#But they’re perfect for each other do you hear me

[daengtokki]

part nine // serial killer!Kim Seungmin/afab reader

WC: 14.9k

RATING: mature/explicit/mdni—contains: monsters, murder, pregnancy, medication mention, dissociation, hospital scenes

SYNOPSIS: Seungmin floats through life alone, haunted by his memories—keeping himself under control, and quieting his mind the only way he knows how…killing and watching the life leave his victims eyes. When you cross his path on a morning hunt, something new (something forgotten) starts to move inside of him, leading both of you on a path to confront the unspeakable past.

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Seungmin opens his eyes to a bright blue sky, the tops of the pine trees, and an ache in his neck. There's the sound of birds singing, but otherwise; perfect, natural silence. It's nice for a moment, despite his pain, until the last several hours come flooding back to him, and his world crumbles all over again. He lets the tears fall freely down his cheeks as he struggles to sit up, and he wonders what he's going to do now that he's made it through the night.

All around him are tracks. Too many to count. There are so many circling him that he can't distinguish anything except the cloven hooves of a deer, so while he slept, he was visited by something other than the thing in the woods. "Why didn't you take me?" He asks in a shaky whisper. Nothing answers except the birds, but when he tries to stand, someone screams. An ear splitting, head splitting shriek brings him to his knees. “Stop! Stop!” Plugging his ears does nothing; it’s as if the sound is coming from inside of his head. “Please!” It stops suddenly. The scream doesn’t taper off or echo…it just stops, like it never even happened. When Seungmin looks around him, and despite being on his knees, head hanging low, he’s dizzy. All he wants to do is lay in the dirt and fall back asleep. He spreads his hands out in front of him, “what is that?” he asks himself, staring at his pale, goose-bump covered arms. He takes a closer look and sees the scratches; three of them on each limb, starting at his knuckles and not stopping until he gets to his elbows. They don’t hurt, and they’re not deep enough to bleed. “Did I do that?”

Seungmin’s ears start to ring, and the dizziness returns. He hears the footsteps behind him, and he’s only surprised by it being here now, in broad daylight. It had all night to come for him. The sound it makes is more terrifying than he ever imagined. He’s heard the growls, and the whispers, but never it speaking directly to him—Seungmin didn't even imagine it having a voice. It sounds like a strange attempt at his name, but how can he answer? How can he Ppossibly turn and face it?

“Who are you?” He doesn’t bother trying to hide his fear. Seungmin’s chest tightens, and his voice shakes. The smell of dirt and decay hits his nose. He has to hold back his urge to vomit as the stench gets stronger and stronger. “Please go away.”

you called for me

It’s inside of his head. He can feel it echoing through his brain.

face me

“I wanna go home”

you have no home

“Yes I do! I do have a home”

little stray, I’m all that’s left now…we are all that’s left

“I’m not alone, I’m not!” Seungmin thinks about his aunts, who he only met once when he was two. He doesn’t remember, of course, but umma talked about them sometimes. His father’s sisters. They must be like dad, even just a little. “Someone still wants me, right?”

don’t be silly

“No, they do!”

turn and face me, and I’ll consider letting you leave

Just one look. Besides, this is why he came out here in the first place—to be found by it, and to never face another day again. Seungmin rises to his feet and takes a few deeps breaths. He has to get it over with. He turns, and somehow, the smell becomes worse. It’s here…it’s really here. He’s seeing it with his own two eyes, ten feet away from him.

good boy

To Seungmin, it looks as if a piece of the forest came to life, started to rot, and this is the outcome. The smell matches the rest of it, and the cloven hooves match the tracks surrounding where he slept. A face like a bleached skull, and black pits where its eyes should be almost distract him from the red, shedding antlers. It doesn’t move. The creature stands motionless as it speaks from its nonexistent mouth. How could this not be real? Why would Seungmin’s mind create something so horrible just for him?

I won’t leave you alone

Seungmin doesn’t hesitate, and his legs don’t either. He runs until his chest burns, and his legs nearly give out…and then the bright reflection of the greenhouse comes into view. The grass is cool and damp against his skin; it’s a relief, but it’s still there, burned into his vision, and the smell still burns his nose.

“Somebody will want me”

“Well?”

Seungmin squints at the screen, looks at you, and then back to the strangely detailed image he’s seeing. “Well, I wasn’t expecting to see…them. That’s them.”

“Yes, the 3D ultrasound still surprises parents”

“Still a little creepy,” you mumble and widen your eyes at her.

The tech looks at you and nods, “they’ll be more like the babies you will hold in a month or so. They still need more time to gain weight.”

“They’re moving!” The images are jumpy, but every few seconds, there’s a slight change in position. Seungmin can’t take his eyes off of them.

“Twenty-two, almost twenty-three weeks is early for this scan, but they look healthy. And you have boys, one hundred percent certain.”

Seungmin laughs, and then pulls out his phone. “Do we get photos?”

You think he’s going to take his own, but he stops to read something instead. It’s Heecheol, judging by the little smirk on his face and the smile in his eyes. You wonder if they decided on a time to visit, and if Seungmin remembered to mention the pregnancy to him. There’s no hiding it anymore, and the spare room won’t be a spare room when he comes to stay. The nursery is painted (a color called mint chocolate chip that Seungmin picked out himself), partially decorated—though Seungmin had trouble choosing a theme. The twin bed is still there, and it’s comfortable. Much more comfortable than the couch.

“Yes, we’ll print some images for you”

***

A few moments ago he was sound asleep, but now you can feel his stare. Your eyes stay glued to your phone for a few more seconds—your mother is texting you for the second time since you’ve moved in with Seungmin, and you still haven’t told her much. Seungmin doesn’t exist in her world, and neither do Haneul and Haesung. In her mind, you’re still alone in your little apartment, working the job that pays you just enough to live and eat. You are still trying your best to learn Korean, but you haven’t been going to formal classes as often as you’d like, and not at all since you started showing.

Before any of that information comes out, you need to mentally prepare for a long phone call. And maybe her anger, for two reasons: depriving her of what will be her first grandchildren, and worst of all, not having grandchildren that look like her. But twenty-five weeks is well over halfway there, and part of you feels guilty about keeping things a secret. Now you move your eyes away from the screen, and his are there, just like you thought—big and round and dark. “What’s wrong, Minnie?” He blinks a few times, and his gaze drops away from you. “You were almost snoring a minute ago.”

“Was I?”

“Just a little bit…you’ve had a busy week”

“Who are you talking to?”

Him noticing and wondering isn’t a surprise, because you rarely text anyone but him, and one classmate who keeps asking when you’ll come to classes. You’ve considered texting her and maybe getting out of the house, but it hasn’t happened yet. It’s so much easier to stay home and keep up with your dramas, or lose yourself for a while in a video game with Seungmin. That’s a new favorite for you. “My mom.”

“Have you spoken to her much lately?”

“Nope. I have texted back and forth to my sister, just to let her know I was still alive…but mom never bothered to respond to anything until now.”

“Did you tell her?”

You shake your head as you read the next message that pops up.

I just don’t understand why you’re still there…you don’t have to be so far away from the only family and friends you have. You can come home anytime.

there’s more here for me than you’re aware of

okay, so tell me what’s so special about it there

“Not yet. I think that should be a phone call.”

“Do you think she’ll be unsupportive?”

“She’s always unsupportive.” The message thread disappears, and you pull up what you were looking at before she surprised you. “Do you like this?”

Seungmin takes your phone in hand and brings it closer to his face, but he still squints. “Snoopy! Snoopy in a bunny suit. He looks so soft…are there any other colors?”

“Mocha…and yellow. Everything else is sold out.”

“Get one of each”

“Maybe we forget about a theme, and just fill the nursery with cute things. You add them to your cart and click on more characters. “Pochacco?”

“Pochacco? Yeah, we can do more puppies.”

“Do you like Pochacco? I wasn’t expecting you to know your Sanrio characters.” Seungmin throws off the covers and heads for his closet. “Where you going?”

“I still have things you’ve never seen, I guess.” He opens the closet door and heads for the opposite corner of his photo boxes, and after a little bit of digging around, a few things come flying toward you: a small, soft Pochacco; Snoopy, floppy and worn out like Daengmo, and a small brown dog you don’t recognize. The last one comes a few moments later, and it’s the biggest one.

“Growlithe!”

“Umma got me a different puppy every year for my birthday. Daengmo was first, Snoopy was second.”

You can’t help but wonder which one came last, but you know better than to ask. “Puppies it is.”

Seungmin’s phone buzzes, and you see the text notification appear. You can’t read it, or the name—especially not upside down and from this distance, but as soon as he dives back into bed and scoops it up, you get an answer.

“Heecheol says he has the weekend off, Friday through Monday, but he can’t stay long. He has another nurse checking in on his umma while he’s away, though.”

“That’s good. Is he coming on Friday? That gives me some time to clean and get the room ready.”

“Friday morning, yes. The apartment is clean!”

“Not guest clean”

The voice of his aunt is stern and serious, but it doesn’t bother him. As much as she tries to make Seungmin listen, and he usually does, nothing quite compares to the steady, eerily calm voice of his late-stepfather. He stares down into the pocket of his glove as she speaks.

“Are you listening?”

“I’m listening”

“I’m not trying to sound so…”

“Mean?” Eun-ji, who looks almost identical to her sister, just thinner, answers for her. “Please remember what this boy has been through.”

She huffs, but nods in understanding. Four years with their mother and father was probably difficult enough, but it’s been barely four years since losing his mother. Now, he’s moving again. “I’m sure umma took good care of you, Seungmin, but she’s getting old, and just can’t keep up anymore.”

“She did…and I know. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? Why are you sorry?”

“You have to care for me now, but I’ll try to be as helpful as possible. I won’t be a burden.”

They look at each other and smile. Seungmin doesn’t understand why. He wrings his hands together as they look to him again. “We know you’re a very well-behaved boy, and you get good marks in school. And you play baseball, right?”

He nods.

“You like to read?”

“Yes”

“Well, I understand the high school has a baseball team you can try out for next year, and we have a very large library. It’s just a quick bus ride into town. Oh, what’s the matter?”

Seungmin’s legs start to shake, but he doesn’t know why. His chest tightens, and his eyes well with tears. He can’t stop himself. “Uhm…I—“

“There’s no need for tears, you’re safe here with us.” Eun-ji reaches out and takes his hand in hers. “We’ll take good care of you…Minnie? Is that what your umma called you?”

Seungmin nods and wipes his face with the sleeve of his t-shirt. “Sometimes.”

“Come over here and sit with us”

He walks on his unsteady legs and squeezes between them on the couch. They smell nice, and Eun-ji still squeezes his hand gently. “I don’t know why I’m crying.”

“If it helps you feel better, you should cry. If someone told you to be ashamed of your tears, you can just forget what they said.”

Can he? Seungmin isn’t sure he can do that. Crying is a sign of weakness—that’s what his stepfather told him, even when he saw his tear-streaked, dirt-covered face when umma found him and brought him home. Crying is for babies and little girls. Is that what you are? A baby? A baby sulking around with his little stuffed dog. He’s been gone for years, and he still won’t leave him alone. Just like the monster promised. Both of them swirl endlessly in his brain, and he just wants to make it stop.

“Here, let me clean your glasses…Ji-woo will show you your new bedroom, and we’ll get you unpacked”

Friday morning comes, and you sit at the kitchen counter, wondering how you could possibly find the energy to finish…anything. Your body and your mind has run on caffeine since you were fifteen, and now you’re afraid to drink more than a few sips of coffee. It’s not just the thought of feeling nauseous, but it’s doing anything to could cause harm to them. You know in your brain that caffeine, a little bit, won’t hurt, but you still feel like you need to be perfect to keep them healthy.

“I’ll be back. His bus should be getting here soon…are you okay?”

“Bus? Oh, that must have been uncomfortable for him. I’ll finish getting his room ready.”

“Are you okay? You look sad.”

“Sad? No, Minnie, I’m not sad. I was just…thinking about coffee.”

Seungmin laughs, “coffee? You must really miss it. I can grab some decaf while I’m out. Maybe that will help the craving.” He brings you in for a kiss. “Stay off your feet. I’ll finish getting things ready when we get back.”

You listen, and as soon as he closes the door behind him, you grab your pillow, and Daengmo, and make yourself comfortable on the couch. Seungmin will be an hour at the very least, so you set an alarm just in case you doze off.

***

Any other day, the traffic wouldn’t be worth the fight, but Seungmin doesn’t want Heecheol on a city bus after a long bus ride. He drives the four miles there, and a half an hour later, he’s starting to feel nervous for no reason. The busy station does make him uneasy—he’s rarely around this many people at once. And he never has a reason to be here, so he’s unfamiliar with the layout. Eventually, after asking for directions twice, he figures out where he needs to be, and he waits. No text messages come through telling him he’s almost there, or that he’s arrived, but the trains are usually on time. He should be arriving in two minutes, according to the big clock above the schedule.

“Mo!”

Seungmin jumps and turns to face his friend’s big smile. “You’re early.” Heecheol gives him no time to react before he pulls him in for a hug. It’s a strange feeling. He’s grown used to holding you, and having your arms around him as he falls asleep, but this is different. Heecheol is taller; he’s strong, and Seungmin feels small in his embrace.

“Sorry it took…two months?”

“Two and a half.” But what is that compared to fifteen years?

He pulls away, but his hands fall to Seungmin’s shoulder. “It was hard picturing you grown up, even as I looked in the mirror and saw myself getting older. I kept thinking about that when you two left.”

Seungmin isn’t sure what to say, but he returns the smile. He doesn’t know how to tell Heecheol that his mind was lost for a very long time, and he didn’t think about him nearly as much as he should have—at least not until ten weeks ago. It never occurred to him that he was still being thought about as he struggled through his school years, just from very far away.

“But we should get out of here, it’s getting even busier”

“Right, I’m parked not far from the entrance…I just,” he stops. Seungmin had more than enough chances to tell him, but he kept putting it off. “I have to stop for some coffee before we head back.”

“I haven’t been to Seoul since I flew home last year. City life is already lost on me, even after Charlotte. But that doesn’t compare to this.”

“It’s smaller there?”

“Much smaller, less people. Do you like it here?”

“It’s okay. I don’t really get out much, so I might as well live in a small town sometimes.” Except if Seungmin lived in a small town, he would have been caught a long time ago. He chose to stay in Seoul for the ease of blending in, or disappearing. And for the wide pool of potential victims. “I say that now, but when I was…single, it was different. It’s easier to be at home now, because I’m not always alone with my thoughts.” Yeah, that makes sense. Seungmin can turn off the bad noise—not always, but certainly more than before.

“That makes sense. Sounds nice. Sounds serious.”

“It is. And speaking of that, there’s something I kept meaning to mention, and I just…I haven’t.”

“What is it?”

***

He makes sure to text you on the way up the elevator, but you don’t reply by the time he slides the key in and pushes the door open. “We’re here…oh.” Seungmin shuts the door softly, and Heecheol watches as he kneels where you’re still sleeping on the couch; blanket pulled up to your chin, Daengmo shielding your eyes from the sunlight. Seungmin picks him up slowly. “Hey…”

You stir a little, and as your eyes flutter open, you remember where you are, and what’s going on. You remember where Seungmin went and that he wasn’t returning alone. “My alarm didn’t go off…or, I slept through it, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, you can nap. Do you wanna get into bed while I get us settled?”

It takes a moment, but you sit up carefully and wonder how puffy and groggy you look to your guest. “No, I’m awake…hi.”

“Hi.” He smiles at you just as sweetly as he did before, but his eyes fall to your stomach this time. “I can understand why you’re tired. Please don’t force yourself to lose sleep because of me.”

“I sleep all the time...maybe too much. I’m hoping my decaf will trick my brain into thinking it’s getting caffeine.”

Heecheol approaches, a little hesitantly, but then sits a few inches away on the couch. “Right, the decaf makes sense now. Did you drink a lot of coffee before you were pregnant?”

“Yes, every day”

“A little bit of caffeine here and there won’t hurt. And if it makes you happy, that’s probably better for baby than you feeling miserable without it.”

“I’m nervous about doing something wrong”

“When did you have your last appointment?”

“Two weeks ago”

“And how did it go?”

“It went well. They looked very healthy, and they just needed more time to fatten up.”

“They?” His eyes grow, but he looks to Seungmin for an answer.

***

“I should have told you before today”

“As long as she’s comfortable with me here, that’s what matters.”

Seungmin sets his iced coffee in front of him, the same as what he’s drinking. “Still. I hesitated. I told you how long we were together, and I didn’t want you to think it was because we made a mistake.”

“I don’t think that.” Heecheol slides his hand across the counter and sets it over Seungmin’s. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Mo.”

He smiles at that—his nickname. The first time Heecheol heard his mother call him Mo, it stuck. Seungmin turns his hand over and squeezes his fingers.

“I’ve never known you to do anything lightly”

They speak softly at the kitchen counter, but you still catch pieces of the conversation. You recognize some of it, to your surprise—single words, at least. You catch your name, and that’s not surprising. Heecheol didn’t seem very surprised when he saw you, so Seungmin obviously got around to telling him at some point. The babies are moving around as you stand by the door and adjust your shirt, and you have to stop and breathe until they stop…it feels like they’re arguing in there; kicking each other, fighting for more room. Breathing excercises aren't enough. The horrible swirling feeling and the smell of lunch cooking on the stove makes you sick, and you stumble out and head for the bathroom.

“Tokki, are you okay?”

You see them from the corner of your eye as you walk by, but you don’t stop, because if you do, you might not make it.

“Still getting nauseous?” Heecheol asks. He walks up behind Seungmin as he stares at the closed bathroom door.

“Sometimes. Especially if they’re very active, but active is good, right?”

“Yes, and they’re taking up a lot of space in there. I’m sure it’s very hard when they won’t rest together.”

He’s never thought about it quite like that. Just because they share a space doesn’t mean they share a schedule. One takes a nap, the other wakes up and kicks his brother until he starts to kick back. He can’t imagine how strange that feels inside of you. “Hopefully they rest together when they’re here with us.”

“They’ll keep a routine as long as you give them one, and they need that, but babies will always do what they want”

“Cheoli, you seem to know a lot about babies”

“Lots of rotations on the maternity ward, here and in the states. It’s my favorite. Oh, how did your cut heal?”

There’s a scar there, but barely. Seungmin sticks out his arm and Heecheol runs his thumb over it. “Very well, you stitched it so straight.”

A few minutes later you emerge, pale in the face, but feeling better. The two of them look at you from where they sit at the counter, and Seungmin smiles as you approach. They’re both clutching their coffees now, but you’re certain you saw them clutching each other before you interrupted.

“I can make you something easier on your stomach, if you want”

You hoist yourself onto the stool next to him, “no, I’m okay…I think they finally calmed down,” and Seungmin scoots you closer.

The silence, one long enough to start feeling uncomfortable, is finally broken by Heecheol. And he speaks to you. “Do you like living here, in Korea?”

The thought never crossed your mind, strangely enough. Living here, or living there—it’s been the same in some ways, or it used to be. You lied to Seungmin about how long you’ve been here, and he knows that, but you’ve never actually told him the truth. Two months spent by yourself, trying to adjust…trying to settle somewhere new and far away from home. “I do. Learning Korean has been hard, and I feel like I’ll never get the hang of it. I really should be immersing myself, but it’s hard when he speaks perfect English.”

He nods and smiles at Seungmin, who looks a little guilty for making things too easy for you.

“It was hard when I was alone. I almost left a few times, but finding him made everything feel right.”

“And now you two have made a sweet little family"

Seungmin’s smile is so wide, you can see it without even turning to look at him, and it gives you butterflies. Or maybe the babies are just awake again. You didn’t expect to reminisce about the way your relationship came to be, but of course his friend wants to know details—details you can’t give, but ones you’ll remember, sometimes in intense detail. The forest hasn’t been forgotten, not at all, and you still wonder what pulled him in there. If you asked, he wouldn’t know, so sometimes you wake up in the middle of the night and wait for a dream to come; a nightmare that gets him talking. It does weigh on you—the eavesdropping and the hope for a vivid dream, but so does his strange behavior.

“Sometimes I would wonder if it was ever possible…being a father, and if I could even do it. It seemed out of reach for me.”

“Why? I understand the feeling, though."

“Tokki should have dropped me and ran more than once already, but…I’ve been lucky. I’m not easy to deal with.”

Heecheol smiles and lets out a tiny laugh, but only after seeing your smile. “We fit well together, just like the two of you seem to. I’ve never seen him smile at anyone else the way he smiles at you.” The happy blush already on his cheeks darkens even more, and his eyes drop to his coffee. Every time you look at him, it just reinforces your assumptions. Maybe Heecheol didn’t have feelings for Seungmin when they were kids, but he does now, and it hit him so suddenly when he laid eyes on him again. All those good feelings came back; the comfort, and the understanding.

Or maybe you’re just projecting. Maybe you’re just thinking anyone could fall in love with him so easily.

Seungmin squeezes the hand you placed in his lap, and at the same time, slides the other across the counter. Heecheol grabs it without hesitation.

“This time last year,” he starts, but you can tell he hasn’t gathered all of his thoughts yet. “Uhm, uh—“ he releases both of you and wrings his hands together as he continues to think. You can tell he’s retreating. “Nevermind.”

What was Seungmin doing last spring: what was going through his head?

“You can tell us, Mo. When it feels right.”

Both of you are gentle with him, and Heecheol doesn’t even know just how much Seungmin needs that. He also doesn’t know how rarely he opens up. Too often he lies in bed, staring at the ceiling; eyes slowly closing, but he never falls asleep before you do. Whatever is on his mind in those moments belong to him, and only him.

Tonight is one of those nights. An hour passes slowly as you watch him think. It was an unseasonably warm day, perfect for the baseball game they went to, and it’s carried into the night—a breeze just barely makes it to the bed. Seungmin is star-fished on his back, blanket covering one full leg. The rest of him, aside from what his shorts cover, is out and damp with sweat.

“I can put a fan on if you’re too warm,” you say, even though his eyes are closed now, and he might finally be asleep.

“I’m okay. Are you? Are the babies making you warm?”

“A little”

He’s up with a grunt, and he stretches his back and shoulders as he heads for the balcony. First he pulls the curtains aside as far as they’ll go, and then he slides the door open a little bit more.

“That makes me nervous”

“Hm…what does, the balcony?”

“The curtain and the door being all the way open.” You feel stupid thinking it, but not stupid enough to keep it to yourself. “I keep wondering if you were sleepwalking that night.”

“If I was,” he smiles sweetly at you, “I haven’t done it since. You haven’t caught me, at least.”

“I know”

“And we have a nice breeze coming in now…you’ll sleep better”

“Do you think Heecheol is okay? I don’t want him to be uncomfortable and not let us know.”

Seungmin stops halfway back to bed, “I’ll check.”

***

He doesn’t bother turning on a light, so he walks carefully to the refrigerator to grab a bottle of water. While he’s there, he wonders if alcohol is a good choice. A beer, just one on top of the three he had earlier, probably wouldn’t hurt. Maybe it’ll help him sleep. Seungmin grabs one and heads for the nursery, and before knocking, sets his ear against the door. At first it’s quiet, but a moment later, he hears what sounds like a muffled video playing on his phone. A soft knock, and a moment later, he hears him…I’m awake, you can come in.

