glare and for a moment he is taken aback. "You told me like a week ago how happy you are with Eve, that she's the love of your life, blah blah blah..."

Samantha Eve Wilkins.

Sure, he had been with her before in his world as well, always trying to make you jealous. Claiming that you were insignificant, while he was with a literal goddess...

...and still, whenever they kissed, whenever she laid beneath him, hell, even whenever they just were around each other, all he could think of was how much he yearned for her to be you instead.

It wasn't enough, never enough to make those feelings go away. In the end he killed her simply for the crime of not being able to replace you.

"Sorry, but I'm not a homewrecker." You want to turn away, angry and disappointed that you seemed to have mistaken him for a good guy, but Mark takes ahold of your chin, letting his thumb run over your bottom lip as he forces you to keep looking.

He'd get that attitude out of you pretty easily.

"Y/N..." The name rolls of his lips like a lovesong, and he drags it out for as long as the air in his lungs allowed him to. "There's no more Eve in my life. And I don't want her, or anyone else but you!"

A boyish smile tugs on his lips when he realizes that despite playing coy, you're receptive to his touch. He feels your breathing hitch when he came forwards, his nose brushing against yours as he waited for your reaction.

There. Gotcha.

The slightest twitch was enough of a sign for him to close the gap between your lips, mouth crashing over yours in all forms of desire. He was passionate, desparate even in the way his tongue delved into your mouth, needing you quite literally more than oxygen. His hands roam across your body, stroking and squeezing and crushing you agaisnt him, not knowing where to settle.

Mark's eyes stay wide open during the kiss, savouring every detail as if to commit it to memory. This, the real deal, is so much better than all those others he used to try and fill the void your absence has left in his soul.

His heart is practically clawing against his ribcage by now, subconscious screaming at him to never let anyone take you away from him again.

Not even yourself.

"Breaking news!" the volume of your TV that always ran in the background suddenly spiked up, and for the fraction of a second Mark's grip on you bordered on painful.

However it wasn't enough to keep you preoccupied, partially breaking the kiss to glance over to the screen...

...and what you saw made cold dread creep up your spine.

"Multiple superhumans all resembling Invincible are wreaking havoc in cities all around the world, overwhelming local and government forces. The police is advising everyone that if you come across one of those invididuals, do not approach them. They are dangerous and unpredictable. Remain hidden and report to local authori-"

It's him.

"They never get my good site" Mohawk's neck cracks as he moves his head from left to right, trying to relieve some stress of having been so rudely interrupted. He's not acknowledging your distress at all, instead looking straight ahead towards the footage of himself making the London Bridge collapse. "But hey, do you like what I've done to the place?"

You didn't even fully register what the news broadcaster had been explaining, and frankly it wouldn't be helpful either way - because at this moment, one of those villains destroying everything in their path was sitting right next to you.

"Please-"

"Relax, would you" he cuts you off both harshly and encouraging, draping an arm over your shoulder and letting out a content sigh. "If I wanted you dead, you'd already be. Okay, maybe that was the plan in the beginning" he chuckled gleeful, "but I changed my mind."

"Wha- how- who are you?" you whimmer only to be met with a smile so innocently, it bordered on pure madness.

"I'm Invicible, but..." he ponders, thoughtfully tapping his jaw. "...from an alternate universe, I guess? Never fully understood how this shit works."

You frown. "So what, you're just like some cheap, evil version of our Mark Grayson?"

"And- why are you at my house?" You have a distinct apprehension about his reasons.

"Oh, babydoll...so stubborn" he cockily corrects you, forcefully leading your hand to rest above his sternum. "I'm the upgrade."

"In my world we go way back, you know?" Mohawk holds your face with his free hand, pressing an absentminded kiss on your forehead. "The old story: Boy falls in love, girl breaks his heart, boy brutally murders girl..." he trails off, but the picture was clearly painted. "I came here to give you what you deserve."

"...and now?"

"Still do" he shrugs, a devilish glint in his eyes as he got an idea. "But I came to think that maybe you deserve something different..."

His words make you shiver, but he only laughs at your misery. "You're trembling. Cute. But I prefered you before. I like dominant women!"

When your eyes gloss in dread, Mohawk looked almost convincingly worried, hushing you while his lips erase the teardrops running down your cheeks. Delightful not only for him...

...because much to your horror, it was oddly comforting.

Out of a whim you get pulled onto his lap, unable to escape his suffocating proximity. You look at him with a mixture of fear and curiosity, which only spurs him to become bolder. He tugs on your towel so that it'd reveal what's beneath, shamelessly groaning at the sight.

"I wanted to hear you scream my name one last time..." he admitted, playfully wriggling his eyebrows. "But there's other ways to achieve that."

Mohawk leans in, the contrast of his hot breath against the chilling air rising goosebumps on your skin. You shiver, a strangled noise of approval vibrating in your throat when you feel his hands devote themselves to more sensitive parts of your body.

"Whaddaya say, sugar? I'll make it worth your while."

[cloudwisp]

✮ sylus x fem!reader

contents: fluff and sweetness. pre-relationship. more than friends but less than lovers trope. many shared little moments with sylus that make it special 🤍

⭒ It becomes second nature for Sylus to carry your purse on his shoulder when you both have an outing and he follows you around like an obedient puppy as you shop from one clothing rack to another. Sometimes he gets distracted on his phone whilst glancing up at you every now and then that he doesn���t realize you both are in the men’s section. A rather adorable pondering expression on your face as you hold a shirt up to his chest. “I think this would suit you nicely.” No second opinion is needed and he collects the item from you for purchasing because if you say so then he believes it.

⭒ When Sylus somehow finds himself a passenger because maybe you wanted to test drive his car that easily has 1600hp—he’s thoroughly amused as you feel out the dynamics of the vehicle. More so when you accidentally step on the brakes a little too hard, as you are unfamiliar with the sensitivity of the pedals. In a show of panic, you throw your arm across his chest to brace for the sudden jolt which earns you a teasing remark followed by a playful quip back at him. However, there’s a subtle smile on his lips as you continue down the road because your first instinct is to save him.

⭒ You and Sylus have a casual routine with Friday nights being reserved for the both of you. When you’d normally grab takeout during the busy working week, you opt for a simple home-cooked meal to unwind and enjoy a leisurely evening. Before you can even register the force of habit, you’re pulling out two plates to set the table and like clockwork Sylus appears at your apartment door. A little bag of your favorite pastries to finish off the meal with something sweet because he learned you couldn’t go without it. Funny how he knows these things about you, and how you knew to grab his favorite cheese pancakes on the way home for appetizers.

⭒ The crow twins deliver you something on behalf of Sylus and he receives a little treat from you every other time this happens. You’d pack a small box of savory/sweet baked goods that you made earlier in the day to return his thoughtful gesture. However, at your words Luke and Kieran assumed a surprise wouldn’t be missed if their boss doesn’t know about it. Fast forward to those two apologetic boys surrounded by a swirling red and kneeling before their boss under his menacing stare because those cream puffs should've been handed to him directly. After hearing about this, you made certain to pack enough for the three of them next time.

⭒ Napping at someone else’s home other than your own feels like uncharted territory because sleeping anywhere but your warm and familiar bed places you in a vulnerable position. Even though Sylus has given you permission to make yourself comfortable at his estate several times, the safest place you feel is beside him with your head lulling against his shoulder when you’re running on a few hours of sleep. He’s the picture of comfort with a fleeting kiss to your head and draping his coat over you, and he may even find his cheek pressed against you to catch some shut-eye himself.

⭒ There’s something to be said about Sylus being led by you—he secretly loves surrendering himself to your every whim and that includes you tugging him by the hand and steering him toward the direction of cute ducklings paddle their way into the waters with a splash. Your elated reaction and innocent sparkle is all very endearing to him and he takes a moment to savor it before shifting his gaze to the small animals. “Now, aren’t you glad we decided to have this stroll after all?” You offer him your response and his heart warms when he realizes that you still haven’t let go of his hand.