Seungmin pokes his head in and sees him propped up on the pillows, phone in hand. “Sorry, we just wanted to make sure you were comfortable.” The window is cracked, and he can feel the breeze coming in. “Or if you needed anything.”

“Yeah, I’m comfortable. I thought you’d be asleep by now, it’s late.”

“Can’t sleep”

“You can come in”

Seungmin steps in and sets the water on the side table. “Brought this anyway.”

He nods to the bottle of beer. “Who’s that for?”

Both of them had enough to drink at the game, but his enough is double that of Seungmin’s, at least. He was still a little tipsy on the bus ride home, and Heecheol quietly stared at Seungmin for the duration.

“I can get another if you want this one”

“No, I think I hit my limit today.” The bed squeaks as he moves to make more room, and Seungmin takes the invitation. “Went a little over it, maybe.”

“Are you feeling okay now?”

“Yeah, back to normal I think. So this is the future nursery?”

Seungmin looks around and smiles as he twists off the cap. The color he chose looks nice in the dim lamplight, and a small collection of plushies is already accumulating on top of the dresser. Two boxes lean against the wall; a crib for each boy, and he knows he needs to start working on assembling things. You’ve already told him they won’t be sleeping in here for a while, so in your bedroom are two more boxes, each containing the pieces for a bassinet. Seungmin never really knew how much a baby needed, but it’s a surprising amount—doubled. “Yeah, just enough room, at least while they’re small.”

“Do you need help putting those together? Or anything else…doesn’t seem like you have everything yet.”

“No, I can’t make you work while you’re—“

“What was that?” The noise is faint, but Heecheol catches it. Seungmin hears it the second time—a soft cry, like you’re trying to call for him.

They’re both on their feet, stumbling through the dark until Seungmin pushes the door open, and his stomach drops when he sees your pale, anguished face. “What… what is it, what’s wrong?” He asks as calmly as possible.

Heecheol rounds the bed and grabs your hand, and he’s quiet for a few seconds. “What’s hurting?”

“Everything”

“Have you felt pains like this yet?”

Flashbacks of the intense pains you felt while hiding out months ago come back to Seungmin. He was mostly useless then, and he feels only slightly less useless now.

He reaches for the lamp and clicks it on, giving the room some well needed light. “Have you had any false labor pains yet? Hey…look at me, I know it hurts.”

“No pains, no”

“Okay, try to breathe deep through your nose, and then let it out slowly…very slow.”

Seungmin’s grip on your hand relaxes. “I can see…is that them moving?” He almost lays his palm on your stomach, but thinks better of it. That’s probably not what you want or need right now.

“They can feel it, too,” Heecheol speaks softly, “and this is a long one. Take another big breath…it’ll pass.”

You listen, and as hard as it is to take a deep breath, you manage it twice. This is a new type of pain you’ve never experienced before, and you’re not sure you’re ready to deal with it again. Two long minutes of it, and all you can see to your left is a blur of Seungmin staring you down. You’ve never seen him look more worried than he does right now. “It’s okay, Minnie…I’m okay.” You aren’t, not really, but the pain is gradually easing up, and it becomes easier to breathe.

Heecheol squeezes your wrist again, and his other hand lands gently on your stomach. “They might be awake for a while now, but hopefully no more pains that intense.”

“I don’t think I can do that again”

“You can—you will, and you’ll be surprised by the amount of pain you can endure”

“I don’t want to,” you laugh, and wince in pain again when one of them kicks hard enough to see.

Seungmin stares, and finally places both hands on your stomach. “Is it normal to see them moving like that?”

“Yeah, especially considering how cramped it’s getting in there; you’ll see all kinds of movement. Feel anything?”

He smiles, “yeah, I’ve never felt them so active before.”

“Me neither,” you sigh and set your hands on top of his. “I wonder which one is the worst.”

“Do you need anything? Water…and something for the muscle pains you’ll be feeling would be a good idea.”

“I’ll get you something, I’ll be right back.” Seungmin bends down to kiss your hand before jumping off the bed and heading for the medicine cabinet. He wants to feel useful, and it’s tough to do with a nurse in the room.

You watch Heecheol start to rise, but he stops and feels your pulse. He’s calm, like he’s been in this situation more times than he can remember, and having him here right now, tonight, was very lucky. “Thank you. I don’t know how well he would have handled that alone. He’s doing a good job, but he worries…and overthinks.”

“So he hasn’t changed.” Heecheol laughs and looks around. He sees the dried flowers, slowly crumbling away in a brand new vase, and next to it is the still broken pieces of his music box. To new eyes, it probably looks like a mess, and nothing else.

There’s no sound coming from outside the bedroom, so you keep your ears perked while you watch him walk to the other side of the room. “Can I ask you something, before Seungmin comes back?”

“Huh? Yeah, sure…is it about…” his gaze drops to your stomach.

“No, it’s about when you two were kids.” He’s making something warm to drink—you hear the familiar clumsy sound of him making tea. Heecheol moves closer as you sit up a little more. “Did he ever wander into the woods? I mean, aside from the incident with his stepfather. Did either of you ever see anything strange in there?”

The look he gives you is loaded with questions, and you think the meds must be one of them. “The woods? The pine forest around the old house?” Now his gaze moves to Seungmin’s side table, and you see what he's spotted. Seungmin’s prescription came in a box this time, and the writing on the front is hard to miss: HALOPERIDOL 2mg. “Not that I recall. It was creepy in there…I do remember him telling me he saw something, but just once. I didn’t believe him—I thought he was trying to scare me.” He has no clue which incident you're referring to with his stepfather, but he's curious. “Why do you ask?”

There’s no time to elaborate, because Seungmin is back—mug in one hand, bottle of water tucked under his arm. You remember this. He looks exactly like he did that night; worried, a little pale, half dressed with a mug of tea in one shaking hand.

“I sweetened it for you.” He sets it on your table, along with the water and two tablets he had clutched in his fist. “Cheoli…is it too early for this, the pain?”

“Not necessarily, but if there are more tonight, more that last that long…could be uhm, could be the babies trying to move into position.”

“Position? Position to what?”

Heecheol laughs. “To be born. They have to turn, head down preferably.”

“Right. But they can’t be born yet, it’s too soon.”

As much as you want to tell him not to worry, you can’t, because you’ve been nervous since the day you found out you were pregnant. Getting this far was a surprise. All you can hope for is Heecheol to put his mind at ease.

“It is, but the pains don’t mean they’re coming yet”

Somehow, Seungmin’s face grows even more pale. Not trying to worry him further is not working, for either of you. You calmly sip your tea, but he continues to watch you like you’re going to explode at any minute.

“I’m sorry, Mo, I’m not trying to worry you.”

Seungmin swallows and nods, and he follows Heecheol as he heads for the door. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

***

Half of his bottle is drained quickly, “what?” Seungmin isn’t just feeling watched—the look Heecheol is giving him is one of concern, and curiosity. Some confusion. “I know I didn’t handle that very well. I should be stronger than that.”

He shakes his head, “no, you’re allowed to be worried and a little scared. A little clueless. The two of you will get through it. But I do have to ask something…because you said, or we said…maybe we were both a little tipsy or getting too much sun at the game…”

He remembers. How can he do it, though? Seungmin can’t tell him everything. “No secrets, just like when we were kids.”

“That means a lot of catching up.” Heecheol takes the bottle from him and finishes it. “The Haldol, I’m assuming it's yours.”

Seungmin was so worried and distracted, he didn’t think about his medication sitting out in the open on his bedside table. Keeping them within sight has helped. But now he might have to jump right in and tell him something. “Yes, they’re mine.”

“We can talk about it another time, if you want, but no more alcohol. Just promise me that.”

“Okay”

“Go get some sleep. Wake me if either of you need anything.”

***

The pain mostly subsides, but the kicking and squirming doesn’t. Both of them feel like they’re spinning inside of you, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. Breathing exercises only help so much, and if there’s a neural connection that lets you communicate with them, they’re ignoring every word you say tonight. But Seungmin returns, and regardless of how tired and mopey he looks, you’re relieved to see him shuffling toward the bed. “Just in time. C’mere.”

“Are you hurting again?” He climbs across the bed and curls up next to you, despite how warm he is. The alcohol and conversation made him even warmer. “More pains?”

“Nothing like before, no. Can you talk to them, or something? Anything. They’re all worked up.”

Seungmin sits up and sets a hand on you until he feels movement. “I can try.” He lies down again, this time with his head on you, ear pressed against your stomach. “It’s bedtime,” he whispers. “Time to settle down and rest. Haneul…Haesung, which of us will fall asleep first? It can’t be me. I’ll stay up until umma falls asleep, and that means you two first.”

He’s been speaking to them by name for two months now, and you’ve started to as well. There hasn’t been any more discussion about it, so it seems like a good fit. Seungmin starts to hum, and you can feel it move through your chest. You worry for a moment that they’ll start squirming again, but they don’t, and you can finally close your eyes and relax. There’s still some fear that the pain will hit again, but you’re too tired to let it keep you up, and you feel yourself slowly fading into sleep.

*

A dim, measured beep starts going off, just enough to be annoying. You’re still tired, and you desperately want to sleep, so you try to block it out and slip back to where you were, but it gets louder.

“Seungmin…what is that noise?” You cup your palm over your ear, but it doesn’t help. “Is that your phone?” No, his alarm doesn’t sound like that, and he never has the sound on. Maybe he’s at his computer, mixing something together…but he hasn’t done that in a while. Your hand slides downward and jumps to your stomach. Nobody is kicking now—not that you can feel, but you can’t feel anything. “Seungmin?” He isn’t next to you. Finally, you open your eyes, and it’s blinding. Wherever you are is too bright, and it’s certainly not your bedroom. Moving is almost impossible, but as soon as you force yourself onto your back, all you see as your eyes adjust is a plain, drab room. You set your hand on your stomach again; there’s nothing there; no bump, and not even the ghost of one. This is the same stomach you had six months ago. Everything below your chest is numb.

The doorknob clicks, and a nurse walks in without a word. She looks at you, clicks a pen, and still says nothing.

“Where are my babies? Where am I?”

“Babies?”

“Where are they…where is Seungmin? He wouldn’t leave me here. Seungmin!”

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

You wake up again, and seeing him stare down at you is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. His big worried eyes, and his warm hands squeezing your shoulders bring you back immediately. "Stupid dreams," you mumble.

“Are you in pain?”

No, you think. Not at all. It was just a dream, and you’re here with him. Everything is okay. But you are in pain and it takes another few seconds to hit. It feels like you’ve been in pain for hours, and you’ve never felt anything like it before.

“Hey, it’s okay…everything is okay, I’m here”

It’s as if a vice is squeezing your back and pulling your spine from your body, inch by inch. Your chest burns when you try to breathe, and it comes back out in a cry. “It hurts.”

“I’m gonna take care of you, don’t worry.” He turns away screams for Heecheol.

It echoes in your head, and pain shoots around your stomach, around your back, and down your thighs. “They can’t come yet.”

“You’ll be okay, and they’ll be okay, too. Just look at me, take a breath.”

Heecheol runs into the room, but you can tell he’s calm as he approaches. “Hey, another bad one?” His hand clutches yours.

“Bad…it’s bad”

“Where does it hurt the most?”

“God, my back…and,” you set your hand on the bottom of your stomach and attempt another deep breath. “My chest.”

“Chest? How far is the closest hospital?”

“Uhm, the university hospital isn’t far. Should I call an ambulance?”

Heecheol gives your hand a gentle squeeze. “Can you walk? When this passes, if you can walk, we should get you there, just in case.”

“I’m not sure”

He looks at Seungmin, “if it doesn’t pass in the next few minutes, we’ll call. If it does, we can get ready and drive there.”

It does start to fade, but not nearly as quickly as before. Your head pounds from the tension in your body, and every muscles aches in its own way. You close your eyes and feel both of them move away from you, but you don’t bother to focus on what they say…

“Hospital? You think it’s time for that?” Seungmin asks. He watches you carefully as you finally start to relax.

“The pain seemed pretty intense. Is the pregnancy considered high risk?”

“I don’t think so…everything has been fine at the appointments”

His hands warm, damp are on you again; one squeezes yours, and the other runs softly across your thigh, “you okay?” He whispers.

“I dunno”

“We’re just gonna go to the hospital, to be safe,” he whispers again, trying desperately to keep you calm as he feels something falling apart inside of him. “So you can be more comfortable.”

“Will you stay with me?” A nauseous feeling starts to swirl inside of you, and you hope it’s the babies fighting again. You need them to move again. They haven’t moved since you woke up from your dream. “Please.”

***

The beeping is there again—it’s loud, and when your eyes open, everything is different, and he’s there, asleep with his head in his arms at the edge of your hospital bed. The lights are dimmed, and nobody else is around, because you assume it’s still the middle of the night. You don’t even know what time it was when you woke up in pain.

“Minnie?” Your voice cracks, and your cough is what wakes him up. “What time is it?”

“Uhm,” he grabs your arm and searches for his phone, “it’s 5:30. How do you feel?”

“Tired. What happened?”

“They gave you something to keep you from going into labor.” Heecheol closes the sliding door. There’s a coffee in each hand; one for him, and the other for Seungmin. “And something for the bleeding. And the pain.”

“Are the babies okay?”

“Yeah, babies are good. You don’t remember the ultrasound?”

Did you black out from the pain? Is labor actually that painful? “No, I don’t remember leaving the apartment.” If so, any fleeting thoughts you had of a natural birth before tonight…they’re long gone. “How long does the medicine stop me from going into labor?”

“Two days at the least, but an extra week is possible. Twenty-six is much better than twenty-five.”

You look to Seungmin, who’s looking at you the way that he tends to do; into you, and through you. He can’t hide the worry and sadness he’s carrying around with him. “Minnie, I’m sorry.”

“Why? You don’t have anything to be sorry for. You’ll be okay, and so will they.”

The dream keeps coming back to you, though.

***

It’s another two hours of you moving in and out of sleep before your doctor arrives, and when she walks into the room followed closely by someone else—a nurse, she looks concerned. You can tell she tries to shake it off when she gets closer.

“Good morning, how are you feeling?”

“Better than I was last night”

“Last week everything looked very good, and they were…” She stacks her arms parallel to each other against her stomach, “transverse. They both moved very quickly, and now they’re both head down.”

“Is that bad?”

“It’s unusual this early, but we’ll try to keep labor at bay for as long as possible, and we can give you something to help speed up lung development. But after that, we just wait.”

“I have to stay here?”

“Just for three or four days. If everything stays calm after that, you can go home…but bed rest until the babies are born,“ She looks at Heecheol, and then to Seungmin. “I’m counting on you to keep her there, and do everything she says.”

***

Seungmin doesn’t want to, but eventually, after convincing him you’d be alright by yourself, Heecheol and him head back to the apartment. It’s a quick, silent drive, and neither of them speak much until they’re on the elevator, halfway up the building.

Heecheol wants to say something to comfort him, but he doesn’t know where to start, and he doesn’t know if anything he says will help, so he keeps quiet for now. In place of conversation, he starts making more coffee while Seungmin shuts himself in the bathroom.

He takes a long shower, and he’s still silent as he heads for the bedroom wrapped in his towel. The sounds of him changing, and then the familiar sound of a pill being pushed from the blister pack filters out through the cracked door. Heecheol wonders how long he’s been taking Haldol, and how serious his condition is. Schizophrenia? Bipolar disorder? Both, possibly. It seems to be well under control, though, and he hopes Seungmin will talk to him about it.

The door swings open. “How likely is survival if they’re born this premature?” Seungmin asks. The doctor may be going over this with you right now, but he needs to know, too. And he needs to talk about it.

“Around 75…80%. Each week increases that percentage a little more.”

“I’m sorry you have to be here for all of this, Cheoli”

“I don’t mind. I can get someone to check in on umma; she’ll be fine.” He slides a coffee closer to him. “I’d hate to think about you all by yourself here, waiting around. Besides, you’ll need help getting this apartment ready if mom’s stuck in bed for a while.”

The list of things to finish is getting longer, and he wasn’t sure he’d have enough time before they arrived. Now he might have no time, but it doesn’t matter, as long as they make it home. “It would be nice to get the nursery done, even if they won’t be sleeping in there when they come home.” He reaches for his buzzing phone and sees a text from you already.

I know you just left, and you seemed fine, but are you okay? You can call or text whenever you want to, because I’m gonna bother you just as much

I will, but I’ll feel bad if I wake you. Keep your phone on do not disturb and I’ll feel much better about it. And sleep. If you’re hungry for something I’ll bring it in for you. AND I will be there tomorrow morning.

I will, I promise. I just had breakfast, and it was okay, but maybe you can make me some soft-boiled eggs and sneak them in? They only gave me a half of one :(

I’ll bring you as many eggs as you can eat. How are you feeling? Are you comfortable?

I am, I’m feeling good, no pains or anything…lots of kicks, I think they still want out

I’ll try to visit tonight before you go to bed, and I’ll tell them they need to stay put for while. Cheoli is going to help me finish putting things together here. Everything will be ready before you come home 🤍

the list I’ve been working on is in my drawer…we still have a lot to cross off

We’ll take care of everything, promise

***

Seungmin finds your notebook right where you said it would be. Next to it is your old one…the one you were using to practice Hangul months ago; the same one you wrote his name in over and over through the first few pages. He opens it to see everything still there, and then flips further back to see how much better your handwriting eventually became. You don’t feel confident speaking Korean, even though you practice with him all the time, and he’s being honest when he says you’re doing well. But no matter how much he reassures, you still believe you just can’t get it. A few nights ago, you made yourself cry from the fear of not being able to speak to them properly. It’s the first time in a long time, aside from last night, that Seungmin can remember feeling truly helpless when it comes to you; he can’t fix it…not without time.

It just…scrambles in my head, even when you speak slowly to me. I can’t make sense of it.

We’re going to be speak Korean and English to them, right? So you keep learning as they learn.

The new notebook is a baby planner, and it’s well-used. The side pockets are stuffed with pamphlets and information the doctor gave you in Daegu; older, messier lists to refer back to, and a paint color swatch for the greens Seungmin chose from. He flips to the middle where your much neater, much more organized lists are, starting with NURSERY: two cribs and everything that’s goes with them, two bassinets, changing table, dresser. Most of that is sitting in their respective boxes, untouched. Baby monitor, just one of those; blankets, too many to count; pacifiers, also too many to count. He flips the pages. Fortunately, most of that section is checked off.

Fatigue starts to creep up on him, and just as he flips to the next page (FEEDING) Heecheol sneaks up behind him. “Feeding, still need all of those. We can get a lot done today, but we need sleep first.”

He must see it on him, the exhaustion. Neither of them slept last night. “Yeah, I am very tired. I can hear Tokki yelling at me for it—if I just start working without at least trying to rest.”

“Can I ask where the nickname came from?”

“Tokki?”

“Mhm. She looks more like a deer than a bunny…feels like one, too.”

He thinks about it, picturing your face in his mind; your voice, and your walk. Maybe you are more like a deer, but you’ll always be Tokki to him. “That’s true, but…she’s my moon, I guess.”

“Your moon?”

“Yeah. We should get some sleep.”

***

Both of them get back into bed without bothering to set alarms, and they both sleep well into late afternoon. The sun is still up, just barely, when Heecheol finally opens his eyes, but his head is pounding. He decides to close his eyes again, and if Seungmin happens to wake up and need him, he’ll get up, but that doesn’t happen.

The first time Seungmin wakes, the sun is setting, and some of the light is pushing through the thick curtains. Before dozing off again, he watches it move across the room, and then he looks at his phone; no notifications. He knows you’re safe and resting, and that makes it even easier for him to slip back into sleep. But something creeps into his head without him realizing it; it was there last night, and when he sat in the hospital room watching your every move. It was there as he flipped through the baby book, trying to figure out his next step. It's been there since he went back into the woods; he's just gotten better at holding it back.

It’s full dark when he wakes again—10 o’clock. He slept too much, and the pain in his head is pulsing behind his eyes. He can’t remember what day it is, and why he’s been asleep. Why is he waking at this hour? Seungmin sits up. “Why is it so quiet?” He says to himself, and immediately falls back onto his pillow. Again, he looks at an empty phone, and then he scratches at the scar on his forearm. The empty spot to his left confuses him, and without thinking; without knowing exactly why, he jumps out of bed and opens his drawer.

“What? Where…is…” he moves a few things around. He doesn’t remember putting these things here, and he certainly doesn’t remember moving his tools. Seungmin moves to the dresser and checks each drawer. Nothing. Next is the closet. He glances at the bin by the door; the one filled with his old baby clothes, and a few forgotten toys, but he chooses to ignore it. The first thing he notices is a box, slightly larger than the photo boxes it’s sitting next to. It’s a nice box, with a hinged lid and a lock. And it’s locked. Does he have a key for this lock? Seungmin is pretty certain he has a key for every lock.

The ring of keys was in the drawer, so he and the box return to bed, and after four careful tries, it clicks.

“How did you get in here? I don’t remember...” He picks up his knife, safe in its leather sheath, and slowly pulls it out. It shines at him in the darkness, and he sees his reflection in the polished steel. “Oh well.”

Back to the closet, and then to the dresser. Black jeans, and a fitted tank top. Black boots—not his good ones, but they’re still nice—and two silver chains around his neck. He checks himself in the mirror before throwing on his jacket...runs his fingers through his hair and fluffs it up a little. By the time he walks out the door, he looks perfect.

***

Might as well just sleep the rest of the night, Heecheol thinks as he rolls around trying to get comfortable. He checks his phone for messages, and there’s nothing, so everything is fine at home. No need to worry. The headache is gone, at least, but he has to get up and rehydrate…maybe check in on Seungmin. He had a rough day, and meds or no meds, things can go downhill quickly.

The little hallway is dark, and so is the living room. One tiny light in the kitchen helps guide him toward the water, but not before noticing the light coming from Seungmin’s bedroom, so maybe he is up, and he is okay. Heecheol grabs his water and heads for the bathroom, but he doesn’t get far before something grabs his attention; a sound, and not a particularly nice sound. A gasp for air.

“Seungmin, are you up?” He says softly, and his heart pounds louder than his voice. One ear pressed against the door is his second mistake; the first being approaching it at all.

you…fucking…don’t fight me…do not touch me

“What the hell?”

A few seconds pass, and silence takes over. Heecheol is afraid to move in case the hardwood floor squeaks and gives him away, so he hears something else—a quiet groan, but it’s not Seungmin’s voice. He takes a chance when he starts to speak again, and somehow manages to make it to the nursery and close the door behind him. Just in time. The door opens, and light fills the living room. Heecheol’s view from the keyhole is a little too good, because the reflection on the knife seems to bounce right off of his door. The weapon almost distracts him from the fact that Seungmin’s hands are covered in blood, and a splatter of it managed to travel across his cheek. The bathroom light illuminates things a little more—Seungmin disappears inside, and Heecheol waits motionless; breathing in shaky breaths, and letting them out quietly. What is he witnessing right now? What did his friend do?