[gojorgeous]

“heatwaves”

pairing: alpha!gojo x omega!fem!reader summary: when a work trip takes you to japan, the last thing you expect is a heatwave... and some guy with blue eyes? content: MDNI (18+ only), nsfw, a/b/o dynamics, no established relationship, dubcon (i feel like it’s always kinda dubcon with a/b/o), p->v, unprotected sex, creampie, breeding, biting, blood, marking, spit, praise, swearing, pet names (baby/sweetheart/princess), brief mention/implication of pregnancy, knotting, reader gets picked up, reader is american, reader is unaware of their omega status, reader experiences their first heat, reader and satoru “bond” without having a fully conscious conversation, reader and satoru are early twenties. a/n: it's here! somebody spay me. by popular demand i have written alpha!gojo for you all… just a classic reader goes into an accidental heat at work and (x) character happens to be the nearest alpha LMAO. this is entirely uncreative, but i love it for that!!! straight smut with a little plot if you squint hard enough! i hope it lives up to your expectations. find my alpha!geto fic here and find the list of my 1k event fics here. enjoy and remember, ALL AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED! credits: dividers by @cafekitsune. wc: 5k

Nobody ever told you that Japan was so damn hot. 

Hot was not what came to mind when you’d heard you’d be taking a trip to Tokyo. Temples? Sure. Mt. Fuji? Great. Hot? No fucking way. 

But, here you were, boiling away under the sun on what you’d thought would be a fun little work trip. Instead, you were just suffering with every step, trying to listen to what Principal Yaga was saying and failing miserably. 

“These are the sparring courts. No students right now, but they’ll start training within the hour.” 

You rub at the back of your neck, cringing when your palm comes away coated with a thin layer of sweat. Gross. 

You lift your eyes to the sky, wondering how much longer this was going to take. Your little trip to Japan was to organize an exchange program with Jujutsu Tech. Your students had been begging to take a trip to Tokyo, to where their cursed energy would be closer to the source and, consequently, stronger. You had to admit, it was a good idea. A few months spent training here in Japan would do them good. From the moment you’d set foot on Japanese soil, your power had thrummed faster in your veins than ever before. 

Principal Yaga was giving you a tour of the grounds and had sealed your horrible fate when he’d decided to start outside. You barely heard a word the man said. New York was never this hot…

“Are you alright?” You blink, fanning your face as best you can. It provides no relief. God, it felt like the heat was penetrating your fucking bones… 

When your eyes slide to Principal Yaga, you’re surprised to see that he looks genuinely concerned. “Y-yeah.” You blink again, shocked by your own stutter. Maybe you were coming down with something? “I’m fine, just not used to this kind of heat, I guess.” You fan your face again and clench your jaw when it still does nothing. 

Yaga’s brows furrow and you see him glance around, like he’ll find said heat standing next to him. How was he wearing so many layers? 

“How about we head inside and take a break, then? We can continue the tour… later.” You nearly fall to the ground and kiss his feet. Air conditioning is truly God's gift to man… 

You smile and it’s all genuine. “That would be amazing. Thank you.” 

Yaga nods, but you think his eyes linger on you for just a beat too long before he turns. He still looks confused… or maybe flustered? That only leaves you confused. 

You follow after him, each step feeling like you’re sinking deep into cement. You tug at the collar of your shirt, trying to get some ventilation. When you finally reach the building you nearly sigh with relief. Air conditioning… that’ll be good. Just what you need. A few minutes inside and you’ll be good to go. You’ll just have to remember not to wear so many damn layers again when you continue the tour. 

You’re smiling as you step inside, so ready for relief that you’re practically shaking– but relief never comes. Your brows furrow. You brush your arm through the air. It… doesn’t help. It’s strange– you can feel the coolness of the air conditioning, feel it gliding up and across your skin, but the heat doesn’t subside, doesn’t so much as lessen. 

“I trust you know how to find anything you might–” Yaga clears his throat. “Need?” 

 Your brows furrow. He’d shown you all the school’s resources last night and your room was already stocked with food, toiletries, and every other thing you could possibly need. Of course you knew where everything was… 

“Yes… Thank you.” 