The bathroom water runs for a few minutes, and then he emerges again with a clean knife in his clean hands. The front door clicks, but there’s no way he’s leaving the apartment with a body (maybe—he doesn’t know if there’s a body anywhere…he could just be in a very vivid nightmare for all he knows) laying in his bedroom. Heecheol waits it out for another few minutes, but manages to unstick himself from his spot and grab his phone. A well-timed text might help clear things up, or confirm some very scary suspicions, but when he pulls up the message thread, he can’t do it.

The door opens and another light clicks on, and Seungmin is heading back to the bedroom. Thanks to the extra light, he can very clearly see what he’s now carrying; a neatly folded tarp, or…some type of plastic. A drop cloth you’d use while painting, possibly. And a bucket, he assumes full of cleaning supplies. There wasn’t much doubt in what he was hearing and seeing, especially with a knife in hand, but this confirms what he’s really, truly trying to push out of his head. Seungmin is preparing to dispose of a body, right in front of his eyes. Is he not worried Heecheol will hear or see him? “Maybe you’re not all there right now,” he whispers as he turns and somehow still gives his friend the benefit of the doubt; but not really…he knows what’s happening, sure, but maybe there’s something more. “What is wrong with me…he just killed someone, quietly…oh, Mo, what the hell is going on?”

He should be planning his escape right now—packing up and heading to the train station or finding a hotel. Why isn’t he moving?

A thud, the sound of plastic, and then he appears again, slowly. Seungmin comes back into his field of vision, back first, pulling the wrapped body little by little. He can’t make out much except a vague idea of size, and it’s not very small. Seungmin grunts a little each time he pulls, and then you hear his phone. Of course he turned the sound on in case you called or messaged him. Of course it’s you. He drops what he’s doing and hops over the body as he runs for it, and he gets there before you hang up.

“Hi sweetie, you’re up late…is everything okay?”

…nothing quite as frustrating as hearing one side of the conversation, Heecheol thinks. But not for long. Seungmin puts it on speaker and puts the phone in his pocket so he can continue. Apparently, Seungmin's mental break erased Heecheol from the equation.

why are you up so late? You don’t sound like you were sleeping

“I slept all day. I bet you did, too. How are you feeling?”

Yeah I fell asleep right after dinner. Did you eat? What are you doing?

“Uh, no…I haven’t eaten, not yet”

is Heecheol still there?

Hearing Seungmin say his name sends him into a panic, and he has to cup his head over his mouth to quiet his breaths.

“Is…Heecheol?” Seungmin pulls one more time, stops, and stands up straight. “Uhm…”

Minnie, what was that? What are you doing?

…and then he turns his head toward the nursery door. “Nuh…nothing.”

did you leave and come back with someone? Please tell me you didn’t do that, not right now…baby

Seungmin does something stupid. He’s never hung up on you, or ignored you; not until tonight. He hits the end call button and shoves the phone back in his pocket, and now Heecheol watches him approach. He freezes for a few more steps, but manages to quietly slip back under the covers and pretend to sleep.

“Heecheol?”

His heart feels on the brink of giving out. There’s no way he’ll fall for the fake sleeping unless he can relax. The door clicks and squeaks a little as it’s pushed open.

“Cheoli, are you...”

Deep, steady breaths. No, sound asleep…he heard nothing, and he saw nothing. But he’s not in the clear yet, because Seungmin is still there watching. Heecheol hears him sigh.

“...awake?”

The doors squeaks again, clicks shut, and Heecheol finally shifts. The phone rings again, so he knows Seungmin has returned to his job.

“Hey, I’m sorry—”

Don’t ever hang up on me like that

“I’m sorry, I am…I don’t know why I did this”

He must have turned the speaker off, but Heecheol can still hear you—your voice carries easily in the quiet apartment.

Are you at home? Did you finish?

“Yeah, almost. I made a mess, though.”

oh, no…

“Everything will be fine. I’ll clean up. Heecheol was asleep when I just looked in on him.”

No, Seungmin it’s happening again

“What, what’s happening?”

There’s no real answer on your end of the conversation, but there’s a horrible, anguished wail. The labor pains have already returned.

“Fuck, I’ll be there as soon as I can”

The call ends, and Heecheol is still stuck. Seungmin can’t run off with a dead body in the middle of the floor, so he has to clean up before he leaves, but he might not have much time. He can hear the sounds of him banging around, and he can’t begin to imagine how he’s taking care of this.

Seungmin grabs the end of the plastic again and pulls. He’s moving faster now, because he has to, and a few seconds later he’s out of the front door. The next apartment; the empty one they’ve started using as storage, is thirty feet down the hall, and Seungmin covers it quickly. Adrenaline pumping through him should make quick work of this.

The slam of the neighboring door gets Heecheol up again and peeking through the keyhole. He catches sight of Seungmin running by and pulling off his top, and after a few minutes of changing and cleaning up any leftover blood (he assumes), Seungmin bolts by again, slams the door shut, and everything goes quiet again.

“What the…fuck?” It’s strange hearing himself after the terrified silence. “Seungmin, what the fuck?” Now what is he supposed to do? Stay? Leaving in the middle of the night is out of the question, unless he wants to make it obvious he actually did witness a murder. Seungmin might have to get rid of him or anyone who knows—apparently not you, though. You knew exactly what he was up to, and even though you weren’t thrilled about it, you’re still here and carrying his children. Tokki should have dropped me and ran more than once already, but…I’ve been lucky. I’m not easy to deal with. He thinks he knows at least one reason why Seungmin is difficult. It’s almost 2am when he checks his phone again. In another minute, he’ll text him:

I heard the front door slam, and you were gone when I checked…everything okay?

It’s less than three kilometers to the hospital, so driving there at this hour should be quick. It takes three more minutes for a reply:

Yes I’m sorry Cheoli. I panicked and ran. I didn’t wanna wake you, but I’ll keep you updated.

If you can. Let me know if you need anything.

Maybe he doesn’t suspect anything. He is typically a deep sleeper, and Seungmin might remember that from when they were kids—hopefully he does. Heecheol is more worried about you, actually. You might not believe he missed the entire ordeal—you’re going to suspect he witnessed everything, even is Seungmin doesn’t. He needs time to process this, and the first thing he does is check the bedroom. It looks the same as it did last night, but it smells like a mix of disinfectant and the coppery scent of blood. The open balcony door hasn’t helped air it out yet. The only other thing that seems off is the wooden box sitting on his side of the bed. It’s closed, but it isn’t locked. “Oh no,” he cringes when he sees what’s inside; the knife, clean and back in its sheath; nylon rope; syringes; handcuffs.

It feels stupid as he’s doing it, but he heads to the kitchen and makes himself a cup of tea. He checks one of the cupboards and finds a hoard of snacks that he can only assume belongs to you. He pulls out an already open bag of chips and starts to eat while his tea steeps.

A few minutes later, a text message comes through, and it’s from Seungmin.

They can’t stop it this time, they’re preparing for delivery

“Damn. I’m sorry, buddy.” He says it out loud to himself, and immediately feels a horrible swirl in his stomach. Hours ago, he knew Seungmin deserved all of the good things he was finally getting. A good relationship, and a family of his own. He’s been through a lot, and Heecheol doesn’t even know how terrible Seungmin’s childhood actually was, but he just killed someone in his bedroom. It’s possible that both of you are killing; some sick version Natural Born Killers come to life. Is that actually how you two met?

It’ll be okay. They’ll take good care of them. All three of them.

They won’t let me in the room. They said I have to wait until things are more stable.

That’s normal. Just stay calm and they’ll let you in as soon as they can. I’m sure she’s asking for you. I can make my way down there.

He can?

Can you, Cheoli? I’m sorry you have to come down alone

Yes, he can. Seungmin needs him.

I’ll look for a ride right now

This has been his worst day in a very long time, and he can feel it in every single nerve in his body. His head aches, and his joints do, too; his heart hasn’t stopped racing since he woke from his very long nap. But his friend is coming to be by his side, and thinking about how close he came to ruining things is making him sick to his stomach. You, in that room, alone and in pain, has him on the verge of crying and screaming at everyone he sees sitting calmly in front of him. Can they not see how distressed he is? Why isn’t anyone telling him how you are?

“Hey, Mo”

Seungmin jumps, but smiles when Heecheol sits next to him in maternity waiting room. One of the nurses glances at them, but says nothing. “Thanks for coming.”

“That’s what friends are for.” He looks down at Seungmin’s fidgeting hands and sees blood that isn’t there. “Haven’t heard anything new?”

“No, I feel like everyone is ignoring me”

“I’m sure they’re not. It’s a stressful situation, and everyone is focused on making sure Tokki and the babies are both safe.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right”

“We’ll hear something soon”

***

The pain meds took hold, and the nurse made sure to tell you how lucky you are that they pushed them in time. Everything from your stomach to your knees is a partially numb, but every time you take a breath, you feel the pain.

“I’m going to see if things are progressing…” a nurse says and pushes hard on one of your knees. She speaks to another nurse first, than to you. “Still five centimeters.”

Still. You’ve been at five since the pains first started. “When can I see Seungmin?”

“Seungmin?” One looks to the other and asks.

“Nampyeonbun”

“Oh…the cute, pouty one sitting in the waiting room? She whispers in Korean to her partner. “Soon, you’ll see him soon”

You look everywhere for your phone, but one of them must have taken it when things started getting chaotic.

“Don’t cry, everything will be fine. Doctor will be here soon, and she’ll know exactly what to do.”

She will, but you can’t stop yourself. It’s too soon, and it’s very possible that, no matter how smoothly the delivery goes, you could still lose one, or even both of them. That can’t happen—you won’t be able to handle losing what you thought you never wanted, or failing to keep his children alive. And Seungmin won’t be able to cope with losing another piece of himself.

“Should we go get him?”

Just as she asks, the doctor arrives, only slightly deshelved from the 2am phone call. She smiles at you just like before; a bad attempt at hiding her obvious concern. “Where’s dad? Not sleeping, I’m sure.”

“I was just going to get him”

The other nurse moves to stand by your bedside. “No progress in dilation for an hour. Five centimeters, currently.”

“Thank you. Did the epidural work?”

“Sort of”

“If you don’t progress in the next half an hour, we should consider other options.”

The nurse returns, and Seungmin comes in quietly behind her. He’s pale, and his cheeks are red and blotchy. He looks as if he’s been awake for two days straight. His approach is hesitant at first, as if he’s afraid to touch you, but when you whisper his name, he breaks out into a smile. “Hey.” He touches your hand and you pull him until he puts his arms around you. “Please don’t be mad, I didn’t mean to be so careless.”

“I’m not, I promise”

“We were just discussing other options that may become necessary”

“What options?” Seungmin asks.

“Heart rates have returned to normal, but they may not stay that way. C-section would be less stressful for mom, and less traumatic for the boys.”

He looks to you, hopeful, thinking that’s an easy solution to this problem. “Is that something you would want?”

It might be. “If I have to, I will.”

“Okay,” the doctor nods. “Only if necessary. We’ll check again in thirty minutes. We’ll leave you two alone, but call if you need anything.”

***

The two of you stare silently at each other, waiting for the other to speak. Seungmin squeezes your hand, and eventually drops his gaze to your stomach. His other hand feels for any movement.

“What happened?”

“Not sure. I woke up and…it felt like what I had to do. Maybe all the worry and stress caught up to me.”

You squeeze back. “I’m only upset because I’m worried you were disassociating again, and not all there. Do you remember everything? Did he see you?”

The finer details are already lost on him, now that you mention it. He’s forgetting this, just like he couldn’t remember wandering into the woods, or what he did while he was there. He doesn’t even remember the feeling creeping up on him; the voice pushing him to do it. What he does remember is making a mess. The knife seemed like the obvious solution to quell the need. “Some. And no, I don’t think so. He’s in the waiting room.”

“He’s here?”

Seungmin nods, and you reach out to rub a spot on his neck. “I didn’t have time to clean up properly...what is it?” It feels like he’s setting off your pains. Every time he does something stupid, they return. “Should I call someone back?”

“I know I can’t push but…fuck, they’re making it very hard”

“Okay, you’re supposed to do the breathing techniques, right? No pushing, just nice big breaths.”

You breath in and out as steadily and calmly as possible, and Seungmin does it with you. It feels good doing it with him, and eventually, the contraction passes.

“No meds for the pain?”

“Yeah, it helped a little. I can still feel it.”

He’s surprisingly calm, and maybe he’s truly confident that everything will be okay. The last twenty-four hours have been more than stressful, and his kill seems to have grounded him—at least he’s gained that much. Not having him clear-headed and here with you is something you let yourself worry about far too much.

Another pain shoots through you, this time a little worse. He panics and pushes the call button on the side of your bed, and the doctor makes it in the see the very end of your contraction.

“Was that your first contraction since we left?”

“Second”

“Let’s check things out.” She pats your knee sweetly, and her bedside manner is a relief compared to both of your nurses. A few seconds into her inspection, and again you’re relieved to see a non-worried smile on her face. “Good, almost there. One more contraction and you might be ready to let them out.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m going to wash up and change, and dad is going to join me so he can stay.”

For five minutes, you’re completely alone again. The only sound is the woosh of two heartbeats, and when you look at the machine you’re hooked up to, you see your own heart rate sitting at 90. Baby 1 is 125, and baby 2 is 130. It occurs to you now that the two of you haven’t discussed who is who, so it’s the first thing you say when he walks back in, and he’s almost unrecognizable in his mask and gown.

“First born…Haneul or Haesung?”

Seungmin adjusts his mask, and his eyes look even more intense peeking over it. “Huh? Oh, who is Haneul and…I guess we never thought about that part. Should the oldest be Sky? And Haesung is little brother.”

“That sounds good”

The mask doesn’t hide his sudden worry. That’s all in his eyes, but he does his best to keep his mind on you. Seungmin made sure to update Heecheol before getting ready, and before he got his attention, he looked lost. He looked like he wasn’t sure which direction to go in. Heecheol’s foot tapped nervously, and he was chewing on his fingers, but Seungmin doesn’t think any of that was because of the situation they’re in here at the hospital. No. Now he’s wondering if Heecheol did hear something. Or worse—see something. As soon as he saw him approach, he perked up and gave him a smile.

“Delivery time. You can stick around if you’d like, or I can call a ride and you can get some sleep. I’m sorry your visit has been so strange.”

Strange doesn’t quite cover it. Running to and from the hospital has been very normal by comparison, and honestly, good bonding time for him and Seungmin. “How about I stick around for a little longer, and then when I know everything is okay, I’ll head back and put that nursery together.”

“You don’t have to do that”

“I know. But I’d like to. I’ll make myself something, get some coffee going, and you stay here as long as you need to.”

“Cheoli, I…when I say I don’t deserve a friend like you, I mean it. If things go well tonight, and I desperately need them to, it’s not because I deserve anything. Tokki does. I don’t.”

“Where is this coming from?”

“My heart, and my very damaged head”

He shakes his head and forces himself to smile. Does he know he knows? Is he attempting damage control? No. Heecheol doesn’t really think that’s the case. That might be part of it, but the bigger part is his sincerity, and his genuine aversion to himself. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

***

The doctors voice is floating somewhere in the room, but you can’t catch all the words. Her face is between your legs, and Seungmin has decided he doesn’t need to see what’s happening down there. He has your hand cupped between his, and he keeps putting his face into the sheets out of frustration. You’re dilated, but nothing is happening. You haven’t felt the urge to push in at least ten minutes.

Two incubators are pushed against the wall, ready and waiting, and every time you catch sight of them, it makes you a little more nervous. “Tell them to come out,” you whine, and the doctor laughs when she hears you.

“I think they’re going to listen to one of you better than me. Go ahead, talk to them.”

Seungmin takes her advice and scoots a few inches to his right. He bends close enough to set his lips against the little bit of skin showing between your gown and the blanket draped over your lap. “Are you two sleeping? It’s not a good time…you can nap after you come out and say hello.” He stops and waits a few seconds. “Please, I know it’s early but I would really like to meet you.”

Another few seconds, and you start to relax again, but you should know better. This isn’t the first, or second, or third time they’ve responded to his voice. This contraction doesn’t hit hard—it progresses slowly until you can’t take the pressure…

“Deep breath and a nice, slow push…good! Slow and steady. We have an appearance.”

“We do?”

“Hopefully you’ll only have a moment to rest, and then one push should give us your first born.”

She’s right. You get three full breaths before the next one comes, and when you push, you think Seungmin might crush your fingers under his grip.

“Good…keep pushing, very good. There he is, baby boy number one.”

All you see is the top of her head as she works quietly, and Haneul is quiet, too. Seungmin doesn’t move, but he does soften his grip.

“You worked hard, little one. I know you can cry for us.”

Seungmin takes a step towards them. “What’s wrong?” He’s wrapped and cradled in her arms, and sees a tiny foot and the briefest glimps of his face as he’s handed to one of the nurses. “Is he okay?”

“Just making sure his airways are clear, no need to worry.”

The nurse suctions his mouth and each nostril before setting him down and pulling at his blanket, and it’s right now that Seungmin gets his first real look him Haneul. Too small, but otherwise, he looks just like he imagined him all this time. There’s more hair on his head, though—for some reason, he wasn’t expecting so much already. His quiet cry finally comes, and everyone sighs in relief. It gets louder and louder until he’s wrapped up tight again.

“He sounds pretty strong for barely twenty-six weeks. Let’s get him comfortable, and after little brother arrives, we’ll bring them back in for a visit.”

The doctor takes her place between your legs again, and you try your best to tell him it’s time. Following his brother out should come naturally, right? You would really prefer them to only be minutes apart, because if you have to wait another ten—twenty minutes like this, you’re going to start crying.

“Hey, you okay?” Seungmin cups your cheeks and makes you look at him.

“Did you see him?”

“A little, yeah”

Lucky you; the contraction hits quickly, and it’s the worst one. The partial numbness is fading, and it might be in your head, but you’re certain you feel every part of him as he makes his way out. No scream, though. You decide to do that inside your own head so Haesung comes out to a calmer, more peaceful room

“Oh, that was fast…very good”

Seungmin doesn’t inch closer for a look; he retreats until he’s at your side again, and you wonder if he’s afraid of not hearing another little cry. His stare gives you his answer. “He’ll be okay. They’ll both be okay.”

The doctor stands, and you see him as she turns and heads toward the table. Again, just like his brother, his airways are cleared. And Seungmin inches closer.

“Please, don’t punish him for what I’ve done”

You hear him whisper, and you wonder if anyone else does.

She looks back and beckons him closer, and he hesitates again. “Come here and say something to him.”

Seungmin takes a few steps closer, and when he finally sees Haesung, he can’t believe how small he is. Smaller than his brother, he thinks, and with a little less hair. “Hi baby. Haesung, do you know who I am?”

You can make out almost every word of his soft, slow Korean from here. It feels strange to understand him after so much trying, but you do. He shifts a little so you can see better; you can see both of them as Seungmin runs his finger across an arm that isn’t much different in size. There’s still no dramatic cry, but he’s moving the only way something so new and weak can manage, and you do hear the tiny fussy noises all the way across the room. The doctor doesn’t seem worried, so you aren’t either.

***

Being left in the room alone to wait and wonder is excruciating...so much more difficult than anything has been the last twenty-four hours. There’s so much you can say to him, and ask him, but it’s not the time. It might not be the time until his friend questions and accuses Seungmin of the things you know he witnessed. This is really the only way to keep your mind off of the twins—you have to wonder if Heecheol is putting the Haldol and the strange behavior together; your question about him wandering into the woods as a child; his failed attempt to open up about something to both of you.

“Is Heecheol still here?”

“I think so. I let him know what was going on a few minutes ago, but he hasn’t responded yet.”

“Okay, let me know when he does”

The nurse finally returns, and she’s pulling something in behind her. The second nurse pushes from the other end, and you finally get your second wind. It no longer feels like you're running on almost no sleep. They’re here, and they must be okay if they’re coming to visit. No doctor coming in alone to break the bad news that one, or both of them, have a very slim chance of making it more than a few days. A few hours. You kept trying to prepare yourself for that moment to come, just in case, but no amount of that could ever make things any easier.

And you’re pleased to see a new, much happier looking nurse with them. She must be one of their new carers in the NICU.

“Baby Haneul is 1.3 kilograms, much bigger than we expected! Baby Haesung is 1.14 kilograms. They are both breathing well with a little bit of help from the incubator, and they are very excited to see you.”

Seungmin backs away as they’re rolled closer to the bed. Everything still feels a little bit dreamy to him, even as he looks down and sees them, face to face, arms carefully entertwined as if they can't get close enough. "They're both alright?" They were safe inside of you. They were warm, and well fed. Every night, Seungmin spoke to them, or read them stories. A few times, he sang. And now…

"Haesung is not quite as strong as his brother, but being cuddled up together will help get him there."

"It will?"

The nurse nods at both of you. "I'll leave the four of you alone to meet each other, but please ring the bell if you need anything."

She leaves, and suddenly, it's just him…and you…and them. The four of you. He sits so he can be at eye level and takes in everything about them; the little bit of dark hair, and tiny noses. Their perfect tiny lips, pursing and puckering as if they're waiting for their first real meal.

“They have your ears”

Seungmin cups his hands over them, “do they?” He tugs at his earlobes and smiles as he examines a little closer. “Can we touch them?”

“Yeah, you can”

This part is hard for him, no matter how excited he is. Before he reaches, you watch him get up and walk across the room where the sink is, and he washes his hands for the third time since they were taken from the room. He takes his time, inching closer and closer until Haneul shifts, and Seungmin’s fingertip moves softly across his shoulder. He squirms a little, and his arms seem to tighten around his brother. Now he’s feeling more confident, and he very gently runs the same finger over the helix of his ear. And then he does the same to Haesung. “Can you hear me in there?” Seungmin asks. “Do you recognize my voice?”

They both move and fuss a little more, as if answering.

“I think they do”

“You understood what I said?”

You wince as you adjust yourself and sit up. “Uh, I think so—mogsoli…nae mogsoli. Your voice…yeah, they know your voice, Min.”

“Gimme your hand.” He wiggles his fingers above them, close to the portal hole on your side, and he latches onto your fingers.

[lightdancingwords]

One Day - Part Five of ?

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Y/N Female character Series Summary: You were rescued by Dean Winchester a long time ago. Over time, you kept bumping into each other.

Word Count: 2774

Tags/Warnings: So much angst, mention of c*ncer, profanity

A/N: Comments, Likes, Reblogs, Kind feedback are always highly appreciated. Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list! Please see this post regarding future story posts. This is the first of I don’t know how many parts, haha. Enjoy the ride!

Dividers: credit to @talesmaniac89

Chapter Five: Never Let Me Go

It had been five long years since Dean Winchester had spoken to Y/N. Five years since the fallout that neither he nor Sam ever truly discussed. The Men of Letters bunker had become a sanctuary of sorts, where old wounds remained hidden under layers of silence and avoidance. And alcohol. So much alcohol. And meaningless sex when Dean could get himself a woman to share the night with him.

Then Sam’s cellphone rang sharply, its tone echoing through the quiet halls. Dean looked up from his whiskey, a frown forming. “You gonna get that, or should I?”