Yaga shifts so uncomfortably you think that maybe he’s about to pee his pants. “Right, well, you have my contact information. Let me know if I can be of assistance in connecting you to any… resources.”

You’re more confused now than you were at the start of this conversation. “Right…” 

“Take care.” 

Yaga shoots you one last– worried?- glance and stalks down the hall. You’re left wondering what the hell is happening in his mind and why he seemed so desperate to offer you resources? 

You blink, clearing your mind as best you can, but some sort of fog seems to be settling over your consciousness. Definitely coming down with something, you think. 

You make your way through the halls, steps still feeling suspiciously heavy and heat still radiating off your body. A cold shower. That’ll help. Or so you thought. The further you walk, the more each hallway starts to look like the next. Was it left or right next? Was this hallway always a dead end? Since when was there a bathroom there?

You’re leaning against the wall now, panting. Something is pooling in your gut, something warm and far too intense. Your inner thighs are wet, too. You want to convince yourself it’s sweat, but… you’re horny. More horny than you’ve ever been in your whole damn life. You think you might die if you don’t get some dick in the next ten minutes. What the fuck?

You slide yourself into the next room you see: an empty classroom. Thank fucking god. You grab the back of a chair, hands shaking with how hard you’re gripping the wood. You take a deep breath. You need to get a hold of yourself, need to figure out what the fuck is happening to you.  

You swallow and try your best to think. It’s not without difficulty. Your head feels like somebody’s filled it with glue. It takes a minute for a coherent thought to come through, but when it does, you think it’s a good one. Doctor. 

Yes– you don’t feel well, so obviously a doctor is the correct choice, right? You scramble for your phone in your back pocket but freeze when the brush of your own hand against your ass sends a jolt up your spine. What the fuck is wrong with you? 

Carefully, you extract your phone from your pocket, but it’s too difficult to even remember your fucking passcode. You press your thighs together, trying to relieve some of the overwhelming ache that’s forming between your legs. Something is definitely wrong.

You fumble with your phone, but your hands are shaking so hard it just tumbles to the floor. 

“Fuck,” you breathe. “Fuck, fuck, fuck?” 

“Yo, who’s baking cookies in here without me?” 

Your head snaps up and, with some difficulty, your eyes settle on a… man. You suck in a breath. He’s… dazzling. He’s wearing all black, but it’s not a student uniform. One of the teachers that you’ve yet to meet, then. White hair and pale skin contrasts against his clothes, but his eyes are covered by a pair of sunglasses set low on his nose. Even in your delirious state you still have the wherewithal to wonder who the fuck wears sunglasses inside. 

You get a quick look at him before a wave of intense- fuck, desire?- washes over you. You tremble again and shock yourself when a whimper tumbles from your lips. 

“Oh, shit,” you hear him say. You glance at him from the corner of your eye and watch him inhale again– deeply. His lips part. “Oh, shit.”

You clench your jaw and tighten your grip on your chair. Your legs are shaking now– you can barely stand. You squeak pitifully. 

The second the sound leaves your throat you hear footsteps– rapid, hurried, concerned, ones. Warm hands clasp your waist and you cry out at the touch, electricity sparking on your skin. 

“Shhh, it’s okay.” He turns you gently to face him, hands steadying your swaying body. “Who the fuck left you alone in here?” His hand is rubbing soothing circles on your lower back now and you think you’ve never felt something so good in your life. It’s so good that you almost miss what he said. Almost. 

“W-What?” You see his brows furrow as you peek up at him. At this angle you can see under his sunglasses. His eyes are blue. Really fucking blue. You think he might be the most attractive man you’ve ever seen, even with the expression of… anger?- that he’s currently wearing. 

“Whoever he is, I'll kill him.” 

That makes you blink. An extra sliver of clarity opens in your brain. “What are you talking about?”

He tugs you a little closer, wrapping an arm fully around your waist and pressing you up against him. You try to ignore the fact that you love it, that you want nothing more than to wrap yourself around him and climb him like a fucking tree. 

“What idiot leaves an omega going into heat?” He’s glaring at the doorway like he’s torn between staying here with you and running after said idiot to pommel him into the ground. 