Sam, who had been pouring over one of the ancient tomes spread across the library table, sighed and picked up the cellphone. “Yeah, hello?”

“It’s Bobby.” His familiar gruff voice immediately set Sam on alert. Dean stood, watching his brother’s expression carefully.

“What’s going on?” Sam asked, leaning onto the desk, switching the phone to speaker so Dean could hear Bobby too.

“I need you boys to gear up and move fast,” Bobby replied. “Got a hunter in trouble. Been taken by a bunch of vampires. They’re holed up just outside of Lawrence.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Who’s the hunter?” he asked, his voice sharp.

“That’s not important right now,” Bobby said curtly. “What’s important is you get your asses out there before it’s too late.”

Dean shared a look with Sam. “You can’t just drop this on us without details, Bobby. What are we walking into?”

“I told you what you need to know. Now, move!” Bobby barked before hanging up.

Dean and Sam exchanged a look. “Guess we’re doing this,” Dean muttered, already moving toward the weapons cache.

It didn’t take long for them to gear up and hit the road. The Impala roared to life, and they sped toward the coordinates Bobby had sent, both running through worst-case scenarios in their heads.

The vampires were tucked away in an old, decrepit farmhouse surrounded by overgrown fields. Dean and Sam approached quietly, their weapons drawn.

The rescue mission was bloody and brutal, but the brothers worked in perfect sync, clearing out the vampires with a precision born of years of hunting together.

The farmhouse was silent now, the metallic tang of blood thick in the air. Dean and Sam descended into the damp, musty basement, their flashlights cutting through the oppressive darkness. The growls and snarls of the vampires above had faded, replaced by the low hum of adrenaline in their ears.

Finally, they found the captured hunter in the basement, bound and bloodied but alive.

“Dean,” Sam whispered, gesturing toward the far corner of the room. A figure sat slumped against the wall, bound in chains and barely conscious.

Dean froze when he saw who it was. “Y/N?” The name slipped from his lips like a ghost, laden with disbelief and the weight of unresolved history.

Dean’s heart stopped for a fraction of a second when the flashlight beam illuminated her face. It was Y/N. Five years might as well have been five days. The memories, the fight, the way things had ended—all of it came rushing back with such force that it almost knocked him off his feet.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice barely audible.

Her head lifted weakly, eyes squinting against the light. “Dean?” The word was more a breath than a sound, but it carried a weight that struck him to his core.

Sam was already at her side, inspecting the chains. “She’s hurt, but alive. Let’s get her out of here.”

Dean finally moved, his hands steady despite the turmoil inside him. Together, they worked to break the chains, the sharp clicks of the locks echoing in the otherwise silent room.

Y/N winced as they pulled her to her feet. “You always knew how to make an entrance,” she muttered, her voice tinged with both sarcasm and exhaustion.

Dean couldn’t help the flicker of a smile that tugged at his lips. “Yeah, well, saving people is kinda our thing.”

The journey back to the Impala was slow, Y/N leaning heavily on Dean as Sam kept watch for any stragglers. Dean felt the weight of her body against his, a stark reminder of just how fragile she was in that moment. But there was also a strength in her—a resilience that hadn’t dimmed, even after all these years.

Once they were safely in the car, Sam took the wheel, leaving Dean in the backseat with Y/N. She sat slouched, her head resting against the cool window. Dean watched her, his mind racing with questions and emotions he wasn’t ready to face.

“You’re staring,” she said without opening her eyes.

Dean shifted uncomfortably. “You’re hard to miss.”

That earned a faint chuckle. “Still the charmer, I see.”

“Why didn’t Bobby tell us it was you?” Dean finally asked, his voice quieter, more serious.

Y/N opened her eyes and looked at him, her expression unreadable. “Would you have come if he had?”

The question hit like a punch to the gut. He wanted to deny it, to argue that he’d always show up when it mattered, but the truth was more complicated than that.

“Of course, I would’ve,” he said, though even he wasn’t sure how convincing he sounded.

Y/N gave a tired smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Sure, Dean.”

The rest of the drive passed in tense silence, Sam occasionally glancing in the rearview mirror, clearly aware of the storm brewing between them but choosing not to intervene.

Back at the bunker, they got Y/N cleaned up and bandaged. Dean hovered nearby, watching as Sam played medic.

“You’re fussing,” Y/N said, her tone light but her gaze sharp as it met Dean’s.

“Just making sure you’re not gonna keel over,” he shot back, crossing his arms.

“I’ve been through worse,” she said, wincing slightly as Sam wrapped a bandage around her arm.

Dean scoffed. “Yeah, well, doesn’t mean you should’ve been out there alone.”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed. “And whose fault is that, Dean? You walked away, remember?”

The room went still. Sam froze mid-wrap, his eyes darting between them. “Maybe I’ll, uh, give you two a minute,” he muttered, quickly exiting.

Dean stepped closer, his jaw tightening. “I didn’t walk away—you pushed me out.”

Y/N stood, wobbly but defiant. “I pushed you because you couldn’t see past your damn pride.”

“Pride? You’re the one who—” Dean stopped himself, taking a deep breath. “You know what? This isn’t the time.”

“Right,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Because there’s always gonna be a better time for you, isn’t there?”

For a moment, neither spoke, the air between them heavy with the weight of their shared history. Finally, Dean ran a hand through his hair, the anger draining from his face.

“Look,” he said quietly, “I don’t know how we fix this. Hell, I don’t even know if we can. But I’m glad you’re okay.”

Y/N studied him for a long moment, her expression softening just enough to let a flicker of vulnerability show. “Me too.”

Dean shifted uncomfortably. He wanted to ask how she’d been. He wanted to kiss her, bury himself in her. He wanted to apologize. He wanted… God. What did he want?

Sam gently knocked on the door, having guessed the fight was over for the moment. “Hey, I got one of the spare rooms set up for you if… if you, uh, wanted to sleep in an actual bed instead of our little medic room.”

Y/N hesitated, glanced at Dean, and nodded. “Yeah… thanks, Sam.”

Dean felt like an idiot, standing there, silent as a post. He just couldn’t talk, couldn’t get past his pride, his wounded heart. Seeing Y/N again opened it all up again.

As Sam took Y/N down the hallway, Dean watched her leave. Once they were out of earshot, he dialed up Bobby.

“Yeah?”

“She’s safe,” Dean said without preamble.

“Oh good. So you decided to stop being an idiot and did something, huh?”

Dean winced at Bobby’s sharp tone. “I’m not—”

“The hell you aren’t! She told me what happened,” Bobby said, his voice unyielding. “She had to keep a secret from ya and you decided to be an idjit and pushed her away! Or is that not what happened?”

Dean was silent. It was more or less what happened.

“Thought so.” Bobby gave him a moment then said, “So what are you going to do about it?”

“What?” Christ, Dean could win the award for densest idiot out there at this rate.

“Go apologize!”

“And then what, Bobby?” Dean demanded. “Make merry while she keeps a secret from me?”

Bobby rolled his eyes. Dean was one of the best hunters out there, but John left their social skills in the dust, not really knowing how to handle a lot of situations. Sam made up for it when he went to college, but Dean never really had a relationship with a woman.

“You really wanna know why she’s obsessed with spirits, Dean?”

“Yeah! I do!”

Bobby snapped: “Then ask her!”

“I did! She wouldn’t tell me!”

“Then you didn’t ask her the right way!”

“What other way is there?!”

Bobby rubbed his forehead. “God help me, boy, I love you like you’re my own son, but you can be thick as a rock. Ask your brother for some tips!”

And he hung up. Dean stared at his phone, shocked. “The fuck?”

Sam cleared his throat from the doorway. Dean looked at him and scowled. “Y/N all settled up?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah. She fell asleep the minute she laid down.”

Dean rubbed his thigh and nodded. “Good.”

“Everything okay?” Sam asked, his brows lifting.

Dean hesitated and shook his head. “I don’t like secrets, Sammy.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t…” Dean stopped. Could he tell Sam? “Why’d you call her?”

“What?”

“Five years ago. Why’d you call her? Why didn’t you come to me?”

Sam regarded his brother with concern, his brows furrowed. “I tried to, Dean. You punched me and walked off, or don’t you remember?”

Dean paused. That night had been a blur, messed up by alcohol and grief. He had a dim memory of Sam talking to him. “No,” he admitted roughly.

“Well, I tried. I really did. I know…” Sam paused, took a breath. “I know dad dying messed us up. It hit you more than me because of what he did for you.”

Dean looked away, his jaw clenched so tightly his muscles bunched.

Sam pressed on. “So I called her. I… I know we barely knew her but dammit, Dean… I-I needed help!” He stepped forward, drew closer to his brother. Dean had been the rock he could lean on; to see his brother crumbling like that in the past and seemingly again now was breaking him. “But when you came back… y-you… you weren’t my brother. Just someone looked like him. For the longest time.”

Dean cleared his throat, fighting the lump. “Sammy…” His voice nearly broke and he stopped, cleared his throat again. “I ain’t… I ain’t doin’ too well.”

Sam scoffed, fondly. “Yeah, I could tell.” He sobered and went on. “Did I mess up calling Y/N?”

“No, Sammy,” Dean admitted quietly. “I messed up.”

“What are you going to do?” Sam asked, his voice low and soft. He knew his brother, but there were times when Dean was mercurial and unpredictable.

Dean sniffed, blinked back tears. “I’m gonna go talk to Y/N.”

Gently but firmly, Sam caught him. “Dean… she’s asleep.”

“Shit. Right.” Dean hesitated. “I’ll check on her. If she’s awake, we’ll talk. If she’s asleep, then after she wakes up then.”

“Okay,” Sam half-whispered.

Dean nodded to his brother and headed down the hallway of the bunker. He wasn’t even sure what to say. Apologize? He wasn’t even sure he could get those words past his throat. Ask her upfront what the hell her obsession was with spirits and the afterlife? He envisioned her clocking him and he’d deserve it.

God. Chicks were easy if he could just sleep with them and leave the next day. But he’d asked Y/N to stay, she said she would, and then he pushed her to break her secrets. He was such an idiot. He just didn’t know how to make it work.

He slowed down as he neared the spare room that Sam used for Y/N and peered around the door. It was cracked, so he slowly pushed it open. For a moment it seemed as though she were asleep, and he felt the conflicting emotions of both relief and frustration. Then the door creaked and her head turned, her eyes open.

“Dean,” Y/N murmured. He couldn’t make out her tone. Soft, definitely, but maybe also expectant? As though she had expected him.

“Hey,” he said quietly, entering the room, and shutting the door behind him. “I thought you’d be sleeping.”

“Can’t. Too tired to,” she said, and absurdly, he knew exactly what she meant by it.

He stood awkwardly near her bed. “Yeah, I get that.” He raked his fingers through his hair. God, he couldn’t stop the nervous energy.

“For God’s sake, Dean,” she said in exasperation. “Sit down before you make me break my neck.”

He sat down so abruptly she had to smile. Especially after he nearly fell off the edge of the bed. “Thanks,” he muttered. He couldn’t meet her gaze; he felt so vulnerable. He never felt that way, ever. Yet there was something about Y/N that stripped his guard. But then… she’d seen him at his worst and actually wanted him.

Every time he looked at her, he remembered the way she looked at him when he asked her to stay, the way she felt when he kissed her and held her. Dammit. Dean Winchester never fell in love; he wasn’t about to now.

“Dean…” Y/N took a careful breath. “It’s my mom.”

He gave a start and stared. “What is?”

“The reason I’m wanting to learn about spirits, about what happens to us after we died,” she replied quietly.

He leaned forward, resting his weight on his hand on the bed. “I’m listening.”

Y/N shifted to sit up in the bed, wincing at her injuries. She leaned against the headboard and let out a breath. “So… my mom.” She looked at Dean and studied him at length. She was remembering his home in Kansas, and seeing the spirit of his mother. “She… she died a year after you saved me from the vampire.”

“Shit. I’m sorry.” He paused. “How…?”

“Cancer. Fast acting.” Her voice was thick, her eyes suspiciously wet. “I barely had a chance to go home to say goodbye before she…”

Dean nodded. He resisted the urge to take her hand, uncertain whether she’d welcome his touch.

“A-anyway… after that,” Y/N continued, swallowing hard. “I started seeing signs that she was still around. Not malignant, but present. Missouri basically confirmed it when I spoke to her. My mother is still here, and she won’t pass. I burned everything—and I mean, everything—of hers that she would’ve lingered within. She’s still here.”

Dean frowned. “I’ve never heard of that happening before. Pretty sure Sam hasn’t either.”

“Neither has Bobby, Rufus, all the hunter contacts we could find.” She closed her eyes for a moment. She looked pale, tired, and sad. Dean wanted to kick himself. He was exhausting her for his own selfish reasons.

“Y/N, get some rest—”

“No. I… please. Let me finish this.” She made the decision for him; she covered his hand with her own. After a moment, he squeezed her hand. “I could’ve just given you a simple explanation that didn’t reveal it all. I could’ve… realized you were in a bad place and handled it better. I’m sorry, Dean.”

“Y/N… I’m the one who should be apologizing,” he said slowly. “I wanted you to stay… and I pushed you away instead.”

“You can stay,” she whispered.

Dean hesitated. “I don’t… I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You won’t,” she said simply.

That level of faith nearly broke him then and there. He nodded tightly, swallowed hard. She shifted over to make room for him and he crawled into the bed next to. He slipped an arm around her, light and gentle.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

She nodded slightly. He could feel her body relaxing as sleep began to overtake her. He waited until he saw her breath slowed and moved closer, tightening his arm around her. He didn’t know what possessed him to do so, other than he desperately didn’t want to let her go.

Not ever.

If you want to be added to the tag list or want to be tagged in certain stories, please check out my tag list!

Tag List: @spxideyver, @deadlymistletoe, @bitchykittenconnoisseur, @aarpfashionvictim, @stoneyggirl2

@foxyjwls007, @katastrophicmind, @globetrotter28, @deansimpalababy, @daisychaingirl

@nancymcl, @deans-baby-momma, @kickingitwithkirk

[mushroominaforest]

Hmm, now I have been thinking it well be Saint fixing arti or arti fixing saint

There is so much possibility in ur au

They’ll fix each other!!!

Saint will help Arti become more calm and patient, and Arti will help Saint learn how to stand up for themself and not be such a pushover!

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

i am so lost and insane for an angsty idea of navigating poly!stsg where you join their established rl!!!!! i love your poly fics so much and it's given me these bedtime daydreams!!!

the insecurities and doubt and fear and sadness you might feel from never having a bond strong enough between urself and them and the angst and tension it can create because u feel like ur never enough for satosugu oh gosh and the sadness they might feel if you leave or distance urself from them and idk how to verbalize my thoughts but i hope you feel the energy i am trying to show🥺🥺🥺

ANON!!!! I DO!!!!!!! I DO SEE THE VISION!!!!!!!!

wahhhhh this is a common daydream of mine too…….. stsg have such a unique bond and i don’t think you could really replicate it :((( but at the same time i think that for the relationship to work, they’d have to see you as an equal!!!! this is just a pet peeve of mine but i rlly Cannot Stand poly stsg fics where they see reader as being beneath them… first of all they would Never second of all!!! they should all be in love. and they should all respect each other more than anything. it’s just a matter of realizing that you’re special to them in your own way, and that it’s in no way lesser than what they feel for each other!!!! but obviously the road there might be kind of tough…..

and gosh, they would definitely be heartbroken if you distanced yourself from them!!! :((( they just don’t understand what they did wrong and you don’t know how to open up about it…. i think they’d eventually corner you and kinda force you to do so (cue lots of crying and their desperate attempts at soothing you) and after that it’d feel a lot easier. if you’re precious to them then i don’t think there’s anything they wouldn’t do to understand you properly!!! and love you properly. they’re sweethearts and i love them <3333

[cream-and-tea]

was thinking about it and i firmly believe that the funniest possible thing to keep the exact same if i write anything in the lmd no-magic-no-apocalypse-au is pallas and calliope routinely just beating the absolute shit out of each other. t4t violence that transcends genre or whatever.

[screampied]

✧ ⁺˳ cw. fem! reader, rockstar geto, fıngering, dirty talk, p slapping, squırting, petnames, mdni.

rockstar geto who’s always been good at his hands. his fingers, he loves more than anything to use your pussy before a show to “lessen” his finger cramps from strumming his guitar strings.

“i think i like this melody better, baby,” he’d whisper against the soft shell of your ear — split white knuckles buried deep into your cunt. as you’re sat on top of his lap, your legs tremor as they’re continuously rubbing off against his leather pulled down jeans. “i know, i know,” he utters to you, delving in the fat tips of his digits in and out. within seconds, your coating the entirety of his fingers with his slick. as your head continuously thwacks back against his broad chest, you shudder once he smacks your sopping drooling cunt thrice. “mhm, atta girl. bare ‘round my fingers, that’s it.”

the deafening rock music in the background roar from the blaring speakers — his bandmates were rehearsing last minute whilst their lead guitarist was occupying his time doing this. “s- suguru,” you suck in a heaving breathe, feeling an electric twitch inside your cunt arise. geto had various rings that wrapped around his fingers, plunging in and out of your slippery arousal. every few seconds, you heard his low chuckle, strong designer cologne scent wafting against your flared slit nostrils. “gonna cum, sugu— suguru, fuuuck.”

“not yet,” he presses his lips against the inside of your neck, bringing another rude spank toward your sloppy folds. his palm dampens from each hit. “we didn’t even each the chorus yet,” and you gasp, feeling the jitter of your thighs once his fingertips prod against that spot over ‘n over. “c’mon, pretty. lets hear those sloppy vocals, huh?”

your entire body felt feverishly warm. as you were on his lap, back bristling against his leather zipped jacket, you dig your nails into his meaty thigh.

already, you were slumped, vigorously pawing at his grainy made jeans. geto’s fingers were long, slender, and abnormally thick. deliciously thick, he’s stretched your cunt out so good that it’s got you drooling for more inches. his fingers were perfect, and with every finger that stuffs into your gummy walls, you only imagined what his cock would feel like.

geto’s fingers were the perfect length for strumming a guitar, an even more perfect length to be burying each digit straight into your pussy.

“fuck,” he swears against your ear, teasingly flicking his tongue against your collarbone. as you squirmed on his lap, his two fingers curl into a bowling ball grip. you whimper, your moans sounded so sweet that he contemplated using them as adlibs for a new single. “that’s it, baby. soak my fingers, don’t be shy ‘ta be my messy girl.”

as your body ruts against his lap, the bedazzled lanyard that was thrown over your neck jostles against your shoulders. your pooling heat that steadily flutters into the bottom pits of your stomach only grew, intensifying within each second.

you were seeing splotches of bright white, everything felt like a fever dream. as your clenched jaw dangles open, you wrap weak fingers around his jerking wrist. “s- sugu, ‘m gonna,” and you get caught off by a cute mewl, glossed lips parting into a gasping circular shape. the squelches of your own pussy bounces off your ears.

plop after plop,

your mouth starts to water, envisioning yourself making a mess on the suguru geto’s fingers.

he found your frantic squirming adorable, the way your thighs shook and how your vocals were so naturally pitched. with a voice that sweet, you’d have such potential. “give it to me,” he grunts, feeling a poking pressure brew against his crotch. dark, blown irises gaze toward his lap and he’s getting hard. your ears rang, a shrilling sound going out one ear and the other. two fingers swirl around your cunt, profusely jackhammering against your g-spot until you let off cute pathetic sobs. “c’monn, let’s hear that slutty outro.”

with your brows contorting together, you only last for a few more seconds until you feel a sudden sensation gush straight out of you. a rippling wave sends you on a high — you could barely say anything but moan out the five syllables of his name in a lewd, needy way. over and over until its twisting on your tongue in constant repeat, your own personal orgasmic chant. you’re a puddled mess, left with your jaw dropped and eyes squeezed shut. brief tears stick against your lashes in pleasure as you feel your hips bucking against his lap.

“s- sugu— fuck,” you babble, feeling the intense curl of your toes. gnawing down on the skin that glues to your lip, you coat both of his fingers with a decent amount of your translucent slick. you’re in a euphoric daze — huffing out short breaths as he takes one good swab of his digits inside of your pussy, snickering behind you.

“did you just squirt on me, pretty?” and you were so dumb off his fingers you could barely register anything he said. his words were a sly whisper, he gradually pulls his digits out before slowly spreading them apart. as his black rings were all sheeny with arousal, he holds his hand up right in front of your face before waving it by your nose. “yeahh you fuckin’ did, guess you really are a messy girl, huh?”

you were completely too stunned to speak — you glance at his fingers with droopy eyes, feeling a cold breeze of air ghost against your cunt as your legs sprawled open even still. “s- suguru,” your full lungs could barely keep up with your irregular pants.

it was chaotic, your thighs continued to shake as your jaw tightens on its own. you could barely even murmur out any words and that’s when geto drags his fingers toward his own lips — popping them right into his mouth, savoring your sweet candied taste.

“mhm,” he lolls his tongue around the stringy honeyed slick that coats all down his twin digits. you’re still panting, hearing him sloppily suck his fingers clean before he uses a free hand to reach down between your legs - tugging on the lacey fabric of your panties. “good girl, ‘s so sweet. open ‘n taste it yourself, princess.”

with hooded half lidded eyes, you moan, parting your lips apart—pink twitching tongue curling around his incoming fingers. as you shamelessly lap your own mess on his digits clean, he gives the back of your head a kiss. “thaaaat’s it, clean my fingers for me.”

after you finish, geto couldn’t resist but have you lean over his keyboard stand. giving the left side of your ass cheek an autograph, he signs his stage name in bold cursive letters.

as you’re bent over, you puff out a single breath, the twisting of the strong scented marker tickling against your bare flesh. “heh, i hope you enjoy the show tonight,” and as the cap of the marker’s sticking out of his mouth, he gives your ass an abrupt smack.

geto hums at the little whiny squeal that rips out of your throat, witnessing the letters smear a bit from your ass and leaking onto his palm. with a sly smile, he pulls the center string of your underwear back toward its original position, spinning you around to place a vip pass inside of your bra.

the rockstar’s sexily slouched — manspread on a velvet red seat, the fur of the chair providing him luxurious comfort. with his head lazily cocked to the left, unkempt black strands flowing down his shoulders, a simple wolf cut, he simpers. “come ‘n see me after, baby, yeah?”

[sttoru]

𝝑𝑒 SYNOPSIS. sukuna is shameless—not caring if anyone were to ever catch him righteously claiming ownership over his favorite concubine in the garden.

wc. 1.5k-ish

tags. true form!sukuna x concubine!female reader. smut, pwp. exhibitionism. size difference. dumbification \\ objectification. has two c.ocks. hair pulling. use of spit (yeah ik i wouldnt write for it but its sukuna). breeding themes. overstimulation. reader gets called ‘little girl, slut’. sukuna’s a menace and loves to create drama between his concubines

“shut up. i don’t care if they’re here or not,” sukuna grunts, tightening his grip on your fleshy thighs as his lower cock slams in and out your sloppy cunt without much thought. the sound of pruning shears cutting off branches is easily overwhelmed by the lewd noises of skin slapping against skin.

you feel sorry for those servants who’re just doing their job tending to the garden. none of them dare to look your way. they’re sweating, eyes solely focused on the branches they’re cutting, acting like they are not hearing the sinful moans and grunts in the distance. if they look, they’re dead. that much is known.

everything is blurry to you. all you can manage to do is let out a string of pleasure filled whines. your body is easily overpowered and held up against the harsh wood of the nearby wall. your thighs are spread in an awfully painful way, your knees up to your chest. quite literally folded in half.