“‘M not an omega.” The words are out before you’ve even stopped to consider them. It’s true. You’re not an omega. You’re a beta. You’ve always been a beta. You’ve got the little “B” on your ID card to prove it. You were tested at birth, just like everyone else, and even if you really were an omega you would have presented years ago.

He only glances down at you and snorts. “Funny, sweetheart.” His hand is still rubbing those little circles into your back and it’s enough to make that fogginess in your mind grow a little thicker. 

But your fear, your uncertainty outways your instinct. You pound a weak fist against his chest, not to push him away, but to get his attention. He’s still glaring at the doorway like he wants to murder it. 

“‘M serious,” you gasp. “I’m a beta… I don’... know whas’ happenin’… to me.” Each word is a tremendous effort to form. Your tongue seems to have lost its ability to do anything but hang limply. 

That gets his attention. He lifts a hand, gently brushing your hair back from your eyes and then cupping your jaw. “Is this your first heat?” 

You find yourself leaning into his touch despite the fact that you’ve only known him for thirty seconds. Your eyelids flutter. “N-Not a heat… jus’ feel… sick.”

His brows furrow again, deeper this time, and he shakes his head. “How old are you?”

You know why he asks. Most omegas present around eighteen or nineteen. “Older than… nineteen…” You try to laugh, but it only comes out as a whimper.

That answer only serves to make him push closer. You feel his hand trailing down your neck, skimming gently over the skin until he reaches a spot you hadn't even realized was so… sore. You keen at the touch. Fuck, no. There was no way. You had swollen fucking scent glands. 

You try to push away, but he pulls you in, burying his face in your neck. You shudder when he groans. “You smell like a damn bakery exploded,” he chuckles, and the sound is muffled by your skin. When he pulls away he makes it look like the action is physically painful. He cups your face again. “Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but you’re an omega. If this is your first heat then…” he swallows and your eyes track the bob of his throat. “You’re just a late bloomer, baby.”

You shake your head desperately. It’s just the stupid heatwave. It’s just… hot outside… right? 

You try to think about how this could be possible. It could be that the test you took as a baby was wrong… it happened sometimes. It was rare, but it happened. But if you were an omega, what would have triggered your presentation now? What had changed? 

Your eyes widen. Japan. You’d set foot in fucking Japan. Ever since you’d gotten here, you’d felt power pulsing in your veins. Maybe it hadn’t been just power… 

“N-no–” 

A gentle thumb smooths over your cheek and you meet his eyes again. You shiver when you see a whole lot more black than blue. “You have no alpha?” 

You whimper, leaning into him. Touch me, touch me, touch me, a part of you begs. You shake your head again and a tear slides down your cheek. “No,” you whisper. 

Strong arms slide beneath your knees and you squeak when you’re suddenly suspended in the air. When you glance up he’s grinning triumphantly. “You have one now,” is all he says before he’s carrying you out of the classroom and twisting through the halls. 

Warmth rushes over you at the sensation of being held, and something begs you to give into it, to give into the heat still washing over you, to the throbbing between your legs. You fight it and fight it hard. 

“Where’re we going?” you ask, but your voice is sounding more and more like a whisper. 

His eyes stay focused ahead, even as he presses a comforting kiss to the crown of your head. “Your room, sweetheart.” 

Your brows scrunch. “How d’ you know where–” 

“‘M following your scent, baby.” 

He can do that? You bury your face in his neck, embarrassed, only to be hit by a different scent so delicious your mouth starts watering. You groan. Loudly. There’s a scent pouring from his neck that’s filling your head with memories of spices you can’t name, but suddenly know you love. 

You think you hear him chuckle and then feel a gentle hand on the back of your neck, encouraging you. You snuggle deeper into him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and burying your fingers in his hair. Taste him, taste him, taste him your mind chants. It’s too good an offer to deny. You lick a stripe across his skin. 

Your groans are instant. He’s squeezing you closer, leaning into your touch, and you’re pulling him closer. Your fingers curl into his jacket, tugging and tugging. You lick again and now he’s the one groaning. 