“i said eyes on me, y’ fuckin’ slut,” sukuna barks. he does not have the patience today. you breaking the intense eye contact with him only worsens his mood. one of his veiny hands tug at your hair. the others hold you up—not allowing you to even think of getting back on your feet until your tight cunt is done milking him for what he’s worth.

you gasp and sukuna takes the chance to grab your jaw with yet another free hand. “open y’r mouth,” his hips do not still for even a second. they roll and ground against yours, the surrounding skin near his pelvis stained with your wet juices. he could smell it. just as nasty and dirty as he wants it to be.

you part your lips and keep them like that, not wanting to piss sukuna off even more. he grins at the sight of your red tongue instinctively rolling out like the obedient little girl you are. he spits right into your mouth, “swallow.”

you do so without second thought. the warm liquid trickles down your throat. sukuna watches in satisfaction, drilling into you until your insides are complete mush. you’re drooling over yourself already—clearly having lost control over your rationality.

you sniffle and try to hold onto sukuna’s biceps. your small fingers curl around the shape of them, nails digging into his flesh. every time you think sukuna’s finally letting up, he only increases his inhuman pace. “my l-lord, ‘s too much,” you cry out. your body could only handle so much pleasure before it’d break down. your pussy is convulsing around his girthy cock, feeling his other sliding back and forth over your sensitive clit.

the king of curses shuts you up with a hiss. his bottom set of eyes is focused on the impressive scene of your tiny pussy swallowing his cock so easily. he’s feeling proud of the fact that he’s molded you into the perfect concubine for him and his carnal pleasure.

sukuna has fucked you silly enough times to know how to get you under his spell. his fingers brush over your hard nipples, grabbing the squishy flesh of your tits as they bounce with each of his thrusts. he leans his head down towards yours. his rough, raspy voice makes your body heat up, “no, no. it’s never too much for my little girl, right? she can easily take ‘nother load f’me.”

your breath hitches and sukuna realises it worked. he knows just what to say to manipulate you into giving in. so he can fuck you senseless for how long he wants. you’re a sucker for the fact that he calls you his. that’s what you are—you’re his woman. only his and no one else’s. the claim of ownership makes your pussy clench.

“y-yes, my lord. i can take another, i can,” you breathe out, head swaying from side to side, not mentally able anymore to keep up with sukuna’s intense libido. yet, your body is still active, squeezing around sukuna’s dick as he promised you more of his precious cum.

the king of curses snickers, amused by just how fast you gave in. “that’s what i thought, hah,” he’s realised that his hold on you knows no bounds. you’re his little toy. the only one he wants to ravish these days. and the only one worth of carrying his seed.

you’re still thinking about the way he’s called you ‘his little girl’. it’s driving you closer to the edge. you start to get louder, completely ignoring your inner thoughts that begged you to have some decorum; to try and hide the fact that you’re getting slutted out in the courtyard.

there’s not much hiding it anyway since the servants have a clear understanding of what’s going on behind them. “mghh, please—please need more!” you mewl and sukuna listens. his red eyes darken with desire as you get into it. he loves to experience that lust driven side of yours. a complete opposite to your usual formal and shy self.

“louder, c’mon. let them know i’m fucking you good,” sukuna sneers, enjoying the mind games he is playing with you. you’re too cockdrunk to even notice. the them in his sentence refers to his other concubines. he knows that you’re secretly craving to get revenge on them and show them just how well you get dicked down by him every single day.

unlike them, who rarely get graced by his touch. that is, when you’re unavailable.

you do as told and increase the volume of your erotic moans, letting everyone around the estate know what you’re getting up to. not like anyone could interfere. sukuna wouldn’t dare let them live a second after.

“that’s it, yeah,” the sorcerer grunts and rams his length repeatedly into you, cursing at the way you’re gripping him so tightly. you’re so dripping wet that he slips out of you for a second. he moves his hips, angling them better to slam back inside of you.

however, you’re one step ahead. your shaky hand reaches down between your legs and you quickly guide his tip to your entrance, urging him to push between your moist folds again. “nasty fuckin’ girl,” sukuna scoffs at your desperation, though secretly thrives off it. he switches cocks and shoves the upper one into your cunt.

you gasp. you’re so used to him to the point that you could sense the difference between his dicks. the upper one has more veins and is a tad bit girthier. you hiccup and nearly choke on your own moans and spit from the change of pace and dicks. “ngh, ‘tis so deep, my lord—” you whine loudly and your hands move to hold your breasts, stopping them from painfully jiggling around in every direction.

sukuna hums in content as he continues his rough thrusts. he can feel his balls twitch and clench, ready to shoot his sperm all up in your womb like you deserve. though, he doesn’t want to end this moment too quickly. he wants to extend it.

“c’mere,” sukuna grumbles and stops pounding your poor, aching cunt. he stills his dick inside you and allows you to cling onto his tall stature, lifting you away from the wall. he silently urges you to wrap your legs around his waist so he could carry you.

the robes of your kimono get left behind on the patch of grass near the wall of the main house. there’s a few droplets of white liquid that’s stained the grass, right where sukuna and you were standing at seconds ago.

you don’t think about anything anymore as you babble about how full you felt with his cock all the way in you. the fat tip brushes against your cervix with each step sukuna takes towards his next destination.

“keep talkin’ to me, doll. tell me how good it feels to take my cock,” he grins smugly as he carries your little body like a trophy into the main building—not paying mind to any maids who he passes by. they’re shocked by the sight of their lady in such a state, though are only able to bow at the two of you.

sukuna finally stops in front of the dinner table. the same table you always have dinner at with him and his other women. he places your back against the surface, big hands holding you down by your hips. “there we go,” he coos mockingly, seeing how you’re completely fucked out, yet still needing more of him.

the king of curses has his own twisted reasons of bringing you here. looking outside of the window, you notice how the sun is starting to set. that’s also the moment you realise his hidden motive.

the other concubines will sooner or later gather at the dining hall to eat supper. they’d expect a peaceful meal, though instead, they’ll be greeted by the sight of their dear lord screwing his favorite. it’ll be a painful blow to them.

which is exactly what the ruthless man wants to achieve.

sukuna licks his lips and all of his eyes focus on you solely, “gonna enjoy my dinner a bit earlier t’day, yeah?”

CR. STTORU 2024

[moonstruckme]

hi my love i’m obsessed with all your works and this is my first request!

poly! marauders and cuteness aggression. like maybe reader coming home a bit tipsy from girls night and just seeing her boys and losing it. grabbing remus’ face and just kissing all over his cheeks, gnawing on james’ biceps and playing with sirius’ hair or tracing his tattoos.

Hi lovely, thank you for requesting!

cw: alcohol

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 589 words

You leave a trail of things down the hallway that you swear you’ll pick up in the morning. Your bag, both shoes, your jacket. There’s no time to put any of it in its proper place, not when you know your boyfriends are all cozy and waiting for you in your bed. Everything else is secondary. 

The moment you get your eyes on them, it’s already too much. Remus is reading while Sirius chats to a nearly-asleep James, and you don’t know whether to scream or hug them or burst into tears. One feels more socially acceptable than the rest. 

A grin spreads over Sirius’ face as you crawl clumsily up the bed, so you go to him first. 

“Hi, baby.” You smear a kiss over his lips, burrowing your hands in his lovely, silken hair. It smells like his conditioner, smokey and heady and just slightly sweet. You wish you could snort it up into your nose like a drug. 

“Hi, baby,” Sirius says back at you, amused. “Did you have a good night?” 

“No,” you lament, though you think you might have enjoyed it at the time. 

Impulsively, you move to Remus, clambering across James to get on your quietest boyfriend’s lap. He’s already set down his book, so there are no barriers to your whims as you take his face between both hands, squishing his cheeks up and kissing them all over. You think you can hear the other boys laughing somewhere beyond your lovesick haze. Remus’ skin grows warmer with each ardent press of your lips. 

“None of you were there,” you go on. It’s impossible to articulate the full extent of this injustice. “You were here, being so lovely and perfect and lovely without me.” 

“That’s lovely twice.” Remus seems to recover somewhat from your surprise attack. His hand comes to rest in the middle of your back, a touch just for touch’s sake. “How much have you had, dove?” 

You make a petulant, whiny sound, burying your face in his neck. There will never be enough of them, your lovely boyfriends. Or maybe it’s that they’re enough, but you just can’t get enough. Regardless. You’re doomed to remain just on the brink of satisfaction. 

“Enough to know that I missed you a lot,” you say pitifully. 

“Awe, babydoll.” James’ laughter is at odds with his compassionate tone. “Come here, m’love.” 

This sounds like a grand idea to you. You wish they’d simply all squish together so you could lay your affections on them one by one, in rounds. 

James puckers his lips as you approach, readying for a kiss, and so is taken entirely aback when you forgo his face entirely. 

“Oh, well,” he says as you suck a hickey on his bicep. “I feel properly objectified.” 

You’re too pleased with yourself to be sorry. He flexes playfully, eliciting a string of giggles from you as you latch on tighter. 

“Do you think she’s been drugged?” you hear Remus ask. 

“Dunno.” James’ tone is fond. His big hand lands on the back of your head. 

“No, I sort of get it,” says Sirius. The mattress dips slightly, and then you feel him plant a wet kiss on your shoulder. “You just need to get it out of your system, yeah, sweetness?” 

You hum in affirmation. You wrap your arms around James’ middle, squeezing tight. 

“I love you so much,” you mumble into his skin. “I’m gonna kill you.” 

Your boyfriend’s frame rumbles with laughter. “Okay, lovie,” he says indulgently. “You go right ahead.”

[suskz]

Saw jockchan x nerd reader. I was wondering if you could write something about swim captain Chan x quiet female reader ?

pairing: SwimCaptain!Chan x Quiet!fem!Reader

t/w: smut ; semi-public sex ; secret relationship ; oral (f!rec) ; jealousy ; exhibitionism kink (but no exhibitionism) ; unprotected sex (be smarter, don’t do that).

w/c: around 1,8k

a/n: It’s 1:45 a.m. here, I’m going to sleep now. Hope you like it! ♡

18+, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

There are 25 minutes left until the end of the training session when you arrive.

"Come see me at training today, it will bring me luck for tomorrow’s championship." This was his sweet request this afternoon, and you naturally said yes; it's just a pity that you arrived an hour late.

Your quick steps to take a seat in the stands can’t be heard by the guys as they talk near the pool, but Chan notices you the moment you enter.

His head turns in your direction and he smiles at you, waving a hand at you. You do the same, returning the greeting.

Immediately, his eyes shift to Changbin and Jisung though, members of the team, who seem to be arguing, and he approaches them.

It doesn’t take you long to understand that they were arguing about who is the fastest swimmer of the two, as shortly after they are giving each other challenging looks as they get into position and enter the water when Chan gives them the signal.

You like seeing him in leader mode in moments like this. It’s extremely hot, but also really cute when he turns in your direction to look at you, shaking his head in exasperation, making you giggle.

But your attention shifts a little further away from you when you hear a girl speaking.

"Did you see him? Now you can’t say he isn’t gorgeous." One of the two girls says to the other.

“He’s freaking perfect, oh my God,” the other girl comments. “What did you say his name was?”

“Bang Chan; I’ll give you his Instagram.”

Your teeth clench at the last sentence. Are they talking about Chan? Your Chan?

The same Chan who kisses, fucks, and cuddles you every day?

You briefly consider letting them know. You should turn to them and tell them to their faces, but there’s something holding you back, keeping you still. And this thing prohibits you from letting them know how things really are, so you sit there in silence, enduring their annoying compliments about him for what feels like endless minutes.

Yes, his body and muscles are stunning. Yes, his voice is sensual and his laugh is sweet. Yes, he has an irresistible gaze. Do they really need to keep repeating that?

When the training ends and you think you’ve finally gotten rid of them, they’re in front of him before you can make a move.

You watch them from afar, standing and waiting, trying to appear as normal and indifferent as possible while they congratulate the captain for his hard work as a leader. Ah, and also for his hard work in the gym.

He chuckles with his dimples showing, first shaking his hands in front of himself in a gesture of denial, but ending up scratching the back of his neck as he thanks them cordially. The two girls look at each other and giggle.

But a few minutes later, it’s you who finds yourself in the locker room with him, his hands on your hips and his lips on yours, feverish and needy.

“Were you jealous?” He grins teasingly, but deep down he feels immense tenderness and perhaps a little embarrassment knowing that you love him so much that you can’t stand other girls complimenting him in that way.

You don’t respond, looking at his bare chest and hoping he’ll stop.

His smile grows, “I saw how you were looking at them, your eyes were burning flames.” He stifles a chuckle as you raise your head with a guilty expression.

“Was I that obvious?” You ask, your cheeks starting to blush, embarrassed by your exaggerated reaction.

“Yes, but I like it.” He leans in to kiss you again, but soon his hands slip under your shirt and you break the kiss.

“Chan, we can’t do this here.” you whisper against his lips. All the other guys from the team are just meters away, taking a shower. You risk being heard, and you don’t want that to happen.

“But I need you now.” he whispers on your neck, starting to leave warm, wet kisses.

You don’t respond, but you tilt your head to give him more space and don’t stop him, and he takes this action as agreement.

He licks and sucks on a patch of your skin, leaving a red mark that will be prominently displayed for days. He might get completely hard just at the thought of you walking around with the mark of his presence on your body, even if others don’t know whose it is.

He pulls away and admires it, then gives it one final kiss, making you hiss from the slight pain.

Needy, his hand grabs yours and pulls you into the bathroom. You don’t resist; you follow him, silent, and together you enter one of the showers, closing the curtain. The one in the corner, with an empty shower next to it.

And then, Chan turns on the water, wetting both of you, although not completely.

“Chan, you finally came in, why did it take you so long?” Changbin yells from a few showers away.

“I just had a moment with Y/n.” Chan responds casually, as if he weren’t currently lowering your shorts and underwear at the same time.

“Oh, she’s already gone?” This time it’s Jisung’s voice.

“Yeah, she went back to the dorm.”

There’s something, something that arouses both of you at the idea that you’re doing something you shouldn’t be doing while his friends are there, just meters away from you, unaware.

His fingers move skilfully between your folds, rubbing your clit with one finger quickly while two of his other fingers hold your pussy lips open as your hips move back and forth instinctively.

When his fingers enter your cunt, they do so easily from how wet you are and from all the times his cock has been inside you.

You take his face in your hands to bring your lips closer to his ear so you can talk to him, “We don’t have time, put it in already.” You whisper, and his cock twitches in the tight shorts he’s wearing, reminding him of how damn tight they feel.

He withdraws his fingers and turns you around, replacing them with his dick, entering you slowly to allow you to more easily suppress any sounds that could be heard by the others.

His hands hold the lower parts of your cheeks to spread them apart to get in deeper as he moves inside you. It’s not the best position, but you can’t bend over because you’d risk slipping.

Your moans are silent. Your heavy breaths are fortunately hard to hear with the shower water running and their voices humming.

Chan tries not to fuck you too hard to avoid the sound of your skins slapping together. Because you’re not alone, and no one must hear you. Even though, maybe, he actually wants someone to hear you. He wants someone to find out about the dirty things you’re doing without their knowledge, right there near them. Maybe he secretly wishes someone would open the shower curtain and see you in this situation.

And maybe you want it too.

But these thoughts don’t stop both of you from freezing at the sudden sound of Hyunjin’s voice. “Does anyone have shower gel?”

His movements pause only for a moment. He should feel embarrassed, mortified to hear his friend’s voice so close to you in such a situation, but instead, it sends a jolt of pleasure to his cock, and he immediately starts moving again.

You look at him with an expression now fearful, but this arouses you as much as it does him.

Jeongin’s voice is quick to respond, “I do, here it is.”

“Thanks Jeonginnie, love you.” Hyunjin thanks him in his sweet voice.

Chan pulls out of you, but before you have time to say anything, he turns you around, grabs your thighs from behind, and lifts you, pushing you against the wall. His arms slide under your knees and spread you open, re-entering you.

“That’s better.” he whispers against your lips, and you nod in agreement with quick breaths.

The pleasure intensifies for both of you. A soft moan escapes his lips, not being able to hold it back, causing him to bite his lower lip and hide his face on your shoulder, his ears turning redder as he failed to contain his pleasure.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling strands, causing his hips to buck up in a harder thrust, making your head slide back against the shower tiles.

It’s at this moment that the others start coming out of the showers, and soon they are out of the locker room after greeting Chan and telling him to hurry up.

When everyone is out, you both look at each other, then chuckle.

“I couldn’t hold back anymore.” you admit.

“Me neither.” he says.

“I noticed.” you tease, and he looks at you with narrowed eyes and furrowed eyebrows in an offended look.

You clench around him on purpose, eliciting a needy moan from his lips. In response, he thrusts into you, and this time it’s you who whines.

“You’re as needy as I am.” he grins, resuming his movements. This time you’re a bit freer to let out your voice, but you need to hurry. His thrusts are faster now, reaching deeper spots inside you, being able to fuck you harder, eliciting a series of staccato moans from you.

“Touch yourself.” he orders and you immediately obey, without needing to be told twice.

His movements become more erratic. He’s close, and you can tell by the way his cock twitches inside you and releases small droplets of pre-cum.

His moans grow deeper, and he closes his eyes, trying to hold back from coming with all the self-control he has to make you reach your climax too, with him. But it’s difficult for him, and soon he has you back on your feet, giving a few final thrusts before pulling out of you and stroking his cock quickly through his orgasm.

He tries not to throw his head back in pleasure, wanting to see the ropes of his hot cum covering your pussy and thighs as you stand there with trembling legs.

Your mind is still fogged with pleasure, and you don’t notice what’s happening until you feel his tongue on your clit, which makes you let out a whimper. You look down to see your boyfriend on his knees with his head between your legs, looking up at you.

You run your fingers through his hair, and he pulls away, “You need to come quickly, someone will be coming for spot checks soon.” He warns you before returning with his tongue between your folds and two fingers inside you, stroking at your sensitive spot.

[harrysfolklore]

can we have a little honorary wag blurb where she’s freaking out about meeting charles’s entire friend group but when she does , she gets along with them really well and baby chiara ADORES her 🥹

thank you for sending this request, i really missed writing about these babiesss 🥺🥺 i hope you like thisss

READ THE HONORARY WAG HERE

A few weeks had passed since Kika and Pierre’s wedding, and life had settled into a pleasant routine for you and Charles. It was a lazy Sunday afternoon, and you were sprawled on the couch in Charles’ living room, a cozy blanket wrapped around you as you watched TV.

Charles was in the kitchen, making coffee. You could hear him humming to himself, a soft, contented sound that made you smile. The past few weeks had been a whirlwind, but you were finally finding your rhythm together, and it felt perfect.

Being his girlfriend felt perfect.

“Do you want anything with your coffee, mon coeur?” Charles called out, his voice carrying into the living room.

“Just some cookies, if we have any,” you replied, stretching out and snuggling deeper into the blanket.

Charles appeared a few minutes later, balancing two mugs of coffee and a plate of cookies. He handed you your mug and placed the plate on the coffee table before sitting down beside you.

“Thanks,” you said, taking a sip of the coffee. It was perfect, just the way you liked it.

Charles smiled and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “I could get used to this,” he said, his voice soft and full of warmth.

You leaned into him, feeling a sense of contentment. “Me too. It’s nice to have some time to just relax and be together.”

He kissed the top of your head, his lips lingering for a moment. “So, I've bee thinking."

You turned to look at him, curiosity piqued by his tone. "Oh? About what?"

Charles took a sip of his coffee before continuing, "Well, we've been together for almost a month now, and things have been going really well…"

"They have," you agreed, smiling up at him.

"And I was thinking," he continued, his fingers absently playing with a strand of your hair, "maybe it's time for you to meet my friends. My whole friend group, I mean."

You felt a small flutter of nervousness in your stomach. You'd met some of Charles' friends in passing, of course, but the idea of meeting his entire friend group felt significant.

"Your whole friend group?" you repeated, trying to keep your voice casual.

Charles nodded, his eyes searching your face. "Yeah. Joris, who you've already met a few times, Riccardo and Marta, and a few others. They're really important to me, and… well, you're really important to me too. I'd love for you all to get to know each other better."

You almost melted at his words, his green eyes looking at you with a tenderness that made you regret not looking at them for so long.

It wasn’t just the idea of meeting his friends—it was the way he phrased it, making you feel special, like you were becoming an integral part of his life. But at the same time, your nerves fluttered in your stomach.

“Charles, that sounds… great,” you said, trying to sound confident, but the slight edge in your voice gave you away.

He narrowed his eyes at you, gently setting his coffee cup down on the table. “But?”

“I don’t know. I guess I’m just a little nervous," you sighed, shifting so you could look at him fully, "They’ve known you for so long, and I don’t want to feel like the odd one out, you know? What if I don’t fit in?”

“Mon amour, you’re not an outsider," Charles’ expression softened even more as he reached for your hand, interlocking your fingers with his, "You’re my girlfriend, and that means you’re already part of my world.”

You bit your lip, still feeling a little unsure. It was a lot of pressure—meeting the people who had been with Charles through thick and thin, who knew sides of him that you were still discovering.

“I’m sure they’re great,” you said, leaning into him a little, “but it’s still kind of intimidating. I mean, Riccardo and Marta have a baby. What if I’m awkward around Chiara?”

Charles let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Chiara’s a baby. All she cares about is who makes her laugh and who gives her food. And knowing you, you’ll have her wrapped around your finger in no time.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at that, imagining a tiny baby giggling in your arms. “You think so?”

“I know so,” Charles replied, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Look, I get it. Meeting new people, especially people who are important to me, can be overwhelming. But I promise, they’re going to love you. And more importantly, I’ll be there with you the whole time.”

His words calmed the nervous buzzing in your mind, and you found yourself nodding slowly. “Okay. Let’s do it. I’ll meet them.”

Charles’ face lit up with that boyish grin you adored, and he kissed you softly on the lips. “That’s my girl. I’ll talk to them, and we’ll make a plan for next weekend.”

You smiled against his lips before pulling back. “Next weekend, huh? No pressure, right?”

He winked, squeezing your hand, “None at all. Just you, me, and my crazy friends.”

The following weekend came quicker than you expected, and before you knew it, you and Charles were standing outside Riccardo and Marta’s house, your heart beating a little faster than usual. The sounds of laughter and conversation drifted out from the backyard, and you could already hear Chiara’s high-pitched giggles.

“You okay?” Charles squeezed your hand as you stood at the front door.

“Yeah, just…" you took a deep breath, nodding, "You know, trying to remember how to be a functioning human.”

"Mon coeur, it's fine!" Charles gave you a huge grin, "Just think bout the first time you came to a race with Kika and met everyone. You were a natural."