“Damn, that feels good,” He sounds as surprised by that fact as you feel. The swaying of his steps comes to a sudden halt. You whine, missing the rocking of his body. “Think we’re here, princess. This it?” His hand is smoothing over your hair, slowly coaxing you away from the curve of his neck. You blink, not wanting to leave the paradise of his scent, but also feeling some overwhelming urge to please him.

Your eyes settle on a door and you recognize a little chip in the wood. You nod. “Mhm.” 

You gasp when his hand grips your hip, wriggling through your pocket until he pulls out a little brass key. 

“Perfect,” he says, and his voice sounds like he’s all too pleased with himself. He shimmies your key in the knob until the lock clicks and then you’re inside. The door slams shut loud enough to make you jump and squeak. 

“Oops, sorry, baby. Guess I’m a little excited, heh.” His hand squeezes your hip soothingly and you mewl at the wave of heat that pulses through you. Your clit throbs almost painfully and you feel something gush onto your thighs. You whimper. 

He inhales. “Oh, shit,” he breathes, and then you’re moving again. He navigates your room like he knows it. He probably does. From what you can tell, most of the rooms at Jujutsu Tech follow a standard layout. He weaves down a hall to the left and then into your bedroom on the right. 

He lays you on the bed gently, tenderly, like he’s afraid you might break if he drops you so much as an inch. “There we go,” he breathes. You can’t deny that it feels good, that it feels right, to be lying on the softness of your mattress, but it’s not enough. 

You claw at him, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck and pulling him close. You want something from him, need something, but you can’t name what. You just know that the heat boiling beneath your skin can only be sated by him, that the throbbing between your legs can only be calmed by him. “P-Please,” you whimper. Tears well in your eyes. You need him so bad it physically hurts. 

The smile he gives you is soft and genuine and it takes your breath away. He dips his head and you think you see him slide those sunglasses down his nose and toss them to the side. You don’t pay too close attention, though, because he’s kissing your neck again and your body is screaming with sensation. 

“Aw, I know, baby. Don’ worry. ‘M gonna take care of you now. Jus’ relax.” 

His words spark something in you– your last bit of consciousness. A brief moment of clarity shines through the fog of your mind and you remember what the hell is happening, what the hell you’re doing. You squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head desperately. No, no, no, this is not happening to you. There’s no way.

“Hey, now. None a’ that.” Fingers clasp your chin, holding you still. When you peek your eyes open, you see that he has in fact removed his sunglasses and that his eyes are more black pupil than dazzling blue. His jaw is clenched and his breathing is heavy. “Don’t try t’ fight it. Jus’ try to enjoy it…” His head dips and suddenly he’s nipping at your scent gland again. 

You thrash and scream, but not in fear or pain. You’ve never felt something so good in your life. Every graze of his teeth feels like heaven. Your skin zings with electricity, sending pulses of pure need straight between your thighs. 

You grab at him, tangling your fingers in his hair and tugging him closer. Your chest is heaving when you speak. “Please, p-please-” 

“Shhh…” You think you hear your shirt tearing, but you’re too focused on pulling him closer to care. His tongue licks a stripe up your throat and your eyes roll back. 

You’re sure your shirt is off now. You can feel the cool air, but it does nothing to ease the heat raging inside you, pulsing and pumping through your veins.You feel him tugging at your pants, too, and you try to raise your hips. He only shushes you again. “Jus’ relax. Let me do the work, baby.” 

Your pants are gone in seconds, even without your assistance. So is your bra and then your panties. He tries pulling away to undress himself, but you mewl and his eyes blow even blacker before he’s back over you again. He settles for popping the buttons straight off his shirt and shimmying out of his pants. 

The sight of his bare skin makes you whimper and then you’re clawing at him again, dragging your fingers across his shoulders, over his chest, down his abs. It’s a greedy touch and one that he returns. His palms move along your body, kneading and squeezing at any flesh he can grab. It feels so good that you think you might pass out– but it’s still not enough. Something is still missing. You feel… empty. 