You chuckled at the memory. "Yeah, and from that moment, I thought you disliked me for the longest time."

"Baby, we've talked about this," Charles raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. "I was just... reserved," he said, his tone teasing but with a hint of sincerity.

You nudged him playfully. "You were cold! Barely even smiled at me. I thought, 'Great, Pierre’s friend is grumpy and doesn’t like me at all.’"

"And now, look at me," Charles laughed, pulling you closer, "Head over heels for you. Who would've thought?"

You felt a warmth bloom in your chest at his words. His eyes softened, and before you could respond, he leaned in, brushing his lips against yours in a gentle kiss.

When you finally pulled away, Charles rested his forehead against yours. "I promise, they’ll love you. Just be yourself, like you always are."

You nodded, a small smile on your lips. "Okay, I’m ready."

With that, Charles opened the door, and the two of you stepped inside, the lively sounds of his friends filling the space around you. The air was warm, the atmosphere welcoming, and as soon as you stepped through, Joris waved at you from across the room, and Marta smiled brightly, holding little Chiara.

"Well, well, if it isn't the girl who used to roll her eyes every time Charles spoke," Joris teased, approaching you and pulling you into a friendly hug.

You laugh, feeling some of your nervousness dissipate. "What can I say? He grew on me."

"Like a fungus, I'm sure," Joris winked, earning a playful shove from Charles.

Marta spotted you both and beamed, making her way over with Chiara balanced on her hip. Riccardo followed closely behind her, grinning widely.

"Ah, there he is," Riccardo greeted, pulling Charles into a hug before turning to you with a bright smile. "And this must be YN. It’s so great to finally meet you."

Charles stepped to the side, his hand still holding yours as he made the introductions. "Riccardo, Marta, this is YN, my girlfriend. YN, these are two of my closest friends in the world."

You smiled nervously but warmly, offering your hand to Riccardo, who brushed it aside to pull you into a friendly hug. "We do hugs around here," he said with a wink.

Marta followed suit, hugging you carefully while balancing Chiara in her arms. "It’s so nice to meet you, YN," she said, her smile warm and welcoming. "Charles has told us all about you. It’s about time we finally get to meet the girl who’s got him smiling all the time."

You chuckled nervously, your cheeks flushing a little. "He exaggerates."

"I don’t think so," Charles teased, his arm slipping around your waist again as he beamed at you.

Another one of Charles' friends raised his glass from where he was standing. "And here she is—the woman who tolerates Charles better than any of us."

You laughed at that, feeling some of the tension slip away as everyone welcomed you with open arms. The introductions continued as more of Charles’ friends trickled into the conversation, each one greeting you warmly, making you feel like part of the group in no time. It was clear that Charles’ friends were just as kind and friendly as he had promised.

“I’m so glad you could come," Marta said as she sat down next to you, little Chiara still in her arms.

“Thank you for having me,” you replied warmly, already feeling more at ease with her friendly demeanor.

Baby Chiara’s curious eyes darted toward you. You waved at her with a soft smile, and to your surprise, Chiara giggled, her little hands reaching out toward you.

“She’s been so excited all day,” Marta said with a chuckle, adjusting Chiara on her lap. “I think she knew we were having company. You want to hold her?”

You hesitated for a moment, but before you could even reply, Chiara was practically leaning over to get closer to you. You couldn't help but laugh, your heart melting at the sight of her small, chubby hands reaching out.

“I think she’s made up her mind,” you said, taking Chiara from Marta. The little girl settled in your lap immediately, looking up at you with wide, innocent eyes before giving you a sweet, toothy grin.

Charles, who had been chatting with Riccardo and Joris nearby, turned around just in time to catch the scene. His expression softened as he watched you interact with Chiara, his heart clearly in his eyes as he leaned against the counter, completely mesmerized.

“She loves you already,” Marta said softly, watching the way Chiara kept reaching for your face, fascinated by your hair and earrings.

“She’s adorable,” you said, your voice equally soft as you gently played with the little girl’s hands. Chiara giggled again, her laughter filling the room, and you couldn’t help but beam at her.

Charles crossed the room, his eyes still glued to the two of you. "She’s not the only one," he teased, placing a hand on your shoulder as he bent down to kiss your temple. "She’s got good taste."

"You're such a sap," Joris called out from where he sat, grinning as he popped another cookie into his mouth. "Look at you, all gooey and soft."

“Careful, Joris,” Charles replied, smirking at him. “Don’t make me start telling embarrassing stories about you."

“Oh, I’d love to hear those,” Marta chimed in, clearly enjoying the playful banter.

“Hey, I’m not the one who once locked himself out of the house without pants,” Joris shot back, earning a chorus of laughter from everyone around the room.

Amidst the laughter, Marta leaned closer to you, her voice just above a whisper. “You know,” she said, glancing at Charles, who was still gazing at you and Chiara with that adoring smile, “I’ve never seen him like this. I can tell he’s really happy with you.”

Her words made your heart skip a beat. You glanced up at Charles, feeling a warmth spread through you as you caught his eye. He winked at you, completely oblivious to Marta’s words, but it only made the moment more special.

"Thank you," you replied quietly, feeling a bit shy under her knowing gaze. "That means a lot coming from you."

Marta smiled, patting your hand. "I'm really glad he found someone special. You fit right in."

Before you could respond, Chiara began fussing slightly in your lap, clearly looking for something. Charles noticed immediately and knelt down beside you, offering the small toy she had dropped earlier. As soon as you handed it to her, Chiara calmed down, grabbing the toy and happily gnawing on it.

"I told you she'd love you," Charles grinned as he watched the two of you.

"You're right," you replied with a smile, gently bouncing Chiara in your lap. "She's perfect."

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of laughter and easy conversation. You found yourself quickly settling into the group, enjoying the way everyone seemed so at ease with one another. Joris and Riccardo were relentless in teasing Charles, often making jokes about how smitten he was, while Marta continued to shoot you knowing glances, clearly pleased with how everything was going.

At one point, as the evening wound down, Chiara started to get sleepy. She nestled into your arms, her little fingers curling around your shirt as her eyes fluttered closed.

Charles, who had been watching the whole time, leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. "You’re amazing with her," he whispered, his voice filled with warmth.

"She’s the sweetest," you whispered back, glancing down at the tiny girl fast asleep in your arms.

Charles’ gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, his heart completely full. He had never imagined that watching you with Chiara would have such an effect on him, but here he was, absolutely melting at the sight.

As the night drew to a close, Riccardo and Marta thanked you both for coming. “Next time, we’ll have to do it at your place, Charles,” Riccardo joked, clapping him on the back.

“Sure, as long as you bring Chiara,” Charles replied with a grin, his arm wrapped securely around your waist as you stood by his side.

Marta gave you a quick hug before you left. "Seriously," she whispered in your ear, "We're really glad you're in his life."

You smiled at her, feeling the warmth and sincerity behind her words. "Me too."

[defmaybe]

Not Shy

1k words

aespa’s Yoo Jimin/Karina x Male Reader

Sequel to J’adore

Prequel to Afterglow

See also: Sticky, Bahama

“Are you sure no one noticed us coming in here?”

“The five-minute interval shouldn’t alarm anyone, f–fuck.”

You whimper as Jimin drags her lips on where the suit doesn’t cover, so—the hollow of your throat. Your back is leaning on the women’s bathroom door.

“And by the way, ngh, it’s like they’d snitch on a student president, anyway.”

“You’ve got nothing to lose, baby. You’re a fucking treasurer, mmm.”

“I–,” are the last things you can rebuke before the buttons of your shirt are unlocked.

It’s true, aside from a few bills collected onsite, you have absolutely no worries at this second, both at work and in reliability. Background works—billing, accounting—won’t be affected by whether you’re getting fucked by your head of student council, anyway. Treasurer is quite a passive position to do, isn’t it?

“Not so witty anymore, mmh?” Karina bends down; her tongue paints a straight line up your abdomen, and you clench your mouth tightly to not have the other partygoers hear your symphony—her words.

“C–Can’t you just like, ngh, forbid them o–or something?” you ask, legs shaking with her hand groping your bulge, her lips still printing endless marks on your chest. Your composure is stripped off with each clothing removed.

“I wish secrets work like that, dumbass,” she responds, fingers grabbing your crotch–tightly, sending a shock throughout your lithe frame.

“Ngh! F–Fuck~ Alright, I–I get it, Jimin.”

“Be a good boy for me and keep quiet, alright?” She pulls back from your now-reddened body, locking you within her eyes–brown, alluring. It helps that her hair is tied to the back neatly with no stray strands, so that you can see her face—god, that face, the perfectly sculpted nose, the rosy red lips—clearer.

“S-Sure.” You can do nothing but comply.

Now, the logistics of the bathroom aren’t very complex. There are stalls—perfect for a sitting position. There are walls, obviously—pin Jimin against the wall and fuck her brainless. Though, is she a woman like that—the kind that is so eager to become a student president in college, and so pliant at the same time? You’d argue that there exists a woman in this intersection; it’s just not Jimin.

This is where the mirrors and the sinks come in.

“Ready?” The stark eye contact is still there, and she’s still grabbing your aching erection under the pants.

“Ready what?”

“You know, fucking my cunt,” Jimin growls, letting go of your bulge onto the back of her neck, trying to unlatch her thin, black strap holding her night together.

“O–Oh, yeah.” And swiftly, the clanks of your belt, the swoop of your pants, and another swoop of your underwear finally unshackles your raging length for her.

At the same time, her dress comes undone, freeing her voluptuous breasts topped by the hardened brown peaks just for you, and you don’t realize that you’ve been entranced by them for a little too long.

“Hey,” Jimin says, snapping her fingers. “Yeah, I fucking know they’re big. Now fill me up already.”

You gulp, “Y-Yeah,” as you watch her taking off her laced purple panties.

She then hands you the garment. “Here, a souvenir for our underappreciated treasurer.” She rolls her eyes while saying so, not believing the words coming out.

With not much time to lose, you quickly shove her used underwear into your pockets, making sure no tails of it can be seen. And getting ready, Jimin walks towards the marble sink, planting hands on it. Her immaculate features are shown in the mirror. She pulls the charcoal-black dress up, looking at you in the reflection.

“Fuck me.”

It would be the sight of your ass jerking back and forth if someone is to walk in on the debauchery—not your cock, not her tits (helps that your hands are using them as handles—grabbing, squeezing). Every thrust in and out of her, the sight of her contorted expression, the sound of her silent moans are sending you into rapture.

“Y–Your vagina feels so good, J–Jimin, ngh,” you moan. Your cock now glistens with her juice.

“Say ‘cunt’ or ‘pussy’ like a normal person, idiot. I’m not a fucking prudish,” Karina scoffs.

You aren’t in the right state of mind to debate, really. Her wet, tight cavern is so determined to milk every drop of essence out of you to drought. The walls squeezing around your needy length is just too much to handle.

And there it is, your impending release. You can feel it in your loins, far, but it’s there. Karina gives you a stern eye contact along the act—purposeful, ardent. Hell, she’s even smirking at you. She’s always this confident, isn’t she? It has been like this since the first meeting. She’s headstrong, not swaying by a bit, even if she’d be alone with the choice. She’s kind, not swaying by a bit, even if it means getting herself into harm. She’s perfect. She’s fucking perfect.

“F–Fuck, Jimin, I think I’m gonna–”

“Just fucking cum inside me, baby. I wanna feel your cum dripping down my legs. I wanna feel your cum–, ngh,” she cries out, unable to form the last words. She doesn’t seem to care about her forte anymore.

And it’s like you’d care, anyway.

“Cum with me, alright?” Jimin looks back at you, before mumbling under her breath, “Ha, fucking bye-nior prom.”

It’s not much more for you to release your seed inside of her, as you can feel her body shrieking around your cock. It’s a euphoria—eyes fluttering, hips slowing down, panting and such. You can hear your cacophony echo throughout the bathroom. 

As you two come down from the orgasm, Jimin’s breaths are still ragged. “F–Fuck, that’s great, my dear treasurer.”

“Y–You’re t–too, my dear president.” You’re also unable to catch your rhythm.

“Do you think anyone would hear us?”

You ponder for a few heartbeats before replying, “Yeah, definitely… maybe.”

[elllisaaa]

YOU SHOULD DO FILMING A SEX TAPE WITH ENHYPEN

yes yes yes !! the only downside of me thinking about this too much is that now i have the increasing need to write a full fanfic about filming a sextape with heeseung

HEESEUNG gets hard the second you mention the possibility of filming a sextape. he strikes me as someone who would fucking love to receive and send nudes, so having videos of the two of you would feel even better. it’s perfect for when he’s away on tour too, because he’s a visualizer and he cannot cum if he doesn’t hear your pretty moans. he’s basically down for doing everything on camera, and he will even end up creating a special folder just for these videos. he has some close up of your pussy covered in his cum, of you drooling around his cock, of your cunt swallowing his big cock. i think he’d also tease a whole lot more, being cocky about the whole situation even if he’s the one losing his mind every time he watches the footage again. anyway, he’s on the nasty side.

“- open your mouth for me pretty, show me how much of a slut you are for me… yeah, just like that.” 

JAY would literally do anything for you, so of course he is going to say yes. i don’t think he would particularly into it himself, but how much it is turning you on is what makes him hard. he’s the definition of a service dom, so it isn’t surprising. he’ll talk about it with for hours before actually doing it so that he can be sure he will fulfill your desires perfectly. and there will also definitely be a much more romantic dimension - footage of your face when he’s making you cum, of him while he’s worshiping your body and you’re the one holding the camera, or of your whole body on full display while he’s fingering you. your fantasy will slowly grow on him though. 

“- you look so beautiful, princess. i love you so much.”

JAKE is a whore, of course he’s saying yes. actually, he will surely be the one to ask you about filming a sextape, something he had always wanted to try. he’s horny all the time, and even more when he’s stressed out and far away from you - some videos of the two of you are not a want, they’re a need. though the content is a little different from the one his two hyungs like, in the sense that jake loves when you’re on top, and that’s what he wanna see when he needs to jerk off. videos of you riding him, of him whining pathetically when you’re edging him, of your hand on his cock while you’re telling him that he’s your toy. he wouldn’t be against having some footage of him destroying your pussy too, but you domming him is always what gets him going the most.

“- fuck, you’re so tight… please, let me cum inside and film it dripping from your pussy… please.”

SUNGHOON is so cocky about it, it’s actually infuriating how confident he is. the whole time you’re discussing it with him, he has that smirk on his face, and maybe he’s even sitting on the couch and manspreading and and and ! anyway, he’s down for it as long as you beg - it’s not that he’s against the idea, it’s just that he loves to see you get down on your knees for him. the majority of the videos consist of showing how much of a slut you are : ones of you being ruined from behind, of you grinding against his thigh with tears in your eyes, and of your eyes rolling to the back of your head just because of his fingers. he’s sending you those footage at the worst moments because he loves it when you’re all needy for him, he just wants to see you go crazy on him.

“- that’s it darling, fuck yourself on my cock like the dumb girl you are.”

JUNGWON is not very big on nudes, he prefers the real thing or to call you if he’s really in need of a quick release, so you’ll have to be the one to bring up the thought. but once you do, he’s actually down to try it with you. i can’t see him loving it as much as the others, but once in a while, it’s something he enjoys. with him, it’s mostly short videos focused on your boobs bouncing with each one of his thrusts, or of his cock buried deep in your cunt when he’s barely moving. what turns him on the most about it are the sounds the both of you are making. 

“- you feel so good, baby, don’t stop… say my name again.”

SUNOO is so shy at first, he’s really hesitant because he doesn’t want to disappoint you if the videos turn out to be bad. but he’s trusting you with his life, and he knows you will stop as soon as he asks you to do so. as much as he is a pillow prince, he will make the videos all about you and your pleasure. his favorite footage is the one in which he’s eating you out like a starved man and you’re moaning his name like a prayer. there will also be some shots of you caressing him while filming everything through the reflection of the mirror, or of his hands running your body up and down. he mostly does it for you because he knows how much you miss him when he’s away, but he gets to cum every time so he loves it too. 

“- i want you to remember how good it feels everytime you rewatch this.”

[themeraldee]

The Lucky Winner

[Masterlist]

18+ Only | 8.5k | Homelander x fem!Reader | Pre-season 1. Voice kink. Oral sex. Unprotected sex.

Summary: You're a huge fan of Homelander but you always feel too awkward to ever meet your hero at a meet & greet or similar events. Your friends enter you into a Vought competition, where you've got a chance to win a phone call from Homelander himself.  

Author’s Note: My first Homelander fic! Also, this is the first time I’m publishing my work. Obligatory English isn’t my first language so apologies if there are any strange turns of phrase but I happily take on criticism so feel free to correct me. I want to get better! I’m also not very good with sticking to the right tense. This is very self-indulgent so read with caution. 

You can’t decide whether to hug or strangle your friends. They’re trying to be nice, you get that. But this goes against everything you’d ever do! Lovely as they are, they’ve entered you into a competition to meet your hero. To meet Homelander. The thought alone makes your head spin, your heart pound and stomach twist on itself.

‘It was just 20 bucks, what’s the worst that can happen? You win?’ Reads your friend’s message. You roll your eyes, hearing the teasing tone in your head. They know about your not-so-hidden obsession and at the end of the day they just wanted to brighten their friends day.

And sure, you are a fan. Okay, fine. You’re a big fan. Obsessed even. Every-wall-of-your-bedroom adorned-with-posters-and-promotional-materials obsessed. But you don’t want to appear like that. Last thing you’d want to come across as to your idol, you hero, is an annoying screeching fan begging for his attention.

You don’t want to be part of the crowds pawing at him, inching as close as they can just to graze his uniform with their fingertips. You don’t want to look like a feral fan. You have manners. You don’t want to be just another face, just another adoring fan begging for him to look your way. It’s hard to admit to yourself that you’ll never be more than a fan. So you don’t go to meet & greets. You don’t go to premieres. You don’t pay exorbitant fees just to meet your hero.

You’re a romantic at heart. You always imagine the first meeting to be one for the books. Maybe he saves you from a burning building flying you down, his stars and stripes billowing in the wind as he looks at you with concern etched into his handsome face, his piercing blue eyes scanning you for injuries as he talks to you with a soothing rumbling tone that sends shivers down your spine. You can clearly imagine him going, Are you okay miss?, as he descends to the ground. Or you just happen to bump into each other but he catches you with his strong arms and fast reflexes and just like that it’s love at first sight. Scenarios after scenarios. All varieties of ‘meet-cute’s play in your head on a daily basis. You spend your time getting lost in your head, dreaming of the day when it will be your turn to be the protagonist of the story. When will you be the damsel in distress? But you sigh and move on with life, because this isn’t a romance novel.

Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself (and others) when people ask you why you haven't tried to meet your hero. 

Oh I just don’t want to be a weird obsessive fan. Plus it’s expensive!

Meeting heroes is technically easy. Vought gives people many opportunities to see their heroes for a pretty penny. They parade their heroes around like exotic animals in a zoo on a daily basis. 

For you the reality is that you simply can’t handle seeing your hero up close and personal, let alone talk to him. How are you not meant to get flustered in front of what you considered to be perfection? How are you meant to find your words or even come up with words worthy of being uttered in his presence? You’re meant to look into his eyes, tell him how much of a fan you are and not fluster and burst into tears from the anxiety coiling in your gut as you wait your turn? 

You don’t want that. You don’t want to be just another babbling fan. You want to stand out. You want him to remember you. You want him to think about you.  But you’re also a realist and you know that at most he’ll think you just another annoying fangirl if he even grants you a passing thought. So you spare yourself those hurt feelings and you avoid meet & greets, you avoid all the fan-targeted conventions, events, promotional campaigns or competitions. 

Or you always have. Until now it seems. You again scroll up in the group chat where your friends surprised you with an entry to the newest competition Vought advertised. It was presented as a fundraiser. All proceeds are planned to be donated to Samaritan’s Embrace. A simple $20 entry that would grant you a chance to be one of five lucky winners to get a personal phone call from Homelander. 

A fat chance of that, you thought when you first saw the competition announced on both Vought’s and Homelander’s twitter accounts. With a competition that invites Homelander's country-wide fanbase, there really is no chance of you winning. You half-comfort yourself with that thought. You don’t know where you’d even start should you win. Part of you thinks that maybe ‘meeting’ him over the phone could be bearable as he wouldn’t be able to witness just how badly you’re holding it together.

But then you think back to all the videos you’ve watched. The reels and the tiktoks you’ve saved. The podcasts and interviews that at this point you play almost religiously. He's perfect in every way but you're particularly fond of his voice just rumbling in your ear when it gets nice and low as he talks in lengths about the upcoming movie or his most recent save. A while back you bought yourself a decent set of noise-cancelling headphones with great audio quality and suddenly it felt like he was right behind you just purring into your ears. Very few interviews record with good enough microphones to capture how mesmerising his voice is but those that do get saved and played on repeat sending shivers down your spine, following you to bed and invading your dreams. So no, maybe a phone call wouldn’t make the experience any easier on your poor heart. 

You calm down after the initial panic reaffirming yourself with the reality where there’s no chance that you’ll get picked anyway. You text your friends again, kindly thanking them for thinking of you as you shook your head with an amused smile. That’s that done and forgotten about.

Or so you think. Few weeks down the line the mental discourse has long left your mind. The conversation moves on and your friends don’t mention anything since. That’s why it’s no surprise when you pick up the unknown call after the third ring with ease, casually answering with, “Hello, Y/N speaking.” 

Homelander looks through the list of winners Ashley brought to his desk with a scowl on his face. He’s grumpy, having to jump through everyone’s hoops is grating on him, slowly chipping away at his showmanship armour. This is just another nail in the coffin. Now he has to make private phone calls?

He wants to be revered, loved. With people bending over backwards just to get his attention. Sure, that’s right up his alley. Get the crowds to scream his name, be grateful for his divine presence. What he isn’t a fan of is making others think they’re special. He’s the special one. Where does Vought get off thinking that he’s got the time to call and visit his fans one-on-one.

He rolls his eyes looking through the unimpressive line-up that Vought carefully curated. One of each demographic, trying to hit all the targets Vought wants him to improve his numbers with.

Each candidate has a sheet of talking points assigned to them, things to highlight, mention or even promote to each one of the fans. Normally Homelander would throw Vought’s carefully crafted response straight back to their faces but right now he’s not in the slightest interested in being clever or the fans' idea of ‘authentic’ so he’d rather rattle off a few lines from a curated list of party lines. At the end of the day he doesn’t care for this. Talking to five individual fans doesn’t help him in the grand scheme of things. This isn’t happening in public, there’s no one here to witness his generosity. Nobody to witness a god, looking down and gracing his followers with his benevolence.

Vought believes the individual approach will be worth it in the long run. That apparently fans will come running to any future events and competitions seeing as real people they might know have won in the past. All Homelander sees is at most five twitter mentions from a few nobodys.

He’s got about an hour in the calendar to get through all of these. Though he's banking on this taking a lot less time. There are many more important things he could be doing instead. 

He flips through the files again, each profile is filled out with a name, number and a photo, deciding on the least painful order. A young boy, an elderly woman, a middle aged comic enthusiast, some punk teenager and you. Homelander looks at your profile with mild interest. You’re the only one who Vought didn’t manage to find a good quality recent photo of. Clearly you don’t do social media. Yet the quality doesn’t take away from the intrigue your profile inspired. You’re easily the most interesting in the list but that’s not that hard to do. Still, Homelander puts yours at the end of the list. Saving the best for last.

“Hellooo and congratulations! This is Homelander and you’re one of the few lucky cookies who get to have a little chit chat with me.” All air gets sucked out of your lungs and the ease with which you picked up the phone is gone. Your eyes widen, breath caught in your throat only coming out in confused little stutters. This isn’t real. It can’t be!

Whether it’s a particularly vivid dream or your world is actually turning upside down you’re glad this happened at home. Your knees buckle, your ass landing straight on your bed, your legs trembling with nervous energy as you sit down.

“W-what?” You manage to blurt out, more breathy than not. Your heart is pounding like never before. You wouldn’t be surprised if he can hear it over the phone, it feels loud to your ears.

“The competition? You entered, right?” His voice. His fucking voice was right in your ear and you felt like melting into a puddle of goo. Anything to spare you the embarrassing words that are surely about to come out of your mouth one way or another.

“Oh… um…” You are blowing it. There’s no other word for it. Totally embarrassing yourself. Not able to say a word, still trying to calm your heart down.

“Are you not a fan? Have I got the wrong number–?”

“N-no no! No…I mean yes. I mean sorry…fuck.” You are totally losing it. The hand holding your phone is shaking with nervous energy. 

“Hey hey hey…. Come on now. Take it easy. Now take a deep breath aaand relax.” His voice is rich and sweet like honey, just like you’ve heard on TV but here it feels intimate. Just for you. He’s not talking to anybody else. As he hears your stuttered intake of breath and a mildly calmed exhale he coos again. “That’s it. Breathe with me. Now in.” If only he knew that this is making things so much worse for you. “And out.” 

“I’m so sorry. I meant to say, I am a fan but I don’t do this.” Your voice still trembles with each word but you’re a little more composed. 

“What? Call people?” You can hear the smirk in his voice, he's clearly pleased with his little joke. 

“No.” You can’t help yourself but chuckle, your lips spreading in a wide grin. Your heart is still pounding but it’s more excitement than embarrassment. You’re actually talking to Homelander. And you have already embarrassed yourself beyond belief but he’s still here! He’s still talking to you. He doesn’t even sound upset. “I mean I don’t meet you guys. Heroes. I don’t really know how to do this. I mean I pretty much live on your doorstep and I’ve never met either one of you.” Now that he calmed you down, getting you talking, you can’t stop talking. 

“Really? Some fan you are.” Were you of a sound mind you’d hear the joke but now all you could think is that you’ve upset him. And you can’t have him think that. Sure you’ve always wanted to stand out but not in a negative way! You take it to heart and you apologize.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t mean to offend. At all! Really! It’s just, you don’t need another person begging for an autograph that they can brag with to their friends or sell online for a quick buck.” 

He exhales a little breathy laugh that has your whole body flush hot. “Oh, aren’t you adorable.” The panic that was inflating in you like a hot air balloon finally fizzled out. Instead it’s replaced by a throbbing heat in between your legs and you place your free hand over your heart, almost trying to will your body into behaving normally. “You know if you want I can send you some, would be a shame for such a sweet fan to not have anything personalised. I’ll sign it with your name.” He offers, a nice gesture, really, but you are currently having a whole body meltdown to even appreciate it for what it was.

“O-oh,that isn’t—You don’t have to—” 

He continues nonetheless. 

“Y/N, is it? Beautiful name.” Your name rolls off his tongue perfectly, all soothing and sweet. And there you go, melting into a puddle just for him. 

“You don’t have to be nervous. I don’t bite. At least, not over the phone.” You let your hand trail down your body. He’s just talking. He’s just making jokes. He’s just trying to strike up a conversation to make such a freaked out fan of his a little calmer and there you are getting your rocks off on this. 

“Sorry. It’s hard not to be. I’ve been a fan of yours for a long while. I didn’t expect I’d ever get to talk to you. It’s kind of you to do things like this for us fans. I’m sure you’re busy. Thank you for taking the time.” You distract yourself from the throbbing that’s just calling for your hand to settle heavily in between your shaking thighs. 

“Oh no problem. Wouldn’t be where I am if it wasn’t for all my loyal fans, right?” You should really stop moving your hand down your body. But you can’t help the effect he has on you, you’re not acting normal! 

“I don’t know. I don’t think it’s the fame that makes you special. It’s you.” You breathe you all dreamy before realising this isn’t just one of your fantasies. No. You really are talking to Homelander. You cough a little, pretending like you had something stuck in your throat. 

“It is?”

“I think so. Change into civilian clothing and I’m sure you’ll still be turning heads.” You speak normally now but you bite your lip at the end, your hand now just above your pubic bone. 

“Sounds like you’ve thought about this plenty.” Oh, of course you have. Your body is screaming at you to take the plunge, to slip your hand down your panties, and make yourself feel like this is more than just a friendly fan call. But your mind is, correctly, telling you that this is beyond inappropriate. 

“Ah no! I just mean that you’re perfect at what you do. There’s nobody like you. Noone could take your spot. So it’s more than just fans.” You’re surprised you’re still carrying on. You feel like your brain is turning into mush with each word he’s saying. 

“What can I say? I take my job very seriously.” He goes on to talk about being a leader of the Seven, you guess he’s just trying to fill space seeing as you’re such a blubbering mess. Even with all his efforts at making this normal, your brain turns all the innocent words into the filthiest dirty talk.

“Look, I’d love to talk to you some more but I’m afraid I’ll have to end it there. I’m late for a talk show interview.” You retract your hand as if it got burnt and instead you grab onto the comforter you’re sitting on, stopping yourself from doing anything impulsive. 

“O-of course.” Your heart rate is elevated again, something about the thought of him leaving and you never getting the chance to speak to him again makes you want to scream. 

“Tell you what, I don’t want to be unfair to you. You hardly got your prize. I’ll call you later. You free in the evening?” 

“Y-yes.”

“Perfect.” 

Perfect. You’re fucking perfect. Homelander can’t stop the way his lips stretch into a predatory grin. You are exactly what a fan should be like. Swooning over him. Grateful that he’s even bothering to grace you with his presence. You were practically kneeling, bent over before him on the floor, kissing his feet as he gave you a taste of his divine presence. He has half a mind to take care of the uncomfortable hard-on pressing into his rigid suit. He couldn’t help himself when you were being such a sweet little thing. He feels no remorse at having rubbed himself through his suit as you were there on the other side of the phone, undeniably shaking in excitement, all flustered and tense and most certainly aroused. But no, he wants to wait his turn. He needs the real thing. He’s not planning on letting you go that easy.

Originally he was pissed that most of his time on the phone was taken up by the elderly woman who was talking his ear off. Now he’s thinking about sending her a gift basket. He has a real excuse to see you. 

When Homelander wants something he’s like a hunter, doing everything he can to lure his prey into his trap. In this case he abuses his powers to get the Crime Analytics team to dig up your address and in the meanwhile he sits through a mind-numbingly boring interview at a low-tier talk show he really shouldn’t need to waste his time on. 

The only thing that keeps him going is the thought that you might be watching. You seem like a big fan. You surely wouldn’t dare miss out on his live appearances. The thought alone gives him enough drive to not laser through the talk show host everytime she asks a stupid question and instead he imagines he’s speaking straight to you.

When the show is over he takes off before his team can steer him towards another boring chore. No, he has more pressing matters to attend to. Like any good predator he observes. He waits until it’s the right time to strike. That’s why he’s perched at the top of the building that’s opposite yours. He’s got a clear line of sight to your apartment but he’s careful in making sure you can’t see him. 

He watches, his grin reappearing every damn time he sees you reach your phone, checking if your ringer is on for the tenth time. You are an easy target, he can swoop in anytime and sweep you off your feet but he wants it to be perfect. With sick fascination he keeps watching you, your behaviours and patterns as you pace around your room trying to preoccupy your mind with mindless thoughts. He knows that nothing you do can now fill the void that he left behind. What else can replace the purr of his voice in your ear, soothing and exciting you at the same time. Nothing. There’s nobody like him. You said it yourself.

An hour of self-indulgent watching later he decides to end your misery. You just look so upset and disappointed and he knows you’ll just melt in his presence. He needs to be close to you. He got a little sprinkle of what you're like over the phone and now he’s got a craving for the real thing. He needs to feel you, smell you, hear your poor heart trying to keep up with the excitement right in his ear.

So with a quick drop he descends.

The day has gone by torturously slow for you. You spend every minute checking your phone in case your ringer randomly fails you and you won’t catch the second call from Homelander. Just thinking that makes your thighs quiver. The thought of having him purr into your ear any longer wets your panties all over again. But over the coming hours your enthusiasm deflates. It’s getting late and your chances of ever getting a call back are low. 

You emerge from the bathroom, fresh and clean, in your pyjamas ready to sleep today’s rollercoaster of emotions away. Or you would be if it wasn’t for a knock at your balcony door interrupting your thoughts and making you flinch in surprise. The flash of red and blue still so vibrant and colourful against the midnight sky has your breath catching in your throat. What the fuck?!

You open the balcony door in shock, and if you had the strength to do so you would have ripped it off its hinges with pure eagerness. There he is in all his patriotic glory. Homelander. A wide grin on his face, posture ramrod straight as he clasps his gloved hands behind his back, puffing his chest out.

“H-Homelander?!” Your voice quivers at the proximity, your heart picks up speed again and you feel your entire body flush both in embarrassment and excitement. Your first thought goes to how you currently look rather than questioning his motives or how he even found where you live in the first place. 

Trying to regain your composure you shake your head, blinking as if he was just a figment of your imagination. Maybe your devout obsession with him is finally damaging your mental state, making you hallucinate.

“Good evening, Y/N.” God, how does he do that! The way your name slips off his tongue so easily, with such familiarity makes you clench and part your lips with a gasp. Any sort of composure you’ve regained crumbling to dust. Now you are just awkwardly gawking, in awe at the unreal figure in front of you, in the flesh. Homelander doesn’t wait to be invited in, strutting into your modest apartment like it belongs to him, the confident strides of his red boots loud and heavy against the creaky floor of your apartment. He takes up the living space confidently, somehow making you feel like you don't belong in your own space. His presence took priority, anything else secondary—you included. 

“How did you—” Your question of how he found where you live doesn’t even get fully asked, let alone answered. He cuts in, not actually caring about your justified worry over having your address handed out willy-nilly. 

“Our call was a bit too short to my liking. You don’t mind a little late-night visit, do you?” You feel disarmed. His voice turns gravelly, lowering with each word. His tone teasing as if he was telling you a secret, so unlike his television persona where he’s all American apple pie values and open arms with clear intentions. Here, he grinned widely—all teeth with his sharp canines bared to you like the predator he is. Like you’re his next meal. “Ohohoo, would you look at this. Maybe you are my biggest fan, huh?” 

You are distracted by his voice, his presence, just him that you fail to notice his eyes wandering around your apartment. Your face flushes red in embarrassment as you see him assessing your safe space, or what felt like your safe space before this ambush, all with an amused grin on his face. 

“These are all limited edition. Must have cost you a small fortune.” Holding a breath you watch him take his gloves off one by one, placing the leather on your table with a soft thwack. It feels forbidden, not meant for your eyes. The public doesn’t get to see Homelander as anything other than perfect. His image manicured, perfected to the tiniest details. Seeing his surprisingly elegant bare hands, this up close feels intimate yet threatening like he’s unsheathed his sword, revealing one of the many hidden weapons he can use against you. 

You watch as he brushes his fingers against limited edition action figurines, box sets, posters and trinkets featuring his likeness or the logo emblem Vought associates with him. If it was anyone else you’d tell them to keep their paws away from your most prized possessions but it's Homelander. Who else gets the right to touch special limited edition merchandise of his own likeness? 

You watch as he paces the room with an unreadable expression. The embarrassment you feel transforms into an apology, heavy on your tongue as you force your mouth open, letting your shame out into the world. It’s hard not to feel overwhelmed in his presence.

“I-I’m sorry.” 

“You’re sorry?” He turns his head over his shoulder with a curious expression. A swoop of his blonde hair handsomely falling into his face. He puts down one of the figurines he picked up earlier as he scouted the area. 

“All this stuff.” You wave your hand around, the grand display of what can only be described as the Church of Homelander, a shrine dedicated to his divine existence. You see how it looks, how it makes you look like a rabid fan. Though you’re anything but. “I know it’s a little strange. I don’t want to make you feel like a museum piece. Or-or-or a circus animal! I just admire you. A lot.”

“You do?” 

“I do.” Your breath catches in your throat as he turns around fully, facing you head on, one slow step inching towards you at a time. You gulp, feeling like you’re left in the dark regarding his intentions as you hopelessly struggle to read him. On the opposite spectrum you’re there, an open book, your heart on your sleeve, your every thought written so clearly on your face you may as well give him your diary to flip through. “More than anything.” Breathlessly you add, meeting his eyes as a challenge. You’re devout, as loyal as it gets. You’d do anything for him if he asked.

Homelander rises to your mental challenge with a grin so sharp you feel the metaphorical bite coming before he even opens his mouth as he steps closer. He’s so close now. Any ordinary man could feel the thud of your heartbeat, but to his keen senses it’s a war drum and he’s marching to a battle he’s already won. His bare, elegant hands make their way to your jaw caressing it with a surprising gentleness. You flinch. Even though you watched it happen with wide eyes, you didn’t expect his hands to leave you unmarred. You almost expect your skin to sizzle, unworthy of his divine touch.  

Homelander’s grin disappears, his tongue gliding along his teeth as if he’s cleaning them before he devours his next meal. All that leaves you is a little whimper before he pulls you in, his hands thrumming with incomprehensible strength as he kisses you. He kisses the air out of your lungs as if you could survive without it like he can. As if you could meet him in the middle. But dammit you do your best to. He’s a passionate kisser, incapable of sticking to soft kisses. No, he devours. He licks your lips open, his tongue gliding along yours. You brace your hands against his chest, already feeling weak in the knees. The heat of his breath and the wetness of his tongue in your mouth is nothing compared to how hot and wet you feel in your panties.

It doesn’t help that he’s vocal. You kiss him harder anytime he growls or moans into your lips, his voice vibrating against your lips just possessing you more. And soon it turns into a game of who can dish it out harder. Each devoted kiss makes him hum and purr which in turn melts you into a pile of goo, making you kiss him harder. Your lips feel hot, swollen from the ferocious kissing. You’re nearing the limit of what your lungs can manage without resurfacing for air.

Homelander pulls away but he doesn’t give you any time to recover. As if you could. How do you recover from that? Instead he’s adamant about making your heartbeat hit record heights. His hands glide down your body, featherlight touches that make your skin break out into goosebumps as he settles on your hips, trailing the waistband of your pants. His pink wet lips spread into another predatory smile and before you know it he leans closer to your ear, practically purring, “Tell me, if I take these off will I find you wearing Homelander panties too?” 

Flustered squeak escapes you as he laughs wholeheartedly at your embarrassment. You know he knows. He’s teasing you for a reason. “They’re comfortable.” You eventually grumble, pouting like a child getting caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

“I bet they are.” He sinks down to one knee, his hands taking the waistband of your pants with him as he pulls them down over your thighs, letting the fabric pool by your ankles. He pats your ankle, prompting you to step out of them. You comply, kicking the fabric away earning a little word of praise from him. “Attagirl.” You’re visibly trembling as he kneels in front of you, his eyes locked on the sight of your blue panties with his emblem and name right across the middle in gold, all accentuated by a red trim. It would be far from sexy in any other circumstance but he purrs at the sight. All pleased like the cat that got the cream. “Got my name across your pussy all day long?” 

Before you could react like any other person would, he hooked one of your legs over his shoulder. You yelp, losing your balance trying to grab onto his head or shoulders for support but he puts his arm on your back, sliding it right under your top keeping you straight and secure whether you want it or not. You’re not leaving until he says so. “Might as well fucking taste it seeing as it’s already mine, don’t you think?” He gives you a hungry look licking his lips before hoisting your other leg over his shoulder, standing up with ease. He walks you back against a wall as he eagerly inhales the scent of you, his head perfectly in between your warm thighs. 

“Woah!” You stabilise yourself, finally having more surface to lean against. The fabric of your top glides along the surface of the glossy posters he has you pressed against. Making you the centerpiece, surrounding you with his likeness. You finally process what the fuck is happening as you feel his nose pressing into the soaked fabric of your panties. “Homelander! Y-you….ohh…” You whimper, your hands automatically finding comfort and safety in between his golden locks. 

“Fuck you smell good.” Homelander growls, his hands now on your ass, holding you in place as he sticks his tongue out, pressing it wetly over your soaked panties. The taste of you already coating all his taste buds.

“O-oh fffuuck. OH god…yes…yes please.” You don’t stop yourself from moaning freely, the time for embarrassment long gone as Homelander lifts one hand from your ass, impatiently pulling the fabric of your Homelander panties to the side, his tongue already slipping in for a taste before his hand even makes it back to squeeze your ass. “Taste just as fucking good.” His voice strained, uttering filth in between your thighs.

His thick tongue pushes through the slit of your weeping pussy, lapping up what you’ve so graciously prepared just for him. And as you watch a mop of blonde hair greedily slurp at your wetness like he’s parched, you think back to the fantasies that drove you to orgasm after orgasm as the imaginary Homelander ate your pussy. 

Well, for one the real thing is a lot more enthusiastic than you ever imagined him to be. He is sucking on your clit in rhythm that has you throb harder, making your toes curl. “Ohhh, Homelander!” You reward him with a loud moan of his name, like a prayer on your lips. And you repeat it with each masterful lick around your clit that has you squirming in his hold, legs quivering around his head, fingers tugging at his hair.

The second thing you never considered was how much his powers would come into play. Here he is with a deathly strong iron grip around your ass, easily holding you up on his shoulders against the wall while pushing you as close into his face as he can. The thought of not being able to escape his grip exhilarates you as much as it terrifies you. His lack of need for air makes him a perfect devout lover. Because this is pure devotion except it seems he forgot who was meant to worship who.

You’d be embarrassed by the obscene sounds you two are making if it didn’t feel so good. You moan for him prettily as he licks up all the wetness he’s coaxing out of you. You breath hitches as you feel your orgasm building. He's consistent, giving you just the right pressure. Homelander looks up at you, eyes glassy and blown back with lust before he swiftly repositions you, needing just one arm to make you feel weightless yet secure in his hold as he takes his free hand plunging two fingers into you revelling in the feeling of your cunt clenching around him.

“Oh there there there! Ahhh!” You guide him, his fingers pumping into you and with his tongue still working magic on your clit you whimper out, “oh fuck, I’m gonna, I’m gonna–.” You fall apart in his arms, cumming on Homelander’s tongue like you’ve imagined many times over. With you thrashing around you rip the poster right behind you unaware of the mess you’re leaving behind. He licks you through the waves crashing through you. He’s smug, you can feel the smirk against your pussy as he gives it one more kiss before easily slipping you off his shoulders, preening with satisfaction. “Mhmm you did so good.” His voice purred and even in your post-orgasm haze you flush with fresh heat at the praise.

He gives you time to compose yourself but you don’t want it. You want him. You need him. Your legs feel like jelly so you immediately sink to your knees, nuzzling your face into his crotch. Too eager to wait. Homelander cooed at your enthusiasm, “Look at that. Didn’t even have to tell you.” He chuckles, voice thick with lust, his lips and chin still glistening from the way he feasted on you.

Wobbly and out of your mind, you reach for his belt, unable to figure out how to unclasp it, your dexterity not quite there either to be able to wiggle the hem of his pants underneath it and pull them down.

You look up at him with the face of a kitten that’s not getting what it wants. Pouting and pleading for help. 

“Christ, let me help you with that.” Homelander unclasps his belt, letting it hit the floor with a loud and heavy clang and the thought of it denting the cheap flooring doesn’t even graze your mind. He unzips his pants and the hiss alone makes your mouth water. He pushes his pants a little lower and you stare wide eyed at where his thematically red briefs are tented, his cock throbbing and leaking pre-cum into the thin fabric.

Okay, this you can do. Your hands slide up his thighs, getting a little feel of the bare skin of his thighs. Unmarred, smooth and hot. Your hand briefly squeezes around his cock through his briefs, forcing Homelander to hiss through his teeth. You pull down his briefs, bunching them down with the thick fabric of his suit. 

You try not to stare and drool but you’ve imagined his cock in your dreams and fantasies so many times that seeing it in real life just kind of blows your fucking mind. It’s perfect. A bit longer than average but especially nice and thick. You lick your lips in anticipation. His hand rests on the back of your head, giving your hair a tug.

“You gonna keep staring or will you put those pretty lips to work?” His gruff tone tears you from the haze. 

You blush, being caught staring. Wanting to please your hero you apologize, “sorry, it’s just so perfect. You’re perfect.” You breathe out in pure adoration. 

“Come on then, be a good girl and open up for your hero. I want my cock wet before I slide it into that needy pussy.” He looks down at you with a sharp smile, his other hand rests on your jaw before moving up squeezing the hollow of your cheeks, forcing your mouth open. Not that he has to, you’re more than willing to deliver. You open wider, making his hand withdraw as you take matter into your own hands. Literally. You grip the base of his cock, feeling how hefty and hot it feels. It hits you in that moment that you’re holding Homelander’s cock. Fuck. You’re gonna be dreaming of this moment for years to come.

You look up, giving him one more doe-eyed look before you stick your tongue out easing the swollen red head in between your lips. The salty, musky taste of his pre-cum on your tongue makes you whimper, your eyebrows furrow with concentration as you focus on banking the memory of his taste in your head. Eagerly you get right into it. Down and dirty. You focus on him, coating him with an ungodly amount of saliva until anytime you pop off him you’re followed by strings of it connecting you two. His grunts and heavy breaths just urge you to do better. So you take him deeper, slurping around the saliva you've made for him, bobbing your head up and down.

You nearly lose your rhythm when he lets out such a needy wanton moan, making your pussy throb.

“Thaaat’s it, come on—fuck!—deeper, yeah yeaahh you got it sweetheart. God fuck that’s fucking it.” He’s nearly whimpering, so lost in the sensation. And you're eating it up. Each whimper and word goes straight to your pussy and at this point you wouldn't be surprised if you were making a puddle on the floor.

His hand forces your head down deeper and you gag, choking around him as for a second your nose bumps the neat thatch of hair above his cock. He's not easily dissuaded and he pushes again, a little softer this time. You almost feel the tremble of his hands, he's so close to unravelling. Just for you. The swell of pride pushes you forward and you take him deeper. He takes the chance to push both hands into your hair as he starts fucking your face.

“Take it. Take it.” He grunts, his voice more and more broken with every thrust. You're just about to push his thighs back, attempting to fight against his unyielding force but his hips stutter and he groans, letting out broken moans as he spills on your tongue.