His fingers trace across your stomach and it’s too late to realize what’s happening before he’s circling your clit. You jerk and jolt at the touch, but he presses his chest to yours, pinning you. The throbbing only worsens when his fingers settle into a rhythm. 

Tears leak down your cheeks. It’s too overwhelming. You’re burning– burning from the inside out. The pulsing between your thighs is all-consuming with its intensity, with its-

“Need! N-Need–” you’re crying out, but you don’t even know what to ask for– don’t even know what you need. 

“God, Fuck, I know, princess,” he groans. He licks a long stripe up your neck. “But ‘s your first heat. Gotta–” he has to pause to swallow. He’s panting, now, just as lost as you are, and you get the sense that he’s restraining himself. “Gotta get you ready… go slow.” 

You shake your head. Now, now, now is all you can think. You need him now. “No… please…” You bury your head in his neck and find that spot that’s pouring his spicy scent into the air. Your mouth waters and you lick him, letting your teeth graze his skin.

“Fuck!” He shivers atop you and you feel the pure strength restrained within his muscles. “Fuck- okay. Okay. Relax f’ me, princess.” 

You try, you really do, but your body refuses to do anything but try to pull him closer. You feel his fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs, pressing them up, up, up until they’re pressed tightly to your chest and your feet are dangling on his shoulders. The position makes you whine, feeling more exposed than you ever have before. 

“You on birth control, baby?” 

Your brows furrow. It’s becoming harder and harder to focus on what he’s saying rather than simply the sound of his voice. Were you? You try to think, try to remember through the pit of glue that is your brain. No…

You shake your head. “N-No…” 

There’s a slight pause, a beat of contemplation, and then he’s laughing. “Guess I’m bouta be a daddy then, heh.” He chuckles again and the sound rings through you with a wave of pure bliss. His lips brush your neck again, settling on your pulse and making you whine. “Don’t really mind as long as I get you.” Your head rolls back submissively, exposing your throat. Yes, yes, yes, your mind screams. There’s nothing you want more than that, you think.“Okay, here we go, baby.” 

There’s hardly any more warning. One second you feel him shifting between your thighs and the next he’s pressing inside of you, feeding his cock in inch by inch. The stretch is… delicious. It burns, fuels that fire inside you, but it makes the heat feel more… pleasurable. Your back arches and your head rolls back submissively. 

“Oh, fuck, princess.” His voice has gotten higher, more like a whine than anything else. When you gaze up at him you can see the flush in his cheeks, even through the fog in your mind. More, more, more your mind screams. Or maybe you say it aloud, because more is exactly what he gives you. The second you feel him tucked up against your cervix the second he begins to take you. He sets a pace that is somehow both brutal and gentle, with strokes that rattle your skull and also give you exactly what you need. His hands grip your hips, holding you still to take exactly what he wants to give. His head dips until he has his lips wrapped around your nipple, and his tongue is swirling so deliciously that you can’t help but drag your nails down his back. 

Your body rocks with every thrust, teeth rattling and eyes rolling. The heat inside you grows… tighter, like it’s all pooling to your core, waiting for something you still can’t quite name. 

“N-need…” You don’t know what you need, still. Only that you want to beg for it so badly it hurts. 

His tongue slides away from your nipple, tracing a line up between the valley of your breasts, over your collarbone, before he finally settles on your pulse once again. The nick of his teeth makes something click in your mind. This is what you need. Bite me, bite me, bite. Claim me, claim me, claim me. 

“Yes,” you breathe. Your fingers dig into his scalp, pulling him closer, coaxing his teeth to sink in, to stake their claim. “Oh God, yes. Please.” You sound delirious, you think, but then so does he when he answers. 

“Not yet, princess. Not yet.” His tongue darts out to lick across your neck again and you can only sob. Why not yet? Now, now, now… 

Tightness coils in your muscles, the throb at your core reaching a breaking point. You feel something coming, something like an orgasm but yet also not. You know that when whatever is pooling inside you releases, you will shatter, and you’re not sure you’ll ever be put back together. 

Your nails claw across his back hard enough to draw blood and the action forces out some sort of low grumble from his chest that makes you whimper and melt into the mattress. The tip of his nose draws a line up your throat. “Keep doin’ that, baby. Mark me up.” 

You don’t dare deny him. You scratch at his skin, desperately trying to pull him closer. His thrusts grow faster and your thighs begin to tremble and shake on his shoulders, overwhelmed with the intensity of all you’re feeling. You pull at him, grab at him, thread your fingers through his hair. 

Your body jolts with each thrust and you’re sure you’re going to burst any moment. But you can’t. Not yet. You still need something, something he hasn’t given you yet. He groans and the sound is so delicious that you feel it sliding over your skin and settling in your bones. 

“M’ gonna knot you now, princess,” he breathes. “Gonna make you feel so good. Gonna take care ‘ve you.”

You whimper at his words. You hope they’re true. You don’t think you can take much more of the incessant gnawing of need in your gut. 

“Please…” your voice is hardly more than a whisper. His breath is hot as it shakes against your neck. He’s licking and nipping at you ravenously, like he needs you just as badly, like he wants to claim you as badly as you want to be claimed. 

His thrusts quicken even further and your jaw falls open, neck arching. You don’t think you can hold on much longer. Apparently, neither can he. 

You feel it the moment he starts to swell inside you. It’s perfect, you think. It can’t get better than this– but then it does. 

His teeth graze your throat again, this time a little harsher and with a little more intent. “Mine,” he whispers. The second he bites you everything goes blurry. 

You’re experiencing… heaven. There is a rush of that electricity that buzzes under your skin. It bursts forth and you feel it reaching out, forming a link between the two of you that you know is now impenetrable. It pulses and burns and you can feel him, feel his pleasure, his desire, his need for you and only you– his need to make you his. You think your souls must be blending, merging, with how deep the connection runs. You think you know him, know everything you could possibly ever need to. You know he’s the one. You know he’s yours.

It’s perfect, the way it fulfills every desire you’ve ever had, the way he notches inside your cunt like that’s where he was made to be, the way his teeth clamp around your throat and bond you together forever.

You scream for him, you think, but you can’t tell through the complete and total haze of pleasure. Your walls spasm around him, milking him for every last drop, and you feel the heat of his cum coating your cervix. The heat at your center finally releases, bursting and flooding through you in a way that feels like pure bliss has been injected into your veins. Your thighs quake and tremble with the pure intensity of it all and white spots dot your vision. 

His body is tense above you, shivering with the magnitude of what’s just happened. He’s groaning into your neck, your flesh still clamped between his teeth like he never wants to let go. You’re not sure you ever want him to. 

Your breaths shake in and out, lungs heaving as you finally come down. His knot is still settled deep inside you and with the few strings of consciousness that slowly filter back into your mind you know that he’ll remain there for a while.

His teeth release from your neck with a squelch that you think you would be sickening in any other context, but only makes you whimper at the loss of contact. He only hums and finds your hand, twining your fingers together as he laps at the fresh bite on your throat. It feels… amazing. Not in the way it felt before, like he was licking pure lust straight onto your skin, but more like he’s giving you a comfort you have never known in your life. You feel safe in his arms, like nothing could ever hurt you here. 

His lips press a final kiss to your throat before you feel him shifting. He gently rolls you both onto your sides, getting comfortable and pulling you to his chest while you both wait for the next wave of lust to hit you. It will, you know. Sooner rather than later, too. Your mind has cleared enough to realize what’s happening, what’s to come. You won’t be leaving this room, this bed, for quite some time. 

A gentle hand brushes a sweaty lock of hair from your eyes before it settles on the nape of your neck, massaging the sore muscles there. You sigh and raise your gaze to find him already looking at you, an easy smile on his lips. He has dimples, you realize, and he’s… breathtaking. And now… he’s all yours.

There’s a beat of silence between you, a moment of reconciliation with what’s just happened between you, of what it means. You blink up at him, your lips parting to say something, anything, but instead your brows furrow in thought.

His smile drops instantly. He leans into you, thumb caressing your cheek. “What is it, sweetheart?” 

Your mouth runs dry. You peek up at him from beneath your lashes. “What’s your name?”

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