As if on command you swallow and he pulls out, wiping the residual dribbles of cum on your lips. Now that he’s done you realise just how fucking badly your jaw aches. You whimper at the ache of your jaw and the ache between your legs. 

You’re still kneeling on the floor, a picture of pure devotion, with your mouth messy and lips swollen. He grumbles at the picture in front of him. He pulls you up by your hair, kissing the taste of himself out of your lips. You can still taste your pussy on his lips and tongue as he shoves it into your mouth. “Bed?” He's somehow more than ready to continue and mentally you add his extraordinary refractory period to the list of his many talents. 

You nod a broken, “y-yeah, this way,” the taste of him still heavy on your tongue as you lead him to your bedroom.

He lets out a little chuckle at the state of your bedroom, just as decorated with his brand as was the rest of your apartment. “Fuck me, you really are my biggest fan.” 

You’re about to apologize, again, and he can read you like an open book already shushing you. “Shh, don’t say it. C’mere, take this off instead. Want to see you.” He tugs at your top, wanting you to take it off. Like unwrapping a present. You let out a few breathless ‘okay’s and pull the top over your head baring your entire body to him, save for the panties that were still uncomfortably pushed to the side. He clearly wants you to keep them on and you’re not sure whether that’s his narcissism or possessiveness talking. You don’t dare comment on the fact that he’s still fully dressed. You’re not gonna start demanding things from the Homelander now are you? 

With a step closer he purrs, pushing you to the bed intensely watching as your tits bounce when your back hits the comforter. He follows as he lays over the top of you but he doesn't look at you. He picks up the grimacing Homelander plushie he sees on your pillow— the one that's predominantly advertised to kids. He holds it up for you to see with a raised eyebrow, the look almost condescending. “What? They make no other official plushies!” You defend yourself. 

“Is there anything you don't have?” 

You don't know what possessed you to answer, “yeah, you,” but Homelander eats it right up as he grins at you.

“Cheeky slut. Well you're about to. On your side.” He says sliding off you to rest on his side looking you up and down hungrily. You’re clearly surprised at his choice of position and he grumbles with annoyance as you take forever to move the way he wants you to. His impatience gets the best of him and he effortlessly manipulates you to your side, slotting right behind you. Homelander grips your inner thigh lifting your leg a little higher, as he nestles his cock right against your wet cunt.

You sigh with partial relief, feeling him solid against you feels good. Feeling him inside you would feel even better. “Jesus, you're still so fucking wet.” 

“It's all your fault.” You whimper trying to wiggle in his unyielding hold. He just tuts at you gripping you tighter, cusping on pain.

He pulls you close, his cock sliding in between your slit, immediately getting the top of his cock wet. His lips trail up your jaw until he reaches your ear. He growls, low and sexy, nipping at the sensitive skin of your ear. Your heart skips a beat, your pussy throbs as the sound of him just ripples through you. 

“Maybe it is. You know, I've been thinking. You're such a nervous little thing.” He grinds his hips into you, dragging his cock back and forth, teasing you. His voice got quiet, dropping a register lower. All slow and drawled out he continues rumbling in your ear clearly aware of what it's doing to you. “You were beside yourself when I called you. So there I am thinking nobody gets that nervous, not unless they’re trying to hide how fucking turned on they are.” He keeps fucking talking and talking, making you shiver to the point where you feel goosebumps rise all over you. Your breath ragged, your eyes fluttering shut.

You're starting to understand why he was particular about this position. After all, he could read you like a book from the get go.

“At first I thought it was just me because you're such a big fan.” He coos in a condescending tone. He licks the outer edge of your ear and you shriek, thrashing in his uncompromising hold. “But no no nooo. It's not that. Because everytime I spoke, your heartbeat sped up. You know, I was worried about you there for a minute. Then there was your pussy. You get so wet the air is thick with it. I can't even fucking breathe without tasting your sweet cunt.” You let out a broken sound, close to a sob, you pussy throbbing so hard he must feel it even without being inside you. You didn't even consider that his senses can easily sniff your secret out.

He’s still rubbing his cock in between your folds, sliding the whole length of it up and down. It’s slick and loud and so good and holy shit your clit is burning from the way his head catches on it with every thrust. You're so close and your body is on fire. You so desperately want to cum with something inside you but he’s cruel. He's not gonna give it to you just yet. “And look at that, you're still getting wetter. They do say it's always the unassuming ones.” He chuckles into your ear, low and vibrating against you.

“Is that it? Do you get off to the sound of my voice? Do you watch videos of me, listening to interviews while you finger your little pussy?” He's going harder, the wet sound of your pussy slicking his way in between your slit is deafening, embarrassingly loud. “Tell me.” The little command growls in your ear and you force your lips open.

“Y-yes! Yes….I-I find your voice sexy.” You admit to your little shameful secret. You admit that one of the reasons you never met him was because you didn't want to get sopping wet in a crowd full of screaming fans. “Don't stop, please.” You moan out, quiet and broken, your embarrassment making way to pure pleasure. Now that it's out in the open, what is there to hide?

“Do you even care what I say? Huh? I could be reading out the fucking phone book and your pussy would still get wet. Greedy little thing. What’s it gonna be? You gonna cum to my voice or are you gonna be difficult?” You're burning hot, your body so so tense, the leg he's hitched up a little trembling against his strong grip. His cock is still hitting your clit in the perfect fucking way and you're so so so close. 

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop! Oh fuck, Homelander—don’t—ahhh!” The dam bursts, a wave of pleasure sweeping over you as you scream. Homelander pulls back and with one deft stroke he slides his cock inside you. He doesn't move. He growls at the feeling of your cunt just pulsing against him. He's so thick inside you, stretching you wide, filling every crevice. 

He whimpers and you feel how tense he is holding off the orgasm threatening to burst inside him.

Just as you think this must be the end of it, your mind just a buzzing noise, he pulls out moving back and he pushes you on your back. 

You never expected him to be so active in bed but he's already in between your legs, his hands clamping down on the clammy flesh of the back of your thighs and he spreads you open. He's on his knees, his hands slide and curl from the back of your thighs to the top as he pulls you in, slowly sliding his cock into you in one push. 

He doesn't wait for anything. He just fucks you. Hard and fast, really getting himself off more than you. Surrounded by posters and merch all carrying his likeness while he plunges into you again and again. Your hair is plastered to your forehead as you watch your hero utterly ruin you. You're sweaty, absolutely spent and tired while he's pushing into you without breaking a sweat. 

This round isn't for you yet it's gonna be a memory you'll frequent the most. The look on his face, pure lust and torture as he's fucking you with as much strength as he allows himself. 

With how he's got your hips propped up he's managing to hit all your best spots as your overstimulated nerves light up, giving him one last finish, your pussy’s quivers pushing him over the edge as well. 

Then there's a little hot spurt of him inside you but you're surprised when he pulls out shooting most of his load with a few strokes of his fist all over your panties and stomach. 

“Ahh fuck. Look at that, finally got your first autograph.” He snorts, amused, admiring the sight in front of him. His cum has already soaked into your panties, the ‘Homelander’ text changing into a darker colour as both his cum and your slick from the previous round drench the fabric. 

You flush hot red and you shake your head, amused by his antics. “That's disgusting.” But strangely, you're charmed. 

“I should take a picture. You look great like this.” 

He notes as he slides off your bed pulling his briefs over his finally softening cock, tucking himself back into his suit.

“Stay?” You say softly, offering him the space for his benefit more than yours. Even though you'd like him to stay for a cuddle you know you'll be out of it in a minute.

“Can't do I'm afraid, duty calls.” 

You nod, understanding. “Thank you, I really feel like a winner.” You snorted, thinking back to how the day even started.

He looks at you almost fondly, but your orgasm-hazy brain might just not be working anymore. 

“Until next time.” He says as a goodbye and you end up tucking yourself into bed. The last thing you hear is the click of his belt he picked up from the living room, the creak of the leather gloves he slides back on and the sonic boom of him flying away.

And you know that when you wake up if it wasn't for your ruined panties, your throbbing cunt or even the ripped poster in the living room you wouldn't believe any of it was real.

You sure hope there will be a next time.

[Part 2]

Taglist (you can add yourself to be notified anytime I publish a new Homelander story)

[flwrkid14]

Tim Drake, Cheerleader Extraordinaire

Okay, hear me out: Tim deciding to try out for the college cheerleading team.

It starts out as a joke. Maybe Danny and Tim are at one of Danny’s football games, and Tim’s casually making some witty comment about the cheer routines. Danny, of course, being the chaotic boyfriend he is, goes, “Bet you couldn’t do half of that.”

Oh? well then, challenge accepted.

Tim’s been training for years—gymnastics, acrobatics, fighting crime on the regular—it’s not like a few flips and jumps are going to be any trouble for him. Plus, there’s something about the high-energy, peppy atmosphere that lowkey appeals to Tim. The chance to just let loose for a bit? Why not?

So, Tim being Tim, fully commits to the idea. He starts practicing routines, learning the cheers, and by the time tryouts roll around, he’s ready. Danny’s all supportive, of course, sitting in the bleachers with the biggest grin because this is Tim we’re talking about, and he’s about to blow everyone’s minds.

And he does.

The other cheerleaders? Absolutely shook. Tim’s out there pulling off flips, doing perfect jumps, and landing everything like he’s been doing this for years. He even throws in some crazy acrobatics just for the fun of it. Needless to say, Tim makes the team—no one can argue with those skills.

Then comes the uniform. The iconic moment.

Most of the men on the team wear shorts, but Tim, being Tim, decides to rock the skirt version of the uniform because why not? He likes the look, it’s more flexible, and he might as well commit to the whole look as well. And besides, he’s Tim Drake. He’s not going to let gender norms stop him from looking fabulous.

Cue Danny absolutely losing it.

Like, Danny was supportive before, but now? Oh no, now he’s flustered beyond reason. He didn’t expect this level of power move from Tim. When Tim shows up to the next game, wearing the cheerleading skirt, looking ridiculously good with those legs, flipping around with that same cool confidence—Danny can’t handle it. His brain? Fried. He can’t even focus on the game because every time Tim moves, Danny’s heart skips about three beats.

There’s a part of Danny that’s just beaming with pride because that’s his boyfriend out there, but there’s also this tiny, flustered part of him that’s a little jealous too. Now the whole campus gets to see how freaking amazing Tim looks in that cheer uniform, and Danny’s like, “Great, now I have to share this sight with the rest of the world.”

Tim, of course, notices. He can see Danny getting distracted on the field, shooting him these flustered glances, and Tim just smirks. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and if wearing the skirt gets that kind of reaction from his boyfriend, he’s definitely keeping it.

The best part? After the game, when Danny finally gets a chance to pull Tim aside. He’s trying to play it cool, but it’s obvious that he’s still a little jealous and way too flustered. He wraps Tim in his varsity jacket, tugging him close and muttering something about how now everyone gets to see Tim like that—but then immediately follows it up with a kiss because he’s still Danny and loves every second of it.

And Tim? He’s living for it. The cheerleading, the attention, Danny’s flustered reactions—it’s all just too good. Now, every game, Tim rocks that skirt uniform, flips and cheers like the pro he is, and Danny’s just the supportive (and slightly jealous) boyfriend watching from the field.

They’re the campus couple—the star quarterback and his cheerleader boyfriend, always hyping each other up, and now, every time Danny looks over at Tim mid-game, he’s reminded that, yep, Tim’s his, skirt and all.

[uhohdad]

hear me out, loser! könig who's in love with his best friend and she drags him to go dress shopping and he has to consciously keep himself from drooling everytime she shows him a new dress. She's just so pretty, grabbable hips with the prettiest smile and she has that sparkle in her eyes and she's looking at *him.*

(18+) Dress Shopping with Loser!König

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅^ྀི ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅^ྀི ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅^ྀི ⋅˚₊ ‧୨୧ ‧₊˚

“What do you think of this one?”

Loser!König has heard this question all day long, and if he answered honestly, you’d run for the hills.

Loser!König can’t believe you’re inviting him to ogle at you. His eyes devour the way each dress hugs your curves, your legs that curtsy and twirl as you show off, hips that beg for his strong hands. His favorite are the particularly low-cut dresses, shamelessly drooling over your plush, perfect cleavage. He imagines he’s slipping his hardened hands down your collar and into your bra, grabbing two handfuls of your soft breasts, massaging them against his palms.

Loser!König’s erection has turned painful long ago, forced to tuck his aching cock into the waistband of his pants in hopes you can’t tell that you’re torturing him. Torturing him with your perfect body, with that brilliant smile, with soft, sweet eyes looking up at him so innocently. It brings a heat to both his face and his cock, leaking and throbbing in his pants.

Loser!König who can’t stop thinking about how easy it would be to lift the hem of your dress and get a glimpse of your panties. He wants to sneak an upskirt photo, craves to know what color you’re wearing, what cut, if they’re lacy or not. The thought of a dainty bow on the top of your panties has a huffy groan threatening to leave his lips, a pretty little present for him to unwrap.

Loser!König can hardly resist the urge to drag you into the fitting room. Pin both of your wrists to the mirror with a brute hand, the other sneaking up your thighs and bunching up the dress. Grinding his aching cock against your front, nestling himself between your lips and rocking against your clit. Yanking your soaked panties to the side and bullying his thick cock into your dripping cunt while you claw at him, his name stuck in the back of your throat.

Loser!Konig who practically throws his wallet at the cashier when you go to pay. He would buy you a hundred dresses if it means he gets to look at you in them.

Loser!König pretends to use a fitting room to try on a shirt, but instead relieves his painful, throbbing erection, biting back his pathetic whines and grunts as he imagines he’s filling you up, hands dug into your hips in that pretty dress. Ravaging your tight, wet cunt until he paints the fitting room mirror with his finish, choking back a moan that threatens to twist into your name.

Loser!König is bright red and sweating when he leaves the fitting room, hoping you haven’t realized what a perverted creep he truly is.

“Äh, it didn’t fit.”

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅^ྀི ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅^ྀི ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅^ྀི ⋅˚₊ ‧୨୧ ‧₊˚

Loser!König

[levandright]

𝐆𝐈𝐅𝐓 𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆

their favorite way to show their love for you is through — giftsꜝꜝ

if you enjoyed reading this consider leaving a like or reblog ᐢ..ᐢ

pairing ⋆ ot7 enhypen x gn! reader ʬʬ content / warning(s) ⋆ extra extra soft fluff, established relationship, non-idol au, just enha spoiling you with gifts <3 ꕀ word count : 1,637 ʬʬ go back to the start? ・ archive ᐢ..ᐢ lev notes : i wrote the whole thing with good thing by nct 127 on repeat and i think it did something to my brain. after making this i now want someone to gift like the boys do- cause the hell man :(( i envy their relationship its so cute T-T (i literally wrote this) thx for proofreading and editing this again twin <3 (gotta make sure twin gets their recognition)

𝗟𝗘𝗘 𝗛𝗘𝗘𝗦𝗘𝗨𝗡𝗚 - plushies

you come home to find a familiar pink gift bag sitting on your bed, decorated with little hearts and a note in heesung’s handwriting: “a little something for your collection—hope they make you smile! - hee”

excitedly, you peek inside, immediately spotting the cute sanrio tags and soft pastel colors. you pull out not one, but three adorable plushies—my melody, cinnamoroll, and hello kitty, each one perfectly cuddly and looking up at you with their iconic smiles.

just as you’re hugging my melody close, heesung steps into the room, a shy grin on his face as he watches your reaction. “i couldn’t decide on one,” he admits, scratching his head. “so i figured… why not get them all?”

you can’t stop smiling as you place the plushies carefully among the others on your shelf, each one finding its perfect spot. “they’re perfect,” you say, turning to give him a grateful hug. “you know me so well.”

he chuckles, returning the hug. “i love seeing your face light up every time. besides your collection wouldn’t be complete without the whole sanrio squad, right?”

with a laugh, you look back at the shelf, feeling warm inside. thanks to heesung your little plushie family just got a lot bigger.

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗝𝗢𝗡𝗚𝗦𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗚 - clothes

you’re scrolling through your phone when you get a text from jay: “check your doorstep!”

curious, you open the door to find a large shopping bag sitting outside. you bring it inside, already knowing who it’s from. as you pull out one dress after another—soft fabrics in different colors, some with delicate lace, others with simple elegance—you can’t help but laugh, imagining jay going through the store and picking each one out.

a moment later, he shows up at your door, grinning like he’s just won a prize. “so, what do you think? i couldn’t decide on just one, so i got you…options,” he says with a wink.

“options?” you tease, holding up a deep blue dress. “jay, you bought out the whole store!”

he shrugs, unbothered. “i just wanted you to have the best. besides, i know you have that event coming up, and i wanted you to feel amazing.”

you shake your head, touched. “you’re too much, you know that?”

he grins, gently nudging you toward the mirror. “go try one on, just to see how perfect you look.”

with a smile, you head to change, grateful for his thoughtfulness and the joy he finds in seeing you happy.

𝗦𝗜𝗠 𝗝𝗔𝗘𝗬𝗨𝗡 - perfume

you’re sitting on your bed, flipping through a magazine, when you hear a light knock on your door. “hey, can I come in?” jake’s familliar voice calls out from the other side.

“sure!” you reply, setting the magazine aside. as he steps in, you notice he’s holding a beautifully wrapped box, the corners tied with a silky ribbon.

“what’s this?” you asked curiously.

jake grins, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “open it and see!”

you carefully unwrap the box, revealing a stunning bottle of your favorite perfume, the one you always rave about. the familiar shape of the bottle brings an instant smile to your face. “jake! you remembered!”

“of course i did! i always remember,” he says, pride evident in his voice. “i figured it was time to restock your collection. i know how much you love this scent.”

you get up and give him a warm hug, breathing in the comforting mix of his cologne and the fresh scent of the perfume. “you always know how to make me happy. thank you!”

he chuckles, pulling back to look at you. “i just want to make sure you never run out. you wear it so well.”

you shake your head in delight, placing the perfume on your vanity. “i’ll always think of you when I wear it,” you say, feeling grateful for his thoughtful gesture.

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗛𝗢𝗢𝗡 - chocolate

you’re at your desk, sorting through some papers, when you notice a familiar small box tucked beside your things. smiling, you pick it up and read the note stuck on top: “just because. - sunghoon.”

opening it, you’re greeted by the rich aroma of chocolate—a collection of your favorite flavors. dark, milk, hazelnut-filled, and even a few fruit-infused truffles.

it’s the third time this week sunghoon has surprised you with chocolate, each box seemingly chosen with extra care.

later, as you’re enjoying a piece, sunghoon walks in, catching you mid-bite.

“caught you!” he teases, grinning as he leans against the doorframe. “how’s today’s selection of sweets?”

you laugh, holding up the chocolate box. “perfect as always. i still don’t know how you manage to get these here without me noticing.”

he shrugs, looking pleased. “i have my ways,” he says, pretending to be mysterious. then, with a softer smile, he adds, “i just like knowing that you’re never without a little something sweet.”

you smile, feeling warmth spread through you. “well, thanks to you my lovely boyfriend, i’ve never been happier—or more stocked on chocolate.”

𝗞𝗜𝗠 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗢𝗢 - jewelry

one quiet afternoon, sunoo shows up at your door with a mysterious grin and a small, velvet box in his hand.

“what’s that?” you ask, your curiosity piqued as he invites himself in and settles onto the couch beside you.

he just smiles, handing you the box without a word. inside, nestled against the satin, is a delicate silver bracelet, adorned with a tiny charm shaped like a star. your eyes widen in surprise as you look up at him. “sunoo, it’s beautiful! you didn’t have to…”

but he’s already lifting his wrist to show you a matching bracelet around his own. “it’s not just for you,” he says, looking at you with a gentle smile. “it’s for us. i found these and thought it would be a nice reminder… something we can both wear.”

a warm blush creeps onto your cheeks as you turn the bracelet over in your hand. “it’s perfect. thank you, sunoo.”

he beams, taking the bracelet from you and gently fastening it around your wrist. “now, every time you see it, you’ll know we’re connected—even if we’re not together.”

you reach out, holding his hand, and squeeze it. “i love it, really. but i love you more.”

he laughs, giving your hand a playful squeeze back. “good, because that’s the part of the gift i’m hoping you’ll keep forever.”

you both sit there, admiring your matching bracelets, feeling closer than ever as the sunlight filters through the room, casting a gentle glow over both of you.

𝗬𝗔𝗡𝗚 𝗝𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗪𝗢𝗡 - flowers

the soft chime of the doorbell echoes through the house, pulling you from your cozy spot on the couch. you rise, curious about who could be at the door. as you open it, a burst of color greets you: jungwon stands there with a bright bouquet of flowers in hand, a broad smile stretching across his face.

“surprise!” he exclaims, presenting the bouquet like a trophy. the flowers are vibrant, a mix of sunflowers, daisies, and wildflowers, their sweet scent filling the air.

your eyes widen, and a smile blooms on your face. “oh, jungwon! they’re beautiful!” you reach out to take them, feeling the warmth of his enthusiasm radiate towards you.

“i thought you could use a little brightness today,” he says, stepping inside. “i know you’ve been busy with work and school, so i wanted to remind you that you’re doing an amazing job.”

you feel a swell of gratitude as you breathe in the flowers’ fresh scent. “you always know how to make my day better,” you reply, feeling the weight of your stress start to lift.

“i just love seeing that smile on your face,” he says, his voice sincere. “you deserve to be reminded how wonderful you are.”

as you arrange the flowers in a vase, jungwon leans against the counter, watching you with a soft smile. “every time you look at them, i want you to remember that you’re loved, no matter how tough things get.”

you glance back at him, your heart warming at his words. “thank you, jungwon . this really means a lot to me.”

he steps closer, wrapping his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. “you know i’ll always be here for you, right? just like these flowers, i’ll always try to bring a little color into your life.”

you lean into him, feeling the comfort of his embrace. “i’m so lucky to have you.”

he kisses your temple gently, and you close your eyes, savoring the moment. with jungwon by your side and flowers brightening the room, you know that no matter what challenges come your way, you’ll face them with a smile.

𝗡𝗜𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗠𝗨𝗥𝗔 𝗥𝗜𝗞𝗜 - sunglasses

riki practically skips over to you, a mischievous grin plastered across his face and his hands hidden behind his back. you give him a curious look, and he finally reveals what he’s holding: two pairs of sunglasses, both sleek and stylish with tinted lenses.

“tada~ matching sunglasses,” he announces proudly, handing you one of the pairs. “i figured it was time to make you as cool as me.”

you laugh, slipping them on. “so, does this mean i get honorary 'riki’s fashion sidekick' status now?”

he nods, adjusting his own sunglasses as he strikes a dramatic pose. “absolutely. now we can both look this good,” he teases, winking at you from behind the lenses.

the two of you step out into the sunlight, instantly feeling like the coolest duo around. you both take turns posing, doing mock runway walks and playfully pointing at each other like you’re celebrities. riki laughs every time you strike a ridiculous pose, clutching his sides with giggles.

eventually, you both settle down, leaning against a wall, still wearing the shades and smiling widely at each other. “i think we should make this our thing,” riki says, nudging you. “matching sunglasses, everywhere we go.”

you nod, grinning. “agreed. it’s our official look.”

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